THE SILENT DOOR THE SILENT DOOR BY FLORENCE WILKINSON Author of "Kings and Queens," "The Far Country," etc. NEW YORK McCLURE, PHILLIPS & CO. MCMVU Copyright, 1907, by Florence Wilkinson CONTENTS CHAPTER PAGE I How THE WORLD MOVES AT JOPPA . 3 II PENRITH HOUSE 13 III A MEMORY 20 IV THE BESOM OF DESTRUCTION ... 25 V THE GUEST-CHAMBER AND THE SULLEN INTERLUNAR CAVE ... 35 VI A TOADSTOOL FANTASY ... 47 VII THE SILENT DOOR .... 55 VIII WINTER WEATHER 64 IX MR. BOSCOWAY DISCOURSES ... 78 X THE HAUNTING THOUGHT ... 85 XI A PASSAGE PERILOUS . .... 98 XII THE FAIRY VALLEY . . . . 112 XIII THE HOMEWARD WAY .... 136 XIV THE SAD RETRIBUTIVE GLOW . . 144 XV THE LETTER 157 XVI WHILE THE FIREFLIES PLAYED . . 158 XVII THE CONFIDANT 166 XVIII A DRIVE WITH GRANDFATHER . . 175 XIX BOOTS AND BUNTING . . . . 188 XX THE BURNING BUSH .... 197 XXI Miss LADY 204 XXII THE CONSTANTINOPLE CLOAK , , 214 2138960 CONTENTS CHAPTER PAGE XXIII THE TRAVELING LOAF . . 222 XXIV THE NIGHT TRAIN AT PERUVIA . 229 XXV IN GREENWICH VILLAGE . . 236 XXVI FREDERICK DROLL'S DESIRE . . 248 XXVII ANGELA FIELD .... 254 XXVIII ALONG THE RIALTO . . . 262 XXIX THE GAUDENZIO AND THE BEAK . 268 XXX A POLITE MAN .... 275 XXXI THE WOOING O'T . . . . 281 XXXII THE PLACE OF WHISPERERS . . 287 XXXIII A GIFT OF PEANUTS ... 298 XXXIV RUE MAKES A FRIENDLY CALL . 305 XXXV DANAE AWAKES .... 318 XXXVI IN SEARCH 328 XXXVII BABBIE'S SUBCONSCIOUS MIND . 337 XXXVIII THE SLEEPING CHILD ... 342 XXXIX THE ANONYMOUS MESSAGE . . 346 XL THE INTERPRETATION . . . 354 XLI A TRAIN OF THOUGHTS . . . 359 XLII THE PHANTOM BY THE FIRE . . 362 XLIII A HAUGHTY SPIRIT AND A FALL . 368 XLIV THINGS You SEE WHEN You SHUT YOUR EYES 378 XLV RUE IN SWITZERLAND . . . 384 XLVI THE PEDDLER WITH THE BOOK . 390 XLVII IN THE RED BUNGALOW . . . 401 XLVIII THE LONGEST MORNING THAT EVER WAS 412 XLIX THE FATEFUL HOUR OF Two O'CLOCK 419 L CHOOSE YOUR TRUE LOVE . . 427 LI THE DOOR is OPENEP ... 433 THE SILENT DOOR HOW THE WORLD MOVES AT JOPPA THE river meanders through the valley and the valley is so narrow you can see it is a valley. It is bounded on either side by undulating ranges. Two peaks mount suddenly from the billowy sky- line and rear themselves proudly above their fellows. These are the Twin Mountains, and one who climbs them may look down upon Joppa village, follow the windings of the Jerusalem river as far as Pisgah and even farther, and survey all the sweet country between, green and fair like a living map. But if you are a canoeist on a river, far other- wise. Your horizon is quaintly circumscribed by silver- yellow willow -trees, by evergreen shades down to the water's edge, and you are mystified by the river's serpentine course, being often in doubt as to whether that shimmering loop ahead of you belongs to the past or the future voyaging. When you are well within the reflection of the Twin Mountains you are in the second pocket of an aquatic S, and you must yet round several more riparian flourishes before you reach Joppa village, whose proximity has al- ready made itself known to you by the ringing of the church bell. It is Saturday afternoon, and the bells ring for the Junior Christian Endeavor Society, a notable weekly 3 4 THE SILENT DOOR gathering of infants to which the saddest little scapegraces repair, dispensing texts and discoursing of their souls with comic gravity. Now you see a maple grove on the bank and two steeples among the trees, a cluster of white roofs and a little school- house. Therefore you know a village really exists. However, the river winds and doubles on itself and dawdles delight- fully through the Hemlock Wood. After you emerge from the purple shades of the Hemlock Wood you float into lily-studded opens, and then you see the whole of one church and a red corner of mill, dilapidated but still useful. The church is as trim and white as the mill is shambling and florid. The church has a colonial portico, stalwart and self-respecting; the mill has a dilapidated step and bleary eye. Soon you paddle under the bridge, leaving behind you those that stare and gossip on the mill step, and exposing your- self to those that draw the skirt and pointedly do not look, on the church stoop. The church entrance is called a stoop, possibly because of its condescending attitude to passers- by. As you slide under the bridge, you are in the village. There is an old man in a minute olive-green felt hat sadly out of repair, and rusty deeply corrugated boots, fishing from the bank. He looks as if he grew there, just like the gray and knotted box-elder tree beneath which he stands. Such comfortable weather-beaten old men and trees always grow on lazy river edges. Probably his name is Loami Larrabee. You will at this point pause on your paddle, and, by way of engaging so picturesque an old party in con- versation, ask him for the name of the village. It is a kindly interest on your part which the picturesque old party HOW THE WORLD MOVES AT JOPPA 5 seems not to appreciate, for he answers only after a pro- longed silence, which reduces you to the position of one hanging on the lips of royalty. His tone is not chatty but restricting : " This village, sir, is called Joppa. " If you are gifted with a fair amount of intuition, you know at once that he is one of the respected citizens and that his forefathers were among the founders of Joppa. Of course you ask him the origin of the name, to which garrulity he gives answer: " I am unable to inform you. " You feel distinctly baffled and are sure that he of the corrugated boots and ancestral cap, conceals, in patrician reserve, the derivation of the name. Notwithstanding some antiquity of attire and evident enjoyment of a pursuit far from feverish, he has impressed you as a personage of importance. He rises authoritatively to points of order at school meetings and receives documents from Washington concerning the cultivation of mulberry-trees. The houses wear a learned air, like sculpturesque tomes bound in official white or yellow, their covers slightly ajar, but not wide enough for the frivolous canoeist to scan the contents. There are farmhouses of self-contained aspect, with box hedges and guinea-fowl and broad lawn-like pastures, frequented by black and white cows in attitudes of elegant meditation. They look like placid young widows in their second mourning, who have begun to take interest in the latest way of wearing sashes and the cut of white slippers. Although it is arrowy sunset time and the shining cleanliness of the long street attracts you to remain, you 6 THE SILENT DOOR continue your journey, for Joppa does not encourage the transient mind. Off there behind a hilly apple orchard frowns the gray roof of a house, somewhat statelier, more austere, and far more self-contained than its neighbors, even than the house of the box hedge and the guinea-fowl. The apple-trees are of great stature and declining age, bowed beneath the burden of their years. Some of them bend the knee and some clutch the air. Others claw the hillside with tenacious purpose not to be left behind. One stands alone, folding its aged arms upon its bosom and in the hollow of its elbow thrushes have built a nest. This one trusts to fate. A loquacious little lad, loitering by the river-bank, looking for blackbirds' nests among the reeds before he calls the cattle to the milking, will tell you that yonder stately gray roof appertains to Penrith House. If you detain him with an affable smile and cast no acquisitive glances upon that rough nest among the reeds, he will continue the conversation, " Dr. Penrith lives there, you know." If your composure is still unruffled, " Justinian Penrith, " he will add. Then you will stolidly proceed to Pisgah, none the wiser, while the boy will stand gazing after you, amazed that the world can harbor such ignorance as yours. For it must be that you inadvertently asked him, by word or facial ex- pression, " And who, pray, is he ? " And, "Who, pray, are you?" I ask, to display such flagrant indifference to the world's roster of great- ness? HOW THE WORLD MOVES AT JOPPA 7 "A Boarder, most likely," the lad will exclaim, in friendly exculpation of your colossal ignorance. Justinian Penrith ! Exists there a person, so little read, so untraveled, so provincial, who has not heard of Justinian Penrith? Justinian is a scholar, a theologian, a traveler. He has ridden on mule-back in the Holy Land, bringing back with him pressed flowers from Jericho and an olive- wood paper-cutter from Bethlehem. He has in his dining- room pictures of the ruins of Baalbec, where he has himself stood. He has lectured learnedly in places as far away as Pisgah village and his lecture was full of conjectural sites, Assyrian inscriptions and Wady-Els. He has written" a book, "My Travels in the ^Egean Isles," and there are two copies of it in Merchant Burdick's store alongside of "Our best rubber boots. Try a pair," and Dr. Bilgum's Blackberry Bitters. The two copies have been there many, many years, while boots and bitters have come and gone and new bitters have arisen. He is indeed hidebound in provincialism who has not heard of Justinian Penrith. But you, ignorant canoeist, you go on your way, more interested in the probable bill-of-fare at Pisgah Mountain House, than in " My Travels in the vEgean Isles. " Some miles further down-stream, you may meet a flotilla of pleasure-seekers of the ephemeral sort known as Boarders, that genus of which you yourself are an individ- ual. They are fishing for the wrong fish with the wrong kind of bait on the wrong sort of day. They are hallooing to their comrades of the weaker sex who wish to join them ; but are at present deterred from their design through terror of a couple of widow cows. They of the weaker sex 8 THE SILENT DOOR are perched in a fluttering row on somebody's rail fence. They will probably tear their insubstantial frocks when they finally make the downward climb, if, indeed, they ever do make it. These people, said to be play-actors and writers, live between the Twin Mountains in a little bunch of houses they have built for themselves. The low house crown- ing that minor hillock is the Red Bungalow. Each one styles his abode, not a house, but by some outlandish title as the Bungalow, the Lodge, the Cabin, the Tepee, the Wigwam. It was evidently their aim each to outdo the others in that false pride which is self -depreciation. Hence the Bunk and to cap the climax, the Folding-Bed. These colonists call each other by first names, effusive- ly and expansively. Joppa still knows them as The Boarders, in memory of the days when they shared the hospitality of the humbler and more needy Joppanites. Tales could be told of those days, but Joppa is discreet and modulates its utterance. Only as a rare treat, when a few elect spirits are gathered together, is one invited who can speak with authority on the habits of Boarders. The little children sit in a charmed circle and drink it in, so that the legend is likely to be handed down to posterity. Therefore a world of meaning is conveyed by the simple epithet, " A Boarder, " and do not you take it too lightly if you are relegated to their class, for the cognate association is heavy with sym- bolism and it may take years to live down the symbolism. Conservative Joppa, behind its window-blind, shakes a head, saying; "There go The Boarders. Quick, child, if you want to see one. " HOW THE WORLD MOVES AT JOPPA 9 Truthful Joppa adds, if you are a new-comer, " Though now they board themselves. Why ? Don't ask me, child. " Penrith House is of a secluded habit. No highroad ventures to approach its land, but a long lane labeled at intervals Private, and in incontestable proof thereof grass- grown in summer and in winter snow-drifted, breaks away secretively from the parent highroad and finds an end to its wanderings before the wistaria-draped porch of Penrith House. Also a little foot-path, a seemingly aimless thing, born of children's whimsies and a certain chestnut-tree by the way, continues tremblingly across meadows and finishes its days in peace by the big lilac-bush at the Penrith back door. If you go up Prospect Hill, it seems that you could jump down directly into the middle of Justinian's rustic seat beneath his buttonball-tree, where he himself may be seen summer mornings, a lap-robe across his knees, and Josephus or the sermons of Bushnell in hand. But try the leap, and if your neck be not broken by the Precipice- Where-Columbine-Hangs you will land in the lane, con- siderably flustered, a gentle placard directly in front of you. The scholarly script is tacked to the trunk of a yellow poplar and reads, No Trespassing Here. There will be small other sign of human habitation and even this warning is blatantly disregarded by wpodchucks and squirrels, with whom the forbidden tree is a peculiarly popular rendezvous. Rue Penrith secretly sympathized with them in their disobedience of her grandfather and never betrayed them, but always hurried her grandfather past the tres- passed-upon poplar-tree. 10 THE SILENT DOOR You may catch a glimpse of the house's lavender facade from the river-bank and, pulling your boat ashore, decide you will stroll up to its hospitable piazza for a cup of afternoon tea. You will soon find yourself in the midst of a swamp and, if you persist, afterwards in a deceptive wood, the pleasant knolls of which are intersected by difficult and boggy ravines, with deep hoof -prints engraved on their sides where enterprising cattle have disported themselves in miry delights. Your cup of tea is surely getting cold and your social enthusiasm is dampened. Despite obstacles, there are ways of reaching the Penrith door, as sundry swains who have paid court to sundry Penrith domestics could tearfully testify. They were dauntless ones. Hardy was the wight who persevered with Sunday nights in winter time. Therefore the office of Domestic at Justinian's was not sought after and those who filled that office for long were of the sober sort who had laid by the vanities of this world, such as one-handed Hannah Mariar and Ellen of the many husbands. Adventurous, indeed, was the grocer-boy or butcher-boy who willingly served them. More often little Rue Penrith appeared at the market, a Mexican school-bag on her arm and a written order in her hand from Great-Aunt Serena. The order was written in purple ink with a very fine pen on very thin paper of a transparent plaid pattern. It began in epistolary style, " Dear Mr. Dewsnap, " for in Joppa there is no distinction of class. Oral directions were also given to Rue, but these, for prudence' sake, were reinforced by the written instruc- tions, Rue being of a "flighty and unstable " disposition. The adjectives are Justinian's. She was carefully enjoined HOW THE WORLD MOVES AT JOPPA 11 to punch the steak with her thumb and to "note the resiliency." Also to observe whether or no the beef "be striate or marbled with appreciable fat." Such expert tests Rue was loath to apply, for fear of being laughed at by Sulky, the butcher-boy. Besides, when it came to the point, she was a bit confused as to whether "resiliency" was a favorable or unfavorable sign. She preferred to trust to luck and to Aunt Serena's purple message, to stand on the sawdusted floor lost in pleasant reflections or watching the anxious arid officious demeanor of those dogs who ever haunt the purlieus of meat-shops till Sulky, with a grin, handed her the Mexican bag and she passed on to the next errand. On hot days she would sup deliriously from a five- cent saucer of slushy ice-cream at Uncle Jupiter's. He was the sole negro of Joppa and I can assure you a person of vast importance. On cold winter days Rue would purchase a bun of Mrs. Gideon, with the dignified air of one who spends monies. Mrs. Gideon baked loaves and pies for improvident housewives and her red-hot stove and riotous kitchen, full of comfortable cats and kittens and idle folk on elastic errands was to Rue as the Porch of Paradise. Rue loved bigness, warmth, riot, abandon. Hannah Mariar's kitchen was too tidy for perfect ease of mind. That one hand of hers was efficacious as the many hands of Briareus: more so, for he was not, as far as history relates, of a domestic turn. Ellen's kitchen, she of the many husbands, suffered from coal famine, for Ellen had learned the most rigid economy from the School of Slothful Spouses whence she had graduated. A cat was an intruder, kittens an abomination, a dog unthinkable. But at Mrs. Gideon's, 12 THE SILENT DOOR even the neighbors' dogs flattened their noses against her window on meat-pie days, and chicken-Sundays whole ca- nine processions gathered betimes on her ample, if be- littered, stoop. Llandys, the Elder's Newfoundland dog, had been known to appear with a basket, a touching hint against which Mrs. Gideon could not steal herself. Sad to relate, this instance of mendicancy on the part of Elder Trimble's dog was obscure origin of the church dissen- sion which flamed for two years in the peaceful circles of Joppa. n PENRITH HOUSE THERE are some houses that wrap themselves about in unapproachable loneliness. Silence sits on the threshold, austerity encamps by the fireside, oblivion looks in at the window. The presence of children does not enliven these houses, laughter and talk sound for a space, die down and emphasize the inherent loneliness that clings to the air. Children's playthings, children's footsteps, come and go, remote, suppressed and evasive. Such a house was Penrith House, and in Justinian Penrith, theologian and lecturer, was concen- trated the genius of loneliness and austerity. It was a firm morning in October. The sun filtered through the purple shades of his orchard, golden leaves scurried across his lawn, but in his library, among his brown-covered books, he sat, chilly, gray-bearded, hollow- eyed. Opposite him, in a slippery horsehair arm-chair, sat another man whose cheery complexion and glancing eye, as well as the cut of his clothes, betokened a different profession and probably a city habitat. "Mr. Bastable, I believe," said Dr. Penrith, surveying the oblong pasteboard in his hand. "E. W. Bastable, of Bastable and Cosgrove, 42 Wall Street, New York," replied the gentleman, crisply. "I 13 14 THE SILENT DOOR am here at the request of a client and in the interest of a child whom as I have understood you are rearing." Justinian Penrith caught his breath and leaned forward in an attitude of armed attention. " Six years ago, this child, then a few months old, was found on your door-step. You have cared for her ever since, but have never, so I understand, discovered any clue to her parentage." Mr. Bastable paused and surveyed the elderly man with keen scrutiny. " Am I correct ? " "You are correct, sir," answered Penrith hoarsely, clearing his throat. " The little girl is named " continued Mr. Bastable, and somehow or other his voice and the gray face of his vis-a-vis reminded of the dissecting table and the scalpel- knife, " is named " he repeated. Dr. Penrith laid his hand heavily on a volume of Smith's " Bible Dictionary " that lay open at the article Armaged- don. "Is named Rue," he answered, the lines of his mouth settling to rigidity. "Rue?" questioned the other, feeling for the surname unflinchingly. " She goes by the name of Rue Penrith," thundered the old man, rising. " What other information can I give you, sir, or are we wasting our time ? " " I am here to give you information," said Mr. Bastable, coldly and courteously, "and I am acting purely under the instructions of my client " "Who is he?" PENRITH HOUSE 15 " That must remain unknown to you. As you will soon see, it is not pertinent to the present business." "Let us get at this business then, and be done," said Dr. Penrith, with a fastidious enunciation that conferred dignity on his irascibility. " Your client is, I presume, the donor of the five hundred dollars that has come to me annually since the arrival of the child which sum, by the way, I have never touched." Mr. Bastable's face changed in expression, a slight shade of surprise or contempt crept into the clear flat eyes. It would, however, have taken a keen and unim- passioned observer to discover that the old man's state- ment was a revelation to him. Bastable had the gift, the lawyer's, the detective's gift, of salient silences, of gliding past the shoal of a dangerous question. He followed Dr. Penrith's question by a question of his own : "You are sure, quite sure, that no clue has been dis- covered to the child's parentage?" Justinian, still standing, his hand in his vest, spoke with the precision of a scholar, albeit his sunken eyes flashed. "I did not so say. I said that I had discovered none." "Well and good. My client wishes me to ascertain, in the first place, that the child is well and happy." Bastable glanced about him at the austere appointments of the library, the old-fashioned secretary, with its labeled tiers of drawers, the engraving of Milton dictating to his daughters, the volumes of cyclopaedia and of theological reference, there were no signs here of a child's outflowing energy, nor had there been in the somber hall into which he had been ushered. 16 THE SILENT DOOR "She is well and happy," said Justinian Penrith in a dry mechanical voice. "You have received every year for six years," con- tinued Bastable's grave even tones, "a certificate of de- posit in a New York bank for five hundred dollars." Dr. Penrith inclined his head. The astute man of affairs knew that he had guessed correctly as to the manner of the mysterious gift, concerning which he had previously known nothing. Here, at least, was a new gleaning to be reported to his client. "My client wishes me to ask you, Dr. Penrith," the even voice continued, " if you will give up the child ?" A slight break hi the velvet voice attested to the flash that his words awakened in the eyes of his listener. " She will be transferred into reliable keeping. You will know all details later, as soon as your provisional consent is gained. The sum of five thousand dollars will be made over to you on the day that this transfer of the child is made. You say that she is a wan* and practically nameless." " Sir, I have made no such statement. She goes by the name of Rue Penrith. The certificates of deposit have remained untouched in my wallet. The money remains untouched in the bank. The child is mine." Mr. Bastable's glance rested musingly on the old man's threadbare knees. Then it traveled to his emaciated hands and the obliterated pattern of the upholstery behind his head. "The money is not a vital part of this question, Dr. Penrith. I ask you once more, will you accede to my client's request ? " PENRITH HOUSE 17 "The request is extraordinary, unprecedented," roared Dr. Penrith, passionately oratorical. " I refuse." Mr. Bastable poised the tips of his fingers and seemed undisturbed by his answer. Perhaps it was what he ex- pected. " In that case, I am instructed to inform you " " In God's name, an end to this manner of information. If you have a clue to the child's parentage, tell me and leave me in peace." " I am instructed to inform you that you will be given an opportunity to reconsider this request, and that any reasonable demand of yours will be granted." Grim silence met this statement. " May I ask for the privilege of speaking with the little girl before I go?" In the interim of Dr. Penrith's hesitation, the voice continued : " My client takes a deep personal interest in the child's welfare." A silence fell between the two men, and the somberness of the old house stood between them like a visible wall. Suddenly through that somberness, that loneliness, a little voice vibrated, a child's voice, strangely out of keeping with the gloomy, book-littered library. "Grandfather, Grandfather," sang the elfin voice, " please come here ! Please come and look at my excellent decolations." Then a child burst into the room, breathless, ardent, exultant, with the fire of artistic creation dancing in her eyes. She was a slip of a child, fragile, dark-skinned, 18 THE SILENT DOOR violet-eyed, exotic, with golden brown hair in a tum- bled mass around her small golden face. Her slender brown fingers were stained with plant-juices. Scraps of flower-petals and matted vines clung to her hair and person. "Rue!" said the old man sternly. The child noted the stranger and also Dr. Penrith's reproachful brow. She looked awed, but not fearful. "Please forgive me for being so interrupty," she said, " but, Grandfather, I was afraid the flowers would wizzle up or that Aunt Serena would ruthlessly tear them down. Aunt Serena is so very ruthless, you know, Grandfather, and I have decolated the banisters and the third floor so bee-youtifully, Grandfather." She ended with a pathetic tremble in her voice. Her manner, like her garb, was a mixture of the quaintly decorous with the passionate and fantastic. " This is Rue, then ? " said Mr. Bastable, putting out a hand. The child approached him and shook hands gravely. "And why Rue?" questioned Mr. Bastable. "Not for Ruth, is it?" Dr. Penrith looked stern and gave no answer. The little child spoke. " It is because of the meadow-rue that was blossoming on our lawn when I happened on the door-step. Somebody planted it there long ago, Grandfather told me so, didn't you, Grandfather?" By the clammy silence between the men which, with a child's unconscious tact, she had tried to mollify, and by PENRITH HOUSE 19 her grandfather's darkening eyes, Rue knew that her words had been unwelcome. " You may go," said Grandfather, coldly. Rue held herself erect and walked out of the room, without looking to right or left, a little mannerism of hers when she steeled herself not to cry. It is fatal to bend your knees or meet a human glance when you are on the brink of tears. m A MEMORY RUE returned to the freedom of her top floor. After the visitor had gone, she heard her grandfather's step patiently plodding up the two flights of stairs that led to Rue's realm. "Oh, Grandfather, how kind you are," cried the little girl, running down to meet him. "Now I will show you how I have wreathed up all my places. I made believe the hall was a fairy bower and you can shut your eyes and almost see the little fairies dancing." Rue had found in the woods a quantity of that delicate vine, galeum, its branches and tendrils so sticky that they will cling to the most uncompromising surface. With this and with armfuls of scarlet creeper, of ragged bee-balm, and tawny wild-grape leaves, she had wreathed the ban- isters and newel-posts that approached the arid steppes of the third floor at Penrith House. She had twined masses of flowers around the handles of the doors, and even the ugly yellow step-ladder that led from the square central hall to the skylight in the roof was glorified with white- flowering galeum, and childish bunches of lavender asters in bottles on the steps. Grandfather smiled at the pitiful bottles and the litter of color so characteristic of Rue. Aunt Serena, hearing 20 A MEMORY 21 the commotion of Rue's self-eulogy mixed with Grand- father's tempered praise, mounted the stairway and joined the group. Rue led them hither and thither, elucidating this and that artistic motif and drawing their attention to each unnoticed nosegay. " And look, Grandfather, at the long grape-vine between Ellen's door and the West Room, and see my paper dolls sitting and swinging on the leaves. How joyous they are!" "What ever will Ellen do when she comes with her broom ? " reflected poor Aunt Serena. " This is sweeping- day, Justinian." "Oh, Aunt Serena ! " cried little Rue, half laughter, half tears. She looked to Grandfather for support and admira- tion. " And see, Grandfather, I have slided a fringe of golden- rod under the Shut Door, for it always seems so lonely and left out, and I am sorry for it." Rue led the way down three little steps to a wing of the house, and pointed out the golden dado that grew from the neglected Door. But Justinian Penrith did not follow her. He stood still, smitten by a sudden memory. "See, Grandfather, how they look like gold tresses, fluffing out!" Aunt Serena noted the stricken look on her brother's face and guessed at the unseen Presence that stood be- side him. "Come, Rue," she said. "You had better wash and change your dress. You must be tired after so much tramp- ing." "No, Aunt Serena," she replied, reluctantly following 22 THE SILENT DOOR Aunt Serena to regions of cleanliness, " I am not tired at all. I am really very untired." Grandfather stood in the third-story hall, his head sunken on his breast, reliving a scene of the past, a strange- ly similar scene. What did the similarity mean ? The years shrank backward and were forgotten as he stood there, head sunken on his breast. Little Rue with her passions and tendernesses and wildness was unborn and undreamed. A girl stood beside Justinian, a swaying, half-blown tall blossom of a girl, with a head like ripe corn. They were together in the room that now had been closed and silent for years. The girl had conceived a daring design for mural decorations which she executed on the plaster walls of her sleeping chamber. On the opening day of the " private view," Danae and her father went arm in arm the length of the room, Danae pointing out the special excellencies of her magnum opus, Justinian with eyes patiently up- turned, Aunt Serena with subdued murmurs about the " mess " of whitened footprints all over the house. The magnum opus was a frieze of embossed water- lilies, carelessly slung in heroic dabs, with water-nymphs' faces floating between, their swirling hair intertwined with the stems of the aquatic plants. The design had been sketched for Danae, by Peter Kenyon, a neighbor's son, who dabbled in rude sculpture and whatever merit it had was in the original flat design. Aunt Serena unerringly picked out the " queernesses," and asked the young girl for prosaic detail. Danae learnedly explained her ideas of ceiling perspective and Michel- A MEMORY 23 Angelesque foreshortening. Dr. Penrith showed a flatter- ing interest in the technique and process, as Danae proudly set it forth, in language learned in the school of Peter's nascent genius. Justinian could see, even now, with bowed head and introspective eyes, the tinted water-lilies and the distorted faces of the water-women, so out of sorts with the un- aesthetic furnishings of the old-fashioned chamber, the ingrain carpet, and the walnut bedposts. He heard Danae's blithe voice. "They are rather splendidly done, don't you think, Father?" Aunt Serena followed in the rear, still looking labor- iously ahead to the next scrupulous house-cleaning with this additional excrescence to be removed. Thus, with entirely inoffensive intention, she spoke: " I suppose we can get them off, Danae, but it will take a very thorough scraping." "Oh, Aunt Serena," cried Danae, half laughter and half irritation. Then, just as little Rue, years later, by the grape-vine swing at Ellen's door, she looked to the man for support and admiration. Justinian smiled critically, stroking his aquiline nose. His daughter hung on his lips, for his compliments were like a rare cordial, dealt out by the drop but deliciously stimulating. " I cannot deny that you have achieved a striking result," he gave forth, with that air of weighing his words which imparted to them such value. "It really might be much worse, much, much worse." 24 THE SILENT DOOR It was high praise from Justinian, for he was indulgent, sadly indulgent to this, as it proved, the last fad of Danae's that Penrith House was to shelter. This incident happened on one of the harmonious days, when Danae and her father were not at war. The crisis finally came when words were spoken that both would have liked to forget. Those who knew Justinian Penrith in his gracious aspect as host or lecturer would not know him as fulminator and rhadamanthine judge. His aspect then was beyond belief. Danae took the bit in her teeth and ran away. It was a running-away from which there was no returning. Justinian closed and locked the door of the decorated room. He sat down to his books and pretended to forget. But every year when the meadow-rue came up on his lawn, Justinian passed wrathful days and sleepless nights. His daughter Danae had set it out years and years before. She had transplanted it with her own hands from the river-edge where it was flourishing among its untamed fellows. But to think that she herself had long since dis- appeared, no one knew where, while the wild rue of her planting waxed great and plumed out every July into tall moonshiny splendors! IV THE BESOM OF DESTRUCTION IT was some years after Danae flung out of the door that Rue had alighted on the door-step. Justinian's hair whitened and his walk grew very careful. Aunt Serena knit many scarlet afghans, folded them in lavender- ed sheets and put them away in the dark store-room. Justinian prepared a series of lectures (never publicly given), on. "The Plain of Esdraelon from the Days of Megiddo and Armageddon to the Present Time." Otherwise no events worth recording took place except that Aunt Serena was cured of the permutation habit. Always, when she dusted, was her brother's attention distracted from notes on Tanaach or Megiddo. He watched her dusting operations with the keenest anxiety. Aunt Serena was a very thorough duster. Her method of being orderly was, as he often informed her, to find for each object a new and undreamed of place, a distress- ing method this to scholars of conservative mind. Not that Aunt Serena was radical in any of her daily habits, except this immemorial dusting habit. She could not conceive of a thorough house-cleaning which should not also mean a thorough rearrangement. To wake up in the middle of the night, to reach for the 25 26 THE SILENT DOOR glass of water you have carefully set on your writing-desk in the northeast corner of the room, and to stub your bare toes upon an inexplicable article of furniture, to bump your forehead against the corner of something else and knock over several bottles therefrom, means that yesterday was Aunt Serena's sweeping-day and that the writing-desk is no longer in the northeast corner of the room, but for Order's sake has been transferred to the southwest corner and that the dressing-table now stands where was formerly empty space. Such occurrences one cannot easily forget. "A disturbing element, a sadly disturbing element!" murmured Justinian, as, chilled, wide-awake and still thirsty, he groped his way through the permutations of his furniture to the refuge of bed. This tendency, if so mild a word may be applied to so strong-developed a habit as that of Aunt Serena's, was finally suppressed by a system original to Justinian Pen- rith. I commend the system to all elderly gentlemen inconvenienced by over-thorough dusting on the part of conscientious housekeepers. In the first place, there had been many, many arguments, in which Justinian came off logically triumphant and Aunt Serena hopelessly worsted, with as many fallacies pin-pricked in her arguments as there were little holes in the stockings which she was at the time darning. But, strange to say, to be repeatedly convicted of fallacious self- defense, does not prevent one from again falling into the self-same misdeeds. It was only when Justinian required from Aunt Serena an itemized written statement, daily, THE BESOM OF DESTRUCTION 27 of the redisposition of his personal effects, to be posted freshly each day in each room of the house where he might happen to be, that the noxious tendency was abated. Callers at Penrith House ( they were few and far be- tween ) were puzzled by such bulletins as these: ARTICLES TRANSFERRED. DATE ARTICLE FROM TO Green Student Lamp Piano Mahogany Table Red Worsted Afghan Couch Dining-Room Settee Baize Ottoman West corner of East corner of fireplace fireplace Jeremy Taylor's " Holy Center-table Top of Book-case Living and Dying" Vase of raper Lamp- Top of Book-case Center- table lighters (Signature) SERENA PENRITH. "It is my undeniable prerogative," said Justinian, "to know where in my own domicile my own possessions are. It is Hay prerogative not to be compelled to make an ex- haustive search for them every time I rise from my chair." When he spoke in this tone, with the brown canvas eye- shade tipped up on his forehead, forming an artificial edifice of brow beneath which his eyes gloomed terribly, Aunt Serena knew the situation was not to be trifled with. It was exceedingly troublesome to her to make these lists and even more troublesome to him to refer to them, but the practice was faithfully kept up on both sides till, after a number of days, Aunt Serena succumbed and solemnly agreed to let his things remain "in statu quo" ( Justinian ) till death should them part. Perhaps she was hastened to this concession by the ostentatious manner in which Jus- tinian consulted the bulletin when Eulalia was present. Eulalia was the Swedish " incumbent," ( Justinian ) -a 28 THE SILENT DOOR simple and wondering soul, to whom in a strange land all things were strange and no monstrosity impossible, but withal, so faithful and cleanly that Aunt Serena was desirous to retain her. Eulalia had looked frightened when Justinian accused Serena of palming off upon him yester- day's bulletin for to-day's. "Fetch me the bulletin from my bedroom." Eulalia understood only the words bulletin and bedroom and these, combined with Justinian's Jove-like scowl and Aunt Serena's consternation, conveyed the idea of fright- ful catastrophe for which she herself was guiltily responsi- ble. Although it could not have been in a waking moment that she had pent a bull in a bedroom. When she was required to fetch that mischief-making bull from the bed- room to the dining-room, she threw her apron over her head and wept, and, thus weeping, fled to the kitchen. During the interval that Eulalia wept, the contract was made, Justinian abolished the bulletin system upon his sister's promise to abjure forever all permutations. She remained in all other points a thorough house-cleaner, and when she set out to sweep the Sky-Chamber, as a preliminary step she had the stable windows washed. This was the caustic manner in which Justinian satirized her far-reaching preliminary measures. Meanwhile, Justinian, in his secret heart, never ceased for one moment to think about Danae and to look daily for her return. She would come running to his arms in the old flighty girlish way, crying to be forgiven! It did not occur to him that perhaps she also waited for some one to come to her and ask to be forgiven. Sympathetic THE BESOM OF DESTRUCTION 29 Joppa, meeting Justinian on his daily journey to the vil- lage post-office, chatted gently with him on the weather and the tomato-blight and Canaan, the neighboring village, bought a copy of "My Travels in the ^Egean Isles." It was the most delicate tribute of condolence that they could have devised. It was well for Justinian that one harvest of trouble was garnered before a new crop was sowed. Rue Penrith devel- oped, as she grew old enough to lay her hands on life, what Justinian called "a fatal facility for damage." She left behind her in the house a trail of devastation. Hers was no ordinary infant's dabbling in mischief. She reveled in floods and crashes and the crack of doom. To break and to spill were her specialties though she was by no means averse to annihilation by process of fire or steel. Her blue beatific gaze as she lay in her crib before dressing-tune veiled a multiplicity of mischief, and when she cooed to ' herself in the tub she was probably organizing the campaign of the day. There was no use in concealment of valuables or imprisonment of the child. It only added to the zest of her game. Without aid of matches or paper-lighters to set fire to a basket of shavings by the dining-room grate, is a brave feat for a baby of two years. After the fire was extinguished, the dining-room rug thrown outdoors to subside, the scorched table linen folded into the work-basket for darning, and Rue's own person anointed in oil and bandages, Rue lay and despite her wounds, laughed contentedly. "Pitty, pitty!" she cooed, "Rue make fire one more time. " 30 THE SILENT DOOR " I insist, Justinian, that she be thoroughly spanked, " said Aunt Serena. " Never fear, she will not do it again, " said Justinian, meekly assorting a pile of dismembered manuscripts that Rue had pulled from the desk before the possibilities of the fire-play burst upon her. " Did you ever know her to repeat a mischievous performance ? " There are in this life, it is true, so many fruitful oppor- tunities that a baby of spirit needs not to harp on the same old theme. Aunt Serena thought she detected a note of foolish admiration in Justinian's voice as he hung above the scorched and crooning child. Rue always showed discretion in selecting for her purposes the objects of greater value. How infinitely more interesting to snip or deface this week's rather than an older paper. She was insulted at the offer of a kitchen potato-beater, instead of Grandfather's gold watch to use as a battering-ram. Justinian departed from the system under which he had schooled Aunt Serena, and alas! failed to school Danae. He laid no commands and framed no rules, for they only invited transgression. " Besides that, " he said, " it is not so much naughtiness in Rue as ingenuity. " " Have I been naughty to-day, Aunt Serena ? " The child would wistfully ask, when Aunt Serena denied her the good-night kiss. "No, my dear, only ingenious," the poor lady would reply, dealing out an unmerited kiss on the waiting up- lifted forehead. Grandfather kissed her lips and kissed her twice. THE BESOM OF DESTRUCTION 31 Justinian found a descriptive epithet for Rue, the felicity of which almost compensated for the havoc she wrought. The Besom of Destruction aptly fitted her character, and with all due reverence to its Biblical origin, Justinian applied it in this modern instance. Rue did not know what a Besom was. Yet she accepted, after some natural shrinking from the sonorous appelation, the fact that she in her person exemplified Isaiah's grim prophecy : " I will also make it a possession for the bittern and pools of water; and I will sweep it with the besom of destruction, saith the Lord of Hosts. " The pools of water were, of course, the marsh-holes between the humps on the way to Mr. Larrabee's pond. The bittern she had not become acquainted with, but she would have a sisterly feeling for that bittern if ever he should turn up. She wondered how soon he would appear above the horizon of her life. Often she looked for him when she was gathering swamp-flowers, green orchids and lady's-slippers in the humpy swamp. She had also a friendly feeling for satyrs and dragons, because they were mentioned in a similar connection. "Owls shall dwell there, and satyrs shall dance there and the wild beasts of the islands shall cry in their desolate houses and dragons in their pleasant palaces. " The owls she had frequently heard to-whooing at night from the mysterious wood across the brook. The other beasts were perhaps dwellers in the island of the Jerusalem river. She had never been blessed by a visit, but doubtless there were concealed in its jungles of lady-fern and orange milkweed, wild beasts of divers sorts. 32 THE SILENT DOOR Sunday morning before breakfast was a good time to practise dancing like a satyr, in preparation for the day when the prophecy should be fulfilled and the bittern, the satyrs, and she, the Besom, should meet in that pleas- ant palace. Engaged in this occupation Aunt Serena once found her, the bureau glass pushed back and held in place by a hair-brush that Rue might survey the evolu- tions of her own unashamed nakedness. The hair-brush, as applied by Aunt Serena, soon performed a different service, a service not connected, I grieve to say, with Rue's long-delayed coiffure. What use was there in confiding to such a shallow understanding as Aunt Serena's the whys and wherefores of life ? That the miry boots and smeared frocks with which Rue frequently came home from her wanderings were as a martyr's garments in the cause of demonstrating Bible texts or in the exegesis of prophecy would hardly have appealed to Aunt Serena. Yet on one memorable occasion when Rue penetrated more deeply than usual into the forbidden forest it was because she thought she heard a dragon's cry. The sound proceeded from a clump of cat-tails. The reason that the mud upon her person was so liberal in quantity and impartial in design was that she ran. If one gallops, it naturally follows that one falls. Is this not so, reader ? A high rate of speed is incompatible with caution. It happened as follows: She thought she heard a dragon cry. Toward his direction she walked for purposes of investigation. She was sure she heard a dragon cry. In the opposite direction she galloped for purposes of safety. These details are hard to explain to great-aunts. THE BESOM OF DESTRUCTION 33 " Rue, " said Aunt Serena, with all the solemnity that a moral catastrophe deserves, " You must never run again. " "But I didn't run, I galloped." Rue was acquiring Grandfather's verbal punctiliousness. " You must never gallop, " insisted Aunt Serena. " Never ? " lisped Rue, awed by that dreadful word. " Never, " said Great- Aunt, with the consistence born of slender imagination. " Is that a rule, Aunt Serena ? " "Yes, that is a rule. At least, you must never run (or gallop) without asking me first. " " But s'pose I'm a long way from home and I'm going to be late for supper ? " " You mustn't be a long way from home. You must play around the house like other good little children. " " But s'pose, Aunt Serena, there's a mad bull after me, and I need to run and I might get dead before I had time to ask you. And anyway, I'd have to run and ask you. And I might just as well gallop away from the bull without asking, don't you think, Aunt Serena?" " What bull are you talking about, child ? Do stand still one minute while I finish parting your hair. " A few years after the windfall of Rue, Justine arrived, but not quite in the same fashion. So proper an infant as Justine naturally chose a more conventional method. In the first place she was born of human parents who lived in a house. She was Justinian's grandniece and was christened as nearly as might be after her distinguished uncle. She had the broad forehead and contemplative eye of a true Penrith. She took the vicissitudes of life in the spirit of a 34 THE SILENT DOOR philosopher and accepted her orphaned state and her adoption by Uncle Justinian with a noble fortitude that wavered but once on the railroad train to Joppa, when her stick of striped candy fell out of the window. Her suffering on this occasion was augmented by seeing a small boy at the Pisgah Junction pick up the striped and sugary tribute and transfer it in its entirety to his mouth. Nevertheless, Justine arrived at Penrith House in a tranquil frame of mind, feeding a rubber baby with bits of cookie, a quality of offspring and a form of sustenance as satisfactory to Justine as they were contemptible to Rue. Leisurely Joppa noted and pitied from afar. Never before had sober elderly people been afflicted with such a plague of girl infants. Aunt Serena was Aunt Serena to both the children, but Justinian was Grandfather to the one and Uncle to the other, which was always a mystery to Rue. Nothing seemed a mystery to Justine. Whatever happened happened quite as a matter of course. The only queerness was that anybody thought anything was queer. It certainly is no queerer, if you come to think about it, to have a sun that rises in the east and sets in the west than the reverse, or a sun that should stand in the middle of the sky all day long. THE GUEST-CHAMBER AND THE SULLEN INTERLUNAR CAVE Up hither like aerial vapors flew Of all things transitory, vain, when sin With vanity had filled the works of men; Both all things vain and all who on vain things Built their fond hopes of glory or lasting fame Or happiness in this or the other life. All the unaccomplished works of nature's hand. Abortive, monstrous or unkindly mixed, Dissolved on earth, fleet hither and in vain Till final dissolution, wander here. THE "Sullen Interlunar Cave," (so styled by Grandfather) was Rue Penrith's peculiar habitat, where, as the artists would say, she expressed herself through the medium of matter. In the West Room she slept or sat and studied. She was obliged to keep it orderly, to dust it daily, to hang up her frocks by the hangers, each on the proper hook, to line up her shoes in a row consistently mated on the closet floor. But the Sullen Interlunar Cave was all her own. In it she had full sway and neither immaculate Aunt Serena nor the ubiquitous Cousin Justine aged three were privi- leged to enter. "Let the child have a room in which to store her im- 35 36 THE SILENT DOOR pedimenta, " decreed Grandfather, and the Cave fell to her lot. This unfortunate chamber had long been under the ban for human occupancy, as the sun entered it only by chinks, so closely had the huge wistaria-vine grown across the windows, clasping one of the blinds tight-shut with its strong arms. Justinian would not have the wistaria cut away or trimmed, for its luxuriance was one of the wonders of Joppa village. To Rue the Cave meant liberty, fortune, self-respect. To it, as to a Limbo, fleeted the unending and ephemeral procession of her treasures. Aunt Serena re- garded them coldly or with the suspicious eye of the fervid housewife. Grandfather smiled ever so gently and framed ambiguous compliments. Justine clamored to be admitted and when Rue was hard-hearted had to be consoled with gross consolation from the pantry. To Rue the Sullen Interlunar Cave was as Aladdin's treasure-house. The sacred Guest-Chamber touched the sphere's antip- odal opposite. It represented the highest criterion of taste in Joppa. Its chaste loveliness appealed to Rue in her conventional and decently-frocked moods. It was separated from the rest of the second floor by an individual flight of steps. The approach was rendered in a further degree ritual and impressive by a small square hall, smoth- ered in Cimmerian darkness except when one of its four doors was opened. The four doors opened in as many different directions, and if, by a conspiracy of indiscreet persons, they should be opened at one and the same time, those indiscreet persons would be engulfed in a howling tempest of draughts. For this reason the hall was familiarly THE GUEST-CHAMBER 37 entitled the Grotto of the Four Winds. One of the four doors gave on the back stairs. These back stairs, communi- cating only by unexpected doors and circuitous entries with the open prosaic every-day rest of the house, were like a secret but navigable channel, an underground railway, a series of mountain passes, that made possible for Rue many mysterious exits and entrances. She preferred them to the broad and exposed highway of the front stairs, where she was liable to be waylaid by Justine with reiter- ated demand upon Rue to tie hair-ribbons, to build a blockhouse, or to assist in a doll's toilet. Rue's dolls sprang fully dressed from the womb of her imagination and required neither frocking nor unfrocking. A string to indicate the waist, a similar arrangement for the neck, charcoal for the eyes, and the most unpromising textile became a princess. Justine's demands were generally supported by a sym- pathetic voice from the library or dining-room, Justine, notwithstanding a porcelain innocence of mien, subtly chose for her demands the politic time and place. Sometimes Rue was attacked in the rear by Grand- father's voice from his study, inquiring into the illegitimate use of her morning hours. Morning hours in the Penrith household were devoted to ascertaining ( in Latin ) the habits of two worthies yclept Caius and Balbus, and to determining the respective division of apples between a certain John and Henry. It was also probable that even in the afternoon when one had rightfully fallen heir to hours of liberty, Aunt Serena, ambushed in the sewing-room, would prick up her ears at the sound of suggestive creaking on these fateful front stairs. In that case the opportunity 38 THE SILENT DOOR would be utilized for help in ripping or pulling out of bastings. Therefore Rue preferred the seclusion and immunity of back stairs, though lonely, steep, plebeian. By them one could penetrate, unknown and unmolested, from the base of supplies in the pantry to the impregnable fortress of the Sullen Interlunar Cave. The Guest-Chamber had three windows, all of them framed in lace, and in the setting of those loops of snowy spider-web the view from the windows took on an other- world charm. There was green decorated china on the wash- stand, on the bureau a bead pincushion with velvet center, and a velvet slipper worked in beads as a receptacle for the happy guest's trinkets. On each side of the pincushion stood two tall frosty-pink perfumery bottles about which still lingered the aroma of past days when they had doubt- less been full to the brim of aromatic incense. Even now it was a privilege to pull out the stoppers and sniff mightily. If one sniffed mightily enough one could detect a faint memory of perfume, like the murmur of the sea in a big conch-shell. There were two tiny shelves hah* way up the mirror-frame that could be reached by standing on the edge of the half -open bureau drawer, a forbidden means of ascent to Olympus. Up there were a lava match-safe and a lava vase, ochre-brown lava horses prancing down the side of Vesuvius. The floor was spread with fragrant matting of a greenish hue, and there was a green carpet chair splendidly fringed in which Rue delighted to sit. It inspired her most exalted and virtuous contempla- tion. There were three pictures on the walls, also an un- failing source of inspiration, the more so that through the THE GUEST-CHAMBER 39 long winter months when the Guest-Chamber on account of its rigorous climate became inaccessible, these pictures were unseen, half -forgotten, only to burst upon one in the lawless days of spring-cleaning with the freshness of peren- nial youth. The pictures were called, they belonged to the good old days when pictures, as well as books, bore titles, Crossing the Brook, Flora and Georgiana, and Eternity. The first picture represented a barefoot lass, carrying a bundle of fagots on her head, stepping from stone to stone across a shallow foaming stream. A boy led her by the hand. The fagots on the head, the kerchiefed bodice, the fantastic skirt; the boy's tasseled beret and smock open at the throat, all suggested to Rue she knew not what of mystery, enchantment, a different life. The simple engraving in its crisscross wooden frame was to her, travel, foreign lands, romance, her first trip abroad. The boy and girl became companions, part of her life. Were they brother and sister ? What were their names? Where were they going? Why the fagots? Why barefoot? What liberal-minded great- aunt allowed those untrammeled costumes? These were fascinating themes for meditation. Rue thought she should like the two children because they were crossing a brook, and brooks were Rue's delight. Would they like her, too ? Next in order was Flora and Georgiana and it always stirred the query: Which was Flora, which Georgiana? A fat, lazy little girl sat in bed against a downy pile of pillows. Her hair hung in ringlets over her bare neck and arms. Her one garment was what Aunt Serena called a " shimmy, " otherwise known as chemise, the like of which 40 THE SILENT DOOR for lavish flummery Rue Penrith had never seen. A dog with melting eyes and floppy ears put a pair of pleading paws on the counterpane, while the selfish and lazy little girl held her bowl away from him and supped tranquilly. Belaced, beringleted, languid, stingy, she was certainly a much over-dressed, though only half -dressed, young person. We will leave it to an impartial public if any intelligent critic could decide which was Flora, which Georgiana. This picture fascinated, yet irritated. Rue was sure that Georgiana or was it Flora was the kind of little girl that could not climb fences and was afraid of chestnut burrs. Also, she would curl her lip at the sugges- tion of toads and rag-dolls. She would consider it ignominy to go to Loami Larrabee's for milk, with a tin-pail dangling merrily from her arm. The tin-pail must not dangle merrily on the homeward trip, or it will leave a trail of white spots behind it, like fairy signs, telling you which way the enchanted doe has gone. But in the kitchen, Aunt Serena will raise her eyebrows as she pours out the diminished quart. This vesper service, which Grandfather embellished in Rue's mind by calling it the Milky Way, was an important item on Rue's daily schedule. It was sometimes irksome, but not without its opportunities for widening the social circle and for meditation or adventure along the road. The little lady in the chemise hemmed pocket-handker- chiefs for recreation and spent her spare time in counting ribbons and in stringing blue beads. Rue had met the type. She was sure that Flora, or was it Georgiana was disagreeable. Behold, she was unkind to her poor dog, with the hungry eyes and meek ears. Still, the picture had THE GUEST-CHAMBER 41 interest. It revealed a condition, a stratum, a social set, where one wears lace chemises, sleeps on banks of pillows and breakfasts luxuriously in bed. The third picture, Eternity, was the most cabalistic of the three. It did not tell its story. There was no possible con- nection between title, subject and inscription. For it had an inscription, engraven underneath, as if to clarify and elucidate, and the inscription added the last entangling thread to the hopeless maze. The woman in the pillared garden, draped airily as only angels should go clad, the butterfly alight on her large bare arm, the awed and won- dering look in her uplifted face, and the verse engraven on the lower margin were all profoundly hieroglyph. Any one alone of the three mysteries Rue might have comprehended. She had not reached that advanced intel- lectual state where literary obscurity soothes and satisfies. The verse ran as follows : Immortality o'ersweeps All pains, all tears, all time, all fears, and peals Like the eternal thunders of the deep Into my ears this truth Thou liv'st forever. As you will see, between legend, woman and butterfly no coherent story was told. Rue vaguely perceived that here was something a symbol of Something Else that vastly imported. She felt shivers run up and down her spine. Aunt Serena hung this classic lady over the wash-stand, because she best fitted that decollete epoch in one's toilet. Aunt Serena had a fine sense of the fitness of things. During the spring and summer months was the gala 42 THE SILENT DOOR season for Penrith House and the Guest-Chamber. Many people at that time remembered Joppa who were immersed in forgetfulness during the feverish opera season. Stately aunts and firm-lipped uncles bore down upon Joppa, with attendant trains of much-labeled valises, over which Rue pondered as over the hieroglyphs of kings of Abydos. There were bearded young men who frisked a daisy at the buttonhole and made eyes at Mrs. Gideon's pretty daughter in Sunday-school. There were young ladies with swishing gowns and rings on their white fingers who re- cited Aux Italiens and said with a sigh : "What a romantic little spot this is!" And they had not found the really romantic places at all, like the Hemlock Wood, but all day they sat on the bench under the buttonball-tree and chatted with Mr. Boscoway, the Visiting Gardener and called him " quaint. " Or they said to Grandfather, with languishing sympathy: " But how lonely you must be in the winter, Dr. Penrith ! " Most frequent and most lingering were urbane gray gentlemen who discussed learned matters with Justinian, such as the site of Kadesh Barnea, who pounded the table when they talked and waxed eloquent over Welhausen and Delitzsch. Grandfather was always on the other side and the veins on his temples bulged at their "preposterous heterodoxy." On more placid occasions they harked back to youthful days and descanted with gloating laughter over memorable frolics. Rue knew them all by heart, that New Year's Day when Grandfather and three other young bloods hired the rickety wagon and the disreputable mule, and attired in their gorgeous holiday raiment hitched up THE GUEST-CHAMBER 43 and paid their devoirs to all the notable belles of town; that glorious day in college when a holiday was wrenched from the grudging faculty by the mock death and funeral of a Napoleonic spirit. Little Rue, sitting on an ottoman with hands clasped and adoring eyes, glowed at the thought of Grandfather's ancient bravado. Sueh flashes of wit vibrated across the table ! " What animals grow on vines, Penrith ? " "Gray apes. Haw-haw-haw!" " Pea-nut discouraged. " Rue did not always understand, but just the same enjoyed and hoarded. It was not till years afterward that the real point of some of these hoary tales dawned upon her. There were other mystic scraps also well-remembered, for the unintelligible has a haunting persistency for a child. Two of the urbane gray ones sat on the rustic seat be- neath the buttonball-tree. Rue, unseen by them, played house under the Norway pine whose noble branches swept the ground. Justinian went to the house in search of a book of reference. " Beautiful prospect, " said one, striking an appreciative cane toward the blossoming hillside below, and a blue hint of river. "If man could live on fair prospect," said the other, digging a cynical heel into the ground and ruining the star- of-Bethlehem Rue had taken pains to set out the day before. " Sadly broken, " remarked the first one. (" Sadly indeed, " thought Rue, in pity of the lovely dead flower. ) 44 THE SILENT DOOR A gently-modulated cane was swung toward the green blind door behind which Justinian had just disappeared. "How long ago?" asked the ruthless one, with peculiar lack of relevance. He wastefully tore off the netted silk sheath encasing a buttonball. "Ten years?" ruminated he of the cane, describing thoughtful circles in the air. "Ah, ten years. How time flies!" cried the other, still incoherent, but suddenly sentimental. "Left behind," commented he of the cane, digging a round grave for a beetle the other had crushed. He pointed suggestively to the books that belittered the rustic bench. (" How dull they are," thought Rue. " Grandfather will return. ") " It might not have been except for you know." (No, she did not know. How disjointed their utterances!) "A tragic occurrence!" went on the fragmentary voice. (Did he mean the beetle or the star-flower?) "Most inexplicable. A charming creature." (No, June-bugs are not charming, but they have a right to live, in their own kingdom.) "What was her name?" He did not perceive that the other had found pathos of his own in the flight of time. " Her name ? Oh, you are speaking of Justinian's " " Exactly. A charming creature, was, at least." Both of them shook their heads. " This little girl, do you find that she perhaps or am I mistaken ? A resemblance ? " The courteous cane