I/
 
 MARK HEFFRON 
 
 ALICE WARD BAILEY 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 HARPER & BROTHERS PUBLISHERS 
 1896
 
 Copyright, 189C, by HAUPKE & BBOTUKRS. 
 
 All rif/Ut r nerved.
 
 MARK HEFFRON 
 
 THE day was hot and dusty, as only a dry July 
 day can be ; half a dozen wilted women and a 
 whimpering baby occupied the car. Mark Hef- 
 fron glanced hastily around and retreated to the 
 smoker, where he remained until all the passen- 
 gers who meant to go to bed had done so. The 
 return was also an escape ; once in his berth he 
 wondered why he had lingered so long among 
 heavy jokes and twice-told tales. The car was 
 cool and quiet. The odor of hemlock and pine, 
 of wintergreen and sassafras, came in at the win- 
 dow, telling they had left the prairie and were 
 now in the woods. It was a cloudy night, lit by 
 an unseen moon ; through its mysterious atmos- 
 phere glided the tall forest trees. 
 
 Mark arranged the pillows under his head and 
 prepared to enjoy the night. "I suppose it is 
 getting back into the old groove which makes me 
 feel as I do," he mused. "I've hunted the world 
 over for thoughts which come with this experi- 
 ence as easily as the lullaby with the cradle." 
 
 2229181
 
 Ten years before he had travelled the same 
 road when the moon was hidden as now, there 
 had been the same picture of gliding trees, and 
 out of the mingled scents which came to him 
 then he missed not one. Mark believed in the 
 value of those ten years, but to-night he loosed 
 his hold upon them and was again freshly gradu- 
 ated from college, going up to Beau Lieu Sum- 
 mer University to teach Greek. The fancy pleased 
 him, although it changed the man to a boy and 
 took away what he had worked hard to win ; for 
 it gave in return the grasp and vision of youth, 
 its buoyant faith and all-embracing charity. To 
 wake and watch with these he found more re- 
 freshing than sleep. 
 
 The dawn came unexpectedly soon a red glow, 
 against which naked tree-trunks stripped by fires 
 stood up like masts. The morning-star shone sil- 
 verly, and a little wood-thrush answered in a note 
 that caught its gleam. The forests grew less 
 dense and clearings appeared ; then came, here 
 and there, mean board houses, from which issued 
 slovenly men and children, who stared at the train 
 with dull, sleepy eyes. 
 
 The solitary settlements became towns with 
 regular streets and avenues of young trees such 
 towns as figure in the papers as bargains in real 
 estate. The towns in turn yielded to "resorts" 
 with pretentious hotels and picturesque cottages. 
 They were nearing Beau Lieu. 
 
 Ah, there it was! the tiers of cottages among
 
 the hills how they had increased in number ! 
 the towers of the college buildings overlooking 
 the bay, the big wooden tent of the auditorium, 
 the little railway station, and the Reverend Will- 
 iam Billings himself, looking not a day older than 
 when he told Mark his services would not be re- 
 quired another year. 
 
 " I owe him one for that," said Mark to himself, 
 "but I'll wait until I can pay the interest. He 
 has a nice girl with him that's natural, too. 
 Hullo, Zeb, can't you shake hands with an old 
 friend? You've forgotten me." 
 
 "Zeb" squinted his small, twinkling eyes. 
 " No, I ain't," he declared ; " I carried your bag- 
 gage last summer." 
 
 " That's a lie !" cried Mark. " I haven't been 
 here for ten years, and then I carried my own bag." 
 
 "It's Mark Heffron !" exclaimed the discon- 
 certed drayman. "There goes my job !" 
 
 "No, I'll let you have it this time. Can you 
 put me up at the Beau Lieu House ?" 
 
 Zeb shook his head. "All full a week ago. 
 Everything's full. Never was such a crowd at 
 Bu Lu." 
 
 Mark smiled at the familiar name. "So Bu 
 Lu is booming, is it ?" 
 
 "You bet. P'r'aps Mr. Billings can tell you 
 some place. Hi, Mr. Billings !" 
 
 The President of the Beau Lieu University and 
 Summer Assembly turned at the call. He was 
 large and fair, with unsteady, light eyes, and a
 
 long gray beard, which he stroked with a shapely 
 hand. 
 
 "Here's Mr. Mark Heffron come back," said 
 Zeb, by way of introduction. "An' he hain't got 
 nowhere to stop at. I thought p'r'aps you'd know 
 some place." 
 
 "Ah, Mr. Heffron," responded the president, 
 touching Mark's hand gingerly, "we're pretty 
 full, but I think they would take you in at the 
 Hubbard cottage. You might try them, Haskins. 
 I hear you've been quite a traveller since we last 
 saw you, Mr. Heffron. If our lecture list " 
 
 "No, no," interrupted Mark. "I merely ran 
 around here on my way North to see how you were 
 getting on. You have a large school this year ?" 
 
 "Eighteen hundred and twenty -one," iteplied 
 the president, accurately. "Nine registered this 
 morning; two from Louisville, one of them the 
 young lady I was addressing. Yes, the school in- 
 creases. Pleased to see you at our cottage. 
 Good-morning." 
 
 "Good -morning," rejoined Mark, briefly, and 
 hastened after Zeb, who had caught six trunks and 
 a brace of canvas bags in the interim. 
 
 "You wanter make terms with the Widder 
 Hubbard," he counselled, as they clattered up the 
 stony road. " Folks think because Bu Lu adver- 
 tises rooms from two to four dollars that they're 
 goin' to get in for two. Widder Hubbard's all 
 right, but you don't wanter take things for granted 
 and then kick afterwards."
 
 " Certainly not," agreed Mark. " Here you go! 
 Never raind the change." 
 
 " Thank you, sir. Any time, Mr. Heffron, that 
 you wanter move or go away, here's my card." 
 Mark received it quizzically. This bit of pro- 
 fessional formality was certainly new to Beau 
 Lieu. 
 
 The Widow Hubbard " took in " the stranger 
 with alacrity, and escorted him to a tiny chamber 
 under the eaves. Mark walked to the window 
 and looked out; it framed the splendid azure of 
 the bay. " I'll take it," he said, promptly ; then, 
 remembering Zeb's caution, "How much is it?" 
 
 The widow cleared her throat. "I'd really 
 ought to have four and a half," she said, hesi- 
 tatingly; "but Mr. Ilaskins says you uster be- 
 long to the Assembly. I'll let you have it for 
 four." 
 
 Mark drew a handful of silver from his pocket. 
 "I'll take it for a week," he said ; "but," point- 
 ing to a thin square of cotton hanging dejectedly 
 from a decorated rack, " I want plenty of water 
 and towels, and I want the privilege of doing 
 what I please in this room." 
 
 The widow stared and retreated. " Ye-es, sir," 
 she faltered. " You can do as you're mindter, 
 and I'll send up the water and towels." 
 
 Soon Master Charlie Hubbard came stumbling 
 up the stairs, spilling water all the way from a 
 tin pail upon two skimpy towels ; but before he 
 reached the attic room the iconoclastic hand of
 
 G 
 
 the new lodger had swept together the gay pict- 
 ures and gayer paper flowers which nestled in 
 every niche, and had bestowed them under the 
 bed, setting a woollen puppy, bristling with pins, 
 to guard them.
 
 II 
 
 AT noon the high, worn terraces about the Beau 
 Lieu House presented the appearance of a large 
 and highly colored ant-hill. Swarms of men, 
 women, and children in bright summer dress 
 went in and out of the big white building. It 
 was exciting and more or less irritating to press 
 through the crowd to the dining - room door, 
 where the deaf proprietor held a chain across 
 the entrance until the meal-ticket was safe in his 
 hand. 
 
 " Like cattle waiting for the bars to be letdown," 
 murmured the girl whom Mark Heffron called 
 " nice," and who Mr. Billings had said was from 
 Louisville. The elderly woman upon her arm put 
 up a delicate hand in remonstrance. 
 
 " It is," pursued the girl ; "I feel degraded." 
 
 " We can go home," suggested her companion, 
 meekly. 
 
 " No, indeed," said the girl, quickly. " I didn't 
 mean to complain, auntie, but it makes me cross 
 to have you wait for the second or third table and 
 then find everything ' out.' " 
 
 " Don't mind me," urged the other, in the soft, 
 many-vowelled speech of the old South. "Really,
 
 8 
 
 I get on very well; the waitress is considerate. 
 Look, Eloise, there is a chance." 
 
 Haughtily tossing her head, Eloise presented 
 herself before the chain. 
 
 " I dunno," said the hotel-keeper, vaguely ; " I'll 
 ask Marthy. Marthy, is there any room for these 
 folks ?" 
 
 Martha passed them in review. " Do they live 
 in the house ?" 
 
 Eloise responded in the negative. 
 
 "Then they'll have to wait; we have to 'tend 
 to our own folks first." 
 
 The warm blood mounted into the cheeks of 
 the girl outside the chain. "Come," she ejacu- 
 lated, drawing her aunt from the door. "Didn't 
 I say so ? Cattle ! they herd at their meals and 
 at their lessons. They have so much to say about 
 'culture'; they don't know what it means." 
 
 " Eloise !" implored her companion ; " those 
 gentlemen will hear you." 
 
 "Gentlemen !" rejoined the girl, scornfully, as 
 the loud laugh of one filled the air. He was a 
 short, clumsy man, with a bald head and a bare 
 face responding with many a line to his merri- 
 ment. The young man beside him looked annoyed. 
 
 " I hear the Episcopalians have been letting you 
 preach in their house this summer," said the bald- 
 headed man. 
 
 The other assented. "It hasn't been conse- 
 crated yet," he added. 
 
 "That explains it," replied the elder, with a de-
 
 9 
 
 risive roar. " I'll bet they didn't let you inside 
 the chancel ?" 
 
 " N-no," answered the young man ; " but the 
 pulpit's outside." 
 
 "I told you so!" shouted the bald-headed man, 
 hearing only what he chose. 
 
 It was auntie's turn to look disgusted, but be- 
 fore she could escape conversation shifted to an- 
 other theme. 
 
 " Did you hear Dr. Greenough ?" 
 
 " No, I was busy ; what did he speak on ?" 
 
 " Church Unity ; it was good, too ; said he'd 
 sign all the creeds, but he wouldn't do away with 
 the hedges. Said he'd cut them low enough so 
 that people could shake hands over them, but he'd 
 keep them there." 
 
 " How about one Body, of which we are all 
 members ?" put in a new voice. 
 
 " Oh, well, no one expects that. You can't find 
 any one principle that they'll unite on." 
 
 "How about the principle of truth?" suggested 
 the voice. 
 
 "How do you know when you've got the 
 truth ? Here are all these different denomina- 
 tions claiming they've got it." 
 
 " Truth," said the voice, deliberately, " satisfies 
 the demands of reason." 
 
 "That isn't enough," cried the bald-headed 
 man. " You've got to have authority and revela- 
 tion as well as reason."
 
 10 
 
 "So you accept the divorce between reason 
 and authority ?" asked the voice, sarcastically. 
 
 "Nothing of the sort, nothing of the sort. 
 But look at your Age of Reason; what was it? 
 Anarchy, upheaval, ruin !" The speaker threw 
 his hand back with such violence that he knocked 
 a stray baby endwise. The baby howled, a wom- 
 an darted to the rescue, the bald-headed man was 
 profuse in apologies, and what had promised to 
 be an interesting discussion was precipitately 
 brought to a close. 
 
 Only Eloise, drawn near by the pressure of the 
 throng, heard the low words, " The Age of Rea- 
 son was the Age of Feeling, nothing more;" while 
 a feminine voice buzzed behind her, " He's an in- 
 fidel, that dark man; John says so." 
 
 Then a wave of complacent faces surged out- 
 ward from the dining-room, meeting the wave of 
 discontented ones which surged in. Eloise and 
 her aunt found themselves under the protection 
 of the " infidel," whose long arm was more than 
 once outsti'etched in their behalf. Within the 
 dining-room they were not separated, but, follow- 
 ing Marthy in single file, were directed to adjoin- 
 ing seats. Eloise sat beside the stranger, whom 
 she regarded curiously. Sitting, he towered above 
 her; standing, his eyes had been almost on a level 
 with her own. With his massive head, bulky 
 torso, and long, sinewy arms, he should have been 
 a giant in stature. His face, too, was a surprise; 
 the winning tenderness of his smile had given
 
 11 
 
 place to a keen, restless glance like that of an un- 
 tamed animal; his beardless lips, proud and just 
 when he had spoken, had settled into lines of sen- 
 suality and cynicism. Eloise shrank from him 
 into the atmosphere of chaperonage which " aun- 
 tie " conscientiously diffused. If he noticed this, 
 he made no sign. After obtaining fresh napkins 
 for the two women, and emptying the contents 
 of the cream - pitcher into their tumblers of 
 skimmed milk, he fell into a reverie from which 
 his dinner only partially aroused him. 
 
 While they were dallying with their dessert he 
 left them, bowing abruptly, and they saw him 
 pass the window, walking rapidly in the direction 
 of the bay. "A peculiar person," murmured 
 auntie; "but he was most attentive, Eloise." 
 
 Her niece made no reply. She was watching 
 the stranger pick up a romping urchin and swing 
 him lightly to a broad shoulder. Another and 
 another came about, all finding a place to cling 
 and be carried on. Thus, hung as thick with 
 children as a barbaric maid with ornaments, he 
 disappeared. Then she turned to her aunt. 
 
 " He is the only interesting person here. Come, 
 dear, I must take you home and go and see to 
 my pictures." 
 
 " Shall I not help you ?" 
 
 " Xo, indeed. You are going to lie in the ham- 
 mock until I come back." 
 
 "But" 
 
 "A very nice Epworth League boy is to hang
 
 12 
 
 the pictures. Mr. Billings sent him around this 
 morning to see about it. Good-bye. Go to sleep 
 -I'll be back at five." 
 
 There was no one at Langley Hall when Eloise 
 reached it, save a solitary woman who rocked 
 and read on the piazza; but the doors were open, 
 so she went directly to the large room in which 
 she was to deliver her lectures on Dutch and 
 German Art. It had been appropriated already 
 by the representatives of the W. X. Y. Z. Por- 
 traits of estimable women prominent in the associa- 
 tion, wreathed with garlands, filled the place, to- 
 gether with banners great and small, and mottoes 
 of startling size and significance. Eloise stood 
 in the centre of the room and regarded them 
 scornfully. "If Mr. Billings thinks I am going 
 to rally around those standards he is very much 
 mistaken," she said to herself. " I wish that Ep- 
 worth League boy would come." 
 
 As if summoned by her desire, the object of it 
 appeared in the doonva}^ 
 
 " What did Mr. Billings say we could do ?" 
 inquired Eloise, when he had brought in his step- 
 ladder and tools. 
 
 " He said we might do as we pleased," returned 
 the bo3 r . 
 
 "Then," said the young rebel, in the mood 
 which fired on Sumter, " take down those ban- 
 ners." 
 
 Down they came, " Mother, Home, and Heaven" 
 losing three cotton-wool letters, and " Woman's
 
 13 
 
 Cause the World's Cause " dropping a gilded tas- 
 sel. Eloise wrapped them up unceremoniously 
 and tossed them into a closet under the hall 
 stairs. 
 
 " We'll put the Old Flemish Masters up 
 there," she said, gayly; "that lovely Van Eyck 
 in the middle and this dear Quentin Matsys 
 over there. Here's a good place for the ' Christ 
 Bearers.' We'll put a Van Dyck over this 
 woman ; you needn't take her down." 
 
 "How about this one ?" inquired the boy, indi- 
 cating another with his hammer. 
 
 " Down with her !" cried the girl, exultantly. 
 "I can breathe better already. Here's ' The Jolly 
 Man' to hang in her place." 
 
 So they went on with Rembrandts and Hob- 
 bemas, Kaulbachs and Pluckhorsts, hiding what 
 they did not remove, transforming the stronghold 
 of the W. X. Y. Z. into a throne-room where Art 
 was queen. At least, that was what Eloise 
 thought ; some one else thought differently. 
 Routed out of her rocking-chair by the hammer- 
 ing and the talk, the woman on the piazza had 
 drawn gradually nearer to the scene of the dis- 
 turbance. For full thirty seconds she stood, hor- 
 ror-struck by what she saw. Then she took to 
 her heels as if the Old Flemish Masters and the 
 gentle Diisseldorf School had been so many emis- 
 saries of the Pit. 
 
 " Where is Mr. Billings ? Has any one seen 
 Mr. Billings ?" she gasped, running against a large
 
 14 
 
 man who turned a corner in time to present him- 
 self as an obstacle to her flight. 
 
 " You'll find him over there, rnadam," said the 
 obstacle, lifting his hat and pointing to a platform 
 under the trees, where the Reverend Billings was 
 putting up posters. Without the ceremony of a 
 thank you, she hurried on, and soon returned fol- 
 lowed by the President of the Assembly. 
 
 " Might as well see what's up," said the obsta- 
 cle, falling into line. " Aha, it's the Louisville 
 girl." 
 
 Unconscious of the stir which she had created, 
 Eloise stepped back to view the result of her after- 
 noon's work. 
 
 " Isn't it lovely?" she said to the Ep worth boy; 
 but the Epworth boy was looking towards the 
 doorway, where stood the party of the second 
 part. 
 
 "Ahem, Miss Gordon," began Mr. Billings. 
 
 " Upon my word," interposed a sonorous voice, 
 " this is the finest collection of foreign photo- 
 graphs I ever saw. Mr. Billings, you and Beau 
 Lieu are to be congratulated." 
 
 "It is a a private collection," responded Mr. 
 Billings. " Miss Gordon, let me present Mr. Hef- 
 fron," and Eloise recognized her companion at 
 dinner. " Mrs. Harwood, Miss Gordon Mr. Hef- 
 fron." Mrs. Harwood bowed distantly. What 
 were fine collections compared with the tremen- 
 dous issues with which she and her companions 
 dealt ? She turned her back on a cherub compla-
 
 15 
 
 cently viewing his own chubby proportions, and 
 encountered "Eve Before the Fall!" In des- 
 peration, she looked straight at the President of 
 the Assembly and nowhere else. 
 
 " Mr. Billings, we have no time to lose if we 
 are going to change things around before to- 
 night," she said, hurriedly. 
 
 "Yes, yes," agreed Mr. Billings. "Miss Gor- 
 don, at the reception to-night the women of the 
 W. X. Y. Z. receive here, and they are naturally 
 desirous to have the decorations which they have 
 put up partly for this reception remain until after 
 the event. So we'll just put these things away 
 until to-morrow, when they can go back again." 
 
 Just put these things away ! Did he realize 
 that it had taken hours of careful work to arrange 
 the schools of art by themselves and to place to- 
 gether congenial subjects? The eyes of the young 
 lecturer filled with angry tears. "As you please," 
 she said, haughtily. "It is immaterial to me 
 whether or no the pictures appear at all." 
 
 " Why don't you put her over in ' Bible Hall ?' " 
 asked Mark. 
 
 "Do you mean Stacey Hall?" 
 
 " We used to call it Bible Hall." 
 
 Mr. Billings reflected. " We might do that ; 
 suppose we go over and see, Miss Gordon?" 
 
 Eloise looked at her advocate. " Will you go, 
 too?" she asked. 
 
 " With pleasure," Mark replied, and forthwith 
 assumed charge of the expedition.
 
 10 
 
 In less than an hour " The Night Watch " and 
 " The Jolly Man," Eve and Eros had left Lang- 
 ley Hall, while a band of zealous women were 
 reverently replacing the cotton-wool letters lost 
 from. "Mother, Home, and Heaven," and the gilded 
 tassel which belonged to " Woman's Cause." 
 
 " This is the first experience I ever had of this 
 kind," said Mrs. Ransom, viciously biting her 
 thread. " I don't know what Beau Lieu is com- 
 ing to." 
 
 "It's my last summer if things keep on," said 
 Mrs. Puffer. 
 
 Mrs. Harwood, the Chairman of the Executive 
 Committee of the W. X. Y. Z., said nothing, ex- 
 cept by mien and gesture, as she mounted the step- 
 ladder, trailing an evergreen wreath. She was 
 not given to words, but could act when occasion 
 demanded. If any of the pupils of the Summer 
 University, young or old, attended the lectures on 
 Dutch and German Art, it would not be her fault. 
 
 "This is my first experience," Eloise herself 
 was saying, in reply to Mark's counsel not to mind 
 the Philistines. "I have only talked in parlors 
 and to friends." 
 
 " Don't let them bluff you," he urged. " Keep 
 your head up and believe in yourself; then they 
 will believe in you. Where will you have this 
 picture ?" 
 
 The Ep worth boy had gone to a lecture, but her 
 new assistant was worth a whole League of Ep- 
 worth boys, decided Eloise, thankfully watching
 
 17 
 
 her gallery fall into place. It was delightful to 
 have her treasures handled by some one who knew 
 their worth. In an incredibly short time the last 
 nail was driven and Mark was locking the door 
 of the hall behind them. " I am very grateful, 
 Mr. Heffron," she said, earnestly, as they walked 
 home together under the lengthening shadows. 
 
 " I expect to get it all back to-morrow when 
 you lecture," said Mark. 
 
 "Are you coming?" asked the girl, with a 
 startled glance. 
 
 " Of course." 
 
 "But you won't like it," she demurred. "It's 
 only the things you find in books." 
 
 " You won't shut me out, will you ?" 
 
 " Oh no." 
 
 "Then I'm coming." And he came, not long 
 after the doors were opened and there was still a 
 choice in seats. She spied him early in her talk, 
 but by his friendly smile he told her he was there 
 to help, not to criticise. 
 
 He did help, wonderfully, stimulating attention 
 by his own evident interest, leading the applause, 
 warming and enlivening the audience, which was 
 not small in spite of Mrs. Harwood's efforts 
 perhaps because of them. 
 
 As Eloise had said, there were " only the things 
 found in books " in the lecture, but the manner 
 saved the matter from being dull, as it often does ; 
 and it was Mark Heffron who saved the manner, 
 
 so he congratulated himself. 
 2
 
 Ill 
 
 "SUMMER, the man and the maid; it is not 
 good for either one to be alone," quoth Mark, 
 hunting under the bed for his tennis-shoes. 
 
 The woollen puppy eyed him suspiciously. "It 
 is true, although you may not believe it," said 
 Mark. "What do you know about such things, 
 
 %, o J 
 
 anyway ?" 
 
 He ran down the front stairs, whistling mer- 
 rily, and the Widow Hubbard crept up the back 
 stairs to mourn, for the twentieth time, over her 
 denuded room. 
 
 "I've had a good many resorters in my house, 
 first and last," she muttered, "but I never had 
 one like him." She lifted the edge of the bed- 
 quilt to look at the pin-cushion puppy and the 
 paper flowers, and let it fall with a groan. " I 
 told him he might do as he was a mindter, and 
 four dollars ain't bad for two flights up," she 
 said, by way of consolation. " But it's pretty 
 hard, after I've took so much pains to make it 
 pretty and pleasant there he goes over to play 
 ball with that girl. Awful independent, ain't 
 you, swingin' along !" 
 
 The tennis-ground was on a plateau overlook-
 
 19 
 
 ing the bay, the most inviting spot in Beau Lieu. 
 The forest was at its back, and two or three gen- 
 erous beeches at the side extended protection 
 from the sun to those who watched the games, 
 always a fair number, for the tennis -ground 
 lay in the direct route from the hotels to the 
 halls. 
 
 There were more spectators than usual this 
 morning, partly because it was too warm to lis- 
 ten to a lecture on Sociology, partly because the 
 game was a good one and the graceful girl in the 
 white gown was ahead. 
 
 " Who is she ?" Philip More asked his friend, 
 Jo Allen. 
 
 "Miss Kentucky, the boys call her. She is 
 from Louisville. Jack," nudging a long-haired 
 youth in front, " what's Miss Kentucky's real 
 name?" 
 
 " Gordon," replied the youth, without turning 
 his head. 
 
 " Yes, that's it Gordon. She is lecturing on 
 something or other." 
 
 " That can't be Eloise Gordon," murmured 
 Philip. "Do you know her first name?" 
 
 " Jack, what is Miss Gordon's first name ?" 
 
 "Eloise," responded the long-haired youth; 
 " Good one, good play ! Gee whizz, she's a 
 dandy !" 
 
 Philip More elbowed his way through the 
 crowd until close to the players, who, oblivious 
 of the eyes upon them, sent the light ball to and
 
 20 
 
 fro. " It is Eloisc Gordon. What under the 
 sun is she doing here ?" 
 
 The game was concluded amid the apprecia- 
 tive shouts of the bystanders. Philip lost no 
 time in pressing forward, cap in hand " Congrat- 
 ulations, Miss Gordon!" he cried. "You have 
 not forgotten me ?" 
 
 "No, indeed, Mr. More," she replied, another 
 flush added to those of exercise and victory al- 
 ready in her cheeks. " What are you doing 
 here ?" 
 
 " Geologizing ; and you ?" 
 
 Eloise grew grave. " I am lecturing upon art," 
 she said, hurriedly. " Mr. Heffron, this is an old 
 friend, Mr. More." The two men shook hands, 
 Mark with a cordiality which Philip did not en- 
 tirely reciprocate, and the trio walked to the cot- 
 tage gate, where Mark took his leave. 
 
 Of course, Aunt Harriet remembered Philip 
 most pleasantly, and told him so with a confiding 
 glance up at him and a confiding pressure of his 
 hand. Really, it would be a great relief to have 
 this young man, whose antecedents were known 
 to her and who was so deferential in his manner, 
 take the place of that baffling Mr. Heffron, of 
 whom they knew absolutely nothing except what 
 he chose to tell, and who took their mutual rela- 
 tions as a matter of course. She made Philip sit 
 beside her on the sofa, and let him wield her old- 
 fashioned fan, august and clumsy as an eagle's 
 wing, while Eloise went to make some lemonade.
 
 21 
 
 As soon as the door had closed, Philip seized 
 his opportunity. "Do tell me, Miss Larrabee, 
 what it all means." 
 
 " Isn't it terrible ! Isn't it shocking !" cried 
 Aunt Harriet, flinging out her helpless little right 
 hand, every finger stiff and straight as the rays of 
 a starfish. " Can you conceive of anything more 
 heart-rending ?" 
 
 "But how did it happen ?" pursued Philip, still 
 in the dark. 
 
 " Is it possible that you have not heard ?" in- 
 quired Aunt Harriet, reproachfully. 
 
 " I assure you I know absolutely nothing. How 
 could I ? I went abroad directly after that win- 
 ter in Louisville, and have only just returned. I 
 thought I had recovered." 
 
 " Poor boy," sighed Aunt Harriet. " Eloise 
 has changed. Mr. More, that girl is a won- 
 der!" 
 
 Philip made no answer. 
 
 " Let me tell you," said Aunt Harriet, excitedly, 
 " what she has done. "When her father passed 
 away is it possible you did not know ? Yes ; he 
 passed away in the Main Street of Louisville, go- 
 ing to his office, right after breakfast, and a beau- 
 tiful morning. I never shall forget how he came 
 back and kissed us all around. He was very 
 fond of me." She put her handkerchief to her 
 eyes. Philip maintained a sympathetic silence, 
 and she soon resumed her story. "You never 
 saw such mourning; the whole city felt that it
 
 22 
 
 had sustained a personal loss. There was no one 
 more thought of than Max Gordon." 
 
 " What became of Mrs. Gordon ?" asked Philip. 
 
 "My sister never recovered from the shock," 
 replied Miss Larrabee. " I am all that Eloise has 
 left. I stand in place of father and mother." 
 
 In spite of himself, Philip looked relieved. lie 
 sincerely regretted, for Eloise's sake, the loss of 
 her parents, but he could not fail to realize that 
 his cause might profit by their removal. "Dear 
 Miss Larrabee," he said, softly, taking her little 
 nervous hands in his large magnetic ones, " it 
 is in just that relation that I wish to appeal to 
 you. You know the story of that winter. I want 
 to try again. I didn't know that she was here. 
 I came here only by chance, a happy chance, if it 
 turns out as I hope. Miss Larrabee, may I count 
 on your permission, your assistance ?" And Aunt 
 Harriet, seeing in the honest young face before 
 her the promise of deliverance from vulgar board- 
 ing-houses and still more vulgar duns, from anx- 
 iety and economy, and from that dreadful Mr. 
 Heffron, responded, fervently, "You may, Mr. 
 More, you may !" 
 
 At that moment the door opened, and Eloise 
 and Mark appeared in comradish proximity, 
 Eloise with the glasses, Mark with the pitcher, 
 and both laughing heartily over something Mark 
 had said; for Eloise had found the sugar-bowl 
 empty, and, slipping out to replenish it, had en- 
 countered Mark at the grocery and brought him
 
 23 
 
 home with her, introducing him quietly through 
 the back door, where she had made her exit; and 
 Mark had been so helpful and so droll that the 
 lemonade-making had nearly put out of their 
 heads the existence of the two in the parlor set- 
 tling the fates of all concerned. 
 
 Philip bit his lip with a frown, and Aunt Harriet 
 manifested by a certain frigid little manner, re- 
 tained along with her India shawl and cameo 
 brooch from the luxuries of other days, that she 
 considered the presence of her niece's companion 
 no less than an intrusion. 
 
 Then it was that the devil entered into Mark ; 
 he would have said it was his Irish temper. He 
 dared Miss Larrabee and mocked at Philip ; he 
 seated himself at the piano and sang " Green grow 
 the rashes, O," making mischievous eyes at Eloise 
 as he declared, in a rich baritone, "The sweetest 
 hours I ever spent were spent among the lasses, 
 O;" he filled the tiny parlor with dash and spai'kle 
 and life, until Philip nestled, red and angry, on 
 his seat, and Aunt Harriet tapped her narrow foot 
 upon the wooden floor, while Eloise fluttered like 
 a fascinated dove before the serpents in those 
 brilliant dark eyes. 
 
 She followed Mark to the piazza when he left, 
 and gave him her hand in farewell. He waved 
 his again and again until he disappeared among 
 the trees. His mouth had settled into the lines 
 which repelled the girl on the day of their first 
 meeting, but if she saw she did not care. The
 
 24 
 
 strange new stirring in her blood was all she knew 
 or wished to know. She rebelled from returning 
 to that tame, colorless pair sitting on the sofa in 
 the parlor. Glancing hastily about her, she 
 stepped noiselessly from the piazza to the turf- 
 muffled ground and ran down to the shore. 
 
 Mark had climbed stormily up the hill, growling 
 below his breath, " Check, you young jackanapes ! 
 I'll teach you not to cry Gardez to me." 
 
 lie came again the next day, and the next ; he 
 came every day, sometimes twice and even three 
 times. Aunt Harriet fretted and Philip fumed, 
 but they might as well have interfered with wind 
 or flame ; they only hurt themselves.
 
 IY 
 
 THREE weeks had passed of the Beau Lieu Uni- 
 versity and Summer Assembly. It was very 
 warm, for Beau Lieu does not always adhere to 
 the "cool, bracing weather" advertised in the 
 prospectus. The lake was a dull, opaque gray, 
 and stagnant as a mill-pond. The opposite shore 
 had withdrawn into the haze, so that water, earth, 
 and air seemed to unite in one vague substance 
 which was neither of the three. Aunt Harriet 
 lay, exhausted, on the sofa, looking so worn and 
 white that a pang of remorse softened the obdu- 
 rate heart of her niece. " Pull yourself together, 
 auntie," she cried, "and we'll go around the 
 bay." 
 
 Aunt Harriet brightened visibly. 
 
 " That would be very nice," she responded, 
 humbly. " But are you sure you want to go, 
 Eloise ?" 
 
 "Of course. Where is the air-pillow? And 
 your vinaigrette ? You had better take a light 
 shawl. Come along." 
 
 They found the pier filled with people waiting 
 for the boat ; women, babies, and small children, 
 the summer girl and the summer boy, the idler
 
 26 
 
 with the novel under one arm and a pug-dog 
 under the other, the student recreating the outer 
 man while the inner man solved a problem. The 
 air was thick and stifling. All of the children 
 and most of the women munched pop-corn with a 
 desperate earnestness suggesting a charm in the 
 dry morsel against the weariness of delay. The 
 hot, buttery smell of Beau Lieu's sole dissipation 
 met the fastidious nostrils of the young Ken- 
 tuckian, and they quivered disdainfully. No one 
 cared. No one on the pier knew her or the bun- 
 dle of dignity and remonstrance leaning on her 
 arm. Women who breathed of onions as well as 
 pop-corn doubled them up and talked over them 
 about dinners and dressmaking and Mary Jane's 
 last tooth. 
 
 At last the Paragon came up slowly, and they 
 went aboard. Then came more crowding and 
 confusion. Finally, every one was settled and 
 they steamed down the bay, the canvas awning 
 flapping merrily above their heads, the water rip- 
 pling coolly against the sides of the boat. The 
 haze lifted and took them in. The beautiful 
 green water was all around them. A hush fell 
 upon the company, broken by some pious soul 
 who felt the divine peace and loveliness, and for 
 whom, piety and melancholy being synonymous, 
 there was no vent save a lugubrious hymn. There 
 were a few feeble attempts on the part of the 
 other passengers to follow the tune ; then the 
 song died away. The women began again with
 
 27 
 
 dinners and dressmaking and neighborhood tales. 
 The summer boys flirted with the summer girls. 
 Feeble jokes were cracked and empty laughter 
 resounded, and the ubiquitous pop-corn boy set up 
 his stove on the lower deck, whence the rustle and 
 snap of his commodity were plainly to be heard. 
 
 The boat stopped at Roaring Brook, and half 
 a dozen individuals went ashore, among them 
 Eloise and her aunt. They seated themselves 
 on a mossy log and conscientiously watched the 
 brook which, in default of roaring, as it was 
 booked to do, purred like a kitten among the 
 stones. Eloise looked and felt unutterably bored. 
 Aunt Harriet made wild attempts to be entertain- 
 ing, attempts which failed dismally, and were 
 followed by a chilling silence. Eloise waited 
 for the last boat, and was patiently attentive until 
 she landed her companion at the cottage door. 
 Two squares of paper showed white against the 
 green of an arbor-vitne ; one was Philip's card, 
 bound to a branch by a long grass blade, the 
 other was impaled upon a twig, and bore Mark 
 Heffron's scrawl. 
 
 The cottage occupied by Eloise and her aunt 
 was one of the row which nestled, like dove-cotes, 
 among the trees on the shore. There was a 
 slender fence about the yard, and a pathway of 
 painted blocks led to the door. Long piazzas 
 encircled the house, and a balcony ran out into 
 the shrubbery, a rustic affair, with uneven floors 
 and a low lattice of twisted limbs. On this bal-
 
 28 
 
 cony Eloise sat, while the sun, like a great drop 
 of glowing wine, dripped down the murky sky. 
 She could see, through the trees, the light dresses 
 of the women below her, and could hear the 
 crisp tread of the men who accompanied them. 
 No one was alone save herself. She had snubbed 
 Aunt Harriet into retiring early, and now she 
 wished her back, if only to fill the empty seat 
 opposite. The heavy air was full of forebodings ; 
 even the trees waved tragically. 
 
 The footsteps sounded less frequently on the 
 pathway and finally ceased. It was growing late. 
 She crept up to her chamber, and flung herself, 
 face downward, on the bed. 
 
 How long she lay there she could not tell, but 
 all at once she was wide awake and listening. 
 Did some one call her? No, there was not a 
 sound. Her heart beat violently. 
 
 What strange power drew her to the window, 
 down the stairs, into the warm night air which 
 blew softly towards the lake, out upon the rough 
 floor of the balcony ? 
 
 "Don't be friglitened," said a low voice, and 
 Mark HefFron took her cold hands in his. " How 
 did you know I was here?" he asked, laughing. 
 " Don't be frightened," for she shook from head 
 to foot. 
 
 "I don't know I awoke I thought I heard 
 some one call me did you call ?" 
 
 "Not aloud." He laughed again. "I did not 
 expect to succeed so well. Sit down, child."
 
 29 
 
 Mechanically she obeyed him. He continued 
 talking and she listened without hearing, unaware 
 of place or time or personality save his, towards 
 which great coiling chains, thrown by some un- 
 seen force, drew her ever closer. 
 
 She stood up before him, panting. He bent 
 out of the shadows to look upon her yielding 
 face. 
 
 "Go to bed, child," he said, coldly. "It was 
 too bad to disturb you." 
 
 In an instant he had dropped from the balcony 
 and was walking rapidly away. The girl re- 
 mained where he had left her, feeling the jar, 
 the shock, the disappointment, the helplessness 
 of one who miscalculates the way and steps off 
 into space. 
 
 Gradually came the consciousness that she had 
 been played upon, befooled, betrayed. The hot 
 blood surged into her cheeks. Her head sang 
 like a vibrating wire. Blindly she groped her 
 way along the hall and up the stairs. Through 
 the open door of Aunt Harriet's room she could 
 hear the sleeper's peaceful breath. An impulse 
 came to enter and arouse this woman who loved 
 her, and find some defence, however feeble, against 
 the vague terrors which assailed ; but she dis- 
 missed it and went on alone.
 
 BEFORE Eloise had reached her own room a 
 wind arose, swift and searching; it bent the 
 branches of the trees and the long, reed-like grass 
 upon the shore ; it rocked the low shrubs and rat- 
 tled the dead leaves of a transplanted elm. Then 
 came the rain and beat out sweet odors, so that 
 the tiny square about the cottage grew as fragant 
 as a garden. Lightning and thunder followed, 
 piercing and purifying the heavy air. 
 
 When morning dawned the girl who watched 
 for it by the window uttered a low cry of delight. 
 The dull white bay had been smitten into color, 
 gray-green by the shore, deepening thi'ough ame- 
 thyst to purple as it met the purple mountains. 
 Every boat-house stood up straight and clean 
 against the sky. The black line of the wharf ac- 
 centuated the dazzle of the foam. 
 
 The scene increased in beauty as the day ad- 
 vanced. The wind became a gale, driving be- 
 fore it the great white breakers. The sun came 
 out from the clouds, and intensified the brilliance 
 of shifting water and glancing foam. The figures 
 of the men and women on the beach cut the air 
 like silhouettes. All the neighborhood were there.
 
 31 
 
 Aunt Harriet and Eloise followed, and later Philip 
 joined them. 
 
 " I am so glad you have come !" cried Eloise, 
 and turned to him almost appealingly. 
 
 " Were you afraid of the storm ?" He felt big 
 and manly as he put the question. 
 
 "I am glad it is over and that you are here," 
 she answered, evasively. 
 
 Philip was puzzled, but he did not mean to let 
 that stand in the way. He had been patient and 
 he had been a gentleman. He was filled with 
 the courage of those who have nothing to regret. 
 Equally magnanimous was Aunt Harriet's self- 
 control ; by not so much as the quiver of an eye- 
 lash did she recognize the change. No one men- 
 tioned Mark ; all three would have been glad to 
 forget him. 
 
 Mark would have been glad to forget himself. 
 It was with this intention that he went the rounds 
 of the college buildings, which were filled with en- 
 thusiastic crowds. The season was at its height, 
 and all the institutions, educational and other- 
 wise, which had their headquarters at Beau Lieu, 
 were in full swing assemblies and circles of 
 every description, leagues and associations with- 
 out number, including the Hay-Fever Associa- 
 tion. Mark's spirits began to rise as he looked 
 about him. 
 
 He strolled leisurely along under the trees. 
 Every one else was in a hurry ; even the big bell 
 ringing in a wooden frame on the campus tipped
 
 33 
 
 up excitedly, this way and that, as if it could not 
 get the sound out half fast enough. In one di- 
 rection went a squad of college boys, flannel clad 
 and lightly shod, making up their " conditions " 
 with as little discomfort to themselves as possi- 
 ble ; in another a group of pretty girls with 
 banjo-boxes set out for Music Hall; in all direc- 
 tions, in an unbroken procession, old and young, 
 bent and straight, with the country color still in 
 their cheeks and with solemn, sallow faces, dull 
 and gay but invariably anxious, went those over- 
 Avorked and unappreciated members of the bod3 r 
 politic the teachers of the public schools. They 
 were not carrying banjos or reading the Anab- 
 asis; neither were they enjoying the Field and 
 Forest Club or the School of Art ; but wherever 
 the knottiest problems were being discussed, or 
 the display of learning was most tremendous, 
 there they were to be found, leaning over their 
 writing - tablets with the absorbed attention of 
 those who compress a complete course of instruc- 
 tion into four short weeks. Mark followed them 
 from hall to hall, hoping that their seriousness 
 might cure his own. 
 
 They led him to the Auditorium, where the 
 bald-headed man with whom he had come into 
 argumentative contact upon the day of his ar- 
 rival was lecturing upon the " Contentions of 
 Peter and Paul." The great wooden curtains on 
 both sides of the building were rolled up as high 
 as they could go. The open archways revealed
 
 33 
 
 glimpses of the forest and of the wind-swept bay. 
 Upon this peaceful background a man soon ap- 
 peared, narrow shouldered, angular, clad in faded 
 jeans, his slouched hat drawn down to meet a 
 grizzled beard, which flowed from temple to chin 
 and over his hollow chest. He seated himself 
 on a bench outside the building, crossed his sharp 
 knees and long, limp hands, and listened, satisfac- 
 tion proclaimed in every line. As points of doc- 
 trine came up, one by one, to be dealt with, sum- 
 marily and according to orthodox methods, he 
 expressed a still keener relish, wagging his rough 
 head and swinging to and fro the foot which was 
 free. 
 
 Mark left the amphitheatre and walked around 
 where the old farmer sat. " How did you en- 
 joy it ?" he inquired, as applause greeted the close 
 of the address and the audience arose to go. 
 
 "First rate! first rate!" was the answer, de- 
 livered with an emphasis which left no room for 
 doubt of its sincerity. "Tell you what," he con- 
 tinued, as they walked on together, " seemed like 
 old times. This here," and he swung his hand 
 comprehensively about him, " used to be all Meth- 
 odist ; now it's Baptist, Congregationalist, Pres- 
 byterian, even Gymnastic." His voice was vi- 
 brant with contempt. 
 
 Mark's eyes twinkled. " You don't say so !" 
 he rejoined, sympathetically. 
 
 " Yes, sir" continued the old man. " There's 
 a woman down there, in that buildin' yonder,
 
 34 
 
 who says that Gymnastic is her religion, an' 
 she's got all the gals in the neighborhood a-bal- 
 ancin' on one toe an' flingin' up their arms an' 
 the Lord knows what all. Might do for the 
 dancin' dervishes, but it ain't my religion." 
 
 " How did you learn of these " 
 
 " These goin's-on ?" 
 
 Mark assented with a nod. 
 
 "My gal Cynthy's one on 'em, an' she's had 
 so much to say about this new life you'd a 
 thought she'd been to a revival that I went and 
 peeked in the winder. There was a hull room 
 full on 'era, my Cynthy among the rest, goin' 
 through the durndest pufformances, a-swingin' 
 their arms an' a-tip-toin' back'ards an' for'ards. I 
 told Cynthy she'd got to quit, but, Land, she's so 
 obstinate ! Her mother right over !" 
 
 " Is her mother alive ?" 
 
 " You bet she is, an' backs up the gal ; says it's 
 what's goin' on all over everywhere, only I ain't 
 heard about it. You just come along with me 
 an' I'll show ye. You wouldn't s'pose sech things 
 would be tolerated." 
 
 He led the way, and Mark followed, filled with 
 curiosity. The cottage was the smallest of the 
 college buildings, and hidden from the pathway 
 by a wall of dense cedars. Between this wall 
 and the cottage the old man began to wriggle 
 his way. Mark caught him by the arm. "Hold 
 on there ; what are you going to do ?" he de- 
 manded.
 
 35 
 
 "Show you where you can peek in." 
 
 "Not much; you don't catch me," replied 
 Mai'k, sternly. 
 
 " They won't ketch ye," returned the veteran 
 Paul Pry, mistaking his meaning. " It's dark as 
 a pocket behind them cedars." 
 
 "Don't care if it is. They are coming now ; 
 you had better get away from there." The pat- 
 ter of feet and the hum of voices confirmed his 
 words. Presently forty or fifty women and girls 
 trouped out of the cottage, putting into applica- 
 tion the instruction they had received, chins up, 
 chests out, backs and legs stiff and straight. 
 
 Mark and the old farmer stepped aside to let 
 them pass. 
 
 " The backbone is a spiral ; you must pull it 
 up like this !" cried a plump, brown-eyed girl, 
 elongating her chubby person. 
 
 " That's the ' military line,' " called another girl 
 out of the crowd in the rear. "That isn't the 
 'artistic life-line.' The 'artistic life-line' goes 
 like this." She ran forward to illustrate. The 
 old farmer slunk into the bushes. 
 
 " Cynthy, no doubt," decided Mark. " But who 
 is this?" 
 
 Between two tall young girls, like a queen 
 between gendarmes, advanced a small, grace- 
 ful woman, exquisitely dressed, a drawing-room 
 flower. What was she doing at Beau Lieu? 
 To his surprise she came towards him with a smile 
 of recognition, her hand outstretched in greeting.
 
 36 
 
 "I am so glad to meet you, Mr. Heffron," she 
 said, in tones as perfect as her figure and poise. 
 " You do not remember me Marguerite Duvray ? 
 It is not strange ; I should not have known you 
 Mr. Billings pointed you out to me." 
 
 Mark vowed he was charmed and delighted ; it 
 was a fortunate chance which brought him to 
 Beau Lieu threshing, meanwhile, his chaff of 
 memories for one grain of recollection. Who the 
 deuce is was Marguerite Duvray ? 
 
 The gendarmes fell behind, and he walked on 
 with the fascinating stranger, artf ully leading her 
 to speak of herself, trying to find her in Boston, 
 New York, Philadelphia even in London and 
 Paris. 
 
 She brought him back to Beau Lieu with a 
 bird-like nod of her pretty head. "Here is my 
 cottage. I am at home, usually, in the afternoon 
 at foia\ Au revoirf" 
 
 No sooner had she left him than Mark took a 
 bee-line for the Billings Cottage. " If old Bill- 
 ings can straighten this thing out for me, he has 
 got to do it," he said to himself. 
 
 Mrs. Billings was on the piazza, rocking delib- 
 erately to and fro; her idle hands were folded in 
 her lap, her attitude was that of one who has no 
 interest in anything. She looked up languidly 
 as Mark mounted the steps and gave him a fee- 
 ble good-morning. No; Mr. Billings was not at 
 home, and she did not know where he was. There 
 were people after him all the time.
 
 37 
 
 " Mr. Billings is a very busy man, I suppose," 
 vouchsafed Mark, seating himself on one of the 
 splint-bottomed chairs which adorned the piazza. 
 
 "Busy!" cried Mrs. Billings, with more warmth 
 than she had shown; " he's killing himself just as 
 fast as he can !" 
 
 " I hope it is not as bad as that," returned the 
 visitor. " He looks pretty well nourished." 
 
 "Oh, he eats well," granted his pessimistic 
 spouse, "and he sleeps pretty well; but I don't 
 see anything of him from morning till night." 
 
 " Oho !" thought Mark, " that's where the shoe 
 pinches. You have some good teachers," he con- 
 tinued aloud, in a wily endeavor to lead her 
 around to the subject in which he was interested. 
 
 " That don't do me any good," she responded, 
 dismally. "I never go anywhere. Mr. Billings 
 is always too busy to take me, and there is no 
 pleasure in going alone." 
 
 " There seem to be more women than there 
 used to be," pursued the investigator. 
 
 "Altogether too many," said Mrs. Billings, 
 shortly. "They are fussing all the time about 
 something; they don't give Mr. Billings a min- 
 ute's peace. There are a lot more trying to get 
 in; a woman with three daughters who has taken 
 the Hunt Cottage wants to teach china-painting, 
 and her daughters want to read and pose. They 
 are kind of pretty, but they know it too well." 
 
 " Who is teaching Elocution ?" inquired Mark, 
 bearing around on another tack.
 
 38 
 
 "Milton Jones, that man with the long nose. 
 He don't call it Elocution ; he calls it Oratory and 
 Expression. A lot of ministers are taking of him. 
 Mademoiselle Duvray has some scholars in what 
 she calls Voice Posing, whatever that may be." 
 
 At last ! 
 
 " Who is Mademoiselle Duvray," he inquired, 
 carelessly. 
 
 " That little woman with sort of reddish hair, 
 that steps around so spry; there's lots of get-up 
 to her. They say she's been all over the world 
 picking up ideas for these gymnastics ; they ain't 
 gymnastics quite, either, though they go through 
 a lot of motions." 
 
 " Delsarte ?" suggested Mark. 
 
 "She don't like to have it called that, either; 
 it's a system of her own ; the women are crazy 
 over it. I must say they do improve after she 
 gets hold of them; they get so's they stand up 
 and act as if they were somebody." 
 
 "Where does Mademoiselle Duvray come 
 from?" pursued Mark. 
 
 "I don't know," was the disappointing reply. 
 "She's new to me; I never heard of her before 
 that I know of. Queer Mr. Billings don't come. 
 It's most dinner-time." 
 
 "I won't wait for him," said Mark, rising at 
 the hint so delicately conveyed. " I did not have 
 any particular business. He asked me to call." 
 
 " You needn't hurry," said Mrs. Billings, adopt- 
 ing the formula of hospitality. " Come again."
 
 VI 
 
 So Mark left the Billings Cottage no wiser than 
 
 o o 
 
 he carae, and subsequent efforts during the day 
 failed to bring the information which he sought. 
 But, as he was falling off to sleep at night, a wan 
 little face framing two great eager eyes appeared 
 before him. Marguerite Duvray, of course; the 
 young French girl who studied Greek with him 
 ten years ago, and upon whom he used to try his 
 theories ! The big, loutish boys who made up the 
 remainder of the class had been after Greek, 
 enough Greek to enable them to pass their ex- 
 aminations; she had been after ideas. But what 
 particular hypothesis had she laid hold of and 
 carried away to be an " inspiration," and all the 
 rest of it ? He had been full of theories in those 
 days, and as plausible in the explication of each 
 one as if he never expected to have another. 
 "Yes, that is Marguerite," said Mark. "Now, 
 what in the name of Aristotle did I say to her ?" 
 Punctually at four on the following afternoon 
 he presented himself at Mademoiselle Duvray's 
 cottage, armed with a bunch of scarlet poppies 
 and the Daily Resorter. She received them with 
 an air of embarrassment; they were so foreign to
 
 40 
 
 her idea of him that they put completely out of 
 her head the questions she had meant to ask. 
 
 " There seems nothing else indigenous to the 
 soil," he said, by way of apology. " Considerable 
 'local color' about these." 
 
 He fitted himself into a willow chair, which 
 bent beneath him, and continued, banteringly, " If 
 ever there was an educational orgie it is this As- 
 sembly. There isn't an ology or an ism under 
 the sun which cannot be found here on tap, and 
 you can carouse in any one of them for two dol- 
 lars and a half. No wonder inebriety is univer- 
 sal when it comes so cheap. Do you know the 
 learned individual who teaches Literature ?" 
 
 "Only by sight." 
 
 " I have been to hear her exposition of Romeo. 
 'Shakespeare wrote everything with an ethical 
 purpose. If Romeo had gone to Papa Capulet, 
 like a little man, and asked for Juliet, he would 
 have saved himself and her lots of trouble. The 
 prince would have become his backer.' " 
 
 " You are testing my credulity," cried Margue- 
 rite, " the lecturer never said such things." 
 
 "Words to that effect. I stood up to make 
 a few remarks, but when I looked around on the 
 audience I hadn't the heart. They liked their 
 kind of a Romeo so much better than they would 
 mine." 
 
 " Mr. Billings says the object of the school is 
 not so much information as stimulation," she re- 
 turned, laughing, in spite of herself.
 
 41 
 
 " I know what Mr. Billings thinks of the school," 
 said Mark significantly, " and I know what Mrs. 
 Billings thinks. She is only waiting for the Rev- 
 erend William to go to pieces, and if there is any- 
 thing in telepathy she'll fetch him." 
 
 Marguerite laughed again, a little uneasily this 
 time. " The scientific department is well repre- 
 sented," she said, tentatively. 
 
 " The representation is unlimited," he replied. 
 "Billings must have gone out with a drag-net 
 and brought in everything he could find. Tell 
 me, how did you happen to come ?" Again that 
 insincere tone which hurt her like an ache. 
 
 "It was a whim, an impulse," she said, hastily, 
 feeling naked and exposed before his curious gaze. 
 Not for worlds could she confide to him her de- 
 sire to help others as she had herself been helped 
 at this school of Beau Lieu, nor could he, in his 
 hope of her favor, confess that he had forgotten 
 what he said to her ten years ago. 
 
 " What was I studying then ?" he asked him- 
 self, as, after an hour of aimless talk, he left the 
 cottage and walked into the woods alone. " What 
 did I believe, or think that I believed or pretended 
 that I believed ?" He tried to revive the rnood 
 of that time by calling up its images and associa- 
 tions, and setting himself in their midst. " There 
 was something on the train that night coming 
 here ; what was it ?" he asked. But the thoughts 
 of that night had faded like other formless shades, 
 like the thoughts of ten years ago. " Go on and
 
 42 
 
 be eternally blessed !" be cried, when they ig- 
 nored his urgent invitation to reappear. " I don't 
 care. There are plenty more of you. But I 
 should like to see my invention if I have lost the 
 patent ; it makes a woman charming. Here is 
 one of those circles fate draws so prettily, bring- 
 ing a man back to beg for what he threw away. 
 Does Marguerite realize that I threw it away, and 
 that I am trying to find it again ?" 
 
 Marguerite realized very little just then but 
 her own bewilderment. After supper, as was her 
 charitable wont, she met the waitresses, Susan 
 Gray and a company of maidens from Cologne 
 College, on hand for intellectual crumbs from the 
 Beau Lieu tables. They were all thin, pale, and 
 self-abnegatory ; Mark had dubbed them Saint 
 Ursula and the Eleven Thousand Virgins. This 
 and every other mocking thing which he had 
 said came between the teacher and her pupils as 
 they stood up before her, looking gaunt and grim 
 in the lamplight. 
 
 The girls felt the difference between this lesson 
 and the last. " She's getting tired," explained 
 Susan on the way home. "Every one gets tired 
 here, though it did seem as if nothing could use 
 her up." 
 
 That was what all her friends said, " Mademoi- 
 selle Duvray is getting tired." 
 
 " I'm not anything of the sort," she exclaimed, 
 when her cousin and companion, Mrs. Burnham, 
 took up the common cry.
 
 43 
 
 A few minutes later she asked abruptly, "Fan- 
 nie, what do you think of Mr. Heffron ?" 
 
 Mrs. Burnham deliberated. " He is extremely 
 clever," she said. "But he makes me feel as if 
 my gown did not fit, and that is a very bad sign 
 in a man." 
 
 The nineteenth session of the Beau Lieu Uni- 
 versity and Summer Assembly was drawing to a 
 close. The various leagues and circles had each 
 had their " day." There had been parades and 
 processions, a brass-band had been up from Will- 
 itonquit, and there had been excursions from all 
 over the state. People were beginning to leave. 
 Zeb Hastings was to be met at any hour of the 
 day or night looking for baggage. He invari- 
 ably presented Mark a card, which Mark invari- 
 ably received. 
 
 At last, one morning, an avalanche of wagons 
 went past the Hubbard Cottage, and a torrent of 
 pedestrians followed. As Mark climbed the tei - - 
 race he met Susan Gray and her company coming 
 down. "It's all over," she called, cheerily. "Most 
 everybody's getting out to-day." 
 
 " Have you had a profitable summer?" inquired 
 Mark. 
 
 " Tolerably so : but that isn't what we came 
 for," returned Susan, virtuously. " We came to 
 learn something, and there can't anybody come 
 to Beau Lieu without learning something." Hav- 
 ing voiced the sentiment of the place, Susan and 
 her maidens swept down the hill to the station.
 
 44 
 
 A clatter of chairs and a cloud of dust greeted 
 Mark at the cottage where Marguerite Duvray 
 had surrounded herself with an atmosphere of 
 tranquillity. 
 
 "Yes, sir," said the woman who wielded the 
 broom, " Miss Duvray and her folks left last 
 night they went sudden at the last. No, sir, they 
 didn't leave no word," and she resumed her sweep- 
 ing- 
 Surprised and chagrined, he turned and walked 
 away. Marguerite had told him, the day before, 
 that she meant to remain another month, and she 
 had seemed to encourage his own idea of remain- 
 ing also. He went to the post-office for a possi- 
 ble note of explanation ; there was nothing there, 
 except a growl from New York asking what 
 he was doing and when he would be through. 
 " Through to-night ; leave at ten," he telegraphed, 
 then returned to the Hubbard Cottage, packed 
 his trunk and paid his bill. 
 
 There were still several hours before train-time. 
 He set out to walk them off, taking the path along 
 the shore. It was quite deserted. 
 
 The sun went down in rose and the moon came 
 up in amber. The bay was full of light. Slowly 
 it faded, and clouds covered the sky. 
 
