. 
 
 
 fT IT"* f f A T%T* 
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 H&IEI'E ERMINIE 
 
 1 1 jn Ju IM i Jut i < i \ i i n ^i 1 1 
 
 R T V F <i 
 
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 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 J 

 
 As the Hart Panteth 
 
 BY 
 
 HALLIE ERMINIE RIVES 
 
 At'THOR OF 
 
 The Castaway, ," "Hearts Courageous" etc. 
 
 NEW YORK 
 THE NEW YORK BOOK CO.
 
 COFYWGHT, 1898, BV 
 
 G. W. DILLINGHAM COMPANY. 
 
 A* UU Har' Panittk
 
 f 5 _ 
 
 - 
 
 lUO 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 
 PAG* 
 
 THE CHILD . 
 
 / 
 
 THE GIRL 
 
 ..... IO4 
 
 THE WOMAN 
 
 143 
 
 2137919
 
 TO 
 
 A MEMORY.
 
 AS THE HART PANTETH. 
 
 THE CHILD. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 HE sat just outside the lofty doorway, that 
 opened between the bare hall and front veran 
 dah. The great white columns held a wild cle 
 matis vine, the leaves of which almost concealed 
 the bricks where the plaster had fallen off. Pres 
 ently a child came out with a violin in her hand. 
 She went up to him, and laying her full cheek 
 against his shrunken one, caressed him. Her 
 
 [7]
 
 8 As Tlie Hart Pantclh. 
 
 blue eyes that went black in an instant, from the 
 pupils' swift dilation, had the direct gaze of one 
 knowing nothing of the world and never fearing 
 to be misunderstood. She was slim yet strong; 
 her waving hair that fell softly about her face was 
 the color of sunburnt cornsilk, her skin ovalling 
 from it, smooth and white, like a bursting mag 
 nolia bud. 
 
 "Grandpa, I can play 'The Mocking Bird' for 
 you now." 
 
 "Play it, God's child; play it," Jie said. 
 
 As she leaned against the column and began 
 playing, his face, old and worn with many griefs, 
 seemed, for a moment, rejuvenated by the spirit 
 of his lost youth. His heart stirred strangely 
 within him, and he was minded of another slim, 
 little girl, who came down to the gate to meet 
 him when the day was done in the long ago. 
 She had the same glorious hair, and tender, fear 
 less eyes and love for him. But that was more 
 than forty years gone by and she was dead. 
 
 As the strains became fuller and sweeter, a
 
 As The Hart Panteth* 9 
 
 bird began twittering, trilling among the leaves, 
 imitating the sounds it heard. 
 
 "Listen. Do you hear that, Esther?" whisper 
 ing, as he searched for a sight of the singer. 
 "There it is. It's a mocking bird," he said, 
 pointing to the young thing, as the fluting 
 feathers on its throat stood out like the pipes of 
 an organ. Its song, accompanying the tune, 
 never ceased until the violin was tossed upon the 
 bench and the child was in the old man's arms. 
 
 "That was beautiful, beautiful!" His eyes were 
 filled with tears of enthusiasm that fell upon her 
 hair. 
 
 "Your mother used to play that, when she was 
 young." He spoke with the weight of profound 
 emotion, that glowed in his eyes, and quivered 
 on his lips. 
 
 "And did the bird sing with her?" a softer 
 look coming upon the childish face. 
 
 "I don't remember that it did, though she was 
 always a friend to the birds that built their nests 
 about us. She kept the boys from breaking them
 
 IO As The Hart Pantcth. 
 
 up or trapping them. Every spring they sang 
 here in the trees. They seemed to know that she 
 was looking after them. That must have been 
 what she was born for. She was always watching 
 over something or somebody." He swallowed 
 hard. "I can see her now, bending over her 
 work, late at night, stitching away, with her fin 
 gers on those gray clothes for the boys in the 
 army your Uncle Billy and your father." 
 
 "Was she little, then?" Esther inquired, while 
 with one hand she clasped his wrist, and with the 
 other stroked his brow. 
 
 "No. When the war broke out, she was just 
 about to be married to your father, who had been 
 appointed Captain under General Lee. She made 
 a coat for him and quilted money in the collar. 
 She had a way of doing things that nobody would 
 have thought of. You remind me of her." He 
 folded his hands across his stick and was silent 
 for a moment. "There is much about her life 
 that I want you to know, and bear in mind, now 
 that you are getting old enough to understand.
 
 As The Hcirt Panteth. 1 1 
 
 She had great hopes for you, for your music. 
 I've been thinking how proud she would be if she 
 could know that you had got along well enough 
 to be invited to play at the University on com 
 mencement night at that. I ask nothing higher 
 for you than that you make such a woman as 
 your mother." 
 
 They did not see the old negro, ragged to the 
 skin, coming around the corner of the house, car 
 rying his discolored straw hat in one hand and 
 mopping his face on a. faded cotton handker 
 chief.
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 ', Marse Hardin." 
 
 "Howdy, Sandy. Where did you come from? 
 I thought you'd gone clear out of the country, 
 for good." 
 
 "Nor sir, nor sir. You jes' let a nigger git a 
 taste of dis here spring water, and he's charmed, 
 conjured, he kyant stay away if he do go. But 
 I come back, dis time, to see my young marster 
 Marse Davy Pool." 
 
 "How is he to-day?" 
 
 "He daid. Dat's what I was sent to tell you. 
 Dey guinter bury him up at de old place." 
 
 "I am sorry to hear of his death, Sandy. He 
 was the best one of the boys." 
 
 "Dat's so, sir; 'tain't nobody guine to miss him 
 
 [I2J
 
 As The Hart Panteth. 13 
 
 like his mammy do. She's told me to ax you for 
 your hoss and buggy. She's afeared of the boys' 
 hosses, dey keep such wild uns. Marse Davy 
 sold his'n, dat was the onliest one she would ride 
 behind. She said she wanted Marse Hardin 
 Campbell's. It was so trusty and gentlelike." 
 
 "I was going to use it after dinner." Mr. 
 Campbell hesitated. 
 
 "Send rt on, grandpa. Send it on." Esther 
 saw the inquiring look her grandfather turned 
 upon her. "Something will turn up." 
 
 "Suppose it shouldn't; would you be disap 
 pointed?" he asked. 
 
 "I never count on being disappointed," she 
 responded, quickly. 
 
 "Ain't she some kin to Miss Mary Campbell?" 
 The negro's face lighted as he asked the ques 
 tion. 
 
 "That's her daughter, Miss Esther Powel." . 
 
 "It 'peared to me like I seed de favor in her 
 face. Ev'ybody loved your mammy, honey.
 
 14 As The Hart Pantetti. 
 
 'Twarn' nobody that didn't," he said, turning to 
 look again at Esther. 
 
 "The horse is in the pasture." Mr. Campbell 
 turned to the child. "Can't you run and show 
 him where the bridle is?" Bareheaded, she 
 bounded down the steps, and motioned to the old 
 negro to follow. She took the bridle and swung 
 it over his arm. "Mind the foot log, Uncle San 
 dy, the hand rail has been washed away. The 
 pasture is over the creek. There is Selam now, 
 under the sweet gum tree." She pointed. "You 
 will find the harness in the carriage house here." 
 
 She watched him go over the slope to the 
 creek, then stood gazing about her in childish 
 contemplation. It was nearly noon. The 
 shadow straightening in the doorway indicat 
 ed it. 
 
 Mr. Campbell looked and saw her. His heart 
 warmed toward her comeliness; moreover she 
 was sweet of nature and had a ready smile even 
 for those who had not been kind to her. Sudden 
 ly she disappeared in the direction of the carriage
 
 As The Hart Panteth. 15 
 
 house. She feared that her pony could not pull 
 the heavy vehicle that alone was left to take her 
 to the University. It taxed her strength to draw 
 the heavy bar from across the carriage house 
 door. She sprang backward, as she dropped it 
 upon the ground; then went in to examine the 
 carriage that had not been used since she was a 
 baby, almost fifteen years before. The clumsy 
 conveyance had small iron steps that let down 
 steps that her mother's child feet had pressed in 
 climbing to the seat. The wheels were so heavy 
 and cumbersome that she shook her head doubt 
 fully. The green satin lining was in shreds; the 
 worn leather seats covered with tufts of hair, 
 while here and there a dead leaf or twig was 
 tangled in its coarse mesh. It had required a 
 pair to draw it in those old days. She had for 
 gotten that. The tongue was held up in its posi 
 tion above by a girder in the loft. Esther gave 
 it a strong, hard pull; the tongue fell forward, 
 and as she skipped out of its path the lumbering 
 old carriage went rolling down the incline, and
 
 1 6 A s The Hart Panleth. 
 
 clouds of dust, as though indignant at being dis 
 turbed, sullenly rose and fell about her. 
 
 Old and dilapidated harness that hung down 
 from the walls swayed slowly in the general com 
 motion. Esther wiped the dust from her eyes and 
 drew a long breath, looking defiantly at the re 
 sult. She looked down. There, at her feet, lay 
 a bird, fluttering beside its fallen nest. Her face 
 lost its look of defiance. 
 
 "You poor, little thing," bending down and 
 cuddling it to the softness of her cheek. "Don't 
 die, please, don't die!" she said, in dismay. "It 
 will break my heart if I have killed you." With 
 tears streaming down her face she ran swiftly 
 to the house. 
 
 "Grandpa, do something for it," laying it in his 
 hand. "Can you save it? It's a mocking bird, 
 too. I shook it out of the carriage." 
 
 "They have nested there for years," he said as 
 i^e drew the wings gently through his fingers, 
 'They are not broken," he assured her.
 
 As The Hart Panteth. ij 
 
 "Are you sure it will live?" She was looking at 
 him with frightened eyes. 
 
 "Live? Yes; and have a nest and young ones 
 of its own next year. It is only stunned. Leave 
 it in the parlor where it will be safe from the 
 cats and it will be all right soon." 
 
 A faint rumbling noise broke in upon their 
 voices. They looked up to listen. It was like 
 the sound of a wagon rolling. "Put it away, 
 quick, and run to the creek to show them how to 
 cross the ford." They had kept close watch over 
 the passers since the winter hauling had cut deep 
 holes in the bed of the stream. It was a treacher 
 ous crossing. Closing the door upon her charge, 
 Esther ran through the garden, the nearest way. 
 She sped with the lithe agility of a young fawn, 
 and before the newcomer was fairly into the 
 stream she was there giving directions. The 
 mountain stream ran fleet between its low banks, 
 winding in haste through the valley. Tall syca 
 mores, sentinels in silver armor, stood beside it 
 on either hand.
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 MB. CAMPBELL stood watching. Very soon 
 the front gate opened and a boy came in, driving 
 two white mules, with red tassels on their bridle 
 bits. Amazement filled his eyes when he saw 
 that it was a wagon load of coffins, and on the 
 topmost one Esther sat smiling. As they drove 
 up near the door, he went out to help her down. 
 
 "Didn't I tell you something would turn up, 
 grandpa; this wagon is going right by the Uni 
 versity this evening." She threw her arms about 
 his neck; her laugh rang out in pure triumph. 
 "Hitch your team, young man; a boy will come 
 to take it out and feed it." When they saw 
 Esther again she was ready for her jaunt. Her 
 
 violin was in its case; her fresh white organdie 
 [18!
 
 As The Hart Panteth. 19 
 
 folded with as much care as she gave to any 
 thing duty and care were unknown to her. Her 
 visit to the University by such a conveyance 
 would be the extreme limit of indulgence, yet 
 she had no thought of being denied. 
 
 "I am ready," she announced at table. Mr. 
 Campbell burst into a laugh, half of annoyance, 
 yet touched with the ring of true amusement. 
 
 "I really believe you would go." 
 
 "I'd go on foot if necessary to keep my prom 
 ise," she answered quickly. 
 
 "How could the college folks know that Mr. 
 David Pool had to be buried to-day when they 
 printed my name on the programme?" 
 
 Watching her eyes, he caught their softness, 
 their innocence, and knew that her eagerness 
 was sincere. 
 
 "Let her go, Mr. Campbell, I'll take good 
 care of her." The boy was a Rudd. Although 
 he held a lowly position, he was not counted of 
 the common people. Mr. Campbell had the old 
 Virginia pride of race in him.
 
 20 As The Hart Pantetk. 
 
 "I know you would." 
 
 Esther looked steadily into his gray eyes and 
 saw a relenting twinkle. 
 
 "Am I going?" Turning to her with a quiet 
 smile: "Yes, you may go.' He could not see her 
 disappointed when her heart was so determined. 
 With a little cry of joy she brought her hands to 
 gether. "I wish you could come along, grandpa. 
 It will be such fun, and I wanted you to hear me 
 to-night" When the wagon came around Esther 
 was helped up with her case and bundle. Her 
 violin she held tenderly across her arm. Mr. 
 Campbell went with them to close the gate. 
 
 "Good-bye; you will be in for me to-morrow." 
 Leaning down, she embraced his head. "Be 
 sweet, God's child," he said, as they drove off. 
 Esther kissed her hand to him, as he stood by 
 the roadside looking after them. The cook, at 
 the kitchen door, waved her dish rag for a frantic 
 moment. The whirl of dust from the wheels 
 soon clouded the view. The old man turned,
 
 A s The Hart Panteth. 2 1 
 
 and went slowly back to the house with a misty; 
 smile over his features. 
 
 A quaint, pathetic figure that, of Hardin 
 Campbell, with his age, his poverty and the care 
 of this child. Here had once been planter life 
 in its carelessness and lavishness. It had been 
 the home of friend and neighbor and the hos 
 pitable shelter of the transient guest. All the 
 grand folk that came that way made this place 
 headquarters in the days when Mr. Campbell was 
 reckoned rich. But what he had lost in wealth 
 he had more than gained in pride, and the child 
 was brimming over with it. Generous, impetu 
 ous, enthusiastic, as she was, this wild young 
 creature of nature, unhindered, venturesome and 
 full of whims, would, he hoped, find pride her 
 safeguard. He did not believe in curbing her. 
 He guided, but did not limit her and tried to keep 
 from her all warping influences. This was the 
 way her mother had begun with her and he was 
 only continuing her way for a while it could 
 not be very long before he would have to resign
 
 22 As The Hart Panteth. 
 
 his charge. To whom he did not know and 
 could not bear to dwell upon the thought. 
 
 About the whole place there was evidence of 
 departed glory. In the great white buildings 
 which rose from the labyrinth of shrubbery like 
 grim ghosts of the past; in the rows of cabins, 
 formerly the dwellings of a horde of happy- 
 hearted negroes, everywhere was evidence of the 
 bygone prodigal days. The house, of colonial 
 style, with its series of tall columns standing 
 about the broad collonade, was partially screened 
 by the live oaks and was set some distance back 
 from the big road. These encircling columns 
 were built of brick, with a coating of plaster, 
 once as white as the teeth of Uncle Simon, the 
 plantation white-washer, who in former days 
 would put an immaculate dress on them regular 
 ly once a month by means of an elevated step- 
 ladder, but now Uncle Simon's labors were done. 
 The neglected columns were crumbling with age 
 and sadly splotched with the red of exposed 
 masonry. At one side of the verandah there
 
 As The Hart Panteth. 23 
 
 spread the delicate green of the star-jassamine, 
 with its miniature constellations flecking the 
 background. Through the vista, leading to the 
 house, from the big gate in front, flashed the 
 crimson of a flowering-pear in full blossom. The 
 blinds of the house that had once been green, 
 were now hanging from their hinges, weather- 
 stained, giving full view of a number of broken 
 window panes, in one of which, on the second 
 story, was perched a wren, whose energetic chat 
 tering over her nest hardby was the most decided 
 indication of active life. 
 
 In the rear of the buildings stretched the 
 cabins. To the right of them were the stables 
 and the carriage house, with its weather vane of 
 a flying steed on the top, but for years the most 
 vigorous gales had failed to spur this steed to 
 action and its tail, at one time proudly aflaunt 
 to the breeze, had yielded to time and rust, and, 
 like that of Tarn o' Shanter's mare, knew naught 
 of direction. There was the dreary stillness of 
 desolation over all things. But still a hospitable
 
 24 As The Hart Panteth. 
 
 glow was in the summer sunshine and shone as 
 well in the eyes of the old master. 
 
 Esther took off her hat when she got into the 
 depths of the woods and drew out her violin. "I 
 will amuse the boy," she thought, "if I play to 
 him," for she had tired of talking against the 
 rumbling of the wagon and its load. In his way, 
 he appreciated her motive, for now and again he 
 called back to her, awkwardly commending her, 
 and urging her to continue. Near the spring 
 they saw the negro washerwomen, with sleeves 
 rolled to their shining shoulders, bending over 
 their tubs; faded, limp skirts, bloused through 
 apron belts, and dangled about their bare legs. 
 A big wash kettle heaped with *vhite linen stood 
 to one side. Around it a fire was burning low 
 for want of fuel. 
 
 "O o h! Yo' Tagger, Tag-g-e-r; you'd bet 
 ter come on here, ef you know what's good for 
 you," called one of the women with a long, re-
 
 As The Hart Panteth. 25 
 
 sounding echo that drowned the answer of the 
 small voice that said he was on his way. A troop 
 of little niggers came to the roadside pulling a 
 wagon load of brush and bark gathered through 
 the woods. They looked back and spied Esther 
 on the coffins. With a wild yell the children, 
 load and all, tumbled over the embankment, 
 rolling over each other in the dust, screaming, 
 "Mammy! mammy!" at the top of their voices, 
 scrambling to their feet and running with might 
 and main down the road. As Esther drew up to 
 the wash-place, the little fellows were clinging 
 frantically to the knees of their mothers. 
 
 "It's a little ha'nt blowin' Gabel's trumpet. 
 Don't let it ketch me! don't let it ketch me!" 
 
 "In de name ob de Lawd!" said one of the 
 women, seeing what had caused the fright; "ain't 
 you all got de sense you was born wid? Don't 
 you know Miss Esther Powel, Marse Hardin's 
 granddaughter?" The eyes of the pickaninnies 
 were blinded by the wads of wet aprons they had 
 covered them with, and the sound of the wheels
 
 26 As The Hart Panteth. 
 
 filled them with terror. "Dry up!" The big 
 dripping hand pounded on their heads. "Scuse 
 'em, Miss Esther, you'd think dese youngun's 
 been fotch up wid wild injun's." 
 
 "Tagger," Esther called the boy, whose name, 
 Montague, she had been responsible for. "Don't 
 you know me? I played for you to dance a jig 
 for the young men who used to visit Will Curtis 
 before he died. You haven't forgotten that, have 
 you?" Hearing her familiar voice, he slowly 
 peeped out with scared eyes. 
 
 "You little monkey. Dip me some water 
 out of the spring." She saw a long, yellow 
 gourd hanging from a striped bough above their 
 heads. "I want a drink." He sprang up and 
 snatched the gourd, and before she could say 
 more, he was holding it up to her, standing on 
 his tiptoes, grinning, as the tears ran down and 
 stained his dusty face. 
 
 "I am going to play at the University to 
 night," she said, hanging back the gourd. 
 