groped delicately for a certain tuft of pollen-purple orchard grass. Rue became aware that THE GUEST-CHAMBER 45 they were speaking of people and were afraid to say it out loud. The green door opened and Justinian appeared, a heavy tome beneath each arm. "Ah, Penrith, we were just saying what an Arcady you have made for yourself," roared he of the destructive cane. " Far from the madding crowd, eh ? " " Beneath the grove of the Academe," beamed the other, waving large hypocritical hands over the books that lay on the rustic bench and the locust stump. " Don't you believe them, Grandfather," burst out Rue, conscious only of double-dealing which she must right, and outraged beyond the possibility of silence. "They have been saying no such things, Grandfather, but queer, awful beginnings they didn't dare to finish, about " Rue's attitude as she crept on all fours from under the Norway pine, needles thick-strewn in her hair and her cheeks gummy, was far from heroic. Notwithstanding, her face and voice were epic. "Enough!" said Grandfather, sternly. "You may re- pair to your chamber, Rue, and remain until I summon you. Employ your time usefully," he added with terse significance. A wise employment of time meant the perusal of English classics or committal to memory of new and ever new declensions. But that afternoon seemed to favor a liberal interpretation of the phrase. Rue executed upon large sheets of brown wrapping-paper a Hogarthian series of pictures which she entitled, " The Paths of Deseetfulnes." In these drawings were vaguely limned the features of the urbane gray ones, prowling as wolves in sheep's cloth- 46 THE SILENT DOOR ing. Justinian was an elderly lamb, if the bull may be pardoned, nibbling the leaves of learned books, and she herself, in the shape of an angel of light, shone throughout the series. In the final cartoon, wings grew from her shoul- ders, she had shed her checked apron and earthly braids of hair, and mounted a heavenly stairway that she set on the bodies of her dead enemies. VI A TOADSTOOL FANTASY TO the Sullen Interlunar Cave went all trophies from the outland, fireweed, yards of sticky dodder-vine, masses of rank fringed orchids, barbaric bunches of brown-eyed Susans. Rue loved pro- fusion and color in masses. She had not yet arrived at the Japanese idea of a single flower in a vase. She regretted Aunt Serena's callousness to beauty that enabled her gladly to forego the feasts she would have provided for every chamber in the house. Spoils from the outland were to be carefully tended by the obtainer of such trouble- some mementos. Thereafter, the Cave was alternately radiant with fresh-gathered bloom, or, on days when other avocations were paramount, maladorous with long-neglected vegetation. It was at one of these decadent epochs that the Cave was visited by Aunt Serena and forthwith a new edict went forth: "No more messes of weeds shall be brought into this house." Opprobrious epithets aside, the decree was heartless and unjust, the spirit that prompted it being manifested by the words "messes" and "weeds." This ukase was issued between the departure of the urbane gray ones and the arrival of Aunt Elizabeth and Uncle Rodney. The two 47 48 THE SILENT DOOR gentlemen departed on the day succeeding the Norway pine episode. Their farewell hand-shakes were tremen- dously prolonged and hearty. Aunt Elizabeth is known to the world at large as Mrs. Rodney Dove. She lived in Boston, or as she would have expressed it, "she moved in the best circles." It must have been of necessity that Aunt Elizabeth moved in circles, for she was not sufficiently agile to describe a revolution more abrupt. " Moving " is also an apt phrase to describe her ponderous and majestic locomotion. Aunt Elizabeth's heavy-cheeked face was lighted by small brown eyes with which she transfixed the hearer, pinning him to the wall, as it were, while she seared his memory with her much-emphasized and often rehearsed narrations and theories. Her narrations always supported a theory. Her theories always required a narration. When the telegram came, abundant was the joy in the Penrith household. Aunt Serena profited greatly by Mrs. Dove's superior knowledge of the fashions and Ellen by Mrs. Dove's liberal parting fees. Rue was told that she might, in honor of the coming guest, furnish the Guest- Chamber with bouquets. The cruel ukase had evidently been forgotten. Without delay, Rue went far afield with adventurous desire for the rarest spoil. She came upon the Hemlock Wood. It was dark and cool, though outside the August sun quivered over corn-fields and on the glassy river. Fallen logs were encrusted with velvet ears and over- lapping shelves of fungoid growth. The sun sifted through the leaves in spots like coins. She sat down on a stump. A TOADSTOOL FANTASY 49 A partridge flew up with a whirr, making her heart leap. She remembered the ukase concerning flowers and its sudden repeal. And in whose interest was it repealed, forsooth ? For Aunt Elizabeth, who did not know blue succory from Bouncing Bet, and who preferred pot-grown geraniums to miraculous cardinal flowers that are like burning steeples in the dark river coves. For herself, never, never again, the Serenal " never " had not lost its potency over her childish imagination, could the woods be ran- sacked. How unreasonable that she should be blamed because certain flowers in fading make a disagreeable fuzz, and because rotten stems emit an unpleasant odor. "What an unnecessary foolish article is a broom," re- flected Rue. " The woods are never swept up and they are clean and much prettier than any house." A profound pity for the Sullen Interlunar Cave, tenant- less of its gladsome blossoms, possessed her heart. How neglected, how lonely it must be, and how wondering! Poor Cave, doomed to such emptiness and she could not explain. "For it has no ears, it cannot hear," talked Rue aloud. " The windows are the eyes and they are half -blind. The door is the mouth, but it has no ears, it has no ears." Tears blurred her sight at the thought of the Cave's uncomplaining fate till, beneath a thicket not far away, she espied a fascinating colony of little golden things standing quietly by themselves. Upon investigation they proved to be toadstools, of the most elegant and distin- guished shapes eye ever beheld. They were fluted goblets with flaky lining and crimped edges. Line and form had a 50 THE SILENT DOOR natural fascination for the child. She felt abstract ideas through the quality of shape, as musical people get ideas in tone and painters philosophize in schemes of color. The only pleasure she derived from her lessons was the suggestion they afforded to her imagination. The dull figures in the arithmetic book were little soldiers marshaled in squares or columns. Isthmus and peninsula offered a fertile map of decorative design. Rue wandered on, finding other toadstools fashioned as delicately as vases, tall slender ones with velvet-brown stems, immaculate pipings underneath, and of a design charming in symmetry. Some were concave like shallow saucers and others convex like tureen covers. They were in ah 1 shades of ecru and fawn. Rue shouted for glee as she rapidly filled her basket with these confections. Once on the quest, she discovered the wood to be an eldorado for fungi. They were crimson, orange, purple; they built themselves into knobs, parasols, shells, corals, stools, hats, tents; all colors and all shapes; they intoxicated her with the liberality of their invention. Their nimble humor and fantastic wit melted her to gratitude. It is probable there is no joy in the world equaling in keenness the joy of discovery, unless it be the joy of creation. Other joys may be more tender, more deep, more enduring, but this joy pierces the heart with an unendurable sting. "How pleased Aunt Elizabeth will be," said self-de- ceiving Rue, as reluctantly she went home with her gorgeous basket of spoils. She carried no flowers. A toad- stool bouquet contained the epitome of beauty and origin- ality. A TOADSTOOL FANTASY 51 Children idealize their elders in even a day's absence, so that the clothes of the absent father become as the garments of a saint. In the year that had passed since Aunt Elizabeth's last visit, a nimbus of glory had been forming around her well-crimped head and nothing less than jewels were expected to fall from her compressed lips. After a narrow escape from Justine, encamped on a fat white rocking-horse, on the back porch in the sun, Rue entered tiptoe and made a clandestine passage up the backstairs, through the Grotto of the Four Winds, and into the Guest-Chamber. Tired from her strenuous tramp, she sank into the splendid chair and gave herself over to the chaste luxuries of the sacred room. The laugh- ing boy of the brook watched her from the wall. It must have been from his mischievous eye that the impish sug- gestion came. She took the stoppers out of the frosty-pink bottles and arranged instead two corpulent purple fungi, umbrella-shaped, and already shedding their population of surprised and indignant larvae. Those were unnoticed in the exhilaration of the hour. In the lava match-safe were deposited a charming circle of minute orange-red and gray affairs, so thin that the gills shone through, striping the margin of the pileus. The tall velvet-stemmed collybia, like snowy-lined parasols, made an effective group in the Vesuvian vase for the dressing-table. The goblets with fluted edges, known to the mycological student as craterellus floccosus, and various other fleshy specimens of gray and sordid colors yet remained for artistic adapta- tion to the furnishings of the room. Rue could think of no better arrangement than a frieze above the embroidered 52 THE SILENT DOOR pillow-coverings and a rich dado below. The white of the bed-linen served admirably to bring out their fine colors and shapes and supported them in grace and comfort. Of course, she understood that this was only a temporary decoration but how effective a sight to greet Aunt Eliza- beth's eyes after her monotonous journey. Hope springs eternal in the human breast, more particularly in the breast of a child. Although abashed by many previous instances of Aunt Elizabeth's indifference to artistic appeal, Rue glowed at this latest triumph of hers in the way of couch decoration and with confident expectation of the grateful pleasure it would inspire. There was time to arrange the pins in the velvet center of the pincushion to spell Welcome, and then came sum- mons to luncheon. "Aunt Elizabeth's room is all ready. I have decolated it beautifully," she remarked naively, eating her well- earned bread and butter and salad with relish. "That is nice," said Aunt Serena, absent-mindedly, debating the respective merits of corn-bread or muffins. " What were those funny things in your baxkit ? " asked Justine, taking advantage of a lapse of observation at the grown-up end of the table to empty half of the sugar-bowl on her blackberries. "They were fairy cups and umbrellas," said Rue, patronizingly. " No, they weren't. They were nacky toadstools in your baxkit," said Justine, glancing for approbation to the disengaged parental smile. This childish prattle passed unnoticed. Meanwhile, A TOADSTOOL FANTASY 53 larvae, yellow and white, were rapidly squirming out of their honeycombed retreats and spreading themselves on investigating tours over Aunt Elizabeth's white counter- pane and Aunt Elizabeth's dressing-table. Such was the sight greeting that lady's eyes when she "moved" into the prepared Guest-Chamber. Toadstools flanking one's pillows and myriad white worms wriggling under one's sheets are scarcely calculated to touch the heart of a large silken lady from the purlieus of Beacon Street. Rue's buoyant expectations were promptly nipped in the bud, the smile with which she displayed her work was changed to a sob, her pleas were sternly suppressed and she was sent in disgrace to bed. "A sly, wicked child," said Elizabeth to Serena. "Mark my word, sister, you will have trouble with that girl when she is grown." Up-stairs, Rue, between the penitential sheets, with the disgraceful sunlight streaking her yellow walls, eased her breaking 'heart by passionate sobs. More bitter than the punishment was the misunderstanding. What she had done from love and hospitality had been traced to wanton spite. The contumely with which her beloved trophies had been hurled out of the window added the last insufferable indignity. There were many many hours yet before it would be dark, many hours in which to lie awake and review the history of her wrongs. When a storm came up and the rain fell in torrents, she was glad. It appeased her to stand at the pane and watch the rain make a pool in the path under the big lilac-bush. The water spurted up angrily to meet the drops from the sky. At last the purple 54 THE SILENT DOOR clouds blew away and the red sunset shone. The leaves dripped, the birds shook their feathers and crooned, the streams along the driveway reflected patches of sky. Rue smiled. The mud shone like satin on the path. She would creep quietly down the back stairs, bring up in her wash-bowl huge gobs of that delicious mud, and with this as modeling material pass the season of imprisonment. She would make an image of Aunt Elizabeth. So, in storm and stress, was Rue's first portrait fiercely conceived, as retributive justice. Her purpose was to model the figure with the austereness of sincerity, extenuating nothing, the sudden hips, the low brow, the wide cheeks, the ges- ture of the contemptuous hand. Then, in the presence of the assembled family, grouped around the unsuspecting breakfast table, Rue, in full view on the back porch steps, holding the thing on high, would dash it to pieces on the stones of the gravel road. A fit fate for the obnoxious simulacrum. vn THE SILENT DOOR THE portrait was never executed, neither privately in the West Room, nor publicly on the back porch steps. There were several reasons. First, it is a delicate matter for a nightgowned personage to issue by day upon on open driveway and escape attention. When Rue reached the second landing, in that occasional pause for reconnoitre which discretion requires, she heard, on the floor below, the enemy's voice proposing steamer-chairs and the piazza for the rest of the evening. "We city people find such delicious air a luxury," said the voice. Aunt Elizabeth was very gracious, especially after her advice had been followed and Rue been sent to bed. She praised the scenery and the atmosphere, caviling only at the mists from the river, for they had not the whole- someness of salt fogs from the Back Bay. Then a rainbow transpired. Rue heard the exclamations on the piazza and Justine being held up in arms to crow over the wonderful phenomenon. Grandfather was ex- plaining something about the "solar spectrum," and Aunt Elizabeth was insisting on a much more beautiful rainbow she had seen in Switzerland. Aunt Elizabeth always outdid every one else in what she had seen and known. Rue scuttled up-stairs to observe for herself from 55 56 THE SILENT DOOR the west window. The rainbow had a tranquilizing in- fluence, the search for modeling material went no further. The portrait bust was forgotten. Slumber modified her resentment. The next day was enveloped in the subdued atmosphere customary after upheavals. She was debarred the privilege of outdoor for that period, a concession which Aunt Serena wrung from Justinian, out of respect to Mrs. Rodney Dove. All day in the parlor weighty discussions went on. Justinian secreted himself behind his weekly paper, grimly inattentive to the women's chatter. No daily papers were received at Penrith House. They were regarded as dissipat- ing to the intellectuality. It was a mooted point between Justinian and Mrs. Dove, the latter maintaining that persons of gentility and culture the world over relied on the daily papers to keep themselves informed of the world's great doings. Justinian would then question her professor- ially as to the latest diplomatic blow inflicted by Russia on Germany and entrap her to absurdities. Aunt Elizabeth would not quite understand how absurd she had been. She was deficient in a sense of humor. Justinian then turned to his weekly and Aunt Serena soothed Elizabeth with a diversion of topic. It was due to one of these diver- sions that Rue was saved from Aunt Serena's old black silk dress made over into a Sunday frock, a calamity some- time impending over Rue's head. Also, Aunt Serena was initiated into newer ways of dressing the children's hair. Rue's frolicsome locks were allowed to curl on her shoul- ders and were tied with a big blue bow above her left ear. It was a coquettish coiffure which Aunt Serena reluctantly THE SILENT DOOR 57 permitted, after a long siege of arguments and citations of undeniable authority from Aunt Elizabeth. Justine's satiny mop of black hair was cut after the quaint square pattern of the day, Aunt Elizabeth's own hand wielding the skilful shears. " A pity Rue's hair is kinky," said she. " Straight hair is so fashionable at present." Justine, placidly conscious of her own more exemplar}' locks, sat upon a stool and basked in Aunt Elizabeth's approval. Rue, released from the hair-dressing, rushed up-stairs to survey herself in several favorite mirrors. She selected Justine's room as affording the freest opportunity, and sitting on a high chair before the glass, she nodded, smiled and gesticulated like Lady Vanity. She shook her curls this way and that, how happy they were to be released from the confinement of braids, and made various grimaces in contrasting phases of the horrible, the piquant or the grotesque. This was in order to test the all-round adaptability of the new curls to every emotional crisis which might invest her features. I do not think parents realize how useful such exercises are for the young. How painful it would be to feel one's self suddenly possessed by a strange emotion and the features undisci- plined to express it. Rue tried the effect of looking at her- self upside down, with the curls hanging off to one side, a sunny chestnut cataract, the cheeks puffed out enormous- ly, and the eyes squinted to a sinister slant. Try it for yourself, you Grown-up, and you will see what an un- familiar interest is lent to the visage. Justine entered, having taken the stairs with leisure, by aid of the banister, 58 THE SILENT DOOR as became one recently emancipated from outside assist- ance. A stature low in proportion to one's width, and feet too small for the plumpness of one's legs, retard the display of agility. Justine was dignified and grave on declivities of all sorts. Her nap hour was approaching, heralded by uncertainties of temper, by unreasonable insistence on proprietary rights, but most conspicuously by the presence of the blue blanket. For an hour previous to the happy cribtime, the blanket was her constant companion and could not be detached from her grasp. She affectionately sucked a corner of it as she entered the room, dragging its blue woolly length behind her like a mantle. Justine was very proud of her little white-painted dressing-table, with its chintz -draped mirror against the blue-bird wall- paper. One's looking-glass was something like one's mug or one's hair-ribbon, injured by over use. Virtue went out of it, and here was naughty big Rue, with the unfashionable hair, wastefully making images of herself in the precious possession. " What do I look like, Justine ? " inquired hopeful Rue, enlarging the balloon of her cheek and diminishing the slit of her eye. Surely Justine would be captivated by this master act of mobility. Instead, Justine showed temper. She applied both fists and teeth to Rue's unprotected legs: "A wickless cheef!" she sobbed in fury. Justine was noted, even at this epoch, as later in life, for verbal in- accuracies. She had a natural facility for the inverted phrase, the mispronounced word, and with this was coupled towering rhetorical ambition. A "wickless cheef," is a THE SILENT DOOR 59 wicked thief; findder-lagies are lady -fingers; taw-jacks are jack-straws, and a glass-ookie is a looking-glass. She had the calmness, however, to seize the banisters for the downward flight, reciting all the way her prepared accusa- tion. "Rue oozing all-up Justine glass-ookie." "Oozing all-up," is a splendid combination on which to wail. It succeeded in the parlor. Both Aunt Serena and Aunt Elizabeth attended the sufferer to her crib, and were not allowed to leave till she was safely in dreamland. Justine was imperious even when at her sleepiest and took pains to wake up at the slightest sign of uneasiness on the part of the bedside attendants. Rue thought she played with them like a cat with a mouse and made believe shut her eyes and let them go just for the pleasure of bringing them instantaneously back to her with a royal motion of her little paw. Rue, meantime, had fled to the recesses of the third floor, there to while away the rest of the afternoon in peace. If the wind had not been blowing so hard, and the tree tops not been dancing so divinely, she would not have repined under her imprisonment. As it was, the portrait bust was on the eve of execution when the Silent Door occurred to her. It was the one Door in Penrith House which Rue had never opened. It was at the top, in a wing above the sacred Guest-Chamber. The back stairs led directly to it, pausing in a vestibule before its barred door. The vestibule was full of soft monastic light from a ground -glass sky- window in the roof and looked down on the austere wind- 60 THE SILENT DOOR ing whiteness of the back stairs. The front stairs, as you go up, debouched at an angle and gave on another door, after you descended three little steps. You went no further. This Door was not barred from within but locked without and the key was where no man might behold it. You could peep through the keyhole but all you saw was, at midday, a disk of sun on the floor and the long shine of a spider's thread in the light. You could inquire of Aunt Serena and of Grandfather. The former would say : "Merely a store-room, my dear. Go at once and wash those hands." In that unfeeling manner were Rue's hands designated when not immaculately clean. The latter would reply, sternly : "Your question is an irrelevancy. You may learn the passive voice of Moneo for to-morrow's lesson." The passive voice of moneo is a stubborn thing to acquire, possibly supposed to cure irrelevancy. Irrelevance is something like irreverence, such as laughing at the fly on Deacon Loami Larrabee's bald head in church, or counting the plums in your sauce-plate during the blessing. Only an irrelevance, or did he say irrevelence ? is worse. It seldom achieves the object in view, namely, a diversion from lessons, but draws down instead an addi- tional stent of rules for the Ablative Absolute, or eight more stanzas from the Ode on the Nativity. Rue could not fail to return in her mind to the Silent Door. She had tried many a key to the lock but not one ever fitted. This afternoon there was a bureau-drawer key which turned something back and forth in an obliging THE SILENT DOOR 61 manner, but still the Door did not open. She knocked upon the Door, aware that such an act was foolishness, but it would be foolisher yet to leave untried a single expedient for gaining ingress. It gave one a queer feeling to knock on that Silent Door and then put one's ear to the hole and listen. The knock and the listening projected a bodily presence upon one's consciousness. Perhaps the hidden inmate was very weak and could hardly summon the voice to answer. At twilight it was Rue's pensive choice to descend those three little steps and cling to the sill of the Silent Door, hanging to the handle, and after two timid knocks to listen intently till the silence gave forth a trembling voice and tiny terrified noises. So fascinated was she by these un- translatable responses that she did not hear the supper- bell tinkle nor Grandfather's voice at the back porch, gathering her in from her accustomed orchard haunts, his long melodious roar reverberating through the ancient aisles. Aunt Serena reminded him of Rue's detention indoors. He had to go up-stairs in search of the errant one, and there she was on the narrow landing, her lips pursed to the shape of a keyhole, whispering comfort to the hidden inmate behind that Silent Door. "What are you doing?" he demanded in a voice so unexpected and awful as to deprive her of her prehensile grasp upon the sill. She was only saved from falling back- ward down-stairs by a very firm hand on her arm. " I was only comforting the poor lady inside." "What poor lady?" asked Grandfather, terrible lines deepening in his ashen face. 62 THE SILENT DOOR Rue's breath came in gasps. She did not know her crime had been so great. "Who lives behind that Silent Door. She is so hungry and so lonely and so shut in." At this point Rue sobbed, and Grandfather took her to his breast. "There is no poor lady behind that closed door. The room is empty, quite, quite, empty." Rue's wet cheek felt a tear. She was not sure whether it were her own or Grandfather's. She patted his rough gray beard. Now was a good time to ask for concessions. The sunny periods that follow severity are always favorable. "Will you let me go into the Room, Grandfather?" " Some day, dear." They sat there upon the landing till Aunt Serena had to sweep upward and fetch them both to the long-delayed supper. Grandfather was very gay at table and told many of his favorite jokes and stories, at which Rue faithfully laughed, at every one. But the deep lines stayed in his face and looked as if they had been drawn by cords, and when Aunt Elizabeth spoke, his eyes seemed to wander far away. After supper he played seven games of checkers with Rue and allowed himself to be beaten four times. Then Aunt Serena read aloud from Pope's " Iliad," a stirring passage full of boasting chiefs and ringing battles, which fortified Rue wonderfully against the lonely undressing- hour. She undressed in the dark, a hardship consequent upon recent lamp calamities in which she had unjustly been implicated. It was a solace to throw down her shoes in a spirited clatter on the floor, to unbuckle her belt full THE SILENT DOOR 63 martially, to spread her flowing locks and imagine herself Achilles, doffing glittering armor in his tent before the walls of Troy. To-morrow's light ! O haste the glorious morn ! Shall see his bloody spoils in triumph borne, With this keen javelin shall his heart be gored And prostrate heroes bleed around their lord. vni WINTER WEATHER ON the day of Mrs. Rodney Dove's departure she presented Rue with a green-bound corpulent volume, called " Fairy Tales from Many Lands," a generosity that forever endeared her to Rue's heart and wiped out a multitude of sins. Aunt Elizabeth said the Green Book would be much prettier reading for a little girl than " The Iliad " or " The History of Genghis Khan," gory pabulum that was Rue's chosen delight at the age of six. Autumn flamed and blew and smoldered at Pen- rith Place, and along the Jerusalem river. The leaves drifted into the roads in knee-deep ruts, the russet apples were picked and barreled for the winter. The barberry- bush by the gate was strung with red, The chestnut-tree by Mr. Larrabee's pond disbursed daily a hoard of prickly green treasure-boxes. By and by the frosts came that turned the geranium black overnight and left a thin coat of ice upon the pail at the barn pump. Grandfather sat every day with his feet on the fender of the library fire, studying in large black- bound books, or waiting impatiently for the letters that Rue would bring him from the Joppa post-office. Rue never wondered what those letters contained nor who 64 WINTER WEATHER 65 wrote them nor why Grandfather awaited them so fever- ishly, nor why, sometimes, a letter would fall from his hands and he would sit gazing into the fire for hours, like a person in a trance. All these things to her were as the opening of the chestnut burrs or the crimsoning of the leaves, phenomena that had ceased to be strange because they were the order of the universe. Justinian Penrith, though he said no word to any one of Edward Bastable's visit, had not forgotten the unusual incident nor could he put from his mind the conjectures that it aroused. It was the first indication that any one besides himself was interested in the waif found on his door-step. He had gone out early one summer morning and there lay the pretty morsel, disputing with a motherly robin for possession of a ladybug coveted by them both. There had been gipsies that summer camping along the Jerusalem river. They had with them a blue-eyed baby child, a stolen child, as the rumor grew, and Justinian told himself, as he told others, that the waif on his door- step was undoubtedly the gipsies' child whom they had been frightened into abandoning. So she fell from the morning sky and there was no one to be questioned concerning her but the fat robin. As little Rue grew older it was natural that she should call Justinian grandfather. She was dealt with by him sternly in all respects where he had been too lenient with his own daughter, lost Danae. Whatever Justinian, in his heart of hearts, believed to be the child's origin, he gave no sign. Whether or not the village gossip came to his ears, he gave no sign. He was a 66 THE SILENT DOOR proud man, proud enough to care a great deal for the world's opinion, too proud to show, by the flicker of an eyelash, that he cared one jot. Meanwhile, a circle of watchful relatives awaited significant development in the character of the child. A gipsy foundling would not grow up as other children do. Comparisons were made between her and Justine, the little grandniece who had fallen into Dr. Penrith's care. But Edward Bastable's singular proposition started anew the puzzle in Justinian's mind. Who was Rue and whence came she ? If she was Danae's, Danae's. Even in the smother of midnight dark his face burned. His dis- owned daughter whom he had tried to forget! If she were Danae's and Danae wanted her child again, where was the father ? Whence came the money ? What would the grand- father's duty be ? Justinian Penrith was a poor man. The household was conducted with the utmost frugality. Another trip to New York would be a serious drain on the family exchequer. Years ago, he had gone there, to search (sternly and secretly he searched ) for his runaway child. But perhaps through Edward Bastable the mystery might be solved, the mystery of Rue's birth, of Danae's disappearance. Meanwhile, he heard again from E. W. Bastable. An- other and a stronger plea was made for Rue's adoption. References were offered, although the name of the person chiefly interested was withheld, "for good and sufficient cause." Dr. Penrith was promised a larger financial con- sideration. The wonder in his mind increased. Was he WINTER WEATHER 67 doing right by the child to withhold from following up this clue ? There was much time for reading and meditation during the long winter months in Penrith House, though it was difficult for Rue to obtain privacy. She was, of course, debarred from Grandfather's sacred retreat, the library. The dining-room fireplace and Aunt Serena's sunny sewing-room were the only habitable centers of warmth, and there one was liable to frequent interruption and cross-questioning. The Ode on the Nativity had to be completed by Christ- mas-time and Rue had only reached the line about " welter- ing waves," and was therefore still waist-deep in her task. "And bid the weltering waves their oozy channel keep." There were certain phrases of this picturesque sort, "the hooked chariot," "the turtle wing," that stood out like grotesque cornices and gargoyles on an otherwise monoton- ous fa9ade. From them one could date forward and back- ward, as one does, in lieu of a calender, from some memor- able occasion. Justine was learning a Christmas hymn and could already warble with charming fluency: i "While leopards washed their flocks by night " It was an Aesopian idea suggesting all kinds of bizarre millenniums. Justine's trusting nature accepted the bit of natural history without question. Rue would have wonder- ed if leopards were kind to their flocks and why they chose the night-time for those ablutions. Would not day have been better, when the sun could have dried their woolly hair? 68 THE SILENT DOOR Justine listened very intently to the text of the sermon and Aunt Serena thought she might soon be ready to join the church. Elder Trimble read how a certain company of the baser sort gathered together and set all the city on an uproar. Justine's dreamy mind pictured a large and noisy vehicle bearing mimic edifices like block towers. Then they assaulted the house of Jason. At this point the vision grew mixed. Mooly cows are sometimes salted, but why salt the house of Jason ? Several weeks after, Ellen sprinkled damp salt on the parlor floor before she swept. It was one of those housewifely recipes dear to her heart because she had learned it from her first mistress and it was supposed to obviate the maelstroms of dust that the domestics of Erin joy in arousing. Justine watched her operations with the scientific eye of a learner and at once showed the coordinating power of her mind, one of the chief indications, we are told, of human intelligence. It was at the luncheon table: "Ellen hab salted the house of Jason under the pinano." "Some occult association of ideas," said Grandfather proudly. Justinian did not go to church and therefore had not heard the elder's text. "What a wonderful memory the child has!" exclaimed Aunt Serena. Rue felt extinguished by this burst of occultism from Justine. Justine, aware that she had become the heroine of the hour, applied successfully for a second share of rice-pudding and was allowed afterwards to stand on a stool and look at the pictures in the back of the dictionary. Rue humbly retired behind the muslin curtains of the WINTER WEATHER 69 bay-window and soon lost herself in the pages of the fat Green Book. In this book she learned about changeling children, enchanted princes, wicked stepmothers and dreadful witches. Vast fields of speculation were opened to her. She began to wonder as to birth, death, and the mysteries of life. She suspected every one of walking disguised. Even Augustus, the horse, might be a black-bearded king, mas- querading. Ellen, the jelly-like cook down-stairs, with the kindly pit marks in her ample cheeks, might perhaps be a lovely maiden whom a cruel stepmother had bewitched. Rue watched with fascinated interest as Ellen padded about on her heels from stove to table and sipped number- less "dishes of tay." Perhaps she was trying to attain the magical number at which the witchcraft would lose its power. The tenth or the twentieth cup was possibly open sesame to her lost loveliness. "How many cups will it take, Ellen?" she asked sym- pathetically, sitting opposite Ellen at the kitchen-table, her knees on a level with her chin and her chin on the table. Rue loved to watch the kitchen ladies at their repasts. Their idiosyncrasies with their utensils and their division of their beverages between cup and saucer had the interest of folk-lore to her. " How many cups will it take me, darlint ? Begorra, it's yoursilf is the knowing bosthoon! . . . It's not the tay would be doing it for me at all, at all, but a nip foreby mesilf has not laid eyes on in The Grandfayther's hoose, och presarve us." How quickly Ellen understood ! Rue found the inmates of 70 THE SILENT DOOR the lower regions highly congenial. She leaned farther forward toward Ellen's tablecloth and private tea service. " Not twenty, not a billion million cups ? " " Not a power of cups, honey. But a bit dhrop of some- thing stronger to swally, more betoken, would set me heels a-skytin." "Oh, Ellen, Ellen," cried Rue, clasping her hands, " Would you dance like Little Red Shoes ? You are Little Red Shoes. You are Little Red Shoes." "Troth and if I had little red shoes on me iligant feet it's off wid mesilf I would be entoirely. Fair moidhered I'd be, as you can obsarve." Poor clumsy Ellen, exhilarated by the little child's enthusiasm, began to execute an Irish jig in true County Kerry style. Rue danced up and down beside her, keeping time ecstatically with the handle of the broom. Suddenly Ellen paused, an expression of tragic concern on her plain pock-marked face. " Ye have a right not to be telling The Grandfayther. The dacint craythur would not comprehind this divilment." "Never," cried Rue. "But I think he would be very sorry for you if he knew how the witch had changed you. He would try to punish her, I am sure." Rue put her hands to her temples and thought very hard. "You stand perfectly still by the pump, Ellen, and I will make three passes with my hands and say, ' Begone, O wicked spell,' and then do you know what will happen ? " "Something a thrifle off the common, I persaive. But what shall I do nixt, darlint ? " "You don't have to do anything, Ellen. Only change WINTER WEATHER 71 back again quickly to the beautiful maid with golden locks." "It's a purty manner of spache you have, but bedad that's no aisy trick for Ellen. And phwat's to become of me ould cloots of clothes ? They cut no grand apparance on me whativer at all." Rue was nonplussed by this practical problem. " I don't know w r hat they did in the fairy books with their dreadful old clothes. It's something like undressing. Mr. Dewsnap's boy might come hi at the door with the Sunday roast. Perhaps we'd better have it in the dark pantry." But before there was time for this "dark change," on the boards, a signal came from above. Grandfather pound- ed on the register, which meant that Rue's absence from polite circles, having been unduly prolonged, she had been traced to the kitchen and was summarily recalled to other and more "profitable" employments. This explains why the three mystic passes were never made and why poor Ellen was never liberated from her enchanted bonds. The experiment was afterwards performed, it is true, but the auspicious hour had been allowed to slip by. Winter was a good time for meditation. Everything was fantastic and unreal. The frost made curious tropical forests on the window-panes, ferns and palms and pines, peopled by flat, silent silver fairies who glided off before the noonday sun and came into being again when the after- noon shadows lengthened on the orchard floors. The clothes on the line froze into goblin shapes, distorted white legs and arms. The topmost apples hung like shriveled pygmy heads on the gaunt boughs. They grinned horribly at Rue because they had not been picked and had been allowed 72 THE SILENT DOOR to hang there and suffer all the bitter nights. She was afraid of them as they twisted their 'wrinkled necks and leered at her revengefully, nodding in the wild winds. But they never fell. The sun in the morning was red like a pot of paint, spilling over the sheeted river. Sometimes the evening sky, melting above the frothed white top of the Hemlock Wood, looked like a steaming gold Indian-pudding sliced across the whipped whiteness of meringue. Ah* these things Rue could see and ponder over in her little West Room, if she blanketed herself for meditation and retreat. The room had no longer the warmth of those languid summer days and nights when she was obliged to sprinkle her carpet to reduce the temperature. Often, of an August evening, she had perched herself on the lid of her old-fashioned desk that contained in its interior chaos her ragged Latin grammar and the calico-covered arithmetic of detested memory and watched from her window the busy flutterings of the birds preparing for slumber, the long swirls of twilight-loving swallows and the slowly sinking sun. He blinked a red lid at her and then disappeared. After that, the hills melted away and the great meadow turned to mystery and the whippoonvill began his wondrous tearful plaint. By and by the sickle moon would swing into her arc of sky and the river would shiver with a silver road widening like eternity. Still Rue would lean on her window-sill till little tremors ran up and down under her nightgown. Then she crept to bed. The West Room had sloping walls, for it was under a mansard roof. These walls were tinted pale yellow and WINTER WEATHER 73 were tempting for trials of artistic skill or as permanent records of passing moods. It is a comfort when in the stress of emotion to inscribe one's feelings on monu- ments. The vision of sympathetic posterity sustains one under affliction. But such appeals to posterity were not approved by Aunt Serena, any more than was the watering of her carpet as a means of reducing the temperature. On winter days it was not necessary to reduce the tempera- ture. It was a question every night whether she would finally succeed in thawing out the icy sheets. Grandfather described the temperature as " moderate and healthful for sleep." It was two flights of stairs removed from the genial register, yet Grandfather, standing in her hall with his hand spread out above the banisters to test the heat, de- clared : "A very powerful current of hot air descends from the furnace. If your mind were sufficiently receptive you would not fail to notice it, my dear." It was Rue's fault that her unreceptive mind failed to heat her bedroom. She imagined that somewhere in the world there were little girls of such docile dispositions as permanently kept their bleak third-story bedrooms at summer heat. In this case, as Grandfather was both land- lord and furnace-man, the advantage was plainly his. He utilized the opportunity to teach Rue some indisputable facts about the upward tendency of heat and his own superior fitness, as a man of age and vast experiences, for knowing whether little girls were cold or only imagined they were cold. He put an extra comforter on the bed, tucked her in about the shoulders and feet, he was an 74 THE SILENT DOOR excellent tucker-in commented cheerily on the invigorat- ing weather, and soon afterwards, as she took turns warm- ing her icy feet against her lukewarm body, she heard ' him stoking up the furnace and shutting the register below stairs to encourage heat in its commendable upward tendency. Gradually Rue communicated some warmth to the enveloping frigidity of sheets, she made a nest for her head and occasionally crept under the blankets to warm her nose, an abandoned habit that Grandfather particularly disapproved. It ameliorated the bitterness of the cold to imagine that she was an Arctic explorer imbedded hi ice, and that the rattling of her blind on its chain in the tem- pestuous west wind outside was the rattling of the North Pole and the creaking of the Polar Bear perpetually chained thereto. Gradually the unhoped-for, the impossible, became true, as it did every night, her vehement prognosti- cations to the contrary. Her bed became of a habitable warmth, she herself became warm, relaxed. A star trembled and winked green against her black window-pane. How cold and lonely he was, how he wanted to come in. The next thing she knew, it was breakfast time and Aunt Serena was ringing the bell with personal insistence in every peal. Aggressive and persistent and needlessly pro- longed was Aunt Serena's bell-ringing. Every stroke of the clapper enhanced the joys of bed. Finally, she roused herself for the plunge into the frigid outer air, incited by Grandfather's large mellow voice, calling in the first-floor hall: "All aboard! All aboard for breakfast!" WINTER WEATHER 75 He had already met and conquered the getting-up ordeal with that fortitude characteristic of grown-ups, and was now cozily ensconced on the central register, blasts of heat beneath him, and exulting in his office as rouser of the sleeping. In the dining-room a newly-made fire of curly blue flames awaited him, and the sunny break- fast table. Far away as the Elysian Fields did that scene appear to the little third-story inhabitant. To this final summons, Rue, curling her toes together on the breezy floor as she congealed into her under-flannels would respond with a half-hearted "All aboard." This feeble cry, if delivered in good faith, meant that she was embarked on the pell-mell voyage for breakfast. But the period of deep silence which once followed that discon- solate peep, "All aboard," aroused Aunt Serena's sus- picion. On that fateful morning (when the porch thermom- eter stood at ten below zero), she found Rue backslidden, peacefully asleep between the effeminate blankets, her stockings half pulled on, and the neglected petticoat mak- ing a surprised O of itself upon the floor. It was the one time when Rue's courage failed he : after the austere leap had been perpetrated, but it sadly shook Aunt Serena's confidence in the honesty of that should be significant re- sponse, "All aboard." There came milder days in the winter season, when, thoroughly hooded and leggined, one was allowed to play out-of-doors a whole afternoon or morning. During the thawy part of the day a pleasant retreat was to be found in the lee of the woodpile, on the south side of the barn. Here one could sit in the sun on Grandfather's half- 76 THE SILENT DOOR sawn log, sniffling the savor of sawdust and snow and hearing the icicles drip-drip in a sociable way from the barn eaves. One was absolutely secluded from mankind. The south wall of the barn looked away from the house up to the everlasting hills. Near at hand one could only see the apple-tree where the thrushes build their nest, a kindly brother, and the Cliffs- Where-Columbine-Hangs, and a great arch of blue, blue sky touching the white-bosomed hilltops. On one of these balmy blue and white days, Mr. Boscoway was sawing wood for Grandfather. Mr. Bosco- way was a gray-haired gentleman and a deacon hi the church, and his profession might be described as that of a visiting-gardener. Rue regarded him as a personage of exalted importance, notwithstanding the lowly duties he performed in their stable-house and garden. He knew more than Grandfather did about when to get out the English violets under the frames and at what season the grape- vines should be pruned. There was one majestic function he performed that constituted an annual feast-day of its own, like Fourth of July and Thanksgiving, those sublime peaks that dominate the interminable steppes between. Mr. Boscoway bore a tall, an immensely tall, pole, swathed with cloths at the top and flaming like some Homeric beacon. Wanded with this fierce emblem, he went his flaring way, burning out of house and home whole popula- tions of evil caterpillars that feUVrithing into a fiery doom from their high cities in the apple-trees. Rue, shuddering with mingled pity and austerity, trailed hi the wake of this magnificent devastation. Mr. Boscoway was not able to work rapidly on account WINTER WEATHER 77 of rheumatism, and when he rested he took out little messy books from his pocket to read. These he hid with an embarrassed air when Justinian came down the walk to inspect his work. Once he read aloud to Rue from one of these same crumpled books, and it was a very interest- ing passage about a Lady Gwendolen Fortescue and a black-hearted villain with an unpleasant habit of hissing through his teeth. The passage ended something like this: " And the marble halls of that princely mansion of woe were stained with the scarlet blood of one whom the gods had dowered with their fatal gift of beauty surpassing great." Often in her little West Room Rue used to chant this passage in a mournful recitative, gazing at her sunburned small face till it seemed to resemble the face of Lady Gwendolen^ and the tears would fill her eyes at the thought of that scarlet blood, " and the lovely young life spilled in its flowery prime." IX MR. BOSCOWAY DISCOURSES MR. BOSCOWAY had haughty and exclusive habits and declined Justinian's invitation to partake of the family dinner. Justinian always invited him, and Mr. Boscoway always declined. He pre- ferred to sit on the sawhorse by the woodpile or if the wind was very sharp, on the wheelbarrow in the barn and there he, enwrapped in aloofness, ate mysterious food from a tin- pail and a paper bag. Rue yearned from the bottom of her heart for the day to come when she would be bidden, nay. urged, to share one of these mysterious delectable tin- pail repasts. She stood in the big barn-door or peered in at the stable window, her small face in its red flannel hood luminous with suppressed desire. But Mr. Boscoway, unregarding, wiped the back of his hand across his long gray mustache and continued his solitary meal, alternating between huge bites from an unknown edible artfully con- cealed in his shaggy hand and huge gulps of an unknown drinkable from the little tin-pail. Rue left the dinner table as early as was compatible with appetite, not so early as to arouse undue questioning, hooded herself and slipped out of the house. She threaded her way between cavernous paths bordered with heaped snow. She reached the woodpile and Mr. Boscoway. 78 MR. BOSCOWAY DISCOURSES 79 Good fortune favored her for he still dined, comfortably ensconced in the sun. He had been clearing paths and his little tin-pail sat secretively on the snow-shovel by his side. The woodpile was an attractive rendezvous, with its seclusion and freshness and unlimited prospect of far blue hills frosted with snow and penciled with faint shadows. The dining-room with its fire of small coals, pallid in the noonday sunlight, the litter of Justine's blocks in the sewing-room, Aunt Serena's darning things, Grand- father's books and the faded Persian rug, seemed dingy to dreariness by contrast. Rue sat herself timidly down, not so near Mr. Boscoway as to show fawning anxiety nor so far as to suggest dull indifference. Mr. Boscoway seldom opened conversation. That burden generally fell on Rue. He munched in silence. " I think this snowy weather gives a person good appe- tites," Rue threw out genially. " It do that," responded Mr. Boscoway, after another larger bite. Silence again. " I like to eat outdoors," remarked Rue, with cajoling enthusiasm. " Do you now ? " came from the obtuse gentleman of the dinner-pail. Rue moved a little nearer on her log and divested her- self of her mittens. They dangled helplessly from the braid by which prudent Aunt Serena attached them to Rue's volatile person. "You couldn't eat with your mittens on, could you, Mr. Boscoway ? " She folded her bare hands in patient hunger. 80 THE SILENT DOOR * Ypu might get wool into your mouth, mightn't you, Mr. Boscoway? But sometimes I'm hungry enough not to mind a little woolly taste." "You ben't a leetle mite hungry this foresame minute, be you ? "asked he, his intelligence beginning to stir. " I think I could eat a mouthful or two. The sun is so bright," answered Rue, with a gigantic effort to restrain alacrity. " How would one of these here strike you ? " A little smile crept around Mr. Boscoway's face, begin- ning in the corners of his eyes and hiding itself finally in the umbrageous thickets of his beard. He handed over a substantial copper-colored object, of a twisted design and invitingly sugared over. Rue accepted the tribute with trembling fingers. Other people's food, cooked in other people's kitchens, had a weird and recherche interest. If only Mr. Boscoway would invite her to quaff from that unseen beverage her happiness would be complete. "A little drink of something would help this go down," she remarked ingratiatingly. Somehow or other, that did not sound just right. It was the kind of remark that induced odd subterranean signals for silence from Aunt Serena. She modestly hastened to add: "An icicle would hardly do. You have to suck so hard before it melts. " Mr. Boscoway, in characteristic blinking silence, passed her the tin-pail. His long fingers, combing his crinky whiskers, expressed several shades of humorous apprecia- tion. A black liquid was in the pail. It tasted cold and bitter. MR. BOSCOWAY DISCOURSES 81 Rue returned the beaker with a saddened medicinal smile. " It has a proper taste on to it ? " inquired the owner so- licitously. "I think I could learn to like it, thank you, Mr. Bos- coway, " answered Rue with sage yet courteous reservation. She felt that she had heroically redeemed her previous conversational slip. When the repast was over, Mr. Boscoway pulled out one of his crumpled books and began to read. " Is there anything about Lady Gwendolen ? " asked Rue, breaking a short period of self-controlled silence. To watch another person read is not over-diverting. Mr. Boscoway's lips puffed out and sucked in until he had labored through a mute syllabification of the chapter. Deliberately he folded the book away into an inner pocket of his groggy waistcoat. Rue wished she might be pro- vided with such limp foldable literature, that could be snugly stuffed within her blouses for reference at any time. " Lady Gwendolen be gathered to her fathers, " said Mr. Boscoway with funereal gravity. " Poor gell, she did make out to have a tormented time to it from the fust send off, some way or nuther. " " Yes," sighed Rue, " and so passing fair that men bowed down and worshiped her. But wasn't it wicked, like bow- ing down to Peor and Baalim ? " " Who in tunkett be them ? " "Why, don't you know ? 'Peor and Baalim Forsake their temples dim With that twice-battered god of Palestine, ' " 82 THE SILENT DOOR Mr. Boscoway did not seem to recognize the allusion. The conversation rambled amiably on till it reached the subject of mothers, on which Mr. Boscoway displayed woeful ignorance. "By fire, it mought be jest yestiddy, " remarked he, "that I turn to and set in this very same spot with Miss Dainy on the log beside of me, like you be now. " He combed his beard mournfully, regarding Rue with small retrospective eyes. "Who is Miss Dainy?" " My soul, hain't your grandsir or no one never gossip- talked to you about or consarnin' Miss Dainy ? They uster have a picter on her, clip and clean, hanging full-bigness in the hallway, jest as you get good and in. " " There is no picture there now, " affirmed Rue. Mr. Boscoway looked darkly into his beard. " Them's master works, " she heard him murmur dis- approvingly. Then, peering at Rue obliquely, he spoke in a sepulchral whisper: " Hain't ary living soul or body tolt you of that mother o' yourn, my little missy ? " " I never had a mother, " said Rue earnestly. " I swan ! " exclaimed he. "It's like this," said Rue, "Some people have mothers and some people are mothers and the rest are just great- aunts or loose children. I'm a loose children I mean, a loose child. So Aunt Serena and Grandfather take care of me." Mr. Boscoway seemed to comprehend but vaguely as yet. MR. BOSCOWAY DISCOURSES 83 "How up-and-comes that you have a grandsir if you wasn't fetched into this here wilderness-wori' by no mother or father, like the rest-part of human kin and kind?" Rue swept aside this objection as pointless. " He was born my grandfather, don't you understand ? " " I cal'late I'm gitting to understand, 'twixt you and me and the pump. Thank you kindly. But will you explicate, " he asked meekly, " how in tunkett you figger out you did get borned ? " " I didn't get born, " replied Rue patiently. " I happened on the door-step. '' " Gosh-A'mighty, " blurted the visiting gardener, be- tween the back of his hand and his beard. "How dasst her grandsir be a-keeping of her in sech thick o' igger- ance ? " Rue's eyes filled with tears at this unmerited reproach to Grandfather. " It was Grandfather told me all about it, and I remembered a little, besides. " " If it ain't fit to raise the dead ! What do you remember on, little missy ? " " I remember the meadow-rue so tall and moonshiny and the spider-webs. And I remember the robin, too. I don't mean I'd recognize the very robin, for robins look so much alike, don't they, Mr. Boscoway ? But that one and I had a little quar'l because we both wanted the same lady- bug or maybe it was a worm. I do love to play with worms, they are such clean little things. I like to shut them up in my hand and see their pink heads sticking through my fingers trying to get out. " 84 THE SILENT DOOR Mr. Boscoway muttered to himself while Rue reveled in recollections of worms. "Proper sing'lar!" he muttered several times. Then he looked at her and his eyes were misty and tender. "You lay this to heart what I tell you on. There be'n't no folks, I don't care who they be in this here wilderness- worl' but has mother and father, both on 'em. No, not ary one. " Rue was impressed by his air of conviction. " Not ary one that ever lived ? " she asked, her blue eyes large with the thought. " There was one in old ancient times I heern tell of in the Book, that hadn't none. Named after this pattern, Mel- chizzy Decker. And it says true and solemn like this: 'Withouten father nor withouten mother, having neither beginning of days nor end of life. " "Perhaps I'm a sister to Melchizzy Decker. Was it a little boy or a little girl?" " He was a king, or some sech business. " " Then I'm a king's sister, a princess, " cried Rue. Rising from her lowly seat she executed several stately seuls-pas between the woodpile and the snow-drifts. " Now I'm going to build a king, a snow king. And it's going to be a image of Melchizzy Decker, having neither beginning of days nor end of life. " THE HAUNTING THOUGHT MR. BOSCOWAY had an enormous shovel with which he hurled great cakes of snow from the sidewalks to the drifted lawns. Rue had a small shovel with which she followed in Mr. Boscoway's wake and completed his task. He worked in a large impression- istic manner. When they were tired they sat down on their shovels to rest and took turns in telling each other stories. Mr. Boscoway was a tantalizing conversationalist. He was addicted to unfinished tales, to mysterious allusions and to archaic phrases. He never condescended to explain. Rue was grateful for such crumbs as she could digest. When Grandfather came briskly stamping down the alk, shawled against the cold, Mr. Boscoway casually arose and gazing skyward, made sage predictions as to the morrow's weather. Mr. Boscoway alluded several times to a certain Miss Dainy who had once lived at Penrith House, where at the present time Rue disported herself in imaginative loneliness. It must have been centuries ago when Grand- father was young. He and Miss Dainy had ridden horseback together, " skooting off downwards of the lane as careless as two childer. " Miss Dainy had chatted with Mr. Boscoway, for it appeared that even 85 86 THE SILENT DOOR at that remote epoch he had tended the place at Penrith House. " It mought be just yestiddy that I turn to and there set Miss Dainy on the log beside of me, like you be now. " The thought of Miss Dainy who had set on the log as it might be yesterday haunted Rue from that time forth. Mr. Boscoway was a personage whose utterances carried weight. He talked seldom but when he did talk his language was rambling and roomy. His very appearance was dis- cursive as an archaeological monograph. He was long and stooping, with hairy fingers and a long forelock carefully combed awry to cover a bald forehead. This long-suffering forelock could never be effectually trained away from heredity and frequently fell out of position altogether and trailed across one eye. Mr. Bosco way's long pink nose presided over an abundance of crimped beard, which covered his shirt bosom and must have meant a great saving to him of clean linen. His small eyes looked at you obliquely as if to catch you unaware and they were gleamy at the corners, nourishing jokes too rich to be divulged. He spoke hi foot-notes and marginal annotation. He was a good and a proud gentleman: good because he was chosen to pass the collection plate in church, the plate that clinked with myriad pennies. Proud, because he se- lected (as before noted) to eat alone in a wheelbarrow. He had a peculiar distaste for the conventions of saluta- tion and farewell. At a pinch, when forced to respond to your Good-morning, he uttered majestically, "Yes." In a similar emergency at nightfall if you inadvertently THE HAUNTING THOUGHT 87 tendered him Good-night, he eked out a meager "So?" These cabalistic utterances puzzled new-comers and made the swishing jeweled young ladies call him " quaint. " He did not relish being thanked and when put to it by some unusually gushing person, morosely flung out; "You're a Welshman." This stoical reticence endued him to Rue's imagination with a prodigious air of profundity. She could gain little more information from him on the subject of the mysterious Miss Dainy. When she beat about the bush in her most skilful manner, he peeked at her obliquely and barricaded himself behind his secretive smile. "Could you tell me, please, about the color of Miss Dainy 's hair ? " " Mebbe I kin tell you and mebbe I caynt, " he responded, hacking away at some small brush for kindling wood. Between the pauses of his hatchet and the pursings of his lips Rue gathered up a basketful of fragments. Her men- tal and physical operations, by the way, were identical, for she was gathering chips for Ellen's fire, as bidden by Aunt Serena. Miss Dainy had lovely hair like ropes of flax and she used to sit and braid it in the sun. She went rowing on the river of " neat moonshiny nights " and young fellers " come a-sparking of her. " It was a firefly pastime that awakened pleasing though vague pictures. Was that the reason Rue had never been allowed to set foot in a boat on the river ? Once Miss Dainy had stood on the stone wall at the end of the long grassy lane and had thrown kisses to some one. 88 THE SILENT DOOR Grandfather used to go and look for her twice a year, but she never came back. How much of this sprang from Rue's fertile fancy and how much was wrenched from Mr. Boscoway's meager lips, it would be difficult to say. Rue thought very, very hard, so hard that her temples hurt and her eyes swelled and remembered how Grandfather once went away from Penrith House. He carried a long bag in his hand and walked down the faded lane. Aunt Serena had packed the bag for him and it had taken them both two days. Rue remembered the shining cuffs and collars that ringed them- selves into one corner and the black Sunday coat making a central square around which the small articles roguishly hid themselves. The open bag must have been about on a level with her curly head as she sat playing on the floor, so of course she had every opportunity for minute obser- vation. At the end of the frozen lane, Grandfather took her up in his arms and kissed her good-by and they both cried a few tears. Grandfather because Rue's cheek was so little and soft and Rue because Grandfather's was so big and rough. Then Rue remembered walking home beside Aunt Serena, stepping carefully from peak to peak of the pale frozen ground. When they sat down to dinner Grandfather was not there to carve the chicken and Rue said over and over, as the amazing absence sank deeply into her spirit, " Grandfather took bag, goned away. " Then, as enthroned on her own basket of chips, she probed still further into the past, other detached memories swam to mind. How Grandfather came home one day and THE HAUNTING THOUGHT 89 sat down on the lowest step of the porch to rest, before he climbed up. The ground had been hard and peaked when he went away, and when he sat down on the step the grass was green in the circle and Rue was picking dandelions. She was a little afraid of him at first, for she could not quite remember who he was. She ran to Aunt Serena who was up-stairs airing the beds : " Ve'y ta'ed man sitting on 'teps. Oh, very awful tar'd. " And the tired man was Grandfather. That was the last time Justinian went away from home. Rue remembered Aunt Serena's saying: " Justinian, what have you been doing all these months ? " And the answer: "Seeking, seeking, seeking. High and low, hither and thither, up and down. " Had Grandfather been playing a long, long game of hide- and-go-seek with some one and was that the reason he was so tired and sat so still in the easy-chair and was cold even when the sun was shining and shut his eyes after breakfast arid spoke not a word? Rue came up to him very gently and sat on the floor be- tween his legs, with her head against his knees, so as to com- fort him. " I just love oo knees, G'andfather. Rue won't make oo p'ay with her such long time, G'andfather. Nice dear knees!" All of these memories or parts of them, broken, inco- herent, half intelligible, swam struggling back to the six- year old consciousness, as Rue respectfully followed Mr. Boscoway's stooping steps about the barn and outhouses. 