 Hurriedly he retraced his steps, but the rain was 
 upon him, big, pelting drops, which ceased as soon 
 as he had reached a sheltering tree. The moon 
 came out again, brighter than before, and showed 
 him where he was. On that bench by the shore
 
 45 
 
 he had often sat ; the gate of that slender fence 
 had often clicked for him; up that pathway of 
 painted blocks he had walked many a time. 
 There were pools of water between the blocks 
 and in the hollows of the uneven floor of the rus- 
 tic balcony, to which he climbed as once before. 
 
 The moon streaked with silver the crooked lat- 
 tice, and placed a small bright image of herself in 
 the broadest pool. Drawn by this ignis fatuus, 
 a white moth darted down and plunged into the 
 cold water, fluttering piteously. Mark lifted the 
 tiny creature out and watched it fly away.
 
 VII 
 
 THE pastor of the First Church of Wesley, in 
 the State of Kansas, sat in his study with a new 
 text before him. Suddenly the door-bell was 
 pulled with a vehemence which sent its tinkling 
 peal reverberating long through the house. Who- 
 ever was there had forgotten or did not know 
 how easily it responded to the lightest touch. 
 
 The Reverend Jerome Crosby pushed back his 
 chair from the study-table and himself answered 
 the summons, expecting to find a stranger. Lu- 
 cretia Harwood stood on the door-step, her round 
 face alight with the importance of her errand. 
 
 "How do you do? Come in, come in!" cried 
 the reverend gentleman with extraordinary civil- 
 ity, considering how deep he had been in his ser- 
 monizing. 
 
 Lucretia hurried him through the hall to his 
 study, beginning before she had seated herself, 
 " Mr. Crosby, I shall die if I don't go to the 
 World's Fair. I must go, I shall go, and that's 
 all there is to it." 
 
 She extricated herself from the conditional 
 mood and from her bonnet strings in the same 
 breath, and continued : " I've thought about it
 
 47 
 
 day and night, and there's no use talking. I can't 
 pay my own expenses, but I can work, and I'm not 
 afraid to. They want matrons in all the State 
 Buildings, and I'm going to apply for the position 
 in our own." 
 
 " Are you acquainted with any influential per- 
 son from Kansas ?" inquired Mr. Crosby, becom- 
 ing interested. 
 
 " Only yourself," replied Lucretia, artlessly, 
 " and that's what I'm here for. I want you to 
 write a letter to the authorities, saying I'm honest 
 and capable, and I'll take it up to Chicago my- 
 self." 
 
 "What'if the position is already filled?" he 
 asked. 
 
 " Then I'll do something else," she replied, 
 firmly. " There ought to be enough for a sensi- 
 ble, able-bodied woman to do. I'm going to see 
 that Fair if it is the last thing I do. You can't 
 imagine what those buildings are to me. I know 
 them as if I'd built them, I've watched them so 
 close in the newspapers. You ought to see my 
 scrap-book." 
 
 " I should like to, very much," said Mr. Crosby, 
 politely. 
 
 Lucretia had started to her feet in her excite- 
 ment and tied her bonnet strings, but remember- 
 ing the incompleteness of her mission she untied 
 them and sat down again. 
 
 " Where do you propose to stop in Chicago ?" 
 inquired Mr. Crosby. " You know it is a pretty
 
 48 
 
 big city, and not any too honest." He shook his 
 head dubiously, as if a vision of the modern 
 Babel rose before him. 
 
 " That's all settled," returned Lucretia prompt- 
 ly. " Daniel has a cousin's wife coming on to 
 Chicago from the East to take in the World's 
 Fair people. Of course now in March and April 
 she won't be full, and I can get a room reasonable 
 for a few days. I've written to her, and she's 
 sent back word to come on." 
 
 "And what you want of me is a letter." He 
 drew towards him a large sheet of paper, and 
 seized the quill pen, which he used for senti- 
 mental reasons, standing it on its point and caus- 
 ing it to splutter as it moved across the page. 
 
 Lucretia watched him narrowly while he cov- 
 ered one side and began on the other. " I don't 
 believe they'll read all that," she interposed. 
 
 " Just as well to have it," replied the minister, 
 shortly, determined that his first and perhaps 
 only communication to the officials of the Great 
 Exhibit should not be scrimped. He carefully 
 read over the composition, punctuated, folded it, 
 and placed it in a large envelope, where it assumed 
 the proportions of a public document. 
 
 Lucretia received it with a sigh which might 
 indicate gratitude or concern, and moved to- 
 wards the door, followed by her dignified sponsor. 
 " Will Daniel go too ?" he asked. 
 
 " He wants to ; I don't know whether to let 
 him or not."
 
 49 
 
 " You had better. Chicago is no kind of a 
 place for a woman to go around alone in." 
 
 "I'll see about it," she deliberated. "Good-bye, 
 and I thank you from the bottom of my heart, 
 Mr. Crosby !" 
 
 " Good-bye, Lucretia ; God bless you !" 
 
 For once Daniel Harwood manifested a dogged 
 determination to " see about " his own case, and 
 feminine enterprise embarked under masculine 
 auspices. It was Daniel who bought the tickets 
 and Daniel who looked up accommodations ; 
 when the train from Kansas drew under the 
 smoky arches of the Chicago station and the pas- 
 sengers surged out upon the platform, the hope- 
 ful candidate for a position in the Kansas 
 Building hung, with womanly reliance, on the 
 arm of a big brown figure unmistakably Dan- 
 iel's. 
 
 It was the last of March, but very cold. Win- 
 ter lingered in the steely depths of the lake and 
 in the shadow of the bleak, high buildings. "I 
 shall freeze to death," chattered Lucretia, Avith- 
 drawing into her cloak and slipping her stiff fin- 
 gers up her sleeves. 
 
 " It is quite a change," assented Daniel, rub- 
 bing his nose. 
 
 The wind followed them, caught at Lucretia's 
 skirts and the tails of Daniel's coat, drove them, 
 choking and blinded with dust, to the corner, and 
 there beat upon them with the malice of a fiend, 
 while thev waited for a south-bound car.
 
 50 
 
 " Want to find some place ?" queried a police- 
 man built on the scale of the Auditorium. 
 
 " We're going to Jackson Park," said Daniel 
 importantly. 
 
 " The other corner," directed the policeman, 
 pointing thither. " Cars don't stop here. There's 
 a car now. Tell them to let you off at Fifty- 
 ninth Street." 
 
 A cable car came thundering towards them. 
 In his great open cage, the gripman, fur- clad, 
 leaned on his brake like the conventional stuffed 
 bear on his pole. 
 
 The pilgrims scrambled aboard the rear car 
 and stood clinging to the straps ; for Easter was 
 near, and shopping women overflowed the seats. 
 Every jar threw them against one another and 
 into the laps of their neighbors, but they held on 
 bravely, peering out of the windows for glimpses 
 of the city, and hailing signs of the approaching 
 drama to be enacted at Jackson Park ; swaying 
 columns and mouldings bearing on perishable 
 staff the imperishable lines of Corinth and Ionia, 
 straggling groups of men and women from the 
 Midway Plaisance, in gay tunics and picturesque 
 hats, striding along with the unencumbered gait 
 lost to civilization. 
 
 "They can't hold 'em in," commented a scrub- 
 by-looking individual, pointing with his thumb at 
 the .strays, " Wild as a pack o' deei*. 'Fraid as 
 death of the cable, so they hoof it down and back. 
 Be'n out to see the Esquimaux ?" he inquired of
 
 Daniel, who shook his head. " Great sport ; but 
 it's all rot, their lyin' down on the ice, and that 
 sort of thing. Told me they never suffered so 
 much from the cold in their lives as they do here, 
 the air is so damp. They'll get it hot enough 
 this summer," and he grinned at the thought. " I 
 heard they was goin' on a strike to leave off their 
 furs. The manager won't hear to it ; says that's 
 what makes them interesting. Be'n out to the 
 grounds, ma'am ?" he inquired of Lucretia, who 
 backed away from his easy familiarity, murmur- 
 ing an unintelligible response. In her retreat 
 she felt herself caught and held by a pair of deep 
 black eyes. They belonged to a large, handsome 
 man who stood near, twisting a pair of gray mus- 
 taches, thrusting out his full red lips and turning 
 his head restlessly to and fro. Lucretia noted 
 with awe the curious gold medal suspended from 
 a brooch under his chin. The studies of the past 
 year told her it was an " order," and that he was 
 one for whom his own work had gained distinc- 
 tion in science or art. So absorbed was she in 
 watching him, as he wrote in his note-book and 
 scowled and whispered to himself, that Fifty- 
 ninth Street faded utterly from her mind, and it 
 was Daniel who bestirred himself and stopped 
 the car. 
 
 Some time elapsed before they could cross the 
 street, debarred as they were by a procession of 
 huge drays, bristling with chair and table legs or 
 piled high with mattresses, destined for the hotels
 
 52 
 
 which had sprung up, like mushrooms, in the vi- 
 cinity of the park. 
 
 Suddenly Lucretia revived and looked about 
 her. "This ain't Fifty-ninth Street!" she ex- 
 claimed. "We'll have to walk back. Come on, 
 Daniel !" 
 
 She plunged into the crowd. Daniel followed 
 leisurely. He will never forget that hurrying 
 figure, how it appeared and disappeared, how it 
 led him to the corner, made a mad rush before 
 a car, gesticulating wildly, then suddenly went 
 down out of sight. Two men had jumped from 
 the car and helped her to her feet when he reached 
 the spot. They were wiping the dirt from her 
 face and examining her with professional solici- 
 tude. 
 
 "For pity's sake!" she ejaculated; and then, 
 " My soul alive !" 
 
 "A fracture here," said the elder of the two 
 doctors, touching her right wrist, from which the 
 hand drooped dismally. "A Colles fracture see ? 
 She's all right except that." His companion nod- 
 ded. " Get a splint as quick as you can," ordered 
 the elder. " Go into that drug-store over there 
 and ask for a piece of board a foot and a half 
 long. I'll bring her right over. Now, if you 
 will take my arm, madam. Do you feel able to 
 walk?" 
 
 " Oh, my, yes," replied Lucretia, but came to a 
 sudden halt. " There's something the matter 
 with my limb," she said, apologetically.
 
 53 
 
 "Let me see," said the surgeon gently; "take 
 a swallow of this," and he pulled a tiny flask from 
 his pocket. 
 
 With indescribable dignity she drew herself up 
 before him. "Sir," she said, stonily, "you are 
 addressing the President of the Wesley Branch 
 of the W. C. T. U." 
 
 There was a heterodox smile in the surgeon's 
 eyes as he begged her pardon and returned the 
 flask to his pocket, but Lucretia did not see it. 
 She allowed him to assist her to the curbstone, 
 and submitted to an examination of the injured 
 member. By this time the younger man had re- 
 turned, accompanied by a tall, graceful girl, whom 
 he introduced as " My cousin, Miss Gordon;" add- 
 ing, "the drug-store is in Miss Gordon's hotel, 
 the Lake View. I don't mean that she owns it; 
 she boards there. Don't you think we can carry 
 the lady across the street ?" 
 
 "The lady" looked up from the curbstone. 
 
 " Perhaps Miss Gordon " she began, hesitat- 
 ingly- 
 
 " I shall be glad to render you any assist- 
 ance in my power, Mrs. Harwood," said Eloise, 
 quickly. 
 
 Her cousin glanced in surprise from one to the 
 other. 
 
 "I met Mrs. Harwood at Beau Lieu two years 
 ago," explained Eloise. " If you and Dr. Hum- 
 phrey can make a 'chair,' this way, with your 
 hands, it will be easy to carry her. This gentle-
 
 54 
 
 man," indicating Daniel, "can take charge of the 
 injured foot." 
 
 So, with the doctors stooping over her, and 
 Daniel clinging to the foot as he backed before 
 them, while Eloise hurried ahead to open the door, 
 Mrs. Harwood made her solemn entry. 
 
 The room to which Eloise conducted them was 
 on the top floor, the tenth, a large, airy apartment, 
 thickly hung with sketches in black-and-white and 
 coloi'. As they entered, a door was softly pushed 
 together by some one in an adjoining room. An- 
 other door, through which came glimpses of a can- 
 opied bed, with a gay silk dressing-gown thrown 
 across the foot, was hurriedly closed by Eloise, who 
 cleared the way to a broad couch by the window. 
 
 " I'm making an awful lot of trouble!" exclaimed 
 the injured woman. Her face looked drawn and 
 white among the bright pillows. 
 
 " It is a pleasure," responded Eloise, wondering, 
 nevertheless, if Mrs. Harwood recognized Eros 
 and still resented Eve, smiling as complacently 
 down on her as when they disputed her possession 
 of Langley Hall. If Mrs. Harwood saw the ob- 
 noxious figures she gave no sign. Patiently she 
 endured the manipulations of the surgeon and 
 without complaint listened to his verdict: "It will 
 be six weeks before you can use this hand. I 
 have put on a permanent bandage which can re- 
 main three weeks. The ankle is only wrenched a 
 little and will be all right to-morrow. The hand, 
 of course, you cannot use."
 
 55 
 
 " That settles it," said Lucretia, grimly. " Dan- 
 iel, we'll go back to Kansas to-night." 
 
 But they did not. They took a room across the 
 hall from Eloi8e and Aunt Harriet, in whose man- 
 ner native courtesy struggled with memories of 
 that unfortunate encounter at Beau Lieu. 
 
 Courtesy prevailed, however, and, as Mrs. Har- 
 wood told the neighbors on her return home, her 
 " own sister couldn't have been kinder or more 
 attentive." 
 
 Ready to depart, her well hand on Daniel's 
 shoulder, the lame one in a sling, she stood utter- 
 ing her farewells when a sudden thought occurred 
 to Eloise. 
 
 " You haven't seen the Fair buildings yet !" she 
 cried. "Come into the studio. I have a glass." 
 She led her companion across the hall, and drew 
 up the curtain as high as it would go. "There !" 
 she exclaimed, triumphantly, putting the glass into 
 Lucretia's hand, which trembled as she lifted it. 
 
 Below her lay the spft yellows, reds, and grays 
 of many houses, tipped with chimneys and turrets, 
 and separated here and there by narrow parks, 
 where gayly clad children fluttered like early 
 butterflies. 
 
 The fog had lifted, and on the left the lake 
 blossomed into violet under the influence of the 
 spring sunshine. 
 
 But what was this, what vision as of an un- 
 earthly city, uplifted into the mellow southern 
 sky ? It was indeed the city of her longing, the
 
 56 
 
 City of Delight, the home of art, beauty, and 
 aspiration, the dream of artist, architect, and poet, 
 of mechanic and musician, of statesman and so- 
 cialist. 
 
 Above the debris of enormous preparation and 
 of enormous disuse, out of sheath and scaffold- 
 ing, beyond the grasp of avarice and the machina- 
 tion of fraud, unmarred by loss of life or thwart- 
 ing of hope, radiant as Aphrodite from the foam 
 of her ocean birth, rose the White City. 
 
 Lucretia gazed with parted lips ; in spite of the 
 unreality of its exquisite beauty, the picture was 
 so familiar in every line. 
 
 There climbed the dome of the Administration 
 Building; the sunlight flashed upon the figures at 
 its base. There stretched the broad back of the 
 Temple of Manufactures. There were the stately 
 colonnades of the Art Gallery. She knew every 
 one. She recognized the low roof of the Fisheries 
 and the glass globe which topped Horticultural 
 Hall. 
 
 " The others are there, somewhere, I suppose," 
 she murmured, laying down the glass, which sud- 
 denly blurred. 
 
 "You ought to drive out there before you 
 leave," said Aunt Harriet, gently. 
 
 "No, I must go right home," said Mrs. liar- 
 wood, her eyes filling. In her heart she vaguely 
 felt that she had somehow been granted all the 
 joy of the coveted summer in one swift glance, 
 and that if she tried to gain more it would be less.
 
 57 
 
 " Perhaps you can return," suggested Aunt 
 Harriet. 
 
 "Bimeby," supplemented Daniel. They thought 
 she was mourning her lost opportunity. Only 
 Eloise, from a point of view not unlike that of 
 her singular guest, understood her fully. 
 
 " How queer it all is !" she mused, re-entering 
 the studio, after seeing Lucretia and Daniel care- 
 fully packed into the hansom which was to con- 
 vey them to the station. 
 
 " What, dear?" inquired Aunt Harriet, mildly. 
 
 "The the divine machine," laughed Eloise, 
 mirthlessly. " It sometimes seems as if the Engi- 
 neer had set it running and could not stop it." 
 
 She prepared to continue her work, but her 
 brushes refused to obey her nearly a year since 
 she had vowed to forget Beau Lieu, and here it 
 was thrust again upon her ! 
 
 She took out Philip's last letter and read it 
 resolutely. Faith and faithfulness were in every 
 line. "And that is what I want," she assured 
 herself, but herself knew better.
 
 VIII 
 
 " SOME one's taken my apern," chanted William 
 Pleasant. It was early morning, and the only 
 occupants of the dining-room were the boys in 
 their trim jackets and the head-waiter stalking 
 to and fro. "Some man has taken my apern," 
 repeated Pleasant, ''and I'm goin' to talk about 
 his people. I see a gray goose flyin' over. His 
 father's a thief and his mother's a thief " 
 
 "Here's your apern," cried Caleb, thrusting it 
 towards him, "I only borrowed it." 
 
 "You call it borrowin', but it don't come back. 
 At my home Out West " 
 
 " Out West !" interrupted Caleb, scornfully. 
 "Don't have men black as you Out West. West 
 Virginny, you mean. Some little place, a feller 
 ridin' thoo could see every house lookin' over his 
 shoulder." 
 
 " Where you live," rejoined Pleasant, contempt- 
 uously, " the engine get thoo the town befo' it 
 stop whistlin' !" 
 
 "Attention, boys!" called the head-waiter, and 
 the combatants fell into line ready to respond 
 when the roll was called. 
 
 The dining-room of the Lake View Hotel is
 
 59 
 
 one of the most attractive in Chicago, light and 
 lofty, with many windows in the walls and stained 
 glass in the roof. It was especially inviting that 
 morning with the sunshine upon the tables and 
 upon the trim figures of the waiters standing, 
 each in his place, motionless and dumb, while the 
 great doors swung open with impressive delibera- 
 tion. Gradually the room filled. Pleasant watched 
 anxiously : a number of men in business suits 
 flourishing the morning paper; two or three women 
 in their hats if his " folks " did not appear soon 
 he might be sent to another table ; Mrs. Shipman 
 and her daughter the head-waiter was looking 
 his way. Pleasant glanced out of a neighboring 
 window until the head-waiter looked at some one 
 else the Colocynths, the Thompsons ah, there 
 they were at last ! He pulled out Miss Gordon's 
 chair with a flourish, and shoved Miss Larrabee's 
 tenderly into place, threw down their napkins as 
 one throws a bouquet to a prima donna, and with 
 his elbow high in air tilled their waiting glasses. 
 
 It is a source of incalculable satisfaction to an 
 artist to have the details of his work recognized 
 and appreciated. Pleasant was an artist ; no other 
 waiter at the Lake View read, as did he, chops, 
 steak, or soft-boiled egg in a patron's face, and had 
 the order half ready before the word was given ; 
 no other waiter gauged the ripeness of the fruit 
 to the very point of perfection, and calculated the 
 exact moment at which to offer the finger-bowl ; 
 no other waiter knew instinctively when it would
 
 60 
 
 be presumption to offer cakes and syrup, and when 
 toast, nut brown and smoking hot, offered an irre- 
 sistible appeal to a jaded stomach. 
 
 On the other hand, only Pleasant's "folks" could 
 give to these delicate attentions their full value. 
 Peter Glenn, who sat at the same table with his 
 wife and two children, would stupidly repeat his 
 order when Pleasant had it two-thirds ready, and 
 was as blind as a bat to the arrangement of the 
 napkins. So, although Peter was prodigal with 
 his quarters and Eloise was forced to be sparing 
 with hers, it was Eloise who was served like a 
 princess while Peter was forced to be content 
 with what was appropriate to a well-to-do Ameri- 
 can gentleman boarding at a first-rate American 
 hotel. Moreover, there was a genuine princess in 
 the Lake View at the same time, to say nothing 
 of a marquis and two or three counts, who would 
 have been glad to pay good Columbian dollars for 
 such service. Proximity to Jackson Park and to 
 the Illinois Central had rendered the Lake View 
 very popular, World's Fair year, especially with 
 World's Fair officials, who made the place gay with 
 uniforms and decorations. Mrs. Shipman said " the 
 atmosphere of the house was really European," 
 and Mrs. Shipman ought to know ; she had been 
 "across" three times with her husband, who trav- 
 elled for the Liebensteins (Shirt and Hose). 
 
 Mrs. Shipman said some other things which 
 also carried weight, unfortunately for the Colo- 
 cynths, with whom she had been " intimate " the
 
 Gl 
 
 winter before. Mrs. Colocynth told Aunt Harriet 
 all about it, as they rocked a duet in the rotunda 
 after breakfast, and Aunt Harriet came up-stairs 
 and told her niece. It seemed that Mrs. Shipman 
 had " made a great deal " of Corinne Colocynth, 
 aged nine, and had given Corinne's mother sev- 
 eral "remnants" for the child, declaring that she 
 herself should never wear in Chicago the dresses 
 to which they belonged. Since the quarrel, how- 
 ever, Mrs. Shipman had taken a malicious delight 
 in wearing those very dresses, and Corinne was 
 forced to return to her old clothes or appear to 
 have been " left over " from Mrs. Shipman. More- 
 over, Mrs. Shipman had said that the French artist 
 who had been doing a portrait of Corinne was only 
 a fresco-painter. Mrs. Colocynth wished that she 
 had known Miss Gordon did portraits. Aunt 
 Harriet had a great deal of sympathy for Mrs. 
 Colocynth. " And you are as white as that paper," 
 exclaimed Eloise, pointing to the sheet upon her 
 easel. " Why do you stay down there with those 
 people ? They always give you a headache." 
 
 "You know why I do it," cried Aunt Harriet, 
 reproachfully. Eloise made no reply. Since their 
 advent at the Lake View, a year and a half ago, 
 Miss Larrabee had assumed a new and most inap- 
 propriate role. From being a silent partner of 
 the modest firm, looking after the mending and 
 offering sympathy and counsel when these were 
 needed, she had become conspicuously active, 
 meddling with the bills and, worse yet, attempt-
 
 ing with transparent diplomacy to "drum up 
 trade " for her niece. Not that trade came by 
 drumming; the shrewd Northern women whom 
 she undertook to beguile into buying pictures 
 took her hyperboles for what they were worth, 
 and when she told of the orders " flowing in " 
 made no effort to swell the stream. 
 
 There is nothing more pathetic than the attempt 
 to be sharp on the part of those who were born 
 honest. Eloise, however, felt the humiliation too 
 sorely to recognize the pathos. "There isn't one 
 of those women who would put ten dollars into a 
 sketch," she said, hotly. 
 
 "The princess might," suggested Aunt Harriet, 
 with meekness. 
 
 Eloise laughed outright. " The woman with the 
 souvenir spoons ?" she inquired, mischievously. 
 
 Aunt Harriet looked puzzled. 
 
 " Italia and Grsecia and Columbia," explained 
 Eloise, humorously. " The babies named for the 
 places they were born in." 
 
 It was Aunt Harriet's turn to look annoyed. 
 " Eloise," she said, sorrowfully, " the change in 
 your attitude towards life and and things grieves 
 me beyond measure." She went into her own 
 room, and there was silence in the studio while 
 Eloise painted industriously. 
 
 What Aunt Harriet had said of her was true. 
 She had changed; but it was necessary, she told 
 herself. The change should have come earlier, 
 and here her hand trembled and gave the Great
 
 63 
 
 God Hermes a most ungodly leer. She laid down 
 her brush and waited till her hand should grow 
 steady. Her mind returned to Philip, for it was 
 Philip whom her aunt meant under the vague 
 allusions. Philip was the thorn in her side, the 
 cloud in her sky, the gravel in her porridge all the 
 sharper, the heavier, the more grinding because 
 his name was not mentioned. When Aunt Harriet 
 paraded the darn in her stocking and last year's 
 rose on her bonnet, when she sacrificed her own 
 dignity and that of her niece in vain attempts to 
 gather custom, when she pined for a little bright- 
 ness in her monotonous life, she was reminding 
 her rebellious niece that "things might be dif- 
 ferent." 
 
 If Eloise had been less kind to Philip before 
 they left Beau Lieu neither he nor Aunt Harriet 
 would have been so persistent ; but they had 
 planted a vigorous hope then and there, and they 
 guarded it jealousl} 7 -, waiting for a return of the 
 gentleness and dependence which had been its 
 sunshine and dew. They decided to let the girl 
 have her way, to let her struggle with the world 
 until she had enough of it. 
 
 Eloise seemed only to toughen with the struggle. 
 She lectured and taught and painted better than 
 ever before. She grew taller and more upright 
 and more defiant, carrying herself like a young 
 Diana, and, like her, hating any one who came too 
 near. Once she had been taken off her guard, 
 once she had been lured out of her defences; she
 
 64 
 
 shut her teeth and clinched her hands whenever 
 she thought of it, and of the limp, helpless creat- 
 ure she had become at that time. It was a wonder 
 that she had not surrendered to Philip's tender- 
 ness then, or in the year which followed. She 
 went over it dreamily : her first glimpse of Chicago ; 
 that ride up Cottage Grove Avenue in the cable- 
 car; the heat, the dirt, the smells; the flaring ad- 
 vertisements of whiskies to make one drunk and 
 of seltzers to make one sober; of dissipations to 
 take out the color in one's cheeks and cosmetics 
 to put it on again; the sentimental Indians before 
 the tobacconists; the bilious bears and mangy 
 buffaloes before the furriers; and the people oh, 
 the people! They were much as they are in every 
 large city when Money and Leisure have left 
 town, and the long spoon of August lias been 
 stirring and bringing the dregs to the surface ; 
 but to the tired traveller there had never been, 
 never could be, anything so horrible. Then, 
 through the filth and the noise and the hopeless 
 vulgarity, she had found her way to the group of 
 white buildings in Jackson Park. And that was 
 Chicago, too ! 
 
 She had learned afterwards that these were not 
 all; that in Chicago, as well as elsewhere, there are 
 representatives of every class ; but J-he first im- 
 pression lingered and influenced the development 
 which Aunt Harriet called " the change in her 
 attitude." It was less a change than a differentia- 
 tion, a separation of her subtler, more artistic part
 
 65 
 
 from the part of her which met and mastered her 
 financial problems, dealt hardly with Philip, shook 
 off Aunt Harriet, and snubbed the uninteresting 
 women in the house. She thought she had solved 
 the riddle of existence; she had only avoided it. 
 But this avoidance served to steady her hand now, 
 as it' had done many times before; she took up 
 her brushes and restored his dignity to the Great 
 God Hermes. 
 
 The first of May brought changes. Rents went 
 up with a spring, and a general upheaval ensued. 
 The usual unhappy spectacle of moving day was 
 rendered more melancholy this year by the fact 
 that in nearly every instance tenants were driven 
 out to make room for World's Fair people. 
 
 Everywhere the waving flags of the proces- 
 sions met the top-heavy drays, into which had 
 gone, as into the ark, a specimen of what was to 
 be saved. Before the rising tide of dukes and 
 duchesses, lords and ladies, ambassadors and ex- 
 hibitors, this flotsam and jetsam drifted into the 
 corners, while mayor and alderman, committee 
 and delegates pressed gayly forward, bowing and 
 rubbing their hands. After all, it was not Royal- 
 ty or Progress whose approach they hailed, but 
 another, graver divinity, the Pluto of our modern 
 faith Business. It was the triumph of Business, 
 who is the god of the multitude; so all were 
 submissive, even those who were sacrificed. After 
 the upheaval had subsided, the poorest and most 
 remote took heart again and joined in the general
 
 effort to " make a dollar," renting rooms and sell- 
 ing meals, all that they could spare and more, 
 as the death-rates for that year testify. 
 
 The Lake View was no exception to the rule. 
 The old guests were turned out or crowded to- 
 gether to make room for the new ones. Eloise 
 and Aunt Harriet gave up their bedrooms and 
 slept in the studio, one on the couch and the other 
 in a folding-bed which simulated a writing-desk. 
 Eloise had an exhibit of miniatures at the Fair; 
 this gave her a pass, and she spent much of her 
 time at Jackson Park preparing a course of lect- 
 ures to be delivered at Beau Lieu in July, for 
 the summer university was to follow the ex- 
 ample of the magazines and have a World's Fair 
 " number."
 
 IX 
 
 THREE men were smoking their evening cigars 
 in a cozy library in South Chicago : an old man, 
 evidently the host, and two young men, his guests. 
 It was a pleasant room, rendered more pleasant 
 to-night by contrast with the dull drizzle without 
 and with the chill which came up from the lake, 
 although it was May. There were books on 
 shelves which ran almost from floor to ceiling, 
 leaving space only for windows and doors and 
 for a huge portrait of Emerson set like a jewel in 
 a shrine among the volumes; there were books on 
 the broad inlaid table which held nothing else 
 except a lamp with a porcelain shade ; and there 
 were books in the corners piled high in happy 
 confusion. 
 
 The face of the old man reflected the refine- 
 ment and scholarship amid which he sat, but his 
 dark eyes looked out appealingly under their white 
 brows, and one suspected a sensitive tremulous- 
 ness of the lips hidden by the close white beai'd. 
 His frame, too, although large, was loosely put 
 together, and had a helpless look as if the owner 
 had never learned to utilize its strength. 
 
 Quite otherwise appeared the man who sat op-
 
 68 
 
 posite him, alive in every part, covering every 
 object at which he gazed, seeming larger than he 
 actually was for the vitality which emanated from 
 him like an atmosphere. The third member of 
 the party was younger, smaller, slighter, with 
 golden hair and beard and laughing gray eyes. 
 
 The two young men were telling a story, each 
 interrupting the other, somewhat as follows : 
 
 " I was coaching Joe in Greek at the time, and 
 had promised his mother to keep him out of mis- 
 chief." 
 
 " Danger, Mark," corrected the other. 
 
 "That was the only mischief she feared, poor 
 soul ! One night there was to be a cane-rush be- 
 tween Freshmen and Sophomores, and she came 
 to me and begged me to keep him in." 
 
 "A lot you did! I'd have gone if I had 
 chosen." 
 
 "Be quiet, Joe. My gentle Freshman was so 
 submissive that I gave him a long rope after that, 
 and he did as he pleased. At last, one cold winter 
 night r he surprised me with an invitation to go 
 down to South Boston to see a prize-fight." 
 
 " You should have seen his face, uncle," broke 
 in the young man, laughing. 
 
 "Well," continued Mark, " I remembered some- 
 thing I had read about the sanguinary appetites 
 of refined women, and 
 
 "Come off !" interrupted Jo. 
 
 " and being interested in psychological in- 
 vestigations I concluded that I would go and
 
 see the effect of this terrible scene upon my 
 cnarge." 
 
 "Symonds, too don't forget Pions John Sy- 
 raonds. He went along for psychological pur- 
 poses, too. He was studying for the ministry, 
 uncle." 
 
 " Our Freshman appeared promptly," continued 
 the story-teller, " wrapped from neck to heels in 
 a long ulster, and with his cap pulled down to 
 meet his collar. I thought nothing of that, the 
 night was cold. But he certainly manifested an 
 astonishing familiarity with South Boston and 
 with the toughs who filled the hall into which he 
 led us the Avorst crowd I ever saw." 
 
 " Nonsense !" 
 
 " Our young friend took us to a conspicuous 
 position near the ring, and then slid off, leaving 
 us to listen to the comments going on around us. 
 A new star, an amateur The Melrose Bantam 
 was going to try conclusions with a wiry old sin- 
 ner who had already appeared, scowling defiance 
 on all sides. By-and-by the Bantam came out to 
 meet him you could have knocked me over with 
 a feather; it was my gentle, golden-haired cherub! 
 I was dreaming out a plan to carry home the 
 pieces and tell his mother there had been a wreck 
 on the train as we came from Mission Sunday- 
 school when I suddenly awoke to a realization of 
 the fact that the cherub had won the purse by 
 the most scientific dodging that South Boston 
 ever saw."
 
 70 
 
 " And the way he shot me into my ulster and 
 patted me on the back, and scolded me and patteM 
 me some more " cried the hero. 
 
 "And never let him out of my sight again 
 until he was safely graduated," concluded 
 Mark. 
 
 " But then he cut sticks for a beastly hole up 
 in the Northwest, and I never got sight of him 
 again all summer," complained Joe. " What's 
 more, he dug back there again two years ago and 
 has never been the same since. Sits up all night 
 reading ghastly books on hypnotism and Black 
 Art, and I don't know what it's all about." 
 
 Mark smiled. " Don't try to talk about it then, 
 Joey," he said, patronizingly. " Have a light, 
 Mr. Norton ?" 
 
 The old man received the proffered courtesy, 
 and devoted himself in silence to his cigar for 
 some minutes. At last he said, slowly, "I've 
 often wondered how much truth there is in all 
 that what they call hypnotism." 
 
 "Ask Mark," replied his nephew; "be can 
 tell you. He's a regular wizard." Mark looked 
 as if he did not hear. 
 
 Mr. Norton leaned forward in his chair and re- 
 garded him earnestly. " Do you think there is 
 really anything in it?" he asked. 
 
 "I was with Charcot one day when he brought 
 up a blue swelling on a woman's wrist and dis- 
 pelled it in fifteen minutes," said Mark, " and I 
 know a physician, a reliable man, who saw the
 
 71 
 
 red cross which Backman put on his servant- 
 girl's arm every Friday for three months." 
 
 "Meanwhile this investigator was supposed to 
 be doing business for the firm," put in Joey. 
 
 "Did the firm suffer?" inquired Mark. 
 
 " Can't say that it did, but " 
 
 "How do you explain it, Mark ?" exploded Mr. 
 Norton. "How do you explain it?" 
 
 Mark drew in a long breath and sent it out 
 again laden with azure smoke. "There is only 
 one explanation possible," he said, quietly. " It 
 is to be found in the subjection of the body to 
 the mind, and the submission of one mind to 
 another." 
 
 "But that seems so horrible !" cried Mr. Nor- 
 ton, bringing his hand down on the table with a 
 force which made the lamp-shade rattle. "Such 
 a terrible power to put into the hands of one per- 
 son over another." 
 
 "It is a responsibility," said Mark, gravely. 
 " But you must remember that we are discussing 
 a universal law, not a particular endowment. The 
 very susceptibility of that poor woman to Char- 
 cot's influence was the indication that she shared 
 with the operator the power of suggestion. Her 
 submission was the other half of his control." 
 
 "That doesn't help me any," returned Mr. Nor- 
 ton, disconsolately. " The fact that one person is 
 made to receive an impression and another is 
 made to give it is just what I deplore." 
 
 "But see here," returned Mark, with a lumi-
 
 72 
 
 nous smile, "What if you determine beforehand 
 what sort of an impression you shall receive ?" 
 
 " Can you do that ?" 
 
 "Assuredly." 
 
 "Do you mean to say that I can fortify my- 
 self, that I can get myself ready before the oper- 
 ator takes hold of me, and that he cannot hurt 
 me, cannot give me any idea which I have de- 
 cided not to receive ?" 
 
 " Precisely ; an auto-suggestion is more power- 
 ful than any suggestion from another." 
 
 " Then susceptibility " 
 
 "Is one's own weapon, after all," finished Mark, 
 "which doesn't let out the operator he is still 
 accountable." 
 
 There was another pause, during which Joey 
 routed a huge tiger-cat out of his nest in a corner, 
 and pretended to make passes over him, a perform- 
 ance at which Dan blinked benevolently. 
 
 " Mark," continued the elder man, at length, 
 "I believe that auto-suggestion of yours would 
 explain a great many things, a great many phe- 
 nomena of science and religion which have puz- 
 zled and bewildered us all our lives." 
 
 "Undoubtedly," returned Mark, with emphasis. 
 "It is by auto-suggestion that the pilgrim to 
 Loudres is healed. It is by the same law that 
 faces take on characteristic lines according to the 
 occupation of their owners. As Paracelsus says, 
 'The mind is the master, the imagination is the 
 tool, the body is the plastic material.' "
 
 73 
 
 " If you've begun on Paracelsus I'm going to 
 bed," cried young Norton, putting down the cat, 
 which stretched and yawned and walked solemn- 
 ly back to the cushions in the corner. 
 
 "All right, Joey," replied Mark, "I'll be up 
 presently." 
 
 "No you won't," replied Joey sceptically. "I 
 know you. But I can't help myself. Good-night !" 
 
 After he had left the room, his uncle walked 
 restlessly up and down, evidently stirred by some 
 deep emotion. Finally he stopped in front of 
 Mark and said, softly, " Mark, I want to tell you 
 something. When I was a boy of sixteen I had 
 what they called then a change of heart. I expe- 
 rienced religion, as they used to say. There was 
 a new heaven and a new earth for me. I was in 
 love and charity with all men. It was natural to 
 be good ; it was unnatural not to be good. By- 
 and-by " the old man sighed^and shook his head. 
 " By-and-by I got over it and became pretty much 
 like every one else, hard and cold and selfish 
 and unhappy. But, Mark, I'd give all I possess 
 to feel as I did Avhen I had that change of heart. 
 Do you suppose that was auto-suggestion ?" 
 
 Mark looked up quickly, but it was some time 
 before he spoke. His voice was very gentle as 
 he said, " I suppose it was." 
 
 "Then," inquired the old man, eagerly, "Why 
 can't I do it again ? I've tried. I've read good 
 books and been to church ; but I can't get hold 
 of it. I can't get hold of it.
 
 74 
 
 Mark rose and laid his long right arm across 
 the old man's shoulder. "Do you know why? 
 Because you didn't believe half of what you 
 read ; you believed almost nothing of what you 
 heard."" 
 
 A faint smile broke over the other's face. "I 
 guess that is about so," he replied. " But, Mark, 
 you can't believe to order." 
 
 "No, you can't, but you can have it out with 
 yourself and know where you stand." 
 
 "And then?" 
 
 " Then when you are sure of something, act as 
 if you were sure. That is what you did Avhen 
 you ' experienced religion.' " 
 
 " I don't quite understand." 
 
 " Perhaps I can explain by telling you my own 
 expei'ience. When I was in college twelve years 
 ago (sit down, it's a long story), all this Modern 
 Philosophy, as we^call it now, was looked upon 
 as possible but not proven. I wanted to believe it, 
 and so I did, after a fashion. I swore by Spinoza 
 and defended Berkeley ; I dipped into Buddhism 
 and tried to be a Yogi ; in short, I played all 
 sorts of tricks with myself, and then, on gradua- 
 tion, went up to the Beau Lieu summer school to 
 teach Greek. Among my scholars was a young 
 French girl, a delicate, determined little creature, 
 who swallowed everything I said ; and I said a 
 great deal. The queer part of it was she set to 
 work to apply what I preached, and when I came 
 back ten years later, having lost all my beautiful
 
 theories, she was a living example of what could be 
 done with them. Like Una, she ' made sunshine in 
 the shady place.' Everywhere she carried bright- 
 ness and courage and a new hope. I went back to 
 New York possessed with a determination to hunt 
 up my old note-books and see what I could do in 
 the way of Idealism." Mark stopped and broke 
 into a laugh. " Of all the moonshine !" he con- 
 tinued, " I might as well try to live on cobwebs 
 strung with dew. But I knew it teas there. Fort- 
 unately I fell in with some scientific men and 
 had an opportunity to watch their experiments. 
 There I had the actual proof that thought can 
 control and can be controlled. I began to see the 
 inside working of the human engine. But I tell 
 you what, Mr. Norton, I realized as I never had 
 before the awful significance of the soul, its ap- 
 palling opportunities for self-preservation and 
 self-destruction. How any one can deny Free- 
 will in the face of the unlimited chances a man 
 has to make a mess of it beats me !" 
 
 " I don't care anything about that. I don't 
 care anything about the will," broke in the old 
 man, impatiently ; " what I want is faith, the 
 faith of my boyhood, the realization of the power 
 outside of ourselves, not of ourselves, which makes 
 for righteousness !" 
 
 " Realization ?" repeated Mark. " There it is. 
 You want one thing and you are looking for an- 
 other. You want something tangible, something 
 to satisfy your reason, and you are looking for
 
 76 
 
 the intangible sentiment of your boyhood That 
 is quite a different affair, and you won't get it 
 again if you are anything like the rest of us." 
 
 " But the other is so cold, so cold," murmured 
 the old man. "A mere matter of the intellect. 
 There is no heart in it." 
 
 "What was your boyish feeling? The intel- 
 lect was there, only exercising another function. 
 You make as much of the heart as the doctors 
 used to make of the liver. We have learned that 
 botli are the healthier for being sometimes ig- 
 nored." 
 
 "And you haven't told me yet what faith is," 
 pursued the old man, querulously. 
 
 " ' Faith is the fealty of the soul to reason,' " 
 quoted Mark. 
 
 " Now, what do you mean by that ?" 
 
 " The adhesion of the soul to its reasonable 
 hypotheses. You must have hypotheses, even in 
 science, but they must be reasonable, or you have 
 superstition instead of faith." 
 
 "But you can't govern that by the will, "broke 
 in the other impatiently. "How has the will 
 anything to do with faith that's what I want to 
 know." 
 
 "To see the truth is a matter of the will, isn't 
 it ? To acknowledge it when seen is a matter of 
 the will. To hold fast to it when acknowledged 
 is a matter of the will, always," returned Mark. 
 
 His vehemence warmed for an instant the aged 
 face turned wistfully towards him. Then the
 
 77 
 
 light faded, and the chill came back like a veil. 
 " It wouldn't be like the other," sighed the old 
 man. " Your faith is very different from mine, 
 very different. Well, good-night, Mark, good- 
 night." 
 
 " Good-night and good-bye," said Mark, hold- 
 ing with a close grasp the hand which was offered 
 him. 
 
 " Good-bye ?" 
 
 "Yes, we must get away early, to-morrow, be- 
 fore you are out of bed or ought to be out of it." 
 " Can't you wait for breakfast ?" 
 " We shall get breakfast aboard the train." 
 " Well, well ! But you will be back ?" 
 " In September, probably. There is talk of my 
 coming here to establish a branch of the business. 
 Good-bye." 
 
 Long after he had heard his host climb the 
 stairs, Mark sat thinking, in his own room, of 
 what had been said. 
 
 "The snake is wise," he mused. "It sloughs 
 its old skin ; the bird moults and the bear sheds 
 its fur; but a man will hug an old opinion to the 
 exclusion of all new ones. That will not I !" and 
 he went complacently to bed, not realizing that 
 facility in the exercise of a virtue proclaims the 
 ease with which it may become a vice.
 
 THE idea of the Columbian Celebration devel- 
 oped much as the strawberry grows by offshoots 
 from a central purpose. There was the vigorous 
 architectural plant at Jackson Park, there was the 
 clump of congresses at the new Art Institute, and 
 there were innumerable " runners " setting out 
 from these and corning up into tufts of investiga- 
 tion and argument all over the city. 
 
 One of these may be designated the Hindoo 
 tuft. It struck root in favorable soil. Philoso- 
 phies and cults more or less incomprehensible had 
 harrowed the spot for several years. A number 
 of women and some men had openly avowed their 
 intention of living on a higher plane than that 
 which satisfied their neighbors. To this end, 
 they had studied "abstraction" and "projected 
 thought" until their heads swam ; but they needed 
 a guide, a leader. The climate, the surroundings, 
 and a certain practical bent induced by the open- 
 eyed, hard-fisted struggle of their fathers rendered 
 it extremely difficult for them to relax. The Hin- 
 doo, Haridass Goculdass, not only told them how 
 it was done, but did it, and did nothing else, 
 wrapping himself with meditation as with a gar-
 
 7'J 
 
 ment, sublimely unconscious of material needs. 
 He had learned by experience how easy it was to 
 find some one to manage that part for him. In 
 this instance, the Ross girls were the proud and 
 happy ministrants to Goculdass's physical com- 
 fort. The Jewetts and the Laphams and plenty 
 of others would have welcomed the opportunity 
 had it come their way, but the Rosses inherited 
 him from their cousins in Boston, who discovered 
 him soon after his arrival in America. 
 
 The Rosses leaped into immediate and conspic- 
 uous popularity. Carriages with liveried foot- 
 men stood before their door all day. Invitations 
 poured in for luncheon, dinner, and breakfast, ad- 
 dressed to the three women and their distinguished 
 guest. Goculdass affected an elegant seclusion, 
 accepted few invitations, and absolutely refused 
 to speak in public. His methods were not those 
 of ordinary lecturers; he issued no tickets, charged 
 no admittance, employed no manager, and was 
 content with voluntary contributions, which Julia 
 Ross received for him. Permitted an unlimited 
 generosity, his patrons paid as much as they 
 pleased for the privilege of hearing how much 
 wiser and holier than the Americans the Hindoos 
 are, together with a great many wonderful and 
 excellent teachings from the Atharva Veda and 
 the Upanishads. It was not for himself that 
 Haridass Goculdass received any return for his 
 priceless lessons, but for the school in which he 
 had been instructed, and which seemed to be as
 
 80 
 
 poor in a worldly sense as it was rich in spiritu- 
 ality. 
 
 Uncle Oliver Ross remarked upon this state of 
 affairs to his niece Julia when she tried to explain 
 the basis upon which Goculdass operated. " Lots 
 of religion and no money ; so they want to swap 
 off," he commented. " That's business-like, I'm 
 sure." His small eyes twinkled significantly. 
 
 Julia tossed her head. "Nothing of the soi't, 
 Uncle Oliver. Goculdass felt impelled to come 
 to us ; he felt that we were ready for him. He 
 is not begging for his college, but people are so 
 grateful for what he gives that they insist upon 
 some return." 
 
 "And then they are grateful some more for 
 being allowed to make the return. That's what 
 I call a slick deal." 
 
 Julia pouted. " Do you want to come or not ? 
 People are perfectly crazy for the chance. I've 
 been having telephone messages alF the morning 
 just begging to be let in." 
 
 " I suppose it's a kind of a woman show." 
 
 "Dr. Humphrey is coming and Carl Dering." 
 
 " Jim Humphrey interested in this thing ?" 
 
 " Very much interested. And I stopped at the 
 rectory and invited Mr. Sawyer. 
 
 " What does he think of it?" 
 
 "I don't know," replied Julia. "But he is 
 coming, unless he happens to be called out of 
 town to an old parishioner who is very low. Do 
 corne, Uncle Oliver."
 
 81 
 
 "I'll see. I'll see. To-morrow at four?" 
 
 " We've said four, but people are so unpunctual, 
 it will probably be five when AVC begin." 
 
 It was somewhat after five when Dr. Humphrey 
 and Carl Bering entered the Rosses' reception- 
 hall, a large room, open to the roof, with wind- 
 ing stairways in the rear leading to the second 
 and third stories. On these stairways and in the 
 galleries between, young girls were sitting, bright 
 as flowers in their spring dresses. The hall below 
 and the parlors opening on either side were re- 
 served for their elders. There were few men 
 among them ; Mr. Savage, alert and critical, 
 Uncle Oliver, with his cynical eyes half shut and 
 an amused look on his face, a half-dozen young- 
 sters from the University, and Professor La Motte, 
 who taught the Ross girls French, his mustaches 
 freshly waxed and his most courtly manner on. 
 
 Julia Ross came forward, as Dr. Humphrey and 
 Carl entered, and led them to seats commanding 
 a view of the stairway. " He has not come down 
 yet," she said, softly. " Mrs. Ayre, Miss Ayre, let 
 me present Dr. Humphrey, Dr. Dering." 
 
 A blond matron and a still more blond maiden 
 looked up with welcoming smiles, but, before they 
 could speak, a little flutter ran through the assem- 
 bly, and Julia Ross whispered, "Ah, there he is !" 
 
 A massive figure, before which the parterre of 
 bright dresses swayed like blossoms before a 
 breeze, came slowly down the stairs. Goculdass 
 was attired in a red robe girt with a cord of the
 
 82 
 
 same color. He was tall and broad-shouldered, 
 with a chest like that of an ox. Bovine, too, were 
 his sleepy, dark eyes, and the calm of his smooth, 
 handsome face suggested the repose of Apis, 
 the representative of Osiris, after a hearty meal. 
 Everything about him betokened comfort and 
 personal ease. The hand on the balustrade- rail, 
 by which he guided his deliberate descent, was 
 brown, but shapely and well kept. 
 
 With superb self-possession, he fronted the 
 eyes, reverent and curious, uplifted to him, and 
 with magnificent leisure advanced to the seat 
 prepared like a throne in the centre of the room. 
 Here he paused, an effective instant, before he 
 began to speak, in tones almost childlike in their 
 sweetness and unconcern, and with an accent 
 which went up at the end of the sentences, inde- 
 scribably airy and charming. 
 
 At first his voice was low and passionless, but 
 when he mentioned his people his throat swelled 
 with a note like that of a trumpet, while his heavy 
 lids were lifted to let out a glance of fire. 
 
 The Associated Charities would not have liked 
 what he said, neither would the American Board 
 of Foreign Missions, but so subtle was the attack 
 upon Occidental methods that few among those 
 that listened recognized more than an eloquent 
 appeal for a consideration of the philosophies of 
 the Orient. 
 
 " I hope it isn't all over Uncle Oliver's head," 
 thought Julia Ross, and wished that Goculdass
 
 83 
 
 would say less about the Hindoo's imperviousness 
 to heat and cold ; Uncle Oliver would declare he 
 could get along with an umbrella and an over- 
 coat. And all that eloquent description of the 
 mystic going down to the banks of the Ganges to 
 relinquish his hold on physical life would strike 
 her practical kinsman as what he would call 
 " bosh." To her relief, Goculdass began to quote 
 from the Vedas, arching his beautiful mouth like 
 the roof of a temple, sending the mysterious 
 words ringing through the house. 
 
 "You will ask," continued the speaker, resum- 
 ing his ordinary tone, " Is this practical ? What 
 can we get out of it for our life ? But what is 
 your life ? It is an opportunity for the animal to 
 become a god. What is more practical than a 
 faith that will assist man to do this, to recognize 
 himself as divine ? 
 
 "There is a story of a maiden who discovered 
 the outline of herself in a muddy pool. She saw 
 it again afterwards, more distinctly, in running 
 water. Again she saw her image more plainly 
 reflected in polished metal. At last she saw her- 
 self in a mirror. So it is with man. He must 
 come to know himself. It is not possible all at 
 once. We have various religions for the differ- 
 ent degrees of man's comprehension. All are 
 good in their way, but they only prepare for 
 another development. The Devas, the Bright 
 Ones, of one period become the devils of another. 
 "We are continually outgrowing our beliefs,
 
 84 
 
 because we are continually developing into some- 
 thing higher. It is nonsense to say that religion 
 came from heaven. Religion is the outgrowth 
 of human consciousness. It is from within. Man 
 looks out and up at first, but finally returns to 
 himself. He has been praying to himself, all the 
 time. He discovers that the god is within, not 
 outside nor above. Then he says, ' I am He ! I 
 am He !' " 
 
 The most delightful feature of all right-minded 
 courtship is the assurance of the beloved by the 
 lover that she is more than human. The maturer 
 women present had experienced this ; the younger 
 women had at least imagined it ; but none of 
 them had been told that she was divine, and by 
 one who seemed to have no doubt of the truth of 
 what he said. It was incense in their nostrils and 
 meat-and-drink offerings in their mouths. They 
 tasted for the moment the joys of Olympus, which 
 are but human joys, after all. 
 
 Again he paused and began to chant in that 
 strange, sweet monotone which thrilled the sensi- 
 tive women before him like a draught of wine. 
 Then back again to his rambling discourse : " My 
 old master used to say, ' On a sultry summer even- 
 ing we sit and fan ourselves. By-and-by a breeze 
 comes along and we throw away the fan. So 
 books and churches and sects and denominations 
 serve to help us until we come to the personal 
 realization of God. Then away they go !" 
 
 Julia Ross glanced uneasily towards Mr. Saw-
 
 85 
 
 yer, but that exponent of transitory institutions 
 gave no sign of discomposure. 
 
 " If you are Aryans, you are the renegades, not 
 I," pursued Haridass Goculdass authoritatively. 
 " Christianity was forced on the Anglo-Saxons at 
 the point of the sword. Charlemagne was con- 
 verted by his wife, and set out to convert the 
 world. On the banks of the Rhine it was, 'Heads 
 off with those who resist ! Dump the rest in the 
 water ! They come up baptized Christians !' " 
 Professor La Motte, the old cynic, was smiling 
 broadly. The university boys were evidently im- 
 pressed. 
 
 " I can't help it if they're not all pleased," said 
 Julia to herself ; but her thoughts wandered dur- 
 ing the remainder of the " talk," and were only 
 recalled by the sudden consciousness that Hari- 
 dass Goculdass's musical voice had ceased, and 
 her sister Maud was saying softly, " These meet- 
 ings never seem complete without the Sanscrit 
 benediction." 
 
 Then every one stood, while Goculdass repeated 
 the ancient words and translated them : " Peace 
 on earth ! Peace in the creatures of the earth ! 
 Peace in man ! Peace in heaven ! Peace in the 
 Lord !" 
 
 " Wasn't it lovely ?" inquired Miss Ayer of 
 Carl Dering, as every one turned to his or her 
 neighbor to seek or express an opinion. 
 
 "It was all very interesting." replied Carl, "the 
 audience as well as the speaker."
 
 86 
 
 "How sympathetic they were!" cried the girl. 
 "I think Goculdass must have felt their sympa- 
 thy; he was so frank, so outspoken did you no- 
 tice, mamma?" 
 
 Mrs. Ayer turned with tears in her eyes. " It 
 was wonderful," she murmured. " I could follow 
 such a leader to the end of the world." 
 
 Her emotion disturbed Carl; he attempted to 
 divert her by a change of theme. " I think, Mrs. 
 Ayer," he began, cheerfully, " that I know a rela- 
 tive of yours, Dick Ayre ; I met him at the Ath- 
 letic Club. He is a big, broad-shouldered fellow, 
 plays a capital game of tennis." 
 
 " He is my son," replied Mrs. Ayre, gravely. 
 "He is still living for the physical. I hope he 
 may get some light as he goes along." 
 
 Carl looked and felt uncomfortable. He seemed 
 somehow to be sitting in judgment on Dick Ayi-e 
 in the latter's absence and against his own will. 
 He wondered what could have become of Hum- 
 phrey, and finally spied him across the room talk- 
 ing with a small, graceful woman, who seemed 
 very much interested in what he had to say. 
 
 "Do you know Mademoiselle Duvray?" asked 
 Miss Ayre, whose eyes had followed his. 
 
 "Is that she with Dr. Humphrey? No, I have 
 not had the pleasure." 
 
 " It would be a pleasure," returned Miss Ayre, 
 warmly. "She is the dearest woman in the 
 world." 
 
 "Have you known her long?"
 
 87 
 
 "I have studied with her all winter. You 
 should hear her talk about these things !" 
 
 "A sort of Hypatia?" 
 
 " Hypatia was crude beside her." 
 
 Once started on the subject of Mademoiselle 
 Duvray, Miss Ayre forgot time, place, everything 
 but the subject in hand. Her mother moved 
 away. People were leaving. Dr. Humphrey had 
 started to cross the room, but was stopped half- 
 way by Uncle Oliver, who was spoiling for a 
 fight. ITariclass Goculdass had been surrounded by 
 a bevy of women who beset him with all sorts of 
 questions. Had he ever seen a Mahatma ? Could 
 he levitate ? What was the knob for, on an Ind- 
 ian bracelet which its owner bought at the Fair? 
 Goculdass seemed to be aware that the questions 
 were merely excuses for an interview, and an- 
 swered them carelessly ; the godlike calm which 
 had distinguished his entrance again settled down 
 upon him, rendering him impervious even to the 
 admiration of his disciples. 
 
 "What do you think of him?" asked Carl, as 
 he and Humphrey left the Rosses' door. 
 
 "I'd like to secrete some of his passive ener- 
 gy," laughed Humphrey, " to tide me over that 
 tracheotomy case to-morrow." 
 
 "How do you suppose he does it?" 
 
 " Born so, and then concentrated what he had. 
 I've been listening to some entertaining stories 
 about him." 
 
 " What did she say about him ?" asked Carl.
 
 "Oh, all sorts of things," replied the other, 
 throwing off the inquisitive youngster with an 
 assumption of indifference. 
 
 Sensitive Carl shut up like a mimosa, and asked 
 no more questions.
 
 XI 
 
 MADEMOISELLE DUVRAT'S studio was in the 
 business portion of the city, convenient for the 
 women who dropped in before or after their 
 shopping, but her " home," as she called it, was 
 in the most fashionable hotel of the most fash- 
 ionable quarter. She had been in Chicago only 
 two years, and had already established herself as 
 a power there. Her advent had been timely ; 
 she came in with the preparations for the Fair, 
 and owed her success, in a large measure, to her 
 familiarity with the foreign words and ways 
 which then became prominent. As Americans, 
 there is little of importance which we do not 
 know ; as cosmopolitans, we are uncertain on 
 some points which have not been brought to our 
 notice the use of titles is one. We have a 
 mere handful of our own, and are in the habit of 
 throwing them carelessly about, hitting a farmer 
 with " Squire " and a trader with " Colonel," and 
 making our political leaders " Honorable " in 
 spite of themselves. The accui'ate European aim 
 which never sends a missile of this sort at the 
 wrong head has not been practised here ; so, when 
 a woman appeared as skilful with these signifi-
 
 90 
 
 cant syllables as a juggler with his balls, never 
 letting one go astray, she found a profession 
 ready-made for her. Just then she needed en- 
 couragement. The visit to Beau Lieu had been 
 an impulsive one, born of a desire to seek out the 
 spot where from a dreaming girl she had become 
 a woman with a purpose. It was a part of Mar- 
 guerite's philosophy to respect such desires. Dis- 
 appointing as the experience had been, she still 
 insisted that it was to teach her something self- 
 reliance, if no more. If one is bound to believe, 
 there are no obstacles, there is nothing which can- 
 not be explained in accordance with one's belief. 
 