 "You don' say? One of dem 'Varsity gem-
 
 As The Hart Panteth. 27 
 
 men's coming out to see Marse Will's folks next 
 week." Tagger's mother lived with the Curtises, 
 whose home was just beyond the spring. "I'll be 
 bound, you beat 'em all dar if you does play 
 to-night," she said when she saw they were leav 
 ing. 
 
 Bareheaded, Esther rode on, as long as the 
 shade was over them, tying on her hat only when 
 they got to the sunny way of the road. A man 
 plowing in a cornfield, looked up as he stopped 
 at the turn of the row. He gazed intently, rap 
 ping the line mechanically about his wrist. 
 
 "What is her grandpa thinking of?" seeing it 
 was Esther, whom he knew. "But she'd a gone 
 in spite of hell and high water." With this aloud 
 to himself, he drew his shirt sleeve across ihe 
 sweat on his brow and trudged back down the 
 row, relieved. 
 
 After two hours or more, through the heat, 
 Esther was glad when at last she could see the 
 end of her journey. The sunlight lay radiant up 
 on the stretch of country famed for this honored
 
 28 As The Hart Panteth. 
 
 institution of learning. Just before her, upon an 
 eminence, spread the University buildings, the 
 tall spires marking their profile on the sky. The 
 sun's rays shot up behind them its last warm 
 flashes. Its heat had already dampened Esther's 
 hair, deepening the red tint of its waves against 
 her temples. The campus was alive with stu 
 dents coming and going in every direction. The 
 tenor of the glee club, in his striped sweater of 
 the college colors, humming a popular air, 
 walked leisurely across to where one fellow was 
 sprawled on the ground, gazing at the wagon 
 with an amused curiosity on his handsome face. 
 
 "By Jupiter! that's a pretty child." The tenor 
 turned to look, as his friend spoke. 
 
 "Well, if that isn't a caper! Wonder where she 
 is bound?" Just then a pert freshman, standing 
 in a group, gave a college yell. Then there was 
 a chorus of rapturous cheers, in which most of 
 them joined. Before the noise had subsided, the 
 man on the grass had leaped to his feet, full of in 
 dignation, and dashed off toward the freshman.
 
 As The Hart Panteth. 29 
 
 "Silence! you fellows! Have you forgotten 
 yourselves?" A few hisses were mingled with 
 the applause that greeted him, but the freshman 
 was quick to say at his elbow: 
 
 "I didn't mean it for her." 
 
 "How could she know that?" He walked away 
 saying: "I'll wager there is something out of 
 the ordinary in that girl." 
 
 He was of the fiber that commanded the re 
 spect of men at a glance. 
 
 "Andrews always turns up at the right time, 
 you may count on that," said one of the students 
 as he watched him sauntering in the direction of 
 the wagon, his eyes following the child. She was 
 perched like a white winged bird of good omen 
 on a funeral pyre. Only a nature adventurous to 
 audacity would do such a thing as that. But he 
 loved daring personalities, strong motives and 
 even a misadventure, if it were a brave one.
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 GLENN ANDREWS was, by every gift of na 
 ture, a man. His sensitive, expressive face, his 
 brown eyes glowing with a light that seemed to 
 come from within, his clear and resolute bearing, 
 all gave evidence of his sterling qualities. All 
 through his college years he was known among 
 his fellows as a dreamer. His was one of those 
 aloof almost morbidly solitary natures, to 
 whom contact with the world would seem jarring 
 and out of key. The boys had nicknamed him 
 "Solitaire." He had a womanly delicacy in mor 
 als, his sense of honor was as clean and bright as 
 a soldier's sword. 
 
 Those who knew him well loved him, and all 
 [30]
 
 As The Hart Panteth. 31 
 
 of his school fellows sought for his notice, the 
 more, perhaps, because he gave it rarely. 
 
 Whenever he played with them, it was as one 
 who unconsciously granted a favor. He was 
 looked upon as a man who would be a sharer in 
 the talents of his race. This was his ambition. 
 He had strong literary tastes and was a serious 
 worker. 
 
 Often he champed at the bit through the slow 
 routine of college life the genius within him 
 thirsting for action like a spirited horse, just in 
 sound of the chase. 
 
 After the exercises that night, the pretty faces 
 and scent of roses filled the chapel with light and 
 fragrance. Everything was in warm confusion, 
 congratulations blended with tender farewells 
 and honest promises that youth was sure to 
 break. 
 
 Glenn Andrews, with the dignity that went 
 well with his cap and gown, was making his 
 way out. The tenor touched him on the shoul 
 der.
 
 32 As The Hart Panteth. 
 
 "What did you think of that violin solo?" 
 
 "Fine, my boy, fine! She played just before 
 my turn, and she must have been my inspiration, 
 for I was surprised to get the medal." 
 
 "I'm jolly glad you got it anyhow." 
 
 "Did you find out who she was?" 
 
 "Esther Powel. Her grandfather is a friend of 
 Professor Stark. He did it to give her a chance." 
 
 "Well she used it for all it was worth," said 
 Andrews.
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 ESTHER was standing by the rim of a clear 
 pool in the woods, gazing down into the water. 
 Her big hat was weighted with cockle blooms 
 that she had gathered in coming through the 
 wheat. In this natural mirror she could see that 
 a stem here was too long, another there was 
 turned the wrong way to look well. With both 
 hands to her head she was intent upon regulating 
 the effect to please her eye. Turning her head 
 first to one side, then another, she smiled at her 
 self, impulsive, always in motion, quick as a 
 wren. The water was so clear that one could see 
 the last year's leaves lying at its depths, It was 
 deep and sloped toward the center. Inverted at 
 would look like a mound where children are told 
 
 [33]
 
 34 <d s The Hart Panteth. 
 
 that Indians are buried, when the one can think 
 of no other excuse for its grave-like appearance. 
 This pool went by the name of "Indian Well." 
 Esther had no thought but that she was alone, 
 until she saw an image, a serious young face, re 
 flected there, with soft, brown beard and hair, 
 and deep eyes that wore a languid, meditating 
 look. He stooped and dipped his curved hand 
 into the surface and was raising it to his lips. 
 Suddenly, instinctively, she bounded to his side, 
 dashing the water from his hands before he could 
 drink. 
 
 ""Don't you know there is fever in it?" 
 
 For a moment he looked at her in wonder. 
 
 "The fever," he repeated, "what do you 
 mean?" 
 
 "The germs of typhoid I thought everybody 
 knew that." 
 
 "But you see I am not everybody," he an 
 swered, laughing. 
 
 She looked at every feature of his face. "But 
 didn't you feel like it the other night?"
 
 As The Hart Panteth. 35 
 
 This surprised him so that he had not made 
 an answer when she went on: "Everybody who 
 has died of typhoid fever around here drank 
 water out of 'Indian Well/ This is where they 
 got the germ." 
 
 "I was never here before. You are very good 
 to warn me." He looked at her and she seemed 
 so sweet and beautiful as she stood there, be 
 tween him and danger. Whether real or im 
 agined, her motive was the same. 
 
 "Is your home near by?" 
 
 "I live with my grandpa in the white house on 
 the road as you came up." 
 
 "I didn't come by the road; I came through 
 by the wood-path from the Curtises. I'm spend 
 ing the summer there. What a pity this lovely 
 spot is poisoned, I am sorry; I might see you 
 here again but for that. It makes a pretty tryst," 
 he said. 
 
 "Sorry? Why? You don't know me." 
 
 This pleased him. He had found a refreshing
 
 36 As The Hart Pantetli. 
 
 creature. At the outset he had thrilled at the 
 prospect 
 
 "Don't I? You played once where I had the 
 pleasure of hearing you. Your name is Esther 
 Esther Powel." 
 
 "Yes, and I have seen your face before I saw 
 it in the water. They called you 'Glenn An 
 drews' when they gave you the medal." 
 
 She slowly looked him over from head to 
 foot, and smiled as if in a trance of joy. It was 
 all so wonderful, so strange this hero's coming. 
 
 "But I am still ahead. You will never see me 
 win laurels again, perhaps, and I expect to hear 
 you play many times." 
 
 "Don't be sure. It's no use for me to play. 
 People don't seem to care whether they hear it 
 or not. I play for myself, because the sounds 
 from my violin seem to express what I feel." 
 
 "But suppose I care?" 
 
 "Then I will play for you sometime, if we 
 should meet again." 
 
 "When could I get in your way?"
 
 As The Hart Panteth. 37 
 
 'Most any time." 
 
 "Will you be home all summer?" 
 
 "Yes, and winter, too." She laughed at his 
 question. 
 
 "Let us sit down and rest a while together. I 
 want to talk over the pleasure that is in store for 
 me." 
 
 Little did he think as she agreed, and they sat 
 down on an old log, how much in later life and 
 amidst different scenes, he was to lament that cir 
 cumstance. "I have always loved the country. 
 It is so true, so beautiful; I love it from the bot 
 tom of my heart." 
 
 He lifted his face, drawing a deep breath; the 
 air was clean and sweet with the scent of grow 
 ing things. 
 
 "Everything is beautiful that's natural," she 
 said, touching the beflowered hat. I never even 
 wear 'bought' flowers, because they are only 
 make-believes. I hate anything that is not sure- 
 enough."
 
 38 As The Hart Panteth. 
 
 "It's a pretty idea. I wondered where you 
 found this." 
 
 "Just made it." 
 
 She seemed to have grasped a good deal for 
 her years. 
 
 "I see you have learned a way of your own 
 in your travels." 
 
 "Travels! I've never been out of this valley, 
 but I have grandpa and my mother and my 
 dreams." 
 
 "Your mother. I heard that your mother was 
 dead," he said, quietly. 
 
 "She isn't as long as I am living," was her 
 answer. 
 
 Glenn Andrews looked at her. There was wis 
 dom in the sentiment she expressed. All the 
 childishness had passed out of her face. 
 
 He hesitated, astonished. "I believe that, in a 
 sense," he said. "It is my theory of fulfillment. 
 What could spur us to higher destinies than the 
 belief that we were carrying out the hopes, the
 
 As The Hart Panteth. 39 
 
 aims of someone we loved perpetuating their 
 life through our own!" 
 
 "She wanted me to be a musician," Esther be 
 gan with a sudden dimness in her eyes. "She 
 was one until she had rheumatism in her arms. 
 I've strength and health to build on, something 
 she lacked. My mother was an invalid all her 
 life after I was born." 
 
 "Health is the most priceless gift in this 
 world." 
 
 For a time he forgot it was near the dinner 
 hour. He was caught by the witchery of the girl 
 and the place. 
 
 He had expected to find nothing here but soli 
 tude and shade. The adventure had been a de 
 lightful surprise to him. 
 
 As they got up from the log: "I shall expect 
 you to keep your promise about the music. Are 
 you going my way?" 
 
 "No; mine is the opposite direction. I will 
 play for you any time because you want to hear 
 me. Good-bye."
 
 4O As The Hart Panteth. 
 
 Glenn Andrews looked after her, as she went 
 her way. Here was a study a promise. All his 
 life he had loved growth. Anything in the course 
 of development delighted and inspired him. He 
 struck off up the path that wound out of the 
 woods into the field. 
 
 The scent of high summer was in the gold of 
 the wheat. Running his hands lightly over the 
 bearded sheaves he whistled an air that was to 
 recall neither the genius that wrote it nor the 
 hopes of his own work, but the face of Esther 
 Powel and the friendship thus begun, of which 
 he would never think lightly afterward.
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 THE Curtis home had an ample territory over 
 which extended eight large rooms and as many 
 half stories with dormer windows. The big mock 
 oranges locked antlers across the path that led 
 from the gate to the little square porch where 
 the wood bees droned in and out of the nests they 
 had bored in the wooden posts. 
 
 Mr. Curtis was a jovial man, round of face, 
 short of stature, and given to hospitality. He 
 had been all his days faithful to that laborious 
 outdoor occupation farming. In his old age 
 the prosperous impression that everything made 
 proved that he had filled his place to some ac 
 count. 
 
 Glenn Andrews, who had been his son's com- 
 
 [41]
 
 42 As The Hart Panteth. 
 
 rade in life, was an honored guest. His vacation, 
 usually spent in travel, had been claimed by the 
 lonely parents this time. He was promised all 
 manner of recreations and indulgences. They 
 hoped to send him back as hardy as an Indian, 
 his white face and hands bronzed as the leaves 
 in their turning. Broad hours and solitude. How 
 welcome they were to him! His place was sacred 
 in this house, and no one was allowed to disturb 
 or criticise him. He had set apart a few hours 
 each day for work. He could not devote all his 
 vacation to rest and pleasure. It was not his na 
 ture. A memory of his strange, lonely boyhood 
 came to him with vivid distinctness, and the ab 
 solute despair, he suffered at the possibility of 
 never being able to achieve greatness in the 
 world. He wanted to see good results in his life. 
 The whole intensity of his spirit was bent on that 
 one purpose. The world he would know, and the 
 men that live in it. His mind was full of daring 
 conceptions and ideals. 
 A wild grace permeated his personality, the
 
 As The Hart Panteth. 43 
 
 strong and delightful charm which was to make 
 him a conqueror. 
 
 That morning Glenn ate breakfast with the 
 family by lamplight. He went back to his win 
 dow afterwards and watched the sun rise. At 
 this season of the year the beauty of Virginia 
 was at its height. He delighted from the first 
 in the splendid scenery and moody weather. 
 
 A haze of purple mist was lifting slowly from 
 the mountains between whose heart the valleys 
 lay. The view was fresh with the lusty color of 
 midsummer. Exquisite perfumes, breath of 
 young corn and cut clover, came to him and grew 
 sharper and sweeter as the dawn opened wide. 
 In nature he could see the warm heart of life, 
 tender, strong and true. In the distance stretched 
 the wheat fields studded over with yellow shocks, 
 waiting for harvest-time. Later, as Glenn An 
 drews passed out on his way to the woods, he 
 saw the lengthening of the table, the unusual hur 
 ry among the servants, which was a sign that he 
 was to have dinner that day in a harvest home.
 
 44 As The Hart Panteth. 
 
 Wheat threshing time was on. This lover of the 
 sun, of long, wandering strolls, took the way he 
 had not been. It did not concern him much 
 which way he took to solitude. Wherever they 
 met they made friends he and solitude. They 
 were so much alike. Their sympathies were so 
 much akin. Both were full of deep nature, dig 
 nity and intense self-possession; they could not 
 but find comforting good-fellowship. With solitude 
 he could almost hear the voice of God, hear it 
 speaking, between him and his hopes. Returning, 
 he stopped at "Indian Well." A long time he sat 
 there, face to face with his own heart and brain. 
 He made notes at times in a small book, which 
 he kept always with him. The class poet and 
 editor of the college magazine had a right to drop 
 into rhyme whenever he felt like it, even though 
 the indulgence might never be known to the 
 world. Glenn Andrews took out his second cigar, 
 drew a whiff of its scent and put it back in his 
 pocket. In his self-denial there was the compensa 
 tion of looking forward. He smoked it that after-
 
 As The Hart Panteth. 45 
 
 noon over his work. The sun was striking aslant 
 and was not far from setting. Here was a broad 
 hint to hurry if he cared to see them harvesting. 
 The engine sent its shrill whistlingcall for "wheat" 
 as he leaned over the fence. Dressed in a hunt 
 ing suit of brown tweed with tan boots laced 
 from the ankle to the knee, his broad hat pulled 
 forward to shade his eyes, Glenn Andrews at 
 tracted notice. The field was alive with toilers 
 moving easily, swiftly, leaning in a hundred 
 graceful inclinations; some were loading their 
 wagons, lifting and loosening their shocks with 
 a thrust of their pitch-forks, others unloading 
 them beside the thresher, clipping the twine that 
 bound the bundles and making a moving bridge 
 of beaten gold as they fed it. The heated engi 
 neer, with his oil-can, stood at the head of the 
 monstrous steam horse that had never lost its 
 mysterious power to charm the negro. 
 
 Tagger often stopped to stare and wonder. 
 The machinery belt, smooth and glittering like 
 a broad satin ribbon, industriously turning on
 
 46 As The Hart Panteth. 
 
 great wheels, made him dance, barefooted over 
 the stubble, to the music of its motion. Little 
 imps, such as he, counted this day of the year a 
 holiday high above all others they had ever 
 known. 
 
 The mule that was driven with a long lasso un 
 der the straw as it fell had a half-dozen or more 
 children to pull every time it went to the stack. 
 In spite of the dust and the chaff that covered 
 their heads and half stifled them, they gave a wild 
 dart and leaped upon the heap as it was hauled 
 away. Sometimes the wind took a whirl and 
 cattered the straw, niggers and all broadcast 
 along the field. Glenn Andrews' heart beat 
 lightly, the air thrilled with sounds, the music 
 of the harvesters and the hum of the thresher. 
 There is nothing like life under the open heaven, 
 he knew. Glenn was a gypsy by nature. 
 
 "How is it turning out?" he asked, coming up 
 to Mr. Curtis, who was counting the loaded 
 wagons that were filled with sacks of wheat, start 
 ing off to be stored.
 
 As The Hart Panteth. 47 
 
 "Very good; the yield is something like six 
 teen bushels to the acre. I'll have about eighteen 
 hundred altogether." Glenn Andrews looked up 
 and saw a figure coming across the stubble 
 one that stood out in delicate relief, slimmer, 
 shapelier than the rest. She was all in white; 
 Mr. Curtis saw her, too. 
 
 "Here comes the fly-up-the-creek," he said. 
 "She looks like a hearse horse with all those 
 elder blooms on her head." His speech had no 
 touch of spitefulness. 
 
 "I like her way; she is as wild and lawless as 
 the wind, and as free." Glenn Andrews never 
 thought or spoke of Esther without defense. 
 
 "Yes, and as sprightly as they make 'em/' 
 Mr. Curtis began. "She never went to school a 
 day in her life. Her mother taught her, and 
 her grandpa reads to her. But play the fiddle 
 she can play it to beat the band. She just 
 took it up first. She could catch any tune. 
 A teacher came along about two years ago 
 who knew a little about the fiddle. Mr.
 
 48 As The Hart Panteth. 
 
 Campbell is very poor now. He let the lady 
 board with him to give Esther lessons while she 
 was teaching in the district. She would not prac 
 tice, they say, but you never saw anybody learn 
 like she did without it." 
 
 "What a pity she hasn't a chance to keep on." 
 
 "Yes, but she never will. The old man is fail 
 ing; I don't know what's to become of her when 
 he's gone. He worries over not being able to 
 give her a musical education. You'd never think 
 it, he is so quiet about it." 
 
 "Has she no near relatives who would take her 
 and help her to get a start?" 
 
 "Only one, a nephew of the old man, but he 
 married a plain, common woman. His mar 
 riage was a shock to the family. If his was made 
 in heaven, as some folks believe in, I say the Lord 
 had a grudge against him. He started out with 
 fine prospects, but he's had a lot of trouble. It 
 looks like some folks can't have anything but 
 trouble and children. He has a family of six. 
 He ain't more than thirty.
 
 As The Hart Panteth. 49 
 
 Glenn took a deep breath. 
 
 "With such a weight as that it is no wonder he 
 is sore. I wish the child did have some way to 
 escape such a future. With a talent like hers she 
 could rise above the minor cares. The world al 
 ready has enough ill-paid drudges." 
 
 With this he left Mr. Curtis to meet Esther. 
 
