RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE
 
 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 A NOVEL 
 
 KATHARINE DONELSON 
 
 CHICAGO 
 LAIRD & LEE, PUBLISHERS
 
 Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1891, 
 
 By KATHARINE DONALDSON, 
 in the Office of the Librarian of Congress at Washington. 
 
 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.
 
 TO MY MOTHER 
 
 The heart which, like a staff, was one 
 For mine to lean and rest upon. 
 The strongest on the longest day 
 With steadfast love " 
 This book is 
 
 Affectionately Dedicated 
 
 2135387 I
 
 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 It was a summer evening in the last week of August of 
 188 . The inhabitants of the suburban university town 
 of Edgewood, situated on the lake shore, within ten miles 
 of the city of Clinton, had closed their doors and windows 
 against the dense fog, that with the setting of the sun, 
 had rolled down the lake from the north, and enveloped 
 the village. The fog was so heavy that within an hour 
 after it had settled upon the numberless shade trees of the 
 town, they were dripping as though in a rain, and the 
 sidewalks below were wet. The lamps at the street 
 corners could be seen but a short distance, and then only 
 as small circles of luminous fog. The houses loomed up 
 indistinctly and ghost-like, on either side of the wide 
 streets. In some, no light at all could be seen, in others 
 the lamps from within, cast their rays through the trans- 
 lucent mist, increasing the spectral aspect of the dismal 
 night. On a side street, some three squares from the 
 university buildings, stood the house of Professor McVey. 
 There was no fence around his place, and a broad gravel 
 walk led up to the four steps, that ascended to the piazza 
 that ran across the two front rooms, and the hall, and 
 down the south side of the old-fashioned, square, wooden 
 house, that was painted white, and had old-fashioned 
 green blinds to its windows. A large hammock full of 
 pillows, hung across one end of the piazza, and near it 
 was grouped three red lawn chairs, a weather-beaten 
 steamer chair, and a rustic lounge. The hall was dimly 
 lighted, but from the room on the right, which was Pro- 
 7
 
 8 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 fessor McVey's study, there came through the yellow silk 
 sash curtains, that covered the lower half of the two front 
 windows, a glowing light that indicated warmth and 
 cheerfulness within. The room was occupied by Professor 
 McVey, who sat in front of a blazing wood fire, his legs 
 stretched straight out, so that his feet might rest upon 
 the wicker wood basket that stood at the corner of the 
 fireplace; and a young girl of twenty, the only child of 
 this sixty-five year old man, and a young man sitting on 
 a sofa beside the fire, who was gazing at the girl, as she 
 leaned over the back of her father's chair, to kiss the 
 head she held between her arms, that were placed each 
 side of her father's neck, and crossed below his chin. 
 This girl was small, delicate, and graceful, dressed in 
 black silk, the waist of which was made without sleeves, 
 and was cut with a low, square neck. Over the black 
 silk, was worn a black lace overdress, the sleeves of 
 which covered the white, plump arms. The square neck 
 was trimmed with a lace edging, that was held together 
 below the throat by a slender golden oar, that was won by 
 the girl a few weeks before in a feminine rowing match. 
 Her only ornament was a bunch of goldenrod, that was 
 thrust into her belt, and lay close against the waist in 
 front. It was a beautiful face that leaned down close 
 beside the old man's cheek; the eyes were large and dark 
 blue, with long lashes, several shades darker than the 
 light brown hair that was arranged in fluffy short curls 
 across the forehead, and in a loose knot low on the back 
 of the head. 
 
 " Well, papa," said Margaret McVey, as she pressed one 
 of her cheeks against her father's thin face, " why can't 
 ;ou come home earlier to-morrow ; didn't we have a pleas- 
 ant ride to-day ?" 
 
 "Yes, my darling, it was very pleasant, but sufficiently 
 long, I think."
 
 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 9 
 
 "Not half long enough for me," said Margaret as she 
 placed her head on the other side of her father's, and 
 kissed his cheek. The old man lay as in a trance, with 
 closed eyes, as his daughter gently stroked his side 
 whiskers and chin, kissed the top of his bald head, and 
 then again rested her cheek against his. "You dear 
 papa, I do believe you are getting old," she continued, 
 " you don't like to ride as well as you used to, and Doctor 
 Kean says riding is the best thing in the world for you. 
 No, I won't let you go until I kiss you good-night." And 
 she clasped her hands tightly across her father's throat, as 
 though to hold him fast, which appeared to be an unnec- 
 essary precaution, for the father looked as though time 
 itself would be too short for his resting under those little 
 loving hands. 
 
 "You know," pursued Margaret, "that you said you 
 would do just as I wished you to, during vacation, and 
 you must not shut yourself up in that clftse college library 
 so much. We will drive to-morrow if you wish, but we 
 must be out of doors two hours; will you do that, papa?" 
 
 "Yes, yes darling; I will not go over to the college at 
 all after luncheon if you do not think it best." 
 
 " That would be lovely! Good-night, papa." And again 
 the soft warm cheek pressed the thin cold one. 
 
 "Good-night, my child." But the flaxen curls rested 
 quietly against the gray beard. How happy is tired age 
 in its quiet submission to loving youth! For a few min- 
 utes there was silence in the room, the eyes of the young 
 man sitting on the sofa were full of unwonted tenderness, 
 as they rested on the face of the gentle girl, pressed close, 
 as though in brooding care, to the wan face of the old 
 man. As the clock on the mantel struck half-past nine, 
 Margaret slowly raised her head, once more pressed her 
 hands beside each cheek, once more kissed the bald head.
 
 10 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 " Now don't sit up late, papa, for we're to have a long 
 drive to-morrow. When you and Rodger get to talking, 
 you never know when to stop." This assertion was not 
 based upon a knowledge of facts, for Professor McVey 
 and Rodger Latimer rarely gave more time to each other 
 than conventional politeness required, but it was the 
 illogical expression of a fear of a long talk that special 
 night, for Margaret knew that Rodger had come to speak 
 with her father regarding his professional location. As 
 she rose from the back of her father's chair, Rodger 
 Latimer also rose and stepped toward her with an ex- 
 tended hand. 
 
 "You will bid me good-night, Margery?" he said. In 
 a flash, the expression of her face changed from an almost 
 motherly tenderness, so womanly it was, to a girlish 
 archness. 
 
 "Certainly sir, good-night," she replied, as she made 
 him a profound courtesy. " I shall hope to see you in 
 the morning," she added, throwing him a kiss from the 
 tip of her fingers, as her head was turned over her shoulder 
 toward him, as she tripped out of the room. 
 
 Rodger Latimer returned to his seat on the sofa, and 
 looked into the fire, with a happy expression of contented 
 proprietorship on his face. After a few moments he raised 
 his eyes to encounter the steadily fixed gaze of Professor 
 McVey. He hastened to speak : 
 
 "I fear that I am keeping you up, Professor, but I'll 
 not detain you long. " 
 
 " Oh no, you are not, I am very glad to see you, and 
 will gladly hear all you have to say. Do not hasten, 
 Rodger, but say all that you wish to." 
 
 "I wish" said the young man, "that I could have 
 followed your advice in the choice of a profession. I have 
 felt all through the past two years, that in studying law
 
 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 I was placing myself in opposition to your wishes and 
 judgment, and deeply regretted the necessity." 
 
 " And what was the necessity ?" asked Professor Me Vey 
 removing his searching eyes from Mr. Latimer's face to 
 the fire. 
 
 "It lay in my own judgment and preference," replied 
 Mr. Latimer; "you certainly will not deny that in the 
 selection of a vocation a man should choose that for 
 which his friends, and he himself, believes he is best 
 fitted, especially if that choice is in harmony with his 
 inclinations." 
 
 " You never should act in opposition to your judgment," 
 said the professor," the inclination perhaps is not worthy 
 of as much consideration ; but you must remember that it 
 was your father, not I, that wished you to succeed to his 
 place in the college. It was natural and right that I 
 should do all I possibly could to accomplish his last wish, 
 which seemed to me a very wise and proper one. To 
 strive to fill as honorably as your father did, the chair of 
 mathematics in a college of the rank of this, would have 
 been a noble ambition for you, and in such a position 
 your life might have been a decidedly happy and useful 
 one. Edgewood is a desirable place of residence." A 
 sneering smile for half a second flitted across the young 
 man's face. " But what was it, Rodger, you particularly 
 wished to speak of to-night?" 
 
 " I thought I would like to tell you that I have rented 
 an office on Washington street, and shall commence prac- 
 tising in October." 
 
 " You think Clinton the best place in which to locate 
 yourself?" 
 
 " I don't know that there is much difference in cities, 
 either in the East or West; it's the man, not the place, that 
 brings success or failure. "
 
 12 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 "To be sure," replied Professor McVey, "the main 
 thing is to be doing something, to have some constant 
 occupation, something for which a man is responsible, 
 that requires him to go to work every morning, and holds 
 him for the larger number of hours during the day ; it 
 don't matter so much what the work is," again an expres- 
 sion of dissent took possession of the young man's face, 
 "provided it is obligatory and systematic." The professor 
 suddenly wakened up; he was astride of his hobby. 
 "There is no happiness without regular employment," he 
 continued; "when will young men learn this, and set 
 themselves to some stated methodical work ? One of the 
 evils of locating a college near a large city, is the great 
 wealth possessed by some of its citizens; the large amount 
 of money spent by some of the young men in Clinton is a 
 curse to them, and their example is a snare to some of our 
 students who are dependent upon their own exertions for 
 a livelihood. It made me sad indeed, when I was in New 
 York last month, to see how some of the sons of old 
 friends of mine lived. It was lamentable; yachting, 
 shooting, clubs, and the theater, seemed to fill out their 
 lives. They had no interest in anything outside of them- 
 selves, no sympathy with any cause or organization what- 
 ever. They seemed to think their daily comfort the center 
 of a revolving universe, in which their bath was a matter 
 of the utmost importance, and as to their dinner, it was 
 of such paramount consideration they gravitated toward it 
 for hours, and seemed to think it worthy of their most 
 mature thought. Those stalwart, well educated young 
 men would sit round for hours in utter idleness, not 
 knowing what to do with themselves, and would talk of 
 killing time. What a wicked expression that is! They 
 were being eaten up by sloth, their lives passed in utter 
 idleness, cankering idleness, nor is it strange that such
 
 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE ! 3 
 
 idleness leads to wickedness. I was told that some of 
 those wealthy young men do not lead lives of absolute 
 moral rectitude. I am very glad, Rodger, that you have 
 decided to work at anything, anywhere." 
 
 " That was not a voluntary decision, sir, and while I 
 believe that 1 all you have said regarding a regular employ- 
 ment is true in the main, work with me is a necessity." 
 
 " What are your prospects, what are your plans ?" 
 
 "My plans are, to begin the practice of law in Clinton 
 this autumn. I hope to crowd my two feet down until I 
 find standing room, and then I must fight for it, work for 
 it, perhaps, would be better to say.' 
 
 "You are well equipped for the effort, Rodger," said 
 Professor McVey; " let me see, how old are you?" 
 
 "I am twenty-eight." 
 
 "What a heritage is youth!" said the professor, with 
 earnestness, rising to his feet and leaning his elbow on a 
 corner of the mantelpiece, and resting his large head 
 against his thin white hand. "Why, my young friend, 
 what a life you have before you! Twenty-eight years 
 old, with unimpaired health, and the mental discipline 
 given by the literary and law course at Harvard. You 
 certainly occupy vantage ground at the beginning of the 
 contest." , 
 
 "It's not a question of health or of will; but compe- 
 tition is sharp, ana every inch that I gain I must struggle 
 for. I have no doubt of the ultimate outcome, of that I 
 am sure. I cannot, or at least I do not expect any pecu- 
 niary assistance from my uncle; I suppose he feels he has 
 done his full duty toward me, in meeting the expenses of 
 my college education, and sending me through the law- 
 school. He handed me, last week, a receipted rent bill 
 for my office this coming year, and he has given me quite 
 a fair law library; he gave me a check for fifteen hun-
 
 I4 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 dred dollars, with the receipted rent bill, saying as he 
 placed it in my hand, 'Now Rodger, there is money enough 
 to pay your first year's expenses, and by Gad! if you 
 can't swim after that, you better sink.' " Mr. Latimer 
 smiled good humoredly as he repeated the remark of the 
 brusque business man, but gentle Professor McVey started 
 as with a nervous shock, the words seemed to him brut- 
 ally cruel. With a little, meaningless laugh Mr. Latimer 
 continued, dashing right into the subject nearest his heart, 
 and the one he especially came to speak of that night. 
 " I did not wish to leave Edgewood, professor, without 
 speaking to you regarding my engagement with your 
 daughter. I beg that you will consent to our being mar- 
 ried as soon as I have a home to offer her." 
 
 Professor McVey reseated himself, and gazed into the 
 fire with a troubled expression. He had always been a 
 bookworm, and from boyhood up, an enthusiastic philol- 
 ogist. For many years he had been a teacher of ancieni 
 languages, and had lived more in the past, than the pres- 
 ent. He knew Grecians and Romans better than his own 
 countrymen, the issues of the nineteenth century were 
 trivial to him, compared with those of the first, and no 
 poet or statesman of modern times, gave him the intel- 
 lectual pleasure, or commanded his reverence, as did those 
 of hundreds of years ago. The streets of Athens, her 
 shaded walks, her Acropolis, were more real to him than 
 the elms and buildings of his Yale Alma Mater. His 
 library and classroom bounded his world, and the scien- 
 tific and religious struggles of to-day, the vital questions 
 of capital and labor, civil service reform and national 
 finance, elicited from him but little attention, and no 
 interest, so pre-occupied was his mind with ancient phi- 
 losophy and poetry. It was said that only once was he ever 
 seen by his students to shed tears, and that was one day
 
 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 15 
 
 when he was reading to an outgoing class Socrates' 
 Apology. As he gave utterance to the lofty sentiments 
 of the Greek sage, his enthusiasm kindled, a color flushed 
 his pale face, his eye lighted up with unusual fire, and 
 his voice trembled with emotion; higher and higher rose 
 the tide of his feelings, till at last he burst into tears. 
 But this -teacher, who could become so possessed of the 
 noblest passion as he read the words of Socrates, passed 
 through our civil war, without any desire to understand 
 the underlying causes of the contest, and with his sym- 
 pathies hardly touched by the sufferings of either side. 
 He lived in another time, his heart was fixed upon other 
 things. But -after all, this Greek teacher knew, when he 
 stopped to think of it, that death comes to all ; his own 
 wife Millicent, whose portrait hung over the mantel right 
 before him, and to which he now turned his troubled eyes 
 from the fire, had been laid under the sod five years 
 before. Every time he went to the city he saw the marble 
 stone that marked her grave, gleaming white through 
 the trees of Oakwood cemetery. His Millicent, that 
 gentle New England girl, whom he first saw in the church, 
 on "The Green," of a village on Long Island sound, 
 that gentle wife who never said nay to her catechism, her 
 husband, or society; that gentle wife was gone from his 
 house, and he and Margaret were alone together. Some 
 day, he must die Margaret alone! utterly alone! The 
 look of painful uncertainty suddenly left his face as he 
 turned toward Mr. Latimer, and said, as impetuously as 
 it was possible for him to speak : " Rodger, be married 
 this autumn, and live here with us, and go into the city 
 every day to your business. As I think of it, this is 
 Margaret's house, left her by her mother, so it will be 
 yours. Be married, and live here." 
 
 The blood flew into Mr. Latimer's face, flushing it deep
 
 t 6 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 red, over the high forehead to the roots of the short hair. 
 
 "Live here as your guest? Impossible, sir!" 
 
 " And why not ?" asked the professor. 
 
 " If I succeed as I hope to, I must live in Clinton. I 
 must identify myself with the city, make acquaintances 
 among the business men, and become a part of its society, 
 as far as I can. I hope to make a home for Margaret in 
 the city." 
 
 " And take her there to live?" asked the alarmed father. 
 
 "If I live there, I suppose she will live with me, that 
 is, if I have the honor and happiness of making her my 
 wife." 
 
 Professor McVey leaned wearily back in his chair; a 
 shadow had fallen upon his path, and it seemed to him 
 just then, that it would never pass off. For the first 
 time, he had faced the possibility of a separation from 
 his daughter. " Sixty-five is not so very old," he thought 
 as he closed his eyes, " and she is only twenty ; why may 
 we not have many happy years here together, in our own 
 dear home. " Everything seemed vague and uncertain, he 
 could not imagine a life without Margaret, and his mind 
 was simply paralyzed, as he attempted to grasp such a 
 thought. Mr. Latimer looked at the pallid face quivering 
 with emotion, across the chasm that yawns between youth 
 and age, but ignorant, and unconsciously selfish as he 
 was, his heart was touched by the suffering aspect of the 
 old man, which was that of one shrinking from an im- 
 pending blow. He hastened to speak : " I could not pos- 
 sibly be married for a year or so, my financial condition 
 would not permit it. I think Margaret and I love each 
 other enough to wait patiently, until my income would 
 reasonably warrant our marriage, but when that time 
 comes, professor, it must not occasion a separation be- 
 tween you and Margaret. To rob you of your daughter
 
 RODGER LATI.MER'S MISTAKE 17 
 
 would be a poor return for all of your love for my father, 
 and your kindness to myself. I hope you will consent 
 that we all live together somewhere, either here, or in 
 Clinton." 
 
 " Any way, any way, Rodger, only do not take Margaret 
 from me," said the professor as he slowly opened his eyes. 
 The conversation was ended for the night, and very soon 
 Mr. Latimer took his leave for the boarding house, where 
 he had occupied rooms during the Harvard vacations, for 
 the last four years,since the death of his father had broken 
 up his own home in Edgewood. Professor McVey bade 
 him good-night at the frcnt door, which he closed after 
 him, turned the key in the lock, and slowly mounted the 
 stairs, carrying to his chamber a sadder heart than he 
 had known, since the face of his gentle wife was covered 
 from his sight in that very room. 
 
 2 Rodger Latimer's Mistake.
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 The next morning, Margaret saw that something was 
 the mattej with her father. He scarcely tasted his coffee, 
 and she noticed that his- bacon and muffin remained un- 
 touched on his plate. He did not sit at the table more 
 than one-half of the time he usually spent over his break- 
 fast, but went to his study and seated himself before the 
 brightly burning wood fire. A fire was frequently needed 
 in August, both morning and evening, in that lake region, 
 to make a house comfortable. He placed his thin, cold 
 hands near the crackling blaze for a few minutes, and 
 then took up the morning paper ; but Margaret saw that 
 he was not reading, for his eyes were fixed immovably on 
 one place. As the clock struck nine, he cast off his 
 slippers, took his shoehorn from a corner of the mantel, 
 and put on his shoes. While doing this, he said to Mar- 
 garet who was sitting near/' I must go a little earlier than 
 usual this morning, Margaret, as I have to take the proof 
 of our library catalogue back to Morrison to-day; they 
 wish to get it into press as soon as possible." 
 
 Margaret seated herself on the carpet at her father's 
 feet, as had been her habit for years, and tied up his shoe 
 strings, and buttoned his gaiters around his ankles. " I 
 shall not be home to luncheon," the professor continued, 
 in a sad voice, as he placed his hand lightly on the loose 
 knot of soft hair that was close to. his knee. It was an 
 unusual caress from him, and the sad tone and gentle 
 touch, filled Margaret's eyes with tears. She bent low 
 over the dear feet, yes, even the shoe strings and gaiter 
 buttons were dear to her. " I think," he continued, " that 
 I will stop in and take lunch with Miss Sargent,and come 
 18
 
 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE jp 
 
 home on the three-thirty train ; that will give us two hours 
 for either a ride or a drive, whichever you choose, my 
 child." 
 
 Margaret opened the screen door for him, and stood on 
 the upper step, as he passed down from the piazza; when 
 he was two steps below her, she threw her arms around his 
 neck, and held him tightly, as she rested her chin on his 
 shoulder. 
 
 "Papa, what did Rodger say to you last night," she 
 asked," that made you sad ? you ought to tell all that you 
 and he talked about." 
 
 " How do you know that he said anything that made me 
 sad ?" 
 
 " Oh, I know, I guess it; don't you know that we women 
 can guess everything?" she asked,as she gave him a little 
 impetuous hug. " Now you must tell me what "it was, or I 
 shall be real unhappy." 
 
 "He did not say much of anything, excepting that he 
 wished to take you to Clinton to live with him." Both 
 stood very still; Margaret's face turned rosy for a mo- 
 ment, and her eyes grew -large and luminous, but only for 
 a moment, for the anxiety of the daughter just then, dom- 
 inated the sweetheart. Never before had they spoken to- 
 gether of Rodger, as holding any special relation to the 
 family. Professor McVey knew that the diamond that 
 had sparkled on Margaret's finger for the last year, had 
 been placed there by Rodger;. he knew that Rodger, all of 
 his life, had come to the house as though it were his own 
 home, and why shouldn't he, the only child of his own 
 dearest friend, his classmate, and associate college pro- 
 fessor for years, the friend who had died in his arms four 
 years ago? He knew but that was so dream like, in 
 such a far away future that Rodger and Margaret would 
 be married some day; but it never seemed to him that
 
 20 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 this, his own little Margaret, who flitted around his house, 
 and was always by to cut his magazines and foreign 
 papers, and pour out his coffee and light his cigar, and but- 
 ton his gaiters, was the Margaret who was to marry Rodger ; 
 that was some other Margaret, a girl in a book, or 
 one out in the world somewhere. And Margaret had 
 always kept her blissful dreams and reveries close within 
 her own heart, and why should she not ; there were no de- 
 cisions to be made, no questions to settle, only the pres- 
 ent hour, crowded full of happiness, to be enjoyed. She 
 could talk of Rodger, as Professor Latimer's son, of Rod- 
 ger, the Harvard student, the law student, the friend who 
 brought her books and rode with her in her father's ab- 
 sence, but Rodger the lover! ah, that was a very differ- 
 ent matter. The future marriage was almost as indefinite 
 an affair to her, as to her father; that was far off, impos- 
 sible to realize, and little thought of. To be sure, she had 
 dreamed of a home with Rodger, of opening the door for 
 his coming, of the evenings together with books, all 
 alone, they two, within the sacred four walls of home, of 
 the long talks before the blazing fire, of the dainty table, 
 with its delicate linen and china, a home where all was a 
 sweet medley of color and warmth, and where, over all, 
 and through all, was tender, brooding love; yes, such a 
 home there was somewhere, but whether in the clouds, or 
 in the air, or on the earth, this dreaming maiden heart 
 never stopped to think or ask, the present was too satis- 
 fying to be disturbed by anticipations or calculations. But 
 Rodger's statement last evening that he was to live in 
 Clinton, and that he wished to have Margaret live there 
 with him, brought the misty future of the father's in- 
 definite thought crashing into the present, with a sick- 
 ening reality to Professor McVey; and the sad voice and 
 dejected air of the loved father, smote the daughter's
 
 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 21 
 
 heart with a sharp pain, and awakened all of her sym- 
 pathy. 
 
 "Take me to Clinton to live with him!" repeated Mar- 
 garet after a moment's silence. "O he could not have said 
 that, papa; you must have misunderstood him." 
 
 "No, no, Margaret, that was just what he said," re- 
 plied Professor McVey in a broken voice. 
 
 "But not for a long time yet, papa?" 
 
 "I know, not now, I don't remember just when, but it 
 was to be sometime." 
 
 "Now papa," said Margaret, "you .and I have some- 
 thing to say about that, and I never, never, never, will 
 leave you, and go and live in Clinton." She emphasized 
 each repeated never, with a little pressure on her father's 
 chest, right under his chin, with her clasped hands. " If 
 Rodger wishes," she continued, "to come here and live 
 with us, all right. Auntie will give him the nicest dinner, 
 and he may ride with you and me, and sit on the sofa and 
 read in the evenings and smoke his cigars, and we all will 
 be real good to him, but if he wants to live in Clinton 
 and be worth a million, and make a chief-justice of him- 
 self, he must do it alone. We won't have our nice time's 
 spoilt, because he is determined to be rich and great, will 
 we, you dear old papa?" And then she gave a down- 
 right close hug to the neck she held, and pressed the side 
 of her head against the old man's ear. For an instant it 
 was a question of breath with Professor McVey, but even 
 with the choking sensation in his throat, it was one of the 
 happiest moments of his -life. Away flew all fear; that 
 hateful future went back to its mists; Clinton faded into 
 indistinctness, Athens and Rome took their old solid 
 places again, and the philosophers came out with togas 
 free from dust, and crowded poor Rodger Latimer into 
 dreamy obscurity.
 
 22 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 "No, no, Margaret, we will not, if you say so." 
 
 "And I do say so," quickly interrupted Margaret. 
 "And now papa, you must go, or you won't have time to 
 get your proof and catch the 10:30 train. Don't get oft 
 the cars till they have stopped perfectly still, will you? 
 Did you know that Mr. Dickinson stepped off at Stanhope 
 station yesterday, before the cars stopped, and sprained 
 his ankle? I'll have the carriage at the depot for you, 
 and we will drive right on from there; perhaps we'd better 
 not ride this evening, as it is growing warmer; what do 
 you think?" 
 
 "Just as you like, Margaret, it is immaterial to me; 
 but I think there is a prospect of a comfortably cool 
 day." 
 
 Margaret was satisfied with the cheerful tone of her 
 father's voice; he was at peace again. She watched him 
 as he went briskly on under the elms and maples, that 
 entirely shaded the sidewalk from the rays of the warm 
 August sun that had scattered the fog of the night be- 
 fore, and as he turned the corner toward the college, she 
 walked slowly into the house, down the length of the 
 hall, and entered the room back of her father's study, by 
 opening a door, and pushing aside one of the double por- 
 tieres that hung within. This was Margaret's special 
 room, library, sitting room, music room, all in one. 
 Margaret's " Sans-Souci," her father called it. The only 
 two windows in the room, which were west windows, 
 looked into an old apple orchard, that was dearly loved 
 by Margaret; some of the trees were so near the house, 
 that one standing by the window could, in May, pluck 
 handfuls of apple blossoms from the outstretching boughs, 
 and in the autumn, gather the red and yellow apples in 
 the same way. Frequently in the springtime, Margaret 
 would have a " stretcher" placed under the trees, on which
 
 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 23 
 
 she would lie, gazing up into the canopy of white and 
 pink blossoms and green leaves, that entirely shut out the 
 blue sky. Here she would yield herself to the dreamy 
 reveries of youth and love, the twilight dimness that sur- 
 rounded her being broken only by the hum of insects and 
 sleepy twitter of birds. There were three doors in the 
 room, one from the hall, one entering her father's study, 
 and the third opening onto the south piazza. The 
 piazza was heavily covered with ivy, which Margaret had 
 cut and trimmed in low arches between the pillars, giv- 
 ing the piazza the appearance of a shaded arcade. All 
 of the furniture of Margaret's room was dainty and choice, 
 but there was one piece that deserves a moment's special 
 attention. This was an elaborately carved ebony lounge, 
 that possessed an unusual history. A Mrs. Lundom White, 
 an ambitious society woman of Clinton, and a prominent 
 member of the leading woman's literary club of that city, 
 found in Florence an old ebony chest of huge proportions, 
 which by an outlay of money sufficient to have purchased 
 and stocked a Western farm, she placed in the hands of a 
 Clinton cabinet-maker. Under her directions, this chest, 
 evefy inch of which was most beautifully carved, was 
 converted into two settees, the straight, square backs ot 
 which, and the straight, square arms, and front piece that 
 reached to the floor, being entirely composed of the curious 
 carving. One of these settees Mrs. Lundom White placed 
 in the spacious hall of her own city residence, the other 
 she gave to her " dear friend Professor McVey, the dear- 
 est man in the world," as she declared, "and just the one 
 to appreciate that lovely old carving, such an antiquarian 
 as he is!" Professor McVey never thought, and cer- 
 tainly Mrs. Lundom White never once said, that the gift 
 of the settee was prompted by a sense of obligation that 
 she felt toward the professor, for the assistance which he
 
 24 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 had rendered her in the preparation of the literary papers 
 that she had read from time to time, before " The New 
 Era" club. These essays, that were entitled " The Greeks 
 and Their Literature,"" Hypatia and Her Compeers," had 
 been placed in his hands by her for revisal, and had re- 
 ceived the most copious corrections and annotations. It 
 was really a great pleasure for Professor McVey, to re- 
 store in Mrs. White's manuscript, his old Greek friends to 
 their right minds, and correct the anachronisms therein. 
 The reading of these essays gave her an enviable repu- 
 tation in the club; one of its members, a lady of high social 
 position, wrote to a friend of hers residing in London, 
 to whom she had given Mrs. White a letter of introduc- 
 tion, " You will find that Mrs. White has an exhaustive 
 knowledge of Jthe Greeks, their art, customs and liter- 
 ature." It was a warm day early in December that Mrs. 
 White took one of her papers to the professor, and sat in 
 his study with an expression of pensive penitence on her 
 face. 
 
 "You know dear Professor, that I am growing old," she 
 said, " and I feel that I ought to give less time to society, 
 and more to books and reflection. It is very kind in you 
 to help me, you live in such an Eden out here under these 
 trees, that you can't realize how difficult it is for me in 
 that crowded city to be good, but I'm determined to try, 
 and give more time to books. Please don't say anything 
 to any one about my poor attempts at self improvement," 
 she continued, as with a benign smile he took the manu- 
 script from her faultlessly gloved hand. When the society 
 woman had taken herself back to the city, she exclaimed 
 to her sister, as she threw off her wraps in her luxuriously 
 furnished bedroom: "I declare Marie, I feel as though 
 I had just crawled out of my coffin. I wouldn't live in 
 Edgewood for all of America. You've no idea of the place,
 
 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 25. 
 
 Professor McVey's house is as still as the grave, and he 
 looks as though he had sat right there for a thousand 
 years; but I must say that he was very polite to me, and 
 he will get my paper in fine shape. The poor old goosie 
 quite brightened up, when I talked of Conway, and of the 
 people we used to know there. Now mind, don't you for 
 your life ever let any one know that I went to Professor 
 McVey's. We go to the theater with Mrs. Richmond to- 
 night, don't we?" continued Mrs. White, suddenly chang- 
 ing the subject. " I'm glad Grey Whitridge is to be 
 there, now go and take a nap, so you will look bright." 
 And so it came, that the Florentine ebony chest rested 
 at last in the shape of a settee in Margaret's room, where 
 her father had directed it to be placed, on its arrival from 
 Clinton. As Margaret entered her room after bidding her 
 father good-bye on the piazza, she closed the door behind 
 her, dropped the portiere over it, and seated herself in a 
 wicker chair beside the center table, and gazing uncon- 
 sciously at the ebony settee, she was lost in thought, until 
 recalled by a knock at the hall door.
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 Only four persons ever asked for admittance to Mar- 
 garet's Sans-Souci. They were her father, Miss Sargent of 
 Clinton, her Aunt Deborah, and Rodger Latimer. She 
 knew, by the peculiar rap, who it was that stood outside 
 of the hall door waiting to enter, and as her eyes moved 
 from the ebony settee to the double portiere, which opened 
 at her bidding, her face flushed radiantly. Rodger Latimer 
 stepped quickly to her side, dropped on one knee, and 
 put his arm across the back of her chair, then by placing 
 ,the other hand beneath her chin, he laid her head upon 
 his arm so that he could look in the upturned face. 
 
 "A curt good-night you gave me last evening, Mar- 
 gery; are you not sorry this morning, that you treated me 
 so badly?" he asked. 
 
 " I did not treat you badly, but very nicely. You came 
 to see papa, and I was very courteous to his guest." 
 
 "To see papa!" repeated Mr. Latimer; "well, I came 
 this morning to see you, so good-morning, love." Slowly 
 and tenderly he kissed the smiling lips, and then held the 
 sweet head close to his breast with his large white hand. 
 The girl's heart was heavy with happiness, -as she felt the 
 gentle pressure of the strong arm around her shoulders, 
 and the touch of the hand upon her head. The August 
 sunlight came through the vine arches of the south piazza, 
 and rested in its yellow brightness on the floor, just within 
 the open door, the clock ticked on the mantel, and the katy- 
 dids sang out in chorus from the old apple trees, while 
 the crickets chirped from the twilight depths below. 
 After a little, Mr. Latimer's fingers commenced playing 
 with the curls on Margaret's forehead, then she turned her 
 26
 
 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 27 
 
 head back against his arm, and said : " Nobody is allowed 
 to touch my front hair." 
 
 " Is that so ?" he asked, as he continued to draw the soft 
 hair through his fingers, and rearrange the curls over the 
 brow, gazing as he did so on the happy girlish face, with 
 an earnestness that caused the eyelids to droop with a 
 tremulous motion. Again he kissed the full lips as tenderly 
 as a mother might have kissed a half-sleeping child. "I 
 wonder if you know how beautiful you are, Margery," he 
 asked, "you are so fairy-like, and ethereal with your 
 changing color, and great blue eyes, that are twice as 
 large as usual to-day; no, don't shut them up, let me look 
 at them, if you will not look at me. I came to have a 
 good long talk with you, but there's a wonderful heavenly 
 air about you this morning, that makes me feel as though 
 I was in church, kneeling before a saint." 
 
 "Nonsense, Rodger," said Margaret, putting his hand 
 aside, as she arose, and drew a large chair close to the 
 end of the table, "here is your chair, let us have the good 
 long talk now, which you may begin by telling me every 
 word that you and papa said to each other, last night." 
 
 Mr. Latimer took the seat designated, and proceeded 
 very deliberately to light a cigar, and then he smoked in 
 silence, with his eyes fixed on the ceiling. Margaret 
 waited for him to speak. 
 
 " Tell you all that your father and I said last evening," 
 he repeated after a while. " I hardly remember all, Mar- 
 gery, but I can tell you all that we said about you, or 
 you and me, which was very little. I told him that I ex- 
 pected to have an income two years from now, that would 
 warrant our being married, and I hoped when that time 
 came, he would give his consent to the marriage. He 
 seemed startled, absolutely discomfited, routed, at the 
 thought of your ever leaving him, but he was very kind,
 
 28 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 and I think would consent to anything that did not take 
 you from him." 
 
 "Our marriage is so far in the future," said Margaret, 
 "that it is hardly worth while making him unhappy 
 about it." 
 
 "Oh, I told him at last, that everything should be as 
 he wished. Perhaps," continued Mr. Latimer, " that I was 
 mistaken, but I thought that the idea of being separated 
 from you distressed him, and as you say, there is no 
 necessity of annoying him about an event a year or two 
 distant. I was more than ever confirmed, while talking 
 with him last evening, in my belief of the great influence 
 surrounding circumstances have in the development of 
 character. What a man is, depends after all on where he 
 lives, and what a difference there is in places. Edgewood 
 is a sleepy old town, compared with Cambridge, but your 
 father seems to think that a life here, on three thousand 
 dollars a year, is the best there could be in this world." 
 
 "He finds it a very pleasant life," said Margaret. 
 
 "Certainly," replied Rodger, "with his profession, and 
 at his age, this is just the place for him, but a young man 
 might as well live in the catacombs; there is no society 
 here, and the difficulty of getting to the city and back, 
 cuts off all amusements." 
 
 "I don't know," said Margaret, "our society people 
 frequently go down to the opera and theaters." 
 
 "Frequently!" repeated Mr. Latimer with derision; "a 
 dozen times during the winter, and then it's a break- 
 neck race for them to come home to dinner, dress and 
 rush back to the depot, and half of the time they have to 
 leave in the middle of the closing act to catch the 
 last train home. I'm sick of depots and suburban 
 trains," he added, looking gloomily on the floor. After 
 a moment he raised his eyes to meet Margaret's fixed on
 
 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 29 
 
 him with a very serious look in them. "Margery, you 
 think me selfish and discontented, don't you?" he asked 
 with a smile. 
 
 "Indeed- I do not!" she replied with animation. "I 
 only think you are ambitious, but you are no more 
 ambitious for yourself than I am for you." 
 
 "Come now, what would you like to have me do?" 
 
 "Work hard in your profession," Margaret replied, 
 "and make the leading lawyer in Clinton; to be always 
 on the right side of every question, to have men and 
 women who are in distress feel sure that they can count 
 on your sympathy and assistance, and every leader of a 
 reformation know that you, and your eloquence, and repu- 
 tation and influence will be on his side to help him to 
 success." 
 
 "Why, Margery, how am I to get all of this eloquence, 
 .and influence, and reputation, to help all of these dis- 
 tressed men and women, and reformers?" Mr. Latimer 
 asked, as he leaned forward and possessed himself of the 
 little hand that lay on the arm of the wicker chair. "All 
 such anticipations have no firmer foundation than a girl's 
 love." 
 
 "Yes they have," she replied, "you possess brains 
 enough to make all such anticipations come true, and 
 after awhile, Rodger, before you are an old man, you 
 will be one of the great men of the country." The 
 eyes of the enthusiastic girl filled with tears as she con- 
 tinued, "And then you will do all of those great and good 
 things that we talked of when we were at Lausanne." 
 Mr. Latimer took the third finger of the little hand he 
 held and kissed the ring that encircled it, which he had 
 placed there a year before, as he and Margaret were sit- 
 ting on one of the terraced hillsides of Lausanne. The 
 college vacations of the two previous summers had been
 
 3 o RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 passed in Europe by Margaret and Mr. Latimer, with 
 Professor McYey and Miss Sargent, a lady who was an 
 old friend of the McYeys. 
 
 "That summer seems like an idyl, Margery, as I look 
 back on it," said Mr. Latimer; "what a different world 
 this is from that we then dreamed, and how different our 
 life must be from what we then planned, or rather thought 
 it would be, for very few plans either of us laid, as we 
 floated through those months of music and flowers, of 
 mountains and lakes, of moonlight nights, and starry 
 skies. And that day under the grape vines!" Mr. Lat- 
 imer placed the hand he held against his cheek, as a vague 
 expression of retrospection came over his face, and he 
 looked out of the west window at the white clouds lazily 
 resting above the apple trees. "What a lovely time it 
 was. I wonder," he added, drawing Margaret's hand 
 softly down his cheek, "if it will ever come again." 
 
 "Come again! " exclaimed Margaret, "it has always 
 been with me, and I don't know Rodger, what you mean 
 when you say this is such a different world; it is the 
 same world to me, and I think life will be just what 
 I then thought it was to be." 
 
 " I declare, Margery," said Mr. Latimer, "you and 
 your father are a pair of artless children, living here in 
 this nest among the trees, with heaven within hands' 
 reach: you darling, you don't know anything more of 
 life, than a dove in the twilight. " 
 
 "Why, Rodger, I'm not such a child, nor have I lived 
 in a box. I've seen something of the world." 
 
 "Yes, "he replied, "quite a number of its square 
 miles, but how much of life? You have had, say, six 
 months in Europe, closely surrounded by Miss Sargent, 
 your father and myself, then a dozen dinners, and as many 
 operas and theaters in Clinton, always attended, either
 
 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 3 ! 
 
 by Miss Sargent or me; most of your life has been passed 
 here with the poets and philosophers, among these vines 
 and trees. And as for your father, he knows ten times 
 as much about the ancients as the moderns; when he 
 speaks of the Greeks and Romans, he speaks of them 
 as thAugh they were living men, and of those old times 
 as though they were of paramount living interest to-day, 
 but the moment you commence to talk with him of the 
 people, or the issues of the present, he is as vague and 
 impracticable as a child. Why Margery, he knows no 
 more of the ambitions and needs of the young men of 
 the present-day than did old Diogenes himself." Mr. 
 Latimer left his chair, and walked back and forth across 
 the room, with an expression of moody discontent on his 
 face; he stopped before one of the open windows, but saw 
 neither the red and yellow apples hanging among the 
 green leaves, nor felt the influence of the dusky silence 
 below the trees. 
 
 Margaret observed him intently for a few moments, 
 then asked, " On what points do you and papa differ so 
 much?" 
 
 "On all practical ones; he thinks a life in Edgewood 
 desirable, I think it insufferable, not worth having. One 
 gets a very different view of life, from the Boston out- 
 look, than from this monastic loophole." 
 
 "Which is the truer?" asked Margaret. 
 
 "Both are true, I suppose; but if you wish to ask, 
 which is the most desirable, there is no comparison. 
 Live in such a town as this, with these saints and an- 
 cients, on twenty-five hundred dollars a year!" Mr. 
 Latimer's nostrils fairly distended with scorn. He went 
 back to his chair and reseated himself. " You may think 
 me unreasonable, Margery, but nothing short of fifteen 
 thousand dollars a year, and a first class social and 
 professional position in Clinton will satisfy me!"
 
 3- 
 
 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 " Will that satisfy you?" 
 
 " As near as anything can satisfy a mortal. I know, 
 your philosophers say that no one is satisfied in this world, 
 but this is all the world I know anything of, and as 
 Emerson says, one world at a time." He smiled good- 
 naturedly, as Margaret laughed aloud. 
 
 " I doubt if Emerson made the same application of 
 that thought, as you did just now," she said. 
 
 "Well Margery, Grey Whitridge seems satisfied with 
 the life his ten thousand a year enables him to lead. I 
 dined with him last summer at the Dorchester Club, the 
 day before he sailed, and I didn't see any .evidence of 
 discontent, or unhappiriess in him, nor in Walt Rich- 
 mond, or young Barstow, who dined with us; they were 
 about as gay a set of fellows as one would care to 
 meet, not any more satisfied though than some of the 
 Harvard men, with their horses and yachts. There is 
 no use of denying it Margery, this life is not worth 
 much without money." 
 
 "I've never met Mr. Barstow," said Margaret, "and I 
 have seen but little of Mr. Richmond, but I don't think 
 the Richmonds a happy family. Ethel is absolutely blase 
 at nineteen. I called to see her regarding the flower 
 mission one morning at eleven o'clock, and she was not 
 out of bed. I don't see much use of her ever getting up, 
 she goes through everything in such a listless way, as 
 though nothing paid, and Mrs. Richmond is always fret- 
 ting about something, either the cook is in fault, or the 
 coachman is drunk, or her last dress is a failure. I spent 
 a day there last winter, and I was glad to get away from 
 both, the half-dead daughter and the complaining mother. 
 What's the use of all their money, if it don't bring them 
 happiness? as to Grey Whitridge, I have seen him only 
 twice, and both times at the Assembly. He certainly has
 
 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 33 
 
 a fine figure, but I can't understand why he is called so 
 handsome. His finely shaped head, and clear-cut features, 
 seem to me physical accidents, inherited lines, without 
 any individual character back of them; he strikes me as 
 a man who would have no higher thought than well fitting 
 clothes, and well served dinners. But, Rodger, you are 
 more of a man than Grey Whitridge, and I know that such 
 a life as he leads would never satisfy you, for any length 
 of time at least." 
 
 " I d*on't know about that," said Mr. Latimer. " I think 
 his life ought to satisfy any one; there is not a more pop- 
 ular man in Clinton, he is considered the greatest matri- 
 monial prize in the city. Everybody is delighted with 
 an invitation to his theater parties, and I don't know a 
 man anywhere who is a better judge of a dinner; he's a 
 fine horseman, and a good shot they say, and with all, a 
 downright good natured, affable fellow; I would like 
 such a position in Clinton society as he has." 
 
 "And can't you have it?" asked Margaret. 
 
 "Have it!" repeated Mr. Latimer, "with my empty 
 purse! He asked me last spring if I would not like to 
 have him propose my name for membership in the Dor- 
 chester Club; he would be amazed should I tell him that 
 every dollar I possessed, for a twelvemonths' board and 
 clothes, was fifteen hundred. I might go in society as a 
 sort of available young man, a convenient dancing part- 
 ner, when one was needed, a good fellow enough among 
 men, to be invited to dinner at the club, with the sons of 
 society families, but not a man to be invited to the 
 wealthy homes, and be presented to the daughters of the 
 house." Mr. Latimer was walking the floor again. " No, 
 Margery, a young man without money, or expectations, 
 cannot have a desirable social position; I have seen that 
 demonstrated over and over in Clinton, and in Boston, 
 
 3 Rodger Latimer's Mistake.
 
 34 
 
 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 and a man of any self respect, will not accept one of those 
 tolerated-for-convenience-sake positions, that some brain- 
 less fellows hold. I cannot bring myself to dance atten- 
 dance on some rich matron, so I shall stay out of society 
 entirely, until I can make an income sufficient to take me 
 there, on the top of the wave. It is a dismal prospect, 
 but I shall have to submit." 
 
 Margaret sat silent; she could not understand how life 
 could open out before such a man as Rodger Latimer, in 
 any other way than as a boundless arena of mental activity 
 and delight. She was not old enough to correctly value 
 the youth, health, superior natural ability and thorough 
 educational discipline that Mr. Latimer possessed, so she 
 did not place these advantages in one scale, and toss into 
 the other the dinners, dogs and horses of which he had 
 been speaking; and accurately weigh one against the 
 other, but she had a vague idea that he was wrong in his 
 comparative estimates. She regarded him closely as he 
 walked back and forth, his clear gray eyes fixed upon the 
 floor, his head bent slightly forward, and his hands crossed 
 behind his back. 
 
 "It must be, Rodger," she said after a little, "that as 
 you say, there is a difference in places, and the thoughts 
 they suggest, and the tastes they cultivate. I can't for 
 my life, see anything so very desirable in the society 
 which you admire; perhaps I'm not adapted to it,and I'm 
 sure that I do not like it. I've seen very little of it I 
 know, but I've seen enough to know that it would never 
 satisfy me. I do not enjoy the dinners of which you 
 speak so highly; there are twenty different dishes served, 
 and, if I only taste of each I'm made physically uncom- 
 fortable, and then what a babel of talk on uninteresting 
 subjects! I get nothing out of it but weariness. The 
 theater and opera give me much more pleasure, when I
 
 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 35 
 
 can go quietly with you or Aunt Helen. I don't like the 
 theater parties which you seem to. I was invited by Mrs. 
 White, to hear Irving,and she had a party of six or eight, 
 and what a jumble the evening was of Irving and Terry, 
 Assembly dances and Hamlet, receptions and Ophelia; I 
 did not enjoy it at all. How much better to go and listen 
 to an artist in a quiet way." 
 
 "Then you would think it better for me, " said Mr. 
 Latimer stopping in his walk near Margaret, " to sit alone 
 this winter, if I go to the theater at all, in the parquet 
 and study Hamlet? I think it would be much pleasanter 
 to sit in Mrs. White's box, with her sister, Miss Edwards, 
 or with Ethel Richmond and Grey Whitridge, and after 
 the play go to the Bellevue for a nice little supper." 
 
 "Then why don't you do it?" 
 
 " Simply because I have not the money ; how could I 
 give a theater party, at an expense of a hundred, or a 
 hundred and fifty dollars? None but society men, of an 
 assured social position, are invited to such places." 
 
 " And that assured social position depends upon 
 wealth ?" 
 
 "Almost entirely," replied Mr. Latimer, "as he com- 
 menced to walk the floor again. "You may call it un- 
 manly if you choose, Margery, but I absolutely dread, 
 with a smarting, shrinking dread, the next two years in 
 Clinton. I have seen enough to know how it will be. At 
 Harvard my position among the students was a pleasant 
 one; Uncle Gill allowed me plenty of money, and I was 
 known, by the Boston men at least, as the nephew of 
 Gilbert Latimer, who is regarded as a very wealthy man 
 in Boston; no one thought anything about my personal 
 wealth or poverty ; my cigars were always of the best, and 
 I always had an abundance of money, so it was taken for 
 granted, if thought of at all, that I could command what-
 
 36 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 ever I chose. But it is different in Clinton. I have felt 
 the difference, even in the little that I have dropped into 
 Clinton society, in the last two years, and now I have to 
 squarely face the thing. You may wonder why I do not 
 go to Boston, or New York, but Uncle Gill advised me to 
 stay out of Boston, and he gave me distinctly to under- 
 stand that I was henceforth to depend upon myself, and 
 as to New York, it was the judgment of several friends 
 of mine young lawyers and also of Judge Sargent, 
 that on the whole, Clinton offered stronger inducements 
 to a young man, than any other city. I had thought of 
 Omaha, but Judge Sargent advised against that. I've 
 tried, Margery, to settle the question with careful consid- 
 eration, and I hope that I've made no mistake. I'm not 
 afraid of work; I think I shall enjoy it. As a matter of 
 course, the first year or two of waiting for business, will 
 be trying, but every year it will grow better. Judge 
 Sargent told me yesterday, that he could throw some bus- 
 iness in my hands, and I feel sure that I shall succeed in 
 the end, both in making money and in gaining a profes- 
 sional position. I wouldn't mind, if I could work under 
 desirable social conditions, but I don't like to think of 
 the close economy of living on fifteen hundred dollars a 
 year, when most of the young men whom I now meet in 
 Clinton, spend from four to ten thousand a year, and 
 some of them have neither brains nor culture. If it were 
 not for their money, they would be dropped out of society 
 in twenty-four hours, and its doors would be barred 
 against them. Think of the difference! they with their 
 clubs, opera boxes, horses for driving and riding, invited 
 everywhere, frequently two and three invitations for an 
 evening; and I in a second class boarding house, a penni- 
 less attorney!" 
 
 " Rodger, I don't believe a word of what you say," said
 
 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 37 
 
 Margaret, as she crossed her arms on the corner of the 
 table, and looked up in his face, as he halted in his walk 
 beside her; " it cannot be otherwise, than -that a man of 
 your intellect, fine personal appearance, and conversational 
 ability, will be popular, and have a splendid time in any 
 city. It's natural that it should be so, it's according to 
 law, as papa says, it's the effect of a cause." 
 
 "You're too ignorant of the laws of society," said Mr. 
 Latimer, "and of its underlying causes, to know any- 
 thing of the relative effects of money, or no money." 
 
 "Well Rodger, if what you say is true, I'm glad that I 
 do live among the trees, with poets and philosophers, 
 where worth holds its true position, and is not beaten 
 down by advantages that are impersonal, and often acci- 
 dental. I am glad that I haven't lost my faith in what is 
 ri ght." 
 
 "But Margery," interrupted Mr. Latimer, "all of this 
 may be right, even as you use the word; money has its 
 rights, society customs have their rights." 
 
 "There's something wrong somewhere," she replied, 
 " when the advantages of society are withheld from such 
 a man as you, simply because he has a small income, and 
 are given to another man who is inferior in every way, 
 excepting that he has money. If these things of which 
 you speak are really advantageous additions to one's hap- 
 piness and development, it's your right to have them, and 
 somewhere there is a great wrong in their being withheld 
 from you. I don't see the matter very clearly, but I have 
 faith in the right, and in the end it will assert itself, and 
 we shall see it, and acknowledge it. Wait a few years, 
 you and Grey Whitridge are both young men, you say he 
 lives a life of self-indulgent pleasure; if you live a life of 
 intellectual activity, and are true to moral principle, and 
 are not the happiest man in the end, what becomes of
 
 38 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 Plato's and Montaigne's maxims and philosophy? and the 
 Bible? and of God's justice, Rodger? You used to have 
 faith in all of these; where has it gone?" 
 
 " Just where Plato's might have gone, perhaps, in his 
 lifetime, hadn't he enjoyed all of the advantages of 
 wealth. I tell you Margery, much of this religion and 
 philosophy, learned at home and in Sunday Schools, goes 
 like dew, when we get out in the hot world, and see what 
 God does, or at least permits to be done. There is noth- 
 ing like being knocked down by daily facts, to take this 
 nonsense of religion and philosophy out of one." 
 
 The smile died out of Margaret's face. " You ought not 
 to talk so Rodger," she said; "you don't believe what 
 you say, you know you don't." 
 
 Before Mr. Latimer could reply, there was a light rap 
 at the door, and Margaret's Aunt Deborah entered and 
 handed her a telegram. Mn Latimer noticed the sudden 
 look of alarm with which she opened it. 
 
 " Is your father away, Margery ?" he asked. She fin- 
 ished reading the dispatch before replying. 
 
 " Yes," she said, " he went to the city on the ten-thirty 
 train, to take the library catalogue to Morrison's, and was 
 to take luncheon with Aunt Helen, and return this after- 
 noon; this is from Aunt Helen; she says that papa will 
 remain there over night. Doctor Brandon, of Rutgers 
 College, is to dine with her, and she wishes papa to meet 
 him. Papa must have gone to see her before going to 
 Morrison's, or this couldn't have reached us so soon." 
 
 Suddenly Margaret sprang up, and clapping her hands, 
 commenced to dance around the room. " Now Rodger, 
 let us have a day in the woods! Auntie will put us up a 
 luncheon, wont you, Aunt Deb ? And we wont come home 
 until dinner," sang Margaret to the rollicking air, "We 
 won't go home till morning," which she had frequently
 
 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 39 
 
 heard at night from the students, as they went through the 
 town in their noisy bouts. She caught Mr. Latimer by 
 the arm, and whirled him down the room in rapid circles, 
 as she whistled a waltz from Nanon. At last she stopped 
 in front of quiet Aunt Deborah. 
 
 " Shall we go, Rodger?" she asked, catching her breath. 
 
 "Certainly we will. A-luncheon in the woods will be 
 worth more than all of the philosophy of your old Plato. 
 But Margery," he continued, leading her to the center 
 table, "where did you get this beautiful copy of Mon- 
 taigne?" and he laid his hand on an English edition soft 
 as satin, and beautiful to look upon. 
 
 "I found it at Morrison's." 
 
 "Rather solid reading for a girl, but not as bad as 
 this," he pursued, taking up a volume of Mill. 
 
 "Why do you say bad? you wouldn't if you knew how 
 much good Mill has done me, how he has helped me to 
 think for myself." 
 
 "Think for yourself! good Jove! what's coming next!" 
 
 " Yes," answered Margaret seriously, "and how that 
 thinking has steadied me." 
 
 " Why Margery, this is metaphysics, and reading met- 
 aphysics will spoil you, will make you strong minded." 
 He pronounced the last words with a wry face. The vol- 
 ume of Mill that he held in his hand as he was talking, 
 opened of itself, where Margaret had slipped between the 
 leaves, a mother of pearl paper knife to keep her place; 
 it was a beautiful paper cutter, with lovely chameleon 
 hues of pearly white, azure and purple; dainty and fem- 
 inine. As his eyes rested on the paper knife, Margaret 
 placed over the volume of Mill, Blackmore's Lorna Doone. 
 
 "This is not metaphysics, Rodger; have you read Lorna 
 Doone?" she asked. 
 
 " No."
 
 4 o RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 "Well, you must, it's a perfect love story, and the des- 
 criptions of scenery are so simple and natural, and yet so 
 original, their quiet beauty is wonderful; we'll take it 
 with us, I'll read you some of the descriptions. But you 
 must read it yourself, every word of it, it's all so delight- 
 ful, nothing commonplace in it." 
 
 The girl's hand was resting on Mr. Latimer's arm, he 
 glanced from the beautiful volume of Montaigne to the 
 delicate paper-knife, then his eyes rested on the enthus- 
 iastic face at his shoulder. 
 
 "What a strange compound you are, Margery, of child 
 and woman," he said, taking her hand in his own, "dainty 
 bindings, and dainty paper cutter, and enthusiasm over 
 Lorna's love read your metaphysics, if you like,, or any- 
 thing else, nothing could spoil you, you little impulsive 
 woman, nothing in the universe. Now for the woods and 
 luncheon," he cried, as he gave the hand a little squeeze, 
 "only you will have to drive round by Rowland's, so I 
 can get some cigars."
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 As soon as Margaret's phaeton drove away from the 
 house, Aunt Deborah closed the piazza door in Mar- 
 garet's room, to keep out the bugs and flies, and lowered 
 the window shades, to prevent the sun from fading the 
 rugs. Faithful Deborah Bond! a woman who never 
 thought of a mission, or a sphere, in connection with her- 
 self, but who, as a child, on the twenty-five acre farm that 
 lay close to a New England village, was the one of all 
 the children to be trusted with the baby, to whom, when 
 a child, a half holiday meant more time to help around 
 the house, and mend the baby's clothes; who as a young 
 woman, never thought of lover or husband for herself, 
 who never was even a bridesmaid; but whose pride and 
 love centered in her pretty sister Millicent. This woman 
 thought it a providential call when she received a letter 
 one day, that the pretty sister, whose health had failed 
 after years of wifehood, needed her in her Western home. 
 She responded to the call, and took upon herself the duties 
 of nurse and housekeeper, in Professor McVey's house in 
 Edgewood. When the gentle Millicent died one evening, 
 it was Aunt Deborah who folded the hands of the dead 
 wife and mother, soothed the weeping daughter to sleep, 
 staid up all night with the bereaved husband, sitting 
 beside him in sympathetic silence, placing a cup of tea in 
 his hand as the night waned, and at last persuading him 
 to lie down on the lounge, where he soon dropped off in 
 a sleep of exhaustion. Duty done to the dead and the 
 living, she leaned her head against the straight, high 
 back of the rocking chair she was sitting in, and in thirty 
 seconds was sound asleep. No one seemed to think of it,
 
 42 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 but ever after that evening, it was Deborah's hand that 
 oiled the machinery of Professor Me Vey'screakless house- 
 hold. Happy woman! with no yearnings, no question- 
 ings, no ambitions, no insomnia, no indigestion. In her 
 housekeeping, the dinners were never late, the buttons 
 never off, the coffee never muddy; the curtains were 
 always white, but no one knew when they were washed ; 
 the house always clean, but no one ever saw a broom or a 
 duster; the larder always answered any emergency of 
 extra luncheon, or a double number for dinner; there were 
 no flies in the house, and rarely a mosquito on the piazza. 
 Yet Deborah Bond never seemed to have anything to do, 
 or looked as though she had anything on her mind. Her 
 creed she never thought of, the Westminster Assembly 
 settled that in 1645; her philosophy could be condensed 
 in the one sentence, " Take things as you find them, and 
 make the best of them." Out of this philosophy there 
 came to her a life as regular as the tides, and as satis- 
 fying as the seasons. Happy woman ! who worked to sure 
 issues, and rejoiced in the work of her hands. Professor 
 McVey did not know how much of daily comfort he owed 
 to the quiet woman whom he instinctively treated with a 
 respectful reserve, but Margaret did know that " Aunt 
 Deb was the best woman in the world," and was always 
 just at hand if she wished for anything, and never annoyed 
 her with questions or advice. She loved her aunt in 
 exactly the way such a woman would choose to be loved, 
 with a calm, undemonstrative affection that never startled 
 or embarrassed her. 
 
 Mr. Latimer and Margaret were as happy as the day, 
 as they drove toward the woods. The weather vanes of 
 the town pointed to the north, but no breeze was felt, not 
 a leaf stirred, the grass was fresh arid green from late 
 rains, and the air was clear and co<3l. The sky was blue
 
 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 43 
 
 as June, and the white clouds, in long sweeps of thin, torn 
 mist with irregular edges, rested motionless across the 
 blue. Margaret drove toward a little spring that she 
 knew well, in a wood, and there they unpacked their 
 luncheon basket, chattering merrily all of the time. 
 Margaret laughed at Mr. Latimer because he was so 
 clumsy in breaking the ice into small pieces for the cold 
 tea, and Mr. Latimer laughed at Margaret because there 
 was no knife in the basket with which to cut the chicken 
 and cake, and declared that he would have to. do the 
 housekeeping when they were married. "All Mill's 
 fault," he said with a sly glance, as he produced a good 
 sized pocket knife and proceeded to disjoint the roasted 
 chicken. They wakened the birds that had been hushed 
 into a noonday sleep by the profound stillness of the 
 forest, and the twittering birds aroused the crickets, that 
 commenced chirping in all directions. Luncheon over, 
 Mr. Latimer said: 
 
 "Let the things be Margery; we'll pack them after 
 awhile. I want to smoke now, and you read to me from that 
 enchanting Lorna Doone of yours." After giving her the 
 book, he threw the laprobe on the ground and placed a 
 carriage cushion on it for a pillow, then he stretched him- 
 self out close by her side, as she sat on the grass leaning 
 against a tree, turning his head so that he could see the 
 fair face with the long lashes, and the sweet curves of the 
 moving lips. He cared little for Lorna Doone, or the 
 outlaws; Margaret's face filled his eye, and thought of her 
 his mind, even as his ear was filled with the musical low 
 tones of her voice, that were very restful and soothing. 
 Margaret read on, absorbed in the book, until suddenly, 
 startled by a heavy breathing, she looked round to see 
 Mr. Latimer fast asleep, with hands clasped over his 
 breast, and his head leaning a little one side toward her.
 
 44 
 
 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 She scarcely breathed for fear she might awaken him; she 
 hail never seen him asleep before, and she gazed on him 
 with shy curiosity. He might waken up any minute and 
 catch her looking at him so earnestly, she thought, but 
 no, he slept soundly on : how handsome he looked, but 
 how funny it was to hear him breathe so heavily, then she 
 wondered if that was what they called snoring. Now she 
 could look at him as much as she chose, and he not know 
 it. How still he lay, and how white and large his hands 
 were, and what beautiful pink nails, almost as pink as 
 her own. Then she looked at her nails and very slowly 
 put out one hand; glancing up at his face to see that he 
 was not waking up, she leaned over, stretched out one 
 finger and placing the nail as close to one of his as she 
 could without touching his finger, she compared the nails 
 in solemn silence for a moment, then folded her hands in 
 her lap and continued gazing at him. How broad the 
 chest was that supported the white hands. Aunt Deb said 
 her father had a narrow chest that indicated consumption, 
 in some branch of the McVey family. The Latimers must, 
 have been strong for generations to have produced such a 
 chest as that, and how tanned his throat and face were, 
 all but his forehead, and what a pretty dimple that was in 
 his chin, she would like to lay the tip of her little finger 
 in it; such a little cleft in such a large chin; then how 
 regularly his lips moved, and with every breath came that 
 pull that made the sound of heavy breathing. For an in- 
 stant she thought that she would like to kiss him, then her 
 face blushed rosy all over at the thought; no! she would 
 not touch him for the world! But she never moved her 
 eyes from his face, she looked at his dark moustache, and 
 then to his hair, so soft and silky, and she raised her hand 
 and drew one of the rings of hair over her forehead out 
 between her fingers. " It looks soft as mine, " she thought,
 
 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 45 
 
 and how straight the parting was, exactly in the middle, 
 and not a single hair across it; the hair seemed to grow 
 lower in the middle than on the sides, just as it did on 
 Byron's head, and how the short hair clung to the soft 
 white skin, and how much larger and heavier his head 
 looked, lying there, than when he was sitting up. She 
 wondered if a barber parted his hair, or if Rodger did it 
 himself; whether he took care of his own nails, or had a 
 manicure to do it. At this point of her observations and 
 wonderings, a fly lit on Mr. Latimer's face and Margaret 
 brushed it away with her handkerchief. At last she 
 seemed satisfied with gazvng, and noiselessly turned the 
 leaves of her book as she read to herself; every few 
 seconds looking up and waving her handkerchief over 
 Mr. Latimer's head to keep the flies away. The birds 
 became quiet, the crickets droned in a dreamy way, and 
 stillness reigned in the forest. An hour passed, and then 
 as Margaret glanced from her book to wave her handker- 
 chief over Mr. Latimer's head, she met his wide open eyes 
 fixed on her face , but as she looked, the lids slowly dropped 
 over his eyes again, and she turned to her book, but when 
 in a few minutes she raised her head to wave her hand- 
 kerchief, the eyes were open, and with more expression in 
 them. Soon Mr. Latimer turned over on his side and 
 leaning on his elbow, rested his head upon his hand, then 
 after a little he sat up and clasped his hands around his 
 knees. Margaret did not speak, but continued her read- 
 ing. Mr. Latimer looked at the dishes and the remains 
 of the luncheon strewed on the grass, looked off through 
 the woods, and then fixed his eyes upon Margaret. 
 
 " Well, Margery, have you had a good time?" he quietly 
 asked. 
 
 "Yes, a lovely time," she smilingly replied. 
 
 "I must have been sound asleep, my cigar has gone
 
 4 6 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 out," he said, as he reached for his cigar that he had laid 
 on the grass when he felt himself growing sleepy; he 
 brushed the ashes off it and tossed it away from him. 
 
 "Sound asleep! I should think you had. Why, Rodger, 
 you slept over an hour." 
 
 "O no, that can't be," he replied, taking out his 
 watch and looking at it. "Caesar's ghost! it's half-past 
 four! Now that was not treating you well, Margery. I 
 don't see how I slept so long, or went to sleep at all for 
 that matter, but you have a nap now," he continued with 
 a smile, "and I'll keep the flies off you." 
 
 "No, thank you, I'm not sleepy. I never sleep in the 
 daytime." 
 
 "Nor do I." 
 
 "Unless you're in the woods being read to."- 
 
 "It was that stupid book of yours, Margery, that did 
 it." 
 
 "The next time I'll bring Mill," rejoined Margaret, 
 saucily. Mr. Latimer reached out his hand and gave her 
 ear a little pinch. " But come, Rodger, you said you would 
 have to do the housekeeping, so please pack the basket. " 
 
 "No, I'm not to do the housekeeping yet. I went to 
 sleep, and that was doing my share for the day. If you'll 
 pack the basket, I'll cut all of the goldenrod that I can 
 carry in my arms for you. " 
 
 The basket was packed, and they wandered off in a 
 ravine, and through lowland woods for flowers. At seven 
 o'clock they reached home with a carriage load of golden- 
 rod, blue gentian and cat-tails, ready for one of Aunt 
 Deborah's beautiful dinners. 
 
 "Where shall we sit, Rodger?" asked Margaret, as they 
 rose from the table, "in my room, or on the piazza?" 
 
 "On the front piazza in the moonlight, unless you care 
 to be within doors," replied Mr, Latimer.
 
 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 47 
 
 They went to the piazza, and Margaret located herself 
 in the hammock, leaning her head and shoulders back 
 against a cushion, and restjng her feet on a large velvet 
 mat that partially covered the floor. Mr. Latimer drew 
 the sea-chair to her side and seated himself in it, and 
 after striking a match on the railing near by, lit a cigar, 
 then placed his feet on the railing, leaned his head back, 
 and looked into the tree tops. Margaret was looking at 
 him. 
 
 "What compensation, Rodger, do you suppose women 
 have for not smoking?" she asked after awhile. 
 
 "Watching us as we smoke, " was the reply. 
 
 "And that's compensation ?" 
 
 "Ample," said Mr. Latimer; "you are the unselfish sex. 
 You find more happiness in seeing other people happy 
 than in any self-indulgence. Don't you see how perfectly 
 Providence has arranged it ? But what are you going to 
 do all of this next winter, Margery?" 
 
 "Just what I did all of last winter, I suppose. I shall 
 look after papa, read and sew a little, go in society 
 some, run down to the city when there are good operas 
 and theaters, and write a great many long letters to you. 
 What are you going to do all winter?" 
 
 " Don't talk of my next winter, I hate to think of it. 
 We've had such a perfect day, I don't wish it marred by 
 having any unpleasant thoughts thrust on me." It was 
 full ten minutes before either of them spoke again, 
 then Mr. Latimer said: "How lovely it was under the 
 trees by that spring! seems to me you know all of the 
 pretty places in the woods, and just where the gold- 
 enrod grows. How lovely it is out here to-night, see 
 how bright the stars are." Margaret glanced from Mr. 
 Latimer's face to the stars overhead but said nothing; 
 after a little he continued, " For the first time in my life
 
 48 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 Margery, I have to-night an idea of what you and your 
 father find in this Edgewood life. How pure and calm it 
 is, how unlike the crowd, and heat and noise of Clinton. 
 It don't seem possible that we are only ten miles from 
 that dirty city; just now I feel as though I would like to 
 live here forever." One of his hands rested on the arm of 
 the sea-chair, and as he ceased speaking, Margaret laid 
 her hand softly upon it; instantly he turned his hand, 
 and took hers in a close clasp. 
 
 "The stars are very bright for so clear a moonlight 
 night," said Margaret after a long silence; "this is like 
 some of our old Lausanne evenings; after all Rodger, 
 last summer was not to be the happiest of our lives; we 
 always speak of it as such a happy time, but why has not 
 to-day been just as happy as any of those happy days?" 
 
 " It has love, it has," replied Mr. Latimer, "no one ought 
 to ask for a happier day than this has been. " He turned 
 his head and looked at the girlish face leaning against 
 the cushion, and into the large luminous eyes full of love, 
 holding within them a beauty far surpassing that of moon 
 or stars. Occasionally a footfall had been heard in the 
 distance; it had come nearer and sounded louder, passed 
 by, grown fainter, and died away into silence. The 
 passers by grew fewer and fewer, and then they ceased en- 
 tirely, and all was silent on the street of this country 
 town, in the early evening. The last robin had twittered 
 itself to sleep long ago, and the katydids stopped their 
 song; the sacred silence of night rested upon the earth. 
 The stars passed noiselessly on, Jupiter came from the 
 east and marching toward the zenith threw his brightest 
 rays on Rodger and Margaret as they sat side by side, the 
 Pleiades all saw the happy pair, and clustering closer 
 together, swept through the heavens singing their song of 
 love. Vega and Mars peeped through the leaves, but a
 
 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 49 
 
 fleecy cloud on watch, floated between and hid the lovers 
 from their gaze; the half moon in the south drew a veil 
 of yellow mist across her face, and the wind with finger 
 on her lips, crept away through the silent night. 
 
 4 Rodger Latimer's Mistake,
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 One cool morning in the first week of November, as 
 Mr. Latimer was stepping from the sidewalk into the 
 hall of the block in which his office was located, in the 
 city of Clinton, he met Mr. Grey Whitridge. 
 
 "Have you just returned to the city, Mr. Latimer?" 
 asked Grey Whitridge, after the young men had heartily 
 greeted each other. 
 
 " O no, I have been here at work for six weeks or 
 more." 
 
 "Is that possible! At work? May I ask at what?" 
 
 "At my profession, practicing law, although I can't say 
 that I'm doing much practicing just now. I am going 
 through the necessary transition stage of a beginner. 
 Step up to my office and have a cigar, and tell me of your 
 summer." The two men stepped into the elevator, and 
 in a few moments were seated in Mr. Latimer's office. 
 
 "You have an unusually pleasant office, Mr Latimer, 
 with all of these south windows," said Grey Whitridge, 
 looking around the room, and as he lighted the cigar Mr. 
 Latimer gave him^he added: "This is a very fine cigar, 
 where do you get them? I've had a world of trouble 
 about my cigars; seems to me there are no cigars as fine 
 as we used to smoke ten years ago. I was out of all 
 patience in London with the vile stuff I was compelled 
 to use there." 
 
 " Did you have a pleasant time in London ?" asked 
 Mr. Latimer. 
 
 " No, we had dreadful weather, the worst this year that 
 I ever saw there; it was a wet season. I had such a 
 constant cold I could not enjoy society at all, so I went 
 
 5
 
 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 5' 
 
 into the country to shoot, and had the poorest of luck." 
 
 "You seem to have had a combination of misfortunes," 
 said Mr. Latimer. 
 
 "Yes, and then I went over to Paris; the rain crossed 
 with me, and there was a misunderstanding between myself 
 and some friends that were to meet me there, and I 
 missed them, which was a great disappointment. It was 
 beautiful weather the few days that I spent in Switzerland, 
 on the mountains, but I care little for natural scenery, 
 simply as such, so the fine weather there was of no special 
 advantage to me." 
 
 " How much of one's pleasure in traveling depends upon 
 the weather!" said Latimer, not knowing what else to say. 
 
 " Yes, I thought so on my return voyage. " 
 
 " Did you have a rough passage ?" 
 
 "The sailors did not call it so, but I thought it decid- 
 edly rough. We had heavy fogs and rain, and a rough sea 
 nearly all the eight days that we were out; then one of the 
 passengers died, and a lady went insane from sea sickness, 
 or from the remedies she took to relieve her sea sickness. 
 I've always considered myself a good sailor, but I'll con- 
 fess the sea got the upper hand of me this trip. I've been 
 over eight times, and all of the discomfort of fifteen of the 
 passages put together would not equal what I suffered this 
 return voyage. I don't believe I'll ever go to Europe 
 again. I'll spend my summers in this country, but it's a 
 serious question where one can pass the summer months 
 most pleasantly, I never cared for shooting much, and I 
 care less for it every year. I expected to find great 
 enjoyment in salmon fishing, when I joined the Neytaya 
 Club, but salmon fishing is too hard work, it's a tax 
 physically and mentally; I never shall try it again. On 
 the whole I'm glad the summer is past. I really believe 
 one can get about as much out of life here in the city as
 
 5- 
 
 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 anywhere. Clinton is to be very gay this winter, they 
 say. Everything is hazy and uncertain yet, but definite 
 programmes will begin to come out soon. I have just 
 heard that the Blackwells are to be home next week, and 
 that they will open their house. You know the 
 Blackwells?" 
 
 "No, or at least I have simply met Mr. and Mrs. Black- 
 well at a formal dinner." 
 
 "They have two lovely daughters, who were educated 
 abroad. They finished their studies last year, but Mrs. 
 Blackwell wished to keep them out of society another 
 year, and thought that would be impossible if they 
 returned to their own home, so they passed last winter in 
 Dresden; but they will have their house opened by the 
 first of the month, and you will find them charming 
 people. Mrs. Richmond told me yesterday, that the 
 prospects were for an early and gay season. " 
 
 Mr. Latimer had nothing to say in reply to Grey 
 Whitridge's society gossip. What could he reply to it? 
 He could neither deny nor affirm ; what was the approaching 
 season to him? Gay Mrs. Richmond, the Blackwells' 
 beautiful home and lovely daughters, did not come within 
 range of his practical knowledge. Visions of operas, 
 dances, dinners, carriages and flowers, rose before him, 
 as part and parcel of Grey Whitridge's coming winter, 
 nor did the vision flit before him and pass away, but 
 staid in his mind, each moment assuming a more 
 beautiful and desirable aspect. He looked at Grey 
 Whitridge, who belonged to the second generation oi 
 wealth, and who had never known an hour of either phy- 
 sical or mental striving; there he sat, so surfeited with 
 the good things of earth, that his pleasure in London was 
 destroyed by a cold he had taken, Pans ruined by rain, 
 he found shooting on a lord's estate stupid, and Swit-
 
 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 53 
 
 zerland scenery flat, and now the very best of Clinton's- 
 society awaited him with its lovely women, beautiful 
 homes, clubs, and gay men. Bitterness filled Mr. Lat- 
 imer's soul, his proud, sensitive nature writhed in pain, 
 but he only said in an unruffled voice, as he struck a 
 match and handed it to Grey Whitridge, "You have let 
 your cigar go out, Mr. Whitridge. " 
 
 After Mr. Whitridge had his cigar well lighted he said: 
 " You must have a large number of acquaintances in Clin- 
 ton, Mr. Latimer, although your long absence at Harvard 
 has prevented your ever enjoying one of our society 
 seasons. " 
 
 " No, I have not many acquaintances in the city. I 
 have a few valued friends, but not any general acquaint- 
 ances. You must remember that my last six winters have 
 been passed in Cambridge." 
 
 "Well, I congratulate you on your prospects for this 
 winter. I have been in society for eight or ten years" 
 (Grey Whitridge was thirty-eight years old) "and I wish 
 I could begin again with the zest of ten years ago. If 1 
 had made this world, I would have given all men unlim- 
 ited wealth and youth." 
 
 "And all women ?" interrogated Mr. Latimer, with a 
 smile. 
 