 The principal danger with those who ai'e on 
 the lookout for lessons to learn, is that they 
 are inclined to learn too much. There was an un- 
 limited opportunity for Marguerite to learn self- 
 reliance, and she learned it, unlimitedly. 
 
 Her pupils and friends learned the obverse of the 
 lesson, depending utterly and entirely upon their 
 teacher and guide. This was not always best for 
 them; but she was so sympathetic, so strong, so full 
 of resource, holding fast to her Idealism with one 
 hand while with the other she accumulated world- 
 ly wisdom as fast as the need came, that her be- 
 lief in herself and theirs in her were not to be 
 wondered at. She had expected something quite 
 different, a " post in some high, lonely tower," a 
 period of seclusion, a solitary preparation for the 
 work which she had to do ; she planned it all out 
 the night she left Beau Lieu, lying wide-awake
 
 91 
 
 among the pillows, while her cousin and com- 
 panion, Mrs. Burnham, plunged gayly into slum- 
 ber on the hither side of a snore. 
 
 Hardly had she reached Chicago, however, be- 
 fore she found herself a committee of the com- 
 mittees, a minister of the ministers, an authority 
 in matters of decorum and etiquette. If she met 
 her fate half-way, it was only in deference to the 
 self-reliance she meant to learn. 
 
 The mission was a pleasant one, and led to 
 others of a more serious character. From social 
 problems, she passed to the review of family 
 skeletons and the examination of family sores, and 
 as many of the former were of papier-mache, and 
 many of the latter but skin-deep, she found few 
 instances beyond the reach of her philosophy. 
 
 She sat by the bow-window the day after Hari- 
 dass Goculdass's lecture, pondering what she had 
 heard. Much that he had said was familiar to her, 
 but she had never carried the idea of self-develop- 
 ment so far. It was an exhilarating thought that 
 in herself she could find the ultimate truth, the un- 
 limited power. "I am He ! I am He! I am He!" 
 The exultant words throbbed through her brain, 
 and her sympathetic pulses answered like an echo. 
 So absorbed was she in her reverie that a rap at 
 the door brought a positive shock. A note and a 
 card were handed her. She broke the seal of the 
 first and read hurriedly, a smile playing about her 
 lips. "Wait!" she said to the boy, and, turning 
 to her davenport, wrote a few words on a card,
 
 92 
 
 hastily enclosing it in an envelope and addressing 
 it. " See that this goes immediately /" she ordered. 
 The boy lingered. 
 
 "The other?" he asked, respectfully. 
 
 " Oh, yes, tell the young lady she may come up." 
 
 Louise Ayre was not slow in making her appear- 
 ance. She came in flushed and elated. 
 
 " Your eyes are as blue as the sky, my dear," 
 said Marguerite, holding out both hands. 
 
 Louise received them timidly. She stood greatly 
 in awe of the small woman before her ; but the 
 importance of her errand gave her confidence. 
 
 "I have something to tell you," she began. 
 
 "I am sure of that," cried Marguerite, with her 
 delicious little laugh. She led the girl to a seat 
 on the sofa and released her hands with a gentle 
 pressure, herself assuming an attentive attitude. 
 
 "I have just had a long talk with Dr. Dering," 
 pursued Louise, " about * advanced thought ' and 
 all those things. Of course, I could give him only 
 a hint of what you give us, and he is just wild to 
 see you. He says he has felt for a long time the 
 limitations of his profession, and he feels sure that 
 the question of mental thera thera " 
 
 " Therapeutics," finished Marguerite, encourag- 
 
 ingty- 
 
 " Mental therapeutics is the coming question" 
 Louise paused and drew a long breath. 
 " I would do anything," said Marguerite, ear- 
 nestly, " to get a doctor out of his profession. It 
 is missionary work. I would not tell every one,
 
 93 
 
 but I will tell yon ; you have no idea how many 
 doctors are thinking of those things. When your 
 card was brought to me, a note came with it fi-om 
 a prominent physician whom you know, asking 
 for an interview." 
 
 Louise drew another long breath, and the two 
 women gazed at each other, fixedly, as Clotho and 
 Lachesis might gaze over the thread they manip- 
 ulated. 
 
 " Will you see Dr. Dering ?" inquired Louise, 
 at length. 
 
 " Of course," replied Marguerite. "Bring him 
 to me." 
 
 "He is down-stairs now," exclaimed Louise, 
 springing to her feet. "Pie came over with 
 me." 
 
 "Bring him right up. Stay, I will ring for a 
 boy." 
 
 " Perhaps I had better go down and speak to 
 him." 
 
 "Very well." 
 
 Louise flew down the long corridor, caught the 
 elevator on a downward trip, and in an incredibly 
 short time found Carl sitting tranquilly in the 
 reception-room, laughing over the latest number 
 of Life. He glanced up with the smile still over- 
 spreading his boyish face. " There are some aw- 
 fully good things in Life" he said, holding out 
 the paper. " Look at this." But Louise put it 
 aside as a mother puts aside her child's playthings 
 on Sunday morning.
 
 94 
 
 " By-and-by," she said, firmly. "Mademoiselle 
 Duvray will see you now." 
 
 "Now?" repeated Carl, blushing. 
 
 " Yes, now. It is very kind of her, she is so 
 full of engagements, but we are lucky enough to 
 catch her at a moment when there is no one here. 
 Come." 
 
 Carl went wonderingly down the hall, in the 
 wake of Louise's tall figure. While they waited 
 at the elevator, Louise leaned towards him confi- 
 dentialty. "I don't know as I ought to tell you," 
 she whispered, " but it may encourage you to 
 know that you are not the only physician who is 
 looking into these things. There is another, of 
 high standing in Chicago, coming to see her this 
 afternoon." 
 
 Carl straightened himself and assumed his pro- 
 fessional bearing, dignified yet affable. Louise 
 glanced approvingly at him ; he seemed several 
 years older than the boy whom she had caught 
 laughing over the pictures in Life. 
 
 Why are the young so ashamed of youth, and 
 the old so proud of any vestige of it, retained in 
 spite of themselves? There was an air of pre- 
 cocity about Marguerite herself, as she stood in 
 her doorway awaiting them, but the Sphinx of 
 Egypt, with the riddle of the centuries hidden 
 away under her cap, was not more wise and in- 
 scrutable. She received Carl in a manner be- 
 fitting the importance he had hoped to grow to 
 iu a decade or so, and encouraged him, as none
 
 ever had before, to utter his opinions freely; in- 
 deed, the flattering attention she gave him, and 
 the gracious nod with which she responded at 
 every pause, led him to put forth other opinions 
 of whose existence he had not dreamed. He dis- 
 covered that he had been searching blindly all his 
 life for these inspiring truths, that he had been 
 filled with vague cravings which nothing would 
 satisfy, that the opportunities for usefulness in 
 his profession seemed poor and meagre. Made- 
 moiselle Duvray, on her part, assured him that he 
 had come to the right place, she could put him 
 in touch with those who would recognize his 
 worth. 
 
 "You have a great future before you," she 
 said, earnestly. " We need men like you, men of 
 intellect and education, men who are practical as 
 well as thoughtful." 
 
 The trio sat hushed and silent after these 
 words, feeling the importance of the moment; 
 then Mademoiselle Duvray rose and said in the 
 tone with which she dismissed her classes, "I am 
 sorry to send you away, but I have an engage- 
 ment. You will come again ?" The invitation 
 was made a request. Carl promised and went 
 blindly down the hall after Louise, his head buzz- 
 ing with the swarm of new ideas which had been 
 let loose there. 
 
 "Well," ejaculated Louise, turning from ring- 
 ing the elevator bell, "isn't she lovely?" 
 
 "Yes, she is," granted Carl.
 
 96 
 
 " I never saw her so cordial to any one as she is 
 to you," continued the girl. 
 
 The boy smiled complacently. 
 
 In the lower hall they caught a glimpse of a 
 man entering the reception - room. " It's Hum- 
 phrey !" ejaculated Carl. " I didn't know he had 
 a patient here. It must be a new one." 
 
 " I don't believe," said Louise, sagely, " that I 
 would say anything to him about this." 
 
 "I don't mean to," rejoined Carl, confidentially. 
 Their three hours together had put them on a 
 basis of thorough good-fellowship. They felt as 
 if they had been friends for years.
 
 XII 
 
 THE intimacy between Carl Dering and Louise 
 Ayer ripened at an astonishing rate. When a 
 young woman is assisting a young man in the de- 
 velopment of his soul, she may be permitted many 
 things which might be considered imprudent and 
 forward under other circumstances. 
 
 She may write him little notes inviting him to 
 take her walking in order that they may talk 
 without interruption; she may send him books 
 with passages marked for his perusal; she may 
 encourage him to tell her his hopes and ambitions 
 and desires, and she may think of him continually 
 because thought itself is helpful. Mademoiselle 
 Duvray also invited Carl to walk with her, and 
 held long, confidential interviews with him, and 
 helped him by her thought. He seemed lifted in 
 mid-air by these sympathetic spirits whose breadth 
 of pinion offset his own lack of wing -power. 
 The world of foolish boys and girls, of careless 
 men and women, lay far below his feet, and the 
 world of thought spread far before him, inviting 
 him on. 
 
 After a while he began to try some of the prac- 
 tices of this thought-world on his patients he
 
 98 
 
 had been taking Dr. Humphrey's overflow for 
 a year but discovered with some dismay that 
 Physic and Metaphysic do not always make the 
 most harmonious of yoke-fellows. Especially was 
 this true in the case of old Mrs. Tremaine, who 
 bowed down before the Moloch of her maladies and 
 offered whatever was most costly and most dear. 
 When she started on a long description of the 
 symptoms in which Moloch revealed himself, the 
 disciple of another faith made light of these reve- 
 lations, and sought to divert her from their in- 
 fluence. She turned upon him a look of wither- 
 ing scorn. " Young man," she said, her indigna- 
 tion vibrating in her capstrings and in the feather 
 on her bonnet, " If you don't want to listen to 
 what I have to say, I will find a doctor who does." 
 
 Carl, being, as it were, but a short distance 
 from shore, put back in a hurry until the tempest 
 was over, and then meekly offered her the biggest 
 and blackest pills he had. When she had de- 
 parted, still agitated but victorious, he sat down 
 in the office chair and meditated. It had always 
 seemed a part of the business of his profession to 
 sacrifice to Moloch or to any other divinity which 
 it might suit the whims of his clients to set up ; 
 the ceremony was really a part of the cure ; but 
 in the gospel according to Mademoiselle Duvray 
 such practices were condemned. They were said 
 to bring ruin on those who indulged in them. 
 
 Here the door opened softly, and pretty Grace 
 Merriam entered. Her lovely eyes were dim,
 
 9S) 
 
 her cheeks bad lost their roundness. "Oh, Dr. 
 Dering," she murmured, sinking into a chair, " I 
 am almost dead. Between the Fair and company 
 and papa's being so blue about business, I am 
 completely exhausted and so discouraged." 
 
 The pretty eyes filled witb tears. 
 
 "I'll try it on her," thought Carl. He took 
 her gently by the hand and began to talk of a 
 picture at the art gallery which he knew she 
 would like, looking fixedly at her and saying 
 mentally, " Peace ! Peace !" 
 
 Grace began to revive, and withdrew her hand, 
 but the young metaphysician kept steadily on 
 with his soothing words, looking straight into her 
 eyes. Presently the color came to her cheeks. 
 "I I think I must go," she said, bashfully. 
 "I feel much better, thank you. Perhaps all I 
 needed was to sit here quietly for a few minutes." 
 
 Carl accompanied her to the door and watched 
 her down the hall, following her with an absorbed 
 gaze until she waved him farewell and disappeared 
 around a corner ; then he returned with a light 
 step. Swinging his arms jubilantly to and fro, 
 he whispered, "By Jove ! I'm getting on to it ! 
 How that girl changed ! The way the color came 
 into her face was simply wonderful !" 
 
 He glanced at the office clock ; only four, but he 
 Avas quite sure that no one would be in ; he must go 
 and tell Mademoiselle Duvray what he had done. 
 He caught up his cap and rushed excitedly over 
 to The Cynthia. Mademoiselle was at home, and
 
 100 
 
 received Lira as a priestess might receive a neo- 
 phyte. 
 
 "I knew the first time I met you that you 
 were an advanced soul," she said with feeling. 
 "I never saw any one so ready for this line of 
 thought. But now we must not hold you back. 
 You are ready for the next step ; you must have 
 regular instruction. I must pass you on to others 
 who can teach you more than I." 
 
 Carl tried to recall what he had read of tests 
 and trials by the Four Elements and initiations ; 
 but he was " bound to see the thing through," he 
 told himself. 
 
 "I am thinking where I shall take you," she 
 mused. " I have a friend in the Enterprise who 
 gives lessons ; I will take you to him." 
 
 "Now?" inquired Carl. 
 
 " Yes, if you are ready." 
 
 " Of course," he replied, bravely. 
 
 Without another word, she put on her hat and 
 conducted him to the place. It was on the top 
 floor of the building, in a corner overlooking the 
 bay a large room with three windows. There 
 were bookcases in it, a piano, and a reading-desk, 
 and at one side a pile of folding chairs. A tiny, 
 blond woman, with a white, determined face, met 
 them. Mademoiselle Duvray addressed her as 
 Mrs. Symonds, and inquired for "The Doctor." 
 
 "He is busy just now," said Mrs. Symonds, 
 glancing towards a screen which shut off one 
 corner of the room. " Come in here." She dis.
 
 101 
 
 closed a door behind another screen, and led 
 them through it into a small room arranged like 
 a parlor. 
 
 "This is Dr. Dering, of whom I spoke," ex- 
 plained Carl's chaperon e. "He has been making 
 remarkable progress by himself. He had an 'in- 
 stantaneous demonstration ' this afternoon, but he 
 feels that he needs guidance. I thought I had 
 better bring him to Dr. Symonds." 
 
 Mrs. Symonds sat with her small head on one 
 side like a meditative canary, scrutinizing Cai'l. 
 
 " I see ; quite right," she responded. " Dr. 
 Symonds has a patient now, but I can make an 
 engagement for to-morrow. The young man can 
 begin his lessons then." She took up a note-book 
 and turned to the page which boi - e the date of the 
 following day. 
 
 " Come at three to-morrow," she said, conclu- 
 sively. "That will be your hour for the pres- 
 ent." 
 
 "Thank you," said Carl, politely. Three 
 o'clock was office hour. He wished that he might 
 see more of the working of this new machine be- 
 fore he relinquished his hold on the old one. He 
 would have given all he had in his pockets for 
 a glance behind the screen, where undoubtedly 
 Dr. Symonds and his patient were even now sit- 
 ting together. Dr. Symonds's business-like little 
 wife had darted away, and now returned with a 
 small package. " Put this in your pocket," she 
 directed, and Carl obeyed. Then she let them
 
 102 
 
 out through another door into the hall with a 
 cheerful, "Good-bye until to-morro\v." 
 
 " I do not think you will ever regret the step 
 you have taken," said Marguerite, kindly. 
 
 The trustfulness with which Carl had followed 
 her would have touched a heart more secure than 
 hers in the righteousness of its methods. "It is 
 magnificent mental training, even if you don't do 
 anything in particular with it," she continued. 
 
 Carl became conscious of a feeling of disappoint- 
 ment. Were people as uncertain on this plane of 
 thought as they were on the other ? She read 
 his face it was not a difficult face to read and 
 quickly changed her manner, calling his attention 
 to the carriage and gait of those they met, and giv- 
 ing him hints how to read the manifestations of the 
 unseen in the seen. At the door of The Cynthia 
 she insisted upon bringing him in with her. " We 
 will have dinner d deux in my parlor," she said. 
 "Mrs. Burnham is away for the night." 
 
 What a dinner it was, ordered with a presci- 
 ence of what he would like, served in the dainti- 
 est manner possible, and sauced with clever sto- 
 ries and amusing descriptions of places and peo- 
 ple ! She was wise and witty, grave and tender, 
 by turns. Carl watched and listened and wor- 
 shipped. The air was full of the incense steam- 
 ing up from the pure censer of his boyish soul. 
 
 At half-past eight she dismissed him, rather 
 suddenly, he thought, and before he left her door 
 a card was brought to her. Ah, well, one could
 
 103 
 
 not expect to keep a woman like that to one's 
 self. It was an inestimable favor to have had 
 her so long four whole blessed hours. 
 
 A hand was laid somewhat heavily on his 
 shoulder. " Hullo, Carl !" cried a familiar voice. 
 "What are you doing here ?" It was Humphrey. 
 
 " What are you doing?" demanded the younger 
 man, rendered self-confident by the delicate flat- 
 tery of Mademoiselle Duvray's attention. 
 
 "I don't know as it is anything to you what I 
 am doing," returned Humphrey, flushing. 
 
 " I might say the same," retorted Carl, jauntily. 
 
 He passed on, uneasy in spite of his bravado. 
 The afternoon had been trying to his nerves; the 
 interviews with Mrs. Tremaine and Grace Mer- 
 riam, and the talk with Mrs. Symonds, had told 
 upon his endurance. The bewildering sweetness 
 of the tete-a-tete with Mademoiselle Duvray had an 
 effect no less exhausting than it was stimulating. 
 
 Underneath all was the uneasy consciousness 
 that he was undertaking something which his 
 chief would disapprove. 
 
 But Humphre3 r had no right to hinder and op- 
 pose him in a thing of this sort it was a personal 
 matter, anyway. To be sure, if he gave up the 
 afternoon office hour, he would have to tell Hum- 
 phrey. This was a scientific investigation, though, 
 and Humphrey himself was ready to sacrifice 
 anything "in the interests of science." He had 
 said so, many times, and he had said of this same 
 psychical research that "there was something
 
 104 
 
 in it." Who knew but that Carl himself might 
 be on the verge of some tremendous discovery? 
 Mademoiselle Duvray was a woman of experience, 
 and she had said that he had a great future before 
 him, that he was peculiarly fitted for just such 
 work as this. He felt the truth of the words. 
 There was something within him which responded 
 to these mysterious influences as to a personal 
 appeal. 
 
 He hurried back to the office and turned on the 
 electric light to examine the package which Mrs. 
 Symonds had given him. Four small paper books 
 and half a dozen thin blue circulars slipped out 
 when he untied the bundle. The books were va- 
 riously named "Faith," "Hope," "Charity," and 
 "The Miracles." 
 
 Carl's face fell. "Sermons, as I'm alive," he 
 ejaculated. " It's nothing but some sort of a reli- 
 gious business." Then he took up the circulars. 
 They proclaimed, in no uncertain terms, that 
 Dr. Symonds taught at the rate of fifty dollars 
 a term, and healed at the rate of five dollars a 
 " treatment." 
 
 " Fifty dollars, by Jupiter !" exclaimed the 
 disappointed pupil. " If they think I am going 
 to pay fifty dollars for a lot of Sunday-school 
 lessons they are awfully mistaken." 
 
 But, when three o'clock of the following after- 
 noon arrived, an irresistible desire pulled him to 
 the Enterprise. " I may as well see what he has 
 to say for himself," he decided.
 
 105 
 
 A tall, slight man, with dark side whiskers, 
 was turning down the passage which led to Dr. 
 Symonds's office when Carl left the elevator. 
 
 " It can't be by Jove, it is Humphrey ! and 
 he is going to that place. I'll hide in this corner 
 until he comes out." 
 
 It was not long before Humphrey appeared 
 with a roll of papers. Carl waited until he had 
 entered the elevator, then advanced briskly. 
 
 "He's getting it on the sly without saying a 
 word to me," he thought, with a swelling heart. 
 "I'll show him two can play at that game." He 
 entered Dr. Symonds's office and found him wait- 
 ing.
 
 XIII 
 
 IN spite of Carl's resolution to keep his move- 
 ments from the knowledge of his colleague, he 
 longed to talk things over with him the very next 
 morning. He sat and watched the back of Hum- 
 phrey's head through the open door of the inner 
 office, wishing that some one would come in and 
 make him turn around ; but no one came in, and 
 Humphrey did not turn around till noon. Then 
 he told Carl abruptly that he himself was going 
 off for the remainder of the day, adding, "You 
 may close the office and go, too, if you choose." 
 
 Carl welcomed the opportunity. He was not 
 due at Dr. Symonds's until the next day. Mean- 
 while, he felt that he must confide in some one- 
 He telephoned to the Lake View for Eloise to ac. 
 company him to Jackson Park. It would be bet- 
 ter, on the whole, to open his heart to her, and he 
 would be saved from breaking his half-promise 
 to Louise Ayer. But Eloise was almost as diffi- 
 cult to reach as Humphrey himself. She was in a 
 freakish, unreasonable mood, and avoided serious 
 conversation. Then, when he took refuge in his 
 own thoughts, she reproached him for his inat- 
 tention.
 
 107 
 
 "I don't know what has come over you," she 
 said, petulantly. "You go mooning around as if 
 you had lost your wits. I don't believe you know 
 where you are at this minute." 
 
 " We are on a bench under a tree on the 
 Wooded Island," returned Carl, tranquilly. 
 
 "And you haven't listened to a word I've been 
 saying," pursued the girl. 
 
 " Yes, I have. You were talking about the 
 Congress. You told how Millicent Glenn stood 
 up in a chair and called out, Tin not going to 
 clap that woman. I didn't hear a single word 
 she said.' " 
 
 " You didn't look as if you were listening," re- 
 turned Eloise, only half mollified. "I do enjoy 
 talking to a wooden image." 
 
 " What do you want me to do ?" 
 
 "Look interested, if you don't feel so." 
 
 "All right, go on ; what else did you see at the 
 Congress ?" 
 
 " Women who want Universal Peace escorted 
 to the platform by policemen; another who wants 
 an inconspicuous dress arrayed in yellow gaiters 
 and a sky-blue tunic ; a man who preaches spir- 
 itual development looking as if he would enjoy a 
 fifteen-course dinner and an American cigar more 
 than all his theories." 
 
 Carl became wide awake at once. " What man 
 do you mean ?" 
 
 " That Hindoo with an unpronounceable name." 
 
 "Haridass Goculdass?"
 
 108 
 
 "Yes ; what do you know about him?" 
 
 "I heard him speak at the Rosses', the other 
 day, and I tell you, Eloise, he's great!" 
 
 " How is he great ?" asked Eloise, with her 
 delicate nose in the air. 
 
 " He has more magnetism than any one I ever 
 saw ; and he is logical, too. You ought to have 
 heard him lay out us Americans for our scramble 
 after the Almighty Dollar." 
 
 " Did he pass the hat, then ?" inquired the 
 cynical Eloise. 
 
 "No, he didn't ; he doesn't even charge admit- 
 tance to his lectures ; he doesn't think of such 
 things. And you ought to have seen his audi- 
 ence ! He had those people right in his hand." 
 
 " I don't doubt it," replied Eloise, mockingly. 
 "They are always right in somebody's hand." 
 
 " I don't know what is the matter with you," 
 retorted her cousin, warmly. " You have changed 
 ever since that summer at Beau Lieu, and you 
 keep growing harder and harder no, I don't 
 mean that," as she turned a pair of reproachful 
 hazel eyes upon him, " but you're not the girl you 
 used to be." 
 
 "I hope not," she answered, positively, adding 
 with sudden gentleness, "I am afraid I haven't 
 much faith ; I have only works. Do you suppose 
 works without faith are dead as well as faith 
 without works? Does each need the other to 
 keep it alive ?" 
 
 "But you are so mistaken about these peo-
 
 109 
 
 pie," continued Carl, disregarding her confession. 
 " You think they are just silly, fashionable wom- 
 en, but they are not ; they are earnest, lovely, 
 sincere " 
 
 " I teach some of them," said Eloise, shortly. 
 
 "Yes, and you won't let any of them show her 
 best. I've heard them complain of your reserve, 
 and of how impossible it is to break through it." 
 
 "If they did succeed in breaking through it, 
 that would be the last of me," said Eloise, fiercely. 
 
 "I wish you could see Mademoiselle Duvray," 
 persisted Carl. " You couldn't help believing in 
 her." 
 
 "I know all about Mademoiselle Duvray," re- 
 plied Eloise, stiffly. " She was at Beau Lieu the 
 first summer I was there." 
 
 "Did you ever talk with her?" 
 
 "No, I never did. I could if I had chosen." 
 
 " Well, then, how could you know about her?" 
 
 " It was enough to see the girls dangling after 
 her wherever she went. I hate that sort of woman." 
 
 Carl stared, but felt quite sure that Eloise only 
 needed to know the facts in order to be con- 
 vinced, and, man-like, was ready to present them 
 to her. 
 
 "She is immensety popular, abroad as well as 
 here. They say she is entertained by the nobility 
 over there." 
 
 " Oh yes ; I have heard the whole story many 
 times," returned Eloise, irritably. " She teaches 
 'court etiquette,' and there is no place in America
 
 110 
 
 where there is such a demand for ' court etiquette ' 
 as in Chicago. People here are not satisfied with 
 being well-bred men and women ; they must as- 
 sume the air and gait of lords and ladies, with 
 gorgeous clothes, elegant carriages, and lackeys 
 in livery. Of course Mademoiselle Duvray is ' im- 
 mensely popular !' " 
 
 Carl blushed to the roots of his hair. He hast- 
 ened to change the subject. " Dr. Humphrey had 
 a letter from Mrs. Harwood the other day," he 
 began, courteously. " She says she is quite well, 
 and is going to make up for not going to the Fair 
 by hearing Miss Gordon lecture at Beau Lieu." 
 
 " Really ?" 
 
 " Yes, really. Eloise, you are lots prettier when 
 you smile." 
 
 " I wonder how she is going to get to Beau 
 Lieu !" 
 
 " Going to take boarders." 
 
 " That will be just the place for Mrs. Glenn and 
 the children ; they want to go. Oh, I shall be 
 glad to get away !" 
 
 "Queer how we can relish getting back into a 
 broil after being out of it," laughed Carl. 
 
 " It all depends upon the sequence," returned 
 Eloise, quickly. "After the fire, the frying-pan 
 becomes actually endurable. Carl, I'm cross !" 
 
 "No, you're not," cried Carl, chivalrously. 
 "Everything gets to be a bore when you're tired, 
 even the Fair." 
 
 Many felt what Carl expressed. The early
 
 Ill 
 
 glory of the Fair had tarnished, the bugles had a 
 labored sound, and the tired men and women on 
 the coaches played their hilarious parts with an 
 effort. The opening gush of hospitality with 
 which Chicago welcomed her guests had yielded 
 to a fear that " the thing was not going to pay, 
 after all." The dukes and duchesses, and the 
 lords and ladies were leaving, driven before the 
 first hot wave. In their places came Sunday- 
 school children bringing their own luncheon, and 
 farmer-folk, spending as little as possible over and 
 above mere necessities. The action of the great 
 drama certainly lagged. The two cousins wan- 
 dered dispiritedly about, and started for the hotel 
 while the sun was yet some distance from the 
 horizon. Outside the gates the pretentious brass 
 bands had ceased to play, and in their stead the 
 mechanical piano blossomed into insistent chords 
 and interminable trills on every corner, ripening 
 into an explosive bang which seemed to say, " On 
 time, you see ! We get there, you bet !" It was 
 the very slang of music, the spirit of " hustle " in 
 a sound. 
 
 " Let's get out of this !" exclaimed Carl, taking 
 Eloise by the arm. They almost ran until they 
 were beyond reach of the racket, and pulled up in 
 front of the hotel, quite out of breath. 
 
 " Come in to dinner, Carl," said Eloise, hospi- 
 tably. 
 
 " Can't do it, thank you," and he turned away. 
 Then she saw the wistful look upon his face.
 
 112 
 
 " Carl !" she called after him. He returned 
 with a smile. " Is there anything the matter a 
 love affair, or a dun ?" 
 
 "Neither, thank you." He lifted his hat, still 
 smiling, and then walked away again. 
 
 " I am sure there was something," mused Eloise. 
 " What can it be ?" 
 
 Aunt Harriet was awaiting her impatiently in 
 the studio. "My dear," she said, impressively, 
 following Eloise into her bedroom, " the house is 
 filling with the most extraordinary people. All the 
 nice people are going away. Mrs. Glenn told me 
 this afternoon that she should keep her room here- 
 after except at meal-time." 
 
 "I suppose so," answered Eloise, lifting her 
 face, dripping and rosy, from the wash-bowl. 
 
 "Mrs. Shipman says they have put a man at 
 their table who eats with his knife." 
 
 " Shocking !" cried Eloise, smoothing her hair 
 before the glass. " Come on, dear." 
 
 She found the rotunda gay and noisy with the 
 new guests, to whom the sojourn at the hotel 
 seemed an important part of the visit to the 
 Fair. 
 
 Something unusual seemed going on at the other 
 end of the room. Eloise stood on tiptoe to see 
 what it was, then pulled Aunt Harriet by the 
 sleeve, whispering, " Look, look ! the Glenn chil- 
 dren !" Down the rotunda, between the rows of 
 men, women, and children, who parted to let them 
 pass, marched the young Glenns, nine-year-old
 
 113 
 
 Milton bearing a pole, on which was tacked a 
 placard announcing, ''PEEP SHOW, OXE SENT," 
 while golden-haired Millicent, confidently follow- 
 ing the lead of her older brother, carried proudly 
 the " Show," a cigar-box with a picture inside, and 
 a calico curtain across the front. William Pleas- 
 ant had arranged it for her. Having made the 
 round of the rotunda, they set up business in the 
 reading-room, planting the standard in the painted 
 tub of a huge palm. 
 
 Aunt Harriet hurried to the rescue of respect- 
 ability. "My dears, my dears," she murmured, 
 warningly, " you must go right up-stairs to your 
 mother." 
 
 " Who said so ?" asked Milton, not disrespect- 
 fully, but for information. 
 
 " I say so," replied Aunt Harriet, authorita- 
 tively. 
 
 " I don't see why," demanded Milton, while Mil- 
 licent hid behind the palm and awaited develop- 
 ments. 
 
 " May I look in?" inquired Eloise, strategically. 
 "Here is my penny. Oh, I have a much prettier 
 picture up-stairs. Come with me and I'll give it 
 to you." 
 
 "That will do for to-morrow," replied the show- 
 man, promptly, " after they've seen this." 
 
 " Milton Howard Glenn!' 1 ' 1 broke in an agitated 
 voice; "you and Millicent go right up to my 
 room !" Poor Mrs. Glenn ! she was red with shame 
 and vexation.
 
 114 
 
 "Don't mind," whispered Eloise ; "every one 
 will understand." 
 
 "Another dream of commercial prosperity 
 gone," put in a friendly voice ; it was Philip 
 More's. "I thought I would run up and help 
 you get ready for Beau Lieu," he explained. 
 " How do you do, Mrs. Glenn. Don't punish the 
 youngsters ; it is too good a joke." He stood and 
 talked with the three women while the culprits 
 escaped. " He's a brick, that feller," said Milton 
 to his confederate, as they made off with the 
 Show. 
 
 " You're right," lisped Millicent. " I'll be his 
 friend jus' as long's I live."
 
 XIV 
 
 THE September sun reddened the tops of the 
 trees and the clustering roofs below the window 
 where Mrs. Glenn sat with her sewing. Every 
 now and then Milton or Millicent ran in from the 
 hall where they were playing to ask what time 
 it was. 
 
 "I'll let you know in season, so that you can be 
 down there," said their mother. " Come in, Mrs. 
 Shipman," as that lady appeared in the doorway. 
 "Take this chair ; it is more comfortable." 
 
 " I'd rather sit by the window," replied the vis- 
 itor, leaning forward to look out and down. " My, 
 but you're high up, here." 
 
 " I like to be above the noise," said Mrs. Glenn. 
 " No, Milton ; I told you I would let you know 
 when it was time." 
 
 Milton collided with Millicent, who was close 
 behind him. "She'll let us know!" he shouted, 
 and away they went. 
 
 "Are you expecting company?" inquired Mrs. 
 Shipman. 
 
 "Miss Gordon and her aunt return this after- 
 noon," replied Mrs. Glenn. "My children are 
 very fond of Miss Gordon."
 
 11G 
 
 Mrs. Shopman's eyes sparkled. "Is Miss Gor- 
 don's fiance with them ?" she inquired. 
 
 "Miss Gordon's fiance?' Mrs. Glenn repeated, 
 warily. 
 
 " Mr. More. I hear they're engaged. Of course, 
 we've been expecting it." 
 
 "I suppose he is with them," granted Mrs. 
 Glenn. 
 
 "I hear he's very wealthy, and has no near re- 
 lations," buzzed the visitor. " She's mighty lucky. 
 My niece, who was married the other day, got a 
 moneyed man, but there are a thousand, more or 
 less, to hang on him and take it all. Miss Larra- 
 bee will be right on tiptoe." 
 
 There was a pause, during which both women 
 scanned the street. 
 
 "The train's late," vouchsafed Mrs. Shipman. 
 "She may not be here for an hour yet." 
 
 " God forbid !" ejaculated Mrs. Glenn within 
 herself, not outwardly. Outwardly she smiled 
 and said, "That is very pretty lace you are cro- 
 cheting!" 
 
 " Isn't it ! I got the pattern from Miss Brown. 
 Were you down in the parlor when she was recit- 
 ing, the other evening? You ought to have been 
 there. I thought I should die. She recited one 
 of those swearing Bret Harte things, and a speech 
 by a drunken orator. They were altogether too 
 good. That Englishwoman with the four girls 
 took them out in the midst of the first piece, and 
 then Mrs. Colocynth followed with Corinne. The
 
 117 
 
 Princess and I sat it out, though. The Princess 
 thought it was great fun." 
 
 "She seems very happy here," said Mrs. Glenn, 
 with another glance out the window. 
 
 " She is. She enjoys everything except the 
 hops. She goes down in all her finery, and not a 
 man asks her to dance. She said to me the other 
 evening, ' I will spik to my Poll (his name is Paul), 
 and he will spik to the landlord, to get me part- 
 ners. My Poll pays as much as any one. I will 
 not sit here like a what-do-you-say wall-flower.'' " 
 
 Another pause ensued, broken by Mrs. Glenn, 
 who inquired, " How is Mrs. Johnson do you 
 know ?" 
 
 "Better," replied Mrs. Shipman, promptly. 
 "She's trying Mental Science now, and thinks 
 she is getting help. She sleeps and eats, and is 
 going to sit up in a few days. By-the-way, they 
 say that young Dr. Dering, Miss Larrabee's neph- 
 ew, the one that used to come to dinner Sunday 
 nights, has gone into Mental Science head over 
 heels did you hear anything about it ?" 
 
 " I heard something," replied Mrs. Glenn, guard- 
 edly, " but I don't know how true it is." 
 
 " I heard that he tried to put old "Mrs. Tremaine 
 to sleep, and the old lady opened on him. They 
 say he practises on all the girls, and each one 
 thought he was in love with her until they got to- 
 gether and compared notes. But that was along 
 back some weeks ago, before he left Dr. Hum- 
 phrey's office."
 
 118 
 
 " Has he left Dr. Humphrey?" cried Mrs. Glenn, 
 completely off her guard. 
 
 " Didn't you know that?" exclaimed Mrs. Ship- 
 man, triumphantly. " That's old. He and Dr. 
 Humphrey had a tremendous row, and Dr. Hum- 
 phrey ordered him to leave. They've both of them 
 got quick tempers. Dr. Humphrey's taken in a 
 son of old Dr. Jones in Dering's place. I don't 
 know what Dering's going to do. Perhaps he'll 
 start out as a 'healer' himself. They make 
 a lot of money. I was in a house in this city, 
 Monday, when one thousand dollars walked out to 
 a healer, and my own sister paid four hundred. 
 There they are now. Yes, there's Mr. More. He 
 helps Miss Larrabee out as if she was made of 
 china." 
 
 " Run, children, the carriage is here," inter- 
 rupted Mrs. Glenn, opening the door. 
 
 " Oh, mamma ! you promised " floated back 
 from the hall. "Quick, elevator, down!" 
 
 "Miss Gordon looks well. Being engaged 
 agrees with her," pursued the visitor, enjoying to 
 the full the prospect for which she had come. 
 
 " I am so sorry about the children," pouted Mrs. 
 Glenn. 
 
 "Do you know when they are going to be mar- 
 ried?" continued the relentless inquisitor. "I 
 presumed you might have heard. Miss Larrabee's 
 so confidential, you probably will hear all about 
 it." 
 
 "He's come ! He's come !" sounded jubilantly
 
 119 
 
 from the ball. The door flew open, revealing 
 Philip with Milton and Millicent clinging each 
 to an arm. 
 
 " I am afraid they are dreadful bores," apolo- 
 gized their mother. " Mr. More, Mrs. Shipman," 
 and Mrs. Shipman obtained a long-coveted op- 
 portunity, described afterwards to her latest inti- 
 mate friend, "There she had been telling me 
 that it was Miss Gordon the children went to 
 see. She knew all the time it was Mr. More. 
 She's deep ; these soft-spoken women always are. 
 Needn't tell me. I caught her good, and she 
 knew it, too ; colored up to the roots of her hair. 
 She's been setting them on pretending not to 
 know how much money he had!" 
 
 Philip lingered but an instant, and then hurried 
 away to dress for dinner. Mrs. Shipman soon 
 made her adieus, and the children came in to 
 have their hands and faces washed. 
 
 " Look a-here !" called Milton, putting his hand 
 into his pocket. "An eight-blader, scissors and 
 everything." 
 
 "And see this, too, mamma a little gold heart 
 on a chain," added Millicent. 
 
 " He said I was his best friend once," said 
 Milton. 
 
 " Now, Millie, lie said I was, too." 
 
 " That was because you asked him." 
 
 " Well, he said I was, anyway." 
 
 " And he said next year we should go up to 
 Beau Lieu, and stay just as long as you'd let us."
 
 120 
 
 " And he said we'd have another boat to beat 
 that one that went to pieces the day him and me 
 was out." 
 
 " I'd say lie and I were out," corrected his 
 mother. 
 
 " He and I was out," repeated Milton, hurried- 
 ly. " That's why I'm his best friend, isn't it, 
 mamma, because we was out in that storm to- 
 gether. Millicent wasn't out in the storm." 
 
 "But I was down on the rocks with Miss Gor- 
 don, and she held on to my hand just as tight. 
 She'd have been awful lonesome if I hadn't been 
 there, she said so, 'cause Miss Larrabee was 
 asleep up at the cottage." 
 
 " Well, you can be Miss Gordon's best friend 
 and I'll be Mr. More's." 
 
 " I'm Mr. More's, too," wailed Millicent, " ain't 
 I, mamma?" 
 
 " Hush ! children ; stop your quarrelling this in- 
 stant, or I won't let you take these roses to Miss 
 Gordon." 
 
 " Well, any way, Mrs. Harwood said us children 
 made the match between Miss Gordon and Mr. 
 More," finished Milton, importantly. 
 
 " Whom did she say that to ?" inquired his 
 mother, her curiosity getting the better of her. 
 
 "To Dan'l," replied Milton, promptly. 
 
 " Milton !" exclaimed his mother, severely, aton- 
 ing for momentary weakness by renewed strin- 
 gency, " you must never call an old man like Mr. 
 Harwood by his first name."
 
 121 
 
 " Every one else does," returned Milton, sheep- 
 ishly. A light step outside the door and a quick 
 little tap put an end to the discussion. 
 
 It was Eloise. " My dear, my dear," cooed 
 the elder woman, embracing her. 
 
 " Dear Mrs. Glenn, I am glad to be with you 
 once more," responded Eloise. 
 
 There was a high color in her cheeks, and a 
 bright light in her eyes. She carried her proud 
 head higher than ever, and moved more quickly. 
 If she evaded Mrs. Glenn's sentimental sugges- 
 tions, this Avas only natural in one of her sensi- 
 tive temperament, so Mrs. Glenn told herself. 
 Yet it was with a sigh that she submitted to 
 having one of Eloise's roses put in her hair, and 
 listened to the elusive chatter with which the 
 girl filled every pause. Aunt Harriet and Philip 
 were waiting for them in the rotunda, and they 
 all went in together. 
 
 " Quite like a wedding-party," Mrs. Shipman 
 whispered to her husband, " only the children 
 ought to go ahead instead of behind, and scatter 
 those roses which the bride is wearing. I sup- 
 pose he gave them to her." 
 
 " He looks like a square sort of chap," com- 
 mented Mr. Shipman. 
 
 " He is," replied his wife. " That girl may 
 thank her lucky stars. I wonder if she'll keep 
 on painting, or go right to getting ready." 
 
 This was what every one wondered while the 
 weeks passed leaving Eloise still at her easel,
 
 122 
 
 showing no sign of her engagement save the 
 brilliant jewel upon her finger. She worked with 
 feverish restlessness, as if the future held no more 
 than the pecuniary success which present needs de- 
 manded. 
 
 "What is it that you want?" Philip would 
 ask, when he came upon his periodical visits and 
 found her with the same questioning look upon 
 her face. " What can I get for you ? What can 
 I do?" 
 
 " Nothing, Philip," Eloise would answer. " You 
 do everything much more than I deserve !" 
 
 " Don't talk about desert !" Philip would ex- 
 claim, making an impatient gesture. " Don't I 
 love you? All I ask is to see you happy." In- 
 stead of doing this, he disturbed his own con- 
 tent, and went away with an unsatisfied look 
 which was the reflection of her own. 
 
 " What is it, Eloise aren't you happy?" Aunt 
 Harriet would ask, fluttering around her niece 
 with the offer of her whole helpless personality. 
 
 " Of course," Eloise would rejoin. " Haven't 
 I everything to make me so ; a dozen fresh or- 
 ders, a full class of scholars, health, ambition " 
 
 " And Philip," timidly supplemented Aunt Har- 
 riet. 
 
 " Oh yes," returned Eloise, carelessly. " And 
 Philip, and you," she finished with one of her 
 old, bright looks.
 
 XV 
 
 IT was hard for the Chicagoans to give up their 
 White City. They made all sorts of impossible 
 plans for keeping it through the winter, if not 
 permanently : they detached special police to take 
 the place of the Columbian Guards, they wrapped 
 up the figures within reach, and boarded over the 
 weak places ; but every day the vision faded, 
 every day some fragment fell, some bright wall 
 clouded. It had always been incongruous in its 
 beauty for beauty's sake, set among the tall, ugly 
 buildings made to sell or rent, to do business in, 
 to plot and plan in against poverty and disgrace, 
 to be wretched and despairing in, and to make as 
 much money in as possible. 
 
 They were beginning to crowd it, now ; their 
 puffing smoke blew offensively over its fair sur- 
 faces, where decay had already laid its finger as 
 if saying, " Look here, and here ; these proud 
 structures are not immortal, after all !" 
 
 Still, there was a fascination about the place 
 which drew throngs of visitors to it on every 
 pleasant day. They came in carriages and drove 
 slowly about, they came afoot, and lingered in 
 the sheltered corners where the sun shone warm.
 
 124 
 
 It bad become a babit to "go to Jackson Park" 
 whenever tbere was a holiday. 
 
 Following the universal custom, Philip and 
 Eloise and Aunt Harriet celebrated Philip's mid- 
 winter visit by driving thither in an open car- 
 riage. It was a glorious day. Only the bits of 
 ice in the lake told that its brilliant tint was not 
 the blue of summer. No snow had fallen, and 
 the roads were hard as floors. The carriage rolled 
 gayly along until they reached a central point, 
 and then Philip called a halt. The walls yet 
 standing showed no lessening dignity, in spite 
 of the debris at their feet, but towered above it 
 with the everlasting, imperial challenge of art. 
 
 "It's an awful shame," said Philip, cheerfully. 
 " Got enough, Eloise ?" 
 
 She nodded, then quickly turned her head, that 
 he might not see the tears which filled her eyes. 
 The struggle of the ideal with the real, of ro- 
 mance with reality, of art with the nature of 
 things, brought emotions which choked and stifled 
 her, emotions of sympathy and companionship. 
 She longed to stretch out her hands to the beauti- 
 ful, transitory things and cry, "I, too, am of your 
 kind! I, too, struggle and suffer and aspire! I, 
 too, defy that which I know is doomed to over- 
 power me !" 
 
 "Don't the animals look funny, all done up so? 
 There is a reindeer, his horns stick through the 
 sacking," laughed Aunt Harriet, gleeful as a 
 child. Her pink little nose protruded from her
 
 wraps like a crocus in the snow, and her innocent 
 eyes roved in all directions, noting everything. 
 Philip had taken such pains that the carriage 
 should be easy and the robes plentiful ; and he 
 had such a nice way of tucking her in and ask- 
 ing, "All right, Aunt Harriet?" 
 
 Eloise hardly spoke. Her silence troubled 
 Philip ; he made clumsy, good-humored attempts 
 to break through it and bring her out, "enjoying 
 life " with himself and Aunt Harriet. Eloise was 
 beginning to see that she had given him a right to 
 do this. When she accepted him she expected 
 and intended to go on living two lives: one out- 
 wardly, a part of the present world, the other in- 
 wardly, a part of the world of art which ever has 
 been and ever shall be. Of course, Philip, who 
 cared nothing for art, was to inhabit the outside 
 world. 
 
 But if Philip did not care for art, he cared for 
 Eloise and for all that concerned her. Into the 
 penetralia of her hopes and joys he pursued her 
 with the mistaken zeal of a lover, and professed 
 his unbounded interest in everything there. At 
 first she tried to be generous, and to tell him how 
 she felt, but to her horror she found that she lost 
 her fine fervors as soon as she described them. 
 It was of no use, she told herself. She, too, must 
 give up the White City of her dreams. " Noth- 
 ing lasts which is beautiful," she said to herself, 
 "Only the ugly and commonplace endure." 
 
 " Let's go down Midway !" exclaimed Philip.
 
 126 
 
 "Shall we go down Midway, Eloise?" and re- 
 membering how many times she had lightened a 
 heavy heart of its burden on the merry street, 
 Eloise answered, quickly, "Yes, yes, drive down 
 Midway." 
 
 But Midway was even more forlorn. Here 
 deathless art had not reigned, but frail amusement 
 that dies so easily. The dregs of wine, the tat- 
 tered robe, the dulled and broken jewel, are not 
 pathetic, but contemptible. Only the graceful 
 little huts of the Javanese offered any temptation 
 to the relic hunters, who pulled down the long 
 grass which had thatched the roofs, and tore away 
 the gay mattings from the walls, in spite of the 
 policemen set to guard them. "You are tired, 
 Eloise," exclaimed Philip, suddenly. "We will go 
 home. Why didn't you tell me ?" 
 
 "It is queer how Eloise gets tired over some 
 things," prattled Aunt Harriet, " which don't tire 
 me a bit." 
 
 The next day was Monday, the busiest in the 
 week for Eloise. There were scholars from ten 
 to twelve and from three to five. Philip was to 
 go at six. 
 
 He came in at noon, having spent the morning 
 hours with the Glenn children, and found Eloise 
 still in her long brown apron cleaning her brushes. 
 "How much longer do yon mean to keep this 
 up ?" he inquired, anxiously. 
 
 " I don't know. Please don't hinder me, Philip," 
 for he had taken the brushes out of her hands
 
 127 
 
 with the air of proprietorship which always an- 
 noyed her. Instead of returning the brushes, he 
 took the empty hands in his and attempted to 
 read her averted face. "Eloise, are you sorry 
 that you said that you promised " 
 
 "Nonsense, Philip," she answered, letting her 
 eyes meet his, for an instant. 
 
 " Then what is it ? Why do you avoid me ? 
 Do I bore you ?" 
 
 " Why, no ; how foolish you are ! I am think- 
 ing about my work. I have to, in order to suc- 
 ceed." 
 
 "Is it so necessary for you to succeed now?" 
 
 " It is rather agreeable," returned Eloise, in a 
 tone which puzzled him. 
 
 " I don't mean your painting, but the teaching 
 and the fuss. I can't bear to think of your tug- 
 ging along. You ought not to have to wrestle 
 with the world." 
 
 " I like it," said Eloise, with a toss of her head. 
 " If you don't let go of my hands I can't finish 
 cleaning up, and we won't have any luncheon." 
 
 Philip released her with a sigh, comforting 
 himself with the thought of the hour between 
 five and six, when Eloise would be again at leisure, 
 and he would renew the argument. 
 
 But at five came the alarm of fire, fire at Jack- 
 son Park. The Peristyle was burning. This was 
 the first great wound, and all Chicago felt the 
 hurt. Eloise and Philip hurried to the spot, but 
 found thousands there before them. Alonr the
 
 128 
 
 dark streets of the Dream City men and women 
 went in straggling groups, silently. 
 
 Silent, too, were the crowds that thronged the 
 spaces along the lagoons, before the burning 
 building. The Casino was ablaze when they 
 reached the Court, and the flames were climbing 
 the Triumphal Arch. Dense clouds of smoke 
 hid the western walls and rolled up around the 
 Quadriga. Above the smoke-wreaths, and seem- 
 ing to outride their threat as his purpose outrode 
 the storm of Western seas and the opposition of 
 his enemies, the discoverer was to be seen in his 
 chariot, radiant as Elisha's vision of his leader, 
 and, like it, soon to disappear. 
 
 The helpless people recognized their helpless- 
 ness. They had no enormous safeguards to pro- 
 tect the enormous structures they had reared. 
 Pitifully inadequate were the streams of water 
 thrown by the engines; hysterical their calls for 
 coal; absurd their bold arrivals with prancing 
 horses and clanging bells; disheartening the man- 
 ner in which they were beaten back. 
 
 The wind was from the lake ; it blew the smoke 
 in their faces and blinded them. "Come around 
 on the pier," cried Eloise, darting away, leaving 
 Philip to follow. The pier was nearly deserted. 
 A policeman was attempting to clear it completely; 
 but an amateur photographer who had set up his 
 trident in the very teeth of the flame, and a re- 
 porter equally daring, were deaf to his shouts 
 and blind to the wave of his " billy." Eloise was
 
 129 
 
 close behind them. Philip drew her arm within 
 his own. " Don't !" she cried, pettishly. "I can't 
 bear anything now !" 
 
 Across the white pillars played the whiter flames, 
 like sunlight upon snow. Every line was alive 
 with a new and dazzling loveliness. Every figure 
 sprang into prominence, swayed to the influence 
 of the invading power, shone Avith the final bene- 
 diction of its grace, and fell into the abyss. The 
 roofless columns burned at the top like torches. 
 In time they, too, fell, and their fall was like that 
 of the forest tree when it yields to the axe, slow, 
 stately, submissive. Under the roof of Music 
 Hall, blown backward by the wind, swift, sinuous, 
 the gray smoke clung like a restless drapery. 
 Above and below darted the flames. It lit the 
 figures upon the roof, standing as the Christian 
 martyrs stood, or the victims of the French Revo- 
 lution, awaiting the end with an ineffable dignity. 
 
 Suddenly there was a noise like that of a can- 
 non, and the flame broke into a blaze. The ad- 
 venturous people upon the pier hurried to a place 
 of safety. 
 
 "You are cold ; your teeth are fairly chatter- 
 ing !" exclaimed Philip, folding Eloise's cloak 
 more closely around her. 
 
 " It isn't the cold," she replied. 
 
 " And you have had no dinner. It is almost 
 nine o'clock," pursued Philip. " You should have 
 let me call a carriage. Here, s-s-t, boy ! call me 
 a carriage and I'll make it worth your while."
 
 130 
 
 The boy turned, a dwarfish creature with an 
 elfish face that leered at them in the flickering 
 light. 
 
 "Can't git nothin' 'round yere. Every thin' 
 taken see?" Following the direction in which he 
 pointed, they saw line upon line of carriages drawn 
 up on the edge of the crowd. They threaded 
 their way between them. There were vehicles 
 of every description, old-fashioned wagons har- 
 nessed to animals that stood as if their hoofs had 
 been driven into the soil, glittering broughams 
 and victorias kept in constant motion by the 
 fidgeting horses which champed their silver bits 
 and clanked their silver chains in nervous protest. 
 
 It was the night of the Charity Ball, and the 
 ladies had been taken out as they were. Their 
 light dresses would be no more conspicuous, later, 
 in the boxes than they were now in the fire-lit car- 
 riages. 
 
 " I will try again when we get out of this jam," 
 said Philip. " Look out, there !" he caught an ag- 
 gressive cob as his nose grazed Eloise's shoulder. 
 
 " What are you doing ?" growled the coachman 
 from his box. 
 
 "Minding your business for you," retorted 
 Philip. 
 
 A man in a cape overcoat, leaning on the car- 
 riage window-sill, was thrown aside when Philip 
 caught the rein. " What's the trouble ?" he in- 
 quired, good-naturedly, but, without waiting for 
 an answer, turned again to the window. The
 
 131 
 
 light bad shone full on his face ; Eloise saw him 
 plainly. She saw also the face of the woman who 
 sat in the carriage talking with him. The man 
 was Mark Heffron. The woman was Mademoiselle 
 Duvray. " Come," Eloise heard him say, " you 
 must see the Golden Republic. She is grand, 
 towering above the smoke !" and then he opened 
 the carriage door.
 
 XVI 
 
 INVOLUNTARILY Marguerite glanced down at 
 her white shoes. Prudence had been a neces- 
 sary virtue for the greater part of her life. Mrs. 
 Burnham, who sat opposite, smiled significantly. 
 
 " The experience is worth a pair of shoes !" ex- 
 claimed Mark, holding out his hand, and she laid 
 hers within it. 
 
 "I am really genei'ous to furnish you such a 
 figure to use against me," he said, as he led her 
 through the crowd to the lagoon. 
 
 "What do you mean?" she asked. 
 
 "In our quarrel about 'the new woman.' You 
 will be reminding me, after this, that severity of 
 outline becomes strength in trying circumstances. 
 There she is !" 
 
 The smoke cleared, permitting the majestic 
 head to appear and the commanding arm. " Try 
 any of your Venuses beside that !" cried Mark. 
 "Isn't she superb in the calm of her invincibility ? 
 That conception of womanhood was impossible to 
 the Old World of Art do you know it?" 
 
 "Minerva?" suggested Marguerite, somewhat 
 timidly. 
 
 "No, Minerva had to help out her followers.
 
 133 
 
 For our Golden Republic men have been glad to 
 die." 
 
 "And this ideal, this 'calm of invincibility,' 
 you forbid to the modern woman !" she exclaimed. 
 
 " As an individual, yes. The proportions are 
 too heroic. A real flesh - and - blood woman is 
 ridicujous when she tries to be great in that way. 
 We don't want our women to be goddesses." 
 
 " No, of com-se not," she retorted. "It's the 
 same old song man for himself, and woman for 
 man. Why not woman for herself, also?" 
 
 "Because," he answered, looking indulgently 
 down on her. " That deprives man of his inspira- 
 tion and the end of his labor. Not woman for 
 herself, but man for woman ; it is the law of the 
 universe." 
 
 " There is no progress in that," she answered, 
 defiantly. " You said yourself, just now, that this 
 conception of womanhood was impossible to the 
 Old World of Art. The new woman has at least 
 furnished an ideal to the artist." 
 
 "At the expense of other blessings," he finished. 
 " You know and I know that the bond which 
 holds between man and woman is not the new- 
 fangled, Platonic, intellectual comradeship, but a 
 feeling as primitive as the romance of Eden. It 
 is the talk about the independent rights of women 
 which has turned the world upside down." He 
 squared his shoulders and his chin, and dared her 
 to go on with the argument. This she was not 
 yet prepared to do.
 
 134 
 
 "Mr. French ought to see his creation, now," 
 she evaded. " I wonder if lie thought of her so, 
 harassed and assailed ?" 
 
 "A sort of artistic subconsciousness ?" he sug- 
 gested, accepting her evasion. 
 
 And then they talked of other things, mere 
 " padding " such as makes up the greater part of 
 all conversation. There were no pauses, and there 
 was nothing said which either cared to remember, 
 or which in anyway interfered with the train of 
 thought carried on underneath. Marguerite was 
 thinking, " Ever since I met this man last October 
 he has tried to trip me. He shall not, and I will 
 not run away as I did before." 
 
 Mark was thinking," She shall not dodge me this 
 time. I'll have her secret in spite of her." Both 
 pairs of eyes flashed when they met in farewell, 
 as swords flash before the fencing begins. Mar- 
 guerite made a final effort to think of something 
 which should make her feel less feminine and weak. 
 
 " I am going to lecture, day after to-morrow, on 
 the Symbolists," she began, in an off-hand, busi- 
 ness-like way. " Do you care to hear me ?" 
 
 " Of course. What is the hour ?" 
 
 "Four o'clock." 
 
 "I expect my friend Norton in the morning." 
 