 "Can you show us anything prettier than this 
 in your cities?" she asked. Looking about her 
 she thought it made the hardiest, happiest scene 
 in the world. 
 
 "No, I could only show you something differ 
 ent new; to the average mind it is unaccus- 
 tomedness that charms. I like this because it 
 is new." The world he had known seemed im 
 measurably far off to them as they stood together 
 there. Everything about her touched him. Her 
 true, simple nature, her strong, pure devotion to 
 her own ideals. 
 
 "You haven't played for me yet." 
 
 As he heard the engine blowing off the steam,
 
 5O As Tke Hart Panteth. 
 
 he knew they were rounding up; its work was 
 done. 
 
 "No, and you didn't want to hear me as much' 
 as you made out; you forgot," she said. 
 
 "I would like to hear you this minute." 
 
 "Then come with me home." 
 
 "But look at me: my face my hands these 
 boots." 
 
 Esther looked at him quickly. "You are vain." 
 Slipping her hand in his, she gently pulled him a 
 little way. "Oh, come on, what do you suppose 
 I care about dust. We have soap and water." 
 
 He let her have her way, and allowed himself 
 to be led. 
 
 The sun hung low in the sky as they started 
 off, and was just dropping behind the mountains 
 when they reached the house. Faint zones of 
 pink and pearl flushed up, and everything was 
 quickened glorified by the softening light. 
 
 "I've got a picture in my scrap book that looks 
 like you." Esther stared Glenn Andrews full in 
 the face as she spoke. "It is a picture of Christ."
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 "I LIKE you in those high boots." Esther put 
 her foot on the tip of one of them as she spoke. 
 
 "It was not so much vanity, as respect for your 
 grandfather, that made me want to appear at my 
 best when I met him." 
 
 "You see, he didn't notice them. Why should 
 you care, anyhow, if I liked them." 
 
 There was a certain charm in her contempt for 
 risks and consequences. A waiter was brought 
 out clinking with glasses. 
 
 "This will not only prove your welcome, Mr. 
 Andrews, but aid your digestion as well," Mr. 
 Campbell said, as he came out of the hall to join 
 them. 
 
 Andrews filled his glass that yielded frag-
 
 52 As The Hart Panteth. 
 
 ranee and soft fire. He touched it to his lips. 
 "This is excellent. Is it some of your own 
 make?" 
 
 "The grapes came from my vineyard." 
 "I helped to make it I strained it," Esther 
 interrupted, "but I never tasted any in my life." 
 Mr. Campbell laid his hand on her head. 
 
 "This is to you to your art." Glenn An 
 drews motioned to her, lifted his glass and sipped 
 the wine, slowly realizing it was beautiful to 
 every sense. Esther stole into the parlor, and 
 was playing her violin before they knew it. They 
 followed her in. It was an old-time parlor with 
 black, carved furniture, a slender legged center 
 table, polished as smooth as a mirror, holding a 
 china vase of curious design, in which leaned 
 one long stemmed rose, as red as the wine that 
 had made their hearts large and soft. The walls 
 were almost hidden by family portraits that 
 reached from the ceiling to the floor, set in deep 
 tarnished gilt frames. The carpet had a shred of 
 tracery suggesting a design it might have been
 
 As The Hart Panteth. 53 
 
 only a shadow of gorgeous wreaths that had 
 been worn away by dear feet that had long gone 
 the whole faint impression still hallowed by 
 their tread. 
 
 Esther loved her violin irregularly. This was a 
 time when she really needed it. They went in 
 very quietly, hoping not to interrupt her. The 
 soft, tremulous tones that she had not meant to 
 give, showed that she was excited, unnerved. 
 Just as Glenn was about to utter an apology for 
 the confusion, his face became serious and silent. 
 He was peculiarly sensitive to the influence of 
 the violin. He was conscious of a dreamy exal 
 tation, and the awakening of a new enthusiasm. 
 The music had burst into a wild, passionate ten 
 derness, as though she was daringly investing all 
 her dreams with life-throbbing human life the 
 tone fairly voicing the longing of her soul. 
 
 It was infinitely touching, infinitely tender. A 
 quick flush went up to his forehead and died out 
 again, as the music trembled into stillness, and 
 she lowered the violin, exhausted.
 
 54 As The Hart Panteth. 
 
 "You must be very proud of her," Glenn 
 turned to the old man, "I think she has a fu 
 ture." 
 
 "She ought to have a chance for it," said Mr. 
 Campbell. A glance from Esther's flushed face 
 to the suddenly compressed lips of her grand 
 father made Glenn understand that that was as 
 near to complaint as he ever came. He might 
 have been impatient in his days of strength, but 
 on the coming of adversity this proud man had 
 learned to wait in silence. He seldom breathed a 
 syllable of the sorrow he bore on account of his 
 hands being tied. 
 
 "Practice is half the battle; you ought to 
 spend hours at it every day," Glenn said to Es 
 ther as she tossed her head. 
 
 "I don't ever expect to study under anyone 
 again. What's the use going half way when I 
 know I can never go the other half?" 
 
 "But you will if you only have belief in your 
 self." 
 
 Mr. Campbell was delighted as he listened.
 
 As The Hart Panteth. 55 
 
 Here was someone interested in his little girl. 
 He trusted a kindliness so genuine, an interest 
 so evidently sincere. 
 
 A child's soul is easily impressed, responsive 
 to the first panorama that passes before it. Mr. 
 Campbell hoped Glenn Andrews would come 
 again.
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 THE next few weeks for Esther were transi 
 tions between content and longing. The trees of 
 the woodland, that had been her playfellow, now 
 had a rival. Of Glenn Andrews she had made a 
 hero, a king. She regarded him as a being k> 
 inspire wonder and mystery. 
 
 His simplest word or gesture spoke directly to 
 the heart. 
 
 They took sweet wood rambles together. He 
 had already begun to realize that all solitary 
 pleasures were selfish. 
 
 He rather looked forward to their meetings, 
 although he did not let her think they meant 
 much to him. 
 
 "When do you want to see me again?" was 
 [56]
 
 As The Hart Panteth. 57 
 
 usually his parting question. If she said "to 
 morrow," he could not come until the next day, 
 or later. To her it seemed that he took a pride 
 in finding out when she most wanted to see him 
 only to stay away at that particular time. He 
 held himself aloof gave her room to expand. 
 Hers was a nature artistic to a painful degree 
 a nature nobly expansive. 
 
 But within the limit of the country, amid en 
 tirely commonplace people, her power of artistic 
 perception had been of little value rather a bur 
 den than a delight. 
 
 One day, after she had urged Glenn Andrews 
 to go with her to where they would have a pretty 
 view of a mountain waterfall, he had refused, and 
 she had gone alone. It was a long stroll, but she 
 was thirsting to see it. She resented his refusal, 
 and so had gone alone. Glenn watched her out 
 of sight, then went back to his writing. He was 
 doing some of his strongest and most vigorous 
 work. 
 
 Esther reached the mountain side, and stood a
 
 58 As The Hart Panteth. 
 
 little way back to keep the spray from wetting 
 her dress. The breath of it was refreshing. She 
 took a pride in the mighty roar of the falls. 
 
 Its voice sounded so strong, so real. Its com 
 manding majesty held her. She repeated a name, 
 its echo was drowned. Flowers, ferns, great 
 rocks, everything in its track was treated to the 
 same reckless inconsideration. Only the mist 
 rose higher and higher as though it would regain 
 the height it Lost when the waters made the 
 mighty leap, and dashed its very heart to pieces 
 on the stones below. . 
 
 How she gloried in the daring of the mist. It 
 was so light, and thin, and quiet, but in its very 
 silence there seemed to be strength. 
 
 It was gaining slowly, but she cheered it as she 
 saw it ascending, her eyes gleaming with ex 
 citement as she watched it. "I know you'd like 
 to slide down the falls." A hand was laid upon 
 her shoulder. 
 
 "I'd rather go up with the mist," she answered
 
 As The Hart Panteth. 59 
 
 Glenn Andrews, as thongh she was neither sur 
 prised nor pleased by his sudden arrival. 
 
 "I got through my work earlier than I ex 
 pected," he began. "When they told me how far 
 it was, I thought it would be too late for you to 
 come home alone." 
 
 If he expected her to thank him for the con 
 sideration, he was disappointed. The wind that 
 the falls generated had blown some of the waves 
 of her hair across her face. She carelessly 
 brushed it back with her hands. A strand of re 
 bellious hair, that seemed unmanageable, she 
 pulled out and threw away. 
 
 "Stop that." Glenn tapped her fingers lightly. 
 "Haven't I told you not to do that? It's a crime 
 to ill use such hair as yours." 
 
 Esther obeyed him, but could not resist the 
 impulse to say: "You may look like Christ, but 
 you can act like the devil." 
 
 She saw him drop his head and walk a few 
 steps away.
 
 60 As The Hart Panteth. 
 
 "You might as well have come on with me if 
 you were coming anyhow." 
 
 He did not look at her. 
 
 "I told you I would come, if you would wait 
 until to-morrow. It was a poem for you I wanted 
 to finish." 
 
 Esther went to his side, penitent; the act had 
 lost its sharp outlines to her. 
 
 "The words that you said someone would set 
 to music for me?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Let me see them, won't you?" 
 
 "Certainly not." 
 
 "Oh, do; I'm wild to read them." Her eyes 
 lost their unconcern as she pleaded. 
 
 "You know I am in earnest when I say that 
 you will not have that pleasure. What's the use 
 teasing?** 
 
 He was drumming on a rock with his boot 
 heel, as he leaned against a shrub. The stream 
 that caught the waterfall laughed and lathered 
 over its rocks as it flowed beside them. They
 
 As The Hart Panteth. 6 1 
 
 were of the most delicate tintings, pale lavenders, 
 green, and pink and blue. Glenn Andrews was 
 gazing at them. 
 
 "Did you ever see such pretty shades as the 
 rocks of mountain regions take on? I've often 
 wondered what caused their coloring." 
 
 With an aggrieved air, Esther allowed the 
 drift of interest to turn at his bidding. 
 
 "I supposed rocks were alike the world over." 
 
 "That's because you only know your own 
 beautiful ones; some day you'll see the ugly ones; 
 then you needn't bother to wonder what made 
 them so. Just kick them out of the way and 
 forget them." 
 
 "Is that what you do?" 
 
 "Yes, when they are not too big for me." 
 
 "I don't like the hurt, when I stump my toe on 
 these pretty ones. It teaches me to go around 
 all I can. The jagged ones that I meet some 
 day needn't think of being disturbed, if I can get 
 around them."
 
 62 As The Hart Pantcth. 
 
 "But sometimes they block the road, what 
 then?" 
 
 "I'd get somebody to help me over." 
 
 "I hope you will have that good luck all your 
 days, Esther." 
 
 Glenn Andrews' voice had a minor sweetness. 
 The thought of contrasting her vagrant child 
 hood with the world she must one day know, 
 was singularly pathetic to him. 
 
 Stooping, he picked up a rock and cast it across 
 the waters. 
 
 "Yes," she said; "I was always lucky, that's 
 how grandpa came to call me 'God's child.' " 
 
 "We'd better go now; it must be a good three 
 mile walk." Glenn Andrews took particular 
 care to note her mood as they went along, the 
 wild charm of her unstudied grace, the vibrating 
 delight of life. How much happier she was than 
 if she had had her way.
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 IT was the next Saturday before Glenn went 
 again to see Esther. Mr. Campbell entertained 
 him on the verandah. He sat some time, expect 
 ing every minute to see Esther come bounding 
 out. Her grandfather looked so worn when he 
 came that Glenn felt it a sort of imposition to al 
 low -him to talk long. Although their topic was 
 of deep interest, his shriveled features seemed to 
 smooth out as Glenn told him how rapidly Esther 
 had advanced that summer. 
 
 "It is remarkable," he said, "how she can take 
 a piece and master it by herself. What she most 
 needs is encouragement; some one to keep her 
 interested and stimulated." 
 
 "I had hoped to let her have lessons under the 
 6 [63]
 
 64 As The Hart Panteth. 
 
 professor at the University this year. It had 
 been my calculation a long time until she was 
 taken sick with fever. The haggard look came 
 back to his face. The doctor fears it will go into 
 typhoid." 
 
 "You don't mean that Esther is sick now?" 
 Glenn stammered. 
 
 "She took to her bed the same evening she 
 came back from the falls and hasn't been up 
 since." 
 
 "I didn't know a word of it. I should have 
 been over if I had known. I should have come 
 at once to see if I could do anything to help either 
 of you." 
 
 Glenn's steady mouth trembled. A tumult of 
 memories crowded upon him. He thought of 
 the Indian Well, where their lives first came to 
 gether. Suppose she had breathed in the germs 
 that day when she tried to protect him. 
 
 "Let me stay and help you nurse her, Mr. 
 Campbell, "you look tired and need rest. I am 
 so strong and I have no ties to call me away."
 
 As The Hart Panteth. 65 
 
 "You are very kind;" the rest was left un 
 spoken, for a hand was laid on his arm. Mr. 
 Campbell made his expression excuse his ab 
 sence as he turned and followed the negro girl. 
 
 Presently when he came back Glenn got up 
 hastily. 
 
 "Is she worse?" 
 
 "No, she wanted to know if it was not your 
 voice that she heard." 
 
 "May I see her, if it is not asking too much?" 
 
 His face was full of sorrow as the old man 
 bowed and led the way. "She wanted to see 
 you." 
 
 Esther's eyes were closed ; her head lay deep in 
 the pillow, the waves of her hair flowing back 
 from the whiteness of her face. "Esther," he 
 whispered very softly. She opened her eyes and 
 her lips broke in a smile. He held out both 
 hands toward her and caught hers in their double 
 grasp, looking down in her face. 
 
 "How are you? I didn't know until this min-
 
 66 As The Hart Panteth. 
 
 ute that you were not well. I came to take you 
 to the one place we've never been," he told her. 
 
 "I thought maybe you had come to help me 
 over the rock." She smiled faintly. 
 
 "Well, be very quiet; don't worry about any 
 thing; we'll do all that for you. You know you 
 promised to play the piece you learned last week 
 for me. Let's see, it was to be at the spring; that 
 was as close as we dared venture to Indian Well, 
 where we met." 
 
 "Don't give me out." Her voice was weak 
 and low. "I expect to do that for your farewell; 
 you must get back to college in time." 
 
 "How do you know but that I had rather be 
 detained; don't run any risk." This seemed to 
 please her. 
 
 "Is this better than the other life the life 
 among your friends?" 
 
 "This is sweeter, for I am looking forward to 
 a lifetime with the world." She smiled and 
 turned her head to rest it from the one position 
 she had kept too long.
 
 As The Hart Panteth. 67 
 
 "It will be a year before the world can get you; 
 I am glad you have decided to take another de 
 gree, although you seem to know enough al 
 ready." 
 
 "I know enough to realize just how little I do 
 know, but the special course along lines that I 
 am going to make my lifework is all that I shall 
 try to master yet. Everything has its turns; I'll 
 learn it all in time, I hope." 
 
 "And then you'll be great." 
 
 "More likely dead." 
 
 "Most great people are." Her lips suddenly 
 quivered. 
 
 "You take it slow. I couldn't bear to think 
 of your dying." 
 
 "You are talking too much now. You and 
 your grandpa take a rest. You both need it." 
 
 "He must be tired after five nights and days, 
 but you are company. We can't both leave you 
 at once." 
 
 "I'll play host now; go to sleep. I'll be with 
 you all the time."
 
 68 As The Hart Panteth. 
 
 "Grandpa, lie down over there on the lounge." 
 
 When he had humored her she cuddled down 
 contentedly and went to sleep. 
 
 With a ministering tenderntess, Glenn kept 
 watch over her. 
 
 Typhoid fever was full of terrors to him. He 
 hoped that her fever was only due to the cold 
 she had taken at the falls. 
 
 It was very penetrating. He had ached a little 
 afterward and thought it was from being saturat 
 ed with the dampness that day. Suppose the 
 fear in her case was true. All that beautful hair 
 would have to be shaved off. He jealously re 
 sented this, caressing her hair as he looked at it. 
 The doctor came later and said her condition was 
 better and that she would be out in a few days. 
 
 Glenn drew a breath of relief. He would stay 
 during those few days.
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 SWINGING her violin case by the handle, Es 
 ther started off through the cornfield, stopping 
 now and again to pull a spray of morning glories 
 that wreathed around the stalks to the tips of 
 their tassels. By the time she got in sight of the 
 Curtis house there were many of these branches 
 trailing over her. It was still early. The heavy 
 dew had dampened the dust on her shoes. She 
 tried to brush it off with the leaves she had gath 
 ered, then bunching the blossoms of bright color 
 together she fastened them on her breast. 
 
 Just as she walked up Tagger was seated on 
 the steps of the back porch, getting Glenn An 
 drews' boots in order for him. "Let me have the 
 brush a minute." Esther took the brush, leaned 
 
 [69]
 
 70 As The Hart Pantcth. 
 
 over and cleaned the mud off of her own shoes. 
 Then she took up one of the boots and began to 
 polish it. A thrill of delight leaped through herat 
 the thought. She was working for him. When 
 she put it down the boot looked fresher and glos 
 sier than it could ever look under Tagger's care. 
 There was a sniffling sound and Esther looked 
 behind her. Tagger stood scouring in his eyes 
 with his shining fists, his small body quivering 
 with sobs. 
 
 "What's the matter with you?" 
 
 "You'll git my money," he said through his 
 gasps. 
 
 "Well, for heaven's sake! you little scamp, I 
 don't want your nickel." 
 
 "Tain't no nickel," he blurted out. "He gim 
 me a quarter for turnin' de cartwheel and stand- 
 in' on my head. Dat warn't work; dat was play." 
 
 Esther's voice echoed through the halls. 
 When she stopped laughing, she said: "You poor 
 little mite, I hope he will give you the half of his
 
 As The Hart Panteth. 71 
 
 kingdom. Here, take the brush and earn your 
 fortune." 
 
 As Tagger took up the other boot, to finish it, 
 Esther unclasped the bunch of morning glories 
 and tied them at the top of the one she had pol 
 ished. Seeing nothing of Glenn, and passing a 
 word with Mrs. Curtis who was busy in the din 
 ing room, she went out to the flower garden. 
 About her in riotous health and beauty grew 
 flowers that gave no evidence of care. There 
 was a suggestion of wilfulness everywhere. The 
 sun had not been up long. It was splashing its 
 rays in the face of the great, slumbering moun 
 tains like spray on the face of a sluggard. Glenn 
 walked up behind Esther as she bent over a white 
 rosebush in the heyday of its blooming. 
 
 "You did not waste time waiting for me. 
 This is worth seeing. Don't you think so?" 
 
 As her face raised to his, how pure and radiant 
 it looked. The purity was heightened by the 
 flush. 
 
 "Oh, if I could only do to them as I want to."
 
 72 As The Hart Panteth. 
 
 She stretched her arms and brought them togeth 
 er with a sigh. "I'd like to hold them close and 
 love them as hard as I could; then I'd be satis 
 fied." 
 
 "You'd crush them, break their stems and pay 
 the penalty of indulgence by pricking those arms 
 of yours by the wretched little briars hidden un 
 der the beauty that you would spoil," he said, 
 sharply. 
 
