V ^ " **
 
 OUR RIGHT TO LOVE
 
 SOFTLY VERY SOFTLY THE BOW TOUCHED THE STKINGS- 
 CUKVED-BENT.
 
 BY 
 
 ANNA CHASE DEPPEN. 
 
 NEW YORK: 
 
 J. S. OGILVIE PUBLISHING COMPANY, 
 67 ROSE STREET,
 
 COPTBIGHT, 1905, BY 
 
 J. S. OGILVIE PUBLISHING COMPANY.
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER. PAGE 
 
 I. LECHAW HANNA 1 
 
 II. THE MIDNIGHT REVERIE 21 
 
 III. THE CRY OF THE VIOLIN 31 
 
 IV. "I HAVE ALWAYS ALWAYS LOVED You" 39 
 
 V. "BEN WAS THE WITNESS" 43 
 
 VI. THE COURTSHIP OF SILAS SCOTT 49 
 
 VII. SOMETHING Is WRONG 58 
 
 VIII. ENGAGED TO WHOM? 69 
 
 IX. THE ANNIVERSARY DINNER 77 
 
 X. THE BONFIRE 83 
 
 XI. THE AFFAIR IN BACHELOR QUARTERS 98 
 
 XII. "!F LOYALTY Is TO BE THE BOND". 113 
 
 XIII. "You WOULD BE UNHAPPY AS MY WIFE" 125 
 
 XIV. THE GOOD INTENTIONS OF THE SCOTTS 135 
 
 XV. THE PLEASURE JAUNT TO FORTY-FORT CHURCH. . 141 
 
 XVI. "WE Two SHALL Go OUR SEPARATE WAYS" 151 
 
 XVII. TEDDY R. FIGURES IN A TRADE 159 
 
 XVIII. THE ASSAULT IN THE HILLS 172 
 
 XIX. HOPE REJUVENATES ALLAN'S HEART 183 
 
 XX. "I HAVE You BOTH IN A TRAP" 193 
 
 XXI. THE DEAD MAN'S LIFE WAS AN EXAMPLE 208 
 
 XXII. THE STRIKE DISCUSSED 222 
 
 XXIII. THE MARRIAGE TAKES PLACE , . 229 
 
 XXIV. THE OPPORTUNITY FOR REVENGE 237 
 
 XXV. THE COSTUME BALL 246 
 
 XXVI. "IT'LL BE YOUBS SOME DAY" 263
 
 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 "SOFTLT, VERY SOFTLY, THE Bow TOUCHED THE STRINGS 
 
 CURVED BENT" Frontispiece 
 
 GENERAL , 36 
 
 "THEY AIN'T FIT FOB MORE'N BRIC-A-BRAC IN A FELLER'S 
 
 YARD" 57 
 
 "E BE THE MOST THRYING GALS I EVER SEEN" 84 
 
 "COMING ACROSS THE FIELD" 122 
 
 TIM SHINN 136 
 
 "RAGGED CHILDREN SWEET AND HEALTHY" 141 
 
 FORTY-FORT CHURCH 145 
 
 TEDDY R 160 
 
 MR. DALE WATCHING THE FERRY-BOAT DIAL ROCK IN 
 THE DISTANCE 228 
 
 "A PINK FLOWER IN His MOUTH AND A STALK OF THE 
 BLOOMS AT His FEET" 237
 
 Our Right to Love 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 LECHAW HANNA. 
 
 A JEWEL dropped from the fingers of the Infinite in 
 the dream-hour of Creation the classic Vale of Wyom- 
 ing reposes in its rock-ribbed cradle beneath the vast 
 dome of mystery. 
 
 To the redman Maughwauwame meant simply, big 
 plains; the long strip hardly quickening his imagina- 
 tion, beyond Peace as the abode, and Delight as the 
 hunting ground. And the earlier settler experienced less 
 concern for its vast prodigality, until, one hundred years 
 ago, hacking the bronze-green enamel surface through 
 sheer love of vandalism, or mayhap, with questioning 
 earnestness incalculable wealth crowned his endeavor. 
 
 The formidable coal breakers towering many feet above 
 green sward, dark culm hills scintillating in the sun- 
 light, flames seen at intervals when mines are in opera- 
 tion, suggest practical energy the wanton pickax now 
 a force and developing a treasure over which man con- 
 tends and the world's interest is unusually stirred. 
 
 Where the Susquehanna and Lackawanna rivers meet 
 is a little island called by the Shawnees Lechaw Hanna 
 
 U
 
 12 .CUE EIGHT TO LOVE 
 
 by the colonizer Lackawannock or Lackawanna 
 which signifies the meeting of two streams. Facing the 
 island is Campbell's Ledge a huge petrified animal 
 crouching with inscrutable face slightly inclined forming 
 a natural sun-dial, from which fact, this mountain 
 acquired the unusual sobriquet Dial Eock. 
 
 Campbell's Ledge had a peculiar fascination for the 
 Shawnees. Grouped at its base wigwams were often seen 
 in pioneer days and braves of the Six Nations smoked 
 the calumet here, planning atrocities too horrible to de- 
 scribe. And the island, smiling peacefully in its wealth 
 of green, hardly awakens the flagitious thought, yet 
 under one of its great trees repose the bones of an In- 
 dian queen, and many the arrow-head and tomahawk the 
 soil has given forth as proof and testimony. 
 
 The Kentucky girl had not heard the history of the 
 island until Jack Euford seized upon it as a leader to 
 deeper romance. Jack Euford came of pioneer stock. 
 His great-grandfather had shared the rude hut of an 
 irascible squatter and, on another occasion, from the 
 same abode, stolen a bride. Valley people, with the in- 
 quisitiveness born of the hills, ferreted out the story, 
 sending it down to posterity with the usual embellish- 
 ments. Thus, the simple, original romance of a willing 
 young woman led gently away from her own door by 
 a brave man, during the absence of cruel and unreason- 
 able parents, entirely escaped Euford's generation. 
 
 It was a feather in Euford's cap that his remote an- 
 cestor figured in a chivalrous legend dear to the early 
 settler at a time when chivalry seemed at an ebb, owing, 
 possibly, to the unseemly conduct of neighborly scalp- 
 lifters. Presumably because on one occasion the young 
 man nearly experienced hairbreadth escape from 
 heroism, the Valley people kindly recalled the legend
 
 LECHAW HANNA 13 
 
 to which by inherent right he was entitled to Lochinvar 
 dauntlessness. 
 
 "So your great-grandfather was a gay Lothario?" 
 
 "That is not the story." Jack Ruford was piqued. 
 
 "Oh; how may you vouch for the contrary?" Jack 
 made an effort at explanation : 
 
 "There is a man up the Valley who is nearly ninety, 
 and his grandfather " 
 
 "Saw the first crow," cut in Maithele Burton, and, 
 waving her hand deprecatingly, she cried softly : "Pass 
 the ancient." 
 
 But Jack Ruford refused to proceed until he had 
 adjusted the character of his early ancestor. 
 
 Maithele sighed when the recital came to an end, and 
 inquired : 
 
 "I don't suppose you would care to play the young 
 man from 'out of the west ?' ' ; 
 
 "Oh, if the occasion " 
 
 "You mean the girl " 
 
 Something in Ruford's face suddenly checked the 
 humorous raillery, and her voice dropped to a lower 
 key. 
 
 "Tell me," she pleaded, "about Frances Slocum, who 
 was stolen." 
 
 Her voice coaxed, and Ruford regarded her silently, 
 while she, opening a penknife, began to hack at a lead 
 pencil. 
 
 He relieved her embarrassment by the immediate pos- 
 session of both. Having sharpened the pencil, he handed 
 it over, replacing the borrowed article where it belonged, 
 and began to whistle softly while she scribbled hur- 
 riedly in an elegant Russian leather notebook, which 
 offence excluded her from the great society of the 
 scratch-pad.
 
 14 OUR RIGHT TO LOVE 
 
 His tune halted presently, and he inquired abruptly, 
 glancing down at the book : 
 
 "Is it fair to cribbage a fellow's conversation?" 
 
 "Sure." 
 
 "And that is what is called original creative?" 
 
 "It depends on the conversation. It is generally 
 called," she explained learnedly, "utilizing space." 
 
 "You are studying journalism?" 
 
 " Can't a girl employ her time profitably without seri- 
 ously rendering account?" 
 
 He was silent meditating upon the ways of a girl 
 when she jogged his memory by repeating the 
 introductory : 
 
 "Tell me about Frances Slocum, who was stolen." 
 
 "Oh, I see; you contemplate ancient history, massa- 
 cre and things ?" 
 
 She nodded and he got upon his feet, brandishing 
 a stick in the air, dancing Indian fashion, and giving 
 the war-whoop at every new caper. 
 
 "Bravo! Bravo! Please don't stop; I shall have to 
 describe that." 
 
 "See here," seating himself again. But she inter- 
 rupted : 
 
 "You were fine; you looked like one of those sav- 
 age creatures, really." 
 
 "I suppose I always do?" 
 
 "When you try yes. Do go on, Jack; I remember 
 the first part this Frances Slocum was stolen by the 
 Indians when five years old." 
 
 He nodded : 
 
 "That's the story." 
 
 "Was she pretty?" 
 
 "Well, Frances might have "been a pretty baby, but 
 she was awfully ugly when discovered at fifty-nine. That
 
 LECHAW HANNA 15 
 
 was in 1837. Grandfather told me he saw her. She 
 came into the village on a beautiful animal" 
 
 "Panther or cow ?" 
 
 Euford disregarded the levity, quietly continuing: 
 
 "She was accompanied by her two daughters, taste- 
 fully gowned, Indian fashion, of course. Her Indian 
 name was Macon-a-quah young bear. One daughter 
 was named Kich-Kenchequah cut finger; the young- 
 est daughter Kippenoquah corn tassel." 
 
 "Lovely!" cried Maithele enthusiastically. "And 
 did she remember her own people?" 
 
 "Only when the brother asked if her middle fin- 
 ger was crushed. She at once recalled her father's shop 
 and the accident that severed the member." 
 
 "I should have hated the whole tribe when I realized 
 that I had been kidnapped." 
 
 "Well, you see, Maithele, they had been good to her, 
 and all her own people except her brother were dead." 
 
 "I should hate anybody who even thought of kid- 
 napping me." 
 
 "Don't worry," he said, emphatically. 
 
 "A man did try to steal me once," she ventured. 
 
 "Every baby gets that chance." 
 
 "I was not a baby six years ago." 
 
 "Tell me about it," he coaxed. 
 
 "And you will do the savage again?" 
 
 They were sitting on the long bench in Hammock 
 Court, whiling away pleasantly the hour before the ar- 
 rival of the invited guests. 
 
 He got up, walked over to the brush that walled the 
 Susquehanna from view at this point, and hurled the 
 stick that a moment before had figured in the dance
 
 16 OUR EIGHT TO LOVE 
 
 into the thicket. Returning to her side he remarked, 
 thoughtfully : 
 
 "I wouldn't care to steal a girl merely to gain her 
 hate." 
 
 "You are contemplating ?" 
 
 But Jack Ruford's opportunity passed. The next mo- 
 ment she was running over to the wall of brush, listening 
 intently. 
 
 " A-he-ee-ho ! A-he-ee-e-ho ! " 
 
 It was the call for the ferry. 
 
 And some one running down the bank answered: 
 
 "A-he-ho! A-he-ho!" 
 
 Maithele Burton peeped forward through an open- 
 ing where the brush had been thinned possibly for 
 the accommodation of the over-inquiring. She gazed 
 steadly one moment two; then a long, deep sigh 
 escaped her lips, and she turned again to Ruf ord : 
 
 "You may flirt with me to-night, Jack. I I want 
 to test a man's devotion. " Having delivered herself, she 
 was off like a deer; and before Jack Ruford recovered 
 from the blow she appeared again at an upper window 
 of the house facing the court. Here she deliberately 
 parted the lace curtains and called softly, making a 
 trumpet of her hands: 
 
 "Jack!" 
 
 Ruford looked up gloomily. 
 
 "Don't make love to me to-night; I've changed my 
 mind." 
 
 "The devil!" 
 
 But the pious annotation fell short of the window. 
 
 Dorothy Dale, the fair young mistress of Lechaw- 
 Hanna, and the devoted friend of Maithele Burton 
 the Kentucky girl ward of Mr. Francis Dale, Doro- 
 thy's father, was adding a touch of blue to her gown,
 
 LECHAW HANNA 17 
 
 her ear having caught the merry tinkle of the ferry; 
 and she hurried the last touch to her toilet with anxiety, 
 anxious to meet the guests who were landing at the 
 river's edge. And the Kentucky girl glanced a second 
 time from the window of Dorothy Dale's room, presently 
 remarking : 
 
 "Who is our new guest? See, Dorothy; she is lean- 
 ing on Richard Allan's arm coming up the walk. She 
 seems to be ill." 
 
 Dorothy moved over to the window, nodding ap- 
 provingly : 
 
 "I forgot to tell you;" and Dorothy, resting her hand 
 on Maithele's shoulder, resumed: "The girl is an old 
 schoolmate, Clara Lansing. We were not in the 
 same class but the same school. I hope you 
 will like her. She was abroad last summer. The 
 winter previous she called once or twice; you were 
 away from home on both occasions. You remember the 
 cards that came for a luncheon the day we were leav- 
 ing for the island? I expressed our regrets and nat- 
 urally extended the usual courtesy. While you and 
 Jack Ruford were boating yesterday a telegram came 
 rather an abrupt way to announce a visit but, for 
 the slight irregularity charge the etiquette to Dorothy 
 Dale. I wrote her to come any old time, and verily, 
 verity " 
 
 Dorothy hastened below, returning almost immedi- 
 ately with Clara Lansing, whom she turned over to 
 Aunt Helen. Aunt Helen's sympathy went out to the 
 young woman, whom she conveyed at once to the cheery 
 room in waiting, and leaving the young lady with much 
 solicitude in charge of the faithful maid, she hurried 
 below. 
 
 "That's right, Amanda." Aunt Helen spoke to
 
 18 OUR RIGHT TO LOYK 
 
 Amanda Brown, a quaint little person in widow's weeds. 
 ''Make yourself at home; that horrid accommodation 
 train wore you out. Mr. Lawrence delighted ! And 
 Mr. Allan ! So happy to see yon." 
 
 Aunt Helen had given the best years of her life to 
 mother Dorothy, if thirty might be the age of exquisite 
 enjoyment. When entering the delightful period she 
 had refused a splendid establishment and an honored 
 name, that a wee babe might not suffer from the un- 
 timely taking away of a young mother. Yet she was 
 in all probability prepared for the sacrifice, owing to an 
 early grief. 
 
 There was a whispered tradition in Dorothy's set that 
 in the winter of '70 Aunt Helen, as she was familiarly 
 known, had led the cotillion with young Van Ransom; 
 that the merciless scythe had cut down the scion of that 
 noble house a week before the nuptial day. Be it as 
 it may, "from out the fullness of the heart the lips 
 speaketh" in no instance seemed commonpla.ce from 
 Aunt Helen, whose reminiscence ever touched the golden 
 spot over which fate had thrown the violet pall. 
 
 "Make yourselves perfectly at home," Aunt Helen 
 proceeded. 
 
 Richard Allan dropped into a chair at Dorothy's side. 
 
 "And do," she continued, "just as you are accustomed 
 when at home." 
 
 "Mercy!" ejaculated Ned Lawrence, who was Doro- 
 thy's devotee. "I would be shouting to Cousin Susan, 
 who is deaf." 
 
 Aunt Helen arched her brows slightly. It behooves 
 the certain chaperon to maintain the certain dignity : 
 
 "When I was a girl, and Mr. Yan Ransom " 
 
 "Yes, Aunty," interrupted Dorothy; "but things 
 were different then."
 
 LECHAW HAXXA 19 
 
 "They are different now," said Allan; "pardon my 
 clownish behavior." 
 
 Everybody jumped up, and Dorothy laughed. Youth 
 laughs so easity; a mere bagetelle sets the merriness; 
 but Aunt Helen found no cause for extravagant mirth. 
 Her inquiring glance fell sharply upon her niece. 
 Later, as the curfew chimed the evening hour, Clara 
 Lansing, thoroughly recuperated, came down the fanci- 
 ful stairway, trailing a crimson gown. She was joined 
 by Maithele Burton, who introduced herself without 
 ceremony, and the two at once began the promenade 
 of the long veranda, making conversation out of the 
 picturesque surroundings, until Dorothy Dale's voice 
 from the music-room reached them. 
 
 Dorothy felt slightly piqued with Maithele who had 
 secluded herself all noon, leaving the entertaining of 
 three gentleman, Richard Allan, Ned Lawrence and 
 Jack Ruford, entirely to herself. 
 
 The promenaders paid little heed to the voice, and 
 presently Dorothy called again: 
 
 "Maithele, Mr. Allan wants to greet you." 
 
 Maithele paused. 
 
 "I like that," in an undertone to Clara Lansing 
 then, quite audibly: 
 
 "If the mountain will not come to Mohammed " 
 
 "The mountain," laughed Dorothy from within, "re- 
 mains immovable." 
 
 But Allan came forth at once, extending his hand 
 graciously, addressing Maithele Burton: 
 
 "May a cyclone rend the mountain in twain that re- 
 fuses to go forth at your bidding." 
 
 "Quick, a boutonniere, somebody!" cried the young 
 lady addressed; "and, people, .bear witness " her
 
 20 
 
 voice growing dramatic through mere jest and 
 merriment 
 
 "By yon bright star " 
 
 The man gazed upward. Twilight was passing. 
 
 "Or moon," she corrected. 
 
 A pale disk hung in the sky. 
 
 "I am Mohammed. Mr. Allan declares it." 
 
 "Yourself, rather," said Clara Lansing icily; and 
 Maithele, turning her eyes upon the speaker, felt the 
 chill of coming events.
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 THE MIDNIGHT REVEBIE. 
 
 A DAY is eventful that brings with it a great joy ; and 
 of all joys, the sudden and unexpected appearance of 
 one beloved is not the least. With the excitement and 
 the meeting the spirit exalts ; then a finger seems pressed 
 upon the pulse; and calm follows only in the precious 
 solitary moments before the eyes decide upon forget- 
 fulness. 
 
 The first evening of the house party over, Maithele 
 retired to the seclusion of her room. 
 
 The pretty frills of the white robe nicely adjusted, 
 and the long wavy hair brushed and braided, she ex- 
 tinguished the light and, walking over to the window, 
 inhaled the soft June air. Beyond the green sward her 
 eyes rested upon Campbell's Ledge, towering up from 
 the Susquehanna, a dark mass outlined in silvery strips 
 of moonlight. 
 
 Her thoughts swift as wings sped from the Valley, 
 traveling those countless miles that separate the past 
 and present. 
 
 She was a bud unfolding when Eichard Allan came 
 into her life, and his advent and passing stirred as the 
 new breath of summer the unfolding of the rose. Un- 
 der the lightest pressure the mind inevitably turns with 
 centripetal force to the florulent days. With hope of 
 consolation? Perhaps! And the mind will sometimes 
 revel in tender recollections until evolution, brought 
 
 21
 
 22 OUR RIGHT TO LOVE 
 
 about by sudden action or alarm, swings the pendulum 
 back again into the present. Memories are the real 
 helps of life. When the heart is in no pressing need 
 of consolation they are a gentle stimulus; and when 
 the overburdening is too great, when the bitter out- 
 weighs the sweet, they are the auxiliaries that stir the 
 heart to strength and action. Gazing into the soft June 
 night, Maithele's reverie passes beyond the Ledge. 
 
 It is June, a warmer June than the Valley feels, and 
 the dark-winged birds have gone to their own country, 
 and with them 'twas ever so companions of a lighter 
 wing ; but the bee, the little brown bee remains, for the 
 warmer the sun, the sweeter the honey. Flowers, trees, 
 ribbon grasses a beautiful, rolling country ! And be- 
 yond the park the fine old colonial mansion where lived 
 and died so many of her race. The house is white, the 
 shutters green, and night is over all. 
 
 Protruding from the center wall of the lower gallery 
 of the mansion a great chandelier juts forth ablaze. The 
 master of the mansion appears in the doorway, speaks to 
 the black sentry pacing to and fro, gives an order and, 
 going hastily down the board walk, enters the carriage in 
 waiting. 
 
 As the deft turning of the kaleidoscope, the colors 
 shift. The event, every detail of which she holds dear, 
 is over. Her first appearance before the footlights is 
 passed, and the Prince appeared. 
 
 The Prince ! And with the first deep cry of the Rubin- 
 stein melody she has given him her heart. But even 
 the smile of a sweet reverie has its weight; dark fol- 
 lows brightness; the old mansion is drenched in mist, 
 and long crepe streamers hang at the entrance door. 
 A slight shiver shakes her frame; she passes her hand 
 lightly across her eyes and awakens from reverie.
 
 THE MIDXIGHT REVERIE 23 
 
 The past falls back upon itself; it is the present that 
 fills her mind with startling force. Raising her hand 
 to lower the sash, she catches a glint of fire. 
 
 Some one smoking in Hammock Court ! 
 
 Hurriedly withdrawing from the window, she clasps 
 her hands nervously, thoroughly aroused. 
 
 "I have been standing there dreaming of home, for- 
 getful of all beside, and the moonlight full upon me; 
 and a man coolly looking on !" 
 
 She slipped into the passage and discovered a window 
 where the moonbeams could not reach. 
 
 "I certainly think," searchingly, and disregarding her 
 own position, "men visitors do the most unseemly things 
 prowling around when they should be in bed." 
 
 As she gazed the man threw the unfinished cigar 
 to the ground, put his foot upon it, and, leaving the 
 Court, walked leisurely over to Bachelor Quarters. At 
 the door he paused, sending a long glance to a certain 
 window that a moment before held a vision in white; 
 then, lifting the latch of the weather-beaten door, he 
 disappeared within. 
 
 "Richard!" she cried, with sudden recognition. But 
 the voice died in the silence, and, well for her, reached 
 not the man. The spell was broken; something stirred 
 in the adjoining room, and, like a frightened mouse, 
 noiselessly she stole back to her own door, flew to her 
 couch, and was soon peacefully sleeping. 
 
 Soft lights and a cigar often bring solace more help- 
 ful than the sparkling cup of utter forgetfulness. Allan 
 indulged in dreams, but they were seldom silver-bor- 
 dered, as were Maithele Burton's ; on the contrary, omin- 
 ous clouds floated in the background with uncertain per- 
 spective. In the present hour he had come to a bridge. 
 Cool, deliberate and calculating in affairs of the head,
 
 24 OUE EIGHT TO LOVE 
 
 with no weakness whatsoever or oversusceptibility, he 
 had nevertheless managed to get both head and heart 
 into a strange entanglement. 
 
 Allan was one of those for whom the world's appella- 
 ation is "self-made/' Yet, having acquired his early 
 training in a village school, he managed by dint of 
 hard work and tireless energy to pass through college 
 and reach the bar. And swinging forth a shingle 
 there was little to back it, save the good name of honest 
 Mohawk stock that seldom fails to produce the gentle- 
 man, and often enough, as history exemplifies, the 
 American brains. 
 
 The dark days that followed the admission to practice 
 at the bar pursued Allan as many another, and resources 
 came to an end, just as luck, in the person of John E. 
 Lansing, stepped upon the scene. 
 
 Mr. Lansing understood. The suit was won, and joy 
 filled the young man's heart. 
 
 John E. Lansing was a keen, shrewd, practical, non- 
 sentimental man of the world. His great deeds of 
 philanthropy had certain attachments, and his kind ac- 
 tions generally netted fair returns. 
 
 Allan never could explain how the intimacy began 
 between Clara Lansing and himself, nor could he pene- 
 trate the solicitousness of John E. Lansing. 
 
 The length and breadth of gratitude, though a ter- 
 ritory, has limit; but, to Eichard Allan, it was land 
 without border. 
 
 The deep, self-sacrificing spirit which lay at the root 
 of most of his troubles brought him finally to the bridge, 
 the crossing of which would determine his future, 
 
 John E. Lansing's niece enjoyed fair sailing as a 
 debutant in the social world ; but the fifth season opened 
 the uncle's eyes to the fact that a suitor must be found
 
 THE MIDNIGHT REVERIE 25 
 
 and, for certain qualities, Mr. Richard Allan was se- 
 lected. 
 
 Allan found dainty pink notes often enough on his 
 desk, and the runs to the metropolis proved pleasant 
 and enjoyable. 
 
 The first winter after his acquaintance with the Lans- 
 ings he went south. A man generally does something 
 foolish when, for the first time in life, he throws care 
 and restraint aside and gives himself a holiday; but 
 Allan did nothing foolish, beyond getting to the end of 
 his resources, which necessitated an early return to his 
 desk. The southward journey proved sweet. In one 
 city, where the flowers seemed lovelier because love 
 was there, and the world more beautiful because 
 joy was in his own heart, one face stirred his soul a 
 bud of an aristocratic tree that promised unusual de- 
 velopment. 
 
 Allan returned to his home again, and the routine, 
 which now and then included the Lansings, continued 
 uninterrupted for two years, at the expiration of which 
 term he found himself engaged to Clara Lansing. 
 
 In the fifth year of his business career Allan became 
 one of the attorneys of a great railroad. His future 
 was assured, and Maithele Burton again loomed into 
 his dream. 
 
 Although Maithele was the last to retire, save one, 
 she was the first on the ground the following morning, 
 save one. 
 
 Possibly the man and the cigar occupied her thoughts. 
 She walked directly over to Hammock Court, seating 
 herself on the narrow bench under the linden tree. Her 
 eyes finding the half finished cigar, her foot made an at- 
 tempt at annihilation as the owner of the castaway 
 emerged from the east door of Bachelor Quarters.
 
 26 
 
 "Happy stub!" said Allan, fervently regarding his 
 action. 
 
 "I'm glad it's you !" she murmured as he seated him- 
 self. No response ; she went on : "I don't suppose you 
 suffered with nightmare last night ?" 
 
 "My eyes closed with a vision in white," he responded. 
 "I dreamed of the vision, but awakened to a sad 
 reality." 
 
 "I I didn't know there was a soul about." 
 
 Absorbed in the real vision, he did not hear her 
 remark. 
 
 "It's the way of the world," he continued, in a sort 
 of soliloquy regarding the unattainable. 
 
 "What is the way of the world?" she inquired de- 
 fiantly. "Men prowling around when they should be 
 in bed?" 
 
 It was his turn consternation visible as he turned 
 his eyes to the top branches of the linden. 
 
 "What are you talking about?" 
 
 But ere the inquiry left his lips light dawned upon 
 him. He looked down, twirling the locket that hung 
 on his watch-chain; a miracle might divulge his thought. 
 
 He had taken- a girl's face out of the locket the night 
 before. Not that he dreaded Maithele Burton seeing 
 it there would have been no occasion. But because 
 it had no place there, save as a compliment, and the 
 compliment seemed out of order. "Besides," as he said 
 to himself the night previous, justifying his conduct, 
 "it was a mistake from first to last; it would be an in- 
 justice to Clara Lansing to keep her picture as some- 
 thing sacred." He would find an excuse that very day 
 to present the empty case. She would understand she 
 must understand.
 
 THE MIDNIGHT REVERIE 27 
 
 He had crossed the bridge, and he would stand firmly 
 upon it. 
 
 The dew was on the grass, and it seemed to Allan 
 that Maithele's eyes held a gleam of its soft reflection. 
 And a soft yellow light coming through an opening in 
 the deep foliage of a tree that towered above them, fell 
 upon her like a gold halo. 
 
 Xot three minutes had elapsed between her thought- 
 less speech and his question ; but to Maithele it seemed 
 eternity. 
 
 "Was he waiting for her to speak? Cruel! Had she 
 not already committed herself. Besides, every sensible 
 thought seemed to have flown from her brain. 
 
 "Won't you be seated ? I want to tell you something." 
 
 Mechanically she sat down. 
 
 And a new chapter opened in Allan's life; but with 
 the very first sentence fate interposed. 
 
 Euford approached. 
 
 "Ah, Jack!" she cried, joyfully; "I knew you would 
 not forget." 
 
 Allan's brow darkened, acknowledging the other's 
 "good-morning," and gloomily he watched the two set 
 off toward the river. He lighted a cigar, pulled at it 
 once or twice, threw it away; it had not the flavor of 
 the one he had smoked in the soft light. 
 
 Presently his attention was drawn to Dorothy Dale 
 and Clara Lansing coming from the house, one cam-- 
 ing a rake, the other a hoe. Something possibly 
 their bonnets lent an air of rusticity, charmingly pic- 
 turesque. The two went over to the garden, falling at 
 once to work. 
 
 The man in Hammock Court silently contemplated 
 the light diversion, smiling cynically. 
 
 Wealthy young women attempting ordinary avocations
 
 28 OUK EIGHT TO LOVE 
 
 always amused him. He turned to the river, searching 
 for a skiff; but it had already turned the bend, so he 
 joined the fair gardeners. 
 
 "Taste and skill," he accredited Dorothy, after the 
 usual greeting. 
 
 Dorothy courtesied, country fashion. 
 
 "You didn't do the original," he said. "I fancy there 
 was quite a hill there." 
 
 "Of course Pat did the leveling; but we that is, 
 Maithele and myself planted the flowers ; planting and 
 raking, you know, is the real gardening." 
 
 "You are practical, too," eying a delectable vege- 
 table that grew in spiral profusion at the end of the 
 little flower bed. 
 
 Dorothy flushed. "Maithele declares she knew all 
 along they were bean-vines; she let them grow as a 
 joke on myself. I thought they were morning-glory 
 vines." 
 
 "Miss Burton's jokes grow," laughed Clara Lansing, 
 waving her hand toward the slender poles exuberantly 
 covered. 
 
 "Xot bad," said the man. 
 
 Clara Lansing plucked a rose, and while arranging it 
 on the lapel of his coat she said softly : 
 
 "You have not admired my bonnet." 
 
 "Oh, pardon. Was I to admire it? Well, really, it 
 is not half bad." His eyes were upon the river, his 
 thoughts beyond the bend. 
 
 The rose fell to the ground, her foot upon it. 
 
 The little scene went unnoticed by Dorothy, owing 
 to the pink walls of her sun-bonnet. 
 
 "Talking about the absent," spoke Dorothy, "did you 
 ever hear about Maithele's poultry yard? Oh, it's too
 
 THE MIDXIGHT EEVEEIE 29 
 
 funny!" And she related at once the rise and fall of 
 what Pat termed "poulet ambition. " 
 
 "Miss Burton loves chickens so much?" queried the 
 man. 
 
 "Loves?" Dorothy's face was a study. "Maithele 
 loves to see them grow, watch them feed, hear them 
 cackle; she will expatiate on the beauty of the feathered 
 shanks of a bantam hen, or the noble growth of a Shang- 
 hai rooster, and, in the next breath, order the head of 
 one or the other chopped off." 
 
 "Tyrant!" 
 
 "She will eat," continued Dorothy, nodding her in- 
 dorsement to Allan, "that same little chicken with a 
 relish. I have seen her do it." 
 
 "Cannibal!" 
 
 Yet he laughed softly. 
 
 "Maithele is not around to defend herself," said Aunt 
 Helen, joining the group, Mrs. Brown and Xed Law- 
 rence bringing up the rear. "Chickens were made to 
 eat, and we are not vegetarians up here. The poultry 
 experiment was a failure, but the child was not to blame ; 
 chit-minks and rats devoured the young brood." 
 
 "Spare us, Aunty ravenous appetites and, in all 
 probability, chicken for breakfast!" 
 
 "We are waiting," apologized Aunt Helen, "for Mai- 
 thele and Mr. Euford." 
 
 And as she spoke the familiar signal of approach 
 caught their attention. 
 
 " A-he-ee-ho ! A-he-ee-ho ! " 
 
 Dorothy answered: 
 
 "A-he-ho! A-he-ho!" 
 
 And presently silvery notes floated up from the river 
 the snatch of a song ; a long silence and then the dip-dip 
 of an oar.
 
 30 OUR EIGHT TO LOVE 
 
 Aunt Helen's face illumined. 
 
 "It is worth the journey from the city," which pre- 
 dication dignified the great metropolis, "to hear that 
 voice." 
 
 "Around the world," said Allan, softly. 
 
 "You have heard Miss Burton sing?" inquired Clara 
 Lansing, arching her brows. "I did not know that you 
 knew her." 
 
 "I have known her since " He sighed. 
 
 "Since?" persisted the lady. 
 
 "Since I came to the use of reason." 
 
 An evil foreboding touched Clara Lansing, an anger 
 arose in her heart against the man, against the girl. 
 Her face was flushed, which brought the cendre hair 
 into ugly contrast, and Maithele's smiling countenance 
 heightened the coloring, as, approaching the group, she 
 made the usual civilities. 
 
 "Oh, thank you," with metallic emphasis returned 
 Clara Lansing; "we thought you two had gone to the 
 parsonage across the stream." 
 
 "We did think about it," Maithele rejoined nicely; 
 "but Mr. Ruford unromantically suggested breakfast." 
 
 And at breakfast Allan found himself at Dorothy's 
 right. And presently he was smiling and saying bright 
 things with a new joy, for Mr. Dale was devoting him- 
 self to Clara Lansing, who seemed pleased. 
 
 Hope's gathered chips were kindling, and Allan told 
 his bear story, which produced laughter. But to Doro- 
 thy it seemed, apart from the small joke, hardly worth 
 rehearsing an exoneration from cannibalism charged 
 to Maithele. 
 
 Possibly Clara Lansing thought likewise. Allan ob- 
 served the sarcastic droop of her lower lip as he glanced 
 her way.
 
 CHAPTEE III. 
 
 THE CRY OF THE VIOLIN. 
 
 ON the lawn stretching before the camp the guests 
 sauntered after breakfast save Jack Ruford, who was 
 visiting an invalid aunt in West Pittston, and Mr. 
 Dale, who had Clara Lansing engaged for a row on the 
 river. Allan watched the two a moment thoughtfully; 
 then his eyes fastened upon the grandeur and pic- 
 turesqueness of the scene. 
 
 A magnificent wreath of trees, tall, majestic, wall in 
 the island from the river view to the right of the farm, 
 so fair and sweet in its fine state of cultivation. Be- 
 yond the wall of trees, across the river, to the rear of 
 the camp, a formidable culm hill lifts into the scene, 
 its frowning presence adding to the deep, shadowy back- 
 ground. Where the trees lop off, and the lawn facing 
 the camp ends, the river meets the eye a trailing, sil- 
 very life, lazily flopping green things that flirt at its 
 edge. 
 
 As Allan's sight fell upon strings of idle cars at 
 the base of CampelPs Ledge, the screech of a big, black, 
 serpent thing shot through the hills. Still life awak- 
 ened with the wonderful breath of energy, and rural 
 wildness seemed lovelier because of the strength and 
 testimony. 
 
 Not many rods from the Ledge a castle, looking as 
 though it might have come all the way down from the 
 
 31
 
 3-2 OUR RIGHT TO LOVE 
 
 Rhine country on rollers, touches the wild scene with 
 a merry twinkle at exalted ideas, its sturdy German 
 owner having converted the picturesque pile into a 
 brewery. 
 
 Dorothy and Allan played tetherball, and presently 
 a flag of truce flaunted from the topmost tower of the 
 castle, and Lawrence, sitting on a bench with Maithele 
 watching the players, waved in recognition. With a 
 delightful cry Dorothy tossed her racket into space. She 
 had won. In truth, Allan played poorly, his mind cen- 
 tered on the castle tower, wondering how long Mr. Dale 
 would be able to keep Clara Lansing there. 
 
 "Shall we go for a drive?" inquired Maithele, as if 
 divining his thought. Allan nodded gratefully. And 
 the girls walked over to the house, the men looking 
 after them Lawrence dramatically touching his heart. 
 
 " Something begins to beat too rapidly," he said. 
 
 "Which one?" inquired Allan. 
 
 "There is but one," was the quietly delivered answer. 
 
 "Heart of gold," sighed Allan, and then it was Ned's 
 turn. 
 
 "Which one?" 
 
 "There is but one." And Allan's eyes closed to hide 
 Love's mist. 
 
 "Have a cigar?" 
 
 "Thank you, Ned. Not even the fumes of the dulcet 
 Havana to destroy the memory of this morning, which, 
 like new-born hope, begins to mount " 
 
 "Have a care," interposed Lawrence, and, reflectively: 
 "Miss Lansing might get huffy. Now, I'm fancy-free, 
 and I'm going in to win." 
 
 Allan looked anxiously toward the castle, consulting 
 his watch.
 
 THE CRY OF THE VIOLIN 33 
 
 " Miss Lansing or anybody else, if, as I have cause to 
 believe, the other is engaged." 
 
 "To whom?" inquired Lawrence, with color mounting. 
 
 "Find out," was Allan's sententious reply. 
 
 Lawrence got upon his feet thoroughly irritated, be- 
 lieving that Allan referred to Dorothy. But Allan had 
 other meaning ; his imagination, however, had flown be- 
 yond the mark. He meant Maithele, but that young 
 lady was not engaged to Ruf ord. 
 
 It was quite in the afternoon when the grays re- 
 turned, and Clara Lansing, sitting on the veranda, 
 looked stolid and bored. Mr. Dale was beside her; and 
 it was Mr. Dale not Clara Lansing who told the story 
 of the morning, which Maithele mercifully cut short. 
 
 "It is growing late, dad, and" putting her hand 
 gently upon Clara Lansing's shoulder "this young lady 
 must have her 'forty winks.' ' : 
 
 And the mirror caught a lovely reflection two hours 
 later as Maithele stood before it adjusting a ribbon bow. 
 
 "Aren't you wearing white?" she inquired of Dorothy. 
 
 "You wouldn't care to have a rival?" answered the 
 other. 
 
 The reflection deepened and the eyes drooped their 
 long, black fringes. 
 
 Yet it was Ruford that fell to Maithele, rather put- 
 ting Allan out of sorts, having Clara Lansing for crib- 
 bage; and cribbage is the game of boredom, unless one 
 is especially fond of it. Allan's inattention was so 
 marked that his partner called to Dorothy, with irritat- 
 ing voice: 
 
 "Aren't we to have music?" 
 
 "Sure; Maithele will play the violin." 
 
 "Violin?" Clara Lansing arched her brows. "Then 
 give us a Kentucky breakdown, or a coon melody," and,
 
 34 OUR RIGHT TO LOVE 
 
 turning to Allan : "If there is one thing that I cannot 
 abide, it is a woman fiddling." 
 
 "Miss Burton will be the revelation," was the silencing 
 rejoinder; and Maithele passing, Allan broke off to thank 
 her. 
 
 "Oh, I am always glad to play. The trouble is" 
 Maithele directed her words to Clara Lansing "I am 
 so fond of my violin that I cannot or do not always 
 discover the moment my audience is bored. What was 
 it ? Yes, I remember -a Kentucky breakdown ! I can- 
 not recall a breakdown ; is there one ? But a coon lull- 
 aby I do know the cunningest little thing. The chorus 
 goes like this." She sang the words as she stood be- 
 fore them with a graceful, rocking motion, in which her 
 head took part : 
 
 "My little dusky babe, 
 You'd better go to sleep, 
 Befo' the goblins come 
 And on you creep. 
 Hush-a-by, ebon chile, 
 Your mammy's heart do stir 
 When you begins to smile, 
 You little chestnut burr!" 
 
 "That is cute ; sing the rest of it," said Allan. 
 
 "No, I will play it." 
 
 Aunt Helen, Mrs. Brown, and Mr. Dale came into 
 the room. Clara Lansing moved over to a seat beside 
 Mrs. Brown not for sociability, but that she might the 
 better obtain a view of Allan's face whilst marking the 
 violinist. And Allan, giving himself wholly to the happi- 
 ness the hour afforded, leaned back in the chair directly 
 facing the piano.
 
 THE CRY OF THE VIOLIN 35 
 
 Maithele played the coon lullaby without accompani- 
 ment; selections followed. At last she rested, but the 
 audience was merciless, clamorous. Only Clara Lansing, 
 with eyes riveted upon the man entranced, exhibited 
 favor. 
 
 "You certainly must be tired," she said. "You did 
 very well, really." 
 
 'Thank you, Miss Lansing. I am not tired, but I 
 am afraid Dorothy is; no one ever considers " 
 
 "Now, now; please let me enjoy my role," and Doro- 
 thy wheeled about on the piano stool. "Who ever heard 
 of praising the accompanist?" 
 
 "Daughter," spoke up Mr. Dale, "that is not fair. 
 Only a moment ago " 
 
 "Yes, dad; you are always delightful, but Mr. 
 Lawrence " 
 
 Lawrence was upon his feet. 
 
 "I was keeping my bouquet for the last. Ladies, gen- 
 tlemen " bowing to the audience. 
 
 "If he is going to make a speech, I certainly will 
 retire." 
 
 "I certainly would," put in Clara Lansing. But Mrs. 
 Brown insisted : 
 
 "If the favor is too great, will the delightful accom- 
 panist and the charming violinist give us Rubinstein's 
 Melody in F?" 
 
 "Bravo, Mrs. Brown ! No way out of that. Fish up 
 Rubinstein," called Allan. And Lawrence at once found 
 the music and arranged it on the piano rack. 
 
 The first time Allan heard the melody he had been 
 seated conspicuously in the proscenium box of a Ken- 
 tucky theater, the occasion being a pupil's re- 
 cital. His host's daughter, Maithele Burton, whom 
 he had not met, was down on the programme
 
 36 OUR RIGHT TO LOVE 
 
 for one selection. The girl's brother sat beside 
 the father in the box, and at his feet lay a 
 wonderful bouquet of roses. Allan had the minutest de- 
 tail of the occasion that had so indelibly impressed 
 itself. 
 
 He recalled that he merely caught the glimpse of a 
 shining head, because of a quartette that performed 
 directly in front. Such a bevy of lovely girls he had 
 never seen before. It struck him that all the beauty 
 of Kentucky was gathered to exhibit skill with stringed 
 instruments. 
 
 Number five was the occasion for a decided final 
 nudge from Brother Tom, and Allan saw advancing 
 gracefully to the footlights a slim girl with soulful eyes 
 wide apart, expressing musical genius, artistic tem- 
 perament. 
 
 The white frock with the hem just above the ankles, 
 exquisitely turned, was simplicity itself; big black bows 
 adorned the high-heeled slippers, and a large black rib- 
 bon fashioned the shining hair at the back of the head. 
 
 As the selection came to an end applause broke forth, 
 which did not cease until she came forward again. And 
 then, like a far cry borne from strains that angels sing, 
 the melody broke upon his slumbering soul, awakening 
 it to everlasting memory. And now he beheld the same 
 bonny girl, taller, fairer; the white gown not above 
 the ankles, but sweeping the floor, a mass of frou-frou 
 ruffles, and she, smiling into his eyes as on that memor- 
 able night. 
 
 Softly, very softly, the bow touched the strings 
 curved, bent. 
 
 She played with true artistic feeling, like one in- 
 spired ; and Allan could almost have sworn that the pas- 
 sionate swell of the notes was mezzo-contralto whisper-
 
 GENERAL.
 
 THE CRY OF THE VIOLIN 37 
 
 ings of her own voice. He marked the sympathy of 
 words unsung as on that memorable night, and the qual- 
 ity that had stirred that great audience grown deeper 
 and richer. 
 
 Her eyes, shining mystery, reached him again, ling- 
 ered, held him, and something caught in his throat, an- 
 swering with a dumb sob. 
 
 The melody ceased. 
 
 The following morning Lawrence and Allan returned 
 to their respective cities, Clara Lansing remaining over 
 several days days of quiet discernment for one young 
 woman, days of decided ennui for the other. Dorothy 
 flitted about with the usual activity of the charming 
 hostess, putting forth her best efforts to conciliate the 
 two. When, at last, Clara Lansing departed, Maithele 
 acknowledged frankly : 
 
 "I never was so eager to speed the parting guest." 
 
 "You dislike her so much?" spoke Dorothy. 
 
 "On the contrary, I am annoyed by her aversion for 
 myself." 
 
 "She shall not be invited again if she finds my little 
 sister uninteresting." Maithele waved a kiss. 
 
 "I would be unbearable if I could not rise to great- 
 ness on small occasions. Smiling upon Dorothy her 
 genius spoke : "I do not dislike Miss Lansing, I do not 
 dislike Miss Jack Tiger because she purrs purring 
 is part of cat nature. But I do despise Miss Jack 
 when stretched on the hearth-rug. She dozes with one 
 eye on myself and the other on the milk as if I, not she, 
 contemplated theft." 
 
 Aunt Helen loved Dorothy devotedly, but her fond- 
 ness for Maithele was marked to a degree. And, in- 
 deed, Maithele was the sunbeam in the house. She
 
 38 OUR RIGHT TO LOVE 
 
 laughed when the days were gloomy and delighted with 
 the violin on all occasions. 
 
 Maithele and Dorothy had been friends since early 
 childhood, and it was natural that Mr. Dale should 
 assume the guardianship of his dearest friend's only 
 surviving child. Yet Maithele suffered at times, as fine 
 natures will suffer sorely tried by sorrows. There were 
 days when the desire to fly from everything seized her, 
 and she and Lady Dee would be off, with poor Ben 
 following on Panther. They would fly through the hills 
 a picture that, in days remote, might have merited 
 captivity by some dreamy Shawnee chief. Again, she 
 would take to the skiff, and while Ben pulled beyond the 
 Ledge she would talk of home in far Kentucky and the 
 friends they had left there.
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 "l HAVE ALWAYS ALWAYS LOVED YOU/' 
 
 ALLAN had been a guest on the island several times 
 since Clara Lansing's visit. City life, with the conven- 
 tions so rigidly maintained, slowly produces the inscient 
 felicity so readily gained from country hospitality. A 
 dozen or more calls at the town house might not have 
 brought about the entanglement so thoroughly and com- 
 pletely achieved through one or two visits to the coun- 
 try home. 
 
 Thus, with rather disturbed and quickening thoughts, 
 he found himself at a small dining, and, contrary 
 to expectations, the vis-a-vis of the charming person he 
 had hoped to entirely appropriate. She blushed, smiled 
 and fondled June roses, which the person he suddenly 
 despised had ordered from the city. And Dorothy fail- 
 ing to gain Allan's attention, remarked, with the fasci- 
 nating charm of the tease : 
 
 ''You know, they" meaning Maithele and Euford 
 "are engaged." 
 
 He had vouchsafed the same information to Lawrence 
 two weeks before, yet did not consider himself a tease. 
 
 A fearful ardor gets into the veins of a man when the 
 being he loves even though he has no claim bestows 
 her affection upon another. Tbat she loved Ruford was 
 inconceivable, maddening; but that Ruford aspired to 
 her affections was hardly to be borne. And yet, here were 
 
 39
 
 40 OUR RIGHT TO LOVE 
 
 the two engaged ! How was it possible ? He might have 
 won in time. He assured himself that Clara Lansing 
 was wearying of his fervorless love. Love ! Bah ! He 
 had never loved her at all. 
 
 How minutely every little detail passed in his mind ! 
 He remembered even that Silas Scott, who had been in 
 his town on business, spending his leisure, as was his 
 wont, in his office, had, only the day before the dining, 
 talked incessantly of Maithele, nearly giving opinions 
 straight of men who allowed certain opportunities to 
 pass. 
 
 However, even as he mused Ruford took his depar- 
 ture. A message came on the wire, and the ladies no 
 sooner left the room than he hurried away, to the infinite 
 relief of Allan. 
 
 The moon is always delightful in June, but on this 
 particular evening it flooded the landscape with weird 
 allurement, and Allan, finding himself the companion 
 of Maithele, ventured into its influence. 
 
 Ben's notion of cheeriness the huge log on the big 
 brass fire-logs in the music-room rather exceeded his 
 intention. Even Aunt Helen complained of suffocation, 
 and Dorothy found the good excuse for a row upon the 
 river! But only six could be comfortably seated in the 
 boat, so Allan and Maithele loitered behind. 
 
 Waving gaily to the little party, they walked leisurely 
 up the bank, finally arriving at the ascent, which they 
 were slow in climbing ; but he assisted nicely, the ground 
 in places being uncertain. They were quite in the path 
 before either spoke, for silence is sweetest when night is 
 meditating, and his light touch upon her arm was the 
 feeling of comradeship. They might have gone on thus 
 to the veranda had not the lambent satellite suddenly 
 set forth silvery beams to mix with shadows that soft
 
 "I HAVE ALWAYS LOVED YOU." 41 
 
 winds rocked from tree to tree. They paused to admire, 
 and were caught in a snare. Shadows belong to night 
 but the moon's purpose is ever to push them aside, 
 and the merry contending is the rapture, ecstasy and 
 exquisite delight of the spell that entices mortal man 
 beyond his sterner purpose into the bosom of its 
 dreaming. 
 
 It had been happiness enough to walk with her, to 
 feel her presence! She spoke, and verily the soul of 
 evening dropped between them with sheltering wings. 
 
 "Oh," she cried softly, her eyes on the sprinkled path, 
 "what is moonlight, anyway?" 
 
 And he retorted, with a low note stolen from her 
 voice : 
 
 "Search me!" 
 
 "Search me !" she echoed. 
 
 They laughed lightly. And then they arrived at the 
 Court, where the big trees were scintillating with silvery 
 beams, and the shadows were flat upon the ground. And 
 who may withstand the blandishments of the White 
 Eomancer ? 
 
 They should have gone on to the veranda, where Aunt 
 Helen waited, and Mr. Dale was anxious to talk. But 
 the soothing June-wind song was in the trees; and it 
 is sweet to listen ! And while they listened the voice 
 that speaks in the dusk whispered things that became 
 part of the enchantment. 
 
 He touched the pretty shawl, drew it snugly about 
 her shoulders, and, looking straight into her eyes, for- 
 got to question. 
 
 A sort of rustling in the bushes attracted both for 
 a moment, and then he found his words putting a riotous 
 strand of the golden-brown hair to order. 
 
 "Might I?"
 
 43 OUK RIGHT TO LOVE 
 
 But his kiss had already lingered upon her lips. 
 
 "Might you?" she whispered, softly nestling to his 
 side. 
 
 "Yes, if I had been sooner/' he gave back with rising 
 passion. 
 
 Her eyes were wide, questioning. 
 
 "Before Ruford, I mean." 
 
 "Don't tease!" she laughed softly. 
 
 "It is not true !" he cried, sudden conviction sweep- 
 ing his senses. "Dorothy was jesting! Oh, I knew, 
 I knew," holding her close. 
 
 "Why, surely you knew." And his cheek was damp 
 with her sweet breath as she chidingly confessed : 
 
 "And you believed that of me? Why, dear !" 
 
 with tender voice : "I have alwa} r s always loved you." 
 
 She reached up tip-toe Allan was very tall and 
 kissed him.
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 BEX WAS THE AVITNESS. 
 
 MORNING mists hang in the mountains, gray and still 
 as smoke in a painted picture ; and over the lawns, fields 
 and pastures transparent veils await, beyond the rising 
 hour, the warm fingers of the sun. 
 
 Ben was not aware of the rents his big feet made in 
 Morning's spangled gauze as he strode across the lawn, 
 but, stamping his dew-soaked brogans, he entered a 
 rudely-fashioned door, which creaked as it opened, dis- 
 turbing the slumbers of the occupant of the room. 
 