 " ' Joey ?' Bring him, too." 
 
 They shook hands and parted, as two men 
 might have done, and the carriage rolled away. 
 
 "How did you enjoy the Republic?" asked 
 Mrs. Burnham.
 
 135 
 
 " It was lovely," replied Marguerite, abstracted- 
 ly, adding, with a laugh, "but I've ruined my 
 shoes." 
 
 "There'll be plenty of time to change them," 
 Mrs. Burnham, rejoined. " I suppose Mr. HeftVon 
 is not going?" 
 
 "No ; he doesn't care for such things." 
 
 "So I should judge. Where are your flow- 
 ers ?" 
 
 Marguerite uttered a cry of dismay. " I had 
 them when we started ; they must be in the car- 
 riage." 
 
 "They're not. What will the Prince say? He 
 was so careful to select your colors. You prob- 
 ably dropped them when you got out." 
 
 A feeling of annoyance altogether dispropor- 
 tionate to the loss of her flowers swept over 
 Marguerite. To have forgotten where she was 
 and what she was doing it made her hot and 
 cold b) r turns ! She must pull herself up short 
 and take a stand. The lecture would give her 
 an opportunity controlling an audience always 
 helped her control herself. She hoped that he 
 would come. 
 
 There was no uncertainty about his coming ; 
 he was as impatient for the hour to arrive as 
 Marguerite herself. Joey went with him. Louise 
 Ayer, who was a sort of prime-minister on such 
 occasions, had been urged to see that they had 
 seats near the front, but Louise was so occupied 
 with Carl Derino: when the two friends entered
 
 136 
 
 that they were in their places before she knew 
 they were there. 
 
 The long room was filled with the cultured and 
 fashionable women of Chicago what is known 
 as a "representative audience." Only a few men 
 were present ; they were too busy thinking of 
 other things, in order that their wives and daugh- 
 ters might have leisure to think of the Symbol- 
 ists. 
 
 A flutter of interest announced the arrival of 
 the lecturer, who came swiftly in, and stood wait- 
 ing until the applause of recognition had ceased. 
 Between the rows of nodding bonnets, Mark 
 caught a glimpse of the graceful figure, poised 
 like a flower on its stem. " The calm of invinci- 
 bility " he recognized with a smile, but instead of 
 being properly overawed by it, was seized with a 
 sacrilegious impulse if) catch her up and carry her 
 away, and fondle her and laugh at her until he 
 should discover what human stirrings of heart lay 
 underneath the cairn. 
 
 Then she began to speak. It was a most artis- 
 tic performance ; the articulation, the accent, the 
 clear, singing tones were perfect, and it was by 
 these that she was to be judged, in the main. 
 The names that she quoted were unfamiliar to 
 most of her hearers, and of the poems which she 
 recited there was no translation. But her French 
 was exquisite. 
 
 The stories she told, and the descriptions she 
 gave, were mystic and peculiar ; they contained
 
 137 
 
 frequent allusions to death, moonlight, and vague 
 unrest. 
 
 There was a hint, just a hint, of the voluntary 
 production of ecstasy, but it was accompanied by 
 the confession that the Symbolists often relied 
 upon opium or hasheesh in the production of their 
 fanciful compositions. One or two of the poets 
 had been in prison for some petty crime, and one 
 was an occasional visitor in the pauper ward of a 
 hospital, where he received his decadent friends. 
 It was all deliciously harrowing to hear about, 
 and left a delicate impression of bewildering sor- 
 
 A murmur of appreciation and the clapping of 
 gloved hands followed the close ; then every one 
 turned to his or her neighbor and said it had been 
 charming, delightful, and none ventured to say 
 how or why. Professor La Motte bowed low over 
 the hand which Louise Ayer gave him, and uttered 
 his usual formula of French compliment, insisting 
 that she reply in the same language. Carl Der- 
 ing stood near, Availing for a final word with 
 Louise. Mademoiselle Duvray had been sur- 
 rounded by eager women as soon as she ceased 
 speaking ; their sweet, shrill voices floated over 
 to the corner where Mark and Joey stood. Joey 
 glanced quizzically at Mark, but Mark was study- 
 ing the Pompeian frescoes upon the wall. He 
 was suave and gracious, for Mark, when in her 
 triumphal progress down the room Mademoiselle 
 Duvray came to the corner, and he spoke in flat-
 
 138 
 
 tering terms of her eloquence. Marguerite should 
 have been content, but, after the full libations 
 which her pupils had been pouring to her, his 
 praise seemed poor and thin. 
 
 " I know you don't care for these things," she 
 said, tolerantly, as who should say, "I see what 
 you do not." 
 
 "What, 'the subtleties of sensation?'" he an- 
 swered, caustically. " I think they're dangerous ; 
 but if people like that sort of thing, it is their 
 own lookout. It is two-thirds pose, anyway, with 
 these fellows they don't mean half they say." 
 
 When Marguerite had been taking her Symbol- 
 ists altogether seriously, this Avas positively un- 
 kind. She welcomed the opportunity to exercise 
 an admirable self-control. "I do not quite under- 
 stand," she said with deliberation. "Do you 
 mean that these new philosophers are not in 
 earnest ?" 
 
 "They're anything but new," replied Mark, 
 brusquely. "They combine the Pantheism of 
 Bruno and the Idealism of Spinoza with just 
 enough modern psychology to make their system 
 appear new and scientific. It isn't new, and it 
 isn't scientific. Science is accurate, it is clear. 
 These emotional explorers are groping around in 
 the 'misty borderland of thought,' making a great 
 to-do over they don't know what. They'd better 
 stop whooping until they're out of the woods." 
 
 "Don't mind him, Mademoiselle Duvray," in- 
 terposed Norton, sweetly. " He has these attacks
 
 139 
 
 occasionally. If you had pitched into the Sym- 
 bolists he would have sworn they were wiser than 
 the Three Kings." 
 
 But Mark had no idea of being daunted in this 
 fashion. " To be sure the universe expresses 
 thought," he continued. "Most of us subscribed 
 to that long ago, and to the doctrine that all 
 things are subject to the same laws ' We are all 
 evanescent expressions of an eternal unity,' but 
 you don't get any nearer to the eternal unity by 
 playing tricks with the evanescent expressions. 
 Scientific ! Heaven forbid !" 
 
 "But, Mr. Heffron," pursued Marguerite, brave- 
 ly, " as I understand the Symbolists, they do not 
 pride themselves on their scientific accuracy but 
 on their suggestiveness, which is a purely artistic 
 quality. It may have no place in science, but it 
 has in art, and art is as necessary as science you 
 grant that, surely '?" 
 
 " No, I don't," replied Mark, bluntly. " People 
 are bound to feel, anyway, and they won't think 
 if they can help it. You don't need to hunt up 
 their nerves and bear down on them in order to 
 produce a sensation ; teach them reason and self- 
 control, and emotion will take care of itself." 
 
 Now, if there was anything in her instruction 
 upon which Marguerite prided herself, it was the 
 pi'ominence she gave to reason and self-control. 
 To be sure Mark had not seen her circulars, but 
 he should have detected the quality of their spirit 
 in their author. Marguerite was put on her met-
 
 140 
 
 tie at once. It would never do to let that remark 
 pass before the listening women who were her 
 disciples. " Beauty is not unreasonable, Mr. Hef- 
 fron," she said with dignity, " and there is nothing 
 so subject to control as Art." With these words 
 she virtually closed the debate, asking young Nor- 
 ton how long he was to remain in the city. 
 
 "You can't slug her, Mark," laughed Norton, 
 as they walked down State Street, arm. in arm, to 
 avoid being separated by the crowd, "and she's 
 the first woman I ever saw whom you couldn't. 
 You needn't lift your eyebrows in that way. I've 
 seen you pound the poor things all over the field, 
 using words they couldn't possibly understand. 
 If she doesn't catch on, you'll never know it nor 
 any one else. She won't own up to any limita- 
 tions. That's the only fault she has, not to have 
 faults ; but that's a big one. Half the fun a man 
 has with a woman is in laughing at her. 
 
 o o 
 
 "You don't know what you are talking about, 
 Joey," growled Mark. 
 
 " Yes, I do," returned Joey, positively. " She's 
 an Ideal, take my word for it, Mark, she's an Ideal, 
 and to fall in love with an Ideal is almost as bad 
 as falling in love with a Type ; it's too general in 
 its application. You want something decidedly 
 personal when you fall in love." 
 
 " Joey," pursued Mark, assuming a paternal air, 
 "you are a nice boy, but you have one weakness; 
 you talk too much." 
 
 " All right," returned Joey, submissively. "But
 
 141 
 
 some one has to talk. I'll stop, and you say some- 
 thing." 
 
 Silence ensued for some seconds, and then Joey 
 resumed in an injured tone, "What did I tell 
 you ? You won't say a blamed word when you 
 get a chance. I say, Mark, don't you think it was 
 rather pedantic for her to get off all those poems 
 in French ? Don't you think it was taking an 
 unfair advantage a sort of 'hiding behind the 
 picket-fence of unintelligibility,' as she says the 
 critics accuse these Symbolists of doing?" 
 
 "Probably to the majority of the audience it 
 was perfectly intelligible," returned Mark, dryly. 
 "It is hardly fair to impose our ignorance of 
 French as a limitation upon Mademoiselle Du- 
 vray." 
 
 Norton stroked his pointed beard with his free 
 hand and looked reflective. "There's another 
 thing," he pursued, after a pause. " Did it ever 
 occur to you that she was trying to get an influ- 
 ence over you not as other women do, for their 
 own enjoyment, but for your soul's good, and all 
 that sort of thing? Now, women are perfectly 
 welcome to my heart. That's on my sleeve, as any 
 one of them can see for herself. But I carry my 
 soul in my inside vest-pocket, and I'd thank them 
 to keep their fingers out of there." 
 
 Mark did not even smile. " He's either hard 
 hit or he thinks I'm a fool," mused Joey. " I 
 don't believe he thinks I'm a fool. You know 
 they're all on to that sort of thing," he continued,
 
 142 
 
 aloud. "Circe up to date! She doesn't wave 
 her wand over you and say, 'Begone to the sty P 
 She lifts you to immeasurable heights, and if you 
 get warm and melt the wax which holds on your 
 wings, it's your own fault. There is my car. 
 Won't you come out to the house to dinner ? 
 Uncle says you haven't been there for an age." 
 
 " I have an engagement, thank you," replied 
 Mark, coldly. 
 
 "Well, then, au revoir. I've been immensely 
 entertained." 
 
 Mark walked on towards the bridge. He felt 
 irritated. He was provoked with Norton, pro- 
 voked with himself. What did he know about 
 society women and their intellectual appetites? 
 Marguerite probably gave them what was good 
 for them. He had been like a clumsy bear put- 
 ting his great foot into the lace-like web of her 
 pretty fancies ; he had destroyed their beauty, 
 and what had been gained ? She had been kind 
 enough to permit him to be present when she 
 spoke, and he had repaid her kindness by quarrel- 
 ling with her before her friends. What business 
 had he, anyway, airing his opinions? Who cared 
 what they were ? And yet, hang it all ! she was 
 mistaken all the way through ; her ideas of life 
 were absurdly false ; some day she would find it 
 out. That dissipated Russian Avho was dangling 
 about last evening at the ball for Mark had fol- 
 lowed the carriage back to the city, contrary to 
 his determination, and had stood for a full hour
 
 143 
 
 where he could watch Marguerite and her chap- 
 eron in their box any one who knew the world 
 could see what that fellow was ; but evidently he 
 stood high in her favor. Poor little thing ! she 
 walked in a cloud of beautiful ideas, and had 
 no appreciation of the chasms which yawned on 
 either side. 
 
 By the time he had reached his hotel, Mark had 
 walked and reasoned himself into good-humor, 
 and had decided that he would have a frank, 
 friendly talk with Marguerite, and show her the 
 fallacies with which she dealt.
 
 XVII 
 
 " PLEASANT, when you bring up Miss Gordon's 
 dinner to-night, can't you stay and entertain her a 
 little while, sing to her or something! She is 
 rather down in her spirits." 
 
 " Yes, Mis' Larrabee, yessum," replied Pleas- 
 ant, " I'll come up jes' as quick as I get thoo." 
 
 "Thank you, Pleasant." Miss Larrabee moved 
 on with a sigh. It was a new experience to have 
 strong, self-reliant Eloise an invalid. Half a 
 dozen individuals stopped her on her way to the 
 door to inquire for Miss Gordon. "Her cold is 
 better, but she is weak and low-spirited," Miss 
 Larrabee replied. 
 
 "Does she see folks?" inquired Mrs. Shipman. 
 
 "No, not at all at least, only relatives, and 
 near friends, and people on business," answered 
 Miss Larrabee, trying to be truthful and prudent 
 at the same time and making poor work of it. 
 
 "Do you think my music disturbs her?" asked 
 a thin, dark woman, with a sprinkling of gray on 
 her forelock which made her look like a Polish 
 hen. 
 
 "I think not, Miss Thompson. No, there's 
 nothing any one can do, Mr. NcNulty. It is six
 
 145 
 
 weeks since she was taken, that night at the Fair 
 Grounds when the Peristyle burned. I will let you 
 know, Mr. Armstrong, if there is anything you can 
 do. Thank you all. Good-night." Miss Larrabee 
 swept on, uplifted by the deferential attitude of 
 her fellow -boarders. They had all been very 
 kind, but she never knew when they would change 
 and be disagreeable. However, when their in- 
 terest lagged it was immediately stimulated by 
 Mrs. Glenn. It was she who told Mrs. Shipman, 
 who told several others, how brave and generous 
 Eloise had been, actually refusing to have her 
 lover informed of her true condition, because he 
 had gone to the Pacific coast on important busi- 
 ness which would detain him until spring. " It 
 would break your heart to see her," declared Mrs. 
 Glenn. " She sits up and writes to him when it is 
 all she can do to move her fingers; and makes 
 believe she is all right. She just insisted that we 
 should not tell him." 
 
 Eloise had also added, "I will not have him 
 here, he would drive me distracted ;" but there 
 was no need of telling people that. 
 
 "She is not herself, anyway," Miss Larrabee 
 had whispered, after the two women had gone 
 out into the hall to talk it over. " Why, she even 
 gets provoked with me." 
 
 William Pleasant seemed to suit Eloise better 
 than any one else did. She had discovered his 
 capabilities by chance one day when he came np 
 
 for a " pome " to speak at the club. 
 
 10
 
 146 
 
 "What club, Pleasant ?" 
 
 "The Lake View Club, Miss Gordon. It's a 
 kind of littry and social club. We have debates 
 and speeches, and the Happy Four Quartet sing. 
 Mos' everything," Pleasant laughed by way of a 
 period. 
 
 " What sort of questions do you debate ?" 
 
 "Las' time we 'scussed whether a woman's 
 brains or a man's was the best, and de time befo' 
 that we 'scussed whether a feller'd save his wife 
 or his mother if they's all shipwrecked together. 
 Sam Jennin's and Jo Tarrents 'scussed that. Sam 
 cried, he got so excited." 
 
 " Which side did he take ?" 
 
 " The wife's side ; but Jo, he said you could 
 get another wife, and you can't never have but 
 one mother. Tell you, Miss Gordon, that club's 
 a big thing. There'd been less shootin' craps 
 and more boys with overcoats if it had started 
 sooner." 
 
 " You have a large number to choose from ?" 
 pursued Eloise, loath to let him go. 
 
 " Yessum," answered Pleasant, only too glad to 
 remain. "There's one used to be an elder, he 
 exhorts sometimes at the club ; and an artist, he's 
 doin' crayon po'traits to give away as prizes at a 
 cigar-store ; he's a perfesser at least, if he ain't 
 a regular perfesser, he's a perfesser of am-er- 
 chewer; and there's a baseball player. Yessum, 
 we've got a nice lot of boys." 
 
 " Don't you think it's a little reckless to let
 
 147 
 
 Pleasant take Leigh Hunt's poems down-stairs ?" 
 Aunt Harriet asked, afterwards. 
 
 " It's worth all the book cost to hear him say : 
 
 
 ' King Francis was a liarty king and loved a royal spote, 
 
 And one day while the lions fought sat lookin' on de 
 cote,' " 
 
 replied Eloise. 
 
 Neither Mrs. Glenn nor Aunt Harriet nor 
 Carl, who came almost every day, could dispel 
 from her face the pallid, bored look as could 
 Pleasant, and Pleasant enjoyed the process as well 
 as she did. 
 
 He came in to-night, after a modest tap at the 
 door, with a respectful, "Bid you good-evenin', 
 Miss Gordon," and took up her guitar, which he 
 had fitted with new strings during his last visit. 
 
 " I'm goin' to play somethin' new," he said, with 
 a chuckle, fondling the instrument as if it were a 
 baby, and his own. Lovingly he ran his fingers 
 over the strings, and struck into a melody whose 
 every note was a caress, pathetic in its tenderness, 
 joy ful in its longing, giving all and asking nothing. 
 
 " What is it ? It is perfectly exquisite !" cried 
 Eloise, as the player stopped, and gave vent to 
 another chuckle. 
 
 " I call it ' Pleasant Dreams,' " replied the boy, 
 showing his white teeth. 
 
 " Did you compose that ? Did you make that 
 up?" 
 
 " Yessum."
 
 148 
 
 " Pleasant, you're a genius. Play it again." 
 
 He obeyed, putting into the simple strain, if 
 possible, more tenderness, more joy y and more re- 
 nunciation. , 
 
 "Pleasant," the listener asked, suddenly, after 
 a pause, "what do you think of when you play 
 like that ?" 
 
 Pleasant giggled,. " I was thinkin' of a lady," 
 he answered, continuing, confidently, " Miss Gor- 
 don, I wanter ask you what it is. I'm awfully 
 fond of my folks, of my father and mother, but 
 there are times when I don't go near 'em for a 
 long while. But if I set out to go and see that 
 lady, I'm goin' anyhow. And the nex' day I'm 
 thinkin' 'bout it all the time. If I get a letter 
 frum her, I'm boun' to set right down and answer 
 it. Now, what is that, Miss Gordon ?" 
 
 " You're in love, Pleasant." 
 
 " Oh, I sut'nly hope not." 
 
 " Why ?" 
 
 " 'Cause I ain't fixed to get married. I've al- 
 ways heard if poverty comes in at the do' love 
 flies out at the winder. And I couldn't stand 
 that nohow. If I couldn't get money by work, I'd 
 do mos' anything, and then " he put up his 
 fingers and looked through them as through bars 
 " yessum, I'd steal, that's what I'd do, if I's 
 sure to be shut up." 
 
 Eloise made no response, but the glance she 
 gave him was so full of sympathy that Pleasant 
 continued : "I feel 'sponsible for that lady as I
 
 149 
 
 do for my mother and sister. Now, times is so 
 bad, I tell her to stay where she is, where her 
 folks will take care of her." He patted the strings 
 of the guitar thoughtfully for a minute ; then re- 
 membering he was there to entertain and not ap- 
 peal, he said, brightly, "Now I'll do a funny 
 piece," and began to play the most doleful minor 
 chords. The words which he sang to them were 
 in broken English and German, and portrayed the 
 sufferings of a young man at the hands of his 
 prospective father-in-law. As the lugubrious wail 
 went on and on the listener became fairly hyster- 
 ical. At last it came to an end. " That's a funny 
 piece," announced the player. 
 
 The entrance of Aunt Harriet relieved Eloise 
 from an embarrassing position. Pleasant immedi- 
 ately said his good-night and withdrew. 
 
 Aunt Harriet looked uneasy. "I didn't mean 
 to stay so long," she said, apologetically. " Carl 
 has been here. He thought he wouldn't come up. 
 He left his love." 
 
 " Thank you," returned Eloise, without looking 
 at her. 
 
 " He wants me to go out with him to-morrow 
 morning for a little while," continued Aunt Har- 
 riet, hastily " that is, if you can spare me." 
 
 "Of course ! Why do you ask?" 
 
 Aunt Harriet murmured some unintelligible re- 
 sponse. If her niece had not been preoccupied 
 she would have seen that Aunt Harriet had some- 
 thing on her mind, but Eloise was thinking of
 
 150 
 
 other things of Pleasant and his " lady," and of 
 the tenderness and renunciation of "Pleasant 
 Dreams." 
 
 "Poor Pleasant!" she mused. "I wonder if 
 Philip feels in that way. I suppose if he were 
 any one else I should be sorry for him." 
 . The early church-bells were ringing the next 
 morning when Carl appeared to take Aunt Har- 
 riet " out " with him. 
 
 " Both of them seemed in a tremendous hurry," 
 Eloise said to Mrs. Glenn, who was to sit with her 
 during Aunt Harriet's absence. " Carl bounced 
 in and talked all the time, and caught up Aunt 
 Harriet and bounced out again. They are doing 
 something which they mean to keep from me, 
 but I don't know as I care." 
 
 It might have stirred her languid interest if she 
 could have watched the pair enter Dr. Symonds's 
 office, transformed for the occasion into a modest 
 chapel. A slight young girl, with a far-off look 
 in her dreamy eyes, was playing softly on the up- 
 right piano in the corner. Carl led Aunt Harriet 
 to the front row of chairs near the preacher, who 
 sat on a small platform behind a reading-desk. 
 There was a vase of roses on the desk, and Aunt 
 Harriet could not see his face until, with a gest- 
 ure, he brought the soothing sounds to a close 
 and stood up before his audience. He was of 
 medium size, built slenderly and finely, like a 
 woman. His eyes were large and dark, and felt 
 out the faces of those before him like fingers,
 
 151 
 
 clinging where they touched. His sensitive nos- 
 trils palpitated when he breathed. A drooping 
 black mustache hid his lips. The chin was well 
 rounded, the brow was that of an idealist, full and 
 white. There was no color in the cheeks, and the 
 long, slender, pointed hands were also colorless. 
 They trembled as he took up the Testament from 
 which he read, and when he commenced to speak 
 he put one of them behind him as if to hide its 
 agitation. He was like a sensitive machine, thrill- 
 ing to some invisible influence. 
 
 For an hour he talked straight into their up- 
 turned faces. As he proceeded his voice grew 
 steadier and his hands ceased to tremble. He 
 seemed to lose himself in his earnestness ; what- 
 ever might be said of the theories which he ad- 
 vanced, there was no possibility of a doubt that 
 he believed in them thoroughly. 
 
 It was all vague and bewildering to Aunt Har- 
 riet ; she had not the remotest idea what the 
 speaker meant, but listened because every one 
 else was listening with absorbed attention. She 
 was tired, body and soul ; tired of care and worry, 
 tired of combating the opinions and suspicions of 
 the people at the hotel, tired of the uncertain and 
 turbulent spirit of her niece. The atmosphere of 
 the little chapel was restful beyond expression. 
 It was as if her frail, cockle-shell of a body had 
 been lifted by a giant palm and held above the 
 swirl and dash of the waves where it had drifted. 
 She settled back in her camel's-hair shawl with a
 
 152 
 
 sigh of utter content, feeling that for a few short, 
 blissful moments she was freed from every re- 
 sponsibility, even from that of her own personal 
 salvation, which was wont to harass her when 
 she had nothing else on hand. 
 
 At last the speaker paused and said, impres- 
 sively, "Let us unite in the Silence!" 
 
 Far down in the street the rumble of car- 
 riages and the tread of feet blended in a rhythmic 
 murmur ; a city clock chimed solemnly ; there 
 was no other sound. Aunt Harriet remembered 
 no silence to compare with it save that which 
 brooded over Max Gordon's great, handsome hall 
 while he lay in it, dead, and they, his mourners, 
 waited in the gallery above for those who came 
 to do him final honor. The voice of the strange 
 preacher blended with the calm. 
 
 " Now is every one taught of the Spirit," he 
 repeated, reverently. " Now is every one led 
 whither he should go. All problems are solved, 
 all disquietude banished, and the peace which is 
 past understanding is in every heart. Amen !" 
 
 The gentle musician was ready with her chords. 
 The people sat relaxed and quiet, thrilling to 
 the power which had played over them. When 
 they looked up the preacher had gone, vanishing 
 through a door in the rear of the room. 
 
 " Come, Aunt Harriet," whispered Carl. She 
 stood up rubbing her eyes. The experience had 
 been as a dream ; she felt rested and refreshed, 
 like one who awakes from sleep. Bird-like Mrs.
 
 153 
 
 Symonds was shaking hands with this one and 
 that as they went out. 
 
 She said she was glad to meet Miss Larrabee, 
 and hoped to see more of her. 
 
 " There Avere a number of new people there 
 this morning," said Carl, as they crossed over to 
 the station. " The Rosses have succeeded in 
 bringing their uncle at last." 
 
 " Who was the white-haired man who sat by 
 the door ?" asked Aunt Harriet. 
 
 " Mr. Norton ; he has been a regular attendant 
 for some time. Did you see the little woman 
 who sat opposite us with the tall young lady? 
 That was Mademoiselle Duvray. Louise Ayer 
 was the one with her. I wanted to introduce 
 you to them, but there are always so many wait- 
 ing to speak to Mademoiselle Duvray that it is 
 almost impossible to get anywhere near her. 
 Some other Sunday perhaps I can do it." 
 
 "Some other Sunday?" repeated Aunt Har- 
 riet, timidly. 
 
 " Why, yes, you will go again." 
 
 " How bright you look !" exclaimed Eloise, as 
 the two came in together. " I wish I could get 
 out for a long walk like that. There is nothing 
 like fresh air." 
 
 Aunt Harriet gave a guilty start, but Carl 
 signalled her behind Eloise's chair to say noth- 
 ing, and she obeyed.
 
 XVIII 
 
 To women like Aunt Harriet the appeal from 
 Caesar is to Caesar, from love to love. She could 
 not have turned her back upon her niece except 
 for Eloise's own sake. Whether Carl knew it or 
 not, he was using the only argument of any pos- 
 sible weight with her when he told Aunt Harriet 
 that she could bring home renewed strength to 
 Eloise by attending the service at the chapel. It 
 would seem that he spoke the truth. There was 
 less friction between the two women day by day. 
 Eloise certainly gained ; her cough almost ceased. 
 
 " You must hold the right thought over her," 
 counselled Mrs. Symonds, whom Aunt Harriet 
 was beginning to seek out on week days at the 
 office. " Say to yourself, ' All is Spirit and all 
 is Good !' " And the obedient pupil went to sleep 
 at night and awoke in the morning whispering 
 the cabalistic words. 
 
 Timid as she was, Aunt Harriet never did any- 
 thing by halves, possibly because she did so few 
 things that she could afford to expend herself on 
 each. She gradually relaxed her hold on the 
 prayer-book, and tightened the tentative grasp 
 with which she had received the books which
 
 155 
 
 Carl gave her to read. The mystery -with which 
 they were bestowed and received enhanced their 
 value. Many of them, when stripped of certain 
 expressions which they shared in common, would 
 have sounded not unlike the sermons she had 
 listened to from orthodox lips all her life. But 
 somehow they seemed more real, more her own. 
 They gave her something to do and showed her 
 how to do it. She had at last found a way to 
 help Eloise. Her transparent diplomacy with the 
 guests had been a failure, her anxiety to advance 
 Philip's cause had only hindered it ; this new, 
 and, as it were, subterranean method of attack, 
 " holding the right thought," was to accomplish 
 everything. A tranquil look which Eloise had 
 never seen there before gradually overspread 
 Aunt Harriet's small, shrunken face. Moreover, 
 in order to do her utmost by the " thought," she 
 must talk less, and this, too, had a beneficial ef- 
 fect on her niece's nerves. 
 
 " She is certainly better," Aunt Harriet re- 
 ported to Mrs. Symonds. 
 
 " I knew that before you came in," said Mrs. 
 Symonds. " I felt that she responded to the 
 treatment. Keep right on. Treat every one. 
 That is the way to learn. You are going to do 
 well with this line of thought. Don't you think 
 you are ready for the manuscript lessons ?" 
 
 Aunt Harriet colored and hesitated. 
 
 " You can pay when you feel like it," said 
 Mrs. Symonds, generously. " Take One, Two,
 
 156 
 
 and Three to begin on. You can come back for 
 the rest when you are through." 
 
 With a palpitating heart Aunt Harriet received 
 One, Two, and Three, inclosed in huge brown paper 
 envelopes, and, hurrying home, slipped them be- 
 low the mattress of her bed. Already, volumes 
 of her occult library made bunches beneath her 
 when she slept ; but, like the peas of penance in 
 the shoes of the monks, they brought a comfort- 
 able consciousness of well-doing to soothe the 
 discomfort they produced. When Eloise was 
 busy with her scholars, for she had begun to 
 teach again, the little books came from their hid- 
 ing-place and were devoured eagerly by the new 
 disciple. The manuscript lessons were not so 
 simple in their language or so direct in their 
 application. They had a great deal to say about 
 the " First Cause, Unlimited, Infinite, and Abso- 
 lute." By-and-by she might grow up to these. 
 The tract on "No Evil" was more suited to her 
 comprehension, and a thin, decorated booklet on 
 " Perpetual Youth " went straight to her femi- 
 nine heart. Warming to their influence she felt 
 capable of any sacrifice. She longed to take a 
 stand, to do something, to suffer something by 
 way of an initiation into her new belief. She 
 had passed beyond the attitude of investigation 
 to that of espousal had reached the state of 
 mind which demands a cathai'sis, a baptism. 
 What should it be ? She had abstained from 
 drugs ever since Carl told her they belonged to
 
 157 
 
 a lower plane of thought ; but they were still 
 in her possession. She opened the drawer where 
 they were kept, and solemnly, as one looks into 
 the face of the dead, examined the interior. There 
 were bottles innumerable bottles large and 
 round, bottles small and flat, bottles wrapped 
 in their own "directions" like a mummy in its 
 cerements, bottles mysteriously dumb as to their 
 contents and significance ; and there were boxes 
 daintily made and highly ornamented containing 
 powders of various colors and tablets of curious 
 shape. She fingered them affectionately. They 
 were the silent witnesses to the long years during 
 which, as Eloise said, "Aunt Harriet had been 
 addicted to delicate health." They had been 
 " closer than breathing, nearer than hands and 
 feet," in time of trial, but they must go, every one. 
 She gathered them up in her skirts and carried 
 them to the open fireplace. The uncertain fate 
 of the waste-basket would not serve. Reverent- 
 ly she poured them out on the hearth and set 
 them afire. It was a heroic deed, and one which 
 brought the light of determination into her dim 
 eyes. Never again could she get up quietly in 
 the night for a Dover's Powder or a dose 
 of chloral ; she must fight down her nerves 
 unaided. Never again could she indulge her 
 capricious elderly appetite with batter -pudding 
 and spice - cake, relying upon Dr. Kendrick's 
 Dyspepsia Pill to save her from the conse- 
 quences of her reckless act. She had entered
 
 158 
 
 upon a new life of self-control and renuncia- 
 tion. 
 
 She was now ready to go forth with her modest 
 banner and convert the blinded beings who were 
 still "sitting in darkness, fast bound with mis- 
 ery" and material appliances. The music-teacher, 
 Miss Thompson, was the first. She responded 
 with a vigor of appreciation that was appalling. 
 " I can't imagine what is the matter with Miss 
 Thompson," said Eloise, wearily. " She used to 
 be satisfied with three or four hours' practice, but 
 now she is at it all day long. And she pounds 
 so ; you can't get away from the sound of her 
 exercises." 
 
 " Miss Thompson is a good deal better than 
 she was," replied Aunt Harriet, feeling guilty in 
 spite of the righteousness of the cause. 
 
 Miss Thompson herself was delighted. " I 
 can play pieces which I haven't been able to 
 handle in years that impromptu of Moszkowski's, 
 for instance. It used to tire me to play it through 
 once, and now I can play it over and over. It's 
 a tremendously effective thing." She declared, 
 almost with tears in her eyes, that Miss Larra- 
 bee's little books gave her what she had been 
 looking for all her life. One, Two, and Three 
 she swallowed with avidity, and was ready for 
 Four, Five, and Six as soon as Miss Larrabee 
 brought them home. Her progress made Aunt 
 Harriet almost jealous. 
 
 Not all the interested individuals, however,
 
 159 
 
 were ready for the "new thought." More than 
 one scoffed openly ; others led the devotee on to 
 furnish them a choice variety of entertainment ; 
 a few, the sad and burdened ones, seeking the 
 promised " means of escape," listened and ques- 
 tioned and tried to understand. 
 
 If Eloise had been on more intimate terms with 
 her fellow-boarders she might have learned earlier 
 and with less expenditure of nervous force the 
 results of Aunt Harriet's cr.usade. It was through 
 the Glenn children, finally, that her eyes wei'e 
 opened. Thej r came in late to their drawing-les- 
 son, after the other children had taken their places 
 before their easels. Millicent had been crying, 
 and coughed croupily. Milton had evidently been 
 teasing her. 
 
 "Milton, what is the matter Avith Millicent?" 
 asked Eloise, drawing the child towards her. 
 
 " Millicent has been denying God !" said Milton, 
 promptly. "You stop laughing, John Somers, or 
 I'll punch your head when we get out of here." 
 
 "Milton !" exclaimed Eloise, sternly. 
 
 "Miss Larrabee's doctor said so. He said any 
 one who was sick denied God, for God is all-pow- 
 erful and He is good, and there is no evil," re- 
 peated Milton, glibly. 
 
 "Take your seat, Milton," interrupted his 
 teacher, suddenly realizing that this was not a 
 case for public examination. " What could the 
 boy mean?" she asked herself, while she arranged 
 their work for the children, and directed their
 
 160 
 
 awkward hands. " Who could Miss Larrabee's 
 doctor be ?" Aunt Harriet had gone to the city on 
 one of her peculiar, private expeditions. " Could 
 it be that she had fallen into the hands of some 
 terrible quack ? Was this the reason for her sud- 
 den interest in something besides* the bills and 
 Philip and selling pictures?" The hour was a 
 long one, but at last it came to an end. Hardly 
 had the children disappeared before there came a 
 business-like tap at the door. " I've come to see 
 Miss Larrabee," said the woman who stood there, 
 and whom Eloise recognized as one of the guests 
 in the hotel. " I want her to give me a ' treat- 
 ment.' I hear from folks in the house that she 
 has wonderful powers as a healer. I've had a 
 great deal of rheumatism." 
 
 "Miss Larrabee is not at home," replied Eloise, 
 stonily. 
 
 " Oh, she isn't. Well, when do you expect 
 her?" 
 
 " I don't know." 
 
 "I want very much to see her," pursued the 
 would-be patient. " If she helps me, I'd like to 
 have my daughter try her ; she's been going to 
 Dr. Budlong to reduce her flesh." 
 
 " I don't know when Miss Larrabee will return," 
 said Miss Larrabee's unhappy niece, and, like a 
 haughty princess, bowed the intruder from the 
 door. 
 
 " Oh, Aunt Harriet," she cried, reproachfully, 
 as the culprit returned, flushed and buoyant, car-
 
 161 
 
 vying Seven, Eight, and Nine under her shawl, 
 "what have you been doing? What dreadful 
 things do I hear about you !" 
 
 " Now, Eloise," replied her aunt, seeing the rack 
 before her, but determined not to apostatize. 
 Her heart beat so stormily that it seemed to her 
 to threaten to tear its way through her side, but 
 she stood her ground. She began again, firmly : 
 "Now, Eloise, don't talk like that about what has 
 saved your life !" 
 
 " Saved my life !" repeated Eloise, bewildered. 
 " What do you mean ?" 
 
 " Can you forget how you were four or five 
 weeks ago ? And see how you are now !" 
 
 "What has that to do with it?" demanded 
 Eloise, almost fiercely. 
 
 "If it hadn't been for Dr. Symonds and Carl, 
 and me," replied Aunt Harriet, solemnly, " you 
 would not be where you are to-day." 
 
 "Why, Aunt Harriet, are you crazy?" ex- 
 claimed her niece. " I never saw Dr. Symonds, 
 and Carl I seldom see nowadays. I don't know 
 what }'ou have been trying to do to me." 
 
 " We have all been treating you ever since I 
 went down to hear Dr. Symonds preach, six weeks 
 ago," said her aunt, "and every one in the house 
 has noticed how you have gained ; that is why 
 they all want me to treat them." 
 
 Eloise stood speechless with amazement. Of 
 all the irritating surprises of the morning, this 
 was the crown. To hear that Aunt Harriet was
 
 102 
 
 in collusion with a lot of fanatics, recommending 
 their " science " to her friends, was like a blow 
 between the eyes, but the news which had fol- 
 lowed was even more crushing. Aunt Harriet as 
 a healer ! Aunt Harriet holding up her innocent 
 and unconscious niece as an instance of her own 
 extraordinary power ! She rapidly reviewed in 
 her mind the experiences of the past few weeks ; 
 so this was the explanation of Aunt Harriet's se- 
 renity and poise, and of her indulgent attitude 
 towards herself. No one enjoys being deceived, 
 even for one's own benefit. Eloise felt betrayed 
 and entrapped ; she whirled in a passion of anger 
 and left the room. Aunt Harriet, more disturbed 
 than she was willing to admit, went to put away 
 Seven, Eight, and Nine. Her first impulse was 
 to bestow them under the bed, but remembering 
 that there was no longer a cause for concealment 
 she laid them on the table, with a sigh. 
 
 The days which ensued were trying to both. 
 Suspicious of the psychic attentions of Aunt Har- 
 riet and her friends, Eloise felt like inviting a re- 
 lapse by way of defiance ; but then they would 
 say it was because she had rebelled against their 
 influence. Either way, they had her at a disad- 
 vantage. She was not fighting against flesh and 
 blood, but against principalities and "powers." 
 She told herself that she did not believe a word 
 they said, but their absolute confidence in their 
 methods filled her with superstitious tremors ; and 
 they were so absurdly satisfied, so inanely cheer-
 
 163 
 
 ful Mrs. Glenn among the rest ! " I thought 
 you had more sense," Eloise said to her. 
 
 "You don't understand, my dear," her friend 
 returned, indulgently. "If you had seen Milli- 
 cent fall off to sleep, bathed in perspiration and 
 the fever all gone, you would have felt, as I did, 
 there is something here which we want for ourselves 
 and our children" 
 
 Eloise made no reply. When Mrs. Glenn in- 
 trenched herself behind her maternal duties the 
 solitary maiden felt that she was outside the debate. 
 
 Meanwhile, Aunt Harriet's little bedroom bid 
 fair to be turned into a consultation office. The 
 woman with rheumatism came, and her daughter 
 came, and there were other patients also. In vain 
 Eloise expostulated. Aunt Harriet had emerged 
 from the cocoon of her former existence ; it was 
 impossible to pack the gauzy wings of her new 
 ambitions and desires again in that limited space. 
 Just as Eloise felt that she could no longer endure 
 the changed appearance of her surroundings, the 
 broad face of Mrs. Harwood arose like a shining 
 sun on the horizon. " Why, yes, didn't you get 
 my letter?" she inquired, cordially. "Dan'l's 
 cousin's wife's died and left us his place up on 
 Seventy-fifth Street. We've rented the farm, and 
 have come to Chicago to live." 
 
 " Thank God !" cried Eloise, clinging to her. 
 " Mrs. Harwood, the world's upsidedown, and my 
 head has commenced to turn. Now you've come, 
 I can keep it from going over."
 
 XIX 
 
 " WHAT on earth do you mean, child ?" in- 
 quired Mrs. Harwood, anxiously, for Eloise clung 
 to her, half laughing, half crying. " Is your aunt 
 sick ?" 
 
 " No ; she's never going to be sick any more," 
 replied Eloise, with a forlorn laugh. 
 
 " What do you mean ?" 
 
 " Aunt Harriet has joined some religious body 
 people who believe there is no such thing as 
 sickness. They're just like children ; they make 
 believe they are well, and that they have money 
 and are happy but that is easier. Happiness is 
 mostly make-believe, anyway." 
 
 " Oh, you mean the Christian Scientists," ex- 
 claimed Mrs. Harwood, settling back in her chair 
 with a sigh of relief. " They won't hurt her. 
 Let her go it." 
 
 " But, Mrs. Harwood," persisted Eloise, " they're 
 dreadful. They come to Aunt Harriet for ' treat- 
 ment,' as they call it." 
 
 "Who, the Scientists?" 
 
 " No ; the guests in the house." 
 
 Mrs. Harwood threw back her head and laughed 
 heartily.
 
 165 
 
 Eloise looked disconcerted. 
 
 " I can't help it ; it is too good a joke. The 
 idea of their coming to her !" 
 
 " She said she and her friends cured me," pur- 
 sued Eloise, ruefully. 
 
 " What if they did and what if they didn't ?" 
 returned Mrs. Harwood, coolly. " You're well, 
 ain't you ? What do you care how you got 
 there ?" 
 
 This was an entirely new aspect of the ques- 
 tion for Eloise. She had no answer ready. 
 
 " Look a-here, child," said the elder woman, 
 laying her rough hand affectionately on the girl's 
 knee, " I got my lesson about interfering with 
 what doesn't concern me three years ago come 
 summer, and I got it by making a fool of myself. 
 I didn't know it, either, until the next winter, 
 when I was studying art, getting ready for the 
 Fair, and then it came over me all of a sudden. 
 / The very things I had rooted out of one garden 
 I was cultivating in another. First time I called 
 'em weeds ; now they were flowers. It made me 
 hot all over. Since then I've let alone what I 
 didn't understand." 
 
 Eloise caught the hand upon her knee and 
 pressed it. 
 
 " All I want to say," concluded the visitor, "is 
 v this : don't be in too big a hurry, and don't stick 
 ; your elbows out ; give other folks their half of 
 the road. Where is Miss Larrabee ?" 
 
 " Gone off on some mysterious errand," pouted
 
 166 
 
 Eloise. "I never know what she's doing, and 
 she used to think she couldn't, make a move with- 
 out consulting me." 
 
 " She used to live and breathe through you, 
 that's a fact," replied Mrs. Harwood. " She's 
 beginning to find out she has got lungs of her 
 own." 
 
 Eloise gave her a quick glance. 
 
 " Oh, I've learned some things besides letting 
 other folks's pictures alone. When I broke my 
 wrist I had to sit down and give up the respon- 
 sibility of running the universe. I found it went 
 right along. I fretted and stewed for a while, 
 because I couldn't make folks see there wasn't 
 any way but mine ; but I couldn't, so that was 
 the end of it. Things turned out about the same 
 in the end. I must go." 
 
 " Don't," implored Eloise. 
 
 " Dan'l will think I'm lost." 
 
 " How is he ?" inquired Eloise. 
 
 "Just the same," replied DanTs wife, "and 
 always will be. What do you hear from Mr. 
 More ?" 
 
 Eloise colored. "We haven't been writing 
 very regularly. He was well when I heard last. 
 I will go over to the station with you." 
 
 They encountered Mrs. Glenn in the hall, and 
 stopped so long to talk with her that Mrs. liar- 
 wood lost her train. 
 
 " I won't go back," she said, sinking into a 
 large rocking-chair which faced the hotel clock.
 
 167 
 
 " I know you don't like to sit down here, but 
 why, there's Mr.. Heffron ! Is he stopping 
 here ?" 
 
 Eloise started. Yes, it certainly was Mark 
 Heffron, talking with the hotel clerk, who opened 
 the register and showed him the list of names. 
 
 O 
 
 Mark wrote on a card and handed it to him, then 
 came towards them. He started in his turn when 
 he confronted Eloise Gordon, whom he had not 
 met since that eventful summer at Beau Lieu. 
 If either of them had anticipated a meeting, 
 neither had thought of it as taking place in the 
 rotunda of the Lake View Hotel. But they did 
 what any other well-bred individuals would have 
 done under similar circumstances shook hands 
 and asked each other the usual questions. Mark 
 explained that he was looking for his cousin's 
 wife, who wrote him she would be at the Lake 
 View, but had failed to keep her appointment, 
 and Eloise proclaimed herself an old resident 
 of the place. Mrs. Harwood he remembered at 
 Beau Lieu. 
 
 Then who should come in but Aunt Harriet 
 with her bonnet askew from an encounter with 
 the wind, but looking so bright and satisfied that' 
 Mark scrutinized her curiously. Taught by her 
 new philosophy to let bygones be bygones and 
 live in charity with all men, she greeted her 
 quondam enemy as if they had been dear friends 
 separated against their will. This was more of 
 a surprise than her color and briskness ; but Mark
 
 108 
 
 met her half-way, and when she urged him to 
 call declared that nothing would suit him better. 
 
 The next train south would be due in a few 
 minutes, and as Mark had plenty of time to put 
 Mrs. Harwood aboard before he started for town, 
 they left together, watched from the doorway by 
 Eloise and her aunt. 
 
 " How queer everything looks !" exclaimed 
 Aunt Harriet. " I should say there was going 
 to be a wind-storm." 
 
 Eloise hurried up into the studio and flung 
 open the window overlooking the lake. It re- 
 flected the dull gloom of the sky. A thin strip 
 of silver ran around the horizon between them. 
 
 The ships in the bay stood like phantom ships, 
 motionless, with close -furled sails. The dark 
 masses of water around them and the dense 
 clouds ovei-head appeared to be strewn with 
 ashes. On the shore not a leaf stirred. The 
 trees seemed stiffened by fear. Everywhere 
 there was an ominous silence, a tension as of a 
 wild beast about to spring. She watched until 
 the storm broke with a noise like the rending of 
 stone walls and the outward rush of armed hosts. 
 There was no rain, but the air was thick with 
 flying dust and spray, and with debris caught up 
 from the streets. She was forced to close the 
 window, and tried in vain to peer through the 
 whirling chaos outside. 
 
 By and by Aunt Harriet came in, full of stories 
 told by those who had been caught in the storm.
 
 169 
 
 " I hope Mrs. Harwood escaped," said Eloise, 
 anxiously. 
 
 " She had probably reached home," replied Aunt 
 Harriet, " before the worst ; but Mr. Heffron 
 must have landed in the midst of it." 
 
 All night the tempest raged. It was impossi- 
 ble to sleep. The roar of the waves was like the 
 continual thunder of artillery. In the morning 
 there was comparative calm on shore, but the 
 lake had been stirred to its depths. Every one 
 went out to see the waves, which ran lightly along 
 the pier and sprang high in air. "Like a sportive 
 mermaid," said Eloise. 
 
 "Not so innocent as that," returned Mr. Arm- 
 strong, who accompanied her. " Those beautiful 
 things have done an incredible amount of damage 
 since we saw them last. Boats were coming 
 ashore at Twenty-second Street all night, I hear." 
 
 The girl looked up at him with bright round eyes 
 in which there was no horror, only an intense in- 
 terest. " Oh, I should dearly love to see a wreck !" 
 she exclaimed. 
 
 "It would give me pleasure to take you down 
 there, but I am sorry to say I cannot remain 
 long," said her escort, politely. 
 
 "I am used to being alone," she responded, 
 carelessly. " Wait, please, until I get a heavy 
 cloak." 
 
 The train was crowded and ran -slowly, as if to 
 give the patrons an opportunity to view the wild 
 scenes along the route. There were continual
 
 170 
 
 ejaculations, "Look ! See there !" and men and 
 women started from their seats, as with rhyth- 
 mic regularity the incoming wave ran along the 
 breakwater and reared a tower of foam far above 
 their heads. The breakwater had given way 
 here and there ; and mingled with its ruin were 
 broken masts and wrecked cordage and pieces 
 of hulls torn to splinters, as if some monster had 
 chewed them and spit them out. Over them 
 frisked the untamed, untamable element; it was 
 about its own business, in a savage play, building 
 beautiful forms only to destroy them. Without 
 life as we know life, without death as we know 
 death, yet with the pulse of life and the coldness 
 of death it went on, leaping and shining and toss- 
 ing ashore whatever had been intrusted to it, 
 ships and cargoes and bodies from which it had 
 beaten the breath. 
 
 "Many of the boats put out to sea to avoid 
 being pounded to pieces," explained Armstrong. 
 "But, I declare, there's a schooner on her beam- 
 ends. You will have your wish. We will get off 
 here." 
 
 They perched themselves on a pile of timber 
 commanding the lake. The wreck was in plain 
 sight. They counted the men clinging to her 
 side ; there were eight of them. The crowds on 
 the shore were gesticulating wildly, and shouting 
 all sorts of advice which could not possibly be 
 heard above the breakers. After a while there 
 was a movement among the men on the schooner ;
 
 171 
 
 they were trying to throw a rope ashore. Again 
 and again their efforts were ineffectual. At last 
 it was caught by the men on shore, and a shout 
 went up which must have made itself heard above 
 the roar of wind and wave. Then, one by one, 
 the shipwrecked sailors came ashore, and as each 
 one landed that exulting shout went up. 
 
 " Quite a sight !" commented Mark Heffron, 
 tiptoeing over the rails to the place where Eloise 
 sat. Mr. Armstrong had just left her. 
 
 "Isn't it?" she responded, her face aglow. 
 
 "You must paint this !" he exclaimed. 
 
 "Do you think I can?" 
 
 " Of course you can. I won't give you any 
 peace until you do. Look at those men hug each 
 other ! He's the last !" 
 
 They went home together, and Mark stayed to 
 luncheon. In the evening Carl came, looking very 
 sober. He had been watching the wrecks all day. 
 " Some of you people who have such extraordinary 
 power ought to get together and pray down the 
 wind," said Eloise, mockingly. But Carl did not 
 even smile. "It ought to be possible," he said, 
 soberly. 
 
 The next morning was calm and lovely. Eloise 
 sat down before her easel, determined, if possible, 
 to reproduce the scenes of the preceding day. She 
 painted all day, and for many subsequent days, 
 whenever she had an hour to spare. " But it 
 isn't good," she told Mark Heffron when he in- 
 quired how the picture was getting on.
 
 172 
 
 " Let me see it," he urged, and after some de- 
 mur she placed it before him. 
 
 He regarded it thoughtfully. " I don't know 
 what the trouble is," he said, at length ; "the per- 
 spective is all right, the figures are good, the wa- 
 ter is superb. But somehow I feel as if you did 
 not mean it." 
 
 "I don't," replied Eloise, frankly. "I wanted 
 to. I felt it, in a way, as one feels the scenes on 
 the stage ; but not as if I were a part of it." 
 
 Neither spoke for some minutes, and then 
 Eloise began again, "I wonder about this instinct 
 for saving. I suppose it is a purely natural in- 
 stinct. Dogs have it, without being trained. 
 How eager they were ! Any one would think 
 they and the shipwrecked men were brothers." 
 
 "Yes, I saw them," replied Mark, quickly. 
 "They'll knock each other over just as readily 
 to-morrow, if they disagree, or cut each other's 
 throats in a bargain. That's an instinct, too."
 
 XX 
 
 "THAT Hindoo blackamoor started it," began 
 Uncle Oliver, recklessly, "tellin' his yarns about 
 folks goin' down to the banks of the Ganges and 
 peelin' off their bodies like a suit of old clothes, 
 holdin' up such doin's ahead of plain, common- 
 sense, American livin'. Half the town went chas- 
 in' after him. Then came that Miss Duvray with 
 a rigmarole about the color of a tone and the 
 heft of a gesture. Whoop-halloo, off they went 
 after her ! Then a feller down at the Enterprise 
 had 'em stuck on the power of mind / he ex- 
 plained the miracles so that any child could work 
 'em. They f ollered him up. Now, here's Nellie 
 Heffron ; she's got the whole business, and fort- 
 une-tellin' to boot. They'll tag along behind her 
 just as they have behind the others. Crazy as 
 loons, the whole caboodle !" 
 
 The Ross girls, sitting in a row before him, 
 looked mutinous, but said nothing. 
 
 " It is so," exclaimed their uncle, as positively 
 as if they had contradicted him. " When I was 
 young, girls wanted a real live male man." 
 
 "Oh!" 
 
 " Oh !"
 
 174 
 
 " Oh !" interrupted the three maidens, several- 
 ly ; and then they exclaimed together, " Uncle 
 Oliver !" 
 
 "They did," replied the old man, doggedly. 
 " But now there's a premium put on the most on- 
 natural, nondescript kind of an animal that can be 
 turned out. Let a feller come along who belongs 
 to an Order or a Brotherhood, and who sets up to 
 teach men there's a better way to live than to go 
 straight ahead, tend to business, and look out 
 for their families, then the girls sit down at his 
 feet an' worship. Here's this Hindoo, told me 
 he hadn't written to his own mother for seven 
 years !" 
 
 "But, Uncle Oliver, when he broke those fam- 
 ily ties it was to take upon himself larger re- 
 sponsibilities," vouchsafed Julia, with dignity. 
 "There are plenty to fulfil the family relation; 
 there are few, like Haridass, who assume the mis- 
 sion of saving souls." 
 
 " He needn't trouble himself about mine," re- 
 turned Uncle Oliver, flippantly. " I don't want 
 any one pullin' an' haulin' to keep me out of 
 hell. I'll settle my own account with Him that 
 made me." 
 
 Maud gave Julia a significant look. Mary 
 opened her mouth to say something, but her uncle 
 continued, " What's more, I don't think that fel- 
 ler's so all-fired spiritooal as you girls try to make 
 out. I noticed he knew how to make himself as 
 comfortable as the next one, and he didn't spend
 
 175 
 
 much of his time fastin' an' prayin'. There's just 
 one thing about it," and here he brought the fist 
 of one knotty hand into the palm of the other 
 with a crack like that of a pistol "there's just 
 one thing about it : when he comes back next 
 month, as you say he's goin' to, I don't want you 
 girls to have anything to do with him. As to 
 your entertaining him, it is out of the question. 
 I won't have it." 
 
 No\v, whatever the Ross girls had of earthly 
 possessions was under Uncle Oliver's care, and, 
 deeply as they were interested in the unearth- 
 ly goods offered by Haridass, they knew it never 
 would do to sacrifice the one to the other. They 
 temporized. Julia leaned forward in her chair 
 with a constrained smile, and said, soothingly : 
 
 "Don't you think you are a little unreasonable, 
 Uncle Oliver? Merely because you and Haridass 
 differ on certain points of religious belief, are you 
 going to forbid us to speak to him ?" 
 
 " 'Tain't that," returned Uncle Oliver, bluntly. 
 " I've heard things that have been said. I ain't 
 goin' to repeat them, but they made me mad clear 
 through. He's no gentleman ; that's enough !" 
 
 Here Maud took up the cudgels for the absent 
 prophet. " Uncle Oliver, that is a serious charge," 
 she began, in her high, clear voice, " and one that 
 must be proved or or rejected." 
 
 " Oh, I can prove it," retorted her uncle. 
 
 " Then Avhy don't you ?" replied Maud, flushing 
 vividly.
 
 176 
 
 "You surely cannot expect us to accept the 
 statement without any further testimony," said 
 Julia, who was of a judicial cast of mind. 
 
 Mary glanced furtively from one sister to the 
 other. 
 
 "Well, if you will have it," cried Uncle Oli- 
 ver, desperately " no, I won't tell you. You can 
 take my word or go without." He took his hat 
 and cane and tramped sturdily out of the house, 
 looking neither to the right nor to the left until 
 he ran against another man equally unmindful of 
 his way. 
 
 "Beg your pardon," he began, bluffly "why, 
 hullo, Jim ! Goin' over to the house ?" 
 
 Dr. Humphrey stopped and held out his hand. 
 
 " No, I wasn't. Any one sick ?" 
 
 " Not exactly sick, but " 
 
 "What is the trouble?" 
 
 Uncle Oliver coughed and swallowed and hesi- 
 tated, but finally let out the story of the morning. 
 
 Humphrey threw back his head and laughed so 
 heartily that the story-teller laughed, too. 
 
 "I'll tell you what it was," he went on, in a 
 burst of confidence. "An acquaintance of mine 
 met that feller on the street in Boston, and gave 
 him some messages from folks here, our girls 
 among the rest. Mr. Hindoo seemed to find it 
 hard to remember who the Rosses were. At last 
 he says, ' Oh yes, those old maids !' And he had 
 lived on their bounty for three months ! They 
 did everything for that feller."
 
 177 
 
 "I know they did," returned Humphrey; "but, 
 perhaps," he added, slyly, "Haridass found it 
 hard to express himself in English. Doubtless, 
 in his own language, the remark would have read 
 like a compliment. You know he thinks the sin- 
 gle state is one of blessedness." 
 
 "Ye-es, they've got it all fixed up no marry- 
 in' and no medicine. I hear they're cutting into 
 your practice some, especially that preacher at the 
 Enterprise." 
 
 " He did," responded Humphrey, with a shrug, 
 " until I went down and found out how he did it." 
 
 "By George, that was a slick deal! But how 
 about Bering ?" 
 
 " Carl has to learn his own lessons," answered 
 Humphrey, shortly. " He tried to teach me mine, 
 what was more. I thought we'd better separate. 
 Carl's brainy, but he don't know as much as he 
 will some time. He's hardly the make-up for a 
 doctor. I opposed his going into medicine, but 
 his mother had her heart set on it. She's as super- 
 stitious for the profession as he is against it." 
 
 " You don't mean he's gone back on the pro- 
 fession ?" 
 
 Humphrey shrugged his shoulders again, and 
 lifted his eyebrows significantly. 
 
 "Humph!" ejaculated Uncle Oliver. "What 
 in thunder is he livin' on?" 
 
 " On the proceeds of his outfit, I suppose." 
 
 " Sold out ?" gasped Uncle Oliver. 
 