 He wanted her to see a lesson in this. 
 
 "That's the way with life," he said, watching 
 her break off one of the buds which she put in 
 his coat. 
 
 "Come on. You have got enough. I must 
 leave by two o'clock." 
 
 "I've been ready longer than you my violin 
 is on the porch. We can go by there to get it." 
 
 At the start Glenn saw that Esther looked very 
 radiant, but suddenly the look of exaltation faded 
 from her face. He did not understand her mood. 
 
 Generally she enjoyed what he recalled to her, 
 visible or invisible, with the most exquisite feel-
 
 As The Hart Panteth* 73 
 
 ing. He dearly loved that trait in her. This 
 was not one of her receptive moods. She did 
 not seem to know when they got to the spring. 
 
 He indulged in an indolent sprawl upon the 
 grass, and she dropped down on the roots of a 
 tree by his side. He was an ideal lounger. That 
 was sufficient contentment for awhile. He was 
 trying to think it out without asking her. 
 
 "What's the matter?" he said at last. "Have I 
 hurt you displeased you?" That passive gen 
 tleness of manner was rarely changed. "Won't 
 you tell me?" He placed his hand softly over 
 hers that lay on the ground. Her lashes, deli 
 cate in their tinting, beat together, struggling to 
 catch the tears that tri^d to overflow. She pulled 
 away her hand and started to rise. The child's 
 heart was almost breaking and the rebellious 
 tears that came, hot and fast, were dashed away 
 by little, mad hands. 
 
 "Oh, Esther, have I hurt you? Don't, don't! 
 I'd rather you would strike me anything but 
 that." He sprang to his feet and bent over her.
 
 74 As The Hart Panteth. 
 
 "Are you disappointed in me. Have you found 
 too many flaws? Is it because I must go away?" 
 His soft, sad eyes regarded her uneasily. "If I 
 am the cause, haven't I a right to know?" 
 
 "You oughtn't to have to be told," she said, 
 with shamed frankness, when she could com 
 mand her voice. 
 
 "If I had meant to, I wouldn't; that is my justi 
 fication." 
 
 He touched her hair. "Come, this isn't you 
 I always liked that straightforward way of yours. 
 Don't spoil our last day. Tell me, what's the 
 matter?" 
 
 "That's what stings you not only thought 
 little enough of them to throw them away; you 
 forgot it." 
 
 There was a complaining note in her voice. 
 It was less anger than grief she felt. Her head 
 had the plaintive droop of a spoiled child asking 
 consolation. 
 
 "Do you mean the flowers on my boot; is 
 that all?" Slipping one hand in his pocket and
 
 As The Hart Panteth. 75 
 
 pulling out a few, bruised, draggled morning 
 glories. An expression of joy flashed over her 
 wet face. A faint, amused gleam shot into his 
 serious eyes. 
 
 "Tagger used them for a handle, and I thought 
 their condition decided in favor of pressing 
 rather than wearing. I saved the pieces you see." 
 
 "They were all the color of my dreams I 
 couldn't help but think that was the way they 
 would go some day." 
 
 "If I can help it, they won't." 
 
 Taking out a notebook he dropped the flowers 
 between its leaves. Her girlish illusions were 
 dear to him. He wouldn't destroy one of them. 
 
 "Here, let me get your violin. Play for me, 
 while I smoke." 
 
 She took it from him, and he began smoking, 
 as she played for him the piece he had asked 
 her to learn. He could see the confidence she 
 had gained in herself. Patience was all that she 
 lacked.
 
 76 As The Hart Pantelh. 
 
 "There is yet another one I want you to learn 
 for me." 
 
 "What's the use? I may never see you again. I 
 don't know that I'll worry with it" 
 
 The thought of his going away met with re 
 sentment in her. She did not like to picture life 
 with his companionship withdrawn. 
 
 "Fiddledee humbug 1 I expect to see you 
 again lots of times. Maybe I'll spend Christmas 
 day with the Curtises. I might come over awhile 
 at that time if you would ask me. I am not going 
 home just for a day. New York State is too far." 
 
 "I couldn't divide you, I want the whole day 
 or nothing." Esther leaned her elbow on the 
 violin case. 
 
 "I remember the first time I was ever offered 
 a piece of a whole thing. I was a very little girl. 
 I had a china plate that I always used at my place 
 at table, and one day a boy broke it in halves 
 and mended it. It had tiny green dots shaped 
 like a fence row around it, and I noticed one 
 place where the dots didn't fit, and then I saw
 
 As The Hart Panteth. 77 
 
 where they had pasted it together. A little chip 
 of it was gone. It nearly broke my heart. They 
 all said it was as good as new, but they couldn't 
 make me see it in that way. What do you sup 
 pose I did?" 
 
 "There is no telling." 
 
 "It had been the pride of my life, but I took 
 that plate out, and broke it in pieces and strewed 
 them down the road to cut his feet when he came 
 by from school." 
 
 "Suppose the feet of others had got the pun 
 ishment?" 
 
 "I wasn't old enough to reason that out then." 
 
 "Some people would have been sore enough 
 and revengeful enough not to care if they had. I 
 have known such instances, but I can understand 
 that your plate would never be the same to you 
 with a part of it gone. I don't like anything in 
 complete myself." 
 
 "Give me the whole day I want you all the 
 time."
 
 78 As The Hart Pantetk. 
 
 "If you will promise me to learn every piece of 
 music that I ask you to, I will." 
 
 "You haven't told the Curtises yet that you 
 were coming?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Well," her voice was merry, "that's a bar 
 gain." 
 
 Glenn Andrews looked at his watch. 
 
 "Great Scott! ten minutes to two. I must go." 
 
 They stood for a moment hand in hand. Not 
 a sound could be heard save the water lisping in 
 the spring. He touched her hair. "Beautiful 
 hair!" he half whispered. "If it had been cut 
 off, when you came so near having the fever, I 
 should have asked you to give me a curl." 
 
 His veins throbbed with tenderness between 
 these two there was a tie nearer than blood the 
 tie of comradeship. One couldn't think of rela 
 tions more subtle or pure. 
 
 "Give me your knife," she said. 
 
 Glenn raised her face, touching her chin gently 
 with the tips of his fingers.
 
 As The Hart Panteth. 79 
 
 "No, no," he said. "It is much prettier where 
 it is. I wouldn't let you cut one off." 
 
 She turned and closed her violin case with a 
 snap.
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 WHEN he had gone, Esther went back to the 
 woods. The thought of his coming with the 
 Christinas time kept her nature alive and glow 
 ing. Her interest in music became more absorb 
 ing than ever. She practiced for hours at a 
 stretch. This exceptional interest was a triumph 
 that had given the old grandfather a steadier 
 balance of mind, when during these years he 
 had tried to fill her mother's place, nurturing, 
 encouraging the possibilities that lay in this 
 young soul, ennobling, inspiring a deeper mean 
 ing to life. Glenn Andrews had helped him. He 
 appreciated that. They saw him occasionally 
 when they went in to her lessons. Esther seemed 
 
 to realize that Mr. Campbell was making a sacri- 
 [80]
 
 As The Hart Panteth. 8 1 
 
 fice for her sake and every week the professor 
 could see the forward step she had made. 
 
 The college monthly same to her regularly 
 now. It always had poems or stories by Glenn 
 Andrews. All these she preserved. There was a 
 sort of reverence in her care of them. They 
 were a part of him his creations. In the satis 
 faction derived from them, she became more im 
 patient as to her own imperfections. The ripe, 
 rich beauty of autumn trailed by in all its glory 
 without the love it once had from her. Her 
 walks became less frequent. She felt a relief 
 when the snow first fell. Snow always suggested 
 Christmas. She kept such close watch that the 
 calendar was not needed to tell her when it was 
 near. In the innocence of her heart, she pic 
 tured Glenn Andrews watching the hours go by 
 with the same impetuous eagerness he who had 
 gone back to his old solitary life, as though noth- 
 had dropped in for a moment to change it. 
 
 It was Christmas. A light snow lay over the 
 valley.
 
 82 As The Hart Pantet/i. 
 
 Esther wrapped a hood close about her head 
 and walked back and forth on the verandah. A 
 low wind among the white boughs made a lullaby 
 for her longing. 
 
 The nearer the realization, the more impatient 
 she grew. 
 
 At last the sound of wheels, and the brisk step 
 ping of horses charmed her heart he was com 
 ing. She heard the sound of his voice as there 
 was a halt at the gate. 
 
 "Oh, it's you, is it, Mr. Glenn?" 
 
 "Who else did you expect?" asked Glenn An 
 drews, stretching out his hand cordially to greet 
 her, enjoying the dignity she tried to assume. He 
 had speculated as to how she would meet him. 
 
 The fire roaring up the wide chimney was 
 sweeter than music to him. It had been a cold 
 ride. They were so glad to see him, Glenn 
 thought it was the next best thing to going home. 
 
 "Get up close and warm yourself." Esther 
 shivered at the thought of his being cold. 
 
 "Let me have your coat, Mr. Glenn."
 
 As The Hart Panteth. 83 
 
 "No, it's too heavy; I'll lay it over here." Fold 
 ing it he threw it across a divan and drew his 
 chair up to the fire. 
 
 Esther leaned on the edge of the mantle, look 
 ing at him. The wind had blown in her hair, it 
 lashed about her face, and with the old careless 
 gesture she tossed it back, impatiently 
 
 "Have you been pulling that hair out again?" 
 said Glenn, with a sort of proprietary right. 
 
 "No, but I've been cutting it off." 
 
 "You haven't!" These words held the heat of 
 indignation. 
 
 "If you don't believe it, I'll prove it." 
 
 She stepped over to him as she drew something 
 fr-om her belt and pressed it in his hand. 
 
 "You know Christmas never came to you from 
 me before." Just at that minute Mr. Campbell 
 came in. He settled himself in his own rocking 
 chair with a sigh of relief, as though he were 
 hypnotized by the warmth of the room. He 
 talked on and on, selecting topics upon which 
 neither seemed to have an idea. Esther had
 
 84 As Tke Hart Panteth. 
 
 made her a lot of pillows out of some 
 old silk dresses of quaint patterns, and as she sat 
 amongst them, she was almost afraid to breathe 
 lest she split them. They smelled very strongly 
 of tobacco, having been so long packed away 
 in its leaves. 
 
 Glenn Andrews felt something soft and slim 
 between his fingers, but it puzzled him to know 
 what the texture was. He was restless with curi 
 osity. 
 
 Esther enjoyed his perplexity with quiet 
 amusement, and was sorry when after a great 
 while her grandfather thought out for himself 
 that young folks enjoyed themselves better alone. 
 
 Glenn turned slyly to see him close the door 
 after him. 
 
 It was very interesting, this expectancy; he felt 
 something as he did when a child he had lain 
 awake all night waiting for Santa Claus to come. 
 
 His heart would leap with impatience at every 
 sound. The old chimney, drawing its heated 
 breath to keep his little body warm, had added
 
 As T/ie Hart Panteth. 85 
 
 to his irritation. It seemed to him that the wind 
 could cut more antics then than a circus pony 
 cavorting for his feed. 
 
 In its sound he constantly fancied he could 
 hear the coming of that old false ideal that had 
 been the first to fall, but it had not fallen until 
 many a little prayer had been answered and 
 many a young dream been realized. Such ideals 
 leave their imprint upon the mind. The memory 
 of the joy it gave softens and purifies the heart 
 before it awakens. 
 
 Glenn Andrews leaned over and opened his 
 hand to the light; it was a watch chain, made of 
 Esther's hair. 
 
 "That slide was on a chain my mother wore," 
 she said. 
 
 The sentiment of it made him feel that he 
 stood at the white sanctity of her soul, with its 
 opening and unfathomable depths. 
 
 He raised the chain to his lips and kissed it 
 affectionately. He could not have thanked her 
 in words. He realized that:
 
 86 As The Hart Panteth. 
 
 "Sentiment that is real is not acquired it 
 flows into the veins like the breath of the sea 
 waves, completely freshening every sense with its 
 presence." 
 
 Glenn took up his overcoat and brought out 
 a music roll with her name mounted in silver. 
 
 "It is full and you are to learn it all. That's 
 the agreement." He laid it open before her. 
 
 "The very hardest that you could find." 
 
 "Just what you need." 
 
 Esther hummed a bar here and there as she 
 turned the pages. She was in an ecstacy of con 
 tent. A lilting joyousness of Glenn Andrews' 
 presence was in everything she did and said. 
 
 They lingered over the Christmas dinner. Mr. 
 Campbell told yarns of the olden times when he 
 was a boy on that holiday. He took his pleasure 
 in their company at the table, and afterwards left 
 them alone again. 
 
 They made an exceptionably cozy picture, sit 
 ting together in front of the wood fire. It was 
 beautiful to see the snow outside, falling in tiny
 
 As The Hart Panteth. 87 
 
 siftings, displaced by the snow birds' restless 
 stirring. 
 
 Glenn and Esther were so comfortable. How 
 could it be winter out there. He smoked and 
 she read him selections from his own poems 
 the ones she liked best. He had no idea she 
 could read so well it must have been her read 
 ing them that made them sound better than he 
 had ever thought them before. There was a slow 
 unfolding of her woman nature as he watched 
 her. It was almost imperceptible, yet so much 
 surer than a sudden burst. 
 
 "You'll keep on with your lessons?" he asked. 
 
 "After this year grandpa won't be able to 
 afford it." 
 
 "But it will never do for you to stop now. I 
 was talking with the professor the other day 
 about your art. He is interested in it. He 
 wants to study English; maybe he would ex 
 change if you could teach him. Do you think 
 you could?"
 
 88 As The Hart Panteth. 
 
 "What! I a teacher?" She clasped her hands 
 involuntarily. "But suppose he'd let me try?" 
 
 "I'll see if he will." 
 
 "Oh, will you, sure enough?" She was now 
 seated closer by Glenn, listening with an ab 
 sorbing interest. 
 
 "When will I know?" 
 
 "There is a lot of time between now and next 
 September. You'll finish out this year, of 
 course." 
 
 "Oh, yes, except when the weather is too bad 
 for grandpa. He's getting old, you know." 
 
 Glenn could see how he was failing. 
 
 It was about dusk when the buggy drove away 
 from the front steps. The parting was cordial 
 and yet it seemed to lack something for both. 
 Perhaps grandpa's being there complicated the 
 situation. Whatever it was, in both their hearts 
 there seemed something lacking.
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 THE coming of June brought an end to col 
 lege life for Glenn Andrews. He had had a let 
 ter a few days before, deciding an important 
 question in fact, the question of the greatest 
 importance to him just then. While he was wait 
 ing for Esther he read it over again: 
 
 "New York City. 
 
 "My dear Andrews Of course I hadn't for 
 gotten my promise nor my interest in you. It 
 seems a lifetime since I stood in those priestly 
 looking robes on that old stage waiting to re 
 ceive my discharge and hustle or go hungry. 
 You were at the foot then. I remember you; 
 a solemn-faced chap, but mightily in earnest. 
 I am glad that you are at the head, and ready 
 
 [89]
 
 9O As The Hart Panteth. 
 
 for the fight the thick of it. I always knew 
 that was the kind of metal you were made of, so 
 it does me good to be able to give you a boost. 
 You are to be associate editor of the magazine 
 give up most of your freedom and take an edi 
 tor's chair. 
 
 "You may come right on. I wonder what you 
 will be like after all these years since we cavorted 
 over that campus. Yours fraternally , 
 
 "Richmond Briarley." 
 
 What did Glenn care for slavery? His love 
 for his profession would even up scores. Going 
 among strangers had no depressing effect upon 
 him. He was singularly fitted for that kind of 
 thing. He believed that every soul should be 
 alone a part of its existence, away from the 
 sight, the touch of affection, and seek deeper 
 self acquaintance and understanding. This was 
 how he came to cultivate his passion to know and 
 be something. 
 
 Now he was going to try his hand his life 
 was to be full of interest and effort, and all the
 
 As The Hart Panteth. 91 
 
 training he had given to his faculties were to be 
 exercised and tested. Esther joined him pres 
 ently to go for their last ramble. 
 
 "You are to lead the way anywhere. I am 
 with you to-day," he said. 
 
 Glenn felt a subtle sadness at leaving her. This 
 human study had been most interesting to 
 him, nor would it be the least of his regrets for 
 what must be given up. The others were fin 
 ished, he had reached the last page. 
 
 During the stroll, Glenn told her that the pro 
 fessor had agreed to make the exchange he spoke 
 of at Christmas. 
 
 "Now you are to promise me that you will 
 keep up your art. Don't let circumstances over 
 whelm you." 
 
 "I couldn't keep from trying to go on, if I 
 wanted to, but when you get away you'll forget 
 about me." 
 
 "I don't think I shall." 
 
 He was very calm. No matter what he 
 thought or felt, he didn't intend to drop a word
 
 92 As The Hart Panteth. 
 
 that might disquiet her mind or disturb their 
 tranquil sense of comradeship. 
 
 "I expect you to do something some day. 
 You'll not stay buried down here all your life. 
 You were not born for oblivion." 
 
 "I am afraid you will be disappointed in me. 
 But I'll do my best." 
 
 She looked down, pulling at the moss on the 
 log. 
 
 His going so far away was her first great sor 
 row. 
 
 "I don't believe I would though if I didn't have 
 next summer to look forward to; you said you 
 would try to come back then." 
 
 With her simplicity and daring directness she 
 added. "Take good care of yourself, Mr. Glenn, 
 for all the world couldn't fill your place in my 
 heart." 
 
 "You think that now, Esther. You seem to 
 see something complete in our friendship. It is 
 .ill you want. A day will come when you'll un 
 derstand that it is not satisfying. The mist of
 
 As The Hart Panteth. 93 
 
 morning is on the hills, and hides the outlines of 
 the landscape ; you can see but a little way. After 
 awhile it will gradually lift, and give you a 
 clearer and broader view." 
 
 She shook her head. 
 
 "I know you can't see it now. The ripening 
 of your nature will show you the good fruit, and 
 of how little use it was to cry over the pretty 
 petals when it dropped its bloom. 
 
 She looked at him, her lips parting as she 
 slowly grasped the drift of his words. 
 
 "Patience and faith are what you must have." 
 
 "The patience I would have to borrow, or steal, 
 for I never did have any of my own." 
 
 It was going to be the hardest lesson for her 
 to learn. 
 
 She took the knife he was toying with, and 
 asked suddenly: 
 
 "Put your foot up a minute." 
 
 He was wondering what she would do. 
 
 "I'm going to leave something for you to re 
 member me by."
 
 94 As The Hart Panteth. 
 
 She began carefully to etch a sentence across 
 the upper part of the leather. 
 
 "Bear harder, cut it that little scratching 
 won't last as long as you are putting it there." 
 
 His eyes rested on her hair, that lay like a 
 crown on her bowed head. 
 
 Slowly she cut each letter. "Don't look until 
 I get through." 
 
 The fine, sharp blade was doing its work well; 
 there was just one more word. She made a 
 slip and the keen point plunged through. "Oh, 
 did that touch you?" Suddenly withdrawing it 
 she saw the blood leap out and run down his 
 boot leg. Her eyes opened wide; the despair in 
 them was enough to move him. 
 