90 THE SILENT DOOR The grass showed faintly green where she had dug the snow away for Melchizzy Decker's heroic legs. " She acts like we were going to kitch onto one of them early thaws they tell about, " remarked Mr. Boscoway to Justinian when the latter took his short constitutional turn at the ax and snow-shovel. " And remember, " he whispered hoarsely to Rue around an angle of the barn. She stood on a box sticking coals for buttons into Melchizzy 's gigantic waist. "Remember I hain't tolt you a snipe of nothing. You drew it outer me, the hull cohoot, and there's considerable on it come outen your head-imaginin'. " Rue strained a point and reached Melchizzy Decker's top button. " I know, Mr. Boscoway. It's like a fairy story and the best parts you have to imagine. This was a crying one and I don't understand how to finish it happy ever after. " She would not for the world have betrayed the confi- dences of that good and proud man. She had long ago come to the conclusion that there were invisible secrets hovering just above her head, far above Justine's. Some day she might grow up to them and look at them face to face. After she went to bed at night, these secrets slipped down- stairs, stood between the knees of grown-up people and otherwise manifested themselves. One night Rue was afflicted with a burning desire for water. She came to the head of the front stairs and hung over the banisters. The door was open below and this was what she heard : Aunt Serena to Grandfather: " Justinian, if only you had not" THE HAUNTING THOUGHT 91 The remainder was lost in a spurting of the fire. Grandfather to Aunt Serena : "If if if ! What might have been. "Who knows?" Aunt Serena: "In God's Providence all things are per- haps for the best. '' Grandfather ( bitterly ) : "In God's Providence. (Here he thrust at the fire savagely with his poker and Rue could not hear. ) Aunt Serena : " Do you not see now are you not sorry f or that last " Grandfather ( putting on the blower ) : " There is no use, Serena, in forever opening closed doors. " Aunt Serena : " Every secret must finally be unearthed. Some one will, without our knowledge, enlighten the child. " Grandfather : " No one will dare. No one can, for no one knows. " Rue had herself often excavated in the garden to see what secret treasure it might hold. She had knocked at the Silent Door. Were they, also, interested in such problems ? And was there a Child, an unenlightened child, locked away in some dark closet ? How full of mysteries life was ! No wonder they needed to sit up so late and talk so earnestly. Aunt Serena : " But what if She " Rue was at once certain that Aunt Serena's She meant - some other person than the Child. How strangely heavy the word was on her lips. " What if She should come back ? " Grandfather: "Out of the depths! God, " Rue thought Grandfather must be praying, for there 92 THE SILENT DOOR followed a long cavernous monotone and often he coughed as if he were choking. It was a terrible sound. Rue had been told not to interrupt a conversation. At last they seemed to have done. She descended a few more steps and proffered her request. Aunt Serena promptly complied for the children were encouraged to drink many drinks of water and considered it a distinct act of virtue on their part to demonstrate a lively thirst. " What are you lingering for ? " asked Aunt Serena, about to close the door from which streamed firelight, lamplight and Delphic utterances. " Please not to shut the door. " wailed Rue, " it shuts me out from coziness and lovy-ness and everything. " "We love you just the same when the door is shut," said Aunt Serena firmly, " and I'll love you a little more if you'll put on your carpet slippers next time you traipse down those draughty stairs. " Rue did not just see the connection between love and carpet slippers. Aunt Serena's love was a ponderable quantity. It could be meted or withheld or even doled out in drops, like bitter medicine at the end of a glass tube. Grandfather indulgently left the door open and after a while had the weakness to creep up-stairs to see if Rue were warm and comfortable in bed. She was still awake and a young moon's light flitted vaguely through the West Room. It shone on Grandfather's deeply-marked forehead as he sat on the edge of Rue's bed. "Did I ever have a mother or am I like Melchizzy Decker ? " asked Rue, sitting up and cuddling close under Grandfather's chin. She felt his throat swell out to a lump. THE HAUNTING THOUGHT 93 He knew that the hour had struck for that question and the answer could no longer be averted. " Dear, we don't know, we can't tell you anything about your mother or your father. " The last two words were stern and dry. His thin throat twitched. " I will be both mother and father to you, dearie. " " I don't want to be like like him, " sobbed Rue, "having neither beginning of life nor end of days. It's a little bit forlorn. Excuse me, Grandfather, I don't mean to be unpolite, but I want a real mother. If it would be per- fectly convenient to you, please, Grandfather. " Rue could be " pretty-and-polite " when she tried. Her pleading voice and her two vague dimples were irresistible to one's heart. Yet Grandfather steeled himself against her softness. He was a stern man when his heart was bursting. " I have spoken definitively, " he replied. " We will not broach this matter again. " When he employed such words as these and when his lips were so long and hard, Rue knew that nothing availed. She drew a sharp breath, trying not to cry. How easy it was to make mistakes and be naughty and displease Grand- father. He patted her cheek and started as if to go. She could not bear to have him go and leave her with a bitter taste in her mouth. "Don't go, Grandfather, please. I am lonely with the moon looking in at me. " Grandfather sat down again and Rue told him about the statue of Melchizzy Decker and how sorry she was that she had not put his head on before it got dark. 94 THE SILENT DOOR " For now he is stiffening out there in the white empty night, like a beheaded person, with his head lying beside him. And it is rather unfair to be executed before even you are born. " They finally decided, however, that a headless snow king would be incompletely equipped for thoughts of any sort, and that the detached head had no reasonable cause to complain, as it had never learned its function of crowning the shoulders. Then Rue gathered up her courage for the really impor- tant question, the question that had been haunting her for days. Grandfather's beaming countenance augured hope- fully. "I want to say something else. No one told me but I dreamed it. There was a Miss Dainy who used to sit on the end of a log, with hair like ropes of flax, as it might be yesterday. Please tell me about her, if it won't make your teeth too tired, Grandfather. " Grandfather tore himself away from her and even in the uncertain snow-light of the West Room Rue could see his knees tremble. She thought he was very angry with her and would give her the horrible whole of some bristling punitive declen- sion to commit to memory in righteous commemoration. Grandfather thought. There was a time when he would have breathed a silent prayer to his God for strength and wisdom. But that God of his had turned away and with- held His Presence from him. Justinian no longer prayed. "The child must know. She is too young to know. Grant me to tell the truth. Spare me from this. Spare her THE HAUNTING THOUGHT 95 forever. Bear with me if I falsify. Ah, teach me to speak the truth." At the crises of life one's thoughts are nothing but prayers. No matter if in calmer hours we philosophize or deny, at the stroke hour of great passion our hearts flame into prayer. " Grant me to speak the truth, " and yet when he spoke, his lips refused. What force within us, beside us, above us, determines our utterances other than we have willed ? "Yes," cries the heart and will. "No," the lips syllable. " I come, " cries the heart and will. " I refuse, " say the cold, unwilling lips. Our deepest self listens to the lie, astonished, dumb. The name of Danae had not passed Justinian's lips for years. He spoke it now, once only, and it was as blood wrung from his heart. But the truth, the full truth, a drawn sword prevented it. Rue, notwithstanding her suspense, had almost fallen asleep when Grandfather's voice aroused her. It was deep and doomful, like the church bell when one is late. "Rue, it is time for you to know. My little, little girl, has it come to this ? The truth. I will tell you something. No, not all. There was a child in this house once, long before you came. Her name was Danae." Rue swallowed painfully, for the sympathetic burning in her throat hurt her. "She went away." " Why did she go away ? Was she a princess in disguise and looking for her real kingdom ? " 96 THE SILENT DOOR Grandfather knelt by the bed and his hollow eyes pierced her like a spear. His voice filled her with such suffocation of feeling that she could not intellectually follow what he was saying. She could never afterwards recall it, because all the time she heard the sad church bell saying : " Late, late, late. Never, never, never." " If you are sorry she is lost, let us go and find her," said Rue, after both had been quiet a century or so. Grand- father raised his head. " I did not say I was sorry," said a cold, dry voice that seemed to come from the other side of the room, " except as I grieve for all inevitable evil." "But I think you are sorry/' replied Rue gently, "I heard the sorriness calling right out in your voice." "She is lost," said Grandfather. "Let us never speak of her again." " I think I understand," pondered Rue. " It is something like that poetry I learned from the 'Household Book:' ' Upon the white sea sand There sat a pilgrim band, Telling the losses that their lives had known; As evening loaned away From breezy cliff and bay And the strong tide went out with ceaseless moan. One spake with quivering lip Of a fair freighted ship And all his household to the deep gone down ; But one had wilder woe For a fair face long ago Lost in the darker depths of a great town. Grandfather bowed his head on Rue's two little clasped THE HAUNTING THOUGHT 97 hands, as meek as any cherub before the Throne. It was the heavenly understanding of the child, understanding not whereof it speaks. "I will promise you what you said," Rue murmured into the beloved ear, " if you will promise me one promise, Grandfather dear." She lifted his head from the pillow and held him by her hands, grasping his cheeks in tiny fists of justice. "Will you go with me some day when you have plenty of time, Grandfather dear, and find me a mother, in the depths of a great town?" "Perhaps, some day, my child." She tightened her grasp on the cheeks. "I do not like perhapsing, Grandfather, so well as yessing. Please say that you will." "How like and yet how unlike," murmured he under his breath. "Out loud so that I can hear." "Yes, I will," said Grandfather, in a voice like the foundations of the hills. "Thank you every and every so much," smiled Rue, " and I do not think it will be very much trouble, for there are so many people in the depths of a great town it will be easy to find one mother among them all. I will try not to be a fussy-bug about choosing. Honestly I will, Grand- father." The next moment Rue was asleep. XI A PASSAGE PERILOUS IT was spring and Saturday morning and house- cleaning time, a trilogy of untrainmeled joys. By a week of excellent behavior Rue had earned a mor- ning of liberty, the fulfillment of a promise made at the outset of that week's precarious career. She bounded from the breakfast table on a secret mission of her own, a simple act of sentiment which she could not have explained. To the Guest-Chamber she flew, for a brief chat with her friends of the brook. She climbed upon a chair. "Good-by. Do you like me?" For the hundredth time she sought the answer in their lovely faces. The girl looked away from her, timidly, and always toward the boy. But the boy, with his bushy hair escaping hi curls under his hat's rim, laughed at her merrily. To the girl Rue was sure this morning she was his sister, he seemed tenderly saying: "Take care!" But to Rue he laughed teasingly, " Come on." Rue tossed her head, imagining how she would surprise him before he had time to catch her, by nimbly bounding from stone to stone. The boy's name was Lillo. She did not know how she knew, but she knew. She had gone to bed last night ignorant, and waked up this morning aware. 98 A PASSAGE PERILOUS 99 Much wisdom is born of slumber and should be accepted without question. Her next errand was to secure from among her "im- pedimenta," her bow and a quiver of arrows. These she thrust through her belt. She had at last reached the back porch; she was almost free. She waved a switch of apple- blossoms, encouraged an imaginary steed, and galloped down the steps, an enchanted prince after many trials come to his own. Aunt Serena's practical voice interrupted her mood of exaltation. She was at once reduced to the ignominy of her proper sex and years. " Come back at once, Rue. Pick up your napkin from the floor and put the Green Book away." The Enchanted Prince dejectedly turned him back to attend to degrading household details. Yet in the antici- pation of speedy liberty her face did not lose all its bril- liance. The rejected napkin and the worn book were handled with kindly condescension as relics of a passing regime. The Green Book, however, proved fatal, for as Rue linger- ed a moment over its well-thumbed pages Justine invaded the room. She observed Rue accoutred for battle, the quiver of arrows at her belt and the riding-switch in hand. Justine entered a prompt and urgent plea that she accom- pany Rue on the morning expedition. Aunt Serena lent no unwilling ear, for the field would thus be thoroughly vacated for house-cleaning operations. It was not a clause of the aforesaid promise that Rue should have her morning unbridled and alone. Rue was more unbridled in her adventuring when absolutely alone. But from the child's point of view this chartering of Justine as her companion 100 THE SILENT DOOR was a flagrant breach of faith. A morning of freedom and Justine were incompatible. Justine was three, was fat, and waddled. She took the road with caution, considered her steps, had diverse vagaries of taste and a limited imagination. She delighted not in warlike pastimes but in the sluggish pursuits of peace. Aunt Serena remained deaf to Rue's pleading and despatched the two children forth, under the hollow simulacrum of comradeship. She gave them a bag of cookies, which Justine accepted as an honorarium to her less ruffled temper. Rue, curling her lip, allowed Justine to thrust the bag under her arm. Sugar cookies were a moral concession that could not wipe out iniquity. Rue sadly divested herself of her martial equip- ment. The bow and arrows, so fitting the Prince adven- turous, were not in keeping with a nursemaid's station. Aunt Serena was plainly remorseful for she said in mock surprise : "What! You are going to leave your pretty bow and arrow behind!" " I do not need them now," returned Rue with reproach- ful solemnity. "Have a good time, dearies," Aunt Serena called after them, with that too sugary sweetness born of conscious injustice. Rue left a haughty distance between herself and the unwelcome toddler. " Be kind to your little cousin, Rue," piped Aunt Serena, as a parting shot. Rue had a boy's zest for life. There cannot be imagined any more irritating bondage for a wild spirit of six, A PASSAGE PERILOUS 101 bound for the Shining Hill, than custodyship over an in- capable cookie-devouring infant in blue shoes. The in- firmities of Justine's extreme youth became hateful to the intolerant six-year-old. Her hours of freedom were as apples of Sodom. Below Penrith House lay a succession of fair meadows through which ran a tiny brook. The brook was tiny to grown eyes, but to the eyes of those small in stature it was a river of geographical importance and of historic fame. Great would have been the surprise of the little ones who played upon its banks to know that it did not rank with the Amazon and the Hoang-Ho. Yet in truth perhaps they were right to venerate the little brook, for it could claim an equal age with those famous rivers, and had probably flowed through those same meadows ever since the world began. The brook emptied itself decorously into a pond known as Larrabee's duck pond, a modest body of water possessed of infinite resource. There were ducks, pollywogs, "minnies," as well as a swarming surface population denominated "skimmers, skittlers, jumpers, jiggers," as the nimble fancy of the child or the nimble locomotive habit of insect in question suggested. Before arriving at the pond the brook meandered secre- tively through an enormous jungle where it doubled on its pursuers, creating islands, then with astonishing sub- tlety expanded into a water-soaked swamp, only explor- able by spongy and perilous humps. Having thus eluded discovery by concealing its identity under acres of cat- tails, it suddenly gathered its forces together with a spurt of frankness, ran an unevasive course through flowery 102 THE SILENT DOOR banks and emptied openly into the pond. Thus it made no mystery, as many brooks do, of its delivery into the superior channel, whose call it so long evaded. But the manner of its coming to terms could hardly be com- mended for directness. The terrible swamp under which the wily brook hid its identity bordered a wood. The wood began wet and boggy with tangles of fern and lush jewel-weed, and ended high and dry on a hill with sumac-trees and blackberry-vines against a stone wall. Beyond that hill were other hills and farthest of all was a pink haze of hilltop against a pink haze of sky. So it looked mornings and evenings. Rue called this dome the Shining Hill because the sun caught it first at sunrise and lingered there latest at night. There were no roads to conduct one to the Shining Hill. One crossed them occasionally as one journeyed thither, but followed them never. Such journeys are only to be ac- complished by indomitable perseverance and dogged pluck, as well as a fine disregard of damage to shoes, frocks and external amenities of face and hands, for brambles, briers, fences and fens are apt to intervene as obstacles. This morning the two children let the path lead them, the little path that started at the Penrith back porch, wound discreetly under the clothes-lines, avoided the big lilac-bush, twisted under the apple-trees till it found the stone wall and the stile, surmounted this hazard and took a leisurely course through the meadows, half obliterated at times and otherwhere little more than a seam in the waving silken breadths of grass, and finally discovered A PASSAGE PERILOUS 103 the edge of the brook at the place where dog-tooth violets grew. Now the path and the brook kept company for a while till the latter fell into dark and devious ways. The path then swerved aside and coaxed little feet into sunny uplands far from the mischievous bog and finally landed one with a flourish of drollery by the brook again, where was a miniature strand of jeweled pebbles and an island. Soon after, if one did not dally too long with shining pebbles and schools of darting " minnies," one found one's self on the stately shore of Mr. Larrabee's duck pond. Other children might designate it familiarly as Larrabee's, but not so the Penriths, who were carefully enjoined to give every man his due title. A squadron of these ducks sailed about the pond and a decent couple twaddled and preened to each other on the bank. Their waddling pla- cidity, their sleekness and love of material comfort were also qualities of Justine. " Les stop and visit with the ducks ! " "There isn't time to-day." "What's time?" "Time to do a thing," explained Rue scornfully. "What thing?" "Anything." " Les listen what the dear little ducks say." There might have been times when this recreation would have appealed to Rue, but now was not one of them. She was eager and restless but nevertheless calmed herself and listened. "Why do the dear little ducks say Cluck, Cluck?" asked Justine, plumping herself on the grass by the pond. 104 THE SILENT DOOR " Because they feel cheerful." "Why are they cheerful?" "They are enjoying themselves," answered Rue, ab- sently, her gaze fixed on the Shining Hill. "Oh, are they?" inquired Justine in voluble astonish- ment. " Do they like to be ducks ? " "I think so, when nothing bothers them." "Does anything ever bower them?" As to conversational style Justine was nothing if not persevering and thorough. She exhausted her subject as well as her vis-a-vis. "Sometimes a dog might chase them," answered Rue, her patience beginning to fray at the edges. "What dog?" " I don't know what dog," said Rue tartly. In proportion as Rue became tart and tired, Justine waxed adhesive and unwearied. "Please, Rue, just s'pose what dog!" "Well, Mr. Dewsnap's bull-terrier." Bull-terrier Sancho was a well-known denizen of the neighborhood, equally dreaded by barn-yards and kitchen stoops. The sound of his distant joyous salute sent all the hens fluttering to their deepest retreats. " That would be very naughty of Sancho to bovver dear little ducks," said Justine, with austere disapproval of the imagination capable of framing such iniquity. "Perhaps so," admitted Rue perfunctorily, with a fellow-feeling in her heart for the suppositious Sancho in his imaginary bothering of the real ducks that had precipitated this endless train of cross-questions. She A PASSAGE PERILOUS 105 arose and pulled peremptorily at Justine. Justine, black- eyed and pink and white, waddled complacently by her side, filled with generous indignation on behalf of her friends, the ducks. "Would you whip that Sancho for bowering those ducks?" " Would you like to be whipped ? " asked Rue, sternly irrelevant. " But I'm not naughty like Sancho," said Justine plain- tively. "Yes, you are," Rue replied solemnly. "You're both- ering me this very minute." " It's not naughty to bovver you," pouted Justine, " but of tourse I wouldn't bower dear little ducks." Rue could have taken flight that moment for the land of freedom, but Justine, blue-ginghamed, pigtailed and duck-adoring, was tied like a millstone around her neck She began to cast about in her mind for ways to dispose of the incumbrance. The duck pond was the natural limit of Justine's wanderings, but for Rue, there were "three hours yet in which the world might be explored, empires battled for and won, if only Justine were not attached to her skirts. She held out to the little child all the induce- ments her fancy suggested to hasten her return home. The pictures in Goldsmith's "Animated Nature," Rue's family of paper dolls, a vast ephemeral race, the tracing-slate, the kaleidoscope, all the peculiar possessions usually for- bidden to the younger infant were freely offered her. But never had Justine displayed such unflinching attach- ment to little Miss Penrith's presence. 106 THE SILENT DOOR "I want to stay with you all the morning," Justine answered over and over again, with touching fidelity. " I'm going to walk miles and miles," said Rue, leagues in her voice and eyes. "How far?" asked Justine, with ready acquiescence in all of Rue's plans, now that she realized her own fate trembled in the balance. " OS there to the edge of the world," said Rue, pointing to the horizon, "about a thousand miles." "I want to go, too," cried Justine in awed anticipation "Will the people have heads like us on the other side of that edge?" Rue perceived an opening, a ray of hope. Though Justine was not to be cajoled, she might be terrorized. "There are dreadful giants over there, and dragons," she began, in blood-curdling accents, adding rather lamely, "I shouldn't wonder," to save herself from the inward consciousness of a lie. With this saving clause she pro- ceeded freely. ''They have iron claws for hands and smoke in their mouths. Do you see that gray cloud there ? That's a giant's breath." Justine was already turning longing eyes to the home- ward stile. "Will the ginant get me?" " Not if you hurry home. Good-by." "Where are you going? I'm afraid. Come with me, please." "I must take a little walk. They know me and never hurt people they know." A PASSAGE PERILOUS 107 Rue bounded from stone to stone across the brook and was soon midway of the humpy swamp. " Go home," she called to Justine, " go home quickly." Soon she would reach the little wood, the sumac hill, the Beyond. It was a mad abandon of wickedness. She left behind her truth, virtue, civilization and terrorized Justine. "Come back, come back, Rue, Rue, Rue!" Justine's powers of persistence could hardly be over- estimated. She generally gained the situation by pure persistence. There is enormous cumulative power in a prolonged steady wail. Rue's last reckless leap plunged her ankle deep in black mire. She felt it trickle down between her shoes and stock- ings. But now the ground began to be solid under her feet. She had passed the region of quaking morass and sought the shelter of a thicket where she was hidden from Justine. Peeping through, she saw the forlorn little figure of the abandoned Justine. She had followed Rue to the middle stone of the brook and there her courage failed her. But with hands outstretched she cried : "The ginants, the ginants! Come back, come back!" Rue, although not a motherly child, was tender- hearted. It particularly grieved her that she should have disturbed Justine's mind with thought of the dreadful "ginants." To have left her alone was sufficient cause for lamentation. Yet there failed not to mingle with the pangs of remorse a sentiment of pride at her own graphic images that had proved so successful. Justine's grief became less and less articulate as despair got hold on her. Rue steeled 108 THE SILENT DOOR herself by the thought of her own hard-earned freedom, and the long self-denial of that week of " excellent be- havior." She recalled past crises when Justine's passion, seemingly immitigable, had been soothed by the gross panacea of rock-candy or raisins. The pathetic voice assailed her. "Come back, come back, Rue, Rue!" On the first stone of the brook sat the pitiful bag of cookies, tilted to one side, displaying its moist contents. Among blooming drifts of trees frowned the grave roof of the Penrith House, looking just like Grandfather's Olympian brow in displeasure. The fair meadows billowed between, innocently smiling. Rue crouched upon a stone, taking good care not to crush a violet tuft that peeped between her feet. She could not bear to go on till Justine had found surcease of sorrow. To call to her reassuringly would have only proved incitement to renewed vocal anguish. Rue sat determinedly silent, her small golden-brown face pressed unhappily between two muddy hands. Justine's chubby, blue-aproned figure was still turned appealingly to the wood whose mysterious depths had swallowed up her protector. She wept and wailed with infinite faith in her powers of weeping to soften the heart of the mysterious wood and make it give up its secret. At last, hope being abandoned, she calmed herself with suspicious alacrity, and like the sensible infant she was, decided to return home and pour out her grief into the auntly bosom. She did not omit to gather up the dissolute bag of cookies and munch a particularly degenerate specimen along the way. Nothwithstanding this reassuring symptom, Rue found A PASSAGE PERILOUS 109 much cause for self-flagellation in the sight of the little aproned mite toiling in loneliness across the great meadow and almost swallowed between the ranks of buttercups and tall grasses. Especially pathetic were the two black pigtails bobbing, and the untied blue hair ribbons. Rue determined to spare no pains with Justine's loops and ends the following morning. To assist at Justine's coiffure and toilet was supposed to be useful training in the cause of domestic helpfulness, though provocative of many argu- ments between the two children. Thus fortified with good resolutions, Rue went on her way. When she had reached the summit of the first hill she could look back and see the country below her. The little river winding silverly between its willows or dark hemlocks, the farms with their misty green-shot or rosy ploughed lands, the duck pond like a shining shield, and the gray roof and green blinds of her own house in a bouquet of snowy fruit trees. The little path, too, she could see more plainly here than from any other point. Following it with her eyes she perceived the low stone wall and the stile over which Justine would soon be clambering. Now she saw the square blue figure emerge from the engulfing meadow and make the first laborious step of the stile. But what was that sound of woe when Justine reached a point of vantage on the top of the stile and under the protection of the an- cestral roof? She had astutely seized the opportunity for a second instalment of wailing. The wails were increas- ingly pathetic with the dramatic appeal of a child to her audience. "Rue, Rue, come back, come back!" 110 THE SILENT DOOR Rue, taking fresh courage, sped on her journey. She knew that retributive justice awaited her at the day's end, but till then, the day. Freedom, though costly, is worth the price. The day's end was often a sad time with Rue Penrith. It was then that confessions were due, justice meted out, repentance exacted. Sunsets, for her, shed no peaceful light, but a sad retributive glow. Rue, hurrying on through hill and dale, soon forgot inauspicious begin- nings in a new world of glory. The joy of mere existence intoxicated her. She put out her arms to embrace the blossoming earth. She sat down on fence rails and on wet knolls, it mattered little and absorbed the pale morning sheen, the mist and blue and fragrance, like any little unthinking vegetable. Reckless, happy, selfish Rue! The Shining Hill was still far distant. The land between that looked so brief from the Penrith stile elongated itself extraordinarily under her feet. Gullies that she thought could be cleared by a bound proved ravines of consider- ation. She could not step from hill to hill, but had to achieve their intervals by dint of marshy valleys between. Yet the walk was full of charming surprises. There were yellow and white violets in the woods. One ravine was white with a snow-fall of trillium. A gray squirrel peeked at her around the bole of a tree. A furry woodchuck rolled off a stone before her very eyes and whistled to a companion in sly sign. Dutchman's breeches puffed and swung along perilous cliffs. Rue nodded and chat- ted to the flowers and trees as she passed by. She was too busy to pluck herself a nosegay, for she was an ex- plorer on vast enterprise bent. Hah' the time the undula- A PASSAGE PERILOUS ill tions of the country hid the Shining Hill from her sight, but the cow-paths, the wood-trails and lumber roads led her. Out-of-doors has a delightful way of taking us by the hand and leading to sweet places we could never find of our own wills. Children know this secret and yield them- selves most readily to the witching dark moods of the earth's bosom. Try it some day for yourself, you Grown-Up Person, abandon that well-worn road, that established foot-path, and see what witchery the outland will have in store for you. Rue dipped down the side of a hill, penetrated a deep wood, dripping wet, with jungles of white woolly ferns up to her knees, barely uncoiling, followed the finger of sun through the glittering young foliage, came out by a broken gray fence. A convenient aperture told her Enter Here. She found herself in a deserted pasture between two hills. They rose on each side of her like walls, a-glow with the delicate fancies of spring. Clumps of trees and bushes were like landmarks beckoning her to follow them. A bluejay's feather lay at her feet for sign. She picked it up and thrust it through the ribbon of her hat. A bird overhead in the ex- ultant blue sent its shadow flitting like a live thing across her path. The shadow of a flying bird is a rare piece of symbolism, granted only to the elect to see and under- stand. I do not understand it, but Rue did and laughed with her interpretation. She became aware that she had found a Fairy Valley. xn THE FAIRY VALLEY THE sward was thick-set with violets, the bluest she had ever seen. Their generous length of stem, their luscious color, proved irresistible. "Pluck us, my child," they cried. Rue, with a melting heart, dropped upon her grass- stained knees and pulled as many as her two hands could hold. The eastern hill was so high and sheer that the sun, as if newly arisen, leaned on his elbow and looked at her. The greensward, till then in shadow, began to shine with dewy cobwebs. The small trees near by were draped with a wealth of gauzy cart-wheels. A huge spider, black and hairy in the center of his castle, wore a not unfriendly aspect, as of a benevolent though ugly old gentleman. Rue regretted her past prejudice against spiders. As she knelt there, filling her lap with blue and purple violets, there gradually filtered through her consciousness the sound of running water. A delicate sound, attained to only by degrees, sweet purling of a hidden brook over a shallow bottom; spatter of miniature waterfalls, gurgle of tiny whirlpools. " My Fairy Valley, my Fairy Valley, " cried Rue, quite sure that she had discovered a region unvisited before by mortals. 112 THE FAIRY VALLEY 113 Behind that sweep of tenderly purple alders the brook lay. She tiptoed across the meadow and gently parted the thicket. There lay the brook, dimpling demurely, sparkling in the sun, golden-brown at the bottom of its deep pools. This was not all that Rue saw. A barefoot boy stood on a stone in the middle of the creek. He wore a tasseled cap, beneath which his light hair crisply bushed out. Rue was sure that he was the counterpart in real life of the boy in the Guest-Room picture, " Crossing the Brook. " This was certainly Lillo, he of the fagots and the timid girl. Every now and then he flicked his line over the water. When he turned in her direction, Rue saw that he had laugh- ing eyes and that his smock was open at the throat. Ah, what a liberal-minded great-aunt there must be to allow such untrammeled costumes! There was a third spectator and participant, to wit, a shepherd dog with erect tail, gleaming eyes and scarlet open mouth. What happier combination can possibly exist than boy and dog and brook ? But where was the timid girl with the fagots ? Rue pushed her way through the tangled bushes, and advanced to the quiet rim of the stream. A strip of grass was green and soft like a lawn. She chose the hospitality of a mossy stone and sat down. A shaft of sun pierced the bushes and lighted her rough bronze hair so that each separate hair was burnished red. She did not know, nor would she have cared if she had known, that her eyes were purple as the violets which she had stuck in her belt, and that something of the brook's ripple and golden shadow lingered in her smile. She had not reached the fond looking-glass age, nor yet the age beyond when one finds the aptest mirror in a 114 THE SILENT DOOR lover's adoration. All this will come in due time: just now she is a rough-and-tumble little girl, absorbed in Lillo, and waiting breathlessly till he shall turn and see her. He whipped the water here and there, skilfully avoiding the roof of trees that hung over, and playing above the water with the delicate hand of a born angler. Finally he whistled low, a sou%i that sent the blood hammering to Rue's heart, so full was that whistle of import, a destiny in the balance. Hither and thither he let his line run in the water. Now and again bubbles came to the surface. It was a tremendous moment. All three, dog, boy and girl remained frozen to their intent attitude till the Event took place. " Gee-whiz ! " exploded the boy, jerking his line up. Lo and behold, a little radiant fish dangled there. "You've got him," whispered Rue, tumbling off her stone in a transport. The dog celebrated the victory by a succession of sharp yelps like excited laughter. He pranced up and down like a rubber-ball on legs. At the sound of a girl's voice, the boy turned in dis- pleasure. There was Rue, violets strewn over her person, her hands together, see-sawing delightedly on a tipsy stone. But the turning cost him his fish. Somehow or other, with a slyness peculiar to the hunted, it perceived its opportunity, and with one titanic effort freed itself of the hook and leaped to the water. Boy and fish were sadder and wiser. " Gee-whiz ! " said the boy, this time in a different tone. He advanced up-stream toward Rue, wading knee-deep in the whirlpools with beautiful recklessness. His legs THE FAIRY VALLEY 115 made enormous splashes. He had seen the girl once, but appeared no longer to notice her. She was an insignificant incident compared to a three-quarter pound trout, yet an incident forced to unpleasant prominence by her share in the catastrophe. He stole side-glances at her out of curiosity. Violets and torn apron, grass-stained knees and elfin eyes, she somehow impressed him as a young fawn might have done, something to be caught and tamed and taught tricks to, with a boy's infinite patience. For boys, theories to the contrary, are infinitely patient when dealing with their own. They have almost the patience of animals, and what can equal the sublime patience of a cat sitting on a stump in the meadow at twilight, waiting for a field- mouse? Nature is patient, too, bidding her time with elemental calm, so there we have the Three Patiences, boys, animals, the elements. This boy was not interested in his womankind, but he was interested in the thing that had lost him his fish. "It was my fault, wasn't it?" said Rue, taking his glances for reproach, and abasing herself with unusual humility before his noble silence. Humility was not or- dinarily her role. " I guess it was, " he admitted, dryly, then added with a burst of magnanimity. " But I don't care. I've got a pile on shore." " You must be a splendid fisherman ! " "Oh, pretty fair," he replied with princely modesty. " I've drew in 'bout eight since breakfast. " "Oh!" Rue's limited vocabulary of expletives, owing to paternal jurisdiction, allowed her no stronger expression 116 THE SILENT DOOR of emotion, but this simple word was packed with feeling. "And that ain't nothing for me," the boy threw out casually. He paused near her and bestowed critical at- tention on the lower branches of a young willow. Rue quailed at the novelty of his speech, " ain't, " also, being a vulgarism sternly repressed by the Penrith house- hold. But she could not repress a thrill of admiration at his emancipation. She herself had often longed for the freedom that goes with emancipated grammar. " What a sweet laughing mouth your dog has ! I wish my Aunt Serena would let me have a dog. Does your great- aunt let you have almost anything at all you want ? " " It ain't my dog and I ain't got no great-aunt, " said the boy succinctly. " Oh, haven't you got I mean, haven't you a great- aunt?" asked Rue, rhetorical elegancies troubling her again. " Who makes you get up in the morning and tells you what to wear on Sundays ? " "Nobody makes me," he said, like a young lord. "I do what I please." He inspected a sapling critically, decided on a particular branch, and plucked it for a whip. Rue folded her hands and bethought herself of an opening to ask him about the girl with the fagots. It did not seem right that they should be separated. The boy was im- mensely absorbed in peeling his willow switch. He was a comely little lad, with a sunburned face, dazzlingly white teeth when he spoke or smiled, laughing gray eyes with inky lashes, and a general look of alert wholesomeness. His cap displayed a jaunty tassel and his blouse was open at the throat, showing a skin as fair as a girl's. The panting THE FAIRY VALLEY 117 shepherd dog regarded the whip with mingled trepidation and approval. The silence between them was a comfortable one, during which little sparks of personality flew back and forth. They were getting acquainted just as young animals do, in a better way than by speech. One needs no more than to be in the same vicinity with a person to feel his personal- ity. He sheds it about him, as the blind and deaf can testify. " I'll peel you a whip if you want me to, " said the boy, laying aside the one he had prepared for himself. He would have peeled her six whips if she had wanted them, but not to have reserved the first one for himself would argue a streak of unmanly sentimentalism. Rue poked some stones in the bed of the brook with a stick she held in her hand. The water gushed up suffused with mud where the pebbles moved. The boy liked her way of keeping silent before she spoke. Some womankind chatter. "Thank you," said Rue, "I would, that is, I should, like one very much. " She had been carefully reared to the difference between would and should, but at this moment, she felt such discriminations demeaning, and regretted her instinctive correction. She redeemed herself by a plunge: " Where is the girl with the fagots ? " The boy met her purple eyes with frank amazement. " I don't know what you're driving at. " The pleasant look of his mouth made his brusqueness almost affectionate. " I mean " Rue was helpless to explain. " Where is - the girl with the fagots ? " " If that's a conundrum, I give it up. " He dropped his 118 THE SILENT DOOR eyes half sulkily, sure that he was being put to the test and adjudged stupid. Like other womankind, this girl was complex and silly in conversation. "She's your sister, maybe. I don't know her name." "How happens you know her if you don't know her name ? " asked the boy, scorning the subterfuge behind which this girl retreated. " I see her every day. I can't help knowing her, can I ? " pleaded Rue, "but I don't know her name because she never told me. She can't talk. " "Dumb, eh," commented the boy, a spark of compre- hension lighting his expression. "Of course she's not dumb," cried Rue, impetuously, frightened at the bare possibility. " She often talks to him to you, I mean. But I wasn't in the picture, so I couldn't hear what you said to her. " " Who are you talking about, anyway ? " "Why, the girl with the fagots. " "What's fagots?" " That's what she has on her head. " "I don't know nothing about bonnets, if that's what fagots is. " Both children were thoroughly puzzled, one with the other. The boy was shy when off his familiar territory. He began to grow awkward with this strange little girl's earnest gaze studying his face. She was certainly making game of him. He noticed from the start an affected ele- gance about her language. So he thrust the whip into her hands and murmured something about his dinner-hour. " Folks'll be lookin' for me. Here's your whip. " THE FAIRY VALLEY 119 Rue meekly received the sleek ivory wand and watched the boy as, his hands in his pockets, he strode down the creek. "You're not going to forget your fish, are you?" she called after him, in a voice choking with emotion. He looked back and noted her unsmiling eyes and the tremb- ling lip. " By jingo, I clean forgot them. " He was convinced that she had not been making game of him, and pitied her for her queer fancies. He whistled so that she should not know his soft feelings. " Aren't you Lillo ? " she asked, a sob in her voice, but made bold because of his whistle. She knew she had com- mitted some grievous fault, and that the whistle meant condoning. " Maybe I am and maybe I'm not, " he said diplomat- ically, resolved to be drawn into no more tangles. Rue considered it best to pursue the unfortunate subject no longer. There might be reasons of state involved in Lillo's concealment of his identity. She could imagine them. There had been occasions when she herself had found it inconvenient to be known as Dr. Penrith's kin. The two conversed for a while on various topics, ex- changing experiences on the finding of birds'-nests and squirrels' hoards, on the disgustingness of fractions and long division, on the pleasures of the field and the tedium of company dinners, on all which topics they found them- selves at one. " Say, seems's if I'd known you long time, " exclaimed the boy. "Ain't it funny?" 120 THE SILENT DOOR " I knew you were Lillo right away, " Rue was encourag- ed to respond. " But I should think she'd be awful lonely without you." "Who the dickens?" " The the girl " Rue had it on the tip of her tongue to finish with that fatal phrase, " the girl with the fagots, " but happily desisted. "We ain't got any girl, if that's what you mean," answered the boy. " Me and Angela just cooks it up anyhow, till mother comes. Angela picks flowers all the time and digs up ferns from the woods. But I like her all the samee. " "Who is Angela?" Rue's imagination plucked at the pretty name. "She's just Angela. She's a friend of mama's. She has the longest hair ever, awful light-colored like dandelions and she lets it down in two braids like a kid. She always wears a blue dress and she sits on the stile and sings to herself like a little girl. " " I can see her, " cried Rue. " Her eyes are like Quaker- ladies in the spring. She has little hands that move when she talks." "Yep," said the boy. "There'll be another freak up there s'soon as mommer comes. He's allus skallyraggin after mommer. D'ye see him, too ? " The boy scowled disgustedly. " You don't like him, do you ? " asked Rue, sympathetic- ally. "Not one little bit, you bet!" Rue instantly appropriated this choice bit of phrase- ology for future use. THE FAIRY VALLEY 121 "How does he look?" " Just now he's reddish, with eyes that stick out, and he's clawy all over. " Rue's previous notions were quite upset by this word picture : " Oh, it's a beetle you mean, a kind of June-bug. Is your mother a " Rue hesitated at the long word which she felt sure, from past experiences when she had frightened other children by her strange vocabulary, would stamp her as pariah, " is your mother a entomol- oger? They're people that collect crawlers and fliers and arrange them on pins to frighten silly ladies. " She added this interpretation with modesty, so to dis- guise the shameful burden of her learning. The boy spread himself full length on the grass and laughed. He rolled over, his face to the ground, and laughed more. He flung his heels skyward and laughed a third transport. When he resumed a normal posture, Rue stood with her back to him, her face buried in her apron, crying. "I wasn't laughing at nothing," said the boy, crossly, in an excess of contrition. " I often do that, in pleasant weather particularly. " Rue peeked at him around the corner of her apron. " Oh, I thought maybe you were laughing at me. " "At you!" his voice was loud with hypocrisy. "About the entomologer and the bugs." The boy's penitential sobriety suffered a moment's collapse : " You see, " he smiled, " it's a man I w,as talking of, but he is uncommonly like a beetle, good glory!" This time Rue laughed with him. "He's not your father?" 122 THE SILENT DOOR "Not on your life! I never saw my father. Mother sings, you know. I don't see her often, either. " " Oh, is your mother a singer ? She must be awful good, most as good as a minister. " The boy's dazzling teeth showed again. "I don't know much about ministers, neither does mother. " "What? Doesn't she sing hi church on Sundays?" The concept "singer" in Rue's mind was a lady with staring daisies in her hat, who opened her mouth very loud for the hymns, and stood on the organ's right. Being occasionally deserted by the vocal support of the congre- gation, she would mount convulsively to the top note of the scale hi a vicarious effort to disguise the hiatus of voices. Such musical criticism as Rue had heard was on this order. Grandfather: "It is painful to hear a noble hymn mutilated as was the case this morning. " Rue : " What do you mean, Grandfather ? " Grandfather: "A line such as O mother, dear Jerusalem! should be articulated and phrased with some approximate regard to its original meaning. Moreover, there is no reason for ruthlessly breaking down the correct rules for syllabic division. What a travesty on the original is O mo thudea Juru Siduml " Great-Aunt Serena: "She has a powerful voice, Jus- tinian, and they say is an excellent bread-maker. " Grandfather (firmly) : " She mutilates our noblest poetic reliques. " Collateral reading in Abbott's Histories had taught Rue THE FAIRY VALLEY 123 that to mutilate is to tear limb from limb. Resultant, singers, however harmless in appearance and devout of inclination, nourish sanguinary impulses. Beware singers! This would explain why on several occasions Rue had hurried nervously past the worthy soloist's door, and took to her heels one day when a friendly voice saluted her from the back porch. The singer held a potato-knife in her hand at the time, which added to the duplicity of the invitation. "No," said the boy, a hint of real manliness in his grave regard. "My mother doesn't sing in church on Sundays. She used to, but longer ago than I can remember. What does she do ? She does the circuit, and sometimes she gets on in musical companies for the road. " He was aware that Rue would not understand him. "But she's very good to me. She lets me live where I please. " "Where you please! Anywhere in the whole wide world!" An amazing jumble of bewitching geographical names filled Rue's imagination. " There's far Cathay, and Lapland where they have the lovely nights and India's coral strand, and a green isle in the sea, love, " she crooned. " I don't know about them places, " said the boy. A hundred fragments from her poets came to the child's mind. " And you're just living here ! Why don't you live in - in " What country, out of all the intoxicating geography of romance, would be her choice ? 124 THE SILENT DOOR Thick as autumnal leaves that strew the brooks in Val- lombrosa, floated into her memory: " In Vallombrosa ! " " Is it near here, " asked the boy. " It sounds like comic opera. " " It isn't comic anything, " said Rue, indignantly. " It's an epic by Mr. Milton. He was blind. Thick as fallen leaves in \ 'allombrosa ? Doesn't it sound peaceful and golden with lovely rustly leaves in all the woods? I shouldn't wonder a bit if you could walk in them up to your waist. " " That would be bully. Do you suppose there are heaps of nuts there ? " " Oh yes, of course, " Rue boldly ventured. " Chestnuts and hickory-nuts and butternuts and lots of other kinds of nuts I have forgotten. Oh yes, and Candied apple, quince and plum and gourd, With jetties smoother than the creamy curd / * * The boy licked his lips appreciatively. " I guess I'll have to take a trip there. " " Let me go with you, " said Rue, all eagerness. " Are you sure about the name ? " " Vallombrosa. I'm sure it must be a real place, for it's in a book. Grandfather had me learn pages and pages by heart. It's almost like the Bible. It must be true. " " I have a railway guide at home. I'll look it up, " said the boy. "When shall we start?" "I must tell Angela about it first. Maybe she'd like to go with us. She isn't very well this summer. That's why THE FAIRY VALLEY 125 she came up here to the Bungalow and brought me with her for company. " " I'm sure she'd like Vallombrosa, " said Rue, earnestly. " I should love to journey there with Angela and you. " The boy was silent, twisting grasses around his fingers. They still sat by the brook, on two stones side by side. The boy dabbled his feet in the water, burrowing little holes with his toes in the good mud. Rue's gaze was fixed on his face. She was thinking about Angela. He knew it and was made uncomfortable. " Shall I learn you how to whistle on a grass ? " he de- manded, bluntly. " I know how, thank you, " she answered a little haughti- ly, her lidf still level on his face. He flushed. "I'll bet you can't do it as loud as me. What are you looking at me like that for ? " " I'm not looking at you. " " What are you looking at. " "Angela!" "Jerush!" The boy jumped to his feet and looked be- hind. A startled gray squirrel clutched his breast dramatic- ally, and then flattened himself bark-like on the over- hanging limb. He arranged his tail symmetrically along the ridge of his back and awaited developments. " She's not there at all, " said the boy. "But I can tell you how she looks," replied the girl. "She has a laughing crying face and hair like the Lady of Shalott's. I see the shape it makes, big twisted vines around her head. 126 THE SILENT DOOR " What makes you talk like that ? " " I don't know, " said Rue, her vision escaping from her. " I felt it in my fingers. You know sometimes I have queer dreams in my fingers. " "Crazy!" " Yes, my fingers dance and want to do things. Then if I run quick and get some putty, they make shapes for me. I don't make the shapes. My fingers have eyes and ears and are just like people. " The boy's inky-lashed gray eyes had a fascinating way of crinkling up as he smiled and listened. Rue's auto- biographical reminiscences became more vivid and cor- respondingly less truthful with this bright glance feathering upon her. The boy became fired with desire for empirical demonstration. He was most assiduous in providing her with the best quality possible of mud from the brook's bed and mixing it with sand, according to her delightful directions. Rue showed herself a true genius in being fastidious as to conditions. " Everything must be just right, " she assured her slave, " or my fingers won't do it. " " Mighty perticklar, ain't they ? " he said, admiringly. He regarded with respect her small mud-stained hands. "Nobody can look but myself," she said with an air of being the mouthpiece of royalty. The boy had worn on his face the expression of an audience before the first curtain goes up. It quickly changed to the expression after the announcement that the Prima donna has a slight cold and will not appear. "Aw, come off," he pleaded, but Rue's face did not relent. THE FAIRY VALLEY 127 " You must go away. Still further! Where I can't see you. I'll call you when I'm ready. " The boy hid himself behind a bush, talking to the dog for consolation. " Hurry up. This is like being out in proverbs, " he cried, and then trembled lest even that vocal proof of his nearness should release the spell. After a time he was summoned. "Why, it's a fish, the very fish I lost. Bully for you! Look at them fins and the teenty scales, as natural as life. It was curved just like that, too, when it bounced back into the water. Jerush, 'twas a pity I let that fellow go. " The verisimilitude of Rue's image reawakened his grief at his late bereavement. Rue rose and stamped her fish into shapelessness again. " Good glory ! What are you doin ' ? " " I hate them after they're finished, " she said. " It seems wicked, " the boy meditated. "I know it. Sometimes they beg me to let them live. But it was only a mud fish. I suppose if I were Jesus I could have said to that fish, Arise, take up thy bed, O fish and swim ! and he would have done it verily. It sounds sort of funny, doesn't it, but He wouldn't have told the fish to walk, would He?" The boy was not good at philosophizing, so Rue pro- ceeded. " Arise, O brother, swim. And the little fish would have obeyed. " " I suppose so, " said the boy, petrified by the theological turn the discussion had taken. He began to feel empty. 128 THE SILENT DOOR "Say, talkin' of fish, ain't you hungry ? I'm hollow through and through. " Rue felt under her apron before she ventured a state- ment. " So am I, " she declared, " I'm thin as an apron on the clothes-line. " They both exulted over this simile and proceeded to lay plans for a banquet. " Let's you and me build a fire and then we won't have to go home for dinner. " " I hate napkins and waiting for dessert, " assented Rue. " We don't have napkins much in the Bungalow, and we eat dessert at any time. Often we eat it first and sometimes when there isn't any oatmeal we have sherbet for break- fast instead. " " Oh, how nice ! Angela mustn't be very much grown up, " exclaimed Rue. " Great-Aunt Serena has white curls and never unfolds her handkerchief till on the way home from church. When does Angela unfold hers ? I like to unfold mine in sermon-time for it gives me something to do. Aunt Serena says it's a mussy habit. I'd rather be mussy than be fussy, wouldn't you ? " "You go and hunt up some brush for the fire while I clean the fish, " said Lillo. " Then I'll show you how to fry trout, eh?" Rue was acquiescence itself in the presence of masculine decision. She liked to be ordered about by the sparkling gray eyes. " Do you like timothy-grass ends ? I think they're de- licious. We'll have them for asparagus. " THE FAIRY VALLEY 129 " They're not very substantial, are they ? " said the boy, devouring at one unaesthetic bite the whole sheaf of tender white ends she displayed in her hands, "but they'll do for a nibble. " " Sorrel is good, " said Rue, " but you can't have any of it now. This is salad. It comes after the fish. " Thus had Aunt Serena's teaching not fallen wholly on stony ground. Various other condiments, herbaceous or rooty in character, were added to the repast. "Here's cigarettes for the finish," said wicked Lillo, plucking a handful of those everlasting-flowers known to children as Indian tobacco. They were fragrant and budded brown. "I don't know how to smoke," said Rue, regretfully, " but I think I could learn. " Such docility was worthy of a better cause. Why would it not be well, Rue, to cultivate such a frame of mind when good Aunt Serena labors with you over the quilting work, or Grandfather demonstrates the beauty of the subjunc- tive mode in Latin. " I could have brought a whole bag of cookies, " said Rue. The reminiscence was pathetic, as reminiscences are apt to be. "Why the dickens didn't you?" "I was too busy getting away to think of them," and the reason was satisfactory to them both. "Besides that, I might have dropped them crossing the humps in the swamp. " " You could have picked them up. " "They would have been muddy." 130 THE SILENT DOOR "Pooh!" Lillo curled his lip at the effete delicacy that found such adjuncts as clean swamp mud untasteable. Rue hastened to redeem herself in his eyes. "We could have eaten the muddy places first. I some- times do that. But never mind. Justine would have cried even longer if I had taken the cookies. " The thought of Justine and of the pitiful pigtails brought a shadow to Rue's merry face. " What's the matter ? * asked Lillo, in his usual abruptly tender voice. Rue was thinking of the retributive red glow of sunset. It was, through life, characteristic of her that her most joyous hours were pricked with remorse. The sun was swinging round to touch one of his afternoon hills, and the shadows of the trees went the other way. As they lunched together there was little need for conversation, but oc- casionally Rue essayed one of the morning phrases that had fallen lightly from LOlo's lips and found that the planets still took their courses, and the earth remained unshaken. Lapses from grammar that had been represented to her as dangerous pitfalls, and that accordingly she had come to regard as volcanic craters yawning for the unwary, seemed to bring about no perceptible result on the face of nature. Once Lillo had repressed a singular smile when she had punctuated a particularly enjoyable trout-tail with: "Glorious goodness! What charming tails t routs do have!" Two goldfinches alighted on a branch near them and, putting their bills together, cooed and whispered in a manner peculiar to goldfinches in May-time. THE FAIRY VALLEY 131 " Whispering in company ain't polite, " giggled the boy, feathering his eyes at Rue. "Let's us whisper, too," giggled Rue, dropping a mysterious sound into Lillo's ear. She knew no more than he what she purred into his ear, but it was enough to set them both off into orgies of laughter. They laughed so long that the tears ran . down their faces, and Lillo had to abandon an unusually choice combination of sorrel, watercress, and trout, that was on it< way to his mouth. It was a grievous loss, over which both of them made lamentation. Then Rue choked over a bone, and when this catastrophe was averted they were reduced to seriousness again. Meanwhile the goldfinches, through some dainty bird whimsy, had selected a different branch a few yards away, on which they continued their pretty philandering, " Them's wild canary-birds, " said the boy, instructively, " I'll catch one for you, if you say so. " This generous, though rash, offer being declined by Rue, Lillo's dexterity was not put to so severe a test. They consumed the eight trout, fins, tails, and all with such assistance as the dog could render them. After they had sampled the young green things about, known in nature's kitchen-garden for children, they washed their hands in the running stream and walked out to the sunny violet meadow. A certain coldness crept between them as the necessity for home-going threatened. There is always a mauvais quart d'heure after a too-sudden intimacy. People ought to take wing and fly away at the flood-tide of emotion, as birds do, instead of stuttering on each other's thresholds. 