 "Everything; he had some wild notion of 
 12
 
 178 
 
 throwing the things into the lake. He said they 
 would do more harm than good; that as long as 
 people were in bondage to the material, the spir- 
 itual would have no opportunity for develop- 
 ment." 
 
 " The spiritooal !" shouted Uncle Oliver. " I 
 want to swear! I'll go to Dering myself I'll 
 hullo, here's Mark Heffron ! Don't you know 
 Mark? He's a sort of a cousin of mine. Dr. 
 Humphrey, Mark. By George, I'm glad to see 
 you, Mark ! I've got some work for you to do. 
 Excuse me, Jim, I've got to see Mark on busi- 
 ness." 
 
 " What's up ?" asked Mark, as the two men 
 left Humphrey and walked on by themselves. 
 
 " Everything ; that Hindoo fakir's been sassin' 
 my girls, and Carl Dering's thrown up his job, 
 and Nellie Heffron's holdin' forth on occultism 
 every one's goin' straight to the devil !" 
 
 "They think they're going the other way," re- 
 sponded Mark. 
 
 " Carl's as nice a boy as ever lived," continued 
 Uncle Oliver, disregarding the interruption, "but 
 away up in the clouds his mother's that way; I 
 used to know his mother when she lived in Kan- 
 kakee. These folks have got hold of him that 
 Miss Duvray's at the bottom of it and he's given 
 up a splendid opening with Humphrey that I 
 was talkin' with when you came along. I want 
 you to see Carl and have a good talk with him, 
 and you must see Nell. Perhaps you had bet-
 
 179 
 
 ter begin with her, as long as she's in the 
 family." 
 
 " And after I'm through with Nellie and young 
 Dering I suppose you would like to have me drop in 
 and straighten out your nieces," suggested Ma^k. 
 
 " "IVould take more'n one of you to do that," 
 replied their uncle. "I'll let you off on the girls 
 if you'll fix up Carl and Nellie." 
 
 " I went out to the Lake View to see Nellie 
 yesterday," said Mark. " She wrote me she would 
 be there ; but they had heard nothing from her." 
 
 " No ; the Lake View isn't grand enough," ex- 
 claimed Uncle Oliver, with an important sweep of 
 his arm. "She's at the Cynthia five rooms, 
 French maid, the whole outfit ; she's done well at 
 this business." There was a regretful pride in his 
 voice. 
 
 "Nell's as bright as a new pin," laughed his 
 companion. " She'd do well at anything. Have 
 you been to any of her lectures ?" 
 
 "One of them," replied Uncle Oliver, looking 
 sheepish. "I wanted to see what she's up to?" 
 
 " How did she look ? What did she do ?" 
 
 "Oh, she was all togged out, with a big round 
 pin as big as a tea-saucer under her chin and a 
 great long chain of these amethysts around her 
 neck ; she says they have the same vibrations 
 that she does." 
 
 Mark laughed. 
 
 " Well, whatever she says goes," pursued the 
 speaker. "There was a whole roomful of folks
 
 180 
 
 nice folks, too and they swallowed every word 
 she said. She arranged them according to their 
 planets Earth, Air, Fire, and Water folks to- 
 gether ; that was on account of the vibrations, 
 to*>. Oh, I can't begin to tell what she did. She 
 got 'era all a-breathin' together, timed 'era, movin' 
 her hand up and down, so. You could have heard 
 'era breathe half a mile off. One old gal liked it 
 so well she wouldn't stop. I asked her some ques- 
 tions, and it made her kinder mad. She kept on 
 snoring and wouldn't say a word." 
 
 "You excite my curiosity," cried Mark. "I 
 shall certainly have to look her up." He took 
 out his watch. " I wonder if she would see me 
 now. I'll try it, anyway." 
 
 He held out his hand to Uncle Oliver, who 
 shook it warmly, saying, " Drop into the office 
 and tell me how things are." 
 
 "I can't do it that is, not until late. Are you 
 in the office after four o'clock?" 
 
 " After four o'clock !" sniffed the other. " This 
 isn't New York. We don't crawl down to our 
 work at ten and dig out at three ; we begin work 
 at seven in Chicago and keep it up until six. 
 Good-bye." 
 
 Madame Heffron was in, but was engaged. 
 Would the gentleman please be seated, and when 
 madame was disengaged she would see him. 
 Mark obeyed, making himself comfortable in a 
 huge cushioned chair by the window, while the 
 maid withdrew again to the outer room. The
 
 181 
 
 last time lie had seen Nellie Heffron was soon 
 after Jack's death. She had refused all offers of 
 assistance then, although every one knew that she 
 was in a tight place. " I don't want any help from 
 you Heffrons," she had said, "nor from my people 
 either. You called my poor Jack worthless be- 
 cause his Avill was not as strong as yours ; I'll pay 
 his debts myself." And she had done so, teach- 
 ing music, and singing in a church at Columbus, 
 where she lived. He had heard from her, now 
 and then, thanking him for the music he sent 
 her ; but when he attempted to pay a bill of 
 Jack's she promptly returned the amount. 
 
 He mused thus, looking out upon the park, 
 where the trees were beginning to show the misty 
 green of early spring foliage. Presently he heard 
 voices in an adjoining room, and, glancing in the 
 direction whence they came, saw the high-priestess 
 herself seated in a big arm-chair, and receiving 
 the confidences of a girlish devotee who knelt 
 on a cushion before her. Yes, that was Nell ; he 
 recognized her wealth of golden hair and her 
 plump shoulders. 
 
 " Let me look into your eyes," she was saying 
 to the young woman at her feet. " Yes, you have 
 more poise. You are learning the secret. Keep 
 on with your exercises, the breathing and the 
 recitations. I will see you again." 
 
 With an impressive gesture she dismissed her 
 pupil by a side door, and turned to the room where 
 Mark was waiting.
 
 182 
 
 "I am so glad to see you," she said, extending 
 both hands. "When did you come? How did 
 you know where to find me ?" 
 
 "No thanks to you," he answered, returning 
 the pressure of her large, strong hands. "I went 
 out to the Lake View, but " 
 
 She interrupted him with a laugh. " You poor 
 fellow !" she exclaimed, caressingly. " It was a 
 shame to send you on a wild-goose chase. I 
 found the Cynthia more accessible, and since I 
 came here I have been busy every minute." 
 
 "So I understand. I didn't know as I could 
 even get a glimpse of you for the crowd." 
 
 "I don't have a minute to myself," rejoined 
 Nellie, with a satisfied sigh. "There are people 
 here all the time, and really they take hold of it 
 very well." 
 
 " Have you any of ' it ' on hand ?" asked Mark, 
 quizzically. "Could you let a dog of an unbe- 
 liever get a scent of what ' it ' is ?" 
 
 " Now, see here, Mark Heffron," returned Nel- 
 lie, sharply, "you needn't pretend to be so igno- 
 rant and unconcerned. You were the first to put 
 me on to these things, years*ago." 
 
 " O Lord !" ejaculated Mark, " here's another ! 
 This time I'll find out what 'it'is. Nell, for 
 pity's sake, what form of ' it ' did I ever have any 
 dealings with?" 
 
 His cousin's wife burst into a hearty laugh. 
 " Upon my word," she cried, " I don't believe you 
 remember a thing !"
 
 183 
 
 " I don't, upon my word." 
 
 " You don't remember coming to our house in 
 Columbus one summer when Jack had gone off on 
 a a time, and finding me all used up and crying 
 my heart out ? And you gave me a lot of books 
 to read: Cornelius Agrippa and Paracelsus and 
 Jacob fioehme and " 
 
 " A light breaks in upon me ! Poor little Nell, 
 she sat down with the whole batch in her apron, 
 and the fire went out in the kitchen stove and I 
 got no dinner." 
 
 " Of coarse you remember that part, being a 
 man," she retaliated, adding, earnestly, "Mark, 
 those books kept me from going mad. More- 
 over, they helped me to pay up the old debts, 
 and" 
 
 "I tried to help you pay them," interposed 
 Mark, sensitively, " but you wouldn't let me." 
 
 " The best way to help me was to teach me to 
 help myself, 1 " returned Nellie, tranquilly. "All 
 I needed was a starter. I could give you points, 
 now." 
 
 " I don't doubt that." 
 
 " Wait a minute !" she exclaimed, and, going 
 into the room where she had been with her pupil, 
 returned with her hands full of photographs and 
 circulars. 
 
 " That is my Rosicrucian teacher," she began, 
 displaying the picture of a venerable man with 
 a beard which covered him like a breastplate. 
 "Isn't he a dear? And this is Haridass Gocul-
 
 184 
 
 dass. There he is again with a group of his fol- 
 lowers." 
 
 " A moon-struck set !" commented Mark. 
 
 " They're concentrating their thoughts," ex- 
 plained the initiate, with a little giggle. " You 
 see, they must look at one point and not move 
 their eyes from that spot. If they do, their 
 thoughts wander. They get marvellous effects 
 from that concentration." 
 
 "I should think they might," returned Mark, 
 grimly ; " and this is the prospectus ?" 
 
 " Yes, that is what I teach," she announced, 
 complacently. 
 
 "Sun-breath, Moon-breath, Isvara," he read, 
 " the influence of the stars, the influence of gems, 
 the record of life written in the hand." As Uncle 
 Oliver had said, she " had the whole business." 
 
 " Concentration, Isolation, Yoga," he contin- 
 ued. 
 
 " Haridass Goculdass says I am the only person 
 in America who can teach Yoga," interrupted 
 Nellie. " I make a specialty of that. There's a 
 Mademoiselle Duvray in this house who pretends 
 to teach ' Hindoo Deep-breathing,' but she is 
 aicay off. Do you know her ?" Something in 
 Mark's manner made her pause and scrutinize 
 him curiously. 
 
 "I have known Mademoiselle Duvray for sev- 
 eral yeai's," he answered, quietly. 
 
 "Oh, if she is a friend yours," apologized 
 Nellie.
 
 185 
 
 " Don't hesitate on ray account, I beg," he re- 
 turned, with one of his satirical gestures. 
 
 " Well, I'll tell you what it is," pursued Nellie, 
 confidentially. " She won't come out with these 
 things as I do. She covers up and plasters over 
 and slides around, and then to call herself Made- 
 moiselle, like a French governess !" 
 
 "What do you mean by not coming out?" he 
 demanded. 
 
 " You'll find out one of these days. She's a 
 Taurus. The Taurus people are bound to rule. 
 They take everything in sight. You want to look 
 out for Taurus people. When were you born ?" 
 
 " The fifth of April." 
 
 "I thought so. You are an Aries like me. 
 I'm an Aries. You have great occult power if 
 you would only develop it." 
 
 " How do you know I haven't ?" 
 
 "Well, you ought to do something with it 
 something to help humanity." A wistful look 
 came into her deep azure eyes. "Mark, you'd be 
 surprised if you could see the people who come to 
 me for help. Honestly, I wouldn't care to live if 
 I couldn't help people. It is the only thing worth 
 living for." 
 
 " Very true, Nellie," he answered, seriously. 
 
 " There are plenty who do this to make money," 
 she continued, with dignity ; "but I'm like Hari- 
 dass Goculdass. I am working in the interest of 
 humanity. Haridass and I are after souls." 
 
 " Pretty large game, Nell !"
 
 186 
 
 " Yes, I know it is." 
 
 "And pretty small shot." He took up the 
 prospectus. "Odyllic Force, Aura," he read. 
 "How much do you really believe in all this, 
 Nell !" 
 
 " More than you think," she answered, promptly. 
 " You may call it aura, or you may call it atmos- 
 phere, it's there, and every scientific man acknowl- 
 edges the fact. They have to have these things 
 dressed up for them, Mark; they like the queer 
 names ; they think they are getting more in 
 that way. And they have to have something 
 to do some little ceremony ; the more unusual 
 it is the more good it does them. Mark, you 
 know thei'e's a lot of truth in this, now, don't 
 
 you?" 
 
 He held her eyes with his for a moment before 
 he answered her. " It is just because I know there 
 is so much in it that I hate to have you fool these 
 people." 
 
 "If I do, I fool them into into the truth,' 1 '' she 
 cried. 
 
 "Ah, Nellie, Nellie, you are more Irish than 
 the family you married into." 
 
 They stood up, laughing and holding each oth- 
 er's hands. 
 
 "Then you won't stay to luncheon and hear 
 me speak ?" she asked. 
 
 "I think not," he answered, affectionately. 
 
 She accompanied him to the elevator, chatting 
 all the way of her triumphs and prospects, and of
 
 187 
 
 her delight in seeing him. " You will surety come 
 again ?" she asked. 
 
 " Oh yes, I will come again." 
 
 He sighed as he walked down the street under 
 the tender green of the new spring foliage ; yet 
 he smiled, too. It was all such innocent " fool- 
 ing"
 
 XXI 
 
 THERE was a young man talking to Uncle 
 Oliver when Mark entered the latter's office the 
 next morning a tall young man with fair hair. 
 As he turned Mark was struck by his resemblance 
 to Eloise Gordon : he had the same hazel eyes 
 with black lashes and brows, the same delicate 
 nose and short upper-lip, the same winning smile. 
 The absence of a beard enhanced the resemblance. 
 Uncle Oliver introduced him as Doctor Dering, 
 and soon afterwards made some clumsy excuse 
 for leaving him alone with Mark. He was evi- 
 dently very fond of the boy, whom he patted en- 
 couragingly upon the back as he said good-bye. 
 "If any one comes in, tell them I'll be back in an 
 hour or so," he added. 
 
 "There goes one of the kindest hearts in Chi- 
 cago," said Mark, as Uncle Oliver closed the door 
 noisily behind him to let them know he was out 
 of hearing. 
 
 "Isn't he, though!" exclaimed Carl, enthusias- 
 tically. " I don't know what I should do without 
 him. My own father couldn't have been more dis- 
 interested. And we are not connected, you know. 
 He knew my mother when he was a young man."
 
 189 
 
 " Your father is not alive, I take it," said Mark. 
 
 " Oh yes, he's alive. Did you think he wasn't ? 
 But there are no other children. That is why 
 they make such a fuss over me." Again that 
 winning smile. 
 
 "He is evidently a 'mother's boy,'" thought 
 Mark. " Easy meat for the sharks ; but I can't 
 tell him that. What under the sun shall I say 
 to him, anyway?" He was saved the trouble of 
 deciding what to say by Carl himself, who con- 
 tinued, " She wrote to Uncle Oliver when she 
 learned that I had determined to give up my pro- 
 fession." 
 
 " Why did you do that ?" asked Mark. 
 
 " It seemed the only thing to do. I could not 
 conscientiously go on." 
 
 " Why ?" 
 
 "Because I had come to disbelieve in the 
 method." 
 
 "In drugs?" 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 " You have been in practice how many years ?" 
 asked Mark, with a quizzical look. 
 
 Carl blushed. "Nearly four years." 
 
 "And you are, I take it, about twenty-five ?" 
 
 "Nearly twenty-six." 
 
 " With four years' practice and not yet in your 
 twenty-seventh year, you have exhausted the virt- 
 ues of Materia Medica?" 
 
 "I don't mean that," returned Carl, quickly. 
 " But you must have seen for yourself you are
 
 190 
 
 a thinker that the recovery of a patient depends 
 upon that patient's faith. You can't cure him if 
 he does not believe in you and in what you give 
 him." 
 
 "Have you learned," pursued Mark, " that you 
 can always command the patient's faith without 
 the employment of drugs granting that the 
 drugs themselves are without efficacy ?" 
 
 " Sometimes I can," replied Carl, hopefully. 
 
 " In that case, do you not find it necessary to 
 substitute for the dependence upon the drug a 
 dependence upon yourself, a faith in your powers, 
 a belief in your ability to do what you have un- 
 dertaken ?" 
 
 " Why, yes," granted the young metaphysician ; 
 "but that is faith, that isn't drugs." 
 
 "Exactly ; but do you find yourself so much 
 more nearly infallible than the drugs are? Isn't 
 it substituting one prop for another, and don't 
 you wish at times that you could give up the re- 
 sponsibility, and whip out that old black leather 
 case to operate for you ?" 
 
 An illuminating smile broke over Carl's sunny 
 face. " You come pretty near to the truth," he 
 answered, ingenuously. "But is it right to de- 
 ceive the patient ?" he questioned, the smile dis- 
 appearing. " Have I a right to say ' This will 
 cure you' when I don't believe the drug has any- 
 thing to do with it?" 
 
 " Have you a right to say ' I will cure you ' 
 when you feel a similar uncertainty ?"
 
 191 
 
 "I don't say exactly that." 
 
 " What do you say?" The question was put so 
 frankly that there was no resenting it, even if 
 Carl had been inclined. 
 
 "I say, ' God is Good and He is Absolute,'" he 
 replied, like a child saying his lesson. " ' There is 
 no evil. This idea of sickness is a misapprehen- 
 sion. The truth is that you are well. Now, you 
 must realize that truth, and manifest it.' " 
 
 " Do you say that aloud ?" 
 
 " Oh no, it wouldn't do." 
 
 " Any more than telling a patient, ' This pill or 
 this powder isn't of any use, but if you brace up 
 and have some confidence in it, it will pull you 
 through, because of the marvellous effect which 
 confidence invariably has upon the human mind.' " 
 
 Carl looked thoughtful. "Sometimes you can 
 say what you mean aloud," he persisted. " There 
 are some patients who want you to tell them how 
 to get hold of this for themselves." 
 
 "Among the unenlightened," responded Mark, 
 " weren't there a few who could bear to be told 
 the truth ?" 
 
 " Why, yes. Oh, I see what you mean plainly 
 enough." 
 
 "My dear boy," exclaimed Mark, laying his 
 hand affectionately on the boy's arm no one 
 could help being affectionate with Carl "I ad- 
 mire Truth as much you do ; I've followed her 
 trailing skirts this many a year ; I've lain low and 
 listened for her footsteps ; I've cherished every
 
 192 
 
 far-off glimpse of her, every faintest whisper. 
 Let me give you a Avarning : she has no use for a 
 lover who blabs her secrets. Keep Avhat she tells 
 you and use it. Don't think you must tell every 
 one you help how you do it. Don't think you 
 must formulate your belief ; unformulated belief 
 is the best, because it is alive ; the formulated 
 things are dead. And don't think you must foist 
 your opinions on the rest of the Avorld ; their opin- 
 ions are just as good for them." 
 
 "And you believe " 
 
 "I believe your own profession is the place for 
 you. Give just as little medicine as you please ; 
 use just as much faith as you can ; you will find 
 plenty of room among scientific men for the truth, 
 however novel its application. Among these HCAV 
 friends and teachers, have you found such unquali- 
 fied welcome of the truth as truth ? Can you tell 
 them what you honestly think? Will they hear 
 'a plain, unvarnished tale'? Do you never find it 
 necessary to flatter and soothe them with pleasant 
 words Avhich mean little or nothing? Have the 
 Avoraen no vanity, the men no self-conceit ?" 
 
 Carl looked sober. "That troubled me more 
 than anything else," he acknowledged. " I found 
 I was getting back into the old ways. It Avas so 
 magnificent to say just what you meant. But of 
 course these people aren't perfect." 
 
 " Even if they do say, ' All is Spirit and all is 
 Good,' " concluded Mark. " No, I am not laugh- 
 ing at them. They had a Avork to do, and they
 
 193 
 
 are doing it in the church, in the professions, in 
 society. The power of thought would never have 
 been recognized and taken advantage of as it is 
 if it had not been for them. They have my best 
 wishes, and so have you. How ai - e you off for 
 funds?" 
 
 It was as impossible to resent this question as 
 it had been to resent those which preceded it. 
 Carl looked confused, but answered, readily 
 enough, " I am pretty nearly ' strapped.' I've 
 been trying to get work for some time. Dr. Sy- 
 monds thought there would be plenty of his sort 
 of work to do, but I don't feel prepared to un- 
 dertake it in just the way he proposed." 
 
 " Not quite ready to claim infallibility ?" 
 
 "He doesn't claim infallibility," returned Carl, 
 quickly, "except for the Principle. He says that 
 if you will fulfil the conditions you will accom- 
 plish what you undertake." 
 
 " That's liberal, I'm sure," said Mark, " to all 
 concerned. What advertisements have you an- 
 swered ?" 
 
 "All sorts. Some of the people I saw, but 
 none of them wanted me." 
 
 "Any more than you wanted them. My dear 
 fellow, there's only one thing for you to do. Go 
 back into Humphrey's office. Eat humble pie, if 
 it is necessary ; he is older than you are, and 
 has had more experience." 
 
 "I can't," exploded Carl. "He called me an 
 unmitigated ass !" 
 
 13
 
 194 
 
 " What if lie did ?" returned Mark, trying not 
 to smile. " Tliat was his way of patting it. I'll 
 tell you what I'll do : I'll go over and see him 
 myself, and explain matters. I'll venture he'll 
 be glad enough to get you back again. Where 
 is his office ?" 
 
 Carl gave the address. " But I know it is of 
 no use," he said, dejectedly. 
 
 Mark disappeared, and Carl sat down to wait 
 for him, surprised at his own agitation. A pict- 
 ure of the pleasant office rose before him ; of his 
 own desk and the instrument-case which he had 
 bought by means of such self-denial, both on his 
 own part and his mother's. How fondly they 
 had arranged the shelves together, wrapping each 
 shining implement in its chamois -skin envelope 
 embroidered with his initial by her devoted hands ! 
 How carelessly he had parted with them in his 
 zeal for the "development" which he seemed some- 
 how to have missed, after all ! 
 
 He sprang to his feet and walked the narrow 
 room to and fro, to and fro. How could he ex- 
 pect Humphrey to overlook his defiant attitude 
 and personal thrusts ? And what should he, could 
 he do if Heffron's mission failed ? His fruitless 
 search for work had taught him its scarcity and 
 his own lack of preparation for anything outside 
 his medical training. The other, the spiritual 
 substitute, had appealed to his love of beauty and 
 goodness ; it had been a courtesy to his friends, a 
 graceful mannerism, a lofty mode of life ; but
 
 195 
 
 as a means of winning a livelihood it had always 
 appeared out of place. It seemed impossible now, 
 since his talk with Uncle Oliver's friend. He 
 dreaded Mark's return, and trembled when, at 
 last, he heard a footstep in the hall. One glance 
 at Mark's face encouraged him. " Is it all right ?" 
 he faltered. 
 
 " Of course it's all right," replied the mediator. 
 "You're to go right over. He has an operation 
 at St. Luke's this morning, and you're to go 
 along with him to assist. 'Jones is N. G.,' Hum- 
 phrey says; ' he's as honest as a cooper's cow, but 
 his fingers are like sticks.' " 
 
 " That's Humphrey all over," laughed Carl, de- 
 lightedly. " He always liked my hands." He 
 spread them out before him Eloise Gordon's 
 hands : long, slender, shapely, full of skill and 
 sympathy. 
 
 " What's the matter now ?" demanded Mark, 
 for Carl had suddenly stopped with a face full of 
 consternation. 
 
 "I haven't a thing," he cried, tragicall}*, "not 
 a thing. I sold every book and instrument to 
 Jones when he took my place ; I haven't so much 
 as a needle." 
 
 "That's all right," said Mark, coolly. "Hum- 
 phrey bought them in. He always expected you'd 
 come back some time." 
 
 " Blessed old Humphrey !" ejaculated Carl. 
 " I'll fall on his neck." 
 
 "I wouldn't do that," advised Mark, "and
 
 196 
 
 what's more, I'd keep a good lot of self-respect 
 handy. I told him you'd been investigating 
 mental science for the benefit of the profession, 
 and you had some very valuable material as I 
 think you have. You needn't undertake to teach 
 him the explanation of the origin of evil or the 
 personal characteristics of the First Cause." 
 
 "He took Dr. Symonds's course himself," re- 
 turned Carl, " and bought the manuscript lessons ; 
 I found them in his desk. That was what the 
 row was all about ; I told him he ought to come 
 out and show his colors." 
 
 "Oh, you did, did you? That was politic. 
 Well, I wouldn't offer any more advice if I were 
 you. Hurry up now ; don't keep him waiting. 
 I'll stay here and 'tend store' till Uncle Oliver 
 comes back. Don't stop to talk ; I understand." 
 
 Carl gave him a grateful look and hurried away. 
 He had not been gone many minutes before Uncle 
 Oliver came bustling in. 
 
 " By George, Mark !" he cried, seizing his hand, 
 "I'll never forget this morning's work!" He 
 took off his glasses and wiped them, and blew his 
 nose violently. "A better boy never lived," he 
 went on, earnestly, " but he's no more fit to wrastle 
 with the world than a chickadee his mother right 
 over. She was the prettiest, smartest little thing 
 you ever saw when she was a girl, and she's mar- 
 ried to a great, selfish lubber." 
 
 Uncle Oliver wiped his glasses for the second 
 time, but he still seemed to have difficulty in see-
 
 197 
 
 ing through them. " Everybody likes Carl," he 
 continued. "Our girls think the world of him 
 adaptable, you knoAv goes right in. He's got a 
 cousin out south of here ; I sent the girls out to 
 look her up poor girl teaches drawing or 
 painting, or something of that sort ; I thought 
 they'd work her in. They took lessons of her, 
 but never got any further not but what I respect 
 her full as much for it as if she grabbed every 
 chance that come along, like that Miss Duvray." 
 
 Mark frowned. "You seem to have a grudge 
 against Mademoiselle Duvray," he said, causti- 
 cally. 
 
 " She's too almighty successful," growled Uncle 
 Oliver. " You and I know what success means. 
 Some one has got to go down to let us go up. "We 
 expect a man to pile up his feller-beings and 
 climb over them, but we don't expect a woman to 
 do it. There's another way, to be sure," Mark 
 started to speak, but Uncle Oliver hastened to 
 add, " I don't say she's one to take it ; she isn't. 
 She'd dodge before it came to an actual experi- 
 ence ; the other feller'd get the experience. I tell 
 you, Mark," he continued, earnestly, " it made me 
 mad to see that boy mooning around after her 
 and that leftenant of hers, Louise Ayer. They 
 played on that sensitive nature of his just as 
 they would on fiddle-strings. 'Tain't right ; 'tain't 
 right." 
 
 Mark shrugged his shoulders. " You can't fol- 
 low that boy around and cry 'Hands off !' to every
 
 198 
 
 one who touches him. If lie can't protect him- 
 self, he'd better learn how. I must go." 
 
 " Come and have some lunch with me." 
 
 " Can't do it. I want to catch a man before he 
 leaves his office. Good-bye." 
 
 "Good-bye, Mark. Hullo ! I nearly forgot Nell. 
 Did you see her ?" 
 
 " Yes, I saw her." 
 
 "How was she?" 
 
 " Plump and pretty as ever." 
 
 "Did you did you have any talk with her?" 
 
 "An hour or more of it." 
 
 "Well, was she was she reasonable?" 
 
 "She thought she was. Reasonableness is a 
 relative quality." 
 
 " You know what I mean. Is she going to quit 
 her nonsense, and settle down and behave her- 
 self ?" Uncle Oliver was becoming impatient, but 
 his impatience was but as the sputter of a match 
 to the explosive light in Mark Heffron's eyes. 
 
 "See here, Mr. Ross," he exclaimed, wheeling 
 in his walk towards the door, and facing his com- 
 panion, "I'm not a special policeman detailed to 
 look after other people's business. I have some 
 affairs of my own, and it is high time for me to be 
 attending to them. Good-morning !" 
 
 "Of all the peppery Irishmen!" ejaculated 
 Uncle Oliver, standing where Mark had left him 
 in the middle of the room. 
 
 To tell the truth, Mark had in his pocket at 
 that moment a letter relating to " other people's
 
 199 
 
 business " which troubled him not a little ; it was 
 from young Norton, and ran somewhat as follows : 
 " I wish you would see rny uncle. I hear in a 
 roundabout way that he has withdrawn his stock 
 from the B. & O., and goodness knows what he 
 has done with it. He doesn't favor me with his 
 confidence, but he always thought you knew more 
 than any one else did. When I was in Chicago, 
 a few weeks ago, he seemed hurt because you had 
 not been out to see him."
 
 XXII 
 
 IT was some distance to Norton's office, and 
 Mark had already traversed it twice that day, 
 intending to leave Uncle Oliver until afternoon ; 
 but Norton had been out. He was out now, and 
 there was no office - boy to tell where he had 
 gone nothing but a small card stuck into the 
 sash of the door and saying briefly, "Back at 
 two." 
 
 Mark looked at his watch. "Just one. I'll 
 get something to eat, and come back in time to 
 catch him," he decided. He hurried along the 
 street, trying to find some clean, attractive place 
 where he could obtain "a bite" to last until din- 
 ner-time. Suddenly, out of the earth beside him, 
 as it seemed, started up the very man he sought. 
 Norton had a guilty look ; Mark eyed him sus- 
 piciously. "I have been to your office twice," 
 he said, with some severity. 
 
 "Is that so?" replied Norton, shamefacedly. 
 "The fact is, I well, to tell the truth, I had 
 an early breakfast ; I was a little faint for 
 food." 
 
 " Nothing criminal about that," returned Mark. 
 
 " Why, no ; nothing criminal," said the old
 
 201 
 
 man ; "but I meant to be in. I got your note. 
 You haven't been to lunch ?" 
 
 "What's this place you went into?" Mark 
 scrutinized it curiously as much of it, at least, 
 as appeared above-ground: a large plate -glass 
 Avindow inscribed in black and gilt letters, 
 " Cafetira," and a stairway, up and down which 
 men and women were passing. 
 
 "It is clean," said Mr. Norton, hesitatingly, 
 "but there's no style about it. Don't you know 
 what a cafetira is ?" 
 
 Mark confessed his ignorance, adding, " But 
 I'll be wiser very soon." 
 
 "Perhaps you won't like it," suggested his 
 companion. 
 
 " If it's good enough for you, it's good enough 
 for me," replied Mark, and led the way down the 
 steps. Within the door, at the bottom of the 
 stairway, a man sat at a turnstile and handed 
 long slips of paper to those who passed. Before 
 another turnstile stood the cashier's desk, where 
 the same slips were handed in and the amount 
 settled. Mark looked at his list ; upon it were 
 printed the names of the articles of food, with 
 the price opposite the name. 
 
 " You want to set your table," directed his com- 
 panion. " There are the cups over there and the 
 saucers ; the plates, knives, and forks are oppo- 
 site." 
 
 Groups of young girls were preparing a table 
 together, chatting and laughing as they went to
 
 202 
 
 and fro with their dishes. The men who were in 
 the room seemed more inclined to be solitary, and 
 walked soberly to their seats with their cups of 
 coffee and sandwich plates. 
 
 "You get what you want and they punch the 
 list," counselled Mr. Norton, and Mark obeyed, 
 marching from coffee-urn to salad-stand, and feel- 
 ing, as he told himself, " tired of the whole busi- 
 ness" before he commenced to eat. Overhead, 
 the ground -glass windows of the roof reminded 
 them that they were under the street. Small par- 
 allelograms of shadow glided over in pairs when 
 men passed, and large waving triangles when the 
 women's skirts went by. Mr. Norton affected a 
 cheerful indifference to the discomforts, assuming 
 a jovial, picnic-seeking air which was entirely for- 
 eign to his pensive, ponderous nature. 
 
 " He isn't doing this for the fun of it," mused 
 Mark, " but I won't say a word now." He talked 
 of business and the " depression," computed the 
 possibilities of better times, discussed the threat- 
 ened " tie-up," and all the while watched the old 
 man before him narrowly. 
 
 " I never saw him look so alive. I suppose it 
 is the fever of the gambler," he mused. " Poor 
 old duffer ! He'll tell me all about it when we 
 get back to the office." 
 
 But when they had reached the office and were 
 settled in their respective chairs fronting each 
 other, Mark found it difficult to open the discus- 
 sion. Either Mr. Norton had determined to be
 
 203 
 
 wary in his confidences, or he feared Mark's dis- 
 approval of what had been done. In vain Mark 
 led him diplomatically around to the question of 
 investments, and invited his faith by vouchsafing 
 all sorts of information about his own affairs. 
 The old man shied away from his tempting sug- 
 gestions as a horse shies from the salt-box when 
 there is a halter behind it. Yet he detained 
 Mark, and evidently wanted to say something. 
 
 " Why doesn't he out with it ?" mused Mark, 
 uneasily. " I've hung around here as long as I'm 
 going to." He arose and held out his hand, say- 
 ing, "If there is anything I can do for you, Mr. 
 Norton, let me know." 
 
 " Don't go," implored the old man. " Don't go. 
 I I want to talk with you." 
 
 Mark sat down and waited, with some impa- 
 tience. "I've wanted to talk with you for some 
 time," pursued his companion, diffidently ; " but 
 you always seem in such a hurry. I wanted to 
 consult with you before I took any decided step ; 
 but when I recalled our conversation of a year 
 ago, I knew you'd approve of what I was doing 
 what I meditated doing." 
 
 Mark stared. What could he have said a year 
 ago which could possibly be construed as having 
 any bearing on investments or the B. & O.? 
 
 "And so I went ahead," pursued the other. 
 " Then afterwards I learned from Mademoiselle 
 Duvray herself that she was the little French 
 girl you told me about, and I remembered you
 
 204 
 
 said she was a living example of your opinions. 
 She always had plenty of time to talk about these 
 things, and she knew just what I wanted. Mark, 
 that woman has been an angel of light to me !" 
 
 " She told me you two were good friends," re- 
 plied Mark, civilly. 
 
 " Friends !" broke in the old man, " she has been 
 my salvation ! You see, Mark," his voice took 
 on a forbearing tone, "your way is all right for 
 you ; some have to get it one way, and some 
 another. But I knew that night when you were 
 talking about faith being founded on reason that 
 we never should understand each other. She's a 
 tcoman, all intuition and sensitiveness. I don't 
 have to explain a word to her. She understood 
 without my saying anything, and she led me back 
 into the path from which I strayed years ago. 
 Mark, do you remember my telling you that I'd 
 give all I possessed to feel as I did then ? Well, 
 the Lord has taken me at my word !" 
 
 A sudden horror seized Mark Heffron. " Yon 
 don't mean to say," he exclaimed, "that you've 
 given up all your property to Marguerite Duvray ? 
 What is she, to do this thing !" 
 
 " Why, no," replied the old man, tranquilly, 
 " she doesn't want money ; that is why it comes to 
 her. She never lacks for anything, and neither 
 shall I, now that I've learned how to live. It's 
 all in the universe, enough and to spare. Put 
 yourself in the right attitude, and it flows towards 
 you."
 
 205 
 
 All this was interesting, but furnished no ex- 
 planation of the disposition of Mr. Norton's stock. 
 Mark pushed on, seeking a solution. " What am I 
 to understand," he asked, bluntly, " by the IJOrd's 
 taking you at your word ?" 
 
 " Just what I said," replied his companion, with 
 a bright look. " I've given up carrying on busi- 
 ness in the old way. I've undertaken to help 
 spread a gospel which is going to revolutionize 
 the world." The speaker started to his feet, and 
 paced up and down the office. " Mark," he said, 
 earnestly, coming to a standstill before the young 
 man's chair, "what are people after? Happiness! 
 What is the cause of all the trouble in the world, 
 the struggle, and the misery? ITnhappiness ! 
 Make people happy and they'll be satisfied. Show 
 them that happiness depends on their being kind 
 and generous, and the rich will divide with the 
 poor ; everything will even up ; there will be no 
 poverty. Show them that health depends upon 
 thought, and every one will learn how to think 
 rightly, and will be well in consequence. Prove to 
 them that sin is a mistake, that it is acting upon 
 a misconception, and does not bring happiness, and 
 people will cease to sin ; they will change their 
 thought, that is what repentance means. Why, 
 don't you see, Mark, this is only carrying out your 
 own theory, the controlling power of thought ?" 
 
 Mark saw, only too plainly. "'Who is going to 
 do all this?" he inquired, dryly. "The world 
 isn't exactly clamoring for these ideas."
 
 206 
 
 " It is more ready for them than you suppose," 
 replied the other, calmly. " There are institutions 
 for the propagation of this teaching all over the 
 worla. The little paper which Ave publish goes 
 to France, Germany, even to India." 
 
 " Who are ice ?" asked Mark. " You and Mad- 
 emoiselle Duvray?" 
 
 "Why, no," responded Mr. Norton, quickly. 
 "Dr. Symonds is in charge of the work here in 
 Chicago a most able man. I wish you would go 
 and talk with him, Mark." 
 
 " How did you get hold of him ?" 
 
 "Mademoiselle Duvray took me there. Didn't 
 I tell you ? I told you that it was through her 
 that I found the Light !" 
 
 "And Dr. Symonds represents the Light !" 
 
 "You wouldn't speak in that tone if you 
 knew him." Evidently Mr. Norton's feelings 
 were hurt. He began to draw himself togeth- 
 er and away from the scoffing visitor, who saw 
 the mistake he had made "and hastened to re- 
 pair it. 
 
 " Forgive me, Mr. Norton ; I spoke ill-advisedty. 
 As you say, we look at these things differently ; I 
 was born without a bump of reverence, and time 
 has not filled in the hollow. But I am interested 
 in whatever concerns you." 
 
 "But this concerns you" interrupted the other. 
 " The first thing I thought of when I began to 
 study with Dr. Symonds was how pleased you 
 would be to know that your theories were being
 
 207 
 
 verified, were being practically applied. Why, 
 Mark, it is magnificent !" 
 
 Mark remained silent. Mr. Norton sat down 
 with a sigh. A young man who could theorize 
 so glibly, and yet resent the application of his the- 
 ories, was a being beyond his comprehension. But 
 neither theory nor application absorbed his visitor 
 just then. He was saying to himself, "How in 
 thunder shall I find out what has become of that 
 fifty thousand dollars?" It would never do to 
 write Joey that his mission had failed. 
 
 While he was still puzzling over the next move, 
 Mr. Norton began again. "I know what you 
 think ; you think because you never heard of this 
 man that he is Avithout influence or position. 
 When you see a big brovvnstone building go up, 
 right here, on the lake front, devoted to the of- 
 fices and halls of those interested in this move- 
 ment, you will see what Dr. Symonds has accom- 
 plished." 
 
 Mark pricked up his ears. " Has it really gone 
 so far as that ?" he asked, temperately. 
 
 " Wait, I'll show you something !" exclaimed 
 Mr. Norton, jumping up and going to his desk. 
 "There, what do you think of that?" he asked, 
 triumphantly, unrolling a huge sheet of thick 
 blue paper such as architects use. "That" was 
 a drawing of a fa9ade, lofty and beautiful, adorned 
 with many quaint and graceful symbols, each 
 significant in itself, but all subordinated to the 
 artistic glory of the whole.
 
 208 
 
 " It is very fine," said Mark, " and represents a 
 great deal of money. It will take a pretty wealthy 
 association to put up such a building as that." 
 
 " Fifty thousand dollars has already been sub- 
 scribed," said the old man, rolling up the plan, 
 with a chuckle. " Other subscriptions are coming 
 in fast. It's a good investment, Mark. A build- 
 ing like that pays its stock-owners better than al- 
 most anything else that they can go into. Didn't 
 you know that ?" 
 
 "Sometimes," replied Mark, absent-mindedly. 
 He was wondering what he should say next. If 
 the money had gone, that was the end of it, unless 
 he could induce this unknown apostle, Symonds, 
 to relax his hold, which was improbable, to say 
 the least. If the money was still uninvested, 
 there might be a chance of saving it. 
 
 " I wouldn't be in a hurry to go into that sort 
 of thing if I were you," he said, assuming a care- 
 lessness which he did not feel. "And don't trust 
 your Dr. Symonds too far ; you don't know any- 
 thing about his antecedents." 
 
 Mr. Norton turned upon him a pitying smile. 
 " That's all right for you, Mark for all of you 
 who trust to reason and logic, and who make a 
 man explain and prove what he is ; but to those of 
 us who have learned to trust a higher guide, In- 
 tuition, there is no possibility of being deceived. 
 I feel, I know the integrity of that man. Mark, 
 if ever a man was inspired, that man is ; I wish 
 you'd go and have a talk with him."
 
 209 
 
 Argument was useless, that Mark saw. The 
 quiet obstinacy which is the strength of depen- 
 dent natures fortified the large, loose figure before 
 him. Direct attack would be hopeless; whatever 
 methods he employed must be indirect and un- 
 suspected by their object. He would see Mar- 
 guerite and have a plain talk with her. This 
 matter must be sifted to the bottom, whatever 
 whirlwind of influence was brought to bear. 
 Either she, too, was deeply deceived, and must be 
 warned, or no, she was true to her ideals, how- 
 ever they might have led her astray.
 
 XXIII 
 
 IT was not easy to obtain the coveted interview 
 with Marguerite. Twice Mark went to the Cyn- 
 thia, only to learn that she was not at home ; the 
 third time he found her surrounded by the men 
 and women of her little court. 
 
 She flushed as he took her offered hand, but 
 made no attempt to detain him by her side ; he 
 maintained his position there by sheer persistence, 
 and even then did not succeed in driving the 
 others away. Prince Vladislaf openly disputed 
 the field with him, and some young men from the 
 university took turns in claiming the attention 
 of their hostess. The women whom Mark had 
 seen at the studio were there ; they were always 
 there ; he had grown to dislike them for their 
 constancy. Their ease and their grace palled 
 upon him, and the concord of their sweet voices 
 "made his ears ache," he told himself, "for a 
 good old Yankee twang." 
 
 What they said was as annoyingly accurate as 
 their manner of saying it ; they discussed art and 
 music and the drama from the standpoint of the 
 artist, the musician, and the actor, free from the 
 illusions of the unsophisticated.
 
 211 
 
 Yet with all this parade of disillusionment, 
 they were themselves as illusory as sylphs or 
 lorelei, diffusing the atmosphere calculated to be- 
 wilder and intoxicate. Mark felt, as he watched 
 them and listened to the clever things they said, 
 and which seemed to occupy them almost to the 
 exclusion of interest in his reply, that his hand 
 would go through their dainty draperies and 
 delicate bodies and find nothing mortal there, 
 if he were bold enough to attempt to grasp 
 them. 
 
 They handed him on from one to another with 
 the dexterity born of training and experience. 
 His resistance was utterly ineffectual when op- 
 posed to their devotion to the social game. He 
 realized that he was drifting farther and farther 
 from the spot where Marguerite stood, and that 
 he would soon be swept out of reach as certain- 
 ly as Professor La Motte and rosy little Herr 
 Meinzer. Their backward, unreconciled glances 
 filled him with dismay. He decided to make a 
 stand, and to this end planted his feet so firmly 
 and looked so grim that the woman into whose 
 hands he had now fallen inwardly exclaimed, 
 " What a Berserker !" His frown changed to a 
 smile as he recognized Mrs. Burnham, and she 
 smiled, too. 
 
 " It is too bad, Mr. Heffron," she said, soothing- 
 ly. " I know you want to see Mademoiselle Du- 
 vray, and you come so seldom. That is the penalty 
 a man must pay for admiring a popular woman."
 
 212 
 
 Her eyes kindled as they fell upon her kinswoman. 
 " Isn't she like a rose ?" 
 
 Like a rose, indeed, appeared the perfect little 
 figure. Rose-colored was her gown, and soft as 
 petals lay the folds from which emerged the small, 
 shapely head with its low, loose coils of bright 
 brown hair. To this side and that she turned with 
 sympathetic interest, listening, replying, suggest- 
 ing, leading every one to do his or her best. 
 
 " She certainly is very charming," replied Mark, 
 soberly, adding, as he saw Mrs. Burnham's eyes 
 rove around in search of some one to whom she 
 could intrust him, "I do want to see her. I have 
 something of importance to say to her something 
 she ought to hear." 
 
 Mrs. Burnham's eyes came back and dwelt upon 
 him steadily. "It is almost impossible to obtain 
 a personal interview," she replied. "You know 
 she lectures every morning except Saturday, and 
 afternoons she means to be by herself. The even- 
 ings are like this, unless she is at the theatre or at 
 some reception." 
 
 " It is a matter of business," began Mark. 
 
 Mrs. Burnham's attention focused immediately; 
 if there was anything that she loved more than the 
 world of flattery and fine apparel, it was that pro- 
 tean shape which lurks behind the Exchange. 
 
 " Some investment ?" she inquired, framing the 
 word almost without uttering a sound. 
 
 " It has to do with an investment," replied Mark, 
 evasively.
 
 213 
 
 "You know I take care of Mademoiselle Du- 
 vray's business," explained Mrs. Burnham, draw- 
 ing nearer and becoming more friendly. " I am 
 a sort of relative of hers. We have lived togeth- 
 er for nearly three years now." 
 
 "My business is with Mademoiselle Duvray 
 herself," returned Mark, decisively. "If you can- 
 not obtain me an interview with her it will have 
 to wait, that is all." 
 
 "I will see what I can do," replied the lady, her 
 eyes beginning again to roam. "Ah, here is Louise 
 Ayer ; you remember Miss Ayer ?" 
 
 As Mark turned to the young girl he was con- 
 scious of a feeling of relief. She was looking pale 
 and worried, and there was a seriousness in her 
 manner extremely grateful after the refined gayety 
 of the company, like a cloudy day after weeks of 
 unvarying sunshine. He greeted her with a cord- 
 iality which made her innocent blue eyes open 
 wide, but when he tried to enlist her sympathies 
 sufficiently to carry a message to Mademoiselle 
 Duvray, she shook her head. 
 
 "I can't ; I'm so sorry," she said. "The fact 
 is I am in disgrace with Mademoiselle Duvray my- 
 self." 
 
 "Impossible!" exclaimed Mark. 
 
 "No," said Louise, mournfully, " it is true. It 
 was, of course, my fault. I offended her." 
 
 "She must be more easily offended than I 
 dreamed," said Mark, gallantly. 
 
 "No," exclaimed the girl, tragically, "I knew
 
 214 
 
 better. I knew it was the one thing she would not 
 forgive. I " a ripple of light, feminine laughter 
 followed by a hearty masculine explosion burst 
 in upon her words. Mark turned to see his cousin's 
 wife enter, in evening dress, her fine neck and arms 
 bare even of the amethysts. Something she said 
 had sent her escort, a portly, elderly gentleman, 
 into a fit of laughter that made him quite purple 
 in the face. All along her path she dropped her 
 jests, like pebbles in a quiet pool, until the gentle 
 waves of influence setting out from Mademoiselle 
 Duvray were all broken and disarranged. If Mar- 
 guerite felt any chagrin she did not show it, but 
 graciously presented the prince and a young Ital- 
 ian musician who had been timidly attentive for 
 the past ten minutes. Nellie received them good- 
 humoredly, but allowed them to slip from her, 
 together with the elderly escort, while she turned 
 to Mark, who was not far away. 
 
 " What are you doing here, Nell?" he inquired, 
 in a low tone. 
 
 "It's all right," she answered, cheerfully. "She 
 left a card one day when she thought I was out. I 
 came to-night because I knew she was in. There 
 are some people here that I want. Give me your 
 arm to that fat woman on the sofa, the one with 
 a fistful of diamonds under her chin. She came 
 to one of ray lectures and did not show up after- 
 wards ; I've got to lasso her over again." 
 
 There was nothing to do but obey. Nellie forth- 
 with ensconced herself beside her truant disciple
 
 215 
 
 on the sofa, which their voluminous skirts filled to 
 the rim. The tide of interest set steadily in their 
 direction ; the generous vitality of the new-comer, 
 her prompt overriding of conventionality and form, 
 her droll remarks addressed to every one in gen- 
 eral as well as to some one in particular, drew like 
 a magnet. The prince began to listen with one 
 ear for the cause of the laughter which came with 
 periodic regularity from the sofa in the corner ; 
 the young Italian had deserted at the first peal. 
 Mark recognized his opportunity and took it ; the 
 prince bowed and withdrew. 
 
 " Mrs. Heffron is a cousin of yours, I believe ?" 
 said Marguerite, glancing towards the corner. 
 
 " A cousin's wife," corrected Mark. 
 
 " She is very clever," said Marguerite, civ- 
 illy. 
 
 "In her way, yes," he replied, and then, fearing 
 another interruption, he continued, hurriedly, "I 
 have tried to see you several times lately. I have 
 something of importance to say to you." 
 
 Marguerite assumed a listening attitude, her 
 pretty head bent. 
 
 "Not now !" he exclaimed. 
 
 She questioned him with her eyes. 
 
 " There is too much of it ; it is too personal." 
 
 " I am usually very busy," she pursued. 
 
 "Yes, I know," he replied, with some impa- 
 tience. "But this concerns friends of yours and 
 mine." 
 
 "What is it?" she demanded, with an imperi-
 
 216 
 
 ous little gesture. "No one will hear us ; they are 
 listening to Mrs. Heffron." 
 
 Mark paused. Should he enter upon a discus- 
 sion, that required leisure and his best effort, in a 
 crowded drawing-room, Avhere he might be cut off 
 at the most inopportune moment ? Yet, when 
 could he be sure of having her to himself again 
 even to this degree ? He hesitated, and she pressed 
 her advantage. "Go on, please." 
 
 "I want to talk with you about old Mr. Nor- 
 ton," he began, speaking rapidly, and in a low 
 voice. " I had along conversation with him a few 
 days ago, in which he confided to me the story of 
 his relations with a certain Dr. Symonds. He said 
 you took him to Dr. Symonds's office in the first 
 place. He seems to have given himself up utterly 
 to the influence of that man." 
 
 Marguerite had changed color at his first words, 
 but it might have been from irritation rather than 
 from embarrassment. She was almost herself when 
 she answered, quietly, "What do you wish me to 
 do?" 
 
 This return of the responsibility to himself 
 abashed Mark for an instant ; then he answered, 
 bluntly, " Isn't it as much your affair as mine?" 
 
 "It appears to me," replied Marguerite, coldly, 
 " that it is neither your affair nor mine, but Mr. 
 Norton's." 
 
 " It would be, perhaps, if Mr. Norton was per- 
 fectly able to judge for himself," continued Mark, 
 "but I don't think he is. It seems to me a case
 
 217 
 
 which calls for interference. Unless I am greatly 
 mistaken, Mr. Norton has given this man a hold 
 upon him which is out of all reason." 
 
 " Mr. Norton has an impulsive manner of ex- 
 pressing himself ; you probably exaggerated the 
 importance of what he said," returned the clear, 
 cool, silvery voice of the woman beside him. She 
 was quite herself now, and speaking with the ut- 
 most composure. 
 
 Her ease annoyed Mark ; he felt impelled to 
 break in upon it, ruffle it, hinder and prevent it, if 
 by the roughest handling. " When it comes to 
 relinquishing one's fortune to a rascally fakir," he 
 began, and then paused, having accomplished his 
 purpose. The slender figure beside him trembled 
 with indignation. " Take care, Mr. Heffron," she 
 said, warningly, "Dr. Symonds is my friend." 
 
 "Friend or no," replied Mark, coolly, "he's 
 got to explain his methods, or I'll show him up to 
 the public. This isn't the first time I've run afoul 
 of them. He's a dangerous individual ; I've seen 
 enough to convince me of that." 
 
 Marguerite made no reply. Her agitation had 
 subsided ; she had withdrawn into herself, and 
 wrapped about her a veil of reserve impalpable as 
 air but absolutely impenetrable. Mark made one 
 or two futile efforts to conciliate her and then re- 
 tired. 
 
 Louise Ayer was waiting for him near the door. 
 "I wanted to finish what I was saying to you," 
 she said, anxiously. " It was all my fault with
 
 218 
 
 Mademoiselle Duvray. I knew that she never al- 
 lowed any one to meddle with her affairs, and that 
 was what I did. It was my own fault, and I am 
 perfectly wretched." Her eyes were misty with 
 unshed tears as she looked at him. 
 
 " Don't worry, child," he answered, comforting- 
 ly. " She'll come out of it." 
 
 "Do you really think she will ?" inquired Louise, 
 eagerly. 
 
 " Of course," he replied, in a matter-of-fact 
 tone. 
 
 " I don't know what I shall do if she doesn't for- 
 give me," exclaimed the girl. "It would just 
 about kill me." 
 
 "She will, she will," returned Mark, cheerily. 
 " She probably wants to give you a lesson, that's 
 all." He hoped that he was speaking the truth. 
 
 The guests were beginning to leave, led by Mrs. 
 Heffron, who had wound up the triumph of the 
 evening with a telling jest, and made her exit, fol- 
 lowed by applause. She slipped her hand confid- 
 ingly within Mark's arm, and made him take her 
 to her room. 
 
 "I've had a beautiful time," she said, gayly, as 
 they walked down the long hall, " and it did them 
 good, too. Live men and women want something 
 besides art and elegance ; they like to be waked 
 up and set agoing. I told six or seven hands and 
 hit it right every time. They'll all come in to the 
 lecture to-morrow. I think you might come, 
 Mark."
 
 219 
 
 " Can't possibly, Nell ; I've got important busi- 
 ness on hand for to-morrow. I'm glad you en- 
 joyed yourself. Good-night !" 
 
 But Nellie laid a detaining hand upon his arm. 
 "Remember what I told you about Taurus peo- 
 ple," she said, prophetically. " They'll never give 
 in ; there's no use in trying to make them." 
 
 " How about Aries people ?" he asked her. 
 
 " Oh, they're set in their way, but they're rea- 
 sonable, and when they become enlightened they're 
 the salt of the earth!" 
 
 "How you encourage me," he cried, mockingly, 
 and, squeezing her plump hand, flung away down 
 the hall. 
 
 She watched him with a sigh, then rang the 
 bell and was let in by Marie.
 
 XXIV 
 
 WHAT Mark had said to her encouraged Lou- 
 ise Ayer for a while. She went to sleep trusting 
 his assurances that all would be well, but Avhen 
 she awoke in the morning it was with the un- 
 defined dread of something which had happened, 
 or would happen, of harm. " What is it ?" she 
 asked herself ; and then it all came back her im- 
 prudent questionings, Mademoiselle Duvray's dis- 
 pleasure, and the wretched realization that she 
 was shut out from the favor of her beloved guide 
 and friend. The tears would come in spite of 
 her. After breakfast she made her way to the 
 park, hoping to escape from the dull ache at her 
 heart. 
 
 Sitting on a bench under a spreading maple, 
 she was aroused from her reverie by a fresh 
 young voice. " Aren't you early ?" it asked. 
 
 She looked up, and held out her hand to Carl 
 Dei'ing with a smile. " I'm so glad to see you," 
 she said, warmly; "do sit down." 
 
 Carl responded with the alacrity of one whose 
 desire approves his action. " I suppose I ought 
 to hurry back to the office," he said, by way of 
 apology ; and then, scanning her face, " you've
 
 been crying !" lie exclaimed. " What is it, Lou- 
 ise ?" The past year had been equivalent to many 
 years, in their friendship, and had made them 
 " Carl " and " Louise " to each other. 
 
 "Nothing that is, nothing much," she re- 
 sponded, blushing. 
 
 " You're not the girl to cry for ' nothing much,' " 
 said Carl, positively. "Come, out with it. You 
 helped me carry my load once upon a time ; now 
 give me a turn at yours." 
 
 " It was my own fault," said Louise, humbly. 
 
 " I don't believe it." 
 
 " It was ; I knew better ; I meddled with what 
 did not concern me." 
 
 "I don't believe that, either at least, I don't 
 believe you meddled." 
 
 " Oh, I did ; it didn't concern me in the slight- 
 est degree, and the person never will forgive 
 me." 
 
 "I'll bet I know who the person is," said Carl, 
 sagaciously. " It is Mademoiselle Duvray." 
 
 Louise looked conscious. 
 
 "Now I know half you may as well tell me 
 the rest," pursued the inquisitor. 
 
 " Oh, I never will !" cried Louise, betraying her 
 secret by the very vehemence with which she 
 guarded it. 
 
 "Now I know!" he exclaimed, triumphantly. 
 " You quarrelled over me." 
 
 Louise blushed furiously, but made a desper- 
 ate attempt to throw him off the track. "You
 
 conceited creature!" she exclaimed; "don't you 
 think we have anything better to talk about than 
 you ?" 
 
 "That depends," returned Carl, not a whit dis- 
 concerted. " Now, Louise, tell me what she said." 
 
 " Talk of the curiosity of women !" cried Lou- 
 ise. " It is nothing beside that of men !" 
 
 "But this is excusable," returned Carl, per- 
 suasively. "It is necessary for me to know how 
 Mademoiselle Duvray feels, so that I can tell 
 how to behave when I meet her." 
 
 "You told me that you shouldn't go near her 
 again." 
 
 "So I shall not, unless she asks me ; but I may 
 meet her at the Rosses, or at your house, or lots of 
 places. Really, Louise, as a friend, you ought to 
 give me points ; I'm all in the dark." 
 
 "Well," granted Louise, reluctantly, "she said 
 you were too mental. Now I shall not tell you 
 another word." 
 
 " What did she mean by * too mental ' ?" asked 
 Carl, looking puzzled. 
 
 "Don't you know ' mental, emotive, and vital ' 
 the chart the three sides of the triangle oh, 
 dear, how shall I explain ? You know there are 
 three primitive colors red, blue, and yellow 
 red, green, and violet, some say now ; and three 
 notes in the major chord C, E, and G. So we are 
 made up of three kinds of forces mental, emo- 
 tive (or moral), and physical ; the mental be- 
 comes the spiritual, you know. I'm afraid I can't
 
 223 
 
 tell you how it is, Carl !" She stopped in de- 
 spair. 
 