 "Equal youth and perfect beauty,^ replied Grey Whit- 
 ridge, without an answering smile. "But, Mr. Latimer, 
 we are not going to permit you to hide yourself in this 
 office." Grey Whitridge turned one scrutinizing glance 
 on Mr. Latimer, and estimated him from the top of his 
 large, dark brown head, to the tip of his fashionably-made 
 shoe; he passed upon his clear, intellectual eye, shapely 
 hands, well fitting clothes, gentlemanly manner, well mod- 
 ulated voice, linen, necktie, and watchguard. The ver- 
 dict was," He'll do; unusual man, handsome fellow, some-
 
 54 
 
 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 body new; yes, I'll bring him out." "I presume," he 
 said, " that you have come out of college with great ambi- 
 tion, at least this office looks like it. Ah! Latimer, it 
 don't pay, there's nothing pays less than work. If a poor 
 devil is compelled to do it, I suppose there is no dodging 
 it, but I pity him. Yes, you smile, I know. I've heard 
 it all, and I can repeat it about as well as the parson 
 himself, but it is all a lie from beginning to end, a fine- 
 spun theory that no one believes. Now yesterday, for 
 instance, at Trinity Church, Dr. Moore preached a sermon 
 to young men; it was specially prepared for young men 
 who have come here this autumn to find employment in 
 business houses. It was the old cant on the dignity of 
 human nature, nobleness of labor, and the satisfying 
 results of honest toil. The old doctor ought to be shied 
 out of his pulpit into the lake, if he don't know enough 
 to know that there was nothing but rhetoric in his ser- 
 mon, from beginning to end." 
 
 " Suppose he, does know, what then ?" asked Mr. Lat- 
 imer. 
 
 " O, I suppose he would have had to preach it all the 
 same, but don't you make a mistake, Latimer; I've seen 
 many do it. As a matter of course, if you find pleasure 
 in the study and practice -of law, I would do it, for happi- 
 ness is what we're all after. Some men may find pleasure 
 in pursuing law year after year, but I doubt it. Judge 
 Kent's position is a desirable one, so is Monroe's, and 
 Judge Sargent's; they don't do much, and do it about as 
 they please. I can easily imagine that a practice like 
 theirs might make an agreeable life; but Mr. Prentice 
 tells me that he worked very hard for twenty years after 
 he was admitted to the bar, and he says no man can suc- 
 ceed in the .profession, who is nQt willing to work early 
 and late, and give up everything but his work. Now, why
 
 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 55 
 
 should a man do this when there is no pecuniary necessity? 
 It's an ambition that I can't understand. Then Mr. 
 Prentice says that few succeed with all of their hard work, 
 that this city is full of lawyers, who hardly make a liv- 
 ing, and that young men, especially, have a hard time of 
 it; that with the most faithful work, they can't hope for 
 more than a bare subsistence. What a doleful prospect 
 looming up before young men who are compelled to earn 
 their bread? I tell you work is a curse, to be borne if a 
 man can't rid himself of it, but it doesn't pay. Now with 
 you it is all so different. Pardon me, Mr. Latimer," he 
 continued, as he turned to Mr. Latimer with a flattering 
 air of respectful deference, " but I wish I had your ad- 
 vantages of youth and person. Why, Latimer, you have 
 the world before you to choose from; before spring, half 
 the women in society will be in love with you, and 
 you will have to look out for jealous husbands, and bald- 
 headed fathers, who will wonder what your intentions 
 are." 
 
 Mr. Latimer felt his heart beat faster with gratified 
 vanity as he listened to the words of Grey Whitridge, 
 who was one of the acknowledged authorities of Clinton 
 society. The opening of the door fortunately saved him 
 from attempting some necessary reply, for really he had 
 nothing at all to say to Grey Whitridge's long talk. 
 As a strange man entered the room, Grey Whitridge took 
 his leave. Mr. Latimer asked the long-waited for client, 
 as he took the stranger to be, to excuse him for a mo- 
 ment, and he stepped outside of the door with Grey Whit- 
 ridge, who said to him on parting: 
 
 " You must join the Dorchester Club, Mr. Latimer. 
 Have you an engagement for this evening ? I'll drive 
 round for you after dinner, if you would like to go and 
 see Mrs. Richmond. Where are your rooms?"
 
 56 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 Mr. Latimer told him that he was engaged for the 
 evening, but said nothing as to the location of his board- 
 ing house on Hillson street. 
 
 "Very well," replied Grey Whitridge, "I'll see you to- 
 morrow." 
 
 The strange man proved to be, not a wealthy client, but 
 a man in search of some one of whom Mr. Latimer knew 
 nothing, and he immediately left. Mr. Latimer went to 
 the window of his office, that overlooked one of the prin- 
 cipal business streets of the city, and gazed down upon 
 Grey Whitridge, who stood on the edge of the sidewalk, 
 talking with Mr. Walt Richmond, who was seated in his 
 tilbury. The young men spoke together for a few 
 moments, then Grey Whitridge took a seat beside Mr. 
 Richmond and they drove off. Mr. Latimer turned from 
 the window and stood alone in his vacant office. His air 
 was dejected, his face gloomy and angry. He walked 
 slowly to a chair that was at the end of the large table in 
 the center of the room, and sat down. As he raised his 
 arm to rest it upon the table, he saw the end of Mr. Whit 
 ridge's cigar, that he had left there. He took it up, and 
 threw it savagely across the room. 
 
 "D n the man!" he growled between his teeth, then 
 he sank into moody thought. " What a fool I was to stay 
 in Clinton. I hope I shall never see Whitridge again 
 come to my boarding house!" In imagination he saw 
 the raised eyebrows, and the ill-concealed disgust, and 
 the polite leavetaking of the society man, from the small 
 room, in the long block of a dozen houses, on Hillson 
 street. He saw himself dodging into his. office all winter, 
 to avoid meeting Grey Whitridge, or some one of his 
 friends, and in imagination he heard the inquiries that 
 would be made for him, by the few young men he knew, 
 for a week or so at the first of the season whv not at the
 
 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 57 
 
 opera, or theater, or at the club? Inquiries made of Grey 
 Wbitridge as to his whereabouts, and imagined his replies 
 practicing law, no money, dependent upon himself; and 
 the answering comments fine fellow, hard luck to have 
 to drudge and grind. Six weeks, and not a client yet! 
 Only some copying, and looking up some authorities for 
 Judge Sargent. The years rose before him, slowly adding 
 themselves together, years of hard, uncongenial toil; not 
 of speechmaking on great elemental principles, or cele- 
 brated criminal cases, in a crowded courtroom, the day 
 beginning with, "May it please your honor," and closing 
 amid a crowd of friends, and members of the bar, con- 
 gratulating him on his eloquence and unanswerable 
 arguments, all of which would be reported in the next 
 morning's city papers; but days of uninspiring work, 
 bending his back over that table in endless writing. 
 Then after awhile he might get some collecting to do, 
 and after another while, he might be retained in unim- 
 portant suits, and all for what ? To be able to occupy that 
 one room on Hillson street, and pay for his monotonous 
 breakfasts, luncheons at the business men's counters of 
 some restaurant, ana equally monotonous dinners. After 
 many years perhaps, he would be able to marry Margaret 
 McVey and have her board with him in that same house, 
 or possibly at one a grade better. The thought of Mar- 
 garet McVey had no power to quell the tumult of his 
 mind, or cast a cheering ray into his future. From his 
 office windows, during the last month, he had looked 
 down on the increasing crowds in the street, as the society 
 people gradually returned from their summer's journ- 
 eyings, and the beautiful women, and rapidly passing car- 
 riages, with their prancing horses and smart coachmen, 
 gave a bright hue to life, in comparison with which 
 Edgewood, and Margaret McVey's quiet home, rose
 
 5 8 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 before him as flat and stale. From the isolation of his 
 office, he had looked on passing millionaires, merchants, 
 railroad magnates, bankers, and celebrated laV/yers, 
 whose names were in every daily paper, and some of 
 whom were men of national reputation ; a few of these 
 he had met in society; others he merely knew by sight, 
 but they, and their wives, and sons and daughters, seemed 
 to him the happy dwellers in Elysium. He saw the 
 deference paid to men of large wealth by their fellows 
 and he considered their position the most desirable one 
 on earth. He was not aware that in drawing such an 
 inference he was committing the blunder common to youth, 
 that of over-estimating the power of wealth to confer hap- 
 piness, and under-estimating the amount of happiness 
 .that comes from the simple gratification of the natural 
 appetites and affections. Over the wall, that a moneyed 
 caste had built as high as any barrier of Indian caste, he 
 could in his imagination, hear the music, and dancing, 
 and laughter and song, of well-bred and well-dressed men 
 and women; with his feverish mind's eye he could see 
 spacious rooms covered with soft carpets, flooded by a 
 subdued light, the air sweet with the odor of flowers; 
 could see Ethel Richmond waltzing down the Assembly 
 Hall, on Grey Whitridge's arm, and Marie Edwards with 
 Walt Richmond, and then came to him over this insur- 
 mountable barrier, the sound of merry voices at dinner 
 tables, and the roll of carriages through the streets on 
 their way to the parks and theaters. His mind had dwelt 
 so much on the power and grandeur that wealth conferred, 
 and saw so clearly the line of demarcation between, not 
 wealth and poverty, but wealth and competence, that 
 life without wealth, seemed to him a poor gift, but with 
 it, of inexhaustible capabilities. Grey Whitridge's con- 
 versation with him that morning, had only confirmed him
 
 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 59 
 
 in these views. He roused himself from his bitter fore- 
 casting of the future with a start, turning sick and faint 
 as he leaned his elbow on the table, and rested his head 
 on his hand. Where should he go, how rid himself of this 
 unbearable prospect of poverty and mortification. For 
 two hours he paced the floor of his office, in which time a 
 dozen projects were harbored and abandoned. Among 
 these, were the ideas of speculating in stocks, going onto 
 a Western ranch, appealing to his uncle for sufficient 
 money to give him a social position until he could earn 
 one, and blowing his brains out with his pistol. Turn 
 which way he would, his* logical mind was thrown back 
 against the rock of steady work, and its legitimate results. 
 The lines deepened around his mouth, and his face took 
 on the desperate look of an animal at -bay. Always in 
 the past, he had possessed the advantages of wealth, as 
 much so, as though he had been born to a large estate, 
 and his soul revolted from the circumscribed, distasteful 
 life that lay before him. After a while the stupor of ner- 
 vous exhaustion came over him, dulling his pain; he sat 
 in a chair by the window, took up the morning paper, and 
 mechanically ran his eye down its columns.
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 That same morning Mrs. Lundom James White was 
 sitting in her library before an anthracite coal fire, look- 
 ing over the morning paper, which her husband had thrown 
 down, when the maid announced to him that the horses 
 were waiting. Suddenly she turned and cried, " Marie, 
 come here!" 
 
 Marie Edwards rose from the sofa in the south bay- 
 window, where she had been sitting in the sun, and crossed 
 the room in her slow, stately way at her sister's bidding. 
 
 "Listen to this," said Mrs. White; then she read aloud 
 the following item: 
 
 " A dispatch from Boston announces the death of Gil- 
 bert H. Latimer in that city last evening at six o'clock. 
 His death, which was wholly unexpected, was caused by 
 apoplexy. Mr. Latimer was born in Buffalo, N. V., 
 April 13, 1820. He was a member of the Commercial 
 Exchange in Buffalo for many years. In 1870 he became 
 interested in Western railroads, and removed from Buffalo 
 to Boston, in which city he has since resided. He was 
 a successful business man, and died possessed of several 
 millions. Mr. Gilbert Latimer was a bachelor, but his 
 courteous, genial temperament gained for him numerous 
 friends. He was a man of great benevolence, and was 
 actively interested in several charitable institutions of 
 Boston. His only known relative is Mr. Rodger Latimer, 
 a brilliant young attorney of this city, who is the only 
 child of the late Professor Latimer of Edgewood College." 
 
 You remember Rodger Latimer, don't you, Marie?" 
 asked Mrs. White, as she laid the paper across her lap, 
 and looked up with an expression of alert interest. 
 60
 
 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 6 1 
 
 " Yes, and he fs a brilliant man." After several minutes 
 of unbroken silence Marie continued, " He refused your 
 invitation to join the Assembly, didn't he?" 
 
 "Yes he did, and I was disappointed, for he is an 
 agreeable man, and a fine dancer. Don't you remember 
 how beautifully he and Ethel Richmond danced together 
 last -winter?" 
 
 "I wonder why he refused." 
 
 "I don't know, there's something strange about it; he 
 seems fond of society, and fond of dancing. I wonder " 
 Mrs. White leaned forward, crossed her hands on her 
 knees, and gazed into the fire. Her sister waited full 
 five minutes in silence, then impatiently asked, "You 
 wonder at what?" It was another five minutes before 
 reflective Mrs. White deigned a reply. 
 
 " It may be Marie, that Mr. Latimer's poor. The excuse 
 he gave me was, that he couldn't spare time from his 
 professional duties; he said he was very much interested 
 in his profession, and if he made a success of it, he must 
 devote himself to it. Perhaps he's dependent upon his 
 practice; if that was his reason for refusing my invitation, 
 this death of his uncle will remove it, for it must be that 
 his uncle would leave him something handsome, even if 
 he didn't give him all of his property." Both ladies 
 gazed into the fire with serious, diplomatic faces. 
 
 "Newspaper reports can't be relied on," said Mrs. 
 White after a little. "I wish I knew," then followed 
 another silence that was broken by Marie. 
 
 "Suppose his uncle did leave him money; how do you 
 know he cares for society? he may like his profession 
 better than he likes dancing, and shut himself up to it." 
 
 "Fiddle-de-dee! how do I know anything? I know 
 young men, and if he gets a million from his uncle, and 
 don't go into Clinton society this winter, he will be a
 
 62 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 different young man from any I ever saw. The thing is 
 to be sure of the fact; I don't want to make a blunder. 
 The will may not be published." Again Mrs. White 
 relapsed into another silence of ten minutes, after which 
 she rose and went to the po r tieres that hung between the 
 library and dining-room, paited them, and thrusting her 
 head forward, looked around the dining-room; when she 
 had convinced herself that no servant was within hearing, 
 she returned to her seat. 
 
 "I've changed my mind about Grey Whitridge," she 
 said in a low voice; " I really don't know what to think 
 of him, but I don't believe he wants to get married; why 
 hasn't he been here since his return? Mrs. Richmond 
 told me last evening that Mr. Richmond overheard him 
 say, when Mr. Barstow was rallying him about being 
 engaged to Edith Morrison, that he was not engaged and 
 had no idea of being; that he had much rather flirt with 
 young married women than to get married." 
 
 "What a speech for a man to make!" exclaimed Marie. 
 " Grey Whitridge ought to be ashamed of himself. I don't 
 think Edith Morrison is much of a girl, but if that is the 
 way he talks, she's too good for him." 
 
 " I don't believe he's very good; you know he was edu- 
 cated in Germany, and then he has so much money, and 
 nothing to do," rejoined Mrs. White. " It's enough to 
 spoil any man to be petted as he has been for the last 
 four or five years. I should think he would be sick to 
 death of being run after and complimented." 
 
 " He's a rather heavy man to entertain," said Marie. 
 
 'Yes, because he is entertained so much, he just leans 
 back to be entertained; he's found out that we are willing 
 to take him, and do all of the entertaining ourselves, but 
 he can be charming if he chooses." 
 
 "He don't very often choose."
 
 RODGER LATIMERS MISTAKE 63 
 
 '* No, but don t you remember how well he talked last 
 spring, at our Lord Harrod's dinner? he seemed to know 
 London, and English affairs as well as Lord Harrod 
 himself." Again the two women sank into silence, Mrs. 
 White gazing into the fire with contracted brows; after 
 awhile she spoke: " Now, Marie, I'll find out in some way 
 about Rodger Latimer's affairs; you leave it all to me." 
 
 " Leave it to you, Harriet!" exclaimed Marie in a petu- 
 lant voice, "do you suppose I'm going to do anything? 
 The Lord knows I would if I could, but what can a girl 
 do nowadays?" Marie's usually handsome face was any- 
 thing but handsome as she relapsed into silence, shadowed 
 as it was with an expression of discontent and resentment. 
 Mrs. White raisd her eyes from the fire to her sister's face, 
 with a quick, impatient jerk of her head, but as her eyes 
 remained fixed upon Marie, the expression of impatience 
 changed to one of sympathy and earnest thought. 
 
 "I know," she said, "that all of our plans seem to fail, 
 but there's no use in looking in that discouraged way; 
 one would suppose we had come to the end of all things. 
 You're only twenty-four; girls don't marry as young as 
 they used to; we'll make this winter tell in some way. 
 I've about made up my mind that Grey Whitridge will 
 never marry. I don't believe he wants a home and wife 
 of his own." 
 
 "I don't know why he should; he has a dozen homes or 
 more in Clinton now, and heaven only knows how many 
 in Washington and New York; as long as other men's 
 wives pet and humor him as they do, what does he want 
 of a wife of his own?" 
 
 "That's an ill-natured speech, Marie. What do you 
 know of his position in New York or Washington 
 society?" 
 
 "Nothing, only what I know of his position here, and
 
 6 4 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 what I hear and read of New York and Washington 
 society, and he is frequently in both places. If he is 
 invited out as much there, and danced with, and flirted 
 with there, as he is here by married women, the poor 
 fellow hasn't time to think of getting married." 
 
 "I don't think he finds his time passes unpleasantly," 
 said Mrs. White, growing a little ill-natured herself. 
 
 "No, I presume not. I dare say he likes it all, but 
 really I do believe he is getting a little cloyed by all of 
 the honey he has had poured down his throat, and is 
 growing tired of all women, married and single." 
 
 "Well, he's not the only man in the world. Let him 
 go; there's half a dozen right here worth as much as he in 
 every respect, and then who knows what strangers we may 
 have in town during the winter. I am determined that 
 you shall visit Washington this season. When I was there 
 I did not see as handsome a girl as you, in all of the 
 crowds. I don't believe James will let me go again this 
 winter, but I'll manage it. I thought it all out one night 
 when I couldn't sleep. The McClures are going to spend 
 January in Washington, and they know the best people 
 there, the society people. " 
 
 "I see; but Mrs. McClure may not wish to chaperone any 
 one but Ada. You know, Harriet, tliat a mother don't 
 care to have a girl that is handsomer than her own 
 daughter constantly around. I never did think much of 
 your Washington plan. " 
 
 "No, you don't usually think much of any of my plans, 
 but I think I've managed my own social matters very 
 well." Marie hastened to appease her wealthy sister: 
 
 "Come, come, Harriet, you know I think you're the 
 smartest woman in the world. I'm sure I've done just 
 what you wished me to do for the last three years." 
 
 "Yes, and you'll not be surry, only be patient, and
 
 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 65 
 
 don't do anything in haste. I'm so afraid you'll fall in 
 love with some of these men who have just enough to 
 drag along." 
 
 "You needn't be alarmed," interrupted Marie. "I 'saw 
 enough of the disadvantages of poverty before I came 
 here, and have seen enough of the advantages of money 
 since I have lived in Clinton, to keep me from making a 
 fool of myself." 
 
 Mrs. White took the paper from her knee and read the 
 obituary notice over again to herself. "This uncle's 
 property may be over-estimated," she said, laying the 
 paper again on her lap. "Fortunes usually are; but then 
 he must have been a rich man, for he seems to have had 
 some prominence. 'Several millions, '" it says, referring 
 to the paper on her lap ; "suppose he had only one million, 
 and gave only half of that to his nephew, it would 
 be a handsome fortune to begin with, and he could easily 
 go on in Clinton with such a start and become a very rich 
 man. 'A son of T. C. Latimer of Edgewood College;' 
 that must be Professor McVey's friend, the Professor 
 Latimer I've heard him frequently speak of." 
 
 Mrs. White leaned her head back against her chair and 
 gazed at the ceiling for a few moments in earnest thought, 
 then went to a writing table that stood in the room, and 
 slowly, with great care, wrote a note, looking absently 
 out of a window opposite for several consecutive minutes 
 between the sentences. When it was finished she sat with 
 her eyes fixed on it for some little time; evidently it did' 
 not suit her, for she tore it up and threw the bits in the 
 waste basket, and commenced another. Marie meantime 
 was looking into the fire at swiftly-moving panoramic 
 scenes created by her memory. The first picture was of 
 her father's store in the New England village; in one 
 corner of this store was the postoffice, at the counter her 
 5 Rodger Latimer's Mistake.
 
 66 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 father sold calico, muslin, lamp chimneys and wicks and 
 coal oil, sugar, tea, coffee, shovels, rakes and grass seed, 
 together with cheap fish-hooks and lines to impecunious 
 summer tourists, who did not aspire to the ownership of a 
 hand-made, hexagonal, split bamboo rod. Then across 
 the coals quickly followed a view of her sister's marriage 
 to the Clinton iron merchant, when Marie was ten years 
 old, Harriet twenty, and the iron merchant forty-five. 
 The next picture was of the four years of school life that 
 she passed as a pupil in a seminary, where her sister paid 
 her bills, and then of the two years she had 'taught in 
 another seminary as an assistant teacher. All through, 
 as a sort of background to these pictures, ran a dull gray 
 of economy, spring suits made over from her sister's last 
 year's ones, the sewing being done after study hours had 
 passed in the evenings mended gloves, mitts manufact- 
 ured from her sister's worn silk gloves by cutting off the 
 fingers and hemming them round the hand, patched walk- 
 ing boots, and home-made bonnets and hats. Then fol- 
 lowed a view of her arrival four years before in Clinton. 
 She closed her eyes as she thought over the delirium of 
 that first winter, with its novel splendor and gaiety, but 
 opened them and gazed into the fire as the last three 
 seemingly endless, years of her life passed before her, 
 with their tangled plans and efforts and disappointments. 
 These three years of effort on Marie Edwards' xpart to 
 establish herself as the mistress of a wealthy home, had 
 crystallized the artless girl into a managing society 
 woman of great tact and complete self-control; a much 
 deeper and shrewder woman than her less selfish and less 
 intellectual sister, Harriet, gave her credit for being. 
 
 "Listen to this and see what you think of it," said Mrs. 
 White, as she stood by her sister's side with her finished 
 note in her hand.
 
 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 67 
 
 Dear Jfr. Latimer: 
 
 Can you dine with us informally, next Tuesday, at half-past six? 
 I have not heard a word of my dear old friend Professor McVey for 
 months, and probably you can give me some information regarding 
 him. And then I wish for an opportunity to appeal to your kind 
 heart, to reconsider your decision not to join our Assembly this win- 
 ter. The committee had numbered you among my special friends, 
 and I have some little pride in showing that they were not mistaken. 
 Please come as an old friend ; you will meet no one beside the family. 
 
 Very sincerely, 
 
 HARRIET F. WHITE. 
 1326 Madison Avenue. 
 Nov. 6th, 1 8 8 
 
 'This is the seventh, not the sixth," said Marie. 
 
 "I know it, you goosie," replied Mrs. White. " I dated 
 it back ; do you suppose I would write that invitation to- 
 day, with this notice of his uncle's death coming out in 
 this morning's paper?" Mrs. White touched the bell, and 
 ordered the answering maid to call her coachman. 
 
 "Now Michael," she said, when the obsequious man 
 stood before her, " I wish you to pay strict attention to 
 what I say, as this is an important business matter, and 
 you must be sure and make no mistake. I wish you to 
 take this note to Mr. Rodger Latimer's office; he is a 
 young lawyer, who has just opened an office down town. I 
 don't know where his office is, you can find it some way; 
 take this note to his office and leave it for him, and be 
 sure and tell the man, or whoever you see, to say to Mr. 
 Latimer when they give him the note, that you were sent 
 with it. yesterday and could not find his office, and that 
 you are very sorry, and hope that it will make no differ- 
 ence with Mr. Latimer; you understand, Michael; this is 
 some business that I ought to have attended to yesterday, 
 and you be sure to say to the man, to tell Mr. Latimer 
 that you were sent yesterday. Go over to Newman street 
 and take the car if you can go quicker that way, but if 
 not, take a hors*>. You are sure that you understand?" 
 The quick-witted Irishman assured her that he understood,
 
 68 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 and left the room with his eyes fixed on the floor. Mrs. 
 White went back to the fire and placed one hand on the 
 mantel, as she rested her foot on the fender, and drew up 
 her dress skirt, so that the heat could strike her ankle. 
 
 "Do you think that safe?" asked Marie. 
 
 "Yes," replied Mrs. White, "Michael knows too much, 
 to ever say a word. " She gazed abstractedly into the fire as 
 she added: " No knowing what old Latimer did with his 
 property; I wish I knew." 
 
 It was not many days before all of Rodger Latimer's 
 friends knew, that his uncle's property had been equally 
 divided; and that Rodger Latimer received one-half, the 
 other half being given to several charitable institutions in 
 Boston.
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 It would seem on first thought, that Rodger Latimer's 
 course in life was now a perfectly straight one. That 
 there was nothing for him to do, but marry Margaret 
 McVey and go happily through the years, enjoying all of 
 the blessings of the love and wealth Providence had so 
 bountifully bestowed upon him. But human nature is of 
 complex organization. Mr. Latimer at this time had no 
 other thought but that of marrying Margaret sometime in 
 the near future, and settling down in his own home, as an 
 orderly and useful citizen of Clinton. But when all of the 
 nightmare horrors of poverty and mortification that had 
 laid hold of him, were dispelled by the pleasant shock of 
 a shower of gold, his first thought was, that now he could 
 become a part of the brilliant dash he had seen flying past 
 him, and that all of the glittering paraphernalia of society 
 life was within his reach. The prospect was intoxicating; 
 he could not turn his back on the fleeting forms of beauty 
 that beckoned him to follow into the bewildering maze 
 before him, and settle down as the staid husband of a 
 simple village girl. The barriers had been thrown down, 
 and every path in the Elysian fields was open to his feet; 
 his heart beat high with joyous emotions, his judgment 
 was led by a disordered fancy, and he was eager to leave 
 the narrow circle of his personal life, and enter the bound- 
 less land of unsurpassing beauty, that for weeks he had 
 caught glimpses of, from the gloomy solitude of his office. 
 Life assumed a new phase; it was set to music, and all in 
 high notes. His first pleasant experience was the select- 
 ing of rooms at the Bellevue, the purchasing of pictures, 
 rugs and bric-a-brac, a saddle horse and a team. He 
 69
 
 7 
 
 RODGER LATIMFR'S MISTAKE 
 
 feared at times that it might all be a dream, and that he 
 would waken to find the old life of toil and economy a 
 bitter reality: but he lay down to sleep, arose to eat, ar.d 
 walk among men, and there remained the solid fact of 
 wealth to his credit. He wondered at times that the 
 earthquake that had elevated his personal life to such a 
 pleasing altitude, had not caused the slightest tremor of 
 the earth beyond the small portion covered by his own 
 feet. For a few clays he was congratulated by his friends 
 on his inheritance of a fortune; then men met him as 
 though the present order had held from the beginning. 
 Soon he was afloat on the waves of society, invitations 
 poured in upon him, and Grey Whitridge was always at 
 his elbow to advise in selecting the most desirable. He 
 would have liked to have accepted them all, and in his 
 heart, he regretted his inability to be in half a dozen- 
 places at the same time. 
 
 A short time after his pleasant entrance into society a 
 celebrated actor came to Clinton to fill an engagement. 
 He had been long heralded, and much talked of, and Mr. 
 Latimer received invitations to several of the parties that 
 had been formed for the opening night, but unfortunately 
 important business called him to a neighboring city, and 
 he had no idea that he could finish his business and return 
 in time for the first night of the theater. He regretfully 
 refused all of the invitations, being careful to state the 
 reason for his refusal. Much to his surprise, however, he 
 dispatched his business with unexpected rapidity, and 
 found that he could, by traveling part of one night, reach 
 Clinton early in the -evening before the play began. He 
 telegraphed to his hotel for a ticket to be obtained for 
 him, and started for home, where he found a ticket for a 
 seat in the parquet awaiting him. He entered the opera 
 house a few moments before the curtain rose, and had
 
 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 7I 
 
 scarcely seated himself, before two ushers came to him, 
 one with an invitation from Mrs. Richmond, and the other 
 with a like invitation from Mrs. Lefarve to a seat in their 
 respective boxes. Before he could rise to his feet, a third 
 usher approached with an invitation from Mrs. Lundom 
 White, to her box. He slightly bowed to Mrs. Richmond 
 and Mrs. Lefarve, whose boxes were side by side, and 
 then glanced up to Mrs. White, who was on the opposite 
 side of the house, leaning forward as her arm rested on 
 the front of her box, smiling down on him. There flashed 
 into his mind a remembrance of that kind invitation of 
 Mrs. White's, to her family table and fireside, sent him 
 when he was a poor attorney, and her almost persistent 
 urgency that he join the Assembly. He acknowledged 
 her smiling recognition, and soon was seated in her box 
 beside Mr. White, directly back of Marie Edwards, who 
 immediately turned her chair so that as she faced the 
 stage her side was toward Mr. Latimer. Miss Edwards 
 welcomed him with a smile that was peculiar to herself, a 
 smile that never seemed to stir the lips, but consisted of 
 a brightening flash over the face, not of color, for color 
 was never seen in Marie Edwards' face, but a flash of 
 pleased recognition, and the holding of the man's eye for 
 one slight moment, with an expression of intense delight 
 that made him feel, that of all living mortals, he was the 
 most welcome. It mattered not how frequently a man 
 might receive this salutation, repetition could not dull the 
 effect of that rapt, instantaneous gaze. There was the 
 advantage in such an unspoken greeting, that only the 
 receiver was aware of it. Each man to whom the young 
 woman pleased to accord this welcome, thought himself 
 the one specially favored, and prized a greeting that was 
 no hackneyed form of speech, words cheapened until 
 worthless, by being spoken impartially to all. No one
 
 72 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 would have thought for a moment that Mr. Latimer was 
 flattered by the attention which he had received, but under 
 his dignity of manner there was a delightful flutter of 
 gratified vanity. Clinton's best society was out that 
 night to welcome the great actor, and Mr. Latimer had 
 seen the opera-glasses turned on him as the three ushers 
 stood around him, with the flattering recognition which 
 they brought from three of Clinton's social leaders at the 
 same time. As he walked up the aisle on his way to Mrs. 
 White's box, he was aware that hundreds of eyes were 
 gazing on him, and there came to his mind the remark 
 Grey Whitridge had made that miserable morning in his 
 office, the morning that he had first met him after his 
 return from Europe in the autumn, " Pardon me, Latimer, 
 but I wish I had your advantages of person." Rodger 
 Latimer knew that he was a handsome man, and he knew 
 also that he was a well dressed man, knowledge that went 
 far in keeping him undisturbed under the scrutiny of 
 numberless eyes. When the curtain dropped on the closing 
 of the second act, he went over to Mrs. Richmond's box 
 and stood beside her and her delicate looking daughter, 
 Ethel, for a few moments in animated conversation, and 
 then stepped into Mrs. Lefarve's box, to thank her also 
 for her courtesy. 
 
 "Why didn't you come and sit with me, you naughty 
 man," said sprightly Mrs. Lefarve, a woman of twenty- 
 seven, as she playfully beat Mr. Latimer's hand with 
 her fan. " We had just this one place, and I determined 
 to have the handsomest man in the house occupy it, and 
 when you wouldn't come, I wouldn't let any one have it." 
 
 Mr. Latimer spent a few moments in complimentary 
 raillery, and then returned to Marie Edwards' side, with a 
 Jacqueminot rose from Mrs. Lefarve's bouquet, in the 
 buttonhole of his coat. She had given it to him with the
 
 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 73 
 
 remark : " You must wear my color, if you do sit with Mrs. 
 White." 
 
 When Marie Edwards noticed the rose, she took a 
 Bon Silene from her own bouquet and handed him, 
 holding out her other hand for Mrs. Lefarve's Jacque- 
 minot, which Mr. Latimer covered with one hand, as he 
 slightly shook his head, reaching at the same time for the 
 proffered Bon Silene, with an expression of smiling en- 
 treaty. Miss Edwards answered his look with one of 
 her peculiar flashes, as she laid her rose on her white 
 wrap on her knee, and immediately turned her attention 
 to the stage. Mr. Latimer was fond of the theater and 
 usually gave his undivided attention to the play, but 
 just then the girl at his side distracted his thought. 
 His eyes wandered to the beautiful white throat, and 
 rested on the curve where the cheek sloped to the, neck, 
 under the exquisitely formed ear. All was graceful undu- 
 lation, from the low broad brow, down the nose, across 
 the clear white cheeks, over the full lips and round chin, 
 to the large white throat, where the perfect lines expanded 
 into the velvety softness of the neck, plainly shown by 
 the square cut corsage, and expanded still more into the 
 full bust that rose and fell, with every breath, under the 
 bodice of some soft white fabric. After a little, he reso- 
 lutely turned his eyes to the stage, but it was only a few 
 moments before he was looking at the well formed hand 
 under which lay the coveted rose, and from^he hand his 
 eyes slowly traveled up over the arm, and bust, and neck, 
 and cheek, and rested upon the drooping lids that seemed 
 charged by the lightning that lay beneath. When the 
 play closed, he was much more under the influence of 
 Marie Edwards than of the great tragedian. As they 
 left the box Miss Edwards placed the rose that she had 
 detached from her bouquet, between the first and second
 
 74 
 
 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 finger of the hand that held her flowers, thus keeping it 
 separate from the others. Mr. Latimer noticed this, and 
 as they stood close together in the crowded passage way, 
 he touched it with one finger, and said: 
 
 "Am I not to be honored with the keeping of that rose, 
 Miss Edwards?" 
 
 "You do not understand women, Mr. Latimer," Miss 
 Edwards replied in a soft voice, with the lids low down 
 over the brown eyes. In the crowd her fi.ce was near 
 his as she continued: " No gentleman can wear the colors 
 of two ladies at the same time." 
 
 As she said this, she suddenly raised her eyes to his a 
 moment, and then veiled them again. Quickly his hand 
 went beneath his coat lapel, the pin was drawn out, and 
 the Jacqueminot lay on the top of Miss Edwards' bouquet, 
 as with a whispered, " Permit me," he took the Bon Silene 
 and placed it where Mrs. Lefarve's flowers rested a moment 
 before. 
 
 "Come and take a cup of tea with us to-morrow," said 
 Mrs. White to Mr. Latimer, as he was closing their car- 
 riage door, after he bade them good-night; "then we will 
 all go together to Mrs. McClure's. I know you are to be 
 at her dinner and theater party, and it will be lovely for 
 us all to go together tea at five, remember." 
 
 The first thing Marie Edwards did after closing her 
 bedroom door on her return home, was to take a tiny vase 
 from the mantel, step to her bathroom and fill it with 
 water, and after placing Mrs. Lefarve's Jacqueminot in 
 it, set it on a corner of her bureau. Then she seated her- 
 self in her usual stately way in a chair in front of the 
 bureau, and fixed her eyes upon the solitary rose, with 
 what would have seemed to a spectator of the pantomime, 
 a most ridiculous gravity. But never did a general fix 
 his eyes upon the map, outlining his first move in a cam-
 
 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 75 
 
 paign, with greater interest, than Marie gazed at the half- 
 crushed Jacqueminot. It was the result of her arrows tried 
 on new game. The opening of the door aroused her. 
 
 "Why Marie, what have you been doing? haven't you 
 got your things off yet?" asked Mrs. White, who came 
 forward wrapped in a long flannel gown placed over her 
 nightgown, her feet thrust into a pair of bedroom slippers. 
 " I'm not a bit sleepy; it's that coffee at dinner. I won't 
 drink any more of it. James is fast asleep; I declare it 
 don't take a man but half a minute to undress, and the 
 other half to go to sleep." 
 
 Mrs. White curled up in a large chair, and laid her 
 cheek against the back. Her years of society life had not 
 destroyed her desire to talk over every dinner, funeral, 
 or theater that she attended. Mr. White, who was a good 
 sleeper, and was not particularly fond of society, said to 
 his talkative wife one night as he was settling himself to 
 sleep, after returning from a dinner : " This talking parties 
 over, is as bad as having to go to them twice; if you can't 
 stop talking things over after we get home, and go to bed 
 and go to sleep, we better give up going out." Poor 
 Mrs. White never offended again in that way, and she 
 declared that one of the comforts of having her sister in 
 the house, was that she could talk things over with her. 
 Cautious Marie never complained, no matter how late 
 Mrs. White staid in her room at night, or how many times 
 she was compelled to lay down her book during the day. 
 
 "Wasn't that a splendid play ?" asked Mrs. White as 
 she cuddled herself up in her chair, " and what a full 
 house 'twas; it was just lovely. Say, Marie, did you notice 
 Mrs. Lefarve looking at you ?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "She just watched you all of the time after Mr. Latimer 
 came in our box. When he came back from speaking to
 
 76 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 ner, I looked right at her, and she saw I noticed the way 
 she stared at you, and she stopped it. I don't believe 
 she looked at you again." 
 
 " I don't know why she should stare at me," said Marie. 
 
 " I suppose it was because Mr. Latimer chose to come 
 and sit with us, when both she and Mrs. Richmond had 
 invited him to their boxes. When I saw those other 
 ushers, I was dreadfully afraid he wouldn't come." 
 Marie said nothing, and after a moment's silence Mrs. 
 White continued, "What a lovely dress that was of Mrs. 
 Von Stein's; did you notice it?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 " It was lovely. I suppose it is one she brought back 
 with her, she has splendid taste in dress. I suppose her 
 dinner next week will be an elaborate affair. How pale 
 Ethel Richmond looked to-night, I should think her 
 mother would feel anxious about her. I should, if she was 
 my daughter. Did you notice how well Mr. Bassett 
 looked?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "You know he saw the midnight sun, and was in 
 Spain and Algiers. He told me he had a delightful trip, 
 perfect weather everywhere, and not a single accident or 
 unpleasant occurrence." Mrs. White sat in silence a 
 short time looking at her sister, who was seated before 
 the mirror, brushing her back hair. After a little she 
 said: "Marie, you'll take cold without anything over 
 your shoulders." 
 
 "No, I think not." 
 
 "What's the matter of you to-night? didn't you have 
 a pleasant time? Seems to me you're not very happy," 
 said Mrs. White, giving her gown a tuck around her feet. 
 
 "Why yes, I had a delightful time," replied Marie, 
 rousing herself from her abstraction, "and I'm sure that
 
 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 77 
 
 I'm happy. I think we had a. charming evening. I was 
 delighted with everything." 
 
 " Was Mr. Latimer as agreeable as usual ? I was mort- 
 ally afraid that James would go to talking to him about 
 his old iron. Mr. Latimer don't know a thing about 
 iron, and then I wished you to have a chance of talking 
 with him. Isn't he a handsome man?" 
 
 "Yes, he is handsome," replied Marie, "and he is very 
 unlike these other men who have been in society so long. 
 It's a positive pleasure to meet a man of his enthusiasm. 
 Mr. Whitridge and Mr. Bassett, and all of them are so 
 mechanical, they say everything in a mechanical way, 
 just as though they had been saying that same thing, in 
 that same way, for fifty years. If they express any en- 
 thusiasm, it is so evidently assumed, it only increases the 
 artificial impression." 
 
 " I think you're a pretty severe critic Marie; all of those 
 are agreeable men. You must remember that Mr. Lati- 
 mer's-much younger than they are. I don't believe there's 
 as young a man in society as he." 
 
 " I don't know," said Marie, "as it is possible to be 
 born in society, and live in it, without losing the last 
 spark of spontaneity one has. The souls of some of 
 these people we meet, have been in society for gen- 
 erations. Some physiologist says that a person can inherit 
 mental discipline. I wonder if they can't also inherit 
 ennui, and be born blase." 
 
 " I don't know what you mean, Marie, "said Mrs. White, 
 looking at her sister as though she questioned whether 
 she was in her right mind or not. 
 
 " I mean," explained Marie, " that Mr. Latimer is, what 
 half a dozen of the unmarried men who visit here, wish 
 they were, and pretend they are. He really enjoys life, 
 from his cup of coffee in the morning, to that good-night
 
 7 8 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 at the carriage door, at midnight When he talks to 
 you, he don't have to throw his soul in his eyes, as Mr. 
 Whitridge does, for it's already there; and what a differ- 
 ence it does make." 
 
 " But you ought to remember that this is all new to Mr. 
 Latimer," said Mrs. White; " neither his father nor grand- 
 father had money. " 
 
 " I should suppose he was well born." 
 
 41 Oh, the Latimers are a good family, a splendid family. 
 Professor McVey told me all about them one day, when 
 I was in Edgewood. He and Rodger's father were great 
 friends, but you see this wealth and society is new to Mr. 
 Latimer " 
 
 " He has traveled," said Marie, " and is really the best, 
 the most thoroughly educated man I have met in Clinton." 
 
 "I don't mean that," replied Mrs. White; "it's this 
 society that's new to him. He's studied all of his life, and 
 seen no society outside of Edgewood, and you've no idea 
 what a washed out set they are, only they never had any 
 color to wash out. " Marie made no reply as she brushed 
 her dark chestnut hair, looking into the mirror with a 
 preoccupied air. Every few minutes she would give the 
 mass of hair a few twists, then shake it out, and continue 
 the brushing. 
 
 " I presume this is a new life to Mr. Latimer," pursued 
 Mrs. White; "you never could know Marie, how delight- 
 ful this city life was to me, for two years after I was 
 married. It did seem as though this world was too beau- 
 tiful. I couldn't get used to it. I saw other people didn't 
 feel as I did about it, and I tried not to show it, for I 
 knew they had had it always. I used to shut myself in 
 my room, and back away from the mirror, and walk up to 
 it, looking at my dresses. It did seem so good to wear 
 a dress that I hadn't made myself, and such lovely dresses,
 
 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 79 
 
 that cost so much. And then to drive down the avenue 
 in my own carriage, and have people bow to me from the 
 sidewalk!" Mrs. White burst into a laugh. "It seems 
 too ridiculous, don't it?" 
 
 " I don't see anything ridiculous about it," answered 
 Marie, " it was natural if you only had sense enough to 
 keep the new experience to yourself." 
 
 "Oh, I did that. Sometimes I would talk a little to 
 James, and he would laugh just as though it pleased him, 
 especially when I would tell him that we must not spend 
 so much money, that we were living too fast, and he 
 would be ruined if we weren't more economical. But it 
 did seem to me that first year as though no one could 
 stand such a constant outlay of money, it took my breath 
 away. After a while 1 got used to it, and then how 
 natural and matter-of-course it all was." 
 
 Marie brushed away at her hair in silence. Presently 
 Mrs. White exclaimed: "What a handsome girl you are, 
 Marie! I declare a girl who has such shoulders and 
 arms as you have, ought to have the credit of them. It's 
 too bad that James makes such a fuss about low necks." 
 
 " I don't care to wear low necks or short sleeves," said 
 Marie, as she passed her left hand down her bare right 
 arm, from shoulders to wrist. " Miss Johnson fits me 
 well." 
 
 "I should think she did! I was looking at you to- 
 night, that white dress fits you beautifully, not a wrinkle 
 in it. You looked beautiful to-night; what will you wear 
 to-morrow ?" 
 
 " I don't know." 
 
 " I want you to look your best. Alice McClure has a fine 
 figure, but it's nothing to yours! Say Marie, I've just 
 thought of something. Mr. Latimer must take a part in 
 our play; he would make a perfect Rubo, to your Ardano.
 
 8o RODGER LATIN! ER'S MISTAKE 
 
 Won't that be delightful?" exclaimed Mrs. White enthus- 
 iastically starting up, and untangling her feet from the 
 long woolen gown; " it is strange I never thought of it 
 before." 
 
 "I don't know about that," replied Marie. "I don't 
 know as I wish to act in a play with him." 
 
 "But you will have to take the part of Ardano, you 
 said you would, and Mrs. Von Stein and Mrs. Richmond 
 would never forgive you if gave it up." 
 
 "I don't intend to give it up," said Marie, "but I 
 don't know about Mr. Latimer taking the character of 
 Rubo. I should have to think about that." 
 
 "You know they all said you might make your choice 
 of a Rubo. " 
 
 "Yes," replied Marie, "but you know as well as I do, 
 that it would never answer for me to express the least 
 preference in the affair. I'm the only girl in the play, and 
 I think some of those married women look upon me as a 
 sort of intruder any way. When Mr. Lefarve cast the 
 play, I think several .of the ladies were dissatisfied; you 
 see Ardano is a prominent character. I think several 
 wished for it." 
 
 "You're mistaken, Marie; Mrs. Von Stein and Mrs. 
 Lefarve are intimate friends, and Mr. Lefarve very likely 
 had gone over every character with Mrs. Von Stein, 
 before he gave them out. But you will have nothing to 
 do with it; I will manage it." 
 
 "Don't let it be decided for a week at least," said 
 Marie, "then I'll tell you." 
 
 "Bless me," said Mrs. White getting out of her nest in 
 the big chair, "how late we are talking, and we shall 
 have to be up late to-morrow night." She leaned over 
 her sister and kissed her, and then went noiselessly to her 
 room.
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 Rodger Latimer was a man who lived in the present. , 
 Present gratification appealed much more strongly to 
 his nature which was a poetical, sensuous one than did 
 future consequences. He was logical- and well balanced, 
 yet the esthetical luxuriousness of wealthy society, pos- 
 sessed a subtle charm for him, which it would have been 
 impossible for him to have accounted for, even to himself. 
 As Mrs. White said, society life was a new experience to 
 him. In Harvard he had known young men, at least the 
 best of them, in Edgewood he had known mature scholars. 
 As to women, he did not remember his mother, he had a 
 more than conventional acquaintance with Miss Sargent 
 a woman forty-five years old, the sister of Judge Sargent, 
 a bachelor, with whom she lived in the quiet elegance in- 
 herited wealth made possible and he had a slight 
 acquaintance with half a dozen Clinton ladies. The only 
 woman he really knew, was Margaret McVey, and he had 
 never cared to go beneath the fascinations of her personal 
 attractions, to the creative forces of her life, and gain a 
 knowledge of the constituent elements of her character, 
 those potentialities of all suffering and action in each indi- 
 vidual personality. He was utterly ignorant of the 
 machinery of society and of housekeeping. He was an in- 
 tuitive, rather than a critical, jutige of the furnishings of 
 a room, of a dinner table, or the completeness of a 
 woman's dress. He felt rather than saw harmonious com- 
 binations and beautiful effects, and the artistic costumes 
 worn by Miss Edwards, that he ardently admired, were 
 to him a part of the woman, that in some mysterious way 
 must have been evolved from her inner consciousness. 
 6 Rodger Latimer's Mistake. (81)
 
 82 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 It was to him as though she simply stood and was clothed 
 about, with soft fabrics that clung to her regal form in 
 obedience to the law of natural selection. As the uncon- 
 scious lily in the perfection of its bloom under the moon- 
 light, so she stood in the mornings, in the soft light that 
 came through the buff-colored shades of Mrs. White's 
 library windows, draped in clinging, creamy white: or as 
 a rose in its glory under a July sun, she stood in the flood 
 of gaslight, wrapped about in crimson, that, creeping up 
 from the trailing folds that lay in glowing circles around 
 her feet, passionately encircled her waist and bust, and 
 threw an ardent glow over the clear white cheek, and 
 touched the chestnut hair with an added warmth. 
 
 After his return from the theater that opening night, 
 Mr. Latimer sat long in his room before his grate fire. 
 When he first sat down in gown and sl-ippers, he held a 
 lighted cigar between his lips, but it soon went out, and 
 he seemed unconscious of the fact, as he lay back in his 
 chair, gazing at times into the fire, then looking fixedly 
 at the ceiling, but most of the time sitting motionless 
 with closed eyes. Every sense had been gratified that 
 evening; every nerve had thrilled with pleasurable sen- 
 sations. After a little he laid his cigar on the table by 
 his side and took up Miss Edwards' rose that was lying 
 there, and as he leaned back again in the chair he placed the 
 rose to his lips and gave himself up to a delightful reverie. 
 In imagination he saw Marie Edwards as plainly as when 
 he sat by her side an hour before; he was gazing on her 
 face and watched her quivering eyelids slowly rise, and 
 his pulse kept time to their motion, faster and faster, as 
 the eyelids rose higher; then the one challenging, yield- 
 ing, thrilling flash, and he opened his lips to breathe, as 
 the eyelashes instantly lay upon the white cheek again. 
 The rounded throat, the soft line under the ear, the reg-
 
 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 83 
 
 ular rise and fall of the Juno bust, were all before him, 
 and the sight drove the blood tumultuously through his 
 veins. "There never was such a woman before," he 
 thought. " How unlike all other women, how different 
 from Margaret McVey. " With the thought of Margaret 
 McVey, he suddenly opened his eyes, and sat bolt up- 
 right. 
 
 " I declare I must write to that girl," he said aloud ; " it's 
 a week or more since I have written." It had been over 
 three weeks since his last letter. He laid the rose on the 
 table at his side, crossed his legs, and leaned forward, rest- 
 ing one arm on his knee as he gazed into the fire. " Con- 
 found it, I wish I wasn't engaged," he thought; "a man 
 has no business to engage himself before he knows all 
 sorts of women. What a figure Marie Edwards has! I 
 wonder if Margaret knows of this money that Uncle Gill 
 left me; yes, I wrote her about it no, I don't know as I 
 did; I wonder if I did? I declare I don't believe I have 
 written her as often as I ought to, but she always told me 
 never to make a duty of writing, if I didn't write from 
 one six months to another. She don't care for money, 
 she don't like theaters, or dinners, or society. How beau- 
 tiful Miss Edwards looked at Mrs. Bassett's! I'm going 
 to the McClures with her; how much she adds to a 
 dinner; tea at five; I hope there'll be no one there; how 
 delightful Clinton society is! I wonder if there is any 
 better in the United States. I don't believe there is in 
 Boston or New York. I wonder if Paris or London are 
 better? Whitridge didn't like London last summer. I 
 don't know much of Europe; never have been there unless 
 Margaret McVey was with me. What an idiot I was! 
 Margaret wouldn't like Paris or London: what a queen in 
 society Miss Edwards is? What eyes!" Rodger Latimer 
 faintly smiled, and closed his own eyes; he was again
 
 84 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 lost in an enchanted world; he retained no connected 
 thought, no distinct memory, but was wrapped in the 
 witchery of a spell that obliterated the past with any 
 obligation it might contain, and that did not evoke from 
 the future any embarrassing complications of situations, 
 that might demand an explanation or decision from him- 
 self. He was aware of nothing besides a satisfying pres- 
 ent. At the expiration of half an hour, he quietly rose 
 and prepared for bed. His last thought as he dropped off 
 to sleep was of Marie Edwards, of the tea with her the 
 next day, and the long evening to be passed in her pres- 
 ence afterward.
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 True to her word, Mrs. White managed the affair with 
 such adroitness, that Mrs. Von Stein thought the idea of 
 Mr. Latimer's eminent fitness for the part of Rubo, in her 
 forthcoming play, originated in her own mind. She sent 
 him a note, asking him to come and see her. 
 
 "You know, Mr. Latimer, " she said, when seated in her 
 drawing-room with him, "we wish a man of quickness, 
 and of adaptation, and withal, one of leisure." 
 
 When Mr. Latimer assured her that it would give him 
 great pleasure to serve the ladies in any possible way, 
 but that he doubted his ability, and suggested his friend 
 Mr. 'Whitrjdge, as a man who had experience in amateur 
 theatricals, she would not hear to it. 
 
 "No, no," she said, "we wish you to take the part of 
 Rubo. Then Mr. Whitridge is the lover, you know, your 
 sister Ardano's lover, and you are tn'e watchful brother. 
 I'ts so funny where you drag Mr. Lefarve off of Mr. 
 Whitridge. You'd just die to see Mr. Lefarve; he flies at 
 Mr. Whitridge as though he would kill him, and Mr. 
 Lefarve is such a peculiar looking man, thoroughly French 
 looking, he would really make a better Italian than Mr. 
 Whitridge. I declare we ought to have those parts 
 changed. I fear Mr. Lefarve made a mistake there in 
 his casting, don't you think so ? You have the most con- 
 spicuous part in the play. " 
 
 "What is the play? I haven't seen it yet." 
 
 "Then you have your lines to commit," said Mrs. Von 
 Stein, taking a' copy of the play from the pile that lay on 
 the sofa beside her, and handing it to Mr. Latimer. "It's 
 a lovely play, full of hits. Mr. Lefarve translated and 
 
 85
 
 86 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 adapted it specially for us. " It was a French society play, 
 one of those intensely intellectual productions, that are con- 
 sidered capable of repaying days of study and numberless 
 rehearsals. There was in it, an indiscreet young wife and 
 jealous husband, a handsome Italian tenor, who fell in 
 love with the wife, and then followed a succession of 
 tragi-comic situations, where fortuitous circumstances 
 brought the wife and Italian into association, wholly 
 unpremeditated and unlocked for, on the part of the wife, 
 that aroused the most irrational jealousy in the young 
 husband, who was personated by Mr. Lefarve. In one scene 
 he nearly choked the Italian to death, but explanations 
 from the wife, and a promise from the handsome tenor to 
 exile himself from the country of the married pair, saved 
 his life. The hysterical wife fell into the arms of the 
 appeased husband, and the curtain dropped, after general 
 harmony had been created by a full understanding of the 
 innocence of all parties, except that of the inflammable, 
 susceptible singer, who consented to an eternal exile from 
 American shores. Rodger Latimer, in the character of 
 Rubo, the brother of the indiscreet wife, was always 
 hovering over his sister's path as a guardian angel, full of 
 advice and assistance. He was ubiquitous on the stage, 
 appearing always at the right moment, even standing 
 between his sister and any misconstruction that society 
 might put on her conduct. He flew from the infuriated 
 husband to the infatuated lover, intent upon explaining 
 questionable appearances, and convincing the husband of 
 the guilelessness of his wife's nature. And through all of 
 his sister's thoughtless conduct, and the unfortunate cir- 
 cumstances that surrounded her, he succeeded in protecting 
 her from gossip, without wounding her by severe criticism, 
 or curtailing her social pleasures by any over-cautious 
 restraint.
 
 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 87 
 
 Mr. Latimer set himself to learn his part in the play, 
 in the odd moments that he could catch between his 
 social engagements. He frequently met Miss Edwards, 
 scarcely a day passing without his seeing her for a few 
 moments, at least. Sometimes it would be for only a few 
 moments in a bookstore, or he would ride beside her 
 carriage as she was 'out for a drive. Owing to Mrs. 
 White's great kindness, he found himself a frequently- 
 invited guest to her house. The winter was not far 
 advanced before in some way, he could hardly tell how it 
 came about, his Sunday dinners were taken at her house. 
 He feared at times that he might be trespassing upon her 
 hospitality, and one day when he intimated as much, Mrs. 
 White, in a dear motherly way, said to him: 
 
 "What in the world should you go back to your lonely 
 room for? Professor McVey will never forgive me if I 
 don't look after you; we'll have some music after dinner 
 if you'll stay; Marie and Polly will sing for us." 
 
 The name of McVey was fast losing its power to dis- 
 turb him. How far off Edgewood seemed! McVey? yes, 
 and his father who had been dead for years, used to live in 
 Edgewood. Hazy as an incoherent memory, was that old 
 life, as he glanced at the queenly girl sitting in the bay- 
 window, with a halo of yellow glory around her, thrown 
 from the southern sun through the buff shades. One flash 
 from those grand eyes destroyed his past, and left him no 
 desire for a future; the present held for him the fullness 
 of life, and it was a measureless, unfathomable fullness. 
 Mrs. White had cordial allies in her efforts to keep Mr. 
 Latimer for Sunday afternoons, in her husband and two 
 little daughters, Polly and Dora, girls of six and eight 
 years of age. Mr. White was not much of a talker, he 
 was too heavily weighted to be loquacious, his soul having 
 chained to it an iron furnace, and a wholesale hardware
 
 88 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 store. But he frequently would rouse himself from his 
 corner on the sofa, and supplement Mrs. White's invi- 
 tation. 
 
 " Better stay, Latimer, " he would say, " if you care for 
 the lives of these two women. They don't know what to do 
 with themselves after coming from church." 
 
 The two little girls were put to bed at eight o'clock, 
 and saw very little of any guests who might be in the 
 house to dinner on week days, when the family dined at 
 night. But two o'clock was the Sunday hour for dinner, 
 and Mr. White insisted on having his children with him, 
 the only day of the week that he was at home, so Sunday 
 afternoon was a sort of family gala day, directed and 
 ruled over by the two little girls. Mr. Latimer, and Polly 
 and Dora, were the best of friends, and when he was there 
 on Sunday, they claimed from him one story at least, 
 which he usually related to them, as they sat on his knees, 
 with their arms around his neck. The little girls were 
 not the only ones entertained at such times. Mrs. White 
 would sit near by, delighted with the delight of the chil- 
 dren, and even Lundom James White whom business 
 men called the closest old screw in the State; so sharp, 
 there was nothing to be made by doing business with him, 
 as he knew just when he got a man screwed down to the 
 last sixteenth of a cent profit this hard business man would 
 listen to every word of the story, with a tender smile on 
 his prematurely wrinkled face, watching his little girls as 
 trrey sat so still, with their eyes fixed intently upon Mr. 
 Latimer, who observed with pleasure that Marie Edwards' 
 attention was also fixed upon him, and his two absorbed 
 listeners, for whom he recollected or improvised a story. 
 He little thought, however, that Miss Edwards was equally 
 indifferent to the children's pleasure, and to the fate of 
 the fairy who visited the sun to gather a basket full of
 
 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 89 
 
 beautiful gifts for good little girls. Marie Edwards was 
 building a palace of her own, and on more solid founda- 
 tions than fairy gifts. She was always glad when the 
 children had been taken up stairs to bed, releasing her 
 prince from the thraldom of their arms, to devote himself 
 to her. It was Mr. Latimer, who was very fond of chil- 
 dren, that took the little girls up stairs on Sunday nights, 
 perched on his strong shoulders, their four arms clinging 
 to his head, the children filling the house with screams of 
 laughter,as he pinched their dangling legs on the way. Had 
 it ever occurred to Mr. Latimer to inquire why they were 
 never interrupted by visitors, Sunday evening, in a house 
 that was rarely without visitors, the butler could have told 
 him, that Mrs. White had given orders that the family 
 should be excused to all who, came, on Sunday evenings 
 whenever Mr. Latimer was ther,e, unless some special 
 friend of Mr. White's called, and then he was to be taken 
 to Mr. White.'s private room. It frequently happened 
 that such a friend did call, an old-time, or business 
 friend, and then Mr. White would leave the library for 
 his own room. It also frequently happened, that soon 
 after Mr. White had gone from the library on such Sunday 
 evenings, a maid would enter with a message from the 
 nurse, that the children wished to see their mother in the 
 nursery. These happenings would frequently leave Mr. 
 Latimer ^lone with Miss Edwards, in the large quiet 
 library, where he would sometimes read aloud to her, 
 and sometimes she would read to him. He never sat near 
 her, but was content to rest in the atmosphere of her 
 presence, gazing upon the face and form of the peerless 
 creature in white, and to wait patiently for the uplifting 
 of those grand eyelids to disclose the light they hid. 
 He never thought of how little she talked when they were 
 alone together; the hours seemed to him wanting in noth-
 
 go RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 ing. The inspiration of her listening face awakened the 
 best there was in him, and he" talked a great deal of 
 books, and of art, and of life. At times his mentaJ 
 excitement carried him into waters far beyond her depth, 
 and he enlarged upon the relation of nation to nation, 
 the development which the race was working out for it- 
 self, and the probable beautiful outcome of all tangled 
 human affairs. She listened to all that he said with 
 eager attention, as though she feared to lose one word 
 that fell from his lips. How beautiful she looked to him, 
 with the constant play of rising and falling eyelids, her 
 whole being seemingly absorbed in the thought to which 
 he gave utterance. Had Rodger Latimer been told that 
 he was living in an imaginary world, fashioned and im- 
 pressed by his own excited mind, that his infatuation was a 
 sensuous one, and that Marie Edwards was playing a part, 
 he would have accused the speaker of blasphemy, and smit- 
 ten him in a white heat. He said to himself, again and 
 again, that he loved Marie Edwards, and that he never 
 had loved Margaret McVey. This was the first delirium of 
 his life, and he called it the first love. It would have 
 been useless for any one to have told him, that he vastly 
 overrated Miss Edwards' beauty of person, and warmth 
 of nature; he could no more correctly estimate her qual- 
 ities of person or mind, than could the man with senses 
 dulled, and faculties stimulated into supernatural intensity 
 by a dose of hasheesh, estimate correctly the length of the 
 passing minute, or the relative size of objects within his 
 view. He did attempt to reason regarding his relation 
 to Margaret, but made a sad jumble of it. He said to 
 himself, not only that he did not love her, but also that he 
 could not marry her; he declared to himself that he did 
 love Marie Edwards, but there he stopped. That he 
 loved her was enough. All of his life centered in the
 
 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 91 
 
 present hour in her presence, and he was never from under 
 her influence, for his ardent imagination took with him 
 as he went forth from her bodily presence, each line of 
 form, and sweep of eyelid, each quiver of lip, and elec- 
 tric flash of brown eyes. He felt that Margaret was an 
 intruder, that not even a thought of her ought to come 
 within the magic circle, where he and Marie Edwards 
 stood alone. Sometimes he would sit down to his table, 
 to seriously think of his irksome relation to Margaret, 
 usually on the receipt of a letter from her, in answer to one 
 of his own, for he continued to write to her at long inter- 
 vals. His letters were short, and contained nothing regard- 
 ing his own personal life, neither of his inner world of 
 thought and feeling, or of his relation to society, but such 
 length as he gave them, was spun out by comments on ser- 
 mons, theaters, and books, or descriptions of pictures. 
 They were such letters as might have passed between two 
 people for ten years, and given no more knowledge of the 
 individual writers to each other, than would the same num- 
 ber of lines cut from a daily paper, and sent in an envel- 
 ope. When he did set himself to look over matters, he usu- 
 ally ended about where he began; with thinking that he 
 must say something to her of his state of mind sometime, 
 but not now; that there was time enough in the future to 
 straighten the affair out. At this stage of his thinking, 
 he was apt to slip her letters into his table drawer, 
 relegate her personality to oblivion, for another period of 
 blissful weeks. It was but natural that as his feeling 
 grew more ardent toward Marie Edwards, Margaret should 
 fade out of his life until she almost ceased to be to him a 
 living being. Only when he wrote her a few lines, or 
 received a reply, did she assume the reality of a flesh and 
 blood girl, to whom he was engaged to be married; and 
 then he often became irritated and resentful in his feel-
 
 92 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 ings, as though his recognition of their engagement, was 
 asserting a claim to a relationship to which she had no 
 natural right. He argued to himself, that if she could only 
 be made to see the eternal fitness of things, she probably 
 would regard herself as some unfortunately misplaced 
 body, and would gladly take herself out of the way, any- 
 where, only that she cause no disturbance in the beautiful 
 harmony of those spiritual laws, that control the move- 
 ments of human hearts in the heaven of love. Had he 
 been called upon to analyze this feeling of resentment, 
 which he certainly felt toward her, he probably would 
 have declared it to be a revolt of his being, from unhar- 
 monious environment, instead of acknowledging it as an 
 old-fashioned stirring of conscience. But neither thought 
 of her, or feelings toward her, came with any frequency 
 to him, so engrossed was he by the beautiful life that 
 surrounded him. His health had never been injured by 
 dissipation, or injudicious study, his tastes were cultivated 
 and an ardent temperament whetted his appetite for every 
 pleasure, and to these pleasures he yielded himself with- 
 out reservation. A month's absence from Marie Edwards 
 would have restored the equilibrium of his nature, and 
 a few weeks of solitary reflection, necessitated either by 
 sickness, or an absence from society, would have given 
 him a just estimate of the men and women about him, 
 and of his relation to them. But he saw Marie Edwards 
 every day, and spent most of his waking hours amid the 
 soft illusions of social amusements and entertainments.
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 One Saturday evening, the members of the Amateur 
 Club met at Mrs. Von Stein's for a rehearsal in her man- 
 sard theater. It was the first rehearsal that Mr. Latimer 
 had been able to attend, so pressing were his social 
 engagements. None of the actors had committed their 
 lines perfectly, and the books, which all had declared at 
 the previous rehearsal, should be laid aside this evening, 
 had to be called into requisition, much to the disappoint- 
 ment of the managers. They all did the best they could, 
 but there was no attempt to carry out the details of the 
 play, and the rehearsal was, after all, but little more than 
 a careful reading of the individual parts, under the man- 
 ager's critical direction. There was some attempt at 
 grouping, and some little acting, in the simplest scenes, 
 but nothing was thorough of finished. Mr. Latimer, 
 with book in hand, followed out to the last detail, the 
 part of each man and woman as they successively passed 
 through the manager's hands. He closely observed, not 
 only what each did and said on that night of partial 
 rehearsal, but what they would do and say, when the 
 characters as they had been cast, were acted in all par- 
 ticulars as designated in the copy of " Parlor Theat- 
 ricals," which he held in his hand. He carefully scanned 
 each situation Miss Edwards would be placed in, when 
 she acted the part of Mr. Lefarve's giddy wife, who by 
 her beauty and vivacity, inspired the Italian tenor Mr. 
 Whitridge with a tragic passion for her. No one beside 
 Miss Edwards, who never lost an expression or action of 
 Mr. Latimer's when they were together, noticed his criti- 
 cal observance, or the expression of displeasure that at 
 times rested upon his countenance. 
 93
 
 94 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 "I shall hope to see you to-morrow, Miss Edwards," 
 he said as .he bade her good-night. " Mrs. White has again 
 kindly invited me to spend the day with her." 
 
 The next evening as they were sitting alone together, 
 Mr. Latimer turned the conversation on the forthcoming 
 play, of which he and Miss Edwards had never befoie 
 spoken to each other. 
 
 "These amateur theatricals are new to me," he said. 
 
 "And to me also," replied Miss Edwards. 
 
 " Have you never taken part in one before?" he asked. 
 
 "No," she replied, but she said nothing farther, for 
 she felt that there was something back of Mr. Latimer's 
 serious tone, which she did not understand, and she was 
 afraid to do more than follow his lead, until she could 
 get hold of his underlying thought or purpose. 
 
 " Mrs. Von Stein seemed disappointed that we did not 
 know our parts," said Mr. Latimer. 
 
 "Yes, I fear she was," replied cautious Miss Edwards. 
 " Mrs. Von Stein has been very kind, and has given a 
 great deal of time to this play; really she and Mr. Le- 
 farve were the originators of the whole thing." 
 
 Mr. Latimer sat in silence looking at the chestnut head, 
 and drooping eyelids. After a little he said: 
 
 " It strikes me that this is rather a peculiar play, but 
 perhaps my ignorance of French parlor plays may ac- 
 count for the unpleasant impression that this one has 
 made on me." 
 
 Miss Edwards made no reply; she was fearful she might 
 not say the right thing if she spoke; and concluded that 
 it was safest for her to say nothing. After a few moments 
 'Mr. Latimer continued: "Yet, this play is not one-half 
 as objectionable as some that we all go to see at the 
 theater; many of which, I am perfectly willing to say, I 
 exceedingly dislike. I can understand why Marie Laur-
 
 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 95 
 
 ent refuses to play any maternal part, that is not sweet 
 and noble. She will not personate a cruel or a tyran- 
 nical, or a selfish mother, and she is right. When the 
 word mother has become a synonym for tenderness and 
 forbearance and unselfishness, why should the few abnor- 
 mal instances of selfishness and wickedness, be typified 
 upon the stage, to outrage our sense of justice? And it 
 is the same with the other relations of life, especially so 
 that of wife; if there are a few monstrosities holding 
 that relation, who have no sense of the sacredness of their 
 duties, why should these moral distortions be forced upon 
 us, any more than painful physical distortions? The 
 moral sense is as much outraged and pained by the one, 
 as the sympathies are taxed, and the esthetical nature 
 pained by the other." Mr. Latimer evinced more feeling 
 as he spoke than he was aware of. 
 
 " I agree with you perfectly," said Miss Edwards, " and 
 I am glad to hear you speak as you do." 
 
 Mr. Latimer's face flushed with pleasure: " I hope I am 
 not narrow regarding the drama," he continued, "I have 
 no sympathy with the tirade indulged in by the clergy 
 against theaters; I think we go to the theater for pleasure, 
 not instruction, but it certainly ought to be a pure pleas- 
 ure, not a demoralizing one. I respect, as well as admire 
 Modjeska, she is a lovely woman, but I wish she would 
 select different plays from some we have seen her in." 
 
 "You like her Rosalind?" asked-Miss Edwards. 
 
 " Yes, and her Mary Stuart, which is as perfect a piece 
 of acting as I ever saw. But to think that the woman 
 who can come upon the stage, with the majestic grand- 
 eur of her Mary Stuart, should debase herself to the 
 playing of Odette. Her Mary Stuart is wonderful. I 
 never fail to see it, when I am where she is playing it." 
 
 " Do you consider that the best acting you ever saw?" 
 asked Miss Edwards.
 
 96 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 ' No I can hardly say that; nothing can surpass Sal- 
 vini's Othello." 
 
 "And yet Othello is a cruel husband, who kills his 
 wife," said Miss Edwards. 
 
 "I think Salvini's Othello," replied Mr. Latimer, 
 "leaves an impression, not of a cruel personality, but 
 rather of a cruel passion, stalking before us, in all of its 
 naked hideousness; the last shred of concealing drapery 
 torn off. It is just a thing to be hated and condemned. 
 Its blind fury and roaring rage may have an element of 
 chilling horror in them, but the horror we feel, is akin to 
 that with which we beheld a violent thunder storm, when 
 the lightning twists itself through the black clouds and 
 then dashes in broad, blazing sheets over half of the 
 heavens. Salvini's genius lifts the passion out of person- 
 ality, and the man is nothing, the passion everything." 
 
 Miss Edwards was listening intently, with her brown 
 eyes fully opened, fixed upon Mr. Latimer's face. She 
 was a flattering audience, and as Mr. Latimer looked at 
 her he forgot Salvini, and for the time, the end he had 
 in view, when he turned the conversation upon theaters 
 and actors. Presently he resumed: " But all of this is very 
 different," he said, " from some of Modjeska's plays; even 
 she has not, no one can have, genius enough to rid them- 
 selves of the abhorrent personality which they sometimes 
 represerit. The fact is, the personality is about all there is 
 in some of these objectionable plays, for they are written 
 with no genius. And right here is the difficulty with 
 these silly parlor theatricals; they are adroitly written 
 perhaps, but with no talent, and they cannot be acted 
 with any power. They may be cleverly given at times, 
 but at best, it is an approximation to the correct repre- 
 sentation of a person's externality, so none but harmless 
 externalities, or realities, should be given, nothing that
 
 RODGER LATIMER S MISTAKE 97 
 
 we could object to in real life, either in sentiment or 
 manner." 
 
 "That is very true," said Miss Edwards. 
 
 Mr. Latimer looked at her a moment in silence, then 
 he rose from his chair and commenced to walk back and 
 forth across the room. Miss Edwards did not, at all, 
 understand the drift of his talk; she felt convinced that 
 he had something on his mind, but she could not even 
 guess at its nature. She did not wish to turn the con- 
 versation away from the present subject, for fear of im- 
 pressing him as lacking sympathy with his mood and 
 turn of thought, but she dared say no more than give fier 
 assent to his opinions, lest she pitch herself in some 
 quagmire, by an irrelevant utterance. So she remained 
 silent as he walked the floor, with head slightly bowed 
 and hands behind his back. At last he stood still beside 
 the table near which she sat. 
 
 "Miss Edwards?" he said, then ceased speaking in 
 evident embarrassment. She uttered only one word in a 
 soft, persuasive tone. 
 
 "Yes?" she interrogated. 
 
 "I don't know but that you will think me very pre- 
 suming; indeed, I seem so to myself," he continued, with 
 increasing embarrassment, " but I have a great favor to 
 ask of you. I have no right to ask it, I know," he hur- 
 riedly added. 
 
 She turned her face full upon him as she said: " There is 
 nothing, Mr. Latimer, that you can ask of me that I would 
 not gladly grant. I wish there was something that I 
 could do for you, in return for your many kindnesses to 
 me." 
 
 "Kindnesses!" he exclaimed. "I don't knovv of what 
 you speak. " 
 
 "Perhaps you may not regard it as much, but I was 
 7 Rodger Latimer's Mistake.
 
 g S RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 thinking this morning that for months I had been sur- 
 rounded by the most beautiful flowers and the best of 
 books, for which I was indebted to your thoughtful kind- 
 ness. " Miss Edwards with seeming unconsciousness, raised 
 her hand and toyed with three roses worn on the bosom of 
 her dress that she had taken from a bowl on the table that 
 held several dozen of the same kind, which Mr. Latimer 
 had sent her the day before. 
 
 "I beg of you not to speak of such slight things," said 
 Mr. Latimer, in a voice full of feeling; "it has given me 
 the greatest pleasure to see that you cared enough for 
 either the flowers or books to let them remain near you." 
 
 "I'll not question that," she replied with a beautiful 
 smile, "remembering that the good Book says, 'It's more 
 blessed to give than to receive,' if you will only believe 
 that it will give me pleasure to render you any slight 
 service that is in my power, and will be good enough to 
 ask it without the least hesitation. Really," she added, 
 seeing that he still hesitated, "I shall feel complimented 
 to know that it is possible for me to render you a 
 service." 
 
 Nothing could be more charmingly winning than her 
 voice and manner. It was with a great effort that Mr. 
 Latimer refrained from throwing himself at her feet, but 
 he quietly turned and walked the floor again, and Miss 
 Edwards saw that his face was pale with emotion. After 
 a little time, in which nothing had been said by either of 
 them, he stopped behind her chair and looked down on 
 her as she sat with her elbow resting on the arm of the 
 chair, and her head leaning on her hand in a way that 
 gave him a full view of the side of her face. He gazed 
 down on the warm chestnut hair, the drooping eyelids, 
 rounded cheek, and red lips just now quivering with 
 emotion, and on the superb neck and bust.
 
 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 99 
 
 "Miss Edwards, do you care especially to take the part 
 of Ardano in the play?" he asked hesitatingly. 
 
 "Not in the least," she replied in a cheerful, decided 
 tone. " On the contrary, T should be glad to be excused 
 from the whole thing. " 
 
 " I am delighted to hear you say so!" he exclaimed. 
 
 " I only consented to take the part, " said Miss Edwards, 
 unhesitatingly, feeling that now she stood on firm ground, 
 " to please my sister. She was very anxious that I should, 
 and she and Mrs. Von Stein and Mrs. Lefarve pressed it 
 on me, so at last I consented." 
 
 " You may think it strange that I should speak of the 
 matter to you," said Mr. Latimer, "and it is strange. 
 Perhaps you cannot understand it, when I say that it pains 
 me to think of you in many of the situations that you 
 would be compelled to occupy as the Ardano of that 
 play. " 
 
 Miss Edwards was silent; she could not understand his 
 motive in asking of her what he did, but she instantly 
 decided to give up the play if he wished it. Why did he 
 wish it? she asked herself with a flutter of heart, and she 
 dared not hope all that might possibly be inferred from 
 his words and manner. He was gazing intently upon her 
 face. 
 
 "It's a great deal for me to ask," he pursued. "I have 
 no right to ask it, and yet I cannot refrain from doing so. 
 It's right that you should know the reason for such a 
 request; let me try and tell you." He was silent a 
 moment or two, then continued: "Mrs. Von Stein has 
 given me the part of Ardano's brother; pardon me, Miss 
 Edwards, but permit me to speak as a brother might. 
 You must not think it strange that during this winter, in 
 the happy hours of my association with you, I have come 
 to regard you with all of the interest a brother might feel;
 
 ioo RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 
 
 and it distressed me last evening to see you, even in jest, 
 holding the relations that you were compelled to, to Mr. 
 Lefarve and Mr. Whitridge. And think for a moment 
 how much more objectionable, in the inference at least, 
 it will be when the play is fully carried out. " 
 
 Mr. Latimer ceased speaking, and waited as though 
 expecting some reply. When none came he hastily added 
 in a tone of apprehension : " You think me unreasonable ? 
 You cannot agree w.ith me ?" 
 
 "I fully agree with you," replied Miss Edwards, "and 
 I don't think you at all unreasonable. Let me speak to 
 you frankly. " Her head drooped slightly, and her voice 
 sank so low Mr. Latimer was compelled to lean down 
 from his height, a little over her, to catch her words. " I 
 never liked the play. I always disliked my part; I felt 
 sometimes that I could not take it, but what was I to do? 
 I didn't like to displease my sister, and I had no one to 
 help me out of it." 
 
 " Then you will not take it ?" Mr. Latimer eagerly asked. 
 