132 THE SILENT DOOR "Maybe I'd better pick some more violets," said Rue, with a virtuous face, addressing the meadow at large. Lillo sat down near by and found it immensely impor- tant to make a thorough overhauling of his many pockets. He assorted with some due pride his varied possessions, making neat piles of them on the grass before relegating them again to the unclassified obscurity of his inner rai- ment. There were marbles, jack-knives in numerous retrograde stages of usefulness, a compass, trout-flies, reels, gaffs, spoon bait, spinners. These latter were tangled up with extra line, sinkers and fish-hooks, with an ancient piece of doughnut and a petrified seg- ment of orange. During the interesting process of dis- entangling, Lillo glanced from tune to time at Rue, hoping she would notice the multitude and the subtle charm of his personal estate. In vain. Her sordid gaze was bent on violets, of which she had already an enormous quantity, almost enough for a church wedding and a dozen brides- maids. She had left them behind her in purple heaps, marking her progress across the field. "Do you reckon to carry the whole meadow home with you ? " asked the boy, bitterly, his insulted possessions still spread out between his feet. " I've only got about a quarter done, " answered Rue, despairingly. "Better rest!" Lillo made a place for her where she could hardly fail to view his possessions. He would have died rather than call her attention to them. Her dis- interested glance followed his. THE FAIRY VALLEY 133 "Awful lot of rubbish, ain't it?" he took prompt oc- casion to say. "You don't have to cany it, do you?" asked Rue, sympathetically. " You could bury some of it, or we could have a bonfire. " The boy's pent-up indignation knew no bounds. He spluttered inarticulate fury. " B-b-b-bury ! B-b-b-burn! Have a bonfire out of them!" His outstretched astounded forefinger seemed to indicate no less a pile than the Taj Mahal or the United States Treasury. After some minutes of outraged silence, he con- quered himself to say: "You're a girl. You don't know no better. " The flimsy and futile character of feminine intelligence reasserted itself. No one but Lillo can appreciate the magnificence of his absolution, but Rue, to this day, is ignorant of the gross offense for which she was granted absolution. It was, however, inconvenient to harbor resentment too long for the possessions were yet to be shown off. "What are those little red boxes?" said Rue, pointing timidly. " What do you mean ? " " On that piece of gray cloth there. " " If you mean on my handkerchief, " said Lillo, haugh- tily, " those are cartridge-boxes. They belong to my Win- chester. " This was all Greek to Rue, but she hesitated to press for an explanation, so excruciating had been the recent crisis. "They'll kill at a hundred rods, " added Lillo, sternly. 134 THE SILENT DOOR "Oh, mercy!" exclaimed Rue, feebly, "Are they killing anything now?" She withdrew her gingham skirts from the neighborhood of the sanguinary little red boxes. " Of course not, when I left my shot-gun at home," replied he of the weapon. The pitiful ignorance of the girl began to percolate gently through his consciousness. His mood changed. He took keen pleasure in imparting infor- mation. It was as minute as her understanding allowed. He selected his fly-book as being the most intelligible, through its bright colors, to her sex. "Look a-here. J'ever see a fly-book before? It's buffin leather, the Favorite. My mother knows a sporting- goods man and he give me the whole outfit. " Rue felt reverentially of the flexible leather case. "We have almost every kind of book," she said, "but not any about flies. Are they interesting to read about? Let me look at the first chapter. " "All right," the boy's eyes twinkled. The clasp sprang open with a snap and a row of gay artificial flies was spread before Rue's astonished gaze. Lillo laughed aloud for pure pleasure. "Oh, how pretty!" "Ain't they? you bet!" " What do you do with them, Lillo ? " "I don't do a thing to the trout, oh no," rippled his merry voice. " This here is Red Ibis and the next Royal Coachman. Then there's Yellow Sally and Grizzly King. He's a winner, sure 'nough. " THE FAIRY VALLEY 135 " Yellow Sally ! " echoed Rue, in a transport. All of a sudden a church clock somewhere tolled four. It was a dreadful accusing toll. They tore themselves apart. *' I've got to go, " exclaimed Rue. The boy did not demur, but filled her lap with the wilted violets she had plucked an hour before. " Where do you live ? " he asked. " Over there, where the sun will go down. " As far as the little girl was concerned, she might have been a hundred miles from home, so unlocalized had been her wanderings. That is the recipe for romance, not to know when or where. If the hour strikes or the landmark points the way, romance has fled. XIII THE HOMEWARD WAY THE buff-and-black dog followed the two children, punctuating his bounds with vigorous wagging of the tail. He made short sallies by the way, hither and thither, covering thrice the distance with dis- cursive tours of his own. He found a flat stone that pro- jected into the water of the brook and lay down upon it, letting the water cover his luxurious person. " It seems as if the stone had been just waiting for him, " remarked Rue. "Tain't a bad fit, that's right. " "I wonder if the stone knew he was coming to-day, after growing into that shape for him so many years. See! there's just room for his nose between his paws on the tipmost edge. " " I reckon stones don't waste no time a-thinking, " said Lillo materialistically. "Hi there, did you see that big fellow jump outer the pool?" "What do stones think about inside?" asked Rue earnestly. As no answer was forthcoming, she answered herself according to her lifelong habit. "Oh, I s'pose they lean down and look at themselves in the water. Little stones rush along and make themselves round. Big stones like this one stretch themselves out and 136 THE HOMEWARD WAY 137 listen to the waterfall splash-splashing. The deep soft moss creeps over them. Then they wait for people to come and sit on them and listen to the waterfall. " "You're a queer kid, " said the boy. "Which would you rather be, Lillo, a waterfall or a stone?" " I dunno. I ain't never had to decide. " "A waterfall is a little like always falling down-stairs, but a person can get used to almost anything, Ellen says. Being a waterfall would be cool and splashy, like going barefoot in the rain with your hair all spread out. But it can't ever stop to rest or to dry its hair in the sun. A stone rests all the time, Lillo, except the Rolling-Stone-that- Gathers-no-Moss. Did you ever see that stone, Lillo? It must be a very awfully long hill it rolls down, as high as from heaven to hell. " " You talk like a book, " said Lillo, laughing, but half- impatient, "and you don't know much, neither. I'll bet you can't open this jack-knife of mine. " He thrust the big knife into her tiny grasp. Rue struggled with the blade in vain, while Lillo watched her with masculine calm. "There's a catch to it," he finally continued. "You push like this and snap it goes. See? I've got a rifle to home you couldn't see into if you studied it all day. D'j'ever load a rifle ? " " No, " said Rue meekly. Ammunition and rifle practice as had previously been proved, were not specialties in the Penrith curriculum. Rue listened devoutly to the boy's description of the glories of shooting. 138 THE SILENT DOOR " I wouldn't be scairt of a man-eating tiger if I had my old Winchester along. " "You are very brave, Lillo. You are like Gideon of old or Genghis Khan. " " I don't know who them fellers is, but I'll take your word for it." "Don't you know about them or Prester John or Achilles or Caius and Balbus?" " Friends of yours ? " questioned Lillo carelessly, running over his assortment of sinkers and fish-line. "Sort of, but I don't like Caius and Balbus very much. Balbus, he has a bald head like a bulb, a fat little stomach and big lips that look as if they'd burst if you pinched them." Lillo's laugh gushed freely forth. "Sort of vaudeville eccentrics, I guess, " he commented soothingly. " Caius is long and thin and hay-colored, with hair like wisps of straw. " " Oh, I know that team, " said Lillo scornfully. " They do turns at the Atlantic Gardens. Where'd you see them, anyhow ? " " I never really saw them, " said Rue. " They're in the Latin Book." "In the Latin Book. Chimpanzee! How do you know their looks, then?" " Oh, by their names. Names make pictures, you know. Why, when I see those names of lovely places on the map like Orinoco and Baltic and Baghdad, I can see the palms waving and the snowy river and the water-jars in a row, can't you ? " THE HOMEWARD WAY 139 " You keep me guessin', " remarked Lillo enigmatically. " Is them in the Latin Book, too ? " " No, no, the Latin Book tells about Caius and Balbus. You have to say over and over again like this: Balbus, of Balbus, to Balbus, Balbus, O Balbus, with, by or from Balbus. " " I don't see any sense to that. " " It's a declension. " "What's that?" " Oh, Lillo, I can't explain. It's something like a con- jugation, only a conjugation is long and sad. I love, I was loving, I did love and it gets longer and sadder all the time. " "That's all rot about loving. Ain't it, Ponto?" Ponto assented with explosive vehemence. "Don't you know about Amoma-ray-Mavee-matum ? " continued Rue. "Never heard of her. Sounds like a lot of Ma's mixed up all together. She a friend of Balbus ? " "Oh, no, no. You don't understand. Balbus has got a friend, though, for I looked ahead in the book and it said, Balbus loves the queen. Did you ever see a queen, Lillo?" " Lots of times, kings and queens with crowns on. " "Oh, Lillo!" " Yep. They was on the stage, though. " " What stage ? A stage with horses ? " " What ? Oh, you mean Ben-Hur. Say, if you come to N'York some time I'll take you to a show. I'll bet you'd like it pretty good. " " I'll ask Grandfather, " said Rue, her eyes shining with delight. 140 THE SILENT DOOR " You know Angela's on the stage, and mother, too. '* "Right now? Is she going somewhere on the stage?" " No, she's at the Red Bungalow, resting. But she's in a musical company, I told you, and she does the circuit or sometimes plays the whole season in N'York. She likes that best. " All this was mystery to Rue's uninitiated ear, but she drank in the strangeness as ambrosia. "Does she have a voice like seraphs singing? Tell me some more. " "There ain't nothing more to tell," said Lillo, with boyish scorn of expansiveness. " She always wears a blue dress and she sits down hi the field up there and sings to herself just like a little girl. " " I wish I could play with her," said Rue wistfully, " I like tall ladies with lovely faces. " "Yep," said Lillo. "Hello, what's that." A sound like distant thunder rumbled on the other side of the wood. " It's thunder, " said Rue. "Them's wagon- wheels ; I reckon we're nigh onto the road." They climbed through a narrow run of bushes and stood on a bare hilltop. There lay the road, the tact- ful road, so near them, that had never betrayed its presence. "What's the matter?" demanded the boy, for Rue's eyes were full of brooding wonder. "Why, that's the road that goes to the post-office, I never knew. " THE HOMEWARD WAY 141 " Well I must be hiking home. The Bungalow is way off there. " Lillo pointed to a far blue hill that lay in an opposite direction from the village. " Please go with me as far as the turn in the road. It's so lonely walking by myself after our pleasant conversa- tion. " "Why don't you take the dog along? You ain't afraid that there Balbus 'ull jump out on you from the trees ? " Lillo asked in sympathetic jocularity. Balbus was an ill-timed allusion, bringing to mind not only the unlearned declension that was one of the results of this day's illicit deeds, but also Aunt Serena's deep- seated disapproval of dogs. "I think I'll get Grandfather's mail. And you call the doggie back. He's a lovely, dear doggie," she added in tones meant to soothe his dogship, "but Aunt Serena wouldn't let me have him. " The post-office was a happy thought, for a timely document of importance would often plunge Grandfather into hours of abstraction and wipe out the memory of Rue's blackest misdeeds. Under this inspiration her spirits revived. " There are so many curious things in this world, aren't there, Lillo?" " Maybe so, " he gave a lordly non-committal assent. " There's the sky, just like a blue bowl. But Grandfather says if you climbed up and up, you'd never bump your head or come to it at all. I didn't really quite believe him, " she whispered, "but I didn't dare tell him so. Then at 142 THE SILENT DOOR night, all the little shining stars and it's curious they never fall down, though on a windy night I've seen them shake like everything. " " Didn't you never see a falling star ? I did. " " No, I never did. I'll ask Grandfather. Wasn't it stuck in tight enough ? " " You go out some summer's night, " said Lillo impres- sively, " and you lay on your back lookin' up and up and bime-by you'll see a star streakin' it for all it's worth. Then you make a wish right quick, quicker'n a wink, and it'll come true." " Oh, Lillo ! I will, I will. I know what I'll wish for too. " Rue's eyes were misty with her far wish. "What?" " I can't tell you. " The little girl would not for worlds have confessed that she would wish for a mother, a pretty, singing mother with long braids of dandelion hair, like Angela at the Red Bungalow. "You're all right," came Lillo's hearty commendation, for he admired her unexpected reserve. " Don't you never tell no one your wish and it'll come truer yet. " They had come to the bend in the road. Lillo, true to the letter of his agreement, with a brief "So long," left his morning's companion. He mounted the high hill down which they had come. Soon he was small in the distance, a mere silhouette on the white hilltop. Would he turn ? Would he look ? Rue waited, in tragic silence. He stopped. He waved the tasseled cap. THE HOMEWARD WAY 143 '* What's your name ? he shouted in a huge voice. " Rue, " she boomed back. " Don't be afeard of Balbus, Rue," he thundered with voluminous laughter. Children think nothing of shouting from hilltop to hill- top. Wraths and loves are hallooed across continental spaces with no diminishment of intensity. In truth, such outland intimacies seem to gain Homeric greatness with the interval of acres between. " Don't be af eared of Balbus. " The words came to her spent and small. " I'm not afraid, " she shouted back. She wished to use af eared, but to cast loose upon the elements that reckless solicism supposing Grandfather should hear! " I'm not afraid. I'm thinking about Vallombrosa. " The liquid syllables floated to Lillo clear and gracious upon his hill-crest. " Vallombrosa is it ? " he bellowed. " I won't forget. " "Vallombrosa," she clarineted. "Good-by Rue." "Good-by, Lillo. " The name reverberated from the northern hill and died a lingering death in the wood of the woolly ferns. XIV THE SAD RETRIBUTIVE GLOW MR. DEWSNAP, the butcher, bowling by in his cart, watched the unceremonious leave-taking. "Holy Moses!" he confided to the terrier. "Ef that ain't Justinian Penrith's little girl and the boy from the Red Bungalow ! " By which remark one would be led to infer that the com- bination was noteworthy. With a palpitating heart Rue peered through the post- office window and asked Mr. Gideon for the mail. She received one letter. Its unusual texture and size as well as the picture in the corner of the envelope aroused her atten- tion. The envelope was of thin, bluish paper and very large. In one corner was a blue stamp of a strange design with foreign words upon it. In the opposite corner was a little picture, a columned villa, cypress trees, palms, blue lake, snow-capped mountains and underneath was a legend reading, " Villa Giovanoli. " Slipping this bizarre and romantic missive under the guimpe of her frock, she proceeded fleet-foot on the home- ward path. Surely such silvery richness of illustration and of epithet would divert from her guilty head the bolts of Olympus. By and by she stood on the sumac hill and saw the sheen 144 THE SAD RETRIBUTIVE GLOW 145 of Mr. Larrabee's pond down in the lap of the meadow. The Fairy Valley was far behind her now. The bluejay's feather, the sward of violets, the rippling brook, the gray- eyed boy, belonged to another world. The duck pond looked tame and forlorn ; the ducks that preened themselves or crooked their necks to fluff out a feather, seemed silly, inconsequental creatures. There lay the winding path, losing itself among the buttercups, and there, wrapped about in ominous silence, gloomed the lavender house with green blinds. The apple-blossoms that had flushed so charmingly in the morning now wore a stern pallor, Rue, ever liable to presentiment, was seized with fear. Well, indeed, for her was it that she had not brought home with her the lively, laughing dog. Bewitching as his de- meanor was, it would not appear to the family on this particular occasion. Rue was sure that something had happened to Justine. Between the stile and the back door calamity had overtaken her. A weeping group in the house tended the stricken form. What would they say to her when she appeared, she, the guilty author of the tragedy ? Rue ran at the top of her speed, tears coursing down her cheeks. The interesting blue document in her frock was completely forgotten. As she ran dreadful pictures were before her of a little white face with closed eyes, and lips that would never open to say, " I forgive you, Rue." Meanwhile, around the corner of the house, in the shade of the ancient locust tree, sat a peaceful trio, Grandfather, Aunt Serena and Uncle Rodney Dove. Uncle Rodney's visits were in the spring and he never announced his arrival 146 THE SILENT DOOR as did Aunt Elizabeth. He was a large, mild man of the en- cyclopaedic type, who was attached to a Boston publishing house. He was continually editing classics, writing pre- faces and introductions and engaged upon Collections. He belonged to an author's club that prided itself on being the literary cult: the members hung up their own por- traits and autograph letters and had annual Ladies' Days when they exhibited themselves to an admiring public. On such occasions the guests were not apt to know each other. They stood around singly or in self -defensive pairs and watched the literati chat with sisters and wives and pour themselves tea. Uncle Rodney had an enormously high forehead, a small pointed chin and eyes that he hah* closed as he talked. He had a way of waiting an appreciable instant before he recognized that you had spoken. He gave an oracular turn to his speech that left you in doubt as to his real opinion. This oracular vagueness, the half-closed lids and unintelligible jokes endowed him with a reputation for profundity. His jokes were superhumanly witty, be- cause he delivered himself with sphinx-like gravity, slowly closing one eye and gazing at you with the other to see if you understood. You never did, but you always laughed with a sick feeling inside at your own dullness. Afterwards you agreed with Mr. Dove's fellow-foot-note writers that he was possessed of extraordinary wit. "The inimitable kind," you would say, "that loses by repetition. " No one ever tried to reproduce Rodney Dove's jokes. At the author's club and the Kelmscott he was always relied upon for toasts and speeches. It is mainly a reputation for wit that is necessary to make people laugh. THE SAD RETRIBUTIVE GLOW 147 He and Justinian were old-time friends of Seminary days. They reveled in argument and polemic tilt one with the other. Aunt Serena read to them this afternoon from " A Discourse on the Evils of Popular Ignorance. " They abandoned themselves to the pleasure of her perfectly modulated voice and clear articulation. She had small interest in John Foster's way of thinking, but fol- lowed the sentences with mechanical intelligence. Now and again the reading was interrupted for brief discussion of the argument or critical approval of the style. Below stairs in the kitchen, Rue's plate of dinner was petrifying in the warming-oven and withheld justice was patiently awaiting its turn. The shadow of the locust-tree was lengthening and nearly reached the top of the garden where Mr. Boscoway was digging up a horse-radish root. Ellen was already mixing cake for supper. " How evident, then, is it that among the people of the Jieathen lands, under a disastrous ignorance of this and all tJie other sublime truths that are the most fit to rule an im- mortal being during his sojourn on earth, no man could feel any peremptory obligation to be universally virtuous, or adequate motives to excite an endeavor to approach that high attainment, even were there not a perfect inability to form the true conception of it." "A ripe and accomplished mind," said Justinian. "He might well be taken as exemplar by the half -fledged higher critics of the present day. " Then Rue burst upon them around the lengthening shadow of the tree. Disheveled, flushed, grass-stained, two unsymmetrical smutches of charcoal, war-paint fashion, 148 THE SILENT DOOR adorning her cheeks and mingling amicably with the tears she had shed. "Aunt Serena, Aunt Serena, where is Justine?" she shouted. A cool finger slipped between the pages of the essay. The peaceful trio turned to view the new-comer. A quizzical smile twisted Uncle Rodney's mouth and he slowly closed one eye. " Protegee Rue ? " he asked of Justinian, knowing per- fectly well the facts in the case. Aunt Serena's eyebrow went up as she turned to Grand- father. " Grandfather, Grandfather, where is Justine ? " Justinian raised a rhadamanthine hand and spoke in his churchliest peal. " She came home in safety, we are grateful to say. She is now asleep. Where have you been roaming during these unlicensed hours?" "Speak to your Uncle Rodney, " slipped in Aunt Serena, the punctilious one. Rue, calmer now, though forecasting retribution from the raised eyebrow and the churchly tone, stepped between Uncle Rodney's black-trousered literary knees and was kissed by him, grass-stains, charcoal smutches and all. She was very grateful for his presence, as it postponed, per- haps even averted, retribution, a useful office that company sometimes filled. Justine was safe. Rue was happy, for- getting the lesser evil of her own misdoing. " Oh, Grandfather, I have had the splendidest time and found a Fairy Valley." THE SAD RETRIBUTIVE GLOW 149 " That will do, " said Grandfather, with Aunt Serena's admonitory glance upon him. They had discussed Rue's delinquencies in her absence and decided upon a course of correction. Uncle Rodney, himself outside the circle of discipline, had an outsider's pity for the radiant little face, now dimmed. " So you have been playing gipsy ? " he said. Grandfather felt that it was unfortunate for Uncle Rodney by this badinage to divest the home-coming of solemnity. Only good little children should be dallied with. But Mr. Dove enjoyed the immunity of company and was allowed to retain one of Rue's small brown hands, stroking it tenderly. Rue looked at him gravely. She did not quite understand him, but he interested her something as did the picture Eternity. His utterances were symbols, and she respected them accordingly. " Did you find the rest of your tribe in the outland, little wanderer ? " "Yes, sir. I found one of them. He was the barefoot boy out of the picture. " Uncle Rodney closed one eye and glimpsed at Justinian. " Rosalind and her Orlando ! How intuitive the affinity. Verses engraved on trees Rue withdrew her hand and ran passionately into the house. She might have told Uncle Rodney about Lillo and the open-mouthed dog, but she would not do so now. She would not tell any one. He was laughing at her and saying things in cipher on purpose so that she could not understand. " Go through the house very quietly, " said Aunt Serena, 150 THE SILENT DOOR " Justine is tired out with her crying, and we want her to sleep. " Rue's heart was heavy. She knew that catastrophe was merely postponed and had no appetite for her dried-up dinner. At least, she would tell no one about Lillo. That secret should be all her own. "Your little Rue has a most interesting personality," said Rodney. " You have never ' Mr. Dove seldom asked a direct question. Instead, he paused midway and fluted his lips outward. " Never, " answered Justinian sternly, avoiding Rodney's glance. "Shall we continue reading, Serena?" But Mr. Dove had something on his mind to say and was not to be deterred by sternness. He was obtuse. "Danae has recently been hi New York," Rodney spoke quietly. " She goes under a different name. She " Stop," roared Justinian, turning ashen with anger and pain. " I have forbidden her name. " " You are breaking your own heart, perhaps hers. She is your daughter " "I have no daughter. Enough!" Uncle Rodney was as pale as Grandfather and his heavy eyelids twitched. Aunt Serena's breath came in gasps. Justinian rose from his chair. He stumbled over the rug which fell from his knees. He strode to the garden, leaving Aunt Serena and Mr. Dove in silence. There in the garden he gave terrific orders to Mr. Boscoway about the extermination of currant worms. He inspected the strawberry bed. By the time he returned he had forced his face into an expression of calm cheer. THE SAD RETRIBUTIVE GLOW 151 " Not a prolific bearer, but a prodigious size," he said, handing Rodney an enormous berry he had picked. " Shall we finish the discourse, Serena ? " Soon Aunt Serena was called into the house by Justine's awakening voice and in the interval of her absence Justin- ian talked uninterruptedly about his mule-back experience in the hills above Jericho. When Aunt Serena again opened the green blind door, Justine, crisp and shining, hung to her skirts. A neat pink scratch was diagonally inscribed across her cheek. It was the result of pushing through the blackberry-vines that draped the stile, when her eyes were blinded by that last magnificent cataract of voluntary woe. The pain of the scratch was a small price to pay for the ensuing halo. The scratch was her visible attachment upon the sympathies of her world. It bore mute circum- stantial witness to the naughtiness of Rue. Like a dumb mouth it oped its ruby lips. Justine wore the saintly look of a child whose companion is plunged in disgrace. " Did you wish to speak with Rue ? " asked Aunt Serena of Justinian. Rue, in that state of cleanliness which was to her as sackcloth and ashes, sat upon the play-box in the entry and heard these fatal words. Grandfather excused himself to his guest, offering him the freedom of the orchard and garden. He went within. There sat Rue upon the box behind the door. Her curls had the moist look of a recent coiffureing and a fresh rose- colored bow was perched above her ear, but her mouth drooped. She held in her hand the blue letter, harbinger of peace ( as she hoped ), between herself and Grandfather. 152 THE SILENT DOOR " Here is a letter for you, Grandfather, " she said, in a dove's voice. "I will commune with you in my room," said Grand- father. He pocketed in silence the ungrateful, the hard- hearted, the unachieving letter. When he "communed" with Rue, the themes were al- ways solemn. Results were, for Rue, tearful; for Grand- father, gravely triumphant. The walls of his room took sides with him, the victor, the arabesques of the wall-paper making round defiant eyes at her, and writhing contemptu- ous limbs. The carpet also became partizan and squirmed away from her guilty feet, in its pattern of numberless astonished jugs, with disdainful roses uprearing therefrom. Even the baize-covered desk with its lower drawer ajar thrust out a contumelious lip. There was no comfort to be gained from them. This afternoon Rue struggled hard to restrain the tears and to " deport herself with womanly fortitude. " She wanted to win back Grandfather's respect. Casting about for a trustworthy anchorage to her dis- tracted vision, she beheld the mahogany sofa upon which Grandfather took his indoor naps. She had discovered an ally. Though slippery-bosomed and of a dark unrelenting complexion, it wore the tragic air of one who has suffered in silence. " I know, " it said, " I know. I, too, have been through deep waters. I have been scourged and afflicted. " The horsehair upholstery was depressed in hollows where generations of heads had lain. The seams parted between horsehair and mahogany and gave hints of sub- terranean depths. Once Rue, forcing an inquisitive hand THE SAD RETRIBUTIVE GLOW 153 into the moraine between seat and back, had discovered a fissure and from that fissure she withdrew, after long burrowing, a copper penny of a very ancient date and an unknown doll's red shoe. The whole sofa was probably stuffed with antiquarian delights. Aunt Serena promptly sealed over the aperture and the small fingers were for- bidden to go again adventuring for buried treasure in the depths of the mahogany sofa. " This too, will pass, " said the sofa. " Look at me and be strong. In hours of sickness I have been ever ready. In happy days I am forgotten. " Rue swallowed and looked hard at the distorted re- flections of things in the huge legs of the sofa. Grandfather discoursed to her of ethical values. Rue awaited the material consequences befalling her. Going without fruit- cake at one's supper, for instance, sums up in a nutshell the ethical tendency of one's conduct. It is more concise and clarifying than treatises. Grandfather did not seem approaching the appropriate climax or summing up at the chapter's end. " Loyalty to one's charge or responsibility, faithful devo- tion to one's duty, characterize the truly estimable person. These intimations of moral stability in the individual are salient at the tenderest age. Do you apprehend my position, Rue ? At the most tender age ! " This cannibal allusion to her tenderness wounded her deeply. Grandfather bent a Miltonic brow upon her, demanding answer. He liked to be sure that he was making himself intelligible to the young. "Yes, sir," she replied weepingly. "I apprehend. But 154 THE SILENT DOOR you wouldn't let me be eaten, would you, Grandfather ?" she sobbed, attempting a little joke, for jokes often melted Grandfather's stony heart. "I'm, I'm n-not so tender as Justine. " This last was unworthy, even as pleasantry, and Rue in a moment was ashamed of herself, for if she was undeserving such a fate, much more the sinless and sinned-against Justine. Grandfather did not seem to notice, but, like the chariot of the Son, with dreadful shade contiguous "he right onward drave, gloomy as night. " " The consequences of such dereliction cannot fail to be disintegrating and ultimately disastrous. Do you concur with me in this opinion ? " Grandfather favored the Socratic method and gently drew along the penitent to the most self-depreciatory admissions. It had come to the point with Rue where she courted her doom. "Yes, sir, I occur with you," she lisped meekly, "and shall I have to go without c-cake-and and strawberries, too, shall I, Grandfather ? " She hugged the arm of the sofa for support and sym- pathy. Grandfather loved Rue when her eyes danced and her hands twinkled. If there was a time when he loved her more than another, it was now, her chin trembling and her pretty eyes overflowing with lucent sorrow. He rose, came to her and drew her head against his breast. The starry wings of tribulation were lifted, the dreadful shade contiguous diminished and grew remote. " I think we will consider the score wiped out, " he said THE SAD RETRIBUTIVE GLOW 155 gently, " and you may begin to-morrow on a new slate. " Grandfather had such odd and picturesque ways of expressing himself. "Perhaps it will be best for you to-morrow to stay closely by my side and not indulge yourself in any venture- some expeditions. I think this will be decidedly for the best. " He was sure that Aunt Serena would agree with him. "You will stay closely by my side to-morrow. Uncle Rodney and I shall be in serious conversation and if you are docile and attentive you will have the opportunity to be greatly edified. " " What is 'edified' ? " asked Rue with a luminous smile. Grandfather smiled approvingly and answered. Then Rue went on to seek further definitions. " What is a circuit, Grandfather ? " "A circuit is, I should say, a path or course tending to the circular. In brief, a circle. " "And Grandfather, Uncle Rodney is a company, isn't he ? And if he played the piano or sang tunes he would be a musical company, wouldn't he ? " " Just what have you in mind, dear ? " " I heard Lillo I mean some one talk about a 'musical company.' " "That was, doubtless, in reference to a gathering of people musically inclined. A few elect souls who meet together for mutual delectation. To sing, to play, per- haps the violin the harp " Grandfather, in his younger days, had been a clever amateur musician. Danae's mother had played the harp. 156 THE SILENT DOOR How little music there had been at Penrith House since those young days. " Thank you, Grandfather, " said Rue. Both lost themselves in reflections. Rue imagined a few Elect Souls, hand in hand, forever floating about some charmed circle, warbling soft airs or touching golden strings. And of that beatific number Angela, the dandelion-haired, was one, for she was a friend of Lillo's mother, who did the circuit in a musical company. Rue, lost in meditation, rested her little brown face in the cup of her two hands. Its wistfulness touched him. What profound sorrow was she brooding upon ? '* A penny for your thoughts, dear ? he said, a richness transforming his stern face. " Now, now is the felicitous moment for asking a favor, " Rue read in his transformed features. " Grandfather, will you buy me a lovely, laughing dog, a black dog with brown streaks in his fur and with dancing feet?" Grandfather patted her head. " If your Aunt Serena is willing," he said, with, oh, what unfathomed irony, only those who know Aunt Serena can understand. XV THE LETTER GRANDFATHER opened the letter with the Italian postmark. Without stopping to read, he glanced over the strange handwriting till he came to the signature, Frederick Droll, a name new to him. He put on his double pair of glasses and frowned intent- ly at the thin sheet. It ran as follows: Cadennabbia, Italy, May 10th. Dear Sir: On June tenth, at six in the evening I shall be at 10 Throckmorton Street, New York City and shall await the honor of your presence. I have matters of moment to unfold to you in regard to your kin and also the matter of a legacy to lay before you, in which the child Rue is concerned. Respectfully yours, Frederick Droll. 157 XVI WHILE THE FIREFLIES PLAYED THE wind stirred in the wistaria vines. The pendulous blooms gave themselves graciously forth in odor. The late twilight hovered delicate- ly, rising and falling like mist. Here and there, where the lilac-bushes, the sweet-apple-tree or the stile drew about themselves nuclei of darkness the twilight ran together into blots of thicker night. In the damp places of the meadow below the Penrith piazza a host of fireflies sparkled in and out like bits of flying mica or motes of kindled dust. They wove themselves into unconscious patterns, like Japanese decorations become miraculously animate. They glowed, now large, now small, or melted altogether; they burned pale blue, star-green and rose- yellow, with infinite wayward art and naive display of motive and perspective. Down in the long grass of the meadow the twilight found voice in a filmy multitudinous murmur more tender than silence. Above, half-way between the top of the sweet-apple-tree and the western star, an adventurous firefly swung his lamp against the lavender sky-spaces. "Danae was my sister's child," said Uncle Rodney, taking courage from the silence and the twilight. Justinian stared resolutely toward the western star. 158 WHILE THE FIREFLIES PLAYED 159 "My only sister's only child," added Rodney, in a voice from which he could not suppress the emotion. Pity for Danae and for Justinian were his emotions, and they were not unmixed with a dread of Justinian's anger at these renewed references to a forbidden subject. Jus- tinian Penrith had that inexplicable faculty, resident in a few men, of inspiring fear in his fellow-men. This faculty is often combined with an almost irresistible charm of demeanor. Both traits Justinian had in his youth possessed. But with increasing years and seclusion from society had come a tragic and unexpressed bitterness such as often springs from the possession of noble endowment inade- quately employed. This bitterness of soul, coupled with indomitable pride and with the ever-burning memory of his daughter's nameless fate, had robbed the man of his old-time grace and graciousness. It had left him with the severe lip and the penetrating eye and that something behind the eye which made resistance to his will a supreme effort. One caught one's breath and clinched one's hand before one offered an opposing theory as to the birthplace of Homer or the cause of the locust-blight. While to carry on a discussion of length one set one's teeth as against a stiff north wind, and this without any bullying or bluster from Justinian. There sat something in the glance of his deep blue eye that, like a god on a rock, laughed at mortals. One was impious to defy. It had taken soft little Danae to defy to the uttermost. And the god still sat on the rock, calm, unmoved. Only the far away heavens knew that the years beat on a naked heart, naked, withering but not broken. 160 THE SILENT DOOR Rodney Dove pooh-poohed in Ijis own house at Penrith's extraordinary will power. " Merely an illusion people have ah concerning he would say to Aunt Elizabeth. "A trick with the eye- brows and a good bass voice. Penrith might have made an unusual orator if he had not ah these crotchets and theories of his they do not take with the gallery. " In all of which, as will be seen, Rodney Dove spoke oracularly and committed himself to. no indiscretion. Yet it cannot be denied that on Justinian's piazza as he spoke the name of Danae, his voice shook and his hands were singularly cold. Why had he not a right to speak? Heavens, was it not true, as he said, that Danae was his sister's child, his only sister's only child ? Out of a long silence Justinian answered, in a voice as calm and deep as Rodney's had been troubled and mezzo- soprano. " You are right and I am wrong, Rodney. Danae is was near to you. What have you done to find her, these many years ? The man addressed understood better now the other's gentleness. Rodney had done nothing to find Danae. His course of conduct had various causes, among which his own natural passivity and the fact that there was nothing obvious to be done stood chief. Besides, to search for a person wilfully lost involves much money or much time or much energy and none of these commodities did Rodney Dove have to spare. Again, when Danae first sank below the surface (at least, so it would have been described by the Penriths or the WHILE THE FIREFLIES PLAYED 161 Rodney Doves), it had been Rodney's dread that she would appear only to drag the family name down with her into the mire of notoriety. For to a Dove and a Boston Dove, the mildest breath of scandal was as the odor of sulphur and brimstone. The reasons that had once deterred him from vigorous action were as complex as were now the reasons that urged him to express himself to his brother-in-law. There- fore he answered sun ply: "It was your wish, Justinian, that I should not lift a hand to find her. " This was true. Justinian quivered slightly and drew the rug more closely about him hi the steamer-chair. The innocent fireflies gayly wove their silent symphony. " Who knows but I have been " Should he say wrong ? No, no, Justinian Penrith could not have been in the wrong, the radical and far-reaching wrong that this w r ould have been " in some respects perhaps, in error. I have not searched for the lost one, since those fruitless months some years ago. Have you learned anything lately of the whereabouts of Danae ? " The father in him spoke, forced to utterance. Rodney answered deliberately, weighing each word as if in his hand, before he passed it out as coin. " A year ago when I was in New York, stopping at the Gilsey House, as is my custom, I ran across Billy Urquardt, you remember him he called on you here some twelve years ago when Danae was trying her hand at sculpture. " "Yes, yes,", interrupted Justinian sharply, as if hurt. 162 THE SILENT DOOR " In Peter Kenyon's time curious chap that Yes, you know I always connected him with Danae's dis- appearance. " Rodney was feeling his way slowly things that for years he had wished to say were finding outlet. " Yes, yes, but what of this Urquardt man and Danae?" "You know he is on the Theatrical Review. Does a lot of odd literary jobs, besides. He came home late one night, had been out to some theatrical show or other. Knocked at my door in great excitement. 'I've seen a face I know,' he said. 'Didn't didn't Dr. Justinian Penrith have a pretty daughter, who ran away, eloped or some such romance? I've seen her at the theater. One of the singing girls in The Pretty Maidens. Not an ex- traordinary voice, but a languid way with her that has its own distinction. I never forget a face.' That's what Ur- quardt said." " Well ? " questioned Justinian, the friendly dark hiding the shrunkenness of his face. "I went to the play the night after. No Danae ap- peared. Made inquiries at the box-office and about. You know I'm not used to those places and am a little awkward in getting at the proper sources of information. A singer had fainted the night before and some one gone on as substitute. It may have been Danae. They did not know her name, or pretended not to. I could not guess an identity under an assumed name. So there it stands, Justinian. I give you the information for what it's worth. It may be much or it may be little. " WHILE THE FIREFLIES PLAYED 163 Justinian wrote down, in the darkness, the name of the play, the name and location of the theater. There was silence again. It was bedtime for the fireflies. Only a few eccentric lamps flitted through the twilight. The western star had grown very large and the night was black. Rodney put a hand on Justinian's knee, an unim- passioned hand on the thin, cold knee. "Perhaps the mother could be reached through the child," said Mr. Dove, "through little Rue." "Your presumption is absolutely unfounded," said Justinian passionately. "No one that lives shall dare con- nect little Rue with with with " But he was powerless to frame the word and choked in silence. " There may be some tragedy connected with Rue's birth and parentage. I have let her call me Grandfather because it seemed most fitting. Rodney, there is absolutely no clue in the world that connects Rue with my daughter Danae. " " Have you any clue whatever to her origin ? " " There is one clue, which circumstances will soon allow, nay, force me to follow up. " This was the frankest revelation that Justinian had ever made. Rodney Dove trembled at the thought of the depths which gave it forth. Justinian blindly continued to fortify his weakest position, and like many a besieged man of old, thereby brought it to notice. "There is more reason to think that Rue is the gipsy child of that summer than that she is my own blood. Yet I am attached to her," he hastened to add, " as if, - she were my own flesh and blood. " 164 THE SILENT DOOR Up-stairs in her West Room, Rue, the unwitting subject of this piazza talk, slept and dreamed. She dreamed of Lillo, of the violets which she had left behind her. Some- times she sobbed in her sleep at the image of Justine drowning in the rapids of the brook, sometimes she smiled at the image of Justine riding the chiefmost duck of a whole flotilla and bobbing up and down on an ocean of cookies. Rue was at all times subject to vivid, often har- rowing dreams. Dreams of the Resurrection Day and a world on fire, or of her loved ones walking behind her on a narrow bridge, of souls above yawning chaos dropping off one by one with heartrending cries these visited her night hours. On the other hand, there were delicious dreams of blossom-clad mountains floating to the middle of the sky and of ravishing streams down which she swam in a transport of ease and power out into an ocean of peace. To-night, her dreams were not of mighty doings, but they were pathetic and whimsical, akin to her evening mood when she had caught a firefly and shut it in her desk, and said good-night to her evening star before she went to bed. She dreamed of looking for the Red Bungalow and of finding it in her own garden, where it had been, strangely unnoticed, all these years. " The circumstance of her being left on your door-step " began Rodney gently, deliberately " Is the only circumstance favoring your theory " finished Justinian. " And yet you undertook her maintenance you choose that she should bear your name. * Justinian leaned forward, placing both his hands on WHILE THE FIREFLIES PLAYED 165 Rodney's shoulders. Rodney could see the flame in his eyes. " If I had known her to be Danae's daughter, I would not have done those things ' This was spoken with extreme solemnity. Not till that moment did Rodney Dove realize the implacability of his brother-in-law's nature. " If the knowledge should now transpire " "You have no clue?" cried Justinian, startled into a surmise by Rodney's persistence. "None whatever. " " God grant there may never be, if such is the case. " Justinian, as if apart from himself, had a clairvoyant's vision of his own rigor and, as if he were two persons, a part of him stood in awe of the other's insane self-will. " If Danae were sick or in need I would help her, I would never call her daughter " There was no love, nor tenderness in Justinian's tone. Had he steeled himself to speak so ? Or had love died out ? Or was it crushed, yet dormant ? " She should not come to my house nor call me father. But I would help her, if she were sick or in need. " He had forgotten Rodney's presence and talked low to himself. " But the child I love as my own soul. God help me to be just to her, to be just and tender. " XVII THE CONFIDANT AFTER the episode of the Fairy Valley and Lillo, the air was full of romance. Uncle Rodney's visit was the occasion for many long conferences. On his last day they all had a picnic together in a ravine, which the inhabitants of Joppa called East Thessaly Gulf. After he left, there seemed some new excitement afoot. Aunt Serena and Grandfather closeted themselves for hours in the library. The blue letter with the picture on the envelope was the disturbing cause, for often it lay on the table between Grandfather and Aunt Serena in the midst of other documents. Rue thought she could be of great assistance to them in their weighty discussions, if she were only made cognizant of the situation. " It is all a curious matter and is bound in the nature of things soon to be cleared up, " said Grandfather. Rue sat between the two compartments of the large secretary, where the waste-paper basket generally stood. She was reading a story in an old number of Peterson's Magazine. " The Fate of Lovely Lucy, " it was called. " If we only had some other clue, " said Aunt Serena, "some starting point where we could look first. " " Why don't we begin looking in the Red Bungalow ? " issued from under the secretaiy in Rue's deep voice. 166 THE CONFIDANT 167 " I did not know that child was here, " said Aunt Serena, her keen brown glance uprooting Rue from her shady cavern. " You may retire to your proper element, " said Grand- father, with a pleasant twinkle in his eye. "I wanted to tell you something important about the Red Bungalow," the child insisted, reluctantly going to the door. " Go and tell Justine about it, " soothed poor Aunt Serena, who so seldom understood. If Justine was the " proper element, " it was not there that Rue went. Justine was too young to understand such experiences as fall to the lot of seven-year old persons. She was too concrete and her sympathies, though ready, were uncertain of direction. They took the unexpected channel. When Aunt Serena told her a solemn Christmas tale of the shepherds and the Christ-Child and the manger- bed, Justine's tears freely fell, not, however, for the blessed Child, but the poor beast cheated out of its manger. When Grandfather vividly portrayed a banquet scene and spoke of the groaning boards, Justine's wrath was aroused. It was several days before she ceased her disinterested expressions of sympathy for those anguished boards. There were, it will be observed, adequate reasons why Rue could not pour her secrets into Justine's ear. Aunt Serena was too busy to listen well, said, " H 'm, h 'm, " suspiciously often and at inappropriate places, and sometimes turned away, thinking the end had already come, just before the climax. Grandfather was appreciative, if one caught him at the felicitous moment. But one was apt to 168 THE SILENT DOOR err in this respect, to break in on a valuable train of thought or interrupt a two o'clock meditation. When Grandfather was not all-embracing sunshine, he was Stygian gloom. Sometimes Rue thought she preferred Aunt Serena's eternal calm to such extremes of climate as irradiated from Grandfather's presence. Beggars cannot be choosers. The starving do not dis- criminate. At one's hour of greatest loneliness are friends most easily made. It was the propitious hour for the hoary- faced dog to insinuate himself upon Rue's attention. Rue met him as she went down the post-office steps, the bag of Penrith mail in her hand. She lingered a moment on the middle step, debating in which direction to turn herself, how to spend the penny which was at that moment her undisputed fortune. It was the daily compensation for her daily trip to Joppa village. Whether to save it, as Aunt Serena advised, allowing it to be a nest-egg for the muni- ficent accumulation that would follow, or prodigally to spend it for her selected choice out of the tempting array of penny confectionery that could be glimpsed through Uncle Jupiter's glass cases. Or, should she add it to her Sun- day-school penny, earning thereby a further portion of much needed grace? While she was debating these important matters, the hoary-faced dog rubbed his nose against her hand. Rue, looking down, saw the suppliant stranger. He was new to Joppa. The other dogs did not take to him kindly. They had formed a cabal outside Mr. Dewsnap's meatshop where they discussed him contemptuously, point- ing out his slothful habit of body and hesitant carriage. His deprecatory advances to that halcyon portico were THE CONFIDANT 169 firmly rejected. So he lingered about the post-office steps, seeking recognition from human kind. He was a timid, shambling creature, the sort that never pursues a direct policy, that, on the first note of dissent, quickly retreats from any given position. He was, in short, foredoomed to business failure. His legs were wide apart, his tail wagged uncertainly, he had hoary cheeks, large mongrel ears and a pair of melancholy beautiful eyes. Rue liked him at once, perceiving only his sympathetic gaze. Con- scious of her approval, he joined himself to her and trotted off by her side. Each was flattered by the good-will of the other. On their way down the long shadeless road that led to the sequestered lane, Sulky passed them in his cart at a brisk gallop. Sulky drove Grandfather's horse Augus- tus, now demeaned to lowly duties in the possession of Mr. Dewsnap, the butcher. On the seat beside Sulky stood Sancho the terrier, his tail stiff and waving like a baton. By this signal and his cheerful bark he proclaimed himself master of the road. The hoary-faced dog had learned from much tribulation that a passive demeanor averts active trouble. Therefore, he made no answer to Sancho's flam- boyant insults nor did he respond when Sancho threat- ened to jump from the wagon and annihilate him. No, the hoary-faced dog, pressing more closely to Rue's side, kept on his humble way. When they reached the first shade, that of the spreading chestnut- tree, Rue sat down for her accustomed rest. In the Mexican woven bag were the six lamb-chops, a box of gelatine and her handkerchief. Between the creases of her little palm was the warm unspent penny. The dog 170 THE SILENT DOOR lay beside her, fully in sympathy with this siesta. He stretched his paws across her feet and laid his head thereon with a touching confidence. "Oh, you dear doggie," cried Rue. "I will buy you a collar with this penny, so I will, and you shall be my doggie forever after." The dog wagged his tail in tacit assent as Rue tied up the penny in a corner of her handkerchief. But neither of them had counted on Aunt Serena and her inveterate disapproval of dogs. " I shall name you Pharaoh because you are so old and black. Pharaoh, listen!" The hoary face looked up and was all attention. Docility was a small return to make for the unmeasured affection now lavished upon him. Yet he kept himself strictly in hand, knowing full well the bitterness of sudden reverses. Rue poured out into Pharaoh's capacious ear the thrill- ing story of the passage perilous, the unknown country into which she had penetrated, the brook, the princely boy, the vivacious dog, and the sad, sad parting. Never before had the child commanded so faithful an audience. No purrs of assent at the wrong places and no moving away just before the climax. The deep eyes welled over with tears when she related how Lillo vanished forever. The paws beat an intelligent tatoo as she recounted the num- ber of trout they had eaten. When she pondered upon the origin of the tasseled boy. Pharaoh wrinkled his forehead thoughtfully. " Perhaps it was all a dream of mine, " said Rue. " When I first saw the Valley I thought I had seen it before, like THE CONFIDANT 171 dreams you have dreamed a great many times. But it was an Enchanted Ground, that an Enchanter makes by mov- ing his wand. " Pharaoh cocked up an ear tentatively, as much as to say: " Ah, so-so, one cannot be sure of anything in this world. " "I think I will try to find it again some time. Then I will know if it is real. " The hoary-faced dog, with a long murmur of approval, stretched himself till he lengthened like a piece of stout, black elastic. The little girl gazed at him in wonder. " How long you can make yourself, " she exclaimed admiringly. "Perhaps if a person yawned a great many times a day, he could grow to be as long as a python. That must be how snakes grew to be so long. They were some short cramped animal to begin with, like a round snail or a cricket, and they were so tired of it, they just yawned all the time. Come, Pharaoh, we must be hastening. Ellen will be wanting the chops for luncheon, and perhaps there is an important document here for Grandfather. " They left the high-road at the chestnut-tree and took the grassy lane along which were the signs " No Tres- passers. " Pharaoh investigated the prohibitory placards with peculiar interest, smelling the trails of other four- footed things. As Rue approached Penrith House, her bearing became more thoughtful, her step less buoyant. She was not sure of the reception awaiting the hoary- cheeked stranger. It was contrariwise with him. Ignorant of the future, his manner was undergoing a rapid trans- 172 THE SILENT DOOR formation from the beseeching submission of the post- office steps to the careless ease of the chestnut-tree, and now along the lane, far from the jibes of arrogant terriers, his demeanor waxed frisky and almost foolish. If Rue had at one time forecast that Pharaoh's humility would touch Aunt Serena's heart, that forecast was ill-judged. Humility was a thing of the past. As she descended the orchard path and with her Mexican bag arrived at the back door, Pharaoh, scenting dinner, let out a full-mouthed howl that brought Aunt Serena, Ellen and Justine sim- ultaneously to the door. There was nothing for it now but to carry the situation with dash and confidence. " Look what a splendid dog I have brought you ! " said Rue. " Down, Pharaoh, down." "The divil, it's an outrageous bosthoon he is. See the face of the baste, if you plaze, " said Ellen coarsely. As Rue handed out the letters the little parcel of chops fell to the area steps. With one short yelp of gratitude the hoary dog seized the gift and retired to the lilac-bush for leisurely mastication. "The horrid dog," exclaimed Aunt Serena. "Where did you pick up such a disgusting creature, Rue ? " "He's not a creature. He's a lovely, kind doggie," pleaded Rue. "He is so intelligent and he likes me very much. " No flicker of relenting crossed Aunt Serena's hazel eyes. "Please let me keep him. He can sleep in the barn. You'd like to have a dear doggie to play with, wouldn't you, Justine?" Justine at this crisis nobly came to the rescue. THE CONFIDANT 173 " Ess, I ike that dear ittly doggie. " "He is a wretched cur," said Aunt Serena with real personal contempt. Pharaoh was licking his jaws under the bush and soon, waxed insolent from good cheer, ap- proached his patroness. He wagged his tail for the next course. "Go away. Oo wreckie curl," cried Justine, whose plastic nature inclined her to agreement with the last speaker. Thus it was that Rue lost her sole supporter and Pharaoh an important ally. It was decided during lunch- eon that the "cur" must be disposed of, but in what manner was difficult to decide. He already felt himself firmly ensconced as a family favorite and lolled luxuriously across the piazza steps. He moved not for passers-by but with languid good-humor allowed himself to be stepped over by those who were bold enough to use the ordinary method of ingress and egress. Ellen was shy of him, ap- proaching him only at broom's length. Justine wavered between righteous denunciation when Aunt Serena was within hearing and patronizing caresses when under Rue's influence. All that afternoon the two children and the dog played together about Penrith House. The dog lent himself to many roles, was dragon to the Hesperides, the black knight's horse, the buffalo of the western plains or Pluto's many-headed monster, with equal facility and in rapid alternation. It was a red-letter day in Pharaoh's checkered career. But his hours were numbered. Between Aunt Serena and Mr. Boscoway was a dark scheme devised. When the next day dawned Pharaoh's form no longer lay 174 THE SILENT DOOR luxuriously across the piazza steps. Nor did he lurk be- neath the lilac-bush, nor did he answer at all to Rue's repeated summons. So firm a hold had the dog taken on the child's affections it seemed to her that half her life was gone. Pharaoh had been exterminated, and with him had vanished the glory and the dream. XVIII IT gradually became evident to the discerning Rue that something momentous was to happen. Grand- father was going away and it was necessary that he should visit the Pisgah National Bank to draw money. It was Rue's joyous lot to be elected as Grandfather's companion for the long drive. She was despatched to the village in the morning to in- form Mr. Dewsnap of the drive, that Augustus might be impressed into the service of his distinguished master. " You will kindly convoy Augustus up to the house this afternoon at the sharp hour of three," said Rue, all breath- less, but not forgetting Grandfather's exact phraseology. " Grandfather and I are going to do some important business, he says, and you will please give Augustus a nice drink of water before he starts, won't you, Mr. Dewsnap ? " This last was an independent suggestion. Rue had a fathomless compassion for horses, if there were the least suspicion of ill-usage and also if there were no ground for such suspicion. Supposing they were fat, well-groomed, bright-eyed and leniently driven, she divined them, because speechless, to be suffering the pangs of inward thirst. On the way home from the village Rue had time to dwell 175 176 THE SILENT DOOR in fond imagination on the afternoon's pleasure. It had been so long since she had ridden to Pisgah that she had almost forgotten the way. It is agreeable to ride abroad and not know where the roads take you. The only trouble is they never take you over the edge. There are certain hills that stand up against the sky and certain places where the road iurns, and beyond these the world must look different but you never get there. When Grandfather takes you driving with him and by some great stroke of fortune you reach the turn in the road, lo, you find that the road continues in the same manner as before and far away is another turn beyond which you cannot see. There is another place you would like very much to visit and that is Across the River. From your side of the river you may see the other side very plainly, the green, rippling meadows, the little doll-houses, the big butternut- trees, like painted trees in the afternoon light, the shadow of a cloud traveling slowly across the broad marshes, you may even see the grass change color and shift this way and that like ribbons in the wind. The grass will sweep along like billows of the sea, but it never crashes up on any shore, and when the wind stops, you can see each clump and ledge of grass standing still in its place. Sometimes on the other side of the river you can hear a boy calling his cows half way up the Twin Mountains. You never know the syllables of his call, but it is long, melodious, dream-like. For all this, you may never get Across the River. There had been times when Justine was tucked in be- A DRIVE WITH GRANDFATHER 177 tween Grandfather and Rue and was allowed to put a beatific hand on the lines. Augustus trotted tenderly then, amusement in the long curve of his pleasant mouth. " Get up wight on, Augustus, " she would entreatingly say. And the horse would prick up his ears with kindly cynicism. He almost forgot to whinny a dry response to his friend at pasture who came caracoling to the wayside bars with what was evidently some flashy bit of raillery in his whinny. Augustus was excellent at repartee and got the best of him, for the caracoling horse was silenced and Augustus snorted triumphantly as he twisted around the curve, so that Justine felt the spray on her cheek and thought it was going to rain. However, the drives when Justine was not tucked in were to Rue most richly profitable. They drove at a modest pace through the village, over the bridge that is bordered by box-elder trees so that you hardly know it is a bridge, and soon were in the shadow of the Twin Mountains. Then Grandfather sang a cour- teous whoa to the horse, and made Rue look out of the buggy while he designated various objects for her edifica- tion or amusement. Augustus intelligently turned his head to follow each gesture of the whip. "That peculiar cloud formation which you see yonder is called cirrus. " Rue repeated the word several times and learned how to spell it. Such details were the price of having a drive with Grandfather. " Also observe the geologic structure of the hills, prob- 178 THE SILENT DOOR ably a glacial moraine at one time, when all this valley was a vast inland sea and the tops of the Twin Mountains the shore on which stalked the prehistoric man. " Grandfather's scientific theories were not the latest ones, but they served the purpose and set one a-thinking. He often forgot that Rue was only seven years old, but if he had remembered he would have considered that age none too tender for stalwart acquisition of learning. He himself, according to tradition, read the Greek Testa- ment for recreation at the age of eight. Rue was too far removed from the leveling influence of relatives and play- mates to stand up for her privileges as an infant. She acquired her alphabet long before she was three, was a primer student spelling out anecdotes of Tom and Jim, the cat and the dog, at the age of four, and on her fifth birthday graduated entirely from the ignominy of Readers. Since that epoch she had been a miscellaneous browser in literary fields, extracting what succulence she could from the dry bill of fare of an old-school library. Every desert has its oasis. There were few books that did not afford a nibble or two, even that ponderous row of Volumes known to Justine's unabashed vocabulary as " The Sacklo !