 The man in bed stirred, turned uneasily about, sat 
 bolt upright, and the shuffling step paused in the middle 
 of the room. 
 
 "Have I overslept ?" asked the man in bed. 
 
 "No, boss; I jest crept 'round to put a log on." 
 
 Ben clung with certain tenacity to the early form of 
 address. His language, too, was something remote. He 
 held to certain idioms, and resented corrections, espe- 
 cially when advanced by the white help, with whom 
 he could not affiliate. He belonged distinctly to the 
 old school. 
 
 Putting the basket on the floor, he began to lay the 
 fagots he had a way of laying fagots interesting to the 
 beholder. Striking a match, he proceeded with much 
 puffing and blowing. 
 
 43
 
 44 
 
 "Hope I didn't disturb 3-011,, boss. Young miss told 
 me to give you special attention." 
 
 "To which of the young ladies am I indebted?" 
 
 "Got only one miss." 
 
 Allan propped himself on his elbow and watched the 
 progress of the flame; it went slowly, and he mentally 
 accused Ben of stupidity; yet he remarked, by way of 
 encouragement : 
 
 "I love to watch the building of a fire." 
 
 "Which kind, boss?" 
 
 "Which kind?" 
 
 "Yes; there be three kinds the real, the art'ficial 
 and the natchel. The first mentioned is like this fagots 
 yes, boss, real -sticks and twigs. You builds it for a 
 purpose, and it generally answers. The second named 
 is the art'ficial, like you see in pictures. You can't 
 feel it; it don't give out no heat, but it's there. The 
 natchel is that flame in the heart, starts itself, an' if it 
 gets goin' it 'most consumes a body. If you keep add- 
 ing fuel, yet has no intention to watch it, there's bound 
 to be a conflagration. If you car'lessly or wantonly lets 
 it go out, you apt to freeze in your old age, for there 
 ain't much comfort to be had out of dead ashes; and it 
 ain't easy to build up a natchel fire once it's died down." 
 
 The man in bed leaned back, his hands behind his 
 head, musing. He did not smile over the comparison ; 
 he understood the sentiment set forth, and it was the 
 sentiment that touched his heart. He was feeling the 
 consuming flame. 
 
 "There is in every heart a shrine," he said, with fine 
 antithesis, communing with himself, "and before it 
 hangs the lamp with the lighted taper; the woman one 
 marries does not always occupy the shrine," 
 
 "Ugh! Bad business !"
 
 BEN WAS THE WITNESS 45 
 
 The fire progressed slowly, and silence fell between 
 the two. Ben might have been turning certain sen- 
 tences in his mind with a view to effect; Allan's brain, 
 hardly less active, lived again the moonlight revelation, 
 and softer than birds' singing was the melody of words : 
 
 "I have always always loved you." 
 
 Ah, what an instrument is the human voice ! It was 
 her voice, so full of quality and distinctive sympathy, 
 her voice that from the first had slipped into the deep 
 corridor of his heart, that followed to his home; that 
 spurred him on to the highest achievements her voice 
 that would be the undying memory. 
 
 Ben had crept out of the room; he appeared again 
 with a big log. The flame shot gaily up, and the room 
 filled with a pink glow. 
 
 "It's cotched now," he said, hesitatingly. 
 
 It is difficult to launch a subject that has been- care- 
 fully studied for purpose and effect; there is, too often, 
 the chance that the other's penetration will cut it short. 
 Ben's education was deficient. He did not know that the 
 most disinterested hint could claim attention, did it 
 touch, even in the most infinitesimal degree, the lady 
 of one's heart. Ben began his story with a sort of pre- 
 liminary : 
 
 "Yes, I loves the island; it's open and free, like down 
 in Kentuck. A body can move about and get air. Can't 
 do it in New York. Can't see for the life of me what 
 makes Yanks love to crowd. Down in Kentuck every 
 house has its garden, and you don't have to bump into 
 hired folks stiff as Quakers on Sabbath morn every time 
 you turn." 
 
 "Why did you leave Kentucky?" Allan knew, but 
 he wanted to keep Ben talking. 
 
 "To stay near my young miss."
 
 46 OUR EIGHT TO LOVE 
 
 "Don't ever leave her, Ben." 
 
 "There ain't nobody big enough to order me-^vay." 
 
 Allan was convinced that it might be diffifeuK, but 
 he made no comment. 
 
 A fanciful red leather bellows hung at |he/side of 
 the mantel. Dorothy hung it there as an orfaarrfent, but 
 it served Ben's purpose. 
 
 He took the bellows carefully from th na/1 and be- 
 gan to urge on the fire. A big flame was/coaied up, and 
 the log crackled ; a puff of smoke shot tjie wong way. 
 
 "Oh, say," came from the bed, "put th^'t thing up," 
 Prompt obedience followed on this occasion. 
 
 "You're right, Mr. Allan, boss; this thing is just a 
 toy." 
 
 "The Dales is fine people." Ben launched his sub- 
 ject squarely. "Miss Dorothy is a fine lady, and her 
 Aunt Helen is a fine woman, though,/! must allow, a 
 powerful suggester. Mr. Dale's a gent'man, fust-class; 
 but I don't get on more 'an so-so wilh the hired folks. 
 I never could take orders from common white people, 
 and I ain't beginning. That's why I waits on table, and 
 that's why I'm coachman. Why, sakes alive ! Miss Doro- 
 thy was for having a reg-i-ment up here, but her pa stood 
 'm off. 'If Ben says,' he says, 'that he kin manage, I 
 pre-fer to keep Sampson' that's ihe white dude coach- 
 man 'in town, and Johii Henry/ that's the most no 
 'count butler, Mr. Allan, boss, that the Lord ever let 
 live. Well, I bet you, Sampson and that housekeeper 
 has don' turn that mansion into a Irish boardin'-house 
 by this time." \X^ 
 
 Ben paused, glancing at Allan, who lay back in the 
 pillows with eyes closed ; and his spirits fell. He shoved 
 his big foot into the open grate, rolling the log, and 
 ventured :
 
 BEN WAS THE WITNESS 47 
 
 'They ain't no angels up above finer'n Miss Maithele. 
 A body don't know how to talk about her. She jest has 
 ways, an' they ain't to be im'tated/' 
 
 The man was wide awake. 
 
 The sun mounting with an arn 
 Ledge, a happy radiance flooded 
 Hanna. Ben opened the Window, 
 and lowered the sash again. 
 
 "I guess the house is moving 
 Allan's coat on a peg and bega 
 brush on the hat; then, walking 
 
 the Isle of Lechaw- 
 sniffed the fresh air, 
 
 diligently With the 
 ver to the door lead- 
 
 ing from Allan's apartment, he pfeeped in. Allan an- 
 ticipated : 
 
 "Mr. Lawrence went home lap night with Mr. 
 Kuford." 
 
 "You can't place no dependency on the spirits of 
 love," sweeping the air with his big l^lack hand. 
 
 Allan's brows contracted, and Ben pitched headlong 
 into the subject : 
 
 "I remember you well, Mr. Allan, boss, when you 
 come to Kentuck six year ago. MisslMaithele were jest 
 a chile ; but she thought she was old ^nough to be out'n 
 society we all humored her some. lYou see her ma 
 was dead only about a year. Don't you remember, boss, 
 that awful cold you had in your head-v " 
 
 "Why, yes yes of course I remember," encour- 
 agingly. 
 
 "An' the lemon juice that Susan made' for you?" 
 
 "Yes, I remember that, too." 
 
 "If Calline that was Susan's gal hadn't of hilt her 
 mouf open for drippin', before the Lord there wouldn't 
 a bin that disturbance that ther' was that evenin'. You 
 can't 'spute with a mammy agin her natchel chile. The 
 spirit of flame was contin'ally heatin' up Susan. Well,
 
 48 OUE EIGHT TO LOVE 
 
 I suppose Miss Maithele has don' tole you; but here's 
 the way of it : 
 
 "I walks off that night, an' come nigh never comin' 
 back on account of Calline. That was why you didn't 
 see Miss Maithele before yo' left. Miss Maithele was 
 givin' it to Calline, an' I forgot to tell her you was wait- 
 in' to say good-by, till you was gone. Oh, it's bin on 
 my conscience all these years what I done. When you 
 was gone I told her that you certainly did ask pertic-lar 
 for her, and waited and waited. She turned on me sud- 
 den and mebbe Calline had the laugh on me, but she 
 laid low with it. 'Ben,' said Miss Maithele, 'how did 
 you dare ! An' now he's gone.' 
 
 "She broke down and cried Lor" how she did cry; 
 she was so dis'pointed." 
 
 Ben gathered up the basket of empty fagots and dis- 
 appeared, the door creaking after him, and Allan leaned 
 back upon the pillows, with arms limp and eyes fastened 
 upon the crackling wood. The room was in a pink glow ; 
 he did not notice his thoughts hung like a single rain- 
 drop on a thread. He recalled the dip of the oar and 
 the slight rustle through the bushes the night previous 
 as he strolled with Maithele. Ben was the witness ! 
 
 Presently through the glass pane a stream of warm 
 gold filled his vision, the rain-drop fell; mind and 
 heart, thoroughly awakened, lived with a proof stronger 
 than revelation. She had always always loved him. 
 He sat bolt upright, brought his hands forcibly together, 
 muttered something inaudible. In another moment he 
 was making a hurried toilet. Time must be gained. He 
 was sorry to hurry away without a good-by, but he had 
 quite forgotten his note to Aunt Helen explained a 
 case in court that very morning.
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 THE COURTSHIP OF SILAS SCOTT. 
 
 "ON dad's side I belong to the clan of warfaring in 
 kilts. On ma's side Home Rulers preferring the new 
 kentry for ruling. Dad was born in Mohawk Ma in 
 Philadelphy. That's my pedigree." 
 
 Dorothy laughed and Maithele joined in. Silas Scott 
 continued : 
 
 "Howsomever, I'm not enclin'd to hang on to any of 
 the branches, an', as I was saying, Injuns wiped out the 
 genuine stock. Ma was a waif of good stock an' stand- 
 ing, thet growed up wethout a commod'ous eddication, 
 but with fer-stretching principles thet made us kids 
 walk straighter than the kids of these days. In my 
 own right, I'm American tip-top, without any attach- 
 ments to foreign sod or any convictions con-trary to 
 George Washington." 
 
 Silas Scott was a powerfully built man. His fea- 
 tures were well-cut and defined, his face clean-shaven, 
 the mouth especially generous, displaying in the hearty 
 laugh, fine teeth. Eyes undecided in color, expressive. 
 And the iron-gray hair, which no one had ever seen too 
 closely cropped, left the temples bare. 
 
 He generally wore a round jacket, fancy vest, and 
 striped trousers turned up at the bottom. On occasions 
 he was rather elegant in black cutaway, and in the sum- 
 mer often a delight to behold in white duck, immaculate 
 shirt and buff tie. 
 
 49
 
 50 OUR EIGHT TO LOVE 
 
 "I never was a 'lady-killer'," he declared, as they 
 waited the ferry; "and I had a devil of a time getting 
 Louisa." 
 
 He paused, and Maithele, fearing the story of the 
 courtship might slip, jogged his memory. 
 
 "Well, daughter," he began, "Louisa lived ten mile 
 down the Valley, weth her dad an' a old maid aunt 
 freckled as a turkey egg and mean as pizeh. But Louisa 
 was above an' beyont my expectations. I never did git 
 the chanst to court her decent, owing to her aunt, who 
 was set aginst me for reasons never yet explaint, an' my 
 own unsociable desposition. I used to hear about the 
 fellers, one 'special red-head chap thet hed a soft snap 
 taking Louisa to dances, and I spent many a night medi- 
 tating on tregiddies that never took place. Wa'al, I 
 made up my mind thet thet girl would end up the dance 
 weth me, an' she did. I use' to spend half on every 
 second Saturday watching the hired boy curry the hoss 
 an' help me spruce to go courting. And it's a solemn 
 fact that I was rejected over one hundred times. I can 
 prove it by Louisa; she claims to thes day I didn't go 
 'bout it right. Wa'al, mebbe I did an' mebbe I didn't: 
 But I use' to sidle up to her door every second Saturday, 
 and there me an' the hoss would stand. Presently I'd 
 call out : 'Louisa ! Oh, Louisa !' An' in about a minute 
 the puttiest head would pop out of the setting-room 
 window." 
 
 Scott paused to smile with fond recollection and pro- 
 ceeded : 
 
 "An' it would seem to me as if all the soft notes of 
 forest birds would get into her throat when she'd an- 
 swer back : 'Here I am, Silas !' Then I'd steady myself 
 so'st to git my voice real firm, an' I'd enquire, with a 
 hum an' haw, 'How'dy, Louisa?' And she'd answer
 
 COURTSHIP OF SILAS SCOTT 51 
 
 back, 'How'dy, Si !' Then I'd ast, shyer'n a kite, 'Air 
 you well?' 'Fine/ she'd call back. I alvvus felt as if 
 I hed got through the fust of the pufformance when thet 
 was through, an' I'd take a long breath. Then, after 
 about four minutes waiting for my heart to stop beating, 
 I'd git courage to look straight into her eyes which 
 wa' alwus twinkling like stars an' I'd say, bracing up, 
 'Louisa, will } r ou hev me?' 'No, I won't,' she'd say 
 an' slam-bang would go the window. No use hanging 
 around after thet, an' I'd jest tetch old sorrel weth the 
 switch an' home we'd go." 
 
 "But," inquired Dorothy, hearing the story for the 
 first time, "did you never go inside the house? Did 
 you always sit upon that old sorrel horse and court 
 Louisa I mean, Mrs. Scott?" 
 
 "I went inside only onct; I guess thet was the hun- 
 dre'th time an ? I got her." 
 
 "Well," said Maithele, "I should never treat the man 
 I loved like that." 
 
 " Xow, daughter, don't be too swift ; it's real nettling, 
 
 I admit, to be kept dangling by a hair, but " His 
 
 attention was at once called to Lady Dee, who, as usual, 
 showed her disapproval of ferry-boats by capers becoming 
 to herself, but most perilous to the fair equestrian, who 
 stubbornly refused to dismount. The landing was ef- 
 fected, however, without disaster, and Scott, assisting 
 Maithele, whispered softly : 
 
 "We ain't seen you at our place for a spell." 
 
 "So many guests " she apologized. 
 
 "Louisa wants to see you about suthen perticler. If 
 you hevn't any engagement for to-morrow, an* if it's 
 convenient?" 
 
 Thus the following morning Maithele set forth. The 
 air was sweet with odoriferous blooms; the birds were
 
 53 OUR EIGHT TO LOVE 
 
 singing, and the sun, like a great coreopsis, adorning the 
 vale. At every turn of the winding road the green hills 
 sloped, and the Susquehanna coming into view broadly, 
 clearly, permitted gentle discernment into its seemingly 
 thoughtless but ever intelligent cause. 
 
 Ben had tried to be jocose as they set out, but, with 
 ready intuition, he recognized the inopportune moment, 
 and fell back a few yards from his charge. 
 
 So many guests had come and gone since the day 
 of the dining that Maithele hardly found lesiure to re- 
 flect upon her own tragedy, for so it seemed. 
 
 Sincerity is not to be doubted; there is once in every 
 life when truth stands revealed. But even so, Love, in- 
 tuitive in its perceptions, finds the speck, infinitesimal 
 though it be, upon the horizon. The speck acquired pro- 
 portions as Maithele lifted her eyes to the peaked beauty 
 of the hills and rehearsed the story. There had always 
 been something, she reflected. She recalled the first 
 meeting in the Dale's home how warmly Allan's hands 
 clasped hers as their eyes met, then the turning away 
 it was ever so. During the first winter she had 
 seen him but twice ; the whole of the second 
 year she was abroad. He had written one let- 
 ter; she had it yet; she recalled everything so 
 minutely, even the joy of returning to America, 
 which, in her secret heart, meant meeting Richard Allan 
 once more. But they were six months returned before 
 he put in an appearance. Then she noted a strange thing 
 his eyes with all their depth followed her; yet it was 
 Dorothy who claimed all his attention. She was prepared 
 for the declaration in the soft moonlight, but not for 
 the silence that followed. She recalled how he had gone 
 off the following day like one under a cloud. Even the 
 mail love's white-winged messenger eluded her.
 
 COURTSHIP OF SILAS SCOTT 53 
 
 "Oh, you silly!" she cried out. A striped squirrel 
 shooting across the road, frightened Lady Dee, and the 
 reverie, broken at this point, gathered thread again, but 
 of darker weaving. 
 
 "Could it be possible?" she murmured, suspicion fas- 
 tening upon her mind. She recalled many occasions, the 
 costume ball the season passed, how he had shadowed 
 Dorothy, a beautiful Carmen to the end of the evening, 
 while she danced, danced, danced with men she hated. 
 And how Dorothy "had talked for a week of Richard, 
 Richard, until her jealous heart cried aloud. 
 
 Thus she came to the turn in the road, and the 
 mare's speed slackened going down to the river's 
 edge. The reeds were high, green and soft as velvet, 
 and as she gazed upon them, a new sensation fraught 
 with certain pain crept into her heart. Almost as high 
 as the reeds a wild growth, dotted all over with flowers 
 looking like little pink shells, attractively won her. 
 Swinging her arm forward, she gathered a handful of the 
 pretty things, but the flowers were viscous and their 
 odor offensive. 
 
 "Bah !" she cried, opening her palm, "to look so beau- 
 tiful and be so bad." And the wind picked the flowers 
 up and tossed them out upon the stream, and away they 
 sped. 
 
 The onward course of the river, the flower that 
 she threw upon it, filled her eyes, or was it something be- 
 sides ? The aqueous mist, perhaps, welling up from the 
 river of her own heart ? 
 
 "Richard! Richard!" she cried almost under her 
 breath; then, gently touching Lady Dee, up the green 
 slope into the road, on she sped, distancing Panther a 
 full half mile ; at last she slackened pace and Ben came 
 jogging up.
 
 54 OUR RIGHT TO LOVE 
 
 "For the Lord sake, Miss Maithele, Panther an' me 
 certainly am done up." 
 
 "I had no idea, Ben, you were so far behind." 
 
 "Indeed, honey," he answered, with the familiarity he 
 often assumed, "then you haven't ideas this morning. 
 'Behind ?' Well, I think we was ! Now, honey, don't you 
 do that no more ! We certainly was out of sight, and 
 Panther is don' up." 
 
 "I'm sorry, Ben. I forgot the youth of Lady Dee 
 when I let her go." 
 
 "You certainly did, Miss Maithele, honey." 
 
 "Now Ben, the house is in sight. Call for me about 
 dusk." 
 
 With a smile she was off on a light canter, but Ben 
 walked to the side of the road, and his eyes followed the 
 frivolous Lady Dee until he saw her stop before the house 
 of Silas Scott. 
 
 "Thank Gawd !" he piously ejaculated, as he mounted 
 Panther again, turning his face southward. 
 
 "That chile and that mare is too much for me. I'm 
 getting old, I sho'ly am." 
 
 Silas Scott was seated at his door, deep in the morn- 
 ing paper, as Maithele drew rein. 
 
 "Here she is, Louisa, here she is," he called. But the 
 lady had sighted the arrival. 
 
 "Silas!" (from within) "Go help that child. Lor', 
 she's jumped," 
 
 "Ye going to git kilt some day," said Silas, greeting 
 her warmly. "I don't like that mare, no how; there's 
 difference between a prankish hoss an' a prankish dog." 
 
 Running to the house she was met by Louisa, hands 
 uplifted. 
 
 "Can't tetch you, dearie. Our hired girl can't make 
 pie-crus' to suit thet husband of mine. Take warning,
 
 COURTSHIP OF SILAS SCOTT 55 
 
 take warning, child. Don't begin cooking when you 
 marry ; a man may be consid'rate in every other respect, 
 but if you cook to suit him then nobody else can long as 
 you be wethin call." She said all this in a breath, and 
 Maithele laughing kissing her cheek. 
 
 Meanwhile, Silas was trying to lead Lady Dee around 
 to the stable. The mare coquetting, Silas misunder- 
 stood. 
 
 "Con'soun' ye, I'll " What he would have done 
 
 will never be recorded, for at that moment he caught 
 sight of Louisa and Maithele through the kitchen 
 window. 
 
 "If I could keep them two," he said softly, "alwus to- 
 gether, I'm 'feared I wouldn't be hank'ring for Perra- 
 dise," at which pious reflection Lady Dee jerked, show- 
 ing her aversion to dogs. 
 
 "Come along, don't put on," he continued. "Thet 
 pup's jest the Scout of the army. Ted is the natural born 
 ag'ressive. Ye ain't met him yet. Come, come, pull 
 into the stable like a lady; ye'll fine oats to your taste." 
 
 But the Scout had given the alarm, and the air was 
 full of yelping. Lady Dee held back, and Silas tugged 
 at the bridle. 
 
 "Con'soun ye, I'll larrup your flanks." 
 
 A farm hand, observing the trouble, came to Scott's 
 assistance, but the fellow grabbed at the mare's tail, for- 
 tunately failing to get the coveted ribbon. 
 
 " Mighty powers ! Ain't you got 'nough sense to know 
 hoss tail from dog tail?" yelled Scott. 
 
 Instantly the animal lifted her hind legs and the hired 
 man vanished; the dogs, too, held back cautiously, save 
 Teddy E., who sprang upon the mare's back, biting at 
 the bridle. 
 
 "For the Lord !" exclaimed Louisa, hanging out of the
 
 56 OUR RIGHT TO LOVE 
 
 kitchen window, "if Ted ain't doin' the rough-rider!" 
 
 Lady Dee pricked her ears ; her mistress was running 
 down the path. 
 
 Maithele arrived upon the scene, and at once pro- 
 ceeded to pat the mare's head. 
 
 "Sweet Lady Dee good girl!" 1 
 
 The animal whinnied, clawing the ground with her 
 fore hoof, and Ted jumped off. 
 
 Maithele opened the palm of her hand, and the mare 
 found the lump of sugar which she crunched, following 
 like a lamb to the stable, rubbing her nose at every 
 pause against Maithele's sleeve. And as they arrived 
 at the stable door a voice called from the house. 
 
 A livery stable horse was at the gate. 
 
 "Wa'al I'll swan," Scott declared, going toward the 
 house. "I'll set her up agin any other girl of her size 
 in the kentry. 
 
 The Scott house stood back some fifty feet from the 
 avenue. It was a frame structure, with solid brick 
 foundation a style of architecture that combined the 
 old with the new. The color of the house was light 
 gray, the gables deep red. 
 
 "I dunno as I like it much," said Scott, the first time 
 Maithele mentioned the effect, "but the feller thet put 
 on the paint has a repitation for style, so I says, 'If ye say 
 so, it goes.' Any way the red tetches do match the 
 chimbleys." 
 
 The Scott farm was not extensive; in fact, Scott 
 was not very fond of farming. 
 
 "We keeps," he would say, with a twinkle in his eye, 
 "most of the land for the benefit of the dogs." He did 
 not traffic in dogs, though he would travel miles to bar-- 
 gain for a dog he had set his mind on ; and the only de- 
 ception he ever practiced on Louisa was the fabulous
 
 a ~ 
 SQ-. 
 
 S? pj 
 
 "w "^ 
 x 
 
 '/-
 
 COURTSHIP OF SILAS SCOTT 57 
 
 prices paid for some of the canines. Dogs were 
 his one extravagance. 
 
 He eased his conscience by repeating to himself on 
 occasions: "What she dunno, won't hurt." And, as he 
 declared to Mr. Dale one day : 
 
 " There's only me an' Louisa, an' she's fixed handsome 
 in event I'm took off. I'm entitled to spend some of my 
 own money. I did git conscience-struck the time I 
 bought the Toy spaniels, because Louisa hed ast me to 
 put stain-glass windies in Cousin Polly's church, an' I re- 
 fused. ISTot because I grudged the money to the church, 
 but because I didn't like the bumping nerve of Polly. 
 Wa'al, anyway," he continued, "when I marched in an' 
 set the spaniels down, Louisa declared: 'Of all the 
 ugly things !' 'Wa'al, I says, 'they be considered right 
 chic by society.' ']^"ow, what's thet hifalutin word ?' said 
 Louisa. 'It means,' says I, 'drest up to N'York. But I 
 guess,' I says to her, 'I better quit buying dogs.' 'You 
 don't do no sich thing,' says she, 'it's jest the same to 
 me, heving twenty as ten dogs in the yard. So long as 
 you don't take to ginny-hens an' hogs I say, spend your 
 own money to suit yourself ; you must hev' some amuse- 
 ment, Si,' and, said she, 'when your own money's spent, 
 I'll lend ye mine; I got a knitted stocking full of coin 
 hid away.' '' 
 
 Si chuckled, telling this yarn, and added, with a wink : 
 
 "It would take more'n a knitted stocking full of sav- 
 ings to buy the spaniels, an' they ain't fit for more'n 
 bric-a-brac in a feller's yard.
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 SOMETHING IS WRONG. 
 
 Having satisfied herself that Lady Dee would not be 
 annoyed by the dogs, Maithele sauntered to the house, 
 gathering violets as she went. The wild specimens grow 
 exuberantly in this part of the State between August 
 and October. 
 
 June roses were in her cheeks ; they were always there 
 and soft breezes had gone recklessly with her tresses ; 
 the stiff brush was needed as a corrector. She meant only 
 to lay the bone-handled crop where she might find it 
 again before running up to her room. As she paused 
 upon the threshold of the living-room, she beheld Allan 
 sitting at the round table, his gaze fixed upon a map 
 spread before him. 
 
 Surprise rooted her to the spot, and she stood one 
 joyous moment, red lips apart, and the light of summer 
 in her eyes. 
 
 "A pleasure I had not anticipated," said he, going 
 forward, both hands extended. Finding a place for the 
 crop, she spoke : 
 - "I would not have come if I had known." 
 
 "Glad that you did not." 
 
 She dropped nicely into a chair, bending at once over 
 the map spread upon the table. It is so easy to find the 
 good excuse for the misconduct of one whom one loves ! 
 The extenuating circumstance would develop to clear 
 
 58
 
 SOMETHING IS WRONG 59 
 
 him presently; she would be patient. It is not fair to 
 judge one on the instant, nor without justice, and it 
 seemed but last night that she listened to the story, so 
 sweet, so tender, that once told is proved only by the 
 retelling. Had he repented all the passion and fervor 
 the story contained? Was he afraid, ashamed to re- 
 hearse it ? He should have his chance, but she should not 
 invite it. Thus she assured herself, slowly beginning to 
 make conversation : 
 
 " I do not know east from west ; my education has been 
 neglected." 
 
 "You know enough to manage animals." 
 
 " Oh, that performance ?" 
 
 At this juncture Scott stood framed in the doorway. 
 
 "Say, the dogs air in a huff, jealous over Lady Dee 
 an' her," jerking his head in Maithele's direction. 
 
 " I'm going to give 'em a run be back in a half hour, 
 if you can git along without my company," chuckling, 
 "thet long. Louisa says, 'Excuse her, if ye both got 
 app'tites.' " 
 
 Tim Shinn, eager to be off, jumped up and down. 
 
 "I will go to Mrs. Scott's assistance," said Maithele, 
 rising. 
 
 "Now set right down. Louisa won't hev' any one in 
 the kitchen when she's baking lemon pies." 
 
 "She won't mind me, Mr. Scott," 
 
 "She'd mind the Angel Gabriel. He'll hev' to blow 
 thet trumpet on a off day, if he wants Louisa to stand 
 stiddy, and hear his tune. I never try arg'ments on her 
 when the pie is about ready an' the oven red hot. I 
 tried it onct, an' I got dough in my stomach for about a 
 month. Give him a tune, ther's the pianny an' the 
 violin." His hand swept in the direction of the 
 instruments.
 
 60 OUE EIGHT TO LOVE 
 
 "You need not talk," said Allan, when the door closed 
 upon Scott, "if you do not care to. I am trying to locate 
 a bit of land. I am here on business. If my presence 
 annoys you, I will take the map outside." 
 
 What a little thing will sting ! 
 
 'This, then, was his attitude. 
 
 "It might be as well; you are here on business, 
 and I must remain in this room, it seems, until Mrs. 
 Scott is through with the lemon pies I hate lemon 
 pies !" 
 
 He did not vouchsafe a remark, did not seem to hear, 
 and she questioned sharply : 
 
 "There are no maps in your town, I suppose?" 
 
 "A few. Scott owns the land we want. I'm engaged 
 on his map." 
 
 " Should that make any difference ?" She walked over 
 to the window and looked out. 
 
 The view was fair, indeed. The lovely green lawn 
 ended in a riotous climbing of morning glories, scarlet 
 runners and dewy bells over a low wicket fence garlanded 
 again on the opposite side as far as the eye could reach. 
 
 An open field of waving green filled a space beyond 
 which a clump of primeval forest trees, looking dwarfed 
 and frail, swept at the base of terraced hills touched with 
 a blue-purple haze. 
 
 For several moments she gazed upon the prospect, 
 with eyes unseeing, but her attention was arrested by a 
 great buzzard swooping downward to the edge of the 
 field another still another; around and around they 
 whirled, then down, down upon their prey. 
 
 Her heart, disturbed enough that day, rose up in 
 wrath against the scavengers. 
 
 "Poor little dead bird or rabbit," she sighed, "entitled, 
 I should think, to a grave."
 
 SOMETHING IS WRONG 61 
 
 For the moment she had forgotten the man, but his 
 voice recalled his presence. She turned slightly. 
 
 "If you will come back/' at the same time drawing the 
 chair she had but a few moments ago occupied nearer to 
 his own, "I will talk books, anything you like." Appar- 
 ently she did not hear, and he went on : 
 
 " I am quite sure the view is beautiful, but " 
 
 "It was," she answered; "it is spoiled by four horrid 
 buzzards." 
 
 "Buzzards are not bad; they have a right to live." 
 
 "Not on the innocent dead." 
 
 "Dead what? Why, they are just scavengers." 
 
 " I wish you would go out there and see what they are 
 devouring." 
 
 "Oh, now, you are not getting rid of me like that. 
 Do come back; this chair looks lonely. I want to tell 
 you something." 
 
 She was immovable. 
 
 "I learned incidentally, the other day, that you had 
 taken to literature," he ventured. 
 
 "And I learned since the other day, that you are as- 
 suming the ways of a diplomat." 
 
 "Why should I?" Who are diplomats?" 
 
 " Mr. Dale is my authority ; he declares they are 'peo- 
 ple who say nothings to make other people laugh !' " 
 
 " Then I am not one ; my mission seems the contrary." 
 
 Her cheeks were scarlet, but her face was turned from 
 him. 
 
 "You haven't answered my question," he went on with 
 quiet impetus. 
 
 "Why should I?" 
 
 "That is one on diplomatic pastime. Be good," he 
 almost whispered. 
 
 "I don't mind helping you to find the land."
 
 62 OUR RIGHT TO LOVE 
 
 She softened. 
 
 "If you would." 
 
 She gave her attention at once to the map. 
 
 The meeting had unnerved her from the first, and her 
 interest in the map was merely an excuse. 
 
 For several moments neither spoke. Presently his 
 eyes lifted. She felt their earnestness. 
 
 "Titian/' he whispered, as a little breeze, waving the 
 lace curtain put to greater disorder a shining strand of 
 the wavy hair. 
 
 "Where is Titian?" 
 
 "A trifle higher than your eyes." 
 
 "Is it land?" 
 
 "Gold!" 
 
 "And you " she put her hand upon the map 
 "are trying to locate it ?" 
 
 "I have located it. The difficulty is to get possession 
 of it." 
 
 She sighed. 
 
 "White as snow !" he murmured. 
 
 Her eyes interrogated, but he only lifted the hand to 
 his lips. She withdrew it gently. 
 
 And he fell into a mood, beginning a new theme with : 
 
 "Ruford and Lawrence are " 
 
 She interrupted : 
 
 "The land you love must be at the north pole. I ex- 
 plained my stupidity about geography. Show me the 
 land?" 
 
 His head swayed gently. 
 
 "I I thought I had it a moment ago, but an ice- 
 berg came along and the vessel receiving a hurt turned 
 the other way." 
 
 " One shouldn't venture upon the high seas in a poor 
 craft. I remember," she hurried on, feigning ignorance,
 
 SOMETHING IS WROXG 63 
 
 " the ocean ; we saw an iceberg. It was a beautiful sight, 
 the sun full upon it. I went into ecstasy over its pris- 
 matic loveliness, but the captain rather put a damper 
 upon my ardor by remarking: 'If you should have the 
 misfortune to run into an iceberg you would hardly be so 
 gay over it.' " 
 
 She glanced at Allan, expecting argument or nice re- 
 tort, but icebergs were passed. He studied the map; 
 made several entries in a small book, returned the book 
 to the side pocket of his coat, and remarked, beginning 
 a chapter : 
 
 "When I first met you, you were ten?" 
 
 "Fifteen!" 
 
 She sat far back in the big chair, her face inscrutable. 
 
 "Tell me," he said, reverently, touching the bunch of 
 violets tucked in the ribbon belt, "tell me truly, did you 
 did you care for that boy? What was his name 
 Walter?" 
 
 She laughed softly. 
 
 "Yes, we were engaged." 
 
 "And that was before I went south?" 
 
 Her face brightened. There is a certain joy, even in 
 the moment of perplexity, in recalling tender recol- 
 lections. 
 
 "Mother did not dream that Walter and I were in 
 love." 
 
 "Couldn't have found it out in a dozen 3 r ears." 
 
 "One Christmas morning, Walter appeared before me 
 as I sat in the library, pondering over a book a gift of 
 the day. Well, Walter did not say a word, he just walked 
 right up to me and kissed me." 
 
 "Villain!" cried Allan, softly. 
 
 "We heard a step, and thrusting something into my
 
 64 
 
 hand, he flew ; but mother stood in the open door. Well, 
 Walter was compelled to take back his ring." 
 
 Maithele held out her hand, displaying a diamond 
 cluster. Allan examined it without comment, 
 
 "My troubles began early." 
 
 Her voice faltered, but she hurried on as if anxious to 
 be through with the narrative : 
 
 "Mother died a few months after the ring episode. 
 Walter died with fever the year after you came. You re- 
 member brother Tom " 
 
 Her voice caught half-way between a sob and a sigh. 
 
 " Tom was drowned." 
 
 Allan's eyes closed to hide their full tender sympathy. 
 
 Hoping to divert her mind from the greater tragedy, 
 he inquired : 
 
 "And the ring?" 
 
 "Walter's aunt sent it and asked me to wear it 
 always." 
 
 "You would have married Walter I suppose, had he 
 lived." 
 
 "No! No!" she spoke hurriedly. "I discovered be- 
 fore he died that I loved some one else." 
 
 "Sweet little jessamine!" he murmured under his 
 breath. He twirled the locket on his chain, recalling 
 Ben's story. 
 
 "Six years ago," he began, reflectively, "a young fel- 
 low went south; he was a struggler, he needed a holiday." 
 
 A pensive loneliness fell upon Maithele as Allan 
 resumed : 
 
 "He met a sweet girl." 
 
 After a moment of endless silence Maithele, thirsting 
 for knowledge, broke in : 
 
 "Proposed married and lived happily ever after?"
 
 SOMETHING IS WKONG 65 
 
 "No. He went home again. He meant to spy some- 
 thing; the night before his departure, he made love to 
 her, teased about another fellow and threatened to kid- 
 nap her." 
 
 Her cheeks were very rosy and her heart was beating 
 high with the joy of expectancy. 
 
 "When he found her again " 
 
 He paused ; how could he tell her ? His heart was cold 
 with fear. She had grown dearer, dearer to him, since 
 the night of the revelation, but woman's prerogative is 
 often the nice help. 
 
 "I suppose she was married?" 
 
 "Not so bad as that." 
 
 Her eyes were upon the floor as he added : 
 
 "He was engaged to another." 
 
 The bolt fell. 
 
 But a courageous woman will hold herself resolutely at 
 the point of the bayonet, and, without the slightest hesi- 
 tation or tremor, she replied : 
 
 "He must have cared frightfully to have sacrificed 
 himself." 
 
 Allan felt the sting, but his purpose was fixed. He 
 would have died rather than hurt her, and for no con- 
 sideration would he lose her. He meant only to sound 
 the warning note, and hold her confidence. He had been 
 premature. Clara Lansing was wearying, perhaps, in a 
 few days he should be dismissed. Hope was opening the 
 way with its arnica that soothes love's wound. But it is 
 fate that generally interposes. Allan was ready with a 
 certain sweet phrase as preliminary when Mrs. Scott ap- 
 peared in the room. 
 
 "Wa'al I didn't know tell thes minute thet you two 
 was left alone. It do beat all !" Mrs. Scott went on 
 without pausing for breath; "if it wa'n't for dogs Si
 
 G6 OUR EIGHT TO LOVE 
 
 would be polite an' sociable as any. But I do believe if 
 the King of England was visiting him, an' General or 
 Ted wanted a favor, the King would hev* to set an' wait 
 tell the dogs was humored. I sometimes wish the Lord 
 hed give us children. They couldn't a bin more trouble, 
 possibly less, an' hardly 's contrary. There's Tasso, thet 
 Si calls the Ital'an po-et ! Yeste'dy he et the Bible up ; 
 he chewed it the same as Si chews his tobacco quid. Si 
 laughed when I told him. 'Wa'al' he said, 'a po-et 's a 
 po-et. Some of 'em hangs on to thet sort of lit'ature, 
 grinding an' chewing tell they finds an idee; then they 
 sets about in their own heads for a rhyme, which some- 
 times hetches an' sometimes don't; but it's alwus origi- 
 nal, because they done it, which is the main thing." 
 
 Allan's face was buried in the map, while Maithele 
 gazed out of the window. 
 
 "Bead much po'try, Mr. Allan? Si can spend hull 
 hours at it." 
 
 " Oh, yes, I am very fond of poetry, Mrs. Scott." 
 
 "Si said the other night 'spect you be kin to Edgar 
 Allan Poe. Poe's the man thet wrote a fine poem about 
 an owl thet crept into his room one night an' set on his 
 wife's bust. I didn't thenk thet was jest the theng to 
 write about." 
 
 "Oh, you have it wrong, Mrs. Scott," put in Allan, 
 while Maithele tried to recall the features of the Sphinx. 
 
 "Poe fancied the bird was the spirit of his dead wife, 
 the bird perched upon a bit of sculpture the bust of 
 Pallas." 
 
 "Now Si must hev' read it wrong." 
 
 Scott came into the room quietly. 
 
 " Wa'al I'll swan, Louisa ; thought ye'd all be setting to 
 dinner time I got back, an' here you be gossiping about 
 your natural provider."
 
 SOMETHING IS WKONG 67 
 
 "Somebody must hev' manners, Si, but dinner's 
 served." 
 
 "The rules of this house ain't many," said Scott. And 
 Maithele, seizing an advantage, ran up the stairway. On 
 the landing she paused, patting Tasso, who followed, 
 throwing herself at once into a chair. 
 
 "Well," she said, rocking slowly, and again, "Well, 
 well ! To think I should find him here !" Yet how 
 the speck grew ! 
 
 "I knew there was something," she went on, musing. 
 "Pledged! To whom?" 
 
 She rocked, rocked, repeating the words. But her 
 reverie was broken by the genial voice of the hostess : 
 
 "Come right along, Maithele; don't stop to fix up." 
 
 "I'm coming, dear Mrs. Scott," she answered cheerily. 
 
 "We must not keep them waiting," she said to Tasso, 
 adjusting a bow, smoothing her hair, and straightening 
 the ribbon belt. 
 
 "I think that will do," nodding approvingly to the 
 reflection in the mirror. "I might have looked real 
 sweet, but, of course, I never dreamed of seeing him here, 
 Tasso !" 
 
 She grabbed up the little white dog, lifting him to the 
 table. He was obedient and deeply attached to her. 
 
 "Now, see here," shaking her finger, "the story of 
 your bad conduct interrupted, broke into the most beau- 
 tiful chapter of my life. See here !" 
 
 The dog looked frightened. 
 
 "Don't do it again; you know " her voice fell to 
 
 a whisper. 
 
 " He loves me, but there is something wrong. He was 
 engaged but not now, except look up, you little 
 white ball except to me !" 
 
 "Daughter," came the voice from below: "Dick hes
 
 68 OUB RIGHT TO LOVE 
 
 your soup enstead of his, an' it's nearly e't up. Come on 
 if you got any app'tite." 
 
 And down the steps she flew with a rosy face, Tasso 
 following, yelping all the way.
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 ENGAGED TO WHOM? 
 
 SCOTT and Allan drove off in the top buggy, and Mrs. 
 Scott, giving minute instructions to the hired girl, 
 invited Maithele upstairs. 
 
 "I was for heving thes room new papered," entering a 
 cozy apartment where the summer previous Maithele had 
 spent a delightful week, "but Si put his foot down, 
 'Leave it alone, Louisa/ thet's jest what he said. 'Don't 
 tetch it; it ain't exactly your room, neither mine; it's 
 Maithele's, and if we go to making changes she mightn't 
 feel the same to it.' ' ; 
 
 "Dear Mr. Scott! Do you know sometimes when I 
 wake at night I fancy I am here again, and I long for 
 the dawn, that I may see the blue bells running all over 
 the ceiling and the long tendrils dropping over the 
 walls." 
 
 "When those sort of feelings come on, dearie, you bet- 
 ter pack right up an' come thes way. Thes room ain't 
 going to change, being as you like it, an' it's yours as 
 long as you live an' we live. An' it's not only welcome 
 you be, but happy we'd be to hev 5 you alwus. We hed 
 several days last winter that was so dismal thet even me 
 and Si got lonely. I said finally one morning, 'They ain't 
 ben a streak of sunshine in thes house for three days.' 
 'You're right,' says Si, an' he added, 'if it don't brighten 
 soon, I'll hev' to travel to N'York and git Maithele an' 
 
 69
 
 70 OUR RIGHT TO LOVE 
 
 bring her up to the valley. We wouldn't feel the gloom- 
 iness if she was around.' " 
 
 Maithele laid her hand gently on Mrs. Scott's arm; 
 the other understood. She was thinking of that fine 
 heart-quality that creates the feeling of kindred, and is 
 one of the gifts of good lineage. Cultivation, education, 
 merely nurtures the quality to its finest outward expres- 
 sion, it cannot create it. Without advantages the quality 
 is preeminently the same. Thus Maithele knew assuredly 
 that Scott and his wife came of good stock. 
 
 Mrs. Scott led the way to her own apartment, which, 
 like the living-room below, was airy and sweet. On the 
 handsome walnut bureau stood a slim vase of newly cut 
 ferns, and on the small table near the bed, a shallow bowl 
 of those funny blooms Mrs. Scott called johnnie-jump- 
 ups. Maithele held one of the velvety things between the 
 first finger and thumb as she seated herself in the low 
 rocker. 
 
 "I wanted you to come by yourself," began Mrs. Scott, 
 "so's we could talk. I didn't calculate heving Dick Allan 
 around." 
 
 "Don't you like him?" 
 
 " Oh, he's got uncommon good sense for a man, but it's 
 sort of upset my plans. I want to ast you about some 
 things thet me and Si hev' bin talking over." 
 
 Regarding Maithele earnestly she inquired : 
 
 "You comfortable dearie, in thet chair?" 
 
 "Delightful." 
 
 "Why, then, as I was saying, off course, me an' Si's 
 kentry; we don't expec' city folks to do our way, no 
 more'n we expec' to do ther'n. But I says to Si a few 
 nights back, 'If we get to visiting the Dale's reguler, 
 we'll hev' to her* more clothes.' I declare 'cept my 
 wedden' dress, thet's white, an' jes' fit for balls, an' my
 
 ENGAGED TO WHOM? 71 
 
 black silk thet hikes up in front an' I ben wearing it so 
 much to funerels thet I can't feel sociable in it wa'al, 
 'cept them two, I'm clear out of clothes. I want you to 
 go to JSPYork weth me one day next week an' not let on 
 to the folks; Si says, 'Don't mind expense.' So I was 
 thenking, as spending money is confusing, to sort of plan 
 what we needed." 
 
 Malthele was glad to be of small service, and the list 
 was made with much talk and jollying on both sides. 
 
 Later on, Mrs. Scott brought out the crazy quilt, which 
 elicited the girl's genuine admiration. The noon passed 
 pleasantly. 
 
 Twilight was running its long fingers through the 
 trees and picking pale sunbeams from hilltops, as Mrs. 
 Scott threw open the shutter. 
 
 "Guess we need more daylight!" she said, pulling 
 from under the bed a wooden chest. She tugged at it 
 until she had it in the middle of the room. 
 
 Midway between newspapers neatly spread was some- 
 thing carefully folded in a white sheet. With the care one 
 handles an infant, Mrs. Scott lifted the bundle from the 
 chest, and laid it carefully upon the bed. 
 
 "Oh!" exclaimed Maithele, and again, "Oh!" as Mrs. 
 Scott held the white silk wedding gown to the light. 
 
 "I hev' an idee," said Mrs. Scott, "thet it would jest 
 fit you. I wan't a bad looking girl ; I had some figger, 
 too, thirty year ago, when Si came courting." 
 
 Maithele patted the cheek. "You are a dear, Mrs. 
 Scott," and at once Maithele began to disrobe. 
 
 "First, let me arrange my hair. How did you wear 
 yours in those days, Mrs. Scott?" 
 
 "Parted in the middle. I'd bring it up like thes." 
 
 Maithele caught the idea.
 
 73 OUR RIGHT TO LOVE 
 
 "Thet looks fine," declared Mrs. Scott as Maithele 
 arranged her hair, and continued she : 
 
 "I think bride wreaths look so corpsey. Silas sent me 
 one made of white wax orange blossoms day before the 
 wedding, but it didn't go on my head." 
 
 "I would hardly care to wear wax orange blossoms 
 myself," laughed Maithele. 
 
 "You're about right; they certainly air stiff. Poor Si, 
 hesn't a bit of taste, but he can tell mighty quick if the 
 next one lacks it." 
 
 As the toilet progressed Mrs. Scott continued the sub- 
 ject of the proposed shopping tour to New York. 
 
 "We can put up at the Manhattan. Thet's a grand 
 hotel, Si says; never ben there myself; I generally stop 
 weth Cousin Kate when I go to the city, but you being 
 along, the best won't be any too good. An' 'steer clear of 
 relations/ Si says, 'an' spend all th' money you want to.' 
 I dunno," she said, reflectively, "how much Si's worth, 
 but I hope we ain't never gitting so rich that lemon 
 pies'll be beyont my hand." 
 
 Maithele passed the small diversion with a smile. 
 
 "I declare if Si could see you onct, it would take him 
 back." 
 
 Maithele was a picture, indeed, worthy of a Florentine 
 setting. The shortwaisted gown had a sort of Empire 
 effect, and, as the girl tilted the mirror and walked half- 
 way down the room to admire herself, she tried to 
 imagine the bride of thirty years back with the Mrs. 
 Scott of to-day. 
 
 "Was all this your own idea, Mrs. Scott?" 
 
 "No, no indeed. A friend give me the address of a 
 fust-class dressmaker, so I went down to N'York an' hed 
 her measure me up ; I remember it as if it had been yes- 
 te'dy. 'You want it'n the latest style?' she ast. I said,
 
 ENGAGED TO WHOM? 73 
 
 'Yes'm, an' real fine and fancy. Buy the hull thing/ I 
 said ; 'git all you need.' Wa'al, she did, an' more, from 
 the figgers of the bill. I was near paralyzed when I got 
 it. But I hed a snug sum in bank of my own, and I laid 
 a pile of it on thet \vedding dress wethout a murmur or 
 regret, for it certainly did take Si. If a real queen hed 
 stood weth me thet morning an' Si had the choosing be- 
 tween us, she'd hed to stand back. Si never gets through 
 talking about thet dress, an' he 'lows to this day they 
 ain't money to buy it, after all these years hev' passed 
 an' gone." 
 
 Mrs. Scott went into the adjoining room, returning 
 presently. 
 
 "In them days it want queer to see young girls in short 
 sleeves going to parties an' the like. In these days they 
 don't wear sleeves at all ; howsomever, I recall the parson 
 thet married us looked skittish when he set his eyes on 
 me, an' my aunt staid away from the ceremony on ac- 
 count of thet dress, but, as Si said, 'If any man or woman 
 objects to ye, Louisa, it's sour grapes.' ' ; 
 
 Mrs. Scott unlocked the bedroom door leading to the 
 hall, and called in a big voice to Prudence : 
 
 "Light all the lights in the house an' do it quick." 
 Then in a higher key : 
 
 "Is thet table set ?" 
 
 Prudence answered in the affirmative. 
 
 "What about the chickens? Hev' ye made the white 
 gravy?" 
 
 Mrs. Scott could not catch the girl's remark. 
 
 "Hey? Hope ye hevn't scorched it?" 
 
 The answer seemed satisfactory and Mrs. Scott re- 
 turned to the room, proceeding to don the black silk 
 gown. 
 
 "I got only one favor," turning to Maithele; "now,
 
 74 OTJE EIGHT TO LOVE 
 
 please don't desappoint me. I want you to wear thet 
 dress to supper. It will make Silas so happy." 
 
 "I would love to, Mrs. Scott, but " 
 
 "Now, you're going to stay for supper. Si said when 
 he went off thet he'd see Mr. Dale at the mine, an' tell 
 him you was engaged for the night." 
 
 Maithele made no response, and Mrs. Scott drifted 
 into another channel. 
 
 "Say, don't you thenk thet Mr. Lawrence is stuck on 
 Dorothy?" 
 
 "Everybody loves Dorothy." 
 
 "But who does she love?" 
 
 Maithele flushed, passing the question. 
 
 "Will Mr. Allan return?" 
 
 "Dunno." 
 
 "I think I'd better go." 
 
 "Ain't you two friendly?" 
 
 "Oh, yes, indeed, but " she looked upon her own 
 
 reflection in the mirror, and seemed satisfied. 
 
 "If you don't want to see him ?" 
 
 "Oh, I do, but " 
 
 "Now," cut in Mrs. Scott, "thet's the way I used to 
 treat Si. I wanted to see him worse'n anything, but 
 when he would come, I'd act queer an' he would go off. 
 I missed a heap because of my queerness. Don't you be 
 foolish when you like a man, give him a chanst. Every 
 man can't be done like Si. Now, like a dear, walk about 
 in the parlor in thet dress. I want to see how I looked 
 on thet happy day." 
 
 Maithele complied reluctantly ; she did not mind Silas, 
 she would have danced for him in the bridal gown, but 
 Richard Allan ! If he returned what might he think ? 
 She felt rather annoyed, she hoped Mrs. Scott would not 
 mind, but she must get the gown off before the men re-
 
 ENGAGED TO WHOM? 75 
 
 turned. They went below and she walked demurely up- 
 and down the length of the long room, to the edification 
 of Mrs. Scott and the delight of Prudence, who, peeping 
 through the open door, exclaimed with the tactless slip of 
 her kind : 
 
 " Oh, now, Mrs. Scott, sure you never looked beautiful 
 like her, ma'am." 
 
 And as she spoke the barking of dogs announced the 
 master, but Maithele did not realize that the men were 
 in the house until the big voice of Silas Scott broke into 
 the room and, retreat was impossible. 
 
 "Wa'al, I'll swan !" 
 