 "Oh, Mr. Glenn, what have I done to you?" 
 
 "It's only a pin scratch; don't think of it." He 
 tried to console and reassure her. 
 
 She began unwinding the soft mull tie she 
 wore. "I know you'll bleed to death if we can't 
 stop it." 
 
 He had taken his boot off. With tender,
 
 As The Hart Panteth. 95 
 
 trembling fingers she was binding the cloth to his 
 leg, winding it around again and again, trying 
 to wrap out the sight of the blood. 
 
 It was no use, in a second the red stain would 
 radiate over the white surface. 
 
 "What shall I do! oh, forgive me, forgive me!" 
 
 She knelt down and pressed his knee in her 
 arms and bent over it with tears, the incense 
 of her love mingling with self-reproach. Her 
 penitence was pathetic. 
 
 He regarded her grief with compassionate soft 
 ness. This came near disarming his resolve. He 
 wanted to take her in his arms as he had never 
 done in his life. As she held the wound close, 
 he resisted the impulse to flinch. 
 
 "I'm all right, don't you worry." 
 
 He read the line on the boot. 
 
 "I wouldn't take anything for that. It will 
 sweeten the absence, and I hope this scratch will 
 make a scar that I may wear all my life to re 
 member you by." 
 
 "I'll never forgive myself for it never!" 
 
 7
 
 96 As The Hart Panteth. 
 
 "Don't say that. It's a little thing after all. 
 See, I walk all right. Let's go home." Putting 
 one hand on her shoulder they started off, Es 
 ther watching every step he took with fear and 
 alarm. 
 
 "Are you telling the truth. Don't it hurt you 
 to walk?" 
 
 Turning his face away, he bit his lips. 
 
 "Not much, you know there is always a little 
 soreness, no matter how slight the cut." 
 
 He wouldn't tell that the knee was a very dan 
 gerous place to receive a wound. 
 
 All the way the joint was stiffening and getting 
 more painful. His face beamed in the effort to 
 conceal his suffering. When they reached the 
 steps he leaned his head against a column; he 
 was wearied and felt that he could bear no 
 more. 
 
 "Come, lie down; I'll fix the bed for you and 
 find grandpa," she urged. 
 
 "No, come back; I'll sit here on the step 
 awhile. I must be going soon."
 
 As The Hart Panteth. 97 
 
 Dear little heart, he would never while he 
 lived forget her. 
 
 "How can you go, hurt as you are?" 
 
 "Sit down here by me, I have but a few min 
 utes with you. I ordered my horse for five 
 o'clock." 
 
 Without further resistance she took the seat. 
 She had not forgotten that his will was the only 
 one she ever met stronger than her own. 
 
 "Forgive me?" looking up to him, she asked. 
 
 "Don't use that word between us." He gath 
 ered her hands in his own, partly for fear she 
 might touch his knee. Soon his horse came 
 around. 
 
 "Poor cripple," Esther said with a caressing 
 accent, stretching her hand toward his knee, as 
 he mounted. Then she pressed her hands hard 
 against her eyelids as he said good-bye. When 
 she looked up again he was gone. She stood 
 sighing as if her soul would leave her body, as he 
 rode on at a gallop, outlined against the far blue 
 of the hills.
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 THE first shock of Glenn Andrews' absence 
 was a bitter trial to Esther, who grieved unrea- 
 soningly. His going seemed like the end of the 
 world. It was over, those rare, dear days of 
 smiles and tears, of trifling quarrels and sweet 
 reconciliations. She wondered how she had ever 
 thought the sky was so blue, the grass so green. 
 
 Through all of her desolation, however, ran the 
 thought that he wished nothing so much as for 
 her to advance in her art. 
 
 Would she let the first rock block her way? 
 Youth can forget its grief. She was so uncon- 
 ciously true to him, that before she scarcely real 
 ized it, she was back at work, harder than ever. 
 [98]
 
 As The Hart Panteth. 99 
 
 She began teaching the kind old German mu 
 sician English to pay for her instructions. 
 
 Heart, brain and soul she gave to her art, not 
 all for its sake nor hers, but for the man that was 
 the world's best type to her. 
 
 The devotion with which she had worshipped 
 him was for the time transferred to the violin 
 that became the absorbing and crowning am 
 bition of her life. 
 
 Glenn had been gone nearly a year. The sum 
 mer, instead of bringing him, brought a disap 
 pointment. 
 
 He wrote her: 
 
 "Fate or Providence has put in its oar to the 
 exclusion of my own interesting plans. I didn't 
 dare really hope that I should see you this sum 
 mer, even while I planned the trip. Providence 
 would never be so kind as that. I am ordered 
 to Athens to do some special work for our maga 
 zine. They have been unearthing some more 
 wonderful curiosities there. This is the last note
 
 ioo As The Hart Panteth. 
 
 I write before going abroad, for I sail early to 
 morrow morning. How much easier it is to learn 
 things than to unlearn them. I used to think 
 differently at college. Very many times, more than 
 I will admit to myself, I have closed my eyes and 
 tried to imagine that I should open them upon 
 yours, gazing disapprovingly at my 'steenth' 
 cocktail. Many times I have been glad when I 
 opened them that it was not so at others I have 
 been a little sorry. There is a deliciousness about 
 your not being with me which is quite a new sen 
 sation. I shall never again pity the old Flagel 
 lants. I know now that there was a certain 
 ecstacy of pleasure for them which we have taken 
 too little account of. There is a pleasure in not 
 writing to you, too; I am writing now because I 
 know if I don't I shall not hear again from you, 
 and I confess that I don't want my flaggelation 
 to take that shape. You were growing when I 
 left you. Have you stopped? Don't stop think 
 ing don't stop striving don't stop hoping. 
 You have no lack of imagination, inspiration, but
 
 As The Hart Panteth. 101 
 
 you need the cold, cruel leaven of fact. Your 
 symphony needs less harp and more violin. The 
 Jews are clinging to their old ideals. The Gen 
 tiles crucified it, and have a living gospel. Let 
 them die if they won't live without nursing. You 
 don't want them. (I mean the ideals not the 
 Jews this time metaphors always proved too 
 much for me.) And finally don't preach to 
 others as I am doing to you. It's a bad habit and 
 never does any good. But remember that there 
 are a few misguided and dreamy creatures who 
 think you may do something one of these days 
 if you ever get your eyes rubbed open wide 
 enough." Glenn Andrews." 
 
 For the next year his habitual haunts would 
 know him no more. He would combine with his 
 trip a while in Paris. Casting aside all obliga 
 tion he entered into the spirit of the life about 
 him. Paris, with all its dangers, all its charms, 
 the extraordinary influence of that congenial life, 
 touched him with a glowing heat of inspiration.
 
 IO2 As The Hart Pantetk. 
 
 He revelled in his hopes in his dreams. Here; 
 he would write something worthy of him. His 
 nature was rich in the vivid impressions, intense 
 feelings and fine thoughts which make life full 
 of real meaning and significance. Here he saw 
 many sides of it much of it was meaningless 
 and distasteful, and repelled all of his finer senses, 
 but "it is in experience that one sees all that is 
 most vile and all that is most beautiful." This 
 was an excellent opportunity. All the while he 
 was maturing beginning to have a more toler 
 ant knowledge of his fellow man. His heart was 
 kindlier the weight of his judgment lighter. 
 
 Half the world away, Esther was sorrowing 
 for him the memory of the disappointment he 
 had caused touched deep fibres in her that ached 
 and ached and ached. Besides this, she could 
 see her old grandfather growing feebler with the 
 setting of every sun. His small stock of vitality 
 was slipping away. 
 
 He knew that the stalk was withered, and soon 
 must fall, yet he tried to face the truth in smiling
 
 As The Hart Panteth. 103 
 
 silence. Sometimes when he thought of the 
 hands that had so longed to have control of his 
 child the anguish in him overflowed. They 
 would soon have her in their grasp.
 
 THE GIRL. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 MR. CAMPBELL did not live through the win 
 ter. 
 
 Esther was left to the care of his nephew, liv 
 ing in a remote part of the valley. 
 
 One morning, when she had rocked one of the 
 children to sleep, she sat with it in her arms, gaz 
 ing out on the gloomy day with sad, set eyes. 
 For the time being she lost all memory of the 
 scene about her. The laughter of the children, 
 the woman leaning over the bed, cutting small 
 garments out of coarse cloth. She began to re 
 member all that her grandfather had meant to 
 [104]
 
 As The Hart Panteth 105 
 
 her. True he was dead, but he had made a 
 defense for her even beyond the gulf. Though 
 stinted in many things, he had always held to 
 his life insurance. The farm was worn out 
 the house old it would bring little, but the two 
 together would help her to maintain her inde 
 pendence until she could master her art. 
 
 The woman glanced at Esther as she laid aside 
 one pattern, put the pins in her mouth until she 
 could place another. She was a saffron-faced, 
 stoop-shouldered woman one who prided her 
 self on the drudgery she could do. 
 
 " You ain't thinking about startin' up that 
 fiddlin' again, are you ? " A shadow crossed the 
 'girl's face. 
 
 " I have been thinking about it," Esther an 
 swered calmly. 
 
 " Goodness knows I wouldn't ! I always 
 thought the fiddle warn't for nobody but men 
 and niggers." Her high-pitched voice was pierc 
 ing.
 
 io6 As The Hart Panteth 
 
 " When do you get the mail out here? " Esther 
 tried to change the subject, 
 five times a year too often, to get those papers 
 that John will take; readin' those vile things is 
 the ruination of the country. As for letters, we 
 don't get many. You lookin' for any? " 
 
 " I'd like to get one." 
 
 " From that college man ? I reckon he's for 
 got you are in existence." 
 
 " I shouldn't wonder," Esther said, with an 
 indifferent show of pride.
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 So the days passed the cold, wretched days. 
 Esther was sewing diligently, blundering on 
 everything she undertook, until it exhausted her 
 teacher's patience. 
 
 One evening she dropped her work and went 
 out to meet her cousin John. He had been to 
 mill. 
 
 " Hello, youngster ! " he greeted her, with his 
 stout, strident voice. " What'll you give me 
 for a letter a two-pounder ? " 
 
 " It depends on where it's from." 
 
 " Paris, France." 
 
 "No? Really?" 
 
 Holding a package just above her head, he 
 read : " Mademoiselle Esther Powel, Etats Unis 
 
 [107!
 
 io8 As The Hart Panteth 
 
 d'Amerique. He's sending back all your old 
 letters. This looks as if it might hold a dozen 
 or two." 
 
 " They are not mine," she cried, as, laughing, 
 she leaped and snatched it from his hand. 
 
 " Glenn Andrews," she repeated, breathlessly, 
 holding the writing before her eyes. Without 
 a word she stole away, to read it alone. It was a 
 book, exquisitely bound, bearing Glenn Andrews' 
 name. She fondled its pages, ran her hand lov 
 ingly over their smooth surface. The book 
 opened to a folded paper, on which were some 
 notes jotted down for the violin, an accompani 
 ment to a song that he had written. 
 
 Turning the leaves, she came to a card ; a line 
 on the back of it read : " You can learn this. 
 Let me hear at New York address after April." 
 It was dropped by a poem, " My Little Love of 
 Long Ago." 
 
 This girl, gifted with all the subtlety of rare 
 natures, understood. Between laughter and 
 tears, she read the poem :
 
 As The Hart Panteth 109 
 
 " My little love of long ago, 
 
 (How swiftly fly the tired years !) 
 She told me solemnly and low 
 
 Of all her hopes and all her fears, 
 She feared the dangers of the way, 
 The striving and the work-a-day 
 
 That waited far across the sea 
 The loneliness of missing me. 
 She never doubted me ah, no! 
 My little love of long ago. 
 
 " For she had faith in everything, 
 
 (How swiftly fiy the tired hours!) 
 A heart that could not help but sing, 
 
 And blossomed out amid the flowers. 
 My loving was its best refrain, 
 My leaving was its saddest rain. 
 
 She sobbed it all upon my knee 
 The loneliness of missing me. 
 I kissed and comforted her so 
 My little love of long ago. 
 
 "My little love of long ago, 
 
 (How swiftly fly the tired days!) 
 Such little feet to stumble slow 
 
 Along the darkest of life's ways, 
 While time and distance and the sea, 
 Or my poor, careless heart, maybe,
 
 no As The Hart Panteth 
 
 Could not have told from spring 
 to spring, 
 
 Why we so long went wandering! 
 Saddest of all is not to know ! 
 My little love of long ago." 
 
 Esther was radiant with joy. She sped over 
 the ground like a wild young deer, running to 
 the house for her long-forsaken violin. She car 
 ried it to the back of the orchard. She propped 
 the music up in the low fork of an apple tree. 
 It was written in a minor key and was the most 
 difficult accompaniment she had ever seen. She 
 had to give it up at last it was beyond her 
 reach it challenged her. This caused her flick 
 ering ambition to flash up anew. 
 
 A new resolve glowed in her eyes. She would 
 not rest until she had beaten down every ob 
 stacle between her and her hope of attainment. 
 
 Glenn Andrews immediately answered her 
 letter, found upon his arrival in New York. He 
 said: 
 
 " You have lived among the flowers, had
 
 As The Hart Panteth 1 1 1 
 
 great grief, and now the flowers do not console 
 you. So I might say to you : 'If the flowers 
 do not console you, try work ' but, doubtless^ 
 you have been working. 
 
 " You o'ight to do something some day with 
 youi art. If you only know it, you are not un 
 fortunately situated as regards your future. Try 
 and look at it that way. Lift up your head and 
 throw your shoulders back. Go and look in the 
 looking-glass and make a face at yourself, and 
 remember you are not an editor, that your nose 
 is not on the grind-stone and that you have, after 
 all, something to thank God for." 
 
 Esther had been faithful to the impulse of that 
 day. She slaved with a resolution painful to 
 see. In that year she had changed, developed 
 greatly. The kindly old professor regarded her 
 with pride as he sat listening to her, after she 
 had conquered the music Glenn Andrews had 
 sent to her. There was a sweep of magnificence 
 in it.
 
 U2 A s The Hart Panteth. 
 
 At the last of the year there came a change. 
 The old professor was leaving for a broader 
 field. He encouraged her to make an effort for 
 the highest mark; her next step, in his opinion, 
 should be New York. 
 
 She could go no further here. She might 
 there. Her impulse was to dare until, under the 
 heat of its spell, she wrote a line to Glenn 
 Andrews. 
 
 " What do you think of New York for me? "
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 " WHAT do I think of New York for you ? " 
 Glenn Andrews replied, " frankly, I don't 
 know. You forget that the one thing necessary 
 to answer your question is the one thing I don't 
 possess. That is to say, I don't know you as 
 time has made you. What I would have said 
 years ago to the slip of a girl, I cannot say to the 
 growing woman. You and your art are the 
 deciding quantities. 
 
 " Success means hard work long, bitter days 
 and nights of it drab days of monotony, black 
 nights of disappointment. It means toil and 
 tears. This is a maelstrom, and only the big 
 gest branches float on the surface. The little 
 twigs are sucked down. And it is a place of 
 
 [11*3]
 
 114 As T/ie Hart Pan let /t. 
 
 giant timber. The oak from the country hillside 
 is only a scrub here. You must remember this. 
 The bigness of it all makes for heartlessness. 
 When one meets a beggar on every corner, one 
 soon ceases to feel sorry; and where failures 
 are so common, there is seldom a helping hand 
 or even a sigh of sympathy. Only the warmest 
 fire can go on burning brightly with the ice fall 
 ing so thick around it. 
 
 " There is another side. No one knows 
 genius so well as itself. If you have it, New 
 York is the place for you. The greater the body, 
 the greater the attraction for the great centre. 
 I would not counsel you to disregard its force, 
 for I believe only true motives move you. And 
 if you know yourself and believe in yourself, you 
 will find a way to beat down other difficulties. 
 There are ways of living in New York cheaply. 
 
 " I take it you would come alone. There are 
 places where young women, unattended, are 
 made welcome and cared for; and there are 
 places where earnest workers congregate where
 
 As The Hart Panteth. 115 
 
 there are ordinary comforts at low rates these, 
 if you should decide to try the venture, you 
 must let me tell you of. 
 
 " Do not hesitate to write me if I can help 
 you, but you must not ask me to advise you as 
 to coming. ' What do I think of New York for 
 you?' I don't know! 
 
 " GLENN ANDREWS."
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 HERE was a man who had lost the romance of 
 life. Not a shred of sentiment was left. 
 
 Richmond Briarley strode about his den, 
 pulling his smoking- jacket from a pair of vicious- 
 looking antlers above the door, his slippers from 
 the wings of Cupid poised above the glorious 
 Psyche. 
 
 There was a princely abandon in the luxurious 
 den he called " home." Looking about it, one 
 would conceive him to be a man quite beyond 
 the ordinary if the trophies, pictures, statuary, 
 bespoke his individuality. 
 
 " Don't wait for me, Andrews, go ahead," he 
 called out from an alcove. 
 
 If his heart was not open to his friends, his 
 finest wines were, and the one is often mistaken 
 for the other.
 
 A s The Hart Pantetk. 1 1 7 
 
 Richmond Briarley had ample, irregular fea 
 tures, hair and eyes the blackest black, and an 
 olive gray complexion. There was something 
 stoic in the closing of his lips, set around with 
 circular wrinkles, revealing the traits peculiar to 
 his type. He hadn't the least regard for the 
 past, nor fault to find with the future. 
 
 Coming out, he poured a glass of wine and 
 drank with Glenn Andrews. 
 
 " Have a smoke," glancing toward a tabou- 
 rette, strewn with pipes, some of them disrepu 
 table enough to the eye. 
 
 " I'll help myself. I was just reading my 
 mail. The boy handed it to me as I was leaving 
 the office." 
 
 Folding a sheet of paper on which was written 
 only a name and address, he took up one of the 
 pipes and began filling it. 
 
 So Esther Powel was in town. A sudden ap 
 prehension seized him for the pure, sweet life 
 he knew so well. She needed protection. 
 
 " Briarley," Glenn went on, filling his pipe, and
 
 1 1 8 As The Hart Pantelh. 
 
 packing it down with his thumb. " Suppose you 
 knew a girl who was coming here alone, to study 
 art, what would you consider the very best way 
 to shield her?" 
 
 " By keeping away from her." 
 
 " Don't you think a girl's love, if not unappre 
 ciated, is a shield and an inspiration?" 
 
 Briarley shook his head. 
 
 " Oh ! of course, I forgot. You don't believe 
 in love." 
 
 " I do, as much as I believe in any other hell." 
 
 Andrews was silent. 
 
 " Have your fun out, then we'll be serious." 
 
 Their views were directly opposite, yet the en 
 thusiasm of each made ground for respect, if not 
 agreement. 
 
 " While you now admit such a phantasy, An 
 drews, you get the credit of living by the head. 
 It is generally understood that you never let 
 scruples of the heart stand in the way." 
 
 " I am not a woman ; besides, it is a matter 
 of self-denial, and not unbelief. My love is my
 
 As The I I art Panteth. 119 
 
 profession long ago I made my choice between 
 woman and art if I had chosen woman that 
 love would have ruled my life." 
 
 " Go on. Every man has the right to work 
 out his own destiny." 
 