 " Yes, yes, go on !" he urged. 
 
 " Well, you see, whatever we do has to have 
 all these forces in it you must think, you must 
 feel, you must act ; do you see ?" 
 
 "Yes, go on." 
 
 "That's all, except that when she said you 
 were too mental she meant you thought out these 
 things, but you didn't feel or act them." 
 
 " Much she knew about it," returned Carl, sulkily. 
 
 " There, I knew it wouldn't do any good to tell 
 you !'' exclaimed Louise, "and I've gone and be- 
 trayed her confidence." 
 
 "Nothing of the sort," returned Carl. "She 
 told me the same thing herself." 
 
 "Then why didn't you " began Louise, and 
 stopped. 
 
 "I'll tell you why I didn't," returned Carl. 
 " She and Dr. Symonds wanted me to ' treat,' 
 and I didn't want to do it. It's too too per- 
 sonal. It made me feel queer." 
 
 "Perhaps you would have felt differently if 
 you'd gone on," suggested Louise. " I suppose 
 you would have become accustomed to it." 
 
 " I don't want to become accustomed to it," he 
 replied. "I'll tell you, I felt I felt as if I had 
 made love to those girls whom I treated ; I be- 
 lieve love is a kind of ' treating.' " It was Carl's 
 turn to blush now ; he was scarlet to the tips of 
 his shapely ears.
 
 224 
 
 There was an embarrassing silence, during 
 which Louise poked holes in the sand with her 
 parasol. 
 
 " What else did she say ?" demanded Carl, at 
 length. 
 
 " I am not going to tell you," replied Louise, 
 firmly. "I am sorry I said a single word." 
 
 "I knew it all before," responded Carl. " She 
 said the same thing to me, and that I lacked force 
 of character and stability ; that she was disap- 
 pointed in me ; that she had granted me favors 
 she rarely granted any one, and I did not appre- 
 ciate them ; and that if I trusted to the Principle 
 it would take care of me." 
 
 "And I told her," finished Louise, starting to 
 her feet, her eyes flashing, " that it was not right 
 to get you out of your profession when she had 
 not the slightest idea what to do with you. Oh, 
 dear, what have I said ?" She sank back on the 
 bench and covered her face with her hands. 
 
 " Don't, Louise," pleaded Carl; "don't feel so." 
 
 " I am a traitor!" murmured the girl, behind 
 her handkerchief. 
 
 "You're not!" exclaimed Carl. "You're the 
 bravest, truest girl I know. Don't go back on 
 yourself in that way ; you will be a traitor if you 
 do that!" 
 
 Louise smiled through her tears. "You see, 
 Carl," she said, pathetically, "Mademoiselle Du- 
 vray has been everything to me. I was a delicate, 
 dependent, helpless thing, and she has taught me
 
 how to take care of myself and be a help to others. 
 You don't know what she is to her scholars ; it's 
 no wonder they worship her. I've thought I used 
 to think that I wouldn't ask for any greater hap- 
 piness than to be just like her and help people 
 as she does." 
 
 Carl wondered what had wrought the change 
 in her ambition, but forbore to ask. 
 
 " I realize, now, I never could do it," pursued 
 Louise, with a sigh. " I am so weak ; I cannot 
 keep my centre ; I get interested in people and 
 away I go." Her blue eyes were sorrowful with 
 self-reproach as they looked at him. 
 
 " Of course you can't do it," he returned, brisk- 
 ly. "You're human, and she isn't." 
 
 " Oh, Carl !" 
 
 " She isn't. She told me it was her constant 
 aim to 'maintain the impersonal relation with 
 every one' that isn't human ; human beings don't 
 hold each other off in that way. You can't do it, 
 and I'm mighty glad you've stopped trying." 
 
 A wandering breeze came near at his words, 
 and all the leaves of the great maple over their 
 heads rustled a faint applause. Through the 
 branches a ray of sunlight slipped, like uncon- 
 trolled laughter, and ran along the walk. The 
 two young things felt the influence of the sound 
 and the sparkle. Their seriousness vanished, and 
 they smiled at each other for the sweetness of 
 the spring day and the joyousness of it. 
 
 " Don't you see, Louise," cried the young man,
 
 226 
 
 eagerly, " God didn't stop making trees and flow- 
 ers when he began to make animals, and he didn't 
 stop making animals when he commenced on 
 man ; I don't believe we are meant to give up 
 what we had because we have something more." 
 
 "But you surely believe in developing the 
 spiritual side of us," pursued Louise, anxiously. 
 
 " H'm, yes, I suppose so." 
 
 "Oh, Carl, you haven't given up the Principle? 
 I was afraid that would be the result if you Avent 
 back into medicine; that was why I said so much 
 to Mademoiselle Duvray I was fairly desperate." 
 
 Carl gave her an appreciative glance. "You 
 were awfully good to try to help me," he said, 
 affectionately. "But honestly, Louise, I like this 
 a lot better ; that always seemed to me a kind 
 of old woman's work, going round lecturing and 
 healing it did, really." 
 
 Louise looked thoughtful. " Of course," Carl 
 continued, hastily, " I know there's a great deal 
 in it, and I do try to hold on to the Principle ; 
 but, as Mr. Heffron says, ' You needn't tell all 
 you know.' " 
 
 "Did you talk with him about things?" 
 
 "Didn't I, though! If it wasn't for him I'd 
 be in the street now. He saw Humphrey, and 
 persuaded him to take me back into the office. 
 I tell you what, Louise, that man knows what 
 he is talking about!" 
 
 Who Dr. Humphrey ?" 
 
 "No, Mr. Heffron; and he doesn't think it is
 
 227 
 
 necessary to shut yourself off by yourself and 
 keep every one else at arm's-length. I'd like to 
 hear him go for Mademoiselle Duvray !" 
 
 " She won't let him," said Louise, sententiously. 
 
 " How do you know ?" inquired Carl. 
 
 " He tried to make me take a message to her 
 last night, and of course I couldn't under the 
 circumstances. He managed to get a chance to 
 talk with her, but she had that way she has when 
 she won't let a person get hold of her." 
 
 "I know," returned Carl, sagely, "all about 
 'the way.' Louise, she doesn't dare have it out 
 with him. It would be the best thing in the 
 world for her if she would marry him." 
 
 "Oh, Mademoiselle Duvray doesn't believe in 
 marriage," replied Louise, quickly, "except " 
 
 "Except for those who cannot get along with- 
 out it, I suppose," interrupted Carl, with warmth. 
 " That's a nice thing to teach her girls." 
 
 " She doesn't teach them anything of the sort," 
 responded Louise, with equal warmth. "Carl, 
 you do her injustice. She only tries to make her 
 girls independent enough so as not to give up 
 every bit of their individuality to the first man 
 who comes along. You know how girls are." 
 
 " Some of them," answered Carl. " But I notice 
 that the girls who get so independent of the men 
 turn around and fall in love with her. They do, 
 you know they do, Louise ; they send her flowers, 
 and make her presents, and wait on her just like 
 lovers."
 
 228 
 
 Louise looked hurt. "I suppose 3*011 mean 
 me." 
 
 " Partly," he confessed. " It provokes me to see 
 you revolving around her when you ought to be 
 the one yourself to have some one revolve around 
 you." 
 
 His words and the gesture with which he illus- 
 trated them brought a smile to the pensive face 
 beside him. " People have to like each other," 
 lie continued, philosophically. " They can't help 
 it ; they're made that way. If it isn't one, it's 
 another ; only I don't believe the other can ever 
 take the place of the one. I don't think it's nec- 
 essary or right to fight such feelings ; I believe 
 we are meant to do some of the things we want 
 to, or we wouldn't want to so much." 
 
 "Then you don't pray to be 'delivered from 
 all inordinate and sinful affection ' ?" inquired 
 Louise, archly. 
 
 " Who would believe you remembered so much 
 of the old prayer-book !" he exclaimed, humor- 
 ously. "No, I don't think affection is sinful, and 
 if it's inordinate the best thing to do is to exam- 
 ine it carefully and find out what to do with it ; 
 nothing is inordinate when you find a use for it. 
 Oh, I've thought about these things," for Louise 
 was looking at him curiously. "I'm about ready 
 to think, as Humphrey does, that chemical affin- 
 ity becomes natural selection higher up, and nat- 
 ural selection becomes sympathy the same law; 
 think of it, one force to hold the world together !
 
 229 
 
 Why not call it one name Love?" Carl's hon- 
 est face was all aglow. 
 
 " We keep saying ' God is Absolute and Infi- 
 nite,'" he continued, "'and as limited and finite 
 beings we cannot comprehend Him,' and never 
 realize that He keeps putting Himself before us in 
 a way we can understand. It's of no use to stand 
 on tiptoe and try to stretch up to be like Him, 
 but He comes close to us and shows us how to be 
 like Him right where we are. I tell you what, 
 Louise, I'm awfully tired of trying to be a, spirit; 
 I'm going to try to be a man for a while." He 
 ceased and drew in a long breath of the splendid 
 spring air. Louise did not dare to look at him ; 
 she saw, without looking at them, the strong young 
 figure and the winsome face. She felt the vigorous 
 pulse beating sturdily and true to the true heart 
 which directed them ; and her own heart gave a 
 queer little turn, like a somersault. 
 
 "I must go home," she said, faintly, and arose, 
 still looking away from him. Carl made no at- 
 tempt to detain her, and they walked, side by side, 
 in silence, along the leafy aisles of the park. The 
 breeze blew over them, and the leaves rustled, 
 and the sunbeams romped like playful hounds 
 on the path before their feet, but upon the grav- 
 ity of their self-consciousness, and consciousness 
 of each other, these childish influences could not 
 intrude. 
 
 At her home door he left her, bidding her 
 good-bye with the brevity which promises a
 
 230 
 
 prompt return, and she responded with the gen- 
 tleness which assures a welcome. Then she sped 
 on up to her own room. 
 
 Before the mirror she stopped to interrogate 
 the face she saw there shining eyes, parted lips, 
 cheeks in which the color came and went; whith- 
 er had vanished the dolorous maid of the morn- 
 ing? She recalled Carl's words, "I believe that 
 love is a kind of ' treating.' " 
 
 The girl in the glass smiled back at her. 
 
 "Isn't he the queerest boy in the world?" she 
 asked this girl. 
 
 "Yes, he is," the girl answered, adding, with a 
 blush, "and the dearest." 
 
 Then came a pang of remorse as she remem- 
 bered how frankly she had discussed Mademoi- 
 selle Duvray with one, like herself, out of favor 
 with the absent friend. During the remainder 
 of the day these two emotions divided the empire 
 of her heart remorse for the changed relation 
 between herself and her beloved mistress, joy for 
 the new love to which the old had yielded, as 
 fantastic moonlight yields to the vitalizing influ- 
 ence of the sun. 
 
 "I wish she could feel like this," she sighed, as 
 if the wish were somehow a reparation, "but I 
 don't believe she ever will," and the girl who had 
 sat at the feet of Mademoiselle Duvray actually 
 pitied the object of her former admiration.
 
 XXV 
 
 MARK'S threat to make Dr. Symonds explain 
 himself was not an idle one. Proving this, he 
 sallied forth early the next morning in pursuit of 
 the healer, so early that there was no one stirring 
 in the Enterprise except a sleepy elevator boy, 
 who was quite positive no such person as Dr. 
 Symonds roomed in the building. Cross-exam- 
 ination divulged the fact that he became an ele- 
 vator boy only yesterday, and the chances were 
 against the reliability of his testimony. 
 
 Mark traversed the long, dim corridors, floor 
 by floor, growing more determined and more bel- 
 ligerent with each one. The darker the corner 
 the more active his anticipation of coming upon 
 the hoary villain whom he sought. "Bring on 
 your occult forces," he muttered, stiffening his 
 biceps and shaking his fists. " I'm bound to do 
 you up !" 
 
 After all, it was not in the shadowed and musty 
 by-ways of the old house but in the full radiance 
 of the top-floor skylight that he found the door 
 bearing the inscription, "J. G. Symonds, Meta- 
 physician." 
 
 He rapped, but no one answered ; there was
 
 232 
 
 not a sound within. He opened the door and en- 
 tered the room ; there was no one there, even 
 behind the screens, for he examined them to make 
 sure. 
 
 He tried the door into the adjoining room and 
 found it locked ; then he sat down to wait, glan- 
 cing here and there at the contents of the modest 
 apartment. There were books behind glass doors 
 and brown paper envelopes in piles by themselves. 
 On a small table stood a contrivance for taking 
 reprints. Folding-chairs, a piano, and a desk of 
 ecclesiastical pattern were all the furniture be- 
 sides the screens ; there were two of these, some 
 seven feet high and coming down to the floor. 
 
 The minutes passed. Mark grew impatient, and 
 had very nearly decided to relinquish his quest 
 when the door into the adjoining room opened 
 softly, and a slender, dark-haired young man in 
 clerical dress appeared. " How can I serve you?" 
 he asked, advancing courteously, and then stopped 
 with a startled look in his large black eyes. 
 
 Mark sprang forward and caught him by the 
 arm. " Jack Symonds !" he cried, in tones of 
 surprise and disgust, " for God's sake, don't say it 
 is yvm who are running this infernal faking ma- 
 chine !" Here was an entirely different encoun- 
 ter from the one which he had planned. 
 
 Symonds was the first to recover himself. 
 " That is a singular salutation from you, Heffron," 
 he returned, calmly. "Is that all you have to 
 say?"
 
 233 
 
 His affectation of unconcern nettled Mark. 
 " No, it isn't," he answered, doggedly. 
 
 " Come in here," said the healer, leading the 
 way to the inner room. 
 
 The two men sat down and looked at each 
 other curiously. The years had made a breach 
 between them which neither could have crossed 
 if he would. To the unimpassioned seeker after 
 spiritual truths the vehemence of his companion 
 represented a phase of existence from which he 
 shrank a phase to be feared and avoided. To 
 the virile wrestler, hand to hand and foot to foot, 
 with the greed of the world and its dishonesty 
 and cunning, and with the temptations entangling 
 his own five senses, the other was a coward and a 
 renegade. By stretching out an arm they could 
 have clasped hands, yet they were worlds apart 
 and spoke in different languages. Each eyed the 
 other with the instinctive dislike which one ani- 
 mal feels for another seen for the first time and 
 not yet tested, the balance of the antipathy being 
 on the side of the one who was physically the 
 stronger. 
 
 Again Symonds was the first to break the si- 
 lence. 
 
 " What did you mean by your words just 
 now ?" he inquired. 
 
 " I might modify them somewhat," replied 
 Mark, obstinately, "but they would mean the 
 same thing. I'm sorry it is with you that my 
 quarrel lies, but I can't back out now."
 
 234 
 
 " What is the quarrel, Mark ?" asked the other, 
 quietly. 
 
 "Hang it all, Jack," blurted out his visitor, 
 "if you want to be a 'magus' and parade around 
 in a long-tailed robe, with a tiara on, do it and be 
 darned, but don't go into it in this dead-earnest 
 fashion, fooling honest people, and playing fast 
 and loose with with the mysteries of life." 
 
 " When the veil of the temple was rent it was 
 in token there should be no more mysteries," re- 
 sponded the healer. 
 
 " And so you invite in the American public to 
 lift the lid of the ark and finger its contents ?" 
 
 Symonds colored like a girl. "Nothing of the 
 sort. I shall train up men and women to de- 
 fend the ark because they appreciate its sacred- 
 ness." 
 
 "You won't do it with 'manuscript lessons' or 
 a course of ' treatment.' ' : Mark was getting his 
 bearings. There is more than one way to bully ; 
 he had several at his disposal. 
 
 Symonds colored again more vividly. " What 
 do you know of my methods?" he asked, defi- 
 antly. 
 
 "Considerably more than your scholars do. 
 What do you suppose young Dering knew about 
 what he was up to? You needn't shrug your 
 shoulders ; you can't throw off a responsibility 
 in that way. You influenced him to give up his 
 profession, and for what ?" 
 
 The healer's pallid face kindled with indig-
 
 235 
 
 nation and remonstrance. " For opportunities 
 which a king might envy him. I placed young 
 Deriug where, if he had made the most of what I 
 gave him, he could have controlled his destiny. 
 If he did not do this I am not to blame." 
 
 "You pushed him into situations for which 
 he was unprepared, and then blamed him be- 
 cause he was unprepared," rejoined Mark, sturdily. 
 "You can't force human beings as you would 
 tomato-plants. You ought to have known that 
 if you didn't. As to controlling his destiny 
 bosh !" 
 
 The hall door of the outer office opened to let 
 in a small, fair woman carrying a travelling-bag. 
 From her manner, as she stepped briskly into the 
 room, Mark guessed that she had a right there ; 
 from Symonds's manner, as he hastened to meet 
 her, he was quite sure of it. ' 
 
 She listened to his softly uttered explanations 
 with the air of one high in authority, and replied 
 in a voice which recognized neither fear nor favor. 
 " If he isn't here on business, get rid of him. 
 You have no time for ordinary callers. Besides," 
 and here the voice dropped, "you'll take his 
 thought." 
 
 "You'll take it, too, if I get a shot at you," 
 mused the pugnacious visitor. " I wonder if I 
 can hit you at long range." 
 
 But the little woman ignored his presence and 
 bustled about, arranging the papers on the table 
 and placing the chairs in orderly rows, suggesting
 
 236 
 
 as plainly as possible, without words, that this was 
 a busy office, affording no foothold to idle, unnec- 
 essary people, who only got in the way and inter- 
 fered with important work. 
 
 Dr. Symonds tiptoed back to the inner office, 
 and, with a deprecating glance behind him, noise- 
 lessly closed the door. " Was it on Bering's ac- 
 count that you came; to see me ?" he asked, as he 
 took his seat. 
 
 "Not entirely," confessed Mark. "I was more 
 disturbed on account of old Mr. Norton." 
 
 The healer lifted his eyebrows questioningly. 
 "Mr. Norton is certainly much improved in 
 health," he said, " and happier." 
 
 "But he hasn't had fifty thousand dollars' 
 worth," was the blunt reply. 
 
 "Who said anything about fifty thousand dol- 
 lars?" demanded the healer. 
 
 "I did," replied Mark, coolly ; " and I have ref- 
 erence to the sum which Mr. Norton subscribed 
 to the new building you mean to erect on the lake 
 front." He Avatched Symonds closely, but the 
 latter showed no sign of discomfiture. "I sup- 
 pose he was willing to pay that much for another 
 'change of heart,'" he pursued, significantly. 
 Still there was no response. " But any common 
 hypnotist could have given it to him much cheap- 
 er," he finished, with a sneer. 
 
 Dr. Symonds sprang to his feet, his dark eyes 
 flashing. What he intended to say Mark never 
 knew, for the door suddenly opened and the small
 
 237 
 
 sentinel of the office demonstrated that she was 
 vStill on guard. 
 
 " Dr. Syraonds," she said, warning! y, " you have 
 an engagement at ten, and it is now two minutes 
 of." 
 
 "Is there any one waiting?" asked 'the healer. 
 He was trembling from head to foot. 
 
 She beckoned him to her. "Are you crazy?" 
 she whispered. " That man is exhausting you. 
 Send him away." 
 
 He made some inarticulate response. 
 
 " Then I shall." She placed herself before him 
 and assumed a threatening air, not unlike that 
 with which a brave hen-sparrow defends her nest. 
 
 " Sir," she said, authoritatively. 
 
 " My name is Heffron," interposed Mark, with 
 a twinkle. 
 
 " Mr. Heffron," she repeated, " you will have 
 to wait till another day. Dr. Symonds is very 
 busy this morning." 
 
 Mark walked to the door of the office and 
 looked out. There was no one in the outer room. 
 He walked back and sat down. 
 
 " He has several absent treatments to give," she 
 explained ; " besides, it is contrary to our custom 
 to sit and talk. If you want anything of us in a 
 business way, please state your errand." 
 
 Mark smiled upon her quizzically. " I think 
 I'll wait until Dr. Symonds gets through," he an- 
 swered, easily. The little woman went out and 
 shut the door.
 
 238 
 
 For full half an hour Mark was left to his own 
 reflections, and he found them enormously enter- 
 taining. The whole affair had gradually assumed 
 for him the proportions of a huge joke, and it was 
 in this spirit that he took up the thread of the 
 discussion when Dr. Symonds returned. 
 
 "Your wife tells me," he began, cheerfully " I 
 suppose she is your wife, or would be on our ' plane 
 of thought ' ?" 
 
 Dr. Symonds inclined his head in affirmation. 
 
 "Your wife tells me that I am making an unus- 
 ual demand upon your valuable time ; that you 
 do not allow your influence to drip away in pro- 
 longed interviews, but condense it into occasional 
 acts of mercy. Don't you think that is rather 
 going back on ourselves, to develop into isolated 
 intelligences which only come in contact for the 
 discharge of some beneficent function ? What is 
 to become of all the delightful gossipings, the 
 comforting convivialities ? Many of us have to 
 become warmed up by prolonged intercourse Avith 
 our fellow-beings before we can give out any- 
 thing ; what is to become of us ?" 
 
 Mark was enjoying himself after his own fash- 
 ion, but the imperturbable healer did not abate 
 his seriousness. " What is to become of the king- 
 dom of heaven which we are to seek ' first of all ' ?" 
 he asked. 
 
 Mark was saved the exposure of his ignorance 
 on this point by the return of the little sentinel, 
 announcing impatiently, "Dr. Symonds, there
 
 239 
 
 is some one here who wishes to speak with 
 you !" f 
 
 In his exit Dr. Symonds left the door ajar only' 
 an instant, but in that instant Mark caught a > 
 glimpse of some one who was really there this 
 time. He saw quite plainly the trim gown and 
 jaunty hat which suited their wearer as its plum- 
 age suits the bird ; he recognized the low, loose 
 coil of bright brown hair, the compact, well- 
 poised figure ; and his jesting mood left him. 
 
 Why was Marguerite there? Was it her cus- 
 tom to consult this psychic guide ? Good heav- 
 ens, what a pull he had, combining the influence 
 of the physician with that of the priest ! How 
 complacently he smiled as he returned to the inner 
 office ! Mark's fingers tingled to lay hold of him 
 and squeeze the smile out of him. 
 
 " It won't do for you to carry this thing too far, 
 Symonds," he began, superciliously. " There are 
 too many people taking aim for you. I have in 
 my pocket now a letter inquiring about that fifty 
 thousand dollars you took from Norton." 
 
 " I took no money from Norton, except a small 
 fee for attendance," interrupted the healer. 
 
 " The money you intend to take," corrected 
 Mark, adding, to himself, "Thanks for that much 
 information." 
 
 "Is that all you have to say?" inquired Sy- 
 monds, with dignity. 
 
 "All but a word of caution. Fly low. Don't 
 soar so high that you can't get to cover ; and
 
 240 
 
 take care how you meddle with souls ; it's 
 risky." 
 
 " Take care how you meddle with my soul and 
 its mission !" retorted the healer, spiritedly. "I 
 can't understand you, Heffron. Years ago, in 
 college, you agreed with me that this tiling ought 
 to be done, that philosophy, science, and religion 
 should join hands, and faith be made a working 
 principle. You said " 
 
 He paused, for the scowling face before him 
 had changed like an April sky, and was all sunned 
 over with smiles. "Don't stop !" cried its owner. 
 "Don't stop ! Go on. What else did I say?" 
 
 " You said, ' It is the thought of the world 
 which creates its atmosphere ; unhappy and un- 
 wholesome conditions are made by the mind ; the 
 realities are beautiful and good, and if all would 
 see them so we could work on a common basis 
 and bring out into form the beauty and goodness 
 which exist as spiritual realities.' " 
 
 Mark gave a sigh of satisfaction. " That's it ; 
 that was the hobby I kept moving until I went 
 into business in New York. Business killed it. 
 What are you going to do about business, Sy- 
 nionds ? Did you ever do business on that basis ?" 
 
 "It is the only way to do business properly," 
 responded Symonds, with confidence. 
 
 "You try it," returned Mark, with a bitter 
 laugh. " Try it, Symonds but don't take Norton 
 and his fifty thousand dollars along with you." 
 He grew grave as he thought of the trusting old
 
 man, graver yet as he remembered Marguerite. 
 So it was his own philosophy, warmed over, which 
 drew her to Symonds, and Symonds probably 
 worked the vein for all it was worth. He eyed 
 him suspiciously. 
 
 " Of course we did not determine then how re- 
 ligion should become an applied science," Symonds 
 was saying, " and I never heard it discussed at 
 the theological seminary, although we were con- 
 fronted by the Avords, ' Heal the sick and preach 
 the gospel.' While I was in charge of my first 
 parish Mrs. Symonds was taken very ill. We did 
 everything ; I carried her everywhere ; but the 
 doctors declared nothing could be done. Finally 
 we fell in with some people who believed as we 
 did. We studied with them, and Mrs. Symonds 
 recovered by the application of this Principle. Of 
 course the case attracted public attention. Peo- 
 ple came from far and near for treatment. We 
 were fairly forced into the work." 
 
 . il So Mrs. Symonds was really the means of 
 your conversion," said Mark. " She had to apply 
 your theories for you." He was still thinking of 
 Marguerite, and wondering if there must always 
 be a woman to lead a man where he would go. 
 
 " Mrs. Symonds has been and is of great as- 
 sistance," returned the healer. " I know of no 
 one who is so helpful in the the Realization." 
 
 " Realization of what ?" inquired Mark. 
 
 " Of the Principle," replied the healer, " of 
 course." 
 
 16
 
 242 
 
 " How do you know it isn't the realization of 
 Mrs. Symonds ?" suggested Mark, with a smile. 
 
 The healer started as if he had been stung. 
 
 "You seem so cocksure of the whole business," 
 pursued the irreverent visitor. " How do you 
 know, when you get these telephotiic communi- 
 cations, where they come from? You needn't 
 get angry over it !" for the healer had again 
 started from his seat. " You've brought this on 
 yourself. You've set yourself up as an authority 
 on these matters. You know; you're a ' Gnostic '/ 
 now, how do you know ?" 
 
 The face of the healer changed as he stood 
 there before his accuser. A look, reminiscent and 
 tender, passed over it. " I know," he said, with 
 gentle emphasis, " because I have experienced" 
 
 Mark felt the power of his patience, and be- 
 cause he felt it and knew that it must have had 
 an influence over others struck out against it 
 brutally. 
 
 " That's all right for you, yourself," he ex- 
 claimed, harshly ; " but when it comes to having 
 experiences for other people, that's another thing. 
 We've got rid of kings in this country, at least ; 
 we've got rid of priests some of us ; we've got 
 to get rid of creatures like you, who step in and 
 offer to save people from the consequences of 
 their own acts. Who are they that come to you, 
 anyway ? A lot of silly women, some doting old 
 men, and a few green boys. What do you know 
 about how a man feels you, without any red
 
 243 
 
 blood in your veins? Because your little pint- 
 pot of desires is full you needn't think you can 
 satisfy the cravings of others with lake water 
 and a pinch of snuff." Mark had begun to rant, 
 and he knew it. " I must go," he said, hurried- 
 ly, looking at his watch. " We should not agree 
 on these matters if we talked a thousand years." 
 
 "No," responded the healer, gravely. "You 
 do not understand ; you will not understand." 
 
 There were two women and a child waiting in 
 the outer office. The child carried a crutch. 
 Mrs. Symonds was talking with them, and did 
 not look up when Mark tramped heavily through 
 the room. As he reached the entrance of the 
 building and passed out into the street he drew 
 a long breath and shook himself as a big dog 
 shakes himself upon emerging from the water. 
 " By Jove," he murmured, " I'd like a Martigny 
 cocktail and a strong cigar. I never felt so con- 
 spicuously and predominantly animal as in that 
 atmosphere of condensed spirituality." 
 
 It was not until he had drunk the cocktail and 
 was puffing vigorously away at the cigar that he 
 attempted to recall what Symonds had said of 
 his own long-lost philosophy. " It sounded very 
 pretty as he got it off," he mused, " but I can't 
 remember a blessed word of it now. Well, he's 
 welcome to all he can make out of it. I believe 
 I've had about enough of the Symbolists." 
 
 He finished his cigar and wrote a long letter 
 to Joey full of Mark-Heffron-isms.
 
 XXVI 
 
 IT was by no means in accordance with the 
 habits of Mademoiselle Duvray to seek an in- 
 terview with Dr. Symonds at his office early on 
 a week-day morning. No one was more surprised 
 than Dr. Symonds himself when he saw her stand- 
 ing by the office table, nervously turning over a 
 paper which she found there. She looked up at 
 his approach, and he saw that her eyes were 
 heavy. 
 
 "I have not slept," she said, hui'riedly. "I am 
 very nervous, and I must lecture at eleven to-day. 
 Will you help me ?" 
 
 Dr. Symonds promised to do his best, trying to 
 keep down a climbing exultation which threat- 
 ened to mount into his voice and the expression 
 of his face. She had come at last this inde- 
 pendent woman who wanted his philosophy, his 
 rules of conduct, his incentives to faith, and who 
 cheerfully sent her friends to partake of his psy- 
 chical medicine, but who had always disclaimed 
 for herself any need of such assistance. 
 
 " My battle is not with aches and pains," she 
 had said, " and I have no nerves ; what I want is 
 something to live by/' She had taken his various
 
 245 
 
 "Courses of Instruction," had bought his manu- 
 script lessons and his little books, but of his per- 
 sonal, professional attention she knew absolutely 
 nothing. He had thought he detected a doubt 
 in her attitude, and it had increased what might 
 have become a doubt in his own heart if permit- 
 ted to develop. This proof of her confidence sent 
 him back to the inner office fortified to meet what 
 awaited him there. 
 
 She looked after him irresolutely, half tempted 
 to call him to her and withdraw her commission, 
 and then she saw through the half-open door the 
 broad shoulders and massive head of the man who 
 was sitting there. 
 
 "Did you want to speak to the doctor?" asked 
 Mrs. Symonds. 
 
 " No, thank you," replied Marguerite. A child- 
 ish impulse seized her to run away. It was Avith 
 an effort that she walked deliberately out of the 
 room, followed by Mrs. Symonds, who kept up a 
 blithe chatter as long as it could be heard. Empty 
 of meaning as the twitter of the sparrows with- 
 out, it came to Marguerite's ears. She was more 
 disturbed than she cared to acknowledge. To 
 find in her last refuge the menace to her peace 
 thi'ew her back upon herself a feeble, fluttering 
 self, shaken by unwonted sleeplessness and ap- 
 prehension. Hardly knowing what she did, she 
 walked rapidly down the street and turned her 
 face towards Lincoln Park. It was not long be- 
 fore the exhilai*ation of the exercise had brought
 
 246 
 
 back her self-command. By the time she reached 
 the green sward and the trees she had commenced 
 to think coherently and reasonably. 
 
 This was really nothing new, she told herself ; 
 it was merely an old conflict resumed. If her be- 
 lief in the principles which she advocated and at- 
 tempted to apply had been sure, she would not 
 have run away from Mark Heffron at Beau Lieu; 
 she would have stood her ground and let him say 
 what he pleased. 
 
 The evasion had been only a postponement of 
 what must come sooner or later ; she could not 
 always run away. Besides, she no longer stood 
 alone. There were her pupils and her friends 
 dependent upon her dependent upon her theo- 
 ries. She had proved that she was right by her 
 success, by her helpfulness, by the happiness she 
 had enjoyed until now. Then what did she fear? 
 Why did the sight of Mark Heffron in Dr. Sy- 
 monds's office fill her with perturbation ? Why 
 was she unwilling to have her new teacher exam- 
 ined by her old one ? Was it entirely because 
 she sympathized with the gentle, sensitive nature 
 of the metaphysician and hated to have it hurt, 
 or was it partly because she could not bear to have 
 his comfortable words disproved ? She pulled 
 herself up short with a feeling of irritation. Why 
 should she examine her motives and analyze her 
 thoughts in this fashion ? She was losing all her 
 buoyancy, all her relish of this good and beauti- 
 ful world. That aggressive personality which she
 
 247 
 
 could not walk away from was to blame for this. 
 She looked back over the months since she met 
 Mark Heffron ; how secure and how free she had 
 been then ! Now even her teaching had grown 
 petty and irksome. She was continually asking 
 herself the use of it, and if she really meant what 
 she said. The women who followed and imitated 
 her seemed so many puppets whose strings she 
 pulled. The men who admired her were vainly 
 marshalled to preserve the balance of power. The 
 elegance of Prince Vladislaf and the learning of 
 Herr Meinzer had become alike wearisome. A 
 laughing face looked at her over their shoulders 
 and a mocking voice derided what they said. 
 
 Mrs. Burnham had been a better bulwark ; be- 
 hind her matter-of-fact attitude Marguerite had 
 often intrenched herself. But Mrs. Burnham par- 
 took of the New Thought only as a means of 
 social advancement ; its virtue, in her eyes, was 
 that it paid. 
 
 There were others who claimed Mademoiselle 
 Duvray as of their number not openly, but in 
 their meetings among themselves. They were for 
 the most part intellectual or religious Bohemians, 
 having little to relinquish in the way of authority 
 or tradition. But they recognized the necessity 
 of caution on her part, and, proud of her position 
 and influence, took care not to hazard these by im- 
 prudent allusions to her in public. 
 
 It was not until. recently that she had felt re- 
 sponsible for her acquaintance with these pco-
 
 248 
 
 pie, although it had been a comfort to turn from 
 them to leaders like Haridass Goculdass and Dr. 
 Symonds. In the services conducted by the lat- 
 ter she had found her greatest help, especially 
 since the Rosses and the Ayers, Carl Dering, and 
 old Mr. Norton had become regular attendants. 
 The little chapel had appeared sometimes to 
 pulsate with warmth and radiance from the sym- 
 pathy and the devotion which were concentrated 
 there. 
 
 Of late there had been a change in the atmos- 
 phere a shadow and a chill, an uncertainty, a 
 foreboding, as of an approaching crisis. They 
 were all conscious of it. Carl Dering no longer 
 sat with bowed head, but tipped back in his 
 chair and measured the words of the preacher. 
 Old Mr. Norton, who used to go out of his way 
 to say good-morning, shuffled in and out without 
 stopping to speak to any one. There had been 
 discussions among the women, of ways and means, 
 and talk of a bazaar to raise funds for necessary 
 expenses. The machinery had commenced to 
 creak and to call attention to the fact that it was 
 machinery. Hitherto the vehicle of worship and 
 benediction had seemed a live thing, sustaining 
 itself. This had all happened since Mark Heffron 
 came to Chicago. Something must be done ; 
 some one must withstand this unfriendly influ- 
 ence. Thought against thought, will against will, 
 faith against doubt, the battle must be fought, 
 and by whom but herself? It was to her that he
 
 249 
 
 came first with his questions and criticisms. He 
 had gone to Dr. Syraonds only when she refused 
 to talk with him. 
 
 She began to review the argument for the non- 
 existence of Matter and Evil. Every word of it 
 was familiar to her, she had quoted it so many 
 times to those whom she was trying to convince. 
 It had always been received without dispute, yet 
 now with feminine timidity she held it up to the 
 light and looked through it suspiciously. The 
 rest of Dr. Symonds's sj'stem of philosophy was 
 not unlike Mark Heffron's own belief in the power 
 of thought, but how could one get a resting-place 
 for this lever on a slippery world of Matter and 
 Evil ? " Have you got away from Matter ?" had 
 been a favorite question among her metaphysical 
 friends, and, absurd as it might sound in the ears 
 of the uninitiated, it stood for a most important 
 emancipation. Some of them spent hours "deny- 
 ing" Matter and Evil, enemies she found it easier 
 to ignoi'e, as she found it easier to run away from 
 Mark Heffron. Possibly this was the reason of 
 her unrest. If she would only face it out with 
 her antagonist and settle, once for all, the grounds 
 of her belief, then she might go on to radiant 
 heights of perfection. The thought steadied her 
 and gave her peace. "That is it," she decided. 
 "That is the solution of the problem. Who 
 knows? It may be given to me to lead him into 
 the right path. I will see him. I will talk to 
 him fearlessly." Light of heart again, and light
 
 250 
 
 of foot, she retraced her way through the park, 
 no more a weak, timorous woman, but a part of 
 the Universal Harmony. As such, the resources 
 of the universe were at her command. She looked 
 around, ready to appropriate whatever was need- 
 ed. Moving leisurely along towards the entrance 
 came not the manifestation of her exalted 
 thought, but a boy in blue uniform sprinkled 
 with brass buttons. She beckoned him to her, 
 and gave him the portentous words written in 
 pencil on a visiting-card and enclosed in the enve- 
 lope he furnished her: "If you will call upon 
 me at the Cynthia this evening I shall deem it a 
 favor." Her hand trembled as she addressed the 
 envelope to Mark Heffron at his hotel, and the 
 boy looked interested. This was not the first 
 romantic episode which had been outlined before 
 his keen eyes. "Where'll I bring the answer?" 
 he asked, briskly. 
 
 " There will be no answer," she replied, and 
 wheeled abruptly. He gazed after her inquiring- 
 ly for a minute, and then went off whistling. 
 
 In her haste to be rid of him she had turned 
 down the nearest path and did not pause till the 
 sound of voices stopped her. Not twenty rods 
 away, on a bench under a spreading maple, sat 
 Louise Ayer and Carl Dering, too much occupied 
 in what they were saying to notice her approach. 
 She heard distinctly, in Louise's clear soprano, 
 " I told her it was not right to get you out of your 
 profession " and waited to hear no more.
 
 251 
 
 So this was the way these two, whom she be- 
 lieved to be her devoted pupils, met to criticise 
 and condemn her! A fierce glow eclipsed and su- 
 perseded the white light of inspiration in which 
 she had been enveloped. When she arrived at 
 the studio it had burned through to heart and 
 brain, and utterly effaced the argument for the 
 non-existence of Evil. 
 
 Unfortunately, it is the fate of philosophy as 
 well as of romance to be put to the test by the 
 very world it would escape and which cunningly 
 applies, not the mighty blows which philosophy 
 . and romance are prepared to meet, but the pin-J 
 y^pricks which they cannot endure. ^ Not only was 
 Louise Ayer absent from class, but the Ross girls 
 also failed to appear. The hour dragged in spite 
 of the lecturer's best efforts, and while it dragged 
 who should appear but Madame Heffron, smiling 
 and serene as the sunlight without, and attended 
 by two large, determined-looking women who had 
 an air of being present to see fair play. 
 
 Nellie had not come uninvited. There had 
 been plenty of talk about her and her methods 
 among the various representatives of the New 
 Thought; for there are degrees of orthodoxy 
 among the unorthodox. Marguerite had been 
 asked, " Shall you call on her? Shall you invite 
 her to hear you speak ?" and, assuming a gener- 
 osity which she did not wholly feel, she had de- 
 clared her intention of calling and extending the 
 courtesies of the studio. On the whole, this was
 
 252 
 
 the wiser course. Some of Marguerite's pupils 
 had gone to Nellie, and some of Nellie's to Mar- 
 guerite. One well-meaning woman had done her 
 gentle best, by repeating whatever each said that 
 was kind of the other, to reconcile the two leaders. 
 She was present this morning and effusively con- 
 ciliatory. 
 
 Madame Heffron was fully as prominent as the 
 mistress of the studio ; she had led her compan- 
 ions to the most conspicuous seats in the room. 
 Marguerite looked unusually girlish as she stood 
 up before them. 
 
 The lecture was over, and the half-hour which 
 should be devoted to personal application was al- 
 ready due. The instructor proceeded with some 
 misgivings, for the class were on the gesture 
 chart, and were to illustrate it with sight-read- 
 ings from "As You Like It." She longed for 
 Louise Ayer and the Ross girls, but Louise Ayer 
 was sitting under a maple-tree at Lincoln Park 
 with Carl Dering, and no one knew where the 
 Rosses were. She called on Grace Merriam, who 
 was not always to be depended on, but occasion- 
 ally surprised herself and every one else by a 
 brilliant performance. Alas, poor Grace became 
 hopelessly entangled in upward curves and down- 
 ward curves, and finally came to a standstill. " I 
 cannot do it, Mademoiselle Duvray," she said, de- 
 spairingly. 
 
 " You went through all this only a week ago," 
 exclaimed her teacher, betraying a rare annoy-
 
 253 
 
 ance. Madame Heffron and her big attendants 
 seemed to fill the room. It was impossible to 
 send over or around them the influence which 
 should draw together the straying interest of the 
 class. Mrs. Bateman, the woman with peace- 
 making ambitions, hurried to the rescue, losing 
 her head completely in her zeal to be of use. She 
 asked foolish questions and made pointless re- 
 marks, until Marguerite felt a most unphilosoph- 
 ical desire to take her by the shoulders and put 
 her out of the place. Finally she begged Ma- 
 demoiselle Duvray to read something. Madame 
 Heffron seconded the request and settled herself 
 comfortably in her chair, preparing to be enter- 
 tained. 
 
 Marguerite could not refuse without appearing 
 ungracious. She looked about her for a book, and 
 picked up the first which came to her hand. It 
 was the Spectator a most unfortunate selection. 
 Waves of anguish crossed Mrs. Bateman's face. 
 Why could it not have been one of those dainty 
 Dobson things which Mademoiselle Duvray read 
 so cleverly, or the Portrait, or even dear old San- 
 dalphon with that she could have lifted her lis- 
 teners to the very gate of heaven ! 
 
 Marguerite ploughed gallantly on through the 
 involved sentences, stopping now and then to em- 
 phasize an example or apply a rule ; but, despite 
 her musical voice and accurate inflection, the 
 reading was tedious a new experience for the 
 studio. Every one was glad when it was over,
 
 254 
 
 with possibly the exception of the unwelcome 
 guest, who could not be expected to mourn the 
 discomfiture of her rival. Half the class turned 
 to her, ready for the audacious sallies which they 
 had learned to expect from her lips. The other 
 half, with defiant loyalty, rallied around Made- 
 moiselle Duvray. Thus the two women met. 
 Madame Heffron opened the ball with an allu- 
 sion to Addison's great-great-grandniece, whom 
 she had met. Mademoiselle Duvray responded 
 with a description of Addison's great-great-grand- 
 daughter, whom she knew quite well. Madame 
 Heffron spoke of the English schools which she 
 had visited, and Mademoiselle Duvray was ready 
 with a comparison of English methods with Ger- 
 man. Then they both tried France, and found 
 they were equally at home there. The group of 
 young girls and matrons listened attentively, and 
 with the impartial mien of a jury. 
 
 " They would throw me over in a minute," 
 thought Marguerite, bitterly, " if they consid- 
 ered it for their advantage to do so ; if they 
 believed she could give them wider opportu- 
 nities, showier attainments, more ease in socie- 
 ty, more influence at home. The impudence of 
 her, coming into my studio to steal my schol- 
 ars !" 
 
 Quietly but firmly she asserted her superiority 
 over her visitor, who with equal firmness, if not 
 so quietly, asserted her superiority over her host- 
 ess. Both displayed a remarkable familiarity
 
 255 
 
 with the business methods of women, which, 
 compared with men's more desperate efforts to 
 bear each other down, are " as moonlight unto 
 sunlight and as water unto wine." The jury 
 was divided, and when the evidence was all in 
 went off in pairs to consider it. 
 
 Marguerite was left to reflect upon the singu- 
 lar misfit of human emotions and the situations 
 in which they find themselves. If she bad been 
 less in earnest, the inapplicability of the argu- 
 ment for the non-existence of evil to the exigen- 
 cies of the occasion might have sent her into 
 healing fits of laughter ; but she took herself and 
 her moods too seriously for that. She went home 
 hurt and sore, wondering over the trick which 
 Fate had played her, lifting her to heights of 
 divine illumination only to drop her into the 
 midst of the scuffle which attends success in all 
 professions, even with those dealing with spirit- 
 ual demand and supply. 
 
 A pile of letters waited on her table. She 
 selected one bearing a crest, and opened it with 
 a feeling of expectancy. She read it slowly, as 
 one tastes a tempting dish. Mrs. Burnham 
 watched her hungrily. 
 
 " It is from Prince Vladislaf's sister," said 
 Marguerite at length, trying to keep the triumph 
 out of her voice. " She invites me to visit her 
 at St. Petersburg." 
 
 She read the letter to Mrs. Burnham, who in- 
 terposed pious ejaculations of delight.
 
 256 
 
 " Of course you will accept !" she cried, in con- 
 clusion. 
 
 " I think so," replied Marguerite, temperately, 
 " and I think I shall go abroad earlier than I pro- 
 posed. Let me see, May 20th. We have en- 
 gaged passage for June 30th. "Write and ex- 
 change it, if possible, for the 9th." 
 
 "Can you finish your work by the 5th? We 
 shall have to start by then." 
 
 "Oh yes," returned Marguerite. She was al- 
 ready arranging the words in which she should 
 inform her pupils of the alteration in their sched- 
 ule, necessitated by her engagements at Paris and 
 St. Petersburg. 
 
 Her spirits rose as she began to plan for the 
 summer, and to picture to herself the brilliance 
 and the charm of the world into which she was 
 going. That was her life the life of elegance and 
 of art. In the very thought of it all her pruned 
 and lattice-bound instincts began to stir and strive, 
 and to stretch out tendrils of hope and gladness. 
 
 " Oh, I forgot to tell you," said Mrs. Burnham, 
 suddenly; "Dr. Symonds was here just before 
 you came in. He wanted me to call him up on 
 the telephone and tell him how you were. He 
 wanted to know about continuing the treat- 
 ment." She did not look at her cousin, and de- 
 livered the message in an offhand manner, but 
 Marguerite was evidently annoyed. " What shall 
 I tell him ?" asked Mrs. Burnham. 
 
 " Tell him," replied the fair convalescent, " that
 
 257 
 
 he need not attempt anything further. He did 
 not help me a bit." She went off to her own 
 room with the princess's letter, and evidently 
 found its influence most tranquillizing, for she re- 
 appeared at dinner-time looking more like her- 
 self, Mrs. Buruham told her, than she had in a 
 month. 
 
 It was late when Mark Heffron's card was 
 handed her. He had gone out after writing to 
 Norton, and had not come in again until after 
 dinner. 
 
 " Why do you try to see him ?" asked Mrs. 
 Burnham, as Marguerite made a gesture of de- 
 spair. 
 
 " It is an engagement," faltered her cousin. 
 
 "What if it is? I can tell him you are all 
 tired out, as you are. If you keep on at this rate, 
 wearing yourself out over other people, you will 
 be a broken-down old woman. You were a per- 
 fect wreck this morning." Marguerite glanced at 
 her image in the neighboring glass. "You look 
 better now," pursued her companion, "but you 
 will lose it all if you talk and argue with that 
 man. I'll make it right with him." 
 
 She patted her gray curls into place, pulled out 
 her sleeves, and left the backsliding advocate of 
 the non-existence of evil to nestle among the 
 cushions of her divan, murmuring, " I believe I 
 have had about enough of those Heffrons for one 
 day." 
 
 Mrs. Burnham left nothing unsaid in the way 
 
 17
 
 258 
 
 of apology or explanation, and Mark received her 
 pacific messages with the utmost magnanimity. 
 Examining his mood, as he left the Cynthia, he 
 was surprised to find, first, that he was not disap- 
 pointed; second, that he was not displeased.
 
 XXVII 
 
 PHILIP MORE had been away five months yes, 
 it was five months since the Peristyle burned; 
 that was in January and this was June, a superb 
 June Sunday one of those days in which Chicago 
 atones for weeks of bad weather by one dazzling 
 hour, and goes on piling up unlimited credit for 
 weeks of bad weather to come. 
 
 Philip contrasted it with the day he went away. 
 Then, smoke and fog, mixed to a paste, had been 
 daubed upon everything ; they built a wall over 
 which the towers and domes at Jackson Park 
 stared helplessly, while the Ferris Wheel seemed 
 to bowl along the horizon in a murky cloud. Now 
 what remained of the White City came out, like 
 a regained ideal, fairer than ever. The day was 
 in sympathy with his mood was he not going to 
 the woman he loved ? He was glad it was Sun- 
 day ; Aunt Harriet would be at the Enterprise 
 and Eloise would be alone. He had stopped 
 down-town to remove the traces of travel, but it 
 was not yet ten. How surprised she would be ! 
 He could see her dark -fringed hazel eyes open, 
 and could hear her say, " Why, Philip !" 
 
 Five months ago he would not have ventured
 
 260 
 
 to come thus unannounced, but she had altered in 
 her manner towards him of late, writing him long, 
 confidential accounts of Aunt Harriet and Carl 
 and their doings, confessing that she felt very 
 much alone since the defection of her kinsfolk. 
 
 In his turn he had been encouraged to employ 
 greater frankness concerning his own affairs, per- 
 suaded that his cause did not lose thereby ; for 
 he had succeeded in his business, and had made 
 friends with men and women both. Eloise might 
 as well know that others thought well of him. 
 He sent up his card and waited impatiently in the 
 reception-room, walking to and fro and glancing 
 at his image in the glass. He had never looked 
 so well, or weighed so much, or worn so becoming 
 a suit of clothes. 
 
 These are not puerile considerations. Smaller 
 factors than a man's weight or the fit of his coat 
 have told for or against him in a woman's favor. 
 
 After what seemed an interminable time the 
 bell-boy returned with the undelivered pasteboard. 
 
 "De do' am locked ; guess Miss Gordon gone 
 out," he drawled. "But her key ain't in de office." 
 
 "See if Mrs. Glenn knows anything about her," 
 directed Philip, and waited again while the boy 
 scoured the house, only to bring back word that 
 Miss Gordon was not to be found. Mrs. Glenn 
 had gone off with Miss Larrabee, and so had Miss 
 Thompson. The Glenn children were out some- 
 where with somebody no one could tell where or 
 with whom.
 
 261 
 
 Philip bought a Sunday Tribune, and sat down 
 with it in the rotunda. Eleven o'clock came, but 
 no Eloise. Of course it was not her fault, but 
 that did not lessen his disappointment. If he 
 could have found some one to talk with, the time 
 would have passed moi'e quickly, he told himself ; 
 but the hotel was nearly deserted. The bell-boys 
 sat in a row opposite the office-desk, undisturbed. 
 The great clock over their heads ticked solemnly 
 in the silence. A breeze came in through the open 
 door, gently rocking the empty chairs standing 
 there. Something else came in also a fluttering 
 white figure which hesitated but an instant, then 
 darted towards him. It was Millicent Glenn, her 
 blue eyes shining like stars, her golden hair stream- 
 ing back like a nimbus, her lips parted in a smile. 
 
 " Mr. More ! Mr. More !" she cried, and flew 
 straight into his arms. 
 
 He strained her to his breast the warm, happy, 
 loving little creature ! There was something 
 strangely comforting in the contact with her cling- 
 ing, yielding form and the clasp of her arms 
 around his neck. He hid his face in her soft curls, 
 murmuring the tender words he would gladly have 
 given to another, and she kissed him frankly on 
 cheek and chin, and told him he was " nicer than 
 ever." 
 
 She asked him a dozen questions in a breath. 
 How long could he stay ? Was it hot in Cali- 
 fornia? Were there any little girls there ? Did 
 he like them as well as he did her ?
 
 262 
 
 She showed him the golden heart he gave her, 
 hanging by its chain around her neck. There 
 was another band there a silken cord, at which 
 she tugged in vain for several seconds. It had 
 something tied to it ; she drew it up with diffi- 
 culty from under the tiers of ruffles which stood 
 out like wings from her dimpled shoulders some- 
 thing bulky and cumbersome. It came in sight at 
 last a bag of yellow silk put together with long, 
 awkward stitches. 
 
 She opened it and took out a sheet of writing- 
 paper folded small to just fit the bag. Philip 
 recognized it with a smile ; it was the letter he 
 wrote her one dull day in Sacramento, when a man 
 who had promised to meet him did not come and 
 there were six hours in which to do nothing. It 
 was brief, only half a dozen lines, beginning "My 
 darling little Millicent," and ending " Yours faith- 
 fully, Philip More ;" but Millicent knew them by 
 heart she repeated them to prove it. 
 
 Philip was glad that he could produce her re- 
 ply, in huge printed capitals wandering over the 
 entire page without much reference to. one an- 
 other. Millicent scanned it critically. "I can 
 do lots better now," she said, viewing with con- 
 tempt the immature efforts of a month ago. " I 
 can write ' Millicent Glenn, Lake View Hotel, Chi- 
 cago.' 1 Want to see me ?" 
 
 Philip avowed his anxiety to witness such 
 a finished performance, and to further its in- 
 ception produced a tablet from his pocket and
 
 263 
 
 a small silver pencil. The latter pleased her 
 mightily. 
 
 " That isn't much like a man's pencil," she said, 
 tentatively. 
 
 " No, it isn't," granted Philip. " I won it as a 
 prize at a card-party." 
 
 " I didn't know but somebody gave it to you," 
 she pursued, turning it over with admiring 
 glances. 
 
 " No one gave it to me. Would you like it ?" 
 
 "Oh, I should like it!" she exclaimed, clasp- 
 ing it rapturously to her bosom ; " but I didn't 
 ask for it, did I?" 
 
 " No, you didn't ask for it. What is more, I 
 am going to make you earn it. You can have it 
 for your own when you have written 'Millicent 
 Glenn, Lake View Hotel, Chicago.' Here, use 
 my arm for a writing-table." 
 
 The small scribe went promptly to work, bow- 
 ing her head until her curls swept his arm. She 
 tossed them back impatiently. "I wish you'd 
 hold my hair till I get through," she said, plaint- 
 ively. " I can't do a single thing." 
 
 He obeyed, grasping gingerly the handful of 
 silken locks, conscious of a curious thrill as he 
 did so. His coarse, masculine palm had never 
 come in contact with anything so fine, so soft, so 
 full of life. 
 
 " Ouch !" cried Millicent. She had drawn back 
 quickly to inspect her work, forgetting how she 
 was held.
 
 264 
 
 " I am awfully sorry," he exclaimed, penitently. 
 
 " It isn't very good," was her irrelevant reply, 
 mindful only of her work. "Sometimes I do bet- 
 ter, when I can get both elbows on the table. Oh, 
 dear, there's Miss Gordon !" She slipped to the 
 floor and Philip stood up, brightening visibly. 
 
 Eloise came leisurely towards them, holding 
 out her hand. " How do you do, Philip ?" she 
 said, composedly. " This is quite a surprise." 
 
 There was nothing in her tone to indicate it, he 
 thought, with some chagrin. This, then, was the 
 result of his eager anticipation a commonplace 
 greeting in a hotel rotunda ; and she seemed in 
 no hurry to take him where she could give her 
 welcome a more personal application. She stood 
 and chatted with him of the weather and his 
 journey, while the guests of the hotel came in 
 and the bells began to ring and the bell-boys to 
 rush about, for the Sunday forenoon rest was over. 
 After a while Aunt Harriet appeared, followed by 
 her flock. She, too, greeted him perfunctorily, 
 and seemed to have her mind on something else. 
 
 Millicent had claimed her mother's attention 
 for the silver pencil, but Mrs. Glenn put her aside, 
 murmuring, "Yes, yes, child; there, run away 
 now," and held out her hand stiffly to the trav- 
 eller. 
 
 " Confound it all !" mused Philip, angrily, 
 " what have I done that they should treat me in 
 this manner? I wish I had stayed where I was." 
 
 In his turn he became dignified and unap-
 
 265 
 
 proachable, and by the time he was left alone 
 with Eloise, for Aunt Harriet went out soon after 
 luncheon, their conversation was as formal and 
 stately as an old-time minuet. 
 
 She put polite questions to him and he gave 
 them polite answers. Then they reversed the 
 figure ; he questioned and she answered in the 
 same manner. Each felt innocent and injured, 
 and neither would ask the other, "What is it?" 
 
 Once Philip arose, declaring that he must be 
 interfering with her siesta ; but Eloise assured 
 him that she had given up all her old Southern 
 ways, and the minuet went on, more stately and 
 more dignified and more cold, until Philip could 
 contain himself no longer. 
 
 " This is a delightful meeting after an ab- 
 sence of half a year!" he exclaimed, with bitter- 
 ness. 
 
 " I don't know who is to blame," replied Eloise, 
 sensitively. 
 
 " Millicent Glenn is the only one who seems 
 glad to see me," he* continued, in a hurt tone. 
 " Miss Larrabee used to be fond of me, but she 
 has gotten bravely over it." 
 
 "Aunt Harriet is not herself to-day," said Eloise, 
 firmly. " Something has happened ; I don't know 
 what." 
 
 " And I suppose Mrs. Glenn is not herself," re- 
 torted Philip. 
 
 " She does act rather strangely." 
 
 " I don't care how they act," he exploded. " If
 
 206 
 
 you bad shown any feeling, they might have 
 turned their backs for all I'd care." 
 
 Eloise looked mutinous. Love does not come 
 by recrimination. A woman is not teased into 
 being tender. 
 
 "I'll tell you what, Eloise," pursued Philip, 
 " I'm getting tired of living on hopes." 
 
 " It was your own proposition," she re- 
 sponded. 
 
 "I know it was. I thought the more fool I 
 that my devotion would soften you ; but it 
 doesn't. Then I went away. I said to myself, 
 ' Perhaps she will miss me a little ' " He stopped 
 and swallowed hard, choked by emotions of dis- 
 appointment and self-pity. 
 