 " No, certainly not, if you wish me not to." The slight, 
 but yet evident emphasis on the word you, possessed the 
 power to bring a deep flush of delight into Mr. Latimer's 
 face. 
 
 "Thank you! thank you, Marie," he exclaimed; he had 
 never called her Marie before. " How can I ever repay 
 you! what a relief it is to know that I shall not see you 
 again in any of the situations of last evening; I felt that 
 I could not bear to have those men touch your hand ; how 
 hateful the whole thing was to me ! How can I repay you ?" 
 In his excitement he had leaned over the chair, and had 
 rested one of his hands lightly on Miss Edwards' right 
 shoulder. As he asked, " How can I repay you ?" she 
 raised her left hand and laid it very softly upon his hand, 
 as she replied:
 
 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 101 
 
 " By always being my good, true friend." 
 
 That electric touch pulled apart the last strand of his 
 self control. In a moment the impulsive man was on 
 his knees by the side of the chair, and had taken the 
 beautiful head in his arms, and was kissing the hair 
 and brow, and closed eyes, and pouring out such words 
 of burning love as Marie Edwards had never heard 
 before. 
 
 Two hours afterward, Miss Edwards let Mr. Latimer 
 out of the front door, turning the key and fastening the 
 chain behind him with her own hands. Then she went 
 back through the dimly lighted hall to the library, where 
 she sat down in the chair beside the table which she had 
 occupied most of the evening. She was alone in the large 
 room; she leaned her head against the back of the chair 
 and closed her eyes, to live it all over again, as any 
 loving girl would have done. An hour after, she turned 
 out the side gas lights, extinguished the coal oil lamps, 
 and noiselessly went up stairs, turning the gas off in the 
 hall as she passed through. The hour had not been one 
 of dreamy, love-making remembrances, but one filled with 
 the forecastings of a calculating woman of the world. 
 Though she had been delightfully startled by Mr. Lati- 
 mer's impetuosity, and very sweet to her had been his 
 words of love and adoration, the after-thoughts were of 
 the life of assured position and social influence which the 
 man of wealth could bestow upon her, rather than of his 
 protestations of affection. 
 
 As Miss Edwards turned the light up in her own room, 
 she saw her sister lying on the edge of the bed, in her 
 nightgown, wrapped in a blanket, looking straight at her 
 with wide open eyes. 
 
 " Harriet ! why are you not in bed, and fast asleep ?" she 
 asked.
 
 102 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 "I wanted you to tell me all about it before I went to 
 bed," said Mrs. White. 
 
 "About what?" asked Miss Edwards with a smile. 
 
 "O you know! about what Mr. Latimer said to you; 
 come, tell me all about it." 
 
 "How do you know he said anything?" asked Miss 
 Edwards, as she stood in front of her bureau unbuttoning 
 her dress and looking at herself in the glass. 
 
 "Now don't be so provoking, Marie. I'm dying to 
 know; do tell me all about it." 
 
 "Well, he don't like my being in that play of yours, 
 and wishes me to give up the part of Ardano. " 
 
 "Marie Edwards' you don't say that was all he has 
 been talking about for these three hours?" asked Mrs. 
 White, sitting on the edge of the bed, as she tightly held 
 the blanket around her shoulders. 
 
 "I think it's considerable," replied Miss Edwards, "and 
 you will have to manage it for me, and get me off. He has 
 a great deal of feeling about it. It will never do. I must 
 give it up." 
 
 "Give it up!" exclaimed Mrs. White; "what will Mrs. 
 Von Stein say? Why don't he like it, what's the matter? 
 I declare, I'm out of all patience." Mrs. White threw off 
 her blanket and stood up in her lamb's wool slippers, as 
 straight as a section of lightning rod. "I don't know," 
 she continued energetically, "what right he had to ask 
 you to leave the play. If that is all he has to say, it's 
 none of his concern; how long he staid! I sent Vilas to 
 bed and told him I would lock up and put the lights out 
 myself, and I coaxed James up stairs as soon as old Perry 
 left, for fear he would go in the library, for I really 
 thought Mr. Latimer had something special to say to you. 
 I was sure he was in love with you. If he isn't I'll give 
 up that I know anything about men. He's acted for six
 
 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 103 
 
 weeks as though he was perfectly dazed. Want you to 
 leave the play!" Mrs. White shook out her blanket, and 
 threw it over her shoulders as she said: "I'm going to 
 bed, it's nearly one, there's time enough to talk that play 
 matter over to-morrow." 
 
 Miss Edwards took her by the arm, as she was going 
 toward the door. " Stay, Harriet," she said, " I have some- 
 thing to tell you. But you will take cold; cuddle up in 
 that chair." 
 
 Mrs. White curled up in the large chair designated, and 
 Marie, sitting in front of the bureau, commenced to brush 
 her hair, which she usually brushed for half an hour every 
 night, to keep it bright and soft. She seemed in no haste 
 to speak, and Mrs. White waited in impatient silence a 
 few moments, then said: 
 
 "Well, what have you to tell me, Marie? Do speak." 
 
 "What a hurry you are in, Harriet," said Marie, smil- 
 ingly, as she drew the brush the length of her hair; "but 
 Mr. Latimer did tell me that he loved me." 
 
 " And asked you to marry him ?" 
 
 " No, there wasn't a word said about marriage, but with 
 a man of Mr. Latimer's type, words of love are based on 
 marriage. " 
 
 "I don't know," said Mrs. White; "young men nowa- 
 days are slippery as eels, but Mr. Latimer don't seem like 
 most other young men." 
 
 " He's very different, I always told you he was." 
 
 "But did he really tell you that he loved you?" asked 
 Mrs. White; " in a way that he wished to marry you?" 
 
 "Yes, he did really tell me that he loved me," replied 
 Marie laughingly, as she imitated Mrs. White's intona- 
 tions. Then she added very seriously, " I wonder if it's 
 possible for a man to love a woman as he says he loves 
 me? There's something beautiful in it, and something
 
 104 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 dreadful, too." Marie lapsed into thought. Poor Mrs. 
 White was eager for the whole story, and when was there 
 ever a woman not eager to hear the last detail in a girl's 
 love affair. 
 
 "What did he say?" asked Mrs. White; "how do you 
 know that he loves" you so much ?" 
 
 "Know!" exclaimed Marie; "by the way he looks, and 
 moves, and speaks; why, every look of his eye, and tone 
 of his voice, and touch of his hands, are declarations of 
 love. I don't suppose I ought to tell what he said." 
 
 "Yes, you should, every word of it," insisted Mrs. 
 White. 
 
 "But he calls me his queen, his darling, his angel, and 
 his life, and hope, and soul, all in one breath. He seems 
 to think me the most beautiful woman that ever lived, or 
 can live." 
 
 "Any one could see," said Mrs. White, "that he thought 
 you were very handsome, from the way he looks at you. 
 I declare I've sometimes been afraid that other people 
 would notice it, and laugh about it. It's not any seem 
 with him, he really thinks so. You certainly think he's 
 honest in all he says?" 
 
 "Honest as heaven! I've seen something of men and 
 have been made love to somewhat, but I never met a man 
 like Rodger." Mrs. White's face broke out all over in 
 a satisfied, triumphant smile, as Marie said "Rodger." 
 
 "That settles it," she thought; "they'll be married." 
 
 Marie continued: " It's strange what confidence I feel in 
 him; I would as soon expect the moon to fall out of the 
 sky as for him to utter a dishonest word, or do anything 
 that was not exactly right. How differently I feel about 
 his going away to-night without saying a word of mar- 
 riage, from what I would if it had been any other man I 
 know, or ever have known, for matter of that."
 
 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 105 
 
 " But didn't he say anything about your marrying him ?" 
 asked Mrs. White. 
 
 "No; he called me his wife, his darling wife, in some 
 of his rhapsodies, and said that his whole life was to be 
 spent in making me happy, but he didn't come down to 
 serious talk about our being married. It makes no dif- 
 ference with him; I feel as sure of him as though I had 
 had a public betrothal, or were married. He feels every 
 word he says, through and through. I wouldn't have let 
 any other man kiss me as he did, and hold my hands, 
 before he had asked me in plain English to be his wife, 
 and asked permission to speak to you or James." 
 
 As Marie finished speaking the brush lay idly on her 
 knee, and for a few moments she seemed lost in thought, 
 with her eyes fixed on vacancy. The expression of her 
 face was sad and hard; wasn't it the memory of a bitter 
 lesson learned that made it so? 
 
 " But he will talk about it the next time he sees you, 
 won't he?" said Mrs. White, "or do you suppose he will 
 go on with just his love making?" 
 
 "I shouldn't be surprised if he were here in the morn- 
 ing," replied Marie, "pressing for a speedy marriage, and 
 talking the whole matter over with you." 
 
 Happy Mrs. White! She folded her hands over the 
 blanket and straightened her head up against the back of 
 the chair, and assumed the air of the affectionate elder 
 sister and general adviser. The comparative merits of 
 brocade with pearls, and velvet with diamonds, for her 
 dress, as she stood at the altar near the bride, passed 
 through her mind; and Mrs. Von Stein and Mrs. Rich- 
 mond there to see! She gave a tug to the blanket, fold- 
 ing it closer about her breast, and clasped her hands 
 again over the folds, envying no reigning queen under 
 her royal purple. She gazed at her sister with the old
 
 106 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 affection, but with it there was mingled a new expression 
 of rapidly increasing deference. 
 
 " I declare, Marie, you're a happy girl," she said after 
 a little. "We'll have a splendid evening church wedding, 
 won't we? just as handsome as it can be made, the very 
 best of everything. I know James will be delighted to do 
 it; he was always proud of you, and you know Mr. Lati- 
 mer's a great favorite of his. You are a happy girl Marie, 
 Mr. Latimer's a great-match, the best in Qinton ; and then 
 he's so kind-hearted, just see how much Polly and Uora 
 think of him. You'll have everything, just think of it! 
 Such luck don't come to many girls. He has money, and 
 is fine looking, and is intellectual, loves you, and then 
 he's good, which is something after all." 
 
 Marie had come out of her sad retrospection, whatever 
 it had been, and was quietly brushing her hair, with an 
 expression of perfect contentment on her face. She scarcely 
 heard her sister's enumeration of the desirable qualities 
 possessed by her lover, which she had counted over herself 
 many times during the past weeks, both the inherent, 
 and adventitious ones, although she had not ranked them 
 exactly as Mrs. White had just done. 
 
 "You always were a dear good girl," continued Mrs. 
 White, "and I hope you'll be very happy. Wont James 
 be delighted! Say, Marie, when will you be married? I'm 
 so glad you're to live in Clinton." 
 
 " I shall be married next May or June," replied Marie. 
 "I know Rodger will wish for an early marriage, and I 
 dislike long engagements." 
 
 " Let me see " said Mrs. White," this is the middle of 
 February, March April May. Why Marie! that will 
 give you only three or three and a half months to get 
 ready in." 
 
 "That's time enough."
 
 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE IO 7 
 
 "Where will you spend the summer?" 
 
 "I don't care where, anywhere Rodger chooses." 
 
 "Will you keep house next winter?" 
 
 "Certainly I shall," replied Marie with decision. 
 
 "Yes, I suppose Mr. Latimer will wish for his. own 
 home, he seems very domestic," said Mrs. White. 
 
 " I shall wish for mine, whether he wishes for his or 
 not," responded Marie. 
 
 "How strange it sounds," said Mrs. White tenderly, 
 "to hear you talk of keeping house, and being married." 
 
 "It don't seem so very strange to me," said Marie, 
 " it seems natural, just as it should be." 
 
 "Yes, it certainly is just as it should be," replied Mrs. 
 White. " Wont Mrs. Richmond and Mrs. Von Stein be sur- 
 prised, and then the Blackwells! Mrs. Blackwell has 
 been particularly attentive to Mr. Latimer; she told me 
 she regarded him as being a most exemplary young man. 
 I wonder if she wouldn't have been glad to have had him 
 marry her Marion." 
 
 "I'm sure," said Marie, "that I don't know anything 
 about that; but Harriet, we must go to bed. Here it is 
 two o'clock," continued Marie, taking her watch from the 
 bureau and looking at it. " I shall be up late to-morrow 
 night, and must go to bed. I suppose Rodger will spend 
 every evening here now, unless we are out somewhere. 
 Suppose you tell Susan when she conies in your room in 
 the morning, not to come in here till I ring. If my curtains 
 are not raised, and no one opens the door, perhaps I may 
 sleep an hour or two later."
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 Rodger Latimer did not go to Mrs. White's the irext 
 morning, as Miss Edwards fancied he might, but he sat 
 himself down to write a letter to Margaret McVey, and 
 found that it was not quite as easy a task as he had antic- 
 ipated. At first he dashed off several pages full of his 
 love for Marie Edwards, which on reading over struck 
 him as not being in very good taste under the circum- 
 stances. Then he indited another, from a lofty moral 
 standpoint of duty to one's self, and the supremacy of the 
 law of love and the obligation of obedience to that law. 
 This suited him some better, but he was far from being 
 satisfied with it. After a few turns across the room, he 
 opened his table drawer, into which he was in the habit 
 of throwing miscellaneous letters, and sorted the contents, 
 selecting out Margaret's letters and placing them on the 
 table by themselves; then he arranged them in chrono- 
 logical order beginning with the previous August. He 
 opened several of those written in August and September, 
 glanced at the beginning, read a few lines and laid them 
 aside with an expression of annoyance on his face; he 
 turned from them, as from something distasteful. After 
 looking at half a dozen written later in the winter he 
 arose and went to the fireplace and rested his arm on a 
 corner of the mantel, and gazed into the fire. After a 
 little he raised his eyes to an engraving of Titian's 
 Sleeping Venus that was in an exquisite frame on a small 
 easel on the mantel. A thought seemed to strike him; he 
 took the Venus from the frame and placed therein a 
 cabinet photograph of Marie Edwards, that she gave him 
 the night before. It was a side view; the head drooped 
 1 08
 
 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 109 
 
 a little, and the eyes were cast down; the dress was as 
 decollete as any of the ladies in Mr. Lundom White's 
 family dared wear, the light played upon the. soft curves, 
 and undulating lines, in a way that brought out their vo- 
 luptuous sweetness. How enchanting was the glow that 
 crept from beneath the more than half-closed lids, and 
 lay caught below the delicate lashes! How lovely the 
 meeting of cheek and neck, the well-rounded shoulders 
 and swelling bust covered with a mist of illusion lace! 
 Mr. Latimer's face was transformed as he gazed upon 
 the picture before him, his eyes glowed with excitement, 
 and his lips parted with intense emotion. After a little 
 he turned to the table to finish his task, taking Marie's 
 picture, which he placed on the table directly in front of 
 him. He commenced to read Margaret's letters again, 
 several of which he put aside after giving them a hasty 
 glance, then he read one clear through, and another, and 
 another, from the beginning to the end. There were not 
 many of them all together, and very few written after 
 the first of November. It was these last ones that he 
 read carefully through. As he finished the last one, dated 
 something like a month back, he rested his elbow on the 
 table, and his head on his hand. He drew before him 
 a sheet of paper, and dipped his pen in the ink, and plac- 
 ing his hand in a writing position, held the pen above the 
 paper. But his eye caught Marie Edwards' face, and all 
 thoughts of the unwritten letter fled from his mind, 
 while he lived over the blissful hours passed with her the 
 evening before. It might have been ten minutes or an 
 hour, that he was lost in thought, he did not know; but 
 presently he came to himself, and then he threw down 
 his pen, leaned back in his chair and gazed into the fire, 
 from which he turned in half an hour to take in his hand 
 several of Margaret's letters which he carefully re-read.
 
 no RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 As he finished them he took up his pen, and again held it 
 over the paper. " Evidently we both were mistaken," he 
 said aloud, and he re-read again one of the latest letters. 
 "Those letters certainly indicate a change," he thought, 
 " a gradual change. She was very young when we became 
 engaged, a mere child; she was inexperienced, knew 
 nothing of men. That letter of last month is not at all 
 like those of September; how do I know what men she 
 has met this winter. She was probably mistaken in her 
 feelings toward me, as I certainly ' was, regarding mine 
 toward her; it is better that we found it out at this early 
 day; she may not love another, she may have just found 
 out that she does not love me. Her father is about all she 
 wants; I never knew any one so easily satisfied. That 
 miserable Edgewood! I shall never go there again, but I 
 must write her something. I'm glad she don't love me, 
 it will make the whole thing easier. It is right, she 
 would say so herself. I should say so to her, if she had 
 discovered that she was mistaken." He put the pen to 
 the paper and wrote rapidly. It was not a long letter; 
 he addressed and stamped it, touched his bell, and gave 
 the letter to the man who appeared, with an order to 
 send it to the postoffice immediately. He turned back 
 from the door, cheerfully humming a strain of a popular 
 opera, kissed Marie's picture, ordered his carriage, and 
 went to take luncheon with Mrs. White and Marie 
 Edwards.
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 When Rodger Latimer bade Margaret good-bye, the day 
 he. left Edgewood to go to New York, which was the day 
 following the one he spent in the woods with her, the 
 evening of which they passed on the piazza together, that 
 beautiful August evening! he promised to return and 
 spend a few of the autumn days with her. 
 
 "My vacation is over, Margery," he said, "and I must 
 get to work, but I'll run up, for at least one day, the last 
 of September, and we.' 11 have a great many evenings 
 together this winter. But because I'm to be so near, you 
 must not stop writing to me. You don't know how much 
 your letters are to me." 
 
 Margaret realized that her lover was no exception to 
 the average man, in his dislike of letter writing, and she 
 had accepted this fact in the early years of their corres- 
 pondence, with a common sense amiability, after she was 
 once thoroughly convinced that he really did set a posi- 
 tive value on her letters. During the years of this corres- 
 pondence, she might not have written him a larger number 
 of letters than he her, but the pages of hers frequently 
 outnumbered the lines of his. Short as his letters often 
 were, they had been frequent enough, and long enough, 
 to give her a knowledge of his daily life, and were so 
 unreservedly confidential in their character, they prevented 
 any strangeness from growing up between them during his 
 long college absences. After he left her in August to go 
 to New York, his letters came with their usual regularity 
 and frequency, but soon after his return to Clinton, they 
 came very irregularly, and she felt a lack of something 
 in them, which she could not define, and for many weeks
 
 H2 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 did not attempt to define. The facts of his daily life 
 were given ; she knew something of, his boarding house 
 on Hillson street, of his pleasant office, and of his hours 
 of copying, and wearisome waiting for clients; and she 
 was not surprised at his evident restlessness, and chafing 
 under the dragging monotony of his daily task; but was 
 surprised, and a little hurt by his seeming loss of interest 
 in her life, and in her father, and all that pertained to 
 Edgewood, and indeed to all of their past life together. 
 He delayed his promised visit to her from week to week, 
 till at last October came, and the leaves had fallen from 
 the trees, and the autumn beauty of the country town had 
 gone. Gradually Margaret grew. thoughtful and silent, 
 but no positive fear 'possessed her regarding either 
 Rodger's affection for her, or their future happiness 
 together, until one November day, when she opened a 
 letter from him, and her eyes rested on the unusual 
 address with which it began. He had always called her 
 Margery when they were small children, and all through 
 their happy after years, and had never called her anything 
 else, and no one beside him, had ever called her that. 
 The members of her household and her familiar friends 
 would about as soon have taken Mr. Latimer's purse 
 from his pocket, as to have taken the name of Margery 
 from his lips, and used it themselves. Instead of the dear 
 familiar Margery, this letter she held in her hand began 
 with the conventional address of " My dear Margaret." 
 As she read it, her head whirled, and she was in an instant 
 the victim of a strange hallucination. She lost her 
 personal identity for a moment, and dropped her eyes 
 down the page ^only a dozen lines or so to see who 
 wrote the letter. Yes, it was from Rodger, there was his 
 name in full, but who was it written to? She looked 
 again at the address, "My dear Margaret," and she
 
 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE nj 
 
 thought, " Margery must be dead, and Rodger has written 
 to tell me so." All of this passed in a moment, and she 
 was herself again, but permeated with a presentiment of 
 some impending calamity. She read the letter carefully; 
 there was nothing unusual in it, in nothing was it 
 different from those she had received from him for 
 many weeks past. She re-read it, lingering on each 
 word, vainly trying to extract from it a -quality it 
 did not possess.' For the first time in her acquaint- 
 ance with Rodger, she felt that something was wrong 
 between them. She felt that this letter which she held 
 in her hand, that stared at her in such a hard, cruel way, 
 was indicative of a wrong somewhere. She turned to her 
 desk, and took from its drawer, a number of his late 
 letters, that had impressed her as lacking some old and 
 well-known element, and after reading these, she selected 
 some of those written the previous winter and spring, and 
 read them through. Oh! what a difference! so fond! so 
 warm! Not long nor effusive, but breathing in every 
 line, the calm, tender love, that had so brooded her life 
 with its sheltering warmth. For an hour she sat in painful, 
 incoherent thought, with accelerated pulse, and a buzzing 
 in her" ears, then she went to her bedroom, and putting on 
 her hat and jacket, started for the woods back of the col- 
 lege. The exercise and fresh air, restored the circulation 
 of her blood to its normal rate, which cleared hef brain. 
 And as she seated herself at the root of a tree to grappie 
 with facts, she resolutely set herself to eliminate all that 
 might be imaginary, all that might be the outgrowth of a 
 morbid state of mind, and steadily look at the simple facts 
 of the case. It was a difficult task ; half of the time she was 
 in tears, and frequently she was so mastered by her appre- 
 hensions of coming evil, that she sat motionless, shivering 
 and shrinking as it were, from some approaching ill. But 
 8 Rodger Latimer's Mistake.
 
 II 4 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 with all of her will power, she turned from the present to 
 the past, and brought before herself all of the years of 
 her acquaintance with Rodger, and her knowledge of his 
 character, in order, if possible, to account to herself, for 
 the evident change in his feelings toward her. She 
 could not remember the time when she had not known 
 Rodger; there was no experience of her life that he had 
 not shared, no transition period through which they had 
 not walked side by side. He had participated in all of 
 her childhood's plays and in the studies of her girlhood, 
 he had been her companion in society, and she had never 
 taken a trip at home or abroad, unaccompanied by him. 
 They had prepared for confirmation together, and knelt 
 side by side at the altar, when the good Bishop laid his 
 hands on their heads. As she thought of that Sabbath 
 morning, she said to herself: " The man who knelt beside 
 me there, cannot be false, he cannot do a wicked thing." 
 Then she thought of the many years, when his absences 
 in Harvard were shortened, and brightened by his regular 
 letters, and of the delightful holidays, and summer vaca- 
 tions, when he was a daily inmate of their home, and their 
 lives went on as smoothly as the even sweep of a great 
 river through a level country. It all came back to her, it 
 was a tangle of thought, a confused mixture of retros- 
 pection and reasoning, but out of it, at the end of an hour 
 or more, two conclusions stood clear and distinct in her 
 mind. One that she must not be childishly suspicious, 
 or hasty in her judgments of Rodger; the other, that 
 come what might, her father must not suffer on her 
 account. Whatever she might be compelled to suffer in 
 any way, she must so bear it, and so manage it, that her 
 father would not know that she suffered at all. 
 
 As Margaret, on her return from the woods, went to 
 her room to dress for dinner, she was appalled by the
 
 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 115 
 
 appearance of her face, as reflected from the mirror; her 
 eyes were red and swollen, her hair was in confusion 
 across her forehead, and her cheeks were covered with 
 purple spots. As she was wondering what she should do 
 to hide the effects of her weeping, her Aunt Deborah 
 came into the room. 
 
 "Why, Margaret McVey! What in the world's the 
 matter of you?" she exclaimed, as she caught sight of 
 the face in the mirror. 
 
 Margaret turned toward her and laughed in a rueful 
 way. "There's no denying it auntie," she said, "I've 
 been out in the woods, having a good cry, and see what 
 a fright I've made of myself." 
 
 "Crying! about what?" asked Miss Bond in a tone of 
 alarm. 
 
 "It would be difficult to tell," Margaret replied, "I 
 guess I'm not quite well to-day. " I'm nervous perhaps; 
 but I felt like crying, and I just cried, I had no idea it 
 would make me look like this, it's dreadful! I wouldn't 
 care if it was not for papa, he will be distressed to think 
 that* I've been crying and he can't be made to believe 
 that I cried for nothing, only just because I was nervous 
 and felt like crying. What shall I do with my face?" 
 
 "Crying for nothing seems silly employment," said 
 Miss Bond, "but it's much better than having something 
 to cry for. Really, Margaret, I thought you had more 
 sense. Your father would be distressed to see that face 
 of yours; you'd better wash it in cold water, and lie down 
 and have a nap. Your father came home at three, and 
 when I told him you were out, he said he would take the 
 phaeton and drive around for Professor Hitchcock, who 
 was anxious to see some lots he talks of buying, and asked 
 your father to drive him down to them. He said you 
 could follow on your horse, if you chose to ride in this
 
 n6 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 wind; they went the north road; they can't be back 
 before half-past five, so you'll have two hours for a nap. 
 Lie down, and I'll call you at five." 
 
 As Miss Bond closed the door behind her, after com- 
 fortably covering Margaret on the bed, and drawing down 
 the window shades, her heart ached for the suffering girl. 
 She had not been deceived by Margaret's evasions, but 
 believed there must be some serious cause for such tears, 
 and she feared that Rodger Latimer was in some way 
 responsible for them. She had been speculating for 
 weeks, over Mr. Latimer's long continued absence. 
 
 "Only ten miles away," she had said to herself, "and 
 not been here since August!" But kind, cautious woman 
 that she was, she did not appear to notice his neglect, 
 nor would she have Margaret suspect that she even de- 
 tected in her face or manner, more than Margaret chose 
 to tell her in plain speech. Two hours afterward when 
 Margaret was ready to go down to dinner, she was not at 
 all satisfied with the appearance of her pale face, with its 
 swollen eyelids. She put on a red woolen dress, so as 
 to look as bright as possible and as she entered the'din- 
 ing-room, her aunt was surprised that she looked as well 
 as she did. Margaret tarried a moment beside her father's 
 chair, on her way to her own place, to kiss him, and as 
 she chatted in her usual merry way, and her voice gave no 
 evidence of a sad heart, he observed nothing unusual in 
 her. The evening passed in the customary way in the 
 professor's study, Aunt Deborah busy with her sewing, 
 and Margaret with her book. Professor McVey occupied 
 his own large chair in front of the bright wood fire; at his 
 side was a small table, on which stood a double student 
 lamp, and around the lamp lay his foreign papers and 
 reviews, and home magazines, to which he always gave 
 his evening hours. As the hands of the clock on the
 
 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 117 
 
 mantel were nearing ten, Professor McVey threw the 
 end of his cigar into the fire, and leaned back, with his 
 eye upon the dial, as though watching for bedtime to 
 come. Aunt Deborah had gone to her room half an hour 
 before. 
 
 "You look tired, papa," said Margaret gently, as she 
 leaned over the back of his chair and placed her hands 
 tenderly on either side of his face. " I hope you did not 
 drive too far with Professor Hitchcock ; you better go to 
 bed." 
 
 " No, I don't know that I drove too far, but I shall go 
 to bed soon. Did you wish to drive this afternoon, my 
 child? I feared perhaps you might be disappointed when 
 you returned, and found that I had the carriage, but 
 Professor Hitchcock requested me to go with him to look 
 at some lots he thinks of purchasing, and I hardly knew 
 how to refuse him." 
 
 "Oh, you ought to have gone with him," replied Mar- 
 garet; "I didn't care to drive, it was a little chilly. I'm 
 afraid we shan't have many more of our nice drives this 
 fall, papa, the roads are getting muddy. " Margaret leaned 
 down and rested her pale cheek on her father's bald head. 
 How soft and warm it felt to him! he closed his eyes in 
 peaceful contentment. But after a little, he suddenly 
 opened them and without stirring his head, he said: 
 
 " You have not told me Margaret, of your, or rather 
 Rodger Latimer's good fortune." Margaret's heart gave 
 a bound; she raised her head, but gently, so as not to 
 startle her father, and took her already trembling hands 
 from his face. " Has he not yet written to you of it?" 
 
 "I've heard of nothing, what is it?" she asked. 
 
 " Professor Hitchcock told me this afternoon, that 
 Gilbert Latimer died in Boston last week, and left Rodger 
 a million or more, and you haven't heard of it?"
 
 Ii8 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 "No," replied Margaret, calling up all her power of 
 will to steady her voice; " Rodger knows I don't care for 
 money, and so would not hasten to tell me that. But 
 who told Professor Hitchcock?" 
 
 " He saw it in the 'Clinton Press,' and also in a Boston 
 paper that he takes." Both were silent. Professor Mc- 
 Vey's thought was, " Will the possession of that amount of 
 money hasten Margaret's marriage?" and Margaret was 
 trying to answer to herself the question, "How will that 
 money influence Rodger's life?" All of Rodger's bitter 
 talk regarding his social positon in Clinton, came quickly 
 to her mind; she felt that she must be alone. The appre- 
 hension of coming ill, that had possessed her with such 
 appalling power that afternoon in the woods, again seized 
 her. Her limbs trembled beneath her weight, she leaned 
 heavily aginst the back of her father's chair. She re- 
 called the conversation between her father and herself 
 one morning in August, regarding her leaving him, when 
 she married Rodger, and she vividly remembered his 
 distressed face, and broken voice. Much as she wished 
 to be alone in her room, she felt that she must first remove 
 any possible fear from the dear father's heart, and send 
 him to bed in peace. 
 
 " Well papa," she said in a steady voice, as she again 
 placed her hands on either side of his face, and leaned 
 her cheek on his head, " I don't know as I'm glad Rodger 
 has that money, I don't believe it will make him any 
 happier, or a better man; he'll have to keep it, and spend 
 it. Suppose some one had left us a million, and we 
 should have to move into the city and spend it, how 
 unhappy it would make us; we never could be as happy 
 anywhere else as we have been here. How happy we 
 have been here!" She gave him a little hug with her 
 hands, as she kissed the top of his head. " You dear
 
 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE ug 
 
 papa," she continued, "we never could be* happier than 
 we have been here, could we? and we're not rich." 
 
 "Then my child," said the professor, " I need not fear 
 that you will marry Rodger soon, and live in Clinton, if 
 you are so happy here ?" 
 
 "No indeed, you need not," Margaret cried, as she 
 kissed him again and again. " But let us go to bed now, 
 and be thankful that no one has left us a million. I'll 
 fix the fire and put the lights out." 
 
 Margaret picked the fallen brands up, and piled them 
 together, and placed the wire screen before the fire, chat- 
 ting all of the time in a cheerful way to her father, who, 
 instead of going up to bed, sat still in his chair looking 
 at her. After she had arranged the screen, and turned 
 down the lamp that was on the table by his side, she 
 commenced to turn off the light of the large lamp that 
 stood on the center table. "Now papa, here goes," she 
 cried, "the last light; I do believe you're too tired to 
 go up stairs." 
 
 " No I'm not, but seems to me you are in unusual haste 
 to put the lights out to-night." 
 
 "You know," replied Margaret, "that you would never 
 go to bed if you hadn't me to drive you off; you would sit 
 up all night and get sick." She placed her hand on her 
 father's arm and led him across the room, which was 
 only lighted now, by the hall lamp casting its rays 
 through the open door. "And I heard auntie tell Mary," 
 she pursued, " to have some of that nice corn bread for 
 breakfast, and we must be up ready for it." She led him 
 across the hall to the bottom of the stairs, and stepped 
 aside for him to pass up before her. When half way up 
 the stairs, she reached over the banister to turn off the 
 hall light, anxl looking up at her father who stood in the 
 hall above, looking down on her, she said:
 
 120 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 "Go on papa, I wont put the light out until I hear you 
 shut your door." 
 
 He waited a moment, gazing on the loved face turned 
 upward toward him; at the soft rings of fluffy hair, the 
 affectionate blue eyes, and delicate, full lips, parted with 
 a smile; then turned and went to his room, feeling that 
 indefinite years of peaceful happiness stretched out before 
 him. 
 
 Poor Margaret's powers of self-control had been sorely 
 taxed; as the sound of her father's closing door reached 
 her she dropped her mask, and the face, that the leaping 
 flame of the expiring hall light shone on, was one of 
 appalling wretchedness. She went quickly to her room, 
 closed and locked her door, and threw herself on her 
 knees beside the bed. Bitter waters overflowed her, utter 
 darkness enveloped her, she crouched to the floor, covered 
 her face with her hands, and cried in her agony: " Father, 
 help me!" Margaret's faith in the existence of a personal 
 God was an implicit one; that this personal God was her 
 Heavenly Father she truly believed; a belief in answers 
 to prayer, and a faith in special providences, had been 
 the faith of all her life. The first impulse of her heart 
 in this dire necessity, was to fly to the Omnipotent for 
 help. Morning and night as long as she could remember, 
 she had' knelt in prayer. Her petitions for herself were 
 of a general nature, but in her sweet believing, she had 
 asked for all possible good to come to her father and 
 Rodger. She had been assured every Sunday from the 
 pulpit, that the condition to the answer of any petition 
 was faith on the part of the suppliant, and the facts of 
 her daily life seemed to attest a believing petitioner, and 
 a good Giver. But that irrepressible cry of anguish to 
 her God that night, was a different petition from any 
 that had ever before passed her lips. Her generalizations
 
 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 12 i 
 
 had been of lightning rapidity, in the few moments that 
 she leaned over her father's chair, after he told her the 
 news of Rodger's inheritance. From the facts of Rodger's 
 dread of poverty, his desire for social position, his infre- 
 quent letters, their lack of expressed affection, and that 
 ominously conventional letter being written a week after 
 his inheritance of wealth had been published in several 
 newspapers; she drew the fearful conclusion that Rodger 
 did not-love her as he used to, and if he had not positively 
 taken himself away from her, there was imminent danger 
 of his doing so. Where could she go for help ? Not to 
 Aunt Deborah, she could do nothing; not to her father, 
 he must not even know of her needs; not to Rodger, oh! 
 hitherto, unfailing source of help and counsel! No 
 human being could help her, God must. As she knelt in 
 her desolate agony, she said to herself: "God can; He 
 holds all men's hearts in His hand, He loves me. He'll 
 bring Rodger back. Oh! Father, Father!" And again 
 there went from the thick darkness of earth a despairing 
 cry into the unknown. Hours of wrestling and of anguish 
 passed. Margaret had not abandoned hope, but the terrible 
 fear, the dreadful apprehension that Rodger was lost to 
 her, brought an agony that was beyond words. At times 
 she would lie motionless on the edge of the bed, her wide 
 open eyes staring into the darkness, then she would sit 
 just as motionless on the side of the bed, with her head 
 bent low on her breast. Hour after hour, alone in the 
 night the contest raged between her being and her destiny. 
 There seemed closing around her iron bars, that her 
 girlish hands were powerles-s to break; there seemed 
 pressing down upon her a load, that she could neither 
 avert nor bear. Rodger was drifting away, taking all of 
 life with him. Only ten miles from her! and it was as 
 though seas and mountains, and deserts swept between
 
 122 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 them. How she had loved him, how trusted him! and was 
 this to be the end ? The words spoken by the Bishop as 
 his hands rested on her head, when she knelt in confir- 
 mation, came to her mind: "Defend, O Lord, this thy 
 child." Yes, the Infinite Father was her only hope, from 
 Him alone could succor come; and He would bring her 
 out of this woful agony. Morning came at last. Margaret 
 did not know whether she had slept or not. The sound 
 of the rising-bell rung in the hall below, for the half hour 
 before breakfast, brought to her mind the thought of her 
 father. She took off her clothes, none of which she had 
 laid aside the night before, and proceeded to take a cold 
 bath, and dress herself in her usual morning wrapper. 
 She was faint and sick, and shivered as she walked about 
 her room. But she went down stairs, saw that the fire 
 was burning brightly in her father's study, and met him 
 as was her custom, at the foot of the stairs as he came 
 down to breakfast. She seated herself at the table with 
 her back to the light, and neither during breakfast time, 
 nor in the hour which she and her father passed together 
 in the study after breakfast, did unobserving Professor 
 McVey notice her pale face. As Margaret sat at his feet 
 tying his shoes, and buttoning his gaiters, it was with 
 the greatest difficulty that she could keep back her tears. 
 She felt so lonely and stricken, she would have been glad 
 just then, to fold her arms around her father's knees, and 
 lay her head upon them, and die. 
 
 " Is anything the matter with the buttons, my child ?" 
 asked the professor. Margaret was not aware that her 
 hands were lying-idly across his feet. 
 
 "No, papa," Margaret replied in a voice that would 
 have arrested the attention of almost any other man, " the 
 buttons are all right, and now the shoes are on," she said, 
 as she fastened the last button, and gave the feet a little
 
 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE I23 
 
 caressing pressure. She held his overcoat for him, and 
 opened the front door, giving him the usual good-bye 
 kiss, as he passed out, carefully keeping herself in the 
 shadow of the open door. 
 
 The weeks following this first awakening of Margaret's 
 fears, were weeks of alternating hope and fear. She had 
 always looked over, at least one daily paper, and kept 
 herself well informed regarding home and foreign affairs, 
 from a natural desire that she possessed for all kinds of 
 information, and also that she might be able to talk with 
 her father upon any subject that might interest him; but 
 during these weeks of anxiety, she read the dailies with 
 more than usual attention. She examined the papers to 
 find which one had the best society reports, and subscribed 
 for it, and there was hardly a day that she did not scan 
 two or three Clinton dailies, for their society notes. She 
 frequently saw the name of Mr. Rodger Latimer, a notice 
 of him, as being present at an opera, or theater. Some- 
 times he was spoken of as occupying a seat in Mrs. Lun- 
 dom White's box, sometimes as a guest of Mrs. Richmond, 
 or of Mrs. Blackwell. Several times "A brilliant 
 theater party" was reported, as given by Mr. Rodger 
 Latimer, and she saw in the paper at one time, that he 
 had replied to a toast at a Harvard dinner, and again 
 that he was a guest at some sort of a banquet. There 
 was hardly an account of any important social event, or of 
 any gathering of Clinton's best society people, in which 
 his name did not appear. There were days during these 
 weeks of painful uncertainty, in which her feverish rest- 
 lessness drove her from one employment to another, from 
 one room to another, from book to book ; and often from 
 the house, across the country for miles, from which long 
 walks she would return totally exhausted. Other days 
 she would hardly leave her " Sans-Souci," but would lie
 
 I2 4 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 on her Florentine lounge for hours, with her face turned 
 to the wall. Several times she revolved in her mind the 
 feasibility of going to Clinton, and spending a few days 
 with Miss Sargent, and from Judge Sargent's house, 
 sending a note to Rodger, informing him that she was 
 there, and that she wished to see him. Then as she 
 asked herself, what could she say to him, should he 
 come in compliance with her request, she abandoned that 
 scheme, as she had on second thought abandoned all 
 schemes of approaching him, that she had harbored from 
 time to time. Look at the matter in any way she might, 
 she could discover no method of bettering her condition ; 
 there was absolutely nothing that she could do, but wait 
 in suffering and silence. Rodger knew that she loved 
 him, knew that she was there only ten miles, less than 
 an hour's ride from his office! If he chose to come to 
 her, he could and would come; but if he did not choose? 
 God was her only refuge, morning and evening, mid- 
 night and noon; lying on her bed in the darkness, sitting 
 in the silence of her " Sans-Souci," and walking far out 
 on the country roads; her prayers were unceasing, that 
 she might be guided, and that Rodger might be influenced 
 by some supernatural power to return to her. 
 
 Miss Bond, unlike Professor McVey, noticed every 
 change of Margaret's face, with the natural solicitude of 
 a kind woman accustomed all her life long, to think of 
 and care for others. It distressed her severely, to see 
 the color leaving the girl's cheeks, the large eyes grow- 
 ing larger, and the lips losing their beautiful curves. 
 Deborah was not a woman of intense feeling, but she 
 possessed quick sympathies, and was sorely grieved by 
 Margaret's sufferings. Although Margaret had never 
 talked with her regarding her engagement to Rodger 
 Latimer, she perfectly understood the relation that the
 
 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE I25 
 
 young people held to each other; and she as perfectly 
 understood that Rodger's unfaithfulness was the cause 
 of all of Margaret's sorrow. She knew, as well as Mar- 
 garet herself, that nothing that she could do, or say, 
 would avail to heal her wound, or have the least influence 
 over Rodger. As soon as her father was out of the house, 
 all of Margaret's assumed cheerfulness of voice and 
 manner was laid aside, and she looked as wretched as she 
 felt. She knew that she could not conceal from her aunt, 
 week after week, the fact that she was suffering, and she 
 did not make the attempt. So these two women lived 
 under the same roof, and ate at the same table, during 
 all of these weeks; one slowly drifting farther and farther 
 into darkness; the other standing by, in utter help- 
 lessness, unable to give either aid or comfort. 
 
 In December, Margaret received another letter from 
 Rodger. When her eyes fell upon the familiar writing, 
 as it was handed her by the clerk in the postoffice, the 
 blood surged up into her head, and for a moment she 
 feared falling to the floor. She held it tightly in her 
 hand, and hastened home. Who could tell what that letter 
 might contain? Possibly words of explanation, and plead- 
 ings for forgiveness, and all of the old utterances of love 
 so long dear to her! Perhaps she had been hasty in her 
 judgments; men are so different from women! Dear Rod- 
 ger! If he did really love her, and came back to her, how 
 happy she would be, and how gladly she would let the 
 past go, and never speak of it. She locked herself in her 
 own room, and sat down with hat and cloak on, and tore 
 open the envelope only one small sheet, and no writing 
 on the last page, which was clear and white. The thought 
 that it was nothing more than one of the short letters he 
 had been in the habit of writing for months, seized her; 
 with sickening fear and trembling fingers she unfolded
 
 126 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 the sheet of paper one page, and part of another, written 
 the day before. The address was, " Dear Margaret," not 
 even my dear Margaret. She let the letter slip to the 
 floor, and leaned her head on the table by her side, in 
 blind, unthinking misery. She did not weep, she did not 
 think, she uttered no reproach or prayer. The keen dis- 
 appointment showed how far from dead was hope in her 
 heart. An hour afterward she read the conventionally 
 friendly letter, and mechanically placed it in a drawer, 
 where she kept the letters Rodger had written her for the 
 few months past, apart from those of the years before.
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 The next door neighbor on one side of Professor Mc- 
 Vey, was a family by the name of Herman. Mr. Herman 
 was a member of a small manufacturing establishment of 
 some kind, in Clinton. He was punctual in business, 
 paid his debts, lived up to his agreements, was an indul- 
 gent husband and a kind father. Every Sunday morning 
 found him in his church pew, and every pleasant Sunday 
 afternoon found him out driving with his family. His 
 greatest dissipations were a mild cigar and a glass of 
 claret. Perhaps it was in obedience to some law of nature, 
 looking to the balancing of the race from generation 
 to generation, that this equable, practical man, had 
 married an eccentric woman. Whatever the cause, the 
 fact was, that Mr. Herman when about twenty-six years 
 of age, had married Isabel Wasmansdorf, who was the 
 daughter of a New England mother, and a German father. 
 Mrs. Wasmansdorf was first cousin to Mrs. Lundom 
 White's mother. In 1870 Mr. Herman located himself 
 in business in Clinton, and purchased a pleasant house in 
 Edgewood, next to Professor McVey, for a home for his 
 wife and infant daughter. Mrs. Herman was a woman of 
 theories and moods, and while she was not of unkind 
 heart, she was an irresponsible talker. Her emotions 
 were turbulent, and when excited, she would rattle on 
 about people and facts, in an illogical and inconsequential 
 way, that sealed the lips of every cautious person in her 
 presence, for fear that the simplest words they might 
 utter, would be misrepresented sometime in the future. 
 She indulged in ill-natured gossip about very few people, 
 but when she was speaking of her somewhat removed 
 127
 
 128 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 cousin, Mrs. Lundom White, between whom and herself 
 there was no love lost her temper, rather than her judg- 
 ment, was responsible for her utterances. Mrs. White 
 declared that Belle Herman was a ridiculous woman, who 
 made a perfect fright of herself in dress, and was not to 
 be depended upon; a woman with whom she would hold 
 none but the most conventional relations. 
 
 " I really am afraid to have her in my house," she said 
 to her sister, Miss Edwards. " You never know what she 
 will say about you as soon as she is out of your sight, and 
 how she twists things! I don't know as she means to tell 
 downright lies, but it amounts to the same thing in the 
 end, for she never gives a truthful account of anything, 
 or anybody ; and then how she does talk ! and on what 
 ridiculous subjects. Say what you like, she isn't well 
 balanced." 
 
 Mrs. Herman quite prided herself on her relationship to 
 the wealthy Mrs. Lundom White of Clinton. The two 
 ladies left their New England homes for the West, about 
 the same time, but under different circumstances. Mrs. 
 White, as the wife of an opulent iron man, moved into 
 an elegantly appointed home, and before many years had 
 passed, occupied a leading place in society. Mrs. Her- 
 man, as the wife of a young man just beginning business 
 for himself, entered a pretty, but inexpensive home in a 
 suburban town. Her father in New England was a man 
 of larger wealth than the father of Mrs. White, and in her 
 childhood she had lived in a much more comfortable way 
 than had her cousin. As soon as each woman was ad- 
 justed to her personal surroundings, and had had time to 
 measure advantages with her immediate neighbors and 
 acquaintances, Mrs. White was filled with exultation over 
 her good luck; and while Mrs. Herman was contented 
 with her relative position, among her Edgewood acquaint-
 
 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 129 
 
 ances, her soul was filled with envy, as soon as she 
 encompassed Mrs. White's grandeur. In her heart, she 
 berated the fortune that had been so lavish of favors to 
 her poorer cousin. She felt that Mrs. White's brougham, 
 and victoria, and saddle horse, were personal affronts to 
 herself, as long as she could afford only a comfortable 
 family carriage. And the sight of Mrs. White's rugs, 
 cut-glass and pictures, soured her temper to that degree, 
 that when surrounded by them, it was with the greatest 
 difficulty she could speak pleasantly to the lady of the 
 house, or to any guests that might happen to be present, 
 when she was visiting Mrs. White. But with all of her 
 envy and anger, she determined not to lose sight of any 
 practical advantage that might accrue to herself, from her 
 cousin's wealthy marriage, and her active imagination 
 foresaw many ways in which she might make Mrs. White's 
 money and position, subserve her own pleasure and profit. 
 But when within the first year of her residence in Edge- 
 wood, Mrs. White had made her feel that there was not 
 to be the least intimacy between the families, her wrath 
 knew no bounds. What little practical sense she had, 
 combined with her pride, kept her silent upon the subject, 
 when talking with any one besides her husband, through 
 all of the succeeding years, in which Mrs. White never 
 deviated from the course which she had first lain down. 
 But poor Mr. Herman had the full benefit of his wife's 
 wrath. 
 
 "To think, what airs Hat Edwards takes on herself, 
 and toward me, too, " said Mrs. Herman to her husband, 
 at the breakfast table, one morning late in December, 
 when she had, the day before, paid a visit to Mrs. White, 
 for the purpose of seeing some new dresses which she had 
 heard that lady had received from Europe, through a 
 friend who had just returned. Mr. Herman was absent 
 
 9 Rodger Latimer's Mistake.
 
 130 
 
 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 when hfe wife reached home, so she had had no oppor- 
 tunity of relating to him the result of her visit to her 
 cousin, until she met him at the breakfast table. Whe~n 
 Mrs. Herman spoke of Mrs. White in society, it was as 
 her "dear Cousin Hattie;" when talking to her husband, 
 the dear cousin was designated as "Hat Edwards," or 
 simply "Hat," if her anger waxed particularly hot. "I 
 wanted to see that new street dress of hers," she con- 
 tinued, " that Mrs. Higgins brought her from Paris, and she 
 knew it as well as I did. but to do my very best I couldn't 
 even get her up to her bedroom. There she sat all of the 
 time in that library, and was so polite, so dreadfully kind, 
 but I could no more get near her, than I could near Queen 
 Victoria. I was so mad, I could have bitten her head off; 
 so sweet, and smiling, and polite and then Mrs. Camp- 
 bell came in to luncheon I know she was invited, for 
 Hat had a regular five-story-and-a-mansard luncheon. 
 She was exactly as formal to me as she was to Mrs. 
 Campbell; no one would ever have dreamed that I was a 
 relative. I declare I don't believe that I'll go there 
 again; here I have spent the whole day, tired myself to 
 death, and I don't know a thing more about her than I 
 did before I went. I didn't see any of her dresses, and 
 how on earth shall I make that new dress of mine ? And 
 I don't" know anything about her reception that they say 
 she is going to have, and I wanted to hear all about that 
 dinner at General Austin's, that last evening's paper said 
 she attended. Dear me, it is too bad !" 
 
 An hour after this outburst, Mrs. Herman rang Pro- 
 fessor McVey's door bell. Margaret was lying on her 
 Florentine settee, with closed eyes, going over in her 
 mind, the same old routine of thought. A hundred times 
 she had asked herself the same question, raised the same 
 answering hypothesis; rejected it, grasped it again,
 
 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE I3 ! 
 
 thrown it aside, and reached out for some more probable 
 explanation of Rodger's conduct. A hundred times she 
 cried out that she could not bear it, that the dreadful 
 suspense would kill her, and yet she lived on, growing a 
 little thinner and paler every day, but never relaxing for 
 a moment in her gentle care of her father, or uttering a 
 cry in the hearing of her aunt. She was aroused from 
 her painful reflections by the entrance of her aunt, who 
 said to her: 
 
 "Mrs. Herman's in the parlor, and wishes to see you." 
 
 "Must I see that woman, auntie?" asked Margaret. 
 " Is it anything special, or do you suppose she has just 
 come in for a call? I wonder if she wants that Ken- 
 sington pattern for her table scarf; she spoke of making 
 one for Christmas." 
 
 "I don't know, " replied Miss Bond; "I stopped and 
 talked with her for ten minutes to see if I could find out 
 what she came for and save you the trouble of seeing her, 
 but she asked so positively for you I had to come." 
 
 "I suppose I must see her," said Margaret, as she 
 smoothed her hair down with her hands. When she 
 entered the parlor, which was across the hall from Pro- 
 fessor McVey's study, Mrs. Herman, who was a slight 
 woman, skipped across the room to meet her, uttering at 
 the same time unintelligible monosyllables in a sort of 
 cooing sound. She placed her hands on Margaret's 
 shoulders and kissed her repeatedly, after which she 
 placed one arm round her, and gave her a close hug. 
 
 "You darling pet," she cried; " it's an age since I saw 
 you. " Then she kissed her again. " How pale you look, 
 but how pretty you are! You have this horrid cold, 
 haven't you? It's just dreadful, but everybody has it this 
 awful weather. I didn't sleep at all last night, I coughed 
 so, and Mr, Herman is sick too, and both the children,
 
 132 
 
 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 and I declare Matilda is coming down, and she is such a 
 good nurse; what could I do without her? Novalis, the 
 dear little pet, has had a dreadful time for a week, and 
 it's too bad, for our weather is so good I wanted him to 
 be out of doors; it's so much healthier to be out of doors, 
 don't you think so? Mr. Herman and I do; we've been 
 out so much this last week, and Mr. Herman says he 
 never felt better in his life than he does now; isn't it 
 delightful?" 
 
 Mrs. Herman had been running on without stopping for 
 breath, her arm around Margaret, who patiently waited 
 for the pause which she knew would come after Mrs. 
 Herman had run herself down in her contradictory gar- 
 rulousness. 
 
 "Pray be seated, Mrs. Herman," said Margaret. "I'm 
 glad to knew that Mr. Herman is well ; I hope the chil- 
 dren will soon be over their colds." 
 
 " Dear me, " said Mrs. Herman, "the children are just 
 as well as any little tots can be; they're all well but me, 
 but then I'm never well. Mr. Herman says it's al 1 because I 
 do so much; that I do more than any two ladies in the city 
 would think of doing. He says I read myself to death, 
 but I can't be lazy; I never could. Now, last night 
 were you out last night? Wasn't it lovely? Such a 
 moon!" Mrs. Herman, who never stopped for a reply to 
 any of her questions, but jumped abruptly from one sub- 
 ject to another, leaned over and placed one hand on Mar- 
 garet's knee, as she continued: "What a lovely wrapper 
 that is! Was it made in the city? You're just a poem 
 sitting there in that wrapper. I must have a new dress, 
 and I don't know what to get. You can wear anything, 
 you're so pretty. I'm going to ask Mr. Herman to get 
 me such a wrapper as this, but I'm not so pretty as you 
 are; it wouldn't look as well on me. Isn't it too bad that
 
 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 133 
 
 we have to grow old and ugly ? But Mr. Herman says that 
 I am just as pretty as I ever was." Mrs. Herman covered 
 her face with both of her hands for an instant, her fingers 
 outspread over her eyes, and with a simpering laugh went 
 on: "Ridiculous, isn't it, to call a woman like me pretty ? 
 But then it's well enough for every husband to think his 
 wife is good looking, don't you think so ? I don't believe 
 married people ought to get prosy, and not love each 
 other, do you? Mr. Herman is just as much of a beau as 
 he was before we were married, and I think it's nice. I 
 got so tired in the city yesterday that I've been cross ever 
 since. I don't think a woman ought to be cross, do you ? 
 But Mr. Herman says I'm never cross, but you see I'm so 
 worried about this dress; it's my best street dress, and I 
 went in to see Cousin Hattie about it, she has such 
 exquisite taste; the dress she had on was just a dream. 
 You know I promised Cousin Hattie that I would come 
 and see how your father was.' What a dear man he is! 
 He knows so much. Dear pet! How pretty you are!" 
 exclaimed Mrs. Herman rapturously, placing both of her 
 hands on Margaret's lap, as she was sitting on the sofa 
 beside her; "but your dear father is well, isn't he? I 
 told Cousin Hattie I thought he was, or I should have 
 heard of it. She said she hadn't seen your father for ever 
 so long. You remember Cousin Hattie, don't you? She's 
 coming out to spend a week with me next summer. I 
 haven't asked her yet, but I'm going to next June or May 
 perhaps, when the apple trees are in blossom; they're so 
 sweet, don't you think so?" 
 
 Margaret declared that she did, which declaration Mrs. 
 Herman never heard, for she was miles away from the 
 apple blossoms before Margarat could give her assent. 
 
 " I didn't see any of Cousin Hattie's street dresses," 
 she rattled on, " for she had on a tea-gown, but that was
 
 134 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 just too lovely for anything. Cousin Marie came in from 
 a drive while I was there, and she had on a tailor-made 
 dress, and it was lovely too, but I couldn't wear such a 
 dress as that, I'm so slight. I don't think I'm thin, do 
 you? Mr. Herman says I'm just plump. I wouldn't be 
 thin. I don't blame men for not liking skinny women, 
 do you? But Marie is so much larger than I am; she's 
 tall and large. Do you know her?" 
 
 "No," replied Margaret, "I never saw her." 
 "Marie wears white so much," said Mrs. Herman dash- 
 ing on, "but I couldn't weai; a light colored street dress; 
 just imagine a light dress, back and forth on the cars." 
 Mrs. Herman clasped her hands together, and filled the 
 room with her thin, tinkling laughter. "It'll do for 
 Marie," she continued, "for she has cousin Hattie's car- 
 riage. Do you know Miss McVey, what I heard ? They 
 say cousin Marie is to be married soon that Mr. Latimer, 
 you remember him, don't you ? is very devoted to her, and 
 that they are to be married soon. I never knew him, but 
 I knew his father a little; he was such a sweet man! don't 
 you think so? I saw Mrs. Holland in Smith &: Green's 
 and she told me all about it. I hadn't seen her for six 
 months. Mrs. Holland don't know cousin Hattie very 
 well, but she often meets her on the board of the Old 
 Ladies' Home, and she has seen cousin Marie at the 
 opera. Cousin Hattie always has a box. I don't think 
 those boxes are as good to see from, as the parquet chairs, 
 do you ? O, about Marie; Mrs. Holland says Mr. Lat- 
 imer is with Marie at the opera every night; I mean 
 when there is one, and Mrs. Holland is there; Mr. Lat- 
 imer is very wealthy, you know. Some cousin of his died 
 in India last summer, and left him two hundred millions, 
 or two hundred thousand, I don't know which, but he's 
 awfully rich any way, and he's going to marry Marie
 
 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 '35 
 
 Edwards soon. She don't like me I know; she's a smart 
 girl, she always was, but she hasn't a cent in the world. 
 Cousin Hattie gives her all of her clothes; she is hand- 
 some, but not as handsome as she thinks she is. I knew 
 the Edwards girls before they ever heard of Clinton." 
 The rancorous feeling against the opulent Mrs. Lundom 
 White was rising in Mrs. Herman's heart, and with the 
 thought that Cousin Marie might marry as wealthy a 
 man as Cousin Hattie had, came feelings of intense dis- 
 like toward Marie also, but her natural caution enabled 
 her to curb her resentment. Fortunately she was too 
 much engrossed by her feelings toward the " Edwards 
 girls" to notice Margaret's increased pallor, or the fact 
 that she had placed her hands under her crossed arms, so 
 that it would have been impossible for Mrs. Herman to 
 have touched one of the cold fingers, had she been dis- 
 posed. Poor, tortured Margaret, found that the efforts 
 she had been making for weeks to control and suppress 
 herself, in the presence of her father, had developed a 
 power that enabled her to simulate calmness and uncon- 
 cern under this ordeal. 
 
 "Will your cousin, Mrs. White, be pleased to have 
 her sister marry Mr. Latimer ?" asked Margaret in a pause 
 of Mrs. Herman's talk. 
 
 "As a matter of course she'll- be delighted ; why shouldn't 
 she? Marie has no home, and I don't believe that Hattie 
 cares to have her live with her, though it will be very 
 nice for Cousin Hattie to have her live in Clinton,' in an 
 elegant home, with her own carriage and all that. It's 
 not every day that two sisters have such luck." 
 
 "What kind of a girl is your Cousin Marie?" asked 
 Margaret. 
 
 " She is called beautiful; you never saw her ? She don't 
 look at all like Cousin Hattie. She's large and fat ; I don't
 
 136 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 think she is so very handsome, although her eyes are 
 lovely, and she has lovely hair. She isn't my first cousin, 
 you know, so it isn't so bad if I don't like her. I 
 don't think it is right for people to talk about their own 
 blood, but she is only my third cousin, and that isn't very 
 near, do you think it is? Mrs. Holland says everybody 
 thinks Marie is beautiful; the most beautiful girl in Clin- 
 ton I guess she said, but I don't think so, she's too 
 big." Mrs. Herman arranged her wrap around her own 
 slight shoulders, as she pursued her subject: " She is sort 
 of slow and heavy, she doesn't say much : I never heard her 
 talk at all, but then I never saw much of her. Cousin 
 Hattie is always urging me to go and see them, but they 
 live so far up, and I always have so much to do in the 
 city that I never have time; it's real tiresome to spend a 
 day in the city shopping, don't you think so? Last 
 Thanksgiving, no, the year before I declare! how time 
 flies; Mr. Herman and I dined with Cousin Hattie, and 
 Marie was there, that's the most I ever saw of her. She 
 was there only to dinner; just at the table, I don't know 
 where she went after dinner up stairs, or off for a drive, 
 perhaps, but I don't think it was treating Mr. Herman 
 and me with much attention, to go off in that way, do 
 you? It didn't make any difference about the good time 
 we had, for she was just as stupid as she could be when 
 she was there; I don't like stupid people, do you? but I 
 must go home; I promised to take darlingNovalis down 
 street. I wish I knew what to do about my dress. How 
 nice it is to have no more trouble about one's dresses than 
 Cousin Hattie has, and if Marie marries Mr. Latimer, she 
 can have everything she wants without any trouble to her- 
 self. I used to see Mr. Latimer around here, but I 
 haven't seen him in Edgewood for a long time. Don't he 
 ever come here any more? didn't he go to Europe once
 
 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 137 
 
 with you and your father, or was that some other young 
 man? I don't believe Marie Edwards would marry him, 
 if he wasn't rich, and I declare I don't blame her for lik- 
 ing money; it's nice to have all the servants and car- 
 riages one wishes, and not have to bother one's head 
 about clothes; don't you think so?" 
 
 " Did Mrs. White tell you of her sister's engagement?" 
 asked Margaret. 
 
 " No, I didn't see her after Mrs. Holland told me what 
 she knew." 
 
 "Then she knew," said Margaret, in a voice she could 
 hardly control, " that your cousin, Miss Edwards, was 
 engaged to Mr. Latimer?" and involuntarily her left 
 thumb folded into the palm of the hand, and moved back 
 and forth across the diamond ring on her third finger. 
 
 " Well now, it's all mixed up in my mind. I don't think 
 she did say Marie was really positively engaged, and 
 that she knew it, for if she'd said that, I would have been 
 angry that Hattie hadn't told me all about it when I was 
 there; don't you think she ought to have told me? But 
 she said every one was talking about it, and that Mr. 
 Latimer was dead in love with Marie, and she had been 
 told they were to be married soon. She knows them 
 both by sight, that's all; she noticed them so often in 
 Hattie's box. She inquired who they were, and a gentle- 
 man friend of hers told her the lady was Miss Edwards, 
 a sister to Mrs. White, and the gentleman was a Mr. 
 Latimer, who was soon to marry Miss Edwards. I think 
 that was all she knew, but that looks as though Marie 
 was going to marry him, don't you think so? But I must 
 go home," declared Mrs. Herman, as she rose from the 
 sofa. "Do come and see me," she said, as she kissed 
 Margaret, "and tell me what to do with that dreadful 
 dress of mine; you never come over any more." She
 
 138 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 placed her hands on the tips of Margaret's shoulders, and 
 slowly moved them up to her neck, resting them against 
 the lace ruffle in the neck of her dress. " What a sweet 
 little neck you have," she said. "How pretty you are! 
 This is a new dress, isn't it? I wish my dress was done; 
 here it is the last of December, and my best winter dress 
 not done! Don't you think it is too bad? but we've had 
 such a dreadful time this fall, company all of the time, 
 and Novalis sick, and Edith was not well all last month. 
 I have had just a dreadful time, and dear me, there is 
 that Browning Club to-night! I don't see how I can go, 
 but I must !" 
 
 Would the woman never go ? thought Margaret, never 
 take her hands off of her shoulders and her eyes off of her 
 face, and leave her alone to herself?
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 When evening came, Margaret and her father were sit- 
 ting in the study with their books and papers. She was 
 holding an open book in her hand, on which her eyes were 
 fixed, but she was neither reading nor thinking of the book 
 in the least. Between her eyes and its pages was a girl 
 robed in white, with lovely eyes, of no particular hue, 
 and beautiful hair. Margaret had fallen into the habit 
 of idly holding an open book while her thoughts were 
 upon Rodger, when she and her father were sitting 
 together in the evenings, so that there would be no ap- 
 parent change in the habitual occupation of their eve- 
 nings. The long continued silence of the room, unbroken 
 by the rustling df her father's paper, or any movement 
 on his part, suddenly arrested her attention, and she raised 
 her eyes to meet those of her father fixed intently on her 
 face, with an anxious expression. It was such a question- 
 ing look as she had never before seen him fix upon her. 
 Her face flushed, she hesitated a moment, then went to 
 him, taking the paper from his knee as she seated herself 
 on his lap, and leaned her head upon his shoulder. 
 
 " What is it, papa ?" she asked, as she placed one of 
 her hands against the side of his face. 
 
 " My child, you do not look well," replied the professor, 
 as he put both of his arms around her. His voice was 
 full of tenderness and solicitude; for the first time he had 
 that evening noticed the change in his daughter, and 
 was startled by the sight of her pale face. 
 
 "I am not quite well, papa," said Margaret; "in fact, 
 I am almost sick. Mrs. Herman was in this morning for 
 an hour or more, and she spoke' of my dreadful cold."
 
 14 
 
 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 " Is it only a cold, my darling?" 
 
 "What else can it be? I took cold three weeks ago, 
 and I haven't been well since." 
 
 "Yes, I knew you took a slight cold that evening .at 
 the college, but I did not apprehend anything serious 
 would come from so slight an exposure. You look se- 
 riously ill." 
 
 "Well, I'm not seriously ill, papa, you may be sure of 
 that, but colds hang on so long this winter. Mrs. Her- 
 man said that all of her family were sick with them, Mr. 
 Herman and all, and that Novalis is really quite sick. 
 Why, Mrs. Herman looked miserable; I wonder if I look 
 as bad as she does." 
 
 "You look very sick, my child. " 
 
 " How can I look very sick when I'm not sick at all ?" 
 Margaret hastened to say. " It's only a mean, miserable 
 cold; if I thought I looked as thin and pale as Mrs. 
 Herman does with her cold, I would take malt or 
 quinine. " 
 
 "Take some of both, my child," said the professor; 
 "have we any in the house? You better send George 
 down to Howland's for some to-night, if we have not." 
 
 Margaret saw that her father was thoroughly alarmed 
 about her and set herself at work to allay his fears. " No, 
 we wont send George out to-night," she said, "but if 
 auntie hasn't malt and quinine on her closet shelf, I'll 
 send him in the morning. But I know she has both ; you 
 have no idea papa, what a wonderful closet that is of 
 auntie's. It has everything in it; I know there are a 
 hundred bottles of medicines on the shelf, all sorts of 
 cough mixtures and twenty little homoeopathic bottles 
 I really believe auntie is an eclectic and there's no end 
 of boxes and little rolls of things. You just cut your finger 
 once, and see how many kinds of salve she will bring out
 
 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE I4 i 
 
 for you to'choose from, ana all of them are sure cures, 
 the best in the world. I know she has quinine and malt 
 too, for I heard her say the other day, that Americans 
 were coming to be a nation of nervous invalids, that they 
 overworked, and brought on nervous exhaustion, and 
 needed tonics, and concentrated nourishment; and that is 
 exactly what malt and quinine are, and she would be sure 
 to have on her shelf what the great American people 
 universally needed. But I don't believe I need either; it 
 can't be that I look as Mrs. Herman does with her cold. 
 Do I look so dreadfully, papa?" 
 
 Margaret sat up straight on her father's knees, and 
 placed her hands on his shoulders, and looked him full in 
 the face as she continued, " Now take a good look at me 
 papa, and tell me the truth." 
 
 The professor did look earnestly into the vivacious, 
 laughing face. "Really, my child," he said. '' You do 
 look better than when you were sitting on the sofa by the 
 table. I feared you were seriously ill : your face was not 
 indicative of health." 
 
 " Over there, papa!" exclaimed Margaret, pointing to 
 the table by which she had been sitting, "there, in the 
 light of that green lamp shade! I should think I might 
 have looked like a ghost. But here, in this light, I don't 
 look so dreadfully, do I?" Adroit Margaret was sitting 
 with her back to her father's lamp. " I would not look 
 like Mrs. Herman for the world; colds are uncomfortable 
 things to have, but it is too dreadful when they make 
 one look like a scarecrow; do you think I look so very 
 bad, papa?" 
 
 " No, I do not, my child," said the professor taking one 
 of Margaret's hands in his, "but you say you have a.cold, 
 and are not well. You ought to take the greatest care of 
 yourself ; perhaps you better have a physician, my darling. "
 
 I 4 2 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 '' That would be ridiculous," replied Margaret, "he 
 would only laugh at me. One has to have a little patience 
 with these provoking colds; you can't do much with them 
 but leave them to take their own course. I don't need 
 anything; I haven't much faith that anything will do me 
 any good, but to make you feel more comfortable, papa, 
 about me, I'll commence taking both malt and quinine 
 to-morrow." 
 
 " Do, darling, it will make me feel more comfortable, 
 and if they do not benefit you, you must take something 
 besides, or have a physician. We can have any one come 
 from the city you would, like to see. What would you 
 think of consulting Miss Sargent regarding a physician, 
 if you have not confidence in Doctor Kean ? She must 
 know who is considered the best." 
 
 "I don't need any physician, dear papa; what makes 
 you think I'm sick? You say I don't look sick." 
 
 "You do not now, my darling, but you looked very 
 sick when you were sitting on the sofa." 
 
 "Yes, and if I should sit there now, you would see 
 that it was all that green shade." 
 
 "Perhaps something was due to the light. Do not ever. 
 sit in that light again my child, and do not be careless of 
 your health, and neglect your cold." 
 
 "I will not, papa, "said Margaret, as she passed her 
 hands caressingly down each side of his face, "and you 
 will be careful and not take cold yourself, wont you? 
 Mrs. Herman said Mr. Herman was quite sick, just with 
 a cold, and had been for some time. It don't make much 
 difference if we women have colds, but you men ought 
 never to get sick; we have nothing to do, and can snug 
 down by the fire, if we take cold and do nothing all day, 
 but if you got sick, what would become of your classes? 
 And then you would be miserable for so long a time.
 
 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE I43 
 
 Mrs. Herman says, that it is a peculiarity of colds this 
 winter, they hold on so long. Now I don't expect to be 
 well for weeks yet: just think of weeks of feeling miser- 
 able and taking quinine!" 
 
 Professor McVey leaned his head against the back of 
 his chair, and looked into Margaret's face, that was 
 flushed with the excitement of her determination to 
 remove all apprehension regarding her from her father's 
 heart. 
 
 "But must you feel miserable?" he asked, " cannot 
 something be done to enable you to feel as well as usual, 
 even if you cannot immediately throw off this cold?" 
 
 " I do feel well enough," said Margaret, " I haven't the 
 least pain, or any uncomfortable feeling. I ought to 
 have said look miserable, instead of feel miserable; one 
 don't like to look like a fright, even if they feel well. 
 But then the being well is of more importance than the 
 looks, and you wont care, will you papa, if I am well, 
 and feel well, how I look? or not so much so, I mean." 
 
 " As a matter of course, your health is of the first im- 
 portance, but it would be difficult for me to convince my- 
 self that you were absolutely well, if you looked ill." 
 
 " I'm not ill in the least, but tonics may help throw off 
 this cold, or rather brace up the system to bear it for 
 weeks, as I suppose I shall have to, from what Mrs. Her- 
 man said, so I'll take quinine, and some of auntie's malt 
 to-morrow; but papa, if I do look pale, you must not be 
 concerned, for I may not be able to get entirely rid of 
 this cold before warm weather comes- in the spring. 
 Professor Hitchcock told me, that he took cold one 
 November, and never got rid of it before the next June." 
 Margaret looked very sympathetic as she continued: 
 " And he coughed dreadfully, and lost half of his flesh. 
 Don't you remember what a miserable winter he had? it
 
 I 4 4 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 was two % years ago this winter; I'm thankful I have no 
 cough. One can afford to grow pale a little with a cold, if 
 it don't settle on the lungs, and keep one coughing all of 
 the time; I really think I ought to be thankful I'm escap- 
 ing so much easier than most people. I am only losing a 
 little of my color and flesh, which can be quickly gained 
 when spring comes. I wish the spring would come, so 
 we could ride again; there is. nothing in all this world 
 that I like as much as riding; and how fortunate it is that 
 you like it too. Suppose you were like some stupid old 
 papas, that don't like riding, what a time I would have," 
 said Margaret, as she tied and untied her father's cravat 
 and retied it in a sailor knot; then changed it into long 
 bows, and then short ones. 
 
 " Papa, you will have to give me a salary as your valet," 
 she continued. "I do believe I tie a prettier knot than 
 you can. I wish there was a glass down here so you could 
 see this one," and Margaret covered the bow which she 
 had finished with her hand, and pressed it down against 
 her father's neck to make it keep its shape. Professor 
 McVey's soul was filled with peace; he was under the 
 hands of his beloved child, whom he now believed was 
 well and happy; and all that earth could give him, was 
 her presence, and the knowledge of her happiness. 
 
 The next morning at the breakfast table, Margaret had 
 a bottle of malt, and a box of quinine capsules by her 
 plate, and she was very merry, passing each in turn to her 
 father and aunt, insisting that they needed them as much 
 as she; and with- a playful pout, accusing them of selfish- 
 ness, in managing to have her take the medicine for the 
 family. Professor McVey had suffered from dyspepsia 
 for years, and when he could not take solid food without 
 distressing him, it was his habit to rely principally upon 
 beef tea for nourishment. There was always a cup of this
 
 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 145 
 
 popular article of diet for invalids, beside his plate on 
 the table, that he could take or not as he chose. Fre- 
 quently when he was not inclined to take it, he would do 
 so at the urgent suggestion of Margaret. Miss Bond 
 thought that sometimes he refrained from drinking it, for 
 the sole purpose of being coaxed to it by Margaret's 
 affectionate playfulness. That morning after she had 
 swallowed her dose of malt with a very wry face, she 
 turned to her father and said : 
 
 "Now papa, let's trade; you take my quinine, and I'll 
 take your beef tea." 
 
 " No, no my child," said the professor, " you need your 
 quinine, and I do not." 
 
 " I do not need it at all," said Margaret, "and I think 
 you and auntie are tyrannical conspirators, and I am 
 your poor victim, but I'm in your power, so I submit," and 
 she put in her mouth a three grain capsule. Her father 
 finished his breakfast, leaving the beef tea untouched, 
 which omission Margaret quickly noticed. She left her 
 chair, and standing beside him, placed one arm around 
 his neck, and taking the cup of beef tea in the other hand, 
 peeped into it with mock gravity, and then shaking her 
 head solemnly, she pressed her hand against the back of 
 her father's, head, saying, "Naughty papa." Then she 
 held the cup close to his lips as she continued, " If I take 
 malt and quinine, you must take beef tea." 
 
 "But I do not need it, my child." 
 
 " Yes you do, more than I need malt. Doctor Kean said 
 you had nervous dyspepsia, and nobody ever said anything 
 was the matter of me. I have to swallow both malt and 
 quinine because I happened to sit by a lamp that had a 
 green shade; no papa, you can't get away," she said, press- 
 ing her hand still harder on his head, " you've got to drink 
 the last drop of it," and she held the cup close to his lips. 
 
 10 Rodger Latimer's .Mistake.
 
 146 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 "Suppose I will not take it, what then?" playfully 
 asked the professor, as he looked into the merry eyes, so 
 close to his own. 
 
 "Why then I'll hold you here all day, and your boys 
 will have a good time," replied Margaret, as she gave him 
 a little hug and a kiss; whereupon her father drank the 
 beef tea, sipping it slowly, frequently stopping to protest, 
 declaring that he was badly used; Margaret as frequently 
 with the little hugs, insisting that he take the last drop. 
 