 Scott stood in the doorway, his hands thrust deep into 
 his trouser pockets, and the gray slouched hat over the 
 face with the usual tilt. 
 
 Allan, standing behind Silas, doffed his hat with that 
 movement that bespeaks respect, and her eyes, sweeping 
 the elder man, fell before the tenderness in his gaze. 
 
 "Wa'al, I'll swan !" Scott repeated gently, grabbing his 
 wife about the waist. 
 
 "She's the only girl thet could begin to come up to 
 you, an' the way it do fit !" 
 
 He turned Maithele about. 
 
 "How did you come to get the idee, Louisa?" tossing 
 his hat into a chair. 
 
 "If it ain't the very day to a minute thirty years back. 
 Say, Allan!" 
 
 But Allan had disappeared. 
 
 "Wa'al, I'll swan ! How a man could run from sich a 
 bridal vision beats me !" 
 
 He looked about the room. 
 
 "Wher's the General an' " 
 
 "Not in the parlor, Si."
 
 76 OUR EIGHT TO LOVE 
 
 "Right in the parlor, Louisa; the occasion demands a 
 salute from the General an' Adjutant." 
 
 A low whistle brought the dogs to the door, which 
 Louisa opened, and in they scrambled, conscience 
 stricken and tails subdued. But in a moment the bull- 
 pup's conduct became unpardonable. He was vigorously 
 thrown into the dark, and as though delighted at his dis- 
 comfiture, Tasso stood up on his hind legs. 
 
 "There's genius for you," shouted Silas. And while 
 he spoke Prudence announced supper. Scott turned 
 upon the dogs, addressing General : 
 
 "Lead the army to the rear of the house; there's a an- 
 niversary going on inside."
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 THE ANNIVERSARY DINNER. 
 
 THE table was beautifully arranged, and the four sat 
 down as the clock struck seven. 
 
 Pouring a small quantity of wine into his own glass, 
 Scott filled Maithele's and passed the bottle to Allan, 
 who did likewise for Mrs. Scott; when the bottle came 
 back again to Scott he filled his own glass and lifted it : 
 
 "Confusion to our enemies, an' may we never fare 
 worse !" 
 
 It was Scott's usual preliminary. 
 
 "Thes is a day," proceeded the host, standing erect, 
 with his left hand on the table, his right ready for ges- 
 ture, "the day thet comes onct in every year, the sweetest 
 day in the whole three hundred and sixty-five. I suppose 
 me an' Louisa is some older thin we was thirty year ago 
 thes minute, but we don't feel older, an' it's the way you 
 feel thet counts. 
 
 "H'm" lifting the slim glass of sparkling Burgundy 
 to the light, and placing it again upon the table. "There 
 be women and women," he said reflectively. "When a 
 feller's young, seems as if they was all a parcel 
 of fairies, but, as he keeps studying about 'em, 
 the hull bunch resolves itself into jest one. 
 Fairy exper'ence is sich a razzle-dazzle, ye apt to 
 git ketched before ye be ready to ketch. I seen a red 
 bird onct, thet I wanted ; I was a little chap at the time. 
 Pop encouraged me mighty: 'Git some salt/ says he, 
 
 77
 
 78 OUR EIGHT TO LOVE 
 
 'an' when the bird lights to the ground drap the salt on 
 its tail/ I wa'n't smart in them days like the kid chaps 
 as go duding about these days. One day I seen two red 
 birds, then three. Finally the woods was full of 'm." 
 Scott made that funny little noise in the throat prepara- 
 tory to change of subject. He looked wistfully from the 
 sparkling wine to the placid face of Louisa ; then his eyes 
 fell upon Maithele. "They ain't but one woman 'n the 
 hull world for one man," he said. And then, after a 
 pause, shaking his head emphatically. "Thet's God-a- 
 Mighty's truth. Sometimes it's harder to git thet woman 
 then it be to put salt on the bird's tail, but the feller 
 ain't wuth shucks thet 'lows her to give him the slip onct 
 he's hed a holt." 
 
 He paused, his lips coming together firmly. Then, 
 lifting the glass in Pickwickian style : 
 
 " Louisa, here's to you !" 
 
 He faced Maithele. 
 
 "Your happiness, daughter." 
 
 To Allan. 
 
 "Yours, Dick." 
 
 And when he had drained the glass he went to carving 
 briskly. 
 
 Allan's eyes deep upon his vis-a-vis, whispered : 
 
 "Rose of Sharon." 
 
 "What's thet?" inquired Scott. 
 
 "A rose that never dies." 
 
 "Good for you, Dick. Maithele's thet kind." 
 
 Scott told many yarns, and the fun went round, until 
 Mrs. Scott's head inclined, returning thanks. 
 
 As all rose Scott said: "I can't sleep 'less I smoke 
 a ci-gar, an' on a great o-casion like thes, I hev' to hev' 
 about three. What do you say, Louisa ?" 
 
 "Thet's so."
 
 THE ANNIVERSARY DINNER 79 
 
 Putting his arm about his wife he turned to his 
 guests : 
 
 "If you will favor us, Maithele, with a song, I'm 
 thenking the ent'tainment will be about complete ; me an' 
 Louisa '11 set out on the verancly an' spoon." 
 
 Allan and Maithele went into the sitting-room and 
 Maithele seated herself at the piano, running her fingers 
 over the keys. 
 
 "I'm not familiar with this instrument," she said. 
 
 He made no comment, and, after singing one verse of a 
 light ballad, she faced Allan apologetically. 
 
 "I did not think you would return." 
 
 "Couldn't stay away from you." 
 
 " Give us 'Annie Laurie,' " came from without. 
 
 While she sang Allan tried to formulate a plan of 
 action, and finally arrived at a certain conclusion. 
 
 "Annie Laurie" was followed by applause; then Allan 
 asked for his favorite. 
 
 It was sweet to do his bidding. She sang with all the 
 pathos of her rich voice a simple, tender ballad. And 
 as the words swelled out : 
 
 " I did not know that we should part, 
 Dear heart, dear heart." 
 
 He bent forward whispering : 
 
 "But we must." He wheeled the piano stool which 
 brought her face near his own. 
 
 "I lose my reason, Maithele," he cried softly, "sweet 
 as you are in the bridal robe." 
 
 She trembled, feeling his warm breath, and doubt sped, 
 but only for a moment ; it returned presently, and with 
 it the agonizing sense of loss. Yet in the happy moment
 
 80 OUR BIGHT TO LOVE 
 
 she felt, realized, that she was beloved, tenderly, wholly, 
 even as she loved. 
 
 Her trembling hand touched the music-rack; two 
 selections tumbled to the floor. Allan gathered them up, 
 his eyes falling upon the title of one, "Vikings." He 
 smiled. 
 
 "How different it might have been," he said, "if we 
 had lived in the days of Vikings; I would have stolen 
 you, I would have carried you off." His voice filled with 
 passionate earnestness. 
 
 "Oh, how beautiful life might have been, sailing the 
 high seas with you." 
 
 A troubled look came into her eyes. 
 
 "I would not have touched a hair of your dear head 
 if if you did not care to to be my bride; if your 
 heart had not a greatness of love for me, I would have 
 given you your freedom, I would have carried you back 
 to your own people sweet sweet and pure. I would 
 have left you forever." 
 
 He was holding her hands. 
 
 "I wish Vikings lived in these days," she cried, her 
 eyes passing him ; he saw the light ! But in a moment 
 it was lost in unmistakable sadness. 
 
 The cuckoo called the hour, and the next instant 
 Scott's head appeared at the open door. 
 
 "H'm h'm," shuffling his feet. 
 
 "You might blame me, Dick, if thet train gits away 
 without you." 
 
 The head disappeared, and instantly Allan was upon 
 his feet. 
 
 "Maithele!" 
 
 His arms extended passionately, then dropped to his 
 sides limp.
 
 THE ANNIVERSARY DINNER 81 
 
 She was standing, waiting the sentence that required 
 all his self-mastery. 
 
 He came near one step, his hands now safe behind 
 his back, his head bowed. 
 
 "It is true I am engaged forgive !" 
 
 Her eyes were cast down as he proceeded : 
 
 "Never doubt that I was am sincere. I love you 
 dear" his voice dropped to a whisper "I have always 
 loved you, always/' 
 
 She gave no sign. 
 
 "Good-by," he murmured. 
 
 Still no word. 
 
 "Good-by, dear, dear," he repeated. "I owe you an 
 explanation ; I will see you soon ; you will understand." 
 
 The eyes opened, looking full into his own. 
 
 '"Pardon, you owe me nothing. I hold you in no way. 
 I I am to blame for a little foolishness. I I was 
 merely rehearsing a part." 
 
 "Maithele ! you do not understand." 
 
 Scott's voice came from the open door : 
 
 "Dick, you ain't got more'n twenty minutes to git thet 
 train." 
 
 "Won't you tell me good-by ?" he cried pleadingly. 
 
 She turned to the piano. Scott was waiting. 
 
 "Good-by," she half spoke, feebly striking a minor 
 chord. 
 
 He turned away, and she heard his steps as he hurried 
 down the hall. And then the neigh of a horse; the bark 
 of a dog ; the crack of a whip. 
 
 Things went black ! Her head dropped lightly into 
 her hands and darkness lifted to show the opening deeps. 
 
 "Oh, Dorothy, Dorothy," she cried, "why, oh, why did 
 vou deceive me !"
 
 82 OUR RIGHT TO LOVE 
 
 And when she lifted her head> Mrs. Scott was turning 
 down the lamps. 
 
 "Go straight to your room," said the dear soul; "you 
 hev 5 bin jest pestered out." 
 
 "Oh, no," she spoke with averted face, "but if you 
 don't mind, I am a bit weary." 
 
 She went up the steps slowly, trailing the bridal robe, 
 and Mrs. Scott's loving gaze followed to the landing. 
 
 "Precious lamb ! She has quarreled weth him ; thet's 
 the way I used to treat Si, only Si took it from the 
 roadside."
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 THE BONFIRE. 
 
 So absorbed was Maithele in her own thoughts that 
 she failed to perceive the attention lavished upon her by 
 Dorothy, whose sympathetic nature, detecting the other's 
 troubled countenance, longed to comfort. 
 
 Dorothy did not wholly understand Maithele's 
 depression. 
 
 They were on the hay-wagon, and, after a lull in the 
 conversation that had been fairly bright, Maithele 
 ventured : 
 
 "Would you marry a man you didn't love?" 
 
 "Not I!" 
 
 "But if you knew the one man you did love was en- 
 gaged to the dearest, sweetest friend you ever had on 
 earth, what would you do?" 
 
 "Oh, dearie, give me something easy !" 
 
 "Please!" 
 
 "Well, really, Maithele, if the: man I loved had prom- 
 ised himself to another " she paused, connecting sen- 
 tences meditatively, "before I came into his life, I think 
 I might die an old maid. But if he loved the other girl, 
 and had merely flirted with me, I think oh, I think a 
 dozen things. I could hate him for one. He wouldn't 
 be worth pique. You know a case?" A pink flame 
 touched her face. Jealousy is the ignis fatuus of the 
 brain ! "And the man?" she went on. 
 
 " I can only tell you this he is the dearest fellow, the 
 very soul of honor." 
 
 S3
 
 84 OUR RIGHT TO LOVE 
 
 "Loving two girls at the same time?" 
 
 Maithele winced; she continued, however, apologeti- 
 cally, for there is ever a plausible excuse for the man the 
 woman loves, even for his most deplorable acts : 
 
 "I do not know the whole story." 
 
 "Describe him." 
 
 Maithele began the arduous task, with eyes drifting 
 to the far-away. 
 
 "A perfect description of Ned," thought Dorothy, lis- 
 tening and recalling something Ned had said compli- 
 mentary to Maithele. Besides, Ned had not written as 
 he promised and many days had passed. She re- 
 flected ; if Ned was flirting ? Well, revenge is sweet ! 
 "Intolerable!" she murmured to herself at the mo- 
 ment, but later, as she put two and two together, she 
 fancied she had some cause, and accordingly arranged to 
 persecute the man she loved. 
 
 And Maithele, fancying that she had described Allan 
 too accurately, was giving the conversation a turn, as 
 Pat, who had been raking near-by, called out : 
 
 "Ye come down off that wagon right off. Ye be the 
 most thrying gals I ever seen ; I wondther what ye'll be 
 doin' next. There's people up at the house, an' ye pa's 
 waving his handkerchy at ye. Come right down now." 
 
 Dorothy slipped down easily. Maithele jumped when 
 half way. 
 
 "Now, the loike of that !" exclaimed Pat. "Better en- 
 gage a doctor an' have him round handy, instead of so 
 many beaux. For it's broken heads or legs ye're goin' to 
 hav' some of these days." 
 
 Maithele laughed aloud, but Dorothy did not even 
 deign to hear. 
 
 The same evening Dorothy sent a line to Richard 
 Allan, which somewhat surprised the gentleman. The
 
 THE BONFIRE 85 
 
 note stated that she had a crow or some such bird to pick 
 with him. He obeyed the summons reluctantly. 
 
 He fancied that Dorothy entertained suspicion of his 
 conduct and that she meant to bring him to task. 
 
 Man is prone to make superior claim where woman 
 has acknowledged the highest compliment, and he con- 
 stitutes himself high priest ever after, notwithstanding 
 that his conduct often places him rather ambiguously for 
 the position. 
 
 Allan was not in a fine humor when Miss Dorothy 
 Dale's note arrived. Two nights previous to its arrival, 
 Clara Lansing had quarreled with him, but the quarrel 
 was not one of which he could take advantage, being 
 brought about by himself. The gentleman at all times, 
 he wrote a note of apology to the lady and with Dorothy's 
 invitation came her ladylike pardon. Thus he had made 
 little progress toward alienating the lady's affections. 
 He resolved with feelings rather desole to make explana- 
 tions to Maithele, to justify himself, and yet, he argued, 
 what might be the justification? His opinion of Clara 
 Lansing had changed materially ; she evidently meant to 
 pass indifference and to pay little heed to slight provoca- 
 tions. Gentlemanly etiquette forbade decided methods. 
 
 But fate was against him, and the early part of the 
 evening brought only chagrin. Dorothy had taken com- 
 plete possession of him for the evening, which in no in- 
 stance could be annoying, as Dorothy was a delightful 
 and companionable girl. But he longed to be near 
 Maithele on this bonfire occasion. 
 
 The bonfire, when the weather permitted, was a feature 
 of the evening, but the present bonfire Dorothy made an 
 occasion. It had its special place marked in the day by 
 dead ashes heaped in a worn circle to the right of Ham-
 
 86 OUE RIGHT TO LOVE 
 
 mock Court. Often a gypsy kettle swung on the crane, 
 emitting savory odors. 
 
 Scott had just thrown a great log into the blaze, and, 
 with the crackle, as of giant teeth crunching, a red 
 tongue shot into the air, licking with relish the crisp 
 green leaves. 
 
 The bullpup snarled in a dream under the bench, and 
 Tim Shinn within close range of the blaze opened one 
 eye as Scott seated himself again. But Scott was a man 
 of weight, the bench upset and the bullpup awakening, 
 scrambled tragically from under it with a terrified howl 
 which brought Tim Shinn to his feet. 
 
 "Ha ha ha" laughed Scott, "scairt to death, 
 drempt I left him." 
 
 The dog cuddled up to Scott, who patted him on the 
 head. 
 
 "A dumb brute can't talk at you nor back of you, an' 
 I like the solemn intel'gence of a dog. I don't go where 
 they don't like dogs church, for example. Dogs an' 
 ministers don't gee. Did you ever notice? It's some 
 different at Forty-Fort Church, your dog can slip in 
 there an' welcome. I had Tim Shinn in a church weth 
 me onct, he was all right tell sermon time; when the 
 minister got riled up, thet dog got riled up. I give him 
 a nudge, but he didn't pay no attention; presently the 
 reverend gentleman put his first down hard on the rim 
 of the pulpit, an' he yells out sudden : 'What in con- 
 science,' said he, 'is the matter weth thet dog ?' 'Oh,' said 
 I ' I hed to say suthin', everybody was looking my way 
 and a feller that I fairly hated was grinning 'Oh, 
 nothin',' I sent back. 'Them's only his cuss words ; guess 
 he be riled over the sermon/ Wa'al thet feller jest 
 roared, an' the reverend gentleman allowed him or thet 
 dog hed to quit. We turned out 'n favor of the preacher,
 
 THE BONFIRE 87 
 
 an' we ain't bin together in church sence." Dale laughed 
 heartity, patting the bullpup's head. 
 
 Warm rugs covered the benches and Aunt Helen drew 
 a brown skin about her limbs. A fancy red hood was 
 upon her head and she looked like a big papoose, save 
 that her arms were not strapped; they contained a 
 wonderful yellow and black striped creature, known on 
 the island as Miss Jack Tiger. Miss Tiger was not 
 afraid of Scott's dogs, she simply despised them; but 
 Aunt Helen was watchful, and when Miss Jack appeared 
 at gatherings she was generally protected by Aunt 
 Helen's strong arm. 
 
 Maithele did not wonder at Dorothy's unusual warm 
 greeting, charming manner, and welcome extended 
 Richard Allan, but she did take herself into account, 
 condemning her own conduct. 
 
 The analysis of her heart was severe; and days 
 before the bonfire, she decided that Mr. Richard Allan 
 should find no opportunity for further explanation. But 
 the bravery planned in the quiet hour, when the excuse 
 for bravery is lacking, is like temptation nicely put aside 
 when the occasion is wanting. 
 
 She greeted Allan pleasantly, coldly, he thought, then 
 gave her attention to the other guests. 
 
 Listening to her happy laugh, no one, not Allan, real- 
 ized the anguish that she suffered. Yet strength of heart 
 is not gained in a day, and pride, the great assistant, 
 often enough, must be whipped along. 
 
 Every bonfire was an entertainment with Silas Scott. 
 He made the entertainment; the sibilant tongue of the 
 blaze inspiring his best thought. The few whose good 
 fortune it was to meet with him about the blaze rarely, if 
 ever, forgot his wonderful personality, or the genial 
 humor that made his anecdote the one worth remember-
 
 88 OUK RIGHT TO LOVE 
 
 ing. Everybody had a story, even dignified Aunt Helen, 
 who regaled the guests with touches of early youth. 
 
 At the moment Mr. Dale was harping on strikes, Scott 
 taunting ingloriously. 
 
 "You ain't hed nuthing stole sense morning?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Then don't be squimmidging. Mebbe you art to hev' 
 hed." 
 
 Constant raids on the island, though small offences, 
 such as digging hills of potatoes and other delectable 
 vines, were not so very serious, yet every misdemeanor of 
 the kind worried Mr. Dale. 
 
 Dorothy tactfully led the conversation into happier 
 channels. Politics, business talk, strikes, were eliminated. 
 
 And Scott caught the cue, engaging the attention 
 of all. 
 
 "If you want sport jest get Louisa talking about 
 Injuns. It ain't the actual facts as she seen 'm, but as 
 her dad seen 'm. Give me Louisa every time imagination 
 is needed." 
 
 Dorothy laughed. 
 
 "Yes, turn to Louisa for fun, daughter. Louisa has 
 a repitation for op'ning pufformances. She has a story 
 about her Cousin Polly " 
 
 'TDon't tetch on pussonals, Si," cried Mrs. Scott. 
 
 "Sho ! Ye don't call Jerry and Polly pussonals." 
 
 "They be part of the family." 
 
 Scott's eyes twinkled with the genuine merriment of 
 the born narrator, and Mrs. Scott whispered to Aunt 
 Helen : 
 
 "No use my telling the story, he would be correcting 
 all the time. Might as well let him hev' the pleasure 
 anyway." 
 
 "Louisa can tell the story, but she's shyer'n her Aunt
 
 THE BONFIRE 89 
 
 Polly's fust husband," spoke Scott in a big voice. Atten- 
 tion followed. The story of Aunt Polly's first husband 
 promised to be interesting. 
 
 Ruford and Lawrence threw on a big log. Crick, 
 crack, crack! The red tongue shot upward, consuming 
 the green leaf bough ravenously; the two young men 
 retired to their places and Scott began : 
 
 "Aunt Polly was dead set on Jerry; she was a Cath- 
 olic an' he was a Protestant; I alwus thought thet was 
 the bone of contention between 'm. Jerry was alwus 
 hanging around Polly, and Polly was the kind thet 
 wanted to git married. She hedn't the looks thet makes 
 fellers stand round an' wait their turn, but she hed some 
 of the woman suffrage quality in her make-up. So it 
 was fixed between 'm to git married. An' Polly come the 
 evening before the send-off to invite me an' Louisa. 
 Wa'al, she talked an' talked, presently dropping a few 
 remarks thet looked uncertain, an' I felt a sort of damp- 
 ness in the air. She went off before dark an' me an' 
 Louisa set an' talked about the coming event, both of us 
 feeling things wa'n't exactly right. Wa'al, anyway, 
 next day, me an' Louisa dressed an' set out for the 
 wedding. 
 
 "The church was right down there in Pittston an' run 
 by a mighty good little German priest, Wa'al, when we 
 got there me an' Louisa was the only envited. Heving/ 
 said 'Howdy !' to Jerry an' Polly, who hed rode up in a \ 
 hired rig, right fancy-looking as a woman might pick ? 
 out, an' was hetching as we come along, we walked enside ' 
 an' took our seats in the front pew. The priest come 
 out ; then up the aisle comes Polly. She stood stalk still 
 before him a minute. 
 
 " 'Vel/ he says, 'vere your man ?'
 
 90 OUR EIGHT TO LOVE 
 
 "Polly looked red in the face an' Louisa nudged me an' 
 begin to fan herself, though the day wa'n't hot. 
 
 " 'I can't marry ye' vomans, unless ye hev a man 
 partner !' said the priest. 
 
 " 'He's outside/ said Polly, 'if you wait a minute/ 
 
 " 'Oh, I can vait/ 
 
 "Polly went down the aisle an' presently came up weth 
 the groom, carrying him yes'm, carrying him up the 
 aisle." 
 
 At this unexpected part of the story, Dorothy 
 screamed, and somebody cried: 
 
 "Sh sh " 
 
 "Yes, daughter," continued Scott, knocking the ashes 
 from his cigar, then taking two or three puffs at the 
 weed, "she carried him up bodily an' set him down care- 
 ful. Wa'al, the good little priest shook his head, but, 'Vel, 
 vel/ was all he said. I would hev busted a suspender if 
 it hedn't bin for Louisa, who seemed about ready to 
 faint." 
 
 Scott paused, allowing his audience pleasurable 
 anticipation. 
 
 "And they were married?" inquired Mr. Dale. 
 
 "Oh, thet was jest the beginning. The priest hed to 
 know their religion an' the man admitted meekly thet 
 he was a Protestant. 
 
 " 'No, you ain't,' snapped Polly. 'I baptized you last 
 night in my own parlor. Did you suppose Jeremiah Hod- 
 kins, thet I would unite myself weth a heathen ?' 'Vel, 
 vel, vel/ said the priest, beginning the ceremony." 
 
 Maithele was nearly choking with the ludicrousness of 
 the situation, but she held her handkerchief to her 
 mouth. 
 
 Scott concluded with another vigorous pull at the 
 weed:
 
 THE BONFIKE 91 
 
 "Jerry never did seem to git his nerve back. He died 
 the following year, an' Timothy, his only living brother, 
 set up to the widow." 
 
 "Now, Mr. Scott," put in Aunt Helen, dubiously. 
 
 "It's a fact, Louisa is the living witness. They was 
 married in the same church by the same priest the only 
 difference being thet the second marriage was witnessed 
 by a lot of city folks. Tim hed leamt from Jerry's ex- 
 perience an' was baptized reguler the day before the cere- 
 mony, an' I'll eat my hat if he wa'n't ahead of the 
 bride, standing at the rail waiting for her to come up." 
 
 "Cousin Polly's ears ought to be burning," said Mrs. 
 Scott, as the young men plied Scott with questions, but 
 Scott could not be made to deviate in the least from the 
 original story, declaring that he had retailed the facts 
 substantially as they were. 
 
 "Well, it's a good one," said Mr. Dale; "your turn, 
 Allan," 
 
 But Allan passed the compliment to Ned. 
 
 "Eeally," said Lawrence, "I haven't the nerve to fall 
 in line with Scott, but I did have an experience the other 
 day." 
 
 Ned's story proceeded : 
 
 "A fellow came to my office; he was rather a dapper 
 chap, and explained that he wanted to have me draw up 
 his will. He had a premonition, he said, of an untimely 
 call. I told him that I had very little experience in such 
 matters, but that my secretary would introduce him to a 
 lawyer on the next floor, who would attend to the matter 
 for him. 
 
 " 'But, Mr. Lawrence,' he expostulated, Tiad I wanted 
 a lawyer I would have gone to one. I am not a stranger 
 in the city.' He fumbled about in his pocket for some- 
 thing that was not there; and I meanwhile studied his
 
 93 OUK BIGHT TO LOVE 
 
 physiognomy and was rather shaken to discover that my 
 visitor was a lunatic " 
 
 "Horrible I" cried Dorothy, off guard. "What did you 
 do, and how could you tell ?" 
 
 "Don't push him over the brink, daughter," exclaimed 
 Scott, nettled at the interruption, "he hed only come to 
 discover " 
 
 "Yes," continued Lawrence, "to discover that he had 
 me in his power, for as I rose from the desk, telling him 
 that I would return in a moment, he took me rudely by 
 the arm. 'Sit down !' he hissed from between his teeth, 
 and before I knew what he was about, a pistol was 
 pointed at my head." 
 
 "Mercy !" cried Mrs. Scott and Aunt Helen in chorus. 
 
 "Well, you may be sure I was quiet enough; the will 
 was drawn up, which was most absurd. He bequeathed 
 all his property to his fiancee, with a proviso; she was 
 to take up her abode in a lunatic asylum." 
 
 Some one asked : 
 
 "But how did you get rid of the fellow?" 
 
 "Just before the last line was scratched, my secretary 
 opened the door directly back of the lunatic. I wrote on 
 a slip of paper : 'Lunatic, quick, help !' I managed to 
 pass the slip to him. He read and acted promptly ; and a 
 few moments later, my fellow wore manacles." 
 
 "Whew!" exclaimed Scott. 
 
 "A nightly story," sighed Dorothy. 
 
 "Why nightly ?" asked Lawrence. 
 
 "She means grewsome," assisted Maithele. 
 
 "Thanks awfully," said Dorothy, smiling archly. "So 
 good of you, Maithele; I didn't like to explain to Mr. 
 Lawrence that I seldom mean what I say." 
 
 And Lawrence, all attention, mentally calculated the 
 leagues to a woman's heart.
 
 THE BONFIRE 93 
 
 "Talking about wills reminds me." 
 
 "Hold on a minute, Silas," said Mr. Dale, "here 
 comes Ben. I am sure he has an appetizer. He will not 
 interrupt if a story is on." 
 
 Ben rested the large silver tray upon a small table in 
 readiness to receive it, and was followed in short order 
 by two maids, dainty in 'my lady's maid' livery, who 
 passed the Roman punch and dainty salad. 
 
 When the collation was served Dale called to Scott : 
 
 "We are ready, Silas, for that story," 
 
 "Oh, it ain't a story, jest a phase of valley life." 
 
 "Let's have it." 
 
 The story was unusually good and at its close Ben 
 came forth with a waiter of beautiful white popcorn, and 
 the fun went round. 
 
 Allan smiled upon Maithele. How sweet it was to 
 feast his eyes upon her lovely face and hear the joy of 
 her low laughter ! Yet, marking the pensiveness of the 
 eyes, he missed the light that had passed. 
 
 Pride was sustaining her. 
 
 He might have crossed over and seated himself be- 
 side her, as Lawrence had vacated the place to help Scott 
 with the big log, but just as his intention was putting 
 into effect, a bit of popcorn hit him on the head, and, 
 turning in the direction whence it came, Dorothy Dale 
 was smiling guiltily. 
 
 Dorothy rightly fancied that Lawrence was longing for 
 the seat beside herself, so Allan was immediately invited. 
 Lawrence was having hard lines. He could not imagine 
 how he had fallen in his lady's estimation, and he might 
 have hated poor Maithele if at the moment he had known 
 that she was the innocuous cause. 
 
 The big log glowed with pictures in red, and Mrs. 
 Scott, drawing the shawl about her shoulders, said some-
 
 94 OUR RIGHT TO LOVE 
 
 thing pretty about the moon, which just then was com- 
 ing up from behind the Ledge, throwing a mystic loveli- 
 ness over hill and vale. 
 
 Ben brought the barrel, and, with the assistance of 
 Scott and Ruford placed it in the center of the fire. 
 
 The three men stood back from the blaze. The barrel 
 was to end the entertainment. 
 
 It was a large, fine barrel stuffed with damp hay. 
 
 Greedily the ravenous flame shot upward; it caught 
 in an instant, but the damp hay tightly packed within 
 did not ignite at once. 
 
 Maithele's face illumined with mental radiance, 
 watching the white and black smoke curl round and 
 round the staves, with intelligent pursuit that suggested 
 weird and fantastic pictures of the fabulous. 
 
 "Look !" she cried, the wonderful voice mellowing the 
 hush that fell upon the spectators. 
 
 "The white and the black clouds are the Jinn. See 
 how they pursue one another ! There ! The Evil One is 
 in the lead, he is going to annihilate the good Jinnee. 
 Oh, Mr. Scott, of what does that great ball of fire remind 
 you?" 
 
 "Pass on to Dick, daughter; it ain't anything but 
 blaze to me." 
 
 Richard Allan said something, but no one heard; all 
 were intently following Maithele. 
 
 It was a wonderful picture the white and black 
 smoke-clouds whirling about the barrel, ready to burst. 
 
 Presently the white cloud, designated as the good Jinn, 
 vanquished the black cloud, and the barrel trembled, as 
 from beneath it a great writhing thing grew furiously 
 voracious. Aunt Helen caught the enthusiasm of her 
 imaginative charge, as the straw ignited, and the mon- 
 ster's tongue shot up many feet.
 
 THE BOXFIRE 95 
 
 "Pandora's Box, she cried, "for which the Jinn were 
 contending, and the good spirit has won, my child; he 
 always does." And while she spoke, a grating sound 
 was distinctly heard, like the turning of a key in a rusty 
 lock. 
 
 "See, the box opens," whispered the Southern girl, as 
 the creaking ceased. 
 
 "Amen !" sighed the man who loved her, "then Hope 
 remains." 
 
 But Dorothy was not to be outdone. Scott was giving 
 the barrel a slight push with a long stick. 
 
 " Pandora's Box ! Bah ! Where are your eyes, people ? 
 It is the Juggernaut car destroyed by an American." 
 
 "Bravo !" Lawrence ventured, trying to find her eyes, 
 but they were fastened upon Scott, who said with 
 complaisance : 
 
 " It's the finest part of the ent'tainment. Jest all keep 
 your eyes on thet barrel." And as they gazed in wonder 
 and fascination, it parted. 
 
 Long irridescent ribbons bolted high, revealing a 
 greenish marvel in frosty shimmering gold, that lived 
 but a few glorious moments, like the dreamer's chateau 
 En Espagne, falling with a soft whirr, a handful of 
 jewels, on the picture log ! 
 
 Everybody clapped. 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Scott made ready to depart, but the 
 bullpup would not be aroused, and the master apologized 
 for his behavior : 
 
 "When you got a kid dog on your hands, you got to 
 humor it or drown it, one." 
 
 Dale laughed, resting his hand on Scott's shoulder, his 
 thoughts quickly diverted from dogs, romance and pic- 
 turesque blazes to business. 
 
 "You think Scott, that attorney in Wilkes-Barre "
 
 9G OUR RIGHT TO LOVE 
 
 "Hes sense Yes, he hes some ; but you better hear one 
 on him," pointing in Allan's direction, before you go 
 ahead." 
 
 And he lifted his voice. 
 
 "Dick!" 
 
 But Allan had just reached Maithele's side, and the 
 world. was lost. Scott smiled approvingly, throwing a 
 half finished cigar into the bushes. 
 
 "Thet's a case of spoons," he remarked, with a wink 
 that Mr. Dale did not comprehend. 
 
 "The worse I ever see," he repeated, "but thet feller, 
 can beat the Wilkes-Barre feller in the fust round. I'll 
 tell you one on him : 
 
 "Last summer a neighbor of mine kilt eight or ten 
 hogs, and a few days later claimed that one is missing 
 and accused one of the neighbors thet helped weth the 
 kelling of stealing it. 
 
 "It was a black'n white hog. The accused man come 
 to me, an' I says, 'Git Dick Allan to defend you.' So he 
 took my advice. The prosecutor got the Wilkes-Barre 
 attorney mentioned. 
 
 " The day for the trial came off, which was put down 
 for 2 o'clock. Dick saw the prosecuting attorney going 
 into a eating-house at about noon, and so Allan happened 
 in the same eating-house about a minute later. 
 
 "They shuck hands an' swore they was friends honest 
 an' true an' thet the case shouldn't be no bar to good 
 feelings. The drinks was set up. Dick went even so far 
 as to pay for same. 
 
 " I can't tell you how Dick done it, but he managed to 
 slip into the attorney's overcoat pocket some hair of a 
 black an' white hog he had procured the day before. 
 Wa'al, sir, they parted friends an' half hour later ap- 
 peared in the court-room as enemies. The feller from
 
 THE BONFIRE 97 
 
 Wilkes-Barre made an eloquent plea, an' rested. An' 
 more'n me in thet court-room considered Dick's goose 
 about cooked. Then Allan got up. Ye mine, he don't 
 hev' time for small talk, but he's alwus fair an' squar 5 to 
 his party when he takes holt. 
 
 " He expressed his regret at the affair, said he believed 
 the hull thing a mistake, thet no hog was stolen, but had 
 been et ; thet he hedn't a doubt thet the able attorney hed 
 et some of the pork himself, an' was almost ready to 
 venture thet he hed some of thet hog hair in his over- 
 coat pocket. Whereupon the Wilkes-Barre attorney got 
 excited an' said it wa'n't so. An' he went further : 'Feel 
 in my pockets if thet's so !' he cried. A witness standing 
 handy jerked the coat off the peg. 
 
 "Wa'al, sir, thet witness brought up the black'n white 
 hog hair in the presence of the court. The meeting broke 
 up, an' thet feller" pointing to Allan "went ahead!" 
 
 No one heard this story but Mr. Dale, which was for- 
 tunate , as the beau-ideal of a young girl seldom figures 
 in substantial affairs of off-color. 
 
 "Git in, git in," said Scott, as Ben brought the rig 
 around. "I guess," addressing Allan, "you wouldn't mine 
 bonfires for eternity, but 'taint polite to stay to morning 
 to watch 'm out." 
 
 The insinuation touched. 
 
 Maithele and Allan had only spoken a few words to- 
 gether. Dorothy came up as Scott was telling the court- 
 room story to Mr. Dale Dorothy, who had grown sud- 
 denly attached to Allan. Allan jumped into the trap and 
 took the lines, Mrs. Scott and Euford and the two dogs 
 on the back seat. Scott waved his hat : 
 
 "I'm sorry for the manners of the bullpup; he'll be 
 for sale to-morrow."
 
 CHAPTEK XL 
 
 THE AFFAIR IX BACHELOR QUARTERS. 
 
 THE two weeks that followed found the island people 
 entertaining. 
 
 The days were warm, delightful; and on the 12th, 
 Aunt Helen's birthday, a 4 o'clock luncheon was served 
 in Hammock Court. 
 
 Dorothy announced to Maithele at breakfast : 
 
 "Ned. Lawrence will be up for the evening and possi- 
 bly you will be interested to know that Eichard Allan 
 will be up also. I have a letter from him this morning 
 oh, yes, he begs to be remembered." And, as an after 
 thought she remarked, lightly : 
 
 "Eichard is such a dear!" 
 
 Maithele experienced a shock, but she made no com- 
 ment. Her nerves, however, suffered through the day, a 
 bit of antique china slipping from her fingers at 
 luncheon. 
 
 "Accidents will happen," said Aunt Helen, smiling, 
 and Ben, picking up the fragments, remarked : 
 
 "It's a sure sign, Miss Maithele, you going to see your 
 beau t'night." 
 
 Dorothy clapped her hands. 
 
 "Hear, hear." 
 
 But Maithele's heart was heavy. She did not under- 
 stand Dorothy's hilarious spirits and readily convinced 
 herself that Dorothy was perhaps developing into a flirt. 
 
 98
 
 AFFAIR IX BACHELOR QUARTERS 99 
 
 The admiration of Xed Lawrence for Dorothy Dale 
 was very apparent. Was Dorothy leading him on for the 
 fun of it? Dorothy was engaged to Richard Allan. 
 Maithele had worked the problem out to her own satis- 
 faction. The thing that troubled her most was Allan 
 himself. She knew that his declaration for herself had 
 not been, under the circumstances, fair, yet she was glad, 
 with that gladness that comes of confident assurance of 
 love reciprocated. 
 
 Once it dawned upon her that his fiancee might be 
 some other girl. How the thought fired her brain ! She 
 dismissed the thought, and again she recalled how em- 
 phatically he had made it apparent that Dorothy and 
 herself were the only girls for whom he evinced favor. 
 
 He had been to Lecbaw-Hanna twice since the bonfire; 
 she had seen him once, only for a few moments, hav- 
 ing an engagement with Ruford. When he called again 
 she was spending the day with Mrs. Scott. 
 
 Maithele fancied, hoped, she had proven herself suffi- 
 ciently strong. She might have despised herself for the 
 smallest exhibition of grief. Haughtiness, she held as a 
 cloak, a mask, which deceives no one but the wearer. Flir- 
 tation would certainly have been an evidence of pique. 
 Her position was difficult. 
 
 After luncheon Mr. Dale, Lawrence and Allan rowed 
 the party in small boats to Falling Springs. The boats 
 returned before dusk and bright faces and much laughter 
 proclaimed Aunt Helen's birthday a success. 
 
 Lawrence and the others had gone up to the house. 
 Allan loitered on the bank, amusing himself with pebbles 
 which he hurled with malicious delight into the river, 
 enjoying the sport. 
 
 Dorothy, who had come down the bank to welcome the 
 boats, abstractedly followed his play before returning up
 
 100 OUR RIGHT TO LOVE 
 
 the path, but he caught sight of her and called out, 
 hurrying to her side : 
 
 "You are always evading me, Dorothy!" And when 
 he reached her side he spoke audibly: "Did you not 
 write that you would be very glad if I came up this 
 evening?" 
 
 Maithele, an unwilling witness, felt no surprise in 
 Dorothy's response ; it was the acknowledgment ! 
 
 "Aren't you clever? Evading, indeed! Have I not 
 watched your eyes chasing Maithele, even while I stood 
 at your elbow " 
 
 Enough! She could not avoid this much, and sud- 
 denly it dawned upon her that Dorothy knew she was 
 near. Just a moment before she had been singing com- 
 ing down the path. She stepped into the shrubbery as 
 Allan came forward, intending to retrace her steps, for 
 indeed, she did not know that he was still on the bank. 
 She hurried away by the narrow path leading to the rear 
 of the house, entered the kitchen door, and flew up the 
 back stairway to her room. 
 
 Had she remained another moment she would have 
 heard that which would have saved her the sorrows that 
 followed. 
 
 Allan did not tell Dorothy of his engagement to Clara 
 Lansing, but he spoke in terms so glowing of Maithele 
 that Dorothy felt guilty for having detained him so con- 
 stantly. Of course it all flashed upon her now that poor 
 Lawrence had never been over-attentive to Maithele, that 
 it was jealousy on her part to imagine that Maithele 
 referred to him. 
 
 Allan watched for Maithele as the shadows deepened ; 
 but a neuralgic headache proved the good excuse, so he 
 determined at once to monopolize Dorothy, who did not 
 discourage him; on the contrary, she smiled upon him
 
 AFFAIR IN BACHELOR QUARTERS 101 
 
 when Lawrence was in sight, and seemed thoroughly con- 
 tent with his companionship. 
 
 Allan was extremely entertaining. He was not the 
 jolly sort like Lawrence, nor had he any of the accom- 
 plishments that made Lawrence the greatly-sought. 
 
 Lawrence had talents fetching with the set, that makes 
 the evanescence of society. He was proficient with banjo 
 and guitar, and possessed besides, a fine tenor voice; he 
 likewise excelled in athletics, and was accredited at his 
 club a champion of golf and a prize winner as well. 
 
 Allan possessed none of these accomplishments. 
 
 He was a practical, forceful man of affairs; poetic 
 within his deeper self and wonderfully endowed with 
 that marvelous puissant quality, personal magnetism. It 
 was this force that created the potent influence, the in- 
 tense expression, that made his personality, so irresistible 
 in court-room syllogism, drawing-room eloquence, or 
 veranda persiflage. And the deep, poetic undercurrent in 
 his speech, gliding often into delightful metaphor, pro- 
 duced a fascination difficult to withstand. 
 
 "Tower of strength," he said to a woman one day, who, 
 hanging upon his verdict, unburdened her soul, deserv- 
 edly meriting scorn. She left his presence, hurrying 
 home through the pelting rain with uplifted heart and a 
 purpose of amendment, braver, better, to the end of her 
 days. 
 
 Few, however, were acquainted with the poetic side of 
 his nature. He had learned in that school of human 
 opinions to guard sentiment as a thing apart. 
 
 Clara Lansing had been drawn to him; he was the 
 magnet, yet, she charged him with a lack of "feeling," 
 which proof divorced her by the natural law. 
 
 Dorothy, a wholesome, intelligent young woman, 
 naturally found entertainment in the society of Richard
 
 102 OUE RIGHT TO LOVE 
 
 Allan. But on this particular evening her charming at- 
 tentiveness meant annoyance to the other individual. 
 
 If her conscience smote her listening to Allan's eulo- 
 gies on Maithele she quieted conscience with the benefi- 
 cent pat that the future happiness of Mr. Ned Lawrence 
 might be inestimably benefited by the lesson, and she 
 excused her own conduct with the apology that owing to 
 the neuralgic headache, the desired companion was not 
 available. 
 
 When Mr. Dale had finished the game with Lawrence 
 and discussed mines and miners to a finish, he retired, 
 and Lawrence, finding himself alone, possessed himself 
 of a guitar which he discovered in the music-room, seat- 
 ing himself at the far end of the veranda. 
 
 Allan at once noticed Dorothy's inattention, when a 
 few moments before she had seemed interested enough 
 in the yarn he was spinning. He got upon his feet, with 
 a frivolous remark intended for the ear of Lawrence, who 
 came forward softly singing the refrain of an old-time 
 ballad. 
 
 "At last," sighed Lawrence, watching the vanishing 
 rival. One or two flourishes and the strumming ceased. 
 Standing the guitar against the veranda post, he dropped 
 restfully into the deep-cushioned seat just vacated. 
 
 "That fellow," with a nod in the direction of the re- 
 treating figure, "hasn't the sense " 
 
 "Pardon," she corrected; "it is sense always that holds 
 me." 
 
 She lifted her fan, seemingly to hide the yawn ; closed 
 it again. 
 
 The hot blood rushed to Ned's brow, and he looked 
 upon her darkly. 
 
 "What have you been doing with yourself all 
 evening?" she smiled.
 
 AFFAIR IN BACHELOR QUARTERS 103 
 
 He did not respond. 
 
 "Awfully late, is it not?" 
 
 "I will not detain you," he said sharply, getting upon 
 his feet. 
 
 "Considerate of you!" 
 
 He followed inside, fury, indignation, possessing him. 
 
 She waited at the foot of the stairs, and he came into 
 the reception hall again. 
 
 "Good night," he said; "I am going over to the 
 Quarters." 
 
 "So soon?" 
 
 He was silent, and she ventured, with a smile he was 
 too angry to see : 
 
 "I suppose you merely came inside to put the guitar 
 in its place. Awfully nice of you." 
 
 Her hand rested upon the balustrade and he put his 
 own upon it a trifle roughly. Gentleness might have 
 won. Had he taken the hand as was his wont, he might 
 have discovered the wonderful way to a woman's heart; 
 but the rude detention declared proprietary rights, which 
 produced instant hauteur. 
 
 "I will not detain you " he began. 
 
 "Which remark you made an hour ago." 
 
 Her head was high. 
 
 " See here, Dorothy, you are treating me " 
 
 He got no further. 
 
 The door opened at the rear of the hall and the flash 
 of a lantern arrested their attention ; shuffling feet came 
 down the hall. 
 
 Ben halted, observing the two. Ben might have re- 
 tired immediately by the same door, but Dorothy's voice 
 made duty clear. 
 
 "Ben, I was about to ring for you." And to Lawrence :
 
 104 OUK RIGHT TO LOVE 
 
 "Good-night ; I trust that you find Ben attentive he is 
 waiting now to escort you across the lawn." 
 
 With old-time ideas of the server's etiquette, Ben 
 swung his lantern back and forth as he passed into the 
 night, and a few seconds later Lawrence brushed him 
 aside as, with long, swinging stride, he gained Bachelor 
 Quarters. 
 
 Lawrence found Allan toasting his feet at a small 
 wood fire. 
 
 The cabin consisted of four rooms two above and two 
 below no hall between, but the room that Allan occu- 
 pied, possibly because of dainty things hung upon the 
 walls and arranged in odd ways claimed the distinction 
 of "the den." 
 
 From this room, the funny little stairway leading to 
 the upper rooms added picturesque charm. Besides the 
 lounge stacked with pillows, and the curtained triangle 
 behind which was the toilet table, the room con- 
 tained a melodeon, and a table littered with magazines 
 and papers. 
 
 Above the desk on a Dutch rack, a few choice volumes. 
 It was a cozy cabin in which the men delighted and the 
 women made delightful when the men were away. Some- 
 how the room had always fallen to Allan, and he lounged 
 in it contentedly, notwithstanding that it was necessar- 
 ily a sort of passageway as the two rooms above could 
 be gained only by passing through it. Lawrence might 
 have reached his room by the rear door, but habit led 
 him to the door of the den. 
 
 "You're in luck," spoke Allan, meaning anything. 
 
 "I think you tried yours before I came," was the 
 sullen response. 
 
 Lawrence was stalking through, evidently bent on 
 gaining his own room.
 
 AFFAIR IN BACHELOR QUARTERS 105 
 
 "Indeed; and your informant?" 
 
 The introductory remark checked his retreat. 
 
 Lawrence was quite distrait with Dorothy's behavior 
 and Allan's question had a disagreeable effect. 
 
 "Not Silas Scott/' was the chance retort that sent a 
 bullet in the opposite direction. 
 
 Big, honest, Silas Scott had patted Allan on the back 
 that very evening, insinuating: 
 
 " If it ain't Maithele it must be Dorothy," and chuck- 
 ling, "you be dividin' attentions." 
 
 As Allan recalled the speech, Lawrence faltered, his 
 hand upon the latch of the adjoining room, something 
 stirring his thoughts. He resolved to probe. 
 
 Was the usurper appropriating the inalienable 
 possession ? 
 
 Pushing a chair over to the table, he fairly threw him- 
 self into it, deluded with the idea that Allan was smitten 
 with Dorothy. And so, the complication which started 
 upon a hay wagon brought about the entanglement and 
 development. 
 
 Cognizant of the near approach of Allan's marriage, 
 he resented the interference; thus, it became incumbent 
 upon himself to bring Mr. Richard Allan to a sense of 
 his obligation, while, through that mist whose common 
 appellation is infatuation, and wherein the smooth road 
 becomes the dark, tangled way, Allan in turn imagined 
 that every man who fixed his eyes upon Maithele became 
 forever after her willing slave. Yet, he was not jealous 
 of Lawrence ; he had no real cause ; he was merely irri- 
 tated, having failed to deliver the explanation due 
 Maithele which brought him to the island. 
 
 Ben, who had entered the cabin almost upon Ned's 
 footsteps, emerged from the rear room. Turning up the
 
 106 OUR RIGHT TO LOVE 
 
 wick of Allan's lamp, he mumbled something about the 
 chilliness of nights in "Penns'vanie." 
 
 "Why don't you go back to the South where the nights 
 are warm?" growled Lawrence, irritated with the world 
 at large. 
 
 The lamp fluttered and Ben's attention was for a mo- 
 ment diverted. 
 
 "I ain't bossed by nobody 'cept Miss Maithele; she's 
 the only female 'cept the Angel Gabriel " 
 
 "Gabriel is not a woman, Ben," cut in Allan gently. 
 
 "Who say so? Ain't I seen the Lord's trump'ter in 
 pictu'es? Ain't I seen her flying through the air with 
 that trumpet and her golden hair flowing and her 
 spangly tawlton skirt a-trailing?" 
 
 Allan smiled ; the other was in a mood ; and the pause 
 that followed was broken by the fall of something heavy 
 upon the floor. 
 
 "Well, how come I can't walk acrost a room without 
 running agin things ?" 
 
 It is not fair to accuse Ben of intentional clumsi- 
 ness; the swords, relics of that great family squabble 
 four decades passed, had been rather well secured. They 
 fell from the wall all the same, and Ben laid them care- 
 fully upon the table. 
 
 "Don't like to fool weth these here things," he said; 
 "seen too many white gentl'men kilt with 'm down in 
 Kentuck. Inordinate hankering for one and the same 
 lady by two or more gentl'men an' these things get a 
 polish." 
 
 "I thought it was the bowie-knife or the pistol down 
 there?" said Lawrence. 
 
 But Ben missed the scurrilous charge, turning hastily 
 to the door, and, before the next word was spoken, the 
 sound of his retreating steps died upon the night.
 
 Handling one of the swords, a critical eye upon the 
 keen edge, Allan spoke: 
 
 " Girls use these toys now-a-days " 
 
 " Because men lack courage," was the frosty comment. 
 
 Testing the steel, Allan ventured, quietly: 
 
 "Men lack courage? Would you like to test mine?" 
 There was no anger in the challenge, only the desire for 
 sport, but Lawrence misinterpreted the light in Allan's 
 eyes and answered laconically : 
 
 "In the South before the war and even to-day, 
 in some parts of Europe, that sort of thing is the defence 
 of honor. In this part of the country it has been, and is, 
 the instrument of crime." 
 
 Allan stared coldly, his eyes taking on a steel-gray ex- 
 pression; a sort of cynicism dropped about the corners 
 of the mouth. The influence of a warmer clime was 
 upon him the girl he loved was not far away. 
 
 "A moment ago you declared that girls use these toys 
 because men lack courage, and now the defence is the 
 charge of crime ; you must have had my lady's mitten for 
 a sweet good-night." 
 
 "Your lady's mitten?" 
 
 The gauntlet fell at Allan's feet, yet, it was an inoffen- 
 sive magazine that chanced too near his hand that sped 
 across the room. 
 
 "Your lady's mitten, indeed," emphasizing. "Ha, ha, 
 I hardly need the sword to test your honor ; you you 
 haven't any." 
 
 One is not prepared for the sudden thunderclap out of 
 a clear sky ; but the crash had hardly died upon Allan's 
 ear before he was upon his feet. 
 
 "Take that back," he said, in the unmistakable tone. 
 
 But instead, Lawrence repeated, force and menace 
 marking each word.
 
 108 OUK RIGHT TO LOVE 
 
 "Honor! I reiterate sir, you haven't any." 
 
 They were facing as they spoke, and Allan's hand was 
 fastened upon the sword. There was no misconstruing, 
 the aspersion was direct. 
 