 Eloise made no reply, and he began to be angry 
 with himself for thus yielding. " It's all right, 
 of course," he said, proudly. " I am sorry I have 
 bothered you so long, and " 
 
 " You have not bothered me," interrupted 
 Eloise. " Can't you understand, Philip, that I 
 have much to think of many cares, many du- 
 ties? I can't sit down and be sentimental. I 
 must have my wits about me to meet the world 
 and conquer it." 
 
 There was a pathetic ring in the girl's voice, 
 to which his heart responded chivalrously ; but 
 when he considered what she said he hardened, 
 t The keen business life he had been living had 
 j taught him to challenge words and demand their 
 significance. She need not have cares and
 
 267 
 
 duties, she need not meet the world and conquer 
 it. This was no excuse. 
 
 " You see, Philip," she went on, lightly, " that 
 old saying about 'man's love' being 'of his life 
 a thing apart' is beginning to apply to us women 
 as we come to have individual occupations and in- 
 terests." 
 
 Philip remained silent. He could have met a 
 rival with sword or pistol, he could have wooed an 
 unresponsive mistress longer than he had wooed 
 Eloise ; but for a woman who looked him coolly in 
 the eye and laughed when his heart was breaking 
 he had no resources. Grieved beyond measure, 
 he stood up, straight and tall and white, to say 
 good-bye, barely touching her hand as he did so. 
 
 A wild desire seized her, as the door closed 
 behind him, to run after him and bring him back. 
 She resisted it, but could not drive it away. He 
 was all the lover she had, arid life without a lover 
 is a dull thing for a girl ; unutterably dull her 
 life would be with only her work to comfort her, 
 and her few friends. 
 
 And Philip had been so patient and so true. 
 Her heart began to plead for him. A man is 
 inclined to dislike the woman he has wronged ; 
 consciousness of wrong-doing makes him surly. 
 A woman pities the man she has hurt, and be- 
 comes almost loving in her remorse. 
 
 She told herself he would return the next day, 
 and stayed in, all the long, lovely afternoon, ex- 
 pecting him ; but Philip did not come.
 
 268 
 
 Day after day passed and brought no sign of 
 him. Aunt Harriet finally emerged from her 
 abstraction sufficiently to inquire if there was 
 any trouble, but returned to it when her niece 
 gave an evasive reply. 
 
 " That shows how she is wrapped up in her 
 mysticism," thought Eloise. " But I could never 
 have told her about Philip or anything else. 
 There is only one woman in the world I can tell 
 things to, anyway. Bless her old heart, I'll go 
 there this minute !" It was a wet morning, and 
 there was nothing doing in the studio no diver- 
 sion from the grinding monotony of regret. She 
 put on her mackintosh as if it had been armor, 
 and with desperate eagerness started for Seventy- 
 fifth Street. 
 
 " Come right in," said Mrs. Harwood, cheer- 
 ily. " I'll take your umbrella and open it in the 
 kitchen ; it'll dry better so. Give me your cloak, 
 too. Sit down; I'll be right back." 
 
 Eloise mechanically surrendered the umbrella 
 and the cloak, and seated herself in a large cush- 
 ioned chair which had been covered by its owner 
 with one of her discarded dresses. Most of the 
 chairs in the room wore Mrs. Harwood's old clothes, 
 but that made them seem so much the more hos- 
 pitable and inviting. They were like reflections 
 of herself, standing about, prepared to do her 
 will. 
 
 There was nothing in the flat which had not 
 survived several reincarnations. It was Eloise's
 
 269 
 
 wont to find entertainment, when Mrs. Harwood 
 was occupied, in wondering what the carpet and 
 curtains used to be. To-day the most that she 
 demanded of the place was its wholesome atmos- 
 phere of calm and common-sense. 
 
 She was not long alone ; Mrs. Harwood soon 
 returned and sank into the lap of another arm- 
 chair as plump as herself. 
 
 " Now let's hear all about it," she said, taking 
 up her knitting. It is always easier to tell one's 
 story when the listener looks the other way. 
 What penitent could pour out his secret at the 
 confessional if the priest presented his eyes as 
 well as his ear? 
 
 Eloise watched the twinkling needles, and felt 
 as if they led her on. Not once did the knitter 
 look off her work until the story ended with an 
 outburst of self-reproach ; then she glanced up 
 sympathetically. 
 
 "You can't make two things fit by rubbin' 'em 
 together," she began, tersely. " No more can 
 you two people. I didn't know but you'd stop 
 rubbin' after a while and get the consolations of 
 matrimony along with its trials. It's dreadful 
 handy to have a man around." She shifted her 
 needles and resumed her knitting. 
 
 Eloise laughed and then she sighed, as if she 
 had no right to be amused. " You make me feel 
 a little less like a homicide," she said, pensive- 
 ly. " I'd begun to think that I could make any 
 sacrifice to atone for not loving Philip "
 
 270 
 
 " And you'd felt more an' more so as time went 
 on," finished the elder woman, quickly. " You're 
 a great deal more apt to sacrifice yourself to a 
 man if you don't care as much for him as you 
 think you ought to. It's a sort of salve to your 
 conscience, like giving money instead of sympa- 
 thy." Mrs. Harwood looked conscious, it seemed 
 to Eloise ; but Daniel and Philip were not the 
 same. Again her heart softened towards her 
 absent lover. 
 
 " I have thought sometimes I would write to 
 him," she pursued, " and try to be more gener- 
 ous, more kind." 
 
 " Don't you do it," warned her adviser, " un- 
 less you can be kind the way he wants you to. 
 Let him wrastle it out, man-fashion. Don't keep 
 a-feelin' of the sore spot to see if it is sore." 
 
 "But I cannot do my work," confessed Eloise. 
 " I am there with him, thinking of his hurt." 
 
 " That's a big mistake, too," replied her friend. 
 "If you try to live somebody else's life youUl 
 miss of livin' your own." 
 
 " But don't you think I ought to suffer for mak- 
 ing him miserable ?" asked the girl, between a 
 laugh and a sob. 
 
 " The Lord '11 take care of that," said Mrs. 
 Harwood ; " He set the thing a-goin'. You don't 
 gain anything by trying to punish yourself. You'll 
 have to take the regular retribution just the same 
 that is, if you've done wrong. I don't say that 
 you have. You ought to know."
 
 271 
 
 Counsel like this is stimulating at least, in the 
 presence of the counsellor. When, walking along 
 to the station, Eloise tried to repeat the helpful 
 words over to herself, they seemed to have lost 
 their efficacy. 
 
 How could Mrs. Harwood or any one else un- 
 derstand? 
 
 The rain had ceased, and all along the street 
 the piazzas grew gay again with bright cushions 
 and carpets and with the light summer dresses of 
 those who had nothing of graver importance to 
 do than to shield themselves from bad weather 
 and come out with the sun. 
 
 One tall, blond youth not unlike Philip stopped 
 to pin a red rose on the gown of a girl not unlike 
 herself.
 
 XXVIII 
 
 ONLY once more did Mark Heffron meet Mar- 
 guerite Duvray, and that was on the eve of her 
 departure for New York. He had an affable little 
 note from Mrs. Burnham, telling him of their pro- 
 posed absence from Chicago and repeating Made- 
 moiselle Duvray's apologies for having failed to 
 keep her appointment with him. They were to 
 be at home to their friends the evening of the 
 5th, and should be glad to see him, if he were 
 not otherwise engaged. 
 
 Mark was not engaged on the evening of the 
 5th ; if he had been, the chances are that he 
 would have broken the engagement, so curious 
 was he to " see what she would do next," as he 
 phrased it. 
 
 He found the pleasant drawing-room filled with 
 men and women who expressed their regret at the 
 coming separation, according to their kind the 
 men by a jocoseness hinting at repression, the 
 women by open and emphatic lament. There 
 were farewell bouquets everywhere, and farewell 
 gifts in tinted papers books, trinkets, whatever 
 could be thought of in connection with travel. 
 
 The object of these attentions received them
 
 273 
 
 graciously, maintaining the level of appreciation 
 towards all, but vouchsafing subtle, personal ac- 
 knowledgments to each one. Mark watched her 
 for some time at a distance, and found it impos- 
 sible to withhold his admiration. " It would be 
 a pity to limit her," he decided. "She ought to 
 have both hemispheres to operate in, and perhaps 
 the planet Mars ; I'll bet my bottom dollar she 
 could cover it." 
 
 He took this tolerant mood with him when he 
 .addressed her, and she responded with the frank 
 cordiality which signalized her welcome when he 
 first came to Chicago. 
 
 " But you have not told me why you wished 
 to see me," he said, when she had blamed a head- 
 ache for her non-appearance the evening he called, 
 and he had assured her that his sympathy for her 
 outweighed his disappointment. 
 
 "I wanted to continue our conversation about 
 Dr. Symonds," she answered carelessly, " but now 
 that he is gone " 
 
 "Dead ?" ejaculated Mark, in tones which caused 
 his nearest neighbor, a thin, nervous woman, to 
 turn upon him a look of indignant remonstrance. 
 
 " Why, no, I suppose not," she replied, lower- 
 ing her voice as a signal for him to lower his, " but 
 he has disappeared. Mr. Norton had a note from 
 him, saying that he felt he was not doing his best 
 work here and should go elsewhere for a while. 
 He gave no address, and nothing has been heard 
 from him since. I thought you knew." 
 
 18
 
 274 
 
 " Not at all," Mark responded, earnestly. " I 
 haven't even heard his name for three days. It 
 is strange." 
 
 "Very strange," said Marguerite. "Ah, good- 
 evening, Herr Meinzer. I thought you would not 
 let me go without a word." 
 
 Herr Meinzer murmured several words over the 
 hand she gave him, but only himself knew what 
 they were. His glances were more intelligible ; 
 his pale blue eyes gleamed at her through his 
 spectacles like street-lamps through a fog. 
 
 " You remember Herr Meinzer, I am sure, Mr. 
 Heffron," protested Marguerite. 
 
 Mark acknowledged the acquaintance and re- 
 tired to the background of his own thoughts. 
 " Symonds go down and Meinzer come up ! 'All 
 is Spirit and All is Good,' " he reflected. " Great 
 is philosophy ! I suppose he ' gives her the right 
 thought.' How she would like to have me go 
 away !" 
 
 But Marguerite showed no sign of wishing to 
 be rid of him. She made the conversation trian- 
 gular as far as she could, and divided her smiles 
 equally between the two men. 
 | "I wonder if she ever has any preferences or 
 .'predilections," mused Mark, "and what she does 
 I with them when she has them." 
 
 Herr Meinzer was too happy for reflections ; 
 those would come later, when he should smoke his 
 long pipe and call up the image of the gracious 
 fraulein. One cannot enjoy to the utmost and
 
 275 
 
 reflect upon it ; that is to hinder joy. If the 
 dark man Heffron chose to be moody because he 
 had not the beautiful lady to himself, that was 
 not the fault of Herr Meinzer. Alas, there were 
 more than the dark man Heffron to contend for 
 the honor of a chat with her the Russian prince 
 and the Italian and some strange youths. The 
 joyful moment was over. " A happy voyage, 
 madame, Auf Wiedersehen /" 
 
 " A happy voyage," echoed Mark, holding out 
 his hand. Was there a reproach in his eyes as 
 they encountered hers? "Was there a regret in 
 hers ? 
 
 " We shall meet in October," she said, gayly, 
 and he answered, " If the gods are kind." 
 
 It seemed to him, as he made his way out of 
 the room, that there were a number of new peo- 
 ple present, and he did not see the Ayers or the 
 Rosses or the Merriams ; where were they all ? 
 Mrs. Burnham called out to him, " What ! going 
 so eai'ly ?" He stopped to shake hands with her 
 and wish her a pleasant journey. 
 
 " It is always pleasant for me to travel with 
 my cousin," she answered. " You know I am de- 
 voted to her." 
 
 " She is most fortunate," said Mark, with un- 
 usual gallantry. 
 
 " How charming of you to say so !" she ex- 
 claimed. " Of course I am the fortunate one, but 
 I like to think she depends upon me somewhat." 
 
 "She will need you more than ever now that
 
 276 
 
 she has lost her 'ghostly comforter,' "said Mark, 
 wickedly. 
 
 Mrs. Burnhara gave him a seai'dring look. 
 How much did he know about the matter? 
 
 "Although she seems to take the loss very 
 philosophically," he concluded. 
 
 " She always thinks everything is for the best," 
 responded Mrs. Burnham, quickly. "That is her 
 creed. I fancy you yourself are not easily dis- 
 turbed," she added, returning the thrust. 
 
 " No, I am not," he answered. It was the trait 
 in himself that he most approved and cultivated ; 
 but our own virtues are less agreeable just as our 
 own faults are more obnoxious when we find them 
 in some one else. 
 
 " If I were easily disturbed," he went on, flippant- 
 ly, "just think what a state I should be in now ! 
 That young Italian over there is actually wiping 
 his eyes. I must make my escape before the con- 
 tagion reaches me !" He bowed low with mock 
 emotion, and left her looking after him. 
 
 " He either cares more than he'll confess," she 
 decided, " or else he's glad to get out of the whole 
 thing." 
 
 As an actual fact, both conjectures were cor- 
 rect. Just what Mark expected to find in Mar- 
 guerite and why he was disappointed he could 
 not have told ; or why, with his soreness of heart, 
 he felt such iv sense of freedom when he went 
 from the crowded drawing-room at the Cynthia 
 into the open air. Equally paradoxical appeared
 
 277 
 
 to him his indignation at the ease with which she 
 dismissed Dr. Symonds from her thoughts; had 
 he not tried to bring about that very result ? 
 
 " Queer that I hadn't even heard his name !" 
 he said to himself. 
 
 He heard it often enough the next morning; 
 indeed, it seemed to him that he heard little else. 
 
 Julia Ross was on the car when he went down- 
 town. She said Maud and Mary were quite pros- 
 trated. She herself did not believe in depending 
 entirely upon one teacher. Of course Dr. Sy- 
 monds was a remarkable man, but she had not 
 found much in his system which was new to her. 
 She had hoped to have Haridass Goculdass return 
 for another course of lectures, but had not been 
 able to arrange it. And now that people were 
 beginning to go away for the summer, she should 
 have to wait until fall. 
 
 "Do you think Dr. Symonds will return?" in- 
 quired Mark. 
 
 "He may and he may not," replied Julia, 
 guardedly. " We are never left alone for long. 
 There will be some one there always is." 
 
 " That is a comfortable way of looking at it," 
 vouchsafed Mark. 
 
 "It is the only way," was the determined 
 reply. 
 
 Carl Dering, whom Mark overtook on State 
 Street, was less inclined to philosophize. "You 
 see," he said, confidentially, as he fell into step, 
 " it has such a bad effect on the people. I went
 
 278 
 
 out to the Lake View yesterday to see my aunt, 
 Miss Larrabee. My cousin sent for me. My poor 
 old aunt lias hardly slept since Syraonds went 
 away." 
 
 " Could you do nothing for her ?" inquired 
 Mark. " What has become of your mental in- 
 fluence?" 
 
 " I tried it," said the young fellow, honestly, 
 " but she was too much for me. I'd quiet her for 
 a while, and then she'd start right up again. She 
 will have it that some enemy has driven him 
 away ; she says she can feel that he is suffering." 
 
 Mark looked annoyed. " How do you explain 
 Symonds's behavior?" he asked. 
 
 "I don't explain it," returned Carl. "He was 
 doing well, I believe. Perhaps some patient sent 
 for him. He never told his business." 
 
 " He may return," Mark suggested. 
 
 Carl shook his head. " He will have to come 
 soon if he is going to help Miss Larrabee," he 
 said, with a sigh. 
 
 Mark walked on alone, trying to convince him- 
 self that it was none of his affair. He went over 
 in his mind the interview with Symonds at the of- 
 fice. " Symonds certainly thought he had the 
 better of me in that argument," he said to him- 
 self. " It is all a put-up scheme to increase his 
 popularity. He'll descend unexpectedly, in a 
 blaze of glory, some day, and tell his disciples 
 that he has been upon a mountain somewhere 
 getting spiritualized."
 
 279 
 
 But, despite his cynicism, Mark felt uneasy, and 
 returned early to his hotel. 
 
 " Ben a gentleman here to see you, sir," said 
 the deferential clerk. " Ben here twice. There 
 he is now, sir." 
 
 It was young Norton, who advanced without a 
 smile, and looking pale and worried. 
 
 " What's up ?" asked Mark. 
 
 " I'll tell you presently," was the curt reply. 
 
 " Anything the matter in New York ?" 
 
 " No." 
 
 " What the deuce is it ?" 
 
 " I'll tell you when we get to your room." 
 
 They filed solemnly down the hall, and Mark 
 flung open the door. "Have a cigar?" he in- 
 quired, laconically, as Joey seated himself in the 
 nearest chair. 
 
 " No, thanks ; I won't smoke. Mark, what 
 under the sun did you kick up such a rumpus 
 for?" 
 
 " What rumpus?" growled Mark, resenting the 
 tone as he had resented the manner, since he 
 landed, of the man who would never be anything 
 but a youngster to him. 
 
 " With Uncle Eli," replied Norton. 
 
 "Now look here, Joe Norton," began Mark, 
 firing up, " please remember at whose request I 
 ' kicked up a rumpus,' as you call it. You wrote 
 to me and begged me to interfere, and I did 
 so." 
 
 " But, by Jove, you might have left him a leg
 
 280 
 
 to stand on," returned Joey, impetuously. " Yon 
 didn't spare him an atom of faith in himself or in 
 any one else ; and now that What's-his-name that 
 he thought so much of has cleared out the old 
 man is sick abed. He's really in a bad way, 
 Mark." 
 
 " You talk as if I'd set deliberately to work to 
 finish him, instead of trying to save him from 
 making a pauper of himself." 
 
 "But he says he gave you to understand that 
 he was only considering the investment." 
 
 " Gave me to understand nothing !" 
 
 " And, really, I'd give fifty thousand, if I had 
 it, to put him back where he was when I saw him 
 last." 
 
 Mark made no reply. 
 
 "He says this man is the only one who has 
 understood him," pursued Joey, "except Made- 
 moiselle Duvray, and she has avoided him lateh r . 
 He says you haven't been near him for weeks." 
 
 " Good thing," put in Mark, grimly, " if my in- 
 fluence is so bad." 
 
 " Well, really, Mark," persisted Norton, who was 
 still inclined to be disagreeable, " you don't realize 
 how you carry people along with you. If I wanted 
 to keep a conviction I wouldn't mention it before 
 you. I used to envy you the power you have over 
 people, but I've come to the conclusion that I don't 
 want it." 
 
 " Thanks, awfully," returned Mark, cut to the 
 quick by these home-thrusts. " Anything more ?"
 
 281 
 
 " No, I don't think there is," replied Joey, with 
 a faint smile. 
 
 " I hope you feel relieved." 
 
 " I do." 
 
 "Perhaps you'll have a smoke now?" 
 
 " I don't know but I will," and he took to his 
 solace as a fretful baby takes to its bottle after a 
 cry. 
 
 They talked of business, and lamented the exist- 
 ing condition of affairs, as every one in the com- 
 mercial world was lamenting it at that time 
 discussed the railway troubles and computed the 
 probabilities of a general strike, hoping their 
 freight would get in from the East before there 
 was a tie-up. The angry current which had surged 
 between them seemed to have iced over with an 
 enduring peace. Joey began to test it to see if it 
 would bear his weight. 
 
 " If it hadn't been that business was so dull I 
 couldn't have come on," he said, amiably. "Uncle 
 Eli's housekeeper telegraphed me there was trou- 
 ble. You know I am his only relative, as he is 
 mine. I'm awfully fond of the old fellow, and 
 I'd do anything for him." 
 
 Mark made no reply by word, look, or gesture, 
 and Joey skated on. " I wish I knew what to do 
 with him," he said, anxiously. " Is there anything 
 you can suggest?" 
 
 At this the ice gave way. " Not much !" ex- 
 claimed Mark, with emphasis. " I'm through sug- 
 gesting."
 
 282 
 
 Joey floundered out as best he could. There was 
 no need of getting into a huff he was sure he 
 meant no offence he hoped before they met again 
 that Mark would have forgiven him if he had said 
 too much. He stood up to go. 
 
 " There's nothing to forgive," said Mark, blunt- 
 ly. " If that's the way you feel, I'm glad to know 
 it. But don't ask me again to give advice; I'll do 
 anything but that." 
 
 " I did want to ask you " began Joey, and 
 stopped. 
 
 "What is it? Go ahead !" 
 
 " I'd like to change places with you until Uncle 
 Eli is better." 
 
 " Thunder and guns, yes !" exploded Mark. 
 "Nothing would please me better than to get out 
 of this confounded hole !" 
 
 " I'll speak to the firm about it. You're awfully 
 kind." 
 
 "No kindness; it suits me as well as it does 
 you." 
 
 So, after all, they shook hands and parted friends.
 
 XXIX 
 
 MARK had plenty to think of besides his talk 
 with Joey in the days that followed. The " sym- 
 pathetic strike " had become a certainty, and busi- 
 ness was at a standstill. The freight expected 
 from the East might be stopped outside the city. 
 He haunted the telegraph - offices in company 
 with a number of other business men, like him 
 sending and receiving messages all day long. 
 Uncle Oliver Ross was among them. 
 
 " It does seem as if the devil was on top !" ex- 
 claimed the old man, cheerfully. " I never saw 
 the beat." 
 
 He mopped his face energetically, reducing the 
 general griminess to a few well-defined smirches. 
 
 " Let me help you," said Mark, producing his 
 handkerchief and plying it vigorously. 
 
 " Much obliged," said Uncle Oliver. " There, 
 I guess that '11 do ; a little dirt, more or less, don't 
 count." 
 
 "So you Chicagoans always say," returned 
 Mark, good-humoredly. "I believe you enjoy a 
 muss. I never saw anything like the way you 
 take this strike." 
 
 " We always did kinder thrive on excitement,"
 
 284 
 
 said Uncle Oliver, complacently, "and we ain't 
 afraid of emergencies. Brought up on emergen- 
 cies, you know ; they come natural. If those 
 South-siders have to ride in town by the cable or 
 on a tug-boat, it will only get their blood up ; it 
 makes 'em feel good to be overcomin' circum- 
 stances. Besides, there ain't any business ; they 
 might as well spend their time that way as any 
 other." 
 
 " That's all right for now," returned Mark, sig- 
 nificantly; "but you wait until property is de- 
 stroyed and acts of violence are committed. 
 These strikers aren't in it for the fun of the 
 thing." 
 
 "Oh, we'll take care of 'em, we'll take care of 
 'em !" cried the old man, gayly. 
 
 He left the office and started off down the 
 street, then came back suddenly. "Did you 
 know Nellie Heffron had left town?" he asked. 
 
 "I thought she went some time ago," replied 
 Mark, indifferently. 
 
 " No ; she stayed over, she was doing so well 
 pockets full, big dinners, presents ;" with a com- 
 prehensive sweep of his hand Uncle Oliver in- 
 cluded whatever other gains he had not time to 
 enumerate. 
 
 "You're the man who wanted me to stop her 
 before she began," laughed Mark. 
 
 " I don't say now that I approve of it," re- 
 turned Uncle Oliver, quickly. " But I believe 
 she means all right."
 
 285 
 
 " Is she coming back another year ?" 
 
 " That depends. She's afraid the bicycle craze '11 
 knock her business higher 'n a kite. When it 
 comes to bicycles and bloomers, I tell you what, 
 I'd rather have Nellie Heffron !" He started 
 again, and again returned. "I suppose you've 
 heard about that feller leavin' that preacher at 
 the Enterprise ?" he asked. 
 
 " Dr. Symonds ?" returned Mark, shortly. 
 " Yes, I have." 
 
 " What do you think of it ?" 
 
 " I don't think." 
 
 " Seems strange ; but then you never can tell 
 what a feller like that will do." 
 
 Mark made no reply. 
 
 " Our girls are all broke up over it. I declare, 
 if I'd known where he was I'd ha' gone to him, 
 there, one spell, and brought him back." 
 
 Mark smiled. " I expect to hear next that you 
 are entertaining Haridass Goculdass," he said, sa- 
 tirically. 
 
 "No, sir!" cried Uncle Oliver, straightening 
 himself. "I draw the line at that Hindoo." 
 
 He marched off without another word, and this 
 time he did not return. 
 
 Mark felt annoyed, he could not tell why, and 
 spoiled two despatches before he wrote one to 
 suit him. 
 
 As he had prophesied, things grew from bad 
 to worse. Day by day one body of workmen af- 
 ter another "went out." All over the city there
 
 286 
 
 was an ominous silence, except where the cable 
 cars were running. The platforms of the Illinois 
 Central stood bare and deserted and the tracks 
 lengthened out, shining in the sun, unoccupied, 
 save where a shrieking locomotive darted up 
 and down carrying news, or drew with deliber- 
 ate purpose cars filled with gray -coated police- 
 men. 
 
 Ominous reports came from the suburban towns, 
 where anarchy was gathering to a head. Idleness 
 and discontent had given rise to desperate efforts 
 to win or lose all. The women raged like Furies. 
 The very babes were taught to creep under the 
 cars and apply the incendiary torch. 
 
 " What do you think now ?" asked Mark, the 
 next time he met Uncle Oliver. The old man 
 hung his head. "It's too bad," he murmured 
 "too bad. I'm sorry for the rascals. They've 
 got hold of the blade instead of the handle, and 
 only cut themselves. I'm sorry." 
 
 " Sorry for the hounds ?" cried Mark. " I'm 
 sui'prised. Come along with me and see the sol- 
 diers ; that's where your sympathies ought to 
 be." 
 
 "I'd just as lief go and seethe soldiers," re- 
 plied Uncle Oliver, "but I wish there hadn't 
 been any need of their comin'. It's too bad !" 
 
 They strolled slowly along Wabash Avenue tow- 
 ards Van Buren Street. "Mark," said his com- 
 panion, "you never was a working-man. You 
 went to college and then into business ; you
 
 287 
 
 didn't have to do day's work for day's wages. 
 I did. I know how working-men feel, and I'm 
 sorry, I'm sorry." 
 
 Mark made no reply. The compassionate words 
 of the old man were to him the expression of a 
 sentimental tendency increased by age. To an- 
 swer them according to their substance would be 
 to employ an unwarrantable harshness. For the 
 sake of their kindly spirit it was better to let 
 them pass unheeded. 
 
 As the two pedestrians turned into Van Buren 
 Street they found their way obstructed by a 
 dense crowd of silent, sullen men, who stood 
 and stared at the white tents before them, at- 
 tempting neither to advance nor to retreat. The 
 open space along the shore of the lake, hardly 
 to be dignified by the name of park, was appro- 
 priated entire by the encampment. At one end 
 the horses were corralled. Cannon pointed up 
 every street, and a sentinel stalked up and down 
 keeping back the curious and defiant. 
 
 "Hullo! there's a woman trying to get through," 
 exclaimed Uncle Oliver. "They've hauled her 
 back, but she ain't reconciled, not by a long chalk !" 
 Sure enough, on the edge of the parade-ground, 
 gesticulating earnestly with the umbrella which 
 she carried, stood a woman, evidently trying to 
 persuade the sentinel to let her through the lines. 
 Mark took note of the ample, motherly figure and 
 benignant face. 
 
 "I know that woman," he said, positively.
 
 288 
 
 "Perhaps I bad better go and see what the 
 trouble is." 
 
 " Yes, yes," agreed his companion ; " go ahead ! 
 I must get back. It's most noon. Come around 
 when you can ;" and he dove through the crowd. 
 
 Mark advanced towards the disputants. 
 " What's the matter, Mrs. Harwood ?" he called 
 out, encouragingly. 
 
 Mrs. Harwood turned and held out both hands, 
 burdened with the umbrella and several brown- 
 paper parcels. " Oh, Mr. Heffron, you always 
 come at the right time!" she cried. "Do tell 
 this man I ain't carryin' powder or information, 
 and all I want is to ketch that boat and get home 
 in time for dinner. I'll be left as sure as the 
 world !" She glanced despairingly in the direc- 
 tion of the dock, where the Pilot Boy was puff- 
 ing and screaming preparatory to being off. 
 
 " 'Tisn't that I think you're in league with the 
 strikers, madam," replied the soldier, patiently, 
 "but our orders are strict. You can't expect us 
 to relax our discipline." 
 
 " Then why can't you give me an escort and 
 go the whole figure," demanded the intruder, 
 "if it's discipline you want? That boat's going 
 to get off, as true as you live !" 
 
 Mark glanced back at the crowd, scanning it 
 closely; then he beckoned. A newsboy ran for- 
 ward. " Tribune! Herald!" he called "all about 
 the strike !" 
 
 "Give me a Tribune" answered Mark, and
 
 289 
 
 while the boy was making change added, in an 
 aside, "Do you see that boat the one that is 
 backing-down there ?" 
 
 "Yes, sir, that's the Pilot Boy ; runs to Sev- 
 enty-fifth Street." 
 
 " Stop her, and I'll give you a quarter." 
 
 The urchin was off like a dart. Between the 
 very legs of the soldiers he slid nimbly while 
 shouts arose " Come back ! I'll fire !" But the 
 gamin did not come back and the soldiers did 
 not fire, and Mark led his companion leisurely 
 around the encampment to the pier. 
 
 "I'm for law and order as much as any one," 
 said Mrs. Harwood, as he arranged her among 
 her bundles on the shady side of the boat, " but 
 the idea that I'd got to get left just to give them 
 practice in military discipline ! Why didn't he 
 send an escort with me, that's what I'd like to 
 know ! You going, too ?" For Mark had seated 
 himself beside her. 
 
 " If you don't object," he replied, with a smile. 
 
 " Of coui'se I'd like it," she exclaimed, " if you 
 can spare the time." 
 
 " At present there seems to be more time than 
 anything else," he answered, dryly. " Besides, I 
 think the change will do me good." 
 
 The Pilot Boy reeled tipsily out of the slip 
 and headed for deep water, where it pitched and 
 tossed as if in the midst of heavy seas, although 
 the lake was like a mill-pond. 
 
 " Do you suppose the boat is safe ?" inquired
 
 290 
 
 Mrs. Harwood, not timorously, but as one inquires 
 for information. 
 
 "I don't suppose it is," be replied, carelessly, 
 " but notbing is safe nowadays ; and you couldn't 
 very well walk." 
 
 "No, I couldn't, tbat's a fact," sbe returned, 
 comfortably. " It's real pleasant going tbis way. 
 The houses on the shore look like the pictures in 
 the old geography." 
 
 "Only Chicago never would stand still long 
 enough to have her picture taken," he suggested. 
 
 "Ain't she just like an uneasy young one!" 
 cried Mrs. Harwood. 
 
 "But you like the place?" 
 
 "Yes, I do, and I vowed and declared I'd never 
 live in it ; but if you vow and declare you'll never 
 do a thing you're sure to do it before you die. 
 There's more of the young one's performances," 
 as they passed the pathetic ruins of the Fair and 
 the gaunt black skeleton of the Spectatorium. 
 "No old, grown-up city would ever have started 
 to act out such a fairy story. You ain't going 
 back ; no, sir, you've come thus far, and you've 
 got to go home to dinner with me. I won't hear 
 two ways about it." 
 
 Mark made a slight show of resistance and 
 yielded, only too willingly. "Dan'l" had gone 
 up to the farm, where he appeared to spend most 
 of his time, and there was no one in the flat. Mrs. 
 Harwood bustled about, opening the doors and 
 windows which she had frugally closed before
 
 291 
 
 setting out for town. "You make yourself at 
 home, and I'll have dinner on the table in half a 
 minute," she promised. 
 
 Left alone, Mark surveyed his surroundings 
 with friendly interest. " Talk about being taken 
 into the bosom of the family !" he mused, rocking 
 softly to and fro. "Most families haven't any; 
 but there's no doubt about this. Why don't other 
 people live into their belongings, and let you have 
 the benefit of it ? There's flesh and blood in that 
 sofa-cushion. What a thing it is to be a woman ! 
 I wish Mrs. Harwood had a daughter. I'd marry 
 her and go to housekeeping to-morrow. What 
 is it, anyway Kansas, or W. C. T. II., or Beau 
 Lieu? I wonder if St. Ursula and the Eleven 
 Thousand Virgins are still abroad in the world 
 and unattached ; I'll ask her." 
 
 He did so, when he had eaten and praised the 
 beefsteak, fried potatoes, and johnny-cake with 
 which she had heaped his plate. 
 
 " Susan Susan what was her name ? Susan 
 Gray ought to know how to make johnny-cake. 
 I wonder if Susan would have me ?" 
 
 " She's married," replied his hostess. " Married 
 a college pi*ofessor with four children. He was 
 at Beau Lieu last summer lecturing on biology. 
 But any woman with brains can make johnny- 
 cake. Are you through ? We may as well go 
 into the other room. I'll let the table stand." She 
 rose as she spoke. 
 
 "Perhaps they can, but they 'won't," returned
 
 292 
 
 Mark, following her; his mind was still on john- 
 ny-cake " and they wouldn't do their sewing up 
 in tidy bundles like that ;" he pointed to her 
 "mending," lying, neatly folded, on the table. 
 " My mother used to do her work up like that," 
 he added, wistfully. " I was only nine years old 
 when she died, but I remember distinctly her 
 I suppose they would call it femininity, the qual- 
 ity they're trying so hard to get rid of nowadays." 
 A hard tone had come into his voice. 
 
 " They can't get rid of it," said Mrs. Harwood, 
 quickly, " and I don't believe they want to." 
 
 "Perhaps not," returned Mark, abstractedly. 
 He had taken a large photograph from the table 
 and was looking at it critically. 
 
 "Those are the scholars at Beau Lieu last sum- 
 mer," explained his hostess. " Do you recognize 
 any of them?" 
 
 " I see the Reverend Billings," replied Mark, 
 with a smile, " and, upon my word, his wife is 
 with him! How did that happen?" 
 
 " She's been going out more the past two years," 
 said Mrs. Harwood, drawing her chair up beside 
 his. " There's Susan Gray that was, Mrs. Tinker 
 that is. That's her husband with the bushy side- 
 whiskers, and those are the four children ; nice 
 children, too. Susan makes a first-rate mother. 
 There's Miss Gordon ; I suppose you recognize 
 her. It's a good likeness." 
 
 " Yes, it is," agreed Mark. " She's a fine-look- 
 ing girl."
 
 293 
 
 " She had it taken to please the Glenn children 
 they're with her. She doesn't think much of 
 that sort of thing herself. Have you found me 
 yet? There I am, over there, and Dan'l's just 
 behind me. Oh, I want to ask you while I think 
 of it if you've read this book." She caught up a 
 volume, into which she had folded a piece of 
 newspaper to keep her place, and laid it on his 
 knee. 
 
 " ' The Ascent of Man,' " read Mark. " H m ! 
 who set you at work on this ?" 
 
 " We had a list of books given us to look over 
 before we go to Beau Lieu this summer," she re- 
 plied, " and that's one of 'em. The Reading Cir- 
 cle are on Evolution this year, and seems as if I 
 couldn't wait till I get there. I'm just crazy to 
 talk it over with some one." 
 
 " Then you haven't tried Dan'l ?" 
 
 " Oh, it's all monkeys to Dan'l," she answered. 
 " I undertook to explain it to him, but I couldn't 
 make him let go his grip on old-fashioned ideas. 
 Perhaps its just as well ; he might have dropped 
 into Nothing, between lettin' go and catchin' 
 hold again." 
 
 " Then you don't think Evolution detracts from 
 the dignity of the Divine Purpose?" pursued 
 Mark, leading her on. 
 
 " Detract ! My, it's the biggest thing ! Seems 
 as if I'd smother sometimes, I'm so full, when 
 I think of it." 
 
 " How about the Bible ?" he questioned.
 
 294 
 
 " Tho Bible's full of it !" she cried. " Did some 
 one come up the walk? Yes, there's the bell! 
 Now you sit right where you are. I ain't half 
 through. There are some questions I want to ask 
 
 you." 
 
 She was absent several minutes, and when she 
 returned she was followed by a tall young lady 
 whom Mark did not at first recognize. As she 
 emerged from the dim hall and came straight 
 towards him he saw that it was Eloise Gordon.
 
 XXX 
 
 THE manner in which Eloise Gordon approached 
 Mark Heffron was that of one who has a disagree- 
 able duty to perform and would have it over as 
 soon as possible. 
 
 " Mrs. Harvvood told me you were here," she 
 said, briefly, " and I made up my mind to ask 
 your assistance. My aunt is in a critical condi- 
 tion from lack of sleep. She will not take medi- 
 cine or employ a physician. Will you hypnotize 
 her and put her to sleep ?" 
 
 Only twice in his life had Mark Heffron been 
 thoroughly routed by surprise : the first time was 
 when he saw Joe Norton in the prize-ring ; this 
 was the second. He found himself at a loss for 
 words, and stood before Eloise Gordon coloring 
 like a school -boy, until she caught the infection 
 and began to color, too, all over her fair face and 
 white throat. 
 
 To hide her confusion she turned to Mrs. Har- 
 wood, whose shrewd, searching eyes were taking 
 in every detail of the situtation. 
 
 " I discovered a new Chicago to-day. I came 
 over here in an omnibus," she said, with a ner- 
 vous laugh. " There is one which runs every
 
 296 
 
 hour." And Mrs. Harwood made the answer she 
 was wont to make when she had nothing to say 
 "Is that so!" 
 
 Then they both turned to Mark, who realized 
 that he was in an embarrassing position. 
 
 To deny his ability was useless ; she knew it 
 too well. To refuse to exercise it was to appear 
 unfriendly and unkind. If she had only made 
 the request as if he was a friend and this was a 
 kindness; but, "confound her, she asked it as 
 if I were a barber or a chiropodist," thought 
 Mark, with chagrin, " and she wanted a piece 
 of work done which was in my line of busi- 
 ness." 
 
 There was an awkward pause which Mrs. Har- 
 wood, as hostess, felt in duty bound to fill. " I'm 
 sorry Miss Larrabee's so bad," she said, sympa- 
 thetically. " I guess from what I hear that a 
 good many of Dr. Symonds's folks are in the 
 same fix since he went away." 
 
 At this Mark found his tongue. "Mental 
 suggestion ought to be taken out of the hands 
 of these ignorant creatures and intrusted to 
 scientific men," he said. 
 
 " I dunno about that," said Mrs. Harwood, re- 
 flectively. "The 'babes and sucklings' are not 
 half so apt to cut up didoes with it as the ' wise 
 and prudent ;' they das'n't. Besides, what have 
 the ' wise and prudent ' found out that amounts 
 to anything? They don't know what it is or 
 where it comes from."
 
 297 
 
 " Then they had better let it alone," -said Mark, 
 severely. 
 
 " But can you let it alone ?" asked Eloise, who 
 had been doing some pretty steady thinking on 
 the subject of late. " Doesn't ' suggestion ' de- 
 pend on influence ? Surely influence exists and 
 ought to be exerted for for good." She hesi- 
 tated, and her eyes fell. To her and to Mark 
 Heffron this was a personal discussion. 
 
 "Exerted !" he cried. "Heaven forbid ! If you 
 have any influence, bottle it up ; seal it hermeti- 
 cally; bury it fathoms deep! Then it will get 
 away in spite of you." 
 
 " I don't think Dr. Symonds was a bad man," 
 put in Mrs. Harwood, with no particular perti- 
 nence, but fearing another pause. "He was * oc- 
 cupied with good works ' more than he was with 
 preaching. I should think most ministers would 
 preach away all the religion they've got." 
 
 No one responded and the dreaded pause en- 
 sued. Eloise looked at her watch. "My om- 
 nibus is nearly due," she said, rising. " Good- 
 bye, Mrs. Harwood. May I depend upon your 
 assistance, Mr. Heffron ?" 
 
 Mark rose also. " You had better let me get 
 a horse and take you home," he said, consider- 
 ately. 
 
 " It is wholly unnecessary," she returned, cold- 
 ly she did not want him to be considerate 
 " unless you object to the omnibus," she added. 
 
 " Not at all."
 
 298 
 
 They set off together, watched from the door 
 by Mrs. Harwood until they were out of sight. 
 " Both of 'em need the same thing," she solilo- 
 quized. " But they can't either of 'em give it 
 to the other. This is a queer world I must go 
 in and do those dishes." 
 
 Since that fatal summer at Beau Lieu these 
 two had not been alone together until now ; 
 there had always been some one else present to 
 interpose as a shield. They congratulated them- 
 selves that it could not be for long ; there were 
 sure to be other passengers in the omnibus. Sud- 
 denly it turned the corner, three blocks ahead a 
 big black vehicle enveloped in its own dust and 
 defended by its own noise, impervious alike to 
 signal and shout. After a few ineffectual efforts 
 to stop it, Mark gave up the chase. " Here is a 
 livery-stable," he said, turning to his companion. 
 " If you will wait in the office " 
 
 " It isn't far to the Lake View," she protested. 
 " I have walked much farther." 
 
 " If you will wait in the office I will order a 
 carriage," he finished, and she obeyed. To do 
 otherwise would have appeared like childishness, 
 and if ever Eloise desired to appear mature and 
 dignified it was now. She had not long to wait. 
 Very soon she heard the sound of wheels and 
 went to the door to meet the carriage. It was 
 a coupe. 
 
 "I can sit with the driver," said Mark, answering 
 the expression on her face as he helped her in.
 
 299 
 
 " By no means," she responded, quickly. " Have 
 I been rude ? I beg your pardon," and she drew 
 aside the skirt of her gown to make room for him. 
 
 " Not rude," he replied, taking the seat beside 
 her ; " but of course I know you would rather 
 be rid of me if circumstances permitted." 
 
 " Yet I am asking a favor of you." 
 
 " As you might ask a dentist to pull a tooth. 
 There was no one else to do it." 
 
 " Is it strange," she asked, defiantly, " that I 
 am that I feel " 
 
 " Why can you not forget that piece of boyish 
 nonsense ?" he exclaimed, impatiently. 
 
 " You were not a boy and it was not nonsense. 
 Besides, I choose not to forget. I choose to re- 
 member that I am weak, easily influenced, liable 
 to be played upon by any one who wishes to 
 amuse himself with that sort of experiment !" 
 The passion in her voice betrayed what she had 
 suffered. 
 
 Mark Heffron gazed at her with amazement. 
 Emotions of pity and self-reproach were depict- 
 ed on his face. She did not see his face, but she 
 detected the change in his voice as he ejaculated 
 under his breath, " Cursed fool ! cursed brute ! 
 clumsy fool !" and she knew he was belaboring 
 himself. 
 
 " What shall I say ? How can I explain ?" he 
 continued to her. 
 
 " There is nothing to say, nothing to explain," 
 she answered, proudly. " You revealed me to
 
 300 
 
 myself. It has taught me to keep myself in a 
 straight-jacket ever since." 
 
 " A straight-jacket !" exclaimed Mark so loud- 
 ly that the driver opened his window with an 
 obsequious, " Beg pardon, sir ?" 
 
 " Nothing. Go ahead !" shouted Mark. 
 
 " Hey ?" asked the driver, who was somewhat 
 deaf. 
 
 "Nothing!" roared Mark, and slammed the 
 window in his face. Eloise smiled a wintry 
 little smile, and Mark took courage. " Do try 
 to see," he began, eagerly. " It is not weakness, 
 but the artistic temperament which makes you 
 sensitive, susceptible. I was a brute to take ad- 
 vantage of it. But I wanted to see you. I had 
 something for you. I did not really expect to 
 succeed. I never thought of your taking it so 
 seriously." 
 
 She bit her lip in self-restraint. 
 
 " Will you forgive me?" he pleaded, humbly, 
 tenderly. Alas, he was too humble, too tender. 
 She stiffened where she sat. " Of course," she 
 answered, frigidly, and he was quite sure she 
 never would. 
 
 They spoke no more until they reached the 
 hotel, and then she asked, courteously, " You will 
 dine with us?" but he answered, "No." Her 
 face fell ; he had not yet acceded to her request. 
 " I will return," he added. 
 
 " You are very kind," she said, warming a frac- 
 tion of a degree.
 
 301 
 
 " Not at all," he answered, cooling to the same 
 extent, " and I may fail." 
 
 " Oh no !" Her lip curled. 
 
 "She hates me as if I were the devil," said 
 Mark to himself, as he rode away. " I wish I 
 had never touched the confounded thing." 
 
 People were going in to dinner when Eloise 
 entered the hotel. Through the open doorway 
 of the dining-room she caught a glimpse of Will- 
 iam Pleasant on the lookout for her. He ran for- 
 ward, calling, "Oh, Mis' Gordon! beg pardon for 
 hollerin' at ye, but Mr. Bering says you're to eat 
 dinner befo' you go up-stairs." 
 
 "I don't want a mouthful, Pleasant," she an- 
 swered, putting from her with a gesture the very 
 offer of food. 
 
 " Oh, please, Mis' Gordon !" Pleasant begged 
 as if interceding for a life. " I've got it all fixed 
 up nice, for ye. Jus' come an' look at it, Mis' 
 Gordon." 
 
 Unwilling to disappoint him, she went into the 
 dining-room and took her seat. With joyful 
 alacrity Pleasant removed the covers from the 
 dishes and presented them for her approval one 
 by one. 
 
 "Very nice, very nice indeed, Pleasant," she 
 repeated, absent-mindedly, and made a show of 
 tasting this and that. 
 
 " But she ain't eatin' only jus' play !" groaned 
 Pleasant. He racked his brain for entertaining 
 gossip to spur her laggard appetite. " Guess you
 
 302 
 
 ain't noticed the boys got on dress -suits, Mis' 
 Gordon," be began, anxiously. 
 
 " Why, yes ; so they have !" she answered, 
 arousing from her reverie. " How did that hap- 
 pen, Pleasant ?" 
 
 " The boys over at the Wilmin'ton had 'em on 
 since May," explained Pleasant. " Our boss had 
 to come to it. Can't let the Wilmin'ton boys get 
 ahead of us." He chuckled as he spoke, and 
 tripped lightly to and fro, changing the dishes. 
 
 " Consid'able many of our boys gettin 1 mar- 
 ried," he pursued, encouraged by his success. 
 "They think they might as well, when they got 
 their suits." 
 
 Eloise smiled in spite of herself. "I suppose 
 you'll be going after the lady you used to think 
 about when you played ' Pleasant Dreams,' " she 
 suggested. 
 
 Pleasant shrugged his shoulders. "She went 
 off with another feller," he answered. " That's 
 all right; there's another lady. But I ain't 
 goin' to get married. Won't you have some 
 ice-cream, Mis' Gordon? It's very nice this 
 evenin'." 
 
 " Oh, I can't, Pleasant; Pve done my best;" 
 and she threw down her napkin. 
 
 " Jus' picked a little, like a chicken !" muttered 
 Pleasant, discontentedly. He shook his head as 
 he released her. 
 
 " She's goin' to be sick again, sho's the world," 
 he grumbled, as he gathered up his neglected
 
 303 
 
 dishes and shuffled with them down the long 
 dining-room ; nor could he have understood had 
 he known the value of his ministrations. 
 
 " A servant is much better than a lover," said 
 Eloise to herself, and smiled all the way to the 
 elevator. 
 
 Carl met her in the studio, leaving Aunt Har- 
 riet's room as she entered. " Come into the hall," 
 she whispered, and they tiptoed out together. 
 
 " It's of no use, she hears everything," he said, 
 when they were outside. 
 
 " We'll go farther away, then," said Eloise, with 
 determination. " She must not know. Mr. Hef- 
 fron is going to put her to sleep." 
 
 Carl danced a quickstep, noiselessly. "Good 
 for you!" he whispered. "Where did you run 
 across him ?" 
 
 "At Mrs. Harwood's. Go down now to your 
 dinner, and leave word at the desk, when Mr. 
 Heffron arrives, to let you know. You can bring 
 him up as a friend of yours ; then she won't sus- 
 pect me. He can sit in the studio where she won't 
 see him, but he can see her." 
 
 " Eloise, you're a brick !" exclaimed her cousin, 
 solemnly. 
 
 " Hurry !" she urged. " Don't stop to talk. He 
 may be back any minute ;" and she glided from 
 him into the studio. 
 
 Aunt Harriet was lying precisely as she had 
 lain for days, staring with wild, wide-open eyes 
 at the ceiling. Her gray hair was tossed like
 
 304 
 
 spray about her face. Her thin, pointed little 
 nose looked thinner and sharper than ever, and 
 her small mouth was puckered like that of a child 
 who resolves not to cry. 
 
 Eloise longed to take the pathetic little figure 
 up in her strong young arms, but the formal rela- 
 tions which had existed between them since Aunt 
 Harriet became a "healer" and she herself a girl 
 with a broken engagement rendered such a move 
 out of the question. There must be many a subtle 
 change in both before they could meet on the old 
 terms. 
 
 "Can I do anything for you?" she asked, gen- 
 tly, and Aunt Harriet shook her head. 
 
 With a sigh, Eloise seated herself by the win- 
 dow and folded her hands in her lap. As she did 
 so they came in contact with a letter which she 
 had put into her pocket that morning, unopened 
 because it was from Philip, and just then she could 
 not bear any added burden of sorrow or regret. 
 
 She broke the seal and read it now by the fad- 
 ing sunset glow; not that her heart was lighter 
 than before or less anxious, but something was 
 about to happen, and something had happened ; 
 between the two experiences, it would be easier 
 to forget. 
 
 Philip wrote in a direct, manly way of his plans 
 and purposes ; he was going to Idaho on a pros- 
 pecting tour with some friends, and should not 
 return until he could be satisfied with her friend- 
 ship, and could offer her his own without a pang.
 
 305 
 
 She must not blame herself, he wrote : he was 
 the only one to blame for presuming upon her 
 generosity. She had tried her best to care for 
 him and he appreciated the effort, even if it had 
 been useless. 
 
 There was no address. Evidently he expected no 
 reply. She longed to send him some word dear, 
 noble Philip, he deserved a better fate than to 
 devote his life to her ! With all her heart she 
 longed for his happiness and success, at the same 
 time emphasizing her resentment against Mark 
 Heffron as if it were a virtue. She could have 
 been as hard on him, just then, as she tried to be 
 on herself. 
 
 Slowly the rose of sunset faded, and the city 
 streets blossomed with lights as thickly as a 
 May meadow with bluets. Eloise watched them 
 thoughtfully. " God's light is withdrawn ; we 
 must make what substitute we can," she said, and 
 arose with a sigh, for she heard Carl at the studio 
 door, and knew that Mark was with him. 
 
 " I'll go and prepare her," whispered Carl ; and, 
 waiting in the hall, they heard the low, inartic- 
 ulate murmur of his voice and the querulous re- 
 sponse of the invalid. 
 
 "Is he a regular healer?" asked Aunt Harriet. 
 " I don't want any animal magnetism ;" and again, 
 "Eloise cannot be in the room. I shall feel her 
 opposition." 
 
 The soothing murmur went on, and the feeble 
 
 complaint grew feebler, until at last they heard 
 20
 
 306 
 
 her say, " Well, I'll try him, to please you, but I 
 know he can't help me." 
 
 Then Carl came out into the hall. " She doesn't 
 take much stock in it, but she's willing to try," 
 he whispered. " You'll have to sit away from 
 the bed, Eloise ; she doesn't want you too near. 
 Mr. Heffron is to sit in the studio as we proposed. 
 You can let him know when she goes to sleep. 
 I've got to get back to town. Humphrey will be 
 crazy; I promised to meet him at half-past seven. 
 Good-bye. Good-luck !" and he was off. 
 
 As quietly as possible they took their places, 
 Eloise by the window, where a ray from the hall 
 came over the transom and gilded her hair ; Mark 
 in the shadow of a huge easel, where, with his 
 bowed head and bent shoulders, he could not be 
 distinguished from the couches and chairs about 
 him. The mystery of silence settled down upon 
 the place. They heard the rumble in the street 
 below, they heard the clock tick on its shelf in 
 the studio, they heard the beating of their own 
 hearts; but the unknown utterance of the city, 
 the homely voice of the clock and their own 
 throbbing pulses were alike remote and unrelated 
 to them. 
 
 Aunt Harriet gave a happy little sigh ; she rec- 
 ognized the silence, and the power which gov- 
 erned it. Eloise would have sighed, too, if she had 
 not strangled the fluttering breath as it escaped. 
 Mark was too much occupied in what he was 
 doing to notice either of the women, fascinated,
 
 307 
 
 now that he was fairly at it, by the production of 
 that strange anaesthetic which is generated by the 
 contact of two human wills, the will to yield, 
 sometimes known as faith, and the will to com- 
 mand and control. He could feel the force go 
 out from him, and he exulted in his mastery. He 
 could feel the fragile creature upon the bed relax 
 and soften and become like clay in his hands ; and 
 a great tenderness filled him the tenderness of 
 responsibility for the life intrusted to him. 
 
 Another force he felt, drawing and mastering 
 him. 
 
 He stood up suddenly and confronted Eloise, 
 who bowed her head and laid her finger on her 
 lips. He glanced at the bed; the patient was 
 sleeping like a child. He did not want to go, he 
 wanted to linger and look at the girl before him, 
 transformed as she was, at that moment, by the 
 exaltation of her mood. 
 
 "I have heard that it affects some of them in 
 that way," he mused, as he went down the hall, 
 that radiant white face following him. He de- 
 cided that he himself felt "queer" ; there seemed 
 to be a cloud around him, and his own steps 
 jarred him as he walked. He went to the hall 
 window and looked down upon the boulevard 
 lights, strung like beads, in two even rows, as far 
 as eye could reach. There was a balcony outside ; 
 he stepped out upon it, and sank into a chair 
 which he found there. 
 
 By and by the cloud which had hung about him
 
 308 
 
 and hindered his movements unfolded and floated 
 away. His head became clear again, with a pecul- 
 iar clearness. He felt ready for any intellectual 
 effort, and free from the limitations of the body. 
 Then the body came back also to its full con- 
 sciousness, and he was himself again ; so much 
 himself that he laughed as he went down in the 
 elevator at a certain humorous phase of the situa- 
 tion which struck him now for the first time. He 
 had been doing Dr. Sj^monds's work as nearly 
 as possible in Dr. Symonds's way, only not as 
 well, in all probability, as the absent healer would 
 himself have done it.
 
 XXXI 
 
 IT was late when Mark reached his hotel. There 
 was not a horse to be had in the vicinity of the 
 Lake View, and he had to walk some distance 
 before taking the cable. The cars were full, and 
 stopped all along the line with a continuous bump 
 and jar extremely trying to nerves made sensitive 
 by such an experience as his had recently under- 
 gone. He was tired and out of sorts when he 
 reached his room. A bright light shone through 
 the keyhole. "I must have left the electrics 
 turned on," he said to himself; "but what ails 
 this infernal lock?" 
 
 " Hold on ; I'm coming !" called a cheerful 
 voice within. The bolt slid back, and Joe Norton 
 appeared, his blond locks standing on end and his 
 eyes hazy with sleep. 
 
 "Where in thunder did you drop from?" 
 growled Mark, not altogether pleased with the 
 nature of the surprise. 
 
 " From New York, of course," replied Joey, un- 
 abashed. "I'm never anywhere else, except here. 
 I didn't have time to write, and I wanted to see 
 you about the exchange."
 
 310 
 
 " What exchange ?" asked Mark, stretching 
 himself on the couch where Joey had been. 
 
 " Exchange of positions ; you know, of course 
 you do you said you'd change with me and be 
 glad to, until Uncle Eli is better." 
 
 " You're asleep, Joey," rejoined his host. " Pass 
 the matches. And ring for some ice-water while 
 you're about it. You may as well make yourself 
 useful as long as you are here." 
 
 Joey did as he was bid, describing at length 
 and with minuteness the time, place, and circum- 
 stances of the agreement between himself and his 
 friend, concluding triumphantly, "Now, do you 
 remember ?" 
 
 " H-m, ye-es, something of the sort," returned 
 Mark with indifference. 
 
 "And the Firm want you to go right on," pur- 
 sued Norton. 
 
 Hang the Firm !" 
 
 " They said you could tell me whatever I ought 
 to know to-night, and go on early to-morrow." 
 
 "Sha'n't do anything of the sort. The idea of 
 expecting a man to start up without warning and 
 post off for an indefinite stay. Sha'n't do any- 
 thing of the sort. I have several things to attend 
 to," and Mark thumped his pillows and settled 
 himself among them, prepared to defend himself 
 against any arguments which might be brought 
 forward. 
 
 " Can't I attend to them for you ?" asked Joey, 
 meekly.
 
 311 
 
 " No, you can't." 
 
 "Try me and see." Joey smoothed his hair 
 with his fingers and tried to look reliable. 
 
 " What do you know of my personal affairs?" 
 asked Mark, irritably. 
 
 "Mighty little, that's a fact," agreed Joey. 
 " But I could explain your being called away, and 
 that you will return soon." 
 
 " I could write that." 
 
 "You can write it too, but you know there's 
 nothing like a personal interview." 
 