- Peter" yielded its harvest out of stony soil. All this about vast inland seas and a prehistoric man who stalked was worthy of Rue's attention. "Where was the village then, Grandfather? Did the steeples stick up out of the sea like fish-tails ? We should have had to be mer-people if we had lived in Joppa then, shouldn't we, Grandfather?" This was what he denominated " prattle, " although to A DRIVE WITH GRANDFATHER 179 Rue it was no more fantastic than Grandfather's own con- versation. Sometimes he answered indulgently, sometimes endured in silence. At other times he frowned and regarded her in a helpless manner, as one regards a tormenting gnat. " It is more than probable that at the epoch we have been discussing Joppa was non-existent," answered Grand- father, this time in a ponderously playful mood. "What was Loami Larrabee doing all that time? Wasn't he lonely till the rest of Joppa came ? " Loami Larrabee and the prehistoric man were to Rue coevals. There are certain personages whose age is so great as to be beyond reckoning. Of such "Teacher" is one, because to the insect generations of infant classes she has neither beginning of days nor end of life. She wielded the stately pointer and held the secrets of the mystic Marking- Book in time out of mind, when your elder sisters and elder brothers, who now flourish as the bay-tree in put-up hair or long trousers, were as you are, kilted or in the bondage of hair ribbons. "Teacher" may have raven locks and walk alertly. It makes no difference. Such things are even the esoteric symbols of her endless years. Another dateless personage is Loami Larrabee who passes the collection plate and upon the bald dome of whose head the flies, like Alpine tourists, make precarious excursions. He, too, is not governed by stringencies of birth or death. Rue could count back vast eons of time till she recalled when she sat on Aunt Serena's lap in church and demanded sugary bribes to decorum from the depths of Aunt Serena's striped silk bag and even then Loami Larrabee was hoary and pink and wrinkled and wore a toothless smile. Now 180 THE SILENT DOOR Rue is old enough to hold the horse Augustus as she did this afternoon while Grandfather got out to make pur- chases in the General Store and Loami Larrabee, emerg- ing with purchases, is still hoary and pink and wrinkled, and smiles a toothless smile. " You are getting to be a little wumman, hey, " he cackled, jealous of Rue's advancing years. She did not know what answer to make, so she nodded her head and gripped the reins more firmly. It was indeed a responsibility to hold Augustus, not that he ever ran away or had ever shown any signs of wanting to run away, but the potentiality of the situation was tremendous. He sometimes manifested a yearning for the green lawn just be- yond his reach, between which and Augustus hard-hearted Grandfather had purposely left a prohibitory distance. When Augustus began to crane the neck, or to take a sly step forward (merely to ease his posture, poor beast!), Rue roared majestically " Ho, Augustus, ho, " and all the main street of Joppa admired her decision of character. Augustus twisted his neck to look at her, an expression of injured surprise in his mild right eye. The other eye still retained a gleam of Egyptian desire. On this memorable afternoon there were romantic episodes along the way when other travelers were met or passed and saluted. Grandfather had a salute for every one, from the stately black-robed gentleman with a black bag in a black buggy drawn by a black horse to the humbler wayfarer on foot, with a dusty fringe of whiskers and a dusty pack upon his shoulder. To the latter Grandfather called out, (modulating Augus- A DRIVE WITH GRANDFATHER 181 tus to a walk) " Good -morrow, neighbor, how goes it?" The dusty-fringed man showed an astounding radiance of smile and responded : " Pretty foine, sorr, the same to you, sorr, " in such a hearty tone that Rue burst with gratitude as they pro- ceeded. "What a pleasant gentleman he was, Grandfather. But he had very dirty shoes. He will have to black them when he gets home. What do you suppose he had in that bag on his back, Grandfather?" "Probably his personal impedimenta," said Grand- father, " with such increment as alms of the day or felici- tous accident to the hen-coops might provide. " He was evidently a person of consideration to be spoken of in such good language. "Who was he, Grandfather?" "A Knight of the Road, corresponding in our modern day to the troubador or minstrel of old romance. " When it pleased his fancy, Grandfather was very humorous. These resounding phrases echoed long in Rue's imagination. Still, with each traveler met or passed, would the little girl hopefully inquire: " What was that one's name, Grandfather ? " A person who had lived so long in the world as Grand- father and who was so very learned, should be able to read people's name in their faces, as iconographers perceive dynasty and age upon the faces of ancient coins. "Jonathan Jones," he generally replied, which, besides being a joke, meant three things. 182 THE SILENT DOOR 1. Jonathan Jones was not the man's real name. 2. Grandfather did not know his real name. 3. It was foolish of Rue to want to know what his real name was. At the watering-trough an incident occurred more memorable than any of the others on that memorable drive to Pisgah. Augustus was an epicure as to water, finding as many grades of difference in the wayside re- freshment offered to horses as the finished gourmand does who smacks his lips critically before committing himself to this or that vintage of Chateau Yquem or Latour Blanche. At the Pisgah trough Augustus, no matter how thirsty, turned his head the other way, not even recognizing its presence. At the Twin Mountains school-house Augus- tus stared disdainfully and trotted by a little faster. Augustus did not like to appear unreasonable, so at the long watering-trough he condescended to notice, and would even sip a few sips. A very few sufficed. The re- quired something that your true connoisseur can hardly describe was lacking. The circular trough on the long three-mile stretch above the valley left nothing to be desired. At a mile's distance from it his laggard pace would quicken. As he approached nearer, you would have thought the Gate of Equine Heaven gleamed before his vision. With buoyant mane and cheerful tail, his whole body vibrant with glorious anticipation, the road vanished beneath his twink- ling feet. Of his own accord he made the wide outward sweep necessary, then flourished up to the rim and dipped his head to the mead-bowl. There was no check-rein to be loosened, for Grandfather did not approve of check-reins. A DRIVE WITH GRANDFATHER 183 Even at this delicious juncture Augustus proved himself no glutton. He carefully sought the very center of the circu- lar trough, where the water gushed up from underneath of an unimpaired flavor and sparkle. He immersed his epicurean nose in its freshness and let the water slowly drip through his teeth. To gulp down the draught in huge noisy thirst not he. Augustus was a virtuoso in watering- troughs and Grandfather respected his virtuosity. Every one in Joppa respected Augustus, except Sulky, Mr. Dew- snap's boy, an imported laborer, out of sympathy with Joppa habits. However, it was the virtuosity of Augustus that nipped in the bud what might have been a far more eventful episode for Rue and for some one else. While Augustus was measuring for the center of the circular watering- trough, wheels came up behind. Grandfather had heard them for some time. They were rapid, dissolute wheels, of them that drave recklessly, unregarding stony places and steep descents. Rue looked round. She saw an open trap of citified sort, two-wheeled, blond-complexioned, and jaunty. In it sat a lady, a billowy, dark-haired lady, and Lillo. Lillo was snow white as to raiment and his hair clothed his face like one of Carpaccio's angels. He himself in consequence looked not so blithe as on the day of the Fairy Valley. A frightened flash of recognition passed between the children but no word escaped their lips. Children do not betray themselves in the presence of their elders. The lady took up the whip, impatient to proceed. Augustus continued his irritating and intolerable dalliance. The lady said the fatal forward word and again the trap 184 THE SILENT DOOR sped on its dissolute way. Rue craned her neck around the side bars. Lillo beckoned from behind his mother's float- ing streamers. The imperious curl of his finger spelt allure- ment, mastery, "Follow Me." His face crinkled into one comprehensive smile. Rue waved her little hand despair- ingly as the equipage disappeared around the turn in the road. "I should think Augustus would burst with drinking forever," she exclaimed gloomily. Grandfather drove on. "Why were you waving your hand ?" he asked. He was a very noticing gentleman, at times unexpectedly so. "I was cooling my fingers," answered Rue with the full-fledged subtlety of innocent childhood. "Thev do get so warm sitting folded up in my lap." "Did you know the little lad's name?" questioned he astutely. "Jonathan Jones,", replied Rue solemnly, which joke of his own so melted Grandfather that he was satisfied to probe no deeper. As they approached Joppa again, on the return journey, he began to sing in a deep voice : " Where are the friends that to me were so de-ear " The words were broken and melted into each other and repeated themselves in a mournful, mysterious manner and Grandfather's mellow chanting of "Long, long ago, long long ago" was the very longest- ago sound of any she had ever heard in her whole life. Then they came out into the open, with the broad marshes on their right and the Twin Mountains behind A DRIVE WITH GRANDFATHER 185 them and the sun in a rosy mist behind the Shining Hill. Grandfather recollected himself and said briskly : 'Augustus, it is high time we should be moving." He encouraged Augustus with improvised recitative, deliv- ered in the loud voice Supposed to be necessary for horses. Horses being of larger size need to be addressed in larger voices. What a huge voice elephant keepers must cultivate. The favorite improvisation ran as follows: Augustus, speed thee on thy way, And haste thee home to get. The sun sends down a parting ray, And here we linger yet. This afternoon Rue also was inspired to improvisation for the benefit of Augustus. Augustus, get right along, please, Like a nice little, good little horse Shake your mane all you want to bid don't stumble on your knees, ( Unduly long, perhaps, this line, but trip over it rapidly.) For it's almost supper-time, of course. This was not as mellifluous nor as classic as Grand- father's prosody, but it seemed to suit Augustus equally well. By the time the village steeple was in sight he was trotting so briskly that he had to be restrained by Grand- father' prudent hand. It was remarkable how Augus- tus's imagination was quickened by the sight of the white steeple. By the vision of Mr. Larrabee's cedar hedge and two guinea-fowls, he was urged to break into an un- mistakable gallop. 186 THE SILENT DOOR Somehow or other, the Shining Hill was not in the same place as it had been when Grandfather and Rue smarted. It was on their left side now, Grandfather patiently ex- plained that they had themselves turned about, not the Hill. " The same phenomenon, on a gigantic scale, is seen in the apparent rotation of the sun around this planet." Rue remembered that Aunt Serena's little finger had often explained this phenomenon, with the help of an apple and the school-room globe, but it afterward re- mained as much a mystery as ever. " When did we turn around, Grandfather ? " " The roads we have elected since leaving Pisgah have all of them borne gradually to the west, instead of to the east." Everything seemed topsy-turvy and mixed up, and people's houses on the wrong side of the road. It made Rue a little unhappy till she shut her eyes hard and several times forced herself to turn around in her head, then when she opened her eyes she was again in harmony with the points of the compass. The last grievance, however, was when Grandfather pointed his whip across the sunset river and said : " Behold, where we wended our way a few hours ago." She looked. She saw the little doll-houses, the shadow of the cloud journeying, the billowy marshes, the Beyond. " Do you mean that we, you, and 7, have been there, Across the River?" asked Rue, with a pathetic attempt to pin the grandfatherly mind to accuracy. " Certainly, at the time when I pointed out to you the cirrus clouds, we were Across the River from here." "I remember the serious clouds," said Rue sternly, A DRIVE WITH GRANDFATHER 187 " but you told rne then to look Across the River, to observe how serious they were, and if we were Across the River " Rue felt the inadequacy of words to express the subtlety of her argument. She stopped short, only to begin again plaintively. " I had always wanted to get Across the River and you never told me we were there." At this point, Augustus, with a fine flourish of his tail, rounded the corner into the grassy lane and Aunt Serena and Justine were walking sedately to meet them, Justine clamoring as to what presents they had brought her from abroad. It is an established code that the principal function of Olympians who journey abroad is to return laden with gifts for the little Stay-at-Homes. In that delectable Un- known to which Olympians go, the trees bear such fruit as square lumps of sugar, little purses, and bags of hoar- hound candy. Grandfather remarked that evening to Aunt Serena between the interstices of graver talk, that the child Rue had a singularly circuitous intelligence. The etymology of " circuitous " must be a compound of serpents with cuteness, producing an intensive form of sly. Was Grandfather alluding to the episode of Lillo at the circular watering-trough ? It was true, she had been a little deceitful with good, kind Grandfather. But the stake was so perilous and the odds so heavy. Where was Lillo now and where the billow}' lady ? Per- haps on the road to Vallombrosa, and Rue not with them. Oh, cruel fate! Oh, greedy, tiresome Augustus! XIX BOOTS AND BUNTING THE Pharaoh episode had closed, to the great joy of Aunt Serena. Little did she foresee the far-reaching results of his premature disappear- ance. The immediate consequence of the extermination of Pharaoh was the mysterious incarnation of his suc- cessors, Boots and Bunting. The remote and more impor- tant result was the discovery of the Singing Lady in the deserted garden. It happened as follows: Said Rue to Aunt Serena (pleadingly): "Aunt Serena, where is my dear little Pharaoh ? " Aunt Serena (coldly): "I do not know to what you refer." Rue (impatiently. She took liberties of impatience with Aunt Serena that were never dreamed of with Grand- father.) "You know I mean my dog. My dog Pharaoh." Aunt Serena (scornfully): "Oh, that disgusting creature! Do not mention him to me again. " Rue (whiningly): "I want to know what you have done with him. Please tell me, Aunt Serena, please, please. " Aunt Serena (imperturbably) : " Go away. I am busy, child." 188 BOOTS AND BUNTING 189 Aunt Serena, with the naphtha bottle, was hunting after faint spots in Rue's Sunday dress. Rue (naughtily): "You are not too busy to talk. You are just trying to find spots that no one, not even an eagle, could possibly notice. Perhaps you have done something cruel and ruthless to my dear " Aunt Serena (sternly): "Come, we will go to your Grandfather and tell him how you talk. " Rue (repentingly) : "I am sorry I said that. I don't want to tell Grandfather how I talk. " Aunt Serena (triumphantly) : " Then run away at once and don't let me hear you mention that creature again. " Rue, smothering a sob at this insulting epithet, fled to Grandfather's chamber to gain what comfort she could from the mahogany sofa and the clothes-closet. Grand- father's every-day trousers hung in the closet. The dear and friendly clothes, a little frayed at the bottom and a little shiny at the knees, were full of human warmth and kindliness. They brought back memories of piazza naps, of garden weedings when Rue had followed after with her little trowel, of hours with the ax when she had sat near by and been regaled with anecdotes, of hours with "Homer" and the "Faerie Queene," when she had sat on his knees. Rue shed a few tears and hugged each limp, silent leg. Then, to solace herself still further, she bounced up and down on the horsehair sofa. A wonderful thing happened. The sofa spoke. " Boots and Bunting, " it grunted. That was all; just those two names, Boots and Bunting. 190 THE SILENT DOOR The little girl fled outdoors for further reflection upon this phenomenon. The seclusion of the lane shed light upon the problem. How charming the lane was that June morning. It was a famous place for wild strawberries, and the scent of them was on the air, for Mr. Boscoway had recently mowed a wide way and the little berries were upturned with the hay, dry and sweet in the sun. There were slim fellows with necks and fat fellows, firm-cheeked, and occasional rosy giants that lorded it over the pygmy tribes. These were eaten by themselves for a last mouthful. There were sprays and clusters, too, so delicately scented and lux- uriantly burdened that it seemed inhuman to devour them. Rue fashioned little strawberry bouquets and put them in a tiny medicine-glass on her bureau. She had to be very adroit to save them from Justine's sacrilegious appetite. Justine was both simple and sly and, to escape detection, would take minute nibbles from each berry. This habit she must have inherited from her remote an- cestors the birds or the mice, who have similiar wasteful mannerisms, and instead of boldly annihilating a whole cherry or cracker will secretively nibble around the edges of a dozen. A stone wall bordered the lane on both sides, defining it as a lane. Otherwise, it would not have been recognizable as such, so few were the feet that traveled Penrith way and so intrusive and roystering the vegetation that scrambled over the stone walls from the neighboring meadows. In August the clematis blew out into fragant clouds. The woodbine crept like prairie fire in frosty weather. Now, in BOOTS AND BUNTING 191 the month of June, the wild roses flecked with pinkness the gray stones and thousands of daisies like white-capped children laughed and nodded just beyond the reach of Mr. Boscoway's scythe. Rue prepared a repast for the birds upon her dining-room-table stone, and then, retiring to a discreet distance, watched developments. Now that Grandfather was absorbed in momentous plans, lessons did not proceed quite so vigorously as was their ancient custom. She had already accomplished, though with startling results, eight arithmetic examples and had recited fluently, to Ellen's perfect satisfaction, a new Latin de- clension. She had the "Faerie Queene" with her in the lane and was to memorize two stanzas before luncheon. But Boots and Bunting interfered. Long before she saw them, Rue heard their eloquent voices echoing down the lane. It might, indeed, be question- ed by the skeptical if she ever saw them except with that inward eye which is the boon of solitude. "I hear them, they are coming," she whispered to herself, sitting on her throne in a niche of the stone wall, "Boots and Bunting." But even then she did not know what bodily form Boots and Bunting would assume. The names were outlandish, having come from the depths of the mahogany sofa. The heavenly vision was not to be denied. It flashed upon her that they were two Newfoundland puppies, black-nosed, white-legged and shaggy-eared, They were galloping creatures, enormous, high-spirited, and very young. There is no living being that can rival, for exceeding youth, the youthfulness of a Newfoundland 192 THE SILENT DOOR puppy. Such a commotion as there was in the quiet lane that June morning. An outsider would have perceived no one but a very small girl, pink-aproned, who, consider- ing her solitary state, careened and shouted in an unusual manner. " Hip, hip, hurrah. Hi, Boots, hey, Bunting. " They raced and they rolled and they tumbled. How could Rue help her frouzled hair, her stained pinafore, her peeled shoes, with two such uproarious puppies to restrain. Boots and Bunting were the culprits. In the two days that followed Aunt Serena was powerless against those visionary invaders. Better, a hundred times, six live Pharaohs than those two elusive puppies. Here was a case when neither Ellen's broom nor Mr. Boscoway's dark counsel would avail. Chicken bones were diverted from the soup kettle, and porridge bowls remained un- touched. Out of doors the sward was dotted with these shrines, where oblation was offered to the canine divinity. The dogs were omnipresent. Before breakfast they bayed in the upper regions. They were blanketed and kissed at nightfall. They occupied the rug before the fireplace and guarded the thresholds. They lay in Aunt Serena's best chairs and even that lady herself was ousted at their con- venience. "You are sitting on Boots, Aunt Serena," wailed Rue, "Please, please get up." Calmly did Aunt Serena knit on and on. But when Justine added her weeping entreaties to those of Rue, Aunt Serena yielded and arose. Two anguished little girls bathed in tears were more than the sphinx could resist. BOOTS AND BUNTING 193 The sat-upon Boots was released and despatched out- doors by grateful Rue, before further calamity overtook him. It followed, however, upon this incident that Boots and Bunting were forbidden the house. The edict had its hopeful side, for though of an inhospitable nature it recognized their existence. Similar results are achieved in international diplomacy when rebellious states, by the per- sistence of their revolt, are recognized as negotiable powers. They became visualized even to Justine. She stood in the safety of the blind door, watching Rue race with them or they with each other, and such was her acumen that she could decide with whom the victory lay. "There, Justine, who beat that time, Boots or Bunt- ing ? Good Bunting, good dog." " Bunty beat 'at time. Good dod." And, "May I p'ay with oo doddies, Rue?" How angelic was Justine's voice when she pleaded for a favor. Oh, but the dogs were a wonderful fulcrum, by which the world could be turned. They became righteous administrators of Rue's justice as well as heavenly reward- ing spirits. For one whole day Justine was pliable as wax in Rue's hands. If Boots and Bunting were forbidden to play with Justine, they were obedient. Lonely and pariah, Justine sat with folded hands while Rue disported herself with the glorious pups. "Aunt Serena, get me some doddies 'ike Boots and Bunting." " You ridiculous dear, they are not real dogs. Can't you see there are no dogs on our lawn?" But behold Rue, seated on invisible dog-back, a pair of 194 THE SILENT DOOR reins in her hands, whoaing and get-apping herself in the realistic manner that admits no doubt! Little Justine hovered for several days in that uncomfortable country between belief and skepticism. "Dey are no doddies," she announced fiercely, settling herself on her white rocking-horse with an obstinate air of conviction. "How did I know their names, then?" quizzed Rue, triumphantly. " Dey are no real names." Justine rocked herself more violently under the enfeebling influence of Rue's spirited rejoinder. "Grandfather, aren't Boots and Bunting real names, please, Grandfather?" Grandfather emerged from behind a maze of purple- type "documents." He turned a vague glance upon the small golden face at his elbow. " Real words ? I believe the dictionary will corroborate that view of the case. Do not disturb me again." He tipped downward over his eyes the awesome canvas eye-shade and muttered, "See addenda." " The dictionary colobates my view," Rue reported with hasty dignity. "I will tell you why, Justine. Boots has black feet with white legs so it looks like white stockings and boots pulled on." " Oh, I didn't know 'at," said Justine. " Does 'e dickie- sherry say 'at ? " But the time came when, like Frankenstein, Boots and Bunting passed beyond the power of their mistress and creator. They developed unruly and renegade traits. With BOOTS AND BUNTING 195 a cruel rod Rue beat the empty air while Justine howled in sympathy. They were not wholly to blame for their runaway habits, considering the contumely heaped upon them at Penrith House. Ellen (from the area) had threat- ened them with a broom and with rich epithets. Aunt Serena had stepped on their tails in the front walk. Mr. Boscoway had spaded up their pet bones from the radish bed. Also, Justine had received a real kitten, to compensate her for Rue's lordship over the unattainable pups. Their power was on the wane, but as proof of their convincing per- sonality it needs only to be set down that the kitten arched her back and spat when Rue called up Boots and Bunting to drink from the kitten's saucer. It was more than ever difficult for Rue to maintain their privileges, and Boots and Bunting resented the outrages put upon them. They made up their minds to escape, to run away, to leave be- hind them forever the unsympathetic dust of Penrith House. It was just after luncheon one cool shining day, when the clouds raced and the trees swayed and glittered in the occasional rifts of clean sunshine. Rue and Justine were picking raspberries by the stile and the pups lay contentedly in the warmth of a favorite corner. Contentedly to all outward appearance, but within, nourishing mutiny. Rue went to the house to deposit her little pail of berries, and on her return she observed that the dogs no longer lay in their grassy nest. Full speed, they were galloping down the lane. Full speed, galloped Rue after them, commanding, imploring their return. Justine, in great excitement, clasping to her breast the meek kitten, followed as far as the first wild rose-bush. 196 THE SILENT DOOR " Come back, sir. Come back, sir," she called, imitating Rue's imperious or impassioned tones. Not more desperately nor more yearningly did Lord Ullin lament across the " waters wild," than did Rue that scudding blue and gray afternoon. Justine turned to the meek kitten who hung, head downward, beneath her arm. "Dose naughty sirs have runned away," she sadly in- formed her minion, at which the minion secretly rejoiced. XX THE BURNING BUSH RUE was obliged to follow the renegade dogs far out of sight of Penrith House. They evaded her till finally even the sound of their eloquent voices died away in the distance. Never from that day to this has she seen Boots and Bunting. But if it had not been for their insolent departure, the interesting events chronicled in this chapter would never have come to pass. She found herself on the Cliffs- Where-Columbine-Hangs. The climb was perilous, beyond the limits of Justine's endurance. Upon these well-nigh inaccessible precipices Rue had been accustomed to do much skilful mountaineering and to bring home as guerdon nosegays of nodding flowers, scarlet and yellow, each with four honey-filled saddle-bags. The flow- ers had a spirited air of being booted and spurred and ready for the tourney. Incidentally, they were del ghtful to the taste, and Justine was sternly forbidden to nibble. While Rue wandered about among the defiles and ledges, she happened to glance to the eastward and saw below her the top of a grove of trees which she had never before noticed. How curiously we walk blind till on a day, no different from other days, our eyes open to an object that may have been our neighbor for years. Like a red flame in the heart of this grove was a bush, 197 198 THE SILENT DOOR a burning bush. It stood out, to Rue's excitable imagina- tion, like some enchanted signal. Red-blossoming bushes are rare in northern woods. Rue abandoned the Cliffs, tore down the shady slopes of Prospect Hill, flew across a suc- cession of fields till at last she came to a high stone wall. She had lost sight of the burning bush, but behind that wall it must be. The wall was high and difficult to be sur- mounted, while on the other side was a disagreeable hedge of even greater height. Rue was nothing daunted. With bleeding hands, a torn frock, and scaly shoes, she found herself at last in the grove of her desire. It was not such a thick grove as it had seemed from further away. There were trees and shrubs that, long having gone untrimmed, dripped Cimmerian dark. The grass was matted under their tangled branches. The ground bloomed with starry white flowers and there were brilliant striped grasses run .wild from some ornamental bed. The place impressed her as haunted, enclosed as it was with such secrecy and full of a medley of vegetation. There was a mulberry- tree, a prim little rose of Sharon, and a straggling row of currant-bushes, up to their ears in weeds. The garden was shadowy and still. Not a bird sang. Scarcely a sunbeam flickered, though outside it was high noon. By and by she came upon the burning bush. It was a Japanese quince, a shrub she had never before seen. But she stayed her hand from plucking. She remembered Proserpine, how the earth opened and Pluto came up when the maiden pulled at gorgeous flowers. Look, here was the ghost of a path, like a pallid seam, parting the ribbon grasses and leading somewhere beyond. What a little, trembling dream of a THE BURNING BUSH 199 path, to be sure. How glad it would be to have somebody's feet following it again. It led to a shaggy open space, where once must have been a lawn. In the middle of the open space were some shattered boards that covered a hole in the ground. Rue knelt down on the edge. A board crumbled and fell in. It fell, fell, fell, far, far down and finally made a splashing noise deep in the ground. Lying full length along the safe uncrumbling earth, the little girl peered over the margin of the decaying platform. The hole descended to measureless depths. Far below at the bottom was the black glint of water. Rue realized that she had discovered the site of a well once furnished with well-sweep, bucket or pump but now all these necessary human adjuncts obliterated the circular darkness of the well had only a sinister suggestion. Near by had been a house, perhaps, and human hands had drawn water from these depths. Only those who have excavated for the remains of thrice-buried cities on the ringing plains of Windy Troy, or by the hoary hills of Abydos, can conceive the solemn thrill that this discovery imparted to little Rue Penrith. Beyond the abandoned well were other curious relics. There were deep pits in the ground, surrounded by frag- ments of walls. Two or three stone steps led down. They led only to heaps of ashes. Rue stood and pondered. A chilly and lonesome feeling struck to her bones. The yellow stonecrop that grew from the topmost step wore a cruel smile. The black glint of the treacherous well, the rotten board that fell with a horrible splash, the waxen faces of the star-flowers, the piles of ashes, the stairs that 00 THE SILENT DOOR led nowhere, the yellow plant that tufted itself where a carpet once had lain, where doors had opened in and out all conspired to weave a sinister spell. Here had once been a house. People had once lived here. They had picked currants from the bushes, drawn water from the well. They had gone up and down those broken stairs and walked there in mid-air, back and forth where floors no longer existed. Yes, probably in the time of the Arabians and the shepherds that the Bible tells about, this place had been inhabited. Rue shivered to think of the thousands of years that had perished and of the dead and gone shepherds whose spirits seemed to haunt their ancient habitation. It was like that Scripture passage which reverberated vaguely in her memory from the sonorous caves of Grandfather's rendering: " It shall never be inhabited; neither shall it be dwelt in from generation to generation; neither shall the Arabian pitch tent there; neither shall the shepherds make their fold there. But wild beasts of the desert shall lie there; and their houses shall be full of doleful creatures; and owls shall dwell there, and satyrs shall dance there. And the wild beasts of the islands shall cry in their desolate houses and dragons in their pleasant palaces. " Rue had stumbled into the ill-fated Kenyon place, upon which, since the destruction of the house by fire, the wilderness had closed. How strangely connected had the house been with the life and fortunes of Danae. Young Peter Kenyon had been Danae's first sweetheart, and it was not so long ago by grown folks' reckoning, a matter of twelve years at the most. When the house went up in flames, THE BURNING BUSH 201 after old Kenyon's death, people said the fire was Peter's own doing. The insurance money took him to New York and afterward to Italy. Young Kenyon had never borne a good name in Joppa. He was not of Joppa's kind, and the Joppanities had shaken their heads over pretty Danae Penrith's intimacy with the shaggy young maker of idols. Justinian had been too fond or too blind. Rue returned to the burning bush, which with its lusty color and vigorous contour was the one spot of cheer in the garden. Its beacon-flames seemed to point now in a dif- ferent direction. A little trail, it may have once been a road, but the weeds had encroached upon its wide boundaries led to a secluded terrace, a miniature affair with a pair of sunken stone steps, guarded on each side by a shattered column. On the top of the terrace was an enclosure of shrubs, that had the look of encircling an inner secret, like the final involucre of a labyrinth. Rue parted the thicket and walked within. A sun-dial stood there, crumbling and forced into fissures by the toes of inquisitive vines. Two rough images knelt at the sun-dial's base, a girl and a boy, whose contrasted sexes still showed in the defaced plaster. The boy reached an arm out for the girl whose naked back was turned to him. With his other arm he supported him- self on the sun-dial's base, as if he had barely sprung from the earth and still half grew there. But the girl clasped with one hand the rim of the plinth and with the other pointed a vague finger to the sun-dial's face, as if in re- monstrance at the boy's eager pursuit. And around the sun-dial was inscribed a legend. The group had been Peter Kenyon's boyish chef-d'oeuvre 202 THE SILENT DOOR and Danae had posed for the head and bare shoulders of the unwilling wood-child. The wood-child's sculptured lids were steady with innocent awe. It must have been the graven legend that so awed her. Rue knelt and looked upward. She surmised that this was the altar of a heathen deity at which the people of the pleasant palaces had worshiped, before the coming of the doleful creatures. Was it wicked for her to bow down before the heathen stone ? Still kneeling, she vainly tried to decipher the words of the inscription when a wailing sound came from some^ where in the garden. It was a wailing and yet it was a song, as wild and plaintive as an Irish keen. " Satyrs shall dance there and owls shall dwell there and dragons shall cry in their pleasant palaces. " The wailing continued and crystallized into words, which fell off like shining drops from a streaming branch. The words were not English words so Rue could not understand them. That wailing fountain of song was the soul of the de- serted garden. Rue emerged through a gap in the thicket and stood still, afinger to her lip in great perturbation and wonder. She could see no one, but there was a faint flutter of blue be- hind the Burning Bush. Then the song ceased, and a wom- an's voice cried, low and breathless, but perfectly clear: "My God!" A lady ran out from the Burning Bush. She was all hi blue and was crowned with a coronet of corn-colored hair. A blue muslin hat hung over one shoulder. Her two hands were clasped together on her bosom and they sparkled with many-colored stones. She was neither old nor young. She had a laughing crying face. She approached Rue very THE BURNING BUSH 203 slowly, her two hands still clasped across her bosom as if to hold her heart still. Her face was a white glow, as you have seen the sky just before moonrise above a high hill. Her pale blue eyes had black lashes, too heavy and too black for the transparent lids. The lady spoke: "Child, are you alive?" " I don't know, but I think so," replied Rue quakingly. "Not a dream-child, a dream-child," said the lady, coming nearer to the terrace. Rue did not dare to move or speak while the lady's blue eyes were on her. When the lady was quite close, she put out a hand and let it rest on Rue's head, then on her cheek and so to her shoulder. "Good God,how you tremble,poorlittlesoul, "said the lady. She must be very religious to pray to God so often. " That is because I was afraid of the satyrs when I heard you sing." "Did I frighten you ? I am sorry." " I am not frightened now. I did not know it was you, Miss Miss Lady. Are you a shepherd lady or are you one of the Doleful Creatures ? " " I am one of the Doleful Creatures," answered the lady, smiling a surprised little smile. " Then do you know the Satyr or the Dragon ? I would like very much to be introduced, if they are not too busy," said Rue politely. But she soon saw by Miss Lady's cold and wondering expression that the topic of these, her companions, was one to be avoided. Rue remained silent, twirling a red quince- flower round and round in her hands; XXI MISS LADY MISS LADY looked long and earnestly at Rue. Then both sat down on the base of the sun-dial which Peter Kenyon had made. The lady's skin was so transparently white that it was like the petal of a pale spring flower through, which the sun shines. There were little soft shadows around her eyes like pen- cilings in wild white violets. Her lips drooped as if she had neither the strength nor desire to close them. Her wrists and her temples were blue-veined, and looked like fragile porcelain that one is afraid to touch. Everything about her seemed frail and perishable and sad, like a pot- grown white hyacinth that has begun to wither. Her pret- tiness hurt one's sensibilities. Rue turned to trace the motto on the sun-dial, engraven there, a long ago spring day, by Peter Kenyon. The words began to stand out. " When you and I have quitte, my deare, Time still " Here the graven letters were obliterated beyond recog- nition. Miss Lady took up the broken line. "Time still shall be remembered here." Then she quickly turned away from the sun-dial and 204 MISS LADY 205 stared forward into the garden, her face like marble. "What does it mean?" asked Rue, "Does it mean a real you and I, like you, Miss Lady, and me, this minute ? " "Yes," said she dreamily, "only it meant some other you and I once. Two other people, once." " Were you one of them ? " "Yes." "Where is the other one, Miss Lady?" The lady did not answer, but rocked to-and-fro, singing a little to herself . " Are you the lady of the desolate palaces ? " "Yes." " Are you sad and white because it is all ashes and there are no doors to go through, and the steps have no ban- isters and there are no chambers ? " "What steps, little girl?" "Those steps which go up and then stop right in the air, as if they thought they had come to the Guest-Chamber or some place like that." "Yes," said Miss Lady. Rue knew that the answer meant nothing, for the lady had not been following Rue's explanation. " Will you sing that song again that you sang when you came by the burning bush and I thought you were a satyr crying ? " Miss Lady sang softly some Italian words like this : "Padre, tu, piangi! Padre, ah, padre /" and then after a pause another fragment which ended in a burst of tears. " Ah, bello a me ritorna die fido amor ' pnmrero." Rue regarded her in awe. The singer suddenly broke off and took one of Rue's little brown hands. 206 THE SILENT DOOR "You have such eyes, my child. Eyes like some one I knew once, long ago." Her thin wrist throbbed against Rue's palm. The child shivered at this allusion to the past, at the likeness between her and one of those dead-and-gone wandering people, from whose misty ranks this blue creature had returned. "I think I must go now," she endeavored to be polite and yet to withdraw her hand. She longed that instant for the sun and the open road, and to hear her own voice shouting. She tried to remember the proper formula when one petitions a favor. " May I be so kind as to ask you to let me go ? " The lady did not relax her hold. Rue did not dare to pull hard for fear of breaking the lady's wrist. " Where do you live, little one ? " "I live with Grandfather." Miss Lady started. "Who is Grandfather?" " Oh, don't you know Grandfather, Miss Lady ? " Rue spoke gently and yet was amazed at the narrow limits of this lady's education. " He lives in the lavender house with green blinds." The lady cried and clapped her hands to her temples. Rue leaned over her solicitously and pressed her two little hands above the lady's own. "I know just how it feels," she murmured tenderly. " My forehead goes that way when I try to remember the rules for subtraction." Then poor Miss Lady began to cry. The tears rained MISS LADY 207 down her white cheeks and her delicate body, beneath its cloudy raiment, was shaken by sobs. " Trying to remember; trying to remember, " she moaned. " It's not only that It's trying to forget, trying to for- get." Rue had moved away from her, frightened by the out- burst of tears. They were not passionate tears, but a pitiful self-abandonment, as of a sick and feverish child. "Please don't cry, poor Miss Lady," sobbed Rue. "Is it so very hard to forget ? Please, please don't cry. I'm afraid you'll break in two Poor, poor little Miss Lady." The lady opened wide her two arms to Rue. The tears hung heavy on her black lashes and her eyes were like mist. " Come here to me, darling, darling." "I don't want to come," sobbed Rue. "May I be so very, very kind as not to come, Miss Lady ? I'm afraid." The lady dropped her arms. "Try to forget," she murmured to herself. Then aloud: "Are you afraid of me?" Her childish mouth quivered with another sob. " I'm a little bit afraid of you, because I've never seen you before, Miss Lady, and because your cheeks are so white and we!:." The lady dried her cheeks with a handful of filmy hand- kerchief she drew from her bosom. "Tell me a little about your grandfather," she said brokenly. " Is is his hair streaked with gray ? " "It is all white," said Rue, surprised again that the lady did not know. Miss Lady repressed a little cry in her throat. 208 THE SILENT DOOR " Does he ever go horseback riding with you ? " "Oh, no, indeed," said Rue solemnly. "He walks very slowly and when he goes down steps he feels ahead of him with his cane." "Father, Father," moaned Miss Lady. " He used to go horseback riding a long time ago when Miss Dainy lived with us." "Miss Dainy?" choked the lady, putting out a hand to bring Rue to her. But Rue edged timidly away. "Did Grandfather did any one ever tell you about "her ? " " Only Mr. Boscoway did." A faint smile shone through the lady's misty eyes. " Mr. Boscoway ! Does he still ' " Do you know Mr. Boscoway ? " " There was some one like him once where I lived." "I suppose, perhaps, every one has a Mr. Boscoway," said Rue, "even the dead-and-gone satyr people. He is a proud and a good man. He told me about Miss Dainy, who had hair like ropes of flax and used to sit on the end of a log as it might be yesterday. I think I would know her if I saw her." "You think you would know her if you saw her," re- peated the lady in the same broken voice. "She would look a little like you," said Rue gently, " only her hair hangs down and she is young and beauti- ful." Miss Lady put her handkerchief again to her eyes, and Rue saw that tears trickled from underneath. "Did Grandfather ever tell you about her?" Rue was silent a minute, remembering with what pain Grand- MISS LADY father had framed his lips to the name, and how she promised never to say the name to him again. " Did Grandfather never tell you about about his daughter? Please speak." Miss Lady was kneeling on the ground, with her arms and bosom resting against the cold plaster image. "He said he had no daughter," answered Rue. " Oh, Father, Father," murmured poor Miss Lady, drop- ping her golden head on the base of the sun-dial. When you and I have quitte, my deare, Time still shall be remembered here. Rue ran to her and knelt by her side. "Have you a father, Miss Lady?" "Father, Father!" sobbed the golden head. "Is he buried here?" Rue thought what crumbs of comfort she could offer. " I have no father or mother," she murmured, putting her cheek close by the lady's. " But Grandfather says if I am good he will take me to the depths of a great town and then we will choose a mother." The lavender eyes of Miss Lady opened, and a cruel look of age came into them. Her lips withered. Rue thought she was hurt with some inward sting. "Does it hurt very much?" she asked. "Everything hurts," said Miss Lady. "Look, that's why I'm so thin." She held up her transparent hands, "and not young and beautiful like Miss Dainy. Tell me again "- But her thoughts seemed to wander. "What shall I tell you, Miss Lady?" 210 THE SILENT DOOR "Is the old Persian rug in the dining-room?" " Yes. It has two holes in front of the fireplace but Aunt Serena darned them." "And the bluebird wall-paper?" "Yes, that is Justine's room. There are twenty-eight birds on the piece of wall behind her dressing-table." It seemed quite natural to Rue that the world should know of the rugs and the wall-paper in Penrith House. The lady was smiling and crying at the same time. There was something infinitely tender in those treasured recol- lections of common things. " Which is your room ? " asked Miss Lady, with a quaver in her throat. " I have the West Room. I like to sit on my desk and see the sun set. Sometimes it blows out through the trees like a large red bubble. There are other rooms I like. And there is one door I cannot go in." "What door is that?" "It is the Silent Door. No one ever goes in or comes out. I do not know what is behind it, but I should like to know. I used to think there was a poor lady shut in there and I tried to comfort her through the keyhole." "Oh, dear, oh, dear!" " Never mind. I don't think there is any lady there. But I cannot go in and look. Grandfather will not let me. Perhaps he would open the door for you, Miss Lady." "Hush, you do not know. Oh, I cannot beax to hear you tell any more." The lady arose, put on her hat, and wound herself in her mists of chiffon. MISS LADY 211 "Are you going away now?" "Yes." " Are you never coming back here any more ? *' "No." " Why do you not come and visit us ? Grandfather likes to have pretty people stay at our house." " I am not pretty, and he would not like to have me come." " I think you are pretty when you have wound the misty stuff around your face so that your crying eyes don't show." The lady floated slowly away among the trees. Rue thought she moved as if she were going to some punish- ment. Then she turned. " Come and kiss me once," she said to Rue. Rue ran to her, full of sympathy, and Miss Lady stooped down and Rue kissed her through the veils on her eyes. The kiss scorched her lips, the lady's eyes were so hot. " Tell your grandfather no. Yes, tell him that Miss __ ?> "Grandfather is going away," said Rue. "He will take the cars to New York. He will carry a long bag with him, and he will eat his lunch on the train." "That long, rusty bag?" asked the lady eagerly. Rue nodded. "His cheeks are very thin," said Rue thoughtfully. "And sometimes he warms his hands at the fire, though it is sunny weather." " Does he really care ? Do you think he really cares ? " Of course Rue did not understand. She was used to not understanding grown people. THE SILENT DOOR "He shut the door after me. He said, 'Go then and never return.' And I went I could not forgive the name he called me. But he is old and thin. He steps slowly and feels with his cane. I have done that, I. But he said he had no daughter, no daughter. Little child, what do they call you ? " "Rue." "What else?" "Rue Penrith. It is because of the meadow-rue that blew out like a cloud. I am almost as tall as the plant of rue. When I am just the same tallness I am going to have a party. It is not exactly a birthday party, because I am different from other little girls and I have no birthday." " My darling, my baby ! " the lady said, in her wander- ing-minded voice. "Would you like to come to my party?" The lady's eyes filled with tears. "Perhaps. But no!" "I will tell Grandfather I saw you. What shall I say is your name?" "I have lost my name," cried the lady in a clear, singing voice that was full of grief and fear. " You must not tell him. You must not. Promise that you will not." " I do not know your name, Miss Lady, so I could not tell him." "Do not tell him anything. Do not tell that you saw me. Promise!" The lady rose up tall and slender like a blue lily. She lifted her misty veil. Her black-fringed eyes were pale blue and full of clear lights. MISS LADY 213 "Yes, I promise, Miss Lady." " You do. Dear little one. I want to see you again. Will you come and see me?" "Where do you live?" " Oh, I cannot tell you that. I must not ask you to come to me. Perhaps I will come to your party." "I will send you an invitation, Miss Lady, if Aunt Serena and Grandfather will let me. Can you find the way to our house?" " Yes, Rue, I can find the way." The lady looked at the sun-dial, pushing her veils above her eyes. The black-encrusted letters showed plainly. When you and I have quitte, my deare, Time still shall be remembered here. Then Miss Lady went away. Rue, taking a different direction, hurried out to the breeze and sun. Not until she was well down the road below Prospect Hill did a sweep of recollection surge over her. She seemed to have lived long ago, ages ago, and the memory had just returned to her of the earlier experience. The laughing crying lady, the eyes like Quaker-ladies in the spring, the blue gown, the hair light-colored like dandelions. Yes, she had seen her before, once before, long, long ago. The small hands that moved when she talked. Lillo in the Fairy Valley! Angela, his Angela of the Red Bungalow! Miss Lady was Angela. It began to be clear. If she could find Lillo again in the Fairy Valley, or if she could find the Red Bungalow, the great mystery might be solved. XXII THE CONSTANTINOPLE CLOAK MIRACLES may happen even in this day. To go off hunting for columbine among mountain defiles and to see below you an enchanted demesne and a Burning Bush, to penetrate that demesne and discover it to be the garden of desolate palaces; to find a heathen altar of graven stone and to hear a satyr crying; afterwards to behold the vision of a pretty lady floating like a mist between the trees ; to hear her laughing crying voice and to feel her shadow hand upon your hair: all this is strange enough and sacredly secret, never to be divulged. For certain experiences bred of solitariness lose virtue in the rehearsal and you might even be induced to believe they had never happened if they were exposed to the garish light of older people's curiosity. But, to return to one's proper domicile, to johnny-cake and to Dutch cheese for luncheon, to return with that forbidden look of mystery upon your countenance, which always invites the elderly person to delve and investigate to return a little late for luncheon and to meet with no inquisition as to the disposal of your morning, but to be hailed with transport as one upon whom the mantle of greatness is about to descend, to learn that through some inscrutable decree of providence you are to make a 214 THE CONSTANTINOPLE CLOAK 215 journey with Grandfather, this is, indeed, little short of a miracle. There is at once a subtle distance placed between you and Ellen and Justine. Aunt Serena treats you almost as an equal and does not chide you for removing first the soft inside of your johnny-cake and reserving that supreme delicacy, the flaky undercrust, as a farewell morsel. A decade has been at one stride added to your age, and with becoming dignity you rise to the great situation. Soon you will be clad from top to toe in choice raiment from Aunt Serena's bottom drawer where your Sunday clothes are kept, soon you will mount the steps of the two- coach train at the Joppa station, where the farmers in their milk-wagons gather, and Sulky and the miller's boy await their crates and bags from Canaan's industrial center. The village interests will sink into obscurity before your historic departure and before the respectful flourish with which the conductor will hand you into the train. Soon the Pendragon will belch and roar with the travail of getting under way, as certain ancient gentlemen hitch and groan with the travail of arising by degrees from a comfortable easy-chair. You will be whisked off across whirling miles into an unknown world. This is the miracle that happened. But first, there was Rue's wardrobe to be discussed a weighty subject, lending itself to many differences of opinion between Aunt Serena and Grandfather. It is a fallacy to suppose that elderly and literary gentlemen are callous to the question of clothes. Justinian Penrith could unbend from Wel- hausen or Delitzsch to pronounce on the blend of a debated 216 THE SILENT DOOR button with a bodice. The simplicity of Aunt Serena's bodices being relieved chiefly by the buttons which formed a sedate row down the front, there was importance attached to the color of the same as well as to the interval between. Justinian's ideas, unbiased by knowledge of fashions past or present, had, as he explained to Aunt Serena and to Miss Alvira, the dressmaker from the village, " all the greater virtuosity." Indeed, there would be few in Joppa village to dispute Dr. Penrith's "virtuosity." Fashions may fluctuate elsewhere. They reach Joppa when they are already on the wane, and there they find rest for the soles of their feet. In that sympathetic spot their existence is prolonged far beyond its natural term. To the debilitated or dying mode, Joppa is recommended as a health resort of the highest recuperative power. But when fashion ends its respected life and is seen no longer, either at Loami Larrabee's or the Widow Gideon's, then does it fly to Penrith House there to flourish for a term of years unreckoned. With an elderly man's vague idea of woman's needs Jus- tinian regarded the purchase of a girl's clothing as a gardener might consider his investment in perennial bulbs, a fund which, once invested, would blossom out each spring into unimpaired beauty. A bonnet for the child, another for the girl, a third for the budding woman. Was that not ample provision against the horse leech's milliner- daughters ? In Joppa one need not consult the changing style. A black satin dress or an ostrich-trimmed hat becomes an institution. The passing generations rise up and succeed THE CONSTANTINOPLE CLOAK 217 each other and ephemeral is their day, but not so with the black satin and the ostrich plumes. The gleam of the one in the Larrabee Sunday carriage and the nod of the other in the Gideon pew serve to remind us that life is not wholly unstable. Year by year, decade after decade, are certain goodly garments donned and doffed in Joppa, by which one may note the passage of the seasons and the occurrence of such feast-days as are celebrated on the Jerusalem river; to wit, cousin parties, donations, church centennials, baptisms, and Fourths of July. A house-owner may repaint his house. Notable is the event, long deliberated upon, thoroughly discussed, vigorously criticized, you may be sure, by each occupant of the long file of country vehicles that wend their way sedately to and from the church sheds. A personage much in the public eye is he who gives his house a fresh coat of paint, more especially in a novel hue in Joppa village. Elder Trimble's wife was young and had been to Hebe College. It was doubtless due to her influence that the parsonage was painted dark red, with olive-green blinds, ungodly colors and a heterodox combination. "She is young and has yet to learn," said the more liberal of the congregation. While those who would fain forget discreetly lowered their eyelids when they passed the worldly fa9ade of that encrimsoned house. But if he who essays a new coat for his house exposes himself to public blame or praise, how much fiercer the light that beats upon the individual who reclothes his person! In the first place, one must justify one's self to the village conscience-at-large which remembers perfectly the 218 THE SILENT DOOR time when that old great-coat was bought, and added years have only brought added luster to its respectability, not to say its seams. Justinian was partial to peach-color and to sky-blue. A peach-colored delaine and a sky-blue bonnet with strings he had promised that Rue should have between the ages of sixteen and twenty. She should have learned by that time to be less reckless with her little frocks. It was not likely that she would play she was a glacier and slide down grassy terraces between the ages of sixteen and twenty, Such slippery excursions, though exciting and of a geological bent, leave behind them upon muslin under- garments emerald records of which Aunt Serena does not approve. Mr. Bastable's proposition, the strange appointment with one Frederick Droll, the matter of money in both cases, brought home to Dr. Penrith his own limitations. For Danae he had spent freely and she herself had spent freely, and had flung defiance in his face and gone from his life forever. Then Rue came, and on her he had nothing to bestow. Dr. Penrith knew too well the restriction and suffering that poverty would entail in the life of a young and spirited girl. He wanted Rue to have large air and broad spaces in which to take her winged way, for in the depths, the under-depths, of her purple-blue eyes, in the pure cadences of her child voice and the Greek rhythm of her little hands and feet there seemed to slumber a divinity, that celestial light which informs children of genius. Perhaps now Riches and Freedom for her were knocking at the door. THE CONSTANTINOPLE CLOAK 219 Grandfather was brought back to the present by Aunt Serena's entrance into the library. She held in her hands the Constantinople Cloak and came to consult him upon its adaptibility to Rue's wardrobe in the event of this jour- ney. Aunt Serena was a skilful, an inspired remodeler. Her keen eye and plastic fingers saw possibilities of trans- mutation and rejuvenation in the most recondite ma- terial. Her own gowns were turned, were dyed, were re- constructed, and after suffering these rich sea-changes, they could be traced to no particular time or country. But they still retained an individuality of their own and were racy of the Penrith breed. It was only the rapidly-changing stature of the two children that prevented their garments from attaining this static calm. Years ago Grandfather had purchased and brought home with him from Constantinople a nondescript gar- ment of buff-colored silk, with a gorgeous embroidered border to its wide sleeves and its hem. It was much too short for a woman's coat, too long for a child, too scantily cut for a complete gown, and too precious to be converted to other ends. Therefore for years it had lain in one of the white-painted store-room presses, labeled neatly, below the keyhole, "His Constantinople Cloak," and had gathered to itself spicy odor and increasing yellowness of hue. In the emergency of Rue's sudden departure, Aunt Serena decided that now was the auspicious time to turn this Turkish trophy to some useful end. With the aid of Miss Alvira it was hastily transformed into a dust-coat for delighted Rue. No change was necessary except a shortening of its skirts. Miss Alvira and Aunt Serena 220 THE SILENT DOOR exclaimed alternately in strophe and anti-strophe of praise. What a fine garment it would be for protecting Rue's pink chambray frock and her clean white stock- ings from the dust and grime of unspeakable railway travel! " They say that thar turnall beyant Peruvia is something drefful, " said Miss Alvira, " and that folks come outen it a perfick sight. " She felt herself a traveled person thus to quote so glibly from the lips of cosmopolites who had passed through the Peruvia tunnel. Rue and Justine were allowed to further these activities by ripping the embroidered band, Rue at one sleeve and Justine at the other, a feat they accomplished amicably after Aunt Serena had repressed their dangerous proposi- tion of a race. When the Constantinople garment had been thus dissected, Aunt Serena, impressed by its neutral elegance, was for the permanent displacement of the gorgeous embellishment which Turkish taste had provided. Miss Alvira seconded these sentiments, so that Rue in great perturbation appealed to Grandfather to rescue her cloak from vandalism. He gave the matter his thoughtful consideration, Rue wearing the garment and submitting herself to various poses with the embroidery pinned on and then removed, while Aunt Serena and Miss Alvira interposed many artful asides to cajole Grandfather to their point of view. He decided oh, fateful moment in favor of the mooted band, as being "rich in hue and pleasingly recherche. " Sotto voce, to Aunt Serena, " Af- filiating with a certain piquancy about our little Rue. " THE CONSTANTINOPLE CLOAK 221 Grandfather had a decided taste in garments and was becoming more liberal in his aestheticism. Next there was the question of a hat. Rue's summer "hat had not yet gone through its annual retrimming, an adventure in a rain-storm having impaired its original shape. Therefore, to the speechless joy of the attendant children, the store-room was again resorted to and a white chip hat of archaic design ( it had once been Danae's ) selected for the journey. This little chip hat was flat- crowned and small, at a time when dimension and height were the dernier e cri. It was wreathed with brocaded ribbon of a limp and dependent character, and fastened with a pearl-studded buckle from which two gentle stream- ers fluttered half way down Rue's back. This was at a time when the ascendant bow and the mounting aigrette fortified the castellar fa9ades of our approved millinery. It must be admitted that the naive chip hat in its archaic modesty imparted a foreign and distinguished air to the little figure which it surmounted. XXIII THE TRAVELING LOAF ELLEN set sponge for a loaf of the graham bread that Grandfather always took with him in travel- ing. He could eat no other. Ellen's bread was highly esteemed at Penrith House. Only by a precarious and checkered career had its culminating excellence been obtained. She had gloried at first in Alpine upheavals of dough, faintly tinged with yellow on the outer crust, and within exhibiting vast irregular cavities between which the intermediate substance was soft and gave like putty under the thumb's pressure. The thumb was Aunt Serena's and as Ellen grew older she shrank in her shoes at the unearthly cunning of that prim thumb, which seemed to share with its owner a fine scorn for things underdone, over-broiled or improperly fried. " Sure, it's a wise craythur, the Aunt's thumb, " remarked Ellen, who had the kindly Irish habit of identifying her- self with the family, as if aunthood and grandfatherhood were universal attributes which rained upon her as well as upon Rue and Justine. "I warrant it cud spake if it had but a pair of lips. I know by the face on it what itsilf has to say of me bread. " Aunt Serena's thumb had facial expression and denoted 222 THE TRAVELING LOAF 223 many shades of doubt, disapproval or hearty appreciation. He would have been obtuse, indeed, who did not read in its limber disgusted curves, or pleased erectness an infallible verdict on matters culinary. Aunt Serena was a very silent lady, her thumb, her little finger and her back being the eloquent members. With her little finger, which was long and supple, she in- dicated, tracing out the course of rivers on the map and the direction of trade-winds around the revolving globe by means of which the dry bones of geography were invested with life for the two breathless children. Rue would ask her to trace these courses a second time, merely to prolong the ecstatic shiver which the trail of that elegant little finger communicated to her system. Aunt Serena's little finger also indicated, delicately and unrelentingly, the fly-specks on Rue's napkin, due to its being negligently left without its protecting linen case, and the thin places around the edge of the crinkled creamy top of the milk-pan, where Justine's predatory spoon had left telltale lacunae. Justine was not really at fault for these awkwardnesses, the top of her black head scarcely reaching to the rim of that alluring vessel. So when she stood on tiptoe and struck out laboriously with her little spoon, she struck at random, and did not perceive how the parch- ment-like cream slid out of its normal position to meet her spoon, in obedience to laws concerning attraction of matter. When Ellen set the sponge for Grandfather's traveling loaf of brown bread, she apostrophized it ardently as she , covered it with the damp bread-towel. "Begorra, it's the lovin' loaf of bread you'll be for The 224 THE SILENT DOOR Grandfayther to carry with him, betoken, when he takes his bit journey, the poor body. " The day had passed when Ellen received a silver half- dollar for every successful progeny of loaves that her oven brought forth. This stimulation was no longer necessary, for an almost unbroken succession of unimpeachable bakings proceeded from her skilful hands. An occasional reprehensible loaf attained, like Ahab or Jezebel, a bad eminence. Grandfather, half-humorously, half-seriously, relegated it to the kitchen to be reincarnated as bread- pudding or egg-toast and with this impressive malediction. " An unworthy and retrograde specimen, Ellen. Remove the abomination. " Justine, following Ellen's depressed footfall, shook with righteous indignation from every square inch of her dimin- utive person. "Bominable specible, " she reiterated, chastening the unhappy loaf with the long-handled potato-beater. A praiseworthy loaf is of a symmetrical and even shape, neither grotesquely hilly like volcanic ranges, nor concave like an extinct crater, nor flat like the steppes of Russia. It is deeply and evenly brown, resounds satisfactorily to a knock on the underside and adheres not at all to the in- serted (and clean) broom straw. Those tests at one time Grandfather was himself compelled to apply, Ellen stand- ing near with solicitous apprehension on her pock-marked features. She was wont to watch him as he departed from the kitchen, and took his way through the adjoining laundry, up the area steps and to his study-nook beneath the locust-tree. THE TRAVELING LOAF 225 " Thin-legged in the calves, but a good head, The Grand- fayther. " It was this traveling loaf of bread and Ellen's apostrophe that disclosed to Justine the portentous news of Grand- father's journey. " Is Uncle going to make a journey, Ellen ? Are you sure, Ellen?" " Sure I be, if a journey is a travel, that he's journeying for to take a travel, and a deal of travel it means to me, " said Ellen, rhetorically playful, in an adaptation of the Penrith vocabulary that had become an adopted tongue to her. Ellen went from pantry to store-room, setting forth the spices that were to be incorporated into pressed beef for Grandfather's sandwiches. Justine tasted a bit of the hashed meat from the end of the iron spoon while Ellen was in the dark pantry. Justine sometimes forgot the physi- cal fact that to be in the dark does not incapacitate one for observing what takes place in the neighboring light. But Rue was absorbed in more spiritual matters. * * If Grandfather is going to journey on a travel, " said she, " I know what he will do. He will find me a mother, for he promised it a long time ago. I hope he will get a pretty lady for my mother, don't you, Justine ? " " Will she be my muzzer, too ? " "She can't be your mother, then she would be two mothers, no lady can be two mothers, " said Rue, tangling herself in her passionate exclusiveness. " Why can't no lady be two muzzers ? " '* You go and get a mother for yourself when you're old 226 THE SILENT DOOR enough," said Rue, "or I'll help you, perhaps, for I'll be a big lady long before you're as high ias that pencil mark on the wall. " " How high will you be, Rue ? " asked Justine, moved by this allusion to Rue's speedy aggrandizement. " Oh, awful high, with hair all piled up like a tower and long dresses bubbling behind me, so that when I'm on the bottom stair my dress won't have begun to switch around the banisters on the toppest stair of all. " As the time drew near for Justinian's departure, a face constantly hovered before his eyes, not Rue's face, but Danae's. For some strange reason her presence seemed with him, beside him, possessed the chambers, permeated all the byways at Penrith House. It was Danae, Danae, Danae, before breakfast, fluttering down the stairs, during break- fast, drinking her coffee and smiling over the cup's rim, after breakfast cutting honeysuckle under the north window. It was not that Grandfather thought of Danae. Danae dominated him. It was a sudden possession, she had seized him during his sleep, hanging over him, with her long, fair hair encircling her cheeks. She had said, " Father, Father, wake up. " And with this voice in his ear, Justinian had waked up in the gray of four o'clock, only to know that Danae was not there, that for years she had been gone, her chamber empty and the door closed. Still that voice called him, " Father, Father, wake up ! " I suppose that to others the same experience has come. An absent, a distant, a faded personality suddenly becomes real. It surprises us around the corner. It slips down the THE TRAVELING LOAF 227 garden walk. It flies behind that sycamore-tree. It pauses on the sill. It glances in at the window. It springs up from that familiar chair. We see the face a dozen times as we walk down the street. The profile turns to us a moment in the crowded audience always it is the same face, the same person, vivid, but vanishing. Real, but incorporeal; present to the eye, beyond the reach of touch or voice. What explains this psychological phenomenon? Is it our thought or another's spiritual presence or some whimsical trick of memory that projects a semi-material form among the blank objects of actuality ? Grandfather sat on the twisted rustic bench, his head in his hands. " Danae, Danae, " he murmured, and he spoke aloud. He thought to embrace a slender waist. Danae was lan- guidly loving and used often to perch on his knee. Justin- ian's arm fell to his side again. The unforgiven wrongs he had suffered, in a way that unforgiven wrongs have, burned and burned till his whole nature seemed the hollow pyre of their conflagration. It was his own unforgiveness that burned most deeply. " If Danae had only repented her final words, " he said, "If she had only repented, I could have forgiven her then. " " You will be sorry, Father, some day. " The words rankled. He would never be sorry, he, the sorely sinned against ! While he was thus thinking, a voice in front of him spoke : "A telegram, Justinian." 