 Briarley filled his glass again. " The way he 
 can get the most satisfaction is the way he gen 
 erally chooses." 
 
 " Satisfaction hurts the soul. There is noth 
 ing worse than satiety of the senses. I would 
 never let myself .become thoroughly satisfied." 
 
 " You couldn't ask for more than the success 
 of that last book. The critics rendered you dis 
 tinguished services," said Briarley. " I under 
 stand the sale was enormous." 
 
 " It has sold very well, but that only forces 
 me to wrestle the harder to keep up the stand 
 ard of that reputation. Love is an uplifting 
 force to genius. A man would be doing a chiv 
 alrous act to win and hold the devotion of a 
 girl in such an instance as I have cited." 
 
 " It would be a risk."
 
 I2O As The Hart Panteth. 
 
 " Yes, but in my judgment the advantage is 
 much greater than the risk." 
 
 Glenn Andrews knocked the ashes from his 
 pipe and got up, straightening his shoulders and 
 smoothing his hair with his hands. His mind 
 was made up.
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 As GLENN turned the corner he could see 
 Esther Powel on the steps, looking out upon the 
 square ablaze with light and confusion. 
 
 "It is Mr. Glenn." With the words, she 
 sprang three steps at a time *:o the pavement. 
 "How glad I am!" 
 
 And then she stopped, remembered, and held 
 out her hands. 
 
 Esther, full-breasted, slender-limbed, rounded, 
 the joy of life was upon her the loveliness of 
 full bloom. 
 
 " It's good to see you again," he said, " but 
 why didn't you let me help you get settled ? " 
 
 " It took enough of your time to write that 
 
 discouraging letter." 
 
 [121]
 
 122 As The Hart Panteth. 
 
 " You know I didn't mean it for that. I be 
 lieved your decision would be right, whatever 
 it was," he told her. " Are you pleased with 
 your advancement so far ? " 
 
 " Not pleased buoyed." As she raised her 
 eyes to him they expressed something of the 
 wild, delicate, throbbing pride. " I did not come 
 to fail." 
 
 " I believe that, from the good reports I have 
 heard through our old friend, your professor." 
 
 " He was very nice to me ; it was through him 
 that I knew about 'ie Frenchman who will in 
 struct me here." 
 
 " So you've arranged all that, too." 
 
 " Oh, yes ; I begin my lessons next Monday." 
 
 " Smart girl. How are you situated here ; are 
 you comfortable?" 
 
 " Comfortable ! " she laughed. " I have to come 
 downstairs to draw a good breath. They stow 
 me away in a sort of a garret on the fourth floor. 
 As Cousin John would say, there isn't room to 
 ' cuss ' a cat without turning sideways. Two
 
 As The Hart Panteth. 123 
 
 young men on the train gave me addresses of 
 nice places to board when they found that I was 
 alone and a stranger to the city." 
 
 Instinctively Glenn frowned. " Have you got 
 *hem?" 
 
 " I saved them to show you." Taking them 
 from her purse, she handed him the cards. 
 
 " You don't want them," he said, crushing the 
 cards in his hand. 
 
 " Did they ask permission to call ? " 
 
 " One did. He wanted to come with me from 
 the station. I didn't care to be bothered when 
 I was thinking of seeing you. My! how I 
 dreaded to see you, though I believe if I hadn't 
 ve soon I'd 1 ive started back South," she said 
 in her effusive way. " I was afraid the change 
 I'd find in you would be disappointing." 
 
 " Was it ? " he asked quickly. 
 
 " Yes, because it is for the better. I didn't 
 want to care as I used to in the old days." She 
 was still childish enough to be honest. 
 
 " Why, did you find me unworthy? "
 
 1 24 As The Hart PanUth. 
 
 " I suppose you were worthy enough, but I 
 have learned it is not well to let one's affections 
 wrap their tendrils too close about another; it 
 hurts so when they are snapped." 
 
 " There is no reason for them to be snapped," 
 he argued. " The joy of clinging should make 
 them strong enough to wrap and unwrap, leav 
 ing its sweet effect."
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 GLENN ANDREWS took Esther with him to the 
 concert. It was a great violinist's last appear 
 ance for the season. 
 
 She was happily excited, unconsciously hold 
 ing Glenn by the sleeve. The glitter and glory 
 of this wonderful, new world was dazzling. 
 
 With the intensity of her growing enthusiasm, 
 she gripped Glenn's arm. He was repeatedly 
 recalled. 
 
 " I expect one day to see you sway them like 
 that," he whispered, as the curtain went down 
 for the fourth time. 
 
 She shook her head. 
 
 " I rejoice with him, I'm glad to see him win ; 
 but three long years before you are sure of any- 
 
 [125!
 
 126 As The Hart Panteth. 
 
 thing even failure is hard to look forward 
 to." 
 
 " Did your teacher say it would take you that 
 long?" 
 
 " Yes, but I had thought that I would double 
 it; take twice the lessons and practice. After 
 all, I may fail in the end." 
 
 " Hush, you are no weakling. Of course it's 
 work, it's drudgery ; that's the bracing part of it. 
 You've earned the place when you do get it. An 
 effortless success is only a crueler word for fail 
 ure ; you must not be impatient. I used to have 
 to remind you of that." 
 
 Glenn did not know how she would take this; 
 he had had alluring glimpses of her deeper self, 
 but he must understand her very thoroughly or 
 he could not hold her, charmed. 
 
 She did not make any reply. 
 
 Gathering up her white silk shawl, he folded 
 it about her shoulders. 
 
 " We are going in a minute. The lady you see 
 with white hair in this box next to us is a
 
 As The Hart Panteth. 127 
 
 leader in artistic circles. I want her to know 
 you." 
 
 The curtain fell as they arose. Linking his 
 little finger in hers under the fringe, he led her 
 over to the box. There was something in his 
 manner that expressed beyond question his de 
 termination that never while he had streng h 
 should the world darken this child's soul.
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 GLENN ANDREWS was unwearied in his visits, 
 and held to an abiding faith in Esther's future, 
 and stronger and stronger grew his determina 
 tion to be steadfastly loyal to her. 
 
 With an infinite patience he was cutting a 
 niche for himself, and above it a name. 
 
 His admirable solicitude for Esther was at 
 strange variance with his desire to wound her, 
 bruise her, make her think and feel. 
 
 To her he was a mystery unfathomable. The 
 heart within her was so delicate, it easily swayed 1 
 from harmony to discord. She was so sensitive, 
 she must needs be always responsible to the pain 
 ful as well as the ecstatic emotions. 
 
 Glenn could see that her health was not up 
 
 [128]
 
 As The Hart Panteth. 1 29 
 
 to the mark When there was a cloud or the 
 shadow of a cloud upon her face, he saw 
 it. She should see a doctor. He told her 
 that repeatedly. Honest as she was, she 
 could not bring herself to tell him that she was 
 too poor. She was living up to her income, and 
 found it difficult to furnish the bare necessities 
 and pay for just half the lessons she had counted 
 on. There was no hope of shortening the three 
 years except by increasing her practice. This 
 she determined to do, six hours a day instead of 
 three. 
 
 " I believe you would stay up in that room 
 and mold," Glenn said one day as they walked 
 in the sun by the river. " You surely could find 
 time for an outing once a day for an hour or 
 two." He was puzzled to know why she had 
 declined to walk with him of late. It did not 
 occur to him that lack of time was her excuse. 
 
 As they took a seat on the high edge of the 
 river, there was something like a sob of exhaus 
 tion in her breath.
 
 130 As The Hart Pantctk. 
 
 " Oh, Esther ! How could you ? " seeing how 
 faint she was. Her cheek fell in one hand. 
 
 " Why didn't you tell me you were tired ? " 
 
 "The air was so bracing, I kept thinking I 
 would feel better directly. How stupid of me 
 to give out so quickly." 
 
 " How good a friend do you count me ? " 
 
 " The best I have in the world." 
 
 " Good enough to ask anything of me every 
 thing?" 
 
 " There are some things that I would ask of 
 nobody that lives." 
 
 Glenn slightly raised his broad shoulders and 
 lowered them with a sigh. 
 
 " I am disappointed in our friendship. It has 
 failed."
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 THEY were strolling together in the art gal 
 lery. It was the first time that Glenn had seen 
 Esther since returning from his vacation. He 
 stopped to admire a picture, for the second time, 
 pointing out its beauties for her. 
 
 " Mrs. Low has a picture in her gallery by this 
 same artist. We will go next Tuesday to her 
 opening night. You will see a live lord. Her 
 daughter, who married one, brought him home 
 with her." 
 
 " Will it make me like you any less ? " 
 
 " I should hope not. Rather more, for he has 
 brutal manners, and you would never think she 
 held a higher place than his stenographer. But 
 she doesn't mind that, she has a title. He draws 
 his allowance from her and his inspiration from 
 elsewhere. I fancy they are rather contented." 
 
 [131)
 
 132 As The Hart Panteth. 
 
 " Contented! " Esther lifted a solemn face to 
 him. 
 
 " It seems to me that a marriage without love 
 would crush all that was sweetest and finest in a 
 woman's nature. Marriage for love is the dear 
 est gift to any soul it is the highest ideal of 
 God's world." She was in one of her intense 
 moods. 
 
 They had left the gallery and were going 
 through the park. His glance wandered often 
 from her face to a glad contemplation of the 
 vivid coloring of the woods. 
 
 " Mightn't a man marry for honor ? " finally he 
 asked. 
 
 " Give me an example." 
 
 His face contracted nervously. " Let's talk 
 about something else." 
 
 With a little impatient gesture, " Oh, give me 
 an instance, it will keep me from imagining 
 things." She stopped by a rustic seat with an 
 independent lift of the head and would go no 
 further. She felt that she deserved his con 
 fidence and trust. Upon her face were tears
 
 As The Hart Panteth. 133 
 
 of pained emotion. She did not know her real 
 place in his life and whenever she struggled for 
 it her suffering was intense. 
 
 There was a pause. Glenn decided to humor 
 her. Taking a seat beside her, he began in his 
 tone of tranquil philosophy: 
 
 " Suppose a man young under an infatua 
 tion, becomes engaged to a girl. When he is 
 older, his ideas change; he gets over it, she 
 doesn't. Although he has a sincere regard and 
 respect for her, in his heart there is another 
 
 ideal. He regrets being bound. What should 
 
 t 
 he do? 
 
 " I hate the word ' bound.' Marriage is not to 
 bind, but to privilege. Without love it would 
 be nothing more than slavery. Every human 
 soul revolts at that. 
 
 " But an engagement is like a gambling debt ; 
 it has no witnesses. It puts a man upon his 
 honor. 
 
 " Might he not have the nobility to assume his 
 vows, without the fortitude to endure them man-
 
 1 34 A s The Hart Pantcth. 
 
 fully? That would make each think nothing of 
 love and little of life. I believe it is impossible 
 for a man to be true to his wife with another 
 woman's image in his heart ; in spite of outward 
 appearances the emptiness is there Convention 
 cannot crush out nature. If he took a vow like 
 that, he'd be false to it ; hypocrisy is dishonor." 
 
 She suddenly fronted him. 
 
 " What would you do if you were the man? " 
 
 " Oh, don't make an example of me," he said 
 in a hard voice. " You know me well enough 
 to guess what I would do." 
 
 She turned her eyes to his face; her expres 
 sion changed. " You would be true to what you 
 thought was your honor." 
 
 " I hope I would fulfill any promise I should 
 make." He had always had himself in com 
 mand, yet he was sometimes conscious of a fear 
 that Esther might have dreamed some touch of 
 heroism in his nature, which was not there. Her 
 ideal of him had been impressed upon her im 
 maturity.
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 MRS. Low caught a glimpse of the late ar 
 rivals. She met them with hands outstretched, 
 a radiant smile of welcome upon her face. 
 
 " Ah, Glenn, Miss Powel ; charmed, I assure 
 you. Mr. Kent has been waiting to have this 
 young lady accompany him," she said, as that 
 gentleman joined them. 
 
 " You came just in time, Miss PoweJ. Our 
 friend, Mr. Andrews, has told me thai you have 
 been good enough to take the trouble to learn 
 the ' Serenade ' that is to be in our new opera." 
 
 Esther hesitated a moment, smiling. 
 
 " That will be charming," Glenn whispered to 
 her, inclining his head. He smiled slightly as his 
 eyes met hers. 
 
 His approval was what she had waited for 
 that was plain. The next moment she had gra- 
 
 [135!
 
 136 As The Hart Panteth. 
 
 ciously indicated her willingness by taking up her 
 violin that Mrs. Low had sent for before she 
 came. 
 
 The sight of Stephen Kent at the piano and 
 Esther beside him made the room silent in an 
 instant and stilled the unseen harpist. Glenn 
 Andrews kept close watch upon the crowd as 
 it stood in mute attention. It was to note how 
 she was received. He had forgotten his share in 
 the honors. 
 
 In the heat of the enthusiasm that followed 
 the encore some one grasped Glenn Andrews' 
 hands. " And those lines are perfectly exquisite. 
 I am wild to hear all of your libretto." 
 
 " Qh, indeed ! " he answered, staring, and that 
 moment it was the effort of his life to know what 
 she meant. 
 
 " Libretto ? " he said to himself. " Oh, when I 
 heard such playing I forgot I had written any 
 thing," he declared, with a laugh. 
 
 " Aren't you a little crazy? " the expression on 
 her face asked, as Mrs. Low came up and led
 
 As The Hart Panteth. 137 
 
 him away. She had become devotedly attached 
 to him during their life in Paris. 
 
 " If that is a fair sample of your opera, it will 
 be most enchanting." The hearty words car 
 ried with them something of the sincere interest 
 she felt. 
 
 Mrs. Low sank deep in the gorgeous cushions 
 and looked across to where Esther stood be- 
 seiged. She was so unspoiled and direct of 
 manner. There was something picturesquely 
 Southern in her simple gown. 
 
 " She has genius. I have become quite inter 
 ested in her already," said Mrs. Low. " Couldn't 
 I help her in some way ? " 
 
 " I believe you could. Suppose you got her to 
 play here four times during the month and let 
 her believe you had rewarded her by paying her 
 twenty-five dollars each time. I would give you 
 my check for the hundred dollars each month." 
 
 " That will be just the thing. Later she will 
 be able to get some good engagements at draw 
 ing-room recitals."
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 GLENN saw Esther a few days afterward and 
 found her unusually cheerful. She told how 
 Mrs. Low had arranged for her to play during 
 the entire winter at her receptions. This sim 
 plified the complex future. 
 
 Glenn encouraged the tonic of social life for 
 her as something needful to everybody. Their 
 lives were moving along together with uncon 
 scious accord. There was an undercurrent of 
 deeper sympathy lying dormant. He was making 
 her a part of his life. 
 
 She had been repeatedly stunned by chance- 
 heard remarks of his betrothal. When Glenn 
 heard that Esther's name was to figure promi 
 nently in the most brilliant recitals of the season, 
 there was a buoyant sweetness in the frank radi-
 
 As The Hart Panteth. 139 
 
 ance of hope, the eager expectancy and passion 
 ate faith in her ability. She had been tasting 
 some of the fruition of her toil. Of this he was 
 proud. 
 
 The night came. It was a fashionable throng 
 that poured into the Metropolitan. The fascinat 
 ing twirl of jewelled lorgnettes and the flashing 
 movement of the vast array of wealth and beauty 
 made the two wide, innocent eyes that peered out 
 from behind the curtain reel drunk with the 
 wine of enthusiasm ; this little atom who was to 
 win or lose before this great audience of con 
 noisseurs. She trembled a little and slipped back 
 to her dressing-room. " I feel as though the 
 judgment day were at hand," she said. 
 
 Mrs. Low gathered her proudly in her arms. 
 " This must be the laurel crowning of your 
 season." 
 
 " This ordeal means ererything to me. I am 
 not as frightened as I expected. Honestly, I feel 
 as if I could make music without strings or bow. 
 Go, look again, now. I know he is here."
 
 140 As The Hart Panteth. 
 
 Several minutes passed and she did not return, 
 so Esther went out to the wings while the first 
 numbers were being rendered. 
 
 " Now, my dear ! " whispered Mrs. Low, as 
 the call came for Esther. " Do your best. Glenn 
 is in the right of the centre aisle, half-way back 
 with the woman in pink. I know you won't dis 
 appoint him." 
 
 These words came from the gentlest heart in 
 the world, with no idea of their tragic signifi 
 cance. 
 
 Esther stepped to her place on the stage. 
 
 As she stood slightly swaying with the first 
 few strains, she saw him his features all alight 
 from the ideal soul within. The " woman in 
 pink" she recognized as being the one with 
 whom society had intimately coupled his name. 
 
 There was a rush of resentment through her 
 being. She could not resist its influence; dis 
 cord followed discord until the orchestra was 
 forced to stop. 
 
 Glenn Andrews was conscious of a curious
 
 As The Hart Panteth. 141 
 
 tightening at the throat as he saw her pitiful 
 struggles. Abruptly he rose and rushed out into 
 the aisle. The humiliation was too bitter. 
 
 There was a little ripple of excitement. Esther 
 saw him going; but still did not realize that his 
 seat there had only been a coincidence. 
 
 A feeling of longing unutterable came over 
 her longing to recall him a feeling that rose 
 to ever fuller power until her whole being 
 vibrated with the desire. She tightened her grasp 
 of the instrument to steady her convulsive trem 
 bling. Glenn stopped. A new thrill was creep 
 ing through the music. 
 
 The sublime passion throbbing through the 
 music was a sound that a human soul could not 
 resist, as if the player's whole nature were speak 
 ing to him. The violin fell at her feet. The 
 very air was saturated with the incense of 
 applause. 
 
 He awakened as though from a dream to share 
 in it. He grew almost hysterical as the audience 
 begged for an encore. The curtain rose. Esther,
 
 142 As The Hart Panteth. 
 
 flushed with her success, almost gasped as she 
 reappeared. There was a rain of flowers, falling 
 from everywhere. Glenn felt his heart beat after 
 her in an ecstasy of longing. From the depths 
 of his being there came to him the first over 
 mastering passion of his life in a love that he 
 had forbidden himself.
 
 THE WOMAN 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 GLENN sent his congratulations with a lot of 
 flowers. He did not trust himself to call. The 
 following week he sent her a few lines : 
 
 " MY DEAR ESTHER : 
 
 " It will be impossible for me to take you to 
 the musicale, but I have arranged to have Mr. 
 Kent call for you, and I feel sure that you will 
 be in good hands." 
 
 This note of mild regret made her a little cross, 
 
 as it was the first time he had ever consented to 
 
 have her go out alone with another man. There 
 
 seemed nothing else to do but submit, wash a 
 
 10 [143]
 
 144 
 
 The Hart Panteth 
 
 tear of vexation from her face, and be ready to 
 go when Mr. Kent called. 
 
 From Glenn Andrews' point of view this privi 
 lege was an endorsement of the man he had 
 selected. Later he learned through Stephen 
 Kent that they had gone together and the affair 
 had been as pleasant as usual. That was satis 
 factory. He would have them go again to 
 gether. 
 
 Ever since the concert Glenn had tried to think 
 only of his work. His calmness at such a crisis 
 at first led him into the belief that it would be 
 easy to hold himself in check. The revelation 
 that had come to him upon that night had been 
 the work of a strong thing but for a moment. 
 