 "Take that back," he cried in a low, thrilling voice; 
 "take that back, or I might forget and run you 
 through." 
 
 Lawrence laid upon the other weapon, testing its 
 strength. 
 
 Allan had not moved a muscle, but his chest, slightly 
 heaving, gave evidence of tumult within. Tall, erect, 
 cold, he faced his opponent, one hand forcefully behind 
 his back, the other clinching the weapon. 
 
 "Not here, we might go over to the Ledge," said Allan. 
 "We are guests in this house." 
 
 There is no point of attack so keen as that which 
 flaunts admonishment. 
 
 Lawrence walked over to the window. 
 
 "Where is that black idiot?" he blurted forth, looking 
 into the night. "We shall need a lantern." 
 
 "No great hurry. In an hour the moon will be up 
 and " 
 
 "You would request her father as a second/' 
 
 "Her father? If you mean his spirit, I would prefer 
 some one more tangible. Miss Burton's father is dead." 
 
 "Who in the devil is talking about Miss Burton ?" 
 
 "She seems to be the point of honor?" 
 
 Lawrence had thrown himself into a chair, his eyes 
 sullenly bent upon the floor, but now he lifted his head 
 and stared at Allan. And while he stared a swift illumi- 
 nation dispersed the ugly cloud that hung in his vision, 
 not one day, but since the night of the bonfire. The 
 truth dawned upon him so suddenly that he fell all in a
 
 AFFAIR IN BACHELOR QUARTERS 109 
 
 heap, and in the joy of discovery he forgot the point of 
 honor. 
 
 Allan returned the stare with more kindness than 
 Lawrence deserved. 
 
 "Well, it is too rich !" Lawrence laughed, but laughter 
 jarred in the room. Allan's brow clouded. Merriment 
 is not always convincing. 
 
 "You you didn't think I ? No, Allan, I never have 
 given Miss Burton a thought." 
 
 Allan placed the sword upon the table. 
 
 "Shucks" was the sententious comment of Ben, as he 
 dropped heavily from the low veranda, "Yanks ain't 
 wo'th powder an' shot for fencing. They had a cause, 
 but I guess it didn't hold with the arg'ment." 
 
 Ben had viewed the scene in the lighted room through 
 the open window. As he disappeared into the night, Law- 
 rence, who had begun pacing the room, extended his 
 hand to Allan. 
 
 "Forgive me Dick, I was hasty." 
 
 "Rather," said Allan, his voice calm and even, "Love 
 that is pure is always honorable. Your attitude a mo- 
 ment ago was unpardonable. Admit jealousy, and you 
 are forgiven." 
 
 A smile flitted across his face; a soft light came into 
 his e} r es ; he continued : 
 
 "Notwithstanding that I am engaged to Clara Lan- 
 sing," hesitatingly, "I" holding his head with a proud, 
 truthful defiance, "I love, worship Maithele Burton." 
 Lawrence withdrew his hand. 
 
 "And you consider yourself honorable?" 
 
 "Hold the explanation " 
 
 But Lawrence cut in. 
 
 "A man who is about to marry one woman, vowing 
 love for the other ?"
 
 110 OUR RIGHT TO LOVE 
 
 "My engagement with Clara Lansing was a mistake, 
 a mistake which will rectify itself." 
 
 "Was? Why man, your engagement is announced." 
 
 The nails went sharply into Allan's flesh. 
 
 "Bah," laughed Allan nervously, "bah !" 
 
 "You deny it?" 
 
 "Most emphatically." 
 
 Lawrence went into the next room and Allan heard 
 him rummaging and moving about; presently he 
 bolted in. 
 
 "Here it is," flourishing a copy of a society sheet. 
 Turning the pages, his rapid glance went up and down 
 the lines. " I saw it, I am sure yes, here ! Attention, 
 please : 
 
 " 'The engagement between Miss Clara Lansing, niece 
 of John R. Lansing, and Mr. Richard C. Allan, promi- 
 nent lawyer of is announced ; the wedding takes 
 
 place in October.' " 
 
 Lawrence threw the paper upon the table, but the 
 challenge in his eyes fell before the man who had 
 sunken hopelessly into a chair. 
 
 Allan's head was down, his arms stretched upon the 
 table prostrate. 
 
 Lawrence, broad and sympathetic, could not under- 
 stand the sudden collapse but he felt instinctively that 
 romance was ending and tragedy begun. 
 
 "Dick," going up to Allan and putting his hand upon 
 his shoulder. "I'm sorry I take back all I said. I'm 
 awfully sorry if I can help ?" 
 
 Allan's head swayed from side to side with monoton- 
 ous motion. He did not speak at once, and Lawrence 
 waited patiently. 
 
 "I guess it's all up with me. Of course," speaking
 
 AFFAIR IN BACHELOR QUARTERS 111 
 
 with new resolve, "you were right the way you looked 
 at it. It is clear enough now." 
 
 "Yes, yes, I know," interrupted Lawrence; "say no 
 more about it. I'm a cad, dad take it ! Of course you 
 meant to do the right thing." 
 
 Lawrence moved a chair toward the table, and pres- 
 ently Allan spoke. The story opened with the visit to 
 Kentucky. He told of the house in the blue grass coun- 
 try, with its big pillars, wide verandas and gas chande- 
 lier jutting out from the center wall, the garden 
 redolent with many blooms, the old turnpike road 
 leading to the violin master's house; the fashionable 
 boarding-school that had its name in gold letters over 
 the door; and the theater where the pupils' recital was 
 given. He told of his return, John R. Lansing's kind- 
 ness, and how, in the most inexplicable way, he had 
 found himself engaged to Clara Lansing. He told of 
 meeting Maithele again, touching lightly upon the moon- 
 light revelation. And ere the story finished the jewels in 
 God's clock disappeared one by one, and with the final 
 word the great lid of that awful timepiece noiselessly 
 closed. 
 
 It was dawn ! 
 
 "She is the pearl," he said in the good-night to Law- 
 rence; "every man is entitled to the love of one good 
 woman. There must be something tangible, a substance, 
 personality, to which one's lifted homage shall be paid." 
 
 "Amen !" sighed Lawrence. 
 
 Allan walked with Lawrence to the door joining his 
 own room. 
 
 "I don't blame you at all," said Lawrence, "indeed I 
 don't I was jealous furious ! If I had been entangled 
 with another girl when I met Dorothy, I might have 
 done the same, perhaps ; I might, indeed."
 
 113 OUE RIGHT TO LOVE 
 
 The door opened closed. Allan gave his attention to 
 the lamp, he tried to raise the wick ; the oil was spent ; 
 the light flickered died ! And the fire in the grate, only 
 sufficient at best to bring cheeriness to the room, had 
 gone out entirely. He leaned heavily upon the mantel 
 shelf, sighed, and presently turned to his couch. But 
 as his head touched the pillow, something scratched 
 upon the window-pane. The grating sound irritated. He 
 got up, walked over to the window, raised the sash a 
 few inches. 
 
 A long, slim thing, barely discernible in the approach- 
 ing dawn, crawled upon the sill. 
 
 "Come in worm," he said; "the early bird will get 
 you." And when at last he slept, he dreamed that a 
 cricket sang upon the hearth.
 
 CHAPTEE XII. 
 
 IF LOYALTY IS TO BE THE BOND. 
 
 BETWEEN the men who played with swords, and the 
 women who tempered the steel, the dews of morning 
 lingered long beyond the parting hour. 
 
 A rose a good-by, and an incoherent message, and 
 Allan was off. Dorothy was kind; Lawrence lingered, 
 and he held her hands lovely hands, white and dimpled. 
 And, presently, when the confession was over and the 
 absolution dispensed, he seized an advantage, her closed 
 lids refusing to witness the passion his noble countenance 
 betrayed. But he held her in his strong arms until her 
 eyes, opening wide, answered deeply the question of his 
 throbbing heart. 
 
 And when the boat pushed off, she entered the house, 
 her cheeks June roses and the joy that was to last 
 through long, happy years beaming in her sweet face. 
 In such tender mood she was hardly prepared for the 
 turn affairs had taken. 
 
 As she reached the staircase she encountered Maithele 
 a wrathful figure enveloped in a pink lounging robe, 
 who flew at her breathlessly. 
 
 "I heard every word I couldn't run I couldn't get 
 out of hearing. I came down I thought they were 
 gone I was right behind that portiere. I heard every 
 word every word I" 
 
 Filled with delicious happenings, Dorothy did not 
 realize that the scene had shifted. 
 
 113
 
 114 OUB RIGHT TO LOVE 
 
 "I am ashamed of you," the pink tyrant went on. 
 Dorothy stared. 
 
 "You have no conception of a man's feelings you 
 think only of yourself. It is your vanity your pride 
 your ambition to lead, to be admired." 
 
 "What are you talking about," Dorothy inquired at 
 length. 
 
 "I am talking about you you, and the shameful way 
 you have treated Richard Allan." 
 
 "Richard Allan ! You were behind the portiere when 
 he said good-by?" 
 
 "No; I came as he left. I was going to the music- 
 room, thinking the men had gone, when I caught sight of 
 Ned Lawrence poor fellow waiting his turn; and of 
 course, as there was no other escape, I just had to hide." 
 She pointed to the drapery that hung to the left of the 
 staircase. 
 
 Dorothy broke into a merry laugh, which only incensed 
 the irate girl. 
 
 "You are a flirt, a wicked, wicked flirt." 
 
 Malthele grew in height as she delivered herself. 
 
 "You shall not break your engagement with Richard 
 Allan ; I say you shall not !" cried Maithele. 
 
 "Engagement? Oh, oh, if you don't stop your 
 harangue I'll die; oh, oh," laughing and holding her 
 hand to her side, "what a figure you cut in your wrath 
 and pink gown. Richard, dear Richard!" she mocked, 
 "and my beloved Ned hardly out of hearing." 
 
 "You wicked girl. Don't you remember the minister's 
 sermon last Sabbath; don't you remember what he 
 said?" 
 
 "No, I don't. Life is too short for sermons." 
 
 "He said," continued Maithele, "that a flirt is one of 
 the gates of hell."
 
 IF LOYALTY IS TO BE THE BOND 115 
 
 Dorothy's laughter instantly ceased. The girl before 
 her, all at once, seemed very real ; but she could not find 
 the right words to say. She did not have much time for 
 reflection, however ; Maithele broke out again. 
 
 "You shall marry Eichard Allan; you shall, or I'll 
 become your stepmother and beat you." 
 
 Mechanically, Dorothy's hand moved to her brow, 
 pushing back imaginary strands of dark hair. 
 
 There is something startling, ungraspable, in the sud- 
 den appearance in the new aspect of one whom we have 
 always known and seemingly understood. She recalled 
 Allan's parting words, and looked about, wondering 
 what had become of the rose. With her own happiness 
 so sweet and new, a great sympathy went out to the 
 girl, who, at last wearied out, had thrown herself into the 
 big, kid chair, and she recalled Allan's troubled counte- 
 nance as she seated herself on the arm of the chair in 
 which Maithele had dropped. 
 
 Women say bitter things to each other sometimes, 
 without meaning or anger. Maithele's tirade did not 
 impress Dorothy as containing bitterness, and, as she had 
 never seen Maithele so terribly wrought, she bethought 
 her that possibly she might straighten the difficulty by 
 gentle probing. 
 
 "I would not like, little sister, to loom up in your 
 vision, or anybody's vision, as a gate of Hades, and I 
 hardly think I would submit to a beating even from so 
 charming a stepmother." Dorothy spoke slowly. "Dis- 
 abuse your mind on the subject of Kichard Allan. I 
 never for a moment loved him, though I will admit, I 
 tried to make you jealous once or twice." 
 
 "Xever loved him?" 
 
 Maithele's eyes questioned as Dorothy proceeded : 
 
 "I have known always that he loved you; but, little
 
 116 OUK EIGHT TO LOVE 
 
 sister, why did you not confide in me? Have you 
 quarreled ? He was so depressed this morning and, oh, 
 yes, what was it he said? Yes, I remember he said: 
 'That you knew I knew, everybody knew.' And then 
 he gave me a rose for you oh, dear, but he did look 
 miserable !" 
 
 The rose had been trampled ; but Maithele discovered 
 and pounced upon it. 
 
 "You see, Dorothy; I heard you both conversing last 
 evening " 
 
 "Why, of course; I knew you were in the path, silly, 
 and I wanted to tease. He didn't do a thing, but bore 
 me nearly to death talking about you." 
 
 A pained expression shadowed Maithele's face, and 
 her voice fell. 
 
 "I don't know what I am saying; but you see " 
 
 Maithele twisted the lace jabot of the pink gown with 
 little regard; it was nearly reduced to a rag. Dorothy 
 interfered, as Maithele concluded : 
 
 "You see, I didn't know he was engaged to another 
 until he told me." 
 
 "Told you ? And to whom, please ?" 
 
 "There is nothing between us nothing/' Maithele 
 walked over to the staircase, turning to Dorothy with 
 her hand on the balustrade. 
 
 "I don't mind it at all. I was afraid it was you, Doro- 
 thy, and, of course, I would love you always, even if you 
 loved him, but" with the semblance of a smile "the 
 other girl ; I can just hate her !" 
 
 "Yet you don't care at all, at all?" 
 
 Maithele reached the first platform; a window open 
 wide had upon its sill a row of potted plants, white and 
 pink geraniums in bloom. 
 
 "I am not ashamed," said Maithele, plucking a flower,
 
 IF LOYALTY IS TO BE THE BOND 117 
 
 "because there is nothing to be ashamed of. I have 
 never loved any one else. Love " she held the flower 
 out admiringly, her head a trifle to one side "is the 
 divinity of the soul, and when a woman bestows such love 
 which is absolute faithfulness the purity of soul, she 
 bestows all the great God has given her to bestow." 
 
 She looked straight into Dorothy's eyes, and defiance 
 passed; her face illumined with that wonderful beauty 
 that is a definite expression of greatness within. 
 
 "I do not understand the obligation that makes bind- 
 ing and irrevocable a man's or a woman's mistake." 
 
 "-Maithele! And you infer that a man may win a 
 girl's love and yet be in no way bound to marry her!" 
 spoke Dorothy. 
 
 "To save both from cruel thraldom " 
 
 "He goes off," cut in Dorothy, "with the girl he 
 loves?" 
 
 "The other," answered Maithele, "would be happier 
 without him no matter what fate might be hers, it 
 could not be so cruel as to be tied to one who could not 
 love her." 
 
 Her eyes, sad and earnest, held Dorothy, and her voice, 
 always melodious, dropped into a minor key as she went 
 on slowly : 
 
 "Our Eight to Love must exist if loyalty is to be the 
 bond." 
 
 "Yet it does seem cruel to toss a girl over because a 
 man chances " 
 
 "Not chances discovers." 
 
 "Discovers, if you like, the real life partner at the 
 eleventh hour ?" 
 
 "How would you act if put to the test, Dorothy ?" 
 
 "I hope I may be too clever to arrive at the test." 
 
 "Exactly, my dear, because you are the right sort."
 
 118 OUE EIGHT TO LOVE 
 
 Instinctively, Maithele's thoughts reverted to the other 
 girl, whose identity was not clear, sharply bringing her 
 to account. Confident of Allan's genuine love for her- 
 self, she felt that the unknown was not the right sort. 
 
 Again she broke a pink geranium bud, wending her 
 way to her room ; and Dorothy, left to her own diversion, 
 rummaged among the books and papers upon the table. 
 But the paper she sought could not be found. 
 
 Lechaw-Hanna Camp was rather distinguished from 
 camps pitched in the hills. It was home six months of 
 the year for the Dales. Thus considerable thought had 
 been expended upon its embellishment, which lacked 
 display, that bold parade that traduces good taste and 
 ( slurs refinement. 
 
 The windows of the spacious Camp were draped in 
 white muslin; the floors polished and spread with 
 Turkish and Smyrna rugs, and the furniture throughout 
 quite in keeping with luxurious comfort and ease essen- 
 tial to the perfect attainment of enjoyment and rest. 
 Niceness and daintiness touched with artistic fingers the 
 smallest appointment of the room, and the swastika in 
 old blue above the frieze on the mantel bespoke its mean- 
 ing, "Good luck" and "Welcome !" 
 
 Dorothy's search was hopeless, and finally she inquired 
 of the maid who entered : 
 
 "Yes, miss, Ben brought a copy from the Quarters 
 just a while ago, and Jane is reading it this minute to 
 the chef." 
 
 "If Jane would kindly " 
 
 "Oh, certainly, miss." 
 
 Twenty minutes later Dorothy rapped lightly on Aunt 
 Helen's door. 
 
 "Come," was the pleasant rejoinder, and Dorothy 
 fairly threw herself into the room.
 
 IF LOYALTY IS TO BE THE BOND 119 
 
 "Aunty Aunty!" producing the sheet, and with 
 enthusiasm that might have been excused in Maithele, 
 "Aunty, dear, read this !" 
 
 "Why, read it, read it out yourself; what unusual 
 thing has happened?" 
 
 But Dorothy was instituting search for the glasses. 
 
 "They are in my glove-box, there child, there !" 
 
 "I don't see them." 
 
 "You never can find things, Dorothy." 
 
 Dorothy faced Aunt Helen, a playful sortie upon her 
 lips, which did not escape, however. 
 
 "Why are you laughing? I see no " 
 
 "Well, Aunty, it is enough to make Miss Jack Tiger 
 laugh the glasses are " 
 
 ''Well, well," blushed Aunt Helen, lifting her hand 
 to her brow ; "I must be getting old you ought to have 
 seen them at once, Dorothy." 
 
 "I did, Aunty." 
 
 "Well, well " 
 
 And Dorothy placed her finger upon the paragraph. 
 
 Aunt Helen read the announcement with a sigh of 
 relief. 
 
 "Eeally, a very nice young man, and, I hope " 
 
 "How can you say such things? 'Nice young man/ 
 indeed ! Aunty, he is a villain !" 
 
 "My dear -" 
 
 "I mean it I'm sure of it I " 
 
 "My dear, your father is most particular " 
 
 "Aunty, don't say another word." 
 
 And the girl dropped softly at Aunt Helen's feet, her 
 head in the lap of the elder, who, smoothing the dark 
 hair, gently inquired: 
 
 "Has any one been trifling with my girl's affections ?" 
 Without looking up, Dorothy answered :
 
 120 OUR RIGHT TO LOVE 
 
 "I never see anybody when Ned's around." 
 
 "Indeed !" 
 
 Aunt Helen readjusted her glasses, looking over the 
 rims. 
 
 She had been expecting something of the kind, because 
 of the gentleman's attentiveness to herself. 
 
 "My niece has forgotten, perhaps, the duties of a 
 hostess ?" 
 
 "Listen, Aunty." 
 
 "I am all attention " 
 
 "Well," lifting her head from Aunt Helen's lap, "last 
 evening we young people got things all mixed up but, 
 everything is lovely now between Ned and me." 
 
 "So it seems. But what have you and Mr. Lawrence ?" 
 
 "Don't mister Ned, Aunty." 
 
 "My dear, I addressed Mr. Van Ransom " 
 
 "Yes, but Ned is so awfully fond of you." 
 
 "I was the financee of Mr. Van Ransom ; he was fond 
 of me but," she said, anxiously, "please tell me why 
 you are charging Mr. Richard Allen with villainy ?" 
 
 "Poor Maithele! You know, Aunty Richard 
 Allan " 
 
 "Has not presumed?" Aunt Helen lifted her brows. 
 
 "Everybody presumes even Pat; why, he calls us 
 gals " 
 
 "Dorothy, will you kindly get through with the pre- 
 liminary." 
 
 "Now, don't hurry me, Aunty, dear ; I'm sure I don't 
 know a single thing about the affair " 
 
 "What affair?" 
 
 "Why, just what I'm telling you, Aunty ; Maithele is 
 all upset. She never told me until this morning; but, 
 of course, I guessed it long ago." 
 
 "Will you please tell me all you know at once?" Aunt
 
 IF LOYALTY IS TO BE THE BOND 121 
 
 Helen's voice announced the severe note, and Dorothy 
 went into detail at once. 
 
 "Well," said Aunt Helen, when the recital was over, 
 "your father shall know of this." 
 
 "Now, Aunty, don't get things mixed up !" 
 
 "They are 'mixed' already, it seems. Where is 
 Maithele?" 
 
 "In her room, Aunty dear. Eeally, I don't think she 
 knows about this announcement." 
 
 "Leave the paper where she will see it." 
 
 "Terrible ! Think how sudden it might be !" 
 
 "Then I will go to her 
 
 "No, no you are sweet and very gentle, Aunty dear, 
 but girls girls are different ; I will go to her " 
 
 "Well," said Aunt Helen, "and report to me 
 later " 
 
 "Why, Aunty ! I'm no go-between !" 
 
 "Why are you here now?" Aunt Helen was truly 
 vexed. 
 
 "I thought you might suggest something. Just think 
 Aunty, if Mr. Van Eansom had married the other girl, 
 instead of dying, think how sad your life might have 
 been." 
 
 "There was no other girl," said Aunt Helen, with 
 spirit, "and that was years ago, before you were born." 
 
 "Were things so awfully different before I was born ?" 
 
 Miss Dale removed her glasses preparatory to telling 
 the oft-repeated story of her early courtship, but Dorothy 
 fled. 
 
 Aunt Helen sat a long while by the open window after 
 Dorothy departed, a troubled look on her face. The self- 
 binding harvester was coming across the field, and her 
 mind was diverted. She knew nothing whatever about 
 the harvester, but the picturesqueness of it always ap- 
 
 I
 
 122 OUR RIGHT TO LOVE 
 
 pealed to her. At the far end of the island, across the 
 stream, towered a formidable culm hill, twinkling in 
 the sunlight and contrasting in bold commercial en- 
 deavor with the poetic suggestion of life in the hills. 
 Facing the house, and distinctly within Aunt Helen's 
 vision, Campbell's Ledge loomed majestically, the great 
 furrow in its brow disappearing as the midday hour sent 
 a shaft of yellow light upon its dial face. 
 
 Aunt Helen's mind always turned to dark and bloody 
 tragedy when she gazed upon the Ledge ; a superstitious 
 feeling came over her as she gazed. There is a certain 
 weirdness to all wild stretches of forest, hill and valley, 
 once the habitation of that swarthy race banished for- 
 ever. Possibly, the religious belief of the red people 
 that their spirits would return to inhabit the loved land 
 for which they so savagely contended, is the influence. 
 Certainly it was a conviction with Aunt Helen. One 
 evening, while sitting at her bedroom window, musing 
 over early pioneer days, a genuine war-whoop filled the 
 stillness. Aunt Helen's fright was so extreme that she 
 nearly fell senseless before realizing the Indian was only 
 Silas Scott calling his dogs to order. At the present 
 hour, however, her thoughts were gathering more im- 
 portant material. The new affair of her niece was not so 
 important she mentally commented : " Girls fall in and 
 out of love so easily; it was not so in my day" but 
 Maithele's trouble was different, and she set about in her 
 mind devising projects that might cut short the island 
 season. 
 
 Two days later Aunt Helen accosted Dorothy. 
 
 "I wish your father had taken the cottage at White 
 Sulphur." 
 
 "Why, Aunty, how can you? Think of the pleasure 
 this place has been to him."
 
 IF LOYALTY IS TO BE THE BOND 123 
 
 "The strike situation worries me," said Aunt Helen, 
 evasively; "I think we might leave here anyway." 
 
 "The strike, Aunty, was here when we came, and I 
 can't see that it makes any difference at all; and then, 
 think of my ball ! Haven't we planned about it all sum- 
 mer ? And aren't dozens of our friends expecting invita- 
 tions ? Think, Aunty, a ball on the island ! The papers 
 will be full of it : 'Miss Dorothy Dale starts the fad' 
 
 "A fad is like pioneering I think other people should 
 do it. And your father decidedly objects to newspaper 
 notoriet}'." , 
 
 "But, Aunty, a girl must do something to become 
 popular." 
 
 "A girl who honestly loves a good young man worthy 
 of her should not aspire to popularity." 
 
 "But how may a girl be sure of the deep affection of 
 the good young man without testing the affection." 
 
 "Words that have ruined many a life," said Aunt 
 Helen, hanging the glasses upon the tiny hook secured 
 to the bosom of her gown. Eesting her hands in her lap, 
 she regarded the niece keenly. 
 
 "Well," she said, and again, "well ! Is it a new fad 
 to make believe with honest intentions?" 
 
 "But, Aunty!" 
 
 "Not another word. I am surprised, that is all." 
 Presently she inquired : 
 
 "Where is Maithele?" 
 
 "In the music-room. Don't you hear the violin?" 
 
 "And where is Mr. Euf ord ?" 
 
 "Jack? I think, Aunty, Jack is trying to make up 
 for lost time." 
 
 Aunt Helen flushed, looking a trifle impetuous. 
 
 "How silly! I wish you were half as diplomatic as 
 ^faithele."
 
 124 OUR EIGHT TO LOVE 
 
 "I would hate to acquire diplomacy by such sad 
 experience." 
 
 "Has she said anything?" persisted Aunt Helen, dis- 
 regarding Dorothy's defence. Aunt Helen had some of 
 the curiosity that comes with the footnotes that index 
 the face. 
 
 "Why, Aunty," answered the clever niece, "Maithele 
 is a diplomat."
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 "YOU WOULD BE UNHAPPY AS MY WIFE." 
 
 RICHARD ALLAN wrote Clara Lansing regarding the 
 engagement announcement. 
 
 "I thought," the letter stated, "a man should have 
 something to say about his own engagement." 
 
 The answer, coming by return mail, lifted his hope. 
 
 "Officiousness," she wrote in return; "the society re- 
 porter should be suppressed. 
 
 And Allan telegraphed eagerly, grasping the pro- 
 verbial straw: 
 
 "Send for the reporter; have the officiousness cor- 
 rected. Have written." 
 
 He felt the brutality of the message ; but his case was 
 desperate. Was he not bombarded in his own citadel by 
 the unconciliating ? Besides another must suffer if he 
 passed the aggressiveness. His letter was gentlemanly 
 in a measure; tender, touching lightly the point of 
 honor a veiled appeal to generosity. 
 
 The announcement had come like a sudden thunder- 
 clap. In the awful din, he realized the force of the 
 storm, and its determined course. He had been neglect- 
 ing his fiancee, hoping earnestly that she might call him 
 to account But Clara Lansing, suspecting his at- 
 tachment for Maithele, failed to take exception. 
 Realizing fully that he meant to break with her, she had 
 the announcement inserted in the society sheet. Yet 
 
 125
 
 126 OUR RIGHT TO LOVE 
 
 when Allan wrote her, she rested the blame upon the 
 broad shoulders of the much abused. When the envelope 
 , with the huge monogram arrived, ten long days had in- 
 tervened. One line one! The lady would wire him 
 upon her return from the country, the letter stated. He 
 tore the envelope, blue monogram all, into shreds, con- 
 signing the bits to the waste-basket, and abused the office 
 boy. It was the only thing to do. 
 
 On a very gloomy Monday evening toward the end of 
 August the interview took place. With a flutter, Clara 
 Lansing related many things that in no way bore upon 
 the subject he had traveled miles to discuss ; yet he had 
 no desire to push her, entertaining conciliatory thoughts, 
 hoping to lead gently to a full pardon of his grievous 
 fEence. 
 
 The conventions were passed ; everybody was well ; no 
 disasters had occurred. 
 
 He explained at length the life of a business man, the 
 crowding out of social obligations. 
 
 "I should have come at once, really I should not 
 have written." 
 
 She agreed with him. 
 
 "My telegram was not exactly what it should have 
 been," he said at last ; "it was too hasty." 
 
 "Telegrams always are," she said, and with considera- 
 ble dexterity passed the telegram. Then in some way, he 
 managed to bring the conversation around to the first 
 days of their friendship. 
 
 He was gentle, very gentle; it was his way with 
 women, and under the spell her usual calm was re- 
 stored; yet, plainly, Clara Lansing had the situation 
 carefully mapped out; she was prepared for any turn he 
 might give the subject, and she was equally determined 
 that he should have the lead.
 
 Almost from the first moment of her engagement with 
 Richard Allan, she had acknowledged to herself the 
 chagrin of unrequited love. She knew the pressure that 
 had been brought to bear upon the man ; her own undis- 
 guised admiration and her uncle's generosity, and she 
 only hoped for a gradual surrender. Clara Lansing de- 
 termined to win him over, but she lacked the great depth 
 and personal force necessary for successful conquest. 
 The borderland of her vision was inclined to narrow- 
 ness, though well defined; her thoughts trailed out or 
 near its edge with given rule. She understood gaining 
 and getting and the law that makes binding love thus 
 obtained; but she did not, could not understand 
 the other nature, entirely opposite, that spurns the lag- 
 gard's gift, holding love to be a beauteous, free, un- 
 fettered thing, with wings outstretching to infinity. 
 Neither could Clara Lansing accept defeat in the true 
 womanly spirit that stands reservedly behind the silver 
 shield of pride in the besetting hour. Some of Uncle 
 John Lansing's coldness told in her face ; in the corners 
 about the mouth the lines were hard, and possibly a 
 mere trifle of his peculiar generosity lurked in her breast. 
 She was a woman who might acquire prominence and 
 position, as Lansing acquired gold; but Love, the wary 
 somnambulist, is not awakened or held by such methods. 
 
 Very nicely Allan turned the conversation from plati- 
 tudes, drifting back to the first days of their friendship, 
 hoping by so doing to keep himself, his f errorless actions, 
 in a broad light. 
 
 She felt the atmosphere, the heaviness of it; yet she 
 would not yield to its influence 
 
 "Those were pleasant days, Clara, and the pity is 
 that change should inevitably mark our hearts as it does 
 the seasons."
 
 128 OUR RIGHT TO LOVE 
 
 "Indeed ! I should be sorry to admit fickleness." 
 
 "Oh, I do not accuse myself." 
 
 "I hope you do not. I should despise myself if I 
 could not be loyal." 
 
 "Sure." 
 
 He had fallen precipitously; she helped him to his 
 feet; but rather madly he plunged again, this time 
 encountering the stone wall. In his eagerness he had 
 brushed important events lightly aside. She grew 
 flushed while she listened, yet displayed not the slightest 
 impatience to the end, which came at last, falling so flat 
 that ordinary limitations were lost. When she spoke her 
 self-possessed manner corrected a statement. 
 
 "It was after the hunt in the woods that my uncle 
 rendered you a great service or was it before?" 
 
 "Before." 
 
 "You have had difficulties since?" 
 
 "I have never called upon Mr. Lansing and I met 
 my obligations." 
 
 "I do not speak for my uncle we will pass gratitude. 
 I hate the word. I merely wish to recall the incident, 
 which leads to something rather more important. It 
 was after the hunt, then, that you proposed and I 
 accepted you?" 
 
 "If you wish to be very exact," he said; "we were 
 occupying a section of the accommodation train. The 
 two weeks had been very pleasant and " 
 
 "You asked me to be your wife " 
 
 He glanced at her earnestly, with a puzzled expression. 
 
 "A man don't forget a thing like that !" 
 
 "Yet four years is quite a while." 
 
 "Four years," repeated Allan and within himself he 
 thought "one month to a day before Maithele came 
 east to make her home with the Dales."
 
 "YOU WOULD BE UNHAPPY AS MY WIFE" 129 
 
 "Did I ever return to the subject ?" 
 
 "You certainly did. The following Sunday, uncle 
 congratulated us both." 
 
 "I remember/' 
 
 "And the night we went to the Twelfth Night dance 
 it was I who found the ring in the cake. Friends con- 
 gratulated, and, possibly you have forgotten 'Wear it/ 
 you said, and you slipped the ring upon my finger before 
 the whole assembly." 
 
 "I had forgotten that! Yes, I remember, now that 
 you recall the trivial incident." 
 
 "I did not consider it trivial, and I think many of 
 those present might not have forgotten." 
 
 Allan nearly smiled, notwithstanding his troubled 
 mood ; he was thinking of the locket ; the many faces he 
 had placed within the casing wondering if one of the 
 simple courtesies extended might produce a claim. But, 
 quickly, he dismissed the thought. Allan was far from 
 being an egotist. 
 
 "Three occasions, Clara?" 
 
 She sulked, but only for an instant. 
 
 "Nevertheless, I have considered myself engaged 
 my uncle, my friends, accepted you as my affianced. We 
 have corresponded ; you have taken me about when here ; 
 you have been very generous I mean, thoughtful " 
 
 Clara Lansing held herself erect, and came to the end 
 of her lines without a tremor. 
 
 "So you have thought best, Clara, to bring this affair 
 to an end?" 
 
 She held her breath ; there was no longer a doubt that 
 Allan meant to boldly precipitate a crisis. An awkward 
 silence followed his remark. 
 
 "I never considered you an ardent lover," she ven- 
 tured, to fill the gap, "but I am not demonstrative
 
 130 OUR RIGHT TO LOVE 
 
 myself, naturally." She opened and closed the dainty 
 fan in her hands nervously. "I have never doubted your 
 affection. You are a gentleman, and, I have every reason 
 to believe, a man of honor." 
 
 The fire in his heart, barely smouldering at this point, 
 suddenly went out; she had thwarted his purpose. He 
 had been standing, inclining against the piano; a few 
 songs were upon the rack, he turned the selections idly. 
 One chanced to be the one Maithele had sung to him the 
 night of the anniversary. Memories rushed upon him in 
 the trying moment; the floor beneath his feet seemed 
 uncertain. He sighed, seating himself beside Clara 
 Lansing in the tete-a-tete chair ; sighed again. Her fan 
 slipped to the floor by accident or design. He picked it 
 up, and, before returning it, mechanically examined the 
 pearl sticks. 
 
 Evidently the fan had received no injury. How enor- 
 mous becomes the trivial thing, when the evidence 
 hangs by a thread. The fan was his first gift to her ; it 
 had come in a nice disguise, almost hidden in a bouquet 
 of red carnations. 
 
 "Haven't I kept it nicely ?" she asked. 
 
 "Yes, where did you get it ?" he inquired. 
 
 The sword of Damocles fell ! 
 
 Silence in the critical moment is more weighty than 
 words. Clara Lansing was clever ! And Allan suddenly 
 bethought him to renew the attack by taking the cir- 
 cuitous route. His voice softly modulated as he dropped 
 into the chair beside her. 
 
 "I would not spoil your life, Clara, for all the world." 
 
 She brightened, and he went on slowly, his eyes fas- 
 tening upon the bright rug at their feet ; but the cynical 
 expression about his mouth was rather too perceptible; 
 she felt less confident.
 
 "YOU WOULD BE UXHAPPY AS MY WIFE" 131 
 
 "If we marry, you shall have no cause to complain. 
 I will do my best to make you happy. I I am glad you 
 do not look for demonstrations. I would not care to dis- 
 appoint you." 
 
 A long pause followed, which to Clara Lansing seemed 
 an eternity. At last he looked up looked full upon the 
 woman at his side, passionless, his eyes holding every 
 detail of her perfect form. Her features were homely ; 
 she lacked utterly lacked beauty, that great essential, 
 yet her figure was striking. 
 
 Clara Lansing's constancy and loyalty flattered, even 
 while her conduct repulsed and angered him; and he 
 reasoned with himself now, as he had reasoned many 
 times, that if Maithele had not crossed his path again, 
 or, if finding her, she had been the wife of another, 
 Clara Lansing might have become his wife. He had 
 never loved her. The thing that stirred his heart, and 
 brought about the proposal, was gratitude, over-exag- 
 gerated, and something besides perhaps; that ingra- 
 tiating influence often laid at the door of cir- 
 cumstances. At the present hour, when intuitively 
 he felt that the cause of Maithele was growing 
 less, love became the lambent flame the one inestimable, 
 precious thing, worth the struggle. It is impossible to 
 appreciate thoroughly reciprocal happiness, until some- 
 thing has come between, and all in a rush he realized 
 the hardship of coming years, should he be compelled to 
 live with duty and a memory. 
 
 Lifting his whole strength for the supreme effort, his 
 mind naturally made a concise, quick and careful re- 
 sume of the situation. Meeting Maithele at Dale's city 
 home, the year following her father's demise, he had 
 realized to the depth of sensibility that she alone pos- 
 sessed his heart, but the fatal words had been spoken;
 
 132 OUR EIGHT TO LOVE 
 
 Clara Lansing had the prior claim. Maithele's manner, 
 too, chilled him ; though gracious and kind, she had not 
 evinced eagerness or partiality toward him. He miscon- 
 strued her coldness, due perhaps to sorrows that coming 
 all too quickly had bereft her of family and home, and 
 he did not, perhaps, appreciate at once the reserve due to 
 her bringing up. His visits to the D'ale mansion were 
 frequent; in fact, every run to the city meant a visit, 
 and on several occasions Clara Lansing was neglected. 
 
 Like the unfolding of a bud, reserve had fallen, and 
 the rose gazed wide-eyed into his soul. 
 
 He had come prepared to lay his heart bare, to humble 
 himself, if need be, to Clara Lansing. It was hard on 
 her, but just. He would tell the story straight, not 
 sparing himself, and the inevitable might take its course. 
 
 "You are a good girl, Clara," he resumed, "deserving 
 of a better fate than seems to be falling your way. I do 
 not want to spoil your life ; the marriage takes place, if, 
 after hearing my story, you are of the same mind." 
 
 "I prefer not; I don't care to hear it. I I trust 
 you, Richard." 
 
 "But you must. Another is concerned." 
 
 She winced visibly, and his purpose hung. 
 
 "Another time," she said, "when we are " 
 
 He objected, adding quickly : 
 
 "We will never be in better condition to bear with 
 each other." 
 
 Clara Lansing was a woman of indomitable spirit and 
 determination, characteristics which, when nicely blended 
 with consideration and unselfishness, elicit admiration; 
 but, too often, indeed, accompanied by heartlessness and 
 self-aggrandizement the distinguishing qualities have 
 narrowed the career of many a good man. Perhaps for 
 the first time in her life, her purpose failed. Ignoring
 
 her motive, he began the story. It was brief very 
 as such stories should be. 
 
 "I met her first when I went south." 
 
 "Yes, I understand; Southern women are great 
 schemers." 
 
 Silence fell between them. He passed the calumny 
 with a sarcastic droop of the lower lip. 
 
 He proceeded with the simple facts, accusing no one, 
 not even himself; barely stating the case, and carefully 
 omitting the moonlight revelation and the anniversary 
 dinner. It was only clear that he loved the other girl. 
 He paused, possibly waiting the verdict, but it did not 
 follow. 
 
 Her nerves were shaken; yet she gave no sign. Be- 
 sides, she felt that concession might mean defeat. 
 
 He had expected an outbreak; her silence disturbed 
 him. 
 
 "Well?" he asked, finally. 
 
 Her voice seemed inaudible a trifle relenting. 
 
 "You should have spoken sooner; I could not bear 
 the ridicule of being jilted." 
 
 "Jilted?" 
 
 The word had a strange sound, far-off and bizarre. 
 
 "No, Clara, not by me. You surely can find an 
 excuse." 
 
 He lifted the hand that rested heavily on her lap, and 
 placed it between his own. 
 
 "Think about it ; don't hurry ; you would be unhappy 
 as my wife." 
 
 "I am decided," she said, jerking the hand from his 
 clasp ; "the marriage takes place." 
 
 He rose at once, tall and terrible in his own defense. 
 
 "Think what you are about, girl. Marriage, without 
 love!"
 
 134 OUE EIGHT TO LOVE 
 
 She bit her lip until it pained. 
 
 "I almost hate you I do hate her/' she cried, petu- 
 lantly. She was standing, one hand tightly clasping the 
 fan, the other hard upon her chest with fingers clenched. 
 Her eyes, brilliant with anger, flashed upon Allan with a 
 look of deep enmity and passion. 
 
 "She shall not win she shall not win I" Clara Lansing 
 hissed almost under her breath. He did not catch the 
 words at once they seemed far-off, distrait; his senses 
 were stunned, but he recovered presently, and, moved by 
 a revolting spirit, spoke with quiet sarcasm : 
 
 "There would have been no question of prize with 
 her." 
 
 He reached the door. 
 
 "Good-night, Miss Lansing." 
 
 She did not reply, and his hand touched the knob. 
 
 "Make all the arrangements to suit yourself." He 
 lingered a moment, hoping she would speak. She did 
 not. He opened the door, glancing earnestly toward her, 
 then closed it, entered the reception hall, and, receiving 
 his hat and cane, passed out into the night. 
 
 At the corner of Sixty-second Street he paused to 
 strike a match; drew at the cigar; examined it; drew 
 again, sending a long thin cloud into the warm night. 
 
 "Bah !" He threw the weed into the street, looking 
 up and down that wonderful thoroughfare, whose life 
 never dies. He saw a hansom approaching, hailed it, got 
 into it. "Bah!" 
 
 The weed, perhaps, had left a bad flavor in his mouth.
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 THE GOOD INTENTIONS OF THE SCOT"TS. 
 
 "Si !" 
 
 Mrs. Scott's chair was very near her husband's, and 
 without effort she put her hand upon his shoulder. 
 
 "Is there anything queer going on up at Dales' ?" 
 
 "Wa'al there might be, if Dale don't get the franchise 
 through for thet 'lectric road. Allan's sort of rattled; 
 can't get the up or down of him." 
 
 "Does he say anything?" 
 
 "Says everything but what he art to say; talks in- 
 cessant but aint clear with his ideas he's plumb off." 
 
 "Do you think Maithele has anything to do with it ?" 
 
 "Can't tell." 
 
 "Hope they ain't no other woman." 
 
 "What kind of Mohawk do you think Dick is?" 
 
 "Do you mean a Mohawk can bear a. temptation 
 stand it off, or thet he's a born faithful ?" 
 
 "Whew! Louisa, the questions! I guess," switching 
 from a dangerous subject, "he's just busy with that 
 'lectric road that's to run from the island to Wilkes- 
 Barre in sixty minutes." 
 
 "I should think Mr. Dale's mines was enough for 
 him ?" 
 
 "Wa'al, I dunno ; he gits sort of lonesome waiting for 
 the strike to git ar-bi-trated. He took to that scheme 
 same as the poet takes to the green wood, for recreation. 
 It would cost him about as much to git thet railroad 
 
 135
 
 136 OUR EIGHT TO LOVE 
 
 a-running as it would for the poet to git his book of 
 poems published, not counting circulating." 
 
 "I'm mighty glad that you took to dogs enstead of 
 po-try, Si." 
 
 Scott laughed. 
 
 "The only difference," he said with a wink, "is thet if 
 I was hard up, the dogs would sell, but the po-try 
 wouldn't." 
 
 Mrs. Scott beamed upon her husband. 
 
 "You know a heap ; did you grad-u-ate, Si ?" 
 
 "Oh, I dunno ; we didn't grad-u-ate in them days ; we 
 quit. If we thought we knowed as much as the teacher, 
 we quit. In these days the kid keeps on hoping the 
 teacher '11 learn from him. I didn't hev' easy schooling ; 
 dad larrupted me if I didn't go to school, an' the teacher 
 larrupted me when I got there. I had generally don' 
 something the day a-fore thet I couldn't recollect as well 
 as him, an' the switch was alwus handy. So, as I wan't 
 trying to cultivate his bad desposition, I played hookey 
 most of the time. I guess I larnt what little the feller 
 knowed, which wasn't enough to hurt." 
 
 Mr. Scott was fanning vigorously with his hat. 
 
 "It's the things thet ain't in books thet you got to 
 learn to get on in the world," he said, and continued : 
 
 "Weth the map of Itily resting on the hilltops an' 
 the guns of the Nation pintedly set to the valley it's 
 most any time thet suthen might happen. " 
 
 "I wouldn't set up nights thenking on it, Si." 
 
 "I don't ; the dogs is enough for me !" 
 
 And at this point a dissertation on dogs followed. 
 
 Mrs. Scott's attentiveness when the dog subject was 
 on, amounted to genius. Scott loved this particular 
 genius; an audience was his weakness. Dismissing the 
 subject, he turned to Louisa with gentle consideration.
 
 TIM SHINN.
 
 GOOD INTENTIONS OF THE SCOTTS13? 
 
 "You got suthen on your mind, Louisa ?" 
 
 "Mebbe I hev', Si." 
 
 She twisted the strings of her apron, and remarked 
 tentatively : 
 
 "Maithele was here yestidy." 
 
 "Why didn't you keep her to supper?" 
 
 "Dorothy an' her aunt come later, an' they all went 
 home together before supper-time." 
 
 "Mebbe they would 'a' staid if ye'd ast 'em." 
 
 "Likely they would but I didn't." 
 
 Hospitality was the very spirit of Mrs. Scott. Eecog- 
 nizing the infraction, he prepared for trouble. 
 
 Mrs. Scott leaned back in her chair, a dreaminess, he 
 did not miss, coming into her eyes. 
 
 "Maithele ain't one to show her feelings ; I thought at 
 first she was sick. I didn't ast no questions, but give 
 her some catnip tea. You know, Si, how she alwus 
 laughs when I give it to her. She didn't laugh yestidy 
 didn't even ast if there was sugar in it, an' fact is I 
 hed fergot the sugar. She gulped the catnip down an* 
 said, 'Thank ye.' " 
 
 "Hump!" grunted Scott. "Wa'al, Louisa, catnip 's 
 only fit'en' for babies ; cut it out cut it out." He gave 
 Mrs. Scott a playful push, and added a moment later, 
 in sober earnestness. 
 
 "I wish thet girl could be adopted, it would be pleas- 
 ant to hev' her around." 
 
 Mrs. Scott's gaze fell pensively upon the dogs gam- 
 boling on the soft green sward. Her eyes traveled far 
 down the road, then back again to the farmyard, resting 
 finally upon the man at her side. 
 
 "She's jest about," she said softly, "jest about what a 
 girl of ours would a bin like if we'd hed one." She 
 went on: "If she hed been ours from the start, we
 
 138 OUR EIGHT TO LOVE 
 
 might a-bin different. We'd hev' hed to live up to her 
 an* gone to live in the city." 
 
 "Wa'al, Louisa, mebbe you be right, an' thet's about 
 the only' pacifying part of the setuation. I wouldn't 
 never hev' bin content in the city, after spending the 
 best part of my life in the kentry; and trotting around 
 to shows weth girls ain't half so ent'taining as it seems. 
 I guess I would rether adopt her now as she is growed 
 up weth idees that hev* got re-qui-site understanding of 
 other people's ways/' 
 
 He put his hand upon Mrs. Scott's shoulder. 
 
 "So long as I hev' you, Louisa, I ain't complaining." 
 
 The following day Scott and Dale met on Susque- 
 hanna Avenue. As chance would have it, both men were 
 going in the same direction. They cut through the side 
 street, and made for the objective point. 
 
 They walked on discussing as usual the strike situ- 
 ation, which had become very grave. 
 
 "My sister is trying to coax me from the island. She 
 has taken sudden alarm." 
 
 "You hain't had nothing stole?" 
 
 "Yes ?" answered Dale, "one hundred hills of potatoes 
 dug up last night. I shall keep a guard after this." 
 
 "Wa'al, folks hev' to eat," said Scott, with a sidelong 
 glance. A man was sitting on a barrel at the side of a 
 narrow street. 
 
 "I was thinking of my family " 
 
 Scott touched Dale's coat sleeve significantly, as he 
 addressed the man : 
 
 "Hello, T'omas." 
 
 The fellow had sharp brown eyes that peeped from 
 between narrow slits. 
 
 Dale was passing on; Scott stopped short, addressing 
 the fellow.
 
 GOOD INTENTIONS OF THE SCOTTS 139 
 
 "I got a real curiosity up home,, I was telling Dale 
 here," jerking his thumb in Dale's direction; "two weeks 
 old an' he's got a white tail an' a black head an' a tan 
 body ; never seen his equal before. Want him ?" 
 
 The fellow grunted. 
 
 "Tell the boys I'll bring him down to the grocery 
 store to-morrow ; you can throw for him." 
 
 The fellow shuffled off, and Scott turned to Dale. 
 
 "Thenk twict before you speak onct in these diggings. 
 I guess I hev' to give thet pup away you'll know to- 
 morrow if our folks is safe on the island." 
 
 Dale's friendship for Scott had not grown out of 
 trifles as related. Dale admired Scott for certain quali- 
 ties, qualities too often lacking in men of the world with 
 whom he came in contact. 
 
 Dale was the cultivated gentleman, Scott the unculti- 
 vated, and finesse was not distinguishable between the 
 two. 
 
 "The island's safe from the gnats," Scott whispered in 
 Dale's ear the following day, "but eight guards ain't 
 bad as a eye-op'ner. They don't mean no harm got a 
 sweet-tooth to fill thet ain't provided for by the union." 
 
 Scott's popularity with the union men could hardly 
 be accounted for. 
 
 He did not countenance unions, and spoke his views 
 openly. Almost in the same breath, however, he would 
 remark, "Some few intelligent citizens must hold the 
 money-bags, but, Mighty Powers, they ain't no one, nor 
 company of One, entitled to the hull earth." 
 
 And when Scott arrived home the same evening he 
 was met by Mrs. Scott, who said rather briskly : 
 
 "We air envited for next Thursday, Si ?" 
 
 "Where?" 
 
 "Why, where should you 'spose? To the Dales'."
 
 140 OUR RIGHT TO LOVE 
 
 "What's the trick?" 
 
 "They hev' company Philidelphy people. It's up to 
 you, Si, though I ain't much on hossbacking around 
 the kentry showing Queen Esther's Rock an' Forty Fort 
 Church an' the like to strangers/' 
 
 She led him to the kitchen. Going at once to the oven, 
 she opened the door and peeped in. 
 
 "How they gettin' on ?" he inquired. 
 
 "Fine," she continued, closing the oven door and put- 
 ting things to order on the table. It was day-off for 
 Prudence and the two were enjoying the kitchen. 
 
 "Thet Jack Ruford's going to pilot them 'round." 
 
 Scott was all attention. Any man of Northeastern 
 Pennsylvania who elected himself postgraduate in the 
 matter of piloting people about, explaining historic 
 points of interest, he considered a rival. Instantly his 
 mind evolved a plot to worst the wily Ruford. Mrs. 
 Scott spoke again, opening the way with singular clear- 
 ness. The idea had matured slowly in her brain. She 
 might not have given vent to it then and there, but Si's 
 ear, big and inviting, made temptation sweet. She 
 leaned over and whispered though there was no need 
 they were alone. 
 
 Then she returned to the oven, slipping one pie and 
 then another on china plates and putting them in the 
 upper part of the oven. "I hed the idee in my head for 
 quite a spell that it would be fine to get Dick up here 
 unbeknownst to him or her of our ententions." 
 
 "The very thing; I'll try it, Louisa, I'll try it. Wa'al, 
 wa'al, the head you hey* got; if you'd bin a man, you'd 
 bin a millionaire." 
 
 They laughed as children laugh whose cares are few, 
 and playtime happy.

 
 By Courtesy of Leslie's Weekly , Copyright , 1904, by Judge Company. 
 
 "BAGGED CHILDREN SWEET AND HEALTHY.'
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 THE PLEASURE JAUNT TO FORTY-FORT CHURCH. 
 