228 THE SILENT DOOR He took the envelope but his eyes were unfit to read. News and news of Danae? Harm had befallen Danae, was the fear that hammered at his side ! He had not known, no, he had not known, that he could care so much. Aunt Serena, Rue, Justine, stood hi a row before him. Aunt Serena hushing Justine's babbling curiosity. Rue with elfin eyes strangely earnest upon Grandfather's whitened face. The boy stood irresolute on the ash-path and Ellen apprehensive at the blind door. For a telegram was an event in Joppa. " I do hope it's not the Aunt Elizabeth be afther coming again," gurgled Ellen, regarding the yellow envelope as superstitiously as if it were a medium's slate-writing. Grandfather tore open the message. " Six o'clock, June 10th. 10 Throckmorton Street. " "Nothing alarming?" said Aunt Serena's gentle voice. "Nothing alarming," Justinian replied. "Merely the reminder of an appointment I have long expected. " In his mind he did not fail to connect the unknown Frederick Droll of 10 Throckmorton Street, with the un- known and nameless client whom E. W. Bastable had represented on that October morning in his library. Justinian hated a mystery. He regarded it as derogatory to his character that he should be expected to become party to any mysterious or anonymous arrangement. Frederick Droll, whoever he might be, should be brought to see the futility of acting behind a mask. That he was Rue's father, Dr. Penrith had little doubt. And the meeting with him was the rendezvous upon which he was to set forth. XXIV THE NIGHT TRAIN AT PERUVIA GRANDFATHER brought down from a third- story closet his rusty black valise, the same one that had done duty years before, and then be- tween him and Aunt Serena the ceremonial of packing was performed. The sweet-smelling, darkened and forbidden store-room was visited, where in tiers of white-painted and labeled drawers relics of past generations peacefully reposed. Rue and Justine and the kitten, following hard upon Aunt Serena's heels, inhaled with awe the delicious closeness of the air and spied out tantalizing glimpses of sepulchered ancient garments, brocaded sashes, yellow fur muffs that once had been white, baby shoes, and queer sleeves of stained embroidery with darned holes. A sur- reptitious ten minutes alone in that Aladdin house, ob- tained with great difficulty and followed later by eating the Bread of Atonement ( unbuttered ), resulted in such Babylonian discoveries as filled the dreams of many nights in Rue's after life. In Grandfather's room the articles he purposed for his journey were arranged in assorted piles. Simple and few they seemed after that surreptitious peep into the glories of the darkened presses. No pink shoes, no yellow-white muffs, no embroidered sleeves nor handkerchiefs, no 229 230 THE SILENT DOOR sweet-smelling flowered neck-ribbons. Only a pair of austere carpet slippers, a pile of unbleached socks, some large plain handkerchiefs, two or three black silk cravats, (made from the front breadth of Aunt Serena's second- best silk dress) and other garments grandfatherly and ascetic. The place for each article in the valise was debated with serious pros and cons, for there was not an inch of space to be wasted. Aunt Serena had a genius for packing and went at it in the mathematical and artistic spirit of a da Vinci. Grandfather was a dialectic and desired each theory to be properly exploited. She proposed chalking off a diagram of the bag, with appropriate memoranda for Grandfather's use when he came to repack, but this suggestion was rejected. Like all talented packers, Aunt Serena was skeptical as to other people's ability. Rue, if she was quiet, non-investigating and non-interrupting, was- allowed to sit in a corner of the mahogany sofa and drink in these absorbing discussions that were to her as weighty as the laying-out of cities. An undertone of sadness lay beneath the talk, that gave to the disposition of each sock or handkerchief an irrevocable pathos. Even the collar buttons were imbued with the dignity of a melancholy mission. Rue was desirous of adding something to Grand- father's comfort and bethought herself of his fondness for nuts. She spent a laborious morning on the area steps, cracking some of last year's hickory-nuts as a surprise for hun. These she carefully picked out and enclosed in a calico bag of her needlework, that the token might be completely her own. Wiping away the tears that were the result of a mashed finger (from the hammer) and a THE NIGHT TRAIN AT PERUVIA 231 bleeding thumb (from the needle), she approached Grandfather with her offering. "Here is a little surprise for you, Grandfather. Please not to open it till we get to the place. I made the bag my- self. I think it's quite a charming little bag. You don't know what's inside, do you, Grandfather ? " Grandfather, who had heard all the morning the sound of the patient hammer on the stone steps, professed hi evasive yet truthful terms, his ignorance of the contents and embraced Rue with such warmth that he cruelly hurt the bruised finger. She was sorry to let him know about it but she had to scream, the agony was so great. It made Grand- father feel very badly, although she protested, after she was calmer, that it only hurt a little bit. Justine whimpered gently also, so as not to be left entirely out. It was rather a moist and handkerchiefy occasion when every one needed comforting. As Rue was descending the stairs, with Justine, Grandfather said to Aunt Serena: "A noble little heart, Serena, despite her faults. " " 'At's me," said Justine, and Rue did not contradict her, knowing in her own mind for whom the speech was meant, and wondering why, in all humility. Rue was instructed by Aunt Serena in the proper use of her own little linen traveling case, also of her various pockets and of her handkerchiefs through all their ascend- ing degrees of excellence. This information she afterward graciously disseminated for the benefit, to wit, of Justine, brushing her hair with the back of the brush in the Blue- bird Room, of Ellen, turning the traveling loaf upside down to cool on the kitchen table, and of Mr. Boscoway, 232 THE SILENT DOOR spraying hellebore on the currant-bushes in the garden. The time might come when they, too, should be called of heaven to set forth on a journey. "I am going so far away, Justine, that when I am just getting up in the morning you will be going to bed at night. " This method of illustrating the distance to be traversed failed to impress Justine, whose mind had not grappled with the rotundity of the earth's surface. "I am going almost to the other side of the globe, where people walk on their heads. " " You will have to walk on your head, too, " said Justine, giggling at the awkward impression Rue would make. Rue retrenched: "Perhaps we shall not go quite so far. Only to where people begin to sidle a little so as to stick on. " The revolving globe and the puppet figures with mag- netized feet were showing their good work. "That is why Grandfather always carries a cane when he goes away on the cars. Isn't it, Grandfather ? " " Where is Rue going, Uncle Justinian ? " piped Justine, hoping for some slight dimness in Rue's insupportable crown of glory. "Only to New York," replied absent-minded Grand- father after four times the question had been shrilled in his ear. He was deep in a discussion with Aunt Serena concerning things to be done in the garden during his absence. "To Noowalk, only to Noowalk, " cried triumphant Justine. She thought that this insignificant name dimin- ished in a degree the halo. "New York is a great town," said Rue in funereal THE NIGHT TRAIN AT PERUVIA 233 accents. " There are lights there night and day, like heaven. It takes one man all night just to light the street-lamps. There are people and people, thick and black, running over each other, like ants out of an ant-hill. Ellen told me so." " Are the people as little as ants ? You will have to be careful not to step on them, " said Justine, giggling again at the thought of Rue's big feet and the havoc they would create. "They look little and black because there are so many of them, " Rue hoped the logic would satisfy. "And there is a woman standing alone in the harbor, as high as the steeple of our church and even higher. She holds a lamp up in her hand. Her name is Liberty and- Light-in-the-World. " "She has a hard-to-say name. And why doesn't she walk around ? " " She has to stand in the harbor. That's why. " "Whatisahaba?" "It's something in geography," said Rue grandly. "I should think you ought to know, Justine. You're more than half -past three. " Justine stood guilty before this accusation and was ashamed to betray further ignorance in the presence of such erudition. Finally the hour of departure came. Mr. Dewsnap drew up at the front piazza, with Augustus harnessed between the shafts of Mrs. Gideon's yellow buckboard carriage. The travelers set off between the golden lights of the grassy lane. Ellen's traveling-loaf, the pressed meat, the hickory- 234 THE SILENT DOOR nuts and other luxuries, skilfully packed into a shoe-box, were deposited on the seat between Rue and Grandfather. "We shall catch the night train at Peruvia, " said he, as if he were exchanging technical knowledge with an expert traveler. To what heights Rue at once mounted in her own im- agination! She assumed an equally impersonal and re- flective air. "At what time shall the lunch be eaten?" was her venture. It was a failure, notwithstanding that clever turn in the phraseology, suggesting solicitude for the welfare of the lunch, rather than for the eaters thereof. The premature suggestion must have reminded Grandfather of Rue's tender years. " I will take charge of the lunch, " he replied magister- ially and bestowed the charmed box in a huge pocket of his linen duster. Rue felt deeply compassionate for dear, kind Aunt Serena and poor, lonely, little Justine with her wretched kitten, left behind in obscure and insignificant Joppa, while she and Grandfather rolled away behind the Pen- dragon to catch the night train at Peruvia. Ah, exotic fragrance of those syllables! She would "catch" the train. The thrilling enterprise! Nor was the reality less wonderful than the bright haze of anticipation. A serpent of checkered light hissing down a dark valley. A green eye, enlarging, fringing out like a star, bursting into a sun. The night train roars into the Junction. A sudden medley of human voices and superhuman noises THE NIGHT TRAIN AT PERUVIA 235 and a Vesuvian eruption of people and things. The vesti- buled train, with its syncopated visions of fragmentary life, ladies and gentlemen arid children, eating, drinking, card-playing, napping or the drawn curtains of the mysterious berths ! White-jacketed negroes, shiny-buttoned conductors. Tumultuous many-colored, many-voiced con- fusion. The night train at Peruvia ! Richer than all the wonders of the Arabian Nights, more adventurous than the fabled tilts of ringing crusaders or of gentle knights, more fantastic than the gambols of elves within forest rings or of stars in their places is the night train at Peruvia. Though one should live to be ten thousand years, one could never outdo the sublimity of that night. They ate the lunch after they caught the night train at Peruvia, and Grandfather spread a large silk hand- kerchief over Rue's knees that by no possibility could smutch or smudge assail the Constantinople cloak. In the onrush of all these events the lady of the deserted garden was temporarily swept from memory, but ever and anon her image would return to Rue, the pale blue eyes like Quaker-ladies, the little hands that moved when she talked, and the laughing crying face. But the promise kept her silent. XXV IN GREENWICH VILLAGE JUSTINIAN found Throckmorton Street situated in that part of Manhattan known anciently as Greenwich village. It is still inhabited by respectable burghers who are probably many of them descended from the Dutch of Peter Stuyvesant's day. Not far from the quiet street one comes upon the mid- sky curves of the elevated tracks and the noisy shops and shoppers of Sixth Avenue. In another direction are the wharves and ferries and wholesale fruiterers of the North river. An occasional corner has swing-doors, colored glass windows and a sign that reads " Charlie's Place. " A little placard displayed between dingy curtains and a parlor window-pane entitles another house " Pension Fran- 9ais. " Bareheaded women, neatly gowned in black, chafer in foreign accents with street peddlers of stale vegetables. Set in between these waymarks of an incongruous civilization lies Throckmorton Street, a substantial village with narrow front yards, the dignity of gates and fences and the rusticity of vines shading the piazzas or draping the house-fronts. It was a house such as one of these that Justinian finally approached. Its purple-hung wistaria- vine had a trunk that two hands could not encircle, and the stone steps were worn in grooves by generations of visiting 236 IN GREENWICH VILLAGE 237 feet. On the right side of the steps was a stone hollowed out as a drinking basin for birds. On its rim a couple of sparrows were enjoying a leisurely drink. Here indeed was a spot almost as restful as Joppa's rippling meadows. Justinian drew a deep breath of relief. A burden was lifted from his mind. Perhaps, after all, there would be a felicitous solution for little Rue's problem of heritage. Here, also, might be found a clue to lost Danae's where- abouts. Justinian had often shuddered in his dreams at the tinsel paths where Danae's feet, perhaps, wandered. But 10 Throckmorton Street! It was seclusion, modesty, dignity. Justinian raised the heavy knocker and let it fall. With the ring of brass on brass his heart thumped. The moment of the long-looked-forward-to is appalling. It takes one's breath away. One cries, "I am not ready. Wait!" But when at last the long-looked-forward-to happens one is calmed. The sound of the knocker echoed through the house. Before it was answered Justinian had time to look about him. The door had diamond-shaped glass panes, iron- grated without, behind which were red curtains. The other windows were closely shuttered and the blinds were cover- ed with dust as if they had been long unopened. So deep was the silence after the knocker's signal that Justinian consulted his watch to see if by any chance he had made a mistake in the hour of the appointment. His watch stood at three minutes after six. At that moment the six o'clock whistles began to toot from factories by the river and under cover of the noise the door was softly opened and a woman stood before him. 238 THE SILENT DOOR She stood warily, holding the handle of the door behind her. She was an immensely tall creature of advanced years, with young wide-open eyes in a many-wrinkled face. She wore over her print gown a red-flannel jacket. "I am Justinian Penrith," said he, lifting his hat. The woman watched his lips closely, after the manner of the deaf. "You are expected, sir. Will you please walk in, sir?" Her tone made it at once evident that she was servant, not mistress. Justinian was ushered into a darkened parlor. The foot sank into the thickly-carpeted floor as if into a bed of moss. In the dimness little could be discerned except silver streaks from mirrors and gold streaks from large picture frames and the glimmering white of a marble center-table. Underneath a glass globe near Justinian's chair were some potted hyacinths, done in wax, pot and flowers and all. In this funereal chamber he was left for a few moments to his own reflections. They were not inspiriting, having suffered a collapse from the cheerful tenor of the wistaria- draped front stoop. So thickly was the room carpeted that again he did not hear any sign of a human presence till the red-jacketed woman stood before him. " Will you please walk up-stairs, sir?" she said. He followed her up two flights of stairs. Not till he reached the second landing did he think to ask her a ques- tion. He was plainly at a disadvantage, himself known, ushered into a strange house, into a presence of whom he knew nothing. IN GREENWICH VILLAGE 239 " One moment," said he in his most compelling accents, "who is the master of this house?" The woman opened wider her childlike eyes. " Up this way, sir," she said, pointing skyward a sibylline finger. It was evident that she had but hah* heard or half understood Justinian's question. She led the way up the last flight, opened two great doors and a flood of sunlight blinded Justinian's eyes. He stood on the threshold of an apartment that comprised the whole top floor of the house. It was radiant from windows opening north and south and from a sky-light in the ceiling. The floor was bare, inlaid with beautiful wood in the natural color. It was furnished with the sumptuous negligence that one associates with the studios of popular artists. When Justinian's eyes had accustomed themselves to the change of light, he saw before him a young man of the most singular ugliness that it had ever been his fortune to behold. He was short and had a breadth of shoulders hinting at deformity. The loose dressing- gown that he wore displayed the muscles of his neck and arms. The sinewy modeling and the contour of his jaw and cheeks were like those of a Hercules, yet the chalky whiteness of his skin and the hollows where flesh should have been betrayed long suffering from disease. Con- trasted with the whiteness of his skin were lips vividly red, drawn to a painful smile. The tip of his tongue was thrust between his teeth as he smiled or spoke, as if from clumsiness of physiological structure. "I thank you, Dr. Penrith, for coming," said he, in a thick, lisping voice. Though the voice was thick and lisping, 240 THE SILENT DOOR it was not unmanly nor unpleasing. A bell-note was muffled in it that, at the touch of emergency, would ring clarion-true. Dr. Penrith did not take the chair to which the young man beckoned him. Instead, he straightened himself and spoke in his deliberate way. "You will admit, sir, that it is natural for an interview to be prefaced by mutual introductions. You have the ad- vantage of me, sir. So far, I have proceeded in ignorance of your identity." The young man winced, as for the first time he turned his eyes to meet those of Justinian Penrith. The young man's eyes were brown, bloodshot, and moist with emo- tion. They seemed to crouch and apologize for his ugliness, for his sickness. The next moment they hardened and swerved aside, in haughty indifference to his guest and the interlocutor. Justinian quailed before the mingled suffering and hardihood of those bloodshot brown eyes. He could think of nothing to say till Frederick Droll again spoke. "I am Peter Kenyon's cousin," "Ah, that is it?" said Justinian, with a rush of intelli- gence, as in one brief second a crowd of past conjectures resolved themselves out of the mist and took definite shapes. "You represent Peter Keynon?" "You are mistaken, Dr. Penrith," said Droll, smiling painfully, his tongue between his lips. " I do not represent Peter Kenyon, I do not even know where in the world Peter Kenyon is. I speak for myself." The alternating currents of hope, fear, conviction, IN GREENWICH VILLAGE 241 bewilderment that had beaten upon Justinian during the last hour left him exhausted almost to insensibility. He felt the bright room blackening, his forehead clammy. He tottered and would have fallen if Droll had not sprung to his aid. The gaunt, great-boned face of the younger man hardly reached to his shoulder, yet Droll's arms were strong. When Dr. Penrith came to his senses, he was on a divan, Droll had drawn a screen across the sky-lights and veiled the glare from the south windows. He held a glass of cordial to the elder man's lips. "Liquor?" said Justinian. "Liqueur," Droll corrected gently. Justinian waved aside the tiny beaker. "A glass of water will suffice, thank you, Mr. Droll I am quite strong again. The unusual occurrences of the day have somewhat disconcerted me " I understand," said Droll, letting his strange gaze rest for a moment sympathetically on Justinian's overwrought face, the tortured deep-set blue eyes, and the sensitive thin cheeks, half-hidden by the carefully combed gray beard. " The woman will bring dinner to us soon." " I must ask you to excuse me," said Justinian sternly. "Let us finish our interview." Droll pushed an electric bell in the wall. " I beg of you, sir, to do me the honor. The circum- stances are unusual. You are faint and should not be de- prived of your accustomed meal. What I have to say re- quires time. Later, I will explain my singular method of procedure. That is, if you wish it. Meanwhile, let me begin my saying that I loved your daughter Danae I - 242 THE SILENT DOOR " Give me a moment's time," cried Justinian, breathing hard, and spilling the glass of water from which he had been about to drink. " You you I thought we were to talk of of money of Rue You are My God ! You are the father of Tell me that you are Danae's husband." Droll's bloodshot brown eyes flew into flames. " I am not married to Danae " he said, the lisp leaving him and his voice ringing hard. Justinian steeled himself to be quiet. "You mean that you loved her and she did not love you ? " Frederick Droll rose from the stool upon which he sat. The flowered Japanese dressing-gown he wore brought out cruelly the disproportioned figure, the emaciated, features and the scarlet mouth. " Look at me ! Would a woman like Danae love a man like me?" The way in which he met Justinian's awed eyes combined the bravado of the daredevil with the humility of the slave. "The seeds of this disease were planted then," he said, " when Danae refused to love me. I will not be pitied I am glad. " There arose before Justinian's eyes the vision of two figures Danae, half -butterfly, half -human, her soft vain lavender eyes, her exquisite hands, her voice that asked for caresses, and her smile that expected adoration. A thing that floated but never walked ; that laughed and cried but did not think. Beside her, this chalky travesty of a man, with the savage jaws and the hungry cheeks. No, Danae had not loved him. He was not Rue's father. IN GREENWICH VILLAGE 243 " I loved Danae, " Droll began, over again. " She gave herself to another. Rue was born, and yet that child was mine. I was with Danae always before its birth. I taught Danae all she knew of life and loveliness, I and Peter. When she was ill and shut her eyes and could not bear the sight of me I read to her, sang to her I was to her Art, Italy, Greece. I filled her mind full, full during those months that went before. ,1 took her to the opera, to the play, I and Peter. I made him do it. He was beginning not to care. That child was mine. You may not believe it, Dr. Penrith, but I trundled her perambulator up the Rialto one day. The nurse had gone, Danae flown off on one of her tantrums. There was no one but myself to attend the child. I was scene-painting on the top floor of the Lyceum. I trundled the baby with me and gave her the bottle between dabs of my brush. I declare to you it made the Rialto stare. It was spring and full parade on Broadway. " The picture in Justinian's mind was a confused one: Rialto, scene-painting, Lyceum, were terms not included in his vocabulary. " At last I took the baby from Danae. She let me. She did not care. I took her to you. Danae did not know. I believe, sir, up to this point all is clear. " Frederick Droll paused and his lips twisted to their peculiar contortion. Justinian, observing automatically the facial gesture, saw that it was the outward symbol of frightful physical pain, an anguish that stilly convulsed him. Here the red-jacketed woman returned with trays of dinner and the conversation ceased. 244 THE SILENT DOOR " I generally mix my own, " said Droll, choosing between two amber-filled bottles that he produced from a side- board, "but that, like everything else, is becoming a deuced deal of a bore. " Once more he spoke with a lisp and with a mocking light in the full eyes. He added a maraschino cherry or two from another bottle and sipped with a contented air. There was a third species of cocktail of which Justinian partook. The cracked ice and the spicy red compound in which the oysters were immersed gave them a new relish. Here sat the two men, one wrecked with physical and both with mental anguish, yet commanding themselves sufficiently to discuss a dinner. Marvelous are the uses of habit. The occasional presence of the woman slipping silently back and forth helped them to remain outward masters of the situation. But the refinements of the culinary art were lost on both host and guest. The clang of the street-cars dully roared outside, the sunset streaked the polished floor. The woman took away the untasted plates. Their minds were for other matters. Penrith drank his coffee hastily, pushed aside the cheese and biscuit. The woman lighted oil wicks in various old-world lamps, that depended from the ceiling or were set on shelves against the walls. A Dutch lantern, a gondola lamp, and a Russian pontifical candelabrum, they flecked the twilight with glancing points of yellow. It was a fancy of Droll's to collect from the four quarters of the globe their individu- alities in lamp and candle-shapes. " I like to see them in the semi-twilight, " he said, half- IN GREENWICH VILLAGE 245 apologetically. " They break up the dusk into flakes without dispersing it. Have you ever noticed the street-lamps just before dusk ? How vividly blue they throw out the envelop- ment of street and roof-line. " Justinian scarcely followed this idle comment. He noticed that the immense stature of the red-jacketed woman enabled her to reach with ease what Frederick Droll could not have achieved except by use of chair or table. The woman left, closing the door behind her. The young man sipped his Benedictine, fondling a cigar be- tween his spectral fingers. Justinian, in his worn clerical coat, short in the waist and long in the tails, with a certain noble negligence about his collar and cravat, was oddly enough contrasted with the Japanese-gowned figure of his eccentric host. Yet both were dominated within by the same passions ; disappointed ambition, crushed love, and a fierce desire to know the other's mind and purpose. " Dr. Penrith, before we proceed further, will you claim your due of questioning me? There are doubtless points which have aroused your curiosity and upon which you have every right to be informed. " Droll had the knack, instinctive with some men, ac- quired through varied experience with others, of " placing" his companion, whoever it might be, and so adapting him- self as not to jar upon that companion's accustomed mode of thought and life. The Frederick Droll who now convers- ed with Justinian Penrith was not the same Frederick Droll who might share a seat with Pogson the drummer in yesterday's Overland Express, or who might chat with 246 THE SILENT DOOR Saensen, the "musical critic in the lobby of a playhouse. " I cannot remain with you much longer, " said Justinian, " I have an appointment at a Conference later in the eve- ning. It seems that we have not yet come to the reason for this meeting " As you have perhaps guessed, " said Droll, evidently in dread of the finality to which he was forcing himself; "it has been through me as a medium that during the last six years five hundred dollars has been annually placed at your disposal. It has been my pleasure to do this for Danae's sake, who is lost to me as to you and for her child." The old man leaned forward, the look of his eyes scourging Droll's pallid face. "Tell me," said he, "why you chose last fall that strange anonymous method of approaching me. " "Last fall! Strange and anonymous!" repeated Droll blankly. "Through your lawyer, E. W. Bastable." "I know of no such man. I did not approach you last fall. At that time, indeed, I was ill and delirious in my Italian villa. " Dr. Penrith proceeded to relate in detail the circum- stances of Bastable's call. "Curious, curious," cried Droll. "I did not dream that any one else in the world took an interest in in our "In my granddaughter Rue," finished Dr. Penrith sternly. " But this Bastable matter aside, " continued Droll, "we will with your permission return to it later, my IN GREENWICH VILLAGE 247 present and sole errand in this country is concerning Rue. I love her for Danae's sake, who is lost to me and I wish to adopt her for my own. " He did not notice the con- traction and hardening of the old man's features. " I will endow her with my property. I will The old man again leaned forward, again the look of his eyes scourged the pallid face. " Where is Danae's husband ? Send me to him. " " Do you not know, do you not know Danae's his- tory ? " the sick man cried. Grandfather dropped his face into his hands without a sound. XXVI FREDERICK DROLL'S DESIRE was the only person who ever brought me content. " Droll had for some time been speaking, but only at this sentence did Justinian become aware of his voice. "I could not explain it then. I cannot explain it now. But she brought me supreme content. I, the restless, the eager, the burning, with that profound loneliness which gnaws the heart, with her was at peace. I had found the center of my universe. But she was not for me. That is the way this world is put together. She all for Peter Kenyon, he for another, I all for her. She was part of me, the flame in my eyes, the sword across my breast, the unshed tears behind my sight, the water in which I was dissolved. It was all Danae And, should she come back, I would feel the same heart-beat, the beat that chokes, the same uplift, the uplift that blinds, that kills. " Justinian was profoundly moved. The man's extrava- gances were sincere. Even as he spoke, his face wore an unearthly glow. Like the revelation of a lightning flash there came to Justinian the end, the end of such a love, the love that conquers or slays. " Why did you not stay by Danae ? " 48 FREDERICK DROLL'S DESIRE 249 " My presence irritated her. She resented my protection. She escaped me. Ah, it was my supreme effort for her happiness that enabled her utterly to rid herself of me. She would have none of me. She was not for me. " Frederick Droll looked stonily out of his despair. " Great God, if Danae had been for me, I would have known. All my heart went out to the little abandoned child. I took her to you because I knew your home would be safe for her. I could make her no home. And all these years I have thought of her and worked for her. Ay, have prayed for her. " The bloodshot brown eyes flickered half in shame. " I knew in the end you would not, could not keep her from me. I have built her year by year, in my heart, a little house. I have made it ready for her, chamber by chamber. There are the books a child would love, the pictures, the statues. A garden with a fountain, a stone seat with a vine above it in the sun. " Droll's emotion mastered him. The tears filled his throat. He wrung his fingers and a flush overspread his marble face. Again was Justinian profoundly moved. He could scarce- ly believe the man sane, such swift passions swept through his speech. " Where is this house this home ? " " It is on one of the lakes in northern Italy where the climate is more of heaven than of earth where alone - I can hope to live. There the vineyards lean down to the shore, and the olive-trees between the trellises flow out like puffs of silvery-green smoke. All day long the wood- 250 THE SILENT DOOR dove mourns in the forests of chestnut and walnut, and the water laps the strand all day long under the shadow of mountains as tender as mountains of cloud. The roofs of the villages glow like rough jewels of rose- color and red, and the curved sails flutter idly back and forth from shore to shore." Droll seemed lost in the picture he was limning, and his long fingers moved nervously as if he held palette and brush. "The luscious days and the soft dim nights, when all the lake is strung with jewels, with the star shining on San Primo's forehead and the alpine glow making twin amethysts out of the peaks of the Grigne. And the child Rue and I, in our little garden full of the scent of jasmine and Camellia. Varenna will twinkle and float upward to us in peasant music and dance. We shall be so happy together at last. " He paused, realized himself and Justinian. " You do not know what you are saying, " Dr. Penrith spoke almost pityingly. " You do not know what you ask. Shall I give my granddaughter up to you, a stranger ? " " I have bared my heart to you, " cried Droll fiercely. " Am I a stranger ? Do you doubt the unselfishness of my love? Look!" He took from his pocket a cheque already made out and passed it across to Dr. Penrith. Mechanically the old man read it. "Ten thousand dollars." " Do you think, sir, " he cried angrily, " that money can buy from me my own flesh and blood ? " He turned as if to go, the gray lines of anger in his face. FREDERICK DROLL'S DESIRE 251 " Hear me, " cried Droll. " It is not of you I am thinking. It is of her. Think of her, think of the child, the girl, the woman. Is a fortune nothing to her, to her happiness ? What can you offer her? Poverty, obscurity, a nameless heritage. And I? I will adopt her, give her my name, provide her with suitable companions away from the home of her mother's disgrace, nothing will be known except what I make known. All Europe shall be hers to command, she will be the idol of fortune and my idol as well. " Again the force of his desire coupled with his physical suffering smote him dumb and his voice sank to inarticulate hoarseness. Penrith began to regard him pathologically. This obsession had possessed Droll's mind for years. He must be cured of it gently, slowly. "Money, a fortune, is not to be contemned. It may bring much richness to a life it smoothes many obstacles before one's feet. A woman is not constituted to battle with poverty all this I know and realize full well. It is true that from the material point of view I have little to offer the two children under my care. Justine has a small inheritance but as for Rue when she is older she will have to go out and make her own way. I thank you for your deep and sincere devotion to my daughter's child - Penrith had spoken the final word. Droll was crazed. The insane desire of a self-willed man, of a sick man, filled him, would not let go of him. " Danae Danae's child what right have you you cast her off I saved her saved her from herself. You denied her Danae, Danae's child. Give her to me!" 252 THE SILENT DOOR The spear-point of truth in his ravings struck to Penrith's heart. It was true that he had denied Danae, cast her off. He stood silent, a prisoner at the bar, guilty, dumb. Droll had fallen to his knees and clung to a chair for support. Thus, neither man perceiving the other, both struggled with themselves. The roar of the elevated trains went steadily on, throbbing in the distance, thundering by, puffing and gasping at the station, hissing, thundering, throbbing, dying in the distance and so over again. The jammed humanity packed within, black without, packed and black like beehives a-swarm, went steadily by above and below. Each passenger an entity, the center of a sharp individual life. Droll coughed very slightly, coughed a little blood into the handkerchief which he held to his mouth. He rose. "Let me for the moment," said Justinian, "put aside the thought of Danae's daughter. She is for the moment happy and cared for. It is not so well, perhaps, with Danae. " " Perhaps ! Do you not know ? " flamed Frederick. " I know nothing except that I have failed in the crises of life and that I want my daughter again. Will you not help me find her ? " The old man's voice was pitiful. Frederick and Fred- erick's love for Danae had shamed him and out of the shame had reawakened his stifled yearning. "Find Danae/" Droll burst out. "You man, you father, you, you, do you not even know ? " The old man bent his head in acknowledgment of the proud stubbornness that had kept him ignorant. FREDERICK DROLL'S DESIRE 253 " I have never written, I have never heard from her, I have never known since Danae left my house. " " Poor Danae ! It was true then, what she told me. I could scarcely believe," cried Droll, the drops standing on his forehead. "How bitter you were and how you cared!" "Cared! My God!" " We will look for Danae, " said Frederick Droll, reach- ing a hand to Penrith. " Afterwards, what of Rue ? " "It will depend on the issue," said Penrith. "Who knows ? " XXVII ANGELA FIELD THE two men met again the next day. Frederick Droll had used such means as he found readily at hand in the search for Danae. He had visited Bastable who remained unmoved in his determination to keep his client's secret. " Let me tell you what I know of Danae's history, " said Droll to Dr. Penrith, "and then we may plan our next step. When Danae first left her home she came to New York and, through the agency of Peter Kenyon, then un- known and poor but brilliant, talented, she posed for several months as artists' model. Of course she saw a great deal of Kenyon with whom she was madly in love. And a fascinating chap he was, with a head like a Greek god, an engaging laugh, the fantastic Irish humor, and genius enough to have set all New York a-talking, if he had only applied himself persistently. Things went on gaily for a while, Danae growing lovelier and more loving, and Kenyon, selfish devil that he was, playing with her heart as if it had not been the heavenly jewel that a wo- man's heart is. " Here Droll paused, coughed a little, looked hard out of the window, then contorted his lips to his grim smile and proceeded. "After a while, as things go in this world, 254 ANGELA FIELD 255 Kenyon fancied her indispensable to his work, his guiding star, genius, subliminal inspiration and all that rot. He hadn't a cent. She hadn't a cent. He didn't want to get married but he wanted Danae. He was full of the French feeling, life in the Latin quarter, Manon Lescaut and that sort of thing They they - The old man winced as if the shadow of a physical blow was dashed across his vision. " They took a picturesque studio on the East Side and lived together. Oh, it was no loose partnership. " With his tearful bloodshot eyes. Droll seemed to soothe the old man's tortured face. " They lived some years thus, he modeling, she posing for him, singing for her own and others' amusement. She took lessons that was through me I was at their studio half the time. It was all quite idyllic, Arcadian. " " You don't mean to say that that Danae was happy ? " The anguish in the old man's hands was pitiful to see. " Danae was a bird, a butterfly yes, she was happy till till Rue was born. They had not wanted the child They had not expected her. Danae rebelled against her. And then about then Kenyon changed, grew in- different, impatient, restless. Wanted to go to Paris, to Rome, for study Danae and the child were a burden. That was the beginning of the end. " Then Danae pulled oft' her first little success on the stage. Shall I tell you of that?" " There is one point you have not yet mentioned, " said Dr. Penrith, commanding himself with difficulty. " Danae's 256 THE SILENT DOOR marriage. After the child was born surely there was " I am coming to that. Peter didn't want to marry her, even when he loved her his selfish best. She would have taken him in a moment. He swayed her, body and soul. We kept at him, argued with him, threatened, cursed him, and the beast finally did offer to marry her. "And and she flew at him in a fury of scorn. She wouldn't have him. It was just before her first success on the stage. I began to tell you of it. " Roland Randall was a friend of theirs, a man with a lot of money, some brains and prodigious vanity. He was a drawing-room entertainer, a Browning Reader, an apostle of the Oscar Wilde cult. He was ambitious to rise above the long-haired womanish vogue, to play Hamlet, Othello, the Cid, to be the real thing. "After Rue was born he came oftener than ever to the studio. He was one of those that joined with me in urging Danae and Peter to be married, for the child's sake, if for no other reason. "Hamlet was finally put on at Wallack's Theater, for two or three special performances. Danae was Ophelia. She had been studying with Randall for months. She pulled the performance through. Her pearly voice, her vanishing grace, the rare quality of her beauty " Droll's voice ceased again, with that premonitory rattle that preceded one of his painful attacks. " For twenty-four hours she was the talk of the dramatic crowd along Broadway. She went wild over her little success. It gave her new spirit, life, zest. But Kenyon was more than ever mad to break the traces. An enterprising ANGELA FIELD 257 manager, by name Joseph Beak, of Beak and Blumen- thein, picked her up and put her in training. Poor, pretty, light-hearted, hurt Danae. I believe Peter Kenyon was worth more to her than all the world, career, stage distinc- tion and fortune The studio wasn't so idyllic those days. Now that Danae was by way of earning a name and position for herself, the road seemed open to Kenyon." " He did not leave her without without They were married, Danae and Rue's father ? " questioned the burning eyes of Justinian Penrith. Frederick gravely inclined his head. " It was arranged after a fashion. Kenyon to be free to leave her. Danae to get a divorce uncontested, on grounds of desertion after the proper length of time. Kenyon to send five hundred dollars annually for the support of the child. This to continue till Rue was sixteen or till the mother married again. Danae to resume her maiden name. " Oh, it was a heartbreaking business, Dr. Penrith, that marriage of Danae's after the ardors and ecstasies of the first months together. " It's a strange world, isn't it, two souls blown together in space from nowhere and breaking into bright flame as they unite to one. Then blown apart again and wiped out into darkness one from the other. The most rapturous intimacy, bonds one would think eternal. Out of it all, what ? Hatred, indifference, a whiff of smoke!" Frederick paused, breathing the cigarette smoke deli- cately upward, watching it fade toward the ceiling. " I was Danae's adviser, man of affairs. Kenyon had his boxes packed and off to Europe, before you could say Jack 258 THE SILENT DOOR Robinson. I happened on Danae the night after his de- parture. She had come home from a rehearsal in her stage dress, a dancing skirt mottled with velvet like a butter- fly's wing She sat on the lowest step of Kenyon's modeling stand, about the only article of furniture there was left in the apartment, except the baby's crib. The janitor's little girl was watching the baby who slept as sweetly as if she were in the heart of Paradise. " ' Fred, it's all done with,' cried Danae, laughing like a child. ' Ken's gone to Europe. I've got a place with Beak and Blumenthein. It's off with the old and on with the new. The king is dead. Long live the king.' She rose, pirouetted, clapped her hands and laughed till my heart ached. The little child awoke and held out its arms to be taken up. A dear little child she was, with such soft fingers and eyes like flowers and vague smiles that came and went. But Danae never noticed the child, what with her mad laughter and dancing ' ' Don't stand there like a whitewashed mummy, Fred,' she cried, 'shake hands and have it good-by for it's Quits with the old life.' " Her laughter cut me to the heart more than tears. I wanted to gather her to my arms, rock her and soothe her till the laughter ceased and she would sob on my breast like a tired child. "'What of the little one?' I cried. "'Babes?' (That was what we called her. She had never a name but that.) A strange, hard look crept into Danae's child-eyes. '"I cannot mother Babes,' she said. 'You take her, ANGELA FIELD 259 Fred. You need her. She will love you. You'll be a better mother than ever I've been. ' "Poor little Danae laughed, compassionately, self- scorn ingly. "Tha.t was how Rue came to me. Do you see why I love her ? " Then I talked to Danae. My heart was bursting with love for her. I dared not let her know. I talked like the stern moralist, the cynical philosopher, I tried to incarnate before her the critical, relentless world before whose judg- ment she would have to stand or fall. "She listened indifferently, then loathly, then angrily. She was adorable in her anger. " ' I am sick of you, Fred, ' she burst out, ' I do not like the sight of you. You remind me of things I am going to forget. Please leave me, please go out of my life forever.' Forever! That was her word. "'May I kiss you, Danae,' I said, 'just once, for the child's sake!' " She bent to me, she was taller than I, and I touched her temples with my lips. '"Think gently of me, dear Fred,' she said. ( As if I or any man could ever do otherwise ! ) Then she flung a coat round her and went to an inner room. I have never seen her since that night. " There was silence in Droll's apartment. The old man fingered a portfolio that lay on the table. Droll lighted a cigar and paced like a caged beast from window to window. "Of course there was the money, Kenyon's money. I was responsible for that. After the child went to you 260 THE SILENT DOOR I sent the money to you. It was no longer necessary for me to communicate with Danae. " " And Kenyon he kept to his agreement ? " asked the old man, struggling to find what redeeming manliness he might in Rue's father. Droll hesitated but an instant. "The money never failed to arrive," he said in his clearest voice. But it was he himself who had made up, year by year, the deficient fund. Something in Droll's voice, in the averted eyes, caught at Justinian's throat. He felt, all of a sudden, his own contemptible steeliness. He yearned after the quality of mercy. " God pity and forgive me, " he said. " They were but children, after all. " "She was a little wandering child," said Frederick, with bitter inner reservation. "What of her life since?" asked Dr. Penrith slowly, a dread deepening in his eyes. "After I took the child to you, I left the country. I wrote to Danae once, giving her my permanent foreign address and asking her to write me if she should change her mind toward me or need me in any way. I have never heard from her. "Since my return I have made inquiries. She went through the mill of a stock company, Hazel Kirke, Camille, and the rest. Oh, of course it's caviar to the great public, to whom the coming and going of minor reputations among player-folk is of less account than the advent or departure of the peanut-vender from the street corner. Then, still ANGELA FIELD 261 under Beak's patronage, Danae waxed popular for a season. Now she has vanished. " "Vanished, " echoed Dr. Penrith, who had been follow- ing Droll's narration with anxious attention " What do people say ? What do they think ? What of this Beak ? " "I can get nothing from him. He professes absolute ignorance. People who think about the matter at all wonder vaguely. Some say it was only personal influence that gained her a position in Beak's metropolitan company. Others whisper other tales. Perhaps she did not justify the hopes of her manager. Perhaps the public proved fickle. But reputations come and go. Few have taken the trouble to follow her career. " Droll threw his cigar into the empty fireplace and flung himself face downward on his divan. XXVIII ALONG THE RIALTO FREDERICK DROLL and Justinian Penrith de- cided to begin their search for Danae among the theatrical folk who encamp on Broadway- Between Twenty-eighth and Forty-fifth Streets there are perhaps a dozen theaters on both the east and west sides associated with a variety of amusements, from spectacle and ballet, generally London-imported, and the society comedy, also English, to the rural farce, comic opera and the exploitation of vaudeville acts and of individual clever- ness, these strongly American in derivation. The theaters are most of them wedged inconspicuously between the small shops, the great hotels, the saloons, the heterogeneous office-buildings, the apothecaries and confectioners that compose the polychrome and lively front of New York's most characteristic thoroughfare. Except for the numerous pictorial devices setting forth the play or the players that hedge about these theatrical entrances, or the illuminated signs that scintillate at night, a disinterested stranger might pass up and down Broadway many times and not notice the prevalence of the histrionic profession, or, more technically speaking, of " the profession " in that quarter of the city. Dr. Penrith had many times, in his younger days before the seclusion of Joppa, traversed the length ALONG THE RIALTO 2C3 of Broadway, unaware of a single theater, ignorant of the names of the most successful actress whose features flour- ished on fa9ade, blank wall or road-mender's temporary ap- paratus. The bill-poster is like the quick-witted spider who sanguinely seizes the momentary support of your hat brim or shoe-buckle as the terminal-point of his weaving. So the bill- poster (seemingly a night-toiling species whose products blossom full grown in the morning), seizes the casual opportunity of an ash-barrel or ephemeral tool-house for the display of his ingenuity. Justinian might even have passed through the perfumed thick of a matinee crowd without discovering its quality, or mingled with the seedy group that hovered in front of the Actors' Society or the Gaudenzio Exchange, and not perceived its character. For what we know nothing of we do not see, but when our eyes are opened to a new fact we are reminded of it daily. Behind the doors of these inconspicuous and often narrow entrances, opens out a great auditorium with a stage that reaches backward to infinite space. One wonders, when emerging on the street again, how there is room with- in the four sides of the variously crowded city block for the tier on tier of humanity and the mimic world to which he has been spectator. Upon some side street or other, apparently in absolute detachment from the box-office entrance, is an iron gate or wooden door or a brown-stone stoop and this is the stage-entrance, defining in that direction the limits of the labyrinthine interior of the Broadway playhouse. This door is zealously guarded by a soiled and surly porter. 