 He could not stay away too long he looked 
 upon it in a measure as his duty to see how the 
 infrequent visits were affecting her. 
 
 It was not until he was taking up his hat to 
 leave that he approached the subject of Stephen 
 Kent as her escort to the next musicale. 
 
 " He will be very glad to have you go with
 
 As The Hart Panteth 145 
 
 him." Glenn pressed her hand in his and he saw 
 tears in her eyes. 
 
 " Esther ! " He laid aside his hat, drew her 
 down beside him on the divan. " Did Stephen 
 Kent dare to hurt you ? " 
 
 " Oh, Mr. Glenn, let it go, but nothing would 
 induce me to go with him again. He tried to 
 persuade me to do all the things and go to all 
 the places that you had warned me of." 
 
 " I'll settle with Stephen Kent." 
 
 Glenn Andrews' face looked manlier than ever 
 in its rage. 
 
 Esther's heart stood still for a moment, then 
 beat wildly in its fear. 
 
 " Don't risk yourself for me. I'm so sorry I 
 told you." 
 
 Glenn left the house and went at once, only 
 to find that Mr. Kent was not at home. Sev 
 eral days in succession he called with the same 
 result. He wondered what impulse would lead 
 him to if he should meet him by chance. 
 
 When Glenn went to the regular meeting of
 
 146 As The Hart Panteth 
 
 the club a few days later, it was a little shock of 
 surprise that the name of Stephen Kent was up 
 for membership. When it came his turn to cast 
 
 his ballot for the man of whom he could have 
 
 
 said a week ago he was all honor, he started, 
 
 trembling violently as he let fall from his hand 
 a blackball. 
 
 The results of the ballot came as a great sur 
 prise to every man of them except the one who 
 had turned the course. Questioning, no doubt, 
 went round the room and there was a ripple of 
 comment passing among the groups after the 
 meeting was over and the members were going 
 out. At the foot of the stairs one man met 
 Stephen Kent and told him the result, which he 
 had come over to learn. The disappointment in 
 his face was intense as he took a few steps more, 
 taking out his penknife to cut his cigar, and met 
 Glenn Andrews. 
 
 " Look here, Andrews, what does this mean ? 
 They tell me I am blackballed." 
 
 " They told you the truth," he said, coolly.
 
 As The Hart Panteth 147 
 
 " Well ! that's damned strange," Kent's an 
 swer had in it the sting of humiliation. 
 
 " If I knew the man who did it, I would thrash 
 him within an inch of his life. The sneak! " 
 
 Glenn Andrews' eyes were dilated and flashing. 
 
 " Stephen Kent, you don't have to go very far 
 to find him. I am the man." 
 
 The next moment the two grappled. With 
 the first lift of his hand, Stephen Kent's penknife 
 had slipped across and cut the radial artery of 
 Glenn Andrews' wrist. Regardless of the flow 
 of blood, he had dealt the blow that laid the other 
 at his feet.
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 IT was several days before Glenn felt able to 
 resume his work. He kept away from Esther 
 until he could give himself a chance to recover 
 from the acute aenemia from which he suffered. 
 Finally, when he called, he found that she had 
 left that plape, and her address could not be 
 given him. 
 
 He was worried and bitterly wounded. 
 
 It was in the latter part of April that Rich 
 mond Briarley happened to stop in a flower store 
 to order a palm for some friend. At the counter 
 stood a slender girl. There was something very 
 unusual about her or he would not have given 
 her a moment's thought, nor the second look. 
 
 Her hair swept back in deep waves from her 
 brow, under the wide, soft hat. The dark blue of 
 [148!
 
 As The Hart Panteth 149 
 
 her eyes seemed to gently motion as she looked 
 at the delicate orchids the clerk held across to 
 her. 
 
 " That's what I want." 
 
 Then she turned away as he went to wrap 
 them for her. She felt a sudden swelling of the 
 heart, as she faced Richmond Briarley. 
 
 " How do you do, Miss Powel ? " he said in 
 acknowledgment of her recognition. 
 
 " I have quite lost track of you since our friend 
 Andrews has been ill. You'll be glad to know 
 his doctor now thinks he may pull through." 
 
 " Mr. Glenn ill dangerously ill ? " She was 
 white to the lips. 
 
 The look on her face he would never forget 
 while he lived. 
 
 " Where ? Where ? " she said, eagerly clasping 
 her hands. " Let me go to him." 
 
 " He has someone you can do nothing. She 
 does everything." 
 
 He said very little beyond the bare statement, 
 but his answer added to the pain of her wound.
 
 1 50 As The Hart Panteth 
 
 " I'm going to see him now, if you care to 
 send him a word." 
 
 " Tell him how sorry I am, and would you 
 take these flowers to him orchids are his favor 
 ite flowers. I was going to wear them to a 
 musicale to-night." 
 
 " Certainly I will take them." 
 
 " Wait just a minute." 
 
 She took the pencil of her chatelaine and 
 wrote her new address on the box; her fingers 
 were trembling, so she doubted if he would 
 recognize her signature. 
 
 She smiled a little as he lifted his hat, when 
 he bade her good-bye. Pride was a matter of 
 principle with her. 
 
 It was early in May before Glenn was able to 
 be out again. 
 
 To see Esther was one of his first visits. She 
 greeted him with a grave, solicitous face. 
 
 " I am glad you are better. I didn't even know 
 it until you had passed the crisis."
 
 As The Hart Pantelh. 1 5 1 
 
 " Whose fault was it ? " That old perversity 
 had not been subdued by suffering. 
 
 " Oh, don't ; not to-day, anyhow." She put 
 her hands up and gently turned down the collar 
 of his coat. " Come, now ; lie down on the divan. 
 You've overdone your strength." 
 
 " I'm not equal to my work yet," he said, as 
 he stretched out among the pillows, closing his 
 eyes wearily. 
 
 " I wouldn't have come if it had not been your 
 birthday," turning his head, revealing the pain 
 ful clearness of his profile. 
 
 " 1 remembered you had someone who loved 
 you; to think of it always before now there's 
 nobody." 
 
 Sitting beside him she stroked his forehead 
 very tenderly. 
 
 " You were always thoughtful of me." 
 
 They were silent for a time. 
 
 " Sometimes I longed for the warm, sweet 
 touch of your hand on my head," he said at last ; 
 " it throbbed so, and ached."
 
 152 As The Hart Panteth. 
 
 " Oh, dear, why didn't you send for me ? " 
 
 " You forget, I didn't know where to send." 
 
 She paled under the answer. " But you had 
 someone you wanted more." She said this with 
 an impulsive touch of resentment. 
 
 " She was the best one I ever had. Profes 
 sional nurses are not always as solicitous or as 
 kind." 
 
 " Professional," Esther repeated to herself, be 
 traying no sign of the relief it gave her. 
 
 The soft wind moved the curtains and let a 
 flash of sunlight in. Glenn looked out; the air 
 was full of spring. 
 
 He could not but think of the old days, the 
 paths upon which they had strolled now lay 
 green and solitary through field and woods. 
 
 For a man who loved to steep himself in the 
 sunshine and open air, he but seldom indulged 
 himself. 
 
 " Esther, get your hat ; it's too fine a day to 
 be indoors. I'll take you away, out to Van Cort- 
 landt Park."
 
 As The Hart Panteth. 153 
 
 Without another word she obeyed him, de 
 lighted at the prospect. Van Cortlandt was 
 beautiful. They took a little boat and went out 
 on the lake. So precious was the silence the 
 solitude the shadow of the willows, that Glenn 
 allowed Esther to take the oars he had taught 
 her to handle and stretched himself full length 
 in the boat. The water trembled under the sweet 
 wind that blew fresh upon him. 
 
 She looked at him as though to draw him 
 nearer and enfold him in her stretched-out arms. 
 The warm impulses of her heart were warring in 
 their wild effort to be free. Silence was the lan 
 guage of youth and love to him they needed no 
 words. 
 
 The force and the sweetness, the purity and 
 power of his nature as she interpreted it, was 
 the complete realization of her beautiful dreams. 
 
 " Have you ever forgiven me for spilling your 
 blood and leaving a scar ? " Her thrillingly deli 
 cate touch on his knee swept him with a swift 
 vigorous delight.
 
 154 As The Hart Panteth. 
 
 " Forgiven ! I've blessed you. That is some 
 thing from you that I shall carry with me through 
 life. And there's another I want a memory. 
 You never have called me by my name." 
 
 Looking into his fine, clear face, she felt the 
 love flowing softly like a fountain in her heart. 
 " Glenn," she whispered his beloved name. 
 
 " Esther ! dearest ! " Drawing her toward him, 
 he kissed her on her lips as he held her close in 
 the, clasp of his arms with the intensity of his 
 commanding love. Her hat had fallen off; he 
 caught the dank fragrance of her hair. 
 
 Something fluttered in her breast something 
 new and strange and strong. She did not under 
 stand that she had left girlhood behind and 
 become a woman. All the woman in her was 
 quickened by his kiss. 
 
 " Oh, how I love to feel your heart beating 
 against mine." 
 
 Her words, her kiss, touched his soul to its 
 depths. He was startled at the depths he had 
 stirred.
 
 As The Hart Panteth. 155 
 
 " Heart ! dear heart of mine ! " She was in a 
 fit of adoring fury. Her lips met his, again and 
 again. She loved him so humanly and yet there 
 was only the tender throb and thrill of the sensi 
 tive nature in all its refinement. Sweet emotions 
 shot through her breast. 
 
 " Love me, no matter what comes, Esther, love 
 me." 
 
 He too felt some hurting power bound through 
 his blood, and wrestle with his reserve his equi 
 librium. 
 
 His low voice, his soft eyes held her; not a 
 tone, not a look but it caressed her. 
 
 The soft shadows, the limpid waters, the open 
 air with it altogether he felt a strange soften 
 ing. 
 
 " You never said sweet words straight from 
 your heart to me before." 
 
 " Why words ? Instinct, nature, tells us when 
 a thing is true. That great silent power often 
 stands between the soul and what it loves. It is 
 too deep for speech. Did you ever drop a pebble
 
 156 As T/ie Hart Panteth. 
 
 into a well to sound its depth? If it is shallow, 
 you hear it when it strikes the bottom. But if 
 you wait and never hear a sound, you know it 
 is very deep." 
 
 Her sweet, low laugh rippled out over the 
 waters. 
 
 " Your laugh is like that of a child in a happy 
 dream. I hope it will always keep that sound." 
 
 Straining her to him a moment, he then put 
 his hands to his face to shut out the dangerous 
 sweetness. 
 
 " Nobody but you will ever understand what 
 my nature is, because they have never so nearly 
 felt it." 
 
 " That's true," he said, " the only difference is 
 that I know what is best for us and what is 
 not." 
 
 " To make music, one must have genuine feel 
 ing for it ; that is true of love. There has always 
 been a sympathy between us, but never before 
 so deep as now. The greater the love, you know, 
 the stronger the sympathy. Natures so well tern-
 
 As The Hart Panteth. 157 
 
 pered, so sympathetically adapted, very seldom 
 can endure; neither can afford to indulge in the 
 beauty of one he loves, for he may lose his own 
 seekings in sharing hers. Ideal love is not to 
 be satisfied." 
 
 A sudden chill went through him. The horror 
 of their ideals being endangered made him draw 
 back. He had never entirely lost sight of the 
 delicacy and nobility of the relation. He was her 
 friend her protector. 
 
 Slightly moving his position, he said " Esther, 
 what is sweeter than comprehensive sympathy? 
 Each knows the other's highest aims and hopes, 
 and each tries to help the other reach and pre 
 serve those ideals. There is something beautiful, 
 noble in the endeavor to sustain the ideals of one 
 we love, even though they should not always 
 succeed." 
 
 " I believe that. The desire, the effort 
 shouldn't that go for something? " 
 
 " I think so, but will you always think it?" 
 
 " I hope I shall."
 
 158 As The Hart Panteth. 
 
 As they anchored alongside the bank, Glenn 
 held out his hand to help her; her cheeks were 
 in bloom with life, and he was going home rested, 
 with all his senses and passions much keener and 
 many degrees finer in their possibilities.
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 GLENN knew now that he had been mistaken. 
 The heart he had tended drew all its life still 
 from him. His knowledge of men and women 
 was great. He could not deceive himself. Na 
 ture demanded a climax. He must, advance or 
 retreat. He realized that he was coming to love 
 her too well in a sweeter, nearer way. They 
 were to each other now more of a necessity than 
 an inspirational force. He must go away it 
 was best: for their art, for their peace of mind. 
 It was some time before he could tell her this. 
 He could no longer trust himself to be tender 
 with her. He dared not risk himself; he was not 
 equal to it. It seemed to him their companion 
 ship was never so beautiful as now when he was 
 11 [159]
 
 160 As The Hart Panteth. 
 
 about to break it. He was testing his strength 
 and asking his own soul if it were fit for the work 
 and the awful sacrifice. It was during a short in 
 terview that he found courage to tell her how 
 his doctor had advised a change of scene and air. 
 A sea voyage, with perhaps a year abroad; pos 
 sibly Egypt personally he hardly expected to 
 get beyond the old yellow city of his youthful 
 escapades Paris, where the aromatic breath of 
 absinthe had tinged the air. There would be no 
 strain then. She knew what it meant. She knew 
 it was not for his health alone that he was put 
 ting the sea between them. 
 
 "It may be just what you need to strengthen 
 you. In travel I fancy you will find oceans of 
 material for penwork and gulfs of inspiration. 
 And in Paris, that you have learned to love, you 
 might know real life and real joy." The words 
 cost her an effort, but they were bravely said. 
 
 Richmond Briarley sat in his office alone that 
 night He had just opened his safe and from
 
 As The Hart Pantcth. 1 6 1 
 
 a package of legal documents drawn a paper 
 which he unfolded and read, a note secured by 
 mortgage, now past due. At the bottom it was 
 signed by the husband and wife. "Albert Win 
 ston and Mildred Hughes Winston." His lips 
 clamped, the circular wrinkles deepened round 
 his mouth. When he first knew Mildred Hughes 
 he was very young and poorer than he was 
 young. He had gone away and left her to this 
 man, who was well launched, expecting her to es 
 cape the hardships of the poor. In time he would 
 forget her. He remembered how he had told 
 her so and left her that day was more to him 
 than all the rest of his life. It was full of her. 
 "Forgetfulness!" He had never learned the 
 meaning of the word. With one swift survey of 
 the room, he slowly tore off the woman's signa 
 ture this was the last remnant of a life that had 
 been lived. As someone opened the door his 
 dream faded with the sound. The next minute 
 Glenn Andrews had come in, and was standing 
 behind him. He rose abruptly, closed the safe
 
 1 62 As The Hart Panteth. 
 
 door, and hid the small paper in his hand. "Hel 
 lo, Andrews." He held himself down to a sem 
 blance of calm. "I thought it was about time 
 that you blew in. What are you doi g with that 
 grip?" 
 
 "Taking it up to pack it," he said, as he took 
 out cigars for both. 
 
 "Indeed! Are you really off? Are you ro 
 mancing?" 
 
 "Most of my romancing is set to the same 
 notes bank notes. It serves that purpose well 
 enough. I sail day after to-morrow," he added, 
 carelessly. 
 
 "So you are going to kick over the traces, eh? 
 It's lucky not to be tied so that you couldn't 
 break away." 
 
 "New York becomes more and more intolera 
 ble every day, and I feel that I must get out of 
 it for awhile. I will still do some work on the 
 magazine, of course. Wait; give me a light" 
 Andrews took the paper that Briarley had twist 
 ed and touched it to the gas jet above his head.
 
 As The Hart Panteth. 163 
 
 It went out before it reached the cigar. With a 
 gesture of impatience he looked around and 
 found the matches. 
 
 They smoked on, talking together for some 
 time, Glenn toying with the paper in his hand, 
 carelessly rolling and unrolling it. He got a 
 glimpse of it, and said, quickly: "Look here," 
 passing it over. "Is this of much importance? 
 Maybe you have burned the wrong thing." 
 
 "Oh, no! That's nothing," Briarley answered, 
 with an indifferent gesture. "Albert Winston, 
 the poor devil, is dead, and he died beaten. One 
 man has no business to take a mortgage on an 
 other's home, anyhow. I may be an unrespon 
 sive brute, but I couldn't turn a woman and 
 children into the street." His throat was dry as 
 he turned his back and laid the scorched paper 
 over the flames. "We might as well finish it 
 let the ashes settle it." 
 
 "Do you mean to say that Winston died in 
 poverty?" Andrews asked, as he got up to leave.
 
 1 64 As The Hart Panteth. 
 
 "He hadn't a dollar." 
 
 "Let me see; whom did he marry?" 
 
 "Mildred Hughes," Briarley hazarded, repeat 
 ing her name calmly. 
 
 "Oh, that's so; I do remember her. Half the 
 fellows at college were daft about her. Win 
 ston's money won her, they thought." 
 
 "Where are you off to, now?" asked Briar- 
 ley. 
 
 Andrewsturned. "I'vegotthe ends of a million 
 threads to wind up before I start." 
 
 "And some to break, no doubt." 
 
 "Let me hear from you occasionally," Glenn 
 said, as he grasped the other's hand, and felt like 
 adding, "I have guessed your secret, Briarley. 
 my friend. Some men are heroes simply because 
 they didn't marry." 
 
 "I'll try to come down to see you off. But if I 
 shouldn't make it, remember to get all you can 
 out of life, my boy, and I wish you the best of 
 good luck."
 
 As The Hart Pantcth. 165 
 
 Andrews looked worn, overworked. Rich 
 mond Briarley had hoped that the returns from 
 the opera would take some of the strain off of the 
 ambitious fellow but the unfortunate affair with 
 Stephen Kent had ended that hope.
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 FOR two weeks Esther had been at the sea 
 side. She had grown pale and tired from the 
 ceaseless round of work and social play. This 
 life had glamour, had charm, but no content 
 ment. Her pleasure in it was not real. She 
 entered it with the belief that it was sweet to 
 love, natural to trust. There was nothing in life 
 but faith and love. She was now in the midst of 
 people who talked with a sceptical contempt of 
 all that she had held sacred. They laughed at 
 her simple faith in the old-fashioned morality 
 taught her by cherished lips. 
 
 Glenn Andrews could not leave without see 
 ing her again. He had sent her a message. In 
 the afternoon of the last day he went down to the 
 [166]
 
 As The Hart Panteth. 167 
 
 seaside where she was stopping. The expression 
 on his face was one of unrelenting yet melan 
 choly determination. She was not in, so he 
 struck across the sand and strolled along the 
 beach until he found her. In spite of the pain in 
 her heart, her sensitive, proud face denied it 
 There was a smile on her pale lips. 
 
 "You're about as hard to reach as the bag of 
 gold at the rainbow's end," Glenn said, "but I am 
 glad to find that the other hunters have n;ot 
 reached here. From stories that came back to 
 town, you don't often escape all of your admirers 
 at once. I am fortunate to find you alone." 
 
 "They are fairy stories that every girl has a 
 right to be a heroine of during the season." 
 
 "I ventured to ask you to be so good as to 
 give me an hour, only because I am going away 
 so soon, and I may not see you again." 
 