 The lamps in the study were changed that day, so that 
 the one with a pink shade sat on the table by which Mar- 
 garet usually read, and it cast over her face and neck 
 a warm flush, as she occuped her usual corner of the sofa, 
 and in this flush she looked bright and rosy. But the 
 brightness was fast dying out of her life. The solitary 
 figure of Rodger Latimer had haunted her night and day 
 since the first doubt regarding him had entered her mind, 
 but after that morning visit of Mrs. Herman's, the spec- 
 tral figure was no longer solitary; it was always accom- 
 panied by a large girl dressed in white, with lovely eyes, 
 and beautiful hair. The two heads, in close proximity 
 bent over her as she lay on her lounge, the two figures 
 stood side by side in the darkness, and gazed at her with 
 fixed, expressionless faces, through the sleepless hours of 
 her nights; in the wood, very close together, her lover 
 and that unknown woman, glided noiselessly over the 
 dead leaves by her side, as she took her daily exercise. 
 Had Margaret been under the care of a physician at this 
 time, he would have peremptorily insisted on a change 
 of scene, and society, as the only hope of saving her 
 from serious results, that might follow the mental strain 
 she was evidently bearing, whatever the cause of the 
 strain might be.
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 Christmas came and went, followed by Ne,w Year's, and 
 while the holidays were not what could be called merry, 
 in the McVey home, they passed in quietness and peace. 
 Professor McVey was in the house more than usual, and 
 Margaret never flagged in her affectionate attention and 
 cheerful conversation. After the holidays, when Pro- 
 fessor McVey went into his classes again he did not seem 
 quite as strong as usual ; but he had always been so thin 
 and pale, neither Margaret nor her aunt noticed any 
 change in his appearance. His hands and face and ears, 
 could hardly look whiter than they had for years, but he 
 certainly had less appetite, and he wearied easily. Early 
 in February he commenced to lie on the lounge in his 
 study, part of the evening, instead of sitting in his chair 
 and reading all of the time. He slept well, felt no pain, 
 and declared there was nothing the matter of him, but his 
 being willing to lie down half an hour after dinner, and 
 not eating as much as usual, was sufficient to alarm Mar- 
 garet. She saw that any reference to his lack of strength 
 annoyed him, so she never referred to his condition in his 
 presence, but she made his beef tea herself, to know that 
 it was strong, and perfectly prepared, and she added to 
 the quantity usually put in his cup, and in her playful 
 way insisted that he should take it with every meal. 
 After a consultation with her aunt, she dropped a line to 
 Dr. Kean, their family physician who resided in Clinton, 
 who was a dear personal friend, as well as medical ad- 
 viser, and asked him to come and see her father, and tell 
 them whether or not anything really ailed him. In 
 response to this request, about the middle of February 
 
 147
 
 148 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 Doctor Kean went out to Edgewood, on one of the late 
 afternoon trains, ostensibly to dine with his old friend, 
 whom he had not seen for months. After dinner Margaret 
 left them alone together in the study, for an hour or two. 
 When she returned her father was sitting on the sofa in 
 his shirt sleeves, his coat and waistcoat were lying by his 
 side. To her questioning look of smiling surprise, he 
 said: 
 
 "Doctor Kean has been giving me what he calls a 
 physical examination, my child. He fancied I was not 
 looking quite as well as usual, and persuaded me to be 
 looked over, as he calls it." 
 
 "And I had my trouble for my pains," said Doctor 
 Kean; "I thought at dinner, your father did not look in 
 his usual vigor, but I find nothing the matter with him. 
 Every organ is in a healthy condition, and doing its work 
 well, not with much energy to be sure, but then he is per- 
 fectly sound." 
 
 " I assured Margaret that there was no cause for any 
 anxiety regarding my health," said the professor, "that I 
 was perfectly well, but I do not think she was quite 
 satisfied, and I am very glad that your judgment justifies 
 the opinion that I held." 
 
 " Papa thought he did not need to take any beef tea, 
 doctor," said Margaret, "but his appetite was not good, 
 and it seemed to me, that he needed more nourishment 
 than he possibly could get from the small quantity of food 
 that he took." 
 
 "And you were quite right, little woman," replied the 
 doctor. " There is no doubt but that you need the beef 
 tea, McVey; you and I must not forget that we are grow- 
 ing old, and can't do as we once did. What we need is 
 nourishment and tonics, and less work. Margaret is 
 right, beefsteak would be better, but if you cannot take
 
 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 149 
 
 that with a positive relish, take the tea, and plenty of it, 
 and it would not be amiss if you add some sorfof emul- 
 sion; a pancreatic emulsion would be good, and then, 
 Margaret, give from six to ten grains of quinine a day. 
 Try it for a few weeks, professor, and see the effect ; say 
 through this month, and next. This is the most trying 
 season for invalids, and for such old fellows as you and I; 
 and this climate is especially trying through March and 
 April. It would be a good plan for you, and little Mar- 
 garet here, to run down to Florida for six weeks this 
 spring. I find that men over fifty need a great deal of rest 
 and recreation. Couldn't you bring that around, Mar- 
 garet?" 
 
 " Certainly we could," Margaret replied; "there's noth- 
 ing to prevent our going. Papa has frequently taken part 
 of the classes of the other professors, when it was nec- 
 essary for them to be absent during term time, and I am 
 sure that his classes could be provided for, as long as you 
 thought best for him to be away from Edgewood. " 
 
 "I beg of you, my dear sir," cried Professor McVey, 
 " not to put any such notion into Margaret's head. I 
 presume that I could arrange to leave my classes, as 
 Margaret suggests, but it is not at all necessary, and I 
 could not think of leaving unless it was a matter of abso- 
 lute necessity." 
 
 "I understand all of that, my old friend," said the 
 doctor, "and I don't advise you to leave now, but you 
 may be sure that I don't wait until an absolute necessity 
 stares me in the face, before I send a patient off in search 
 of health. You know you always used to say I was an 
 obstinate fellow, and I think it grows on me. If it is 
 best, as a preventive, that you and Margaret go to 
 Florida for four or five weeks, I hope you will be con- 
 trolled by my judgment, and that Margaret will pack the
 
 150 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 trunks without a word of remonstrance, and both of you 
 be off."- Doctor Kean, as he ceased speaking, laid his 
 hand on Professor McVey's knee, and gave it a pinch of 
 good comradeship. 
 
 "We shall both of us do as you say, dear doctor, there 
 is no doubt about that," said the professor, "only do not 
 send us off on a pleasure trip." 
 
 " I don't know about that, you ought to go just for 
 pleasure, both of you, if there were not the least necessity; 
 you have money enough, McVey, and why, at your time of 
 life, shouldn't you do just as you please?" 
 
 " I am doing it in teaching Latin and Greek, and stay- 
 ing at home with Margaret," replied the professor. 
 
 " How hard it is for a man who has been busy all of his 
 life, to learn to take things easy," said Doctor Kean, as 
 he rose to his feet. " But I must be going to the depot, 
 or I'll lose my train. Now Margaret, see that your 
 father has plenty of nourishment, and tonics for the next 
 few weeks; all sorts of good things to eat, remember, and 
 plenty of sleep. If you are in the city during the next 
 few weeks, professor, step in and let me see how you are 
 doing. If you don't feel like coming down, I'll run out 
 and smoke another cigar with you soon. Good-night, no, 
 you sit still, Margaret '11 let me out," continued the doctor 
 as he placed his hand on Professor McVey's shoulder to 
 prevent him from rising. 
 
 In the hall, as Margaret was holding the doctor's over- 
 coat for him she said: "Now doctor, tell me the exact 
 truth; you know me well enough to know that it will do." 
 
 "To be sure I do," replied the doctor, "and I would 
 tell you the truth, no matter how serious it might be, 
 but nothing ails your father, there's not a particle of 
 disease about him; his circulation is not very strong, but 
 he always was delicate. I presume there may be a little
 
 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 151 
 
 lack of assimilation, but at his age, with his indoor life, 
 that is not strange. He needs nothing but nourishment, 
 and toning up a little. Beef and quinine are the best 
 things he can have. I really think that it will be well for 
 him to go South in order to get away from these spring 
 winds, so I thought I would open the way to-night, and 
 let him be thinking of it; not that he really needs it, but 
 it will be a safe precaution. Good-night, Margaret. I 
 am very glad that you sent for me; if you get at all anx- 
 ious, and wish me to come at any time, telegraph, and 
 I'll come immediately^ But don't allow yourself to be 
 anxious, child," added the kind doctor, " for nothing really 
 ails your father." 
 
 The next day which was Thursday Margaret received 
 a note from Miss Sargent informing her that she had seen 
 Doctor Kean the evening before, after his return from 
 Edgewood, and had learned from him that Professor 
 McVey was not quite well ; after expressing her sympathy, 
 she closed her note by saying, that if perfectly agreeable 
 to Margaret and her father, she would spend Saturday 
 with them at Edgewood. Margaret replied immediately, 
 urging her to come on Saturday and spend the Sabbath, 
 and to bring her brother with her for the visit. She sent 
 George to the postoffice with her letter as soon as it was 
 written, so that it might reach Miss Sargent early on 
 Friday. When the man returned he brought Margaret a 
 number of letters. The address on one of them was in 
 Rodger Latimer's well known hand. It had been weeks 
 since she had heard from him. The letter contained three 
 well filled pages; only three pages in which to tell her 
 that he loved another woman ; that this woman loved him, 
 and that they were to be married. The sentences that 
 seemed to him just, kind, and full of common sense when 
 he wrote them ; seemed to Margaret, cold, cruel and dis-
 
 152 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 honorable, as she read them daggers, with jagged edges, 
 driven by a giant's strength into the heart of a dying 
 woman. She had thought that she was prepared for any- 
 thing; she had said to herself a hundred times, that 
 Rodger loved her no longer, and that he did love the 
 large girl in white, with lovely eyes and beautiful hair; 
 and a hundred times, as she had looked at them as they 
 stood side by side, gazing at her out of the darkness of 
 the night, she said to herself "Yes, that is his wife; if 
 they only would go away and leave me alone!" She 
 thought that she had accepted the truth of his love for 
 this beautiful girl and his allegiance to her; and she had 
 never Jreamed that his plain statement of such a fact 
 would be so different from the imagined fact. Margaret 
 read the letter over several times in a calm, mechanical 
 way, then leaned her head back against her chair, and 
 closed her eyes; the lids were heavy, and the eyeballs hot. 
 After a little she raised her head and looked around the 
 room, and remembered that there was something she had 
 to do. Not to answer Rodger's letter! that, she never 
 could do. She had not one word to say to him, but she 
 must return the letters that a man had written her who 
 soon would be the husband of another woman. She looked 
 at her hand, at the ring on her finger; looked at it in 
 silence for several minutes, then drew it slowly off, as she 
 might have closed the eyes of a dear one just dead. She 
 did not shed a fear, and in half an hour or so, she slowly 
 and noiselessly went through the silent house to the attic, 
 and from a heap of pasteboard boxes, that her thrifty aunt 
 had gathered there from time to time, she selected a large 
 strong one, and carried it down to her sitting-room. In 
 this she placed all of Rodger's letters, taking them from 
 the drawer where she kept them, in packages of each six 
 months' letters tied up by themselves with a pretty ribbon.
 
 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 153 
 
 She slipped the ribbon off and packed the letters closely 
 together. How many there were! Among them were all 
 the telegrams that she had ever received from him; these 
 she placed with the letters. Above them she laid half a 
 dozen engravings that Rodger had sent her, and two tiny 
 water-colors in their frames; and last of all, she put in 
 four photographs of Rodger, which she folded in white 
 tissue paper without looking at them. She placed the 
 cover on, wrapped the box in strong brown paper, and 
 fastened it securely. Then she took from the book 
 shelves and the table, and the small stand at the head of 
 her Florentine lounge, a dozen or more of books, Rodger's 
 gifts, and made them into a safe package. After writing 
 Rodger's address upon these two packages, she went out 
 and ordered her carriage, and told the man that she wished 
 him to drive her down street. Then she went to her room 
 and put on her cloak and hat, winding a long veil around 
 her head. Before going down stairs, she took from 
 one of her bureau drawers a ring box, which she carried 
 down with her, and in which she placed her diamond 
 engagement ring, wrapping the box in several layers of 
 paper to make a large package. The man, under her 
 directions, placed the packages in the carriage, and drove 
 to the express office, where she ordered them sent to Mr. 
 Latimer. The package that contained the ring, she had 
 the express agent seal, and she took a receipt for it 
 which she placed in an envelope and had the agent him- 
 self direct to Rodger Latimer. This done, she returned 
 home. As she dropped the portiere behind her as she 
 entered her Sans-Souci, she stood and looked around. 
 How still it was! what a sense of vacancy surrounded her! 
 There were the empty open drawers of her writing table, 
 the empty coils of ribbon on the floor; the vacant places, 
 at intervals, on the bookshelves, and the absence of
 
 :54 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 books on the tables. It was a dark February day, the 
 sky was heavily clouded, but there was no wind; stillness 
 reigned without and within the house; the only sound 
 that struck her ear was the ticking of the clock on the 
 mantel. It was twilight, but not ttie dreamy twilight 
 following a bright sunset; it was a stealthily approaching 
 of heavy gloom. She seemed alone in the universe, as 
 she slowly crossed the room and seated herself in her little 
 wicker chair beside the center table. She felt an inward 
 tremor, and her breath came heavily; she pressed one 
 hand upon her breast as her eyes rested upon the open 
 drawer where Rodger's letters used to Ire. She remem- 
 bered the coming home after her mother's funeral, and 
 how strange the house seemed as she sat in her father's 
 lap in his study, where several kind friends were sitting 
 with her father and aunt. That was nothing to the horror 
 of this hour; alone in this silence. She leaned the side 
 of her head upon some books, with her wide open, tearless 
 eyes faxed upon the empty drawers of her writing table. 
 The darkness of the winter day slowly descended, shut- 
 ting from her sight every object v in the room. She knew 
 nothing of the passing of time, but her father's voice from 
 the stairs, as he was on the way to his room, aroused 
 her. She could not see him, for the first time in her life 
 her power of will failed her. As she rose to her feet, a 
 sharp pain shot through her head and she was obliged to 
 lay hold of the back of the chair for a moment, to steady 
 herself on her feet. After a little she very slowly walked 
 into the dining-room, where she knew her aunt would be 
 at that hour, superintending fhe laying of dinner. Miss 
 Bond sprang forward as she caught sight of Margaret's 
 face, but before she could speak, Margaret, holding onto 
 the door knob, said : 
 
 "Auntie, will you tell papa that I have a headache and
 
 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 '55 
 
 have gone to bed? Just a headache, and that I will be 
 well by morning. I want to sleep, that's all." Miss 
 Bond was quickly by her side and caught hold of her left 
 hand, that was hanging by her side. She felt the ring 
 was gone, and knew all. 
 
 "Can I do anything for you, Margaret? Are you very 
 sick ?" she asked. 
 
 "No, "said Margaret as she leaned against the door, 
 "I'm very wretched, auntie, all you can do for me is to 
 take care of papa and make him comfortable and happy. 
 Tell him the pain is not much in my head, but I wish to 
 sleep. " Then she went to her bedroom, closed the door, 
 and threw herself on the bed. About ten o'clock her 
 aunt came into the dark room. 
 
 "What is it?" asked Margaret, in a low voice. 
 
 "It's only me, Margaret," replied her aunt, as she 
 lighted the gas. 
 
 "What time is it? has papa gone to bed?" asked Mar* 
 garet. 
 
 " It's ten o'clock; your father went to his room about 
 fifteen minutes ago," said Miss Bond. " I've brought you 
 a cup of tea and a bit of toast," she continued, as she 
 went to the bedside with a small tray in her hand. Mar- 
 garet thanked her gently, but said she could take nothing, 
 yet to please her aunt, who begged of her to try and eat a 
 mouthful ; she sat up and took a bit of toast in her mouth. 
 She chewed it and shifted it from side to side, but could 
 not swallow. As she placed the morsel back on the tray, 
 she said: 
 
 "I cannot, auntie, all I want is to be alone. I will be 
 better in the morning." 
 
 Miss Bond was sorely grieved that she could do noth- 
 ing, but she had sense enough to desist in her efforts, and 
 in perfect silence to assist Margaret to undress and get into
 
 156 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 bed. At Margaret's request she turned the gas all off 
 and left the room. 
 
 How often in this sorrowful world has impotent love 
 cried in anguish: "What can I do for you?" and been 
 answered in hardly a greater anguish: "Nothing, leave 
 me alone!" 
 
 The next morning Margaret did not appear at the 
 breakfast table, but her father quietly accepted Miss 
 Bond's statement, that she thought it best not to awaken 
 her, but to let her sleep her headache off. Professor 
 McVey ate very little, and did not talk at all. Miss 
 Bond was anxious that he should take his beef tea, which 
 he set aside, but she dared only to make a suggestion to 
 that effect, which he did not seem to notice. He wouid 
 look from time to time at Margaret's vacant chair, as 
 though he were trying to correct some inaccuracy of 
 vision. Not to see Margaret at the table, was as un- 
 natural as it would have been not to see the college, or 
 his own house, as he approached the place where he 
 had always seen them. He did not stop for his morning 
 cigar, or newspaper, but went directly from the breakfast 
 table to the hat-rack in the hall, where he courteously de- 
 clined Miss Bond's proffered assistance in putting on his" 
 overcoat. 
 
 "You are sure, Deborah," he said, as he held the front 
 door open, "that Margaret is not sick? that nothing more 
 serious than a headache is the matter with her?" 
 
 "Yes, I'm very sure," Miss Bond replied; " she will be 
 as well as usual when you come home at noon." 
 
 Professor McVey passed out quickly, but the cold air 
 striking his ankles, disclosed to him the fact that he was 
 on his way to the college in his slippers. He returned 
 for his shoes and gaiters, but left the house as soon as 
 possible, after he had put them on, which was a new and
 
 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 157 
 
 difficult task for him, and was only accomplished after he 
 had buttoned the gaiters wrong three times. When Miss 
 Bond went to Margaret's room, immediately after the 
 professor left, she found her lying in bed, wide awake, 
 with sunken eyes and white face. Her first words were; 
 "Did papa take his beef tea and quinine, auntie?" 
 
 " No, I think not ; I tried to persuade him to take them, 
 but I don't believe he did, but he looks well this morn- 
 ing, Margaret, so don't worry about him. How do you 
 feel ?" 
 
 " Did you give papa his shoes and gaiters?" persisted 
 Margaret. 
 
 "N-o," hesitatingly answered her aunt, for the first 
 time thinking of the professor's shoes, and wondering if 
 he would return for them, or wear his slippers all of the 
 morning, and take his death of cold. As she was cog- 
 itating over the matter, she heard the front door open, 
 and went into the hall and looking over the banisters, 
 saw the professor come out of the study with his shoes on. 
 She returned to Margaret's room and told her that her 
 father was all right, that he had on both shoes and gaiters. 
 
 " I ought to have gotten up; it's selfish for me to lie in 
 bed, and let dear papa go off in this way," said Margaret 
 faintly as she gazed at: the ceiling. 
 
 " Indeed I don't think it is, Margaret. Your father did 
 well enough, he's looking better than usual this morning; 
 I think you are the one to be taken care of; what can I 
 get you ? You must eat something, you better have a cup 
 of coffee, and then turn over and go to sleep." 
 
 "I would like a cup of coffee," said Margaret, "very 
 strong. I want to be up and looking well when papa 
 comes to luncheon. But before I drink the coffee, I 
 would like a little something to eat. Where is my quinine? 
 I'll take some of that. But auntie! the very first thing
 
 158 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 can't you write a note to Aunt Helen; she's coming here 
 to-morrow to spend the day, you know. " 
 
 "I didn't know you expected her," said Miss Bond. 
 
 "She, and perhaps the judge. Write a note imme- 
 diately please, and have George take it to the office for 
 the noon mail; then she may get it to-night; she certainly 
 will early in the morning, they have a delivery about their 
 breakfast time. Say that I'm not well; not sick, you 
 know, but have a cold and headache; and if convenient 
 for them, we would like to see them next week Saturday, 
 instead of to-morrow. Auntie, I cannot see anybody! By 
 next Saturday I shall be strong again; give her my love, 
 and write cordially, and say how disappointed I am, and 
 say it will be a severe disappointment to us all, if they 
 don't visit us next week. Dear Aunt Helen! how kind 
 she was to me in Europe," said Margaret laying one arm 
 across her eyes, as her aunt left the room to write the 
 note. The first numbing shock and intense agony that 
 followed it, were past, and Margaret lay in helpless ex- 
 haustion. The tears flowed from her eyes behind her 
 arm, down the temples, upon the pillow. She wept in 
 childish weakness at the thought of the dear European 
 days, of which Miss Sargent was an inalienable part. 
 
 Professor McVey hurried home at noon to find the door 
 opened for him as soon as his foot touched the piazza., 
 and little hands ready to take off his overcoat and lead him 
 to his chair in front of a crackling fire in his study. And 
 when Margaret was in his lap, her arm around his neck, 
 and her soft cheek against his pale, cold face, the old 
 sense of happy contentment settled upon him.
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 Saturday morning, as Miss Sargent seated herself at 
 her breakfast table in Clinton she found, with other mail 
 matter by her plate, Miss Bond's letter of the day before. 
 After reading it, she laid it aside from her other letters. 
 
 When she and her brother had finished their breakfast, 
 they turned their chairs around from the table so as to 
 face the blazing wood fire that always burned in the 
 dining room. Judge Sargent used to say, that his only 
 extravagance was a wood fire, and that he must have good 
 wood and plenty of it, if he had to sell his horses to get 
 it. While the butler was clearing the table, Judge Sar- 
 gent read the morning paper, and Miss Sargent re-read 
 Miss Bond's letter. As she sat there in the glow of the 
 fire, she was a woman that any thoughtful person would 
 turn to look at the second time. She was between forty- 
 five and fifty years of age, and her stout matronly figure 
 was clothed in a black and white foulard silk breakfast 
 gown. Her head was large, and especially broad across 
 the top from ear to ear, and was covered with an abun- 
 dance of hair white as snow. This hair was twisted in 
 one long, loose coil, that was thrown, in some deft way, 
 up and down the back of the head, and across the top a 
 pile of silvery whiteness. Her brow was low and broad, 
 and the front hair lay across the sides of her head in a 
 plain, wavy surface. The skin of her face was nearly as 
 white as her hair; not at all sallow, nor had it the least 
 tinge of color, but was of a delicate fresh white. There 
 were lines at the corners of the eyes that indicated years, 
 but the lines of the mouth indicated sorrow. They were 
 not simply deep marks, cut by the years into the tissues, 
 
 159
 
 160 FODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 natural and expressionless, but they were lines full of 
 history, and of hope to one who had eyes to read a 
 record of struggles, and of victories; of strong passions, 
 met by a strong conscience and a strong will. An artist, 
 who had painted her portrait once, said: "I always ex- 
 perienced pain, whenever I attempted to paint Miss Sar- 
 gent's mouth. It was a delight to transfer to canvas, 
 the majestic head, with its beautiful white hair, and her 
 grand pathetic eyes, but whenever I attempted to paint 
 her mouth, I broke down, the suffering so touched my 
 heart." There was about her a peculiar air of depend- 
 ability. One felt that she was strong, and wise, and good 
 and could be trusted; and that she was ready to give the 
 best of herself, whenever it could be of use to any one. 
 
 As the butler closed his pantry door after him, when 
 his work in the dining-room was finished, Miss Sargent 
 said to her brother: 
 
 "Would you like to go 'to Edgewood next week, and 
 spend Saturday with Professor McVey?" 
 
 '' I don't care particularly about it," replied the 
 judge. He was ten years his sister's senior, and for 
 many years had not cared particularly about anything, 
 outside of his own home, and not much for anything 
 inside, excepting his wood fire, newspapers and books. 
 
 " Margaret sends us an invitation for next Saturday." 
 said Miss Sargent, " and desires that we pass the Sabbath 
 with them. I should think you might find it pleasant to 
 go, for a day at least." 
 
 " No I don't know as I care to; I don't like going away 
 from home, but I thought you said the other day that you 
 were going this week Saturday?" 
 
 " I had intended going to-day, but Miss Bond writes 
 me that Margaret is not well, and so invites us for next 
 week."
 
 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 161 
 
 "Margaret not well? I thought it was Professor 
 McVey who was sick," said the judge, "didn't Doctor 
 Kean say that ?" 
 
 "Yes," replied his sister. "Professor McVey has been 
 out of health for weeks, but Margaret is sick abed, with 
 a headache, brought on, Miss Bond writes, by some 
 trouble that she has had with Rodger Latimer. She 
 thinks their engagement broken." 
 
 "You don't say so!" exclaimed the judge, turning 
 toward his sister with an animation he rarely exhibited. 
 "Why I thought they were to be married soon; what's 
 the matter, who is to blame?" 
 
 "Mr. Latimer entirely," replied Miss Sargent. 
 
 "I have always thought well of Mr. Latimer," said 
 the judge, "I cannot conceive of his doing anything dis- 
 honorable; what do you know of the affair?" 
 
 " Not very much. I have seen nothing of Margaret since 
 last October. I hardly know how it is that I have been to 
 Edgewood so little this last year; and neither Margaret 
 or her father, have been here as much as usual. I hope 
 I've not been remiss and neglected Margaret." 
 
 " Does Miss Bond say to you that the engagement is 
 broken ?" 
 
 " She says that she fears that it is," replied Miss Sar- 
 gent, "and that Margaret has not been well for months, 
 that she regards her as being in a worse condition than 
 her father. I ought to have gone out there before this. 
 You don't know Margaret as well as I do; she's a most 
 lovely girl; as faultless as any human being can be." 
 
 "Well, why don't you go to-day, if you feel anxious 
 about her?" asked the judge. 
 
 "I can't very well," replied his sister, with a smile, 
 "when they write me not to. How could Rodger Latimer 
 do such a thing!" 
 
 ii Rodger Latimer's Mistake.
 
 162 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 "Are you sure they were engaged?" asked the judge, 
 evincing the legal habit of his mind, by wishing first of 
 all things to be sure of tne fact. 
 
 " There can be no question about that," replied Miss 
 Sargent. 
 
 "You liked Latimer, didn't you?" the judge asked. 
 
 " Yes, he seemed to possess an unusual depth of affec- 
 tion, and a peculiar delicacy of nature, and he certainly 
 is a man of mind. " 
 
 "I always regarded him as an able man," rejoined the 
 judge. " Mr. Prentice. was saying to me the other day, 
 that he almost regretted Latimer's inheritance of his 
 uncle's property, because it removed the necessity of his 
 practicing law, and that he had mind enough to become 
 in time a leading lawyer." 
 
 " How he has plunged into society!" said Miss Sargent. 
 "What of his office, did he give it up?" 
 
 "He gave up all personal work in it; there was a sort 
 of partnership formed between him and two men the 
 Mead Brothers, they are sometimes called two brothers, 
 they are older than Latimer, and both are capable men; 
 but they have little property, and are having a hard 
 time to get their share of business. It was a good thing 
 for them. Latimer' 11 have no money out of it, but 
 he don't need any, and it will be a place for him to 
 begin again, if he ever should wish to resume practice. 
 I think he is acting very foolishly, but after a little ex- 
 perience he may set himself to work again." 
 
 "He's an impetuous nature," said Miss Sargent, "and 
 for a man who has been as much in the world, possesses 
 a remarkable simplicity of character. But I know that 
 he is all in fault, if there is any trouble between him and 
 Margaret." The conversation dropped at this point, and 
 Miss Sargent gazed into the fire, as her brother turned to 
 reading his paper. In a few minutes he exclaimed:
 
 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE ^3 
 
 "Hello! Helen! listen to this: 'Notable marriage to 
 occur.' 'The number of matrimonial alliances between 
 Boston and Clinton families, is to be increased by still 
 one more. Miss Marie Edwards of this city, a sister of 
 Mrs. Lundom J. White is to be married to Mr. Rodger 
 Latimer of" Boston. The date has not been determined 
 on. ' " 
 
 Miss Sargent sat speechless, gazing at her brother in 
 blank astonishment. After a little she said: 
 
 "What paper is that? give it to me. That cannot be 
 true; it's too dreadful!" She read the notice over and 
 over, and then again fixed her eyes on her brother in 
 dismay. 
 
 "Who is this girl? What's her name?" asked the 
 judge. 
 
 "Poor Margaret! poor Margaret!" exclaimed Miss Sar- 
 gent. "Marie Edwards? She's that large girl we dined 
 with at Blackwell's last week; don't you remember her?" 
 
 " No. " 
 
 "The only girl there; she's a great friend of Alice 
 Blackwell's." 
 
 " I don't remember her," said the judge, " what sort of 
 a girl is she?" 
 
 " I know very little of her, " replied his sister. " She has 
 the reputation of being a great society girl, and that's all 
 I know of her. Dear little Margaret! I wish I could go 
 to her. But you see she don't wish for me. It's just as 
 I should have expected; she wishes to be alone, she must 
 fight it out alone first. How could Rodger Latimer have 
 done such a thing! I can hardly believe it; Latimer is 
 not of Boston. " 
 
 "His uncle, Gilbert Latimer, died there," said the 
 judge, "so newspapermen connect the name of Latimer 
 with Boston, I presume."
 
 164 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 Miss Sargent re-read Miss Bond's letter. " It would not 
 do for me to go before next Saturday," she said, "a week 
 from to-day how long it seems."
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 Margaret was so completely exhausted by the violence 
 of her feelings Thursday night, and for want of sleep, 
 that she went to sleep early Friday night, and slept until 
 awakened by the rising bell Saturday morning. Nine 
 hours of sound sleep restored the tone of her system. She 
 awakened with every faculty of her mind possessed of its 
 usual vigor. Since she read Rodger's letter Thursday 
 afternoon, she had only felt keenly, deeply, suffering in 
 every fiber of her being; but after the first overwhelming 
 tide of anguish, that came with the wakening of memory 
 Saturday morning, had subsided, she quieted into quest- 
 ioning thought. All day Saturday and Sunday, she was 
 asking herself over and over, that question, that in some 
 form or other, has perhaps been more frequently asked 
 than any other since the world was made, " Why is this, 
 why must it be?" She did not weep, neither did she 
 pray. When doubts of Rodger first laid hold of her, she 
 had prayed almost continually. She then went to God 
 with a childish faith; believing that He could, and there- 
 fore would, right the great wrong; that He would insure 
 the fulfilment of his laws, and see that truth and constancy 
 received their natural reward. She reasoned that the God 
 of nature would permit no unnatural thing to happen. 
 But believe what she might, she felt that the facts were 
 tightening around her, and what she termed an unnatural 
 thing, seemed rapidly hastening to consummation, and 
 no remonstrance was offered from any other source, than 
 that which arose from her own woman's heart. Grad- 
 ually she prayed less and less. She knew that she had 
 prayed a great deal, she knew that she had believed in the 
 
 '65
 
 166 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 answer to prayer; she also knew that her prayers had not 
 been answered. Now that the crisis had come, that the 
 one thing of all else in the universe, which she wished to 
 retain, had been torn from her; now that the greatest 
 sorrow which she could imagine, had overwhelmed her; 
 she could only cry: "Why is it? must it be?" 
 
 Monday morning while revolving this subject of prayer 
 in her mind, in a desultory sort of way, she went into the 
 kitchen to speak to Christine, a pious Swede girl of a low 
 order of intellect, regarding the proper washing of her 
 father's flannels. She found the girl looking oat of the 
 window at the gathering clouds: 
 
 " Do you think it is going to rain, Christine, and wet 
 your clothes?" kindly asked Margaret. 
 
 "No Miss, it ain't going to rain," replied the girl, 
 leaving the window, and looking at Margaret with an 
 inane grin on her face; "I have just went up stairs, and 
 asked God not to let it rain." 
 
 " But, Christine, does God stop the rain because you ask 
 him?" 
 
 " Yes, Miss, He knows I'm not strong. God loves me, 
 and He won't let my clothes get rained on." 
 
 " Is that the reason He stops the rain from wetting your 
 clothes, because He loves you ?" asked Margaret. 
 
 " Yes, I talk to God, and He loves me. I'm saved. God 
 talks to me. Oh, no, He won't let Christine's clothes get 
 rained on, for I prayed to God." 
 
 " But, Christine," said Margaret, " it may be best that it 
 should rain. God knows better than you." 
 
 " No, Miss, I talked to God last night. " I don't sleep, 
 so I talk to God. He made it rain last week for me; the 
 rainwater was gone, that other water makes the clothes 
 bad; it hurted my hands; I asked God to make it rain, 
 God loves me, He filled my tubs. God knows I'm not
 
 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 167 
 
 strong. He wants me to go to prayer-meeting to-night, so 
 He won't let the rain wet my clothes. " The little old 
 Swede girl seesawed back and forth, from one foot to the 
 other; her roving light gray eyes twinkling with excite- 
 ment, as she continued: "You are saved, Miss; you know 
 God loves me." 
 
 "Yes, Christine, I presume that He loves you, He loves 
 us all. Suppose one of the poor men living down by the 
 creek, had a sick wife and some little children, and he 
 had to buy bread for them all, and all that he had to 
 depend on was his garden; and his potatoes and corn, that 
 he wished to sell for medicine for his wife, and bread for 
 his children, were all drying up, and he was a good man, 
 and God loved him, and he prayed God to send rain on 
 his garden, the same day as you prayed God not to let it 
 rain on your clothes, which of you would God hear?" 
 
 "I don't care for that man," answered Christine, after 
 a moment's hesitation, in which she closed her teeth 
 tightly, as she grinned from ear to ear. " I'm saved, and 
 God loves me. He will be good to that poor man, but He 
 won't let the rain come on Christine's clothes; when I pray 
 to Him, He will stop the rain. Our minister says, if we 
 believe, God will talk to us, and do Just what we say. I 
 believe God, and He will do what I say." 
 
 "You ought not to talk in that way, Christine, we ought 
 to do what God says. He knows best." 
 
 "Yes, Miss," .interrupted the girl, with a determined 
 air, " God knows I love Him, and I talk to Him, and He 
 will do what I say. He will not let it rain if I pray to 
 Him. God knows I'm not strong. " 
 
 Margaret gave her directions and returned to her room. 
 She turned in disgust from the ignorant fanaticism of the 
 Swede girl, who considered herself the first care of the 
 Infinite, who, she believed, would direct natural laws
 
 1 68 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 with reference to her comfort; who believed that her faith 
 possessed power to call the rain down into her wash- 
 tubs, and to prevent its natural descent upon her clothes 
 on the line. As she sat by her west window, that looked 
 out upon the old apple orchard, where the trees stood 
 gnarled and bare in -the cold February rain, that was 
 slowly falling in spite of Christine's prayerSj she asked 
 herself if there were not many who occupied an intel- 
 lectual altitude as far above her, as she, above the 
 ignorant Swede woman; who might from their nearer 
 position to truth, regard her religious faith as narrow and 
 fanatical and selfish, as she, from her superior position, 
 considered Christine's senseless and unreasonable. She 
 knew the pious servant was wrong, that she was the 
 v-ictim of an honest illusion. Happy in her credulity she 
 might be, but mistaken, she most surely was. Under what 
 errors was she herself living? And if wrong, how far wrong 
 was she ? What of the faith of her childhood ? What did 
 her father really believe? And Aunt Deb? Did her min- 
 ister believe what he preached from Sabbath to Sabbath? 
 or was his faith merely a hereditary one, and his pulpit 
 utterances the habitual expressions of church formulas? 
 She had tried to obey God, she was very sure she had 
 done the best she had known; she had prayed, she had 
 read the Bible, and tried to fashion her life after its prin- 
 ciples, and heed all of its instructions. It was true this 
 had not been a task, for its requirements were so reason- 
 able and just, she naturally chose to do what they 
 commanded ; but what had it all amounted to ? Rodger 
 was gone, and her life was ruined. Why was it all per- 
 mitted ? Was she to blame ? What wrong had she done that 
 this retribution should come upon her? Or what mistake 
 had she made, that this calamity should desolate her life? 
 If she and Rodger were not to have been married, why
 
 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 169 
 
 their long acquaintance, their love for each other? Was 
 all of this in conformity to natural law? Was this end 
 the natural result of a cause? If so, what was the cause? 
 Could any human intellect feel its way back from the 
 effect to the cause? It all seemed very strange to her, 
 she could not understand it. It seemed so natural to 
 her that she and Rodger should love each other; they 
 were specially fitted for each other in education, similarity 
 of taste and temperament. It had seemed as though God 
 had designed their marriage, and that only good and 
 happiness could come to them, and all related to them, by 
 their marrying. What was this- wicked influence that had 
 worked the defeat of so beautiful and natural a result ? 
 All of her ideas of a Supreme Being, and His government, 
 seemed called in question. It was all a tangle and a 
 jargon. 
 
 It did not look as though a wise Supreme Being had 
 meted out her life in loving supervision, and it did seem 
 as though every natural and moral law had been broken 
 through to place her in the distressing position that she 
 occupied. She left her seat by the window; not that the 
 gloomy [February outlook affected her in the least, she 
 was too much engrossed by the sorrow of her heart to 
 care for either sunshine or clouds, but she was intellec- 
 tually weary of the inner strife. She picked up a book 
 from the table, and seated herself to read. It was 
 Motley's Dutch Republic, and she opened it where the 
 bloody Alva was in the height of his career of devastation, 
 and followed him page after page in his slaughter of the 
 innocent, and oppression of the noble. Then she turned 
 over a handful of leaves at random, to get away from that 
 scene of carnage, and alighted upon the Calvinists and 
 Armenians where they carved and toasted and fried each 
 other as they got the chance. She had read the book
 
 170 
 
 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 before, but the fatality that attended the cause of the 
 Silent Prince during so many years, and the horrible per- 
 secutions of the different Protestant sects of each other, 
 had never impressed her as strongly as at this time. As 
 she read she was pursuing an undertow of thought on 
 cause and effect, natural and moral law, the injustice of 
 much of that suffering of which she was reading, and all 
 of the time she was struggling for an intellectual recog- 
 nition of a benevolent, supernatural agency. Her sense 
 of justice was outraged, her heart ( faint with sympathy, 
 and she turned sick at the terrible workings of such 
 savage hate and cruel bigotry against personal conscience 
 and individual judgment, and all done in the name of 
 Christ, for the glory of God, and in obedience to Him! 
 She threw the book from her with an expression of bitter 
 sorrow on her face, so bitter it verged upon anger and 
 revolt against some one, or some thing, whoever, or what- 
 ever, was responsible for the dreadful sufferings of those 
 noble men and women. All of that tyranny and carnage 
 she thought, that torturing and murdering might have 
 been the natural result of religious fanaticism, political 
 ambition, narrow education, and unconscious selfishness; 
 but what comfort would such a statement of the supremacy 
 of natural law have been to those innocent victims of the 
 rack, dungeon and flames ? She shuddered. Was she a 
 creation in the order of law? a creature of natural cause? 
 and a victim of law? It was terrible to think of, but her 
 life looked like it; and was there no spiritual power above 
 natural law to rescue her? She rose to her feet and 
 clasped her hands in front of her, then fell upon her 
 knees; not to pray, but from habit. Prayer was useless: 
 this inexorable nature was blind and deaf, possessed of 
 neither love nor sympathy; cries and tears were in vain 
 before it. She felt that she was on the track of a jugger-
 
 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 171 
 
 naut car, ponderous, slow-coming, but not to be escaped! 
 right on the track of this law that had been silently 
 'marching down the ages, never deviating, whether in its 
 way lay the bud on the bush, to be brought out in the 
 full bloom of June loveliness, the seed in the ground to 
 be developed into bread; or a human brain it was manip- 
 ulating into insanity, or a human heart out of which it 
 was crushing the last red drop of life blood: never turn- 
 ing aside through all of the generations that in their turn 
 had become the victims of its power. When the car 
 reached her, in solemn majesty it would pass on, and that 
 she was left ground to powder would be but the neces- 
 sary fulfillment of its unconscious behest. " Just one 
 more," she said to herself, as she thought of the thousands 
 in the Netherlands suffering and dying for their country 
 and church. What could she expect for herself? a girl 
 with only a personal sorrow. Oh! the bitterness of it all! 
 its hopelessness! "Why was it? Why must it be?" she 
 cried. She did not think of her future, she did not 
 know that she had any future. When Rodger went out of 
 her life her individual life seemed ended. She buried her 
 face in her hands, and shivered with fear. She was afraid 
 of life, of the terrible influences at work, afraid of 
 some impersonal power, unnamed, not in the least under- 
 stood ; that seemed to her to be devoid of knowledge, and 
 reason, and love; and possessed of only force, absolute, 
 eternal force. Before this power she crouched in bitter 
 reproach and utter helplessness.
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 This expression of bitterness on Margaret's face struck 
 Miss Sargent painfully, the following Saturday, as Mar- 
 garet opened the front door to welcome her on her arrival 
 at Professor McVey's. It was an expression she never 
 had seen Margaret wear before, during their long 
 acquaintance. 
 
 "I've been watching for you," said Margaret, as she 
 raised both of her arms to Miss Sargent's neck, who kissed 
 her again and again. 
 
 "I'm so glad to see you dear how glad I am!" said 
 Miss Sargent, looking down on Margaret as she retained 
 her close in her arms. "You have not treated me well 
 in not coming to see me oftener; but I know dear, it was 
 your care for your father that kept you so closely at home, 
 you dear, darling daughter, you! Yes, I'll take my cloak 
 off in a minute, I just want to hug you a little," and Miss 
 Sargent broke out into a cheerier laughter than the house 
 had heard for months, as she gave Margaret another 
 squeeze. All in the house felt her coming a blessing. 
 None, even in thought recognized that she supplied a dole- 
 ful need, but all felt an influence like the coming of 
 spring, quickly upon a dreary winter, like a diffused 
 warmth through a cold room, like the breaking of soft 
 music upon a weird silence. The gloom of the house pen- 
 etrated Miss Sargent through every fibre of her sensitive 
 nature. She smiled at Margaret's playful prattle over 
 her father, and tears filled her eyes as she smiled, to see 
 how ignorant this sixty-five year old man was of the 
 thorn in the breast of the nightingale that made the 
 music of his life. There was, to her, something 
 172
 
 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 173 
 
 vastly sadder in Margaret's light laugh and speech full 
 of loving raillery, than there would have been in her tears 
 and silence. She comprehended the effort the girl was 
 making, and it struck her as a dance on a grave, or a 
 laugh over a corpse. No one would have imagined 
 that she was analyzing the state and the relation to each 
 other of the three inmates of the house, with a penetration 
 that in a few hours enabled her to understand Professor 
 McVey's physical danger,and enough of Margaret's mental 
 anguish to cause her own soul to cry out within her, in 
 sympathy and prayer for her, and something of Miss 
 Bond's lack of appreciation of Margaret's condition. 
 While she was making these investigations, she was chat.- 
 ting at the dinner-table and round the study fire through 
 the evening, about the outside world in a hearty, breezy 
 way that awakened laughter, and also a curiosity that 
 she was delighted to gratify. Professsor McVey found 
 himself really interested in bits of gossip regarding his 
 city acquaintances, and enjoyed being opposed by Miss 
 Sargent in some of his Views regarding the importance 
 of the study of Latin and Greek, and his deprecation of 
 the scientific tendencies of the age. A load seemed lifted 
 off of Aunt Deborah's shoulders by the mere presence of 
 this self-reliant, capable woman. But however great 
 Miss Sargent's power to entertain Professor McVey and 
 Miss Bond, she felt that nothing she said possessed the 
 least interest for Margaret, who sat in the friendly light 
 of the pink lamp shade, with her thin white hand over 
 her eyes. Miss Sargent saw that all of Margaret's ap- 
 parent interest in the family group was assumed, and 
 that the sounds crossing and re-crossing from one speaker 
 to another that might fall upon her ear, carried no mean- 
 ing to her pre-occupied mind. After they had parted for 
 the night, and the house was still, Miss Bond was startled
 
 174 
 
 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 by a knock on her door. She opened it to find Miss Sar- 
 gent standing without in the dark hall, wrapped in a 
 large shawl. 
 
 "Pardon me for disturbing you, Miss Bond," said Miss 
 Sargent, "but I wish to talk with you a little about Mar- 
 garet and her father, and feared we might not have an 
 opportunity to-morrow, as it is Sunday, and Professor Mc- 
 Vey will probably be home all day, and I must return on 
 an early train Monday morning." 
 
 " I shall be very glad to talk with you," said Miss Bond, 
 as she seated her guest in a large chair, and placed a has- 
 sock for her feet. 
 
 . "Neither Margaret nor her father seem quite well," 
 began Miss Sargent. 
 
 " No, they are not well," replied Miss Bond, "and I 
 hardly know which is the worst, and I really do not know 
 what is the matter of either of them. I think Margaret 
 is as sick as her father, but I don't see as she has any 
 real ailment." 
 
 " You spoke in your letter of the breaking of her en- 
 gagement with Rodger Latimer, does she talk with vou 
 about it?" asked Miss Sargent. 
 
 "No," replied Miss Bond as she seated herself in a 
 little rocking chair, opposite to Miss Sargent. "She has 
 never said a word to me about it." 
 
 "Then from what do you draw your conclusions?" 
 
 " From what I have seen. I think Margaret knows 
 that I know the engagement is broken, and is willing that 
 I should know it. She don't wish her father to know 
 anything of it, for fear it would. worry him." 
 
 "When was Mr. Latimer here last?" asked Miss 
 Sargent. 
 
 "It must have been sometime in August, about the 
 middle of August, I guess. "
 
 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 175 
 
 "Was everything pleasant between them then?" 
 
 "It appeared to be," replied Miss Bond, "he was with 
 her in her room for two hours or more yes, I remember 
 now, Professor McVey was at your house, and he tele- 
 graphed Margaret that he would not be at home until the 
 next day, so she and Rodger took the phaeton and drove 
 to the woods. I put them up a lunch, and they didn't get 
 back until six, and then after dinner, they spent the 
 evening on the piazza. They seemed very happy all day, 
 as far as I could see." 
 
 "And he has not visited her since that day ?" asked 
 Miss Sargent. 
 
 "No." 
 
 " Do you know anything of the frequency of his letters, 
 and when the correspondence ceased?" 
 
 "I used to frequently bring her letters from the office," 
 replied Miss Bond. "Whoever goes down street, brings 
 the mail. Last year, I know, she heard from him very 
 frequently, but as far as I know, she hasn't had a letter 
 from him for months. I don't believe I've brought her 
 any for three months: it may have just happened so; she 
 may have gotten them herself, or George may have 
 brought them. " 
 
 " You know that Mr. Latimer is to be married to a girl 
 in Clinton, I suppose," said Miss Sargent. 
 
 "No, I didn't!" exclaimed Miss Bond, as she leaned 
 forward and clasped her hands on her knees. " He must 
 have treated Margaret shamefully! I don't believe they 
 ever had the least quarrel ; he has just left her: who is 
 this girl ?" 
 
 " Her name is Marie Edwards, she is a sister of Mrs. 
 
 Lundom White. I first learned the fact from a notice in a 
 
 newspaper, and thinking that possibly there might be 
 
 some mistake about it, I paid Mrs. White a visit a few
 
 176 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 days after the engagement was announced in the paper. 
 She is a talkative woman, and I felt sure that she would 
 speak of it, if it were so, and I hadn't been in the house 
 five minutes, before she told me of the engagement, and 
 of a dinner that she gave to Mr. Latimer and some of his 
 friends. She said they were to be married next May, or 
 June, probably in May. " 
 
 " You were not invited to the dinner, as one of Rodger's 
 friends?" interrogated Miss Bond. 
 
 " No, Mr. Latimer is a man of too much sense, to wish 
 me to be a guest at a dinner that was a sort of announce- 
 ment to his friends of his engagement to Miss Edwards, 
 after the two summers I spent in Europe with him and 
 Margaret. But Margaret seems to me to be in a very 
 bad condition, physically and mentally." 
 
 "I don't think she is well," replied Miss Bond. 
 
 " Well !" repeated Miss Sargent, "her condition is pitiful : 
 how she has changed! I was shocked when I saw her, it 
 was with the greatest effort that I controlled myself. I 
 never saw a sadder face; there is something almost un- 
 earthly in her appearance. Have you noticed her hands? 
 they are absolutely shrunken with pain. She seems so ut- 
 terly bereft, utterly hopeless, and how she has isolated her- 
 self from all human sympathy. I cannot approach her as I 
 used to; it seems as though an almost infinite space sep- 
 arated between us. Something must be done for her, but 
 God only knows what." Miss Sargent wiped the tears 
 from her eyes. 
 
 "Why, Miss Sargent, you frighten me," said Miss Bond, 
 " I didn't know that Margaret was as sick as you say." 
 
 "You have seen the change come on gradually," replied 
 Miss Sargent, "and so. have not noticed it I suppose, and 
 then Margaret has such a power of will; her self-repres- 
 sion is something terrible. But we must do what we can-
 
 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 177 
 
 to get her away from Edgewood for awhile. Doctor 
 Kean says that he feels anxious about Professor McVey. " 
 
 " I thought the doctor said there was nothing the matter 
 of him," said Miss Bond. 
 
 " He told me," replied Miss Sargent, " that there was 
 no organic disease, only a gradual weakening, a sort of 
 letting go his hold on life. But he said that when men 
 of Professor McVey's age get into that condition, they 
 seldom come out of it. Now it seems to me that Mar- 
 garet and her father, better start immediately for Florida, 
 and go prepared to stay two or three months. They both 
 need the change." 
 
 " I don't believe either of them will go," said Miss Bond. 
 
 " Doctor Kean said Professor McVey might be com- 
 pelled to go, in order to live through the spring," said 
 Miss Sargent. " I'm sure if I repeat to Margaret what 
 Doctor Kean said to me, she will hurry her father off." 
 
 " But you can't convince Professor McVey that he is 
 sick; he won't go," said Miss Bond. 
 
 "I don't wish to convince him that he is sick," replied 
 Miss Sargent; "that would have a depressing effect on 
 him. I can influence him, if in no other way, through 
 his affection for Margaret. It would never do to tell him 
 what I think of Margaret's condition, but he is so alive 
 to everything that bears on her happiness, he will go 
 anywhere that is for her good." 
 
 "You cannot make him see it," persisted Miss Bond. 
 
 " Oh yes, I can, in ten minutes, and without alarming 
 him either," cheerfully replied Miss Sargent. 
 
 And she did use her influence so effectively, that before 
 sundown Sunday evening, it was decided that Margaret 
 and her father would start for Florida the next Wed- 
 nesday, to remain as long as seemed desirable to either of 
 them, or as Doctor Kean might advise. This point 
 
 12 Rodger Larimer's Mistake.
 
 178 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 gained, Miss Sargent turned her entire thought to Mar- 
 garet's present condition. She was anxious to be of some 
 little comfort, or assistance to Margaret, before her return 
 home. But the woman, nearly half a century old, stood 
 in awe before the girl of twenty. There was about Mar- 
 garet the dignity of silence, and the majestic sacredness 
 of sorrow. How to approach her, Miss Sargent did not 
 know, and at times she questioned if it were best to try. 
 But she could not bear the thought of going home, and 
 leaving that delicate, suffering girl to go off to Florida 
 with her sick father, without at least assuring her, in a 
 warm, tender way, of her great love for her, and estab- 
 lishing to some degree, the old confidence between them, 
 that had existed for years, but which now seemed entirely 
 destroyed. But how was this to be done? While Margaret 
 was a thoughtful hostess, observant of every courteous 
 and affectionate attention, she gave Miss Sargent no 
 opportunity to see her alone. 
 
 They all- sat up late Sunday night, quietly talking 
 around the study fire. As the clock struck eleven, Mar- 
 garet in her usual gentle way, insisted that her father 
 should go to bed. 
 
 " You know, papa," she said as she leaned over the back 
 of his chair, and placed her hands on each side of his 
 face, "that none of us can get away while you are talk- 
 ing, and we will all be down sick to-morrow, then Uncle 
 John will never again let Aunt Helen come to see us. 
 And you have a great deal to do before Wednesday. 
 Just think, papa! roses in February, and sitting under 
 orange trees!" 
 
 Miss Sargent rose to her feet, to supplement Margaret's 
 efforts, as did Miss Bond also. Professor McVey reluct- 
 antly left his easy chair, and bright fire, although his 
 daughter led him by one of his hands clasped in both of
 
 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 179 
 
 hers. She kissed him at the foot of the stairs, and turned 
 from him to Miss Sargent, whom she also kissed good- 
 night, and who passed up the stairs after Professor McVey. 
 Margaret, instead of following them, returned to the study, 
 which Miss Sargent observed from the hall above. She 
 hesitated a moment, determined to make her own oppor- 
 tunity, descended the stairs, and entered the study, where 
 she found Margaret sitting on the rug before the fire, 
 with her hands clasped around her knees. Miss Sargent 
 seated herself on a hassock by Margaret's side. For a 
 while neither of them spoke, or in any way recognized 
 the presence of the other. Margaret hadn't a word to 
 say to any living mortal, and Miss Sargent didn't know 
 what to say. She feared to give utterance to any common- 
 place remark, upon indifferent subjects; or even to speak 
 of the approaching trip to Florida, or Professor McVey's 
 health. Those subjects had been talked over between 
 them during the day, and to touch upon an ordinary topic 
 now, might cut off her last chance of getting nearer to 
 Margaret, near enough to be of some comfort to her. 
 So they sat in silence, both gazing into the fire. After 
 a lapse of fifteen minutes, Miss Sargent turned her head 
 toward Margaret, and looked at her intently. Margaret 
 was conscious of her gaze, and in a few minutes she 
 unclasped her hands from her knees, and laid one of 
 them, the left one, on Miss Sargent's lap. Miss Sargent 
 quietly clasped it in one of her own, and held it in a 
 firm, gentle grasp for a few minutes, then she opened her 
 hand that held it, and commenced to stroke it tenderly 
 with her other hand. She was so afraid of hurting Mar- 
 garet she dared not speak. After a little she ceased the 
 motion of her hand, and fastened her eyes upon the 
 ringless finger. When Margaret noticed that Miss 
 Sargent was looking at her hand, she said in a measured, 
 emotionless way:
 
 l8o RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 "Aunt Helen, as a matter of course you kno\v the 
 fact, in knowing that, you know all there is to be known. 
 If there was anything to tell, anything to say, I should 
 wish to say it to you, but there is not. " As she ceased 
 speaking she drew her hand from Miss Sargent, and 
 again clasped her knees, and continued her gazing into 
 the fire. 
 
 Never in her life had Miss Sargent been at such an 
 utter loss; every form of speech that rose before her 
 mind, seemed a mocking platitude to utter in the 
 presence of such suffering. Nothing but a denial of the 
 fact could comfort Margaret now, and such denial Miss 
 Sargent, alas, was powerless to give. She felt as she 
 looked at the thin white face beside her, that Margaret 
 had, in her searchings for some way out of this terrible 
 sorrow, gone far deeper, and far beyond, any consolation 
 that her human reason could give. But she must say 
 something to the child she loved so much. Remem- 
 bering Margaret's religious faith, as she had seen it man- 
 ifested for many years, she thought to appeal to that. 
 She placed one arm around Margaret and drew her head 
 to her shoulder, and as she held her closely, she leaned 
 her head upon the girl's forehead. 
 
 "All of this seems very hard, dear, cruel and hard," 
 she said, " it seems so to me, I cannot understand it at 
 all; it is a great trial of my faith, and I know, darling, 
 it is a hundred times harder for you to bear, than I can 
 even think. But some way it is right, blasphemous as 
 that may sound to you." Margaret said nothing as her 
 head rested upon Miss Sargent's shoulder. After a few 
 moments' silence, Miss Sargent continued, " Now, yes, 
 many years ago, I could look back on a great sorrow 
 that came to me in my youth, that at the time seemed 
 cruel, and more than I could bear; and now I see, not
 
 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 181 
 
 only that it was right, but I see just why it was right. 
 When I was suffering, I could not believe that it ever 
 could be for the best, but I came to feel that God does all 
 things well; God saw through so many more years than 
 I could. If I had seen all things as God saw them, at 
 the time He permitted such a sorrow to come upon me 
 and as I saw them afterward, I should have done, regard- 
 ing myself, had I possessed the power, just as God did. 
 Oh if we could only believe in His wisdom and love, and 
 trust Him, and wait for the outcome of our lives in 
 patient faith." She softly kissed the head ( that leaned 
 against her; Margaret breathed in a regular, quiet way, 
 but said nothing. " We don't know," pursued Miss Sar- 
 gent, "much about the future dear, even of our own lives 
 here upon earth, much less of the great hereafter. Your 
 Heavenly Father loves you tenderly, my darling; you 
 cannot tell what He is even now planning for you, what 
 He is doing for your future." 
 
 " Mixing a cup of wormwood and gall, probably," said 
 Margaret, in a hard voice, as she raised her head, clasped 
 her hands again around her knees, and gazed into the 
 smoldering fire. Miss Sargent sat perfectly still; the 
 tears rolled down her cheeks, and dropped on her hands 
 that lay in her lap. In a few minutes Margaret turned 
 toward her. 
 
 " Aunt Helen, I know how good you are, and I know 
 that you love me," she said, as she threw both of her arms 
 across Miss Sargent's lap; " don't think me ungrateful. 
 You know that 1 love you dearly, and in all of this world, 
 you are the only human being that I can go to for counsel, 
 and I know that you will never fail me, for you never 
 fail any one. If there was anything you could do for me 
 I would ask it of you freely; neither you nor I can change 
 or modify events, so there is no use in talking about them.
 
 182 RODGER LATIMER'S ItflSTAKE 
 
 I know all about God's love, and quiescent waiting, and 
 everything of that kind all about it there is nothing 
 to be done. " 
 
 " Nothing that I can do, my poor darling," said Miss 
 Sargent, as she looked into the desolate face that was 
 turned toward her; her tears were flowing from her eyes. 
 It seemed to her as though she should weep her heart out 
 over the forsaken girl. 
 
 ''Nothing," replied Margaret. "Yes, there is some- 
 thing, Aunt Helen, that will be a help, and a comfort to 
 me. Sometime, before long, I shall speak to papa re- 
 garding this affair I shall tell him that that," Mar- 
 garet stopped for a moment, but without any change in 
 the expression of her face; the hesitation was for a mo- 
 ment only, then she resumed, speaking slowly and dis- 
 tinctly, with a business-like, mechanical accuracy: "I 
 shall tell him that I shall never marry, and in order to 
 make him feel perfectly comfortable regarding me, I shall 
 talk of the pleasure of living with you, and having Uncle 
 John look after me. As a matter of course, papa and 
 Aunt Deb, and you, and Uncle John, will die before I do, 
 that is according to nature. You understand, Aunt 
 Helen, for myself I haven't a care. The future will bring 
 its own events, and it is immaterial what they are, but 
 papa must not have an anxious thought about me. So if 
 you could say to hkn, in a way that will not startle him, 
 and set him to thinking, that you are to care for me you 
 know just how to say it he must not be disturbed, he 
 must think I am perfectly happy,- and that I will always 
 be so, no matter what may happen." 
 
 " Yes, I understand you dear. I will make him feel that 
 love and security will be yours under all circumstances, 
 no matter what may happen, and will not designate the 
 happenings. If you should outlive your father, Margaret,
 
 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 183 
 
 remember then you are to be my own child. Aunt Deb- 
 orah is well enough, but I am to be first. I shall admit no 
 claim before mine. You 
 
 "I was perfectly honest, Aunt Helen," interrupted 
 Margaret, in whose face not an expression of interest or 
 relief had been roused by Miss Sargent's affectionate 
 declarations, "when I said that for myself I hadn't a 
 thought." Nor had she. Life had done its worst to her. 
 After the deathblow given, possible pin-pricks were not 
 worth guarding against. "You are very kind," she con- 
 tinued, "but it was only of papa's quiet and happiness I 
 was thinking, so please do this for me." Margaret drew 
 her arms off Miss Sargent's lap, and clasped her hands 
 again around her knees. 
 
 "Yes, dear, I can easily do that, but Margaret, you 
 must let me speak to you of yourself fqr a moment," said 
 Miss Sargent, as she placed both of her arms around 
 Margaret and drew her close to her. " You are very 
 mature for your age, my darling, so I shall speak plainly 
 without fear of distressing you, and you know me well 
 enough to know, that I mean every word that I say, to 
 the fullest possible meaning of that word. No one can 
 tell what the result is to be of your dear father's present 
 condition. You have practical sense, and although you 
 know nothing of business, you know that as long as people 
 live, they have daily needs, and must have food and shel- 
 ter. You must know too that your father has consid- 
 erable property, and that brother John has the care of it. 
 We will make your father feel perfectly happy regarding 
 your present condition, and your future. Then, my dar- 
 ling, although you see nothing in life and no possible 
 future before you, but the simple routine of existence 
 and I see very plainly that on this point you must be left 
 to yourself and God, for think what you may, dear, there
 
 184 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 is a personal God who is caring for you but this routine 
 of your existence, darling, is to be spent in my arms, close 
 to my heart. Don't say no, don't say what I suppose is 
 true, that you don't care where it is spent; only let me 
 say that I am getting to be an old woman, and you are 
 my only child. Dear Margaret! how I have loved you 
 all of these years!" exclaimed Miss Sargent, as she 
 passionately pressed Margaret closer to her and kissed 
 her hair and forehead. " I would like to take you home 
 with me now, and never be separated from you another 
 hour, only that I know your father needs you. But child, 
 you are to belong to me, so remember darling, wont you, 
 to write to me and send for me, the first moment I can be 
 of use to you or your dear father?" 
 
 Oh! the wonderful power of human love! Margaret's 
 sad eyes were filled with healing tears, as she raised them 
 to Miss Sargent, and her lips lost their rigid tension, and 
 quivered with emotion. She raised her hand and laid it 
 softly on the side of Miss Sargent's face, the gentle caress 
 which she so often gave her father ! 
 
 "Yes, Aunt Helen, I'll write to you, and I'll live with 
 you always." It was all she said, but it was enough. 
 
 "Bless you!" cried Miss Sargent, as she placed her 
 hand lightly on Margaret's head, and held it close to her 
 breast. The two women sat in silence, with clasped hands. 
 The clock on the mantel above them ticked its monot- 
 onous to and fro, and the fire fell so low, that there 
 were but a few coals in the ashes. Half an hour had 
 passed, when Miss Sargent felt the clasp of Margaret's 
 hand loosen, and her head press more heavily on her 
 breast, and she knew that the sorrow-worn girl was asleep. 
 She had kept many vigils during her life, beside the sick 
 beds, and deathbeds, of her own household; in hospitals, 
 sitting sometimes, the night hours through, as some
 
 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 185 
 
 unfortunate woman who had seen better days, was breath- 
 ing out the life she was weary of; and saddest of all, in 
 the city prison, beside erring, desperate women, whom 
 she was striving to hold with the strong grasp of a 
 woman's sympathy, and a Christian's faith. But she felt 
 that never had she held a holier watch, than through this 
 silent midnight hour, as she clasped to her heart in 
 peaceful slumber this young girl, in whose soul the bitter 
 waters of anguish had quenched all hope in life, and all 
 faith in God.
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 Professor McVey did not gain strength as Doctor Kean 
 hoped he would, by a prolonged stay in a mild climate. 
 He very much enjoyed the change from the snow and 
 piercing winds of the North, to the balmy air and almost 
 constant sunshine of the extreme south of Florida. He 
 had never been in any of the Southern States before, nor 
 had he ever passed the cold season in any mild climate. 
 This was his first relief from the raw springs of the North, 
 and it was as though he had passed into a new state of 
 existence. His days seemed filled with a delicious 
 languor, and everything pleased him. Even the sand 
 flies and mosquitoes, that Margaret found annoying, did 
 not seem to disturb him; but he gained no strength. 
 Every day he took a little less exercise, and there was a 
 gradual, although scarcely perceptible, decrease in the 
 amount of food that he ate. When Margaret would press 
 him to eat more freely, he would reply that he had all 
 that his system demanded. One day he said to her, as 
 she rather persistently recommended some delicacy that 
 she had prepared for him: 
 
 "My child, I eat all that my appetite calls for. I 
 would take more if I could, for everything tastes so 
 good down here; this is a perfect climate, it makes phy- 
 sical existence a delight." 
 
 "But you eat so little, papa," said Margaret. 
 
 " A man needs but little food, living in this air," replied 
 her father. " He gets much nutrition from these sea 
 breezes. And remember, my child, that I am doing 
 nothing, neither mentally nor physically." 
 
 Margaret was satisfied, and tranquilly watched beside 
 1 86
 
 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 187 
 
 her father's lounge, which she had placed near fhe open 
 door of their parlor, from which, across the sand, he had 
 a distant view of the ocean. He would doze off half a 
 dozen times a day, into a quiet and perfectly natural 
 sleep, and when he wakened, always found Margaret by 
 his side, with the book open at the place where she had 
 left off reading, when she saw he was fast asleep. Then 
 he would ask her to proceed with her reading, which she 
 would do, but gradually her voice would mingle with the 
 twitter of the birds in the rose bushes just outside the 
 door, and he would be hushed to sleep again. As the 
 heat increased with the advance of the season, by the 
 advice of their resident physician, they moved Northward 
 to St. Augustine, arid then in a week or so afterward, 
 again moved North, to Jacksonville; and by the middle 
 of April, they were pleasantly located in Aiken, South 
 Carolina. If it were possible, Professor McVey was more 
 pleased with Aiken than *with any of the places they 
 had visited in Florida, and Margaret was delighted to 
 find that her father seemed to gain strength, from the tonic 
 air of the high altitude. He frequently would walk on 
 the hotel piazza, and go out and gather for himself, 
 bunches of the wonderful Aiken roses, that never ceased to 
 delight him. Every day he would have Margaret drive 
 him out to one of the pine groves that surrounded the 
 place, when he would lean back against the soft cushions 
 that Margaret arranged for him in the high-backed seat 
 of their carriage, and listen to the wind in the pines. He 
 never seemed to tire of the woods, and often insisted on 
 staying out so late, that it required adroit management on 
 Margaret's part to get him in, out of the night air, or 
 before darkness was down on them. Those were peaceful, 
 happy days for both father and daughter. Professor 
 McVey had no care, suffered no pain, and was constantly
 
 l88 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 attended by Margaret, who herself rendered him every 
 service she possibly could, and was loth to have a 
 servant touch him. Her tender ministrations, and the 
 beautiful surroundings, combined to make those few 
 spring months one of the happiest periods of Professor 
 McVey's life. And Margaret wondered at her own 
 serenity; she seemed to have passed from a world of snow 
 and harsh winds, and horrible dreams, to one of balmy 
 air, of flowers, and of beautiful realities. The preceding 
 six months were as a terrible nightmare, from which she 
 had awakened. When she thought of Rodger at all, it 
 was of the Rodger of a year ago, of the dear Lausanne 
 Rodger, who was in harmony with her present life, amid 
 the roses and pines, and soft air full of the hum of bees, 
 and song of birds. But she thought of Rodger very little, 
 her mind was too fully occupied with her father, of whom 
 she thought every waking moment, and often dreamed of 
 at night. 
 
 Doctor Mackintosh, their Aiken physician, passed half 
 an hour each day with his patient, pleasantly chatting, 
 passing lightly from one subject to another, in a way that 
 would amuse, rather than tire a sick man, and doing most 
 of the talking himself. It never occurred to Margaret to 
 study the physician's face for a report of her father's con-- 
 dition, nor would she have gained any information had she 
 done so. The only time there was any peculiar expression 
 on the face of the doctor, was when Margaret was busily 
 attending to her father's needs, and his eye rested upon 
 her. He evinced no anxiety when he was observing Pro- 
 fessor McVey, but his face was full of solicitude, as he 
 furtively regarded Margaret. One day he said to her: 
 
 "Do you expect any of your friends to join you this 
 spring, Miss McVey, or are they too loyal to the North, 
 to come down here and share this beautiful weather with 
 us Southerners?"
 
 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 189 
 
 "I don't think their loyalty to the North would keep 
 any of our friends away from here," replied Margaret, 
 " although their ignorance of your lovely country might. 
 But we have no friends in our own town who have leisure 
 to travel at this season. In a college town we all stay 
 at home until the last of June, and then take a three 
 months' vacation." 
 
 "I didn't know but that some of your Clinton friends 
 might be coming to meet you," said the doctor. "Clinton 
 usually sends a large delegation here during the spring 
 months. This is, perhaps, rather late for any new comers, 
 but May is a beautiful month on this tableland." 
 
 " No, not unless papa or I need some one to look after 
 us, and we- are both doing so well, that I feel almost 
 ashamed to say that we are here for our health. " As 
 Margaret said this, she left her chair, and seated herself 
 on the floor in front of the sofa, where her father was 
 reclining, and as she took one of his hands and kissed it, 
 she continued: "I suspect, papa, Doctor Mackintosh 
 wonders why I insist upon his coming to see you every 
 day, now that you feel so well; you tell him he must 
 come, if only to say how much nourishment you better 
 take" 
 
 "No, no," interrupted the doctor, "I do not wonder at 
 all, nor do I intend to be robbed of my daily visits to 
 you; we doctors are hard to get rid of, when once called 
 in. but I must be honest with you, for the sake of my 
 professional reputation, otherwise I might be inclined to 
 keep you and your father here, until the heat became 
 injurious to you both. That was my reason for asking 
 you if you expected any friends to join you here. If you 
 do, they will have to come soon, for it is growing too 
 warm for your father. This heat may be agreeable to 
 Northerners, but it frequently is debilitating, and it
 
 1 9 o RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 would not be well for your father to' remain in it much 
 longer. I am sorry to have to say this, for in advising 
 you to take him back to the more invigorating air of your 
 lake region, I am depriving myself of the pleasantest 
 hour of my day. " 
 
 Margaret was surprised; her father appeared very com- 
 fortable, and, happy: he was quiet and satisfied with 
 everything, he did not seem to care whether he staid in 
 Aiken, or returned to Edgewood. Of late he had seemed to 
 grow indifferent, he never expressed a wish for anything; 
 not even to stay in the pine woods, when Margaret said 
 it was time for them to return to the hotel. 
 
 Doctor Mackintosh carried his point, and in a few days 
 the trunks were repacked, and they were ready to begin 
 their journey. Margaret did not observe it at the time, 
 but she afterward thought of how everything was at hand 
 to expedite their departure. Servants and horses, and 
 all needed things supplied in some magical way, every- 
 thing that could add to her father's comfort on his 
 homeward trip. And she knew, when she looked back to 
 it, that it was kind Doctor Mackintosh that had saved 
 her all thought and care in the preparations; and that it 
 was his foresight that provided an ample supply of differ- 
 ent tonics and nourishments for her father's use on the 
 way. 
 
 " I see that you have not much knowledge of sickness, 
 Miss McVey," said the doctor, to Margaret, on the 
 morning of their departure, "although you are a perfect 
 nurse, the very best I ever saw. Your father is very 
 comfortable this morning, and he will, without doubt, 
 have a comfortable journey. He probably will not leave 
 his berth, in fact, he'd better lie quietly in it all of the 
 way. The journey will tire him less in that way, and at the 
 best, these railroad trips are exhausting. Let him sleep,
 
 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 191 
 
 but be sure and give him his medicine and nourishment 
 regularly. Insist upon his taking them, even if he is a 
 little averse to doing so. He seems very well this morn- 
 ing, but I don't know it is best to do a dozen unneeded 
 things, rather than run the slightest chance that you may 
 need something that we have neglected to provide; and 
 possibly, your father may need a change of tonic when 
 he reaches Clinton; so you better give me your Clinton 
 physician's address, and I will telegraph him my opinion. 
 Doctor Kean, did you say the name was? You will have 
 a pleasant trip home I'm sure,'.' pursued the doctor, 
 "this fair weather is going to last a week,' and these 
 late rains will have laid all the dust. I am sure both of 
 you will have a comfortable journey."
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 Margaret was both surprised and delighted, when she 
 reached Clinton, early one evening, after her long rail- 
 road trip, to find Doctor Kean and Miss Sargent, at the 
 Clinton depot waiting to greet her and her father. Both 
 insisted on accompanying her and Professor McVey out to 
 Edgewood, where the door of the old home was opened for 
 them by Aunt Deborah. Doctor Kean assisted Professor 
 McVey to his bedroom. ' 
 
 "No, no, we're going right up stairs," he said, when 
 Miss Bond informed him that the professor's chair was 
 ready for him, drawn up before the fire in the study. " I 
 know how it is when a man comes home at night, from a 
 long railroad journey. He wants to get his clothes off, 
 and be rubbed down, and get into his own bed." 
 
 Professor McVey, who was slowly mounting the stairs, 
 leaning on Doctor Kean's shoulder, looked up with an 
 almost boyish roguery in his face, as he said: 
 
 " Oh, Jack, you take me for old Denmark, don't you?" 
 
 Doctor Kean broke into a merry laugh, as he replied: 
 " You remember that, do you, old boy ? What a horse that 
 Denmark was! how you used to laugh at me, because I 
 would rub his legs down myself, after I had trotted him; 
 but I tell you, Mac, I loved that horse." 
 
 As they entered the professor's bedroom closely fol- 
 lowed by Margaret and Miss Sargent, Doctor Kean said: 
 "Now we'll just turn these women out, and I'll put you 
 to bed myself. Do you remember how you used to sit up 
 with me, professor, when I had that long pull of malarial 
 fever? and you wouldn't let me have all the ice water I 
 wanted to drink ? What boys we were then!" 
 192
 
 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 193 
 
 Miss Sargent and Margaret went down stairs, and left 
 the two old friends together. Doctor Kean continued 
 his cheerful talk, as he busied himself about the sick 
 man, who paid little attention to anything around him. 
 " We were boys in those days," pursued the doctor, "but 
 that Black was a miserable old doctor. My instincts were 
 all right; I knew he was mismanaging me most outrage- 
 ously, all through the fever. Here, old fellow, your 
 nightshirt is good and warm," said the doctor, as he 
 brought the nightshirt he had been holding over the reg- 
 ister, to Professor McVey, who was sitting on the side of 
 the bed. " Put your arm in here ; I declare, Prof, we won't 
 have to give you much anti-fat for the next few months," 
 said the doctor, as he took hold of his friend's bony arm 
 to guide it into the sleeve. " Now let's have_these shoes 
 off. Yes, I know, Margaret always does it," replied Doc- 
 tor Kean, to the professor's feeble inquiry for Margaret, 
 when he stooped to untie the shoes. " But I can do it as 
 well as she; I am not quite as slim as she is, or as I used 
 to be, but I can stoop yet, I'm thankful to say. Now you 
 begin to look right comfortable, McVey; here, just drink 
 this warm milk, and lie down and I'll cover you up." 
 
 Professor McVey smiled as he laid his head upon his 
 pillow, a vague, childish smile, and 'immediately dropped 
 to sleep. Doctor Kean stood in watchful silence over 
 him for a few moments; his face grew very sad, the tears 
 slowly gathered in his eyes, and rolled down his cheeks. 
 Then he stooped down and took the gaiters in his hand, 
 and, glancing around the room, he crossed over and 
 opened a closet door, and set the shoes down, and laid 
 the gaiters across them; but, as he looked down on them, 
 he thought of Margaret they looked too life-like for her 
 to find there in a few days he took up the gaiters and 
 cast his eyes around in search of a hiding place for them. 
 
 13 Rodger Latimer's Mistake.
 
 194 
 
 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 After a moment's scanning of the capacity of the closet, 
 he thrust them into the pocket of a coat that hung near 
 by. He wiped the tears from his eyes, closed the closet 
 door, and recrossing the room, leaned over his sick friend, 
 who was in a deep sleep. Fearing that he was sleeping 
 too heavily, he attempted to arouse him, which was a 
 difficult task; but he persisted in his efforts until the 
 professor was wide awake, and looked him full in the face. 
 
 "Are you awake, McVey?" asked the doctor. 
 
 "Why, certainly I'm awake, Jack." Doctor Kean 
 remembered with a pang, that Professor McVey hadn't 
 called him Jack, until this evening, for forty years. 
 "What do you want? there's no use in your advising me 
 against it; I shall go at all hazards." He turned his 
 head on his pillow, slowly closed his eyes, and was going 
 off to sleep again. Doctor Kean gently shook his 
 shoulder, which again partially roused him. "Yes, yes," 
 he muttered; "we'll go by the Wabash, Millicent, to 
 Florida without change." 
 
 The doctor stood some time by the bedside in deep 
 reflection, then he placed his fingers on Professor McVey's 
 wrist for a moment, turned, and left the room, and 
 descended the stairs to the study where the three women 
 were sitting around the fire. Margaret immediately went 
 to him. 
 
 " How is papa, doctor?" she asked in a cheerful voice. 
 
 "Right comfortable; but I want some supper, have you 
 all been to supper?" 
 
 " No, we were waiting for you," said Margaret. "Aunt 
 Deb says the steak is nearly ruined, so you take your 
 supper now and I'll sit with papa." 
 
 "Yes, you go up and sit with him, little woman, but 
 don't speak to him; he is sound asleep, and better not be 
 disturbed."
 
 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 195 
 
 As Margaret closed the door behind her, Doctor Kean 
 stopped Miss Bond who was leaving the room to order 
 the supper on the table. " Sit down, if you please, Miss 
 Bond," he said; " I wish to say a word to you and Miss 
 Sargent. Professor McVey is much worse than I expected 
 to find him; he must have failed very rapidly in the last 
 twenty-four hours. Doctor Mackintosh would never have 
 permitted Margaret to have started on that long journey 
 alone with her father, had he been in his present con- 
 dition when he left Aiken. But in such cases there is 
 frequently a rapid change in a short time; it is difficult 
 to tell twelve hours ahead, sometimes, what a person's 
 condition may be." The doctor blew his nose vigorously 
 and wiped his eyes. " McVey may live a week or ten 
 days, and then the dear fellow may pass away to-morrow. 
 His mind wanders now; he talks of going to Florida by 
 the Wabash, and fancies he is talking to his wife." 
 