264 THE SILENT DOOR The soiled and surly porter has for his chief function the Cave Canem attitude in speech and gesture and look. He keeps away from the portal the zealous stage aspirant, the unarrived playwright, the infatuated stage-struck, all those who seek by " climbing in at the window " to secure the manager's or the star's attention. The number of such is legion. But the initiated know an open sesame by which they may pass the theatrical Cerberus. Frederick Droll possessed this open sesame, and it was to the byways of this world that he introduced Justinian Penrith. There were such signs as these, engraved on glass doors, gilded on large windows, staring at the end of dusky corridors : Ben Keeler's Enterprises; the Original Tracy the Out- law; The Gillaney Plays; Al Wehman; Sara Klaw; the Beauty Girls Co.; Eastern Ass. Vaudeville Man.; Harry Golden, Sec.; Westward Ho; The Dramatic Looking- Glass; The Rialto Roar, and many other such cabalistic titles and abbreviations. But who runs may read, if he runs in theatrical harness. These are distributing centers for men who control the theatrical markets throughout the country. From the brains of these hat-wearing, often coat- less, and generally hawk-nosed individuals, who turn over masses of "paper" and interview briefly the people sum- moned, emanate the second and third-rate dramatic com- panies who put up for one-night stands at the smaller towns throughout the country. Here do the applicants register themselves for "The Flaming Arrow" and "A Wife's Wrongs." Here is the preliminary business transacted that shall ALONG THE RIALTO 265 inaugurate Miss Pinky Patrician as a danseuse of the first order in Sioux City. Here are the bloodhounds captured for Eliza's pursuit to thrill future audiences in Bloody Gulch. Hither flock also the incapacitated, the left-behind, the superseded actors and actresses whose career has begun the retrograde descent; or the raw recruit, fresh from dramatic school or amateur triumph, who seeks real "experience." Here also are booked the secondary companies that float on the waves of a great metropolitan success. They strive to repeat for the intellectual and moral stimulation of more isolated communities the triumphs of a red-haired Phryne, the pseudo-historical freaks of a play-king's play-mistress, or the superhuman cunning of a British Gaboriau. There are Agencies presided over by some frizzled and moon-cheeked Madame and her attendant satellites, a fluffy girl or two at a clicking desk and a smooth boy, tendencies of past profession in alert legs and hints of future ambition in sardonic Caesarean lips. Unto Madame resort, timidly or flashily as the case may be, the host of unemployed "professionals" and would-be professionals. Drop in between ten and twelve in the morning and study the comedies and tragedies enacted before Madame's eagle-eyed front. An auburn-haired girl stands with assur- ance born of a modish gown and a popular brilliance of hair, and smilingly answers Madame's laconic queries. What experience, what roles, what street address these facts briefly given suffice. A statement of age is superfluous, being subject in origin to the fancy of the registered and in 266 THE SILENT DOOR result to the credulity of the registrar. One is apt to take a fresh start once in a while, going back a few paces as the runner does before a hurdle. Experience? "None, that is what I am looking for," is the trembling answer. Good-morning, and you are dismissed. The bejeweled hand does not take the trouble to inscribe your name. Enter another: Experience ? " Twenty years. " The voice is cracked, the smile wavering. He buttons a frayed coat more closely to conceal the lack of linen. The moon-faced smile is pitying but discourages. The last three companies he has been with will suffice. He has harked back to long ago when he had " the figure of a Marquis. " Call next week. Good-morning. Perhaps he will call next week, perhaps not. It makes little difference. His day is past for a lucrative " signing." The auburn-haired girl still hovers, ingratiating herself with office-boy and shirt-waist girl. She has diplomacy. Her role is the emotional. Madame has added something under her name in the registry-book. Brilliant-Locks surmises it to be a favorable memorandum on her slim waist and aristocratic carriage. Good-by, au revoir, she flourishes out with such an emanation of prosperity that the incoming little girl conceives her to be already a Leading Lady and is duly impressed, The last-comer's pretty face and plumed hat might distract attention for a moment from the home-made bodice and the cotton gloves. But not for long. The evidences of thrifty penury do not escape Eagle-eyes. Boston stock ? When ? You were lucky. Why did you leave ? Want a metropolitan try, eh ? ALONG THE RIALTO 267 We'll see what we can do. Call every morning before ten. The ponderous hand writes her down, a pretty face for a chorus or minor ingenue. She may get in as sixth ballet- girl in " The Adventures of Ethel, " in which a girl no older and no prettier than she is playing the leading role and earn- ing her thousands monthly. A ripple of interest runs through the office. Something different is going to happen. These are types that have come and gone. The auburn-haired girl, the frayed gentle- man, the plumed and shabby ingenue, chiffon-veiled ladies whom you could not by any possibility imagine ever to have sat before a sitting-room fire, the bow-legged young men with satiny hair, all these are not individuals, they are species. You may leave them all at Madame Gaudenzio's and find a similar assortment at the Delleville Agency in the next block, or lounging about the frame dwelling- house owned till of late by the Actors' Society. You have only to open the proper door and the same entomologic assortment tumbles to view, like eccentric insects that creep out from under a lifted stone. But to-day at Madame Gaudenzio's new specimens appear. The other insects, thrilled by the novel appearance, creep more rapidly, wave inquisitive tentacles, erect a head, or bulge an eye, as entomologic habit may demand. The ripple of interest reaches the registrar of specimens behind her book, fetching a less automatic smile to her well-trained lips and creating in her glance a new and hu- man gleam. Enter Rue and Grandfather. XXIX THE GAUDENZIO AND THE BEAK THERE are eminent men and there are eminent- looking men. Justinian was one of this latter class. Clothes not built by a correct tailor, ignorance of the latest method of carrying a cane and absolute unconsciousness of the Picadilly hand-shake, a hat that belonged to no particular season and fitted any hour of the day, a collar and a cravat unclassifiable in any department of a " Gentlemen's Outfitters, " a growth of hair and beard that defied the newest canons in that department of forestry; these were trifles that sank below the surface when you met Justinian's eyes or came under the spell of his courtly manners. He had thin legs, sunken cheeks, an almost attenuated frame. You only noticed the richness of his eyes, the commanding forehead, the pecu- liarly irradiating smile. He had the look of being Somebody, of taking precedence, of wielding authority, of dispensing grace. The fluffy girl deferentially ceased her rattle. The Caesarean youth pulled a chair aside. The powdery lady made a half-f rightened salute through her pink and white and black-spotted veils. Justinian bowed to each and every one and leading Rue by the hand, a meek and thrillful hand, approached the Registrar of Specimens. The Dame arose and met Justinian's courtly hand with a queenly 268 THE GAUDENZIO AND THE BEAK 269 hand of her own. She had "done the heavy" in her day exceptionally well and was ready for all emergencies. " I have been sent to you, Madame Gaudenzio, by my friend Mr. Frederick Droll. " The name was sufficient. Madame's smile widened to the gold teeth on either side. She murmured pompous sweet- ness. Justinian asked for the privacy of an inner room. "Come, Rue." The child had already noted many strange and interesting people to be studied, after they had finished studying her. She had been present before at long and wearying discussions between Grandfather and other elderly persons in private rooms behind glass doors. Such discussions had little more animation than the bumbling dialogues between two middle-aged bees among the front- porch vines. " Please, Grandfather, I would rather stay here. It is so excellently cool. " Her reasoning prevailed. Grandfather and Madame dis- appeared behind a door. The fluffy girl began to click. The rest of the people in refreshed silence studied the child's little figure in the Constantinople cloak and her na'ive profile against the Broadway window. Her profile, on account of a delicious fullness of the lower lip, a shortness and delicacy of the chin, was more than childlike. It was a baby's. The limpidness of her look was denoted by the shape of the lids and the curve of the cheek. The curls that fell to her waist reminded one of old-fashioned story- books. It is not often that seven-year old children possess such length and luxuriance of hair. Her white stockings, before the revival of that style, looked quaint enough for a 270 THE SILENT DOOR masque, and the little chip hat with its buckle and stream- ers touched the high-water mark of the unfashionable. Such slight variances as these excited more speculation in that office than would a street-car collision or a subterran- ean explosion. Rue had already forgotten her surroundings in the cyclo- rama of the passing town as viewed from the second-story window-pane. On the other side of the street two living advertisements paced slowly southward toward Herald Square, an enor- mously tall fellow and a wee mite, both uniformed in red and placarded back and front with the name of a new patent medicine. The crowd hurried this way and that, hardly giving a second glance to these walking bill-boards, men who have sunk, through ill luck or scant intelligence, to a dehumanized livelihood. The sensitive passer-by must feel in regard to them that strange unreasoned shiver that the old romancers tell us one felt in the presence of a werwolf or of Melusine. Strange legends these of the soul of a snake or a wolf inhabiting human flesh. The same sort of shiver creeps up one's spine at the performance of Pantaloon, of a sensational preacher, or an hysteric actress, humans dehumanizing themselves for the amusement of humans. " Oh, Grandfather ! " cried Rue, forgetting her hand was not still in his, "Look, quick! The scarlet Giant and the little Elf. They have walked right out of the fairy book. Look, quick!" The passion of a little child to share her enjoyment with another throbbed in Rue's voice. The clear childish THE GAUDENZIO AND THE BEAK 271 treble clarified the Gaudenzio office like a breeze on a muggy day. Joseph Beak had just entered the place and over him, also, that baby brightness flew. Joseph Beak is a great name on the Rialto. Beak and Blumenthein are princes, potentates. Between them they rule the great country of melodrama and spectacle. They may make or unmake reputations by the stroke of a pen. They may throne or dethrone an actor by the pressing of a button. They deal in millions. They juggle with the public. They gamble in that riskiest of all markets, Audiences. They are attuned to the veriest straw in the wind. They are sensitive to a just-sown weariness, a germinating fancy, before the public becomes self-conscious. They scent the smell of prosperity, the smell of failure, as a beagle scents distant game. They pluck this one forward, they set that one back. They execute a business of infinite detail on the most gigantic scale. Their ears are open to the most fantas- tic enterprises. They make a trade out of Fairyland. Nothing is too daring, nothing too vast, nothing too small. There is only one essential. There must be money in it. They have imagination, acuteness, intelligence. In a word, they are Beak and Blumenthein. Now you are in a position to be sufficiently impressed by the entrance of Joseph Beak into Madame Gaudenzio's Exchange. If you are not impressed, you will prove an exception to the rule. The chief of a hundred or more "enterprises," a thousand or more employes from star actor down to call-boy, the dispenser of millions of money Joseph Beak was an encyclopedia of opportunity, a 272 . THE SILENT DOOR mine of theatrical "jobs," if he could only be mined. He was a neighbor of Madame Gaudenzio's in the Rotter- dam Building. Joseph Beak was a quiet middle-aged man whose Hebraic lineage showed in a modified and almost spiritual- ized strain. His blonde features tended to a ruddy hue, his voice was low, his eye mild and musing, but steady, extraordinarily steady. Steadiness was the predominating note in his personality. He had the steady eye, the low and steady voice, the steady square fingers. He seemed to carry within himself an invisible carpenter's rule by which he . ruled off you your opinions his utterances, your utterances, his conclusions. His employees found him agreeable and inflexible to a mystifying degree. Beak and Blumenthein needed a child actress for a certain bit in " The Fairy Prince. " It was a bit, but an important bit. The role of child actress is, as all mangers know, a difficult one to fill. This particular "bit" had already scored several failures and evoked the derision of critics. Beak had almost decided to " cut " it, when Madame Gaudenzio offered to produce the desired material, the child of a retired actress friend. On the moment of Beak's entrance, Rue, her face a-glow, her hands clasped, turned with that passionate plea on her lips and met the mild musing eyes of Joseph Beak. Madame was concluding her interview with Dr. Penrith. " I am sorry I can give you so little information, " said she. " Miss Field was well known in the profession during the few years she remained on the stage, but she was THE GAUDENZIO AND THE BEAK 273 reserved. I doubt if any of her associates know her where- abouts. " Madame smiled one-sidedly as if there were something behind which she knew but chose not to dilate upon. As they came out of the inner room they caught sight of Mr. Joseph Beak and Madame had done with Dr. Penrith. There was more important business on hand with this new-comer and potentate. However, Beak was the one man who might be supposed to know something of Angela Field's present life. The potentate moved forward, insinuating himself courteously and displacing Dr. Penrith at the Madame's side. He thought he had opportunely arrived to assist at terminating a defunct interview. The elderly man might be a book agent or a relative from the country. Beak looked at Rue and spoke directly to the point. " She is just the stuff. She will not merely take the part but make it." The celerity of Beak's judgment was famous and he seldom erred. Madame, in a little confusion, followed Beak's eyes and saw that he referred to Rue, whose illuminated profile brightened the window. "You are mistaken, Mr. Beak. The child I have sent for will come in an hour. The child there is this gentle- man's granddaughter, I believe. " She glided off delicately upon the assumption. "Mr. Beak, Dr. Penrith, Miss Field's father." Her eagle eyes scanned the after-effect of Miss Field's name. " He was a personage, after all, " murmured to themselves 274 THE SILENT DOOR the attendant satellites of the office, " thus to be introduced to the great Beak, omnipotent dispenser of jobs. " To Dr. Penrith the name Beak was merely a trifling collocation of letters. Beak's steady eye made swift note of the grandfather, Angela's father, the anxious cheeks, the eager eye, the attenuated frame, the worn clothes, the pride, the fierceness, the sadness. Nothing could have exceeded the respect, the solemn respect, of Beak's manner. Madame Gaudenzio dared not scrutinize Beak's face as closely as she wished. The steady features of the man did not flinch, though the reddish beard may have conceal- ed a possible paling of the cheek. The pupils of his eyes underwent a curious dilation and contraction, a sign of excitement that light-colored eyes betray. "Dr. Penrith," said Beak, "may I presume upon this casual introduction and ask for a brief interview. It will be, I assure you, for our mutual advantage. " His distinct pronunciation of Dr. Penrith's name was in itself homage and contrasted with Madame's tentative handling of it. Grandfather, Rue and Mr. Beak left the Gaudenzio office as one party. " But, Mr. Beak, when the child arrives the other child " questioned Madame, more with a shrewd desire for Beak's answer than for any information. " That matter can wait, " replied the potentate dryly. XXX A POLITE MAN MESSENGER boys came and went with telegrams, the negro porter padded in and out, names were announced and denied, batches of mail were laid upon the desk, type-written reports submitted, the telephone rang on insistent business, associates murmured brief hints and insinuated bits of the current transaction that would not brook delay. These things were interludes in the talk between Joseph Beak and Justinian Penrith. Mr. Beak's mild steady eye traveled from grandfather to child, from child to grandfather. The selection of their chairs, the disposal of the window-blind, the glasses of apollinaris, all these items on behalf of his visitors were of infinite concern to Mr. Beak. The springs of contact were so gently oiled that the most refractory wheels ran smoothly. " As perhaps Madame Gaudenzio told you, " said Beak, " your daughter was for some time a member of one of my companies. A year ago, to the keen regret of her m nager and associates, she withdrew. " His measured tone sounded like a rehearsed icsson. Justinian had noticed before they left the Gaudenzio office the dilation and contraction of the man's eyes, which not even the most practised can control, but observant as he 275 276 THE SILENT DOOR was, he could detect nothing below that measured reci- tative. Beak was silent, waiting to hear what Dr. Penrith might say. He did not yet know the old man's motive in seeking this interview. He had been about to ask his own question but decided to let the other take the initiative. Rue was allowed to retire to a window-embrasure and was looking over a theatrical album. Justinian hesitated a moment, wondering how he should approach the simple question that lay in his mind. " Where is Miss Field now ? " The same question and the same hesitation haunted the mind of the opposite person. Beak began again : " If you come to me for advice as to Miss Penrith's best course, my advice is decidedly, that her stage career should be continued. She has great talent. " Justinian's answer was quick and stern. "I ask no ad- vice from you as to my daughter's stage career. I have no wish for her to continue in a course that, without my knowledge, she began. " "Ah?" Beak's mild interrogatory implied that he was grateful for this autobiographical revelation. " Miss Penrith is not ill, I trust ? " continued the smooth, deferential voice. Justinian met him squarely, eye to eye. " I do not known where my daughter is. That is what I come to find out from you. " Beak returned Justinian's gaze, frankness for frankness. " It is also what I hoped to find out from you, Dr. Penrith." A POLITE MAN 277 There was the situation between them. The two men proceeded to speak of the past, exchanging their different portions of Danae's history, each with reservations. And these reservations were just what was needed to elucidate an otherwise mystifying narrative. If Justinian had known better his interlocutor's absorb- ing profession and the magnitude of his interests he would have understood more clearly how powerful must have been the motives that induced so prolonged a conversation. As it was, he noted the impatience with which all interrup- tions were waived aside. " I do not need to justify my own quest, Mr. Beak, but may I ask the cause of your interest ? " "A purely professional one," said he quickly, almost too quickly, as if the question had been expected and the answer prepared. "There is always a demand for good actresses and an over-supply of incompetent ones. Angela Field, as she was known to us, filled certain difficult roles that have been hard to replace. " Dr. Penrith remembered Madame Gaudenzio's veiled remark: "A certain manager seemed to find available parts for your daughter when others could not. " He connected this allusion with Beak. Therefore, to Beak's last remark he replied : " So I have understood from other sources. " " It is true, " said Beak calmly, " I have the faculty of fitting actor to part, part to actor, of seeing possibilities that with other managers go to waste. It is a main cause of theatrical success. " Justinian rose to go, thankful for several things. Danae's 278 THE SILENT DOOR life as revealed to him by Madame Gaudenzio and Mr. Beak may not have followed such lines as he would approve, but it had commanded their consideration. There existed among these folk a well-organized world of which he had known nothing. "I am indebted to you, Mr. Beak, for your time and information. " "I can assure you that we have ourselves made many efforts to trace her. If you should succeed in your search will you do me the favor of communicating with me?" A simple enough request, scarcely to be refused. Beak filled up the moment's hesitation. " I, in turn, will renew my efforts. I have many agencies which may be set to work. " Again he paused, demanding an answer to his previous question. A tensity in the human atmosphere made Justinian giddy. " Let us sit down again for a moment, " said Beak. He rang for fresh water and sipped a little from his own luke- warm glass. " Does the little girl sing ? " " My ward ? She cannot sing a note. " "Why, Grandfather!" cried Rue reproachfully, "You know how nicely I sang that song when we were out driving with Augustus. " "Can you sing it here?" asked Mr. Beak, turning a pair of beaming eyes on Rue. Rue thought a minute and then in a requiem-like re- citative chanted her improvisation. A POLITE MAN 279 Augustus, get right along, please, Like a nice little, good little horse. Shake your mane all you want to, but don't stumble on your knees, For ifs almost supper-time, of course. "I sang like that when we came to Mr. Larrabee's box-hedge and it was sunset. Augustus is our horse that we borrow from Mr. Dewsnap and such a pleasant little horse, though he is rather tiresome sometimes because he drinks so very, very slowly. " Mr. Beak regarded Rue kindly, meditatively, seeing some one else's forehead and eyebrows. " Thank you. Very prettily done, " he said. Rue, pleased that in Mr. Beak she had found a support- er, retired to her album. "Mr. Beak might be a valuable coadjutor," thought Dr. Penrith, " if only it were possible to get at his actual motives. " He spoke aloud. "Your interest on my behalf is kind, and I most cer- tainly shall let you know if I gain any knowledge of Danae. " " Your home is " " In a country village up-state. " " And you would take Danae home with you there ? " The almost imperceptible shadings of Mr. Beak's voice shaded to strokes of surprise on Danae and there. " I should use every endeavor in my power, Mr. Beak, so to do and to wean her from this life. " " You would not add your voice to my arguments the large salary and the uh honor - 280 THE SILENT DOOR Beak was going much further than he had intended, but he had a definite motive. " Honor ! There is none involved in what this theatrical flim-flam offers. The money ? That, Mr. Beak, I am well- used to doing without. " He spoke wearily. Mr. Beak was the fine flower of courtesy as he accom- panied his guests to the door. "I shall, as I said, renew my efforts. They will be entirely on your behalf, Dr. Penrith, as your interests and mine in the matter are opposed. I need not say that you have my sympathy. You will find a cab waiting for you at the curb below. Nothing at all, I assure you. It is the least I can do for you under the circumstances. I had the highest esteem for your daughter. " And so the well-oiled interview, with scarcely a break or a jar, rolled to a gentle standstill. " What a very polite man that Mr. Beak is, " said Rue to Grandfather as they bowled down Fifth Avenue toward Washington Square. " But I thought he bent over almost too much in saying good-by, didn't you, Grandfather?" Grandfather was absorbed and did not asnwer. He had just caught a glimpse of a familiar face on the street. Bastable had passed him briskly and entered the Rotter- dam Building. The sight of that man in that place suggested a new idea to Grandfather, one that might prove valuable. XXXI THE WOOING O'T FREDERICK invited Rue and her grandfather to lunch with him in the Greenwich house. The luncheon he had ordered was specially designed to please the appetite of a country-bred child. In the center of the polished table was a tall glass vase of American Beauty roses, heavy, bluish-crimson and magnifi- cently bowing over their own stems. There was iced lemon- ade, a strawberry floating a-top, and four succulent little straws waiting to be sucked ; small biscuit, pinky -brown, that broke open flakily like pie-crust ; a pot of steaming chocolate, snowy patties of Dutch cheese in a golden nest of lettuce. For the substantial appetite there was beefsteak cut and broiled as the epicure demands, and new potatoes, sleek and rose-yellow. On a side table Rue's quick eyes observed little green bowls of strawberries liberally heaped with sugar, and iced cakes that would melt in the mouth like jelly. Droll, who had lived in three continents and eaten food according to the traditions of twice as many races, believed that the simplest and plainest materials exquisitely pre- pared are the acme of good eating. To cap the whole, there was to be ice-cream in a variety of remotely zoologi- cal shapes, constructed according to a caterer's notions of ornithology. Shapes that a child would linger over and 281 282 THE SILENT DOOR finally demolish, claw, head and cold creamy wing, while a half sense of pity would tinge the epicurean pleasure. At eleven o'clock the little figure in the Constantinople cloak stood at the door of Frederick Droll's apartment, and a pair of wondering eyes caught their first glimpse of the heavy roses and the bedewed lemonade glasses. What Justinian first saw was two steamer-trunks, the lids open. The contents of one were feminine in character, with fluffs and frills that foamed over the edge. A child's scarlet cloak and a cap with a feather hung against the wall. Cloak and cap still bore the shop-tags. " So as to be quite in readiness, " said Droll. With a smile half-grim, half-humorous, he followed the direction of Justinian's glance. "You were not lacking in forethought," remarked Justinian mildly. ** The lack has never been charged against me. Witness our appointment made on the other side of the ocean, kept to the minute. " The luncheon passed off with admirable gaiety. There was graceful small talk between the two men and decorous silence from Rue. It was hardly noticeable that the younger man controlled the direction of converse with as skilful a touch as ever a sailor put to the rudder in the midst of choppy seas. As Desdemona was charmed by the Moor's modestly recounted deeds of prowess, so were Rue's ears charmed by the nameless magic of a different life in which the young man had participated. He and Grandfather discussed foreign lands, places they both had seen, but the talk was unlike the discussions she had often heard under THE WOOING O'T 283 the buttonball-tree at Penrith House. Endless and slum- brous had been those discussions, waged over the site of Kadesh Barnea or of ancient Adullam, wordy battles as like the one to the other as those fierce rhythmical tilts of Spencer's redoubtable knights or the hexameter onsets of Homer's raging heroes. Droll, as he spoke, constantly turned to Rue and the strange brown eyes filled her soul with yearning. He described many a storied river as he had seen it from his drifting canoe, many a bay with the white sail of his yacht swelling to the breeze. Rue almost heard those "Murmuring rivers by whose falls melodious birds sing madrigals. " She peered wistfully through "magic casements opening on the foam of faery seas forlorn." Grandfather played into Droll's hands as if he had sat across the cards from him during long years of partnership. The young man had stories to tell, always short, often amusing, invariably charming. Original experiences of the kind that does not happen to commonplace people, re- vealing by a lightning flash the personality of the partici- pant. It was a quaint and kindly personality that was revealed, one that loved little children and felt kindred- ship between himself and the beast. His calm eyes rested on Rue and contained no teasing twinkle or hint of curious scrutiny. Rue, poising a strawberry on her fork, forgot its destination in the delight of crossing the Rosegg glacier with Frederick by her side. The blue-green of Swiss lakes, the narcissus-fields of Les Avants, the crumbling towers of Roman hill-towns, the tinkle of sheep-bells, the fragrance of grapes drying in the sun in Savoyard vineyards! Then, 284 THE SILENT DOOR oh, the music and revelry of rustic feasters in festi di canesti or of Swiss vine-gatherers, frolicsome as the old heathen dancers from whom they were derived. " When shall we journey to those lovely places, Grand- father ? " asked Rue wistfully. " At two o'clock, dear, " he answered, with a return to the pleasant irony of Joppa days. Rue and Justine were fond of inquiring into the exact chronology of noted or interesting events, past or to come. For instance, at what hour in the day did Eve eat the apple ? Just when did Grandfather's beard begin to grow? On what day of the week does the first spring robin arrive? When did Noah's Ark land on Mount Ararat, morning, noon or night ? If Aunt Serena should remark to Grandfather, sotto voce at the dinner-table, "We must roast some chestnuts for the children, Justinian. " At once would there be an eager chorus, "When shall we do it, Grandfather ? " To all such persistent searchers after more accurate data would Grandfather answer gravely: "At two o'clock." It would seem that all the major part of the noteworthy episodes in the world's history had come to pass at the fateful hour of two o'clock. Yet somehow, as far as Rue could remember, nothing in her own life ever happened at that hour. Instead of being prolific of momentous events it was of a deadly barrenness. It was the hour when Grand- father took his nap and the house must be hushed to a tomb-like calm. THE WOOING O'T 285 Once Rue had perched herself on one of the tall stone gate-posts that guarded the entrance to the grassy lane and from this coign of vantage she had determined to watch the course of events at that fateful hour of two. But nothing really happened. Bees drumbled heavily in the apple-blossoms. She could hear the faint whetting of a scythe and once a cicada shrilled sleepily. That was all. " Cousin Frederick, " said Rue earnestly, " will you go to Italy with us at two o'clock ? " " Yes, Rue, if we can find you a mother and she will go, too." "There is one place I would like to visit and that is Vallombrosa. It is golden and leafy there and so calm that no one would ever be afraid. I know another person who would like to visit Vallombrosa. " "Who is it, dear?" " It is a little boy named Lillo I have not seen him for a long, long time. I told him about the brooks and the leaves and he said he would take me there some day." By and by Rue nodded over Cousin Frederick's pictures of foreign countries and now she was fast asleep, curled up on the Baghdad cushions of the sofa. " There is one place you did not picture to her, " said Justinian, "the pink villa on Lake Como, with the tea- roses over the wall and the statue of the laughing baby between the cypresses. " "That also waits for us. The cypresses and the darting lizards, the oleanders, the snow mountains and 286 THE SILENT DOOR the laughing baby. Danae shall go with us. Danae and Rue together. " "My dear boy, dear visionary- ' began Justinian. He stopped. There was a dream in Frederick's hungry eyes he would not destroy. XXXII THE PLACE OF WHISPERERS THERE were several maiden ladies in the house at Lafayette Place. A tiny high-browed editor on a church paper; a thin, falcon-faced librarian, and a lady who wore her hair in deep scallops like pictures of " restored " tresses. She was Mrs. Somebody, but the hus- band never appeared. It was surmised by the other boarders that she was neither a widow nor a divorcee and therefore she was tacitly relegated to that hazy metropolitan stratum to which no one has ever affixed a suitable nomenclature. Mrs. Somebody was particularly kind to Rue and under her perfumed and pompadoured guardianship, Rue was allowed to make a little swallow-flight into cosmopolitan life. There was a stuffed bear on his haunches before a furrier's upper window. He was a tired-looking bear, with dusty gaping mouth and small eyes of a feverish hue. Rue wondered whether he stood there both winter and summer and whether he was blanketed on the bitterest winter nights. For though an animal be stuffed and evident- ly unalive, he is not exactly dead, and would appreciate what Grandfather called the "administration of creature comforts." Rue could not help feeling sorry for this bear. On another excursion she had seen an Indian of martial 287 288 THE SILENT DOOR aspect standing before a shop door. He was terrifying, but as one came nearer, one observed that he was not flesh and blood. He had an amalgam of metal in his con- stitution, as indeed the history books led one to believe, with their allusions to the " copper skins." The streets were full of people hurrying hither and thither. It was a mystery where they all came from and whither they were going, and why they never stopped to speak to each other. There had been two occasions in Joppa when the whole village had turned out and had presented in miniature a scene like this Broadway pano- rama. Once was when the Dancing Bear came through from the County Fair at Canaan, caged up in a big wagon with a monkey and a hyena. There had been a change of horses made at Joppa and the new relay had refused to back into the shafts. Great excitement prevailed. All the men in the village gathered to discuss the situa- tion while the women stood huddled on their porches. The hyena laughed, the bear rattled his chain; the dis- obedient horses reared and snorted and kicked their hind legs. By great good fortune Rue had been in the village at this time, and stood on Mrs. Gideon's piazza, from which point she commanded a splendid view of the spec- tacle. At first she had been indignant with the contumac- ious horses, but Mr. Larrabee (who was rheumatic and therefore had not joined the other men in the village square) explained that "hosses is awful wise and they ketch the smell of them wild critters and they won't stand it nohow to be hooked up in front of such doin's. " Rue recanted and instantly took the part of the " wise hosses. " Even now, the THE PLACE OF WHISPERERS 289 memory of the " smell of them wild critters " was sufficient to make a shudder run along her spine. The other occasion when Joppa had gathered together a multitude was when the mill-dam broke loose. Every man, woman and child in the village had contributed his or her labors to fill up the destructive breach. What a mad, glad day that was. It might be that here in New York a coincidence of two such nuclei of excitement had produced the multitude. Perhaps up Broadway a caged wagon of wild beasts and down Broadway a broken mill-dam. There were street-cars black with people, who seemed to find these clanging itineraries their perpetual occupation. The interior of the cars was jammed thick with them, they bulged out at both ends, and hung precariously in glutinous swarms to the outer steps. Thus had Rue seen the furry caterpillars cling together in gregarious clusters on their apple-tree nests, when she followed in the destroying footsteps of Mr. Boscoway, he armed with his flaming pole. Also in mid-air did trains hiss by, loaded caterpillar fashion, with black and clinging humanity. How they would drop off and shrivel up at the touch of some flaming pole, even taller than any ever wielded by Mr. Boscoway. It was a cruel thought, scarcely to be entertained by a tender little girl. Once, when Grandfather did not come home as early as usual, Rue had ventured forth to meet him and by some torturous means or other, she reached the Broadway corner, only a short distance from the Lafayette Place house. There she had heard a horrifying shout, couched in apparently a savage and foreign tongue. It ran like this: 290 THE SILENT DOOR " Egg-strah ! egg-strah ! Egg ! Aw-ful ! Akk ! " The remainder of the blood-curdling cry was blotted out in a twin roar that hurtled from the other side of the street. Finally Rue, trembling with terror, perceived that these unknown and inarticulate warnings proceeded from the open mouths of two tattered men, who bore each under his arm, a stack of damp, hugely lettered newspapers. Their square open mouths and distended eyes reminded Rue of a bodiless sculptured face she had seen on the wall at the Metropolitan Museum. Grandfather had said it was a Gargoyle, and Rue had thought that the Gargoyles (prob- ably an Irish name) must have been an ill-featured family. These Broadway Gargoyles were evidently shouting out, for the whole doomed city to hear, warning of some fearful catastrophe, more awful than any that in Bible days was meted out to Sodom or Gomorrah. People hurried hither and thither and the street-car people clanged by, not one heeding those two ragged prophets of doom, who, like Jonah of old, lifted up their voices to warn an insensate city. , Just then, Grandfather alighted from a yellow car and took Rue safely home, and she never knew the nature of the doom that hovered on that particular day. It is easy to get lost from Lafayette Place as a starting point. You have only to commit the inadvertence of turning a deceptive wrong turn, and lo! the face of the world has changed. Vanished is the long somber building with its pair of steps formally facing each other. Vanished are the columned houses, gray and gloomy. Here are other houses, THE PLACE OF WHISPERERS 291 columnless, and shop windows with gentlemen's clothes in them. The cars are a different color and go in many direc- tions. Small boys dart recklessly across the glittering car- tracks. Ladies hold up their skirts and wiggle a finger toward the conductor. Most fascinating of all is the direction wherein lieth Broadway, a Way the most adventurous in the whole world. Several times did Rue seek to wander about this world, and, losing herself, was conveyed to her proper dwelling by a friendly lady or a big policeman. As a result of these bewilderments, Grandfather issued the command that she must not turn any corner in the Place. Only from corner to corner could she go, and at those points must she curb her wander-lust. To-day Rue's cabined spirit fretted. Her limbs were rusting with a vile repose. She determined to break the monotony of her life by ascending the double flight of steps. She would enter the great brown building. She would pluck the heart out of its mystery. A small girl in a white chip hat, a pink cotton frock and with a mass of chestnut hair rippling around a sunburned face, timidly climbed one side of the double stairway. A badged and uniformed gentleman regarded her smilingly. Rue shook hands with him he was a little dull at first in grasping her polite intention and secured his permission to visit the " up-stairs of his big house. " There were a number of other visitors in the vast book- lined chamber and an extraordinarily subdued atmosphere pervaded the place, as if something dreadful had happened or was about to happen. Everybody whispered. Three 292 THE SILENT DOOR meek individuals awaited sentence before a Bar of Justice, behind which in a sacred enclosure, gray-whiskered patriarchs stood. Above, far above her head were dusky galleries, along which flitted nimble and noiseless messen- gers. Now and again some deep guttural sound was uttered behind the Bar of Justice, at which a solemn boy strode hither and thither, bowed beneath a burden of books. It was a good deal like the Judgment Day, and those old men behind the bar resembled the pictures of Moses and Aaron on her Golden Text cards. But she decided that this was not the Judgment Day, although the histories of all the sins of all the lives of all the people in this world might easily be inscribed in the countless books that gloomed above the mysterious galleries. The reminder of the Judgment Day made Rue shudder. She thought of the roster of her mis- deeds, a roster long and black that was in the Judgment Day books inscribed. They were probably arranged in alphabetical order like the Sacklo .'-Peter. A-Ara; Arah- Bee; Beh-Bro; Bro-Chah; Chah-Fog; Fon-Hay, and then after a little, Rud-Scro, under which sinister appelation her own black life would be unsparingly chronicled. She was sorry that even this morning, she had gone seven steps around the corner to where the pink-cheeked rigid gentle- man stood in the window. She did not think he was alive but she was never sure, because some days he seemed to have chosen a different position. That morning she had taken seven steps, no more, no less, because she was seven years old. The justifying connection is clear. She bowed and winked and made a ridiculous face at the pink-cheeked THE PLACE OF WHISPERERS 293 gentleman to see if she could not tempt him to smile or to flutter an eyelash, but it was in vain. With curled mus- tache and full lustrous eyes, he continued to stare upon her in unmoved propriety. A salesman whisked around the gentlemanly figure, and catching one of Rue's smiles, threw her a kiss in saucy return. This unexpected and human token put Rue's heart all in a flutter and sent her flying back within her lawful beat. The thought of the Judgment Day made her regret exceedingly those disobedient seven steps. She would like to get hold of the proper volume in that resurrection Sacklo !- Peter, to find her misdeeds and erase them, even though it should take all day and all night. Oh, what an enormous rubber eraser would waste away in the process ! The visitors in this somber hall were eccentric in char- acter. There was a wildly redly-bearded man, collarless and with long fingers like claws, which he ran up and down a stack of cards in a drawer in a manner suggesting wolfish hunger. There was a humpback man with a pale face, large eyes and a disagreeable smile. He smiled and nodded his head disagreeably as he turned the pages of his book, as if the innocent pages confirmed him in some malicious design. There was a frumpy young lady with ostrich feathers hanging all around her face and a shirt waist that made poor connections. She asked a boy for a book on the making of artificial flowers. It seemed that the question was a foolish one for she was remanded to a case full of drawers, before which she stood for a long time with a crushed air and a sheepish smile upon her face. An attendant had to take her in hand and instruct her in the proper ritual. 294 THE SILENT DOOR There entered a tall and elegant lady with an audible frou-frou of skirts that caused the humpback man to smile more disagreeably and the red-beard to cast a glassy frightened stare. Rue wondered if this swishing and purple- clad queen would not be commanded to remove those rippling skirts and to assume a limp and noiseless garb such as others wore. And where would she make the change ? Perhaps in one of those latticed galleries. Rue followed closely in her wake and heard her speak in a voice that was undismayed, saying to Moses: "You may bring me all your books on the Italian Renaissance. " "You will have to make out a list, madam. Write here your name and address, " said Moses. " I am much pressed for time, " said the lady haughtily, " so will you kindly bring me the works you consider best. I must have my essay ready by to-morrow. I am Mrs. Ver- milyea Schnapgoth, the president of the Urania Club. " Rue was not sure she heard the name right, but it sounded like Vermilion Snapgoat. Probably in remote ages this lady's great grandfather owned a vermilion goat who snapped. Rue could see that Moses was much impressed by the lady's nomenclature as well as by her comprehensive historical design. An attendant now approached Rue with a question on his lips, but she walked away in a determined manner as if she had definite business in mind. She chose a table at the far end of the room, numbered 30, with a green- shaded electric light above it. On the other side of the THE PLACE OF WHISPERERS 295 table sat a woman wearing a bonnet wrapped in a rusty veil, who bent above a colony of brown and musty tomes. The woman's appetite was voracious. Ever and anon a boy came up, groaning beneath a leaning tower of books which she added to her store. The rusty-veiled woman would look up, smile a cracked smile, pat the latest increment, and then once more bury her nose in those musty pages. Her nose was her most interesting feature and Rue found infinite satisfaction in watching its lively inflexions. At regular intervals it went through with a series of minute gymnastics. It began with several rabbit-like upward twitches, then followed a rotary movement merging into an indescribable flourish. The conclusion was a vigorous sideways twist. Rue thought the nose was exceedingly clever and independent to arrange for itself this little pri- vate Delsarte. Meanwhile, the woman's eyes and lips following the lines of the huge page she pored over, pur- sued in a learned manner their different occupation. The eyes darted back and forth and the lips alternately puffed themselves out and gathered themselves together, like the top of one of Aunt Serena's drawing-string bags. Rue forgot herself and her surroundings and when the nose made an unusually nimble series of rabbit-twitches she burst out laughing. At this silvery ripple from the opposite side of the table, the woman raised her eyes and beheld the dimpling face of the seven-year-old child. She fixed her narrow glance severely on Rue, and addressed her as she would a grown-up person. " What are you laughing at, Miss ? " 296 THE SILENT DOOR Rue would not for worlds have betrayed to its owner that lively and self-improving little nose, so, she responded politely : " I was just thinking what a very, very fast reader you must be to read so many books in one day. You have al- most a bushel-basket of them already. " The woman's mouth made a downward curve of disgust at this futile interruption. " You had better call for your own books, Miss, " she said scornfully, " and not waste your time in watching mine. " This was a valuable suggestion upon which Rue proceed- ed to act. The next tune that a boy approached her neigh- borhood she summoned him by a wave of her hand just as she had seen the rusty-veiled woman do. "You may bring me some books, if you piease, " she said. He was a tall boy, with a pleasant, care-worn face. "What books do you want?" he asked, and his tone, unlike the woman's, distinctly betokened that he was addressing a child. Rue recognized the difference and spoke with added dignity, though with a great and yawning void in her own mind as to what subject she should in- vestigate. " You may bring me a book upon little boys, " she concluded in a matronly fashion. It was the thought of Lillo springing to her mind, that prompted this order. The tall boy went away with a pleasant smile deepening upon his face. Rue rather liked him. What happened next accounted for her otherwise unaccountable inspiration, for Lillo himself appeared, taking the long stairway two steps THE PLACE OF WHISPERERS 297 at a time and only subduing his whistle when he reached the top and fell under the influence of the patriarchal gentlemen and the solemn scattered whisperers. When she saw him, Rue at once knew that she had known he was coming. His arrival seemed as familiar and to be expected as the arrival of the postman at Lafayette Place. His blouse was not open at the throat nor did he wear a cap with a tassel, but he had the same laughing black- lashed gray eyes, freckled skin and alert manliness. After a brief consultation with a drawer, he strode cheerfully down the room toward a large table that was fenced away from the others. He would encounter Rue on his way. She sat on the edge of her chair and waited. He saw her and his face flooded with light. " What in thunder are you doing here ? " he said cordially. The loudness of his tone drew upon him a severe glance from several readers. " I'm just amusing myself, " said Rue. She hoped that Lillo would not take it that she was too industriously occupied to talk with him, so she added : " I have plenty of time this morning. " "Land, so have I," answered Lillo, in what was for him a painfully constricted voice due to the rigor of the place. "But my, this ain't awful 'musing, is it? Come on down-stairs and we can talk. " "But didn't you want to read?" inquired she cour- teously. "Oh, I just sent for one of Henty's books but it can wait, " he replied with lordly indifference to Henty's fate. XXXIII A GIFT OF PEANUTS TO the great relief of the rusty-veiled woman the two children went down-stairs together. The woman turned and watched them safely out of sight, with a glance that openly displayed her in- hospitable satisfaction. "Ain't it funny to find you here, though!" ejaculated Lillo. " I knew you were coming before I saw your head above the stairs. " "Oh, stuff! How did you know?" "I, don't know how I knew. But people almost always know when any one is coming. " " Say, I think you're bigger than you was last time, " re- marked Lillo approvingly. Rue smoothed down her pink skirt proudly, measuring off a distance on her white-stockinged leg. "I'm that much bigger than I was last summer," she said. Then she laughed. The humor of life struck her most forcibly. " Oh dear, if I grow very much more, how short this pink dress will be for me ! I shall have to wear a pair of enormously long stockings. " The possibility of that reverend frock being laid aside did not occur to her. 298 A GIFT OF PEANUTS 299 " Gosh, you'll have a new dress by that time, a longer one," said worldly-wise Lillo. Rue reflected thriftily. " No, I think that Aunt Serena will sew on a ruffle. " Again she laughed. The little laugh was like spring sunshine in the vestibule of the Library. "What's the matter?" " I was thinking how many ruffles my skirt would have by the time I am a big lady. " The boy laughed too, with hearty abandon at the absurd picture Rue called up. " What are you doin' here in N'York, anvway ? " asked Lillo in his brusque and fascinating way. "I'm staying with Grandfather," replied she, "and Grandfather is attending to important business. He goes away all the time with Cousin Frederick and comes home so very, very tired and very sad. I have to tell him stories to cheer him up." "Jerush!" exclaimed Lillo sympathetically. His gray eyes, even when they laughed, were tender. Now they were liquidly bright. The readiness of his eyes to well up with tears was an unmanly tendency he detested. " Yes, and he doesn't like to have me ask him what he is doing, but I tell you what I think, " she leaned over and whispered mysteriously into Lillo's ear. " I think he is finding me a mother. He promised to, long ago. " "Promised to find you a mother!" " Yes, it all began with the Silent Door. You know there is a Silent Door in our house and nobody can ever open it, nor hear anything inside. And Grandfather was very angry with me because I whispered things into the key- 300 THE SILENT DOOR hole. But afterwards he was sorry and he promised that some day he would go to the depths of a great town and find me a mother. " "Depths of a great town," repeated Lillo. "You do come out with such all-fired funny lingo. " " It's out of a poem about some pilgrims on the white sea- sand. All of them are very sad because they've lost things and can't ever get them back. It goes like this: But one had wilder woe For a fair face long ago Lost in the darker depths of a great town. I said the poem last night to Grandfather, and when I came to that place he made a dreadful noise in his throat, and put his head down between his hands on the table. He sat like that for a long, long time and did not answer a word when I spoke to him. I thought he must be asleep. I came to him and put my face right up close to his and he caught me in his arm so tight he hurt me, and his cheeks were all wet. I think he must have been crying. " Lillo brushed his hand across his eyes angrily. "Let's go out into the sun," said he. They left the building and strolled across the dingy old- fashioned Place, with its remnants of past gentility in the columned fa9ades and the massive doorways. " We live in that house, " indicated Rue, with some due pride in her temporal dwelling. "Our room is very large. I can tie Grandfather's coat round my waist ( it makes a beauteous train ) and I walk back and forth with large steps and imagine myself a princess in my castle hall. The A GIFT OF PEANUTS 301 bed is so high I have to climb into it from a stool, and it has skirts all the way around. I suppose it imagines it is a lady." Lillo was not listening to this chatter, but deeply absorbed in a train of thought which Rue's allusion to the finding of a mother had started. " Come over here and sit down on this step. " It was a cool June morning and the sun shone on their knees as they perched themselves on the lowest step of Rue's house. A scrap of vine and a rag of bush enlivened the yard with greenness. " Say, ain't your name Rue ? " "Yes, Lillo." The boy smiled a little at this odd name she contin- ued to use, but he rather fancied it from her lips. It had made little difference in his irregular life whether he knew people's names or they his, for the people he ran up against one year he was not likely to meet again. The imper- manence of human relationships had been early impressed on his susceptible nature. He knew that somehow or other Rue was mixed up with the recent interviews between his mother and Mr. Beak. But the plot was like an obscure geographical puzzle, with all the pieces shaken together. He had certainly heard them speak of Rue's mother. He had also heard the expression " buying the old man, " but he did not know what this meant. He did not dream that the fair-haired lady whom his mother called Angela was Rue's mother. He knew little of his mother's plans or purposes or friends. He had been whisked away with her for a few weeks at the Red Bunga- 302 THE SILENT DOOR low in the interim between two of her engagements, and then one morning she had bundled him into the train with her for New York again. Whether or not they would return to the Red Bungalow that summer was idle specula- tion. "I've got something to tell you," he said, grave and manly. "You've got a mother somewhere, even if your Grandfather can't find her. My mother is Babbie Day, the comic-opera singer and she knows Mr. Beak, and they both know your mother, and my mother knows something about your mother, but she won't tell Mr. Beak." " Oh, Lillo, " cried Rue, " have I really got a mother like other little girls ? I thought I was like Melchizzy Decker, having neither beginning of days nor end of life. " " You're not like her, whoever the dickens she is. You've got a mother. " " Why doesn't my mother come and live with us ? " " Wait till I finish. Mr. Beak wants to find your mother. And I bet he'll do it. He's a big man and can have most anything he wants. You don't catch him napping. " " But if I go and tell Mr. Beak that I want my mother my own self, wouldn't he give her to me ? " Lillo shook his head with infinite scorn. "Beak's a sly bird. He may have found your mother by this time, but he wouldn't tell a soul. That's all I have to say. " He consulted his ponderous silver watch in the impres- sive manner of a business man who concludes an interview. " A sly bird ! " he repeated ominously. Rue's lip trembled. Her emotion surged against the A GIFT OF PEANUTS 303 immovable wall of Lillo's ominous silence. Half-hurt, half -frightened, she felt the telltale tears coursing down her cheeks. She hoped Lillo would not observe, and she dared not reach for her pocket-handkerchief for fear any movement would arouse him from his stern reverie. How wise he was, and how silent! "What's the matter?" he jerked out, not turning his head, but evidently aware of her tears. " B-birds aren't sly, " sobbed Rue, unable to explain her vague grief more clearly than in this manner. That Lillo understood and sympathized was evinced by his answer. "Them Eighth Street cars needs a new coat of paint, bad ! " he remarked, a delicate change of subject showing his tact and understanding. "Yes," said Rue piteously, "but paint costs a great deal in New York, I suppose. " Lillo again consulted his watch. He jumped to his feet and said good-by, wasting no social efforts on gracious preliminaries. Before Rue had time to realize his departure, he had darted off northward. Rue, left alone on the steps of her house, was bewildered by the burden of the knowl- edge laid upon her. Not many minutes had elapsed before Lillo appeared again, still on a run and thrust a bag of peanuts into her hand. "Them's for you," he said. "I bought them from a dago " The smile-light gushed over their two faces. "Shall I tell Grandfather what you said?" asked Rue. " I don't care if you do, " he replied royally. 304 THE SILENT DOOR The embarrassment of gift-giving and its projectile force did not allow the boy to linger. Once more he was fleet- footed down the block and vanished around the forbidden corner into the Unknown from which he had come. XXXIV RUE MAKES A FRIENDLY CALL WHEN one makes the tremendous discovery that one is not Melchizedek, but sprung from a real human mother, one's imagination and emotion are deeply stirred. Action follows close upon the heels of such a discovery. The natural and inevitable conclusion was to visit Mr. Beak, in whom, according to Lillo, reposed the momentous knowledge. It was better not to wait till Grandfather's return, for grandfathers are often slow to act and prone to queer deliberateness which they call " good judgment. " The speedy decisions of youth they style "brashness" or "hotheaded immaturity." With such epithets were the Penrith household familiar. As for Rue's notion of hotheadedness she had found out that what makes the head hot is to sit down and wait. When Augustus pawed the gravel before starting on a drive, he elicited Rue's intelligent sympathy. The urgent action now was to visit Mr. Beak. Lillo had said he was a "sly bird." There was doubtless some occult connection between his name and his bird-like astuteness. Somewhere or other, Rue had heard the legend of throwing salt on a bird's tail. Perhaps an offering of salt would propitiate the slyness of Mr. Beak. Rue bravely set forth for Broadway and the nearest store. 