 THE morning was glorious and the party swung into 
 the road that led with subtle dreamery through waving 
 corn, cabbage and potato patches, fields of buckwheat in 
 bloom, flaking the ground with white, like snow wings 
 that will soon be coming. And Boreas, breathing through 
 the trees, keenly suggested his waking mood that all too 
 soon hurries the delicate foliage into shreds. On one 
 side of the road where orchard and pasture suggest rural 
 existence, they beheld a group of ragged children sweet 
 and healthy, playing beside an old-fashioned well. They 
 looked like wild roses that hedge the gardens. Some they 
 saw laden with sack and basket climbing the dark culm 
 hills that dot the valley, stealthily groping their way up 
 the dark steep piles and returning again generously 
 sooted, and heavily laden with anthracite chips. 
 
 At the bridge Mrs. Scott drew rein, addressing Aunt 
 Helen : 
 
 " Si's expecting a friend over. Si sold his land up near 
 the Perkins' house, leastwise it's liable to be sold before 
 Bight* 
 
 The fib went unrecorded. 
 
 But Aunt Helen's solicitude as chaperon became 
 apparent, and Mrs. Scott was merciful. 
 
 "We won't wait for him, if it worries you. I guess 
 he'll ketch up." 
 
 141
 
 140 OUR RIGHT TO LOVE 
 
 And with a flop of the reins, the ladies proceeded on 
 their way, Aunt Helen hardly interesting herself in the 
 scenery, not being able to overcome her aversion for 
 everything Indian. To Aunt Helen the spirits of the 
 redmen seemed ever floating about the valley ; no amount 
 of coaxing could have induced her to walk upon an Indian 
 mound, handle a tomahawk, or even touch an arrow- 
 head. She had read one chapter on the Wyoming massa- 
 cre in schooldays; it was enough. But here she was 
 rushing to the scene of the tragedy. Dorothy inherited 
 some of Aunt Helen's aversion for the early scalp-lifter, 
 but guests had to be entertained. Maithele would en- 
 thuse over every incident touching romantic lore, and, 
 so infectious at times is enthusiasm that Dorothy waxed 
 eloquent later in the day as the owner of the Perkins 
 house presented her with an arrow-head that had been 
 found on the spot where a member of his family had 
 come to an untimely end during that bloody battle that 
 desolated Forty Fort ; but Dorothy was in a happy state. 
 Lawrence rode beside her. Love's miracle had begun. 
 
 Passing the Catholic church, the party continued down 
 the street and soon entered the picturesque village of the 
 miners. At the duck-pond, Dorothy tried a snapshot, but 
 the dark visaged loungers on the green sward, and even 
 the women and children idling, disconcerted ; the picture 
 failed. The equestrians went through the rugged section 
 with easy canter, admiring the charm of the valley's 
 chimerical irregularity and the panoramic magnificence 
 of terraced wilderness. Now and then the serpentine 
 Susquehanna shone between sedgy rushes, tall and undu- 
 lating, like emerald reef bands, and shoots of dark wil- 
 lows recalling with drooping intelligence the awful car- 
 nage of the valley's past. Then hills of rhododendrons 
 touched with sunshine invited thoughts to happier ways.
 
 JAUNT TO FORTY-FORT CHURCH 143 
 
 the wonderful riotous bitter-sweet, daring top-windows 
 of dark, apprehensive coal-breakers ; the low wood fences 
 tumbled and strung with wild climatis, elderberry and 
 morning glories. 
 
 "Is it not strange," said Maithele, pinning upon her 
 waist a dainty aigrette Jack Ruford, alighting, had 
 plucked from the wayside, "that delightful environment 
 should not produce contentment?" 
 
 "I am content." 
 
 $ "Don't jolly; I mean the mine people." 
 "They can't eat scenery." 
 "And do we ? But it does invigorate the brain." 
 "Aren't you coming to anything?" called one of the 
 Philadelphia girls, endeavoring to keep pace with the 
 Kentucky thoroughbred. 
 
 ""We have arrived at scenery," said Ruford, galloping 
 to her side. 
 
 "Don't be absurd, Mr. Ruford " 
 
 " I won't, thank you ; but really, here we are at Queen 
 Esther's Rock." 
 
 "\Ve have arrived," called Maithele, as the party of 
 equestrians drew rein. 
 
 She lifted her cap, saluting. It was a jaunty cap, 
 white duck with black patent-leather tip. 
 
 "Ladies and gentlemen, allow me to present the distin- 
 guished professor of kinology, just arrived from Bar- 
 ]i3o." Ruford showed his teeth, which were unusually 
 fine, and she went on : 
 
 "The gentleman is a natural product of anthracite 
 soil, a graduate of the greatest college in the world 
 'Football Team.' He has traveled to New Zealand and 
 Patagonia, and in rapid nights of imagination has pene- 
 trated the unexplored wilds of Africa. Thus kindly 
 follow me he is eminently qualified to lecture on a sub-
 
 144 OUE EIGHT TO LOVE 
 
 ject that until Thursday last, he had not considered part 
 of his repertoire." 
 
 This bit of bombast met with favor, and a voice cried 
 out: 
 
 "Hear! Hear!" 
 
 She concluded : 
 
 "He will now proceed to give the history of the most 
 stupendous and unparalleled crime ever perpetrated by a 
 woman the most cruel, audacious murderess the world 
 has ever known." 
 
 The introduction over, Euford bowed low, and was 
 about to begin his lines as Lady Dee whinnied; which 
 unusual diversion was all-sufficient. The younger Miss 
 Eice giggled ; she always giggled. 
 
 "Sh sh " came from Dorothy, "he is about to 
 speak." 
 
 Euford was slightly embarrassed, but his hour had 
 come. He began modestly : 
 
 "This celebrated rock." An account of the Wyoming 
 massacre followed that lasted ten minutes. 
 
 "Horrible!" said Miss Dale, who arrived on the spot 
 as the address was nearing completion, but her exclama- 
 tion was lost. 
 
 "There is more, there is more," insisted Dorothy. 
 Maithele waved her hand. 
 
 "Proceed, they haven't had their money's worth." 
 
 He gave the history of Queen Esther, half white, 
 wholly savage, whose horrible atrocities could never be 
 enumerated. He then delivered the history of Forty 
 Fort constructed by forty pioneers who came into the 
 valley in 1769, who were betrayed by brutes of their own 
 race, and met her bloody tomahawk. 
 
 "In 1752, the cabin of no white man had broken the 
 stillness of the Wyoming Valley," concluded Euford.
 
 JAUXT TO FORTY-FORT CHURCH 145 
 
 "One hundred years ago, a certain distinguished judge 
 tried to prove to an audience less enthusiastic than the 
 one you are addressing, professor, that coal would burn," 
 put in Lawrence. 
 
 "Only six months ago," Maithele added, "the strikers 
 decided that it would burn, but they wouldn't let it." 
 
 The party moved on with laughter, gayety and persi- 
 flage. The road was smooth and wide; often the horses 
 galloped or paced, five abreast. 
 
 Farms snuggling at the base of lofty peaks or dainty 
 abodes standing brazenly by the roadside elicited the 
 notice and often enthusiasm of the mounted party. 
 
 Finally, houses grouped near each other, laughter and 
 the voices of children made life more distinct, and the 
 road unexpectedly came to a turn at the foot of a hill. 
 A vista opened bringing strikingly into view the old his- 
 toric site of Forty Fort. 
 
 The party having dismounted wandered about the 
 quaint burial-ground reading inscriptions. 
 
 "We will now investigate the inside of the church," 
 exclaimed Ruford, in a dramatic voice, his courage 
 rising, and as he opened the door of the church, a gust of 
 cool air met the intruders. 
 
 Maithele hesitated, shivering. 
 
 "I hope we are not disturbing ghosts." 
 i "They ought to be in their graves, anyway,' sighed 
 Lawrence. 
 
 They went inside, staring like children at the barren- 
 ness that confronted them. Dust was thick upon floor 
 and pews, and Dorothy gathered her skirts, looking gin- 
 gerly around. 
 
 "The church has never been varnished," explained 
 Ruford, as the party proceeded up the aisle. And as
 
 146 OUE EIGHT TO LOVE 
 
 he called attention to the beams, a voice from the rear of 
 the church called out : 
 
 "An 7 the timber was hewn weth ax before saws got into 
 the kentry." 
 
 Dorothy turned quickly, exclaiming : 
 
 "Oh, Mr. Scott, how did you get here? We're so 
 glad." As he joined the group Dorothy presented the 
 Philadelphia girls. 
 
 "You are acquainted with the others." 
 
 "Slightly, daughter, slightly." 
 
 Jack was annoyed; Scott was a born narrator. The 
 church was one of his special delights, and he proceeded 
 at once, in the face of his rival, calling attention to the 
 high doors of the pews which were fastened by means of 
 wooden buttons. 
 
 "The rostrum is the perfect type of the high pulpit 
 seen in England one hundred years ago," came the coura- 
 geous voice of Euford, and his professorship ended. 
 
 "What you know about a hundred year back? Only 
 what ye gits out of books, an' thet ain't much." Scott 
 walked over to the window, possibly to get rid of the 
 tobacco quid. "Thet boy" returning to the group 
 "thinks he hes the world in a sling." 
 
 Putting his hand upon a pew, slightly scarred by a 
 penknife, he remarked, touching the deep dent : 
 
 "I knew the feller that done it. He was a red-headed 
 chap, and dead set on Louisa." 
 
 The best man will sometimes gloat over the slightest 
 misdemeanor of a rival. Scott shoved his hands into the 
 side pockets of his round jacket and delivered himself 
 with conviction : 
 
 "The evidence of bad behavior is sometimes the only 
 mark a feller makes for himself."
 
 JAUNT TO FORTY-FORT CHURCH 
 
 The reference to the rival recalled other memories, for 
 presently he said: 
 
 "Dad and me set right up here in this pew the fust 
 time I seen Louisa. She was mounting the steps leading 
 to the pulpit. She wa'n't going to preach ; them wa'n't 
 suffrag'st days. The minister was down sick and her dad 
 was next best in the congregation. Her dad hed about 
 begun to apologize for appearing before 'm when he 
 missed his bandanny hankichef. Louisa fetched it up; 
 it was a big hankichef, yeller and red, an' was, to my 
 notion of thenking, the showiest part of the pufformance ; 
 but nobody expected anything, so they wan'n't desap- 
 pointed." With another glance in Ruford's direction 
 hardly encouraging, he continued : 
 
 "I bin living in thes part of the kentry for many 
 years; I hev' knowed men who was here or whose gran- 
 dads hed bin here before thes church hed a spike in it ; so 
 I guess I'm entitled to give a correct version, which ain't 
 to be got from books." 
 
 No one had observed Maithele, standing with her 
 back against the wall, grow suddenly white to the lips. 
 A man passing the window was making straight 
 for the church door. Scott was delivering a humorous 
 account of a marriage that had taken place thirty years 
 before, the contracting parties being a French woman 
 and a Shawnee chief. 
 
 "He shall not enter," she said; "he shall not!" But 
 a tremor had come upon her, and with clasped hands 
 she leaned heavily against the wall. 
 
 In a moment he would be upon the steps. Quick! 
 She glanced at the group; they were entranced with 
 Scott's story and she hurried to the big door, and faced 
 Allan. 
 
 "Stop ! You must not enter."
 
 148 OUR EIGHT TO LOVE 
 
 Her voice seemed far away. "You are not not 
 
 invited." 
 
 Instantly lie was transfixed. 
 
 But it was the echo of her own words that stung her. 
 
 "Go away," she spoke in softer tones. "Please, before 
 they see you." 
 
 "I beg your pardon, most humbly; I did not mean to 
 intrude. I did not know; there is a mistake. Scott 
 brought me here." 
 
 He paused, a proud defiance in his tone. "Certainly 
 I will not intrude," he repeated. 
 
 She turned to the door, but he caught her gently by the 
 sleeve. 
 
 "I must speak to you; there is something I must say." 
 
 He passed the cruelty of her words in his eagerness to 
 get her attention. 
 
 "I do not care to hear." 
 
 Her hand was on the door, with an effort she tried it, 
 but it was heavy and would not open. 
 
 "You shall listen you shall know the truth you 
 must know it. I have tried so many times " 
 
 "I will not listen; there is nothing you could tell 
 that I care to hear. 
 
 "Maithele!" he cried, "in mercy listen, there is so 
 
 much and " There was a noise as of steps coming 
 
 toward the door. She inclined her ear attentively. 
 
 "Quick ! Go ! They must not see you." 
 
 "I will remain. I will speak before them all. Dear!" 
 he pleaded, "please, I shall not be treated like this. I 
 shall speak before them all." 
 
 "You must go," her voice nearly broke. 
 
 The party was advancing; in a moment the door 
 would open. She looked at him beseechingly : 
 
 "If you will go there," she whispered, pointing to the
 
 JAUNT TO FORTY-FORT CHURCH 149 
 
 side of the church, "I I will speak to you when they 
 are gone." 
 
 He obeyed ; and even as she slipped the big key out of 
 the door the party came out. 
 
 No one had observed her absence, save Scott. She 
 touched his arm and whispered : 
 
 "Leave the mare !" At the same time she put the 
 key into his hand, turning to Ruford : 
 
 "Mr. Scott and I will follow presently." 
 
 Ruford looked the chagrin he felt, but Scott carried 
 the day. 
 
 "We'll ketch up weth you, if we don't change our 
 minds and run off." 
 
 Ruford was saying something. 
 
 "Oh, the key? Wa'al, it's safe with me," said Scott, 
 and Aunt Helen was glad when Old Sorrel's head turned 
 homeward. 
 
 "The maids will have the luncheon spread when we 
 reach the Perkins place," which remark Mrs. Scott did 
 not hear. She had caught sight of Allan at the side of 
 the house, and observed, with old-time roses tinting her 
 cheeks, that Si and Maithele remained behind. But 
 things were not so easy with Scott. Maithele turned upon 
 him when the party had gone : 
 
 " Why did you bring him here ? He was not invited ; 
 besides I hate him !" 
 
 "Wa'al, I'll swan!" 
 
 His quick wit deserted him, and he slunk away with 
 his hands deep in the pockets of his round coat. 
 
 He walked eastward, and stood in solemn contempla- 
 tion above a new grave. 
 
 "I'll swan! if it don't beat creation! If I'd knew I 
 wouldn't took so much trouble. Anyway, I might of 
 fetched Ted or Tasso along for company."
 
 150 OUK EIGHT TO LOVE 
 
 He stretched his limbs and yawned : 
 
 "It'll git lonesome before she takes thet back." Seat- 
 ing himself on the newly-made grave, he produced a 
 hunk of tobacco, but he hardly twisted a morsel and 
 lifted it to his mouth, ere he jumped to his feet. 
 
 "Don't like to set on folks thet ain't thoroughly 
 moulded ; no tellin' how close their spirits be. Guess I'll 
 look after the hoss." 
 
 He stalked off, bobbing his head in a sort of forward 
 motion. 
 
 "Wa'al I'll swan; think I'd better take to stretching 
 my own judgment now an' then."
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 WE TWO SHALL GO OUR SEPAEATE WAYS. 
 
 "You have something to say," she interrogated as 
 Allan came forward. 
 
 His purpose might have failed utterly, but marking 
 the slight trepidation in her voice, his courage lifted. 
 
 "I : I was not responsible for the announcement." 
 
 " That is your excuse ?" she inquired icily. 
 
 "No. It is this: I " 
 
 "Could not discriminate between two women?" 
 
 An agony swept his face. All the irony and spleen of 
 Clara Lansing's nature could not hurt as the slightest 
 innuendo from the girl he loved. 
 
 "I can swallow the medicine, only please, please, allow 
 me to speak the truth." 
 
 "Don't torture yourself." 
 
 Thrusting her hand into the pocket of her habit, she 
 brought forth a daintily scented letter, addressed to 
 "Miss Dorothy Dale." 
 
 The letter reached the island the day previous, but 
 Dorothy turned it over to Maithele only an hour before 
 the party set out. 
 
 "I do not care to take your time, and you will please 
 not detain me; kindly read." 
 
 He took the letter from her hands mechanically, rec- 
 ognizing the chirography his expression changed. The 
 letter was a trifle expansive, but he merely glanced 
 over it. 
 
 151
 
 152 OUE EIGHT TO LOVE 
 
 "Please do not skip/' spoke Maithele, observing his 
 countenance. He had come to the part of vital impor- 
 tance, and he read aloud : 
 
 "Of course, you know that Kichard Allan has been my 
 devoted for years. We have decided at last upon Octo- 
 ber first. You will, of course, run down for the cere- 
 mony. I want so much to have Miss Burton maid of 
 honor. I do not know her so well, but Eichard speaks 
 so highly of her. I thought the compliment nice to him." 
 
 It was Clara Lansing's first inning. 
 
 He was silent for several seconds. 
 
 "Maithele," he began, quietly, "listen to me." 
 
 "I do not want to listen! Why should I? What did I 
 do to you to her ! How did I know ? Oh, it is intol- 
 erable cruel !" 
 
 The pathos in her voice always stirred him. He fan- 
 cied often in the quiet hour, in the poetical pause of life, 
 that the voice calling to him were he in his grave might 
 resuscitate life. 
 
 "Dear!" he said, "you shall hear me! Please!" He 
 opened the big door, gentle, coaxing her within. 
 
 "Sit here," indicating tne steps at the side rear of the 
 church, leading to the gallery above. 
 
 "Dear!" he whispered again. But pride, the mighty 
 rescuer, ofttimes saves one's self-esteem. 
 
 "I shall not remain. Please say what you have to say 
 at once." And wearily she took the seat indicated, but 
 in a moment she broke forth again : 
 
 "I hate myself, and I despise her !" 
 
 "Dear," he repeated, dropping beside her on the step, 
 "say something I don't mind; the agony of it all" 
 resting his hand upon her arm "the agony is, that I 
 discovered too late that you cared !"
 
 WE TWO SHALL GO OUR SEPARATE WAYS 153 
 
 "I don't care! I never did care! I only thought I 
 did ! Oh, to be humiliated ! It is intolerable !" 
 
 "I would die to save you the slightest humiliation." 
 
 "Indeed! And a moment ago you almost demanded 
 an audience !" 
 
 His voice was humble. 
 
 "I did not know of the letter then. I was willing to 
 explain I was desperate." 
 
 She disregarded. Her voice was not cruel, only the 
 words were hard, the voice never sounded sweeter to 
 Allan, more full of pathos. 
 
 His e}'es closed and he leaned heavily against the wall. 
 When he spoke again, his thought seemed rather distrait. 
 
 "Why why nobody knew our engagement was so 
 brief " 
 
 "There never was an engagement and, please you 
 have said too much." 
 
 He felt the rising spirit. 
 
 "I have never said too much to you," he persisted. 
 "That is the trouble; I said too little." 
 
 She sighed, and, finally, with a pleading note : 
 
 "I wish you would go." 
 
 "Xot until I have told you that although engaged to 
 Miss Lansing I always always loved you " 
 
 "Everybody knew " She paused abruptly, and he 
 waited, feasting his eyes upon her lovely face. 
 
 "What?" 
 
 "People can be so detestably sympathetic. Dorothy 
 nearly stands behind my chair, Aunt Helen even offered 
 to get rid of Miss Jack Tiger, if her purring annoyed 
 me. Mrs. Scott is abusing the whole world and " 
 
 "Dear little girl !" 
 
 "Please," with a sob in her throat, "don't 'dear' me."
 
 154' OUE RIGHT TO LOVE 
 
 Her words were words again. Their dulcet tone en- 
 couraged, and he smiled upon her. 
 
 The white riding cap lay in her lap, her face was 
 buried in her hands, and an inquisitive yellow heam, 
 glancing down from an upper window, touched her. A 
 miracle followed; the soft wealth of wavy brown hair 
 was a mass of twisted gold threads. Very gently his 
 hand rested upon the beautiful head. 
 
 "One strand," he whispered, "is worth " 
 
 The door of the church creaked opened closed. 
 
 He faced about ; too late ! 
 
 A glance had satisfied the intruder's curiosity. 
 
 "I hope," said Maithele, rising, "Mr. Scott is not 
 leaving me." 
 
 Allan hurried to a window. 
 
 "No, he is the reliable; the flying horse bears a youth- 
 ful rider, a red jacket and a blue cap." 
 
 "Miss Rice," spoke Maithele. "I wonder why she re- 
 turned?" 
 
 "It might have been a villager." 
 
 "Hardly? Our guest is the freaky-picturesque of 
 the hills." 
 
 The intruder hardly produced salutary feelings. Mai- 
 thele had other thoughts for the moment, but Allan's 
 voice recalled her : 
 
 "The only joy in my life will be," he began once more, 
 "that for one glorious hour I had your love." 
 
 She turned her troubled face upon him. 
 
 "You never had my love. Never!" 
 
 He knew otherwise listening as she breathlessly 
 continued : 
 
 "I never loved you never? I never shall love any 
 one. I hate men, and I just despise women." 
 
 The eyelids drooped and the long lashes nearly swept
 
 WE TWO SHALL GO OUK SEPARATE WAYS 155 
 
 the cheeks ; the mouth the intensely fascinating mouth 
 languished. 
 
 He rejoiced her very look was love. 
 
 "It is a long story," venturing gently. 
 
 But she rose at once ; he stood beside her. 
 
 "I don't care to hear it I want to go outside Mr. 
 Scott is waiting please if you will let me pass." 
 
 She was tired out, and the cruel rush of memories 
 upon her sympathetic emotions was forcing the eyes to 
 an embarrassing confession. 
 
 He lifted her face; they were so near. Tears were 
 interfering; she was ashamed ashamed that he should 
 see ! While trying to conquer them, he pressed an advan- 
 tage, his arm stealing about her waist. 
 
 "Oh, why," her voice came at last, "why did every- 
 body die belonging to me !" 
 
 "Lily of God I belong to you!" 
 
 She did not speak ; could not, perhaps, and an intense 
 expression swept his countenance. 
 
 "By every right of heaven and earth !" he cried, "I I 
 cannot cannot," passionately folding her to his heart, 
 and with an upward appeal, that mayhap reached the 
 Throne, "I cannot, will not, give you up !" 
 
 She felt a dreaminess, and then his lips upon eyes, 
 hair, mouth. 
 
 The certainty of mutual feeling is never a hopeless dis- 
 regard, nor does it ever meet a swift rebuff. 
 
 In a moment, however, she was free of his embrace 
 free, unfearing, yet trembling. 
 
 "I beg of you, I must go." 
 
 "I shall not detain you long," he said, "but you must 
 hear me. It is just to you to myself. Forgive! I 
 promise, I shall not forget again !" 
 
 She seated herself wearily, resting her head against
 
 156 OUR RIGHT TO LOVE 
 
 the wooden railing of the stair ; he followed her example, 
 subsiding upon the step below, and rested his shoulders 
 against the unvarnished wall. 
 
 " Since the first hour when I saw you a little girl in 
 white frock and black ribbons, facing a great audience, 
 refined, cultured, gaining its attention and meriting its 
 applause since the first moment, I have loved you ! I 
 realize now that it was your soul in the melody that 
 awakened my own soul to hopes, dreams, too sweet to be 
 fulfilled." 
 
 Her eyes were quite closed and her hands rested in her 
 lap ; her whole attitude expressed weariness surrender. 
 But the keen, fine intellect, the unselfish nature of Allan 
 absorbing, by a quick glance, her hopeless attitude, de- 
 termined to show that mercy due the woman he loved. 
 
 He passed the selfish joy her presence afforded him, 
 and hurried through the details, with clear, concise un- 
 derstanding. He did not spare himself, hesitated only 
 where Clara Lansing was concerned, and passed lightly 
 as possible the interview in Clara Lansing's draw- 
 ing-room. Her eyes were very wide, as the story 
 came to an end, and their great deeps spoke the change 
 that was taking place in her judgment of himself. She 
 sighed once, sighed again, and shivered perceptibly when 
 he mentioned Clara Lansing. With that pretty manner 
 so natural and unaffected, her head dropped to one side, 
 the hands resting under the chin. 
 
 The church was so very still sometimes as he paused 
 the last word falling from his lips flew up into the raft- 
 ers and returned again faintly, like the echo of a sigh. 
 His voice ceased at last. 
 
 "That is all dear heart." 
 
 She had not spoken during the recital, and as he 
 turned to her expectantly she leaned forward, resting
 
 WE TWO SHALL GO OUR SEPARATE WAYS 157 
 
 both hands upon his head, and he felt the benison and 
 the forgiveness. 
 
 "I understand. One must be sacrificed. I will be 
 that one. You will be kind to her faithful." She 
 paused, her eyes afar; possibly they rested upon the 
 spiral stairway leading to the rostrum, possibly passing 
 the rostrum to the hollow recess above ; she saw nothing. 
 A blackness hung before the future cold and desolate. 
 
 "After all, Richard, she loves you and you are not 
 blameless." 
 
 She stood up. 
 
 "I will go now to Mr. Scott." 
 
 They went forward, but, reaching the door, she 
 turned to him : 
 
 "Stay ; Richard, I will go alone." 
 
 He understood. 
 
 With her hand upon the door she faltered and quickly 
 his arms extended pleadingly. 
 
 Her head swayed an instant: 
 
 "I am glad that I listened; glad that I know " 
 
 Her voice broke, but instantly she grew strong again. 
 
 "The life we have lost is the higher gain; in spirit I 
 will be with you always, dear Richard." 
 
 He moved a step forward, but she lifted her hand, the 
 light in her eyes unmistakable. 
 
 "We two shall go our separate ways. Good-by. You 
 are a man, brave, upright! Honor, Richard, is more 
 than love good-by. God be with you !" 
 
 The door opened closed. And he sank into one of 
 the high pews, a sob more despairing than the old church 
 had ever heard, breaking upon its stillness. But the in- 
 dulgence of tears is the unpardonable sin. He lifted his 
 bowed head. The call to active life had sent a warning 
 note.
 
 158 OUK RIGHT TO LOVE 
 
 "Yes, there is time/ he said, listening, "I must be off ; 
 they must not find me here." 
 
 And even as he mounted his good horse, his vision fell 
 upon the woman he would always love. She was walk- 
 ing slowly toward the church. 
 
 There are pictures that live to the end of one's days, 
 and, mayhap, are carried to that life beyond. 
 
 "God be with you, dear," he murmured. 
 
 She did not hear did not see. He lifted his hat, and 
 his horse plunged forward. 
 
 The braver the heart, the clearer the brain, the more 
 intense the enduring quality the capacity for suffering. 
 The noblest aim is holding the sun of one's nature as a 
 guard at the door; for, there is grayness so deep and 
 tears so bitter, that did the gold shield but momentarily 
 vanish, the rush forward of darkness would surely en- 
 velop the very soul. 
 
 Maithele was glad that th,e day was over glad when 
 at last she could retire to her own room and the solitude 
 the hour afforded. She had not given the smallest hint 
 to any one; not even Scott had been able to penetrate 
 beyond the quiet reserve that proved nothing. 
 
 But the heart overflowing must have its outlet. She 
 communed with the violin, and the strange mysterious 
 wonder of its sympathy, calling with tender resonance 
 from a chapter ended, soothed and lulled and lifted her 
 drooping spirit. 
 
 It was over. The big clock at the end of the hall told 
 the mid-hour. She dropped upon her knees. 
 
 "Heavenly father!" 
 
 Sweet, simple, human cry ! 
 
 It was enough. The spirit of Night bore upward the 
 pearl of immolation.
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 TEDDY E. FIGURES IN A TRADE. 
 
 SCOTT had been away from home several days. Possi- 
 bly the dogs miscalculated the time of his return. 
 
 It made him feel young and happy to see Louisa wait- 
 ing in the open door and to hear the yelping and barking 
 of his good friends on the far side of the fence. 
 
 He had driven up to the gate about dusk. 
 
 Mrs. Scott's quick ear catching the sound of wheels, 
 she had the front door open before the master alighted, 
 but the dogs were not in evidence. 
 
 "I declare, Louisa," he said, coming up the steps, "if 
 thes is the way the dogs protect you an' receive me, we 
 Better git rid of the bunch." 
 
 They went inside. Having gained the confidence of 
 Allan to the extent that Allan was bound to Clara Lan- 
 sing, Scott constituted himself go-between. The mission 
 had not failed utterly, yet Scott was out of sorts. After 
 a light supper he retired, promising to regulate his 
 household in the morning. But it was quite in the after- 
 noon of the following day before the dogs were called 
 to order. 
 
 Mrs. Scott's first intimation of a hurricane was the 
 sliding of Tasso into the living-room, a weary look on the 
 sad, thoughtful face as he found a dark corner and curled 
 up into a knot. She began at once to gather the socks 
 and darning cotton into a bundle. 
 
 159
 
 160 OUR EIGHT TO LOVE 
 
 "It certainly is a shame the way Si do go on at times. 
 Tasso you hev' sense ; you won't git hurt if you keep out 
 of his way." 
 
 She passed through the hall, calling Prudence to 
 order, entered the kitchen and poked her head out of the 
 window. 
 
 "They be jest about as contrary as human beings,". 
 Scott declared as Louisa remonstrated with him. 
 
 "You don't know a dog 'tel you hev' hed him about 
 ten year, then his qualities stand prominent as he's most 
 ready to die." 
 
 He paused, glancing at his wife. 
 
 "I have a notion to trade Ted." 
 
 "If thet's all the trouble, there be Andy Brownson 
 hanging over the fence now; you might strike a bargain." 
 
 "See here, Louisa, I said I hed a notion to trade; no 
 call for jumping a fence weth a bargain. Besides" jerk- 
 ing his hat from his head and fanning with it "the 
 world wa'n't made in a day." 
 
 "Ho, there Andy," called Mrs. Scott; "Si wants to sell 
 Teddy R." 
 
 Andy slouched through the gate, a podgy fellow in a 
 short russet coat and jean trousers, rather baggy at the 
 knees. His hair was red, his skin freckled. Andy was a 
 type ; dozens of his kind might be found within walking 
 distance of the nearest town. 
 
 Andy passed the compliments of the day to Mrs. Scott 
 and came directly to business with Silas. 
 
 "What'll ye take for him?" 
 
 "What'llyegive?" 
 
 Instinctively the dog felt himself discussed and natur- 
 ally concluded the trouble meant a flogging. 
 
 Mrs. Scott had come into the yard and was standing 
 by the steps.
 
 TEDDY R.
 
 TEDDY R. FIGURES IN A TRADE 161 
 
 Ted crouched servilely at her feet and Andy passed 
 Scott's interrogation, his hands deep in his pockets, while 
 Andy with one foot kept up a shifting motion with the 
 ground. 
 
 "How long ye had him ?" Andy inquired. 
 
 "Long enough to know his qualities." 
 
 "Is they bad or good?" 
 
 "Middling." 
 
 Comment might have ended had not Andy put his 
 hand caressingly forward. 
 
 The dog snarled, and a merry twinkle came into 
 Scott's eyes. 
 
 "Ted'll stand a licking from home folks, but he won't 
 be pawed on by strangers." 
 
 Andy moved to a respectable distance and Ted blinked 
 knowingly, wagging his tail. With manner inclined to 
 chuffiness Andy advanced. 
 
 "Whet's yer price?" 
 
 Scott waved his hand deprecatingly : 
 
 "Wa'al, if it's up to me," said Andy, "five plunks 
 down and twenty on time." 
 
 Scott's face was a study. He sat down upon the 
 kitchen steps, jerking his slouch hat over his eyes. 
 
 "If Louisa wa'n't around, Andy Brownson, I'd tell 
 you to go to a kentry where they use brimstone for 
 kindling." 
 
 Andy grinned. 
 
 "Much ableeged for the presence of Mrs. Scott." He 
 scraped his foot and nodded his head at the lady. 
 
 He was standing beneath an apple tree that grew near 
 the kitchen window, whittling with a huge knife. 
 
 Scott was annoyed. Hacking a fine tree is vandalism 
 and Scott hinted that Andy's rudeness was objectionable.
 
 162 OUR RIGHT TO LOVE 
 
 "Brains is all alike, Andy, only some people's seem to 
 be alwus going round like they was in a tub of water." 
 
 "Bow-wow" called Teddy R. 
 
 "You shut," called Scott, giving his attention again 
 to Andy. "You've heard about George Washington's 
 hatchet? Now what I thenk thet chap used on his dad's 
 apple tree, Andy Brownson, was a knife." 
 
 Andy took the hint, shoving the knife into his pocket 
 with a grin. 
 
 "I hain't throwing money to the birds," vouchsafed 
 Andy, affecting a renewal of the proposed sale. 
 
 "An* we ain't in habit of fleecing sheep." 
 
 "I'll raise," continued Andy, unheeding. He had al- 
 ways wanted Teddy R, 
 
 "I'll trade the calf and about seven of them ginny- 
 hens into the bargain." 
 
 At the word guinea-hens, Mrs. Scott lifted her hands 
 in horror. 
 
 "Lan' sakes alive ! Ginny-hens ! Why, Andy Brown- 
 son, if you so much as show a ginny-hen thet gate," 
 pointing to the side way, "I'll hev' you up at meeting 
 for other things you hev' done certainly worse." 
 
 "Con'soun' your empitence," said Scott, cocking his 
 hat; "I'm half a mind to sic' the General on you. Five 
 cash an' twenty on time, seven ginny-hens an' a calf for 
 a thoroughbred like Teddy R !" 
 
 "I can stand for anything but ginny-hens," put in 
 Mrs. Scott, loquaciously. 
 
 "Mebbe, Si," Andy insinuated, "ye'd like my house 
 an' lot throw'd in." 
 
 His expression was mean and he assumed a rowdy 
 manner. 
 
 "Mebbe I wouldn't consider it weth the farm added." 
 
 Andy's eyes opened wide; he picked up a twig that he
 
 TEDDY R. FIGURES IN A TRADE 163 
 
 had broken from the apple tree and hurled it straight 
 before him, looking at Scott keenly, and with a leer and 
 a wink : 
 
 "If I'd throw in the old woman ?" 
 
 Andy was newly married, and his wife was quite 
 pretty. 
 
 Scott was on his feet in an instant. 
 
 "Don't use common talk before Louisa." Scott 
 doubled his fist. General felt trouble. A peculiar look 
 or sniff in the air brought up the forces, and Andy sent 
 longing glances toward the fence, calculating leaps. 
 
 Scott anticipated. 
 
 "Ted would git ye, if General missed. There be the 
 gate. I know you now Andy Brownson for a ornery 
 brow-beat. An' Andy," calling to the retreating figure, 
 "tell your friends the encounter, if you mind, an' put 
 thes on to it: Thet dog, notwithstanding his natural 
 proclivities, ain't got no price." 
 
 Andy was rather glad to have gotten off so easily. He 
 did not turn to say good-by or lift his hat to Mrs. Scott, 
 but passing through the side gate, paused only a second, 
 shaking it slightly to see that it was secure. 
 
 "Wa'al," said Scott, watching the retreating figure, 
 "if I wa'n't a gentleman, I'd call thet feller a skunk." 
 
 "Ginny-hens," repeated Mrs. Scott, "ginny-hens." 
 And laughing softly, the lovers went inside, Prudence 
 banging the kitchen window, which signal meant con- 
 siderably more than the customary "dinner is served." 
 
 The table looked inviting, and Mr. and Mrs. Scott 
 sat down, Scott beginning at once to carve the fowl. 
 Scott was a dextrous carver; the bird was roasted to 
 a turn, and as he lifted it gracefully Mrs. Scott smiled 
 to see it part beautifully on the fork." 
 
 "Wa'al, my dear, what'll you hev?"
 
 164 OUR RIGHT TO LOVE 
 
 Scott rested the big knife and reversed its two- 
 pronged mate. 
 
 Mrs. Scott always claimed gizzard and heart, leaving 
 the supply to Scott's generous hand. 
 
 "Oh, anything, Si." 
 
 "Might as well hev' your choice." 
 
 "Hev' your way, being's thers no company." Prud- 
 ence passed the vegetables and retired. 
 
 "Shet the door," said Mrs. Scott gently to Prudence; 
 "there be a chilly feelin' coming from the kitchen." 
 
 "Yes, 'um,' the girl replied, "an' if you want any- 
 thing, ring the bell hard. I might be out'n the road 
 talking with Andy." 
 
 "What?" exclaimed Scott, with ire; "thet feller ain't 
 still hanging around this place?" 
 
 "He's gone, sir, I think; but he might return me 
 and his wife's kin." 
 
 "Wa'al, I'll swan! Mighty glad, Louisa, the kin 
 ain't on Andy's side or she'd hev' to go." 
 
 Mrs. Scott thoroughly understood the man she loved; 
 she did not interrupt as he made several strong remarks 
 regarding Andy. She held her peace until the wine was 
 served. 
 
 Scott had brought the bottle up from the city the 
 evening before, and she knew that bouquets were in order. 
 
 Tasting the beverage, she nodded approvingly. 
 
 "I'm glad the dinner ain't disappointing, for the 
 wine isn't." 
 
 "Glad you like it. It didn't cost much," chuckling. 
 
 "You art n't to spend your money reckless, Si. I'm 
 willing to bet that bottle cost about a dollar." 
 
 Scott broke into a hearty laugh. 
 
 "Yes, Louisa, it cost about a dollar, more or less."
 
 TEDDY R. FIGURES IN A TRADE 165 
 
 "I bed a mind," she said, tactfully, "to ast you how 
 you got on in town yestidy." 
 
 "Oh, middling; I meant," he continued, "to tell you 
 last night, but I was so blamed riled an' upset." 
 
 "I know you was, dear." 
 
 "Louisa!" he paused, helping himself to a radish 
 "I'm goin' to see thes thing through." 
 
 As he went into detail the silver fork stood upward 
 in his fist, which now and then came down heavily upon 
 the table. " I'm going to see thes thing through. Love's 
 a real campagne, Louisa; an 1 it's jest as fair for me to 
 play scout in thes engagement as it was back in Civil 
 War times." 
 
 He took a generous taste of the wine and nodded to 
 Mrs. Scott. 
 
 "Ye're right; it's fine." 
 
 The object of his trip to the metropolis having formed 
 the preliminary, he came at once to his story. So far 
 Mrs. Scott had not made the slightest comment; she 
 hoped he was leading to the subject at heart. His 
 next words reassured her. 
 
 "I dropped in on Lansing yestidy." 
 
 Her heart bounded, but she gave no sign as she in- 
 quired, calmly : 
 
 "An' bought a slice of wuthless stock, I'll be bound." 
 
 " Xo, Louisa ; I might hev' done thet twenty year ago 
 I only promises to buy these days. Howsomever, 
 Lansing is a rare old chap. He was mighty pleased weth 
 my counterfeit ententions." 
 
 Another generous sip of the wine, and he proceeded : 
 
 "I worked my way to an envite to the house." 
 
 "If you promised to buy the stock, you hev' to do 
 it, Si." 
 
 "Wai, yes, if I'm driv* to the wall? But it ain't
 
 166 OUR EIGHT TO LOVE 
 
 likely thet I will be," he went on slowly. "I hey* a 
 snug sum put aside for a wedding thet might take place. 
 Better use it to get, 'm, married, then save it for the 
 occasion thet might hev' bin." 
 
 "You got an awful head, Si." 
 
 Neither spoke for a moment, and then, nearly over- 
 come with anxiety, she inquired, straightforwardly : 
 
 "Did you see Clara Lansing?" 
 
 "Thet's what I went for." 
 
 "An' what did she say?" 
 
 "Wa'al, she didn't take me into her confidence." 
 
 "She didn't?" 
 
 "No, she didn't; but I took her into mine." 
 
 "I hope you didn't come right out an' say things?" 
 
 "Wa'al, I didn't set around chewing the cud; after 
 we'd conversed for a spell I ast her out for a drive." 
 
 "You did! I hope your necktie was on straight." 
 
 "Oh, I guess it was I spruced up some." 
 
 "I'm mighty glad you did; they air mighty set in 
 N'York about looking jest so." 
 
 "She didn't seem overwilling to go hi fust?" Scott 
 ventured. 
 
 Mrs. Scott held her head high. 
 
 "I thenk a queen might be proud to ride with you, 
 Silas." 
 
 "Mebbe; but I don't take to foreign'rs, so there ain't 
 bin any o-casion to find out. Besides, I hev' never seen 
 a real queen. You be about as " 
 
 "Oh, go on, Si," she cut in. "Don't study so much 
 about me; I'm dying to hear what you an' Clara 
 Lansing had to say." 
 
 "It was slow at fust," he began. "I hed the rig 
 waiting at the sidewalk, an', as she was fixed up real 
 han'some, we walked out an' got into the rig. We rode
 
 TEDDY R. FIGURES IN A TRADE 167 
 
 on an' on wethout saying anytheng couldn't make her 
 talk. But on the home stretch we was neck to neck." 
 
 " Silas, do you mean thet in hoss sense, or " 
 
 Scott laughed. 
 
 "It's a real fact." 
 
 His wife looked dubious, but brightened again as he 
 continued : 
 
 "I tol' her a lot of nice things about herself, an' thet 
 got her pleased. Presently I said, 'Miss Lansing, do 
 you want a fine dog ?' " 
 
 "Si, you didn't!" 
 
 "Suthen bed to be sacrificed; besides, I don't like the 
 ways of Teddy, Jr. I ast her to come down to our place 
 an' rest a spell before the wed'ing." 
 
 "Now, Si?" 
 
 Scott chuckled, thinking how easy it would be to 
 break the engagement if he had succeeded in getting 
 her to his place. 
 
 "Declare!" 
 
 "What did she say?" 
 
 "Declined! Then I said, fair and square: 'You and 
 Dick Allan never going to hitch, girl !' I thought I bed 
 give her one, but she says, with a toss of her head : 'We 
 be the best jedge of that.' " 
 
 "Then what did ye say?" 
 
 Mrs. Scott was all excitement. 
 
 " 'Oh, ' I said, 'it don't make no difference marry 
 one day, di-vorce the next.' I thenk I sent a bomb into 
 camp, but can't tell." 
 
 Mrs. Scott's excitement passed to instant depression. 
 
 "Hev' the wing, Louisa?" 
 
 She passed her plate. 
 
 "Did she ast about the Dales? I would 'a' thought 
 she hed some curiosity."
 
 168 OUR EIGHT TO LOVE 
 
 "Some," repeated Scott; "she has her share. But 
 it's the eddicated kind that sends out feelers; for en- 
 stance, she said it was too bad Dorothy's ball was booked 
 for the same date as her wed'ing." 
 
 "I hope you ain't meddling over-much in other 
 people's affairs, Si." 
 
 "Thet depends on what you calls meddling. Wa'al, 
 I ain't poking my head into the halter." 
 
 Mrs. Scott broke in : 
 
 "I bin studying the ins an' outs of the setuation, an' 
 it 'pears to me if Dick done pledged himself to thet 
 girl, I don't see out of common sense how you going 
 to change it." 
 
 Scott fidgeted with his fork, looking thoroughly irri- 
 tated. It is not pleasant to have one's pet scheme set 
 aside or rudely handled, even by one's dearly beloved. 
 
 "I can't see in the name of common sense what you 
 driving at, Louisa seems you alwus getting side- 
 tracked." 
 
 "I'm on the main line. It's you, Si, thet's puffing 
 an' blowing on the side-track." 
 
 At this juncture something came into the room, brown 
 and glossy. It seemed uncertain as to welcome, getting 
 across the room with shambling gait. Scott felt a third 
 presence, which, coupled with his wife's clever corner- 
 ing, somewhat ruffled him. 
 
 Rolling his eyes in the direction of the interloper, he 
 motioned with his thumb. The force of the argument 
 was unmistakable. 
 
 The bullpup slid around the table and made for the 
 hall door again, with a different idea of sociability. 
 
 "Before you git on steam, Louisa, hand up thet dish 
 of apple-sas." 
 
 "I bin thenkeng," she remarked, having forwarded
 
 TEDDY R. FIGURES IX A TRADE 169 
 
 the dish, "if his ententions was fair an' square to Clara 
 Lansing, how in the name of Prov'dence could they hev' 
 bin the same to Maithele ?" 
 
 As Scott's eyes twinkled with an undeveloped question, 
 she hurried on : 
 
 "I only know what I got confidential from Dorothy's 
 aunt, who wormed it out of Maithele." 
 
 "Gad, but women jest can " 
 
 "She had to go 'round-about ways for Maithele's 
 good." 
 
 "She hed, eh? Wa'al, keep right on; I see Dick's 
 finish the hull combine's agin' him." 
 
 "Ther' you go, Si alwus siding weth the man." 
 
 "Somebody's got to stand by a feller when a whole 
 bunch of females is combined agin' him." 
 
 "Mebbe you better hear the evidence. It's curious," 
 she sighed, thinking of Allan, "how a man'll let hes 
 best chanct slip." 
 
 "If you don't talk 'tel night, Louisa, I'm attention." 
 
 She told the story, unsatisfactorily, perhaps, compared 
 with the correct version. 
 
 Aunt Helen's solicitude overstepped the mark she 
 had "wormed" nothing out of Maithele. Pressed se- 
 verely, Maithele had candidly admitted the esteem in 
 which she had always held Allan. She laughed gently 
 at Aunt Helen's fears, admitting only that her heart 
 was unchanged. Upon this last point Mrs. Scott rested 
 her opinion. 
 
 "A man's got to stick to his honorable ententions 
 they ain't no way out of that." 
 
 Scott was a rather good listener when chippings from 
 his own views were tolerated as punctuations; but he 
 had not introduced so much as a comma during the 
 interesting recital, until her last remark.
 
 170 OUR RIGHT TO LOVE 
 
 "Circumstances alter ententions, Louisa." 
 
 "Thet's new on me." 
 
 Her head tilted a trifle, and Scott felt slightly under 
 surveillance. 
 
 "I was steadfast courting you, Louisa; but, the way 
 I was treated, I might hev' give out an' contracted weth 
 the other girl. Now, will you please tell me, which case 
 would a-bin honorable ententions?" 
 
 The problem staggered Mrs. Scott. Something came 
 to her all in a rush. She hesitated a moment before 
 admitting the new thought. 
 
 "I hope there wa'n't no truth in Cousin Polly's stat'- 
 ment thet a tow-head widow hed a claim on ye?" 
 
 Scott ran his fingers through his iron-gray hair. Mrs. 
 Scott had planted the standard. 
 
 "H'm," he said, gaining time, and Louisa's lips set. 
 
 "She didn't hev* no perticular cinch on me." 
 
 "Was there anything a-tween ye?" 
 
 Scott experienced the sensation of uncertain ground. 
 
 "There might a-bin a rail fence," he returned, la- 
 conically. 
 
 "Just what Polly said, an' I wouldn't believe her." 
 
 Mrs. Scott was all unnerved. 
 
 True love never dies, even when gray hairs and 
 wrinkles send it seemingly into retirement; it will 
 spring forth suddenly when rudely attacked with force 
 and energy even with youth and beauty beyond "the 
 ken of human understanding. 
 
 "I wouldn't a-married you if I'd known," she said, 
 with a catch in her voice. 
 
 His eyes fixed upon her with a tender light. 
 
 "Ye be the only woman in the world I ever loved; 
 but, Louisa, you did pester me most to death. Mebbe
 
 TEDDY R. FIGUEES IN A TRADE 171 
 
 it's on my conscience thet onct or twict I did look askance 
 at the widow." 
 
 He straightened the slightly awkward attitude he had 
 been affecting and sat very erect, his head slightly tilted, 
 which position brought the square jaw into prominence; 
 while something of defiance came into his voice and he 
 brought his big brown fist down upon the table. 
 
 " I tell you thes an' mean it : A man's honorable en- 
 tentions is alwus weth the girl he loves the other girl 
 ain't wuth shucks; an' if which I didn't but I say, 
 if I hed, being riled weth you, courted the widow, made 
 a fool of myself which I didn't but if I hed, I'd 
 a-shook the widow in the face of the parson if at the 
 very last minute I caught on thet you was to be hed." 
 
 Mrs. Scott revived. 
 
 The woman hardly lives who would not have acqui- 
 esced as did this one. 
 
 "Love is powerful," she said softly. "I guess I'd 
 a-tore her hair out, if she'd a-took, knowingly, what 
 didn't belong to her." 
 
 After a moment of silence, in which Scott's mental 
 vision reviewed the hair-pulling situation, he broke into 
 a hearty laugh. ^ 
 
 " Ha, ha, ha ! I guess you would ha, ha, ha ! guess 
 you would." 
 
 The kitchen door opened and Prudence poked her 
 head into the room, and inquired, in a somewhat weary 
 voice, if she could bring in the custard. 
 
 " Custard, did you say ? Louisa, you must a-bin think- 
 ing of the babies we art of hed. Drop some whisky into 
 mine an' stir it up."
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 THE ASSAULT IN THE HILLS. 
 
 THE early hours hang heavy in the Vale of Wyoming, 
 and darkness lifts with slow precision as morning's red 
 lamp swings through dreamy dimness unto the highest 
 eastern peak. Then, straightway, meadows' bloom and 
 rivers' flowing catch the erubescent glow. 
 
 Back of the mountain heights long strips of mauve 
 and tissue veils of silver lift, revealing mysterious walls 
 of limpid turquoise. And gray mists, hanging low, un- 
 dulate, scurry, and melt into gold. Then up, up from 
 nests builded in tree top or hung in vine-stripped bouldfii 
 flocks of brown- winged creatures flit hither whither? 
 Across country, east, west wherever the grain is sown 
 their brown wings stretching, tip with aureate light, 
 and a russet softness creeps upon the winding road. 
 
 A man arrived at the top of Mount Lookout. He 
 had been traveling through the mountains since the 
 break of dawn. Business ended with a railroad official 
 summering up in the vicinity of the great eminence. He 
 urged his horse along. 
 
 And the magnificent panorama breaking upon his 
 vision exalted and held him, his eyes following a longi- 
 tudinal stretch of mountain chaos, dropped in the center 
 of which three cities Pittston,Wilkes-Barre,Scranton 
 like etchings in a huge, deep-cut bowl of greenish gold. 
 
 172
 
 THE ASSAULT IN THE HILLS 173 
 
 He adjusted the lens lightly, renewing the study. 
 
 To the right, down the river on the opposite side, a 
 slim, white shaft lifted into the scene he recognized the 
 monument wherereposethe bones of slaughtered heroes, 
 and a little to the left of the conglomerate boulder 
 the site of Forty Fort Church. There is no death hour 
 to memory; it lives to the last heart-beat; sometimes 
 it slumbers heavily through the storm of passing events ; 
 again, it wakens by the merest breath the scent of a 
 flower. Always, always young, as we have made it, 
 changeless, a real presence to gladden or sadden remain- 
 ing days. 
 
 On the very spot where he stood many times, in pio- 
 neer days, Indians watched the early settler build his 
 fort. And as searchingly as eagle eye ever sought the 
 white man's lodge, Eichard Allan sought the abode of 
 his beloved, a dot of white in all that wilderness. 
 
 Then, with the naked eye, he regarded the heavens. 
 Long strips of gray, floating into the east, sent hints 
 of amethystine umbrage that discouraged the prophesy of 
 the early hours. 
 
 "I must be off," he mused, "out of the hills before 
 the storm. Alas," putting the glasses into the case and 
 swinging the strap over his shoulder, "that dream hours 
 should be so brief." 
 
 The moments sped like eagles to their mountain-hilled 
 
 by mountain-nests, and presently, lengthening shadows 
 
 fell aslant the river's bank, and dappled amber, resting 
 
 upon the topmost peak, caught with faint reflection the 
 
 gathering clouds. 
 