 Mark deliberated. To tell the truth, his busi- 
 ness affairs were where they could be left with a 
 few instructions, and as to personal matters, he 
 could break his appointment with Uncle Oliver 
 Ross by letter, and charge Joey with a verbal 
 message to others whom he had promised to meet, 
 but what would Eloise Gordon think of him if 
 he deserted her now? He had promised her, while 
 they waited in the hall for Carl, to return the next 
 day and see how Miss Larrabee was getting on. 
 
 "You see the Firm are so sure of you," urged 
 Joey, cunningly, " they're forever holding you up 
 to me as a model of promptness. And you needn't 
 stay there, only till I get Uncle Eli started on the 
 right road." 
 
 "I'll see," said Mark, "but go to bed, now, for 
 Heaven's sake ! I'm dead tired." 
 
 " I know you are, poor old chap, you show it !" 
 exclaimed Joey, compassionately, "Things will 
 look differently in the morning."
 
 312 
 
 They did. After a hearty sleep, the experience 
 at the Lake View grew unreal ; the responsibility 
 he had laid upon himself seemed unnecessary, 
 after all. He let Joey pack his trunk while he 
 wrote half a dozen letters, leaving them to be 
 mailed or delivered as he directed. The letter to 
 Eloise he wrote last, and held it in his hand medi- 
 tatively. 
 
 "How do you want that one to go?" asked 
 Joey, coming to the table. 
 
 "I haven't decided," replied Mark, slowly. 
 " I've tried to be very explicit, and it's as clear 
 as mud." 
 
 " Let me explain !" cried Joey, dramatically. 
 "I can dwell on your anguish as you never could. 
 'Miss Eloise Gordon, Lake View Hotel.' I know 
 her, she's Bering's cousin ; nice girl, too, but cold 
 as an icicle. I'll explain. What was it ?" 
 
 "I had been doing some business for her," 
 prevaricated Mark, " and I promised to see her 
 to-day. Perhaps it would be a good plan for you 
 to go out there. You can tell her just how it is, 
 and that I may be back in a week. By the way, 
 her aunt is sick ; you might find out how she is 
 and let me know. The two are alone in the 
 world and it is rather forlorn for the girl." 
 
 Joey promised, and Mark tried to think he had 
 arranged everything satisfactorily, but his heart 
 misgave him as he boarded the noon express. The 
 power which had drawn and held him the night 
 before drew and held him now. If he could have
 
 313 
 
 found any reasonable excuse for returning he 
 would have done so. What was it ? he asked. 
 
 Had she happened upon the trick, herself, and 
 did she mean to pay off the old score ? 
 
 No, no, her rapt look, the open brow, the fear- 
 less eyes, gave the lie to that suggestion. But 
 what did it all mean ? 
 
 Eloise herself could not tell. As she sat and 
 watched Aunt Harriet's rigid limbs relax, saw her 
 clenched hands unfold, heard her regular breath- 
 ing, and through the open door traced the outline 
 of the man who was sitting there, she felt, as on 
 that summer night at Beau Lieu, great coiling 
 chains of influence encircling her, impelling her 
 towards him. She grasped the chair in which 
 she sat and turned her face towards the window 
 with an appeal for help. The sky was full of 
 stars. One hung, a laughing cherub, under the 
 eaves. " God's light is not withdrawn," it said. 
 
 She drew in her breath with a quick sense of 
 freedom, and then Mark Heffron stood up and 
 looked at her, questioningly. She gave him the. 
 signal and he went away. The whole had not 
 occupied half a dozen seconds, yet it seemed to 
 her that a lifetime was compressed into them. 
 They spread over hours of reflection afterwards 
 and then remained undefined. It was a wonderful 
 experience ; would it ever come again ? 
 
 Aunt Harriet hardly stirred all night, taking 
 great draughts of sleep as one quenches a long 
 thirst.
 
 314 
 
 In the morning she called for her breakfast and 
 ate it with a relish. By noon she was asking for 
 her healer. 
 
 " He said he would be in some time to-day, but 
 I don't think he expected to see you," said Eloise. 
 
 " Why not?" inquired Aunt Harriet, sharply. 
 
 "He he doesn't do this work very often, "re- 
 plied her niece, with some hesitation. " We were 
 not even to tell his name." 
 
 " Of course not, to people in the house," said 
 Aunt Harriet, promptly. " But if he knows I am 
 following the same line of thought you couldn't 
 have made it clear to him where I stand, Eloise." 
 
 " Perhaps not," replied her niece, demurely. 
 
 The afternoon wore slowly on. Aunt Harriet 
 insisted upon being prepared to receive visitors, 
 displaying an unusual fastidiousness in the ar- 
 rangement of her hair and the disposition of the 
 bedclothes. About four o'clock a card was brought 
 to Eloise. She read it with a puzzled frown. 
 
 "What is it?" demanded the invalid, sitting 
 bolt upright. 
 
 " ' Joseph Norton,' " repeated Eloise. " I don't 
 know any Joseph Norton. It must be a mistake." 
 
 "Yes, you do," exclaimed her aunt. " He's Mr. 
 Eli Norton's nephew. We met them one day 
 at the Art Gallery, when we went with Carl. 
 Mr. Norton has sent him out to inquire for me. 
 Pull that chair around, that one by the window. 
 I shall want him to sit where I can see him." 
 
 " But, auntie, do you feel able ?" faltered
 
 315 
 
 Eloise, who was not sure tbat Mr. Eli Norton's 
 nephew had come to inquire after Miss Larra- 
 bee's health. 
 
 " It will do me good," said the invalid, posi- 
 tively. " You can bring him right up." 
 
 Joey was in the reception-room, composing a 
 graceful little speech, calculated to explain and 
 conciliate and pave the way for himself to walk 
 into the good graces of Miss Gordon, who, as far 
 as he could determine, was the only nice girl left 
 in town. But Eloise came so soon, driven before 
 Aunt Harriet's desire, and so quietly that she 
 caught him unprepared. He did not know she 
 was there until she said, " Mr. Norton ?" and 
 held out her hand. 
 
 He took it eagerly. She was prettier than he 
 thought, and knew how to dress by Jove, she 
 was like a picture in that white gown. In his 
 admiration and his pleasure that she remembered 
 him (thanks to Aunt Harriet) he almost forgot 
 why he was there. When he recalled his errand 
 he went at it manfully, and explained so much 
 that any one less suspicious than Eloise would 
 have wondered what he had to conceal. 
 
 She listened to him civilly and believed not a 
 word he said. According to her experience of 
 Mark Heffron, that individual invariably did as 
 he pleased. If he had chosen to remain, he would 
 have done so ; why make so many words ? 
 
 She told Joey it was really of no consequence ; 
 indeed, she had not expected Mr. Heffron, know-
 
 316 
 
 ing that he had so many interests, so many 
 schemes ; and then, because she was offended 
 with one man, she made herself particularly de- 
 lightful to another, as girls are Avont to do. Joey 
 was only too willing to be charmed. 
 
 He begged to come again to-morrow. Chicago 
 was dull and he was lonely. Situated similarly, 
 he with his uncle, she with her aunt, they ought 
 to find many points of sympathy. 
 
 They could have found one, at least, when they 
 returned to their respective charges, for both the 
 patients were thoroughly incensed at being left 
 so long alone. Uncle Eli suffered a collapse which 
 rendered him limp and well - nigh speechless. 
 When he finally found his voice, it was the ghost 
 of a whisper. 
 
 Aunt Harriet, on the contrary, was like a steel 
 spring released from compression. She bounced 
 up in bed when her niece entered and told her 
 tartly there was room in the Old Ladies' Home 
 for people who had no friends to care for them. 
 
 " Mr. Norton came to say that the the gen- 
 tleman who was here last night has been obliged 
 to go to New York," explained Eloise. "I am 
 sorry you felt neglected. He says his uncle is 
 very weak. What will you have for supper?" 
 
 "You needn't try to put me off in that way, 
 Eloise," returned Aunt Harriet, severely. " There 
 has been something ve-ry strange about this whole 
 performance. Carl comes in to tell me about a 
 friend of his and goes off, and the man comes
 
 317 
 
 and doesn't show his face. Now, Mr. Norton's 
 nephew appears and seems to know all about it, 
 but I, I am kept completely in the dark !" 
 
 She had shaken her gray hair down about her 
 shoulders in the vehemence of her complaint, her 
 eyes glittered and her cheeks glowed. Eloise 
 began to be alarmed. " There, there, auntie," 
 she murmured soothingly, " it's all right. You 
 must not get so excited. Lie down, now, do, 
 that's a dear, and I will go to the steward and 
 get something good for your supper.'' 
 
 Aunt Harriet suffered herself to be rearranged 
 in bed, but she was by no means reconciled. In 
 her heart she resented fiercely the loss of what 
 had been the source of her consolation and 
 strength. She demanded reparation of all who 
 came near, the more strenuously because they 
 did not realize the loss or accept its responsi- 
 bility. 
 
 " I am really troubled about her," said Eloise 
 to Mrs. Harwood, who came in the next morning 
 " to inquire." 
 
 " How did she rest last night ?" 
 
 " Very well." 
 
 " And ate her breakfast ?" 
 
 " All of it ; but she is so unlike herself, so 
 unreasonable. I am afraid her brain is affected." 
 
 " Not a bit," declared Mrs. Harwood stoutly. 
 " She's been pious so long that she's got torpid. 
 This is kinder like measles or scarlatina ; it '11 
 clear out her system. Dan'l came home from
 
 318 
 
 the Farm last night with a sore throat, and I had 
 a great time sweating him." 
 
 " I hope he isn't going to be sick," said Eloise 
 with sympathy, more for Dan'l's wife, it must be 
 confessed, than for Dan'l. 
 
 " I hope not," said Mrs. Harwood. " Now 
 don't you worry about Miss Larrabee. She won't 
 die, she's got too much vim." 
 
 Vim enough she had, certainly, to wear out her 
 delicate little frame and ingenuity, unlimited, in 
 devising means to try to the utmost the temper 
 of her niece. She had every one of her old mala- 
 dies in succession, winding up with an attack of 
 earache which necessitated wearing wads of cot- 
 ton in her ears and close-fitting muslin nightcaps, 
 tied under her chin. This made her quite deaf, 
 but instead of asking "What say?" as she used to 
 do, with pretty, old-fashioned elegance, she yelled 
 "Wh-at?" like any common, ill-bred old person. 
 
 "After all," said Joey, to whom Eloise con- 
 fessed her inability to understand Aunt Harri- 
 et's latest development " after all, that sort of 
 thing is easier to handle than complete non-re- 
 sistance. If Uncle Eli would only fight, I should 
 have some hope of him. I'm tempted to put him 
 aboard one of the lake steamers and take him 
 East. He'd be abominably sick he always is 
 but he'd have to fight, then." 
 
 " I don't know what to do with Aunt Harriet," 
 replied Eloise, dejectedly. 
 
 " Come along with us."
 
 319 
 
 " I don't believe she would consent." 
 
 " Take things into your own hands." 
 
 Eloise shook her head. She had not placed 
 Aunt Harriet again under absolutism, although 
 the latter had certainly forfeited her right to 
 autonomy. Their little kingdom was tossed and 
 rent, but it was no longer divided against itself, 
 as it had been when Aunt Harriet was more po- 
 lite and Eloise was more patient. 
 
 "You'd better think it over," persisted Joey. 
 " "VVe can take the boat to Montreal, and then go 
 down to the coast. I know a place on the South 
 Shore. You could get some fine water -colors 
 there." 
 
 The suggestion was a tempting one. Eloise 
 felt that she could not hold out for man}' days 
 at this rate. With the exception of an occasional 
 walk with Joey, there was nothing to break the 
 strain upon her nerves. 
 
 Carl had gone to Mackinac with the Rosses 
 and the Avers, and Mrs. Harwood was house- 
 bound with Dan'l, whose sore throat had devel- 
 oped into what he designated as a Touch of the 
 Old Difficulty. Mrs. Glenn and the children 
 were at Geneva, where Mr. Glenn spent his Sun- 
 days. 
 
 The substantial guests of the hotel were all out 
 of town. Those who remained were noisily gay 
 or aggressively melancholy over their financial 
 straits and the prolongation of the strike. The 
 very atmosphere of the place was distressing.
 
 320 
 
 "I wish I could feel that it is best to go," said 
 Eloise, after a mental review of the scenes which 
 she had left and to which she must return. 
 
 " Of course it is best," he insisted. " Hullo ! 
 what are they doing here?" They had turned 
 in at Jackson Park, where the site of the White 
 City was being rapidly transformed into a park. 
 A rude track had been laid, and upon it trundled 
 wooden cars drawn by horses. 
 
 "What are you doing?" inquired Norton of a 
 workman who was assisting the horses to dump 
 their loads of dirt. 
 
 "Makin' a hill," answered the man, patting the 
 mound affectionately with his spade. "Same as 
 they have over to Washington Park." 
 
 "Making a hill !" replied Joey, as they walked 
 on. "I say, Miss Gordon, let's go where they 
 grow !" and yielding to a sudden irresistible long- 
 ing to get out and away from artificialities of all 
 sorts, " hills " included, Eloise answered, 
 
 "I will do it."
 
 XXXII 
 
 IT was not difficult to convince Aunt Harriet of 
 the advisability of a change, although she pre- 
 ferred to term it a change of thought rather than 
 a change of air and scene. She had felt the op- 
 position of the people in the house for some time, 
 she said, and now they were " holding her down." 
 The attitude of the strikers affected her like- 
 wise, and so did the presence of the soldiers on 
 the lake front. She seemed to be completely at 
 the mercy of adverse elements, without a roof of 
 physical limitation over her head, and stripped 
 of the cuticle which protects more undeveloped 
 souls. Eloise, who had computed, before Joey 
 left her at the door of the hotel, the cost of the 
 journey and the probability of a return in pict- 
 ures, was encouraged to proceed with her prep- 
 arations, and telephoned Joey to that effect. He 
 was not less prompt. Within a week he had re- 
 ceived his leave of absence accompanied by a 
 caustic letter from Mark, inquiring if there was 
 anything else he wanted and they were off. 
 
 The weather was perfect, every one remained 
 on deck and in the best of spirits ; Uncle Eli came 
 out of his lethargy without the spur of seasick-
 
 322 
 
 ness, and Aunt Harriet began to be her old amia- 
 ble self. At Montreal they found letters from 
 Point Carey, where Joey had written for rooms, 
 and went thither without delay. From beginning 
 to end the excursion moved as smoothly as if there 
 had been a Cooke or a Raymond to plan and con- 
 trol. 
 
 "And yet you don't seem satisfied," pouted 
 Joey, on the evening after their arrival, as he 
 walked with Eloise. " Now really, did you ever 
 see anything finer than that ?" 
 
 He had led her by a circuitous path to a bluff 
 overlooking the sea, which shone like silver. On 
 its margin writhed and curled the tangled sea- 
 weed, and great rocks, scaly with mussel-shells, 
 lay half in half out of the water. 
 
 Eloise shuddered. " It is uncannj 7 ," she replied, 
 and, turning, pulled a wild-flower by the roots. 
 " I would rather have this one flower than miles 
 of that," she said with feeling. 
 
 Joey started in surprise. Her tone took the 
 heart out of his enjoyment. " I thought you'd 
 like it," he said with disappointment. "You 
 have seemed so happy all the way." 
 
 "I have been," she answered quickly, "and I 
 don't know why I feel as I do now, only I ex- 
 pected to get somewhere, and it's only another 
 shore, another question, another mystery. I feel 
 left in the lurch." 
 
 Joey drew nearer to her, but she seemed un- 
 aware of his proximity. She pushed her white
 
 323 
 
 yachting -cap back from her brows and gazed 
 moodily over the waste of waters. 
 
 "I almost wish," she said, "that I could believe 
 as Aunt Harriet and your uncle do. They may 
 be tormented by other people, bat they are never 
 in doubt about themselves." 
 
 "Ye-es," drawled Joey the drawl was to 
 cover a retreat "the world is made up of two 
 kinds of people, those who deceive themselves 
 and are comfortable, and those who tell them- 
 selves the truth and are uncomfortable. We 
 want to tell ourselves the truth, still we'd like to 
 be comfortable !" 
 
 "But how do you know they deceive them- 
 selves or that we tell the truth ? How do you 
 know anything ? It is all unfathomable, mysteri- 
 ous, dreadful, like the sea?" 
 
 She drew the soft petals of the flower across 
 her lips, caressingly. Joey watched her. "As 
 to that,'' he said, jealously, " you don't get away 
 from those things on shore." 
 
 " No. I suppose they'd say this flower was the 
 Expression of an Idea," she answered. " I wish I 
 could find something without any thought in 
 it." 
 
 "Try Miss O'Keefe," he suggested. "She 
 doesn't even know she's a flirt. Her coquetries 
 are of the sticky-fly-paper order ; they gum ev- 
 erything, unconsciously." 
 
 Eloise laughed as she was expected to do, but 
 her face grew grave again.
 
 324 
 
 The silver was vanishing from the sea. Its faint 
 sighing had become a moan. 
 
 "Let us go," she said, turning her back upon 
 the sound. 
 
 As they neared the Glenallan a boy came run- 
 ning towards them, an ungainly young setter at 
 his heels. "I've been lookin' everywhere for 
 you," he gasped. 
 
 " What is it ? Is any one " began Eloise. 
 
 "Both of 'em," interrupted the boy. "Dodd- 
 ridge's mustang fell over the cliff, cart and all, 
 right on top of 'em." Eloise waited to hear no 
 more. 
 
 The Glenallan was ablaze with lights, and guests 
 were dancing on the piazza. She broke through 
 a cotillion and darted into the house, Joey close 
 behind her. The proprietor's wife met them in 
 the hall. 
 
 "Getting along all right," she announced cheer- 
 ily. " Mr. Norton come out splendid, The doc- 
 tor's with Miss Larrabee now." 
 
 Eloise flew past her, up the stairs and into the 
 room which she shared with Aunt Harriet. A 
 man was bending over one of the little white 
 beds, saying something in a low voice to the oc- 
 cupant and rubbing her hands. She opened her 
 eyes and smiled at him, Aunt Harriet, who ab- 
 horred all manner of physicians and held a 
 stranger as an enemy until he proved himself 
 otherwise, smiled at him as one smiles into the 
 face of a saviour.
 
 325 
 
 "Hand me that cup, please the one with the 
 spoon in it," said the doctor, without turning 
 his head. Eloise obeyed and stood beside him like 
 a child, awaiting further orders. One deft hand 
 and arm slid under the pillow and lifted the sick 
 woman's head, the other held the cup to her lips. 
 She did not refuse it, but drank as if he had pledged 
 her a health. 
 
 "Is she going to die?" thought Eloise with a 
 pang, "and so feels that it doesn't matter? Is 
 it pity which makes his voice so sweet ?" She 
 watched the long brown hands let down their 
 burden and arrange the pillows ; they even wiped 
 Aunt Harriet's lips and smoothed her hair, went 
 under the bedclothes and felt of her feet, then 
 made all trim and straight, not fussily, but with a 
 swift, resolute touch, the touch of healing. 
 
 He turned, at length, and she saw his face, an 
 ordinary, unromantic face with broad bulging 
 brows, large nose, and untrained mustache. 
 
 "Give her a teaspoonful of that medicine in the 
 cup every half-hour if she doesn't sleep," he said, 
 and abruptly left the room. 
 
 Eloise followed him. "Doctor, is my aunt go- 
 ing to die ?" she faltered. 
 
 " Why, no," he answered smiling, " she will be 
 all right in a day or two." 
 
 "Doctor," cried Joey, emerging from the oppo- 
 site room, "tell me, what do you think of my 
 uncle ?" 
 
 "Doing well," answered the doctor; "there's
 
 326 
 
 nothing the matter with either of them except 
 nerves. They were pretty thoroughly scared." 
 
 " But I thought" 
 
 "Didn't the horse " began Eloise and Joey, 
 simultaneously. 
 
 "The boy said the cart and the horse fell on 
 them," finished Eloise. 
 
 "The young villain," exclaimed the doctor, 
 " I'll wring his neck ! I told him not to alarm 
 you. Good-night ; if you want me, I'm at the 
 Pavilion opposite Dr. Dow," and before they 
 could put another question he was gone. 
 
 " We-11 !" breathed Joey in a long sigh. 
 
 " I feel as if I had very nearly had ' something 
 to cry for,' as the nurses say when the children 
 cry for nothing," said Eloise. 
 
 "Is there anything I can do?" he asked. 
 
 "No, thank you. Oh, what an escape!" She 
 held out her hand and he pressed it sympatheti- 
 cally. Each was conscious of being glad that the 
 other was there. 
 
 She did not see him at breakfast, for she awoke 
 early and " hungry as a bear," she told the wait- 
 ress, whom she inveigled into serving her while 
 there was yet no one in the dining-room. To- 
 gether they prepared a tray for Aunt Harriet, and 
 Eloise carried it up-stairs. 
 
 "Did the doctor say that I might have fish?" 
 murmured the patient, lifting her heavy lids to 
 scrutinize the tray. 
 
 "I didn't ask him," confessed her niece.
 
 327 
 
 Aunt Harriet resolutely closed her eyes. " I 
 shall not touch a mouthful without his permis- 
 sion," she said. 
 
 "Why, auntie?" 
 
 "Eloise !" and the eyes came wide open with a 
 snap, "that man saved my life, and I shall not do 
 one thing contrary to his wishes." 
 
 " I know he was extremely kind, but I don't see 
 how that necessitates your fasting until he tells you 
 to eat," replied Eloise, impatient, for the breakfast 
 was cooling. She set it down with a thump. 
 
 "Kind!" repeated Aunt Harriet. "He pulled 
 me out from under those dreadful hoofs" she 
 trembled and grew white. Eloise bent over her. 
 
 "There, auntie, don't try to talk," she said, 
 soothingly. "Don't cry !" for two tears had 
 oozed out from under the closed eyelids. "You 
 may do just as you please." 
 
 "Eloise," said Aunt Harriet, with dignity, " you 
 disturb me. I should like to be alone. I want to 
 give myself a treatment." With a smothered 
 ejaculation, Eloise rushed out into the hall, nearly 
 tumbling into the arms of Joey, who had evident- 
 ly been meditating a siege. 
 
 "I didn't know whether to knock or no," he said. 
 " You've settled the question. Have you had 
 breakfast? Don't you want to go for a walk?" 
 
 " Want to go ? I'm smothering !" cried the girl. 
 "But I don't know as I ought to leave Aunt Har- 
 riet although she has just sent me away." 
 
 Joey shrugged his shoulders. "I'll rig her a
 
 328 
 
 tocsin, as I did for Uncle Eli, a tin pan and a cane ; 
 it would wake the dead. The chambermaid has 
 promised to keep an eye on my room ; that leaves 
 one for yours. Come on !" 
 
 Eloise paused irresolute. " Perhaps we had bet- 
 ter wait and ask the doctor," she replied, at length. 
 
 "By the way," cried Joey, "I went over to the 
 Pavilion and hunted up his record last night. 
 He's a Keeleyite or the next thing to it ; that is 
 why he is so at home with nerves." 
 
 "What is a Keeleyite?" she inquired, looking 
 puzzled. 
 
 "You know, the Gold Cure and all that sort of 
 thing reforms drunkards, opium-eaters, cigarette 
 fiends. He has a lot of them at the Pavilion, in 
 the wing of the house. It isn't generally known. 
 I wish he would come. Shall I go after him ?" 
 Joey beat a tattoo on the rail of the balustrade 
 against which they were leaning. Eloise herself 
 chafed at the delay. When one is young and full 
 of life and the wind blows over the sea, it is hard 
 to be tied to a dull boarding-house at the beck 
 of age and illness ; and there was nothing the 
 matter except nerves the doctor said so. 
 
 Through the hall window they saw him com- 
 ing at last, driving a lot of children before him 
 as a collie drives a flock of sheep. Pie had routed 
 them out of their clam-digging and sent them 
 home for dry shoes and stockings. They bran- 
 dished their hooks and shouted their stories at 
 him as they went.
 
 Others, men and women, stopped him all along 
 the way. " He will never get here !" muttered 
 Joey. "I'm going down to hurry him along." 
 
 They came up together, chatting amiably, but 
 Joey looked glum. "The doctor thinks," he ex- 
 plained to Eloise, after the usual questions con- 
 cerning the patient had been asked and answered, 
 "that one of us had better stay here, within 
 reach of the two rooms ; so, as soon as he has 
 seen Miss Larrabee, you'd better go. I'll have 
 my turn later." 
 
 The doctor was already in Miss Larrabee's 
 room, taking her pulse and her temperature as 
 solicitously as if his life as well as hers depended 
 upon the result. She gave him a long detailed 
 account of the evening and the morning, includ- 
 ing the story of the fish, and he listened as the 
 Sultan listened to Scheherezade. " I will stop in 
 the kitchen and order some broth," he said, in 
 conclusion. " They know me down there and let 
 me take all sorts of liberties." He twisted up 
 some powders and threw them on the table, say- 
 ing to Eloise, " One every hour. I'll give her 
 one now ; it's nine o'clock. You can go, but be 
 back by ten ; and tell Mr. Norton to be within 
 call. I'll see his uncle directly." 
 
 Eloise put on her hat and left the room, feeling 
 like a child sent out to play. She gave Joey his 
 message and was soon pacing up and down the 
 hard white floor of the beach. 
 
 The gloom and mystery of the previous night
 
 330 
 
 had vanished ; in their stead reigned gayety and 
 good-will. The yachts were racing in the open 
 space outside the bay, and near the shore row- 
 boats were rocking merrily. Fishermen cast- 
 ing their lines, bathers splashing and sprawling, 
 youths and maidens pitching their umbrellas on 
 the sand made pictures everywhere against the 
 azure and chrysoprase of mated sky and sea. 
 
 " I must unpack my brushes !" said Eloise. "I 
 will paint that gateway of cliff for one it leads 
 to the end of the world ; and this overturned 
 hulk for another, with a boy diving off into the 
 sea, where the boat can go no more ; I will paint 
 What a face !" 
 
 Crouching among cushions, in a niche among 
 the rocks, reclined a woman, her chin on her 
 clenched hand and her elbow on her knee. Her 
 profile cut the dark background of the rock with 
 cameo-like distinctness, a picture of despair be- 
 come indifference. She turned as Eloise came up, 
 and stared at her out of great cavernous eyes, 
 testifying like extinct volcanoes to fires which 
 had been. The girl shuddered with vague horror 
 of what she saw not mere lines and furrows, 
 scourge-marks of pain and strife ; faces have 
 borne these and carried with them the look of 
 having met an angel in the way. This woman 
 had met a demon. 
 
 "Good-morning," she called to Eloise. "How 
 are your father and mother after their accident ?" 
 
 "Is she crazy ?" thought Eloise.
 
 331 
 
 "They were lucky to get off with their lives," 
 continued the woman. " I saw it all from my win- 
 dow. Another minute and the horse would have 
 been right on top of them." 
 
 "They are not my father and mother," said 
 Eloise, now comprehending her meaning, " but 
 my aunt and Mr. Norton's uncle." 
 
 " They told me it was your father and mother," 
 returned the woman, " and I haven't had a chance 
 to speak to the doctor about it. You ought to 
 have seen him pull them out of the way. I wanted 
 to throw up my hat and give three cheers, but it 
 was too far for him to hear me." 
 
 "Then he did do it !" exclaimed Eloise. "My 
 aunt said he saved her life, but I thought she did 
 not know just what had happened. He said noth- 
 ing." 
 
 " Of course not," said the woman, proudly. 
 " He never does say anything. He makes as light 
 of saving a life as another man would of eating 
 his dinner. You've got to know him but you 
 never will unless he has to do something for you. 
 We were brought up side by side, but I never 
 knew him until lately." 
 
 "I have heard that he belongs to a a life- 
 saving station," said Eloise, delicately. 
 
 " That's the way to put it !" cried the woman, 
 her eyes flashing like wet steel. "Most people 
 speak of what he is doing as if it was something 
 to be ashamed of. I don't care who knows that I 
 am one of them."
 
 332 
 
 Through the ruin of her faded face flushed the 
 glow of former beauty. All the artist in Eloise 
 awoke, and something more than the artist awoke 
 also. " I wish you would tell me about him," she 
 said. " May I sit down beside you ?" 
 
 " Do !" exclaimed the stranger, making room 
 among the cushions. " I'm only too glad to find 
 some one who likes to hear about him. There's 
 no one like him on this earth. Others do good 
 occasionally, but he is the only one I ever saw 
 who does it all the time for the love of it. He 
 has a perfect passion for saving people." 
 
 "Has he always done this this work?" in- 
 quired Eloise. 
 
 "Well, now, that's a long story," replied the 
 stranger. " I don't know's I ought to tell you, 
 but you seem so interested. It isn't any secret 
 out our way, and people don't think any the less 
 of him, but it's different here." 
 
 " I don't belong here, said Eloise, quickly. 
 
 " It was this way," began the story-teller, who 
 was not hard to persuade. " He started in to prac- 
 tise in his own town, where every one knew him. 
 Every one liked him, too. It was Dr. Jerry Dow 
 here, there, and everywhere. His name's Gerard 
 Dutch, I believe. After a while he went East 
 and got married and brought his wife home." She 
 paused and pursed up her lips. " The less said 
 about Mrs. Dow the better. He was awfully good 
 to her you might know he would be but noth- 
 ing suited. Finally, after her child was born, she
 
 333 
 
 went off East and that was the last of her. He 
 wrote and wrote, and then he went after her ; but 
 he came back alone. Then he took to drink. 
 Folks said Dr. Jerry Dow was going downhill 
 fast. Even then he never neglected his patients. 
 When he hadn't any head for other things, he'd 
 know what he was about with them. They thought 
 so much of him they'd wait for him to get over 
 a spree rather than go to any one else. I've seen 
 horses and carriages tied at his door and away 
 down the street you'd think it was a country 
 meeting-house or a funeral waiting for him to 
 sober off. All at once he turned square around and 
 reformed. No one knew how. He experimented 
 on himself, I suppose. Then he experimented on 
 those who came to see how he did it." 
 
 " How does he do it ?" interrupted Eloise. 
 
 " I don't know. He doesn't give much medicine, 
 but you feel the minute he takes hold of you that 
 you're all right. Other doctors stand off and tell 
 you what to do. He wades right in after you, up 
 to his neck, and pulls you out in spite of yourself 
 I can't tell you !" 
 
 " You have told me a great deal," said Eloise, 
 rising. "I cannot thank you enough. I shall 
 hold it sacred." 
 
 "And you don't think any the less of him?" 
 inquired the woman, anxiously. 
 
 " No, I don't think any the less of him," repeat- 
 ed Eloise. She stood looking out over the restless 
 waves, with a strange hushed feeling new to her.
 
 334 
 
 " May I come and talk with you again ?" she 
 asked, gently, offering her hand in farewell. 
 
 " I wish you would !" exclaimed the woman, 
 eagerly. " I'm alone a good deal, and I don't enjoy 
 thinking as much as some folks do. I have too 
 much to think about." She laughed, an hysterical 
 laugh without any mirth in it.
 
 XXXIII 
 
 As Dr. Dow had prophesied, Aunt Harriet and 
 Uncle Eli recovered rapidly. After a day or two 
 of seclusion they reappeared on the beach, sit- 
 ting in their steamer-chairs, with their umbrellas 
 spread. 
 
 They were objects of interest to their fellow- 
 boarders, who wove endless romances about the 
 grave elderly man and the vivacious elderly 
 woman who seemed never to tire of each other's 
 society. 
 
 " Look at him now, as he leans forward to speak 
 to her ; he thinks she's too sweet for anything," 
 said Mrs. O'Keefe. 
 
 " And look at her, how she listens to him ; she 
 thinks he knows it all," said Mrs. Tyler. 
 
 " I wish we were near enough to hear what they 
 say," exclaimed Mrs. O'Keefe. 
 
 She would have been sadly disappointed. Uncle 
 Eli had declared, " This is the first time in weeks 
 that I've been able to get rid of a belief in head- 
 ache ;" and Aunt Harriet's glance was one of con- 
 gratulation, nothing more. 
 
 " Have you said anything to Dr. Dow about The 
 Science?" she inquired.
 
 " Not very much," replied the old man, guard- 
 edly. 
 
 " I have," said the impulsive little woman be- 
 side him. "I told him it was all he needed." 
 
 " What did he say ?" 
 
 " He said he didn't doubt it had done me good." 
 Again they exchanged sympathetic glances. 
 
 " Just look at them," said Mrs. O'Keefe to her 
 companion. " They're ready to eat one another up." 
 
 " Joey says the doctor has some kind of a hos- 
 pital or sanitarium for nervous troubles," re- 
 marked Uncle Eli. 
 
 " So Eloise told me." 
 
 "Just think how The Science would help him 
 in that !" and she clasped her hands with a devout 
 look up into the sky. 
 
 " She's got it bad," said Mrs. O'Keefe. 
 
 "I was afraid Eloise would take a prejudice 
 against him," sighed Aunt Harriet. " His Eng- 
 lish is rather queer, and Eloise is so fastidious. 
 The first summer we were both at a Summer 
 School she was frantic over the speech and the 
 manner of the people we met. But she has really 
 gone out of her way to be kind to him. There 
 she is now, talking to him, down there by the 
 water." 
 
 " I wonder where Joey is," mused Uncle Eli. 
 So did Mrs. O'Keefe. " This isn't the first time 
 the girl has given Norton the slip and gone off 
 with the doctor," she declared. And for once Mrs. 
 O'Keefe was right.
 
 337 
 
 Several days elapsed before Aunt Harriet no- 
 ticed anything unusual ; but, after her attention 
 had been called to what was going on, she became 
 suspicious, the accused was already convicted and 
 awaiting execution. With a look of solemn de- 
 termination on her face, such as it had not worn 
 since she burned her medicines, she mounted the 
 stairs to the attic room which Eloise had adapted 
 to her work. 
 
 " Come in !" called the ringing voice of her 
 niece in response to an energetic knock. "Oh, 
 it's you, is it, auntie ! Sit down. I'll be where I 
 can talk to you in a minute." 
 
 Aunt Harriet placed herself on the edge of a 
 chair containing a jar of goldenrod and waited, 
 putting up her eye-glass to scrutinize the room. 
 It was under the bare ridge-pole of the Glenallan, 
 and there were no draperies save those the spiders 
 had wrought, but the light was good and the art- 
 ist was happy. 
 
 She laid down her brush at last and turned to 
 her visitor. " Did you have something in partic- 
 ular to say to me ?" she asked, for Aunt Harriet 
 had never been in the attic room before. 
 
 "Yes, I have something very particular," re- 
 plied the little woman, nestling back against the 
 goldenrod and nestling forward again when it 
 tickled her neck. There were only two chairs in 
 the room. "Eloise, I have been talking with Mrs. 
 O'Keefe, and I am much disturbed." 
 
 " I should think you would be," returned her
 
 338 
 
 niece. "I was in hopes you'd let that sort of 
 people alone here." 
 
 " Eloise !" exclaimed Aunt Harriet, with sever- 
 ity, "the woman came to me out of the goodness 
 of her heart, because she thought I ought to know 
 how imprudent you are." 
 
 "I, imprudent?" inquired the girl, with sur- 
 prise. 
 
 " Yes, imprudent, taking long walks every day 
 with a stranger," cried her aunt. 
 
 "That man saved my life, and I shall not eat a 
 piece of boiled cod without his permission," mim- 
 icked Eloise. 
 
 Aunt Harriet looked disconcerted, but she had 
 a mission to the fatherless and motherless girl 
 before her, and she nerved herself to perform it. 
 "I have nothing against Dr. Dow," she said, with 
 dignity. " He is well enough in his proper place." 
 
 " Dragging women from under the heels of run- 
 away horses, for instance," returned Eloise. 
 
 Aunt Harriet flushed. " I think I am as grate- 
 ful to Dr. Dow as you are," she said, quickly ; 
 " but one is not obliged to marry every man one 
 is grateful to." 
 
 Eloise laughed outright. 
 
 Aunt Harriet looked grave. " This is a serious 
 matter, Eloise. I did not mean to tell you. I do 
 not believe in discussing such subjects with young 
 girls, but you drive me to it. Dr. Dow is is a 
 married man, and has a partial divorce from his 
 wife and child."
 
 339 
 
 " It is a complete divorce, auntie ; the wife and 
 child are dead." 
 
 Aunt Harriet did not know what to say. She 
 had played her last card and Eloise had taken it. 
 There was nothing to do but to throw herself on 
 the generosity of the young woman whom she 
 was trying to influence. " Eloise," she cried, tear- 
 fully, " it will break my heart if you do not marry 
 well. People never forgive you for that sort of 
 thing ; they will forgive everything else, but they 
 always feel, if you marry badly, that you brought 
 it on yourself." 
 
 " Who talks of marrying ?" demanded Eloise, 
 witli a frown. "Can I not find help and strength 
 in the companionship of a noble soul without this 
 everlasting question of marrying being brought 
 in ? Oh, Aunt Harriet !" she sprang from her 
 chair and confronted the little figure with its 
 background of goldenrod, "can't you see? Why 
 did you go to those people who helped you? 
 Why did you mourn so when you had to give 
 them up? Because life was too much for you. 
 It is too much for me. I must have help, counsel, 
 strength. This man gives them to me. I can't 
 have your blind faith, but through the charity 
 which he has taught me I get something to take 
 the place of faith, something we have been told 
 ' never faileth,' and faith does fail, you know it 
 does." 
 
 In her imperious defiance she towered above 
 the small, slight woman, who shrank beneath the
 
 340 
 
 words as if they had been blows, and slid out 
 from under them as soon as she could. 
 
 " Of course, if you say there's nothing between 
 you, I believe it, Eloise," she said. " But after 
 you had refused such fine-looking men and, say 
 what you please, you do want some one you can 
 introduce to your friends and be proud of." She 
 moved towards the door and looked back as she 
 reached it. " You're all I have," she faltered, and 
 her lip began to quiver. 
 
 Eloise went to her. " Don't worry, dear," she 
 said, and took the little creature in her arms. 
 " You are all I have, too." She kissed the quiv- 
 ering lips into composure. " Don't worry, dear," 
 she repeated. 
 
 " I won't again," Aunt Harriet ansAvered, and 
 went down the stairs with a lighter heart than 
 she had carried for many a day. It was such 
 a relief not to feel obliged to take care of Eloise, 
 and so pleasant to feel that Eloise took care of 
 her. 
 
 Once more alone, the artist returned to her easel. 
 The tolerant tenderness, which had survived irri- 
 tation and amusement in the recent interview, 
 lingered and filled her with its glow. 
 
 " I am getting to be willing to let even Aunt 
 Harriet be herself," she mused. " Perhaps I shall 
 gain the true artist feeling after a while, with its 
 insight into the nature of things and patience with 
 what it finds there." 
 
 Dreamily she touched up the picture before her
 
 341 
 
 with deliberate, delicate strokes, wondering when 
 she had felt so secure and strong before. 
 
 A sound of voices from the yard below broke 
 in upon her reverie. 
 
 " Hullo ! where did you drop from ?" in Joey's 
 unmistakable drawl. 
 
 " From New York. ' I'm never anywhere else,' 
 as you said once upon a time." That was Mark Hef- 
 fron. "You are to go on to New York to- 
 night," he continued. "Pm doing the relief act 
 now." 
 
 Then they mounted the steps of the piazza and 
 all the listener heard was " never getting over a 
 thing," from Joey, and " a scaly trick," from Mark ; 
 but this was enough to convince her Joey had told 
 the truth about Mark's leaving Chicago against 
 his will. What of that ? Mark Heffron was noth- 
 ing to her. 
 
 Yet she dressed carefully before she went down 
 to luncheon, as a girl sometimes will for a man 
 who is nothing to her. 
 
 Mark and Joey were waiting in the lower hall, 
 when she came down the stairs with Aunt Har- 
 riet leaning on her arm. 
 
 " Uncle Eli has gone in," said Joey, after greet- 
 ings had been exchanged. " I've arranged for this 
 chap to take the corner seat until after dinner; 
 then I suppose he'll have my place." 
 
 "Hear the hospitable ring in his voice!" ex- 
 claimed Mark, whose spirits seemed to rise as 
 Joey's fell.
 
 342 
 
 " Of course he dislikes to leave his uncle," re- 
 turned Eloise. 
 
 Joey acknowledged her championship with a 
 grateful glance. 
 
 "I'll look out for Uncle Eli," promised Mark, 
 and began at once to take the old man under his 
 genial patronage. 
 
 " What are you going to do this afternoon ?" 
 asked Joey in low tones of Eloise, while Uncle 
 Eli and his new cicerone entertained each other. 
 
 " By the way, Joey, your train goes at four," 
 called out Mark from the corner seat. 
 
 " I'm not going on that train," replied Joey, de- 
 fiantly, "I can't get ready." 
 
 " Oh, yes, you can. I'll pack for you," cried Mark. 
 " One good turn deserves another." 
 
 " And I have some other things to attend to," 
 said Joey, scowling. 
 
 " I'll attend to them," responded Mark, cordially. 
 " Mail your letters, deliver your messages every- 
 thing. You'll really have to go, Joey. I prom- 
 ised the Firm you'd be there, and ' they have such 
 faith in us both.' Uncle Eli will get along all 
 right with me." 
 
 "Yes, yes," urged the old man. "Don't stay 
 on my account. Mark will take care of me." 
 
 Joey sulkily submitted, and uttered his farewells 
 at the door of the dining-room. 
 
 "But I shall see you again in Chicago this win- 
 ter?" asked Eloise,with more than her usual friend- 
 liness, because of Mark's teasing.
 
 343 
 
 " I hope so," he answered, dejectedly, and fol- 
 lowed Mark upstairs. 
 
 " Sit down and write your letters while I pack 
 your trunk," urged the exasperating fellow. "I'll 
 deliver them. You know ' there's nothing like 
 a personal interview.' " 
 
 " Come, that's enough," growled Joey. " There's 
 no use in running a joke into the ground." 
 
 " Who said anything about a joke ?" inquired 
 Mark. " I'm in dead earnest and I half believe 
 you are." 
 
 Joey made no reply, but proceeded with his 
 packing, refusing all offers of assistance. 
 
 There was no time to spare. By the time the 
 trunks and bags were ready and the expressman 
 had been summoned, the suburban train for Bos- 
 ton was nearly due. They struck off across the 
 fields to the station, Uncle Eli and Aunt Harriet 
 waving them good-bye from the piazza. Eloise 
 had gone for a walk. 
 
 "There she is now," said Joey, pointing to the 
 high bluff by the shore,where a slender, graceful 
 figure stood outlined against the sky. Another 
 figure accompanied it. 
 
 " Who is that man?" inquired Mark, sharply. 
 
 "That is Miss Gordon's dearest friend," replied 
 Joey, with malicious satisfaction. "You've been 
 barking up the wrong tree, Mark. He's the one."
 
 XXXIV 
 
 WHAT Mark saw of Eloise Gordon and Dr. 
 Dow went to confirm Joey's statement. Hardly 
 a day passed without finding them together, and 
 so open was their preference, so frank their good- 
 fellowship, that they ceased to be considered by 
 the People in the House. The doctor's patients 
 also were privileged to make demands upon Miss 
 Gordon's time and sympathy. Mark met them 
 coming and going to and from the studio, pale, 
 hollow-eyed women and a dilapidated man or two. 
 He asked her if she was painting a Last Judg- 
 ment and if these were the "goats." She did 
 not frown, as he anticipated, but replied, good- 
 humoredly, that they were friends of hers. 
 
 "Then you do have friends who come to the 
 studio?" 
 
 " Why, yes ; do you want to come ?" she re- 
 turned. "You may, of course. Wait, I am fin- 
 ishing something I should like you to see ; wait 
 four days." 
 
 He waited impatiently. The days were long 
 and dull. There was little to do for Mr. Norton 
 except to talk of the Science ; when this became 
 a bore, Mark dodged. Then the old man went
 
 345 
 
 back to Miss Larrabee, the steamer-chairs, and 
 the umbrellas. 
 
 The rest of Point Carey resolved itself into a 
 nursery during the day, when the men had gone 
 to town, and into a ballroom at night, when they 
 returned. 
 
 The patrons of the place were chiefly well-to- 
 do, commonplace, young married people who en- 
 joyed themselves, each other, and their children, 
 to the utter disregard of unsympathetic bystand- 
 ers. Mark moped about the piazza with a novel 
 and a cigar, took long, solitary walks, and de- 
 cided that he had not bettered his material condi- 
 tion by stepping into Joe Norton's shoes. 
 
 Evenings were devoted to Miss Larrabee and 
 Mr. Norton, who believed a rubber of whist was 
 good to take at night. They always played to- 
 gether, and Mark played with Eloise. The silent 
 alliance, offensive and defensive, the pertinent 
 language of eye and hand, afforded opportunities 
 of a kind. He studied her face, the clear hazel 
 eyes, with their border of black lashes, the fine 
 arch of the brow, the delicate nose and firm, 
 sweet mouth. Once or twice he realized that she 
 was studying him. He had meant, when he came, 
 to explain his abrupt departure from Chicago, 
 but somehow the occasion seemed lacking. 
 
 The four days lengthened into eight, and still 
 he did not receive his summons to the studio. 
 
 " I believe that picture is a myth," he said, one 
 night, as she gathered up the cards and prepared
 
 346 
 
 to follow Miss Larrabee, " or else you do not mean 
 me to see it." 
 
 "It is not a myth," she answered, quickly, 
 " and I do want you to see it. Every day I have 
 thought I could send for you, and then I became 
 dissatisfied with my work and went back to it." 
 She paused and sighed. " Inspiration is so brief, 
 yet the following it out takes so long." She 
 moved towards the door. There was no one in 
 the parlor but themselves. 
 
 " Why are you in such a hurry ?" he asked. 
 "Sit down and talk to me." 
 
 She shook her head. "I must be at work 
 early ; the light is best then. Perhaps I can send 
 for you some time during the morning." 
 
 "I shall go back to Chicago if you don't," he 
 threatened. 
 
 He lingered about the piazza all the following 
 forenoon, and went to luncheon resolved to pack 
 the trunks and the steamer-chair and to start with 
 Uncle Eli without delay. Miss Gordon did not 
 appear. " I carried a glass of milk to the studio," 
 said Miss Larrabee ; " that was all she wanted." 
 
 Mark took his book and retired to a shady cor- 
 ner of the piazza. The Glenallan was very quiet. 
 The children and their mammas were taking af- 
 ternoon naps. There was no sound save the tink- 
 ling bell of the baker's cart and the far-off rumble 
 of the sea. 
 
 " Mr. Heffron," called an eager voice, " if you 
 will come now !" and Eloise herself stood before
 
 347 
 
 him, still in her brown Holland apron, and with 
 her fair hair in confusion about her heated cheeks. 
 She led him up the stairs to the attic room where 
 bars of yellow afternoon sunlight lay along the 
 floor. 
 
 " I couldn't stop until I finished it," she said. 
 
 Upon the easel lay a large canvas, familiar and 
 yet new, the scene of the wreck she had tried to 
 paint in Chicago. He looked at it long and ear- 
 nestly, and then he looked at her. 
 
 "I meant it this time," she said, softly. "I 
 have clung to the masts until my fingers were 
 stiff ; I have thrown that rope until my arm 
 ached ; I have fought those waves and feared and 
 dreaded them ; and I have shouted myself hoarse 
 over every man who came ashore." 
 
 The tears were rolling down her cheeks ; she 
 wiped them away with the dingy apron. 
 
 " I suppose I'm all paint and everything," she 
 exclaimed between a sob and a laugh, " but I 
 don't care. ' He that saveth his life shall lose it ' 
 in Art ; I've found that out." She took off the 
 apron and tossed it into a corner. "This is the 
 nearest approach I can make to a toilet," she 
 said, smoothing the folds of her light summer 
 gown. 
 
 " You seem to have found out a great many 
 things all at once," Mark returned, "methods and 
 material, yourself, and your fellow - beings. I 
 have fancied you were finding me out of late." 
 
 " I do understand you better than I did," she
 
 348 
 
 confessed, with a friendly glance. "I used to 
 think you laughed because you didn't care ; now 
 I know it is because you do, only " 
 
 "What is it? Go on," he urged. 
 
 "Oh, it is a shame!" she cried. "So few of us 
 can see any order, any solution of the problems, 
 and you do see ; but you won't assume the re- 
 sponsibility of it, or or the burden of your in- 
 fluence." She had folded her hands in her lap 
 and was regarding him earnestly. 
 
 " In other words, I am a coward and a shirk," 
 he said, with a look that pierced like a lance. 
 
 " You don't go far enough for that," she cried, 
 determined not to retreat. "You have no con- 
 victions to be untrue to." 
 
 " Thank God for that !" he exclaimed. " There 
 is nothing that limits like a conviction." 
 
 She did not reply, save by that direct, serious 
 gaze, yet all at once his manner changed. 
 
 "Eloise," he said, gravely, "it is myself that I 
 do not believe in. I need some one to believe in 
 me to make me believe in myself." 
 
 Still she made no answer, but sat and looked at 
 him until she saw nothing else, and he seemed far 
 away, his voice sounded indistinctly in her ears ; 
 but as he started to come towards her she 
 aroused. 
 
 " No, no," she cried ; " it is too late !" 
 
 " Why is it too late ?" he demanded. "Do you 
 think because you have felt this" pointing to the 
 picture, " that there is nothing more ? You have
 
 349 
 
 lived in only a part of yourself. You needn't go 
 into a convent because you have realized the bond 
 of brotherhood." 
 
 "I have no idea of going into a convent," she 
 answered, sore at his misinterpretation. 
 
 " Then it is that fanatic doctor," he exclaimed, 
 " with his deep-sea dredge, grubbing after refuse 
 and dragging it back into a world well rid of it. 
 Who is he, anyway, to play at being Providence 
 and interfere with the laws of nature ?" 
 
 "He is the first reality I have met," she an- 
 swered, on the defensive at once. " You and Mr. 
 Norton say fine things, but he does them. He 
 has helped me as much as he ever did the * refuse.' 
 You yourself did not care for me until he taught 
 me self-reliance and and charity. Whatever I 
 am I owe to him." She stood up, defying him, 
 and he brought all the batteries of his fierce desire 
 to bear upon her in vain; another man stood be- 
 tween them, a small, insignificant man, with haunt- 
 ing, helpful hands, and a voice with a note of 
 loneliness in its music. 
 
 "You are mistaken," he said, more gently. 
 " You had it in you ; circumstances would have 
 developed it. And I have cared all along. Why 
 else did I compare every one I met with you and feel 
 so uncomfortable when you were displeased, and 
 dump out poor Joey, neck and heels, that I might 
 have his place?" He was relaxing his gravity; at 
 sight of this her own increased. 
 
 "I am a special dispensation to keep you from
 
 850 
 
 Philistinism," he said, lightly. "You will bring 
 up in the Bible Society, doing borders for Sunday- 
 school books, if I don't save you." 
 
 "The responsibility is not yours now," she 
 answered, coldly. " It is mine." 
 
 " I believe you are right," he returned ; " it is 
 yours for both of us. You say I ought to be differ- 
 ent, to live up to my possibilities. Make me what 
 you choose." He was smiling at her as only Mark 
 could smile, and speaking pleadingly. His very 
 winsomeness told against him with her. 
 
 " Oh, that plausible tongue of yours !" she cried. 
 " It makes me distrust everything you say. I am 
 not the Eloise Gordon who believed in you. I 
 have got over that." 
 
 He turned to the picture with a sneer. "Those 
 things are so much easier to do with paint and 
 canvas," he said, mockingly. " In real life we look 
 out for ourselves and avoid disturbing emo- 
 tions." 
 
 He turned to go, then, looking back, saw some- 
 thing in her face which made him pause. 
 
 " You have not got over it ; you do care !" he 
 exclaimed, coming to her side. 
 
 " Did any one who once cared for you ever get 
 over it?" she returned, passionately ; then her will, 
 like a sword stroke, severed them. " I choose not 
 to care !" she said, proudly. 
 
 He bowed with silent dignity and left the room. 
 She heard his footsteps on the stairs and on the 
 gravel walk, and she saw him hurrying towards
 
 351 
 
 the shore, as if driven by the Spirit into the wilder- 
 ness. 
 
 The shadows were lengthening on the floor, and 
 the coolness of the breeze which came in at the 
 window told that night was near. Still the picture 
 on the easel stood out with insistent brightness, 
 whenever she looked that way. The reaction of 
 her joy in it had come upon her, hastened by the 
 storm in her breast, cheapening and distorting its 
 painted parody. 
 
 How much went into how little, after all ! The 
 experiences which were to make her a great artist, 
 the facing of facts, the telling herself truths about 
 them, the courage, the patience, were they not for 
 the sake of art, but just a mere matter of living ? 
 Was art to show what life is, not what it may be- 
 come? Then what is life's revenge, in terms of 
 art, upon a woman who kills her love because 
 of her pride, because of her fear, because of 
 her selfish protection of what may be value- 
 less? 
 
 The shadows had lengthened and deepened until 
 they filled the room. The velvety darkness smoth- 
 ered her. She covered herself with a cloak, and 
 swift and silent as a shadow slid down the ser- 
 vants' stairway and out of doors. 
 
 The night was gay with stars and there was a 
 brave young moon ; by their light she found her 
 way to the shore and hid herself among the rocks. 
 The sea came up almost to her feet, the unfathom- 
 able sea which she dreaded, the cold, remote, un-
 
 352 
 
 friendly sea which she hated ; but she listened to 
 it now. 
 
 " If I yield, then he will not care," she said 
 to it. " My power over him is in my resistance 
 to his power over me. How can I give without 
 giving, how can he have and not hold." 
 
 And the gray old sea told her the secret of Circe 
 and Calypso, who gave without giving, whom men 
 had but could not hold?" 
 
 " That is not what I mean," she replied. " There 
 must be another way, or Life is cruel. What is 
 Life's answer to the puzzle she offers ?" But the 
 sea went on with its purring and said no more, 
 for the sea is a pagan. 
 
 Helpless and empty and desolate, she looked up 
 into the sky, as human beings are wont to do, 
 when everything has failed below. A long cloud 
 lay like a roof above the horizon and under its 
 eaves hung a star. 
 
 At once everything changed ; she was in the 
 little room at the Lake View, with Aunt Harriet 
 breathing softly in the bed, and Mark Heffron 
 starting up to question her with his brilliant dark 
 eyes. 
 
 She was stronger than he, and he knew it. She 
 dared to be stronger, for her power was the power 
 of the universe. This, then, was the heart of the 
 mystery plucked out and held up before her ; the 
 mystery which men sought when they hollowed 
 their temples and crept into them, when they wor- 
 shipped the seed, the earth that produces and sus-
 
 353 
 
 tains ; the mystery which puts the apple of temp- 
 tation into the hand of Eve, and the babe of 
 redemption into the arms of Mary, and holds the 
 woman accountable for more than her own weak- 
 ness and lack of wisdom. 
 
 Hark, there were footsteps coming ! She heard 
 them above the rustling sound which told the wind 
 had found the few leaves on the shore ; and she 
 stood up, waiting. Slowly and heavily he came 
 on, not noticing her, for his head was down. 
 Suddenly he looked up. Her cloak fell off like 
 a calyx, and she blossomed before him, a lily, 
 slender, straight, and fair. 
 
 With a low, glad cry he sprang towards her, 
 then stopped and flung out both hands in eager 
 protestation. " Before God, I did not bring you 
 here !" he exclaimed. "This is not my doing." 
 
 " I know it," she answered ; " I choose to be 
 here." 
 
 There was no mistaking the meaning of her 
 words. A sudden sense of his own unworthiuess 
 smote him. 
 
 " Eloise," he said, humbly, " there are other 
 things. If that coat doesn't fit, there are others 
 which stick like the shirt of Nessus." 
 
 " I know," she said, gently. 
 
 " But you don't know," he returned, with a laugh 
 which was more grave than a sigh would have 
 been from him. "I have a devil, Eloise." 
 
 "Most people have," she answered, softly, "and 
 an angel, too." 
 
 23
 
 354 
 
 He drew nearer, and touched with remote rev- 
 erence a straying tress of her hair. 
 
 " Oh, you teaman/" he whispered. Even then the 
 image of another stood between them, the image 
 of him who had taught her what it was to be a 
 woman and how to win a man's love. She shivered 
 as one does when Fates and Destinies stand out 
 for the moment's recognition; 
 
 He lifted her heavy cloak and folded it around 
 her. "Come," he said, drawing her back into the 
 seat the rocks had shaped for them centuries ago ; 
 and the throbbing of their hearts, the rhythm of 
 the sea, and the silent march of the stars were all 
 one harmony. 
 
 " If this could be the end I" she murmured. 
 
 " There is no end," he answered, and laughed 
 again, daring whatever might come. " There are 
 no finalities, as there are no beginnings. I have 
 loved you always, even when I did not know it," 
 
 But she, nearer in her ignorance than he in his 
 wisdom to the unrevealed secret, only repeated^ 
 " If this could be the end !" 
 
 FINIS
 
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 PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OF JOAN OF ARC. 
 By the Sieur Louis DE CONTE (her page and secretary). 
 Freely translated out of the Ancient French into Modern 
 English from the Original Unpublished Manuscript in 
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 his careful studies of the manners and customs of the time, the 
 quaint architecture, and have flavor of the home-life of the 
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 fittingly supplement the text. 
 
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 A 000132216 3