 Miss Bond was filled with dismay, but the cheerful 
 serenity of Miss Sargent's face only deepened into an 
 expression of great seriousness. 
 
 "You must tell Margaret, Miss Sargent. I can't do it," 
 said the doctor. 
 
 "How long do you think he may live?" asked Miss 
 Sargent. 
 
 " I cannot tell, he may sink away in the next twenty- 
 four hours, and he may live a week; but probably he will 
 stay three or four days. " 
 
 " You say his mind is wandering; isn't there danger 
 that he may not be rational again ?" 
 
 "Yes, great danger; he will suffer none, but will sleep 
 most of the time, and drop off quietly just stop breathing 
 in his sleep. Perhaps it is as well so. Margaret will be 
 spared some pangs." 
 
 Silence fell upon the three; they looked at each other
 
 196 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 with a sense of some mysterious presence in the house. 
 After a little, Miss Sargent said in a low tone: 
 
 "What do you think, doctor, of my not telling Margaret 
 of her father's danger immediately? We are never ready 
 to part with a friend, no matter how long a time of 
 preparation we may have had. The end is always sudden, 
 even if we have been expecting it for months; and there 
 is little difference in the suffering, whether the parting 
 comes without warning, or after long watching. Seems 
 to me Margaret might be saved days of sorrow by not 
 knowing that the end is near, until within a few hours 
 of it, especially as her father will not be able to talk to 
 her. If I tell her now, she will have days of agony; I 
 know how it will be, she will not leave him for food, or 
 sleep; but will hang over him, watching every breath, 
 fearing it may be the last." 
 
 " You are quite right," said the doctor. " I'm glad you 
 thought of it. Have Margaret take her food regularly, 
 and go to bed and sleep regularly every night. " 
 
 "When must you return to Clinton?" asked Miss 
 Sargent. 
 
 " I must go back on the eleven o'clock train. Let me 
 see, this is Saturday. I have an engagement at ten to- 
 morrow, a consultation, but I can come up on the noon 
 train and stay the rest of the day, until the midnight 
 train. I'll be up every day and remain as long as I can. 
 It might be well to have Doctor Hopkins come in to- 
 morrow and see the professor, so that if anything should 
 happen you could have a physician here in a few moments. 
 But nothing will happen; he will continue just as he is 
 now, quietly sleeping, to the end. All there is to do is 
 to arouse him sufficiently to take the milk, and that liquid 
 preparation. I hope, for Margaret's sake, that he will 
 not come to himself enough to talk in a wandering way.
 
 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 197 
 
 You and Miss Bond are all that are needed here, and then 
 George is a reliable man." 
 
 Miss Sargent did not succeed quite as well as she 
 expected in keeping Margaret's mind free from a'nxiety 
 regarding her father. In the hour that she sat by his 
 bedside, Saturday evening, when Doctor Kean was talking 
 with her Aunt Deborah, and Miss Sargent was in the study 
 below, Margaret had observed her father very closely. 
 His deep sleep did not seem natural to her; it was true 
 that he had slept and dozed a great deal for the three 
 months past, but some way there was a look upon his face 
 that evening she had never seen there before; it was not 
 like the face of a natural sleeper, it was not as he had 
 looked for the past week. The face was peaceful, even 
 more than peaceful; there was on it an expression of deep 
 restfulness, of permanent content. And yet it was a 
 strange face to her: not in its physicallineaments, those 
 were the same dear features of material molding; but it 
 was as though there were two beings in the one lying on the. 
 bed before her. The material form, with its mechanical 
 breathing, was familiar: but there was a spiritual pres- 
 ence looking through that attenuated, familiar face of 
 flesh, that was strange; in it, back of it, but still a distinct 
 individuality. It was her father, and yet not her father. 
 She arose from the bedside, where she had been sitting 
 with her eyes immovably fixed upon her father's face, and 
 removed the shield from the side of the shade that Doctor 
 Kean had placed there to intercept the light, and watching 
 closely to see if the increased light disturbed him, grad- 
 ually turned the gas up, throwing the light full upon her 
 father's face, which continued in its perfect repose. Then 
 she returned to the bedside and stood with hands clasped 
 in front of her, with a face as white, but far from being 
 as peaceful as the dear one she gazed upon. There Miss
 
 I9 8 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 Sargent found her, when she came to take her place by the 
 bedside, so Margaret could go to her supper. Margaret 
 went, as Miss Sargent desired her to, without a demur or 
 question, but when they were making arrangements for 
 the night, and both Miss Sargent and Miss Bond begged 
 Margaret to go to bed and have a good night's sleep after 
 her long journey, she quietly but positively refused. 
 After changing her traveling dress for a warm wrapper 
 she had a lounge brought into her father's room, and 
 taking both of Miss Sargent's hands in hers, said to her: 
 
 "Aunt Helen, you must let me stay here all of the time. 
 I cannot leave papa, I could not sleep a wink out of this 
 room. You know I have been his nurse too long to be 
 able to sleep away from him. I can sleep on this lounge, 
 and if you think it best, if you think he is too sick for 
 me to be left alone with him, suppose you stay here one 
 part of the night, and Auntie Deb the other." 
 
 And so it was arranged. "We had better let her have 
 her own way," said Miss Sargent to Miss Bond, as they 
 were talking about it in the hall. Moist of the night Mar- 
 garet sat by her father's bedside, simply watching his 
 quiet slumber; at times she would lean down low over 
 him to catch the meaning of the muttered words that died 
 away as she listened. Either Miss Sargent or Miss Bond 
 sat on the other side of the bed throughout the night. 
 Margaret wheeled the lounge into a position that enabled 
 her, as she rested on it, to look directly upon her father's 
 face. Here she would catch what sleep she .could from 
 .time to time, when the room was perfectly quiet, but the 
 slightest motion of the watcher sitting in the large arm- 
 chair, or the least turning of her father's head upon his 
 pillow, or a whispered mutter from his lips, brought her 
 to her feet wide awake, and she would lean over him with 
 a clear brain and steady hand. Miss Sargent feared she
 
 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE i 9 g 
 
 would be worn out, and suggested a trained nurse, but 
 Margaret would not hear of it. So the hours passed as 
 they pass in every chamber where one of the great tran- 
 sitions of existence is taking place. The days and nights 
 came and went, Doctor Kean passed to and fro between 
 Clinton and Professor McVey's house; in the sick room 
 up stairs nothing was said but what was necessary to say 
 regarding the dying man's needs. Miss Sargent won- 
 dered what Margaret was thinking of through all of those 
 hours of alert attending; she could form no idea whether 
 Margaret, who asked no questions, was aware of 
 her father's immediate danger or not. Sometimes she 
 thought she ought to speak plainly to her; and then she 
 wished Margaret would interrogate her, as that would 
 make the communication so much easier for her. But 
 Margaret showed no disposition to ask for any infor- 
 mation until late Tuesday afternoon. That afternoon 
 she was crossing the lower hall with a glass of milk in 
 her hand that she was taking to her father, just as the 
 maid admitted Mrs. Herman, who immediately rushed to 
 Margaret, and clasped her in her arms, regardless of the 
 danger of spilling the milk over them both. 
 
 "You little darling, how glad I am to see you back 
 again!" she cried. "Edgewood has been just desolate 
 without you; but no wonder, you're such a belle! I 
 declare I've missed you every hour. " This assertion of 
 Margaret's belleship was grotesque enough, as Margaret 
 had rarely been in Edgewood society, and Mrs. Herman's 
 protestation of hourly feeling her loss was based on the 
 inadequate fact that she and Margaret for years had had the 
 most casual acquaintance. But Margaret was too much 
 occupied in her efforts to preserve her'glassof milk, which 
 she held at arms' length, to appreciate the ridiculousness 
 of this affectionate onslaught upon her by her neighbor.
 
 200 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 " What a nice time you must have had among the roses 
 and oranges," continued Mrs. Herman. " I told Mr. Her- 
 man he ought to take me down there, for my lungs are 
 not strong. But how pretty you look, you pet you ; you 
 are real pretty any way, and everybody says so. I am so 
 glad you are back. We've missed you dreadfully; we'll 
 have nice times together this summer, won't we? Where 
 are you going after commencement ? Let us go to the 
 same place." Here she gave Margaret another hug. 
 The milk swayed in the glass, and Margaret's eyes were 
 fixed on it in dread of its splashing over. She placed her 
 disengaged hand on Mrs. Herman's shoulders in an 
 attempt to relieve herself, as she said: 
 
 " I am glad to see you looking well, Mrs. Herman, and 
 glad to be at home again, but papa is quite ill, and I 
 must go to him. I was just taking him this milk." 
 
 "O I'm so sorry," said Mrs. Herman, still holding 
 Margaret by one arm, "but he'll be well soon, won't he? 
 I know he will, you don't want to go to him just now. 
 Your aunt is with him, isn't she? set down your glass of 
 milk and come in the parlor. I want to tell you some- 
 thing, and show you something but perhaps you're 
 going to Marie's wedding. Are you invited?" 
 
 "No," replied Margaret, after a moment's hesitation. 
 The past of four and five months ago, came rushing with a 
 crash over the last eight and ten weeks, and a wave of 
 feeling surged over her, making her head whirl, and her 
 ears ring. During that moment of hesitation, Mrs. Her- 
 man took the glass from her hand, and set it on a table 
 near by, and placing one arm around Margaret, drew her 
 into the parlor, the door of which stood open, close to 
 where they were standing. 
 
 "Just think of a large church wedding," said Mrs. Her- 
 man, "and to-morrow evening, the first of June, a real
 
 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 201 
 
 Jnne wedding. I don't know what to wear you didn't 
 know anything about it? But then you were away so long! 
 I declare I never will let you go away again. Yes, the 
 invitations were out more than two weeks ago, don't you 
 think they are pretty? Cousin Hattie couldn't help 
 inviting me to the reception, how people would talk if 
 Marie didn't have her own family there." Mrs. Herman 
 drew from her jacket pocket the invitation, which she 
 unfolded and handed to Margaret, who extended her 
 hand for it, as though she were in a dream. As her eye 
 rested on it, she saw only the words " Rodger Latimer" 
 " Mar re Edwards" "Marriage" "June first." Had 
 June come? to-morrow, June first? Mrs. Herman rattled 
 on. 
 
 " It's to be a splendid affair, everybody's invited, both 
 to the church and reception. I mean everybody who is 
 anybody. I wanted a new dress, I told Mr. Herman ; 
 I ought to have one, don't you think I ought? but my 
 white silk is just as good as new, and Mr. Herman said it 
 was good enough. It's a lovely dress, don't you think 
 so? and then Marie hasn't been any too attentive to me, 
 and I won't go to the expense of a new dress for her wed- 
 ding, would you ? You ought to see the present I got for 
 her, it's just the loveliest pie-knife solid with an ox- 
 idized handle, it's too lovely for anything. I wanted to 
 keep it for myself, but I couldn't do that. As a matter of 
 course I had to give her something, but what will a pie- 
 knife be to her, with all of Mr. Latimer's money? I ex- 
 pect she'll look beautiful, and so will Hattie. What a 
 grand chance this will be for Hat to spread herself, I 
 shouldn't wonder if she made herself look like a peacock, 
 and what airs she will put on! It will be almost as good 
 for her as being married again herself; a great deal bet- 
 ter! for she didn't have any wedding at all, not near as
 
 202 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 nice as mine. I had a real pretty wedding, but why 
 don't you sit down, Miss McVey, how tired you look, 
 pet ; here sit down on the sofa by me and rest. " 
 
 Mrs. Herman rose from the sofa, where she had seated 
 herself when she entered the room, and placed her arm 
 around Margaret, who had been standing all of the time, 
 with her eyes fixed in a vacant stare on the invitation 
 which she held in her hand. She had not heard one word 
 of Mrs. Herman's rattling talk. 
 
 "No, no, Mrs. Herman," said Margaret, thoroughly 
 aroused to her situation, " I cannot stay a moment longer; 
 papa is really very ill and needs me. You must excuse 
 me, my dear Mrs. Herman, but I must go immediately. 
 I will ask my aunt to come to you, if you wish to see 
 her." 
 
 Margaret placed Mrs. Herman's invitation back in her 
 hand, and quickly left the room. She took the glass of 
 milk from the table in the hall and passed rapidly up the 
 stairs. In going to her father's room, she had to pass 
 the chamber Miss Sargent always occupied when she vis- 
 ited them, and which had come to be spoken of in the 
 house, as "Aunt Helen's room." As Margaret passed it 
 now, the door was open, and she saw Miss Sargent sitting 
 in a chair, facing the door, on the opposite side of a cen- 
 ter table, on which one of her arms was resting, as she 
 was looking straight before her, with an expression of the 
 deepest sadness on her face. Something in the expression 
 arrested Margaret's steps, pre-occupied as her mind was 
 with thoughts of Rodger Latimer; she was alarmed by 
 the look of anxious apprehension. She entered the room, 
 placed the glass of milk on the table, and stood close by 
 Miss Sargent, gazing intently into the eyes that were 
 raised to hers. The tears gathered in Miss Sargent's 
 eyes, until they flowed down her cheeks. Margaret's
 
 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 203 
 
 heart sank within her. Kneeling down by the weeping 
 woman, she asked : 
 
 "What is it, Aunt Helen? Do you think papa is 
 worse ?" 
 
 "My poor, dear darling! how can you bear it?" said 
 Miss Sargent, as she placed her arms around Margaret, 
 who raised her head, put both of her hands against Miss 
 Sargent's breast and leaned back so that she could look 
 Miss Sargent in the face. 
 
 "Aunt Helen!" she cried, in a low, unnatural voice, full 
 of anguish. 
 
 Miss Sargent said nothing, but placed both of her 
 hands over Margaret's that were on her breast, with a lov- 
 ing pressure. After a moment's silence, Margaret ex- 
 claimed in the same low-pitched, unnatural voice: 
 
 "Tell me, it cannot be! Aunt Helen, it cannot be! is 
 papa in danger?" 
 
 Miss Sargent made no reply, but gave a closer pressure 
 of the hands as a fresh flow of tears fell from her eyes. 
 
 "Tell me t Aunt Helen!" cried Margaret, as her eyes 
 suddenly grew large, and a look of terror came into her 
 face. Miss Sargent again placed her arms around the 
 girl, and drew her to her bosom, as she said: 
 
 "Oh! my darling! we shall have to let him go he is 
 passing from us. " 
 
 "Not now! you don't mean now!" cried Margaret, 
 springing to her feet. 
 
 " He may stay with us a day or two longer, or he may 
 leave us in the morning," said Miss Sargent. 
 
 Margaret turned and quickly entered her father's silent 
 chamber. The window shades were down to keep out 
 the afternoon sun; Miss Bond sat by the bed where the 
 dying man lay so still and white, that Margaret's heart 
 ceased to beat for an instant, as she leaned over him. As
 
 204 
 
 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 her eyes become accustomed to the dim light of the 
 room, and she gazed intently on his face, she could not 
 see that it had changed since the last Saturday evening, 
 when she, for the first time, noticed what she called an 
 unnatural look on it. There was, perhaps, a look of 
 little deeper restfulness, a more marked absence of her 
 father's individual expression, and a more marked pres- 
 ence of a strange solemnity that struck her with awe, but 
 that was all. Neither during the night nor through all 
 of the next day could Margaret be persuaded to leave her 
 father's bedside. She would catch a few moments of sleep 
 as she leaned her head upon her hand, and she would 
 drink the cup of beef tea that Miss Sargent gave her, 
 but she only shook her head when either her Aunt 
 Deborah or Miss Sargent begged her to lie on the lounge 
 which they had rolled close to the bedside for her. She 
 sat for hours holding her father's hand in hers, which 
 never returned the loving pressure, but lay motionless 
 in any position in which she placed it. Doctor Kean 
 came on the noon train, but Margaret did not notice his 
 entrance; she was oblivious of everything but the dear 
 father lying so still before her. She asked no questions, 
 she made no comments, but sat in silence holding the 
 cold hand, with her eyes fixed upon the white face. As 
 soon as the sun went down, Miss Bond raised the shades 
 of the west windows. The sky was cloudless. At the 
 horizon lay a broad band of soft olive hue, that melted 
 into a purplish tint above, that threw a warm glow over 
 the earth and sky, touching a few small clouds that floated 
 in the air, midway toward the zenith, with a bright, 
 delicate rose color. A soft twilight filled the chamber 
 where in perfect silence, the four friends stood in the 
 presence of mortality. 
 
 "Speak to him, Margaret," said Doctor Kean, in a
 
 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 205 
 
 whisper. Margaret leaned her head close to her father, 
 and in a low tone called: 
 
 " Papa! dear papa!" but there was no recognition of the 
 voice that never before had been, by him, unheeded. 
 
 " Speak louder," said the doctor, as he stood by Mar- 
 garet's side. 
 
 Margaret elevated her voice a little. "Dear papa! 
 Papa?" Suddenly the old look flashed back in Professor 
 McVey's face, the look of answering affection so dear to 
 Margaret, and although the half open eyelids were not 
 raised, a smile of perfect recognition parted the lips. 
 Margaret was intensely excited, she grasped both of her 
 father's hands in her own; it was but for an instant, a 
 gray shadow fell upon the face, both the smile and ex- 
 pression of answering love passed, the breath stopped, 
 and in holy majesty, like sculptured marble, lay'the head 
 of the good man on his pillow. 
 
 Margaret burst into a paroxysm of tears. Miss Sargent 
 gently led her into her own room, where she placed her 
 on her bed, lying down herself beside her. She tenderly 
 took the suffering girl in her arms, and held her close. 
 Margaret wept in silence. Miss Sargent also wept, but 
 as she wept, her thoughts wandered off to the city church, 
 down whose aisle at that hour, a bride was passing, on 
 the arm of Rodger Latimer.
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 The last of July found Miss Sargent and Margaret 
 located in a hotel on Mackinaw Island. Miss Sargent had 
 suggested to Margaret, immediately after her father's fun- 
 eral, that she and Miss Bond, and Margaret, go to 
 Europe for a year, but she found that Margaret was not 
 inclined to go so far from the old home. Then she per- 
 suaded her to spend a few weeks at Mackinaw. " It will 
 build you up, and give you an appetite," she said to Mar- 
 garet, "and you will sleep so well, you cannot help sleep- 
 ing up there in that bracing atmosphere." 
 
 Miss Bond declined to accompany them, as she wished 
 to renovate the house, and then she declared that she 
 ought to go to New England and visit some cousins that 
 she had not seen for years. Mackinaw proved to be 
 all that Miss Sargent had predicted; the change of scene 
 and the pure air, did Margaret good, and although she 
 gained neither flesh nor color, the nervous tension of her 
 system relaxed, and she slept naturally. She could not 
 be called cheerful, but either the healthy surroundings or 
 the influence of Miss Sargent's abiding serenity, induced 
 a natural quietness of spirit, that was in pleasing contrast 
 to the painful self-repression of the preceding winter. 
 
 After they had been there a week or more, Miss Sar- 
 gent saw with pleasure, that Margaret was becoming in- 
 terested in a group of young women, who had taken rooms 
 at the hotel where they were stopping; there were six of 
 them, and they evidently were teachers from Clinton. 
 They all were merry, healthy girls, intent upon getting 
 the greatest possible enjoyment ou^ of a summer's vacation ; 
 there was neither a gloomy one, or discontented one 
 206
 
 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 207 
 
 among them. Evely morning brought them together on 
 the piazza, in consultation regarding the plans for the 
 day, and every -evening brought them in from some ex- 
 cursion on the lake, or over the island, with arms full of 
 ferns and grasses, or hands full of stones, picked up on 
 the shore. One morning Margaret was standing alone, 
 leaning against one of the pillars of the piazza, and the 
 young women were huddled around a pile of small lunch- 
 eon baskets, discussing the best way of reaching a certain 
 point they were desirous of visiting. One of them glanced 
 from time to time, at the pale girl, dressed in deep mourn- 
 ing, who was standing in lonely isolation, not far from 
 the merry group ; then after a 1 ittle, the heads of the six were 
 drawn close together in a whispered consultation, which 
 resulted in the young woman who had first observed Mar- 
 garet, approaching her. 
 
 "We are going to walk part way around the island to- 
 day, and take our luncheon on the rocks," she said, "and 
 we all would be delighted to have you go with us, if you 
 have no pleasanter plan for your day." 
 
 Margaret's face flushed with surprise, to be thus ad- 
 dressed by a stranger, but her native good sense, and 
 kindness of heart, rightly interpreted the attention, and 
 she immediately replied that she would be glad to go. It 
 took but a few moments for her to run up stairs for her 
 hat, and to gain Miss Sargent's consent to the excursion, 
 before she joined the girls, who were sitting on the steps 
 of the piazza waiting for her. The one who had first 
 addressed Margaret, rose to meet her, and introduced 
 herself as Jennie Robert, a Kindergarten teacher in Clin- 
 ton. Margaret responded by giving her name, then Miss 
 Robert introduced her to each of her friends. They 
 started across the lawn, most of the girls proceeding in a 
 half dancing way, keeping time to the strains of a pop-
 
 208 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 ular opera, that was sang in a spirited style by several of 
 the girls. 
 
 It was late in the afternoon when the party returned, 
 wearied by the long walk they had taken, and Margaret 
 went immediately to her room to lie down, only stopping 
 a moment in Miss Sargent's room, which she had to 
 cross to reach her own, to give her a kiss. After tea, as 
 they were sitting alone in their room, on a small sofa they 
 had rolled to the window, from which she could see the 
 waves of the lake touched into brightness by the full 
 moon, Miss Sargent asked: 
 
 " Have you had a pleasant day, dear?" 
 
 "Yes, a very pleasant one," Margaret replied, "those 
 girls were a revelation to me." 
 
 " In what way ?" 
 
 " You would not suppose, Aunt Helen, that every one 
 of them is dependent upon herself, and that they all have 
 earned, by their own teaching, all the money they have. 
 They buy their own clothes, and they pay for this trip, 
 which they are taking, out of money they have earned 
 this last year: Miss Hobert told me so." 
 
 "I am not surprised; I have met such people before," 
 replied Miss Sargent. 
 
 "But they are real ladies, they are well bred; did you 
 notice how well dressed they are? Miss Hobert is pos- 
 itively beautiful, and she is well read, but I think she is 
 of a good family." 
 
 "She looks like a gentlewoman," said Miss Sargent; 
 " I saw her on the piazza, a few evenings ago, and in- 
 quired who she was. They are all fine looking girls; I'm 
 not surprised" by what you say of them." 
 
 >; But I did not know," said Margaret, " that teachers 
 in public schools were ever such accomplished ladies." 
 
 "O yes, they sometimes are, " replied Miss Sargent;
 
 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 209 
 
 "there are different types and different classes of teachers; 
 probably these young women have been drawn together 
 by a similarity of taste, and are all of refined natures." 
 
 "How happy they seem!" said Margaret. "It didn't 
 seem to me to-day, as I listened to their laughter and gay 
 talk, that any of them had ever had a sorrow or a sad 
 hour." 
 
 " They are out for a good time," said Miss Sargent; 
 " and if they have sorrows, they probably have the good 
 sense to leave them at home." 
 
 " It cannot be a very serious sorrow that can be left 
 behind," said Margaret, in a sad voice. 
 
 "My darling," said Miss Sargent, taking one of Mar- 
 garet's hands in her own ; " I do not wonder that the careless 
 glee of those girls impressed you strongly; you look upon 
 life out of a world of which they probably know nothing, at 
 least I hope they do not." Miss Sargent was anxious that 
 Margaret should talk with her about herself and her 
 father. While she respected the sorrow of the young girl, 
 she knew that her reticence tempted to a morbid state of 
 mind. She was too well acquainted with the depths of 
 the human heart to be surprised at Margaret's silence 
 regarding Rodger Latimer, but she had hoped each day, 
 since Professor McVey's burial, that Margaret would 
 speak of the one so dear to them both, and that by the 
 exchange of tender memories between them, her heart 
 might find some relief. Only once had she approached 
 the subject, and then Margaret had turned from it. But 
 as they sat together that evening, when Margaret raised 
 the hand that had clasped hers, and held it to her face; 
 Miss Sargent thought that she would try again to break 
 through the reserve that she feared might tend to a self- 
 repression and introspection that would create an un- 
 healthy mental condition. 
 
 14 Rodger Latimer's Mistake.
 
 2io RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 "You say that all of those girls are teachers," resumed 
 Miss Sargent; "may it not be that their occupation 
 accounts somewhat for 'their happiness? I heard your 
 dear father once say, that he considered constant employ- 
 ment one of the necessary conditions of happiness. How 
 wise and just he always was! As I have been looking 
 over these beautiful waves since we have been sitting 
 here, my thoughts have been of him. This holy evening, 
 with the clear sky, and few stars, and bright moon, and 
 that far reaching lake, all seem in harmony with his 
 beautiful life and with the beautiful world which I love 
 to think of his now inhabiting." Margaret said nothing, 
 and Miss Sargent continued: "The memory of such a 
 life as you lived with your father is a rich heritage, my 
 darling, how thankful I am that you have it; and then 
 to know that we all shall be together again, think of it, 
 Margaret!" 
 
 " Do you really believe that we shall all be together 
 again ?" asked Margaret. 
 
 "Certainly I do. How could any one believe in the 
 justice of God, and not believe it? Existence would be 
 a poor thing if this life were all; it would be a cause 
 without an effect; a miserable defeat and failure." 
 
 " Oh, Aunt Helen! how I wish I could have your faith," 
 cried Margaret; "but I cannot, I cannot; it's all a 
 horrible tangle to me. I see no justice or love any- 
 where." 
 
 "How can you say so, Margaret, when you think of 
 your father's beautiful life and beautiful death ?" 
 
 "And you call his death beautiful!" exclaimed Mar- 
 garet. "I think it was dreadful! It was dreadful to 
 watch the separation of body and spirit. I tried to 
 understand it as I looked at him three days dying! The 
 spirit trying to leave the body, to get away from matter.
 
 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 2 n 
 
 As I sat there that last night, I thought of what Aunt 
 Deb once told me of the birth of Mrs. Hitchcock's babe 
 perhaps she ought not to have talked to me of such 
 things it was horrible! A rent mother and a screaming 
 child; that was the combination of spirit and matter, and 
 there was my own dear father going through the separation 
 of spirit and matter. He didn't know, couldn't speak to 
 me, couldn't hear my voice, and that you call a beautiful 
 death! It's all dreadful to me; the earth seemed de- 
 termined not to let him go, and yet he was not here. 
 What a being dragged out of one world into another! 
 And we have nothing to do with it all; neither birth nor 
 death. Your God joins spirit and matter at a wailing 
 birth, and separates them at a groaning death." 
 
 " Margaret! such talk is horrible!" cried Miss Sargent, 
 'taking both of Margaret's hands in hers, " how can you 
 arraign Providence in this way? why will you refuse to 
 look at facts in a reasonable, Christian way ? My poor 
 darling, sorrow has blinded your eyes." 
 
 " No, I think tears have washed my eyes clear at last, 
 so that now I am able to see facts, and tell them from 
 superstitions/' replied Margaret bitterly. "What fancies 
 I used to have!" she continued, leaning back on the sofa, 
 as she drew her hands from Miss Sargent, and dropped 
 them into her own lap, and gazed out of the window into 
 the lovely night, without seeing one of its glories. " My 
 life was full of beautiful -fancies, and I peopled my future 
 with them; but it's better to know the facts, whatever 
 they may be, than to be cheated by fancies. I don't pre- 
 tend to understand why any one thing is, as it is, nor do 
 I see that any one knows much more about the affairs of 
 this world than I do. Your George Macdonald, of whom 
 you think so much, goes a great way round, and a great 
 many ways across, but I can't see that he reaches any
 
 212 RODGER LATJMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 point, excepting that we don't know, and we must trust 
 God. You ask how can any one believe in a just God, 
 and not believe in a beautiful immortality? I don't like 
 your logic. At last, I have come to look at facts steadily, 
 no matter how hideous they may be, but as I said, I don't 
 pretend to understand them. I don't see why that wind 
 storm last night, didn't take some of the ugly trees down 
 there, but it didn't, all of them stand just as firm as they 
 did yesterday; but that perfect maple that we were ad- 
 miring so much, was torn up by the roots, and even the 
 branches rent off, as though done in a fury. As I looked 
 at it this morning, it seemed like a dying creature, it lay 
 there so broken and helpless, there was a sort of dying 
 pathos in its twisted branches. And why is it, that one 
 woman stands in her glory, regally crowned by love, and 
 happiness, and every good thing this world can give, while 
 another is cast down into utter darkness and desolation ? 
 Is it according to law, as scientists say? an inevitable 
 consequence consequence of what ? superior beauty, 
 g*ace, and intellect? or is it a reward of right doing? 
 obedience, kindnesses done to others? The 'well done' of 
 your just God, spoken positively, and loudly, so that all 
 the world may hear "and rejoice with the blest creature? 
 This is all for development, perhaps you will say; develop 
 one by sunshine and joy, and another by tears and suffer- 
 ing? I only speak of facts, I haven't any more theories, 
 facts have destroyed all that I ever had." 
 
 Margaret ceased speaking, and Miss Sargent made no 
 reply; both gazed silently into the night. Miss Sargent 
 knew too well, that this was not the cry of a bereaved 
 heart, fora dear departed one; but the outcry of a de- 
 ceived and outraged heart, for a living 'love, that was 
 more to it than all of the universe beside. She knew how 
 great the anguish must be, that gave rise to such bitter
 
 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 213 
 
 words as Margaret had spoken, and she was startled by 
 the subtle reach of the girl's thought, whose mind seemed 
 to have been brought to a swift maturity by suffering, 
 and she, felt that it would be equally vain to offer argu- 
 ment or consolation, to such an one, so she sat speechless, 
 as the moon passed up the clear sky, and the moving 
 waters tossed the glancing beams from one wave to 
 another. After half an hour had passed in this silence, 
 Miss Sargent, who possessed an unusually sweet contralto 
 voice, commenced to sing in a soft tone the beautiful 
 lines of Lyle, beginning: 
 
 "Abide with me ! Fast falls the eventide 
 The darkness deepens Lord, with me abide ! 
 When other helpers fail, and comforts flee, 
 Help of the helpless, O abide with me. " 
 
 The silent night bent over the two women, as the words 
 of prayerful entreaty, in a woman's voice, went up to the 
 heavens. As Miss Sargent began the third stanza, she 
 noticed tears glistening on Margaret's eyelashes, then 
 she placed both of her arms around her, and drew her 
 head to her bosom, and while she held her close, she con- 
 tinued singing the hymn, in a voice tremulous with tend- 
 erness. As she finished the last line " In life, in death, 
 Lord abide with me;" Margaret was quietly weeping, 
 holding Miss Sargent's hand again, against her cheek. 
 
 The next morning, Margaret was in a gentle mood.' 
 "Aunt Helen," she said with a sweet smile, and a wistful 
 look in her blue eye, " I wish to talk with you about 
 something, and 1 fear you will not agree with me." 
 
 " I cannot imagine that we would disagree on any sub- 
 ject of practical importance, my dear; what is it?" 
 
 "What am I to do next winter?" abruptly asked 
 Margaret. 
 
 Miss Sargent was taken by surprise, but replied in- 
 stantly: "You are to live with me and brother John, go
 
 214 
 
 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 in as much society as you choose, read, practice your 
 music, perhaps assist me a little in my work for the Home 
 of the Friendless, and the Orphan Asylum, if you will; 
 and then in January, we'll go to Cuba for a while." 
 
 They were walking on the lake shore, and Margaret 
 pressed the arm on which her hand rested. " All of that 
 is just like you, Aunt Helen," she said, "but it will not 
 do, I cannot live in Clinton. I can never go in society 
 there, or anywhere else, and I cannot live an idle life, I 
 may not have been of much use to any one in my past life 
 but I have always had some little responsibility, and have 
 always been busy. Now, all duties and employments 
 seem taken out of my hands; I have nothing to do, and 
 am utterly useless in every way. No, no, let me go on," 
 entreated Margaret, as Miss Sargent, with a deprecating 
 exclamation, placed her hand on Margaret's, that rested 
 on her arm. " I must do something, I cannot live unless 
 I do. You would have been surprised, to have heard 
 those girls talk yesterday about their different schools, 
 and matters relating to them. I got a glimpse into a 
 strange and busy life, it seemed full of interest to them, 
 and indeed, they seem to be doing a great deal of good. 
 Miss Hobert is really a beautiful girl ; she tells me she 
 has a sister living in Edgewood, a widow, with one little 
 . girl, her name is Bray the sister's name, her husband 
 was a dentist, and died two years ago; Miss Hobert is 
 teaching a kindergarten, and Mrs. Bray is going to teach, 
 as soon as she can get a situation. She has just finished 
 her course of study, and has taught in a charity kinder- 
 garten, for a year. Now I talked the matter all over with 
 Miss Hobert yesterday, and I would like to fit myself for 
 a kindergarten teacher. I shall have to go to Glendale 
 twice a week for instruction, and teach every morning in 
 one of the charity kindergartens, to obtain a practical
 
 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 215 
 
 knowledge of the system. I always liked children; my 
 mornings would be taken up with teaching, and my after- 
 noons in going to Glendale, and my evenings in study,' 
 and in preparing the work for the next day. Miss Hobert 
 told me all about it; she says there's a large class this 
 year, and two lovely girls in it, girls of refinement and 
 good breeding they are from St. Louis, and have an 
 uncle in Clinton, with whom they are staying. I could 
 go back and forth between Clinton and Glendale with 
 them. Now what do you think of my plan ?" 
 
 " I can hardly give an opinion now, my dear, I know 
 too little about kindergartens, nothing beside the theory. 
 I never was in one in my life. The system is a good one. I 
 have incidentally heard some talk between Mrs. Black and 
 Mrs. Whiting regarding their kindergarten association, 
 but I didn't pay much attention to it. I know Mrs. Black' 
 thinks the charity kindergartens are the most efficacious 
 means of purifying and elevating the depraved masses, 
 and she's a woman of good judgment, and wide experi- 
 ence. But, Margaret, do you really think that you ought 
 to teach? What will your Uncle John say to such a 
 scheme? I fear he never will consent to it." 
 
 " There is no ought about it," said Margaret. " J do 
 not pretend that I am conscientiously moved to this, it's 
 not a charitable scheme, it's a matter of judgment, purely 
 selfish ; I feel an absolute necessity of having some con- 
 stant employment; what shall it be? I cannot go in 
 society, I have no heart for it, what shall I do?" 
 
 "Well, I see no insuperable objection to your wishes," 
 said Miss Sargent; "we will investigate the matter when 
 we return." 
 
 " The class school opens at Glendale, the first of Oc- 
 tober," said Margaret, "but Aunt Helen, the charity 
 kindergartens open somewhere from the first to the middle 
 of September. "
 
 216 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 "We can go home whenever you choose," explained 
 Miss Sargent. " I will see Mrs, Black, she is the president 
 of a kindergarten association, and can give me any infor- 
 mation that we may need." 
 
 As Miss Sargent finished speaking, they overtook Miss 
 Hobert, who was walking alone on the beach; Margaret 
 presented her to Miss Sargent, who invited her to join 
 them in their walk, and she soon left the two girls to con- 
 tinue their ramble together, while she returned to the 
 hotel to write some letters. On her table in her room, 
 among other letters, she found one from Rodger Latimer, 
 dated the previous week at Cape May. It was addressed 
 to her Clinton residence, and had been forwarded. 
 
 In it he said: 
 
 "* * * I have just heard of the death of Professor McVey, and I was 
 shocked that my dear old friend could have been dead two months, and 
 I have known nothing of it. I can only account for my ignorance, by 
 the fact, that at the time of his death I was traveling, and frequently 
 missed seeing the daily paper. I cannot grasp the fact that Professor 
 McVey is gone, that the peaceful home in Edgewood is broken up. It 
 always seemed some way, as though that house and its inmates were 
 outside of the common everyday world; it was a hallowed spot, apart 
 from the strife and heat of ordinary life. It seems this morning, as 
 though half of a lifetime had passed since I was there, and it is really 
 only one year. I knew few men whose personality stands out before 
 me as vividly as does that of Professor McVey. With all of his childish 
 simplicity of character, he possessed well denned opinions upon all mat- 
 ters, and where any moral principle was involved, expressed those opin- 
 ions in such unequivocal language, that the halo of a saint seemed to 
 surround him. I shall always regard it as one of the privileges of my 
 life, that I had the friendship of such a man, and for years felt his 
 benign influence on my character. I am grieved beyond the power of 
 words to express, to think that I shall never see him again ; I wish that 
 I could have been near him, that I might have ministered to him in some 
 way. I know that he was surrounded by devoted friends who left noth- 
 ing undone, that there was no place vacant for me, by the side of the 
 man who held my honored father in his arms, as he was dying. I know 
 that I had forfeited my right to a place beside him, and it adds to the
 
 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 217 
 
 poignancy of my grief this morning, to feel that was so. To you he has 
 been dead more than two months, to me he died this morning, and I 
 feel that I cannot have it so, and I did not even know that he was sick! 
 How could it have been, that for weeks and months, he was surely 
 descending into the grave, and I know nothing of it! I seem to be 
 wakening from a delirium, to find, that when I was not myself, something 
 of great value passed out of my life, and was gone forever. Pardon me, 
 my dear Miss Sargent, for what may seem to you an unmanly expression 
 of grief, but you cannot know the shock it was to me, to be suddenly 
 told, in the midst of all this gaiety, that my friend had been dead for 
 more than two months. You and your brother were with him to the 
 last, I know; how they all loVedyou! and I know the comfort you were 
 to them. I wish there was something that I might do for Miss Bond and 
 Margaret, but I perfectly understand that there is nothing. I know that 
 all that man and woman can do, you and your brother will do. May I 
 ask you to write me something of our dear friend's illness and death? 
 and of the welfare of Margaret and her aunt ? All that I could learn 
 was, that he gradually failed in health, through the three months pre- 
 ceding the end." 
 
 The letter closed by saying: 
 
 "I suppose we shall return to Clinton, sometime in September, or 
 October." 
 
 There was no other reference than this indirect one to 
 his wife. For a long time, after she finished reading the 
 letter, Miss Sargent was lost in thought; she seemed 
 to have forgotten the other letters, that lay on the table 
 before her. After awhile, she said aloud, as she placed 
 the letter back in its envelope: "Poor fellow, he always 
 had a warm heart, Margaret must not see this." And 
 she slipped the letter underneath the letters and paper, in 
 her traveling writing desk.
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 After Miss Sargent and Margaret returned home from 
 Mackinaw, Miss Sargent made the inquiries regarding 
 kindergartens that she promised she would and was ready 
 to receive Margaret as she came into her room, early one 
 morning, on one of the last days of September. 
 
 "Are you not well, dear?" she asked as she kissed her, 
 "you do not look very merry in anticipation of your new 
 life." 
 
 "I don't feel at all merry, this is a necessity to me, 
 Aunt Helen, not a pleasure. Did you see Mrs. Black ?" 
 
 "Yes, and she says you will have to spend two after- 
 noons in each week, with the class in Glendale, under 
 the care of the principal of the training class. I went to 
 the Union Depot, and got a time table of that division 
 and your train does not reach the city, from Glendale, 
 until five o'clock. You must pass the night here, when 
 you go out to Glendale, it will be too late for you to go 
 home, at least when the days are shorter." 
 
 "Oh no, it will not," replied Margaret, "George will 
 meet me at the depot, and I shall not be alone at the 
 Union Depot, for quite a number of girls will have to 
 return to the city on that train." 
 
 " You don't suppose for a moment, do you, Margaret, 
 that I would hear of your going alone, from one depot to 
 another, at that time in the evening?" 
 
 "Why certainly I do, why not?" 
 
 " You don't know much about this city, child, that depot 
 is located in one of the worst parts of the city; it isn't 
 safe for women to be there alone, unless in broad day- 
 light. Either John or I will meet you every evening." 
 218
 
 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 219 
 
 "Now, Aunt Helen, if I go into. this kindergarten, T 
 propose doing it as other girls do. If you think it is an 
 unwise thing for me to attempt, and are going to feel 
 uncomfortable about it, and feel that you must guard me, 
 and be with me, I will abandon the whole project. I 
 could not permit Uncle John to feel that he was compelled 
 to meet me at the depot; just think of you, and Uncle 
 <John, feeling that you must come with your carriage for 
 me twice a week! I cannot have that, I'll give the 
 whole thing up." 
 
 " No, not yet. I'll be frank with you Margaret, I have 
 a growing conviction that you ought not to undertake it, 
 but it is not a conviction founded on knowledge. Let us 
 go and look into it somewhat, neither you nor I know 
 anything of kindergartens. Mrs. Black talks eloquently 
 of taking the little waifs out of the street, ^and snatching 
 them from destruction and every word she says is true 
 but on the other hand, Doctor Kean says that kinder- 
 garten teaching requires more nervous force than any 
 other kind of tea.ching, and frequently brings on nervous 
 exhaustion. He says and there is a great deal of sense 
 in it that only girls of firm health should undertake it, 
 that it is no place for a young girl of delicate nervous 
 organization. But let us go on, and see something for 
 ourselves. Lee is at the door waiting for us." 
 
 Margaret rose to her feet in consternation. " You are 
 not going to that charity school in your carriage, are you ?" 
 she asked. 
 
 "Why not?" inquired Miss Sargent. 
 
 "Pardon me, it is selfish," replied Margaret, "but as I 
 shall always go on the street cars, I thought we would go 
 that way this morning." 
 
 " Margaret ! go up to 900 Leek street, on the cars, and 
 walk a block in that region!"
 
 220 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 "Why, I shall do it every morning." said Margaret. 
 
 "Indeed, you'll not! you'll go every morning in the 
 carriage, Lee'll drive you." 
 
 "" But Aunt Helen " began Margaret in a broken voice. 
 
 Miss Sargent suddenly changed her manner. 
 
 "Well, on the whole, Margaret," she said, in a quiet, 
 acquiescing tone, " we better go, as you say, on the street 
 cars; I have never been on them, on that street, but can* 
 find our way." 
 
 The carriage was ordered back to the stable, and Miss 
 Sargent and Margaret walked four blocks, and took the 
 car on Leek street. Before the conductor notified them 
 that they had reached their destination, Margaret began 
 to wonder how many miles they had traveled. The car 
 stopped a short distance from the crossing. "Can't get 
 any nearer," $aid the conductor, "we're blocked here, 
 that school's just around that corner, four doors to the 
 right." 
 
 Miss Sargent and Margaret alighted from the car, into 
 the muddy street, and picked their way to the sidewalk. 
 They were near the corner of Leek and Forty-fifth street, 
 which street they had to cross, but there was at the cross- 
 ing of the two streets, one of those tangles of wagons and 
 omnibuses, that frequently occur on crowded streets, and 
 a policeman was endeavoring to clear the way. Miss 
 Sargent and Margaret were compelled to wait until a 
 passage could be opened, surrounded as they were, by a 
 jostling crowd of rough and dirty men. Forty-fifth street 
 was the direct route between two depots, in different 
 parts of the city, and about thirty German emigrants who 
 were passing through the city, had reached the Leek street 
 crossing, just as the stoppage occurred. They did not 
 understand what the difficulty was, and they seemed to 
 fear that they were in some kind of danger. There arose
 
 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 2 2i 
 
 profanity, and threats, and loud confused cries on every 
 side. A giant of a man, not many steps away, was partic- 
 ularly excited. He swung his arms, and poured out vol- 
 leys of oaths in his native tongue. A lad in his teens stood 
 near him, loaded down with long bags, full of some sort 
 of stuff. The boy was pale and thin, and his long, damp 
 hair clung to the sides of his face, in a way that gave 
 him a wild, half-crazy look. The giant seemed to have 
 some authority over the lad. Miss Sargent, who under- 
 stood German well, told Margaret that he was the boy's 
 father and he evidently was displeased with something 
 the boy had done, or had not done, and was vociferating 
 fiercely over him. The boy was frightened, and replied 
 in pleading tones, but the wrath of the man rapidly rose, 
 and soon got beyond his control. He raised his great 
 foot, with its heavy shoe, and kicked the boy in the 
 stomach. The brutal blow caused the sickly looking lad 
 to bend over nearly double, as groans of pain broke from 
 his lips. Miss Sargent had fast hold of Margaret's hand, 
 who,as she witnessed the cruelty of the beastly man, turned 
 deathly white, as her eyes opened wide in horror. 
 
 "Oh! Aunt Helen!" she cried, as she clutched Miss 
 Sargent's hand, "don't let him! do something for him, 
 do help that boy!" 
 
 ; ' Be quiet, Margaret," replied Miss Sargent, " we can 
 do nothing, but get ourselves safely out of this, if we 
 can." 
 
 "Speak to the policeman, Aunt Helen see! he is 
 going to strike him" again. Oh! don't let him!" 
 
 The angry man had crowded the boy against a flight of 
 rickety old steps that led into the second story of one of 
 the high brick buildings that was near, against which he 
 pushed him violently, as he railed at him in a coarse, loud 
 voice. The frightened, half-starved looking boy, had
 
 222 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 dropped his bags, and put up his hands to shield his head 
 from anticipated blows. Margaret turned away, white to 
 the tips of her lips, Miss Sargent looked around her, 
 scanning the buildings, to see if she could discover any 
 place into which they might slip, and hide themselves, 
 until the policeman had succeeded in opening the way. 
 But it was a vain search. Every third building was a 
 saloon; and gambling dens, and dance houses were on 
 every side. Right in front of her was a place called: 
 "Bob's Exchange," over the next door was a sign that 
 read: "New Old Clothes," on the other hand was, 
 "Cleveland Pool Rooms." She looked across the way, 
 and her eye met, " De Steffano's Italian Liquors." As 
 ^he abandoned all thought of seeking a refuge in one of 
 the buildings, from the crowding, pushing, swearing mass 
 about them, a tap on a window close by, attracted her 
 attention. She and Margaret turned simultaneously; as 
 they looked toward the window, Miss Sargent threw her 
 arm about Margaret's shoulders, and quickly turned her 
 around, so as to prevent her, if possible, from seeing the 
 repulsive object that stood in a window, that reached 
 almost to the floor. He was a middle aged man, broad 
 and fat, with bleared eyes, and red, swollen nose and lips. 
 His red flannel shirt was open, disclosing a purple throat 
 and hairy chest. His trousers came only half way up 
 over his obese abdomen, around which they were fastened 
 by an old striped suspender, that was used as a girth. 
 He paid no attention to Miss Sargent, but his eyes were 
 fixed on Margaret, and as she turned, when he tapped on 
 the glass, he leered at her in a frightful way. Miss Sar- 
 gent's first thought was, to shield Margaret from the 
 knowledge of the existence. of such an animal ; but as she 
 looked in her face, as she wheeled her about, she saw that 
 it was an unnecessary precaution on her part. Girlish
 
 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 223 
 
 purity was its own shield; the obscene creature was to 
 Margaret, a dirty, ill-dressed man, and nothing more. She 
 recognized no danger, sh*e felt no fear. At that moment, 
 the mass commenced to move across the street that had 
 been cleared by the policeman, who stood on the crossing 
 swinging his club, to keep the horses back, until the 
 pedestrians could pass. As Miss Sargent, tightly holding 
 Margaret's arm > hastened over, there came into her mind 
 some lines that she had read somewhere: "A man with a 
 foul mind, might go through heaven and think it vile, 
 while a saint would walk unharmed, save for pity, through 
 the nether world." But as she looked on Margaret's 
 delicate face, she shuddered to think of the danger such 
 a girl would unconsciously encounter, were she compelled 
 to pass alone daily, through such a locality. A few steps 
 from the corner, the words: "Charity Kindergarten," 
 painted in black letters on a pine board, that leaned 
 against the house, beside a closed door, that opened 
 from a narrow platform raised a few inches above the 
 sidewalk, indicated that they had reached the place of 
 their search. 
 
 The upper half of the door was of glass, through which 
 as Miss Sargent knocked for admittance, they were seen 
 by a young woman in the room, who immediately opened 
 the door for them. The roon^was about sixty feet long, 
 and eighteen or twenty wide. The ceiling was high, and 
 it, as well as the walls, was dark with dirt and smoke. 
 On the walls, hung at intervals, were wreaths woven of 
 evergreen, and red and white paper flowers; between 
 the wreaths were placed mottoes in gilt, and different 
 colored paper letters, pasted on pasteboard. Some of 
 the mottoes were taken from the Scriptures, and read: 
 "Love one another," "Bear one another's burdens." 
 The word "Love," which was Froebel's universal motto,
 
 224 
 
 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 was pasted on the wall in several places, surrounded by 
 chains made of red and white paper links, that had been 
 woven together by the children* Down the length of 
 the room were placed seven low tables surrounded by 
 children's chairs, small wooden chairs with low backs. 
 There were ten chairs around each table. About one- 
 half of the chairs were occupied by children, and a group 
 of twenty-five or thirty girls and boys,, from three to 
 eight years of age, were standing together at the lower 
 end of the room. They evidently had just come in from 
 the street. A few of them wore clean clothes, and had 
 clean hands and faces, but most of them were dirty and 
 ill clad. Two of the teachers, girls of twenty or more, 
 were moving among the children of the group, and taking 
 first one and then another, to a sink in a corner of the 
 room, where there was a water faucet, and a large tin 
 wash dish, a piece of soap, and several crash towels. The 
 hands and face of each dirty child were thoroughly 
 washed, the hair combed and brushed, and long clean 
 aprons, made of checked white and blue gingham, were put 
 on the little girls, and on some of the boys, who seemed 
 pleased with the fresh garment. But others of the boys 
 obstinately refused "to be made girls of," as they said, 
 and were permitted to take their places at the tables, in 
 the ragged, dirty clothes they wore from home. The 
 director of the school was a Miss West, a girl of twenty- 
 five, robust and healthy looking. She had broad shoulders, 
 a large waist, coarse black hair, a round, pleasant face and 
 great composure of manner. There were five young 
 looking girls, and a pale, large-eyed woman, of thirty 
 perhaps, who seemed to rank as teachers. Margaret to 
 her delight, saw Miss Robert midway in the room, and 
 immediately went to her. Miss Hobert introduced the 
 pale woman to Margaret, as her sister, Mrs. Bray, who 
 lived in Edgewood.
 
 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 225 
 
 " Do you teach here?" asked Margaret of Miss Robert. 
 
 " No, I'm engaged in a private kindergarten, but I taught 
 here two years ago, and I'm visiting this school to-day, 
 as we teachers say. I have come to spend the day with 
 sister; my school don't open until next month." As one 
 of the teachers seated herself at an old looking piano, 
 and commenced to strike the chords in a slow manner, 
 Miss Robert added: "They're going to begin now; let 
 me get you some chairs, I'll come back after a little." 
 
 As soon as the music commenced, the children seated 
 themselves around the tables, each table being filled by 
 those near the same age. One, called the " baby table," 
 was surrounded by little ones not more than three years 
 old. At each table was a teacher. Miss West seemed to 
 be responsible for two tables, at which were the older 
 children. A teacher seated herself in one of the small 
 chairs, at each table, and they all, teachers and pupils, 
 bowed their heads upon their hands, that were clasped, 
 and rested on the table before them. The girl at the 
 piano continued striking the chords, until all of the little 
 ones were 'in their places, then she left the piano, seated 
 herself at her table, and dropped her head upon her hands. 
 When the room was perfectly quiet, Miss West, with 
 bowed head, commenced to repeat in a low devotional 
 tone, in which she was joined by all in the room, these 
 words: 
 
 " Now before we work to-day, . 
 
 We must not forget to pray 
 
 To God, who kept us through the night, 
 
 And woke us with the morning light. 
 
 "Help us, Lord, to love Thee more, 
 
 Than we ever loved before, 
 
 In our work, and in our play, 
 
 Be Thou with us, through the day. Amen. " 
 
 During the repeating of this prayer, the efforts of the 
 teachers seemed to be directed to the keeping of each 
 15 Rodger Latimer's Mistake.
 
 226 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 little head bowed in a devout attitude: and it was a hard 
 task. Some of the stupidest looking children leaned their 
 foreheads immovably upon their clasped hands, but most 
 of them raised their heads every few seconds, to have 
 them pushed down again, by the hand of the teacher 
 placed upon the top of , the head. Her hand flew around 
 the table in its soft, but determined pressure upon the 
 uprising heads, she and the children all of the time re- 
 peating their morning prayer. The baby table, naturally 
 enough, was least under control. In spite of the teacher's 
 ability, the baby heads could not be kept down. Some of 
 them pushed her hand away from their heads, when she 
 attempted to hold them still, and one struck her in the 
 face. Through this half amusing, and half pathetic scene, 
 Margaret had kept herself in becoming composure, until 
 one of the babies slipped out of its chair, and shot 
 under the table, and a boy seated at an adjoining table, 
 who was looking at her, cried out: "Miss West, look at 
 that kid under the shelf. " This compelled her to cover 
 her mouth with her handkerchief to conceal her. laughter. 
 After these opening devotions, the children, at the 
 several tables, were given either sets of blocks, colored 
 worsted balls, packages of splints, or long narrow strips 
 of glazed, colored paper; out of which materials they were 
 directed to, build houses, make fences, and braid, or 
 weave mats. They were questioned as to the color, form 
 and number of articles with which they played, but to 
 convey to the children's mind the information which the 
 teachers w t ere required to impart in this way, did not 
 seem one-half as difficult as keeping order among them. 
 Miss West would come, from time to time, and stand 
 beside Miss Sargent for a few moments, and give expla- 
 nations of their system, and dilate upon its benevolent 
 aspects. She did not know that Margaret anticipated
 
 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 227 
 
 joining the class of that year, but supposed that the ladies 
 were only curious visitors. Miss Sargent had said to Mar- 
 garet, as they entered the room : " We better not say any- 
 thing about your wishing to teach; let us find out what 
 there is to be done, before we speak of that." Miss Sar- 
 gent, when talking with Miss West, dwelt only upon the 
 generalities of Frcebel's theory, but when Miss Hobert 
 sat by her, she asked all manner of questions. All con- 
 versation had to be carried on in a loud voice, as the 
 children at the various tables created a great deal of 
 noise. Same were laughing loudly, and some talking to 
 their mates, and some calling, "Teacher, teacher," at the 
 top of their voice, and there was scarcely five consecutive 
 minutes, in which some child did not scream out, either 
 in pain, fright, or anger, because it was struck, or its hair 
 was pulled by some other child. The teachers were con- 
 stantly busy walking around their tables, bending over 
 first one child, then another, as they sat in their little 
 chairs, soothing, reproving, and instructing, as the case 
 might require, and not seeming to expect any very near 
 approximation to either order, or silence. 
 
 "Did you teach in this room, Miss Hobert?" asked 
 Miss Sargent. 
 
 "Yes, a year," replied Miss Hobert. 
 
 " Did you find it pleasant?" 
 
 " No, I did not, but I learned a great deal." 
 
 "What did you find unpleasant about it?" asked Miss 
 Sargent. 
 
 Miss Hobert hesitated a moment, then replied: "The 
 personal contact with these children is not pleasant; I 
 did not like to wash them, or touch their heads." 
 
 "But were you compelled to do that?" interrogated 
 Margaret. 
 
 "Certainly I was; didn't you see the teachers washing 
 them, when you first came in ?"
 
 22 8 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 "Y-e-s, " said Margaret, "but I did not suppose that 
 was one of their duties." 
 
 " It has to be done; Margaret, and who is to do it if not 
 the teachers?" asked Miss Sargent. 
 
 "Certainly," said Margaret; "but they are dirty, their 
 heads must be dirty," she continued, turning to Miss 
 Robert. 
 
 " Dirty ! they are absolutely filthy, and some of them 
 diseased. Look at that boy's head, close to sister; you 
 cannot know how hard this has been for her." Miss 
 Robert looked very sad as her eyes rested upon the pale, 
 tired face of her widowed sister, who was stooping beside 
 a boy at her table in order to show him how to weave the 
 mat he was working on. His head was a mass of half- 
 healed sores, his eyelids were inflamed, and the corners of 
 his mouth were full of pimples. Margaret began to 
 notice the children individually; hitherto she had glanced 
 over them collectively. 
 
 "What an unhappy looking lot of children," she 
 said. 
 
 "Yes, and worse than that," added Miss Sargent. "Such 
 an intellectually and morally mutilated lot." 
 
 'Where do they come from? where do they live? 
 whose children are they?" asked Margaret. "I did not 
 know that there were any such children in this world. " 
 
 " They come out of the rooms, above and back of the 
 saloons around here," answered Miss Robert. 
 
 "And they are the children of such men and women as 
 surrounded us out there on the sidewalk an hour ago," 
 added Miss Sargent. 
 
 "But how do these colored children get in here?" asked 
 Margaret. 
 
 " They have the same right as white ones," replied 
 Miss Robert, "and really they are our brightest and
 
 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 229 
 
 cleanest children. See that one at the second table; he's 
 the most promising child at that table. " 
 
 " He's an average negro child for any place," said Miss 
 Sargent, "but those white children are far from an 
 average. He looks healthy, and is not deformed, his 
 eyes are bright and natural, but excepting his eyes there's 
 hardly a healthy eye at that table." 
 
 "These poor children all seem to have something the 
 matter of their eyes," said Miss Hobert. " They are 
 cross-eyed or have inflamed eyes, are blind in one eye, or 
 half blind in both. " 
 
 A loud yell from the colored boy interrupted her. Miss 
 Sargent started, and Margaret sprang forward, but seeing 
 that neither Miss Hobert nor any one beside herself was 
 disturbed in the least, she resumed her seat. 
 
 "Why don't you punish that boy?" she asked of Miss 
 Hobert. "I saw it all, and the colored child did nothing 
 to him, but that young brute fixed his mean looking eyes 
 on him, then he slowly shook his fist, as though weighing 
 it, and deliberately struck him on his back with all of his 
 strength. Why don't you go and see about it?" 
 
 "We never interfere with each other's tables, Miss 
 McVey ; the teachers don't like it. Miss West is the only 
 one who ever makes a suggestion to any teacher regarding 
 one of her pupils. Each teacher is responsible for her 
 own table. That is a dreadful boy, his name's John 
 Navigator; he's a brutal fellow, as you say, and he don't 
 seem to improve." 
 
 " He looks like an embryo butcher," said Miss Sargent, 
 as her eye rested upon the boy who had given the unpro- 
 voked blow. He had a large frame, square shoulders, 
 bony hands and a pyramidal-shaped head, with a heavy 
 jaw for base. His eyes were small and deep set under 
 his receding forehead. " He don't seem to have any
 
 230 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 compunctions of conscience for what he has done," added 
 Miss Sargent. 
 
 "Conscience!" exclaimed Miss Robert. "I suppose he 
 has one and that it is our business to find it and cultivate 
 it, but he has been here over a year and has evinced thus 
 far nothing but a stolid brute nature." 
 
 " Do you notice much improvement in the children ?". 
 asked Miss Sargent. 
 
 "Yes, a great deal," replied Miss Robert. 'Do you 
 see that boy at the third table, he is standing up now, 
 with those trousers made of light brown at the back, and 
 white in front? His name is Isaiah Younger; isn't it a 
 queer name? He was a perfect imp a year ago. He 
 would lie, swear and fight, we could do nothing with him 
 for months, and now he is gentle and obedient, and rarely 
 speaks a wrong word." 
 
 "He looks badly born," said Miss Sargent. "What a 
 missile that John Navigator will make in the hands of 
 some anarchist in a few years," she pursued, looking at 
 John, whose dull red eyes, as they were fixed on the 
 colored boy he had struck, were full of a sort of savage 
 gratification in the boy's suffering, that was shown by his 
 restrained sobs. 
 
 " What is the matter with that little girl sitting off there 
 all alone?" asked Margaret, indicating by her gaze, a 
 scrofulous looking child, with thin bow legs, and a bloated 
 body. A teacher had placed the little girl in a chair set 
 against the wall, away from all of the tables, and she was 
 screaming with wide open mouth, as the tears ran down 
 her face. 
 
 "She has been naughty," said Miss Hobert, "perhaps 
 she has quarreled with the other children. If the children 
 are not good we punish them by making them sit by 
 themselves; in that way they learn to be kind and 
 unselfish with their mates."
 
 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 231 
 
 "Why don't you make her stop crying so loud?" 
 
 " Oh, let her cry it out, she will stop herself, when she 
 finds it does no good." Turning to Miss Sargent, Miss 
 Robert continued: "You see our system is one of natural 
 retribution. Froebel says: 'The conquest of self-seeking 
 egoism, is the aim of education,' I suppose he means to 
 teach the Bible principle, of love one another. When 
 children learn that selfishness does not pay, they are 
 willing to do what love and justice require." 
 
 "It will be a long time before the world at large can 
 be made to believe that selfishness don't pay," said Miss 
 Sargent. 
 
 "Yes, I suppose so," replied Miss Hobert, "and it must 
 be a long time before the class to which these children 
 belong, are actuated by unselfish motives, and are ruled, 
 or rather, rule themselves, by principles of justice, 
 acknowledging the rights of others." 
 
 "There you have it, Miss Hobert; if this kindergarten 
 system can instil correct ideas of individual rights into the 
 children of this class, and prove to them that happiness can 
 only come to them by respecting these rights; and train 
 them into an observance of other's rights, you will 
 more than one-half settle questions that vex our statesmen 
 and philanthropists." 
 
 " That is Froebel's idea -self-culture not restriction 
 and punishment, as much as self-control, and the natural 
 setting back upon the offender, of the result of his actions. " 
 
 "May I go close to those tables, Miss Hobert?" asked 
 Margaret. 
 
 "Yes, let us go." The two girls walked slowly round 
 each table, and Margaret frequently stopped and spoke to 
 some child that turned in its chair to stare at her. A little 
 girl with very watery blue eyes, and an almost imbecile 
 expression of face, laid hold of her dress skirt. - Margaret
 
 232 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 reached out her hand to pat the child's hand, but when 
 she saw the half-healed ulcers on the little hand, a qualm 
 passed over her, and she gently released her dress and 
 passed on. One child with large black eyes, but a sadly 
 pinched mouth Miss Hobert addressed as May Rubenstine, 
 and the little girl that sat next, as Becky Rosenthal. 
 
 " Are they Jews ?" asked Margaret. 
 
 "Yes, and sharp ones," replied Miss Hobert. They 
 made a circuit of all the tables, and Margaret returned to 
 her seat with such a languid step, and face so full of sym- 
 pathetic pain, that Miss Sargent was alarmed. Margaret's 
 usually pale face had been of an almost ghastly hue since 
 she beheld the distressing scene between the German boy 
 and his father, but as she sat down in her chair, when she 
 returned from her walk around the children's tables, she 
 looked sick and faint. Miss Sargent rose, and looked at 
 her watch. 
 
 "I think it is time to leave," she said. 
 
 " I wish you could stay until the children go on the 
 circle," said Miss Hobert; " if you have never seen them, 
 it might interest you." 
 
 " Let us stay, Aunt Helen," said Margaret. 
 
 "Very well," replied Miss Sargent, who had made up 
 her mind that it would be well for Margaret to stay until 
 she was satisfied with her investigation, "but is it impos- 
 sible to have a little fresh air in this room? this atmos- 
 phere is positively foul." 
 
 " We find great difficulty in having pure air, with so 
 many of these ill^kept children in a room. I will see if 
 the back windows are open." 
 
 As Miss Hobert went down the room, her sister, 
 Mrs. Bray, passed Miss Sargent, leading a crying child 
 by the hand. It was a nice looking little girl, and she 
 was sobbing as though her heart would break.
 
 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 233 
 
 "What is the matter?" asked Miss Sargent. 
 
 "She's crying for her mother," replied Mrs. Bray. 
 "She's a new scholar, and feels a little strange. I'm 
 going to take her home. She doesn't belong to my table, 
 but I know where she lives, it is back of a saloon of the 
 lowest kind. Her father keeps the saloon, and there is no 
 reaching her mother's room, without going through the 
 saloon. It's a fearful place for any woman to enter, but 
 it is better that I go, than the young girl at whose table 
 the child belongs." Mrs. Bray passed out of the door with 
 the child. In five minutes she returned, and stopped be- 
 side Miss Sargent's chair to say: 
 
 " It was well Miss Nichols did not take Molly Bloss 
 home. When I was coming back through the saloon, a half 
 .drunken man placed himself right in my way, and asked 
 me to drink with him." 
 
 "Was it Miss Nichols' duty to take the child home?" 
 asked Miss Sargent. 
 
 "Yes." Miss Sargent and Margaret looked into each 
 other's eyes. "They usually remain until we close at 
 noon," continued Mrs. Bray, "but occasionally we have 
 to take one home." She passed on to her table, holding 
 her hand to her head as though it pained her. The col- 
 ored boy spoke to her, and she dropped into a chair by his 
 side, to give him the assistance that he needed in some 
 paper braiding that he was trying to do. But she was in- 
 terrupted in this, and the employment of all of the chil- 
 dren stopped, by one of the teachers, a Miss Lane, going 
 to the piano, and playing a lively march. All of the 
 children in the room rose, and marched in single file onto 
 a painted circle that was marked out on the floor in the 
 back part of the room. It was nearly the diameter of the 
 width of the room, and there was an inner circle of less 
 diameter. Both circles were crossed, at right angles, by
 
 234 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 broad painted bands, that cut them into quarters. The 
 children arranged themselves on the outer circle, and to 
 the music of the piano went through evolutions of march- 
 ing and simple calisthenic exercises, that brought into 
 play both hands and feet. They all joined hands at one 
 time, forming two circles, and by graceful, rapid move- 
 ments, formed what they called a basket figure. At 
 another time, twenty of them stooped to the floor, and 
 hopped about as birds, and were fed with imaginary 
 seed, scattered from the aprons of the teachers, who 
 moved among them, keeping step to the music, with their 
 aprons gathered up in one hand, while with the other, 
 they went through the motion of scattering seed broad- 
 cast. This amusement seemed to be highly enjoyed by 
 the children, who clapped their hands mostly out of 
 time, and capered around contrary to all rules. The 
 teachers would place them back on the circle, when they 
 danced off, and instruct them to keep all their movements 
 in time with the music. The lively music must have 
 been heard in the street, for as the door was shaken vio- 
 lently, Miss Sargent looked around, to see eight or ten 
 heads close together at the glass in the door, some belong- 
 ing to boys just tall enough to look through the 
 lower panes, and others to boys who must have been 
 twelve and sixteen years old. They were having their 
 own fun outside of the door, and danced upon the door- 
 step and knocked their toes against the door, while they 
 tapped upon the glass with their fingers, keeping time 
 with the piano with both feet and hands. Miss West 
 glanced toward them, but paid no other attention to their 
 presence, or their shaking the door for admittance. Mar- 
 garet concluded in her own mind, that this outside par- 
 ticipation must be of daily occurrence, as it attracted so 
 little attention, and she wondered why the boys were not
 
 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 235 
 
 admitted to play with the children on the circle. One 
 little fellow, who wore very short trousers, and very 
 heavy shoes, but had on no stockings, went off and 
 danced by himself in a corner. His little legs flew in a 
 double shuffle, with such rapid accuracy, that one could 
 but think that in his own home he had seen dancing of 
 that kind well done. Every few minutes she would stop, 
 and rub first the back of one of his little legs, then the 
 other, with the upper part of his heavy shoes, with a grat- 
 ified expression of face, as though congratulating himself 
 on his own proficiency. After fifteen or twenty minutes 
 of these varied exercises, the music changed from its 
 lively strains, to a popular religious air usually called, 
 "Jesus loves me," and the children, under the leader- 
 ship of their teachers, commenced to march around the 
 circle singing: 
 
 "Jesus loves me! this 1 know, 
 
 For the Bible tells me so. 
 
 Little ones to Him belong, 
 
 They are weak, but He is strong. 
 
 Yes, Jesus loves me, 
 
 Yes, Jesus loves me, 
 
 Yes, Jesus loves me, 
 
 The Bible tells me so." 
 
 This appeared to be the closing of the circle exercises, 
 preparatory to marching the children to their seats. 
 While engaged in the lively exercises of calisthenics and 
 games, each little one's attention was engrossed by its 
 own bodily exercises, but when they came to the monot- 
 onous marching, they seemed to have thought and energy to 
 devote to each other, and all around the ring, as they were 
 keeping step in their marching to the religious song they 
 were singing, two-thirds of the children began to tease the 
 child in front of it. One boy took hold of the braids of 
 hair hanging from the head of a girl in front of him and
 
 236 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 twitching them, drove her as he would a horse. A little 
 girl caught the skirt of the dress of a still smaller girl in 
 front of her and drawing it so tightly, that the child could 
 not step, tripped her up on her nose. Wo to the boy 
 who had a button in sight on the back of his clothes! It 
 was seized by the one behind him, and twisted and 
 twitched until the thread gave way and it came off of 
 the garment, or the wearer was pulled by the force 
 applied, out of his place on the circle. Apron strings and 
 suspenders were laid hold of wherever seen, but the 
 loose hair hanging around the necks of the girls was the 
 most convenient source of fun and torture, and not many 
 heads escaped. Big boys pulled the hair of big girls, 
 and girls of the same size laid hold of each other's flying 
 locks with a playful and half diabolical fury. 
 
 " Seems to me these children pull hair to the tune of 
 'Jesus loves me,'" said Margaret to Miss Sargent, as cries 
 arose from some of the smaller children. Very few 
 uttered any complaints if they were hurt; they kept it to 
 themselves and struggled to retaliate. At last the sixty 
 children were seated again around their little tables and 
 Margaret expressed the wish to go home. Miss West 
 urged her to remain until noon. 
 
 "These children have a luncheon in about half an 
 hour," she said; " perhaps it might interest you to see 
 that." 
 
 "Thank you," replied Miss Sargent, as she glanced at 
 Margaret's pale face. " I think we must return. May I 
 ask you, Miss West, if all pupils studying kindergarten 
 are obliged to teach in schools similar to this? Are they 
 compelled to do it, I mean, in order to fit themselves as 
 teachers?" 
 
 " Yes, they must teach for one year in some one of the 
 schools under the direction of the Froebel Association.
 
 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 237 
 
 We regard this as one of our best and pleasantest schools. 
 It is in a demoralized .locality, but after all the children 
 compare favorably with those in any of the charity 
 schools." 
 
 "And there are no schools in which girls can gain what 
 you call practical knowledge, excepting these?" 
 
 "No, not any that I know of. Some girls teach during 
 the morning for one year, and some for two years, but 
 they usually finish the course in one year, and then after 
 that they are paid a salary if they take a position. Now, 
 there are more teachers than positions, although I teach 
 in two schools." 
 
 " Is that possible !" exclaimed Miss Sargent. " You must 
 have perfect health." 
 
 "I have splendid health," replied Miss West. "I did 
 double duty the year I studied, and now I teach in two 
 kindergartens. I stay here until half-past twelve, and 
 then at two I have a school three miles from here." 
 
 " I am surprised that you have a nerve left in your 
 body. I should think that you would be insane," said 
 Miss Sargent. 
 
 "That is just what enables me to do it; I never had a 
 nerve in my body; I don't know what nerves are," said 
 Miss West, with a pleasant smile. "I never lose an 
 hour's sleep; I never have a pain of any kind; nor do I 
 ever feel tired." 
 
 " There is certainly then, a beautiful fitness between 
 you and your profession," said Miss Sargent, with an 
 answering smile, as she extended her hand in farewell. 
 "This is a much needed mission, and I am thankful that 
 it has so capable a leader." 
 
 Miss Sargent placed Margaret in the corner of the Leek 
 street car, when they entered it, and seated herself be- 
 tween her and a rough looking man who was holding a
 
 238 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 tub of paint in his lap. As they alighted, forty minutes 
 afterward, at the cross street that led near to Miss 
 Sargent's residence, Margaret said: 
 
 "I'll go on to the depot, Aunt Helen, I shall be in 
 time for the 12:30 train." Her voice plainly indicated 
 her nervous exhaustion and mental depression. 
 
 Miss Sargent took firm hold of her hand. " Don't talk 
 now, Margaret," she said; "you must come home with 
 me, so please don't say a word, dear." 
 
 Margaret walked on, too tired and miserable to have a 
 preference, or make a decision. Miss Sargent led her to 
 her own chamber, as soon as they entered the house, and 
 took off her bonnet, and jacket, and dress, with her own 
 hands; and after enveloping her in one of her own much 
 too large bedroom gowns, she placed her on the bed to 
 rest. She leaned down and kissed the pale, spiritless 
 face on the pillow, as she said: 
 
 "You are tired out, Margaret, that's all; it has been a 
 hard day for you. Go to sleep, dear; a nap and a cup of 
 tea will bring you out all right." 
 
 " I don't feel as though I should ever sleep again, those 
 poor, miserable children will haunt me as long as I live," 
 said Margaret, as she closed her eyes, and a shiver ran 
 over her frame. "What a dreadful world this is; I never 
 dreamed there was such misery in it." 
 
 " I ought not to have permitted you to go there, Mar- 
 garet, I see it now; you're not strong enough for such a 
 sudden outlook on the sufferings of that class. I have 
 seen a great deal of them, but the sight of those unfor- 
 tunate children affected me very much." 
 
 "What has God made this world for? It is dreadful!" 
 said Margaret, opening her eyes that looked like those of 
 a pursued animal. " How can He let such things be!" 
 
 " Remember, Margaret, 'W T hat I do thou knowest not 
 now; but thou shall know hereafter,' "
 
 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 239 
 
 "If He knows Himself, He knows more than we can 
 even guess at," said Margaret. 
 
 "It is to be hoped He does. No doubt, Margaret, if 
 we knew all that God knows, we should do just as He 
 does. But, darling, we will talk it all over after you 
 have had a nap and something to eat; you must have the 
 nap first to quiet your nerves. " While Miss Sargent was 
 talking she had drawn down the window shades and had 
 wet the end of a towel and laid it on Margaret's forehead 
 and eyes. "Now I will lie on the lounge here," she 
 said, "where I always take my noon nap, and let us both 
 go to sleep for an hour." 
 
 Margaret felt very sure that she could not go to sleep, 
 but in less than fifteen minutes the hot eyes were closed 
 in slumber, and the excited pulse was falling to its normal 
 pace. 
 
 An hour and a half afterward, Margaret was sitting in 
 a large chair, still wrapped in Miss Sargent's gown, that 
 crossed over her breast from shoulder to shoulder, and had 
 the sleeves turned up half way to the elbow. The chair 
 was drawn close to a table on which Miss Sargent had 
 ordered luncheon served. 
 
 "It sounds selfish, Aunt Helen," said Margaret, "but 
 if Uncle John was at home we couldn't have this cosy 
 luncheon up stairs here in your room." 
 
 "He's having a good time somewhere," replied Miss 
 Sargent. 
 
 " Don't this seem like heaven?" said Margaret, looking 
 around the room, as she held the leg of a broiled bird 
 between her thumb and finger. " How pretty your curtains 
 are! and your pictures never looked so beautiful. What a 
 horrid old room that was! Just smell this tea! Aunt 
 Helen," exclaimed Margaret, as she held her face over 
 the steaming cup, "this is my second cup, and I shall 
 want another, I know."
 
 240 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 "Well, it is here, darling," replied Miss Sargent, as 
 she took the lid off of the little teapot that was over a 
 spirit-lamp in front of her, and stirred the leaves with a 
 teaspoon. She was delighted to see Margaret looking 
 even one-half cheerful again. She could hardly keep 
 her eyes off of the wan face opposite to her, or the tears 
 from her eyes as she gazed on it. 
 
 " I must go home on the four o'clock train," said Mar- 
 garet. "Auntie Deb will wonder what has become of me." 
 
 "I telegraphed her that you were here, and would like 
 to have George meet you at the 5 130 train ; was that 
 right, dear?" 
 