 He turned to his horse, tied to a tree near the tangled 
 path, mounted, and rode away through a gloom of 
 leaves. 
 
 Just before the broad road at the mountain's base is
 
 174 OUR RIGHT TO LOVE 
 
 reached an opening to the river lends an enchanting view 
 of hill and dale. He drew rein ; he might never chance 
 that way again, and this was his day of memories. But, 
 as he was adjusting the field-glass, a shout of boisterous 
 laughter came from the Valley road. The laughter 
 jarred. The times were uncertain, threatening, though 
 no dark or murderous deed had been committed. Owing 
 to the strike situation, a sort of menacing attitude filled 
 the Valley. Rumor had also got abroad that trouble 
 was .hatching between the owner of a big mine and a 
 certain gang who had taken upon themselves things not 
 countenanced by the union. A gentleman driving with 
 his little son had been held up the evening before, and 
 Allan fancied he was upon the perpetrators of the deed. 
 Securing his horse, he stealthily crept to the opening, 
 which was some yards away. Nearing the edge, he dis- 
 tinctly heard the name Dale, followed by a harsh laugh 
 and imprecation. He went down upon his knees, crawled 
 to the extreme verge of the incline, and peeped over. 
 
 In a sort of recess thirty feet below, formed by the 
 trunks of three great trees that grew by the roadside, 
 four swarthy-looking fellows huddled together, a dark 
 bottle, a hunk of cheese and a generous loaf between 
 them. 
 
 The spokesman's hand was upon the bottle. He 
 mumbled, but the words were inaudible. The bottle 
 went round, and the gang was growing hilarious, when 
 a rattling sound attracted the attention of the fellow 
 with the big laugh. He cocked his ear, nodding satis- 
 fyingly to the others, who immediately crouched. 
 
 Trouble was at hand. Allan slipped the pistol from 
 his hip-pocket and prepared for action. He had the 
 advantage of the rascals, and he felt thankful in his 
 heart, for the sake of the unsuspecting traveler. Pres-
 
 ently the clatter of wheels grew distinctly harsh, and a 
 gypsy caravan turned the bend. 
 
 "Git up hey-ho!" called the driver of the caravan 
 to the gaunt old gray, that sniffed audibly as he strug- 
 gled along with the heavy burden. A baby face peeped 
 from under the side curtain, and a lad of ten, wearing 
 a battered straw hat and a tattered green jacket, holding 
 with one hand to the driver, switched vigorously with 
 the other the flanks of the weary animal. 
 
 They passed, and the fellow with the big laugh rolled 
 upon the ground in an attitude of disgust 
 
 "We no git 'm, we no git 'm." 
 
 "Oh, shut!" growled the spokesman, who was not a 
 foreigner. "We will git him you just wait; our party 
 is on the way." 
 
 He drew thirstily from the bottle, steadying himself; 
 then passed it on. 
 
 Evidently the four men were desperadoes of the worst 
 type. Allan drew his head back from the brink, care- 
 fully turning the situation over in his mind. 
 
 If he returned to the fork he could take the short 
 cut to the main road, reach the official's house, get 
 assistance, and return and capture the fellows. The 
 person for whom they waited might not come along 
 so soon. But his reverie was cut short by the spokes- 
 man's voice. Allan crawled back to the edge cautiously; 
 the slightest sound, the snapping of a twig, might be 
 his undoing. 
 
 A soft brush fringed the edge of the incline, and he 
 had only to bend his head a trifle to see all that was 
 taking place below, the brush forming a kind of bulwark 
 for his protection. 
 
 "You mine, boys!" 
 
 The group was attention.
 
 176 OUE RIGHT TO LOVE 
 
 "There'll be a rush at Dales. We'll make his picnic 
 hot as he's made ourn." 
 
 Allan leaned over the edge; he could not afford to 
 lose a word. 
 
 The little man grunted, and the fellow with the laugh 
 echoed the leader's sentiments with a curse. The other 
 swarthy individual tipped the bottle, which elicited a 
 savage outburst from the leader, who, with an ugly im- 
 precation, snatched it from his mouth, held it an instant 
 to the light, sneered contemptuously, turned it upside 
 down, and, disgusted that it had been so completely 
 drained, tossed it into the bushes. 
 
 A big laugh applauded the act, and straightway the 
 swarthy individual slunk to his vantage ground which 
 happened to be the furthest off of the group of trees 
 and at once ripped out of his brown jeans pocket a dan- 
 gerous looking knife. 
 
 Allan shivered, thinking of his friends and the hor- 
 ror that might be hatching in the brains of the gang. 
 
 Guests were always coming and going at the Camp, 
 and he knew that the drive to Mount Lookout was a 
 favorite one. What if Maithele a party from 
 Dale's ? 
 
 His brain whirled. 
 
 He glanced carefully about him, then up to the sky, 
 gathering ominous clouds. His animal was growing 
 restless, and the pawing of the dead leaves disturbed 
 the silence. Should the men below catch the sound his 
 chance of rendering assistance to those whom he loved 
 might be futile. He crept back to the horse. 
 
 "Good boy," he whispered, "good boy," casting about 
 for an edible, which did not come within his reach. 
 The ground was stubby, tender blades of grass having 
 long since shriveled in the eagerly-early frosts. Gath-
 
 THE ASSAULT IN THE HILLS 177 
 
 firing a small whisp of copper-gold hay, he fed the grate- 
 ful creature. 
 
 "I haven't had a bite myself," he said understand- 
 ingly, "since early morning, and I may not " 
 
 He paused abruptly, hearing the distant canter of a 
 horse. The intense silence of the hills, the hard, dry 
 bed of the road made audible the slightest sound. In 
 a flash he had whisked about, heedless in his wild ex- 
 citement of the noise of dead leaves crunching beneath, 
 his feet. 
 
 The rotten branch of a tree hung near the edge; re* 
 gardless of the act, his hand fell upon it. It snapped 
 instantly he jumped backward. 
 
 But the men below did not hear, so hurriedly were 
 they preparing for the assault. Allan bent forward 
 again, but this time with caution. 
 
 "Whist whist!" hissed the leader, leveling his 
 weapon. 
 
 Allan dropped upon one knee, covering the man. The 
 swarthy fellow had a knife, the other two pistols like- 
 wise the leader, who spoke again : 
 
 "Whist, boys ! He's coming." 
 
 But the cantering ceased, and the leader scowled. 
 
 "Hell!" 
 
 He twisted his head around; the road was clear; he 
 could see the bend. 
 
 "Damnation ! If he has turned back I'll drop a bead 
 on you," covering the swarthy fellow. 
 
 The others laughed, and one ventured into the road, 
 but turned instantly. A horse was slowly advancing, 
 bearing an ebon rider. Allan's heart stood still. From 
 his elevated position he had a better view than the fel- 
 low below. While he gazed the dark mount drew rein, 
 wheeling the animal about. It was Ben.
 
 178 OUR RIGHT TO LOVE 
 
 "Heavenly Father/' ejaculated Allan, "my dear Mai- 
 thele is safe at home !'' 
 
 Ben doffed his hat as a fine horse approached seating 
 an elderly gentleman of soldierly mien whose figure 
 seemed familiar. The gentleman's hat, being pulled 
 over his brow, defied recognition. But Allan had little 
 time for conjecture. 
 
 "Ready!" called the leader of the gang; and Allan's 
 finger fell upon the trigger of his pistol covering the 
 leader, his eyes sharply traveling to the other three. 
 
 The game was simple. 
 
 The gentleman was the leader's mark, Ben the big 
 man's ; the swarthy fellow was to watch ; and the fourth 
 ruffian, who stood back of the gang, was evidently pre- 
 pared to correct the misspent ball. 
 
 Ben lagged a trifle behind the gentleman, with the 
 server's etiquette. 
 
 Crouching for an advantage, the leader shouted : 
 
 "Fire!" 
 
 Three sounds rent the air simultaneously. Two bullets 
 were spent, and the third, Allan's, missed the villain's 
 heart, owing to the crouching movement. The leader's 
 right hand fell limp. He turned with an oath to one 
 of his men, whom he thought guilty. Pandemonium 
 reigned. The horses reared and plunged. Another re- 
 port! The gentleman slashed right and left, but the 
 swarthy brigand had the bridle of his horse. 
 
 Allan ran several feet, caught to a stout bough hang- 
 ing over the edge, and swung himself to the ground. 
 Lighting upon his feet without a scratch, he made di- 
 rectly for the leader's assistant. His unexpected appear- 
 ance unnerved the Italians, who could not imagine 
 whence he came. But the leader, who was taking in 
 the situation, grasped his pistol in his left hand and
 
 THE ASSAULT IX THE HILLS 179 
 
 made a dash for Allan whose hour had surely arrived 
 had not Lady Dee, in a wild effort to escape from the 
 fire, bolted in between the two ruffians, giving Allan the 
 advantage. 
 
 Ben had no weapon save the basket of eggs swinging' 
 upon his arm. Having espied Allan, his courage lifted, 
 and he hurled the basket of eggs straight at the leader, 
 who, staggering under the splash of white shell, nearly 
 met a horrible end from the hoofs of the mare. 
 
 Again two reports rang out, and Allan saw his man 
 totter. Immediately he made his way to the gentleman, 
 who had sprung from his horse as the swarthy fellow's 
 knife entered the animal's throat; and Allan 
 flung himself between the two as the Italian's 
 bloody knife was about to make a lunge. He grasped 
 the knife with his left hand and caught the fellow by 
 the nape of the neck with the right. Lifting him upon 
 his feet, he shook him as a dog shakes a rat. Then he 
 hurled him off with a force that might have broken an 
 ordinary man's bones; but the Italian was slight and 
 wiry and undersized. He barely touched the ground be- 
 fore he was upon his feet again but at a frightful dis- 
 advantage. Allan sneered contemptuously. 
 
 "If," he spoke quickly, with chest heaving and eyes 
 afire, "if I cared to soil my hands with a dog's blood, 
 I'd send your miserable carcass " 
 
 The fellow fled, and Allan turned to the gentleman, 
 who had got upon his feet, white and terribly worsted, 
 holding his right arm with his left hand. 
 
 "Mr. Lansing!" 
 
 But the next moment both men were flying to the 
 rescue of Ben. As they ran, a distance of ten yards, a 
 flash and the whiz of a bullet passed Allan's ear. The 
 ruffians were flying before them, the big man with the
 
 180 OUR RIGHT TO LOVE 
 
 laugh running briskly, the limp body of the little man 
 swung over his shoulder. 
 
 The parting shot, intended for Allan, entered the 
 faithful servant's side. Allan caught Ben in his arms, 
 and very gently, with Lansing's assistance, laid him 
 upon the ground. The mare stood perfectly still with 
 intelligent pose, yet quivering in every limb. 
 
 Allan started in pursuit. 
 
 He was too late ! The ground had surely opened and 
 swallowed the gang. Yet he searched diligently. Mn- 
 ally abandoning his determination of pursuit, he fired 
 two shots in the direction of the fugitives to convince 
 them that he had ammunition to spare. He returned 
 to Mr. Lansing and Ben. 
 
 Down upon his knees he went, loosening Ben's shirt, 
 dreading yet feeling the necessity of finding the wound. 
 
 "She knows," said Allan to Lansing; and Lady Dee, 
 conscious that the remark referred to herself, whinnied, 
 her eyes directly upon Ben. 
 
 " Thank Gawd Mister All-an boss." 
 
 His eyes closed. 
 
 "Are you badly hurt, Ben?" 
 
 "'Tain't much jes' a scratch." 
 
 "There is a place about a mile beyond." 
 
 "I hardly think, Allan, I could reach it; my horse 
 is finished," said Lansing. 
 
 Allan looked up searchingly. 
 
 "What! Not hurt, man?" 
 
 Lansing's left hand fell upon Allan's shoulder. 
 
 "I would have been a corpse but for you. I owe you 
 my life." 
 
 "Don't mention it glad I happened along. But" 
 looking full upon the other "that infernal scamp 
 didn't ?"
 
 THE ASSAULT IN THE HILLS 181 
 
 "I guess he did stuck his knife," pointing to the 
 arm, "as he tripped me. That arm was gone just as 
 you came up. And," looking intently at Allan, "where 
 in the name of Providence did you come from?" 
 
 Allan's glance shot upward. 
 
 "I have a horse up there; but, see, we must be off. 
 Those fellows won't return, but we cannot be too sure. 
 Can you mount Lady Dee ?" 
 
 "I'll try." 
 
 But the effort proved too much. Allan mounted, and 
 Lady Dee pointed her ears, picking steps in briery places, 
 taking the big rocks in leaps, and passing the under- 
 growth in long strides. 
 
 And then they were in the road. 
 
 "Now, my beauty, now!" 
 
 And she sprang forward with a litheness that proved 
 her sire king of the steeplechase. 
 
 The spot just above the scene of the assault was gained 
 in less time than Allan had calculated, and as he drew 
 rein astonishment and annoyance grew. Had he taken 
 the wrong cut? Alighting, he led the mare to the cliff 
 and peered over. He had not there they were Ben on 
 the flat of his back and Lansing keeping guard. He 
 called softly: 
 
 "All right?" 
 
 Lansing looked up, nodding. 
 
 "I'm coming back; but say, don't get lonesome I 
 have to go the other way to return." 
 
 Lansing's brows knitted, but he did not speak. 
 
 Allan's horse was gone, and he explained to himself 
 that the animal might have broken away, alarmed by 
 the shooting. If the rascals had him, then welcome, for, 
 in such event, they would be far away with the prize.
 
 182 OUE BIGHT TO LOVE 
 
 And perhaps, for so it proved the animal was never 
 discovered. 
 
 " Now, Lady Dee, my beauty, we will go up the moun- 
 tain to the fork, take a short cut, and make a dash for 
 the little brown house where I stopped this morning. 
 Not so fast; wait until we get to the road." 
 
 Lady Dee pricked her ears and snorted. 
 
 "Now, my beauty," leaning forward to pat her neck, 
 "your best, your very best, for the love of Maithele !"
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 HOPE REJUVENATES ALLAN'S HEART. 
 
 THRICE the rider sounded the halloo, and the young 
 son of the house came dashing down to the gate. Recog- 
 nizing Allan, the master followed with quickening pace, 
 calling to his son : 
 
 "Lead the mare around to the stable!" 
 
 But Allan explained the situation. 
 
 "Has it come to this?" said the gentleman. "The 
 difficulty will be to get the wounded man home." 
 
 A bewildered shade crossed his countenance, but it 
 was almost instantly dissipated. 
 
 "I have it," bringing his hands forcibly together. 
 " You go inside ; daughter will give you a bite, and " 
 
 "No, no, thank you; I can't lose a second." 
 
 And so they hurried to the stable, and in an incredibly 
 short time were at the gate again. As the daughter 
 threw two big blankets into the wagon the boy came 
 running down the path. He begged to accompany them, 
 and the father, turning to refuse, encountered a youth- 
 ful soldier, with gun planted and hand saluting. 
 
 The boy jumped into the wagon and the daughter 
 handed over a small basket, 
 
 "The all-important," she said. 
 
 The owner of the wagon handled the reins, and was 
 free with the whip as he plied Allan with questions; 
 and at intervals the boy would strike in: 
 
 183.
 
 184 
 
 "Gee whiz! I wish I'd been 'round." 
 
 "Yes, you do ! Well, son," slightly changing his man- 
 ner, "things are getting pretty rough, and you may 
 get a taste of the strike before we move to town. 
 
 Allan objected. 
 
 "I hardly think the union responsible for to-day's 
 affair." 
 
 "You on that side?" 
 
 "I'm opposed to unions, but don't beat the devil 
 around the stump. The laborer is entitled to " 
 
 "The stump?" cut in the official. 
 
 "Where is the devil's stump?" chipped in the boy. 
 The father laughed : 
 
 "Behind the -anthracite hills." 
 
 "I mean," said Allan, "that every fracas in the hills 
 should not be laid at the door of the union fellows." 
 
 And Sampson kept pace with his docked companion, 
 notwithstanding the companion's frivolous conduct. 
 Sampson was wise, having gained experience in a rather 
 hard school. He had not nibbled blue grass in the first 
 days of his weaning ; he had made out with old stubble. 
 Nor had he been broken in by a beautiful girl with wild, 
 flying hair. He had acquired his learning from a booted 
 young farmer who handled a birch stick in lieu of a 
 crop; he had not been housed in a brownstone stable 
 he thought himself lucky to rest in a barn. Sampson 
 was trained; Lady Dee was in training. At the end of 
 the first half mile the tripudiary movement of the well- 
 bred young mare nearly unseated the mount, who lost 
 a point about unions of practical worth. 
 
 With that satisfaction that gloats when the commoner 
 discovers the slip of the aristocrat, Sampson enjoyed the 
 lesson in deportment the mare received. 
 
 "We're most there!" And as the boy spoke they
 
 HOPE REJUVENATES ALLAN'S HEART 185 
 
 turned the bend. Allan dashed ahead, and was relieved 
 to find Ben and Lansing in the recess, as he left them. 
 
 It was decided to make for the nearest dwelling, al- 
 though the official declared the distance to his own place 
 not greater; but Allan was anxious to be near town, 
 a physician beirig the next consideration. Ben was care- 
 fully lifted into the wagon, though he stoutly protested, 
 and Mr. Lansing was given a seat beside the small boy. 
 
 They had proceeded a little over half the distance 
 when a big drop of rain fell from a black cloud upon 
 the official's nose, and Allan caught one upon the 
 brow. Lansing scowled, glancing upward, and mumbled 
 an imprecation which made the official look slightly 
 askance. But, possibly the boy knew more than his cate- 
 chism, for, presently an interesting expression played on 
 his countenance and he broke into a shrill whistle. 
 
 Allan had fallen back with his own thoughts, permit- 
 ting Lady Dee to pick her steps and caper in a 
 manner delightful to herself. A second drop, another, 
 still another, and Allan lifted his eyes anxiously. 
 
 The road was clear all the way, and every little while 
 vistas opened through gaps in the hills. Against a 
 background of purple and yellow light at the mouth of 
 a conical hollow one of Nature's great emerald tun- 
 nels his vision beheld the garden of his dreams ! He 
 could distinguish the isle of Lechaw-Hanna, like a green 
 cradle bound about with a silver fillet, that curved, flut- 
 tered and waved with the breath of the storm. 
 
 The wind flapped with giant wings against the inner 
 walls of the conical hollow, and crispy brown leaves 
 flounced gaily into the open, giddy debutants of a season 
 ended. Up, up they whirled ; down, down they dropped 
 to fathomless deeps. And the voice long and thin, with 
 the death-screech in it, and the pitiful answer, soft and
 
 186 OUK IUGHT TO LOVE 
 
 low, sighing and sobbing its one-word melody, "woo, 
 woo," swept over the mountains, hung in the valley and 
 died upon the stream. Century-old trees bowed in sol- 
 emn obeisance; and raiment, fine raiment, stripped in 
 a twinkle from strong branches, was caught in 
 mid-air, whipped into atoms and hurled to 
 eternity. The whole valley was bending and 
 swaying. Again a drop another, still another ! Not- 
 withstanding the anxiety of the hour and the tragedy 
 of the day, Allan experienced a feeling of exhilaration 
 in behalf of his own cause. Hope rejuvenated his spirit 
 a new resolve lifted his heart with strength like unto 
 the unseen miracle in the storm. The mural marvel of 
 varied greens, by singular mutation agitated into recip- 
 rocal wonder, and the whole metamorphosed into bronze 
 and purple the tunnel darkened, obliterating the pic- 
 ture at its terminus. 
 
 "Bless God!" cried Allan, giving Lady Dee her head. 
 
 "Bless God !" softly echoed in the storm, and mayhap, 
 floated beyond, through telepathic force, to Maithele 
 waiting with deep anxiety the return of a faithful 
 servant. 
 
 The wagon had gone considerably ahead, but Allan 
 was soon within hail. 
 
 "Hold up there!" he called, but the wind carried his 
 voice in the opposite direction. Lady Dee was swift; 
 a second time he called, and with satisfaction. 
 
 Lansing grumbled, snapping the lid of his watch. 
 
 "If you could manage to mount the mare you could 
 get to the farm-house ahead," said Allan. 
 
 "Thank you, I prefer to keep by this boy's gun. You 
 go on ahead Allan get the people to build a fire and 
 have a bed ready. I am played out played out," he 
 reiterated sententiously.
 
 HOPE REJUVENATES ALLAN'S HEART 187 
 
 As they spoke Allan was off, and before he reached 
 the house the rain came down in torrents. 
 
 Valley people are always hospitable, and Lansing 
 found the fire waiting and a nice, clean bed. As nat- 
 urally as though he had just entered the Waldorf- 
 Astoria, he asked for a cocktail. The good man stared. 
 Cognac would answer; the good man grinned. 
 
 "Where's the basket?" said the boy. 
 
 Allan produced it. 
 
 "Sis ain't a white ribbon," said the boy, diving into 
 it; "and this here," producing a brown bottle, "ain't 
 liniment." 
 
 "God bless sister," was Allan's pious annotation, as, 
 holding a glass to the light, he measured for Ben before 
 handing it over to Lansing. 
 
 When the house was quiet, and the storm passed, 
 Allan took the road to town, not, however, without in- 
 numerable commissions from Lansing. 
 
 A half hour later the official mounted his animal, hav- 
 ing concluded to leave the wagon at the farm-house ; and 
 some one wrapped a shawl about the boy's shoulders and 
 lifted him up behind the father. 
 
 Allan's run to town was rather hazardous; the road 
 was dark and sloppy, and the last shower, which thor- 
 oughly drenched him, overtook him when about half a 
 mile from the house. 
 
 Lady Dee plodded on uncertainly ; she had proceeded 
 two miles of the way when, halting precipitously, Allan 
 grasped his pistol. But the alarm was unnecessary. A 
 baby lamb came to an untimely end by getting under 
 the animal's hoofs. It had wandered from the fold, 
 perhaps; Allan regretted the accident. 
 
 "Shame, shame, Lady Dee what will your mistress 
 say ?" Yet he held himself wholly to blame,
 
 188 OUR EIGHT TO LOVE 
 
 "So much far dreaming," he went on, soliloquizing. 
 "I would give the world to see Maithele to-night, just 
 for a minute, Lady Dee; but we must push on to town. 
 Ah, Lady Dee," still soliloquizing, "you must be more 
 careful next time; think of that little white ball, so 
 innocent, so " unsuspecting, lying there in the road 
 crushed beyond resemblance, merely because I dreamed, 
 and you " 
 
 The mare shied. 
 
 "Well," laughed Allan, "afraid of your own shadow?" 
 And they sped on, on. At the end of another half mile 
 the mare came to a sudden halt. 
 
 "Go on, my beauty !" 
 
 But she would not budge. 
 
 "Oh- ho !" he cried; "I behold your game !" 
 
 He remembered the short cut to the river that he and 
 Maithele had taken one twilight hour of happy memory. 
 Lady Dee was thoroughly acquainted with the route, 
 but as he looked toward the tempting path he sighed. 
 
 She clawed the ground, broadening her nostrils, and 
 nickered. Allan coaxed, dug at her ribs, to no avail; 
 and presently she lifted her hind hoofs with antics per- 
 suasively interesting, and straightly Allan's course was 
 decided. 
 
 With fine satisfaction she turned into the cut, spring- 
 ing nimbly over rock and avoiding bad places. She was 
 familiar with the path and Allan resigned himself to 
 the inevitable. 
 
 The two Rice girls from Philadelphia were over again, 
 to remain until after the ball ; and all through the week 
 guests were coming and going. The season seemed 
 rushed toward its close. Bonfires glowed in the evening, 
 and the young people danced, flirted, or engaged in 
 games. Lawrence was neglecting business at least,
 
 HOPE EEJUVENATES ALLAN'S HEART 189 
 
 three runs to the island the week, not including Sundays, 
 gave the impression. And he constituted himself master 
 of ceremonies over at Bachelor Quarters; Dorothy's 
 dream was sweet fulfilment. 
 
 Not so Maithele. The days hung like wet leaves at 
 the river's edge; people disturbed her, and the incessant 
 chatter and merrymaking drove her to the depth of 
 loneliness. 
 
 And with sympathetic appreciation Dorothy marked 
 the new quality in the cry of the violin a singular, 
 irresistible pathos in the fine lifting of notes and a pas- 
 sionate quavering of dying melodies. Playing accompani- 
 ments, Dorothy felt herself drifting to the other's mood, 
 and often a tender mist filled her eyes. Then came the 
 days when even the sympathetic friend lay in its box 
 neglected, and she wandered restlessly about. Yet she 
 could dissemble ; the face that lifted to the speaker was 
 always bright. 
 
 The same day as Eichard Allan reached the great 
 apex of Mount Lookout, adjusting the field-glass in the 
 direction of Lechaw-Hanna, Maithele was seated on the 
 long bench in Hammock Court, listening to a new story 
 that Jack Kuford had woven from mere nothings. It 
 is natural to exaggerate favors that are bestowed through 
 gentle kindness. And Euford rushed to the brink before 
 she could save him. He saw the precipice, too; the 
 awful declivity yet went down with a certainty. 
 
 She retired to her own room, oversad with Euford's 
 mistake, and wishing, perhaps, she had the strength or 
 inclination to have encouraged him. Seating herself at 
 the window, she anxiously watched the ominous sky. 
 
 The prophetic intimations of early noon were hasten- 
 ing to fulfilment; long whiffs of thin air mocked with 
 fine derision the soft lilt of the Susquehanna; tall trees
 
 190 OUR BIGHT TO LOVE 
 
 bent and doubled, and a wee, brown lyrist perched on a 
 limb of the big walnut tree in Hammock Court, hearing 
 his own voice drop to falsetto, flew swiftly to his winter 
 apartment in the big chimney of the left wing of the 
 Camp. 
 
 She shivered perceptibly as a great drop another, 
 and still another splashed at the window pane. Anxiety 
 for Ben deepened as the darkness fell and with it, the 
 downpour of rain. Eain ! How it came down as if 
 some great river bodily lifted to the skies had suddenly 
 upset upon the land. 
 
 At last it ceased, ceased with that awful stillness 
 that sends Nature to loneliness. 
 
 Presently a rain-bird cawed ; the mate answered. The 
 storm was over. And the young moon, rising complac- 
 ently high, dipped on the edge of a frosted giant plume. 
 An hour, two hours it seemed like the end of night to 
 Maithele, when suddenly a full voice lifted, filling the 
 stillness. 
 
 "A-he-ee-ho! A-he-ee-ho !" 
 
 She knew the familiar tone, but could not place it. 
 She rushed down the steps to the broad veranda. 
 
 "I must go," she entreated Lawrence. "I heard the 
 mare whinny, but but the call was not Ben's," she 
 nearly sobbed. 
 
 "All right," said Lawrence, who was doing Dorothy's 
 bidding ; and Pat, swinging the lantern, chipped in : 
 
 "Let her hev 5 her way, sir. She'll hev* it whether 
 or no, if she wants it, sir." 
 
 And down they went to the ferry. And ere it touched 
 the opposite shore they recognized the tall figure stand- 
 ing on the bank holding to the mare. 
 
 "Ben with you?" called Lawrence, as the ferry landed. 
 
 No response.
 
 HOPE REJUVENATES ALLAN'S HEART 191 
 
 Maithele did not go forward; he came directly to her, 
 taking both hands in his own. 
 
 "I wanted to go straight to town," was the apology. 
 
 "Tell me "; but her voice faltered, and she turned 
 
 her eyes upon the river running silver ripples against 
 the little boat. 
 
 It was the first time they had met since the parting 
 in the church. 
 
 "Ben was not able to come on," he answered. 
 
 Lawrence laid his hand upon Allan's arm. 
 
 "You are soaking wet. You will tell us about Ben 
 when " 
 
 Allan's gaze was fastened upon Maithele. 
 
 "If Miss Burton will pardon me, I will speak to you 
 aside." 
 
 She interrogated: 
 
 "You have told me all?" 
 
 "Not all. Ben is hurt not seriously, I hope we 
 will pull him through." 
 
 Allan and Lawrence walked up the bank. 
 
 "I cannot see her suffer," were Allan's first words. 
 "I would not have ventured here, but the case is des- 
 perate." 
 
 When the story of the assault was told, and they were 
 returning. Lawrence vouchsafed to pay an honest score. 
 
 "You are a gentleman, Richard Allan, but I did not 
 know until to-night that you are also a hero." 
 
 The other smiled feebly. 
 
 "Don't put it that way." 
 
 "Dorothy," continued Lawrence, "will never forgive 
 me if you do not cross over; why, man, you are wet 
 through and through!" 
 
 He looked his friend over and proceeded: 
 
 "You have her sympathy she will be glad to see you;
 
 193 OUR EIGHT TO LOVE 
 
 with your permission,, I told her all, and I repeat, you 
 have her sympathy." 
 
 But Allan was decided. 
 
 "I have clothes at the hotel. I will get into them, 
 find the best doctor in town and get back to the farm- 
 house before midnight." 
 
 "That settles it; I am with you." 
 
 "Good. But first take her back tell the news to 
 Dale, and hurry." 
 
 Lawrence gave the order, and the ferry pushed out. 
 The man on the bank lifted his hat without a word; 
 and Maithele, one arm caressing Lady Dee, turned her 
 face to him. He could not see the eyes brimming with 
 tears. 
 
 Allan did not find the wait long. 
 
 Pat had done what he called " fire-engine work." The 
 gray came over with the yellow phaeton, in which some 
 one had thrown the necessary things, and Mr. D'ale ac- 
 companied the two as far as town. His business was 
 with the chief of police. He would not return to the 
 island that night, he said. There were men enough 
 there to protect the women. 
 
 Lawrence found the doctor; and Allan was waiting 
 when he returned to the hotel. And, with a crack of 
 the whip, the grays started briskly for the mountain 
 road.
 
 CHAPTEE XX. 
 
 "l HAVE YOU BOTH IN A TRAP." 
 
 BEFORE mid-hour the following day the four men 
 drove off. 
 
 Lansing's injuries were slight; but he looked the in- 
 valid, received all possible attention, and accepted the 
 doctor's suggestion to remain over at his private sana- 
 torium in town. 
 
 It was otherwise with Ben. The doctor probed, found 
 the ball, but his case was nearly hopeless. 
 
 Driving townward, the conversation turned upon the 
 event that brought about Ben's undoing. 
 
 "Who is he?" inquired Lansing. 
 
 "Ben is a fine specimen of the dark element of Ken- 
 tucky soil. His history is interesting." 
 
 And Allan related as much of it as he deemed neces- 
 sary to the occasion. 
 
 "I called to him," said Lansing, when Allan came 
 to the end; "it was so odd, you know, to see a black 
 face in the hills. He drew rein and waited for me to 
 catch up. I don't suppose those scoundrels would have 
 molested him had he gone on alone; they were waiting 
 for me." 
 
 "You have a clue, Mr. Lansing?" 
 
 Lansing flushed, stammered. 
 
 "No, no only I don't think I will venture again 
 through the wilderness without a guard." 
 
 193
 
 194 OUR EIGHT TO LOVE 
 
 No one vouchsafed a reply, but Allan felt confident 
 that the highwaymen were thoroughly cognizant of 
 Lansing's coming and besides, that he had considerable 
 money on his person. 
 
 Several years later Allan obtained information that 
 explained Lansing's journey in the hills. It developed 
 that much of the gentleman's wealth had been acquired 
 by foreclosing mortgages, not always properly recorded, 
 making extraordinary loans, the anomalous interest pay- 
 able and not extended beyond a given time. The means 
 to the end, always niggardly, often required Lansing's 
 personal supervision. He was upon an errand of this 
 kind when set upon by the gang, who did not scruple, 
 perhaps, to get even. 
 
 Two months later a tall fellow, whom Allan identified 
 as the leader, was given a life sentence for a similar 
 charge. The fellow claimed friends in the union, but 
 the friends stoutly repudiated him. 
 
 Returning to New York several days later, Mr. Lans- 
 ing at once telephoned to the office of a leading journal, 
 giving a graphic and stirring account of the assault, 
 incidentally mentioning that the brave rescuer was the 
 affianced of his niece. This was the thing Allan 
 hoped to avert, and as he boarded the train at his own 
 town for the city the following morning he fervently 
 prayed that he might, through money and influence, 
 manage to keep his name out of the affair at all events, 
 at least so far as the connection with Clara Lansing was 
 concerned. 
 
 He bought a paper, and just as he proceeded to read 
 his attention was attracted by the rustle of feminity. 
 Directly in front of him sat a young woman whom he 
 had not seen in months. She was a charming person, 
 bright and vivacious, and he could not resist the tempta-
 
 I HAVE YOU BOTH IN A TRAP 195 
 
 tion of her smile, which invited him to the seat beside 
 herself. So the run to the city was passed without a 
 second glance at the paper. 
 
 Having telegraphed Miss Lansing, Allan repaired at 
 once to the residence. 
 
 He was ushered into the library, a cosy nook in the 
 east wing of the mansion. 
 
 A small fire burned in the grate; the weather was 
 delightful outside ; the fire was merely to impart cheeri- 
 ness, but he found the room oppressive and moved over 
 to the window. He was disappointed that Mr. Lansing 
 was not at home; the gentleman had called a hansom, 
 he was informed, and gone to the Street. And so he 
 amused himself arranging his ideas. He would tell 
 Clara Lansing the plan he had devised to avoid noto- 
 riety. Smiling with satisfaction, he ensconced himself 
 in a big chair. 
 
 At least he had a card worth playing, and he hoped 
 to play it with admirable skill. 
 
 He reviewed the whole situation while he waited 
 the other interviews between Clara and himself, the 
 parting in the church with his dear Maithele, the tragedy 
 in the hills and the meeting on the ferry. 
 
 Then his mind dwelt upon the marvel that had come 
 to him, opening the way. 
 
 Clara Lansing had reminded him on the other occa- 
 sion of his debt of gratitude. Indeed, he had been mind- 
 ful of it long after the debt had been paid his magnani- 
 mous spirit esteemed the virtue of gratitude eminently 
 above its commercial face; he did not consider the re- 
 turn with interest equivalent to' a full erasure of the 
 debt. Sentiment could only be met by sentiment. He 
 felt himself acquitted, having saved John R. Lansing's 
 life at the risk of his own. Had not Mr. Lansing
 
 196 OUK EIGHT TO LOVE 
 
 broadly admitted as much? The act had canceled the 
 obligation. 
 
 Allan smiled with satisfaction he could afford to 
 smile and his heart lifted with the happiness of ap- 
 proaching freedom as Clara Lansing appeared in the 
 doorway. Clara Lansing was always well gowned; but 
 the present morning effect, with its slight suggestion of 
 neglige, and the jacqueminot bud in the candre hair, 
 rather overshot the mark. 
 
 Allan observed, with the swift comment of passing 
 reflection, that the red gown was an off shade of the 
 flower, as, extending his hand warmly, he inquired after 
 her own health. Possibly she looked for a more ardent 
 greeting, for his next interrogation which included 
 solicitude for Mr. Lansing was answered with a toss 
 of the head. 
 
 He found her a comfortable seat. He was always 
 courteous, but the young woman declared the chair 
 "stuffy" and immediately changed to the tete-a-tete, 
 persuasively, perhaps. 
 
 Allan miscalculated. He did not feel entitled to the 
 charge of heroism, but he did expect the one thing that 
 seemed farthest from her thought the acknowledgment 
 and commendation of his conduct in behalf of her 
 uncle. 
 
 Her conversation was indifferent, remote from the 
 subject, and presently it flagged. 
 
 "I am lazy," she remarked with an arch smile; "will 
 you join me?" 
 
 She touched the tiny button. 
 
 "Tea or coffee?" she inquired of Allan. 
 
 "Neither, thank you." 
 
 "Sherry," to the person standing in the doorway. 
 
 "You need not have troubled," spoke Allan.
 
 I HAVE YOU BOTH IN A TEAP 197 
 
 "You will at least care to be sociable. I came in just 
 before the 'wee sma' hours/ and haven't had a bite for 
 the longest while. Really, I had just dropped into a 
 doze when your telegram came." 
 
 He was staring incomprehensively as she hurried on. 
 
 "A telegram is the one thing that demoralizes this 
 household. Uncle had me awakened." She paused an 
 instant, putting her fingers to her mouth to hide drowsi- 
 ness. "He got off before I had a chance to scold." 
 
 "I am sorry. And I have called at an unseemly 
 hour?" 
 
 "No, really; but my humor will improve when I get 
 a bite." 
 
 A dainty repast was set before Clara Lansing, and 
 upon a small onyx table at Allan's right the butler placed 
 a crystal decanter and a single glass. 
 
 Allan altered his opinion, filling the glass. She had 
 been away from home, and in all probability had not 
 heard of the assault in the hills. 
 
 As she carved off the wing of a plump quail he lifted 
 his glass. 
 
 "Your health, young lady, which hardly needs a 
 toast." 
 
 A blush suffused her cheeks, deepening the rouge a 
 trifle as he questioned: 
 
 "You have been away visiting?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "In the city?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Supper?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Dance?" 
 
 "Sure." 
 
 Monosyllables were in order.
 
 198 OUE EIGHT TO LOVE 
 
 She sipped the tea with a gold spoon. 
 
 "I don't mind if you smoke," putting the spoon aside 
 and lifting the cup to her lips. 
 
 He lighted a cigar. 
 
 "I hope when we're married you'll not care to break- 
 fast earlier than ten." 
 
 Allan winced. The silliness of the remark did not 
 strike him, but the reference to the occasion. 
 
 "Twelve is my lunch hour ; I am through a half day's 
 work by midday." 
 
 "Oh," she spuriously ventured, "you have? But you 
 will make concessions." 
 
 She looked directly at him. Not for the first time 
 in their long acquaintance she marked the strength of 
 Allan's face, the masterful cut of the jaw and the positive 
 curve of the upper lip. The nose was a prominent fea- 
 ture, well shaped and strong; and the high brow from 
 which the hair slightly waved left the temples bare. 
 
 He was sending filmy clouds to the ceiling, and missed 
 her scrutiny. 
 
 She waited, and he, regarding the weed, lowered it to 
 the silver ash tray, which stood near his glass. Touch- 
 ing off the ashes and disregarding her question, he 
 inquired : 
 
 "You were at a dance last night?" 
 
 "Yes; never enjoyed myself more." 
 
 He smiled, making conversation. 
 
 "I did not know that the season had begun." 
 
 "It has not; quiet affair." 
 
 "I am glad that Mr. Lansing did not need your 
 services ?" 
 
 "You refer to that scratch on his arm? He actually 
 compelled me to see it ! I should hardly give up a dance 
 for a trifle."
 
 I HAVE YOU BOTH IN A TRAP 199 
 
 Allan sent a last cloud to the ceiling. 
 
 Plainly she meant to avoid or to make light of the 
 occasion. 
 
 "He had a narrow escape," ventured Allan, probing. 
 
 "Oh, he is always having something." 
 
 Allan's brows contracted. Lansing evidently had 
 made light of the affair; but he could not afford to 
 throw to the winds the card he had come the distance 
 to play. 
 
 "Ben, you know, is in bad shape. I am afraid ; 
 
 "Yes, uncle told me. I remember him an officious 
 black fellow that girl brought up here." 
 
 "A noble soul who followed Miss Burton east," he 
 corrected. 
 
 Again the head tossed. 
 
 Clara Lansing held the trump card ; she would make 
 no concessions. 
 
 "I simply despise Southern women. I never met 
 one who didn't go slopping around with one of her 
 former slaves." 
 
 "Your education has been neglected; your language 
 is unbecoming." 
 
 She touched the button. Neither spoke until the tray 
 disappeared ; then she rose, walked to the door, closed it. 
 
 "Sha'n't we ever be through with the disagreeable?" 
 Her voice and manner were suddenly quiet. 
 
 " At once," he answered, in the same tone. 
 
 Her eyes fell upon Allan curiously, searchingly, with 
 a sort of mental calculation. 
 
 He knocked the ashes from his cigar and laid it nicely 
 upon the ash tray, moved the table a trifle, leaned back 
 in his chair, meeting Clara Lansing's gaze. 
 
 "You referred on a previous occasion to my obliga- 
 tion to your uncle."
 
 200 OUE EIGHT TO LOVE 
 
 "And you informed me the obligation had been 
 canceled." 
 
 "Exactly. I felt then, as I feel now: An obligation 
 of that kind may be canceled; but gratitude, the senti- 
 ment, may only be met by a like return." 
 
 He looked kindly upon her as he went on : 
 
 "Clara, the whole debt is thoroughly erased. A few 
 days ago it was my good fortune to be about when 
 needed. I saved your uncle's life." 
 
 Her brows contracted and the mouth drooped at the 
 corners contemptuously as she responded : 
 
 "And proved yourself a fool. Why didn't you let the 
 old thing die ? I would have gotten his money, and " 
 
 Allan threw his hands forward as if warding off a 
 blow, but she went on, beside herself with rage: 
 
 "And perhaps made it hot for you and that silly girl 
 that that don't know how to do anything but fiddle 
 and that only half well." 
 
 Instantly he was upon his feet, disgust depicted in 
 his every lineament. 
 
 He walked over to the window looked out upon the 
 street. Was this the woman he had known for years ? 
 
 He had never loved her; he had tried to break with 
 her. He felt that her former execrable conduct, lacking 
 in womanly principle and dignity, was in a measure par- 
 donable; but the present apathy, disregard, the bold 
 unfeeling he could not conciliate. Turning sharply from 
 the window, a firm resolve possessed him. 
 
 She was leaning against the mantel not dejectedly, 
 but reflectively a cold smile upon her lips. 
 
 "I will never," he said, "never marry a woman who 
 could express herself so inhumanly regarding the being 
 to whom she owes everything."
 
 I HAVE YOU BOTH IN A TRAP 201 
 
 She laughed, and, the sound jarring, he added, de- 
 liberately : 
 
 "Miss Lansing, our engagement is off." 
 
 The laughter ceased, and he repeated: 
 
 "Understand, please, the engagement is off." 
 
 "Richard Allan, I owe my uncle nothing. He se- 
 lected me from the lot" referring to her sisters "be- 
 cause I suited him. I did not specially care to be se- 
 lected. As to the engagement, I regret to tell you " 
 
 She smiled sententiously. 
 
 "If the cards are out, it makes no difference; I 
 say " 
 
 "Don't say anything, please," touching the button, 
 "until you learn why I cannot oblige you." 
 
 To the attendant she gave an order. 
 
 As Allan paced up and down the room he heard the 
 passing of feet above, the opening and closing of a door. 
 
 Then Clara Lansing had the paper. 
 
 "I do not care to see it," he said. 
 
 But she held it to the light and read, in a disturbing 
 tone: 
 
 "Assault on John R. Lansing in the Pennsylvania 
 hills. Mr. Richard Allan, betrothed of Miss Clara 
 Lansing, to the rescue." 
 
 Allan winced. 
 
 "Even so, I will have a correction in every paper in 
 town by evening." 
 
 She laughed. 
 
 "What could you say?" 
 
 He made no response, and she proceeded : "It is rather 
 interesting, as such things go. I will read it." 
 
 He moved over to the door, his hand upon the knob. 
 He was determined not to hear. She laughed again, 
 throwing the paper aside. Her card was not yet played.
 
 202 OUB RIGHT TO LOVE 
 
 "You will keep your engagement with me. If you 
 think for a moment I care for you, you are mistaken ; I 
 hate you ! I have hated you since since I saw that girl." 
 
 She was standing before him, too florid, perhaps, for 
 candre hair. And the rose, having lost its balance, lay 
 crushed, annihilated beneath her own slipper. 
 
 "I am not thinking of you," she continued, "but of 
 myself. I shall not loom up in the world's eyes as a 
 jilted one." 
 
 "I will save you from that," 
 
 "You!" she echoed with scorn. "I have my opinion 
 of what you would do in my behalf. Anyway, your 
 favors come too late; the cards are out." 
 
 "By what authority, please? I protest. I shall appeal 
 to Mr. Lansing." 
 
 She came very near, almost hissing into his ear : 
 
 " Make the best of it. What is marriage, anyway, but 
 a silly ceremony?" 
 
 His voice had a commanding ring as he sent forth : 
 
 "Drop the subject. You have no regard for anything, 
 it seems. I will wait Mr. Lansing's return." 
 
 "If you dare!" with menacing voice and attitude, 
 "I will appeal in my own behalf." 
 
 "I am perfectly willing that you should," lie said, 
 more kindly. 
 
 "Are you?" 
 
 Her fingers clinched. The trump card was flung upon 
 the board. 
 
 "If you dare, Eichard Allan; if you dare, mark me! 
 I will tell him that " 
 
 "Tell him what you please." 
 
 "That " She leaned forward and whispered into 
 
 his ear. 
 
 Allan turned white to the lips.
 
 I HAVE YOU BOTH IN A TRAP 203 
 
 "You are mad mad go to your room, girl; your 
 brain is deranged !" 
 
 "I will say it," she repeated, "and my uncle will 
 kill you. I will swear that it is true." 
 
 She laughed hysterically and struck out in a higher 
 key: 
 
 "I will have the satisfaction of seeing you suffer." 
 
 Allan flung himself into a chair, snapped his fingers 
 lightly. But almost instantly he was upon his feet, again 
 facing her. 
 
 "Bah! You would not be guilty of such a falsehood 
 anything so base, so degrading." 
 
 "I will tell him." She decided firmly and without 
 a blush. 
 
 Allan hesitated before responding. 
 
 "If that is your style I will permit you to proceed. 
 I would sooner get the bullet than be forced into a mar- 
 riage with " 
 
 Allan was a gentleman. 
 
 "I understand," she smiled, filling in the gap. "You 
 have other plans; but you will keep your engagement 
 with myself." She arched her brows, and her words 
 fell contemptuously: "Your movements will be 
 watched." 
 
 "Beware, young lady; you are carrying your game 
 
 too far." 
 
 She passed the interruption. 
 
 "If you run abroad, for example?" 
 
 His gaze shot keenly in the direction of the desperate 
 woman. 
 
 "You will sue me for breach of promise?" he ven- 
 tured, a joyous thought filling his mind. But with 
 her first word hope died. 
 
 "Not much."
 
 204 OUE EIGHT TO LOVE 
 
 "What then?" 
 
 "I will kill or defame that girl." 
 
 Allan glowered. 
 
 " You could not find a charge against her, and I warn 
 you " 
 
 "I could not?" 
 
 Clara Lansing laughed laughed. Presently, leaning 
 forward : 
 
 "I have you both in a trap. "Why did she remain 
 behind at that lonely old church of Forty Fort, and 
 why were you hiding at the side of the church until the 
 party had gone ? I can prove you were alone with her in 
 the church over an hour I" 
 
 Allan was a strong man, mentally, morally and physi- 
 cally ; but he shrunk visibly as he answered : 
 
 "That does not concern you, and please be careful." 
 
 "It does and shall concern me, and you be careful." 
 
 "Bah !". 
 
 Allan turned to the window that she might not see 
 the effect of her words. But she knew dropping easily 
 into a chair to await his next move. 
 
 Had his heart been in condition for prayer, he might 
 undoubtedly have prayed heaven to spare him another 
 sight of Clara Lansing's face; but he was stunned al- 
 most leaden with the perfidy of the woman be- 
 fore him. He did not doubt that she would act. The 
 direct blow that threatened Maithele's life had not 
 seemed so horrible as the opprobrious, roundabout 
 aspersion. He did not have to rack his brain to locate 
 the informant. He remembered the creak of the church 
 door, the red jacket and the flying horse. In justice 
 to Miss Rice, he did not charge her gossiping with 
 calumny intended, but her mischievous prattle had pro-
 
 I HAVE YOU BOTH IN A TRAP 205 
 
 duced a dangerous weapon that Clara Lansing might 
 use as a charge of crime. 
 
 All at once he felt an overwhelming sense of duty to 
 the young girl whose life and honor were in jeopardy be- 
 cause of himself, and he determined to save her cost 
 what it might. He had arrived at this conclusion as a 
 hansom approached, and several moments later he heard 
 the click of the entrance door ; another moment and Lan- 
 sing was in the library. 
 
 Without noticing his niece, Lansing threw a bundle of 
 papers upon the writing table. 
 
 "Mr. Lansing!" 
 
 "Why, mighty, mighty glad," shaking Allan's hand. 
 "Just the man I'm looking for ; want to show you some- 
 thing, it is in the latest edition, just out." As he spoke 
 he turned the leaves of the paper. 
 
 "But I have an engagement, I am hurrying off." 
 
 Lansing objected. 
 
 "But you must remain Allan." 
 
 "Mr. Lansing, I have a favor to ask," hesitatingly. 
 
 "Favor? Now, you just ask the big one of me; I'll 
 grant it. Fire away !" 
 
 He hesitated lost! Possibly had he struck boldly 
 ahead, defied the woman, disregarded her threats, he 
 might have won, but the thought of Maithele ! One word 
 might be enough for the woman who stood between him- 
 self and Lansing, like a lioness ready for the awful 
 lunge. He could only crawl to his point and observe her 
 attitude. 
 
 "It's about this affair between Miss Lansing and my- 
 self I appeal to you as a gentleman " 
 
 Her hand fell heavily upon his arm. 
 
 "I also appeal to you," she said firmly.
 
 206 OUR RIGHT TO LOVE 
 
 Lansing looked from one to the other, fear, doubt, 
 silencing his tongue. 
 
 And Allan instantly decided his loss sacrifice self- 
 renunciation for the honor of the girl he loved. 
 
 "We have quarreled," he said, "over the wedding 
 cards." 
 
 Lansing sighed his relief. A quarrel could be bridged 
 over. 
 
 "Ha, ha, a quarrel ! And I am to be arbitrator?" 
 
 "I think I should have something to say about the ar- 
 rangement of my own wedding," said Allan. 
 
 "You should, indeed; I agree with you." Lansing 
 breathed freely. 
 
 "Well, if the ceremony takes place" the grasp on his 
 arm grew more tense "the favor I ask Mr. Lansing is, 
 that the affair be extremely quiet." 
 
 "Sure, sure." Lansing looked his disappointment. 
 
 "And for business reasons," Allan concluded, "the 
 date must be changed." 
 
 "The cards are engraved, uncle; it will be impossible." 
 
 "Have you issued them?" 
 
 She did not dare to make a false statement. She feared 
 her uncle, or rather his wrath that might deprive her, 
 with hardly due notice, of his vast wealth. 
 
 "If you please, answer me?" 
 
 "They are not out," she said sullenly. 
 
 "Throw them into the fire." 
 
 He slapped Allan on the back. 
 
 "Anything more?" 
 
 "If you please." 
 
 It was the supreme moment. 
 
 Clara Lansing understood, and again her hand rested 
 heavily upon his arm.
 
 I HAVE YOU BOTH IN A TRAP 20r 
 
 "Then let it be distinctly understood, Mr. Lansing, I 
 fix the date of my own wedding." 
 
 Lansing's face fell. He was a shrewd old gentleman, 
 a nervous quantity of cold flint. It was, indeed, a 
 quarrel; he felt the atmosphere, and he decided to 
 straighten matters by direct entreaty. 
 
 " As to that, of course, you would not put a slight upon 
 my niece. So much has been written and said of the 
 affair I would not care to to postpone the date. I 
 would prefer, as the wedding is to be extremely quiet and 
 so on, that it take place, unless you can advance a good 
 excuse for our friends, you know, are to be considered 
 it should take place as soon as possible." 
 