 "Your 'so' is femininely unsatisfactory. That 
 is the speech of a woman. How soon is that?" 
 
 He pointed across the water. "You see that 
 ship? Just about this time to-morrow, when the
 
 1 68 As The Hart Panteth. 
 
 Majestic sails that way, you may know I am 
 aboard of her. I will wave you a farewell." 
 
 Esther felt a tremor run over her. She looked 
 past him at the baffled surf, as, white with rage, 
 it sprang against the pier, retreating with a roar, 
 leaving a glimpse of the green sea stones be 
 neath. 
 
 "So soon as that?" she said, her eyes opening 
 and closing convulsively. "I must have been 
 asleep; I didn't realize that the time was so near." 
 
 "Time is a mule; it always takes the opposite 
 gait from that which you want it to take. This 
 month has taken wings." He gave a swift glance 
 at her. "And I expect the next one to crawl 
 that is, after the voyage. I love the water." 
 
 "As the doctor thinks the sea air so good for 
 you, why don't you cruise along the shores of 
 France?" 
 
 "I may," hesitatingly he answered; a sense of 
 guilt came over him at the thought of his decep 
 tion. 
 
 "How long do you expect to be gone?"
 
 As The Hart Panteth. 169 
 
 "I don't know," he said, absently; he knew this 
 was not curiosity, but personal concern; "it may 
 be three months, or three years." 
 
 "Which do you expect it to be?" 
 
 "I do not expect, because to do that is to rob 
 one's self of the emotion of surprise, without 
 which there is little pleasure in living." 
 
 "I don't believe I could be surprised any more. 
 I know how little there is ahead. I have been ar 
 ranging it all in my mind." 
 
 He looked seaward. "How's that?" 
 
 "Well, Mrs. Low goes home with her daugh 
 ter." Here she touched her hands together im 
 pulsively. 
 
 "You both are going; that leaves me alone." 
 
 "If thoughts count for anything, you will never 
 be alone." 
 
 "How am I to know that?" 
 
 "You have the word of Glenn Andrews," he 
 said quickly; "besides you have a glorious fu 
 ture to look forward to. You have attained! 
 What happiness is there like unto it? Among the
 
 1 70 As The Hart Panteth. 
 
 many desires of my heart, the first is of your 
 happiness, which I believe lies through your art. 
 I am proud for you. Let me have one comfort 
 before we part. Promise me that you will not 
 disappoint me in my hopes for you. Your suc 
 cess has come high." 
 
 "Well, your future, tell me of that and what 
 your art has cost you." 
 
 "What I have suffered is too late to discuss. 
 One can rate truly only as far as one has gone. 
 I cannot see as far ahead for myself as for my 
 friends." 
 
 "I can see for you." She spoke slowly, and 
 with difficulty. "Not only perfect health, but 
 laurels. I hope my little spot in your heart may 
 not be entirely shadowed by the lustre of that 
 hour." Her composure was returning. "I shall 
 miss you; I want you to know that I appreciate 
 the value of your friendship, of which I stood in 
 need. YOM have helped me by your fond belief 
 in me." 
 
 He didn't raise his head, but his hand
 
 As The Hart Panteth. 1 7 1 
 
 "Oh, I have done so little; don't shame me. 
 You have been taking care of me instead. You 
 have made my life richer deeper brought back 
 some of the old faith in my own ideals that was 
 gradually being crushed out. I can understand 
 how men can be forced to such a height that fall 
 ing would seem too far and hard. I wish I could 
 feel that I had brought half the sunlight into your 
 life as you have into mine." 
 
 "You have brought the most that will ever be 
 there." 
 
 "Oh, don't say that just as I am going; that 
 kind of sun shines not only through the senses, 
 but through the soul. It will always shine if you 
 will only think so." 
 
 She bowed her head, the wide fringe of brown 
 seaweed trembled under the waves that ran up 
 on the warm-hued sand. 
 
 "And I am glad that we have had this year. 
 With all its pain it is ours. Think of me some 
 times when I am gone, Esther. Be good by 
 that I mean, brave,"
 
 1 72 As Tli* Hart Panteth. 
 
 His voice broke. 
 
 The tense strain of the moment was ended, as 
 he bent forward. His heart was in the kiss he 
 left on her hair. He turned and walked quickly 
 away without looking back. 
 
 In the darkness of her room, a young figure 
 lay stricken with grief across her bed, mourning 
 the vision of her ideals that seemed gone without 
 fulfillment. In the morning when she heard 
 the happy sound of laughing voices the hopeless 
 ness of her bereavement came over her afresh. 
 She was alone in her sorrow and memories. She 
 was so weak that her body felt bruised, and her 
 arms lay like a dead weight at her side. Was her 
 courage broken? She prayed a passionate prayer 
 for the poor, heartless women who had kept faith 
 with virtue, and had not been rewarded who had 
 scattered their broken ideals along the road that 
 they went, that all who followed must bleed and 
 suffer. She reached out for her violin; for a 
 while she lay still with it in her arms. It was not 
 sufficient. She needed some human thing for
 
 As The Hart Pantcth. 173 
 
 companionship. Her soul hated its bodily en- 
 thrallment she would fly out if it she must. 
 With a supreme effort she raised herself, and 
 faced the mirror. Her wide, dim eyes looked out 
 at her in pity. Then from her window she saw 
 a steamer going out. It was time for the Majes 
 tic that was to take Glenn Andrews out of New 
 York out of her life. The two loves of her life 
 they must die together. Suddenly grasping 
 the neck of her violin, she struck it against the 
 side of the bed and shattered the exquisite thing. 
 She fell back prostrate, and there for weeks she 
 lay between this life and the eternal.
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 GLENN ANDREWS went to France, to Moret- 
 sur-Loing, an old cathedral town, thinly peopled, 
 on the skirts of the forest of Fontainbleu. It was 
 secluded and out of the way. Here he would lead 
 a quiet life of study and work. This was his de 
 light. A poet-soul living in the pursuit, not pos 
 session of the ideal. He had taken up his abode 
 in a little, old inn. Away from the world and yet 
 so near it. This was a beautiful country; the 
 sight of it did his spirit good. He loved the hills 
 and valleys and streams. On one side the ruins 
 of an old Keep belting him, and on the other, the 
 mills with long rows of deep windows, from 
 which the workers looked out upon the sunshine 
 
 [I74J
 
 As The Hart Panteth. 175 
 
 and their homes. The small mill-houses nestled 
 low in the leaves. 
 
 One day, returning late from a long walk, 
 Glenn passed a peasant mother, poorly clothed, 
 seated in her doorway; her child was sitting by 
 with its hands about its knees. She kept point 
 ing to the path that led to the mill. She was evi 
 dently looking for some one. Soon a man came 
 in sight. A glow lit in the sombre eyes of the 
 mother, and a smile leaped from her haggard face 
 to the weary man, who suddenly straightened his 
 drooping shoulders. There was something be 
 sides pain and work in the world, and they had 
 found it. He took the child in his arms, tossing 
 it up and letting it fall back again this human 
 miniature of their love and youth. Many a day, 
 Glenn strolled at evening to see their meeting 
 when the father came home from the mill. It 
 rested him. He became absorbed in his work, 
 reading the proof of the third book that was to 
 add something to, or take from, the name of the 
 
 lyrical poet. 
 12
 
 1 76 As The Hart Panteth. 
 
 It was not long until he heard of Esther's ill 
 ness. It gave him a stab of remorse and dis 
 tressed him sorely. Had he, who had nurtured 
 her soul so carefully, injured it more deeply than 
 the careless world? He who had enthralled her 
 childhood, steadfastly guided her girlhood in 
 whose woman's destiny he had played so fatal 
 a part. Here the pathos and the irony were 
 strangely interwoven. Would it have been better 
 had she never known the broader, fuller world? 
 Had she now been living away her life contented 
 ly in the dark? These questions came between 
 him and his work. As he gazed dreamily out, the 
 leaves were swaying carelessly. A vision of the 
 dependent, lovely girl overwhelmed him. In the 
 wind he seemed to hear Esther's voice all the 
 youth and laughter gone out of it. It was not 
 like that day when he held her face between his 
 hands and gave her the kiss of love. He sighed 
 for the virginal softness of her tremulous lips. 
 The wind went wandering along the wood's green 
 edge, like a miserable thing, offering no consola-
 
 As The Hart Panteth. i?7 
 
 tion. From his meditation came like an accusing 
 ghost the realization that there is but one true 
 aim in life to seek and find the soul's comple 
 ment. He had sought. He had found, but he 
 had sacrificed. The spiritual need of his soul 
 had been set aside. For what? An agony of 
 yearning welled up in his heart a yearning for 
 the sense of her sweet presence which thrilled 
 him with a joy of pain. The best of love they had 
 missed the supreme surrender.
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 ESTHER'S health was returning, and with it her 
 strength. Herpride and her spirit, both, were fired, 
 There was one thing left to her in her grief con 
 cealment. She bound this thought to her heart, 
 and held it close so close. She was a soldier's 
 daughter, and came of a stock whose fortitude in 
 defeat had been even more splendid than their 
 valor in war. To her the secret of love had been 
 harshly told, but she would hear it with courage. 
 In the swiftest current of destiny, she would show 
 her womanly strength. 
 [178]
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 "You will wonder at seeing this letter from 
 me," Glenn wrote to Esther, "for it will not be 
 a usual one not at all the sort of letter you have 
 been accustomed to receiving from me. Per 
 haps it is that I have changed greatly changed 
 from that old self you knew most of all changed 
 from what I used to be to you. I can see you 
 now as you looked to me that afternoon at In 
 dian Well, when I first spoke to you. You 
 touched me so closely then so nearly and you 
 were such a child. 
 
 "All through that first year I think you could 
 never have guessed how much the blossoming of 
 that little wild heart of yours meant to me. I 
 watched it from day to day, from month to 
 
 [179]
 
 i3o As The Hart PantctJi. 
 
 month, so closely. Maybe I watered it some, 
 and pulled some of the weeds that might have 
 crowded its roots. I hope so. You were a child 
 then and I a man, yet I had been a man without 
 a passion. I thought much in those days, and 
 dreamed that I knew myself. Achievement was 
 my god. I told myself that my interest in you 
 was the interest of the philosopher the master 
 and I watched your mind unfold with a curi 
 ous delight. I know now, dear, that it was a far 
 different feeling from that one that went far 
 deeper and meant much more to me, even when 
 I would not admit it to myself. It is to his own 
 heart last of all that a man admits his own error. 
 And yet, as I look back at it now, I think that 
 I meant to be honest with myself. When you 
 came to the city and I saw the wondrous woman 
 that had grown when I saw your flower heart 
 still the heart of the child in all that was sweet 
 and innocent turning more and more towards 
 me for its sun it waked something new within 
 me. I saw the problem. I felt your dependence
 
 As The Hart Panteth. 181 
 
 grow each day stronger. You leaned upon me 
 so that I thought sometimes I could feel every 
 throb of your heart. You we;,, achieving. Your 
 art was growing. Your genius was lifting. You 
 were coming nearer and nearer to the ideal that 
 I had imagined for you. When such a devel 
 opment has become the great and absorbing pas 
 sion of a man's life, I cannot express to you how 
 haunting becomes the fear of disappointment, 
 how terrible the jealousy of circumstance that 
 may step between him and its fulfillment. You 
 had beautiful ideals such as I have had and 
 they had grown a part of you. To lose them 
 would have ashed the ember; it would have dead 
 ened the quick sensibilities and wounded that 
 soul-instinct of yours in which your music lived. 
 And when I saw these ideals dependent upon me 
 upon my presence upon the sympathy of 
 mine, which I could not have denied if I had 
 tried I stood by them and you. Dear, the soul 
 of a woman is a wonderful thing. It will not 
 bear experiment. Yours was like a sensitive
 
 1 82 As The Hart Panteth. 
 
 plant that cannot bear the light, and sheds its 
 loveliest perfume in the dark. So I tried to give 
 it the darkness to cloud the glare of hollowness 
 that was in our world to let the light in slowly 
 and only when the leaves were strong enough 
 to bear it. All this time I could not help but 
 see that when I went from you the shock would 
 be great. My philosophy taught me the penalty 
 of emotion, and I thought I had much to do in 
 the world. I dreamed of work that would absorb 
 me utterly that would take the best that was in 
 me, of feeling and of effort. All my life I had 
 denied myself the passion that my eyes told me 
 was growing in you. I had grown to consider 
 myself apart from others a mental solitary who 
 had locked the door of his heart because he had 
 work to do. It had not occurred to me that the 
 Juggernaut whose rumbling wheels I would not 
 hear might crush you. It was the concert at the 
 Metropolitan that opened my eyes. I knew then 
 that your art and your heart had twined together 
 so intimately that if one were cut, the other would
 
 As The Hart PanUth. 183 
 
 bleed. I knew then that I must either go or 
 stay, that if I became a stronger part of you my 
 going would be fatal to your own achievement 
 and to mine. Dear, it was not all selfishness 
 this resolve of mine. You will never know what 
 it meant to me to tear up the roots that had 
 grown in spite of me: it was like tearing the 
 flesh and leaving it quivering. But that I could 
 have borne if it left you better able to go on. I 
 did not know then what I know now. I blame 
 myself that I did not read truer. The news of 
 your breakdown and the giving up of your music 
 came to me like a blow in the dark. In show 
 ing me yours, it has shown me my own heart. 
 The depths of my self-condemnation have 
 taught me myself. It has taught me that achieve 
 ment is a pitiful thing compared with a woman's 
 love that your happiness means more to me 
 a thousand times more than success: that I love 
 you I iove you utterly and wholly and that 
 I want you to be my wife. The future is impos 
 sible to me without you. Each day since I saw
 
 1 84 As The Hart Panteth. 
 
 you, your step has been in every sound. Each 
 night your face has been my vision. Here from 
 my window I can see a little knoll on which is 
 a cross, where the peasants go to pray to the 
 patron saint of the village. It is ugly, and bat 
 tered, and old, but it has come to be beautiful to 
 me, for I know now what they are praying for. 
 The hills are gold with the grain, and a little 
 winding path runs down toward my eyrie. I can 
 almost -imagine you coming down it now to meet 
 me, with your dear face raised to my win 
 dow " 
 
 As Glenn finished the page, the boy tapped at 
 the little door with the daily mail, and he reached 
 out an indifferent hand to take it. A familiar 
 flourish caught his eye, and, recognizing Rich 
 mond Briarley's penmanship, he opened a bulky 
 envelope. A card, closely written, and a small 
 book met his gaze.
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 "Mv young Idealist, I send you a clever story, 
 one which shows remarkable talent, and which 
 you really must read. There is, or was, once 
 upon a time in this town, another consummate 
 young Idealist like yourself, but of the female 
 persuasion; a protege of yours who fiddled. She, 
 I remember, believed in a few things; among 
 others, that there was a little to be considered 
 besides art, and that she had a lump somewhere 
 which she called a heart. You have always been 
 troubled with the same feature, I believe. 
 
 "The lady has just issued a story, which I 
 send you to-day. Just take a look at it and find 
 me that lump, will you? Cold as an icicle! T>y 
 the way, I understand that the lady in question
 
 1 86 As The Hart Panteth. 
 
 was quite a social success here in our city, and 
 very much sought after in drawing rooms, in 
 which she earned about her own price. She has 
 come to the philosophical conclusion that you 
 used to uphold : which is, that as long as a person 
 docs, it don't much matter what a person feels. 
 Anyway, she is doing it; and I take it from this 
 novel that she is not feeling much either. 
 
 "Yours, Briarley." 
 
 Glenn read the letter with a curious shock, and 
 opened the novellette. As he finished the last 
 page and laid it down on the table beside him 
 this story with the heart of a stone he sat look 
 ing out the window with a daze of anguish in his 
 eyes. His hands were supporting his bearded 
 chin. Without, the splendid sunset, the gilding 
 flame of which caused his features to shine re- 
 splendently. His sad, wistful face, convulsed 
 with emotion. What a tumult of silent, unspeak 
 able memories; what feelings of regret and long 
 ing! Instinct does not always point the truth.
 
 As The Hart Panteth. 187 
 
 No suspicion of the brave ruse of Esther came to 
 him now no apprehension of the hurt pride 
 whose strain of revolt forced from her this liter 
 ary lie. He had been driven blindly on by his 
 yearning for the more perfect art. He didn't care 
 for laurels now, nor for that art for whose sake 
 he had destroyed the best thing in his life. Was 
 ever heart-break more cruel? He sat for an hour 
 in silence. The sunset had lost its beauty. The 
 grain on the hills had lost its gold. He took the 
 letter he had been writing to Esther, tore it up, 
 and flung the fragments of what, if he had known, 
 was the best of his life, out the window. A lazy 
 breeze caught them up and scattered them. A 
 single one with the word "love" on it was blown 
 back and settled slowly in his hat. A bell was 
 ringing for compline. He saw the peasants in 
 their simple devotion going slowly to worship. 
 He took his hat and walked across the street to 
 the little cafe. There two comrades called him 
 over to have a bottle of wine with them. 
 
 "Ah, poet!" one said, laughing as he reached
 
 188 As The Hart Panteth. 
 
 over and took the stray bit of paper that lay on 
 his hair. "Still the philosopher! Making love 
 with your head?" 
 
 "You're wrong, this time, it was from the 
 heart," and Glenn Andrews forced the shadow of 
 a smile into his lips. 
 
 THE END.
 
 FAMOUS AUTHORS AND THEIR BOOKS 
 INCLUDED IN THIS SERIES 
 
 ECCENTRIC MR. CLARK 
 
 By JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY 
 
 Authoi of "An Old Sweetheart of Mine," etc. 
 
 THE PRINCESS ELOPES 
 
 By HAROLD MacGRATH 
 
 Author of " The Man on the Box," etc, 
 
 AS THE HART PANTETH 
 
 By HALLIE ERMINIE RIVES 
 
 Author of "The Valiants of Virginia," etc. 
 
 ROSALYNDE'S LOVERS 
 
 By MAURICE THOMPSON 
 
 Author of "Alice of Old Vincennes," etc. 
 
 THE HOUSE IN THE MIST 
 
 By ANNA KATHARINE GREEN 
 
 Author of "The Leaoenworth Case," etc. 
 
 TROLLEY FOLLY 
 
 By HENRY WALLACE PHILLIPS 
 
 Author of "Red Sounders," etc. 
 
 MOTORMANIACS 
 
 By LLOYD OSBOURNE 
 
 Author of "A Person of Some Importance," etc. 
 
 THE FIFTH STRING 
 
 By JOHN PHILIP SOUSA 
 
 Author of"Pipetown Sandy," etc, 
 
 CHIMES FROM A JESTER'S BELLS 
 
 By ROBERT J. BURDETTE 
 
 Author of "Old Time and Young Tom," etc, 
 
 A GUEST AT THE LUDLOW 
 
 By BILL NYE 
 Author of "Baled Hau," etc. 
 
 FOUR IN FAMILY 
 
 By FLORIDA POPE SUMERWELL 
 A FOOL FOR LOVE 
 
 By FRANCIS LYNOB 
 
 Author of "The Grafters." etc.
 
 UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILIT 
 
 A 001 248 697 3