 "Perfectly; how thoughtful you are of everybody, 
 Aunt Helen; if I wasn't tangled up so, in this big gown 
 of yours, I'd go round there and hug you," said Mar- 
 garet, with a smile on her thin face, that Miss Sargent 
 thought made her look even more pitiful than tears. 
 
 "No matter, dear, I'll take the hug on faith, until you 
 have finished your tea." And she smiled, with such a 
 world of love in her benign face, that Margaret exclaimed : 
 
 " I declare, Aunt Helen, you are a handsome woman ! 
 I wish you would go to the glass and look at yourself." 
 
 Miss Sargent laughed aloud. "It almost paid us," 
 she said, "to go to that Leek street kindergarten, we en- 
 joy so much more the pretty things in our own home, 
 after seeing that unlovely room; you must have had Miss 
 Lane in your mind's eye just now, as you were looking 
 at me." It was an unfortunate speech, Miss Sargent in- 
 stantly saw; a shadow fell upon Margaret's face, which 
 she could not drive off, turn the conversation any way 
 she would, Margaret was evidently pre-occupied with sad 
 thoughts. 
 
 "There's no use dodging the point, Aunt Helen," she 
 said after a little, "I cannot teach in that kindergarten."
 
 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 241 
 
 "As a matter of course you can't; it would be mad- 
 ness to think of it, it would kill you." 
 
 " I am so sorry for those teachers," said Margaret. 
 
 "I don't know why you should say that," rejoined 
 Miss Sargent. "Mrs. Bray is certainly an unhappy looking 
 woman, those other teachers looked well and happy." 
 
 " Miss West did, I'm sure," said Margaret. 
 
 "She must be a very strong girl," added Miss Sargent, 
 " but you and she resemble each other, about as much as 
 brother John resembles a pugilist. I wish this world had 
 more like her. Such physically strong people, of tough 
 mental fiber, are specially adapted to do such work. Their 
 surroundings don't seem to make them uncomfortable. 
 Give such people plenty to eat, warmth, and time to 
 sleep, and they will have an even sort of happiness, put 
 them wherever you will." 
 
 "What a pity," said Margaret, "that every girl who 
 lives isn't of that organization." 
 
 "I don't think so," replied Miss Sargent. "When I 
 look into the heart of an ascension lily, and my soul fol- 
 lows its leading, out beyond bread, and shelter, and fuel, 
 into a world as real as this material one, but where 
 there are no material needs, I feel that the lily has as 
 true a practical use, as has a peck of corn. I have a 
 great respect for these strong, practical people, made of 
 serviceable clay; but in this practical age, and time of 
 great need for such people, don't let us forget that it was 
 God himself that made other types, and that He has 
 use for them. That charity kindergarten work is a pecul- 
 iarly trying work, and it will probably be done by two 
 classes of workers. One is a class of saints, that in 
 hoars of solitary prayer and reflection, learn lessons of 
 self-renunciation and fortitude, that enable them to de- 
 vote themselves to the service of others, regardless of 
 
 16 Rodger Latimer's Mistake.
 
 242 
 
 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 circumstances or surroundings and there is a larger 
 number of these saints, both men and women, than is gen- 
 erally known but the most of this kindergarten work 
 will be done by young women who are dependent upon 
 themselves, and who choose it as a means of earning 
 their bread. The majority of these will find it pleasant 
 enough employment, because their early surroundings were 
 not such as to cultivate delicate tastes; but many of these 
 will make it only a stepping stone to something that pays 
 better, or something they like better. Mrs. Black tells 
 me that many of their kindergarten teachers are leaving 
 them, and going into the public schools as teachers. " Miss 
 Sargent was silent for a, moment, but as Margaret said 
 nothing, she continued : "I must say that I share Mrs. 
 Black's enthusiasm regarding kindergartens; there ought 
 to be one in connection with each of our public schools. 
 Any one who has seen as much as i have of adult crim- 
 inals, in prisons and Magdalen asylums, can have but 
 little faith in the reformation of depraved men and women, 
 those who have fixed habits of crime. We are soon 
 brought to see that our only hope is in getting hold of the 
 children, and training them into a better life. But Mar- 
 garet, you can do nothing in kindergarten teaching, you 
 haven't the health, you could not endure the going to 
 Glendale for instruction, and teaching in the city school, 
 one week. And your teaching in such a place as we were 
 in this morning, is not to be thought of." 
 
 " I know it," said Margaret, looking gloomily out of 
 the window. " I wonder what I am to do for the next ten 
 years. " 
 
 " Do not try and settle your life ten years ahead, dar- 
 ling, you never have had an idle day yet; something will 
 come to you, demanding your attention, that will be in 
 harmony with both your judgment and taste, and will not 
 injure your health; have patience, dear." -
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 On entering the car of the suburban train, a little after 
 five o'clock, Margaret's eye fell upon Mrs. Bray, who was 
 sitting with her head leaning against the car window, 
 with her eyes closed as though in weariness. Margaret 
 took a seat across the aisle, a little back of her. When 
 half way to Edgewood, she observed that Mrs. Bray drew 
 her black veil over her face, and she could see that be- 
 hind it she was wiping the tears from her eyes. Im- 
 mediately her sympathies went out toward the sorrowing 
 woman. As they alighted from the car, she went to Mrs. 
 Bray, and invited her to take a seat in her carriage. 
 
 " Let me take you home, please," she said, " I have two 
 seats, you must be tired, after standing on your feet in 
 that school all of the morning." 
 
 Mrs. Bray was touched by the kind attention. "Thank 
 you, I am tired," she replied, and gladly accepted a seat 
 beside Margaret, on the back seat of the phaeton. Mar- 
 garet found that Mrs. Bray lived only four blocks from 
 her own home. She felt that Mrs. Bray was in trouble, 
 and while she kept up a running talk on commonplace 
 subjects, she was wondering what the matter could be, 
 and was resolving in her own mind ways of finding out, 
 so that she might be of use to her. When they reached 
 the house where Mrs. Bray said she had rooms, Margaret 
 alighted, and insisted on carrying a parcel that Mrs. 
 Bray had brought from the city, to the door for her, in 
 order to prolong her stay with her, hoping each moment 
 that something would happen that would disclose to her a 
 way of serving the distressed woman. Mrs. Bray politely 
 opened the gate for Margaret to pass through, without 
 
 243
 
 2 4 4 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 saying a word. Margaret thought she seemed afraid to 
 trust her voice to speak. They had taken but a few steps 
 on the board walk that led to the house, when the front 
 door opened, and a little girl came bounding down the 
 walk, and threw her arms around Mrs. Bray's neck, who 
 stooped to take the child in her arms. She was a pretty, 
 delicate looking girl, apparently about six years old, with 
 soft brown eyes and a heavy, straight bang of brown hair. 
 She was tastily dressed, and wore fine stockings and 
 shoes. The mother and child embraced and kissed each 
 other in the most affectionate manner. 
 
 "This is my little Eloise, Miss- McVey," said Mrs. 
 Bray, as she rose to her feet. 
 
 Margaret stooped to the ground, and placed her arm 
 around the child, whom she kissed repeatedly. Little 
 Eloise immediately made friends with her, and rested her 
 arm on Margaret's shoulder, as she retained her stooping 
 posture. 
 
 " Is that your horse?" she asked, pointing to Margaret's 
 horse. "Yes, dear; would you like to take a drive?" 
 said Margaret. 
 
 "Yes! yes!" exclaimed Eloise; she ran to her mother 
 crying, "May I mamma? Oh! please let me! the lady 
 asked me, and I didn't say a word to her about it first; 
 please let me!" 
 
 " Do let her go, Mrs. Bray ; the horse is gentle, and my 
 man is perfectly reliable, we have had him five years. 
 Would you feel safe to let her go alone with George, so 
 that you could give me half an hour of your time? I 
 know that I'm asking a great deal, especially as you are 
 so tired, but I need some information very much that I 
 think you can give me, and we could have a talk while 
 this little maiden is having an airing." 
 
 Mrs. Bray could not deny the eager child the rare
 
 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 245 
 
 pleasure of a drive, and she invited Margaret to her room, 
 which was a lower front one, opening from the hall. 
 Eloise was soon arrayed in hat and jacket, and both Mar- 
 garet and Mrs. Bray walked down to the carriage to see 
 her off. 
 
 " Here, George, is a little girl you are to take good 
 care of, and give a nice drive," said Margaret; "you must 
 go where she says, and watch her closely, that she don't 
 fall out." 
 
 ' Margaret placed Eloise on the front seat beside George, 
 who moved along so that she could sit very near the mid- 
 dle of the seat. He smiled good-naturedly as he placed 
 the lap-robe across her, tucking it in tightly underneath 
 her; then he offered her the ends of the long lines that 
 were buckled together, as he said: " Would the little lady 
 like to drive?" Eloise took the lines in both hands, and 
 turned with a delighted face to her mother, as she ex- 
 claimed r 
 
 "Oh! mamma, mamma! I'm going to drive the horse!" 
 
 Margaret stepped close to the carriage, and said in a 
 low voice to George: "Go to Sanders' and bring rne, 
 when you come back, a basket of his best grapes two 
 baskets, one of Concords, and one of Catawbas. Be out 
 about half or three-quarters of an hour." 
 
 As Margaret re-entered Mrs. Bray's room she was pain- 
 fully struck by its air of poverty, which was out of keep- 
 ing with both Mrs. Bray's and her daughter's appearance 
 and manner. A creton curtain partitioned off one corner 
 of the room, behind which was a bed. A small coal oil 
 stove stood on a box that had a newspaper pinned around 
 it. A small table covered with a flowered red and white 
 cotton cloth, three wooden chairs and a small rocking- 
 chair, completed the furnishing of the room. Mrs. Bray 
 offered the rocking-chair to Margaret, and she seated her-
 
 246 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 self at the end of the table on which she rested her elbow 
 as she supported her head upon her hand. She was pale 
 and looked physically exhausted, but the look of physical 
 weariness was overshadowed by an expression of mental 
 pain, a look of anxious fear that was in her face. Mar- 
 garet's heart was full of sympathy, but Mrs. Bray's man- 
 ner of gentle dignity forbade any familiar approach to 
 personal matters. With delicate tact, Margaret im- 
 mediately opened the conversation by speaking of her- 
 self. 
 
 "You are very kind, Mrs. Bray," she said, " in permit- 
 ting me to take your time, but I feel that you are pos- 
 sessed of knowledge that may be of great value in assist- 
 ing me in making an important decision, but perhaps you 
 are too weary to-night, shall I defer my questions until 
 some other time? shall I call and see you to-morrow?" 
 
 "O no, I'm not too tired to talk with you, I shall be 
 very glad to give you any information I may possess, but 
 I can't imagine what it is I know that can be of any value 
 to you." 
 
 "It's about this kindergarten teaching," said Mar- 
 garet. 
 
 "Kindergarten teaching!" exclaimed Mrs. Bray. 
 
 "Yes; that was the reason of my being at your school 
 this morning," said Margaret. "I wished to see what 
 there was in it; I wish to teach. My aunt had seen Mrs. 
 Black about my going to Glendale to join the class 
 there." 
 
 Mrs. Bray raised her head with an expression of great 
 surprise on her face. "Do I understand you, Miss 
 McVey," she said, " that you wish to teach in a kinder- 
 garten? you, yourself?" 
 
 "Yes, that was my thought when I went to your kinder- 
 garten this morning," answered Margaret.
 
 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 247 
 
 " But pardon me, I thought I understood my sister 
 to say you wish to teach ? Excuse me, but why do you 
 think of it?" 
 
 "Why?" repeated Margaret in a sad tone, as she looked 
 at Mrs. Bray, with eyes fast filling with tears. Mrs. 
 Bray's pale face flushed as she hastened to say: 
 
 "I beg your pardon, Miss McVey, but I could not 
 imagine any such necessity. " 
 
 Margaret was as tired as Mrs. Bray. She was tremb- 
 ling from nervous exhaustion. "Necessity!" she ex- 
 claimed, repeating Mrs. Bray's words. The dire neces- 
 sity of something in her life so smote upon her that the 
 gathering tears were forced from her eyes by the pain that 
 crowded her heart. Mrs. Bray was shocked by what she 
 thought was the result of her rude question. 
 
 "My dear Miss McVey, " she said, leaning toward Mar- 
 garet, " forgive me. I must have misunderstood; I have 
 pained you, how can I be of use to you? If you think 
 of studying kindergarten, let me beg of you not to do 
 it. It won't pay you; it is very hard, very trying work, 
 and " Mrs. Bray stopped abruptly, shut her lips tightly 
 together, and clasped her hands rigidly in her lap. 
 
 "And what? Mrs. Bray, please tell me all about it." 
 
 "All about it!" repeated Mrs. Bray, covering "her face 
 with both hands, which she rested on the table before her. 
 The tired woman broke entirely down and sobbed like a 
 child. It was as though along continued self-control had 
 at last given way, and she was powerless to repress 
 either her tears or sobs. For a few minutes Margaret sat 
 perfectly still ; she offered no consolation, she spoke no 
 word of sympathy. Then as the first convulsive outburst 
 of grief subsided, she drew her chair close to the side of 
 the table, and reaching out her hand, laid it gently on 
 Mrs. Bray's shoulders, as she said:
 
 248 > RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 " These necessities of life are terrible things, my dear 
 Mrs. Bray ; perhaps you and I might be of some help and 
 comfort to each other, if we only knew it." As her sweet 
 voice fell upon Mrs. Bray's ear, it was like healing balm 
 to her heart. She did not analyze the tone, she could not 
 have done so, had she been aware that there was any 
 peculiar compound to analyze. She only felt the influence 
 of a spirit that was full of a gentle sympathy born of a 
 sorrow of its own, and a cheerful helpfulness inherent in 
 a character much stronger, and more self-reliant than her 
 own. Margaret said no more, but quietly waited for the 
 confidence that she felt sure would come; waited with 
 her hand resting upon the shoulder of the weeping woman. 
 After a little Mrs. Bray's sobs ceased, and then she raised 
 her face from her hands, and pushed her disordered hair 
 back from her forehead; she looked straight at Margaret 
 with her red eyes and swollen lids, but said nothing. 
 
 "If you could, dear Mrs. Bray, tell me all about your 
 kindergarten experience," said Margaret, " it might be of 
 great use to me, and perhaps perhaps we might be of 
 help to each other." 
 
 " I don't know why I should not tell you all about it," 
 said Mrs. Bray, as she began to cry again, the tears roll- 
 ing down her cheeks as fast as she wiped them off. " You 
 must excuse this weakness." she continued, "I am not 
 always so childish, "but to-day I'm thoroughly worn out, 
 and thoroughly discouraged. Whatever else you attempt 
 don't go into kindergarten teaching, I beg of you, Miss 
 McVey. To think how hard I have worked for the last 
 year I have gone through everything and this is the 
 result. But you don't know what I mean. In telling 
 you about my kindergarten teaching, I must tell you 
 something of myself. I never expected to teach at all 
 oh! Miss McVey, I had such a pretty home when my
 
 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 249 
 
 husband was alive. He was a dentist, and growing into 
 a good practice, but two years ago he died, he was sick 
 only a few weeks, not dangerously sick for more than 
 three days." Mrs. Bray placed one hand across her eyes 
 for a moment, then continued, " When the business was 
 settled, I had nothing but the household furniture. We 
 had paid something on our home, but I lost it, the title 
 was not good, you can't understand about business. I don't 
 know much about it, but there were some debts, and I 
 sold the good will of the office, and when all was settled, 
 there was no money left. Mr. Bray had his life insured 
 as soon as Eloise was born, but he forgot to pay, and 
 that ran out six months before he died, so I lost that. I 
 had not a single friend or relative that could assist me, 
 and I was left with Eloise and our household furniture, 
 and not twenty dollars in the world. I had to do some- 
 thing for our support, and was advised by my sister and 
 several friends, to fit myself for a kindergarten teacher. 
 So I had an auction, and sold the furniture it was dread- 
 ful to see at what prices the articles went I kept enough 
 to furnish two rooms for Eloise and myself, but most of 
 that had to go, piece by piece, to pay my grocery bill, 
 and we came here to live in this one room." Mrs.- Bray 
 had ceased weeping, and talked as though it was a relief 
 to give utterance to her sorrow. " I was as careful as I 
 could be," she continued, "but my fare into the city, and 
 out to Glendale, and then a few books that I had to have 
 and some material, all counted up, and I was frightened 
 to see how fast the money went. I worked very hard all 
 last year, and endured all kinds of exposure; last winter 
 I waded through the snow to the depot, to catch the early 
 train, just plunging through drifts, and had wet feet and 
 damp clothes all day, and several days I taught in that 
 schoolroom with our thermometer at forty. I kept my
 
 250 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 cloak and overshoes on all of the morning, but I took 
 dreadful colds, really I was hardly free from a cold all 
 last winter. The days that I went to Glendale I had to 
 ride, in the four trips, two from here to the city, and then 
 out to Glendale and back; forty-eight miles on the cars, 
 and walk about four miles, leaving home at seven in the 
 morning, and getting back at six in the evening, and 
 frequently, during the spring, wet to my skin by the rain; 
 I had overshoes, and rubber leggins, and a waterproof, 
 but you can't walk a mile in a driving rain without get- 
 ting wet. But I didn't mind all of that exposure as much 
 as the personal contact with those filthy, diseased children. 
 Some of the teachers don't seem to feel that at all, but it 
 was something sickening to me, and I did not seem to get 
 used to it." 
 
 Mrs. Bray stopped a moment, and Margaret asked: 
 " Where did Eloise stay, when you were absent from her 
 all day?" 
 
 " The woman I rent this room of is a kind, respectable 
 woman, and is very fond of Eloise, so she looked after 
 her. But it was very hard for me to leave that little girl 
 all day, she seemed to feel my being away so much. 
 Often I have cried all of the way into the city, because 
 it was so hard for me to take her little arms from my 
 neck, when it was time for me to go to the depot. I had 
 an idea of taking a room in the city, so that I would not 
 have to be away from her for so long a time, but I found' 
 that it would cost me double what it did to live out here. 
 Oh! how tired and discouraged I used to feel, but there 
 was nothing to do, but keep right on, and now, Miss Mc- 
 Vey, after I have been through all of this, and got my 
 certificate, I cannot get a situation." Again Mrs. Bray 
 began to weep. " My last dollar is spent, and God only 
 knows what I am to do."
 
 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 251 
 
 " Do you mean that you cannot get a place to teach ?" 
 asked Margaret. 
 
 " Not a place that will pay my expenses. The best I 
 can do is twenty-two dollars a month, and take out six 
 dollars and thirty-six cents, for my monthly railroad 
 ticket, that would leave me only fifteen seventy-five, for 
 rent, fuel, clothes, and provisions for myself and Eloise. 
 But my sister clothes Eloise." 
 
 "Can't you open a kindergarten here? wouldn't that 
 pay you better than going into the city ?" asked Margaret. 
 
 "I have thought that all over," replied Mrs. Bray, "but 
 there is one here, a small one, taught by a Miss Allen. 
 She is living with her mother, they have some little 
 income, but she told me that her kindergarten wouldn't 
 more than half pay her expenses." 
 
 "But are there not enough children in this town to 
 support two kindergartens?" asked Margaret. 
 
 "There ought to be," said Mrs. Bray, "but if Miss 
 Allen can't make hers pay, it would be folly for me to 
 attempt to open a second one. You may think me very 
 weak, but lam utterly discouraged, Miss McVey; there 
 seems to be no place for Eloise and me in this world, I 
 feel as though I would like to take her in my arms, and 
 lie down in my grave. How little the dear child knows 
 of the life that is before her." Mrs. Bray laid her head 
 on her hands, and cried without trying to control herself. 
 
 " Instead of thinking you are weak," said Margaret, " I 
 think you have been very brave and strong, but it does 
 seem to me that something might be done, here at home, 
 in the way of a k indergarten." 
 
 " But think of the expense," said Mrs. Bray. " I would 
 have to have one large schoolroom, or two small ones, 
 we must have a circle, a kindergarten without a circle 
 wouldn't be a kindergarten, and then the furnishing and
 
 252 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 rent for the rooms. Miss Allen has ten scholars, that is 
 ten dollars a week; I couldn't get that number, and I 
 would have to run in debt for rent and furnishing. 
 Kindergarten furnishing is expensive, our tables and 
 chairs, and all the materials are expensive. And then I 
 would have to rent a piano, I have none." 
 
 '' Is the usual charge a dollar a week for tuition ?" 
 asked Margaret. 
 
 "Yes, in a private kindergarten," replied Mrs. Bray, 
 as Eloise came bounding into the room, with hair flying, 
 and cheeks aglow. She rushed into her mother's arms, 
 exclaiming: 
 
 "Oh! mamma! I've had such a good time! George got 
 me some grapes, just see them! I ate two bunches, big 
 ones, you eat some, they're so good!" The child ran to 
 one of the baskets of grapes that George had brought in 
 and placed on the floor, and taking a bunch, flew back to 
 her mother, and commenced picking the grapes from the 
 stem, and stuffing them into her mother's mouth. Mrs. 
 Bray placed her arm around the excited child, and took 
 the grapes from her hand. 
 
 Margaret rose to take her departure, Mrs. Bray begged 
 her to take at least one basket of grapes home with her, 
 but Eloise flew back to the baskets, and leaning over 
 them, spread out her little arms, as she exclaimed: 
 
 "They are mine! George gave them to me, didn't you, 
 George?" Mrs. Bray's face flushed, but Margaret stoop- 
 ing, placed her arm around the spontaneous child, and 
 said: 
 
 " Yes, they are yours, George did get them for you, I 
 don't wish for them, my house is full of grapes. But 
 Eloise, you must come and see me," Margaret continued, 
 as she put her hand beneath the child's chin, and turned 
 the sweet, fresh face toward her; "I haven't any mother,
 
 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 253 
 
 but I live with my auntie, and she loves little girls dearly, 
 almost as much as I do. Will you come and see us?" 
 
 The child threw both arms around Margaret's neck as 
 she exclaimed: 
 
 "Yes! I will! now? shall I go home with you? I love 
 you!" and the little arms tightened around Margaret's 
 neck. 
 
 " Not to-day," said Margaret, "your mother wouldn't 
 let you go to-night, but very soon, you and your mother 
 must come. " At the outside door, where Margaret held 
 Mrs. Bray's hand in parting, she said: 
 
 "You will not go to the city to-morrow?" 
 
 " No, there is nothing for me to do there, I was there 
 to-day only to supply the place of a teacher who was not 
 well. I am almost sick. I shall rest to-morrow, then I 
 must start out and look for some place. I must do some- 
 thing, if I can find nothing better, I shall take one of 
 those situations at twenty-two dollars a month." 
 
 " Please don't go to the city until I see you again," said 
 Margaret, "I'm about sick myself, but I'll try and see 
 you by day after to-morrow. I have a scheme that I am 
 very desirous of carrying out, and I cannot do so, with- 
 out assistance from you." 
 
 With that understanding Margaret went home. Aunt 
 Deborah had tea on the table five minutes after she 
 entered the house. 
 
 "You don't seem hungry, Margaret, are you sick?" 
 asked Miss Bond, as she observed that Margaret had 
 pushed her plate one side, and was only sipping her tea. 
 
 " No, I'm not sick, but I'm very tired. I lunched late 
 with Aunt Helen. The truth is I'm heart sick, I've seen 
 suffering enough to-day to kill one." 
 
 "Where have you been?" inquired Miss Bond. 
 
 " I'll tell you all about it after tea," answered Margaret.
 
 2 54 
 
 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 They soon Adjourned to the study, which they made 
 their sitting-room, occupying it just as they had done in 
 Professor McVey's lifetime, Margaret laid down on the 
 lounge, and then proceeded to give Miss Bond an account 
 of what she had seen during the day, closing with a 
 touching description of Mrs. Bray's condition, that 
 awakened all of Miss Bond's sympathy. 
 
 "I have a plan," said Margaret, when she had finished 
 her recital, " that I think is a good one, if it meets your 
 approval. You know that I thought of teaching in a city 
 kindergarten; I see now that I cannot do that, but I 
 would like to have a kindergarten here in the house for 
 Mrs. Bray. She understands the system thoroughly ; I 
 can play the piano for her, and render her some assistance 
 with the children if I choose. It will give her a pleasant 
 place to work, and enable her to earn enough to support 
 herself and Eloise. Her little girl is a lovely child, as 
 natural as a bird, and full of childish enthusiasm, you 
 couldn't help loving her if you saw her." 
 
 "Where did you think of having this kindergarten?" 
 asked Miss Bond. 
 
 "In the parlor," replied Margaret. 
 
 "In the parlor!" exclaimed Miss Bond, "you don't 
 mean in our parlor! our large parlor?" 
 
 "Yes I do; that is, if you have no objections. This is 
 your home as much as mine, Auntie Deb, and I wouldn't 
 think, for a moment of doing anything that would inter- 
 fere with your comfort or happiness. But neither you or 
 t care for society, how little use we make of that parlor." 
 Margaret hurried on so as to get in all of her points, 
 before Deborah had taken a, position. " It hate not been 
 opened for six months, it does no one any good. Mrs. 
 Bray is a suffering woman, alone, and without means, 
 with that little girl dependent on her. It would melt
 
 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 255 
 
 your heart to look at her, and hear her talk, she's not a 
 strong woman, either physically or mentally, but is a 
 gentle, shrinking creature, that needs some one to take 
 care of her. Now if I can get the scholars it all hinges 
 on that I'll try to-morrow, I'll go to all of rny acquaint- 
 ances who have small children, and if I can get the 
 scholars, and you should think best, we could take out 
 that furniture and pack it away up stairs somewhere, and 
 I would get the little tables and chairs, and move my 
 piano into the room, and in less than a week we might 
 have a lovely kindergarten in there, and Mrs. Bray would 
 be as happy as a queen. She is a real lady, auntie, and 
 the little children who would come to the house, would 
 all be nice, dear little creatures, just as sweet and pretty 
 as they could be. You and I have nothing to do, and we 
 ought to come in contact with the outside world some- 
 what, and you might find Mrs. Bray a pleasant person to 
 talk with sometimes." 
 
 "I have plenty to do, Margaret," said Miss Bond, but 
 Margaret thought of the many hours she had devoted to 
 her aunt, reading books to her that she did not care at 
 all for herself, and going to places where she did not care 
 to go, in order to keep the kind-hearted woman from 
 becoming lonely in the house, out of which had been 
 taken the object of her greatest care. Miss Bond added: 
 " But I see no objection to your plan, only what will 
 you do for a carpet? and the hall carpet, too, the chil- 
 dren will ruin that." 
 
 "I don't care for the parlor carpet, let it wear out, I 
 never did like it, and as for the hall, we'll have the front 
 of it covered with oilcloth, or heavy linen." 
 
 " But who is to pay for the tables and chairs of which 
 you speak ?" asked Miss Bond. 
 
 "I am," replied Margaret, "I ought to do some good
 
 256 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 with the money I have, and how could I put some of it to 
 a better use, than assisting that fatherless child and needy 
 woman ?" 
 
 " I declare, Margaret, you ought to have been a 
 preacher; you could convince anybody of anything." 
 Margaret smiled over her easy conquest. 
 
 " Now, what do you think of my plan ?" asked Margaret. 
 "You see, Mrs. Bray will have clear, all of the tuition 
 of the children, she will have no rent to pay, or expense 
 for warming her room. I don't know what we can do for 
 a circle." 
 
 "A circle, what's that?" asked Miss Bond. As soon 
 as Margaret explained the meaning, and the necessity of 
 a kindergarten circle, Miss Bond said: 
 
 " Oh, I could make one iri the center of the parlor that 
 would answer perfectly, and it would be the diameter of 
 the width of the room; that would be large enough." 
 
 "'What would you make it of?" asked Margaret. 
 
 " Some broad bias bands of strong white cloth, or 
 bright colored cloth, if you think best. White linen duck 
 would be good, sewed right onto the carpet, or nailed 
 down with flat headed brass nails." 
 
 As soon as Miss Bond became interested in Margaret's 
 project, she applied herself energetically to push it for- 
 ward, and hastened Margaret off the next day on her tour 
 of solicitation for scholars, which proved a more success- 
 ful one than either had anticipated. Twenty children 
 were pledged, without Margaret approaching any of the 
 families that patronized Miss Allen's class. "Suppose 
 we say eighteen, Aunt Deb," said Margaret, as they sat 
 at the tea-table, when she was giving an account of her 
 experience during the day. "Somebody always fails to 
 come to time, that will be eighteen dollars a week. You 
 see kindergarten tuition is a dollar a week, let me see 
 Rodger Latimer's Mistake,
 
 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 2 57 
 
 four times eight are thirty-two; yes, that will be 
 seventy-two dollars a month. Am I right? yes, it will be 
 seventy-two dollars, just think of it! Perhaps we'd better 
 give a wider margin; say we are sure of fifteen pupils, 
 that will give sixty dollars a month. We shall get that 
 positively, and no car fare, or schoolroom rent, for Mrs. 
 Bray to pay. How much better that will be than going 
 into the city, for twenty-two a month, and now she can 
 have Eloise with her all of the time. I will run over 
 and see her now, and you send George for me at half-past 
 eight." 
 
 "Why do you go to-night, Margaret? you look very 
 tired, you will make yourself sick." 
 
 "I am tired," replied Margaret, leaning her head on 
 her hand, " but Mrs. Bray told me yesterday that she 
 hadn't a dollar, and I presume that she would like to get 
 to work as soon as possible. I told everybody that the 
 school would open next week. I must see Mrs. Bray to 
 get a list of the furniture, and what she calls materials, 
 and order them to-morrow. I'll go down to the city in 
 the morning. I declare '."she exclaimed, raising her head 
 from her hand, and opening her eyes wide, " I ought not 
 to have gone into this without consulting Aunt Helen, I 
 utterly forgot it, I'll see her the first thing in the morning, 
 but I don't believe she'll object." 
 
 Margaret found Mrs. Bray down with a neuralgic head- 
 ache, but she insisted that Margaret should sit beside her 
 bed, and tell. her, to the last detail, of all her plans. 
 When Margaret had laid the whole affair before her, she 
 said: "But you calculate on the basis of fifteen pupils; 
 two-thirds of the tuition must go to you. You supply 
 the room, and fuel and piano. I cannot consent to take 
 more than twenty dollars a month, and that will be very 
 much better than going into the city at twenty-two. 
 17-
 
 258 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 You are very kind, but this is a matter of business justice; 
 there are necessities in your life, as well as in mine." 
 
 Margaret made no reply for several minutes, then lay- 
 ing her hand on Mrs. Bray's, that rested on the edge of 
 the bed, she said in a sad voice: "The necessities in my 
 life, my dear Mrs. Bray, are not pecuniary ones. As you 
 intimated yesterday, that you inferred from something 
 your sister had said to you, I have a comfortable income, 
 more than sufficient for my personal needs. My mother 
 died years ago, and my dear father left me last spring; I 
 live alone in the old home with a maiden aunt, we two 
 in the house alone. It is very quiet and lonely. We go 
 in no society, we don't choose to. I thought I would 
 like to study kindergarten, you know all about it, my 
 parlor is no use to me, and the house has to be heated 
 any way. If you will open a kindergarten there, I can 
 render a little assistance in playing the piano, and you 
 can teach me, give me the practical knowledge the 
 theoretical I do not care to have I once thought I would 
 like it, but now I do not care at all about it. It will be 
 a delight to both my aunt and myself, to have those s\veet 
 children in the house; my aunt is very fond of children, 
 and their presence, and the kindergarten music will break 
 the gloom and silence of the house." Margaret was feel- 
 ing her way, was trying to delicately accomplish her 
 object. "That will more than compensate me for any 
 outlay that I may make, to say nothing of the infor- 
 mation that I shall obtain from you, and how much pleas- 
 anter to get it in that way, than to have to go through all 
 of the exertion and exposure that you suffered last year. 
 As to the sixty dollars a month, you will fairjy earn it, 
 and I have no need of it, I shall receive more than an 
 equivalent for what I pay out, in the arrangement. I 
 have set my heart on the plan, and have more than money
 
 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 259 
 
 enough to carry it out, and shall be seriously disappointed 
 if you do not feel that you can assist me. And then, 
 auntie and I will have your little darling part of the time. 
 She is a lovely child, Mrs. Bray, and it will be a positive 
 pleasure to have her with us all of the time if you would 
 only give her to us!" Margaret laughed merrily as she 
 said this, and pressed Mrs. Bray's hand. "Sixty dollars 
 a month is not a large income for you and Eloise," Mar- 
 garet continued, " especially as it will be for only eight 
 months of the year. Didn't you tell me that kinder- 
 gartens had only eight months of school a year?" Mrs. 
 Bray was lying perfectly still, with one arm thrown across 
 her face. As she made no reply to Margaret's question, 
 Margaret continued, " That will be only four hundred 
 and eighty dollars a year, if we have fifteen pupils, and 
 only six hundred and forty, if all come who have prom- 
 ised, I don't see how you can live on that, but it is better 
 than twenty-two a month, and then, perhaps your school 
 will grow. I will keep the accounts and collect the 
 money, for awhile at any rate, for you will be very busy 
 at first. I felt so sure, Mrs. Bray, that your judgment 
 would coincide with mine, and that you would not refuse 
 to assist me in carrying out my wishes, that I brought 
 with me the first month's collection, which I will advance. 
 You must have had heavy expenses in gaining your kinder- 
 garten knowledge." Margaret opened her purse, and 
 placed within Mrs. Bray's hand that she held, eight ten 
 dollar bills. Mrs. Bray's fingers clasped the bills, and 
 she threw her arm around Margaret's neck and drew her 
 head down to her own, as she burst into sobs, and for a 
 few minutes sobbed hysterically; Margaret strove to quiet 
 her, and at last succeeded. 
 
 "You don't know what it is," said Mrs. Bray, when 
 sufficiently composed to speak distinctly, " to be in debt,
 
 260 RODGER LATIMER'S MISFAKK 
 
 and not have a dollar to pay with. I hnve a two months' 
 grocery bill that is not paid, and I have fairly dreaded 
 going down street. They hesitate when I give an order 
 in that grocery, and I dare not go to another without 
 money. Loan me this eighty dollars, Miss McVey, if you 
 can, and let me pay my debts. Can it be possible that I 
 shall have eighty dollars a month! what an angel you 
 are! what suffering you are saving me from." 
 
 Margaret continued to insist that the obligation, in the 
 end would be on her side, and her cheerful, practical way 
 of looking at matters, very soon completely restored Mrs. 
 Bray's composure; she got off of the bed, declaring that 
 her head was well. 
 
 " I seem to have crept from under a mountain, how 
 light I feel!" she said, as she was looking over a cata- 
 logue that lay on the table, in order to make out a list of 
 her furniture, and kindergarten material for Margaret. 
 
 Miss Sargent approved of Margaret's plans, and Miss 
 Bond completed her ingenious circle, the furniture came, 
 the little tables and chairs were arranged in the parlor, 
 and on the appointed day, Margaret was seated at the 
 piano, as Mrs. Bray, looking ten years younger, was super- 
 intending the twenty children every one came who 
 fluttered around her like so many birds, with their bright 
 faces, well kept hair, and pretty dresses. Miss Bond was 
 as much pleased as the youngest child present, with the 
 novelty of the scene. She was seated a little one side, 
 holding Eloise, for whom she had conceived a great fond- 
 ness, on her lap. The fondness seemed fully returned, for 
 the child had one arm around Miss Bond's neck and from 
 time to time, she would draw her head down, so that she 
 could whisper in her ear, something about " our kinder- 
 garten." Margaret not only supplied whatever music was 
 necessary, but both she and Miss Bond, under Mrs. Bray's
 
 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 261 
 
 direction, prepared colored papers, counted out splints, 
 and divided the blocks among the children, and made 
 themselves useful in various ways. Miss Bond was sur- 
 prised when the clock struck twelve, and wondered where 
 the time had gone. She insisted that Mrs. Bray and Eloise 
 should stay to luncheon with Margaret and herself, 
 and much to Margaret's amusement, the usually quiet 
 woman talked incessantly about the morning's exercises, 
 the children's laughable mistakes, and their enthusi- 
 astic interest. Poor Margaret's sad heart was sorely 
 taxed, but no one would have suspected it, as she went 
 through the morning routine. Nor did she hasten Mrs. 
 Bray's departure after luncheon, and she listened with 
 patient gentleness to Eloise's prattle, and kissed her 
 again and again, at the front door, sending both 
 mother and child to their humble home with hearts 
 full of happiness. But as soon as the door was closed on 
 them, she went into the study and dropped into her 
 father's large chair. " What a mechanical thing it all is," 
 she thought, as she leaned back and closed her eyes. 
 "How little these happy children know what is before 
 them; and those wretched children in the mission, what 
 miserable little sufferers! how far the bitter waters spread; 
 what suffering Mrs. Bray had last year, husband dead, 
 money gone, in debt." Then her mind ran over the last 
 year of her own life, sorrow within and without, and it 
 seemed that hers was no special experience, every one of 
 the men, women and children, on Leek street had hearts 
 that suffered, and eyes that wept; they did not suffer in 
 the way she did, but in their own hard way, and were 
 they to blame for their miserable situation ? what could 
 it mean, where did it all tend? Here consecutive thought 
 ceased, and her thoughts wandered off into vague, broken, 
 uselessly-repeated questions.
 
 262 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 A few days after, as Margaret was sitting in Miss Sar- 
 gent's room, Miss Sargent said to her: " Do you get any 
 happiness out of your kindergarten, Margaret, beyond the 
 consciousness of the relief that you have given Mrs. 
 Bray ?" 
 
 "It breaks the day," Margaret replied, "and I find 
 that it is well to have a duty to look forward to. You may 
 think it strange, Aunt Helen, but the simple fact that I 
 am to be in that room, down to the piano at nine o'clock, 
 is a good thing for me; I know that I am of use there, 
 that something depends on me." 
 
 "But will you be compelled to hold yourself to that all 
 winter?" 
 
 "Oh, no," replied Margaret. "I shall begin next week 
 to teach Eloise the tunes that are of daily use to her 
 mother; she has a remarkable ear for music, she hangs 
 around tlje piano constantly. She can easily learn the 
 chords, and the simple tunes that I play for the children. 
 I believe after awhile I will give her regular instructions, 
 and if hr improvement warrants it, I'll underake her 
 musical education, and when she is old enough, I'll place 
 her with competent teachers. Aunt Deb thinks she will 
 make another Vogner. It's wonderful, the delight Aunt 
 Deb finds in those children, I never saw her as happy." 
 
 " I'm surprised at that," said Miss Sargent. " I would 
 have supposed the confusion of having so many children 
 in the house would have annoyed her, she is such a par- 
 ticular housekeeper." 
 
 "No, it does not seem to," replied Margaret. "She 
 seems delighted with the whole thing, and so do the 
 servants. You would have laughed to have seen them 
 yesterday, when the children were on the circle. Mary and 
 Christine came in and stood at the lower end of the room, 
 watching the exercises with a sort of surprised delight,
 
 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 263 
 
 and there was George, standing outside, with his arms 
 leaning on the window-sill we had all of the windows 
 open and he looked as pleased as a boy at a circus. It 
 really will be a good thing for the household, having that 
 kindergarten there." Margaret looked out of a window 
 near by, as she ceased speaking, with eyes full of dumbj 
 grinding pain. 
 
 Miss Sargent gazed for a few moments upon the pale 
 face, and then she broke the silence. 
 
 'Don't go home to-day, Margaret," she said, "they 
 can get on some way without you to-morrow morning, 
 dear; stay in and pass the night with me." 
 
 'Not to-night, Aunt Helen, I'll come down next week; 
 I shall have to come in Tuesday, to order some books 
 for Mrs. Bray." 
 
 "And then you'll pass the night?" 
 
 "Yes, and T shall be down Thursday too, and perhaps 
 I'll stay then." 
 
 The next Thursday afternoon, Margaret concluded the 
 purchase of some books which she had examined the Tues- 
 day before, on her way to Miss Sargent's. The bookstore 
 was located on Western avenue, which ran parallel with 
 Union avenue, where Miss Sargent resided. -The next 
 parallel street was Leek street. As is frequently the case 
 in large cities, there was but one block between opulence 
 and poverty, happiness and misery, respectability and 
 crime. Union avenue was one of the most beautiful 
 streets in America. It was the main thoroughfare to the 
 fashionable driving park, and during the driving hours 
 of the day was a gay scene, made up of prancing horses, 
 elegant carriages, and well dressed men and women. 
 Margaret crossed from Western avenue to Union avenue, 
 which she reached about the hour that society people were 
 on their way to the park, and there was such a stream of
 
 264 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 swiftly moving carriages, three and four abreast, that she 
 was compelled to wait a moment on the corner for a 
 chance to cross to the other side, on which Miss Sargent's 
 residence was located. It was a warm October day, and 
 a bright yellow sunlight was reflected from the mountings 
 of the harnesses, and the swinging chains that bedecked 
 the horses, and from the polished surface of the carriages. 
 Margaret glanced up and down the street; there seemed 
 no end or beginning of the gay procession; all was swift 
 motion and flashing brightness, as the hundreds of equi- 
 pages rolled by her with their pleasure-seeking occupants. 
 As Margaret stepped forward to attempt the passage of 
 the crossing, her eye was arrested by a victoria passing 
 directly in front of her, Leaning back in it, in luxurious 
 ease, sat Rodger Latimer, and beside him was a beautiful 
 woman, richly dressed. His head was turned toward the 
 lady, who sat on the side next to Margaret, and thus she 
 saw him full in the face. He looked in strong health, and 
 full of happiness. There was a smile on his lips and in his 
 eyes as he gazed upon the woman's face, and listened to 
 something that she was saying. The victoria passed 
 swiftly and neither of its occupants saw the slight figure 
 draped in black, or the white face, from which a pair of 
 large, sunken eyes looked out upon them. Margaret quickly 
 crossed the street, heedless of any danger that might 
 menace her from the rapidly passing horses. Instead of 
 going up Union avenue to Judge Sargent's residence that 
 was a few blocks above where she was, she kept straight 
 on and crossed to Leek street. The second of time in 
 which her eye had rested upon Rodger's face, completed 
 the. desolation of her heart, that hitherto seemed to lack 
 no element of complete woe. She had been like an ex- 
 hausted creature lying alone in the night on the bare 
 earth, beaten upon by a storm ; but the cold and rain,
 
 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 265 
 
 the isolation and darkness, were not enough ; out of the 
 heavens came a broad blaze of blinding brightness, and 
 from the glorious splendor that covered the dome in 
 swiftly sweeping light, descended the scathing lightning, 
 that with a dart smote every nerve with an instantaneous 
 agony that seemed to kill as it struck. Her intense na- 
 ture rocked and shivered in anguish as the vision of 
 Rodger's happy face leaning toward that beautiful woman 
 passed by her; then the October brightness turned to 
 night, and a numbness crept over her. She did not think, 
 but rather felt, that she must get away from the happiness 
 of that avenue, it was no place for her. She moved like 
 one walking in sleep, and her thoughts were disconnected, 
 and dragged along as though her brain was paralyzed by 
 an opiate. Instinctively she turned in her inarticulate 
 misery to the dwelling places of the miserable. Just as 
 she reached Leek street, a car was passing, going down; 
 it stopped to let off passengers, and she stepped on. She 
 had a long nun's veiling veil on her arm which she wound 
 around her head and face. The conductor had to' speak 
 to he" twice, and even touch her on the shoulder, before 
 she responded to his call for her fare. The car took her 
 within a few blocks of the Edgewood depot, and when it 
 stopped and all of the passengers left, she mechanically 
 stepped 4 to the sidewalk. Then she looked around, col- 
 lected herself a little, hesitated a moment, walked on to 
 the depot, and seated herself in the first outgoing Edge- 
 wood train. When she reached the depot in Edgewood, 
 she went into a telegraph office and sent a few words to 
 Miss Sargent, and then walked rapidly homeward, choos- 
 ing the least frequented way. George was raking the 
 leaves off the lawn, the front door was open, and the 
 quiet hush of the after-sunset hour rested on the place. 
 Margaret met no one in the hall as she passed through it
 
 266 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 to her own "Sans Souci." The west windows were open, 
 and the red and yellow of the evening sky cast a tender 
 glow into the silent room, but she did not feel its beauty, 
 nor did she think of this as her home for the coming winter, 
 made comfortable by the superintendency of her Aunt 
 Deborah, a home that would hold some slight daily occu- 
 pation for herself, in connection with the little children 
 she had gathered there, and the bereft woman whose life 
 she had changed from one of fearful apprehension to a 
 sweet contentment. She thought of nothing as she sank 
 exhaustedly into a chair, and she saw nothing, but Rodger 
 beside the beautiful woman in the victoria, the view of 
 which had burned itself into her brain.
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 Mrs. Rodger Latimer's summer had been a successful 
 pleasure seeking. A few weeks before the wedding, her 
 lover had expressed the opinion that a summer abroad, 
 they two alone, amid the lakes of England or mountains 
 of Switzerland, would be, of all things, the most charm- 
 ing; and Marie had immediately declared that nothing 
 would delight her more. But some way, Mr. Latimer 
 hardly knew how, their arrangements culminated in an 
 itinerary of American watering places. He and Mrs. 
 White planned the tour. He could not remember that 
 Marie ever expressed a wish or uttered one word regarding 
 the various places under discussion, and yet he felt sure 
 that she was pleased with the plans made by Mrs. White 
 and himself. So instead of quiet drives in the English 
 lake region, alone with his bride, he had drives on the 
 Newport and Long Branch beaches. In place of the 
 seclusion of English country inns, there was the noise 
 and crowd of fashionable hotels. He soon became con- 
 scious that they attracted attention wherever they located 
 themselves, for a longer or shorter time; and he thought 
 it natural enough that Marie's personal beauty should do 
 this, and he reproached himself for not feeling greater 
 gratification on account of the sensation she produced, as 
 he saw her, morning after morning, and evening after 
 evening, dressed in beautiful costumes, and wearing the 
 rare jewels that he had been delighted to bestow upon 
 her; surrounded by men who vied with each other in 
 offering her attention and adulation. He often turned 
 away with the wish that the summer was past, and he and 
 his wife were located in their own home. He was tired of 
 267
 
 268 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 dances and dinners, of Newport polo and Saratoga coach- 
 ing, of yachting, and of crowds and noise; and longed for 
 quiet evenings alone with his beautiful wife. He ex- 
 pressed none of this weariness, however, or his desire for 
 an early return home, to Marie, for he saw that she was 
 very happy in the gaiety of these fashionable places. 
 
 " You don't seem to care much for any of these beautiful 
 women, Rodger," said Marie to him one day in Saratoga; 
 "I thought you were fond of ladies' society." 
 
 "No, my love, I don't believe I am; if I ever was I'm 
 so no longer. You're the only woman in the world I care 
 to look at," he replied, as he drew her to him with lover 
 like fondness. " Come, let us go up into the pine grove 
 for a walk, away from all of these people." 
 
 "O I can't, Rodger," Marie replied. "It would be 
 delightful, but I have an engagement. Don't you know 
 that I'm to drive with Colonel Moran ? He has his coach 
 here, and has invited a party to go to the lake. I'm so 
 sorry you're not going." 
 
 Mr. Latimer stood on the hotel piazza and saw his wife 
 drive off, seated beside Colonel Moran. He watched 
 them out of sight, and then went to his room in search of 
 a book, wishing that October would come. When it did 
 come, he was among the earliest travelers that returned 
 from seashore and mountain, from Europe and California, 
 to take possession of the homes that had been unswathed 
 from summer packings, and made ready for winter 
 occupancy. Marie was willing to return early, in order 
 to see that everything was to her mind in her house before 
 the season opened. Mr. Latimer had rented, for the year, 
 a beautiful residence on one of the fashionable avenues; 
 that was furnished as completely as wealth and cultured 
 taste could furnish a house. The place belonged to an 
 acquaintance of his, one of Clinton's wealthiest citizens,
 
 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 269 
 
 whose wife was in ill health, and decided to take a year's 
 rest in Europe. 
 
 "Only for one year, you say," replied Marie, when her 
 husband consulted her regarding the feasibility of their 
 taking a furnished house. "Yes, it may answer for one 
 year, then we will have our own home." 
 
 " I shall be very sorry, my love, if our not living in our 
 own house will make any difference with your happiness," 
 said Mr. Latimer; "but you know we make the home for 
 each other, wherever we are; and we shall be alone by 
 our own fireside, and then it is really a pleasant house 
 and beautifully furnished." 
 
 "Yes, the house is well enough," said Marie, "but 
 there's an air about living anywhere, out of one's own 
 house, that is not agreeable. It's a little different for a 
 woman to be mistress of her own house." 
 
 At last every arrangement was complete in house and 
 stable, and Mr. Latimer was full of blissful antici- 
 pations. Now, his beautiful wife would belong to him, 
 now, they would have long evenings together for reading, 
 beside the open fire, with shades drawn down, to shut out 
 even the momentary gaze of passers-by. His house was 
 to be his castle. Now he could become acquainted with 
 Marie, whom he felt he knew less of, since his marriage, 
 than before; and how delicious would be the revelations 
 of love that awaited him! Full of such dreams of home 
 life, Mr. Latimer, one evening after dinner, when they 
 had been settled in this house several weeks, took Marie's 
 hand as they entered the library, and said: 
 
 "Now what shall I read to you love, or what will you 
 read to me?" He moved a large chair for her in front of 
 the fire, and seating himself beside a small table, on 
 which stood a lamp of wondrous beauty, commenced cut- 
 ting the leaves of a magazine. He had scarcely ran his
 
 270 
 
 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 paper-knife twice through the leaves, when the butler put 
 aside the portieres, and announced, " Mr. and Mrs. Ther- 
 bert. " An expression of delight instantly lit up Mrs. 
 Latimer's face. She met her guests with rapturous ex- 
 clamations. 
 
 "This is lovely in you, to come and see us so soon, in 
 this informal way, I'm delighted to see you!" 
 
 The ladies kissed each other in an affectionate manner, 
 and sat down side by side on the sofa. Mr. Latimer laid 
 his book on the table with well-concealed vexation. There 
 were but few people he would have welcomed to his antici- 
 pated paradise that evening, and neither Mr. or Mrs. 
 Therbe4 were of the number. Mrs. Therbert he had 
 always disliked; he considered her a vain, heartless 
 woman, in whom love of approbation had eaten out the 
 core of all womanly affection, and he felt a slight indig- 
 nation as he saw her kiss his wife so fondly. The con- 
 versation flowed glibly without much effort on his part as 
 host, to keep it up. The ladies chatted of the past sum- 
 mer, of the places they had respectively visited, and the 
 people they had met. Mr. Therbert immediately plunged 
 into speculations regarding the business prospects of the 
 approaching winter. Mr. Latimer furtively looked at the 
 clock on the mantel. Nine o'clock, they would leave 
 soon, and he and Marie would have at least two hours to 
 themselves. As he was consoling himself with this 
 thought, the butler announced, "Mrs. Lundom White." 
 As this lady came down the room, Mrs. Therbert clapped 
 her hands, and exclaimed: 
 
 " I waited for you, I haven't said a word to Mrs. Lati- 
 mer about it." 
 
 "So you knew Harriet was coming," said Marie, as she 
 kissed her sister, and placed her in an easy chair, "but 
 what conspiracy are you two in now ?"
 
 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 271 
 
 "It's no conspiracy at all, Marie," said Mrs. White, 
 "and I supposed you and Mrs. Therbert would have the 
 whole thing settled by this time. I could not come any 
 sooner, " turning to Mrs. Therbert, "Mr. and Mrs. Ed- 
 munds came in, and have just left." 
 
 "Well, what is it, Harriet, I'm dying of curiosity," 
 said Mrs. Latimer. 
 
 " It's about the dancing class; you see Marie, that I 
 can't give so much time to it, and Mrs. Therbert and 
 Mrs. Edmunds wish you to take my place." 
 
 "Why, Harriet, I wouldn't do it for the world. I don't 
 think it would be in good taste." 
 
 "I would like to know why?" asked Mrs. Therbert. 
 
 "So should I," rejoined Mrs. White. 
 
 "Simply because I've been married so short a time," 
 replied Mrs. Latimer. 
 
 "What of that?" said Mrs. Therbert, who had been 
 prominent in Clinton society for nearly ten years, "that 
 doesn't make the least difference, you're not like a 
 stranger, you know Clinton society as well as any of us. 
 You have had four full seasons, and you will be com- 
 pelled now to take a leading position." 
 
 "As a matter of course," added Mrs. White, "you will 
 entertain a great deal, and there's no earthly reason why 
 you shouldn't relieve me. Now, be good, Marie, and do 
 as we all wish you to." 
 
 "Why, Harriet, don't speak in that way, I would-be 
 delighted to do it, if I thought it best. But I'll do it," 
 quickly added Mrs. Latimer, as she saw a look of dis- 
 pleasure settling on her sister's face. "I'll give up my 
 own judgment to you, and Mrs. Therbert." 
 
 "We'll have a lovely time this winter," said Mrs. 
 Therbert, reaching out her hand to give Mrs. Latimer's 
 hand an affectionate pressure, " You come to my house
 
 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 to-morrow, and we'll revise the invitation list. Or I'll 
 come here if you prefer. Yes, I'll stop here on my way 
 down town. Don't you think Mrs. White, that we better 
 get the invitations out soon, so we can make a choice of 
 evenings, before they are taken ?" 
 
 "I don't know as there is any hurry," replied Mrs. 
 White, " it is early in November yet." 
 
 "But it's going to be very gay this winter," said Mrs. 
 Therbert, "and do our best, we can't have them ready 
 before the twentieth." 
 
 " Well, do as you like, you and Marie are to make all of 
 the arrangements, we all agreed that we would be satisfied 
 with whatever you did," said Mrs. White. 
 
 " We expect you to lead the German for us," said Mrs. 
 Therbert, turning to Mr. Latimer, "sometime during the 
 winter; now don't say you wont, Mr. Latimer," she 
 exclaimed, as that gentleman shook his head with a faint 
 smile. We can't lot you off. You led that one so beau- 
 tifully last winter, and now that dear Marie and I are 
 responsible for all the parties this season, we want to 
 have them all as beautiful as possible." 
 
 "You must not depend on me, Mrs. Therbert, it will 
 not be possible for me to serve you in that way," said 
 Mr. Latimer. The three ladies broke out in a chorus of 
 remonstrance, that was swelled by Mr. Therbert 's bass 
 voice. 
 
 " Of course he will do it," said Marie, " he could not be 
 so ungracious, I'll answer for him." 
 
 As the ladies continued their talk, Mrs. Latimer might 
 have doubted her abiJity to make her assurance good, had 
 she noticed, and been able to interpret, the slight drooping 
 of the corners of her husband's mouth, and a latent flash 
 in his eye. At half-past ten, Mrs. White rose to leave. 
 
 "You will go in our carriage, wont you, Mrs. White?" 
 asked Mrs. Therbert, rising also.
 
 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 273 
 
 "Yes, I sent mine back," replied Mrs. White. 
 
 Mr. Latimer bade his wife's guests good-night, standing 
 on the rug before the fire. Marie accompanied them across 
 the room, holding the portiere aside for them, with her 
 own hand. As she returned to the fireside, where her 
 husband was seated with an open magazine in his hand, 
 she said: "Let us go to bed, Rodger, I know it is early, 
 but I'm tired to death." 
 
 The next morning as Mr. Latimer came from the stable, 
 where he had been examining a saddle horse sent him for 
 trial, he stepped from the dining-room, into a small room 
 that opened from the library also, that contained a few 
 books, a writing table, a lounge, and an easy chair. 
 Mrs. Latimer had christened this room Mr. Latimer's 
 study. " Here you can be alone whenever you wish to 
 write or read by yourself," she had said as they were 
 looking at it one day, when making their first tour of the 
 house. When he seated himself at the table to write some 
 letters, he was not aware that any one was in the adjoining 
 library, from which he was separated simply by a curtain 
 in the doorway. Mrs. Therbert had come in a few 
 moments before, and was waiting the entrance of Mrs. 
 Latimer, who soon entered. 
 
 "I'm delighted to see you, dear Charlotte," she said, 
 "but you're late, it's nearly eleven, I've been expecting 
 you for an hour. " 
 
 "I intended to be here earlier, but I really did not 
 know how late it was, we can get through by luncheon. 
 Does Mr. Latimer lunch at home? Lucas never does, 
 and I'm glad of it, it is all I can do to endure the noise 
 of the children. Will comes home from kindergarten just 
 before luncheon, and it does seem as though he would 
 drive me crazy. But here is our old list of last winter, 
 and it needs revising. You know who we had as well as 
 
 18 Rodger Latimer's Mistake.
 
 274 
 
 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 I do, for Mrs. White always told us that she consulted 
 you about everything, and that you did all of the business 
 for her. " 
 
 " What changes do you think we better make in the 
 list?" asked Mrs. Latimer. 
 
 "I'll tell you what I think," replied Mrs. Therbert. " I 
 don't know as you will agree with me, but we have too 
 many girls down there." 
 
 " That's just what I think, we need more men, I said 
 so to Harriet last winter. " 
 
 "You see the trouble last winter was," said Mrs. Ther- 
 bert, "that we invited some girls because we wished for 
 their brothers. " 
 
 "Well," said Mrs. Latimer, "let us strike the girls' 
 names right off." 
 
 "Will the brothers come?" asked Mrs. Therbert. "Now 
 here is Mr. Lingral, he is a splendid fellow, and a fine 
 dancer, we can't afford to lose him; but what of his 
 sister? will he come if we drop her?" 
 
 "Yes, he'll come fast enough, leave him to me," said 
 Mrs. Latimer. / 
 
 "Oh, Marie," replied Mrs. Therbert, " he can't resist 
 you, can he, I wish I had your eyes, 'dear. " 
 
 " Nonsense, Charlotte, I don't know why you should 
 wish to be in any way different from what you are; 
 your card is always full, the young men flock around 
 you. I never saw you sit a dance through." 
 
 "I do usually have a good time; that's true," said 
 Mrs. Therbert. 
 
 "You married ladies always had a better time than 
 the girls, and now that I have joined your ranks, I don't 
 intend to take a back seat," said Mrs. Latimer. 
 
 "Marie! how much attention you always received, 
 Lucas said he never saw you look as well as you did last
 
 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 275 
 
 night. What a glorious winter you are going to have! I 
 declare, I envy you; I was rallying Colonel Moran the 
 other day about his attention to Miss Montford, and he 
 quite resented it. He said that no man of appreciative 
 taste could be won by the girls, from the married ladies 
 of Clinton. I wont tell you what he said particularly 
 about you, it would make you too vain." 
 
 "Colonel Moran is charming," said Mrs. Latimer. "I 
 saw a great deal of him when we were in Saratoga, and 
 in Newport I was out with him every day. He is simply 
 delightful, he has such an enchanting way of devoting 
 himself to you." 
 
 " He told me you were the most beautiful woman in 
 Newport," said Mrs. Therbert. 
 
 "That was very good of him. He certainly was very 
 kind to me there, and made my time pass delightfully ; 
 but now this list, Charlotte." 
 
 " Let us go over it name by name, and see who to 
 strike off, and then we will see if we can't think of 
 some new men. Do you know of any?" 
 
 "Yes, there are two I know of. How many balls shall 
 we have?" 
 
 "We ought to have four," said Mrs. Therbert, "or 
 three, and a german ; say Marie, wont Mr. Latimer lead 
 our german ?" 
 
 "Certainly he will," replied Mrs. Latimer. 
 
 " I thought that he meant what he said last night, when 
 he refused, he looked so determined," said Mrs. Ther- 
 bert. 
 
 " It don't make any difference what he said, he will 
 do it, I can persuade him," replied Mrs. Latimer. 
 
 " It would be dreadful if you couldn't persuade him, 
 he is such a fine dancer; we couldn't get any one who 
 would do it half so well. Suppose I talk to him about
 
 276 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 it some time when I see him, a man will do so much 
 more for any other woman than he will for his wife." 
 
 "I can manage Rodger, perfectly, don't have any 
 anxiety about the german, Charlotte. By the way, have 
 you seen Grey Whitridge since his return, or hasn't he 
 returned yet?" 
 
 " Yes, he came day before yesterday, and I never saw 
 him looking better. We had quite a talk at the theater, 
 it was a miserable play, but we can't expect anything 
 good at this season; I was glad you weren't there. I 
 wouldn't have gone, only there was nothing going on, 
 and I could not bear to stay home. Mr. Whitridge in- 
 quired for you the first thing; what should we do with- 
 out him in society?" 
 
 "He is certainly a fascinating man," replied Mrs. 
 Latimer. " I don't know any one who could take his 
 place, he can do anything, he's so versatile." 
 
 "Yes, he is," said Mrs. Therbert, "but we must at- 
 tend to this list/' The ladies set themselves to work tak- 
 ing each name under consideration, and weighing care- 
 . fully the social merits of each, but paying special 
 attention to the claims of several new men, they had 
 in their minds. By the time they had finished their con- 
 sultation, Mr. Latimer who never for one moment 
 thought that his wife had a purpose, or a sentiment, 
 that she wished to conceal from him, and to whom the 
 idea never suggested itself, that she could have the 
 slightest objection to his hearing every word spoken 
 between her and her acquaintances had a pretty defi- 
 nite understanding of the ambitions and purposes of the 
 two ladies, at least as far as the dancing class was 
 concerned. 
 
 Mr. Latimer's dreams of a quiet home life, evenings 
 alone with his beautiful wife, were not realized. Although
 
 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 277 
 
 the social season had not begun, Mr. and Mrs. Lati- 
 mer were never for an evening alone in their home. 
 Either some of Mrs. Latimer's friends would drop in, 
 or they were invited to some house, where Mrs. Lati- 
 mer was anxious to go. There were several clubs, mak- 
 ing their arrangements for the winter, of which the 
 wealthy and beautiful Mrs. Latimer was considered as 
 an indispensable member. One evening when Mr. and 
 Mrs. Latimer were at Mrs. White's Mr. and Mrs. Le- 
 farve came in. 
 
 "We have been to your house to see you," said Mrs. 
 Lefarve to Mrs. Latimer, after greetings had been given 
 and received between all present, " and your man said 
 that you were here, so Mr. Lefarve suggested we follow 
 you." 
 
 "I ought to have seen you before, Mrs. Latimer," said 
 Mr. Lefarve, "but really I have not been able to find you 
 at home, although I have fairly haunted your house. We 
 are forming a Histrionic club, and we all feel that it will 
 be incomplete unless you give us the benefit of your talent 
 and experience. " 
 
 "A Histrionic club!" exclaimed Mrs. White. "That is 
 something new; it will be delightful. Do tell us all 
 about it, Mr. Lefarve." 
 
 "It's a club for parlor theatricals. We shall play in 
 our own home theaters first, but some of the ambitious 
 members hope that we may become so proficient that the 
 latter part of the season we may rent a small theater, and 
 put our plays on the stage for charitable purposes." 
 
 "Oh, it will be lovely! Mrs. Latimer," cried* Mrs. 
 Lefarve. " You must join us. We can't make a success 
 without you; we specially count on you and Mr. Whit- 
 ridgje." 
 
 "I shall be" delighted to become a member," replied
 
 278 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 Mrs. Latimer, as her eyes sparkled with pleasure, "but I 
 fear I can bring neither talent or experience to aid you." 
 
 "We shall be sure of both if you will join us," replied 
 Mr. Lefarve, and he continued, turning to Mr. Latimer, 
 "Surely we can count on you, Mr. Latimer?" 
 
 "I fear not," said Mr. Latimer. " I have no admiration 
 of parlor theatricals, and certainly have no talent that 
 could be utilized that way." 
 
 "Now, Rodger, that's not handsome," exclaimed Mrs. 
 White, " you ought to join on Marie's account, even if 
 you don't like them; it will be so much pleasanter for 
 her. " 
 
 "Really, Harriet," said Mr. Latimer in reply to Mrs. 
 White, " I don't see where Marie is to find time for 
 another club; it seems to me that she already has engage- 
 ments enough to occupy every hour between this and next 
 May." 
 
 Mr. White burst into a good-natured laugh. "You 
 don't know these women as well as I do, Rodger," he 
 said. "I've had ten years' experience; they will do more 
 things and go to more places than you have any idea of. 
 It would kill most men to do what these society women 
 do. Marie'll find time; if she can't, Harriet here will 
 help her." 
 
 "James, you ought to be ashamed to talk so; what will 
 Mr. Lefarve think of you?" said Mrs. White, laugh- 
 ingly. 
 
 " Mr. Lefarve knows every word of it's true. Three 
 engagements a day are nothing for you and Mrs. Le- 
 farve," said Mr. White. "Rodger may not be able to 
 find time, but Marie will, for every club, and opera, and 
 ball that comes along. No use saying anything, Rodger; 
 we shall have to fall into line. It's a doleful* prospect, 
 think of the number of stupid dinners -and jams we
 
 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 279 
 
 shall have to go to before Lent, think of the tubs of 
 things we shall have to eat!" Mr. White laid his hand 
 on his stomach with a wry face that set them all laugh- 
 ing. " And the dances are the worst. Harriet and Marie 
 dragged me out last winter, and then told me how rude I 
 was to sit and talk with the men instead of dancing. I 
 was kept dancing until I thought I should drop dead. I 
 told them one night to take as an excuse that I was 
 dead, and couldn't go. You'll reap the result, Rodger, 
 of your folly in getting married before spring. It makes 
 every bone in my body ache to think of what I've got to 
 go through. Join the club graciously, Rodger, you'll 
 have to do it in the end, you've mortgaged yourself." 
 
 "What a ridiculous tirade, James," said Mrs. White. 
 "Any one would suppose you didn't like society." 
 
 "And I don't," broke in Mr. White. 
 
 "And were forced against your will to go," continued 
 Mrs. White, not noticing his interruption, "when the 
 truth is you are always ready to go " 
 
 "Never! never!" exclaimed Mr. White. 
 
 "Well, Rodger,' said Mrs. White, turning to Mr. Lati- 
 mer, "I hope you will not be influenced by James' talk, 
 and will join the club with Marie." 
 
 Mr. Latimer's eyes were fixed upon his wife's face, on 
 which he saw an expression as she gazed steadily at him, 
 that arrested the assertion that he could not possibly do 
 so, that was on his lips, and caused him to reply that he 
 would be most happy to do anything that Mrs. Latimer 
 desired. 
 
 As he entered his bedroom some hours afterward he 
 threw himself in an easy chair before the fire and drew a 
 small rocking-chair close to his side, as he said: 
 
 "Come, love, and sit here awhile; I wish to talk with 
 you."
 
 2 8o RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 "Why, Rodger, it's past twelve," said Mrs. Latimer, as 
 she stood by the bureau taking the pins from her hair. 
 "It's time we were asleep." 
 
 "No matter what time it is Marie, I wish to talk with 
 you for a few minutes," said Mr. Latimer, in a decisive 
 tone, which his wife had never heard from him before 
 when addressing her. She turned her head and looked at 
 him, as he sat with his back toward her, hesitated a 
 moment, then shook her long hair down over her shoulders 
 and crossed the room, and took the low chair he had 
 placed for her. She did not look at him, but gazed 
 straight into the fire. Returned his head and regarded 
 her intently for a moment, then he reached his arm behind 
 her chair, and passed his hand down the length of. her 
 beautiful hair, that hung over the back of the chair. 
 
 " How beautiful you are to-night, love, in that white 
 dress, you look as you did at the theater' the first night I 
 fell in love with you," he said with a smile, as he again 
 passed his hand the length of her hair. He looked into 
 her face, but her eyes were not raised to his, nor did she 
 return any recognition of his caress. After a few moments' 
 silence, he asked: 
 
 " Do you really intend to join that Histrionic club, 
 Marie ?" 
 
 " Why certainly I do, Rodger, I think that's a strange 
 question to ask me, after the talk that you heard between 
 Mr. Lefarve and myself at Harriet's." 
 
 " And you expect to be an active member, and take part 
 in the plays?" asked Mr. Latimer. 
 
 "Most certainly I do, if I join," replied Mrs. Latimer. 
 
 "But Marie, you know I dislike theatricals, I wish you 
 would not join the club. " Mrs. Latimer made no reply, 
 and he continued, " I cannot take part in those worse 
 than nonsensical things."
 
 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 281 
 
 "You need not join if you do not choose to," said Mrs. 
 Latimer. 
 
 "Will you join if I do not?" he asked. 
 
 "Yes," she said, without a moment's hesitation, in a 
 decided tone. There was a long silence. She was think- 
 ing, " I may as well make a stand now as any time, and 
 have it over, once for all." He was thinking of the time 
 the winter before, when he had requested her to leave the 
 play, that these same people were putting upon the stage 
 in Mrs. Von Stein's theater, and the sweet way in which 
 she then yielded to his wishes. An awful chasm seemed 
 opening before him, out of which a terrible specter arose. 
 With an intuition quick as a woman's, his mind leaped 
 to the conclusion, "She never loved me!" then immedi- 
 ately came the recoil "She is angry, patience, it will be 
 all right." 
 
 " Do you mean, Marie," he said in a gentle voice," that 
 you will join that club, and take part in those theatricals, 
 if I request you not to ?" 
 
 "There is no use in our quarreling, Rodger," she re- 
 plied in a hard, determined tone, "but do you think you 
 have any right to keep me from joining the club?" 
 
 " It's not a question of right, my wife, I hope that 
 question will never be raised between us; that it will 
 grieve me to have you do so, should be sufficient.." 
 
 " But it will deprive me of great pleasure not to join," 
 said Mrs. Latimer, "and why should I give up this 
 pleasure, simply on account of a whim on your part?" 
 
 An angry flush rose to Mr. Latimer's brow; he opened 
 his lips to speak, then closed them again, as the hot 
 blood receded before an expression of pain. " It is not a 
 whim, Marie, but a settled conviction, a long standing 
 dislike of that form of amusement," he said in a slow, 
 measured way.
 
 282 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 "Well, and you think that I should conform my life to 
 your narrow views." Again the hot blood surged into 
 Mr. Latimer's face. "-Seems to me we should each be our 
 own judge of what we wish to do, and do it, without 
 interfering with each other." 
 
 "We might do this," replied Mr. Latimer, " if we held 
 no personal relation to each other, but do you think 
 husband and wife can live happily together in that way?" 
 
 "I don't see why they can't, it seems to me the most 
 "reasonable way to live," said Mrs. Latimer, " it's the way 
 James and Harriet live, and I am sure they are happy, 
 he never interferes with her." Mr. Latimer knew that few 
 women made greater effort to conform to their husband's 
 notions and wishes, than did Mrs. White, but he did not 
 care just then to correct his wife's assertion. " I am 
 sure," she continued, "we shall not be happy if we are 
 constantly finding fault with each other, and preventing 
 each other from doing those things that we each wish to 
 do, and find happiness in doing. We have done very well 
 thus far, why shouldn't we keep on as we have begun. 
 We have been very happy until now." 
 
 "Marie, listen to rrfe a moment," said Mr. Latimer in 
 a grave voice, " how have we lived since we were married ? 
 I'm not finding fault, but what has our life been? simply 
 one of excitement and society. How little we have seen 
 of each other; it was all right, we had to take a wedding 
 trip I suppose; and we chose to make the round of those 
 noisy watering places. You are a beautiful woman, and 
 naturally attracted attention; I was glad to see that you 
 enjoyed yourself, I was happy in seeing you happy; but I 
 soon grew tired of living in a crowd, I wanted my wife 
 to myself. I had married a woman that I loved, and it 
 was not enough for me to stand one side, and see her 
 dancing and walking and driving with other men; but
 
 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 283 
 
 that seemed the only possible way then, and so I consoled 
 myself with the thought that when we were settled in our 
 own home, it would all be changed. But how has it been, 
 since we have been settled in this house? in the six weeks 
 that we have been keeping house, we have not had two 
 evenings to ourselves, and in those, you were so tired 
 out, you had to go to bed. Now do you call this a happy 
 life?" 
 
 "Yes, I do," replied Mrs. Latimer, "I think we've had 
 a beautiful life since we were married. I would like to 
 go back and live it all over again." 
 
 "Two thousand years of such a life wouldn't amount 
 to anything," said Mr. Latimer. 
 
 " How can you say such a thing, Rodger, you have had 
 everything to make you happy." 
 
 "Have I? I don't think so. It must be, Marie, that 
 our ideas of happiness differ somewhat, and it would be 
 unfortunate if. that were so." 
 
 "I don't know that my ideas on the subject are at all 
 peculiar," said Mrs. Latimer, "that they are at all differ- 
 ent from other people's, it seems a very simple question." 
 
 "A question of what? balls, and dinners, and operas, 
 and theatricals?" asked Mr. Latimer in a sarcastic tone. 
 
 "Yes, and the balls, and dinners, and operas, and 
 theatricals of which you speak so contemptuously, are all 
 delightful things, and add a great deal to life. I'm sure 
 life is very stupid without them," said Mrs. Latimer. 
 
 "Well Marie, what of the home life?" 
 
 " We have a beautiful home, and I can't see why we 
 cannot be happy in it, I'm sure I am." 
 
 "You are in it very little, my dear; not in it at all, I 
 might say, without some of your friends around you. 
 We are scarcely through breakfast, before some one is 
 here, and then we do not have an hour to ourselves until 
 bedtime."
 
 284 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 "What do you wish, Rodger? you complain about my 
 friends coming here to see me, and about my going to 
 their houses to see them, and dislike the dancing class, 
 and the Histrionic club; what would you wish me to do?" 
 
 " No, Marie, I am very glad to have you see your 
 friends here, and see them in their own homes, but I do 
 not like to have people in our house so much that we have 
 no life together; to the extent that the privacy of home is 
 utterly destroyed." 
 
 "What do you wish to do, and have me do?" asked 
 Mrs. Latimer, "sit stupidly around this house doing 
 nothing?" 
 
 Mr. Latimer was fast losing his patience, but controlled 
 himself well as he replied: " I would like it, if we could 
 drive together sometimes, and have half of our evenings 
 say, alone together for reading." 
 
 " I'm sure we do drive pleasant days, " said Mrs Latimer. 
 
 "Yes, in your fashionable hour, taking our place in the 
 procession with hundreds behind us. That s no pleasure 
 compared to a drive alone with each other, in the morning, 
 in the quiet park." 
 
 " I cannot see," said Mrs. Latimer, "what pleasure you 
 find wandering around that park alone, and in the woods 
 beyond. There is some excitement in going in the driv- 
 ing hour; and as to our having our evenings alone, what 
 should we do? It's natural for people to love society. 
 I'm sure I would like to please you, Rodger, but you 
 know we would find such evenings dull. I don't like 
 books, and I do like society." Mrs. Latimer's voice was 
 kind, almost pathetic, as she said this, and the tone 
 touched her husband's heart. He placed his arm around 
 her shoulders, resting his hand on the soft dark hair as it 
 enveloped her, and strove to draw her toward him. " My 
 love, I know you wish to please me," he said, "and you
 
 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 - 2 85 
 
 know that I love you dearly, don't let us waste our lives 
 on society, when we might find such happiness in each 
 other." But Marie withstood the pressure of his hand, 
 and retained her bolt upright position. She neither 
 turned her head toward his, that was bent low near her, 
 nor in any way showed that she was aware of his warmth 
 of feeling. After a few moments of silence, Mr. Lat- 
 imer raised his hand from her shoulder, and as he laid it 
 on the arm of his chair, said in a voice, low toned with 
 emotion : 
 
 "We do not seem to think quite alike about these 
 matters, so all we can do, is to harmonize our action the 
 best we can." 
 
 " I do not understand you, Rodger, what do you mean?" 
 
 " That we must decide upon some consistent course of 
 conduct, and adhere to it. I suppose that each of us 
 may have to give up our wishes somewhat.'' 
 
 "1 don't know what there is to decide, our life is 
 decided for us by the position we are in, and I am sure I 
 do not expect you to sacrifice your wishes to me, and I 
 don't see what there is that lean possibly give up." 
 Mrs. Latimer crossed her slippered feet before the fire and 
 clasped her jeweled hands in her lap. 
 