 Clara Lansing smiled. Half a victory is better than 
 defeat. 
 
 "Your arm?" inquired Allan solicitously, avoiding the 
 appeal. 
 
 "Oh, it is getting on nicely. Wish I could sue for 
 damages." 
 
 Allan moved over to the door, but Clara Lansing 
 followed him. 
 
 "Will you kindly fix the date of the wedding before 
 leaving the house ?" she said icily, and, in a whisper, "If 
 it costs my soul I will defame that girl. I will speak out 
 if YOU leave the house without fixing the date." 
 
 Allan stood two minutes with his hand upon the door- 
 knob, and then fumbling with papers in the side pocket 
 of his coat, took out one and examined it, gaining time. 
 Finally he walked over to the table where Lansing was 
 standing, and he gave a date one week earlier than the 
 date of Dorothy's ball. 
 
 He left the house. He had seen Clara Lansing in 
 full illumination.
 
 CHAPTEE XXL 
 
 THE DEAD MAN^S LIFE WAS AN EXAMPLE. 
 
 THE days dragged in the mountains. Sometimes the 
 patient seemed better, again his condition seemed 
 unchanged. 
 
 Mrs. Scott often remained over night and Maithele 
 utilized much of the time in journeys to and from the 
 island. 
 
 The air was fine, invigorating, and regretting only that 
 to please Aunt Helen, she had left Lady Dee in the sta- 
 ble, she reclined among the cushions of the yellow phae- 
 ton and gave herself up to reverie. 
 
 True love is the river of the soul, and its loftiest aim, 
 its highest purpose, is simply to bear the burden of its 
 own song. Like a zephyr, kind thought ripples the 
 stream or lifts its melody upon happy pinions, thus help- 
 ing to forgetfulness, or leading safely over the arid 
 wastes that block out miles of the beautiful way. 
 
 Fortunately Maithele had never learned in that cer- 
 tain school of the world that regards love as a transac- 
 tion, binding in faithfulness by a law inexorable and cold 
 and having no sympathetic connection with spirit or 
 ideal principle. Where love had gone so willingly it 
 would remain forever. 
 
 There are natural rights not easily set aside. She did 
 not determine to obliterate Allan's memory; there was 
 no need. Besides it is not possible to turn the current of 
 a natural channel into contrary ways. Her thoughts flew 
 
 208
 
 swift as wings to days happy, because of the warmth of 
 reciprocal affection. And the exquisite joys of those days 
 were not banished if rudely shaken. 
 
 She was returning to Ben, having spent several hours 
 on the island, and, as the grays sped along the beautiful 
 road, her thoughts reverted to Richard Allan. The gen- 
 tleman at the same hour was returning from New York, 
 having spent an unhappy time, as related, with Clara 
 Lansing. Could Maithele have beheld his countenance, 
 could she have followed him into his private office, could 
 she have seen him when the door was secure weary, de- 
 jected, completely prostrated and hopeless, her tender 
 dreaming might have reached a more disturbing end. 
 
 Maithele arrived at the farm-house. Ben's condition 
 had not improved, and, consulting with the good woman, 
 she learned that a change for the worse had taken place 
 soon after her departure in the morning. She remained 
 with him almost an hour and then went outside where 
 Pat waited. And as she delivered the sad intelligence, 
 she observed the doctor hacking chunks of bitter-sweet 
 with proprietary nonchalance. The bitter-sweet hung 
 recklessly over the fence to the roadside, a gold-dotted 
 green fringe for the wall of hollyhocks, that tall and 
 strong, grew on the inner side. No one objected to the 
 doctor's audacious stripping of the exquisite adornings 
 of an humble home. Doctors have privileges and con- 
 science in the matter of appropriating is not always de- 
 fined. Maithele did not object to the privilege, but to 
 the action, which, under the sad circumstances, seemed 
 frivolous. She walked up and down the little porch- 
 went inside came out again with paper and pencil. She 
 sat down upon the wooden steps and wrote on a slip of 
 paper and proceeded down the path. 
 
 "You will not loiter by the wayside."
 
 210 OUR RIGHT TO LOVE 
 
 She addressed Pat. 
 
 "Now listen to that? Shure, I had me orders to come 
 back straight as the roads would permit and I says, says 
 L, 'I will.' I do what I'm told, miss, and besides I'm not 
 overjoyed to travel in these parts, after hearing of the 
 late encounter." 
 
 "I hardly think there will be a repetition of that af- 
 fair. You were armed when you brought me through?" 
 
 He shook his head. 
 
 "Miss Dorothy gave me wan of them small guns. I 
 left it back in the stable; I never tech them things; I 
 wouldn't know which end was foremost." 
 
 Maithele was watching the doctor, who had fastened 
 a pink hollyhock upon the lapel of his coat and she 
 missed Pat's witticism. 
 
 "Don't loiter," she repeated, and she handed over a 
 telegram. "You will please not lose a moment in de- 
 livering this." 
 
 Finding a silver wheel in his hand Pat grinned, slip- 
 ping it into his boot. He lifted his hat. 
 
 "They be thrying as gals," he said, as the grays sped 
 down the road, "but for politicians they can't be beat: 
 they rubs everything into a body with the glue." 
 
 Maithele watched the buggy disappear around the 
 curve. The farmer's good wife was busy in the kitchen 
 and her man was in the field, cutting and binding wheat. 
 Phyllis, the one child, a girl of ten, was watching the 
 patient's restless slumber. 
 
 It had come so swiftly, the last blow. True, the doc- 
 tor had given little hope from the first, owing to the 
 patient's advanced age, but Ben had been so cheery, she 
 had hoped, had felt confident, in fact, of his recovery. 
 
 Why, as she thought about it, only two days ago he had 
 chatted with her almost an hour without fatigue. And
 
 DEAD MAN'S LIFE WAS AN EXAMPLE 211 
 
 now he was going. She was glad, glad that she had been 
 able to remain near him in the last days. Did she owe 
 him nothing ? Born in slavery, he had remained faith- 
 ful after emancipation. What greater proof could he 
 give of his love for her people? When her mother died 
 with an infectious fever, she remembered how all the 
 servants had deserted all save Ben. When her brother 
 was drowned, it was Ben who formed the crew that 
 dragged the lake, where they were summering, that awful 
 lake, for the body ; it was Ben who brought him home in 
 his arms God bless him ! And when the last crushing 
 blow came ah, how well she remembered ! 
 
 Ben talked of the old days during his illness, but 
 Allan seemed to occupy his thoughts most of the time. 
 Allan's fighting ability, his bravery, stirred Ben almost 
 to eloquence and Maithele listened with deepening cheeks 
 and shining eyes. Ben knew nothing of Allan's engage- 
 ment to Clara Lansing. He had heard Allan's endearing 
 words to Maithele one night as she and Allan strolled in 
 the moonlight. 
 
 Maithele had nearly broken down the change for the 
 worse that had come over Ben since morning, was so 
 great. He smiled weakly: 
 
 "Don't you mind none, Miss Maithele, I couldn't a 
 held out much longer, no how. No, I got to go. I ain't 
 sorry. I ben hangin' 'round too long as it is." After a 
 slight panting for breath he resumed. "I I done square 
 by you, honey ?" 
 
 She could not speak, but bowed her head affirmatively. 
 
 "Bless God, I'll see my Boss, I'll see my Heavenly 
 Father." 
 
 He was quiet again; then raising his head, his eyes 
 roamed around the room. 
 
 "I has got something to say; in my trunk is a small
 
 212 OUR RIGHT TO LOVE 
 
 tin box ; it's yours, an' all that's in it. You has only to 
 do weth it is you see fit. I want that box this day. I 
 never put my money in no bank," he went on; "the lit- 
 tle interest ye git ain't equal to the loss of the capital 
 when the bank fails, an' they mostly do. So I jes' kep' it, 
 carried it about, an' it's ben a heap of trouble." 
 
 "I am sure Ben, I will do what is right with the 
 money, but you must not talk " 
 
 "Oh, I ain't got much more to say; but it's on my 
 mind an' I can't rest." 
 
 He closed his eyes. When he spoke again his voice 
 seemed stronger. 
 
 "Your pa said I was to be put in the family tomb 
 when I died." 
 
 "Yes, Ben." 
 
 His head swayed from side to side. 
 
 "It's too far. It took so long to come way up here, 
 I'm feared my body would never git back. I've studdied 
 it out. Your heart's sot in the Xorth, honey, an' I know 
 if I get a green spot hereabouts my spirit'll be apt to 
 follow you sometimes." 
 
 She could only say "Yes, Ben." 
 
 "That's all, honey, except ?" 
 
 "Except?" 
 
 "I feel as if I couldn't die peaceful, 'ceptin' I see 
 Mr. Allan, boss " 
 
 Maithele's heart stood still. This request was unfore- 
 seen ; she nearly gasped. Send for Allan ! How could 
 she ? She did not respond at once. 
 
 "I know he'll come." 
 
 She did not dare to keep Ben in suspense. 
 
 "Yes, yes, Ben, I will," she said finally. 
 
 He closed his eyes peacefully and presently she saw
 
 DEAD MAX'S LIFE WAS AN EXAMPLE 213 
 
 that he was sleeping. It was then that she went outside, 
 worded the telegram and sent Pat off with it. 
 
 She did not consider what Allan might think. She 
 felt perfectly sure he would understand. At all events 
 she had no choice in the matter. It was her duty to 
 further the simple, dying request of her faithful servant. 
 Naturally she was disturbed, dreading the meeting. 
 
 He would hardly get there before the following day, 
 she decided, and if Ben rested easy, she would drive to 
 see that nice girl the official's daughter who had been 
 so very kind, and thus avoid meeting Allan. She did not 
 realize how rapidly Ben's end was approaching. 
 
 Night arrived, no word from the island and Ben grew 
 desperately worse. In fact when the doctor returned he 
 went at once to work. Removing a glass bowl of fresh- 
 cut flowers from the small table beside the patient's bed, 
 he made a quick examination ; it was the last. 
 
 "No need," he said, summoning Maithele; "he may 
 live until morning." 
 
 And when the good woman insisted, she refused to 
 leave Ben. 
 
 "No," she said, sweetly, "when my father was ill for 
 weeks, Ben slept on a pallet by the door." 
 
 "Good soul !" said the woman, turning away. 
 
 Maithele crossed the narrow passageway leading to a 
 very small room that had been assigned her. Opening 
 a leather case, she arranged a few things orderly upon a 
 small table that had a square mirror hanging above it. 
 She loosened her hair ; it fell below the waist line, a mass 
 of ringlets, dark in the twilight of the room. 
 
 The flat wick of the ungainly lamp burned low. She 
 parted her hair nicely, braided and fastened the ends 
 with narrow white ribbon ; then removed the band from
 
 214 OUK EIGHT TO LOVE 
 
 her throat, turning in a trifle the neck of the waist she 
 wore. 
 
 The family were assembled, all save Phyllis, who had 
 retired after supper. 
 
 The good woman was conversing with her husband, 
 trying to keep him from sleep, but his case was hopeless 
 and every now and then he would doze off. He might 
 not have heard the distant sound of approaching wheels 
 had not the wife dug him in the ribs as gently as she 
 knew how. 
 
 He got up with a yawn and stretched his brawny arms. 
 The vehicle stopped and the man took himself lazily to 
 the door. 
 
 "Halloo!" came from the road. 
 
 "Halloo !" he answered. 
 
 "Shall we drive round?" 
 
 "You had better," from the door, " 'less yer want to 
 stay out over night." 
 
 The man jumped out of the vehicle and opened the 
 gate and came briskly up the path. The other drove 
 around to the stable. 
 
 "Mr. Allan, boss," murmured Ben feebly, and Maithele 
 whirled the long braids hastily, securing the knot with 
 a long shell pin, as a light tap announced the visitor. 
 
 "I did not lose a moment," bowing over her extended 
 hand. "I am glad the message came." 
 
 She thanked him, avoiding his eyes, and he crossed the 
 room. 
 
 "Well, Ben, I'm here, and I'm glad to be here." 
 
 "Yes, Mr. Allan, boss. Thank Gawd, I can die in 
 peace now." 
 
 Maithele slipped out of the room, running against 
 Lawrence in the dim hallway, and he led her to a seat by 
 a table, raising the lamp-wick a trifle.
 
 DEAD MAN'S LIFE WAS AN EXAMPLE 215 
 
 "I must tell you," he began at once, "Mr. Dale is ill. 
 He arrived at the island just after you left. I am 
 substitute." 
 
 "A kind substitute," but her eyes beseeched him. 
 
 And Lawrence explained that Mr. D'aJe's illness might 
 confine him to the house a day or two. 
 
 "Aunt Helen and Dorothy?" she inquired. 
 
 "Are with him. But they are nearly wild about you; 
 so I came to assure them that you were all right." He 
 told her how it chanced that Allan had come so quickly. 
 "I had the good luck to be at the telegraph office when 
 Pat arrived; he handed over the telegram to me and I 
 called Dick on the long distance read your message to 
 him." 
 
 "You always do the right thing." 
 
 Maithele did not need persuasion ; she went at once to 
 her room. Lawrence promised to summon her should the 
 end arrive. 
 
 She did not try to sleep, or even think of so doing. 
 She dropped into an uncomfortable high-back rocker, 
 propping her feet against the rungs of an opposite chair. 
 A funny little window faced her diagonally, and she 
 leaned forward, gazing through the small thin panes of 
 glass. Moonlight silvered the whole rugged scene, and 
 stars were few and far, the soft effulgence recalling an- 
 other night of sacred memory. In the room across the 
 hall, was the* man to whom she had plighted her troth 
 and, swiftly passing to the great tribunal, the one wit- 
 ness. Not that she or the man required the witness ; both 
 would have gloried in the confession had it not been for 
 the unfortunate entanglement. 
 
 With death upon the doorstep, a weird, uncanny feel- 
 ing gets into the air, and strange, mysterious whisper-
 
 21t> OUR RIGHT TO LOVE 
 
 ings, like voices from the occult, wing imagination with, 
 arrow flights to limitless bounds. 
 
 Maithele heard the hoot of the night bird, saw the 
 wind ghosts dancing by and felt the touch of the unseen. 
 
 The last link connecting her with the old life was 
 about to snap. A tremor shook her frame, and she pressed 
 her lips, one against the other, to keep back the pain. 
 Oh, the loneliness of night ! One, two hours she waited, 
 waited. Not a sound within the little house. The room 
 had grown cold ; she felt it, and drew a light shawl about 
 her shoulders. Her head inclined forward; one hand 
 tightly pressed, rested under her chin, the elbow upon 
 the arm of the chair. 
 
 Drowsiness comes so ingratiatingly, she did not realize 
 the mastery of sleep; the eyelids drooped, the night- 
 vision fluctuated, hung, dropped to oblivion. 
 
 The blessing of forgetfulness is a precious boon a 
 merciful stop-over in the awful rush of the active brain. 
 Yet dreams came to an end startling sometimes, and 
 crushing often enough. Her eyes opened, opened wide; 
 the scene without was as she left it before drowsiness 
 came, and, with brave resolve, she tried to imagine green 
 hills and sunshine through the little panes of glass; to 
 recall the picture as she remembered it in the bright day. 
 But the moonlight had the landscape folded in a shroud 
 and winds were calling softly for the wraiths to advance. 
 As she gazed, pell-mell, down the hills they flew, long 
 thin ghosts ; up, up the hills they scurried. She watched 
 their reckless course with irresistible fascination. 
 
 But the dance of ghouls is an uncanny dance and she 
 was turning away from spectral night as something 
 rapped lightly with metallic knuckles. Startled and 
 quivering, she drew back, but something compelled her 
 gaze ; with eyes staring stonily she saw a long, slim finger
 
 DEAD MAN'S LIFE WAS AN EXAMPLE 217 
 
 draw a death's-head upon the glass window pane. The 
 blood, cold in her veins, rushed to her heart, nearly 
 checking its beat forever. She was all unstrung; it was 
 only the midnight breeze heedlessly tossing a frost- 
 pinched leaf against the pane. 
 
 And then reality spoke spoke with the awful voice in 
 the presence of which imagination is nothing. 
 
 She heard a firm step cross the hall, pause at the 
 door, knock. 
 
 "Miss Burton?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "He wishes to say good-by." 
 
 The step retreated down the passage, knocked softly at 
 another door and Lawrence's kind voice : 
 
 "Will you please arise? I have just called the young 
 lady. The man is dying." 
 
 Smothering a sob, Maithele hurried across the hall. 
 
 Ben's eyes were closed as Maithele entered the room, 
 and Allan sat at the side of the couch with averted face. 
 
 Lawrence was mixing something in a glass. Into the 
 mixture he dipped a thin, white cloth, and bending over 
 Ben, moistened the lips. The patient revived, opening 
 his eyes upon Maithele and Allan seated opposite each 
 other. He did not speak, but a smile flitted across his 
 mouth and his eyes closed. The woman came into the 
 room. She bustled about after the manner of her kind, 
 and spoke to Lawrence, who followed her outside. 
 
 She explained that her man would sleep on yet a while 
 as he had a hard day's work ahead of him. If Lawrence 
 would kindly assist her, she would get a fire started in the 
 kitchen. And Lawrence, whose ability in that line had 
 never been thoroughly tested, followed the good*voman 
 into the kitchen. 
 
 Ben's eyes shone with intelligence. The tin box Law-
 
 218 OITE EIGHT TO LOVE 
 
 rence brought was in his hand. He handed it to 
 Maithele. 
 
 "It's yours, honey. I'm givin' it 'fore I goes, so that 
 the law can't git a dispute over it." 
 
 "Oh, Ben ; please don't," said the girl, putting the box ' 
 aside. 
 
 "It's for you, an' all thet 's in it is for you." His 
 eyes rolled over to Allan. 
 
 "Air you witness Mr. Allan, boss?" 
 
 "I am witness, Ben." 
 
 "Do not talk, it it hurts you." 
 
 Maithele spoke with uncertain voice. Ben interrupted. 
 
 "I'm goin', honey," he paused, "an' I'm blessin' the 
 Lord as I goes. He has been good to me an' an' 
 I'll see Him and He'll see me." 
 
 Maithele stroked the thin hand upon the coverlet, and 
 Allan rested his eyes upon her. 
 
 The silence of the room was broken only by the breath- 
 ing of the patient. 
 
 Allan noticed the nervous tugging at the coverlet and 
 drew it up a trifle to assist him, but Ben's fingers fidget- 
 ing found the hand and held it. 
 
 "It's the way of the Lord, an' I am thanking Him for 
 His ways." 
 
 He managed to place Allan's hand upon Maithele's 
 and, trembling, she tried to disengage it, but he detained 
 it gently. She did not look up until Ben spoke again. 
 His breathing almost ceased : then the lips moved as both 
 of his hands fell upon the clasped hands of the two. 
 Ben's eyes rolled heavenward. 
 
 "Bless these children Lord bless the path they 
 goin' trod together bless 
 
 His voice failed and his mind wandered, "Children,"
 
 DEAD MAN'S LIFE WAS AN EXAMPLE 219 
 
 the lips murmured, and again, almost indistinguishable, 
 "grand-children Amen !" 
 
 They thought he was gone, and with brave self-forget- 
 fulness, their eyes turned to him. He did not speak 
 again, and Allan managed by a gentle motion to lift the 
 dying one's hands, at the same moment bending forward 
 to press a fervent kiss upon the hand slipping from im- 
 prisonment. 
 
 Maithele buried her face in the coverlet, and in so 
 doing the long pin that fastened the heavy braids fell to 
 the floor. 
 
 When Lawrence opened the door five minutes later, 
 the two were sitting opposite each other as he had left 
 them. 
 
 Allan spoke in a whisper. She obeyed. 
 
 "Rest and compose yourself," added Lawrence kindly; 
 "you will not be disturbed again." 
 
 He left her at her door and the good woman brought a 
 cup of hot coffee which she sipped and was grateful. 
 
 About eight o'clock the following morning the yellow 
 phaeton and the grays stood at the door; Dorothy had 
 come for Maithele. The two men reached the Camp a 
 quarter after five. Mr. Dale was not disturbed, as Law- 
 rence and Allan had taken the arrangement of affairs 
 entirely upon themselves. 
 
 The small corner at the end of the farm, the man and' 
 woman would not sell it was offered with good-will. 
 And so at the proper hour Ben was given the generous 
 measure of sod Nature allots to every earth-child. 
 
 Maithele had returned when arrangements were com- 
 pleted. She was accompanied by Dorothy, bearing a 
 great wreath of roses. 
 
 It was only a little way to go, across the field of stacked
 
 220 OUK EIGHT TO LOVE 
 
 wheat to the big walnut tree where the yellow earth had 
 been thrown aside. 
 
 No curious eyes were there, no tongues to wag or com- 
 ment. The official, Scott, Lawrence and Allan placed 
 the coffin upon the improvised hearse, walking beside it 
 silently to the grave. 
 
 With Scott had come the good little minister from 
 Forty Fort Church oh, the distance! to do honor to 
 faithful services rendered. 
 
 Dorothy held Maithele's hand ; once it quivered and a 
 sob broke from her lips that nearly pierced Allan's heart. 
 Lawrence stood directly opposite the two girls, his hand 
 resting upon Allan's shoulder, and every little while 
 Allan's glance singled out Maithele, with pathetic fore- 
 boding marking the change a few weeks had made in 
 an unusually bright countenance. 
 
 The service was short; there was no need of a sermon. 
 The dead man's life was an example. Yet, up in the top- 
 most branch of the great black walnut tree, a feathered 
 stranger insisted upon a song. He sang as he would 
 always sing, as his feathered posterity would sing after 
 him, when the tall white shaft raised in memory would 
 bear evidence of the sharp finger nails of a passing cen- 
 tury the song of peace, untrammeled by the world. 
 
 They were leaving the house and Maithele had the 
 good woman aside. 
 
 "But you have more than paid us for the little we did ; 
 if it wa'n't for the morgidge, miss, we wouldn't a took a 
 cent." 
 
 "Mrs. Scott told me about the mortgage; it is Ben, 
 not I, who removes it." 
 
 Maithele put the thick roll into the woman's hand. 
 
 "There is enough, over," she said, "to educate the 
 little girl."
 
 DEAD MAN'S LIFE WAS AN EXAMPLE 221 
 
 The poor woman was speechless and the anxieties of 
 nights were swiftly forgotten. 
 
 "Look now and then," Maithele pressed the woman's 
 hand, 'to that spot," glancing toward the broken earth 
 beyond the field. "I will come again, and often." 
 
 She went down the steps quickly, something breaking 
 in her throat. She did not lift her eyes to the tall indi- 
 vidual who, having assisted her to the yellow phaeton, 
 jumped into the buggy beside Lawrence. 
 
 Phyllis came running down the path with a rose. 
 
 " From over ther* " said the child, and Maithele, bend- 
 ing forward, kissed her. 
 
 John Henry touched the grays away they sped as if 
 life depended upon distancing the buggy that rattled 
 behind. 
 
 And when at last the short cut to the river was reached 
 and the grays came to a halt, the buggy stopped also and 
 the two men came forward. Lawrence was spokesman. 
 
 "They were going straight on to town," he explained. 
 
 "Good-by." 
 
 And Maithele gave her hand in turn to each, and to 
 one she said, a mist in her eyes : 
 
 "I will never forget your kindness and thank you, 
 also, Mr. Lawrence." 
 
 Allan answered for both. 
 
 "It was happiness to serve you." 
 
 "My father will be grateful," smiled Dorothy. "I 
 hardly know what he would have done, had it not been 
 for you two."
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 THE STBIKE DISCUSSED. 
 
 CLARA LANSING made a discovery. Calling her 
 fiance on the long distance telephone, the gentleman's 
 stenographer had innocently imparted information 
 rather convincing to the lady as evidence of guilt. Her 
 feelings were excessively wrought, and in a short while, 
 she harrowed up situations wherein Maithele was the de- 
 signing woman and she the victim. Believing herself 
 cruelly affronted, she planned a battle-field. She meant 
 to be fair. She would gain her point, and then, with the 
 law on her side, there would be no doubt of the issue; 
 the world's applause would be certain the world, that 
 seldom stops to think, but rushes on with the standard- 
 bearer. A promise is sacred but not binding as the law. 
 The law must see as well as hear the evidence. Law is the 
 sesqui-opinion ; rule, regulation, refinement, are the in- 
 gredients. Law is not mere principle principle is 
 honor; but principle and honor are part of the law. The 
 promise is a moral obligation not binding by law. 
 
 Clara Lansing did not understand the broad gentleness 
 that reaches out with a tenderness born of affinity to re- 
 tain the sacred promise. She snapped at the bargain 
 that advanced self-interest, and resorted to contemptible 
 means to make such promise binding. And Allan ? Hav- 
 ing opened his eyes to the full illumination of Clara 
 Lansing, could not have been coerced ; to save the being 
 
 222
 
 THE STRIKE DISCUSSED 223 
 
 he loved from a scurrilous charge was his one consider- 
 ation. 
 
 Possibly ten days after the passing of Ben, Allan made 
 a journey to the city. If he hoped by so doing, to ac- 
 complish something of permanent importance he was 
 destined to be disappointed. Apart from two or three 
 stinging sarcasms in reference to Ben, an unpardonable 
 sally in which Maithele was the butt, the visit came to 
 an end. 
 
 The true womanly pride that resents the half-hearted 
 offer, the true womanly spirit that spurns the gift right- 
 fully another's, the true gentleness that waits not the 
 cruel rejection, but with fine antithesis offers the good 
 excuse, qualities that distinguish a true woman, seemed 
 wholly lacking in Clara Lansing. 
 
 He had not referred again to the marriage, yet the 
 fatal day was approaching. The ceremony would take 
 place. 
 
 Meanwhile over on the island great preparations were 
 going on. Dorothy was bent upon the ball. Twice dur- 
 ing one week she made the same comment, "Is is not 
 original, dad?" And Mr. Dale, whom she addressed, 
 responded on both occasions, "Serious, my daughter." 
 But he left the final decision with Scott. 
 
 "It's all right," said Scott; "thet ball proceeds." They 
 were seated on the long bench in Hammock Court. 
 
 "I bed a talk with the boys; the chief said he wa'n't 
 one to spile innocent amusement for the fun of it, an' I 
 give him a pussonal check to help the boys on. I don't 
 think the chief would care to see town lots give away, 
 but he don't mine now an' then if middling passes 
 'round the cake. He objects to middling because he's 
 outside the union ranks ; but he hes to be politic in order 
 to rope him in."
 
 224 OUR EIGHT TO LOVE 
 
 "And Dorothy may have her ball ?" 
 
 "I wouldn't spread the envites too thick. You don't 
 want to hev' swells 'round thicker'n blackberries in sea- 
 son when a strike is on ; it don't look sociable to the other 
 side." 
 
 "And you think it's bad policy to hire non-union men 
 to build. the pavilion?" 
 
 Scott assented. 
 
 "If Dorothy was my girl, she couldn't hev' anything 
 thet might stir the pot already boilin'." 
 
 Dale was irritated. Scott's comments clearly demon- 
 strated that he might not do as he pleased in his own es- 
 tablishment. 
 
 "It is not so much my daughters affair. I am making 
 it my own. The men that come here to do the work will 
 be brought from New York they will be non-union men 
 I shall hardly consult the strikers about my private 
 affairs." 
 
 "I ain't throwing advice away, Dale. Off course, as 
 your family an' guests air to be considered, you'll take 
 the precaution to " 
 
 "The men I engage for the work will act as a guard. 
 I do not anticipate trouble." 
 
 Scott jerked his gray slouch hat over his brow. 
 
 "Neither did Dick Allan anticipate trouble when he 
 went to the top of Mount Lookout, to get the view." 
 
 "Oh, I'm fairly convinced that gang of cutthroats 
 were were just lawless fellows. I don't think the union 
 had anything to do with it. A thing like that might 
 happen at any time, in any place." 
 
 "Wa'al, I ain't carrying coals to Newcastle." 
 
 Scott was moving away, but Dale hung on to the favor- 
 ite topic; putting his hand upon the other's arm, detain- 
 ing him, he opened up with didactic emphasis:
 
 THE STRIKE DISCUSSED 229 
 
 "Every man has the right to run his own establish- 
 ment to engage his servants from the four corners of 
 the globe, if so disposed." 
 
 "Off course, off course." 
 
 But Dale would not be turned aside. 
 
 "To make individual contracts and to shut or open his 
 door according to his own inclination." 
 
 "Go on, Dale. You 'bout wound up, an' I'm attention." 
 
 Dale did not proceed at once and Scott questioned 
 subsidiarily : 
 
 "You wa'n't in favor of the ball at first?" 
 
 "When my daughter suggested a ball on the island I 
 was not in favor of it ; it did not seem serious, but as I 
 thought the matter over, I concluded that it might be a 
 good thing after all. The ball proceeds and possibly the 
 union men will arrive at a wise conclusion; anyway they 
 get a lesson." 
 
 "It ain't pleasant to hev* to git your learning after ye 
 hev' growed up." 
 
 Scott's big hands went deep into the pockets of his 
 sack coat ; he looked uneasily at his friend from the cor- 
 ners of his half-closed eyes, and sighed. He had many 
 examples of Dale's perverseness. Yet he always ended by 
 admiring the brave, assertive spirit ; on the present occa- 
 sion, however, he experienced the keenest alarm. A fine 
 mist was in the air, and Scott's eyes sought the leaden 
 sky. 
 
 "Don't go, Scott." 
 
 Putting his hand forward, Dale felt the dampness. 
 The two walked over to Bachelor Quarters. The cosy 
 place had a deserted air, and lighting a cigar Dale 
 eagerly resumed : 
 
 " Freedom should be respected, whether it be personal, 
 political, or religious; the Constitution of the United
 
 226 OUR RIGHT TO LOVE 
 
 States is violated, the Declaration of Independence be- 
 comes an obsolete document, if dominated by a single 
 force." 
 
 "Ther' you go kiting. I dunno but I'm objecting to 
 freedom as I see it in these parts." 
 
 " You mean license ? License, Scott, is not freedom ; 
 it is a violation against law, and labor unions that lay 
 down restrictions are a menace, and menace that throws 
 a country into disorder is revolutionary. The laborer, as 
 you say, Scott, is entitled to his hire, but he is not, for 
 the same reason, entitled to deprive a fellow laborer, not 
 belonging to the union, of his hire." 
 
 Dale waxed eloquent as he continued. 
 
 "Who are the great sufferers when a strike is organ- 
 ized ? Not the capitalist he, at least, continues to live ; 
 not the union people they merely cripple themselves. 
 It is the class you call 'middling.' Scott, I propose to 
 run my establishment to suit myself." 
 
 "Got Bible teaching to jestify you." 
 
 Scott drew at the weed, sending two whiffs to the rude 
 board ceiling. 
 
 "The parable of the laborer in the vineyard." 
 
 Mr. Dale knocked the ashes from his cigar, but made 
 no comment and Scott proceeded : 
 
 "The fellers kicked 'bout wages; not because they 
 didn't git what they bargained for they did; but they 
 called the master to task for doin' the same kindness to 
 the other fellers that hecln't worked as long as they bed." 
 
 "Bible lessons are scoffed at. I'm afraid if the Lord 
 were to appear again here among the miners, for exam- 
 ple and say to the men that a mine is an owner's estab- 
 lishment, that he has perfect right to engage his ser- 
 vants as he pleases and from whence he pleases, and pay 
 each according to his worth, or, as the lesson goes, ac-
 
 THE STRIKE DISCUSSED 227 
 
 cording to his will, I believe, Scott, these same miners 
 would repudiate the Lord." 
 
 Scott's influence over Dale palpably expressed itself in 
 the facetious rejoinder : 
 
 "Don't go heving pipe dreams." 
 Getting upon his feet, Scott walked over to the door. 
 "And the days of strikes will be over, Dale thet's 
 your idee ?" 
 
 "The strike may never be over. The strike is the in- 
 dividual's privilege; it is a part of his freedom. It is 
 not his privilege, it is Puritanic domination to dictate to 
 his employer, or to interfere with the man hired to take 
 his place." 
 
 "Thet's sense, genuine pioneer sense; no pipe dream 
 in thet." 
 
 Dale looked doubtfully at Scott, then at his own cigar. 
 "As you know, Scott, the first trouble originated in 
 one of my own mines. A small fire broke out; it could 
 have been extinguished in a few moments; a man was 
 told to run for a bucket of water ; he refused ; he was not 
 paid, he said, to haul water. Of course he was promptly 
 discharged." 
 
 "Off course. What he expected was thet the feller that 
 give the order should hev' tetched his hat to him, doubled 
 his wages an' give him an envite to tea. I dunno but 
 what I would hev* don' it if I had bin the feller." 
 He drew again at the weed as he continued : 
 "If a man hes idees as I tole you years back, an' great 
 ambition to shine, ther' ain't but one way to get shed of 
 both. Get a pack of dogs. Dogs can't talk back so'st 
 he'll be worried or troubled weth their opinions, but they 
 can use up his energy so stirringly thet it ain't fit for any 
 other game." 
 
 Dale laughed, passing the interruption.
 
 228 OUR RIGHT TO LOVE 
 
 "Well, you know the result at the mine; we refused to 
 reinstate the man. The story hardly went the rounds." 
 
 The two walked down the path to the river, con- 
 versation flagging between them. And as the ferry dis- 
 appeared with Scott, Mr. Dale, standing erect in the 
 skiff, lifted his eyes. The peace of evening was slowly 
 creeping upon Dial Rock.
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 THE MARRIAGE TAKES PLACE. 
 
 THE fields are stubbled and thin, the rivers cool and 
 clear, and the hills craggy and steep are tinted with olive, 
 gorgeous red, yellow and brown. Hardly a twig, leaf or 
 humble flower or creeping vine, but feels the magic touch. 
 The wonder brush of Nature's artist is exhausting the 
 color-box, and the picture nearly finished elicits the cry 
 of human admiration. 
 
 Later Boreas, driving down the valley will see the pic- 
 ture, and with the usual vandalism tear it from its set- 
 ting; but for the present it hangs brown earth, deep 
 blue sky and gorgeous foliage. 
 
 Allan, gazing from the window of a flying train, filled 
 with the perceptive cognizance of the dilettante, resented 
 the bold infringement ; he would have the delicate land- 
 scape undisturbed. 
 
 "Three or four weeks," he sighed, "and not a leaf will 
 remain of a summer beautiful beyond recall." 
 
 It was over the little part he had played in the drama 
 which is the marvel of life; and it is well, perhaps, that 
 the rose-gate of Paradise is lost in mist when the occa- 
 sion demands the wait without. 
 
 Clara Lansing had been very nice with the wedding ar- 
 
 229
 
 OUR RIGHT TO LOVE 
 
 rangements. Things had heen accomplished beyond his 
 expectations. 
 
 Shortly after reaching the city, he repaired to the Lan- 
 sing residence, and, being received alone, he thanked her 
 warmly for the small favor. 
 
 They were in the library; in fact, each occupied the 
 identical chair as in the last visit, facing each other. 
 Allan laid the simple plan of the coming day before his 
 fiancee and in part, she agreed to it agreed, at least, 
 that after the ceremony they should leave for Rochester. 
 
 "I have business there," he said ; "it will be more 
 agreeable for you than remaining here." 
 
 "How long will business hold you?" 
 
 "One week two, perhaps." 
 
 "And then?" 
 
 "The choice remains with you Florida, Cuba, or, I 
 have thought of Italy ; neither you nor I have been there 
 in the proper season." 
 
 "I do not care for warm climates in any season." She 
 smiled as he suggested France. "I want to tell you 
 of course, it is a secret but about the second week of 
 October, uncle goes abroad." 
 
 "Oh, that alters our plan. It would not be agreeable 
 to to find ourselves going over in the same ship with 
 Mr. Lansing." 
 
 "That is so; he might be embarrassed with our love- 
 making." 
 
 Allan enjoyed the innoxious sarcasm. 
 
 "Uncle needs a rest," she said, after a short silence, 
 "and and we are to have this residence; I mean, it is 
 to be our home." 
 
 "Mr. Lansing is kind; I am glad, too, for your sake. 
 I will be in the city off and on, and for appearance, I will 
 put up here."
 
 THE MARRIAGE TAKES PLACE 231 
 
 Clara Lansing winced. 
 
 He was staring at the dado above the low bookcase, and 
 wondering if the brilliant tinting was Clara's taste. 
 
 "I will always make things pleasant; rather, as Mrs. 
 Allan, you will not be subject to comment. You under- 
 stand my position I will respect yours." 
 
 She was silent, though a terrible anger stirred within. 
 She could have annihilated, plunged the small dagger 
 her fingers toyed into his heart ; but affairs of this nature 
 have shocking recompense. She was weary of words; 
 besides, the hour of revenge had not arrived. 
 
 Silence growing oppressive, Allan ventured with slight 
 hesitation : 
 
 "I was a trifle worried about the the form ; we differ, 
 you know, about marriage. But I have talked it over 
 with your minister." 
 
 "Talked what over ?" And the dangerous toy designed 
 as a paper-cutter fell to the floor. 
 
 "The form to be used." Allan grew reckless, noting 
 her trepidation. "You told me you considered marriage 
 a silly ceremony. In a certain sense, I agree with you; 
 so much depends on the way in which one prepares for 
 the solemnity. In our case, the word 'obey' and 'prom- 
 ise to love' will be eliminated from the prescribed form." 
 
 "And you arranged this with our minister?" 
 
 "He arranged it with me." 
 
 "You told him that I " 
 
 " Credit me, where my name is concerned. The rever- 
 end gentleman was informed that Mrs. Allan should not 
 feel herself obliged to obey, and that distinctly for Mrs. 
 Allan the compulsory phrase 'promise to love' would be 
 in poor taste." 
 
 "Bah! What are words?" 
 "They are all or nothing, as we use them."
 
 232 OUR EIGHT TO LOVE 
 
 He lifted the dagger from the floor, and placed it upon 
 the table, regarding the girl silently. Then finding his 
 timepiece, he snapped the lid with a slight, "Pardon 
 me !" It was too late for controversy. 
 
 The following day, about noon, Allan and Lawrence 
 entered the splendid mansion. 
 
 Allan was punctual to the minute and the minister 
 was not tardy. But the minister waited; Mr. Lansing 
 waited ; and the few guests assembled studied the decora- 
 tions without comment. Almost hanging to the Gre- 
 cian goddess, holding the silver lamp at the foot of the 
 stair, Lawrence waited the signal from the landing 
 above. 
 
 They waited he waited almost an hour. 
 
 Speculation is the flocculent state of the brain. A 
 spark, and the whole is aflame; a hint, every fibre is a 
 phantom, and every phantom a flame. Thought whirls 
 to the highest pinnacle, or drops to the lowest abyss. A 
 feather floats into the open, and immediately swells into 
 plumes. A simple rose springs from the sod, and a gar- 
 den appears; the rose is a garden the garden 
 Paradise ! 
 
 But speculation spends itself more readily than its 
 power creates. 
 
 Lawrence experienced the phenomenon in the trying 
 hour, conjuring up situations that suddenly melted, like 
 a drop of kerosene in the blaze. If if oh, the won- 
 derful phantasmagoria ! Clara Lansing eloped with an 
 understudy; the uncle, irate and distracted, condoling 
 with the groom, who simply smiles at the delightful 
 vicissitude of fate. 
 
 But the wonderful denouement was the full-throated 
 whisper that came without warning from the landing 
 above:
 
 THE MARRIAGE TAKES PLACE 233 
 
 "The bride !" 
 
 Lawrence fell suddenly limp, as he turned to give the 
 signal to the page, who at once conveyed the message to 
 the library. 
 
 The page accompanied Clara Lansing to the first land- 
 ing of the broad stairway, and, as he advanced again the 
 wedding march from Lohengrin rang out, and the bride, 
 charmingly gowned for a journey, entered the drawing- 
 room on the arm of her uncle. 
 
 The marriage ritual, at no time lengthy, is short- 
 ened by request. And the reverend gentleman im- 
 proved upon brevity by delivering himself of a little ora- 
 tion before the responses, to which the guests might have 
 found themselves obliged to harken, had not a soft 
 pianissimo accompanying a violin solo proved a coup de 
 grace. 
 
 Naturally, roses were in order, but their profusion 
 was rather too lavish for the occasion. The Bride rose 
 was conspicuous for its absence, but the American Beauty 
 was in evidence; they stood bold and beautiful against 
 the wall, upon the mantel and on an exquisitely carved 
 pedestal near the bride and groom. 
 
 Directly facing the groom, in a far-away corner, was 
 the piano and beside it, the slender figure of the girl 
 violinist. 
 
 Her face was hidden by the tall clump of palms, but 
 the white of her gown was visible through the green. 
 
 As the oration ended, before the first response was 
 made, Rubinstein's Melody in F floated through the 
 room. 
 
 Allan trembled, strong man though he was, and the 
 words his heart created for the Melody the first night he 
 heard it, dropped like beads from a rosary whose chain 
 held a cross ;
 
 OUR RIGHT TO LOVE 
 
 Deep in my heart is a cry that awakes, 
 
 Filling my soul with joy till it breaks ; 
 
 Oh, the sweet words, like roses that blow 
 
 From gardens of dream that were long, long ago. 
 
 He forgot the woman at his side forgot the people 
 and the minister, waiting for his response. And the 
 
 semplice. 
 
 minister's face went suddenly pale. The bride grew 
 florid. 
 
 "Repeat, if you please," said the reverend gentleman 
 for the second time ; but the violin cried : 
 
 mf 
 Call - ing to me 
 
 , fir PH 
 
 r * 
 
 Voice sweet and low 
 
 "Calling to me in accents low 
 Never to part to part again."
 
 THE MARRIAGE TAKES PLACE 235 
 
 The bride was forgotten. The voice was calling 
 the voice he would ever hear, ever keep with him unto the 
 last day. The music floated on and with it the beautiful 
 memory, and his soul answered with the melody : 
 
 Loved one I hear, but shackled and bound, 
 Your voice is the life ineffable sound 
 That cheers me and comforts, and bids me arise; 
 My spirit will dwell in the light of your eyes. 
 
 The suspense lifted at last. The music ceased and his 
 thoughts came back to the world. His eyes held the 
 minister, whose fine face bore lines of deep anxiety, as, 
 for the third time, he spoke : 
 
 "Kindly repeat after me " 
 
 And to his intense relief Allan mumbled through the 
 form that short, though it was, seemed all the way to 
 eternity. 
 
 Clara's revenge fell heavy. 
 
 She had discovered the girl violinist at a concert some 
 days before and engaged her for the ceremony. 
 
 If she hoped that Allan might fancy the girl to be the 
 being he loved, she was mistaken. The living presence 
 would hardly have shaken his belief. He was simply car- 
 ried beyond himself with memories broken, dead, and, 
 as he believed, never to be realized. 
 
 The influence had not lifted as Lansing offered his 
 warm congratulations. And then, for the first time, he 
 met the bride's mother and sisters. 
 
 The breakfast followed. 
 
 Lawrence, the only friend of Allan present, meant to 
 do the proper thing, but, lifting the sparkling glass, it 
 slipped from his fingers, broke, and the toast was lost. 
 
 The piano and violin continued heart-piercing adagios. 
 The bride had arranged the programme.
 
 236 OUR RIGHT TO LOVE 
 
 And at last ! At last ! They were off, Lawrence ac- 
 companying the bride and groom to the train. In the 
 nice compartment, Mrs. Allan found flowers, bon-bons, 
 books; but the gentleman who arranged her chair and 
 folded her coat had not touched her hand.
 
 a a' 
 
 -" w 
 a * 
 
 H co 
 
 5 
 a H
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 THE OPPORTUNITY FOR REVENGE. 
 
 TASSO was there, ready for his one feature act a pink 
 flower in his mouth, and a stalk of blooms at his feet. 
 
 "Wa'al, I'll swan!" 
 
 Scott was gazing fondly upon his pet. 
 
 "I told him to git two flowers for the puttiest girls in 
 the land, so he goes off an' gits a whole stock of 'm. 
 He won't play favorites, no sire, not him too politic." 
 
 Scott waved his hand to Dorothy and Maithele, who 
 came out on the veranda as the two men were discussing 
 the merits of Tasso. 
 
 "The fust one of you thet gits married, gits Tasso 
 dead sure." 
 
 He patted the dog on the head, turning to the 
 veranda : 
 
 "Louisa wants to know if she be required to wear 
 fancy dress to your ball." 
 
 Dorothy's deportment was at once grave. 
 $ "Aunt Helen has decided upon the costume of a Colo- 
 nial Dame, but she will not mask. Tell Mrs. Scott not 
 to bother with fancy costume." 
 
 Maithele twined her arm lovingly about Dorothy, and 
 Scott, with tender eyes upon the two, marked the sweet 
 pensiveness of one. He felt that for Maithele the ball 
 would have no enjoyment. The taking away of a faithful 
 servant should not alter plans nicely begun before the 
 
 237
 
 238 OUR RIGHT TO LOVE 
 
 misfortune, but Scott Avished for Maithele's sake that 
 Dorothy had given up the ball. Two blows within the 
 month was rather severe; he knew that both had gone 
 hard with her. 
 
 "I'll tell Louisa," he said, lifting his hat. "I know 
 she wouldn't wore a mask. I heV an engagement for 
 the early part of the evening, but I guess I'll be round 
 time to see Louisa home." 
 
 Dorothy smiled, giving Maithele a pinch; and when 
 Scott disappeared she clapped her hands with delight. 
 
 "He will be among the maskers. Watch for him, 
 Maithele. Won't it be fun ?" 
 
 Scott was beside himself with schoolboy happiness, 
 and the troubled thoughts pending upon the strike situ- 
 tion were instantly dispelled from his brain. 
 
 A costume ball was the acme of his conception of 
 social frivolity the nugation of the wealthy. He ran 
 over to Allan's town one fine day, and consulted the good 
 taste of that gentleman. 
 
 Scott's broad shoulders and bearing suggested the 
 military man, and when the full regimentals came home 
 Scott went into them, and immediately presented him- 
 self to his spouse, who sat placidly knitting a woolen 
 sock in the front room upstairs. 
 
 She was speechless at first; and then volubility broke 
 upon the unsuspecting yet somewhat conscious Colonel. 
 
 "If you don't take me back to war times; but," re- 
 flectively; "in the name of common sense an' reason " 
 
 "Wa'al, what's the trouble?" 
 
 "Si Scott ! Did you ever see a sol-ger with a mask ?" 
 
 Scott looked terribly stricken, but he answered with 
 some show of spirit : 
 
 "No, Louisa, I can't say thet I ever did 'less'n it was 
 a mask of mud."
 
 OPPORTUNITY FOR REVENGE 239 
 
 Her tongue spun on with the velocity of a top. 
 
 "I'm naturally desappointed a sol-ger? Now, who 
 ever heard of a sol-ger squimmidging into a house where 
 he's naturally envited, showing a false face !" 
 
 "Off-course, Louisa, in war times he " 
 
 "I ain't hearing 'bout war times now; they be passed 
 an' gone and, fer as I'm concerned, forgotten. It's the 
 present I'm looking to. Declare, I'm dumb ! I thought 
 ye was going to hev' a jacket weth lace 'n the sleeves an' 
 one of them long capes like I see in pictures, weth 
 silver fringe on it; velvet breeches, an' shiny boots. Oh, 
 I hed an' idee of style, an' here you walk in like a com- 
 mon sol-ger. I ain't blamin' you, Si; I thenk your 
 handsome anyway your put, but I can't get over Dick 
 Allan. I wonder what he was thenking about ?" 
 
 She sighed, looked kindly at Scott, and began again, 
 with a retrospective note : 
 
 "I don't suppose he can be blamed exactly ; dunno but 
 what I'd don' wurst if I'd bin in his place ; it's a terri- 
 ble setuation to be married to the wrong girl! It's a 
 wonder to me he didn't advise you to go off an' be a 
 bride." 
 
 "Oh, Dick Allan wa'n't married when we talked to- 
 gether about thes rig." 
 
 "I know he wa'n't ; but he was on the eve of it, which 
 is about the same." She broke off abruptly. "Seen 
 him sence?" 
 
 "Yestidy." 
 
 "I hope he ain't livin' fair an' square weth her after 
 all she done ?" 
 
 "Lord a-mighty, Louisa, the questions ! Do you sup- 
 pose I'm goin' to cut friendship by astin' pussonals?" 
 
 Possibly the rebuke went home; her voice modulated 
 as she ventured :
 
 240 OUR RIGHT TO LOVE 
 
 "He didn't say anything?" 
 
 "He bed a lot to say." 
 
 Scott walked over to the door, listened, closed it with 
 quiet satisfaction, returning again to the chair beside 
 Mrs. Scott. 
 
 "He left the bride in Rochester day before yestidy," 
 said Scott, taking the just-begun sock out of Louisa's 
 hand very nicely, and throwing it across the room. 
 
 "I hate to see you workin' all the time. Go into 
 town: buy forty dozen pairs " 
 
 "I declare, Si Scott ! I was jest at the turn." 
 
 "Wa'al, turn thes way an' listen to me." And he 
 gave the plump chin a loving pinch. 
 
 "I'm looking f er trouble, Louisa ; leastwise Dick Allan 
 is. He's got wind of suthen thet might take place, an' 
 thin again it mightn't." 
 
 Mrs. Scott was all attention, and Scott imparted the 
 information he had obtained from Allan. 
 
 "I'm glad," said Mrs. Scott, when the husband sub- 
 sided ; "mighty glad thet you'll be a sol-ger. An' where 
 will Dick Allan be if the encounter takes place ?" 
 
 "Not on the fence, Louisa. Wa'al," getting upon his 
 feet, "before I git thes rig off I'll show myself to the 
 dogs." 
 
 He strutted forth, and Mrs. Scott, recovering the 
 knitting, picked up her stitches exactly at the turn, 
 making several elucidations which no one heard. Mr. 
 Dale got one for perverseness, and Dorothy one for being 
 "set upon the ball;" but it was the knitting, after all, 
 that received the full share of abuse. She wound and 
 unwound the yarn, put in stitches, and pulled out 
 stitches, and finally gave up the pleasing task. "Si's a 
 sensible man," she said aloud ; "enstead of working thes 
 way, I might be making lemon pies."
 
 OPPORTUNITY FOR REVENGE 
 
 The sock went into a corner, where it remained for 
 many days. 
 
 Allan had gotten wind of something that, coming 
 from a direct source, filled him with grave apprehen- 
 sion. He did not make explanations to Mrs. Allan. In 
 fact, Mrs. Allan's maid informed him when he an- 
 nounced himself in the little reception-room which 
 divided their residences, that her mistress was resting. 
 He wrote a letter of some length, leaving it where Mrs. 
 Allan might find it. 
 
 Then Allan came again to Pittston. It was not his 
 intention to impart his information to Mr. Dale ; too late 
 to recall invitations ; besides he hoped to avert the pro- 
 posed uprising of the union men, whose grievance 
 seemed to be the employing on the island for the festive 
 occasion of non-union men. He had succeeded so well 
 in his efforts that he found leisure to run over to his own 
 town. He found a note from Mrs. Allan upon his desk, 
 which required an answer. The lady desired to be posi- 
 tively and immediately informed if he would be in 
 Rochester on the following day. She gave the excuse 
 that she had arranged for a theatre party. Always 
 courteous, he sent a telegram to the effect that it would 
 be impossible, as business detained him where he was. 
 Mrs. Allan's fury spent itself ere the telegram was 
 crumbled and tossed to the floor. She was not taken 
 unaware ; she was prepared. Since the first hour of their 
 arrival in Rochester, she felt that her husband's game 
 was to keep here there, amused, until after the ball. She 
 also convinced herself that he would find an excuse for 
 leaving her to attend the ball. The disguise would afford 
 him an opportunity to converse with Maithele. So 
 overpowering became the hallucination that, when she 
 received his letter, which explained only that he re-
 
 243 OUR RIGHT TO LOVE 
 
 gretted to be called away, she prepared at once for a 
 little journey, hoping that the surprise to the gentleman 
 might be the desired opportunity for revenge. Shadows 
 of coming events floated through her dreams and stalked 
 with every footstep of the way. 
 
 At the same hour that the husband boarded a train 
 leaving his own town for Pittston, the wife boarded a 
 train at the station in Rochester for Wilkes-Barre. Mrs 
 Allan was clever ; she would not take the chance of run- 
 ning into the gentleman whose name she bore. The run 
 over to Pittston was onty a few moments, and she would 
 not venture over until dusk. She experienced a keen 
 satisfaction in the thought of revenge, as Allan experi- 
 enced a delightful exhilaration in the thought of avert- 
 ing serious disaster to friends inestimably dear. 
 
 He had accomplished much, and little remained but 
 to guard against the blow. As his mind carefully re- 
 viewed the situation, boarding an outgoing train, a hand 
 fell heavily upon his shoulder, and, glancing up, he 
 recognized the kind official. It was partly through the 
 official that he had acquired the knowledge appertaining 
 to the hostility of the miners. Together they discussed 
 possibilities and the attack which they hoped to 
 frustrate. 
 
 About midday the last touches were given the music- 
 room, and Dorothy spoke her approval as Jack Ruford, 
 who, gaining courage since the event of a certain nup- 
 tial, went the length of the room with Maithele, doing 
 the pretty figure of the scarf dance to the delight of the 
 small audience. And the younger Miss Rice and Will 
 Thomas, also inspirited by the desire for applause, fell 
 in line. 
 
 "If we do only half so well to-night," said Miss Rice,
 
 OPPORTUNITY FOR REVENGE 243 
 
 fanning herself with a palm leaf, "our fame will go 
 abroad." 
 
 "Which means that Frohman will engage us for next 
 season/ chimed in Will Thomas, ever delightful and 
 droll. 
 
 He strolled off with Miss Rice, and the others fol- 
 lowed. The younger Miss Rice was merely frivolous. 
 Her kind is the brown bee of society always busy, al- 
 ways buzzing; unlike, however, the pretty insect whose 
 mission is to gather sweets, society's bee is bent on 
 prying missions for gathering gossip. 
 
 Before six P. M. the hostelry, which was merely a 
 temporary annex to Bachelor Quarters, had the appear- 
 ance of a wayside inn in a thriving town in early days, 
 the innovation being the dress-suit case, which replaced 
 the clumsy wooden box of long, long ago. 
 
 The guests were arriving from five of the clock. 
 
 Maids, valets, waiters, running in every direction, and 
 lights were appearing in all the windows. Lamps and 
 Chinese lanterns everywhere; they swung in trees, 
 adorned balconies, and formed brilliant strings of il- 
 lumination reaching from post to pillar. Even the ferry- 
 boat took on a gala appearance, as it moved back and 
 forth. The whole scene was one of fairy splendor and 
 brilliancy before the twilight shadows fell. 
 
 From the entrance of the house proper to Bachelor 
 Quarters, a canopy stretched, and just beyond the Quar- 
 ters, where the path sloped, two guards were stationed. 
 
 At the end of the path, on a small platform covered 
 With a Turkish rug, stood the formidable person who 
 requested a card. 
 
 Mr. Dale had taken every precaution for the safety, as 
 well as for the entertainment of his guests. 
 
 A mounted guard patroled the island, and as many
 
 S44 OUR RIGHT TO LOVE 
 
 again in blue regimentals were severely on duty. Yet 
 strange rumors were afloat. Silas Scott heard the mur- 
 mur, as, nicely ensconced behind old Sorrel, he sped to 
 the ball. "It's a-stonishing," he mentally commented, 
 "the folks that like to crowd round ent'tainments to 
 which they ain't envited." 
 
 The occasion was one of stirring interest to the Scotts. 
 Mrs. Scott could not be persuaded to accompany her 
 husband. As she explained debut possibilities, while 
 arranging Scott's finery on the bed : 
 
 "I never was a dabu', Si, an' it's too late to begin. 
 Off-course, it's different weth you; you air a man, an' 
 folks, specially society folks, don't expect much from a 
 man." Saying which she jerked a tulip from Scott's 
 fingers and threw it out of the window. "Land sakes, 
 you ain't goin' to wear thet thing ! I jest hate the smell 
 of tulips; they alwus make me think I'm at funerals 
 when I ain't." 
 
 Nevertheless, Scott was happy, and so overwhelming 
 is the genius for self that, arriving at the ball, he had 
 almost forgotten the loss of the tulip boutonniere. 
 
 Mrs. Scott insisted that her husband should do the 
 thing "prop'ly" give the family an "air;" and so Old 
 Sorrel went flirty, finding himself handled by a real 
 coachman. The carriage was new, also the coachman, 
 and Scott experienced no end of uneasiness as both 
 joggled at every turn of the road. But he held his 
 temper, as becomes a gentleman on the high road to 
 civilities, resting the blame, through force of habit, upon 
 Sorrel. ' 
 
 "His head's plumb turned weth the sight he got of me 
 an' the emportence of hauling a fashionable rig; I 
 wouldn't be surprised," he went on in a stage whisper,
 
 OPPORTUNITY FOR REVENGE 245 
 
 "if Sorrel wa'n't calculating thes very minute on a 
 docked tail." 
 
 Through the thick brush that skirted the edges of the 
 drowsy hills encircling the island, scowling faces, eyes 
 opening from narrow black fringed slits, sent threats 
 that failed to agitate the life pulsating across the 
 stream. The only connection between aggressiveness and 
 joy was the little ferry-boat touching either bank with 
 its meaningless swish, swish.
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 THE COSTUME BALL. 
 
 BEFORE the curtain rises and the play begins the pulse 
 quickens with the joy of expectancy, and the tightening 
 or the slacking of strings stimulates the mind to meet 
 the shrill ecstatic call of the clarion, the quavering hush 
 of the violincello, the sonorous tones of the big trombone, 
 or the whisperings of the dulcet violin. 
 
 But, the sorcery, the witchery, of tuning-up precedes 
 the dance, when loving twains await with keen delight 
 the trial passes of the rosin-bow, which preludes the 
 leader's tap, sharply announcing the first step of the 
 light fantastic. 
 
 Over the river, across the sward, rapture bursts before 
 the brilliant display gay tents, flowery awnings, swing- 
 ing lanterns, lights and shadows, sub-silentio fantasies, 
 to picture dreams, reminding one of days romantic from 
 pages of forgotten lore. 
 
 Far off, perhaps to many, the invitation to the capri- 
 cious whirl, but to hands already clasped, awaiting the 
 irresistible bidding, the moment has arrived that bears 
 them away in the easy glide of entrancing melody. 
 
 The rough board walls of the pavilion, hung with 
 canvas and garlanded with green, scintillated with elec- 
 tric bulbs, while fringed about the base, tall slender 
 palms completed the bower. 
 
 But what are decorations? It is the people, gor- 
 
 246
 
 THE COSTUME BALL 24? 
 
 geously gowned and costumed, that make the real 
 adornment. 
 
 The clock had spoken, the little bell tinkled, and the 
 sonorous wakings of human notes mingled with the 
 fervid cries of stringed instruments. 
 
 Overhead, the quick passing to and fro stopped short, 
 and the noise of doors opening and closing abruptly 
 ceased. Corridors and stairway filled with a strange 
 people, just stepped out of frames too long hidden in 
 garret holes. Into the reception-room they filed, bowing 
 graciousl}', offering jeweled finger-tips to stately dames 
 in Colonial attire. 
 
 From the reception-room to the music-room only a 
 step, and the throng, crowd garlanding the walls. 
 
 The taut strings of the instruments fairly shriek with 
 suspense. The Toreador giving the signal, the leader's 
 wand tapped upon the stand. 
 
 Carmen bowed to the Toreador, smiling upon her 
 vis-a-vis ; but all eyes were upon the side couple courtesy- 
 ing to each other the gentleman, a tall Friar, with the 
 distinguished bearing of a prince, touching the finger- 
 tips of Autumn, whispered : 
 
 "No mask could ever disguise, no costume conceal 
 your lovely personality." 
 
 Her gown, soft and clinging, is woven with a thread 
 of silver, and upon the deep lace flounce a border of full- 
 blown yellow roses ; over the bare shoulders to the hem 
 of the gown a filmy mantle drops, sunset tint, literally 
 strewn with bronze-green leaves. The white silk mask 
 concealed the features, but there was no disguise for 
 the wealth of burnish gold-brown hair, parted upon the 
 brow and falling in a soft coil simply adorned and held 
 in order by two ropes of priceless pearls. 
 
 The guests from West Pittston, and those who had
 
 248 OUR EIGHT TO LOVE 
 
 taken possession of the hotel, arrived en masque. And 
 of the many carriages that crossed over, one contained 
 a single occupant. She alighted, ignoring the salver. 
 
 "John Henry" the voice had a forcible note in it 
 "I dropped my card, possibly on the ferry/' 
 
 John Henry inclines as low as form permits. The 
 familiarity pleased him. Had she offered silver, he 
 might have detained her. 
 
 The entrance door stood wide. She passed the recep- 
 tion-room, falling in with the maskers. 
 
 Enveloped in black, soft velvet, glittering with tiny 
 silver stars. The bodice of the gown, cut square, dis- 
 plaj^ed to advantage, perhaps, a diamond necklace of 
 unusual splendor, but the sleeves were long, reaching to 
 the wrist. A fillet of silver, from which lifted a single 
 star, encircled the brow, and a short black gauze veil, 
 fastened upon the crown of the head, falling over the 
 shoulders, completed the disguise. 
 
 "Is that Night in the doorway?" inquired the Clown 
 of Folly. Folly giggled : 
 
 "She must be homely to appear like that !" Folly had 
 beautiful arms, and they were bare. 
 
 "Watch me waltz with Night the next round." 
 
 He disappeared, likewise the dark figure in the door- 
 way, and Folly smiled upon an Indian, who claimed 
 the dance; and even as Folly danced she giggled, and, 
 for the once, with an excuse. The Clown had consoled 
 himself with a pretty Flower-girl. 
 
 Silas Scott observed the peculiar manoeuverings of 
 Night from the first moment of her arrival. He saw her 
 avoid the reception-room, which proved either that she 
 lacked nice deportment, or that she had reason for avoid- 
 ing the usual civilities. When she refused to waltz with 
 the Clown, he mused :
 
 THE COSTUME BALL 249 
 
 "He wa'n't putty enough," and with an after-thought, 
 "I guess she's in mourning for somebody ; leastwise it 
 looks thet way." 
 
 Presently he saw the lady bend forward eagerly, fol- 
 lowing a couple whom Scott easily recognized. Watch- 
 ing, he nearly forgot his own correct bearing by shoving 
 his hands deep into the pockets of his trousers. 
 
 But his attention was further called to the stranger. 
 Following closely, he saw her station herself behind a 
 clump of palms on the far side of which two persons 
 were seated. 
 
 He joined her, apologizing, hoping to engage her in 
 conversation ; but she did not deign to notice, and, brush- 
 ing him aside, mounted the stairway. He dared not 
 follow, but, growing intensely interested, concluded to 
 wait her return. 
 
 Night expected, perhaps, to find some evidence of 
 guilt in the room she invaded. But her face wore a look 
 of disappointment as she returned to the ballroom. 
 
 Night was mistaken in the tall Friar. Mounted and 
 armed, Allan at the moment was on the road across the 
 river, nicely conversing with two officers of the near 
 town. 
 
 The telephone wire connecting with the island had 
 been cut, but the electric display proved the other wire 
 intact. Too many apparently unarmed men were re- 
 creating at the rather advanced hour. Yet, consulting 
 his watch, he was gratified that the time for the threat- 
 ened attack had passed. Yet, through overanxiety may- 
 hap, or a sort of presentiment, the sense of impending 
 disaster seemed at hand. 
 
 Nearing the turn in the road, the officers cantered 
 ahead, and Allan, seizing the advantage, found himself 
 at the end of the turn, facing the fern-. This was not
 
 S50 
 
 the first, but the second time inside the hour that he had 
 ventured near the fairy scene. Drawing rein, he gave 
 himself up to reverie. 
 
 But, could his eyes have penetrated beyond the swing- 
 ing lights, beyond the ballroom to a remote corner in 
 the pavilion, the wrath of strikers, the fear of attack, 
 would have melted, would have been as nothing in com- 
 parison. Fortunately, perhaps, his vision held only that 
 which it filled soft lights, sweet music, and the witchery 
 of night. With a sigh, he gave the horse his head and 
 galloped off to join the officers, who were advancing 
 toward the turn with a respectable force. 
 
 Autumn and the tall Friar, having danced and enjoyed 
 tete-a-tetes sufficient for the evening, grew weary; at 
 least the lady announced her mood with a sigh. 
 
 "I am thirsty," said the Friar. 
 
 "You always are," laughed she, "but behold my mercy ! 
 It reacheth to a door, on the inside of which is the foun- 
 tain of good cheer." 
 
 "Oh, let's to it," replied he, in the same light vein. 
 
 And Night, who never for a moment lost sight of the 
 two, followed. 
 
 Two couples, through love of sport or sheer ennui, 
 also found the side door on the garden side of the 
 pavilion, and, as the Friar and his lady entered, the 
 Clown was discovered helping Folly to a sandwich, both 
 having removed masks. 
 
 "This is not in order, my children," said the Friar. 
 
 Folly giggled, but the Friar shook his head severely, 
 and fumbled his beads. 
 
 "You are giving bad example; and what is this? 
 Bread and meat, and the prescribed fast not ended before 
 one quarter before eleven of the clock ?" 
 
 Folly fell upon her knees.
 
 THE COSTUME BALL 251 
 
 "Oh, shrive me, shrive me, holy man !" 
 
 'Get up r 
 
 The Clown's hand fell lightly upon her shoulder. 
 
 "Get up/' he repeated; "thou backslider; the Philis- 
 tines are upon us." 
 
 But the dreaded foe proved to be only Carmen and 
 the handsome Toreador. The couples of the quadrille 
 knew each other, and, thus merrymaking, the others 
 removed masks. 
 
 As the Friar went over to the punch-bowl, the door 
 opened unceremoniously, and Night entered, like an 
 ugly draught, and, immediately after her, a man of 
 splendid physique, though a trifle portly, wearing mili- 
 tary uniform. 
 
 The intruder scowled beneath the mask. She feared 
 the man, too, having recognized his voice, and she pro- 
 ceeded cautiously. 
 
 Dorothy's embarrassment was evident, and she forth- 
 with apologized: 
 
 "The mask is rather an excuse for crime ; I have taken 
 advantage of it and neglected my guests. Won't you 
 dispense generosity by removing yours ; we are dying to 
 discover you ?" 
 
 Possibly Night did not hear; she was moving over to 
 the Friar, and for some reason inexplicable to himself, 
 or, mayhap, in a mere spirit of fun, he instantly secured 
 the mask, ere Night discovered the coveted glimpse. The 
 party were finding seats ; there was some confusion on the 
 raised dais, too. It was an interim, and two of the musi- 
 cians, having slipped through a side door and around to 
 the front veranda, immediately entertained the prom- 
 enaders, rendering on light guitar and mandolin a 
 selection from "Carmen." 
 
 Dorothy, inspired by the aria, which belonged to a
 
 OUR RIGHT TO LOVE 
 
 Don Jose, snatched a red rose from the table and threw it 
 at the Toreador, and Maithele's warm impetuous south- 
 ern nature, with bold disregard for conventions, broke 
 forth in song. She was leaning against one of the 
 decorated pillars that supported the pavilion, the autumn 
 mantle falling from her shoulders. Could she have pene- 
 trated the mask of Night, the passionate couplet might 
 have died in her throat; but the joy of melody was in 
 her soul. Casting wistful, alluring glances at the Friar, 
 the pathos in her voice was never more entrancing as she 
 sang, softly : 
 
 "L'amour est enfant de Boheme 
 
 II n' a jamais, jamais connu, de loi, 
 Si tu ne m' ai mes pas, je t'aime 
 Et, si je t'aime prends garde a toi I" 
 
 Somebody clapped. 
 
 "Now come, come, daughter, give us the English 
 version." 
 
 "Hear, hear, it is Mr. Scott ! I never would have 
 known. Off with the mask, sir ; off with it ! Oh, how 
 jolly 1" 
 
 "I ain't knowing myself, daughter, skylarking after 
 the mourner," he whispered, bowing his head forward; 
 and, then, in an audible voice : 
 
 "If you will kindly git the knot out of thes string, 
 I'll be relieved. The mask has a limit, daughter, an' me 
 an' it hev' tetched." 
 
 The Friar was filling cups and passing them around, 
 Night assisting. 
 
 Her movements were easy and graceful, but the thor- 
 oughly aroused Scott felt that she meant mischief. He 
 did not for an instant permit his gaze to wander from
 
 THE COSTUME BALL 253 
 
 her, and only the most acute vigilance could have de- 
 tected the clever tipping of the vinaigrette. Scott did 
 not see anything drop from the vinaigrette, but the 
 action justified his alarm. Dorothy had just slipped the 
 mask from his face, and he crossed over to Maithele. 
 
 "I don't like mixed drinks, daughter," he said, 
 emphatically. 
 
 Maithele did not understand, but fancying that he had 
 some rather correct idea pertaining to punch as a bever- 
 age, she humored his extravagant waste. As the contents 
 went out of the window, Night vanished. 
 
 In coming to the ball, Mrs. Allan meant to expose the 
 conduct of her husband and cast an aspersion on the 
 woman he loved ; the deadly fluid in the vinaigrette was 
 a last resort; but, frenzied with the Friar's conduct, 
 whom she believed to be her husband, and the song 
 Maithele boldly sung to him, passion broke all bounds, 
 and in her desperate mood, even crime seemed justifi- 
 able. Escaping from the room, she discovered a dark 
 embrasure between the ballroom and pavilion, and 
 crouched into it, awaiting the passing of Scott. And 
 when she was free of him, she broke into passionate 
 invectives : 
 
 "The pest; the common thing! I should not have 
 failed but for him. I have not been recognized ; I have 
 not been discovered ; I could have made my escape !" 
 
 She had the chance to escape without detection; but 
 hate, that devouring bacillus, entered her brain. 
 
 In the moment of wicked indecision the door of the 
 pavilion opened; the party came forth without masks. 
 Another instant and the identity of the Friar would 
 have been disclosed. But fearing detection, she crouched 
 against the dark wall. Dorothy's entrance into the ball- 
 room unmasked would be the signal. And so this was
 
 254' OUR EIGHT TO LOVE 
 
 the end ; for all her trouble, what had she gained ? Noth- 
 ing! But as her brain whirled confusedly she saw the 
 party approaching. Quick ! She must decide ! Now 
 they were passing. They passed, the Friar and Maithele 
 in the rear. Her hand clutched the weapon, dropped. 
 The opportunity passed. 
 
 Trembling with rage, she acknowledged utter defeat. 
 The chance of escape also passed, and the only hope of 
 clearing herself that remained was to remove the mask, 
 find her husband, and surprise the girl. Scott was the 
 stumbling block ! But she dismissed the thought ; he had 
 no proof that the vinaigrette contained poison. She was 
 leaving the embrasure, when her vision beheld some one 
 in white advancing with hurried steps. Quickly back she 
 slunk, barely in time. 
 
 Maithele passed, entering the pavilion. 
 
 Maithele was searching the floor, where the party had 
 stood a moment before; evidently something was lost. 
 
 The door opened again. Maithele looked up, smiling, 
 yet a trifle surprised. 
 
 "I lost my moonstone clasp," she explained to the 
 intruder ; "I prize it highly ; it was mother's." 
 
 Night stood irresolute, and Maithele insisted : 
 
 "Won't you please? Everybody is unmasked now." 
 
 But the demon's voice was whispering in Mrs. Allan's 
 ear. Going over to the punch-bowl, she filled two cups, 
 tipping the contents from the vinaigrette in one. 
 
 "Let us drink to the lucky finder of the moonstone," 
 extending the cup to Maithele, who accepted. But Mai- 
 thele's ear, wonderfully trained to sound vibration, 
 caught the peculiar resonance of the voice, and imme- 
 diately placed it. The shock upon her nerves was severe, 
 but instantly she regained her mental equilibrium; yet
 
 THE COSTUME BALL 255 
 
 so intensely sensitive is the touch of the true artist, 
 Maithele's fingers relaxed the cup fell to the floor. 
 
 The crash of glass arrested the beverage at the other's 
 lips. 
 
 Maithele apologized : 
 
 "I certainly am clumsy to-night; but I will drink to 
 the lucky finder," at once filling a cup for herself. 
 
 But the desperate woman, snatching off* the mask, con- 
 fronted her. Thoroughly prepared, Maithele offered her 
 hand. 
 
 "Mrs. Allan a pleasure we had not anticipated." 
 
 "Not?" 
 
 "Beg pardon; I mean " 
 
 "That you did not." 
 
 Maithele hesitated ; the angry face disturbed her. 
 
 "Mrs. Allan, I am so glad you are here." Coloring 
 slightly, " If it is not too late for congratulations " 
 
 "Oh, they came with your silverware, which I tossed 
 over to my maid." 
 
 Struck with the awfulness of the parvenu, Maithele 
 was speechless. Her eyes sought the floor ; and she was 
 glad to have the moonstone as an excuse. As she moved 
 about, her eyes searching for the stone, the unclasped 
 mantle fell to the floor, and with it a light thud that 
 brought joy to her ear ; the jewel had caught in the leaves 
 that adorned the mantle. 
 
 Mrs. Allan was instantly forgotten. 
 
 "Oh, I am so glad, so glad to find it." She lifted her 
 eyes, bright as stars; but the other was glowering upon 
 shoulders, beautiful as Parian marble, hair glim- 
 mering with bronze-gold lights, and cheeks hinting June 
 roses. The vision of loveliness hardly assuaged the ire- 
 ful woman ; something horrible stirred in her breast and 
 froze the marrow in her bones.
 
 OUR EIGHT TO LOVE 
 
 Maithele did not know the real condition. Dorothy 
 held sacred the sad information imparted through Law- 
 rence. Only in speaking of the wedding ceremony to Aunt 
 Helen had she forgotten herself, breaking forth indig- 
 nantly over the trick of the violin solo ; but before Aunt 
 Helen sent the warning glance, Maithele had risen 
 quietly and left the room. 
 
 "I will find you a chair," Maithele spoke kindly ; "you 
 look weary." 
 
 But the lady had no regard for civilities, save on 
 occasion ; her words flew like poisonous arrows at a mark. 
 
 "Your Friar is attentive?" 
 
 Conciliation dropped like a white plume into Mai- 
 thele' s thought, and she answered : 
 
 "Yes, indeed, and I like him, too." 
 
 "You are very bold about your likes." 
 
 "Pardon ! Bold is hardly the word ; I like him " 
 
 "You dare to !" 
 
 "If you please? I do not understand?" And, after 
 a moment's reflection : "This is my personal affair." 
 
 "It is my personal affair," snapped Mrs. Allan. 
 
 Maithele was moving away. The other's words were 
 offensive. If she remained, she would, as hostess, be 
 compelled to listen ; but her opponent, with rather a dra- 
 matic swing of the arm, barred the way, and quickly 
 slipping the bolt of the side door, wheeled about, with 
 menacing gesture : 
 
 "You will remain here until I am through with you." 
 
 The pavilion had two exits. Besides the garden door, 
 one at the extreme end led to the kitchen ; this door was 
 bolted on the inner side, and the only other feasible 
 opening was where the musicians were stationed. 
 
 The musicians were playing a dulcet waltz. 
 
 Maithele did not speak for several moments; the
 
 THE COSTUME BALL 257 
 
 other's insolence was too much ; she lifted her head, con- 
 fronting the enraged woman with that singular intelli- 
 gence that explains the aristocrat. And where was Silas 
 Scott, the good friend ! 
 
 Lifting her eyes to the window directly opposite, she 
 fancied she saw a hand upon the sill, hut instantly it 
 disappeared; and, concluding that conciliation might 
 mitigate the unpleasant feeling, she chose the simple 
 means as the way to peace. 
 
 "There has been there is some misunderstanding," 
 she ventured. 
 
 "There never has been any misunderstanding," de- 
 clared the impossible wife, in a key that instantly shook 
 the other's nerves, like the quick pass of the bow on a 
 shrill treble string of the violin too tightly screwed ; and 
 before her thoughts could form a response, the sharp 
 notes of Mrs. Allan's voice flew on : 
 
 "Misunderstanding, indeed ! I have been the fiancee 
 of Bichard Allan for years, you you tried to gain his 
 love you despicable usurper !" 
 
 Maithele could not ape the dramatic. She was simply 
 glorious in womanly dignity. 
 
 "If I have done anything to bring about a disturbance 
 in your life, I should be grieved " 
 
 Mrs. Allan tried to interrupt, but Maithele waved her 
 hand with a gesture, daintily-imperious and silencing. 
 
 "If you please ! I have no disturbed feelings against 
 you. I wish you happiness." 
 
 "Happiness !" sneeringly echoed the aggressive. 
 
 "Is it not possible?" inquired Maithele. "Marriage 
 creates home. Marriage is the rose-gate to real happi- 
 ness." 
 
 And the other, with no gift for poetic semblance, 
 passed the diversion to seize an advantage.
 
 258 OUK RIGHT TO LOVE 
 
 "You love him ; you cannot deny it." 
 
 "On my honor, and as a gentlewoman, you have noth- 
 ing to fear from me." 
 
 "Fear ? I do not fear, I despise you !" 
 
 The vitriolic outburst nearly silenced Maithele; then, 
 calmly, quietly, she decided. 
 
 "I would rather be despised than loved by a woman 
 who has so little regard for the decencies." 
 
 "Decencies? And this very night I heard you sing 
 amorous words to " 
 
 "Jack Ruford; poor Jack, who knows full well the 
 words could have no meaning for himself." 
 
 Mrs. Allan winced. Was she to be overthrown at 
 every turn ? Had she failed utterly ? Well, she touched 
 the weapon, and again that cruel, menacing expression. 
 
 Maithele saw the action, and shivered, not with fear. 
 It was the gulp in her throat for Richard Allan. 
 
 "You came between !" hissed the other. 
 
 And Maithele, disregarding, grew magnanimous. 
 
 "Listen to me, Clara." 
 
 But the condescension aggravated the other's intensity. 
 
 "If you please ?" 
 
 And Maithele accepted the correction. 
 
 "Mrs. Allan, when I first saw Mr. Allan I was only a 
 child, and with the child's heart I loved him, and he 
 loved me." 
 
 "A falsehood ! You took him from me." 
 
 The steel came back to Maithele's eyes, and remained. 
 
 "I am hopelessly at your mercy; wrangling for a 
 man's love is rather beneath my ideas; but I must dis- 
 illusion you and, to quote your own unseemly language 
 'you took him from me' ''' She spoke hurriedly, as if 
 anxious to be through with it all : "I came East; we met
 
 again often, often ; I did not know that he had become 
 entangled with you." 
 
 It was the slip of the tongue ; she had not intended so 
 much, but the slip revealed to Mrs. Allan the esteem and 
 regard of the rival; also the rival's knowledge of the 
 state of the husband's feelings. 
 
 "Entangled?" 
 
 How the word stung ! Feeling that she had offended, 
 Maithele plunged at the excuse. 
 
 "You you didn't love him!" 
 
 "You evidently mean to be fair. No, I did not. I 
 hated him when we married I despise him now !" 
 
 Maithele nearly moaned aloud, it seemed so terrible. 
 From heart to brain the words flashed not love him, 
 despise him ! 
 
 "Well, I have taken your breath, Miss Burton." 
 
 Maithele could no longer conceal the aversion which 
 the language created; she could not remain in the 
 woman's presence another moment. She would try the 
 exit by the musician's stand. She moved off; the other 
 barred the way. 
 
 "You remain. If Richard Allan is in this house, I 
 shall know in a moment, when the crowd pours in and I 
 shall expose the scandalous behavior of both of you to 
 the assembled guests." 
 
 "You are mad ! Have you no regard, no appreciation 
 courtesy for your host and hostess Mr. Allan is not 
 in this house at least, if he is, I am not aware of his 
 presence. Say to me what you will to-morrow any time, 
 but please " 
 
 The other laughed, cruelly. 
 
 The waltz was nearing the finale; Maithele shivered 
 with the possibility of a scene. 
 
 "If he is not at this ball," vouchsafed the enemy,
 
 260 OUR RIGHT TO LOVE 
 
 "bear my words in mind ; you have only escaped me once. 
 You shall never benefit by my lack of love or ardent hate. 
 I have the right I have the claim, and I shall maintain 
 both." 
 
 The bewildering despotism 'almost paralyzed Mai- 
 thele's delicate sensibilities, as she answered : 
 
 "You have established a claim, which a true woman 
 might be ashamed to acknowledge. There is no just 
 right to an unjust claim." 
 
 "You !" cried the other, "you dare !" 
 
 " To speak the truth ! The woman who marries a man 
 whom she hates deserves the truth. There is a right, 
 which justifies the claim where love exists or did exist 
 when the marriage vow was made." 
 
 The head poised on the slender neck lifted, bringing 
 the round chin into prominence, and the eyes^ shining 
 like stars, passed the wife as she continued : 
 
 "By that high authority which unites through mutual, 
 kindred feeling and sympathy free from all con- 
 tamination and stain, destined from all eternity to en- 
 dure, I have 'the Right to Love.' ): 
 
 She paused, a tremor coming over her, yet she ex- 
 tended her hand. 
 
 "Clara, here is my hand ; I pledge my honor, you shall 
 never have cause " 
 
 But the other was immovable stone. 
 
 Maithele did not observe the good friend advancing 
 through the door leading to the kitchen ; she only felt a 
 sensation of weakness as a strong arm encircled her. 
 
 "I heard about 'nough to last 'tel jedgment." Scott 
 looked severely upon Mrs. Allan. "The crowd'll be 
 pushing in here in two minutes. Go quickly. Dick
 
 THE COSTUME BALL 261 
 
 Allan" he addressed the wife "ain't here to escort you 
 home, so I'm willing an' astin' the privilege." 
 
 Mrs. Allan was silently obdurate, and Scott repeated 
 the invitation, but she retorted : 
 
 "I'll trouble you to mind your own affairs." 
 
 "Can't do it, daughter. In war or in peace, I'm alwus 
 feet foremost an' generally ahead." 
 
 "Insolent ! Step aside." 
 
 "What's thet ? Oh, I ain't perticular about pussonals 
 
 but " He put his hand heavily upon her arm and 
 
 whispered something in her ear; there was no need to 
 whisper ; Maithele had left the room. 
 
 "It is false false," she cried; however, she permitted 
 herself to be led off. The waltz was over, and the throng 
 of merry people crowding the pavilion. 
 
 Once outside, Scott summoned an attendant, who 
 called her carriage and he got in beside her. 
 
 "It ain't polite to envite yourself to see a lady home 
 when she objects leastwise I don't think it's polite 
 but I'll see you safely across. I'm fond of Dick an' I 
 don't mind looking after his wife now and then." 
 
 And when they were on the other side he was kind and 
 friendly. 
 
 " You ain't got to fear me on thes subject, but you took 
 some risk, girl. Love's a great campaign an' if you be 
 on the losing side more'n a dozen times, it's time to quit ; 
 leastwise don't fall back on reckless sharpshooting" 
 glancing at the bit of steel visible in her belt "it's too 
 dangerous." 
 
 She had lost, she knew it; she made a last move, 
 hoping to gain a small favor. 
 
 "I'm awfully sorry I came; don't tell Richard. And 
 if you see her, please find her, tell her I begged a favor, 
 if she will keep the affair my identity secret."
 
 263 OUR EIGHT TO LOVE 
 
 " Sure, girl, sure ; trust her for doing the right thing 
 to you; no matter what you hev' done her. Good-by," 
 he said kindly, and she gave him her hand, and he 
 pressed it warmly. "They ain't anything to fear from 
 me or her, an' I'm sorry for you; if Dick was twins, 
 you'd be all right."
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 "IT'LL BE YOURS SOME DAY/' 
 
 THE hired conveyance, with the big gray horse, tugged 
 up the incline, and Scott fell limp upon the stump of an 
 ancient tree, watching it disappear. 
 
 " Wa'al," he ejaculated, "thet might a-bin a putty nice 
 pufformance if I hedn't stepped in. Thet's the way 
 weth a woman ; give her a firm holt of what she art never 
 to hev' lied holt of, an' she'll hang on 'tel jedgment. Jest 
 like the bullpup's sister alwus sidling up to Teddy R 
 an' they would make about the most unhappy couple on 
 thes airth." 
 
 He stopped short, ran his fingers through his hair, 
 damp at the temples from overexcitement, found a large 
 size white handkerchief with his monogram beautifully 
 embroidered in the corner, and proceeded to mop his 
 brow, softly remarking, "I'm enterfering mebbe weth 
 both." 
 
 He replaced the white affair, passing the subject. 
 
 A fascinating scene it was across the river lights, 
 music, merriment. He had never beheld anything like 
 it. The picture far surpassed his dream of fairyland. 
 
 "Wa'al, I'll swan, if it don't beat all creation ! The 
 head Dale's got for ent'tainment !" 
 
 At Scott's side hung the splendid sword, and, as his 
 hand touched it his attention was again diverted from 
 lights and beautiful display to himself. 
 
 263
 
 OUK EIGHT TO LOVE 
 
 "Guess it's fine to be a sol-ger, if you're born to it, but 
 give me a nice farm " 
 
 Scott's musings were rudely disturbed; lie sprang to 
 liis feet listening intently. Far off it seemed, yet 
 unmistakable. 
 
 There is no sound in all the sounds that have traveled 
 down the ages, since the First Man cried "Whither, 
 whither!" as the gate of Eden closed upon him, so 
 paralyzing to the heart, so terrifying to the senses as the 
 cry of a raging human storm. 
 
 Scott dashed up the hill. Exerting his best speed, lie 
 fairly flew in pursuit of the hired conveyance. But the 
 big gray horse had crossed the line of mean disturbance 
 and was rearing and plunging in the throes of a 
 tumultuous rout before Scott had gone fifty yards of the 
 road. He accused himself, running all the way: "I 
 shouldn't of let her go by herself; I shouldn't hev' 
 dun it." 
 
 They had sprung like hungry wolves from forest 
 deeps, into the open road men, women, children with 
 savage faces, menacing gestures and senseless words. 
 
 The small band that tried to effect a landing, by cross- 
 ing to the island in skiffs, had been repulsed by the 
 guards. They tried the ferry, but pointed rifles and an 
 officer of the law kindly persuaded them to go in peace. 
 Again, possibly a half hour before Mrs. Allan and Scott 
 came across, they tried the domino, but the costume ball 
 strictly relegated the domino. 
 
 A consultation followed. 
 
 These men not one an American were fellows who 
 represent thirty cents a day in their own country, but 
 demand four times its equivalent in the Land of Free- 
 dom. They were men expert with the knife, which they 
 flourish in the dark, or hurl from behind; they have
 
 "IT'LL BE YOURS SOME DAY." 265 
 
 no principle, no word not even to their chief. They are 
 the fellows used by the hotheads who bring disgrace upon 
 unions. Having nothing to lose, they push forward, 
 rending with cries that not always kill, but surely dis- 
 turb the sweet atmosphere of Freedom. 
 
 They gathered into a knot one hour after Allan turned 
 his horse town- ward. 
 
 It was decided to attack the retreating guests, and 
 Mrs. Allan's carriage was the first to pass the line. 
 
 The speed of the big gray horse was checked and angry 
 faces leered through the carriage window. The driver 
 was held up. 
 
 The glittering robe of the lady, the splendid diamond 
 necklace incited the cry against representative wealth. 
 
 The carriage was surrounded and shots fired, but the 
 door was not forced ; yet, Avhen a line of mounted police, 
 cutting through the mob, slashing and firing right and 
 left, reached the lady, she was in a swoon, and the car- 
 riage was filled with the raw escape of discharged lead. 
 
 Dashing through the line of officers, Allan reached the 
 carriage, jumped from his horse, giving the bridle to the 
 officer who galloped beside him; but the lieutenant of 
 police stood firm, one hand upon the carriage door, the 
 other uplifted. 
 
 "Too late, sir," he cried, "the lady is dead." 
 
 Allan thrust his head inside the carriage, and the cry 
 he uttered sent the straggling women and children scur- 
 rying to their homes. 
 
 The question deep in Allan's soul Why was Clara 
 there why had she gone, and why was she returning ?o 
 early ? vanished, before the more exacting answer She 
 is here Clara ! Dead !" 
 
 But Mrs. Allan was not dead. In her hand, with both 
 balls spent, was a small ivory handled pistol. As he tried
 
 266 OUE RIGHT TO LOVE 
 
 to disengage the fingers from it, she opened her eyes, 
 sighed. 
 
 "Oh, Scott," cried Allan, grasping the other's hand, 
 "thank God you are here!" 
 
 Scott had just come up, panting with the long run, 
 and unable to speak. 
 
 Allan could not explain anything, but the agonized 
 expression of his face revealed the tragedy. His glance 
 far-seeing crossed the river, resting deeply upon the 
 island. 
 
 "Notwithstanding" he paused; Scott following his 
 glance, knew that it indicated Maithele "I would have 
 given my life to have saved Clara from this." 
 
 Fifty yards from the road stood a quaint little house. 
 
 Carefully avoiding rocks and ruts, the big gray horse 
 walked the way over to the carriage gate. The drive led 
 through the orchard, around by the nicely arranged 
 flowerbed to the entrance door of the house a short dis- 
 tance, but the horse stumbled and Mrs. Allan received a 
 jar, although nicely supported by her husband's strong 
 arm. A violent hemorrhage followed. 
 
 The people of the house were kind and hospitable. 
 
 They lifted the semi-conscious woman to the white bed 
 in the neat little room with its three lace-draped 
 windows. 
 
 And Scott, mounted on Allan's horse, dashed back to 
 the island. 
 
 Mr. Dale and Aunt Helen were discovered alone, for 
 the great throng were merry in the supper-room, and, as 
 good fortune would have it, the family physician was 
 among the guests. 
 
 And very wisely, Mr. Dale concluded to keep the affair 
 quiet, and so nicely was the thing accomplished that 
 guests returning to their homes in town, hours later,
 
 "IT'LL BE YOURS SOME DAY." 267 
 
 marveled only at the mounted force that patroled the 
 road. 
 
 And when daylight broke with a glow of peace over the 
 dew-bespent valley, the fairy scene, its wonder and en- 
 chantment had dropped like a rose over memory's wall, 
 and the golden confession that spread over the land dis- 
 pensed absolution for the offence of the night. 
 
 Mrs. Allan was alive, but the physician, consulting 
 with two eminent men who arrived in the morning with 
 Mr. John E. Lansing, decided that she was beyond medi- 
 cal skill. She seemed wonderfully courageous, demand- 
 ing to be informed. With little more than a frown, she 
 accepted the inevitable, expressing merely a desire to see 
 her uncle alone. 
 
 Mr. Lansing remained an hour at the bedside of his 
 niece, and when he came forth again years seemed to 
 have passed over him. Haughtiness, pride, was fallen, 
 as the sun upon the hilltop of a fair-promise-day oft dis- 
 appears before the sudden and awful mandate of shadow 
 and gloom. 
 
 He walked over to the beautiful big tree by the iron 
 pump; a bench was there and a little child reminding 
 him of Clara when he first saw her played with a long- 
 deserted bird's nest. The tree was a vain thing, although 
 vanity in a tree is strikingly admired. It had relatives 
 here and there through the valley, and its whole family 
 is conspicuous for the manner in which they hold to 
 green adornments, when all their kind are on the 
 ragged edge of deep ochre, dull red and dark brown. 
 
 Mr. Lansing did not give a thought to the tree, but he 
 felt somehow that the world the best of it is vanity. 
 Something had crushed gone out of his life. 
 
 "Do you like birds, mister?" 
 
 He did not heed, but he observed the child and wished
 
 268 OUR EIGHT TO LOVE 
 
 rather that she would rim away ; but the shade of the big 
 tree was the child's playground. 
 
 "Say, mister, is they any sparrows in your town?" 
 
 Still he was silent. 
 
 She fingered the nest, endeavored to gain his atten- 
 tion and with some persistence ventured again : 
 
 "I wish sparrows was all dead." 
 
 Lansing turned sharply upon her. 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 "Because they is the greediest things in the world." 
 
 "The world?" He addressed the child emphatically, 
 but she did not understand : "There is nothing in the 
 world; it is only the sparrows that amuse one." 
 
 His eyes were upon the top branches of the tree, and 
 the child beheld him with knitted brows. She had more 
 to say about sparrows, but Lansing had deeper thoughts 
 that troubled him. Presently the child walked off re- 
 marking to the nest, saucily, "Guess he never put his 
 cake down wher' sparrows could git it." 
 
 Delicacies of every description were conveyed across 
 the river. They were hardly noticed, save by the little 
 sparrow who complained of other sparrows in the great 
 world. 
 
 Dorothy came the moment the guests departed, and 
 the Toreador, the picture of distress in citizen's garb, re- 
 mained over, hoping to be of service. He fairly consti- 
 tuted himself messenger to Dorothy's lightest bidding. 
 He was passing through the hall of the little house, a 
 great bouquet of long-stemmed roses in one hand and a 
 crystal vase in the other, as Lansing accosted him. 
 
 "You are very kind to my niece, very kind every one 
 of you." 
 
 "A pleasure to be of some small service, our sym 
 
 The stern voice cut him short.
 
 "IT'LL BE YOURS SOME DAY." 269 
 
 "The road is it in order to to the ferry? And, 
 how may I reach it ?" 
 
 "I will walk the distance if you care to go over the 
 ground." 
 
 "Thank you; not at present." 
 
 Lawrence gave the simple direction, and the old gen- 
 tleman turned abruptly, went outside, and began pacing 
 to and fro in the orchard. After a little, as if a sudden 
 resolve possessed him, he stalked off warily, taking the 
 road to the ferry. 
 
 To follow the stricken one to the water's edge would 
 be anticipating beyond his own thought. 
 
 The storm of discovery comes with a rush, the heart 
 and brain either weakly cower or defiantly meet the first 
 awful force. Only when the storm has spent itself is 
 calm restored, heart and brain reach the normal state, 
 and thought a definite conclusion. 
 
 The pedestrian had not arrived at this apex. The 
 storm of discovery was still in his path and the shrieking 
 of its winds brought upon his dulled senses a faint awak- 
 ening cry, produced by the far-sobbing of a violin. The 
 music disturbed him at first. Was pleasure lurking in 
 the hills, and Clara dying? But as he listened, coming 
 up the narrow path to the house, he recognized the utter 
 absence of gayety in the pleading cry. 
 
 Lansing felt intensely bitter. It required all his self- 
 control to meet this girl and to speak to her quietly, as 
 he had been bidden to do, and yet, when she came to him 
 as he waited in the reception-room, both hands extended 
 and eyes overflowing, he recognized a sorrow as deep as 
 his own. 
 
 An hour later Mr. Lansing was again at the gate of 
 the house near the road, and she beside him, enveloped in 
 a long, gray coat.
 
 270 OUK RIGHT TO LOVE 
 
 Roses seemed never to have bloomed in her cheeks, and 
 dark rings under the eyes brought pathetically into prom- 
 inence the great charm of her singular beauty. As she 
 mounted the steps of the house, Lansing lifted his hat 
 and disappeared. 
 
 Dorothy came forward. Maithele was completely un- 
 strung and vacillating slightly. 
 
 "Who dared!" cried Dorothy. 
 
 "Sh !" Maithele's finger touched her lips. "She 
 asked for me." 
 
 Straight they went to the room with the three win- 
 dows, lace-draped and sweet with Brideroses adorning 
 the mantel. Mrs. Allan reclined in the center of the bed, 
 her head propped high, and eyes fixed upon the intruders. 
 
 Maithele went softly down upon her knees. 
 
 "Oh, I am so miserable about it all !" 
 
 Mrs. Allan lifted a white hand from the counterpane 
 and rested it upon the other's arm. 
 
 "Look at me!" Maithele lifted her face obediently, 
 and it seemed to her that the dying one was marking 
 every lineament, as if she meant to carry her countenance 
 into the Great Beyond. 
 
 "Remove the coat," ordered Mrs. Allan. 
 
 But the coat could not be removed by an imperious 
 order; the clasp had tangled with a slender cord, and 
 Dorothy came to the rescue. 
 
 As it dropped to the floor, Maithele apologized, remov- 
 ing the white duck cap. "I did not take time to " 
 
 "You will do," said the dying one. 
 
 The white serge was simplicity itself; the apology was 
 for the cut of the gown, which, being a trifle low, dis- 
 played the throat and to Maithele seemed frivolous, 
 hardly in keeping with the solemn occasion. She had 
 not considered her attire. Mr. Lansing begged her to
 
 "IT'LL BE YOURS SOME DAY." 271 
 
 please not delay, and she snatched the coat and cap from 
 the rack and hurried off with him. 
 
 "Mr. Allan is outside," answered Dorothy, to the 
 wife's question. 
 
 "Send him to us." 
 
 "Oh, please please," softly pleaded Maithele upon 
 her knees, but Dorothy passed out. 
 
 "I cannot bear it," Maithele went on, and as Dorothy 
 left the room, she continued: "I "am so sorry for this; 
 I never did you a single unkind act !" 
 
 "I meant you harm," spoke the wife. "I should 
 have killed you last night I was a fool !" 
 
 "Oh, do not say it; I will not let you; you thought 
 you had cause " 
 
 The door opened. Allan came into the room. 
 
 Maithele did not look up, and he went straight to 
 Mrs. Allan. 
 
 "You sent for me?" 
 
 The voice was kind and low. 
 
 She did not speak at once; she seemed to have ex- 
 hausted her strength; the eyes closed, then opened 
 sharply upon the kneeling figure, finally addressing 
 Allan: 
 
 "Yes, I sent for you I never knew you to do my 
 my bidding so promptly." 
 
 Silence followed a long silence. Mrs. Allan's eyes 
 traveled about the room, noting its every detail. She 
 seemed satisfied that they were alone. 
 
 The sun was passing Dial Rock. But shadows were 
 in the room, and the silence grew strangely ominous. 
 
 The wife did not speak for several moments, and with 
 eyes closed she seemed to have fallen into a doze. Allan 
 walked over to the window ; leaned against it, and as he
 
 272 OUR EIGHT TO LOVE 
 
 did so he caught the sound of a team on the dirt road, 
 the crack of a whip and the snatch of a song. 
 
 Ah, the contumely of life ! 
 
 The wife's eyes were wide. The noise of the world was 
 nothing to her now. 
 
 "I have been thinking thinking of everything " 
 
 "Yes, Clara," said Allan, coming over to the bed, "but 
 what you need now is rest." 
 
 The lower lip drooped with the downward curve which 
 always announced sarcasm, but she only repeated 
 "Rest!" 
 
 He came nearer as she spoke again : 
 
 "You never, never loved me." 
 
 "Clara" he spoke in a whisper "I am to blame for 
 much; I ask your forgiveness." 
 
 She reached out her hand. 
 
 "We would never never have been happy." 
 
 He dared not trust his voice, and she continued : 
 
 " I hate everybody ; I hate my parents why did they 
 let me go I hate my uncle I told him " 
 
 "Oh, no! Do not accuse yourself so bitterly," cried 
 Maithele softly. 
 
 The lips of the dying one were ashen and the face 
 slightly inclined to Maithele. 
 
 "I am not sure" the fingers clutched "I could hate 
 you again." 
 
 Maithele shivered. She could not speak, but she 
 stroked the hand. 
 
 After moments of silence she continued : 
 
 "Last night" the voice came in whispers "you said 
 it it is true you have the Right to Love." 
 
 And like that twilight that invites the last repose, a 
 mist came over her eyes, and her head swayed from side 
 to side. Presently she jerked convulsively.
 
 "IT'LL BE YOURS SOME DAY." 273 
 
 "Light the lamp, quick; I hate darkness." 
 
 Then some one tapped; Allan went forward, opened 
 the door, and a long shaft of yellow glory shot into the 
 room, and in the very center of it stood Mrs. Scott. 
 
 Her eyes went tenderly up to Allan, then fell upon 
 Maithele. He understood. 
 
 Very gently he assisted the kneeling girl to her feet, 
 lifted the gray coat from the floor, and arranged it ten- 
 derly about her shoulders. 
 
 And Mrs. Scott led her from the room; hut ere the 
 door closed Maithele turned her eyes tenderly to the bed. 
 
 "Good-by," she whispered. The dying one did not 
 respond and Maithele returned to the bedside ; lifting the 
 hand upon the counterpane she kissed it. "Good-by, 
 Clara," 
 
 The new carriage was waiting outside, with the new 
 coachman on the box. 
 
 "We won't miss you for a day or two," said Dorothy. 
 And Lawrence, coming up, took the hands of Mrs. Scott, 
 turning with warmth to the other : 
 
 "Dear little sister." 
 
 But Maithele could not find a word. ' 
 
 And as Old Sorrel took his nicest gait, Mrs. Scott re- 
 marked, placidly: 
 
 "I'm sorry, sorry for everyboddie, but me an' Si feels 
 some to blame in thes affair." 
 
 Maithele turned her eyes from the sunset glory flood- 
 ing hill and vale. Mrs. Scott was saying strange things. 
 
 "We were to blame," she repeated. "We were old an' 
 art to hev' bed more jedgment. You art to hev' bin took 
 abroad before the trouble started an' he art a-bin kid- 
 napped. There's nothing going to happen next time ; we 
 hev' hed our exp'rience." 
 
 They were passing the duck-pond and Maithele gazed
 
 274 OUR RIGHT TO LOVE 
 
 with unseeing eyes. And when the miner's settlement 
 was far behind she looked back, but the beautiful 
 Lechaw-Hanna was lost lost in repose beyond the low- 
 ering magnificence of Dial Rock. 
 
 "Si hes got his eye on thet island. If 11 be yours some 
 day." 
 
 But Maithele did not hear. She was watching a great 
 violet veil that hung immediately over the Michaelite 
 loveliness of the valley. 
 
 Just as old Sorrel turned into the road that led to the 
 little low gate, Mrs. Scott's delightful volubility again 
 broke forth: 
 
 "For ent'tainment and deversion, give me dogs. It's 
 about all they air good for. An' mark me, if Si Scott 
 ain't got all the hull bunch out at the front gate waiting 
 to receive us, I'll give up." 
 
 Scott was waiting the dogs were not far. 
 
 And Maithele smiled through her tears. 
 
 TUB END.
 
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