 "You spoke of the dancing class a few moments ago," 
 said Mr. Latimer. "I was gratified that your sister and. 
 Mrs. Edmunds wished you to be one of the patronesses, it 
 is really a compliment to you, and I shall be glad to 
 attend the dances with you, but Marie, you must not 
 expect me to lead your german." 
 
 " I think it would be very unkind of you to refuse, 
 Rodger, and your doing so would place me in a very 
 unpleasant position, for I have assured Mrs. Edmunds and 
 Mrs. Therbert that you would lead it." 
 
 "Why did you do that?" asked Mr. Latimer; "you
 
 286 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 remember I declined, the very first evening that Mrs. 
 Therbert spoke of it." 
 
 "I didn't suppose that you were serious in what you 
 said." 
 
 "Do I usually speak without a purpose, and not mean 
 what 1 say?" 
 
 "I knew that yo_u were perfectly willing to lead the 
 german at Mrs. Richmond's last winter," said Mrs. Lat- 
 imer, " and every one said that your figures were beautiful ; 
 how did I know that you had changed your mind, and did 
 not wish to lead this one?" 
 
 "Only because I said that I did not," replied Mr. Lat- 
 imer, as he leaned his head back wearily against his chair. 
 " i was pleased to lead that german last winter, but it 
 don't take long to satisfy a man with that sort of thing. 
 Last winter seems ten years off." 
 
 "I'm sure Rodger, that you will not refuse, now that 
 the matter has gone so far." 
 
 "No, I presume that I shall not," he replied in a hard, 
 dry tone, " but Marie, let us understand plainly about 
 these theatricals." 
 
 " What is there to understand ? I have promised to join 
 the club, there is not the least harm in it, and there is a 
 great deal of pleasure in it; you need not join it, if you 
 do not choose." 
 
 " If I decline to join that club, Marie, will you become 
 a member, and take part in these plays?" 
 
 " I have said that I would, and I don't see why I should 
 not," replied Mrs. Latimer. 
 
 " As a matter of course, that settles the question for me. 
 As much as I dislike the whole thing, I shall join the 
 club; I never shall be an active member." Mr. Latimer 
 did not see the smile that curled the corners of his wife's 
 mouth, as he bravely made this assertion, " but I have too
 
 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 287 
 
 great a regard for you, and for my dignity as your hus- 
 band, to have my young wife going to those rehearsals 
 without the protecting presence of her husband." Marie 
 was silent, and after a moment Mr. Latimer continued: 
 " It seems that our life is decided for us, I have very little 
 to say about mine." Then turning suddenly toward his 
 wife, as he leaned forward resting ope hand on his knee, 
 he said: 
 
 " Do you know, Marie, what all of this leads to ? we are 
 casting from us the holiest thing on earth; and that is a 
 home. You and 1 ought to weave about ourselves a 
 perfect life, from the love we have for each other, our 
 books, and the leisure we have for reading, and the 
 friends we could bring around us; and we would grow to 
 love the same things, and would go on through life, lov- 
 ing each other better every year, and being happier every 
 year. But don't you see that if we lead the life that you 
 seem to be marking out, we shall only eat and sleep in 
 this house, it will be full of people half of the time, and 
 the other half we shall be in a crowd; men and women 
 will come between us, our interests will be different, and 
 our aims different; God only knows what the end will be. 
 It seems a hollow, superficial life to me. So different 
 from what I dreamed my home would be," he added, 
 impetuously, as he rose to his feet, and rested one hand 
 on the mantel, as he gazed into the fire. Marie said 
 nothing, but kept her eyes steadily fixed on the toes of 
 her slippers. Mr. Latimer looked down at her, but the 
 expression, that was half anger and ha^f pain, did not 
 soften as he gazed upon her face. After awhile she said 
 in an indifferent tone: 
 
 "Have you anything more that you wish to say, Rodger?" 
 There was a moment's hesitation on his part, then he 
 replied in a tone equally indifferent:
 
 2 88 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 "No." 
 
 She quietly rose from her chair, and as quietly moved 
 about the room preparing for bed. Mr. Latimer's eyes 
 followed her movements fora few minutes, as he' stood 
 with his back to the fire, then he re-seated himself in the 
 large chair, and leaning his head back, closed his eyes. 
 
 As Mrs. Latimer settled herself in bed, she said: " It's 
 late, Rodger, are you not coming to bed?" 
 
 "After a little," he replied in a tone of unnatural con- 
 straint, " I presume I shall not disturb you, if I sit here 
 awhile."
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 As the winter advanced, the stream of society became a 
 maelstrom. It was a rapid whirl of dinners, balls, re- 
 ceptions, operas and theaters; a bewildering kaleidoscopic 
 view of beautiful women, flashing jewels, choice costumes, 
 and lovely flowers, under brilliant lights, moving to rare 
 music. And everywhere the central figure was the beau- 
 tiful Mrs. Latimer. Her personal beauty, the richness of 
 her dress, and her elaborate entertainments, were the talk 
 of all of her friends. She never seemed to weary, but 
 filled several engagements every day with perennial fresh- 
 ness, and unflagging gayety. She became the fashion, 
 and therefore was carried on the shoulders of society. 
 While she was intoxicated by her elevation, and everyday 
 added to the zest of the enjoyment, she kept her balance 
 and conducted herself with the caution of an old society 
 expert. Every move on the social board was made with 
 shrewdness. The capital of her own good looks, and her 
 husband's wealth, she used to such advantage, that her 
 popularity steadily increased, and she was constantly 
 surrounded by a crowd of admiring men and,womeri, who 
 fed her vanity by the most fulsome flattery. The mature 
 women, who for years had been the accepted authority in 
 Clinton society, did not quite like to pay court to so 
 young a woman, but found it necessary to do so, as she 
 could draw from them at any time, the men they most 
 desired to grace their dinners, or give attraction to their 
 dancing rooms. The girls, who were looking out from 
 under the wings of their chaperones, thought Mrs. Latimer 
 the most fortunate being in the universe. The old men 
 feared that she was going too fast, while the younger men 
 
 19 Rodger Latimer's Mistake. (289)
 
 290 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 all agreed with Grey Whitridge, who declared one day at 
 his club," that he feared he had been a fool for permitting 
 Rodger Latimer to carry off Marie Edwards," adding: 
 "By Jove! she has the figure of a Venus." 
 
 Mr. Latimer was spoken of as a most devoted husband, 
 so much in love with his wife that he could not bear to 
 have her out of his sight, and was held up as a model for 
 imitation,, by pleasure-loving wives, when their weary 
 husbands intimated that it would be well to send " re- 
 grets" to certain invitations, the acceptance of which 
 would necessitate unusually late hours. " Look at Mr. 
 Latimer," said one lady, "he goes everywhere with his 
 wife, and how agreeable and pleasant he always is." And 
 this was the impression that Mr. Latimer wished to pro- 
 duce. He had not been deaf to remarks, made among 
 men at the clubs, regarding some women, who were fre- 
 quently seen in society unattended by their husbands, 
 and he had a morbid fear of such things being said of his 
 wife. He determined, that at all hazards the public 
 should see nothing to talk about in his domestic matters. 
 He found himself in a very unsettled state of mind. His 
 castle in the air of four walls of a home shutting out the 
 world, and shutting in himself and the beautiful Marie 
 had fallen with a crash. In place of a quiet life with a 
 beautiful woman whom he loved, he found himself dragged 
 from one place to another, and forced every day to meet 
 people with whom he had nothing in common, and even 
 those that he positively disliked. His early life as a con- 
 scientious student, had developed habits of regularity and 
 industry, and being naturally a reflecting man, he had 
 learned to love books. Possessing such habits and tastes, 
 the ceaseless round of dances, card parties, dinners and 
 operas, acted on him as nervous irritants. All regular 
 habits were broken up, he never knew at what time he
 
 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 291 
 
 would be able to go to bed, and with some difficulty kept 
 track of the places where his evenings were to be passed. 
 He would have divided his time mostly between his clubs 
 and his library, had it not been that he stood too much in 
 fear of public opinion, to leave his wife dependent for an 
 escort upon her many gentlemen friends, who stood ready 
 to do her bidding. He would^ at times, sit with Mr. 
 White through a quiet evening, when Mrs. White and 
 Marie were at the theater, but usually he claimed a place 
 in her box, and was somewhere in the background of all 
 of her parties and balls. As the winter wore on, he be- 
 came impressed with the idea, that his wife- would will- 
 ingly dispense with his presence at many places of gaiety. 
 
 " Do not go out this evening, Rodger, if you are not 
 feeling well," she said to him one evening immediately 
 after dinner, when for the first time for weeks, they had 
 dined at their own table alone. " Mrs. Edmunds is to 
 stop here. I can go in her carriage, if you prefer to remain 
 at home." 
 
 "Who will be in the carriage?" asked Mr. Latimer. 
 
 After a moment's hesitation, Marie replied: "Mr. 
 Edmunds and Colonel Moran are to be with her, I be- 
 lieve; I can go down with them, and they can leave me 
 here as they return, it won't be a block out of their way, 
 you know." 
 
 "I prefer going with you," Mr. Latimer replied; "I'll 
 order the carriage round. Perhaps you better put on your 
 wraps," he added, as he touched the bell for the carriage. 
 
 "Very well," said Mrs. Latimer, "do as you like; you 
 know it is Modjeska 'in Odette to-night. I know you 
 don't like Odette, and it's not very pleasant for me to feel 
 that you are making a martyr of yourself on my account." 
 
 " There is no reason for you to say that I'm making a 
 martyr of myself, Marie, I'm doing exactly what I wish to. "
 
 292 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 "Which is to persevere in your espionage," said Marie, 
 spitefully. 
 
 " Mrs. Latimer, that is an unbecoming speech for you 
 to make," said Mr. Latimer, as his lips drew in rigid 
 lines. "Do you wish to go in society without me?" 
 
 Mrs. Latimer was standing beside a table selecting from 
 a vase of roses, those she wished to wear, and as she 
 twined the stems together, she replied: 
 
 " It's unpleasant to be shadowed by one's husband to 
 that extent that remarks are made about it, especially, as 
 I know that more than half of the time you go for no 
 other purpose than to be near me." 
 
 "It has come to a pretty pass, if the fact of a husband 
 accompanying his wife to a place of amusement gives 
 cause for remark," said Mr. Latimer, "and shows that in 
 such society, there is reason that she should be thus 
 accompanied. If I do go, just to be near you, it's a pre- 
 caution for which you should feel thankful. I should 
 think a woman could see Odette, with full as much sense 
 of propriety if seated by her husband, as when surrounded 
 by her gentlemen friends." 
 
 Mrs. Latimer made no reply, and Mr. Latimer seriously 
 thought, for a moment, of asserting his authority, artd 
 declaring that they would both stay at home; but the 
 prospect of an evening alone together in their present 
 moods was not very inviting, and then he felt that Marie 
 would not quietly submit to such a requirement. So he 
 rose, as a maid entered, and announced that the carriage 
 was at the door. "It's time to go," he said. 
 
 "We better wait until the Edmunds come," said Mrs. 
 Latimer, without looking up from her roses. 
 
 "Xo," replied Mr. Latimer, "we will go on. "Standish 
 can tell them we have gone, and they can follow us." 
 
 Mrs. Latimer went upstairs for her cloak, Mr. Latimer
 
 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 2 93 
 
 stepped into the hall, put on his overcoat and returned, 
 hat in hand, to the library, to wait her coming, where he 
 sat gloomily watching the clock. Fifteen minutes had 
 passed, when he heard voices in the hall. He found on 
 going into the hall, that the butler had admitted Colonel 
 Moran, who had his eyes fixed upon Mrs. Latimer, as she 
 was descending the stairs. 
 
 "This is very kind, Colonel Moran," she said, as she 
 came toward him in her queenly beauty, "but Mr. Latimer 
 is feeling better, and has decided to go with us, our car- 
 riage is waiting, we will immediately follow you. Ask 
 Mrs. Edmunds to please wait for us in the foyer, if you" 
 reach the opera house first. " 
 
 Not a word was spoken between Mr. and Mrs. Latimer 
 as they sat side by side during the two mile drive from 
 their home to the opera house. Mr. Latimer discovered, 
 when inside the house, that two boxes had been taken by 
 some one, that were being rapidly filled by ten or twelve 
 people. Mrs. Edmunds and Mrs. Therbert seemed to be 
 seating the company, and he took the chair designated. 
 He observed that Marie was not in the box with him, but 
 was beside Colonel Moran in the next box. Mrs. Ther- 
 bert seated herself by his side, and engrossingly appro- 
 priated him with her sprightly talk until the curtain rose. 
 He disliked Odette exceedingly, and paid little or no 
 attention to the stage. When the play was over, as the 
 crowd emerged from the building, he became in some way 
 separated from Mrs. Latimer and her friends, and waited 
 outside on the sidewalk, amid the jostling crowd, looking 
 eagerly for his wife until he felt sure, so long a time had 
 elapsed since he left the house, that sh*e must have gone 
 on to the carriage, which was some little distance from 
 the entrance, where he had ordered it to remain for them. 
 As he approached the carriage, the coachman told him
 
 2 94 RODGER LATIMEK'S MISTAKE 
 
 that Mrs. Latimer bade him say that she would drive 
 home with Mrs. Edmunds. When he reached home he 
 went immediately to his room, and on his way he passed 
 Mrs. Latimer's maid in the upper hall, and said to her*: 
 " Mrs. Latimer has not come in." 
 
 "I know it, sir," she replied, "she directed me to sit 
 up and let her fn ; she said she was going to a supper after 
 the theater." 
 
 The next day near noon, Mr. Latimer was lounging in 
 the little room called his study. He rarely occupied it 
 for any purpose whatever, so rarely that no one would 
 have thought of looking for him there. Once in this 
 room he had overheard a conversation between his wife 
 and Mrs. Therbert, as they were seated in the library, 
 and he was fated this morning to repeat the experience. 
 As he lay with his eyes closed, seriously weighing in his 
 mind the advantages and disadvantages of going into his 
 law office as an active partner, in order to escape the 
 weariness of his idle life, the voice of Mrs. Therbert fell 
 on his ear. 
 
 "Ask Mrs. Latimer," she said to the butler, " if I shall 
 go to her room." As she was speaking Mrs. Latimer 
 entered. 
 
 "This is very sweet of you to stop for me, Charlotte," 
 she said, " in ten minutes more I should have been on my 
 way to your house. Sit down, my dear, we needn't go for 
 half an hour yet." 
 
 " How prettily you have your neck arranged, Marie, 
 that is very becoming to you; why didn't you wear that 
 dress last night? I believe it is even more becoming than 
 that blue," said Mrs. Therbert. 
 
 "Do you think so?" asked Mrs. Latimer. "Colonel 
 Moran said last night that I ought always to wear blue." 
 
 " Wasn't that a complete supper ? Mr. Edmunds always 
 does everything perfectly," said Mrs. Therbert.
 
 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 295 
 
 " We had just the right number, two men apiece," said 
 Mrs. Latimer. " How much pleasanter that makes it, than 
 the same number of men and women." 
 
 "Yes, for us," said Mrs. Therbert; "but I wonder if 
 the men like it as well." 
 
 "I'm sure they do; either you or I, Charlotte, can 
 entertain two men." 
 
 " Better say that it takes two men to entertain us," said 
 Mrs. Therbert, with a laugh. " Who did you come home 
 with?" 
 
 " With Mrs. Edmunds, Colonel Moran and Mr. Whit- 
 ridge. We drove to Mrs. Edmunds' first, and then 
 Colonel Moran and Mr. Whitridge brought me home. 
 How did you go home?" 
 
 "I'm almost ashamed to tell you, Marie; I don't know 
 how it happened, but I went in Mrs. Edmunds' carriage, 
 alone with Mr. Edmunds. I think that the arrangement 
 was that Mr. Barstow was to go with us, but some way 
 no one got into the carriage, and we drove off alone." 
 
 "Why, that was strange," said Mrs. Latimer. "Where 
 did Mr. Barstow go?" 
 
 " I don't know. Don't you ever tell Lucas that Mrs. 
 Edmunds was not in that carriage, he wouldn't like it. 
 Did Mr. Latimer say anything about your staying to the 
 supper?" 
 
 "No," replied Mrs. Latimer. 
 
 " I don't think Lucas liked my going without him." 
 
 "I presume not," said Mrs. Latimer. "I think it 
 makes any man half cross to have his wife go off and have 
 a good time without him. Not that he objects to the 
 place, or people she is with, but he don't like to be left 
 out. Was Mr. Therbert awake when you reached home ?" 
 
 " Yes, and he was cross as a bear, but I don't blame 
 him much, he had a dreadful time getting home. Did
 
 296 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 you know that it rained a little soon after the theater 
 closed?" 
 
 " No, but it was a nasty night. " v '' 
 
 "You see," said Mrs. Therbert, "we went down in Mr. 
 Whitridge's carriage. He dined with us. Then Mrs. 
 Edmunds and Mr. Barstow, Mr. Whitridge and T 
 went to the Bellevue in Mr. Whitridge's carriage. I 
 thought Lucas would find Mr. Latimer and come up with 
 him, but he didn't come across him, and the carriages 
 were all gone and he couldn't find a cab, and so he took 
 the street cars, and he had that two blocks and a half to 
 walk, and it rained a little, and he had no umbrella. It 
 didn't look quite right, Marie, say what you like, for a 
 woman to go off to a theater supper, and then go home 
 in a carriage alone with another man, and her husband 
 walk home in the rain. Don't you ever let him know 
 that Mrs. Edmunds wasn't in the carriage, for I told him 
 the Edmund's brought me home." 
 
 "Why didn't he have his own carriage there for him?" 
 
 "We went down with Mr. Whitridge," said Mrs. Ther- 
 bert; " his carriage was at our house for him, and he in- 
 vited us to go with him." 
 
 "Well, I don't suppose Mr. Therbert thinks it is his 
 wife's business to arrange for his return home from a 
 theater," said Mrs. Latimer. 
 
 "No, of course not, but it was unfortunate all around. 
 He was not right good-natured when he left the house 
 this morning; the children noticed it." 
 
 Mrs. Latimer rose from the sofa where she had been 
 sitting beside her friend, and stepped to a table near by 
 and took from a jar a dozen or more of roses. She wound 
 some tissue paper around the wet stems, and gave them to 
 Mrs. Therbert. 
 
 "There, give him those, Charlotte; we'll leave them at
 
 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 297 
 
 your house as we go by, and to-night give them to him, 
 and tell him I sent them to him. You must keep your 
 husband in good humor." 
 
 The conversation continued some time longer between 
 the two ladies, who after a little went off together to a 
 luncheon. Mr. Latimer had distinctly heard every word 
 that had been said, and he was surprised that the artifice 
 and management which had been disclosed on the part of 
 his wife did not affect him more seriously than it did. 
 He was aware that his strongest feeling regarding her 
 was the desire that she should conduct herself in society 
 in a way that would be consistent with the dignity of a 
 married woman; and lie congratulated himself upon the 
 caution which she seemed to possess, and the determination 
 which he thought she evinced, of not going beyond a cer- 
 tain line, which line as society went was a long way 
 from the gossiper's target. As he reflected on his entire 
 freedom from jealousy regarding her, he saw a more 
 forbidding specter waiting by his side to accompany him 
 through life, than the one that rose before him on the 
 evening, when, by the fireside in his bedroom they had 
 their first disagreement as to their home and social life. 
 That evening it was a terrible specter that arose, as he 
 thought, " She never loved me," but as he calmly reflected 
 on her conduct in the clear noonday as he lay on the 
 lounge in his study, the specter evoked by tue thought, 
 "I never loved her," was a ghastly thing, rliat <cast a 
 shadow forward the length of his life.
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 Two weeks after the incidents recorded in the last 
 chapter, Mr. Latimer entered his office where the Mead 
 Brothers were busily at work, and where the presence of 
 a law student and an office boy, gave quite a business 
 aspect to the place. As he entered the room, the elder 
 of the brothers, who happened to be looking that way 
 through the open door of an inner room, came forward to 
 meet him. 
 
 "Good-morning, Mr. Latimer," he said, as he extended 
 his hand; "we're very glad to see you here." 
 
 " I've only dropped in to see how the old room looks; 
 don't let me disturb you, I wish to sit here for half an 
 hour." 
 
 "Come into my office; it's at your disposal," said Mr. 
 Mead. 
 
 "No, I thank you," replied Mr. Latimer; "I prefer to 
 sit here." 
 
 He stepped to the window, and seated himself where 
 he could look into the street, over which his eye had fre- 
 quently wandered when he was sole occupant of that 
 office, a poor young man, waiting for clients. It did not 
 seem possible that he was the same man, who, in gloomy 
 discontent, used to stand at that window, gazing into the 
 street below. He vividly remembered the ambition, 
 anger and mortification that then rilled his heart, only it 
 did not seem that it was he. He thought of himself as 
 though he had been another man, and he criticised and 
 berated that other man for his ignorance of life, and folly 
 in thinking, that all desirable good lay in the possession 
 of wealth, or could be encompassed through wealth. He 
 298
 
 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 299 
 
 remembered his envy of Grey Whitridge, and compared it 
 with the contempt with which he now regarded him. He 
 remembered the bewildering beauty that then enveloped 
 the society women, whom he was fortunate enough to see 
 in the houses of wealth, surrounded by the halo cast by 
 gold, and he wondered where the beauty of Mrs. Therbert, 
 Mrs. Richmond and Mrs. Lefarve had fled. He remem- 
 bered how the witchery of dancing feet and regal feasts 
 then turned his head; and he fairly groaned in spirit to 
 think what sounding brass and tinkling cymbals the whole 
 thing was to him now, a weight and burden to be borne. 
 He could not believe that less than one year and a half 
 had elapsed. How could a man change so much in so 
 short a time! It was as though he had leaped from youth 
 to age. He had passed in a few months, from a gnawing 
 hunger to the nausea of satiety. A few months since, 
 his heart would have bounded with delight, at the 
 thought of leading a german in the home of'a millionaire, 
 now he felt like laying a rawhide over the shoulders of 
 any man, who would dare to ask him to do so stupid 
 a thing. What a little thing it seemed When once done! 
 When he was outside the charmed circle, he was gloomy 
 and unhappy; now that he was inside, standing at the 
 very center, was he less gloomy and unhappy? He ought 
 to be happy; possessed of an assured income, and of a 
 wife who was said to be' the most beautiful woman in the 
 city; possessed also of leisure, and a large circle of 
 friends; yet he was as restless and unhappy as a man 
 could be. It was true he had not exhausted the capa- 
 bilities of wealth, that there were some pleasures lying 
 in wait for him, that money could buy, that he had not 
 tasted. Mr. Whitridge and Mr. Barstow, and several 
 other club friends, had invited him to the delectable 
 pleasures of late suppers, and their after kindred grati-
 
 3 oo 
 
 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 fications; but his nature revolted from that species of 
 pleasure. He left his chair, and walked slowly down the 
 room in front of the rows of law books on the shelves, 
 looking at them closely, and at times standing still in front 
 of them, lost in thought. Yes, he ought to be there study- 
 ing, it would be much pleasanter than going to the balls 
 and dinners that he was compelled to; books were more to 
 him than society, the training of his youth, and habits of 
 his manhood had unfitted him for the idle dissipations that 
 wealth seemed to entail ; should he pick up his knowledge 
 of law again, and enter earnestly "into its practice, and 
 come regularly to his office? He turned to the table 
 where the law student was at work, and glanced over the 
 paper that he was copying, then he entered Mr. Mead's 
 room, and made inquiries regarding the business of the 
 office, the number and character of the suits on hand. 
 He listened attentively to all Mr. Mead said, and came 
 to quite an accurate conclusion as to the character of the 
 work that awaited him, should he resume practice. It 
 seemed very uninviting, an uninspiring drudgery: to un- 
 dertake it for the mere love of it, was impossible. He 
 wondered at the enthusiasm with which Mr. Mead entered 
 into a recital of several cases that were pending, and at 
 his evident gratification, as he stated the aggregate 
 amount earned by the office during the last six months. 
 It seemed to Mr. Latimer a pitiful sum of money, for so 
 much work. He felt that the incentive to labor was 
 lacking in his life. 
 
 After lingering an hour in the office he went over to his 
 club, where he lunched with half a dozen acquaintances, 
 some of whom were possessed of inherited wealth, and 
 some were active business and professional men, who 
 had earned every dollar of their large fortunes. As he 
 observed the superior health, intellectual activity and
 
 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 301 
 
 cheerful animation which the latter possessed over the 
 former, he questioned if his uncle's legacy to him had 
 been an unmixed blessing. He feared that he had per- 
 mitted his wealth to place him in an unnatural position, 
 and paralyze the best faculties of his being. He felt that 
 he was a man of splendid health, stalwart and vigorous; 
 but this physical strength was given to dancing and carry- 
 ing a cane; that his mind was well stored and naturally 
 active, but it had little employment outside of settling 
 the momentous question of clothes and assisting in the 
 selection of French parlor theatricals; that his sympathies 
 and moral sense allied him to all humanity, but practi- 
 cally his sole interest centered in a circle of women who 
 wore good clothes, and men who followed in their wake. 
 He sat in the reading-room for several hours during the 
 afternoon engaged in moral reflections, which ended in 
 his going home to dress for the dancing class ball, which 
 ball was to close the season before Lent, and was to be a 
 splendid affair, the last ecstatic reel of the members of the 
 dancing class before they sat down in penitential sack- 
 cloth and ashes to weep over their sins. 
 
 If Mr. Latimer had hoped in his ignorance of society's 
 ways of wearing sackcloth, that he was to have a forty- 
 days' rest, he speedily found out his mistake by dis- 
 covering the special adaptation of the Histrionic club to 
 the needs of the elite penitents. He soon learned that 
 parties and public dances were to be foregone, and that 
 the self-denying spirit required the sacrifice af operas and 
 theaters, demanding that theatricals be relegated to pri- 
 vate theaters, and that all dancing should be impromptu 
 in drawing-rooms and at the rehearsals of the Histrionic 
 club. 
 
 Mrs. Latimer had informed her husband several times 
 with an icy dignity of manner that it was not necessary
 
 302 
 
 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 for him to escort her to all of the rehearsals held by the 
 club, and frequently he did not know when or where they 
 were held until after her return from them accompanied 
 by some of her gentlemen friends and Mrs. Lefarve or 
 Mrs. Therbert, usually Mrs. Therbert. The association 
 of Mr. and Mrs. Latimer with each other since the un- 
 pleasant scene between them on the night of Modjeska's 
 Odette had been conducted with conventional politeness. 
 T^ey were rarely alone together, unless when wearily 
 undressing for bed at a late hour, or in the presence of the 
 servants at the breakfast table. Even their Sundays were 
 not passed with each other, for some one always dined 
 with them, and it was not an unusual occurrence for three 
 or four persons to come in for the evening, and remain 
 until midnight. 
 
 There did seem to be a prospect of their passing one 
 evening by their own fireside late in February. The day 
 was the anniversary of Mr. and Mrs. White's marriage, 
 which Mrs. White declared should be celebrated by a 
 family dinner at an earlier hour than usual, so that the 
 children could dine with them. A six o'clock dinner was 
 ordered, at which there were no guests beside Mr. and 
 Mrs. Latimer At nine o'clock the children were taken 
 to the nursery, and soon after Mrs. Latimer announced 
 that she must return home. Mr. Latimer was surprised 
 that she wished to return so early, as she had said to him 
 on their way to Mrs. White's that she had no other 
 engagement for the evening, and he could not imagine 
 that she wished to pass hours alone with him. On enter- 
 ing the library they found Mrs. Therbert sitting by the 
 fire waiting their return. 
 
 "You see I have taken possession," she said, as she rose 
 to greet them. 
 
 "Yes, and you are an angel for coming," exclaimed 
 Mrs. Latimer, as she fondly kissed her.
 
 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 303 
 
 Usually when any of Mrs. Latimer's lady friends 
 came in, unaccompanied by their husbands, Mr. Lat- 
 imer withdrew to his own room, and passed the time 
 with his books, and such hours were most enjoyed by 
 him of any that the winter brought him. But to-night 
 he purposely staid in the library, taking up a mag- 
 azine to read, so as not to be a check on the conver- 
 sation of the ladies. For the past few days, he had 
 been thinking much of the unfortunate state of affairs 
 between Mrs. Latimer and himself, and of how little, 
 after all, he really knew of her most intimate society 
 friends. He had been thinking of Marie's comparative 
 youth, her great desire for praise and adulation, which 
 was fed and inflamed by the flattery forced upon her 
 from all sides, of what seemed to him, her insane love 
 of dress, and inordinate fondness of gentlemen's atten- 
 tions. He questioned whether he had acted wisely in 
 giving her an unrestricted bank account of her own, and 
 blamed himself, that he had not insisted on accom- 
 panying her to every one of the Histrionic rehearsals; 
 and he remembered, as he went over it as accurately 
 as he could, that not more than one-half of the time 
 had he been with her to these rehearsals. The result 
 of these reflections had been, that he had made up his 
 mind to identify himself more closely than ever, with 
 his wife's society life, especially the informal part of 
 it, of which he had really i known but little. And another 
 thing that he determined to do, was to break up the 
 intimacy between Marie and Mrs. Therbert, whom he had 
 come to regard as a woman of little principle, a thor- 
 oughly scheming, selfish one, who had no honest affection 
 for his wife, whom she was constantly flattering and 
 petting, for purposes of her own. In keeping with these 
 determinations, he remained in the library, instead of
 
 3 4 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 going, as usual, to his own room; a proceeding which 
 evidently discomfited both ladies, and which he plainly 
 saw was making Marie angry. In fact, Mrs. Latimer 
 wondered at his behavior in staying, and was revolv- 
 ing in her own mind, whether or not, it would do to 
 take Mrs. Therbert to some other room. She did not 
 wish to do quite so pointed a thing, and yet there were 
 matters in connection with their forthcoming play that 
 she wished to canvass with Mrs. Therbert, and of which 
 she desired her husband to know nothing. For half 
 an hour the conversation went on in a desultory sort 
 of way, regarding some society matters in which neither 
 of the ladies were evidently interested, and their gaiety 
 of spirits was obviously assumed. But after awhile, 
 Mrs. Therbert, who had glanced frequently from hus- 
 band to wife, as though unable to understand this new 
 state of affairs, and .evidently feeling that something 
 unusual was taking place, had taken place, or was going 
 to take place, seemed to have made up her mind as to 
 what she herself would do under the circumstances; 
 turned the conversation abruptly from the subject on 
 which Mrs. Latimer was speaking, by saying: 
 
 " Mr.- Lefarve was to see me immediately after 
 dinner, about that Medora dress of yours, and he wished 
 me to ask you, if you hadn't better take cardinal 
 instead of blue. He rather wishes for the blue for 
 his own coat. Now what do you think about it? if it is 
 changed we must do it soon, for so many other changes 
 will have to be made in colors, if that is changed. 
 I know Colonel Moran likes you best in blue, but Mr. 
 Lefarve thinks the change better be made." 
 
 "I don't know as I care anything about it, Charlotte, 
 don't let us talk of it to-night," said Mrs. Latimer, 
 fixing her eyes upon Mrs. Therbert with a signifi-
 
 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 305 
 
 cant expression which Mrs. Therbert failed to see, 
 owing to the way the light fell upon Mrs. Latimer; or 
 for some reason known to herself, did not choose to 
 heed. 
 
 Mrs. Therbert broke into a laugh. " You don't care!" 
 she said, "well, you are a strange woman, Marie Lat- 
 imer; I'm poorly paid for coming out in the cold to see 
 you about the matter." 
 
 "Why, my dear Charlotte! don't say so, indeed 
 
 " Here I've been doing my best to keep that blue for 
 you," said Mrs. Therbert, interrupting Mrs. Latimer in 
 a most discourteous manner, "somewhat, to be sure, to 
 please Mr. Whitridge and Colonel Moran, for they both 
 declare that you ought to wear the blue, that it is so 
 very becoming to you; but more to please you, and 
 then you say you don't know, or care anything about 
 it!" 
 
 " I meant I didn't care to decide to-night, Charlotte. 
 I do care to do whatever you wish me to 
 
 "I have no wish, or opinion about it," interrupted 
 Mrs. Therbert half angrily. 
 
 "Come, Charlotte," said Mrs. Latimer, who was 
 anxious to appease her friend, "don't be so hard on 
 me. I know it's very kind of you to come out to-night, 
 and that you are very unselfish, I do care, as a matter 
 of course I care for everything that relates to our 
 play" 
 
 Mrs. Latimer was interrupted by the entrance of her 
 butler, who approached her with a large bunch of Marechal 
 Niel roses, bound together by a narrow ribbon, to which 
 was attached a card. 
 
 " How did these come, Standish ?" she asked, as she 
 took them from the tray. 
 
 "A man just left them at the door," the butler replied. 
 
 20 Rodger Larimer's Mistake.
 
 306 
 
 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 "How lovely they are!" exclaimed Mrs. Therbert. "I 
 adore Marechal Niels; who sent them, Marie?" 
 
 Mrs. Latimer had detached the card from the ribbon, 
 and after reading what was written thereon, she slipped 
 it in the belt of her dress. As she raised the roses to her 
 .face, she said in reply to Mrs. Therbert's question : "A 
 friend of mine." 
 
 " I wish I had a dozen such friends, " said Mrs. Therbert, 
 as she reached her hand for the flowers, il these are the 
 finest I've seen this winter." 
 
 " Xow about that dress, Charlotte," said Mrs. Latimer, 
 as she resigned her flowers into the outstretched hand, 
 "perhaps we better not give up the blue, but I'll do as 
 you think best. I don't see why we should give up a color 
 that exactly pleases us, to Mr. Lefarve, but as I said, I'll 
 do as you say about it." 
 
 " How queer you talk to-night, Marie. I've nothing to 
 do with that costume, it's nothing to me, either the blue 
 or the cardinal. Of course I wish to see you look your 
 best, and talce more interest in your appearance than I do 
 in Mr. Lefarve's, but if you and Colonel Moran and Mr. 
 Whitridge are satisfied, the rest of us ought to be." 
 
 " Well then," said Mrs. Latimer, as she took her flowers 
 from Mrs. Therbert's lap, "I'll keep the blue, and if you 
 cannot satisfy Mr. Lefarve regarding it, I'll talk the 
 matter over with him. Now tell me about Mrs. Black, 
 Harriet said she heard that you had received a letter from 
 her; is she. in Algiers or Spain?" 
 
 Before Mrs. Therbert could reply to this question, they 
 were again interrupted by the entrance of the butler, who 
 brought a note to Mrs. Latimer, which, after breaking the 
 seal that securely fastened it, she read attentively. As 
 she finished reading it, she placed it in her belt beside the 
 card. She did not look at her husband, but turned to Mrs.
 
 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 307 
 
 Therbert, and vivaciously resumed the conversation with 
 her, by asking several questions regarding Mrs. Black and 
 her winter abroad. Mr. Latimer's thoughts took a new di- 
 rection, that led him into a field of speculation that of 
 society flirtations that was neither pleasant to himself, 
 nor complimentary to his wife. It was nearly eleven 
 o'clock, when Mr. Therbert, returning home from some 
 public meeting, came in for his wife. He was both tired 
 and cold, and could not be persuaded to remain longer 
 than for Mrs. Therbert to gather her wraps around her. 
 Mrs. Latimer accompanied her into the hall, and after an 
 affectionate parting from her, returned to the library 
 fireside, where Mr. Latimer was sitting, holding in his 
 hand the roses which she had laid on the table as she 
 passed down the room with Mrs. Therbert. 
 
 "These are beautiful flowers, Marie," he said, "who 
 sent them to you?" 
 
 " A friend of mine," Mrs. Latimer replied, as she rested 
 one hand on the corner of the mantel, and placed her foot 
 on the fender. 
 
 "Yes, I suppose so," replied Mr. Latimer, "but which 
 one of your many friends?" 
 
 "I don't know, Rodger, as it's of any importance to 
 you, which one of the many, as you are pleased to desig- 
 nate them," replied Mrs. Latimer, who was ill-natured 
 because she had been disappointed in her evening with 
 Mrs. Therbert. The truth was, she did not wish her hus- 
 band to know anything of the character or costume in 
 which she was to appear the next week in their long talked 
 of play, that was then to have its first presentation, so 
 she had not dared to speak of any one of the several items 
 that she had wished to talk over with Mrs. Therbert. 
 - " It's of importance to me that my wife courteously 
 answer any question that I may ask," said Mr. Latimer,
 
 3 o8 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 with severe dignity. Mrs. Latimer looked morosely into 
 the fire, and said nothing. Mr. Latimer regarded her in 
 silence for a moment, and then said: 
 
 "I wish to know who sent these flowers to you." 
 As she remained silent, his face flushed with anger. At 
 first he had cared very little who the person was that paid 
 his wife the attention of sending her roses, but her per- 
 sistent refusal to tell him, angered him, and also excited 
 his curiosity regarding the donor. The authoritative 
 tone of her husband's voice, aroused all of the feminine 
 resistance within Mrs. Latimer, and she continued her 
 silence. After a few moments Mr. Latimer asked: 
 
 " From whom was that note that Standish handed you ?" 
 Mrs. Latimer raised her eyes, and fixed them full upon 
 her husband's face, in a defiant stare, as she sneeringly 
 said: 
 
 "Would my lordlike to know also, who sent the letter 
 I received yesterday ?" 
 
 Instantly there was a reaction in Mr. Latimer's heart. 
 His blood fell to zero, and the momentary sense of keen 
 suffering occasioned by his wife's mad injustice, which 
 had, as she spoke, immediately taken the place of the 
 anger that had filled his heart, gave way quickly to cool 
 contempt. Could that be his wife ? had that flushed face, 
 with its swollen lips, and fiery eyes, ever been beautiful 
 in his sight? They looked into each other's eyes for an 
 instant, then Mr. Latimer rose to his feet, and quietly 
 laid the roses which he had retained in his hand, on a chair 
 directly in front of the fire; after which he slowly walked 
 the length of the room to the hall door. As he was pass- 
 ing through the doorway, he stopped, with his back to the 
 library, holding the portiere aside with his hand, and with- 
 out turning his head, said, in a voice held steady by force 
 of will, and in a tone lower than his usual intonations:
 
 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 309 
 
 "I shall occupy the north room to-night," dropped the 
 curtain, and passed up the stairs. 
 
 Mrs. Latimer was too angry to care for consequences. 
 She took the flowers from the chair where her husband 
 had placed them, and held them to her face as though to 
 inhale their fragrance. After a little she took the note 
 from her belt, and read it several times over. As she 
 read it, the expression of her face changed, the anger and 
 resentment that had almost transformed her features, as 
 she gave her stinging retort to her husband, was replaced 
 by a look of complete satisfaction and happiness. The 
 muscles of her face relaxed, her eyes grew gentle and 
 dreamy, and a smile of pleasurable excitement parted her 
 lips. After reading the note half a dozen times, she sat 
 motionless, gazing in the smoldering fire for half an hour. 
 
 Then she leaned down low over the ashes, and with 
 the poker raked up all of the live coals, which she 
 gathered into a heap, over which she held the note 
 between her thumb and finger. But just as she was going 
 'to lay it on the coals, she seemed to have changed her 
 mind, for she rose, thrust the note into the bosom of her 
 dress, and passed out of the library, up stairs to her room 
 with a flush upon her face, arfd a light of happy expect- 
 ancy in her eyes.
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 Four weeks from that evening Mr. Latimer sat alone in 
 a desolate home. The March wind came down from the 
 north, like leashed lions, the carriages rattled over the 
 hard pavement of the street, as though horses and drivers 
 were hastening before the wild blast; but Mr. Latimer, 
 sitting in the solitude of his chamber, heeded the storm 
 as little, as did the dead mistress of the house, lying in 
 her cold beauty in the drawing-room below. She was 
 wrapped about in soft folds of white, silky woolen, sur- 
 rounded by white flowers. There were flowers everywhere ; 
 on the mantel, on tables, on the piano, and all over the 
 coffin that rested on a low bier in the center of the room, 
 which seemed full of orchids, lilies of the valley, snow- 
 drops, camellias, and white roses. The marble face was 
 uncovered, and the head was turned a little to one side 
 on its pillow. There came a dim light from the side 
 gas jets, that cast into the silent room the softness of 
 moonlight. Over this scene of icy beauty, reigned a 
 deathly stillness, in strange contrast with the raging storm 
 without. 
 
 It had been a backward spring, full of the sharp winds 
 and sudden changes incident to the lake region, and Mrs. 
 Latimer took a severe cold one evening, by standing in a 
 current of air on the stage, during the presentation of a 
 play by the Histrionic club, in the costume her character 
 demanded, which costume was composed of very thin 
 fabrics. Her cold took the form of pneumonia, that 
 rapidly assumed a severe type, and in a few days placed 
 her beyond human skill. All of her society friends would 
 have gathered in sympathy close around her husband, 
 310
 
 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 3ir 
 
 after her decease, had they been permitted by him to have 
 done so; but he shut himself away in the solitude of his 
 own chamber, to which he admitted no one beside his 
 servant, and Mrs. White, when he was forced to respond 
 to some of her questions, regarding his wishes, in con- 
 nection with the burial. Mrs. White tried to persuade 
 him to look upon the face of his dead wife, but he would 
 not. 
 
 "Let me alone, Harriet," he said, "let me think of 
 her as she was, a beautiful, living woman. I would 
 rather not carry in my memory a dead face." 
 
 "But Rodger," Mrs. White persisted, "you've no idea 
 how beautiful the dear girl looks, so peaceful and 
 .happy." 
 
 Mr. Latimer begged to be left to himself, reiterating 
 that it was better he should not see her. But that night, 
 as he sat gazing vacantly into the fire, he suddenly 
 started from his chair, as though a new thought had 
 struck him, and went into the hall, and stood outside of 
 his open door. It was past midnight, and not the 
 slightest sound was to be heard. He supposed there 
 were people up, somewhere in the house, but he did not 
 know who was there, nor in which room they were. 
 After listening a moment, he closed his door and passed 
 slowly down the stairs, and across the deserted lower 
 hall, and stood outside of the parlor door. He placed 
 his hand on the knob, then turned his head to listen. 
 Not a sound reached his ear, it was as silent as though 
 he was the only living thing in the house. He opened 
 the door, passed in, and quickly closed it behind him. 
 He stood still and looked around the room, and at last 
 let his eye rest upon the mass of white flowers in the 
 center; all the impression he received was of aji area 
 of beautiful flowers, a mass of bouquets. He looked up
 
 312 
 
 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 and down the room, into the shadowy corners, and at the 
 yellow gas jets turned so low, they gave forth only a 
 weird light; stepped to the jet nearest to him, turned it 
 up full head, then walked to the bier, and gazed at the 
 white face embedded in white flowers. He stood immov- 
 able, looking upon the face of the woman he had called 
 wife. No cry arose to his lips, no tears came into his 
 eyes. His face had upon it a solemnity equal to that 
 of the dead, and a sadness only living faces wear. He 
 did not think of his wedding day, or of the blissful 
 weeks that preceded it, nor of the disappointments that 
 had come to him, from time to time, regarding his home 
 life during the winter that was past, or of anything per- 
 taining to himself, his life with Marie, or what the 
 future held for him. Just now death seemed the only 
 reality in all the world. Death, coming like a sharp 
 blow in the middle of life, and cutting off one-half of it 
 at a stroke. His mind was engrossed with the strong 
 workings of nature, the impotence of human will, and 
 human love, before physical law; the mastery of the 
 material over the spiritual. With his eyes fixed immov- 
 ably upon the unconscious face before him, he said to 
 himself: "This cannot bean end, there is nothing here 
 to suggest, or indicate an end, but there is a suggestion 
 of a somewhere else." For a long time he gazed silently 
 upon the white face amid the flowers, then he slowly 
 left the room, without turning off the light with which 
 he had flooded it. As he closed the door, it was with a 
 wonder in his mind, that he did not suffer more. He 
 reproached himself, because his wife's death had not 
 occasioned him greater sorrow; he was shocked, to think 
 that he could pass through such an experience without 
 excruciating anguish, and with so little sense of personal 
 loss. Shocked, to feel that the death of his wife had
 
 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 313 
 
 affected his mind more than his heart, had been the 
 cause of awakening his intellect to new reflections of the 
 deepest significance, rather than of wringing his heart 
 with the anguish of separation. 
 
 The immediate practical results in Mr. Latimer's life, 
 of Mrs. Latimer's death were, the closing of the house 
 on Huron avenue, and his withdrawal from society, and 
 close application to the business of his law office. He 
 studied to make himself thoroughly familiar with the 
 affairs of the office, giving the most diligent attention to 
 both the technical forms, and legal principles. He soon 
 became much interested in his profession, and not a long 
 time passed before he began to reap the reward of his 
 labor, in the delightful mental excitement that filled his 
 days. The energies of his mind awoke in full force, and 
 at times he possessed the exquisite pleasure that comes 
 from intellectual creation. As the summer advanced he 
 persuaded his two partners to go off for a vacation, 
 leaving whatever business there was to be done in the 
 office at that season, entirely with him. He neither 
 knew or cared to know, where his old society friends 
 were, he only wished to be left undisturbed at his work.
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII 
 
 We shall have to go back a little in the season to 
 Margaret McVey. It was early in May, that Miss Sar- 
 gent was sitting at her desk engaged in making out her 
 annual reports to several societies for which she was 
 secretary, when Margaret, who was such a frequent 
 visitor at the house that her coming and going was 
 scarcely more noticed than that of its mistress; entered 
 the library so noiselessly that before Miss Sargent knew 
 that she was there, she had her arms around her neck, 
 and was kissing her. 
 
 "Why my dear, how like a fairy you come," said Miss 
 Sargent, "you must have had an early breakfast." 
 
 "Yes, I did have an early breakfast, for I didn't sleep 
 much last night. Aunt Helen, are you very busy with 
 that writing?" 
 
 "Not at all," said Miss Sargent, opening a drawer in 
 the "desk, into which she swept all of her papers, with a 
 stroke of her hand. " These reports are nearly done, and 
 I don't need them for several weeks yet. Now what is it, 
 dear? for I know bythe tone of your voice, that you have 
 something of more than usual importance to say to me." 
 Miss Sargent rose from her desk as she was speaking, and 
 seated herself in a large chair, and Margaret dropped on 
 a hassock at her feet, and rested her arm across Miss 
 Sargent's knees. 
 
 "I want to go to Europe, Aunt Helen," said Margaret 
 as she looked up in Miss Sargent's face. 
 
 "To Europe, Margaret!" 
 
 "Yes, to Europe. Aunt Helen, you remember that you 
 proposed it last spring, I felt then that I could not go, it
 
 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 315 
 
 would have been a going away from everything, but now, 
 I feel I must go, I can't stay here any longer." 
 
 "Well dear, I presume that you are right," said Miss 
 Sargent, "you usually are, although I don't quite under- 
 stand it. But it shall be as you wish, be sure of that, 
 whether I or any one beside yourself understands it: but 
 why this sudden start?" 
 
 "I wish that I could make you understand it, Aunt 
 Helen," said Margaret, as she laid her head on Miss 
 Sargent's knee. 
 
 "If you really wish to, why can't you dear, am I so 
 dull of comprehension ?" 
 
 "No, no," said Margaret, reaching out her hand to 
 clasp one of Miss Sargent's," but it is hardly natural that 
 you and I should think alike on some subjects." 
 
 "Why not natural, Margaret, because I'm so very old?" 
 
 "Oh no, you're not old, that is, not old in your feel- 
 ings." 
 
 "Well then, is it because you think that you have had 
 some experiences in life that I cannot understand, that 
 I cannot share?" Margaret clung in silence to the hand 
 she held, and pressed it to her face. " Perhaps Margaret 
 it. might be well for us to talk freely upon this subject if 
 we can," continued Miss Sargent, after a few moments' 
 silence, "we are very much to each other, you are more 
 to me than any one living, and while I fully appreciate 
 the sacredness of the individual personality, and under- 
 stand that our greatest sorrows can be shared by no 
 one, and that the greatest changes in our characters are 
 wrought out in solitude; yet my darling, this is a sub- 
 ject on which we might, and perhaps ought to talk 
 freely, without the least reserve. And if we could for 
 once put all reserve aside, and speak freely, it might be 
 a comfort to us both. You never would let me tell you
 
 3 i6 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 dear, how I suffered with you, but I did suffer, in tears 
 and bitter indignation. The thought of your sorrow 
 makes me weep even now; I know you are happier, or at 
 least, less sorrowful, than you were a year ago, I know 
 that some sort of comfort has come to you ; and I know 
 and oh! Margaret! how I rejoice in it I know how 
 nobly you have borne this terrible grief, and how eleva- 
 ting upon your character its effect has been." By this 
 time both women were quietly weeping, Miss Sargent 
 could see the tears dropping from Margaret's eyelashes, 
 upon her half-averted face. After a little Miss Sargent 
 continued: 
 
 " I sent you all of the papers that contained anything 
 regarding" should she say Marie? or Rodger's wife? or 
 Mrs. Latimer? After a slight hesitation she said, 
 " regarding Marie's death. I have not seen Rodger since 
 the evening of the funeral. John and I called late that 
 evening at his house, and when the man told us that Mr. 
 Latimer saw no one John insisted on sending our cards 
 to him; I did not think it best, but on the whole I was 
 glad afterward. Rodger came down to the library, and 
 thanked us for sending our names to him, and said he 
 would have regretted not seeing us, but admitted that he 
 did not wish to see any of his society friends. He 
 looked in good health, and had a sad dignity of manner 
 that was very impressive. We invited him to return with 
 us for the night, but he said he preferred remaining 
 where he was. We were not there more than a quarter 
 of an hour; he went to the outside door with us when we 
 left, and as I extended my hand to say good-night, he 
 took it in both of his, and looked in my face as though 
 he was going to say something; but if he had intended 
 to, he changed his mind, for he relinquished my hand 
 with a pressure, and bade me good-night. The next
 
 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 317 
 
 Saturday I sent him an invitation to dinner Sunday, and 
 in the note I told him, I hoped he would consider our 
 house his home, and come informally, .whenever he 
 chose, as he used to years ago ; and that he must com- 
 mand me whenever I could be of any comfort, or service 
 to him. He did not come to dinner, but wrote an 
 appreciative answer, thanking me for my kindness, but 
 said in his present state of mind it was much better for 
 him to be alone. That is all I have known of him. I 
 haven't seen him since; John says he is hard at work in 
 his office, and he don't hear of his being out at all, only 
 in his saddle, he is out on his horse for hours every 
 evening." 
 
 While Miss Sargent was speaking, Margaret seemed to 
 scarcely breathe, for fear of losing a word that she said. 
 She did not stir, but sat perfectly still with her head in 
 Miss Sargent's lap. After a little she broke the silence: 
 
 "Where does he live?" she asked. 
 
 "He closed the house on Huron avenue," said Miss 
 Sargent, "you know he rented it furnished, and has 
 rooms at the Hotel Normandie, I understand." Another 
 long silence followed. 
 
 " Aunt Helen ?" Margaret said at last. 
 " Yes dear, what is it ?" But as Margaret relapsed 
 into silence again, Miss Sargent said, " Ask me anything, 
 Margaret; were I in your place there would be many 
 things that I would like to know, and I will be glad to 
 tell you anything, if I only knew what you cared to 
 know." As Miss Sargent spoke, she gently pressed her 
 hand on the head that lay on her knee. After another 
 silence of several minutes, Margaret spoke hesitatingly 
 in a low voice, and in broken sentences: 
 
 "I w i s h I knew how they lived together; how 
 much he really thought of her. It's impossible to stop
 
 318 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 Mrs. Herman talking, I have had to listen to much that 
 was painful to me: she says they adored each other 
 that he was very proud of her and that she worshiped 
 him do you know any thing about it?" 
 
 "Nothing, darling, but what I have inferred. She was 
 a society woman, very fond of dress, and they say after 
 her. marriage she dressed richly, extravagantly so, but in 
 good taste. You know I don't go out much, and I rarely 
 saw either of them after their, marriage. I met them 
 occasionally at dinners, and saw her a few times at the 
 theater, and then she was always surrounded by gentle- 
 men. Rodger always seemed to me, in some way, like 
 an attendant in the background. I have heard that he 
 was perfectly infatuated with her beauty from the first. 
 You know that Rodger and I have been great friends ever 
 since he was a boy, and I think I understand his nature; 
 and I don't believe he ever loved her. Perhaps he did 
 experience what men call an infatuation, though how 
 that could have been, is past my comprehension. I saw 
 very little of them, but I never saw any evidence of affec- 
 tion between them. I know something of human nature, 
 and I don't believe he ever loved her. I think he made 
 a mistake, and that he soon discovered it, but was man 
 enough to abide by his decision. He had the reputation 
 of being a devoted husband, but there was no evidence, 
 that I could see, that her death occasioned him any great 
 sorrow. That man John and I saw, on the evening fol- 
 lowing his wife's funeral, was not deeply suffering. He 
 was sad and thoughtful, but he was neither heart broken 
 nor desolate." 
 
 After a little Margaret asked: "Was she so very beau- 
 tiful?" 
 
 "I never thought her beautiful," replied Miss Sargent, 
 " she certainly had a fine figure, and there was a sort of
 
 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 319 
 
 statuesque appearance about her, that was rather imposing. 
 They say that men thought her eyes beautiful, they were 
 not beautiful to me, they were simply large, and well 
 colored. What expression she might have thrown into 
 them, for the sake of affecting her gentlemen friends, I 
 can't say, but I never saw much expression of any kind 
 in them. She did have beautiful hair, it was abundant, 
 and a lovely color. I did not regard her as a woman of 
 much mind, and I know she was not a cultivated woman. 
 I should have said that she was the last type of woman 
 that would have attracted Rodger; for he certainly is a 
 man of thought, and we used to think him a man of large 
 heart, and of straightforward character." 
 
 Miss Sargent ceased speaking, but Margaret neither 
 stirred nor spoke, and Miss Sargent leaned her head against 
 the back of her chair, and silence reigned in the room. 
 After awhile she resumed the subject: 
 
 " One thing more, Margaret," she said, " Rodger and I 
 never, when we have met, have referred to the past in 
 any way, neither to you or Edgewood; or to our trips 
 abroad together. Only once did he refer to your father, 
 and that was in a letter that I received last summer, when 
 we were at Mackinaw. In that letter he mentioned both 
 you and your Aunt Deborah in connection with your 
 father. I did not think best to show you the letter then, 
 would you like to see it now?" 
 
 "Yes, very much," replied Margaret, raising her head 
 from Miss Sargent's knee. 
 
 Miss Sargent went to her desk, and took from a drawer 
 the letter referred to, and placed it in Margaret's hand, 
 after which she resumed the writing laid aside on Mar- 
 garet's entrance. Margaret read Rodger's letter, sitting 
 on the hassock, with her back to Miss Sargent. She read 
 it through very rapidly at first, and then turned back, and
 
 320 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 read it very slowly; going over some sentences several 
 times. Among these was the sentence, in which he said: 
 "I seem to be waking from a delirium;" and the one 
 where he spoke of the old Edgewood home as being: 
 "A hallowed spot, apart from the heat and strife of 
 ordinary life;" and where he said: "I know that I had 
 forfeited my right to a place beside him, and it adds to 
 the poignancy of my grief this morning to feel that that 
 was so." When she had gone over the letter many times, 
 she leaned her head against the arm of the large chair, 
 where Miss Sargent had been sitting, and closed her eyes. 
 For nearly an hour Miss Sargent's pen sped over the pages, 
 and Margaret sat in motionless thought. Then she rose, 
 and with the open letter in her hand, went and knelt by 
 Miss Sargent's side. 
 
 " You never can know, Aunt Helen, how much good you 
 have done me this morning," she said in a calm voice, as 
 she leaned her head upon Miss Sargent's shoulder. 
 
 "I'm very glad, dear," replied Miss Sargent, as she 
 placed her hand under Margaret's chin, which she raised, 
 so that she could look into the girl's face. It was a pale 
 face, with eyes that held a sad story, but just then, a very 
 calm face, with an expression of contentment on it. 
 
 "I cannot tell you now, Aunt Helen, but after a little 
 I will, just what you have done for me to-day. May I 
 keep this letter of Rodger's? I would like to have it." 
 She spoke the name without a tremor of voice, and it 
 was the first time that Miss Sargent had heard it from her 
 lips for nearly two years. 
 
 " Certainly, Margaret, but " Miss Sargent hesitated, 
 looking anxiously into Margaret's face. 
 
 " Don't fear, Aunt Helen, I think I know what your 
 caution would be, but I do not need it. Now let us talk 
 about going to Europe, I'm very anxious to go, and soon."
 
 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAK 321 
 
 "Well, dear, we'll talk it over with John after lunch- 
 eon," replied Miss Sargent. 
 
 The plans were easily consummated for an indefinite 
 residence abroad for Margaret and Miss Sargent. Miss 
 Bond was included in their first plan, but she positively 
 refused to leave home. 
 
 "I would die of fear before I got half way across that 
 ocean," she declared," and then I can't leave this kinder- 
 garten. Don't talk to me of Rome and the Alps, I don't 
 care to see them; I know I couldn't be one-half as happy 
 anywhere as here with these children, and then Mrs. 
 Bray will need me more than ever, if you are away. If 
 you have no objections, Margaret, suppose we have Mrs. 
 Bray and Eloise come into the house, as soon as you 
 leave, give up their boarding place, I mean, and come here 
 and live with me until you return. We will close your 
 rooms, both your bedroom and Sans Souci, and Mrs. 
 Bray can have the next room to mine. She and Eloise 
 would be company for me, and then when I go East in 
 July, they can stay right on here if they choose, and I'll 
 be back by the first of September, in time to can the fruit, 
 and make jelly and pickles, and have the house ready for 
 the opening of the school by the first of October." 
 
 So it was arranged, and in June Miss Sargent and Mar- 
 garet sailed" for the other side," as Aunt Deborah always 
 designated Europe. Miss Sargent went directly to Paris, 
 believing that Margaret's low spirits would be improved 
 by the most decided change possible from the secluded, 
 eventless life she had led the past winter. The result con- 
 firmed her judgment. Margaret gradually became in- 
 terested in the people and scenes around her, and she 
 seemed taking hold of life again. But she wearied of the 
 noise and confusion of Paris, and after a few weeks there, 
 said one day to Miss Sargent: 
 
 21 'Rodger Latimer's Mistake.
 
 322 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 "Haven't we had enough of this city, Aunt Helen? 
 Suppose we go to Switzerland?" 
 
 "Where in Switzerland shall it be, Margaret ?" asked 
 Miss Sargent, glad to go anywhere Margaret might wish. 
 
 "Wherever you like. Lucerne? Interlaken ? Cham- 
 ouny ?" queried .Margaret. 
 
 "Suppose we go to Lucerne first," said Miss Sargent, 
 " stay there as long as we choose, then creep up to 
 Chamouny, loitering on the way as we like?" 
 
 "I have always thought that I would like to spend an 
 entire summer in Chamouny," said Margaret. " I know 
 I should never tire of staying there." 
 
 "Well, then, we'll go straight there now," replied Miss 
 Sargent. 
 
 "No, I like your plan of sauntering from place to place. 
 If you really don't care, suppose we go directly to 
 Lucerne. " 
 
 In a few days they were established in Lucerne, where 
 they found a party of pleasant English people, with whom 
 the time passed by so pleasantly in excursions among the 
 mountains,and over the lake, that before they realized 
 how rapidly the summer was going, they were told that it 
 was too late in the season, for either a pleasant or safe 
 journey to Chamouny. They then turned southward, and 
 drifted through Milan, Venice, Genoa and Florence, in 
 the most delightful leisurely way, and late in December 
 took up their residence for the winter in Rome. Here 
 they found several old acquaintances from Clinton, who 
 were there for the winter, and soon were surrounded by 
 friends. 
 
 Margaret had never been in Rome before, and its 
 architecture and art seemed to arouse a new life within 
 her. She cared little for any of the people who surrounded 
 them, but spent her time in the picture galleries, and out 
 of doors, being as much alone as was possible.
 
 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 323 
 
 Rodger Latimer's betrayal of Margaret was her first, 
 her only sorrow, and when overwhelmed by the flood, no 
 thought of the sorrows of others arose in her mind for 
 months. That is of the present, every day sufferings of 
 the human family. But when she visited the Leek street 
 mission kindergarten, the physical and moral degradation 
 which she saw there, the disease, pain and crime, were to 
 her a revelation of the universality of suffering. Her 
 after knowledge of Mrs. Bray's sad life, deepened the 
 impression received in the mission school, and she soon 
 came to regard herself as one of thousands, and her sor- 
 rows as part of the common experience of humanity. 
 While this knowledge did not assuage her grief, it quieted 
 the clamorous cries of her heart, and led her thought from 
 the little point of her own personality, to general ex- 
 periences; and from the law of individual happiness, to 
 the larger law of the well being of the race. During the 
 first few weeks of her sojourn in Rome, she passed through 
 a religious transition that wrought a greater change in 
 her, than had the experience that brought her out of 
 the narrow limitations of a selfish, personal sorrow. 
 Of all the attractions of Rome, St. Peter's was the 
 greatest to Margaret. Her esthetical nature was strongly 
 wrought upon by the music and pictures of the great 
 cathedral, by the mystic altar ceremonies, the mysterious 
 gloom of the vast nave through which floated the peculiar 
 odor of incense, and which seemed thronged with shadowy 
 presences from the remote past. She attended religious 
 services there every day, and as she knelt in worship 
 beside the devout Romanists who were murmuring their 
 prayers, surrounded by pictured and sculptured apostles 
 and martyrs, grouped around their Incarnate Lord; she 
 felt that her religious faith, through all her previous life, 
 had been as narrow and selfish as her sympathes and ideas
 
 3 2 4 
 
 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 of suffering had once been. Here was symbolized the 
 faith of many ages, the very air was full of the devotion 
 of centuries to one God; sin and sorrow were everywhere 
 present, but everywhere triumphed over by repentance 
 and exultation. There came to her a new realization of 
 the omnipresence of the Infinite, and there sprung up 
 within her a faith in a universal love that filled all time, 
 and stretched across the world enfolding every human 
 being in a compassionate tenderness. Before this faith, 
 nationalities and creeds vanished, cold forms shriveled 
 into nothingness, and questioning doubts were dumb. 
 Love was supreme, and trust in God, the universal law 
 that brought universal peace. 
 
 With great wisdom, Miss Sargent kept her hands off 
 Margaret's soul through this transition period. She read 
 the girl aright, and trusted fully the pure instinct of her 
 nature and her well balanced mind. But she was dis- 
 tressed that Margaret had gained neither health or flesh, 
 by all of the changes of climate and scenery through 
 which she had passed; nor was she the only one who 
 regarded Margaret with anxiety. The slight, pale girl, 
 dressed in deep black, was a familiar figure to those who 
 frequented the picture galleries and the cathedral; and 
 many a woman turned to look after her as she passed, 
 with an expression of sympathy and solicitude on her face. 
 Whenever her health was referred to in her presence, Mar- 
 garet insisted that she was well, perfectly so. This 
 declaration of Margaret's did not at all assure Miss 
 Sargent, but she plainly saw that nothing could be done 
 for Margaret, in any special way, but that she must 
 continue to rely on pleasant and healthy surroundings, 
 as she had done since leaving home. 
 
 The months passed rapidly and as the spring advanced, 
 Miss Sargent and Margaret spent many pleasant hours
 
 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 325 
 
 planning a tour for the summer and autumn. One day as 
 they were thus engaged, a servant brought in a package 
 of letters. There were several for Margaret that brought 
 tier news from home, and told her atl about the success of 
 Mrs. Bray's kindergarten, and the happiness that Mrs. 
 Bray and Miss Bond daily found in their association with 
 their little children. Margaret was so thoroughly occu- 
 pied she did not observe, that as Miss Sargent glanced 
 over her letters, she quickly raised her eyes from one she 
 held in her hand, to Margaret's face, and immediately 
 went to her own room. When Margaret had finished 
 reading her last letter, she seated herself at a table and 
 commenced writing replies, and here Miss Sargent found 
 her an hour after. She laid her hand on Margaret's 
 shoulder, who looked up with an expression of startled 
 apprehension, into the solemn face that leaned over her. 
 There were tears on the eyelashes, and the cheeks were 
 wet. 
 
 " Here is a letter from Rodger," said Miss Sargent in a 
 grave voice, full of emotion. " He left it to my judg- 
 ment, Margaret, whether or not to give it to you. You 
 surely ought to have it. I'm going to my room to do 
 some writing, and I'll leave it with you." 
 
 She placed the letter in Margaret's hand, and left the 
 room.
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 We left Mr. Latimer steadily at work in midsummer in 
 his office. There was little business at that season of 
 the year, but being alone in the office, he found himself 
 sufficiently occupied through the business hours of the 
 day, and when these were closed he usually mounted his 
 horse and roamed through the deserted park, or wan- 
 dered aimlessly around the surrounding country. Fre- 
 quently he would take his dinner at the Park club house, 
 and sometimes at some suburban restaurant, miles from 
 the city. His object seemed to be to get away from peo- 
 ple and be alone, either in the woods or on the lake shore. 
 The night would often find him far from home, and fre- 
 quently at midnight he would be riding slowly through 
 the silent streets, between the converging rows of gas 
 lights, that reached away in silent brilliancy toward his 
 hotel. His life was one of almost absolute solitude. His 
 manner was as grave as that of a sorrowing man of sixty, 
 and as to the real life back of the silent lips and serious 
 mien, no one knew anything. It might be one of pensive 
 sorrow, of deep regret, of stern self-reproach, of chaotic 
 hopes, or one of simply calm endurance. After seeing a 
 suitable stone placed at his wife's grave, and arranging 
 for flowers to be laid thereon every Sabbath morning, he 
 went no more to the cemetery. Whether the past or the 
 future possessed his thoughts, no one could tell. His face 
 did not show a discontent, but rather a growing restful- 
 ness, as the summer passed into autumn. 
 
 One day late in September, he took his dinner at sunset 
 at a road-house on what was called the Edgewood road, 
 two -thirds of the way from Clinton to Edgewood. After 
 326
 
 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 327 
 
 dining, when he mounted his horse at the door, he sat 
 still in the saddle a few moments, as though undecided 
 where to go, then turned his horse toward Edgewood. 
 But whatever his wish, or determination, may have been, 
 after going straight ahead a few rods, he turned his 
 horse around, and cantered back to the city. The next 
 day he did not go to his office after his luncheon, but took 
 his horse at his hotel, and rode directly to Edgewood. 
 When he reached the village, he was surprised to see so 
 little change in the place. It seemed to him, that the 
 changes in the material world should have kept pace, 
 somewhat, with the volcanic changes he felt there had 
 been in his life, since last he was in these quiet streets. As 
 he counted the months, he was surprised, and almost 
 angry, to find that it was about two years since he was 
 there last. Ten years, yes, twenty, ought not to have 
 changed him so much, as he said to himself, he was 
 changed. The college year had not opened, and the quiet 
 of the summer vacation pervaded the village. He rode 
 slowly through several of the principal streets, scarcely 
 seeing man or woman. After a little he drew rein before 
 Professor McVey's house, dismounted, tied his horse to a 
 jing fastened to one of the elm trees, and went up the 
 gravel walk. As he stepped onto the front piazza, George, 
 the coachman, who was mowing the lawn, came toward 
 him. Fora moment neither recognized the other, then 
 Mr. Latimer spoke: "Why, George, I am glad to see you 
 again, how do you do ?" 
 
 "I am very well, sir," George replied, taking Mr. 
 Latimer's proffered hand, as he whisked his hat from his 
 head, "and welcome back to the old house, sir." 
 
 "You've had some sad changes, George, since I was 
 here. " 
 
 " Yes, sir, the old master's gone, and it was a sad day 
 for us all, when he went."
 
 328 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 "Miss Bond has gone East, I understand, and Miss 
 McVey is in Europe, is there any one in the house?" 
 
 " No, sir, none but me and my wife. I'm married, sir, 
 I am," said the man with a happy grin, "and my wife is 
 the cook. We are taking care of the place." 
 
 "Married are you, George? Well, that was a good 
 thing for you to do, but can you tell me if I can look at 
 some books in Professor McVey's library ? Are the books 
 in the same old place, or has the house been changed?" 
 
 "Not changed at all, only for the little ones, sir, the 
 master's room is all there. I'll go round and open the 
 door for you. It's like seeing a man come to his own 
 home, to see you back again." 
 
 George unlocked the front door from within, and as 
 Mr. Latimer stepped into the hall, he opened the library 
 door for him to enter, and leaving the front door open to 
 admit the fresh air into the close smelling hall, he went 
 back to his mowing. "Changed only for the little ones," 
 thought Mr. Latimer, as he hung his hat on the rack ; 
 "what could he mean?" Then he stepped back a little, 
 and stopped midway between the open library door and 
 the parlor door, that stood ajar. He pushed the parlor 
 door open and looked in. A sacrilegious change seemed 
 to have been made in that room. None of the pretty 
 chairs that used to be there, met his eye; the sofa; small 
 tables, books, curtains, scarfs, cushions, everything that he 
 once thought made the room a charming parlor, for a beau- 
 tiful girl, were gone. The same carpet was still on the 
 floor, and his heart beat faster, as his eyes rested on Mar- 
 garet's piano, that he had never seen out of her own room 
 before. On the piano was a cover, embroidered by her 
 own hands; how often he had watched the delicate fingers, 
 as they stitched in that border of goldenrod. That piano 
 cover had been Margaret's work for odd moments, for
 
 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 329 
 
 many months. Frequently Rodger had taken it from her 
 lap and laid it one side, when he wished her to walk, or 
 ride with him; and once when he thought her eyes rested 
 too exclusively upon it, as he was sitting by her, he 
 placed his hand over the stem she was stitching, and 
 watched with delight her efforts to remove it with her 
 own small fingers. It all came back to him; and how 
 when she found it impossible to remove his hand, she 
 slightly pricked each of his fingers with her needle; and 
 the half-frightened, half-ashamed look, that came into her 
 face', with a rush of color, when she saw that she had 
 drawn blood with her needle point. How beautiful she 
 looked that day! and how carefully she nursed the 
 wounded finger for him! Now the folds of the coverhung 
 motionless, and each spray of goldenrod seemed a silent 
 accuser. He turned from the room, only glancing at the 
 row of tables placed against the wall, and the double row 
 of small chairs that were near them, and crossed the hall 
 into the study. Here nothing was changed, all was just 
 as it used to be. The chairs were in their old places, 
 Professor McVey's large one, near the corner of the fire- 
 place, with the table, holding a student lamp, and cov- 
 ered with books, by its side; and Margaret's little rock- 
 ing chair not far off, by a round table. He closed the 
 door, shutting himself into the room, and seated himself 
 on the sofa. The books were arranged in their old order 
 on the shelves, and the entire room seemed in readiness 
 for the entrance of its master. The thought that he 
 might come in at the door, seat himself in his chair, and 
 take up a magazine, and begin reading, seemed much 
 more natural to Rodger Latimer, than that he was lying 
 in Oakwood cemetery. The personality of Professor 
 McVey was very distinct to Rodger; it stood out in the 
 clear, deep-cut lines of a living man, with nothing of the
 
 33 
 
 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 mistiness, or vagueness of death connected with it. He 
 sat alone in the silence of that room for an hour; the 
 memories of the past rapidly awakening, and accumu- 
 lating, until he was completely possessed by them. As he 
 looked at the books Professor McVey used to handle, a 
 keen appreciation of the guileless nature of the man came 
 over him. " How different," he thought, " from the people 
 with whom I have lived during the past two years;" then 
 looking around the library " There was nothing sordid 
 or selfish, or vulgar here; how he loved his books! he 
 lived with the great dead, and no guile could find place 
 in his mind. Simple old man! pure as a saint! how Mar- 
 garet loved him! and how he loved her! Dear, darling 
 Margaret! how / loved her." He suddenly rose, as a 
 wave of feeling swept over him, rocking his soul to and 
 fro, in an agony for Margaret's presence. He crossed the 
 room to the door that opened into her Sans-Souci. He 
 stood irresolute; he longed to enter her room; it was as 
 though she were on the other side of the door waiting for 
 him. He turned the knob, and swung the door back, the 
 folds of the portiere hung straight and still before him. 
 There was not a sound in the house, not a sound reached 
 his ear from the yard, or the street; a silence like that of 
 death was around him. Before he opened the door, it 
 seemed as though Margaret, alive, well and happy as of 
 old, was waiting him on the other side; now, as he stood 
 before that motionless curtain, utter silence in the room 
 beyond, it seemed as though Margaret, dead, was lying 
 just the other side of the curtain. He could not raise it, 
 and pass within ; it was like invading a tomb. He dropped 
 upon his knees, and laying hold of the curtain with both 
 of his hands, he buried his face in its folds. Once- he had 
 a right to enter that room, not now; he had forfeited it for- 
 ever, and by the wrong done had lost the love of her he
 
 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 33 r 
 
 had always loved. He saw it all now. Fool! fool! And 
 for what? Never was so rich a heritage bartered for so 
 meager a mess of pottage. In this house there had been 
 the purity of Eden. No breath of murky air ever entered 
 its portals; never a whisper that might not have been 
 spoken on the housetop ; never was there a look here 
 that a saint might not have faced. Oh! Margaret! Mar- 
 garet! angel in purity, woman in love! Never had her 
 hand felt an unhallowed touch, no man's lips beside his 
 own and her father's had ever touched her face, to 
 another man she had never given a thought. Unlawful 
 sentiment would have crept ashamed from her presence; 
 and no love of adulation could ever have tempted her to 
 step from the pedestal of her womanly dignity. If he 
 could only cast his soul at her feet, and put the hem of 
 her garment to his lips! He groaned aloud, and pressed 
 the folds of the curtain which he held in his hands, hard 
 against his face, as visions of the home he once called his 
 own passed before him, followed by the vision of the 
 home he might have had. The loss seemed too bitter, 
 his' fate unnaturally hard. How long he knelt there he 
 did not know. When he rose to his feet he felt weak and 
 exhausted, he stood for a few moments with bowed head 
 close to the motionless portiere; then closed the door 
 softly upon it and left the house, mounted his horse and 
 turned toward the city. He had thought on his way out 
 how he would walk through the orchard, sit on the south 
 piazza under the vines, and visit the stable and lay his 
 hand upon the neck of Margaret's horse; but he had not 
 calculated on the flood of memories that overwhelmed 
 him as soon as he stepped into the house, the sense of 
 Margaret's presence, and of the great wrong he had done 
 her, accompanied with the conviction that he had blighted 
 his own life by the committal of that wrong, which
 
 332 
 
 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 seized him as he stood before the curtain that divided him 
 from her room. On his way back he thought the situation 
 all over, and determined to accept in a manly way the 
 result of his action, by devoting himself to his profession 
 and doing what good he could in the world with his 
 money and with any legal influence he might gain. But 
 when did youth ever accept a situation opposed to its 
 desires until baffled on every side and defeated in every 
 conceivable plan to change the situation! Although Mr. 
 Latimer worked assiduously in his office through the 
 autumn and winter months, he found time, as soon as his 
 elastic nature began to recover its tone from the shock 
 occasioned by the conviction that Margaret was lost to 
 him forever, to turn over in his mind all of the possi- 
 bilities of the case. He planned and rejected a great many 
 imaginary courses of action and their results. He pro- 
 posed schemes to himself and abandoned them as soon as 
 they were ready to be put into execution ; and he was at 
 times flushed with the hope natural to his sanguine tem- 
 perament, and then chilled with the despair that was just 
 as natural to his sensitive organization. He could learn 
 nothing regarding Margaret from Judge Sargent, beyond 
 the simple fact that she had been with his sister in Rome 
 during the winter. The judge knew nothing of his sis- 
 ter's plans for the spring or summer. At last Rodger 
 determined to write to Miss Sargent. He dared not write 
 to Margaret, and he felt he had no right to go unbidden 
 into her presence. The remembrance of Miss Sargent's 
 unvarying kindness to him, and of the almost romantic 
 interest that she evinced in Margaret and himself during 
 the summer they all passed together in Lausanne, added 
 to the strong love that he knew she felt for Margaret, gave 
 him courage to address her. At any rate, be the result 
 what it might, it was doing no wrong to Margaret for him
 
 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 333 
 
 to write to Miss Sargent, who he felt sure would be both 
 wise and full of tender appreciation of all concerned in 
 any action that she might take. As soon as he came to 
 this decision, he put it into execution, and sent the fol- 
 lowing letter to Miss Sargent: 
 My Dear Friend: 
 
 Do not be offended, I beg of you, that I address you on a subject, 
 that perhaps you may think, I ought not to have the temerity to ever 
 speak of to any one. I acknowledge that I feel like a culprit before a judge, 
 and tremble in fear of the sentence that you may pass against me. But 
 whatever the result may be, I must tell you all there is in my heart, and 
 entreat that you will hear me, with what patience you can. When I 
 think of the old acquaintance there was between yourself and my father 
 and mother, and the many delightful days I have passed with you in the 
 house of our dear Professor McVey, and those delightful summers that 
 we four passed together in Europe: I feel that I can, with some confi- 
 dence, tell you every thought of my heart; with the hope that you may 
 read my actions of the past two years, in the light of the knowledge that 
 you must have gained of the man, both of his weakness, and of what 
 worth he may have possessed. Then when I think of your character, 
 crystallized into uncompromising honesty, and your high moral standard, 
 that does not admit of the least deviation in feeling, or intention ; remem- 
 bering, at the same time, your tender love for Margaret, I feel that it is 
 hopeless to expect from you, anything but condemnation, and perhaps 
 what seems to me in my extremity, a severe, unmerited, condemnation. 
 I wish that you could know every feeling of my heart, and every theught 
 of my mind, from the August of two years ago, when I left Edgewood 
 with a love for Margaret, as great and unselfish, as I can conceive it pos- 
 sible for a man to feel for a woman; until last August, when I was fully 
 recovered from a delirium, and the bitter disappointment following it, to 
 find the love for Margaret as strong as ever in my heart, combined with 
 a reverence for her nature, ten-fold greater than I had ever felt during 
 the years of our engagement. Could you follow each step of that strange 
 delirium, or fancy, or passion, perhaps, with your knowledge of psychol- 
 ogy and of the human heart, you might be able to analyze it from its de- 
 sire, to its last bitter regret. But I say frankly to you, that I do not 
 now understand it. I do not wish to say one word in extenuation of my 
 conduct, I have no such word to utter. It was an experience I cannot 
 respect, and out of which I am blind to see, that any good can come to 
 any one. I think I was the only sufferer, and very thankful I am, to be
 
 334 
 
 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 able to believe this. It was just that I should bear the natural retribu- 
 tion, as I was the transgressor against principle. Perhaps my eyes have 
 been opened to a clearer, and deeper, vision by the experience of 
 these two years, but be that as it may, I know that Margaret has so risen 
 in my judgment, by conscious and unconscious, comparison with the 
 women I have met, that I regard her as the most perfect woman, in every 
 respect, that I have ever known. I used to say this, years ago, but then 
 it was more a matter of feeling, an unconscious recognition of her worth, 
 through the instinct of love, which sometimes gives more of a negative, 
 t! an a positive judgment. Now I know, I painfully realize, under the 
 fear that I have lost her forever, what it is in her nature, that is of such 
 priceless value. I can give you no idea of the reverence that I feel for 
 her. I am glad that she has never lived in the atmosphere created by 
 some women, who are called good women, that I know, or did know, a 
 year ago. I am glad that the simple majesty of her nature, was never 
 vitiated by their trivialities, to use the kindest possible language. As I 
 have awakened to an accurate knowledge of her worth, so have I become 
 conscious that I have always loved her, and never loved any woman be- 
 side her. My eyes fill with tears, as I think of the gentle, happy girl of 
 three years ago. Oh! why was I left to such blindness! Margaret must 
 have suffered; I see it now, I felt it last September, as I knelt outside of 
 her door, in the old house at Edgewood. She must have suffered, and 
 through my act! So constant, and trustful, and loyal! think of her 
 loyalty! I know, that never in one thought, or in one moment's senti- 
 ment, did her heart turn from me; and I have learned that this loyalty 
 of nature is of the greatest value; nor did the possibility of such a 
 moment's disloyalty of sentiment exist in her. My love for her was so 
 interwoven with my very being, by our association during our years of 
 childhood, and years of maturing thought, that I was not aware of its 
 power. I have come to know that that little woman is more to me than 
 all in the universe beside; she is inextricably entwined around my life, 
 and her praise and appreciation have come to be my only professional 
 ambition. My money is valueless to me because it cannot gratify her 
 tastes, and pass through her hands to the needy. As for a home, I shall 
 go without one to my last day, unless I can have one created by her 
 presence. I cannot imagine a fireside as belonging to me, where she is 
 not. I do often dream of one, beside which she sits, of a home made 
 blessed by her presence- 1 have dreamed of late, of the possibility of 
 gaining her forgiveness; and of picking up the threads of my life, which 
 I so heedlessly broke, and of placing them in her hands her liule 
 woman's hands to weave together into a beautiful home life. Margaret
 
 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 335 
 
 must regard me with a sort of horror, as a moral bandit. I cannot see 
 how she can have for me, any other sentiment than that of contempt. It 
 would be just if she should forbid me ever to come into her presence 
 again, but then I am conscious of possessing some worth, and some 
 truth. I dealt with her falsely, and treated her cruelly; but I am neither 
 false, or cruel. I do not understand how I could have wronged her so 
 wickedly, it seemed so natural, so easy then; and seems so monstrous 
 now. I do not ask Margaret to forgive me, to love me; but I -do beg of 
 her to permit me to be with her. Not as a lover; no word of love shall 
 pass my lips, or be expressed by eye, or touch; only let me be with her; 
 let us read, and talk and walk together, as we three used to years ago I 
 wish Margaret to know the Rodger of to-day, as thoroughly as she 
 thought she knew the Rodger of three years ago. I wish to live my 
 life, and thought, out unreservedly before her. I would like to have our 
 lives run close together, through consecutive days and weeks; so th it 
 she might see the man under various circumstances, and in various 
 moods; and judge him for herself. I wish to stand with uncovered 
 heart, befc e her woman's eyes; stand long, with the searching light of 
 her honest nature thrown upon me. I would like her to follow to its in- 
 citing motive, every action of my life, if she can thread such an inscru- 
 table labyrinth. I know how miserably' weak 1 have been, how false to 
 principle in that one lamentable instance but I can trust Margaret to deal 
 gently and show mercy. Could she permit me this probation, then I 
 would accept, without a word of remonstrance, her command to leave 
 her, and never come into her presence again ; should it be, that her old 
 love was dead, past all possible resurrection. I am not ashamed to 
 admit that such a sentence would banish me to a life of loneliness, but I 
 could not complain, as it would be my own hand that had hewed out the 
 road to the desert. I think, my dear Miss Sargent, that you understand 
 my heart, and see what I am hoping that you can do for me. I dare not 
 address Margaret. I have no right to do so. But can you not approach 
 her in my behalf? Make what use of this letter your judgment may 
 dictate. If Margaret will permit me to go to her, please send me a cable- 
 gram to that effect. One word will be enough. I shall not misunder- 
 stand it. You may smile and think me impetuous, but more than life is 
 at stake, and since I have been inspired with a slight hope, I find this 
 uncertainty almost unendurable. 
 
 A few lines expressive of personal obligation and con- 
 taining goo.d wishes, closed the letter that Mr. Latimer 
 sent to the address he had obtained from Judge Sargent. 
 Immediately after mailing it, he went to a steamship
 
 336 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 agent, and with him calculated the probable time that 
 must elapse before he wouH receive a reply. He then 
 engaged his passage in what they thought would be the 
 first outgoing steamer, after the cablegram would reach 
 him. The few weeks that followed were weeks of 
 feverish anxiety, of alternating hope and fear. Rodger 
 could not concentrate his mind upon his office business, 
 nor could he read or sleep. He held himself strictly to 
 business hours, his other waking hours were passed 
 mostly in the saddle. He rode long and far, often until 
 both horse and rider were tired out. As the time 
 approached when he might reasonably expect some mes- 
 sage from Miss Sargent, he found his strength of will 
 inadequate to the control of his feelings, and he was 
 thrown into the greatest despondency, his mind being 
 filled with sad forebodings. What hope he might have 
 had when he wrote to Miss Sargent had so nearly died out, 
 that when at last a messenger boy stood before him with 
 a foreign dispatch, he felt it was his sentence of death, or 
 banishment. He sent the boy from the room and locked 
 the door; his limbs trembled beneath him, and he seated 
 himself in the nearest chair, as he held the cablegram 
 in his hand. His heart beat violently, he felt dizzy, and 
 the room seemed to rock around him. It was several 
 moments before he could master himself sufficiently to 
 open the envelope; and even when he held the folded 
 sheet in his hand, he did not dare turn his eyes to it. At 
 last when he did read the message, the words, " Come 
 to Baden," overcame him, and as he exclaimed, "Thank 
 God!" he dropped his head on his clasped hands on a 
 table near by.
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 It was toward the evening of a pleasant day in the last 
 of May, that Miss Sargent was sitting on the piazza of a 
 hotel in Baden, resting after a long walk. She was sitting 
 close to an open window talking with Margaret, who was 
 seated in the reception room within, her crossed arms resting 
 on the window sill. It was early in the season and they 
 were enjoying the quiet of the hotel, that did -not con- 
 tain more than half a dozen guests beside themselves: 
 who like them, were wise enough to keep in advance of 
 the annual swarm of tourists through Switzerland and 
 Germany, in order to enjoy the clean rooms and the ser- 
 vice of the goodly number of servants who were waiting 
 the rush of travelers. The arrival of carriages from the sta- 
 tion was anxiously watched every day, for fear that a large 
 party of noisy people from somewhere might invade 
 their quiet home life. There was another thought in the 
 mind of both Margaret and Miss Sargent, whenever a 
 carriage approached the house, for both knew that Mr. 
 Latimer had had time to reach them ; and although they 
 did not speak upon the subject, each was expecting him 
 daily. As a carriage drew up to the piazza that May 
 evening, the eyes of both were turned toward it, and as a 
 man stepped out, they immediately recognized the tall 
 form and broad shoulders of Rodger Latimer. He saw 
 Miss Sargent, but did not see Margaret, who had risen to 
 her feet and retreated behind the window curtain. As he 
 came toward Miss Sargent with uncovered head, she rose 
 to meet him, and extended both of her hands in cordial 
 welcome. He took them in his with a close grasp, as 
 though to express his affectionate gratitude to her, by the 
 22 Rodger Latimer's Mistake, (337)
 
 338 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 pressure he gave. She turned to the window, and said: 
 
 "Margaret, Rodger has come." 
 
 Margaret immediately stepped partially in view and 
 extended her hand, which Rodger held for scarcely an 
 instant, as she quickly withdrew it as soon as she felt the 
 touch of his. For one moment they looked into each 
 other's eyes, and it would have been difficult to tell which 
 face was the paler; then her eyelids drooped so low the 
 lashes seemed to lie on the white cheeks. For half a 
 minute Rodger gazed on the slight figure draped in black, 
 the thin, pale face, the well remembered soft curling hair 
 lying across the white forehead, then he turned abruptly 
 and walked quickly away across the carriage road and the 
 lawn, up a hill, and plunged into a grove, where he threw 
 himself down upon the ground at the roots of a tree. He 
 was not prepared for the change that he saw in Margaret. 
 And it seemed to him that he was responsible for it all, 
 even to the emblem of mourning that enveloped her. 
 When he last saw her, she was a merry girl, all gladness 
 and beauty, the embodiment of happiness and health, 
 floating about in delicate colors and fleecy white, decked 
 in ribbons and flowers, with a song on her lips, and a 
 world of love in her eyes. He pulled his hat down low 
 over his face as a vision of the girl he had looked upon a 
 few moments ago rose before him. The large sad eyes, 
 the wasted figure clothed in black, the pitiful mouth, and 
 the cold touch of the thin hand, struck an agony of re- 
 morse to his soul. He had broken her heart, he said to 
 himself, he had ruined her health, he had clothed her 
 body in black. It was in vain he reminded himself that 
 she was wearing conventional mourning for her father, that 
 Professor McVey was dead, and that would account for 
 her black clothes, and partially account for her sadness. 
 He could not calm himself, he could not forgive himself.
 
 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 339 
 
 For an hour he sat there alone under the trees, a victim 
 of his imagination and conscience, then he rose and 
 walked slowly back to the hotel, and went straight to his 
 room. The necessary occupation of unpacking his trunk, 
 taking a bath and dressing for dinner, changed somewhat 
 the current of his thoughts. And after dinner, which he 
 took alone in the great dining-room, as the usual 
 table d' hote had been served some time before, he started 
 in search of Margaret and Miss Sargent, in a calm, though 
 rather depressed, state of mind. He found them in their 
 cosy parlor, Miss Sargent reading aloud by a shaded 
 lamp, and Margaret lounging on a sofa near by. Both 
 rose at his entrance, and Miss Sargent turned a large 
 chair toward the table, in which he seated himself, on her 
 invitation. 
 
 "Now tell us all about John, and Clinton," said Miss 
 Sargent, as soon as he was seated. " When did you see 
 him last?" 
 
 " The day I left the city, but he would give me no 
 message to you; he said he wrote so frequently there was 
 nothing left to say. I drove to your home on my way to 
 the depot." 
 
 " Rather out of your way." 
 
 " Yes, about two miles," replied Rodger, " but I thought 
 you would like the latest news, and I can assure you that 
 your brother never looked in better health. It was a cold 
 afternoon that' I was there, and he had a blazing fire, 
 which he was enjoying with his usual satisfaction." 
 
 "I don't know what John will do when July comes," 
 said Miss Sargent, " his occupation will be gone. You 
 know he usually goes up to Lake Superior in August, and 
 I tell him he only goes because a fire is a necessity up 
 there, in the evenings, the year around. He would not 
 come with you?"
 
 340 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 " I knew better than to ask him." 
 
 "Yes, I suppose so." As there was no reply made to 
 this remark of Miss Sargent's, and as she feared an awk- 
 ward silence, she asked abruptly, simply for the sake of 
 saying something: "Don't you think we have a pretty 
 room here, Rodger?" 
 
 "You have indeed," replied Mr. Latimer, looking 
 around the room. "That is an unusually fine engraving," 
 he added, rising and crossing the room to look at a 
 picture on the wall. As he stood before it, Miss Sargent 
 spoke to Margaret : 
 
 " Do you know, dear, where that last 'London Times' 
 is?" 
 
 "I think it is in my room, would you like it?" said 
 Margaret. 
 
 It was the first time that Rodger had heard her voice, 
 and the sound lashed him like a whip; he winced and 
 shrank from it. It was so pathetically sweet, so patient, 
 so emotionless and measured in its tones. 
 
 "This is my doing also," he said to himself. 
 
 "Yes, if you please," replied Miss Sargent to Margaret, 
 "I would like to see what Rodger will think of that art 
 criticism." 
 
 Margaret went into an adjoining room and returned 
 with the paper, which she gave to Miss Sargent, who 
 said: 
 
 "Will you read this to us, Rodger? Margaret began 
 it this morning, but we gave it up for a walk." 
 
 "Certainly I will," said Mr. Latimer, turning from the 
 wall. 
 
 Miss Sargent's heart was touched with sympathy, as 
 she noticed the distressed look upon his face. She was 
 doing the best she could for the young people, but she 
 began to feel as though she had two combustibles on her
 
 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 34 1 
 
 hands, which were being brought together over a powder 
 magazine. Those two hearts were evidently charged to 
 the brim, and a word, or tone, might be the spark to set 
 fire to the hoarded powder. Mr. Latimer read the article 
 designated; it was a long one, and he was a good reader, 
 and soon all three were interested in the matter under 
 consideration. When he finished reading he and Miss 
 Sargent entered into-a lively discussion of the subject. 
 Margaret said nothing, but both Mr. Latimer and Miss 
 Sargent included her in the conversation by turning fre- 
 quently toward her, and directly addressing her. She 
 evinced her interest in all that was said by looking back 
 and forth from one to the other, as each was speaking, 
 and in this way she and Rodger frequently looked into 
 each other's eyes, though Margaret withdrew her gaze 
 the moment that it encountered Rodger's. 
 
 It was late when Mr. Latimer rose to go, and the good- 
 nights were formal. Miss Sargent asked him if he would 
 take breakfast with them at eight o'clock the next morn- 
 ing and walk with them afterward, which jnvitation he 
 gladly accepted. 
 
 The next morning after breakfast, when Mr. Latimer 
 was equipped for the walk over hills and rocks, he went 
 to Miss Sargent's parlor for the two ladies. He found 
 Miss Sargent with her stick in her hand, tying her hat on 
 before a mirror. Margaret was standing beside a table, 
 absently turning the leaves of a magazine. He asked: 
 "Are you not going to walk with us, Margery?" Mar- 
 garet returned no answer. She could not speak, she 
 could not even raise her eyes; she was so overwhelmed 
 with the memories that old name brought out of their 
 graves. She quickly turned, and slipped into her room, 
 the door of which was near by. Both Mr. Latimer and 
 Miss Sargent supposed Margaret had gone for her hat,
 
 342 
 
 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 but as she did not return, Miss Sargent said: " I wonder 
 what has become of Margaret; she is usually ready before 
 I am. I'll go and see what's the matter." She found 
 Margaret sitting in a chair in the middle of the room 
 convulsed with weeping. 
 
 "Why, Margaret, my child!" she exclaimed, as she 
 pressed Margaret's head against her side as she stood by 
 her. " What has hurt you ? was it the old name, dear ?" 
 
 "Yes, yes, oh! Aunt Helen, I cannot bear it! All of 
 my old happiness and all of the misery has come back to 
 me so, I cannot bear it!" 
 
 Miss Sargent soothed her as best she could. " I don't 
 know, Margaret," she said, "as you could hope to 
 meet him without this rush of memories at first, I'm 
 thankful it did not come yesterday. It will pass, dear, 
 and then you can meet him with more calmness I know 
 it "is very hard, shall I tell him that he better go off 
 somewhere for a while and come back in a few weeks, or 
 meet us in Chamouny ?" 
 
 "No, no! I would not have him leave for the world." 
 
 Miss Sargent smiled as she laid her hand gently on the 
 head that rested against her. "I am sure he will do just 
 as you wish, Margaret," she said, "he may not have 
 suffered as you have, but his face plainly shows that he 
 has been having a sad time of it." 
 
 "Go and take your walk, Aunt Helen. I shall not be 
 able to go out this morning, perhaps not to-day. Don't 
 keep Rodger waiting any longer; he will think strange of 
 it. Leave me alone; it will be better, I'll get over this." 
 
 Miss Sargent thought a moment, then said- " Perhaps 
 it will be best, yes, we'll go and walk. But remember, 
 dear, in all of your grief that Rodger has the worst of it. 
 You have always done right; he is the one who has 
 wronged another. I'd rather, a thousand times, be in 
 your place than his."
 
 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 343 
 
 "Aunt Helen," said Margaret, raising her pinched, 
 tear-blotted face, " if Rodger says anything, don't blame 
 him too much, don't be too hard on him." 
 
 "You can trust me, darling. You know I always 
 liked him, and I think he is acting nobly now; doing 
 the best any man could possibly do." Miss Sargent 
 went to Mr. Latimer, who raised inquiring eyes to her 
 face, as she came alone from Margaret's room. She 
 only said: "We will have to go without Margaret this 
 morning, Rodger; it is best, perhaps, that she be alone 
 for a few hours, but I am quite sure she will go with 
 us to-morrow." 
 
 Mr. Latimer picked up his hat from the floor, beside 
 his chair, and followed Miss Sargent from the room, 
 without saying a word. He walked in silence where 
 she led the way, but hardly heard the sound of her 
 voice as she spoke to him. She did not talk much as 
 they went up the hillside, and they traversed two 
 miles or more, in comparative silence; for he scarcely 
 uttered a word in reply to anything she said. At last 
 she ceased in her attempts to keep up any conversation. 
 After a long while Rodger spoke: 
 
 " Pardon me, Miss Sargent, if I speak of myself, but 
 this uncertainty is becoming more than I can bear. 
 My presence here evidently causes Margaret pain. I 
 must not stay, if it makes her suffer, I have caused her 
 sorrow enough, already. Do you think she can ever 
 forgive me?" 
 
 "I'm glad that you have spoken of her, Rodger, but 
 I hardly know what to say to you; you must be patient 
 and self-forgetting, for awhile." 
 
 "Don't misunderstand me, I pray; I could wait a 
 century, if I were sure of her love in the end, or sure 
 that I could make her happy; but it seems as though 
 my presence tortured her."
 
 344 
 
 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 " No, it does not." 
 
 " How do you know ?" 
 
 " I asked her this morning, when I was in her room 
 just before we left, if I should ask you to go away for 
 awhile." 
 
 "What did she say; please give me her own words." 
 
 " She said, No, no, I would not have him leave. 
 Remember, Rodger, what the dear girl has suffered. 
 It's natural your coming should bring up all of the 
 past, and that the remembrance of the happiness that 
 you and she once had together, and of all her sorrow 
 that followed, should sweep over her with irresistible 
 force. Don't make too much of this; it had to come, 
 but in a few days it will pass away, and then you and 
 she can begin a new acquaintance." 
 
 " I don't wish a new acquaintance, I want the old one, 
 of three years ago." 
 
 " That you can never have again. After such ex- 
 periences as you and Margaret have gone through, the 
 old life is impossible." 
 
 "Is her heart dead toward me?" 
 
 "Dead'" exclaimed Miss Sargent in a voice that 
 startled Mr. Latimer, and which immediately give him 
 great comfort , he turned and looked at her, and met a 
 smile of calm assurance. They walked on in silence 
 for a little, then Mr. Latimer, looking far away across 
 the country, said in a solemn tone: 
 
 " What a fearful thing it is, not to do right. I see 
 plainly enough now, that I was utterly in the wrong. 
 I must have been mad, blind. I cannot understand 
 how it could have appeared to me as it did at the 
 time, I seemed to have been whirled off my feet, and to 
 have been carried away by a force outside of myself. Poor 
 Margaret, I don't see how she can possibly forgive me."
 
 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 345 
 
 " You must not use that word, Rodger, Margaret has 
 never felt the least unforgivingness toward you." 
 
 "Do you think she can possibly love me again ? has 
 she any of the old love in her heart toward me?" 
 
 "I must not tell you what I think. Isn't it enough 
 that she said you might come, and stay with her?" 
 
 "Yes, it is; it's all I can hope for, more than I de- 
 serve. But please tell me, Miss Sargent, did she read 
 the letter I wrote to you? did you have to persuade 
 her to permit me to come?" 
 
 "No, I did not persuade her at all. I didn't say 
 one word to influence her. I would not take that re- 
 sponsibility: I wouldn't dare to. I gave her your letter 
 the day I received it, and she took it to her room, 
 and was there alone for two hours; then she went off 
 and walked alone for another two hours; when she re- 
 turned, she said to me, 'Aunt Helen, you may telegraph 
 Rodger to come, if you think it would be best:' I told 
 her I had no judgment to give, that I dared not have 
 any; that it was a matter her own heart and judgment 
 should decide. Only, I said to her, that she ought to 
 fully understand all that was involved in such per- 
 mission." 
 
 " And she gave that permission ?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 After several moments of silence, Rodger said: "I 
 never addressed her by any other name than Margery, as 
 you know; no one beside me ever called her Margery; 
 when I spoke the name to-day, you saw how quickly she 
 left me ; shall I continue to call her by the dear olcfname, 
 or shall I change it to Margaret or Miss McVey ? I would 
 like to do whatever would be most agreeable to her " 
 
 " Undoubtedly the old name was the cause of the tears 
 in which I found her, but I believe it would hurt her if
 
 346 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 you used any other. But, Rodger, follow your heart; an 
 honest heart rarely makes a mistake. " 
 
 " If I followed my heart," Mr. Latimer said, with a sad 
 smile, "I should burst through all the barriers, and take 
 Margery in my arms and tell her how much I love her, 
 and hold her there forever." 
 
 There was not much more talk between the two. Rodger 
 seemed revolving something in his mind, and Miss Sargent 
 left him undisturbed in his cogitations. They strolled 
 over the hills, through the groves, and back to the Con- 
 versationJiaus; where in one of the booths, Mr. Latimer 
 purchased several pretty trifles, which, with some beautiful 
 leaves he had gathered on his walk, he placed on Mar- 
 garet's lap, as they found her, on their return, sitting 
 on a bench under the trees, waiting for them. 
 
 "You missed a delightful walk, Margery," he said, as 
 he laid the leaves and curiosities on her knee, "but judging 
 from what I have seen of Miss Sargent's pedestrian en- 
 thusiasm, this morning, it's a loss easily made up. I feel 
 sure that there will not be a ruin, castle, hill or spring, 
 that we shall not visit; and on foot too, during the next 
 few weeks." Then turning to Miss Sargent, he continued, 
 " I'm as hungry as a wolf, do you take luncheon, or are 
 you living on two meals a day?" 
 
 " Xo, we take a bite at noon, but we have nothing at 
 this hour that will satisfy a wolf, I forewarn you. I 
 didn't think it was so late," continued Miss Sargent, 
 looking at her watch, " it's two o'clock." 
 
 "May I join you in the dining-room, after I have 
 washed off some of this dirt?" asked Mr. Latimer, looking 
 at his large white hands.
 
 CHAPTER XXXI. 
 
 After the awkward reserve of the first few days had 
 worn off, the three old friends dropped into the in- 
 formal relations which they had held years before; 
 and as soon as the first excitement of meeting Rodger 
 was over, Margaret not only surprised herself, but 
 Miss Sargent also, by the calmr.ess of feeling, and 
 naturalness of manner, that became habitual to her. 
 Mr. Latimer's life immediately became one of de- 
 votion to the comfort and pleasure of the two ladies; 
 and so perfectly were his arrangements made, their 
 results seemed only those that would naturally come 
 from the care of competent servants, belonging to a 
 well managed hotel. Did they wish to make an ex- 
 cursion, the carriage, or donkeys, were of the best, 
 and at the door on the minute. Did a rain come up 
 when they were in the forest, or on the mountains, 
 umbrellas and water-proofs were brought out from some 
 hiding place to protect them. Were they miles from 
 the hotel at noon, an ample luncheon always met them. 
 The number of magazines and papers that usually lay 
 on their sitting-room table, was doubled, and their bill 
 of fare was noticeably improved, by the addition of rare 
 game and choice fruits. 
 
 They lived out of doors most of the time, usually 
 leaving the house soon after breakfast, and not re- 
 turning until driven home by the approaching darkness. 
 Margaret was specially fond of this out of door life; 
 and she was always ready to go in the morning, and 
 never ready to return at night. They spent days in 
 the pine woods, and at the old castle: and made ex- 
 
 347
 
 348 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 cursions up and down the valley, and through the 
 forests, but their favorite place for riding, reading, and 
 lounging, was among the rocks on the Battert. Miss 
 Sargent said that she must draw the line somewhere, 
 and declared that it should be at donkeys. There was 
 nothing she would not drive in, no place that she 
 would not go, that could be reached on foot, or in a 
 wheeled vehicle; but when it came to going on donkeys, 
 Rodger and Margaret must go without her. At first, 
 Margaret hesitated about going off alone with Rodger, 
 even for a short ride, but as Miss Sargent seemed to 
 look at it as a matter of course that she would go, and 
 Rodger appeared to regard it in the same light, her 
 hesitancy vanished, and it soon came about that she 
 and Rodger would be off together for hours on their 
 donkeys. At such times Rodger gave her the same 
 thoughtful care, that always characterized his manner 
 toward herself and Miss Sargent, but in no wise was 
 his manner different toward her when alone, from what 
 it was when Miss Sargent accompanied them. If he 
 took hold of the bridle of her donkey with a reverent 
 hand, as though the beast was carrying an angel over 
 rough ways, she was not aware of the devotion in- 
 volved in the simple act; nor did she know the force 
 of will that held the hand steady, that placed her foot 
 in the stirrup. She never saw the intensity of passion 
 that at times overflowed his eyes as they were fixed 
 upon her face, as they walked under the trees in the 
 forest, for on the slightest motion of her head toward 
 him, his eyes were withdrawn; and when they again 
 looked into hers, they were as free from tumultuous 
 passion as her own. Rodger never spoke a word, gave 
 a glance, or permitted himself a tone of voice, that 
 could recall the past, or that would lead Margaret to
 
 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 349 
 
 infer, that he even thought of holding any other re- 
 lation to her, than that of the friend he then was. 
 When they first began to go out alone together, Mar- 
 garet feared he might take advantage of the situation 
 and declare his love. Then as soon as his calm man- 
 ner reassured her, with the inconsequence of a girl, 
 she wondered if he really did love her, as much as he 
 had said in his letter to Miss Sargent. His associ- 
 ation with Margaret had come to be one of such in- 
 formal confidence, he was constantly on the alert not 
 to mar it, or to startle her sense of security. The 
 three lived together as members of the same family; 
 always taking their meals together, meeting early in 
 the morning, and separating late at night. If Mr. Lat- 
 imer was ready for breakfast first, and he usually was, 
 he would take a book and sit on a bench that was 
 under a tree in front of Miss Sargent's bedroom win- 
 dow, and read, until she called to him from the window 
 that she and Margaret were ready. They read aloud 
 to each other all sorts of books; novels, science, and 
 philosophy, and freely exchanged the various opinions, 
 the book in hand chanced to awaken in their minds. 
 During these frequent conversations, Rodger became 
 aware that the range of Margaret's thought had en- 
 larged in the last three years, especially on religious 
 subjects. He once felt that he knew every corner and 
 angle of her mind, could analyze her every thought, 
 trace it back to its source, and forward to its result 
 on her character; but he found her much changed, and 
 at times, her thought was elusive, and escaped his 
 grasp. He felt this almost painfully one day, as they 
 were sitting on a rocky hillside together, Miss Sar- 
 gent having sent them off alone, excusing herself on 
 the score of some writing to do. Rodger had been
 
 35 
 
 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 reading an hour to Margaret, when he laid the book 
 aside, and stretching himself on the ground beside her, 
 rested his head on his hand that was supported by his 
 elbow. "This is a beautiful world," he said as his 
 eyes roved up and down, and across, the hillside, the 
 plain, the woods, and distant mountains. 
 
 "Yes," replied Margaret, "this is a beautiful world, 
 a wonderful world. I think, Rodger, that my early 
 association with books, and bookish men, led me to 
 over-estimate the world of ideas, the mental ; and to 
 under estimate matter. See how matter is tossed up 
 into forms of beauty all around us. I can easily un- 
 derstand how some heathen have worshiped nature." 
 
 "I don't know," said Rodger, "this matter of worship 
 is not very plain to me. I believe I really like the services 
 in those great Catholic cathedrals better than any other. 
 Their symbols are so engrossing, they capture the senses 
 so completely, that one feels religous whether he is or 
 not." 
 
 "I know that is so," said Margaret, "I have felt it. 
 In St. Peter's, last winter, I was perfectly permeated and 
 possessed by the influence of the ceremonies, the pictures, 
 and the music. It all did me great good then, but it was 
 because of " she hesitated, Rodger's eyes were on her 
 face, but her hesitancy was but for a moment " my 
 peculiar mental condition. I needed something to help 
 me over a chasm, back to my religious faith." 
 
 Rodger dropped his eyes to the ground and commenced 
 to scrape the moss off a small stone near him with his 
 thumbnail. "And I found just what I needed in that 
 great temple," continued Margaret; "but, Rodger, you 
 soon outgrow that spectacular sort of effect that surrounds 
 you there, and turn even from St. Peter's, for a more 
 immediate sense of God. You soon get beyond all of 
 that color, and line, and sound."
 
 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 351 
 
 "But that color, and line, and sound, are just what I 
 need," rejoined Rodger, "as a help to me. There is 
 something tangible in that music, and the kneeling 
 people, and the praying priest. I believe I'd make a 
 pretty good Catholic." 
 
 "I could much easier be a Quaker than a Catholic," 
 said Margaret. " I find a tendency in my nature to do 
 away with forms, and days, and seasons. Such things are 
 no great hejps." 
 
 "You don't need external helps," replied Rodger. 
 "You are better than I am, Margery. Perhaps your belief 
 in a supreme being, and in moral responsibility, isn't 
 stronger than mine. Let me read you a few lines I have 
 here," continued Rodger, sitting up and taking out his 
 pocketbook, from which he took a bit of folded news- 
 paper. " I heard Horace Kent make a speech last spring, 
 and one thought of his impressed me so strongly, I cut it 
 out of the paper the next morning and have carried it 
 ever since. Let me read it to you: 'It is when you come 
 to those moral principles that touch the welfare of 
 humanity, that the world accepts no compromise; and his 
 stature is alone great, who puts himself in line with those 
 fundamental principles of justice and liberty which we 
 may call providential. I say providential, because all 
 circumstances, all events, all times, of peace and war, of 
 action and reaction, carry them forward to their ultimate 
 destination, and we may therefore reverently say, that 
 they are in the special keeping and hands of Him, who 
 created this world from a perfect purpose, and to a perfect 
 end. ' " 
 
 "Let me see that," said Margaret, as Rodger ceased 
 reading. He placed the slip in her outstretched hand. 
 She read it several times over to herself, then read it 
 aloud " 'Created this world from a perfect purpose, to a
 
 35 2 
 
 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 perfect end.' That is beautifully said; why isn't the 
 whole of everything there? Was this a political speech, 
 or was it at one of your bar dinners?" 
 
 " No, it was at a meeting to indorse Gladstone's Home 
 Rule. The entire speech was an eloquent one, full of 
 wisdom; but no thought in it struck me as forcibly as 
 this. For days after hearing it, I kept repeating to my- 
 self, 'From a perfect purpose, to a perfect end. ' Now I 
 have as strong faith as you, in such a doctrine as this; in 
 a personal good providence, but that is all a matter of the 
 intellect. You. and some few others that I have known 
 in my life, seem to possess a something else, that I know 
 nothing of." 
 
 "Arid it is just this something else," pursued Margaret, 
 "that is the most desirable of all knowledge, or ex- 
 perience. You think me fanatical, don't you?" 
 
 " No, I do not, but I am frank to say, Margery, I don't 
 understand you; and I am equally frank to admit, that 
 you, and some others I know, do possess something before 
 which I bow my head. A something I do not possess. 
 Your father had it I knew him well but there was one 
 part of his nature, one part of his life, that I could not 
 enter. I was shut out of it by my ignorance. I recognized 
 the presence of this something, and could see its influence 
 on his life. I could not call it superstition, and it was 
 the farthest removed from fanaticism. You would call it 
 religious faith, I suppose." Margaret turned her head and 
 looked into the distance. Rodger observed her sad face, 
 and was distressed. He put out one of his hands, and 
 held it a few inches above one of her.-, that lay on the 
 folds of her dress, that rested on the ground between them. 
 "Pardon me, Margery, have I hurt you?" he said. 
 
 " Oh, no," she replied, turning toward him, as she drew 
 her hr.nd away from under his that had not touched hers.
 
 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 353 
 
 " It is very pleasant to hear you speak of dear papa. I 
 know you and he loved each other. I think of him every 
 day. How good he was! what a beautiful life he lived!" 
 
 "Indeed, his was a beautiful life," assented Rodger, "and 
 I'm beginning to see of late, that there are a great many 
 beautiful things in this world. I'm beginning to believe, 
 in a vague sort of way, that this world is going on very 
 well, in spite of all the wrong doing and suffering we 
 know there is in it. It does seem, at times, like a 
 dreadful botch; I cannot understand the means to the 
 end, but I am beginning to have faith in the ultimate 
 outcome of it all." As Margatet was about to reply, the 
 laugh of a child diverted their attention. It came from a 
 little child that was tottering among the stones, followed 
 by its nurse, some way below them, to one side. 
 
 "That must be a stupid girl," said Rodger, looking at 
 the child, "why don't she keep a child of that age on the 
 grass, instead of bringing it up here among the stones. " 
 
 "Children are wonderful creatures," said Margaret, 
 gazing after the child. 
 
 " Why, Margery, one would suppose from your decisive 
 tone, that you knew a great deal about children. I did. 
 not know you ever saw any, beside that little diabolical 
 philosopher next door to you, that Novalis Herman." 
 
 " Novalis is a dreadful child, but I am thankful to say, 
 I know many other children beside Novalis. You don't 
 know anything of my kindergarten experience, do you?" 
 
 "No, tell me what you mean," said Rodger, "your 
 kindergarten experience'?" 
 
 " Yes, my kindergarten. It's a beautiful thing, Rodger, 
 to live with little children." Then she went on and 
 related to him her visit to the Leek Street Mission Kin- 
 dergarten, her meeting with Mrs. Bray, and her organ- 
 ization of a kindergarten for her in the Edgewood home
 
 354 
 
 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 parlor. Rodger's face grew very serious, as she proceeded 
 in her narration, and from time to time he asked her a 
 question or two, her answers to which enabled him to 
 come to an accurate conclusion regarding the whole 
 affair. He fully understood her benevolence toward the 
 friendless, destitute woman; and something of Margaret's 
 isolation from society at that time, and her need of occu- 
 pation. Margaret finished her recital by saying: "I 
 can't tell you. Rodger, what a blessing dear Mrs. Bray 
 and those children were to Auntie Deb and me, that 
 winter." 
 
 That winter! It all rushed into Mr. Latimer's mind. 
 He cast his eyes to the ground a moment, then raised 
 them to Margaret's face. When Margaret commenced to 
 speak of her kindergarten she did not think of the pos- 
 sible effect, recalling so consecutively the events of those 
 months of loneliness and sorrow, might have upon her- 
 self; and was frightened to feel how completely she was 
 mastered by the memories she had called up. Involun- 
 tarffly she turned her white face full upon Rodger. His 
 heart was full, but he dared not open his lips to speak 
 without her permission. Her hand lay within two feet of 
 him, but he dared not touch it. A gulf seemed to have 
 suddenly yawned between them, over which they leaned 
 with white faces staring into each other's eyes. Just 
 when Margaret felt that she could not endure the situation 
 a moment longer, a loud cry of terror brought them both 
 to their feet. They turned in the direction of the cry. 
 The child they had observed a few moments before had 
 evidently lost its footing while wandering over the stones, 
 and had rolled down the hillside a short distance into a 
 scraggy bush, where it was held suspended by its clothes. 
 The nurse, who was a tall, brawny woman, could have 
 easily rescued the child from its perilous situation, as she
 
 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 355 
 
 was only a few rods above it; but she seemed bereft of 
 her senses, and stood clasping and unclasping her hands as 
 she screamed at the top of her voice. Rodger could see 
 from where he stood that the child's limbs and, perhaps,' 
 life, depended upon the toughness of the fabric of which 
 its little dress was made, which was caught in the bush 
 and held the child dangling over a ravine. He sprang 
 around the side of a rock, near which he and Margaret 
 had been sitting, and dashed down and across the moun- 
 tain side toward the child, leaping and springing from 
 bowlder to bowlder like a deer. The distance was not 
 great, and scarcely a minute had elapsed before he 
 reached the child, which he took from its perilous 
 position, and placed in the arms, of the nurse. Margaret 
 stood on the jutting rock watching him, and when he 
 turned to come back she waved her handkerchief to him, 
 which he answered by taking off his broad-brimmed hat 
 and swinging it around his head. He did not place it 
 on his head again, but kept it in his hand as he leaped 
 across narrow crevices and sprang from rock to rock. 
 Margaret went to meet him. The cry of terror from the 
 nurse, the danger of the child, and Rodger's rapid rush 
 to the rescue, had wrought her up to quite a pitch of 
 excitement, and as Rodger brought himself *to a sudden 
 standstill in front of her, she reached out both of her 
 hands to him in welcome. 
 
 "Well, done, Rodger,"' she exclaimed. "You have 
 saved a life!" 
 
 Rodger took the extended hands in his own, and raised 
 first one and then the other to his lips with courtly 
 grace. 
 
 " I ought to have done something to merit such a wel- 
 come as this," he said. 
 
 "I'm sure you did do something," replied Margaret,
 
 356 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 withdrawing her hands from his clasp. "If you hadn't 
 been here the child would have fallen and been killed." 
 
 "I don't know as it would have been killed if it had 
 fallen; and if the nurse had not seen that some one was 
 near by, she might have taken it out of the bush herself. 
 She's a stupid creature." 
 
 "Why, Rodger, how you ran. I never saw a hunter or 
 a guide make better time, or spring more lightly," said 
 Margaret, glancing up and down his stalwart frame, as 
 they were walking homeward. " Where did you gain such 
 agility?" 
 
 " Have you forgotten that I ranked as a good scholar in 
 college?" said Rodger, with a smile. " Perhaps you don't 
 know how much of my reputation was won by my 
 muscle." 
 
 "Won't we have a splendid story to tell Aunt Helen," 
 said Margaret, clapping her hands in glee. And she 
 made a splendid story out of it half an hour afterward, 
 as they were sitting together under the trees.
 
 CHAPTER XXXII. 
 
 Early in July Margaret proposed that they go to 
 Chamouny, reminding Miss Sargent of a promise she had 
 given the summer before, when their tarrying so long in 
 Lucerne had broken up their plan of visiting Chamouny 
 that season; her promise that the next summer they would 
 go early to Chamouny and stay there as long as Margaret 
 wished. 
 
 "Yes, we'll go," said Miss Sargent, in reply to Mar- 
 garet's suggestion, "and we'll stay until Christmas, if 
 you say so. " 
 
 They reached Chamouny as much in advance of the 
 army of tourists as they had Baden six weeks before, 
 and this gave them a choice of rooms. They took 
 four on the second floor of the hotel they selected, 
 all of which opened upon a piazza, that commanded 
 a beautiful view of the surrounding mountains, and 
 the valley. Margaret's delight was unbounded as 
 she stood on the piazza and looked over the scene spread 
 out before her. It was difficult for her to stay indoors 
 long enough to unpack her trunks and assist Miss Sargent 
 in the arrangement of their parlor, for which room Miss 
 Sargent had contrived to get an extra supply of easy 
 chairs, lounges, writing tables and bookshelves. 
 
 " I see we shall make a long stay here, Margaret," she 
 said, " and we had better make our surroundings as home- 
 like as possible." 
 
 The second day after their arrival, the three were in 
 their sitting-room gathered around a heap of books on 
 the floor that a servant had just emptied there, from a box 
 which he had unnailed on the piazza. Mr. Latimer was 
 
 357
 
 358 RODGER EATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 on one knee, sorting the books, which he handed to Mar- 
 garet, who placed them on the shelves or tables, according 
 to her taste. Miss Sargent stood by looking at Rodger 
 as he matched the voliynes before handing them to 
 Margaret. Some of these books came- from Miss Sar- 
 gent's library in Clinton, some from Professor McVey's 
 in Edgewood, some they had picked up in the various 
 places they had visited, and a few Mr. Latimer had 
 brought over in his trunk. As he was assorting these 
 books, one that he took from the floor had an oldtime 
 look about it that arrested his attention. He turned to 
 the fly leaf and read Professor McVey's name in his well- 
 remembered handwriting; and again, as on the hillside 
 at Baden, the past overwhelmed him. His first thought 
 was, as his eye rested on Professor McVey's writing, 
 " What must that revered dead man have thought of him ? 
 what must have been his abhorrence, his contempt, his 
 grief over the sufferings of his idolized daughter and the 
 bitterness of it? no reparation could be made him." He 
 raised his eyes to Margaret who was standing at the book- 
 shelves across the room, her back toward him, with an 
 impulse to fall at her feet, entreating the comfort of for- 
 giveness. There was no ardent passion in his eye now, 
 no demand or importuning for love; his face was that of 
 a self-convicted culprit, from which all color and almost 
 all natural expression had been driven by the throes of 
 remorse. He had risen to his feet and was standing with 
 the book in hand, as Miss Sargent turned toward him. The 
 pale face and compressed lips touched her heart instantly, 
 she glanced at the fly-leaf of the book he held, stepped 
 to his side, took his disengaged hand between her own 
 with a sympathetic pressure, as she looked in his face 
 with an expression of confidence and affection. He drew 
 his hand from hers, laid the book on the pile on the floor,
 
 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 359 
 
 and quietly left the room without Margaret being aware 
 that anything unusual had happened. He would have 
 suffered less that day had he known that his old friend 
 had never changed in thought or feeling toward him, so 
 adroitly had Margaret managed to shield henfather from 
 any sorrowing he might have had for her sake, had lie 
 known that Rodger had committed an act by which he 
 had forfeited all the respect and affection he had felt for 
 the son of his dear friend. They saw no more of Rodger 
 until evening, when he joined them as they were sitting 
 on the piazza, listening to the tinkling of the sheep bells 
 as the flocks were coming home down the valley, and to 
 the jodelling of some one off on the mountain side. He 
 said little as they sat there together an hour or so before 
 going to bed, and Margaret didn't notice his silence, so 
 absorbed was she in the beauty of the country around her. 
 But she was deeply touched the next day by a new ele- 
 ment in his manner toward her; a sort of fatherly solic- 
 itude that was different from anything she had ever seen 
 in him before, and which at times brought tears to her 
 eyes, so full was it of brooding tenderness. As soon as 
 their rooms were arranged to their liking, they settled 
 down to a regular routine of daily life that had little 
 variety in it.* They lived out of doors as much in 
 Chamouny as they had in Baden. Their days were 
 passed in climbing mountains, creeping over glaciers, or 
 wandering through forests; and if the day was fair they 
 invariably lunched away from the hotel, on some crag on 
 the mountain side, beside some gurgling brocTk in the 
 forest, or on some sunny knoll in the valley. There were 
 always books in the baskets that followed them, and 
 usually one beside, in Rodger's pocket. But wherever 
 their days were spent, their evenings were invariably 
 passed at home, in their parlor if it chanced to rain, with
 
 360 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 books, letter-writing and music; for their room contained 
 a piano for Margaret, and Rodger was more than a fair 
 player on the violin. When the weather was clear, they 
 sat hour after hour on the piazza, during the eve- 
 nings, with Mont Blanc and the wonderful glacier of 
 that range in full view, as long as the daylight lasted. 
 Margaret frequently began her day by watching the sun 
 rise over the mountains. Her room was a corner one, 
 that had a south and an east window, and from the east 
 window she would watch the deepening color of the sky, 
 the coming of the sun as it touched Mont Blanc, and then 
 the lesser mountains, and then the glacier; when the 
 sunshine reached the grass of the hotel yard, she would 
 go back to bed and sleep until called by Miss Sargent to 
 get ready for breakfast. 
 
 A wonderful change was taking place in Margaret, 
 as these happy weeks glided by. Gradually her health 
 was established, and with restored health, came back 
 the fair flesh, and delicate color; the brightness of eye, 
 and elasticity of step. Miss Sargent and Mr. Latimer 
 beheld the beautiful miracle that was being wrought out 
 before their eyes, with feelings akin to awe; but Mar- 
 garet did not realize when her heart once more rested 
 in confidence on her lover, that every oTrop of blood in 
 her veins, every nerve, and the very tissues of her 
 body, partook of a new power : and that, in the at- 
 mosphere of happiness that enveloped her, her be~ing 
 was blossoming out to the fullness of its beauty. Poor 
 Rodger was half the time in a delirium of love, and 
 half the time depressed by fear and humility. As he 
 saw Margaret's obvious happiness, and her restoration 
 to perfect health, he could not doubt that she loved him; 
 but why did she hold herself so aloof, he asked him- 
 self; never by glance, or gesture, by a touch of finger
 
 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 361 
 
 tips, or tone of voice, grant him permission to speak his 
 love. Margaret had no idea how sorely she tried him 
 by her archness and pretty ways. If at times her charms 
 assailed his self-control, and for the instant he turned 
 toward her with an impetuous movement, or a face 
 flushing and paling with emotion, that moment, with a 
 mental bound, she was beyond his touch: and while she 
 had not moved from his side, she had thrown, by manner 
 and expression, a barrier between, that he dared not 
 cross; and before which his pulses cooled, and his 
 heart turned sick with hope deferred. Nothing could 
 be kinder than Margaret's manner: and Rodger was 
 flattered and made entirely happy for the time being, by 
 her evident happiness in his, society, as they strolled 
 through the woods, and walked over the mountains 
 together. But the heart of the young man, at times, 
 beat impatiently, and demanded a recognized position; 
 a closer relation than this of serene friendship. But he 
 never for a moment forgot that he had written to Miss 
 Sargent that he would speak no word of love to Mar- 
 garet unbidden: and he held himself to this promise 
 with such patience and calmness as he was able; ever 
 looking for a tacit permission from Margaret to speak. 
 One evening he thought his probation was closing. He 
 and Margaret had taken a long walk that afternoon, 
 and on their return were sitting on the piazza, with 
 Miss Sargent. Rodger was smoking, and Margaret was 
 sitting a little way off "looking at the mountains. For 
 some time Miss Sargent had been regarding Mr. Lat- 
 imer with a fixed gaze; she broke the silence by saying: 
 
 " I would, like to know, Rodger, how much truth 
 there is in a story that our landlord told me about you 
 this afternoon." 
 
 "I'll be glad to inform you, my dear Madam, if I
 
 362 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 know anything about it," replied Rodger; "what was 
 the story ?" 
 
 " Why, it was about a young man here of the name 
 of Jerome, a young American, who's traveling with a 
 company of young men; the landlord said he had con- 
 sumption, and couldn't live, and was destitute of 
 money, and that you were paying his bills; how much 
 truth is there in tfris story, Rodger?" 
 
 For a few moments Mr. Latimer was silent. Mar- 
 garet came and sat down beside Miss Sargent, who 
 spoke again: 
 
 " Is there any such young man here ? what do you 
 know of him?" 
 
 "This is all I know," said Rodger. " Sometime last 
 week, I was sitting around the corner, on the piazza., 
 smoking; it was a dark night, and I was alone, and I 
 supposed everybody "was asleep on this hall. The 
 window of the corner room was open, but there was 
 no light in it. After awhile two men commenced to 
 talk in the room. The very first sentence arrested my 
 attention: it was something like this: 'To think that I 
 must die for want of a few hundred dollars. ' So I sat 
 still, and listened to the conversation, and learned that 
 the speaker was from Philadelphia, a clerk in a store 
 there, that his father and mother had died of con- 
 sumption, that he had a sister teaching in the public 
 schools, and that his health had been failing for some 
 time; and that some physician had told him that his 
 only -chance was to take a sea voyage, and to spend 
 some time in a mountainous region. The trip as a 
 matter of course had cost more than he had expected, 
 and his money was getting low; but what was worse, 
 some physician here in the house had examined his 
 lungs, and advised him to go home and stay there,
 
 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 363 
 
 but told him that he could not live through the winter 
 under any circumstances, as one lung was gone, and 
 the other was considerably affected. His friend, who 
 I found out afterward was a theological student, gave 
 him sound financial advice, and orthodox spiritual com- 
 fort, but did not seem to possess much else toward 
 helping him out of his troubles. The next morning I 
 got hold of all the facts I could; it is one of those sad 
 cases every one meets with in summer traveling." 
 
 "You need not say in summer traveling, Rodger," said 
 Miss Sargent, "a few years ago I was in Jacksonville in 
 January, and one morning as I came out from breakfast, 
 there was a man reclining on the piazza steps, thin as a 
 skeleton, pale, and coughing hard enough to shake his 
 bones apart. I sat down by him, and learned that a few 
 moments before he had come from the depot, and had 
 given his last cent to the driver for his hack fare. He 
 was evidently near death, but through the advice of some 
 thoughtless or incompetent physician, he had paid out his 
 last cent to get to Florida, expecting when there, to obtain 
 some light employment that would pay for his board." 
 
 As she ceased speaking a moment, Margaret asked, 
 "What did you do with him, Aunt Helen?" 
 
 " Took care of him, as a matter of course. We got a 
 pleasant room for him, that opened into a garden full of 
 roses, and a nurse, and we fed him, and petted him, and 
 read to him whenever he wished us to." 
 
 "Well?" said Margaret, as Miss Sargent again ceased 
 speaking. 
 
 "Yes, I suppose it was well," answered Miss Sargent in 
 a grave voice, "he only lived three weeks, and he was 
 buried under a magnolia tree. It was his wish. He said 
 those last weeks of his life had been the happiest he had 
 ever known; and he wished to lie under a warm sod. A
 
 364 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 singular idea, wasn't it ? But he told me he had hardly 
 been warm for two years. What did you do for this 
 young Jerome, Rodger, .is he here yet ?" 
 
 " Oh, yes, you must have seen him, he sits at the table 
 next to ours; he wears a gray suit, has black hair and 
 black eyes." 
 
 "Have you seen him, and talked with him yourself?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Has he any property at home? Can he recover? 
 How long is he to stay here?" 
 
 "No, he has no property at home; he cannot recover; 
 so a physician in the house tells me, a great man from 
 Zurich: as to his stay here, he leaves to-morrow, I 
 believe." As Mr. Latimer said this he struck a match, 
 lighted his cigar that had gone out, and smoked in silence. 
 
 "Come, Rodger," said Miss Sargent, "you need not 
 expect to escape me in this way. I want to know all 
 about the young man's needs, and what you've done for 
 him; what plans you have made for him, and if there is 
 anything that I can do, in seeing that he has proper 
 clothing, or in supplying him with needed money." 
 
 " Suppose I answer your last question first, my dear 
 friend. There is nothing you can do in supplying him 
 with needed money, for he doesn't need any. As to 
 clothing, I went through his trunk in a real motherly 
 way, to his last flannel shirt. As to his plans, I don't 
 know anything about sick men, or their needs, but my 
 Zurich doctor helped me out, and we have a beautiful 
 plan reaching, he, the doctor says, far be)*ond the young 
 fellow's life." 
 
 " What is it ? What are you and the doctor going to do ?" 
 
 " We are not going to place him in the Home for Friend- 
 less Women, or in an orphan asylum," said Mr. Latimer, 
 with affected seriousness.
 
 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 365 
 
 "That is well," replied Miss Sargent, with like seri- 
 ousness, " I have had a great many necessitous cases to 
 look after myself, and from the experience I have gained, 
 I should say that you and the great Zurich doctor had 
 done very well, so far. I suppose that neither of you 
 advised the young man to jump off Mont Blanc for ex- 
 ercise, or swim back home for the good effect of a salt 
 water bath." 
 
 " No, we did not." 
 
 "Now, as Margaret and I know what you and Doctor 
 Zurich did not do, please tell us what you did plan to do." 
 
 Rodger dropped his tone of mock gravity, as he replied: 
 "We planned for the young man to go home, reaching 
 there by the last of September. His sister is to get a 
 substitute to hold the place in the public school for her, 
 and go with her brother to the Gulf climate, somewhere, 
 and stay until, well, until he don't need her attention 
 any longer. The doctor says he cannot possibly live 
 beyond February, but that he will not suffer much, and 
 that he and his sister will have a charming time through 
 the early winter in that Southern climate. Think of a 
 doctor's talking that way of a man who is to die in a few 
 weeks! But let us go in to dinner, he added/' rising to 
 his feet. " I hope we shall have a clear night to see 
 Mont Blanc." 
 
 "I hope so, too," said Margaret, as she slipped her 
 hand in Miss Sargent's, as they started for the dining- 
 room; "but every moonlight night clouds up so, or the 
 mist rises over the mountains, I begin to be afraid we 
 sha'n't see Mont Blanc by moonlight, after all." 
 
 Mr. Latimer pointed out young Jerome to Miss Sargent, 
 as they were seated at the table. 
 
 "What do you think of him?" asked Rodger. 
 
 "I don't think it shows any remarkable knowledge in
 
 366 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 your Zurich doctor, to see that a man in his condition 
 cannot live long. I am glad you are smoothing his way, 
 Rodger; and now where are those birds you promised us 
 for dinner? 1 ' 
 
 Immediately after dinner, Miss Sargent tarried in their 
 parlor to receive a gentleman from New York, who had 
 sent his card to her. As he entered the room, Margaret 
 withdrew to the piazza, where Mr. Latimer found her 
 soon after, leaning on the railing gazing at the mountains 
 as their outlines were merging into the dusky horizon, 
 and at the stars as they came out in the sky above. As 
 he stood beside her, she turned her head toward him and 
 said: 
 
 "Aunt Helen and I have been talking about you, 
 Rodger; she says as a matter of course, your Zurich doc- 
 tor does no more for Mr. Jerome, than to give his pro- 
 fessional opinion without charging anything, and that it 
 is you who planned that his sister should go south and take 
 care of him. I think that it is very beautiful in you to 
 do so much for a poor, friendless young man." 
 
 "You overrate what I have done, Margery." 
 
 " It's a great deal, " she replied, " think what a difference 
 it will make to Mr. Jerome, all the difference there is 
 between suffering and comfort." 
 
 " It may be a great deal to him. I can see that it will 
 be; I'm speaking of my part in it; it's a little thing for 
 me to do." 
 
 "A little thing!" exclaimed Margaret. 
 
 "Yes, a little thing, Margery. I make no exertion, 
 only write one letter to a Clinton banker; and I give up 
 nothing, all that I give to Jerome is simply from the 
 overflow of my income." 
 
 "But how many beautiful things you might have pur- 
 chased for yourself with that money."
 
 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 367 
 
 " There are no beautiful things that I wish for, and if 
 there were, there's money enough left to buy them. It's 
 very pleasant to hear nice things said about you, Margery, 
 if you deserve them; but there really is no value to be 
 attached to what I've done for Jerome. You simply can't 
 see a man surfer, if it is in your power to relieve him." 
 
 "I suppose you'll admit that a generous heart is of 
 value ?" 
 
 " Yes, of the very greatest. " 
 
 " Many would never have thought of assisting Mr. 
 Jerome, the idea of it would never have occurred to them. 
 It takes a generous nature to do a generous act; it is the 
 heart that suggests to the head." 
 
 " So it does, but the generous act of one man may 
 require no sacrifice on his part of time, inclination, or 
 anything whatever; while that of another, may require 
 great self-denial. To illustrate: I know a young woman, 
 who had it in her heart to assist a needy woman and the 
 needy woman was very needy and helpless and this 
 young woman gave her time and money, and social in- 
 fluence, to gather a band of pupils; and then, as though 
 that were not enough for her to do, in order to make her 
 plan successful, she opened her own home, and turned her 
 parlor into a schoolroom; and gave up her mornings to a 
 troup of little children and their teacher;' and did it all 
 with such sweetness and womanly tact, that the object of 
 her sympathy never dreamed of the sacrifices made, but 
 was brought to believe that she gave as much as she 
 received." Mr. Latimer ceased speaking, and looked 
 away from Margaret, off into the night. All of the time 
 he had been speaking, Margaret had not changed her 
 position of leaning with crossed arms on the railing; but 
 as he ceased, she raised herself and stood by his side. 
 Her heart was beating fast, and as he turned his head
 
 368 RODGER LATIMERS MISTAKE 
 
 toward her, she pressed her left hand on her breast. The 
 light from the parlor shone through the door full upon 
 her. Her eyes had the old time wide-open, luminous 
 look in them, her lips were slightly parted, and the wind 
 stirred the fluffy hair above her brow. Rodger's heart 
 ached with the intensity of its love, as he looked at her. 
 He extended his hand, and she laid her right one in it, 
 palm to palm. Every drop of blood in his veins rushed 
 on in ecstasy as he tightly clasped it; his time had come! 
 It was but for a moment, though, for Margaret quickly 
 withdrew her hand, turned with a half-frightened air, and 
 passed rapidly into the parlor, where she ran into Miss 
 Sargent's arms, who, after bidding good -night to her 
 guest, was just then going out on the piazza to join 
 Rodger and Margaret. 
 
 , "You're not going in as early as this, are you dear?" 
 said Miss Sargent, as she passed her arm about Margaret 
 and turned her back; " I want to tell you and Rodger of 
 a beautiful man that we are to see to-morrow. Did you 
 ever hear of Doctor Brunson, Rodger? Charles Brun- 
 son ?" she asked, as she seated herself and Margaret on a 
 lounge, not far from Mr. Latimer. 
 
 "Charles Brunson? No, I do not recall any such 
 man," said Rodger. 
 
 "I've met him only a few times myself; he was at 
 Mackinaw last summer, Margaret, when we were there, 
 but perhaps you do not remember him." 
 
 Margaret said she did not; and Rodger inquired who 
 he was. 
 
 " He's a wonderful man," Miss Sargent replied, " he is 
 thoroughly educated, and has traveled all over the world. 
 He inherited a fortune, not a large one, but his income is 
 more than sufficient for his wants, and there never was a 
 man who did so much good with so little money. He is
 
 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 369 
 
 a preacher, but he has no special church under his charge; 
 he preaches wherever he finds a vacant pulpit, wherever 
 there seems to be a demand for him at that time. He is 
 always doing good to some one. I don't believe there's 
 a man in America, who has befriended as many young 
 men and women; there is no end of the sewing machines 
 and type-writers, that he has assisted dependent girls to 
 buy; or of the young men he has helped to positions. 
 And then his correspondence is something wonderful; 
 he's constantly receiving letters from all over the coun- 
 try, from people who're in trouble, asking for advice, and 
 for pecuniary assistance, and for all sorts of things. He 
 answers all of these letters himself, and keeps up a regu- 
 lar correspondence with a large number of young people, 
 for the purpose of giving direction to their mental and 
 moral development." 
 
 "And was it this Francis de Sales you had in the par- 
 lor just now?" asked Rodger. 
 
 "Yes, he's to preach in the English church to-morrow 
 morning, and we'll go and hear him. He's a beautiful 
 speaker." 
 
 The next morning they went to the English church and 
 listened to a sermon from Doctor Brunson, on Peter's 
 denial of Christ, the thought of which, was the brother- 
 hood of man. Although the sermon did not contain a 
 single denunciation of any of the methods of conducting 
 business at the present day, of any of the existing social 
 codes, or customs, the principles evolved from Christ's 
 life and teachings, were presented in so simple and prac- 
 tical a manner, that the mere statement was a terrible 
 reouke, and a fearful denunciation, of nearly all the 
 relations held between man and man in this Christian era, 
 world over, be they monetary, or social; ecclesiastical, 
 or political. 
 24 Rodger Latimer's Mistake.
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII. 
 
 Very early the next morning Margaret was wakened 
 out of a deep sleep by a tapping at her piazza door. ' She 
 opened her eyes upon a room full of moonlight, and lay 
 very still listening When the rapping was repeated she 
 sprang from her bed and went to the door. 
 
 "Who's there?" she asked. 
 
 "It's me, Margaret, Aunt Helen," replied Miss Sar- 
 gent's well-known voice. Margaret immediately admitted 
 her. 
 
 " I woke up a few moments ago," said Miss Sargent, 
 "and the moonlight was so bright in my room I stepped 
 out on the piazza, to look at the mountains. They are 
 beautiful, Margaret. You can see Mont Blanc almost 
 as clearly as in daylight. Get on your clothes and wrap 
 up warm. It isn't three o'clock yet, but you might wait 
 six months for such a view, and then not get it. You 
 have spoken so frequently of wishing to see Mont Blanc 
 by moonlight that I was afraid you might be disappointed 
 if I didn't call you." 
 
 Margaret was hastily putting on her clothes. " Indeed 
 I should have been," she said, as she drew the curling 
 pins from her front hair, passed a comb through her bangs, 
 and then tied a soft, white woolen scarf about her head 
 and cars. No cry of delight passed her lips as she stood 
 without and looked upon the scene before her. Its holy 
 calm silenced human speech. The moon was at the full 
 and shone through an atmosphere as clear as diamond. 
 It was three-quarters over its night's journey and hung in 
 the southwest large and bright. The air was free from 
 moisture, and perfectly still. The heavens were nearly 
 
 370
 
 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 371 
 
 bare of stars. Right in front of Margaret stood Mont 
 Blanc, rising aloft above the lesser mountains that seemed 
 like subjects grouped around their king. Tkere stood the 
 monarch, not leaning against the sky, as it so often ap- 
 peared to in the day, but standing out in space, with an 
 immensity of night back of it and above it, towering in 
 its mighty strength far up from earth into the heavens, 
 where it rested in eternal calm. 
 
 "Rodger must not lose this," said Miss Sargent, after 
 she and Margaret had stood side by side for some time 
 gazing in silence on the scene. She turned and passed 
 down the piazza toward his room, which was the other 
 side of their sitting-room, being the last of their four 
 rooms. In a moment she returned and drew a chair close 
 to Margaret, who had seated herself in her absence, but 
 was still gazing in rapt attention on the glorious pano- 
 rama before her. Soon Rodger came toward them with a 
 large shawl hanging from his shoulders, and a Turkish 
 smoking cap on his head. 
 
 " Good-morning, Miss McVey," he said in an airy tone, 
 as he came to Margaret's side, opposite to Miss Sargent. 
 Margaret did not return his salutation in words, but 
 turning her head looked up to him as he stood beside her, 
 with a smile of kind greeting. Immediately he caught 
 her mood, and after gazing a moment at her face radiant 
 with the intensity of her emotion, he looked off into the 
 night and up to the majestic mountain. The smile left 
 his lips, he crossed his arms on his breast, and stood in 
 motionless silence. For half an hour no word was spoken, 
 then Miss Sargent said: 
 
 " I think I must go in, Margaret, I would like to stay, 
 but I dare not sit longer in this night air." 
 
 "May I stay?" asked Margaret, as Miss Sargent rose 
 to go.
 
 372 
 
 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 "Certainly, my dear, by all means. Rodger will stay 
 with you, won't you, Rodger?" 
 
 "I shall be glad to," said Mr. Latimer, "if Margery 
 will permit me, we ought not to lose this scene; we 
 never shall see anything like it again." 
 
 As Miss Sargent went to her room she looked to the 
 northeast and noticed a line of daylight along the horizon, 
 and the gray of morning above it, softly mingling with 
 the moonlight of the night. 
 
 Mr. Latimer seated himself in a chair by Margaret's 
 side. For a long time he was fully possessed by the 
 solemn beauty of the surrpunding scene, but after awhile 
 he began to feel the presence of the .woman he loved. 
 Margaret gazed at Mont Blanc and he gazed at her. She was 
 not thinking of Rodger at all, and he saw she was not, 
 nor was she thinking of herself. She was lost in a revery 
 that had no beginning, and led nowhere. But he felt con- 
 tent to gaze in silence on the enraptured face; the fluffy 
 hair that had escaped from the fleecy head covering, the 
 far-seeing eyes, and the delicate curves of the slightly 
 closed lips. Something of the defmiteness of daylight 
 was surrounding them, though they knew it not, and yet 
 the light retained a little of the dreamy mistiness of 
 moonlight. Rodger sat very quiet, hoping that Margaret 
 would turn to him, and after awhile she did. As her 
 eyes rested on his face, she read in every lineament the 
 entreaty of his heart. He had not spoken a word since 
 Miss Sargent left them, and he was absolutely unable to 
 utter a commonplace sentence, as Margaret turned toward 
 him, nor did he strive to conceal the passionate pleadings 
 of his love. There was a downward flutter of her eye- 
 lids, a moment's hesitation, then she raised her eyes again 
 to his face, and read every word written thereon. Instantly 
 there came a rush of color over her neck and brow, and
 
 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 373 
 
 as Rodger saw the red wave surging up, he trembled from 
 head to foot. Margaret quailed and dropped her eyes, 
 then turned them to the mountains an instant, and then 
 immediately back to his face. He sat motionless as marble, 
 only his white face pleading before her. The entire 
 nature of the girl; reason, will, and feeling, bowed in 
 obedience to the immutable law of love, and as she leaned 
 affectionately toward him, he dropped upon one knee be- 
 side her chair, and clasped both arms around her, and 
 held her to his breast. For a long time nothing was said, 
 neither could speak. After the first ecstatic sense of 
 possession that tumultuous joy that follows the meeting 
 of heart with heart had subsided somewhat, so that con- 
 secutive thought was re-established, the mind of each 
 turned to the past. Margaret remembered, as though 
 thinking of an unpleasant dream, all of her months of 
 sorrow and loneliness, all of her bitterness of soul, and 
 the dread she had felt of the years that awaited her in 
 middle life, and old age, should she be unfortunate enough 
 to live to old age. And now as she felt Rodger's heart 
 beating beneath her head, his cheek pressed to her brow, 
 and his arms around her; she was ashamed, that in her 
 hours of suffering, and apparent desolation, she had 
 exclaimed against God, and questioned His love and 
 goodness. Humbly she prayed for forgiveness, and a 
 faith founded on a belief in the immutable justice and 
 goodness of a Supreme Being. 
 
 Margaret gained the calmness of thought long before 
 Rodger did, and his confession was not to heaven, as 
 hers had been. He thought of the last time he held 
 Margaret in his arms, as his promised wife, on the little 
 piazza of the Edgewood home, and then, how he had 
 called another woman wife. Oh ! the bitter waters he had 
 wrung out for Margaret to drink ! The years passed before
 
 374 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 him, what they had been to him, what they must have 
 been to her; could she forgive it? was it possible that she 
 couid love him without accusation and recrimination? He 
 raised his head from hers, upon which it had been resting, 
 and as he tightened the clasp of his arms around her, he 
 cried: 
 
 "Oh! Margery, my love! my only love! can you ever 
 forgive me? Peter denied Christ three times, and Christ 
 forgave him; can you forgive me?" 
 
 "Hush! Rodger, don't speak in that way," she replied, 
 and as she spoke, she raised her hand and laid it with a 
 soft pressure on the side of his face. How well he 
 remembered the sweet caress! The touch was light, but 
 no words could have meant as much. It told him of 
 complete forgiveness, of a perfect re-establishment of the 
 old relation between her and himself. The reaction shook 
 him with tremendous power, and he burst into tears, and 
 sobbed like a woman, as he bowed his head again upon 
 Margaret's. She wept with him, and comforted him, as 
 only a gentle woman can comfort the man she loves, when 
 he suffers. 
 
 " And you are sure, darling, that you love me as much 
 as you used to?" he asked, after she had soothed him into 
 peace, and they had both become calm. 
 
 "Very sure, Rodger, and with an unalterable love, for 
 this is based on a positive knowledge of your character." 
 
 "You ought to have known me well, "said Rodger, " in 
 those years, when we lived so much together." 
 
 " In those years I never thought about knowing you, I 
 only loved you," she replied. 
 
 Rodger caught the little hand that was wandering in 
 light touches from his cheek to his brow and hair, and 
 pressed it to his lips. He kissed the warm palm, and each 
 dainty finger. Then he took her other hand, the left one,
 
 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 375 
 
 and looked at it. It wore no ring. He held it in one of 
 his own and passed the other gently over it, as he seemed 
 lost in thought. After a little he took a small box from 
 his inside coat pocket, and from the box took a ring, 
 which he placed in Margaret's hand for her to look at. 
 
 "It's the old ring, Margery," he said, in a very sad 
 voice, scarcely above a whisper. "I came across it 
 accidentally, more than a year ago. Since last September 
 I have always carried it about me. May I put it on your 
 finger again?" 
 
 She smiled as she gave it back to him without saying a 
 word, and he placed it on the finger which it had encircled 
 for more than a year, in the happy, careless past. He 
 did not look at her as he placed it there, but looked at 
 the hand with the ring on that he held in his own. After 
 a few minutes he said, without raising his eyes: 
 
 " It's an old fashioned setting, Margery,' we'll have it 
 reset." 
 
 " No, I like it better as it is, I shall never have it 
 changed." 
 
 He raised his eyes to the girlish face so full of happi- 
 ness, and placing his arm around her shoulder, drew her 
 to him and kissed her lips with as unselfish a devotion as 
 a doting mother might have kissed the child of her life. 
 Why was it, in obedience to what mental law, that just 
 then, as he leaned over the maiden he loved, the image of 
 Marie Edwards rose before him? 
 
 " Just now, my darling," he said, as he raised his head, 
 "a thought of Marie came to me; shall I tell you of her? 
 as near as I can, how I came to marry her, how I thought 
 I loved her? As near as I can, I say, Margery, for I 
 don't think it possible to give a very clear account of the 
 relation." 
 
 "Yes, Rodger," replied Margaret, as she raised her
 
 376 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 head from Mr. Latimer's arm; " I would like to have you 
 tell me all about Marie, but not now, sometime tell me 
 all you can, everything." 
 
 " I am glad to hear you say so, my darling love. You 
 and I must have nothing from each other. There must 
 be nothing we cannot speak of. I'm sure that I am not 
 only willing, but anxious, to lay my life bare hefore you, 
 with all of its weaknesses and mistakes. I don't want to 
 have a skeleton in our home." 
 
 "You are right, Rodger," said Margaret, "there must 
 not be any locked up rooms in our hearts that we cannot 
 enter together, nothing hidden away that we fear to 
 stumble upon. There must not be anything to be avoided 
 between us. Sometime tell me all about Marie, and all 
 about your married life with her." She spoke as calmly 
 as though speaking of some one who was a stranger to 
 them both. "I could not bear to live with you, haunted 
 by the fear that some chance word of mine might be like 
 a spark to a magazine of memories. We don't want any 
 ground whereon either of us might chance to step, to 
 return a hollow sound, and I'm afraid this might be the 
 case, if we do not, with the most perfect frankness, go 
 over with each other all of the experiences of our lives 
 during the years of our separation, since that August 
 when I last saw you in Edgewood. " 
 
 Her words deeply affected Mr. Latimer. " Do you 
 know what you are asking, my dearest, my darling?" he 
 said. 
 
 "Yes, perfectly," she replied, as she held both of his 
 hands close, as though to quiet his great agitation. " In 
 doing this, we may perhaps give ourselves some sad hours, 
 but after all, will there not be more of happiness than 
 sadness in them? And, Rodger," she continued, look- 
 ing him in the face, "can you not go over every inch 
 of the way, holding my hand in yours?"
 
 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 377 
 
 "Every inch of it, Margery," he replied, confidently 
 returning her gaze. "But it is not my telling you all 
 about myself, everything in my life to the last detail, 
 during these three years; for I really believe that with 
 my arm around you, darling, you knowing how com- 
 pletely I love you; you could bear, perhaps, to hear all 
 about my infatuation and merited disappointment, for 
 you never did me wrong; but, Margery, it's different 
 with me, I cruelly wronged you; and while I see the 
 force of what you say, and I know that it is best, 
 and I can understand the sweet serenity that will bless 
 our married life, when as husband and wife we sit at 
 our own fireside with our lives fully known to each 
 other and I know it must be so, and I would not have 
 it otherwise yet, Margery, you will have to be patient 
 with me, and tell me very gently, of those dark days I 
 brought to you." 
 
 "O Rodger, you don't quite know me yet," said 
 Margaret, "believe me, when I say that I never knew 
 how much there was in life until this morning, and just 
 now, I would not, if I could, change the past. But 
 don't let us talk of it now, it will come along nat- 
 urally in its place, as we live together. Shall we go 
 to Aunt Helen?" 
 
 They both rose to their feet. They had not noticed 
 the lapse of time as they had been talking, they had not 
 seen the moonlight on the mountain side fade out before 
 the dawn, its yellow light give place to the purplish hue 
 of the morning clouds. It was night, when they sat 
 down there together, with the silence of three years 
 between their hearts, but it was full day as they stood 
 side by side, Rodger holding in his hand Margaret's 
 hand, that wore the old betrothal ring. Before going 
 in to *;ee Miss Sargent, they waited a few minutes to
 
 378 RODGER LATIMER'S MISTAKE 
 
 see the sunrise. It touched the top of Mont Blanc, then 
 passed swiftly from peak to peak of the lower mountains 
 down whose snowy sides the light quickly came, gild- 
 ing with brightness the myriads of crags and rocks, 
 and falling- at last upon the meadows below in a golden 
 sheen. 
 
 Rodger took off his cap, and stood with bared head, as 
 he turned his eyes from the mighty mountains, to the 
 slight girl by his side, who stood in a radiance of sun- 
 light, looking into the coming day. 
 
 THE END.
 
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