305 306 THE SILENT DOOR Oh, to know which door to enter and how to decide be- tween the many windows that offered their wares. The Bear Store would probably keep salt for all animals need salt, as Aunt Serena had often told her. The clerk seemed surprised. " No, we don't keep salt here, Miss, " he said. " You'd better go to Stark and Guilford's, a few blocks up. " The name had a stark and guilty sound that caught in Rue's throat, but she finally found the establishment. A gray-haired man who looked more like a professor of algebra than a humble clerk, leaned over the counter. " How much ? " he queried, with a learned look over his spectacles. The terms of arithmetical tables treacherously deserted her mind. "Twelve inches make one pint, two pints one gill," echoed confusedly. " How much ? " said the gray -bearded man. Rue lifted the pink hollow of her little hand. " About so much, sir. It is only to to catch a bird with, " she apolo- gized. " To catch a bird with, eh ? " said the gray-beard kindly, noticing his customer's diminutive size and flower-like face. "That is, a sort of bird," Rue added, floundering be- tween her desire to be discreet and to be truthful. The gray-beard dealt her out a minute parcel and Rue continued on her way. She remembered that Mr. Beak lived on the other side of the street, up two flights of broad steps after you go in. She thought it would be very easy to find the house, but it seemed to be a long way and the street went on and on forever. Some of the people she RUE MAKES A FRIENDLY CALL 307 met looked at her and some people did not, but every one was too busy to pay much attention to the little heart- sick adventurer. Her feet got very tired and by and by hope went out, and the tears rolled down her cheeks. Oh, where was Grandfather and she wished she had never started. " You look as if you was lost," accused a big policeman, leaning down to touch her arm. Rue lifted her tear-stained face to his. " Where's your ma ? Hadn't you orter to be with her ? " How clearly he struck at the root of the matter. " Yes, sir, I had orter," answered Rue, politely imitating his phraseology, " but I don't know where to find her." " Lost, for sure ! " reverberated he of the shiny buttons. "No, sir," Rue defended herself valiantly, "she's lost and the street's lost where I want to go." " Where d'ye wanter go ? " asked he, lifting her to his brawny shoulder. "Please, I can walk very nicely," sobbed Rue, freeing herself from the indignity of his arms. " I want to find Mr. Beak, a polite man who knows where my mother is." The policeman and Rue went into a drug-store to gain more particulars about the whereabouts of said polite man Beak. It was Beak's semi-public character rather than his politeness that enabled the guardian of the dis- tressed to take Rue to her destination. " She said how you knew where her ma was," explained he of the buttons, agitating his club. "You are quite right. Leave her with me," replied Beak, pressing a piece of silver into the policeman's palm. 308 THE SILENT DOOR After the policeman departed the interview proper start- ed. As a matter of fact, the little damp parcel of salt was utterly forgotten, which may account for the fact that the bird was not thoroughly domesticated. Mr. Beak was, at the moment of Rue's arrival, deeply plotting the next move in his game. He called the game " love," but it more resembled the strategies of a financier, engaged in manipulating markets. A man's point of view is an extraordinarily pervasive fluid, one drop of which is sufficient to color every act of his life. " Can you be patient a few minutes, Miss Rue, while I finish my business, and then I will take you to your grand- father," said Beak, turning his attention to signing a pile of letters. The tenor of his mind can be inferred from the fact that he signed the name Angela Field to two of the docu- ments before him and then tore them up without the glimmer of a smile. Rue sat in a deep willow chair not far from Beak's desk, her hands folded in her lap, and her blue wondering eyes fastened upon Mr. Beak's rapidly- moving fingers and impassive face. " Now, dear," he said at last. It was time for her to begin. " I did not get lost, Mr. Beak," said Rue, " I came here on purpose to see you about about something impor- tant." Mr. Beak thought that this was the youngest and most engaging applicant by whom he had ever been addressed. "Do you want something from me, Rue?" asked he, smiling. "Yes, sir," said she, unsmiling and solemn, "but please RUE MAKES A FRIENDLY CALL 309 don't tell Grandfather that I came. He would think I was hotheaded. Will you please tell me where my mother is ? " How wonderfully people answered or echoed each other's unspoken minds that day! Beak gazed at the little girl in awe. What was her motive, what her knowledge, what her instigation ? " You know your grandfather asked me the same ques- tion, and I said I did not know. Who sent you to me again ? " The thin neutral tones and the searching glance chilled Rue's heart. She felt herself in the presence of a stone. "Nobody sent me. I came myself." She got down from her chair and approached Mr. Beak. She stood at his elbow and looked pleadingly into his face. She expended the best of her soul in her words that followed. "Mr. Beak, excuse me for being unpolite, but I think that you know where my mother is. Oh, dear Mr. Beak, I have all my life been like Melchizzy Decker, having neither beginning of days nor end of life. All other little girls have mothers but only I haven't any. It is lonely sometimes at Joppa for Grandfather is old and wise and uses such long words I cannot always talk to him, and Aunt Serena doesn't understand. If I had a mother I would be happy all the time. She would take me in her arms and rock me and sometimes she would sing me to sleep. And when I get that great big lonely feeling as if I was a person on a high hilltop, and there was no one else in all the world, then, Mr. Beak, I would remember that I had a mother and I would run home to her and she would call me sweet names, and I wouldn't have that lonely feeling any more." 310 THE SILENT DOOR Mr. Beak was silent, looking at Rue's eloquent face. " Please, Mr. Beak, if you know, why won't you let me find my mother ? Do you want her, too ? " Again, in marvelous fashion did Rue's words go straight to the mark. Mr. Beak forgot his strategies and suspicions, and was thrilled to sincerity. "Yes, Rue, I want her." Rue laid her little hands on Mr. Beak's cold, nervous fingers. The two looked at each other, the pure blossom of a child and the callous theatrical manager. "And is that why you would not tell me where she is, Mr. Beak?" "Yes, that is why." Mr. Beak was formulating in honest speech for almost the first time in his life, his bare and primitive motives. Rue was thinking till her head grew hot, but her little thoughts ran clear as crystal. " Did you think that if she had me she wouldn't want you, too ? " she asked slowly. " Yes, Rue, that is about what I thought. If she had you and her father and peace and home again, there would not be any need of me in her life and so I could not get her." " I did not know that grown-up people wanted mothers just the same as little girls do. Do you want her very, very much, Mr. Beak?" Rue's sympathies were stirred by Mr. Beak's softened face and clouded eyes. Grown people's troubles made her child-soul infinitely compassionate. "Yes, I want her very, very much." RUE MAKES A FRIENDLY CALL 311 " I do not like to be selfish, Mr. Beak," said Rue tender- ly, "but if she is my mother, don't you think I have a right to her?" "Yes." " Then don't you think you ought to tell me where she is, Mr. Beak? I don't like to be selfish and unpolite. I will let you have a little of her if you will be so kind and good as to tell me, right now quick, Mr. Beak." Rue was almost in tears with the extremity of her emo- tion. She had said all she had to say and she had not yet won the knowledge. " Rue, I do not know where your mother is. I am trying to find her, and you can help me. If we go partners and find her between us, you will be her little girl and mine, too. Shall you like that, Rue?" "Where will Grandfather be?" " I don't know," and Mr. Beak's face hardened. "Sha'n't we all live together in Joppa? Grandfather would be very lonely without me and who would teach me poetries and commune with me seriously if Grandfather were goned away ? " " We shall see about that later. But now is the time to help me. Will you?" The smiling blue eyes bent upon her. " Yes, I will try, if it is not wrong." "No, it will not be wrong." He pushed a button above his desk, and in a minute a young woman appeared at the door. "Rue, this is Miss Bernstein. Miss Bernstein, this is little Miss Penrith. I want you to take her for a drive in 312 THE SILENT DOOR the Park. And bring her to my house by seven o'clock." He put a five-dollar bill into Miss Bernstein's hand. " But will Grandfather know where I am ? " Rue stood in front of Mr. Beak, chestnut curls, little chip hat and Constantinople cloak and earnestly sought his eyes with her upward violet glance. " I will telephone to your grandfather. That is all, Miss Bernstein." Rue and the young woman went out, hand in hand. Mr. Beak sat down to his desk with a deep, strange smile. As he did not know Mr. Penrith's address his promise had been easily made. His ignorance and Rue's ignorance of their New York street and number protected him from blame in the case of a possible emergency. He sent a 'phone message to Mr. Bastable and plunged into study of the situation. He was a steady man of pertinacious purpose, and his purpose for the last two years had been Danae Penrith. Long ago when she had first come under his observation, he had fancied her. From a fancy grew a fascination, an infatuation, an enduring passion, a pursuit. The man loved her to the full, according to the capacity of his nature. Her indifference and her continued resistance to his wishes had inflamed his desire to an unappeasable degree. Danae was a singular creature, with an inexplicable influence over men. Her gracious air of insouciance, her delicious softness, her unworldliness and bird-like abandon to pleasure; her childlike face and look of sadness; her high- bred air, not the lady of fashion she, but like a thrush or a gazelle, one who steps delicately with the wild grace of RUE MAKES A FRIENDLY CALL 313 centuries ; these contrasting qualities, this singular combination, fixed her image upon the masculine nature. Beak was an artist, his medium was personality, tempera- ment, and he had the appreciation of a virtuoso for the rare, the effective, the "new note" in his medium, just as a painter exults in " fresh " color. He had fallen in love with Danae first as the artist, next as the man and libertine, lastly and finally as the lover and husband-to-be. When her health began to fail he had given her a year's leave of absence with an advance of salary, more as a measure of winning her trust and gratitude than for any other cause. He was wise enough to be aware that his own persistence cloyed. He hoped that in her absence from him she would miss the daily practical attentions by which he had wooed her in New York. The parting words be- tween them were brief and characteristic. " Angela," he said, as he drove her to the Pennsylvania ferry, "I shall ask you again and again and again. And even if I do not win your love, I can always serve you." "There is nothing I want that you can give." " Is there nothing in the world, Angela, that you want ? " She turned upon him with sudden abandon to home- weariness in her wonderful eyes. "Yes, Mr. Beak. I want my little child." "You shall have the child," he said, as they boarded the boat " And then ? " A fire swept over her from head to foot. "You shall have me," she cried. He led her to the bow of the boat where they could watch the other shore steadily approaching. It was characteristic 314 THE SILENT DOOR of him to push his courtship under the most unpropitious circumstances, and up to the last moment of parting. "Angela!" he said, seizing her hand and demanding a counter look to his own. "But listen," she sighed wearily, "I know father will never give her up to me nor to any one else." Then the chains began to grind and the guy-ropes to strain as the boat churned into the slip. Since then, Danae had disappeared from his life, as well as from everyone else's. He did not know whether she were alive or dead, but his passion had not abated one whit. It was only lately that he had learned from Babbie Day that she had been in communication with Miss Field. The information had slipped out unwarily. More he could not wring from her. Mrs. Day emphatically averred that at the present time she knew no more of Angela's whereabouts than did Mr. Beak. Bastable was announced and entered. "What news?" said Beak. "Penrith continues obdurate. I have no word of the daughter." " Have you discovered Penrith's business in New York, all of it?" "The search for his daughter " "I know, I know," said the theatrical manager im- patiently. " What means this collaboration with Frederick Droll?" "The same end." "I know, I know. But Droll, his motive?" "The same as yours," said Bastable, fixing his cold, flat RUE MAKES A FRIENDLY CALL 315 eyes on Joseph Beak's flushed face. Beak toyed with his watch-fob, then, after a pause, spoke again. " I am a better detective than you, Bastable. I can add to your information. Father Penrith's heart is softened, which means " He paused for the other man to continue, as if testing his acuteness. "Well?" said Bastable coolly. " I must tell you, must I ? It means that it is a race be- tween him and me. Angela Field is the goal. If father and daughter meet, I am done for, the game is up. She will have her child. That is all she wants. This means a loss to you, also, eh, Bastable ? " Bastable remained silent, his cold, flat eyes fixed on Mr. Beak's watch-chain. " The child Rue is now in New York," began Bastable slowly. "If she could be taken from the grandfather, lost, strayed from the house, we will say and the act could be traced to Miss Field's agency "Too elaborate," said Beak. "For although the child is legally the mother's yet she has been for six years with her grandfather and he will not give her up. If the mother wished to bring a civil suit, she could perhaps get the child. Once I discussed the matter with Miss Field. She stands in moral fear of Dr. Penrith and will not resort to law." "I know," replied Bastable, following the tenor of Beak's words with a lawyer's dry precision. " In a nutshell, it's this. Angela Field has a fad at present. Some women want motors, some monkeys. Men court 316 THE SILENT DOOR them by humoring their fancy. Miss Field wants, or thinks she wants, the little girl. That's the way I court her. Little Rue is the betrothal gift." "Is, or will be?" "Is, literally. For she is in my keeping " " But what will you do with her ? " " Hold on to her. She's an attractive little piece, anyhow. A great deal can be made of her." Bastable pursed his lips doubtfully. Beak answered the unspoken argument. "The law can't touch us. She strayed to my office, doesn't know her own street address. I am acting in the mother's interests." "Who's to prove it?" "That's the rub. If Miss Field could be found, I've won." "Meanwhile" Again Bastable pursed his lips and narrowed his eyes. He was too well aware of all the subtleties of the law. "There's a day to reckon on," said Beak hopefully. "Much can be done in a day. Bastable, your men are at work. Double your force. I double my offer." Bastable's eyes gleamed. " I've a clue already, Mr. Beak. I will set to work with renewed energy. Have you considered advertising? A personal that would catch Miss Field's eye?" "I have not considered it," retorted Joseph Beak in quick, low scorn. The men parted and again Joseph Beak, surrounded RUE MAKES A FRIENDLY CALL 317 by the official stillness of the inner sanctum of a great business, lost himself in unofficial reflections and longing. All the more did he desire Angela Field because she played so consummately the role of reluctance and evasion. XXXV DANAE AWAKES IT is not always by the slow and normal growth of body and mind that the boy becomes the man, the girl the woman. It is more often by some single experience or even under the fiery finger of one crucial moment that the chrysalis is broken and a full- grown being emerges. It is not necessarily a great emotion that accomplishes this great transformation. A trivial mortification, a physical hardship, a dissevered friendship, an illusion done away with, a revealing scrap of knowledge, an opposition to one's desires, a siege to one's conscience, the need of strength for some battle, these are a few of the occasions when the full-grown man is first revealed. Danae Penrith had met the emotional vicissitudes of her life in the spirit of a child. She had flown into a passion, run away, loved, and been loved, and yielded to desire. She had grown weary and hated ; she had borne her child, she had forgotten and been forgotten. She had been wor- shiped and the worship had not moved her soul. There had been one enduring emotion in her life, fear of her father. There is great fear and good reason for great fear where there is not understanding. Then came a new ex- perience not so vital, not so elemental as those others, and at this new experience she gathered together all her 318 DANAE AWAKES 319 forces, found herself and became a woman. She was mid- way of this experience when she met Rue in Peter Kenyon's deserted garden. This new experience had the curious effect of revivifying her past emotions, shedding over them an intenser glow. All along her life, as at the stirring of a gentle wind over a smoldering prairie, little flames leapt up, marking the site of what had seemed extinct fires. Her love for Peter Kenyon, Frederick's love for her, her great longing for her father, her need of her child, all these feelings blew into vivid life. But she was still afraid. The new experience in her life had been that thing at which Dr. Penrith and Frederick were dimly guessing, the relations between her and Joseph Beak. A cab drove rapidly across the block from Sixth Avenue to Broadway, turned the corner sharply and came to a stand before the Rotterdam Building. A woman alighted, a tall, slight creature, with a crepe dress in a street shade of blue, and a blue linen coat, unbuttoned, that fluttered about her like an open sheath. The woman wore a hat of the sort that milliners term lingerie. It was white muslin, with many crisp edges of narrow lace and a garland of blue flowers under the brim. Through the mist of white veiling across her face one could not discern her features, but one noted a delicately modeled ear and a mass of blond hair of that unusual shade which is nearest to ripe corn and does not carry a tint of red or brown in its lights and shadows. So much the careless bystanders noticed, and there are always bystanders about the open entrance and the broad steps of the Rotterdam Building. The 320 THE SILENT DOOR woman mounted the steps with an air of being detached from her surroundings. In the midst of his plottings and counterplottings, Joseph Beak was startled by a card laid on his desk by Sam, his sleek black usher. " Will I tell huh to wait, sah ? " asked Sam, noting the impatient hand with which Mr. Beak drew the card to- ward him. " Yes, yes, of course," then as the written name caught his eye, " No, no, you idiot, show her in at once." When the door had closed noiselessly behind black Sam's accustomed touch, the theatrical manager was on his feet, trembling, his eyes aflame, for the name on the card was Angela Field. She entered, a distinguished crea- ture, whoever beheld her, and not less charming when she had untied her veil and the soft pale face was disclosed, the misty eyes and the black lashes with their irresistible upward curve. " Angela ! Angela Field ! You have come to me at last ! " How marvelously events were playing into his grasp that afternoon. Danae gave him one hand and at the same time held him off with a pretty unconscious gesture. Then she seated herself, with that indescribable air that made a place at once seem home to the men who loved her. " I am Danae Penrith. That is my right name," she said simply. " I know it," he replied humbly, as if rebuked. " Where have you been and why have you hidden from me all these months, Danae Penrith?" DANAE AWAKES 321 " I have been so ill. I did not want to see any one. I wanted to be away from you and " "And from my wooing," he finished smilingly. "Why have you come now, Miss Penrith ? " Even as he spoke, between question and answer, be- tween word and word, glance and glance, an undercurrent of swift plotting swept through his mind. There are people who, no matter how great the crisis, how urgent the emo- tion, can never fail to look ahead, to foresee outcomes, to weigh the process. "To see you, Mr. Beak. What of the child ?" Danae's thin fingers clasped and unclasped themselves. A faint color tinged her cheeks. "You remember your promise?" said Mr. Beak. Danae lifted her chin proudly, gave no other answer. Mr. Beak handled his cards more deftly. " I bore in mind your warning," he began softly, " that your father would never give up the child to you, on account of his prejudices against these surroundings, his undying resentment. I approached him anonymously. I offered him money, five thousand, ten thousand dollars. I offered to bring him to the prospective parents. I would have provided eminently respectable parents. The result was " " I know the result," said Danae quietly. " What next ? " "There is only one thing left us, to bring a civil suit. You are the child's mother." " I will never sue my own father," cried Danae, shrink- ing in her chair, her whole soft face sculptured to terror. "Think how I abandoned Rue and how he has 322 THE SILENT DOOR cared for her. Think of my life and the what he might say of me, in court." The scorching invective, the relentless condemnation of which Justinian was capable, sounded in her ears that moment. It was as if she were in the court-room before the judge and the jury. She saw her father with the noble brow and sunken tragic eyes, she saw the spent lines of the austere face, the wasted form, its self-denial, the wrath of the aspect, and she heard those slow chosen words, that had so often thrilled her soul with terror. She saw the white-mustached judge, his clinched hands upon his desk, his intent judicial eyes and keen look from one to the other. She saw the jury behind the railing, leathery men, a row of thoughtful or curious faces. Vulgar, cynical, leer- ing, stoical, gross. Danae covered her eyes with her hands and cowered before the lightning flash of her imagination. " No, no," she cried. " I will never sue my father." " But you want your child," said Mr. Beak, gently. "Oh, more than anything else on earth. I should be a saved woman. I love her so much. She is mine. It is as if I had just born her." Beak kept silent, still holding back his trump card, awaiting the supremely propitious moment. " I have thought I would go to Father, go to him after all these years and ask him for Rue." " And then, you would support yourself and the child ? " " Mr. Beak, you have so often said that even if I could not give you my love, you would serve me. I know it is a great deal to ask. I have been ill, and playgoers have for- DANAE AWAKES 323 gotten me. But could you not give me parts, little parts, a little salary ? It would be enough for Rue and me." "And in return?" said Beak, drawing in his breath slowly. Danae threw up her hands. " Ah, what return could I give ? " " A very little return would be enough, all I should ask- That I might come and see you, see your face, your eyes, your smile. Be at home with you a little while, once in a while. That sometimes at the season's end, when I am fagged, I might take you away with me, for a week, a month." "Is that a little?" she exclaimed, flushing and paling. "I will not listen to you." " Forgive me, Miss Penrith. I did not know you had you would feel so strongly as to the conventions." She met his mind with simplicity. Not a knightly lover, this. " Ah, that was different. We loved each other," she said frankly. " I see it all plainly, Mr. Beak. I will go away and leave you. I could not accept anything, anything at your hands, even for the child's sake. It would be bondage, slavery. I will work out my destiny alone. And by and by, perhaps, I may win back Rue, I do not think it all out clearly now. Then I shall be so happy. I will sew, make bonnets, I am very clever with my hands." She laughed her childlike, beseeching laugh. A tender old-time memory came into her mind, vividly, suddenly, in its entirety, in a way that little forgotten memories have, a mysterious rebirth. 324 THE SILENT DOOR It was a fourteen-year old experiment of hers with a bonnet, a froth of green point d'esprit, a spray of gera- nium leaves and a reel of "oil-boiled" green ribbon. Father had occasionally the weakness to encourage her in the "concoction of debonair head -gear," to use his studiedly archaic phrasing. Danae caught him remarking to Aunt Serena, "The child has really a pretty knack at millinery." When he let slip this unguarded compliment he was surprised by the apparition of Danae herself in the door- way. How much or how little of his unwise encomium she had heard he could not guess, but there lay her flippant head-gear on the table, the ribbon drooping in tentative ears. There stood Aunt Serena, her hand upon the green frothiness of lace, an unaesthetic hand that reduced persiflage to ridiculousness. The man's deep voice spoke : "She has really a pretty knack at Danae could hear the voice now and see the indul- gent smile that lighted the kind, tired face. The conclu- sion he choked off inarticulately because of Danae's flur- rying gown in the doorway. Unblushing Danae had the impudence to laugh. " There, Father, I knew you liked it. And when I asked you if the flowers would look better under the brim or above, you pretended you thought I was hemming iron-holders. You knew it was a bonnet. I believe Aunt Serena has been trying it on. Was it becoming, Aunt Serena ? " At this gratuitous insult, Aunt Serena discovered a burnt smell issuing from the region of the kitchen. Justin- DANAE AWAKES 325 ian turned to her with that mandatory cough which in- troduces a direction " As I was saying, Serena, the present incumbent, - what is her name ? has a pretty knack at puddings, and I would fully indorse her claim for a dollar's increase in her monthly wage." This was the little intimate memory suddenly reborn in Danae's mind as she laughed, with tears, in Joseph Beak's office. She rose, dashed away a tear, smiled. " That is all, Mr. Beak. I do not ask you to help me." "Where are you going, my child?" " I am going to my father." " You will go to him in vain. I have seen your father and pleaded for you. You have broken his life and turned him to stone. He will not receive you, will not listen to you." "You have seen Father!" she gasped. It was the first time in the many years since that awful home-leaving that she had come so close to his presence. " What did he say of me ? Does he not want even a little to see me just once ? Does he not care what I am, how I am doing ?" Mr. Beak framed his speech with swift, steady mendac- ity to accomplish his end. " He said that it was as if he had no daughter. He had wiped you out of his life, because, as he said, you have committed an unpardonable sin." Beak was repeating the veritable words that Danae had once quoted to him, but upon her they fell with the force of a fresh blow. She leaned against the wall, piteous, en- treating. 326 THE SILENT DOOR " He said you were better forgotten, for your own sake, for the child's." " Oh, God spare me," She bowed her head. "But I I love you, Danae." It was the first time he had ever thus simply and man- fully declared his love. And the declaration followed the cruel lie. " Come to me, Danae." The nearness of his outstretched hands filled her with horror. " You are not going to be alone any more. I am going to shield you and make life easy for you. You are going to be mine." ,She trembled before his voice, his look. " If not for my sake, for the child's sake ! " "For the child's sake!" " For Rue's sake. I have her. I hold her for you. I offer you marriage, my name, protection and honor for your- self, your child." " Father has given her to you ! I thought you said " " I did not tell you all. When I went to him personally, he yielded. Friends of mine went to him. His health is failing. He is old. He is poor. Considerations for the child's future" " Father is in New York and Rue " Overwhelmed Danae did not discern the over-eagerness of the liar in Beak's recital. "Rue is in my house." " Ah, then Rue is mine, mine. Give her to me." " Rue is mine. I will take her to you if you allow me." DANAE AWAKES 327 Danae shivered before the velvet voice. She met the eyes of adamant and quailed. " Give me my child. Do not be hard. Please, please, in God's mercy ! Do not impose that condition, that impossible condition." Again she met the eyes of adamant and quailed. But the voice was velvet. " It will not be so hard as you think, this condition." Beak smiled grimly at the thought of how humbly he pleaded his suit before this obscure, penniless and disin- herited young woman. " Your life shall be just what you desire. The ceremony will make us man and wife. We shall live together in one house if it so pleases you. If not, you shall maintain your own establishment, separate from mine. You will order the relationship according to your feelings. You may come to me only when your heart bids you. Danae, will you be my wife ? " "For the child's sake," she whispered, and buried her face in her hands, weeping. XXXVI IN SEARCH DEAR Danae," said Droll, "she was so gentle. I remember the way her lids fluttered before she laughed, and the blue veins in her right temple that formed a pale cross. It was that cross that first made me love her." The father remembered it, too, and how he had kissed it when she was a child asleep. During these weeks Justinian became accustomed to Droll's personality and habits and found much in him that was likable and even admirable. His startling transitions from the melancholy and serious to the flippant and scoffing, his mixture of fine perception with coarse materialism, his unregulated impulses and dogged loyalty to a past affection, these were the qualities and contradictions to which the old man accustomed himself. The two men were united in a common cause, and there is nothing that con- duces more to mutual affection and understanding than such a union. Loyalty is one of the magnet qualities in a person's nature. Around it cluster a number of other virtues, irresistibly drawn thither and not to be separated from that powerful center of attraction. To be loyal to another is also to be loyal to a fact in one's own life. It is a sup- 328 IN SEARCH 329 erior form of self-respect that does not measure lightly or waste carelessly one's own allegiances. He who spends himself freely here and there and keeps no account values insufficiently the coin of his own heart and soul. All loyal- ties can ultimately be resolved into loyalty to one's self- Everything that is best and noblest in the world is perhaps translatable in terms of the larger self. There was something inexpressibly touching in Frederick Droll's attitude to the past. Justinian did not know whether Frederick's allegiance was wholly for Danae or for his own love that he had once sworn. Ill, pain-racked, world-tired, unloved as he seemed to be, with bitter memories of Danae's indifference toward him yet consumed with this fire of loyalty and urged to unflagging efforts. The two men were taking their noonday meal in an Italian restaurant known to Droll. Tables were set in the backyard and the Guinardi family, young and old, de- voted themselves in the suave Italian way to serving their guests. It took the young man back to ristoranti and trattorie in his beloved Italy. He continued speaking: " I thought that as Danae has been off the stage for a year we would find her now in New York. Dear, reckless Danae, she would be out of money by this time and looking for a position. The old life is fascinating and does not easily let go of its devotees." Justinian's face took on its stricken hue. Those deep lines came which the tortured mind so quickly draws. "Are you quite sure we have considered every possr 330 THE SILENT DOOR bility ? there are circumstances under which she would not be in need of earning money." "God!" cried Droll, throwing away his cigarette and aimlessly searching for his tobacco-pouch. "You spoke of personal influence," the old man con- tinued. " Some one else lifted an ambiguous brow at the mention of this Joseph Beak. She was in his company. Is it probable, is it possible that he is in reality ignorant of her whereabouts ? " "I do not follow." "This Bastable is his emissary, I believe. Who is it that wishes Rue but Danae ? She is afraid to approach me. Who offers the money but Beak? There it is. Put two and two together, Frederick." " You think then " said Droll, a blood-streak crossing the troubled orb of his eyes. " I think it possible that Joseph Beak and my daughter are in collusion." The old indomitable light flashed from his wasted face. " If this is so," spoke Droll, his every word palpitating with passion. "You will, of course, give up the child to her mother." "Frederick, you are mad," said Dr. Penrith in a voice of such penetration that a neighboring diner-out turned to stare at the old man, and little Enriquetta Guinardi, carry- ing a tray of macaroni, trembled and dropped the plates. " Give Rue to her, leading this life, to her and that Hebrew juggler Beak." "God!" said Droll again, "you wrong her. Even if this were true, you wrong her. No matter what Danae does, IN SEARCH 331 she remains the same. She cannot sin, because she has a soul that dreams, above it all, far, far away." Dr. Penrith was inwardly wrung at the different manner in which he, the father, and this unrelated stranger had borne their losses and wrongs. " Jacopo, this Chartreuse is beastly. Bring me creme de menthe and a box of Egyptians." With his cigarettes before him the younger man fell into one of his profoundest moods of absorption. There was an appointment due that afternoon between the two men and a Mrs. Day, an actress who was said to be one of Danae's friends. Danae had made few friends. Her life had left so few traces behind it that they had scarcely found a single person who could speak with authority of her doings. Dr. Penrith glanced at his watch. "Should we not start?" he said. Droll remained mo- tionless, his chin tipped upward, his brown eyes staring vacantly across the vine-clad fence. Dr. Penrith spoke a second time. Slowly the younger man turned his strange gaze to the face of the opposite man. " I have interpreted the dream," he said, " and I find the interpretation good. Joseph Beak loves Danae and would win her. He seeks the child. It is the price she demands. " Danae loves her child. Ah, that was always the real tragedy. It is over now, do you not understand ? She has refused him. It is only for the child's sake she would have him. Do you not understand? We may win her back if we can only find her. I have heard that this woman knew her well. " Half an hour later they rang the bell before a brown- 332 THE SILENT DOOR stone house on West Sixtieth Street. A large and handsome youngish woman descended to meet them. Abruptly Dr. Penrith met her and without circumlocution put the well- worn question that his lips framed even in their sleep: " What can you tell me of Miss Field, Angela Field ? " The woman could scarcely wait till the words had left his lips. Her answer, like her gesture, bounded forth his- trionically. "Angela Field! I know her well." Question followed answer with lightning rapidity: "Where is she?" The woman was silent, a little red creeping into her round heavy cheeks. She flung up her hands with a gesture of mingled compassion for them and for herself. "You don't know?" Droll had seized one of her wrists, a satiny wrist, plump as a cushion, but he noted neither the texture nor the fullness. The woman rolled her light gray eyes at him. " Let go and I will answer. You are hurting me." " No dramatics, Mrs. Day," said Droll, " Where is Miss Field?" Justinian was gripping hard at the two sides of the folding-doors; Droll's manner was tinged with wildness and the blood streaked his eyes. "We shall not leave this house till we know the lady's whereabouts." The woman waxed scornful. " By what right do you invade a strange house, gentle- men, and force your demands ? I am not bound to answer you, nor tell you a thing. For the love of heaven, how do IN SEARCH 333 I know who you are, or your object or purpose with my friend, Miss Field?" Defiantly she swung open the hall door. "I am her father," said Justinian. "That is my right. I beg you." His sunken look, his age, his sadness, appealed to the woman. For a moment she wavered. Then she braced her- self and broke forth. " You are her father, sir, and I ask you, in God's name, what kind of father have you been to that poor girl? You drove her from your door with curses instead of bless- ings. You neglected her and disowned her and forgot her. You have been no father to her. That pipe layer out there in the road, I warrant you, is a better father than you." Justinian bowed his head before the woman's invective. He turned to Droll. " Perhaps she will at least tell us if my daughter is alive or dead." The woman spoke more softly, calmed by her own vehemence and its result. "Sir, she is alive and well." " One question more You will surely answer me. By whose wish do you refuse me her whereabouts ? " "By her own wish." "And no one else's?" questioned the father sharply. His stern blue gaze uncovered the woman's soul. She lowered her lids and was silent. It was impossible to lie before that gaze. Justinian groped his way to the door. "Let us go, Frederick." 334 THE SILENT DOOR He felt his way down the steps, holding to the carved balustrade. " She is paid to keep silent," said Droll, as they mounted the stairs to the elevated train. They swung around the dreary Fifty-third Street loop. " Where is Rue ? " asked Frederick sharply. " I left her at Lafayette Place. She was not to leave the Place nor go into any building but the library." " I wish I knew she was safe." Mechanically the two men watched the ever differing, ever the same, glimpses of windows and street. The cat infirmary, the intelligence office, the dancing-school, the black faces thrust idly across window-sills, anterior figures that went about their homely occupations, a man adjusting a cravat, a mother washing a child, a mulatto baby pressing its hands against the grimy pane, milk-bottles, a row of tomatoes, a basket of fruit. Such intimacies the brutal train flashed upon them and withdrew. The passengers idly stared at each kaleidoscopic exposure, and the exposed stared idly back. It was give and take of publicity. Frederick was in that unstrung state when the disordered mind occupies itself with the most fantastic alarms. " Beak and that actress woman are in collusion. He pays her to keep silent." "But why?" "He wishes to be first with Danae. As long as she is unhappy and homeless he can offer her much. Then there is Rue. He will win his way to the mother's heart through Rue. I have the most unreasonable fears for Rue's safety." The train crawled, glued to a sluggish track. The stations IN SEARCH 335 swung into sight with demoniacal frequency. The train lingered interminably, seemed to groan under an insup- portable weight. They took a car at Eighth Street. The street car also seemed in evil alliance with the Metropolitan road, at such a nightmare pace did it traverse its course. The long blocks between the avenues pulled themselves out with ultra-normal capacity of elongation, like lengths of ribbon which a conjurer skilfully unrolls. To Frederick's over- strung nerves each incoming passenger was an insult and he watched the preparations for each departure with an expression of concentrated intolerance. University Place thrust itself superfluously between Fifth Avenue and Broadway. A clump of red-brick houses of distinguished associa- tions are succeeded in little more than a stone's throw by Italian eating houses and barber shops. "How incredible," said Droll, "that decent people should continue to live in this quarter." And next: " What business have these shop-mongers to set up their dirty business in such a neighborhood?" He was not in a mood to be pleased with externals, whatever extreme offered itself. This acute irritability was a most salient sign of his anguished spirit. But Justinian, sunk in deep thought, said never a word. Men must live for one or both of two ends: for love's sake or for worldly honor. There is besides an inner and less explicable motive which resides in a few, in those whom we call geniuses and in some others, the inwrought 336 THE SILENT DOOR necessity of their natures, impelling them to this or that pursuit. A man's life must be judged according as it approaches or falls short of the end he himself has set. Justinian Penrith's life had been governed by the two ends, love and worldly honor. Proud, gifted and loving, he had set forth in his indomitable youth. He had now come nearly to life's close. And with what result? Judged by either standard, he had failed. With a little less of this or more of the other quality, the trend of a life may be radically altered. It is by so little, so little, that we miss the mark. And yet, as the homely proverb goes, " a miss is as good as a mile." It is no mitigation, it is aggravation to know that a hair's-breadth, more or less, would have won. These were the crushing thoughts that visited the old man. More than one passenger on the east-bound car noted the terrible sadness of his abstracted gaze. As for Frederick Droll, he, too, seemed to have done with things. His wayward and eccentric life and his broken health had gradually robbed him both of the capacity for enjoyment and the end to be enjoyed. To both men, Rue, with her divine innocence of past and future, her tender promise and her reminder of unforgetable loves, was salvation. They arrived at Lafayette Place to find her gone. CHAPTER XXXVII BABBIE'S SUBCONSCIOUS MIND DANAE PENRITH and Babbie Day had been friends ever since they first met behind the scenes at a Broadway theater years before. The ad- vances had been all on Babbie's side. To her buoyant, robust, city-bred nature there had been something irresist- ibly appealing in the childlike naivete and unworldly temper of country-bred Danae. The mystery in which Danae wrapped herself, the reserve that was never broken, heightened the charm and strengthened the duration of this friendship. It is an indispensable element of enduring friendship that mutual revelation should not be too lavish, the intimacy not too searching. Danae had never unveiled her soul. She was to Babbie Day still the mysterious nymph-like girl whose gaiety brought the tears to one's eyes during the pallid mid-morning rehearsals on the dismantled stage of the theater. Babbie's loyalty and tenacity achieved in the end their purpose. Danae could not resist her friendliness, and thus she had never been allowed to slip out of Babbie's life. The loveliness of Joppa village and the Jerusalem valley haunted Danae, even during the garish theater days, and 337 338 THE SILENT DOOR once she had talked to Babbie about the Jerusalem river and the Twin Mountains. "Places I visited once, when I was little," she said. But who took her there or what her childhood's setting had been she never divulged. And Babbie accepted this reticence; in part, one grew used to not knowing the backward perspective of lives in their profession. In part, it seemed to belong to Angela, this air of having sprung from nowhere; of being a creature parentless, without a past or a history. Danae was Angela Field to Babbie as to all her professional comrades. Whether it were her right name or not had never become even a matter of conjecture. After Danae's illness the home-call sounded irresistibly in her heart. The white steeple of Joppa, the sweet curves of the river, the water-lilies, the hemlocks, the worn cattle- paths on the Twin Mountains, the transfigured light on the Shining Hill, the tree that always looked like a cross, slanted sideways and lonely on its hill crest against the sunset ! These came to Danae, called to her with an almost human earnestness. The home people she dreaded, she loved them, yet they stood aloof from her. But the haunts of her home were informed with homehood's memories, and Danae thought she would be less lonely if she could rest her eyes once more on the loved familiar country's face' The Red Bungalow and its companion houses had been built by a group of young men, of the actor-playwright persuasion, who had lived on the hills for several summers, hunted, fished, idled, written, and had themselves formed BABBIE'S SUBCONSCIOUS MIND 339 no part of the closely-knitted lives of the inhabitants. Jermyn Day had been one of this actor-playwright group. He was a writer of vaudeville sketches and, after his marriage to Babbie, it seemed the natural thing that the Red Bungalow should occur to their mind as the retreat for Angela during her convalescence. So it happened that the previous spring good-hearted Babbie packed her off for the hills with her boy Ned and a maid who speedily deserted them. And Danae, still preserving the incognita which had grown to be second nature to her, gladly fell in with Babbie's plan, but dropped no hint that she was returning to the home of her child- hood. From the porch of the Red Bungalow she could see the Shining Hill on the other side of the river, the waving meadows where the bobolinks dipped and warbled, and the hemlock grove beyond and above which stood in its orchard nest the lavender house with green blinds. Once she had wandered to the Peter Kenyon place, but no nearer than that had she dared approach Penrith House. On the day of that memorable visit she met her own little daughter in the deserted garden, since which time the fierceness of homesickness and of mother-love had laid their inexorable demand upon her heart. It had been impossible for her wholly to keep from Babbie the history of Joseph Beak's pursuit of her. Joseph Beak, also surmising that he could find a coadjutor, had taken Mrs. Day into his confidence. Between the two she stood, knowing a little on either side, pledged to secrecy on either side, and not sufficiently cognizant to under- stand. From Beak she learned of Angela's previous marri- 340 THE SILENT DOOR age, of her child, and of the unforgiving father whose stern- ness denied her the home returning. She gathered that Beak was scheming to get the child in order to win Angela's gratitude and favor. Beak found out that Mrs. Day had met the father and that she knew of the father's relenting mood and of his search for his daughter. "Do me a great service," he said to Mrs. Day. "We both love Angela. I want her happiness as well as you do. But do not tell her of this meeting. Let me be the one to break the news to her. Give me a chance to win her first. For if the reconciliation takes place, if she has again her father and her child, I shall be utterly thrust aside. By such whims are women's hearts swayed and swerved." This was in substance what the great manager said to one of his force. Babbie Day was used to an attitude of submission where Beak and Blumenthein were concerned. Their suggestions had the force of decrees. Their hints were ukases. She had never but once in her life witnessed mutiny in the ranks of Beak and Blumenthein. It had been in the case of a spirited leading man. Degradation from ranks had followed. She herself had never openly opposed him in any particular. She had, during Danae's illness and convalescence, kept from him news of her whereabouts. But he did not know that she knew. In com- pensatory docility, she had kept the same information from Justinian Penrith, a reserve that was involved, though not specifically, in her promise to Angela. But now a new motive asserted itself in Babbie Day's mind in that complicated mental realm, peopled by ancestral shadows BABBIE'S SUBCONSCIOUS MIND 341 and the burrowing mole-like things which we call habits. If she brought Angela to her father by giving either father or daughter a hint of the other's mood and desire what would be the result for herself? Nothing could in the end escape the relentless logic of Joseph Beak ; relent- less in hunting down to its last stand each straying inad- vertence, in tracing back to its humblest origin each clue. If he should discover that she had been for a year in possession of a secret denied to him, no punishment would be too great for her defiance. And in Joseph Beak's eyes, no promises, except those made to himself, had value. Babbie Day, not understanding Danae, could not under- stand her reluctance to accede to Beak's courtship. She had the average woman's desire to see her friend happily married. Marriage with Joseph Beak, both from the pro- fessional and from the material standpoint, would realize the acme of an average woman's ambition. Therefore, many motives were combined, the egoistic, the romantic, the altruistic, and the purely material, to induce her com- pliance with Joseph Beak. She was sorely tried that day when the anguish in the old father's face assaulted her. To fortify her waning resolution, she had burst into the impetuous and ill- mannered tirade. A rapid-fire of rudeness is often the sign of compassion aroused. It befogs the air with a smudge of personality behind which souls may hide themselves. From such complexity of purpose do human actions proceed that it is doubtful if a single event of consequence may be laid at the door of any one impulse or emotion. XXXVIII THE SLEEPING CHILD DANAE the whimsical, the elusive, stood in Joseph Beak's home by Rue's bedside. Down-stairs in the stately drawing-room, scented with hot-house roses, the impatient manager paced up and down. The minister was there who was to perform the ceremony. But Danae, captured at last (was she really captured, was his ?), hung above the sleeping child. A tear stained the little girl's cheek, but she smiled. Her eyes were not quite shut; a tint of the violet darkened under the long lashes. The soft lips with the dent in the middle parted as she breathed and all the relaxed little body spoke of inno- cence and abandon. Dear, sleeping child! Is there anything lovelier, more lovable than a child's sleep? A field of violets, a dreaming cloud above a hill's edge, a slender moon in the twilight green of sky, a fawn in the forest, a woodland pool played upon by sun and shadow, the crescent of the young tide on a rainbow beach, a bird song in the hush before the dawn ; not one of these has the sweetness, the sadness, the purity, the promise of a child's sleep. All the pretty little turmoils and tenderness, the dear trust and the prophetic passions, the infinite helplessness and the infinite individuality, how they reach out to us 342 THE SLEEPING CHILD 343 with fingers that cling like the child's own, appealing to us like a prayer, bending over us like heaven. " And all this sweetness is mine," said Danae. But she shuddered when she smelled the heavy scent of roses from below and she cringed like a thief at the thought of her father. " Had he in truth consented ? " Quick as a flash came her decision. She would know at first hand, before she took the awful step of marriage- With characteristic impulsiveness she carried out her decision. An apparition in pale blue flitted through the candle-light and brilliant gloom of the drawing-room. She went straight to Beak. He caught her to him, but she resisted. " Let go my hand and let me speak. I cannot be married in this way, alone like this. I must have friends of mine here." " The servants are ready, they will witness." " No, no, friends of mine. Where is Barbara Day ? " "Must you ? Then I will send for her." "No, Mr. Beak, I must go for her myself. It is my last request, I mean the last before before we are be- fore that. " Almost in terror her wide eyes indicated the prayer- book on the lapis-lazuli table, near which stood the rose- tree and the somber priest in black. " I will go for her myself. There is a cab outside," she said. Mr. Beak seized her gently by the little trembling hands. He faced her to him, steadied his eyes upon the pale 344 THE SILENT DOOR luminous face, her look of blue autumn mist and golden haze. " Danae, Danae, I shall not lose you." "Let me go; I will come back." She had slipped from his arms and was out of the heavy front door while the somber figure in black stared and the peeping lackeys muttered. It was but a few minutes drive to Mrs. Day's number on West Sixtieth Street. "Quick, Babbie, I am going to be married to-night to Joseph Beak." " You happy girl ! Tell me " "Don't congratulate me in heaven's name, Babbie. I am driven to it for my child's sake. I want you to help me- He has taken Rue from me, he says with father's consent. I could never be happy, never forgive myself if the child were stolen." " Angela, you are crazy, the child is yours, whether you get her by hook or crook." " Never mind, Babbie, some day I might get her myself if I went to Father. I am not ready to go to him now. I am afraid. But if Beak has stolen her I will not have him. It would kill Father. I will give Rue back to him till I am ready." All this came in a whirl between the two women. " I will send him a note oh, where is he ? " " Who in mercy's name, Angela ? You are clean mad." "No, I am not mad, give me time to think. Father, where used he to stay in New York? Lafayette Place, I THE SLEEPING CHILD 345 cannot remember the number, opposite the library, you know. Send your boy, let him try every number." " Is your father's name Field ? Calm yourself, Angela. You have not told me enough. What shall Ned do, what shall he say?" Danae sat down at Mrs. Day's desk and scribbled on a sheet of note-paper. "Father " she crossed it out. "No, that will not do; he must not know it comes from me." She began again: " Do you willingly and freely " Again, " Hereby, willingly and freely I resign my adopted granddaughter Rue to the guardianship of Joseph Beak. "(Please sign here.)" Her wild handwriting sprawled over the pinkish page. " There, Ned, take it and quick with it, as you love your mother and me." Lillo was dancing up and down in his eagerness to be off on this exciting mission. "Tell him whom to ask for, Angela," said Barbara Day's more collected voice. " Dr. Justinian Penrith, Lafayette Place. Bring back his signature, do you understand?" The boy did not understand except that he was messen- ger in great affairs. He bounded out of the house like a winged Mercury. "Babbie, can you give me a different gown to wear? We will take it with us in a box and you will help me dress over there. It will be an excuse for delaying the ceremony till your Ned returns." XXXIX THE ANONYMOUS MESSAGE ALL the agencies known in a great city for the re- covery of lost children were set to work. The police stations of every precinct were notified. Frederick went to the central station down Broadway to look over the group of small strayed creatures that the matron cares for every night. Big, frightened eyes, little stained faces, sooty frocks, sobs or foreign baby-talk there was no Rue among their number. The people in the Lafayette Place house were endlessly kind. Beyond the darkened white and gold of the old- fashioned drawing-room was the warm, cook-odorous, heavily draped dining-room, where the guests were wont to assemble under the ample leadership of the house's head. The thin, falcon-faced librarian from an East-Side branch library; the tiny, high-browed lady who wrote for a church paper; a large-eyed young girl who studied at a "Bible" training school ; a young dentist who read stock reports while he nervously ate, and the inevitable grass-widow with mirac- ulously golden hair and a husband in abeyance, who made eyes at the young dentist because he was the only trousered being eligible, these, the aimlessly combined members of that dismal social group known as a boarding-house, were without exception upset and agitated by the misfortune. 346 THE ANONYMOUS MESSAGE 347 " Our youngest!" the wavy lady moaned, real tears well- ing up beneath her suspiciously dark lashes. The falcon-faced librarian went out with Grandfather to hunt the neighboring streets. The ample Head of Our Family searched the whole house to see if by chance " our child" had hidden herself and fallen asleep in some un- expected nook of the big house. The large-eyed Bible student cried by herself as she ate a dutiful supper. The golden lady addressed strenuous conjectures to the nervous dentist, her vis-a-vis. The tiny, high-browed editor, because of her dislike for the dubious widow, repressed an inclination to join in the anxious talk. The waitresses wiped their eyes as they passed the dishes and said, " La-la," out in the kitchen. The friendly policeman on the beat dropped in from time to time to learn if the little girl had been found. It was nearing nine o'clock, and no news yet of Rue. Grandfather returned with weary step, but he knew as he pressed his latch-key into its aperture that the house held no good news. What if the night should pass and no news come ? What if Rue should never return to him ? The city, Our Lady of Glittering Lights, seemed to him a hideous monster, whose bosom was strung with a burn- ing necklace of human lives. The people who gathered in the hall and drawing-rooms had nothing to say before his grief. Even the wavy lady's gush of sympathy was quenched. She rubbed her eyes in silence. Then came an imperious ring at the door that startled the household. A half dozen people flew to answer the summons. 348 THE SILENT DOOR A boy rushed in, damp-haired, bright-eyed, panting. He thrust a note into Dr. Penrith's hand. Scarcely had the old man had time to read it when the boy caught him by the sleeve. "I want to speak to you outside," he whispered, "whar them rubbernecks won't hear." Dr. Penrith followed him to the steps. "You'd better come up with me and see what's doing," said Lillo. "I think it's your daughter wanting you, but you dassen't tell them I told you." With a quick jerk of his thumb he indicated the far- away hostile Beak on Riverside Drive. " My daughter ? My granddaughter Rue, you mean." Dr. Penrith turned to the note again. Its swiftly-read meaning had already escaped him. "Are you her grandfather, the queer little girl of the violets?" " Rue, Rue ! " said Dr. Penrith, dazed by the boy's own confusion. " Is it she you mean, or another ? " The best he could do was to take the Riverside address and let Lillo act as his adviser. Neither knew what the upshot would be. Little Ned Day, with his open and generous nature, had learned as much astuteness as generally falls to the lot of a much older boy. Scornful of deception and evasion, impetuous to right wrong and to comfort the wounded, he felt that here was a tangle which was beyond him to unravel. He dashed ahead of his companion as they left the elevated station and flung his way into the Beak drawing-room with a mingling of bravado and accusation. THE ANONYMOUS MESSAGE 349 "I've found him," he shouted, "and the whole house was standing on its head. Some old cats was a-crying in a corner of the hall, and a bunch more gabbin' on the stairs, and there's a little girl lost. That's what! And it's Rue. And you've kidnapped her. And I know who she is and I'm goin' to tell it all out. That's what!" He was out of breath, half crying, before he noticed the awful face of Beak frowning on him, and his mother's frightened gesture. Beak had him by one arm and Beak's valet by the other, and together they dragged the little fellow into the safe precincts of the buttery, and so to the basement. "Where's the message, darling?" asked Mrs. Day, trembling and guilty before her son's stormy gray eyes. She always called him " Darling " at these judicial crises. " I tell you he's a-coming An electric bell sounded in the servants' quarters. "That's him," cried triumphant Lillo, his voice being audible to no one but himself and the butler. Barbara was voluble while Danae dallied with her laces and ribbons, her heart aflame and her hands like ice. Barbara's gown that she wore, much too voluminous for her, was of white lace, tissue over tissue, with shimmer of creamy silk and glint of satiny velvet at waist and neck- band. Danae moved within it like some miraculous fairy in the heart of a full-blown white rose. " I never saw you so beautiful," said Barbara. "It is my wedding night," returned Danae, with a strange, sick smile. They heard Mr. Beak's quick, powerful tread on the 350 THE SILENT DOOR stairs. There is something redolent of character in a per- son's tread. Almost every trait, vigor, persistence, fraility, languor, cruelty, good-nature, melancholy, thrift, speaks in the rhythm of the feet. "Danae," he said, "why are you waiting? Come." His heart was like a stone in his bosom for fear that now at the last moment he had lost her. She had never been more alluring. "You would not command me?" she smiled faintly into his unsmiling eyes. '* I do not command you, my darling, I beg of you. Pity my suffering." Danae responded to the passion of his voice. " I have sent a message and I must wait for the answer." " What message ? " " A last message. I have written to my father." Beak's face flew into an expressive sneer as he tossed off a dry laugh. A premonition of his own defeat threno- died in his breast. " His answer came." He spoke with quick cunning. " What answer, what answer ? " Danae in her feverish- ness laid her hands on Beak's shoulders and not till his arm encircled her did she realize his nearness to her. " My poor Danae, darling ! Let me spare you your father's answer." Beak, in his tortuous mind, still sought for the probable substance of Danae's message to her father. The woman drew herself from him with cold dignity. " Let Ned bring me my answer. I shall be satisfied to receive it from his hand only." THE ANONYMOUS MESSAGE 3ol "You do not believe me!" Beak spoke with the out- raged pride of the self-righteous liar. " How can I per- suade you ? Ned is not in the house. I can only repeat the message he brought." Danae turned from Beak to Babbie Day and then to Beak again. "Oh, I can't believe you, either of you," she cried. " You are fooling me, you are torturing me." Her voice had risen hi her pain and doubt. It pierced to the chamber where Rue slept. A long sigh and a murmur of dream-babble came from the sleeping child. Beak drew aside the portieres, beckoning Danae to his side. "Shall we cherish this flower as our own?" he said. " Shall we give her all that the world has to bestow ?" Danae's face softened and broke. But at that crucial moment, a door sprang open in a lower part of the house and a boy's imperious voice rang. " Let me go to Angela. I will tell ' That was all. The slam of a door syncopated the frag- ment. It was enough. " You have deceived me," cried Danae. " Ned is in the house. He has brought me a message you do not want me to hear." Danae ran to another room and began tearing at the white velvet bands that bound her neck and waist. Mr. Beak followed her to the doorway, ashy, leaden-eyed. "You have deceived me," she cried again. "You stole my little Rue, his little Rue. He is looking for her now. He is crazed with terror, I know." 352 THE SILENT DOOR "What matter, he cannot rob you of her, for she is yours." " She is not mine till I ask him." " What are you going to do, my child, my wife ? " "I am not your wife. Thank heaven, I am free to leave you." Then a new excitement prevailed in the hall below. A new arrival, Grandfather! Danae heard his voice. Half disarrayed as she was, her many laces falling in a cloud about her bare shoulders, she closed the door be- tween him and her, but she clung to the handle and listened. If her father would only speak her name, if she could catch a note of love or relenting, she would run to him, throw herself on his breast, lose herself in a torrent of grief and forgiveness. A hundred times hi the space of a minute Danae re- solved to cast all fears to the wind and rush to her father's arms. A hundred tunes she unchanged her resolution. Now was scarcely the time for a reconciliation. She, in a strange house, a strange man's house, and Rue stolen ! There would be too much to explain. Father will never understand. There will always be too much to explain. " I have come for my child," said the stern voice. "Your child?" "Show me to her at once." "I beg to explain; this is not my fault." Their steps were on the polished stairs. Even the pauses were fearful with animosity, suppressed wrath and hatred. THE ANONYMOUS MESSAGE 353 "I wish for no explanation." "The child was lost, I did not have your address, I cared for her." Mr. Beak's sentences were broken but his voice was steady. "I thank you, sir, for your kindness." The tone cut to the very marrow. Danae tottered, swayed, but still clung to the door. Then the wailing of a little child was heard, a little child suddenly awakened from sleep. Grandfather's deep voice sounded. The tears rained down Danae's white cheeks. "Grandfather, you will not punish me this time?" said Rue's wistful voice. " I did not mean to be naughty, really and truly, Grandfather." Again sounded a tread on the stairs and the older man carried a little form against his shoulders. The child's voice spoke again before the opening of the door. " He said I would find my pretty mother." The heavy front door was shut and the voices ceased. Danae, the tears raining down her face, crouched in a heap amid the fallen petals of her raiment, uttering not a sound. XL THE INTERPRETATION GRANDFATHER said little on the return journey. With Rue's hand in his he strode from the bril- liantly lighted Sixth Avenue car to the opposite side of the street. They stood in silence on the corner waiting for their transfer. " You are shaking, Rue. Are you cold ? " "No, Grandfather, but New York is shiny and large and lonely at night. And the people have such withered faces. It's not like day at all. Are we almost there?" "This car will take us by the door, don't you remem- ber?" They were on another car now and Grandfather again was silent. Rue, with sidelong glances, watched his face. The silence of a grown-up person, after events in which you have taken an unusual part, is puzzling, riot to say sinister. Grandfather's expression was forbidding. There were deep lines in his cheeks. The tears rose to Rue's throat and choked her. Grandfather turned a shadowy eye upon her. "You are crying, Rue." "No, Grandfather," Rue wiped away the unwelcome tears. " The car going so hard just joggled them out of me. 354 THE INTERPRETATION 355 And, look, Grandfather, I've got a daub of inud on my lovely Constantinople cloak." She swallowed a sob in her throat. She was not really grieved about the mud daub, but a change of topic was necessary. Grandfather glanced not at all at the mud- daub. He was smoothing out a crumpled sheet of pinkish paper. Something familiar began to illumine the irregular lines of the writing. His daughter's character flickered faintly through the script. Did he really hold in his hand a message from Danae, a message from Danae to himself ? If she sent him the message was it of her free-will ? Was she in Joseph Beak's house? Why did she not appear? Why did she wish her little Rue given over to Beak's guardianship ? Was she an unwilling prisoner ? Was she Beak's tool or his wife ? Was Danae in her right mind ? Grandfather listened abstractedly to Rue's account of her own wanderings, of the drive in the Park with Miss Bernstein, and of how the polite man had taken her to his house, because they did not, either of them, know the name of the street where she ought to go. "He sent me up a beautiful supper on a silver tray, Grandfather. But I couldn't eat much because everything tasted of the tears in my throat. I thought you acted very solemn, Grandfather. Were you angry with him or with me? It was not his fault, so please do not be angry with him. He was just as polite to me as if I was a grown-up person." Rue did not tell her grandfather about the private con- versation she had with Mr. Beak in the early after- 356 THE SILENT DOOR noon. That was an intimacy it would be treacherous to divulge. The pretty mother, the pretty mother! Would they ever really find her face, Grandfather and Rue? Perhaps, pretty mothers did not grow, after all, in the "dark depths of a great town. " Frederick's white face greeted them in the doorway. The hall was full of people; a policeman, the same who had escorted Rue to the polite man, and ladies whispering and weeping. They ah 1 seemed very glad to see Grandfather. " Oh, there he is. Oh, here they come," and " Look at her," they cried. "The angel!" a lady said when Rue stepped over the threshold of the door. Rue looked round her. It would not have been much more astounding to see a white-robed winged One wiping his feet on the door-mat than some of the other recent happenings had been. But no one except the policeman stood on the door-mat. Grandfather, with very few words to the household, took Rue to her room. Vast and somber and empty it looked with its tiny fireplace, high ceiling and tall- posted bed. One little candle burned on a marble table. "Oh, Grandfather, you are not angry with me," she sobbed, as the old man swept her up in his arms. " I was just trying to find my mother." "Child, child!" was all she heard, and she could not see anything for tears blinded her eyes. In a few minutes Frederick entered their chamber, carry- THE INTERPRETATION 357 ing in his hand a scrap of pink note-paper. He tottered as he walked, and even in the semi-darkness, Rue, on Grandfather's knee, could see his eyes burning like two fires. "What is this," he said hoarsely. "7 hereby gladly and " Something in Frederick's face and voice made Grand- father rise to his feet. " The note that came. Some villainous pretext " "No, no, no," shouted Frederick, his voice rising to undreamed heights. "It is her handwriting, hers." " What do you mean ? " "It means Beak has not succeeded in deceiving her. She was wiser than he thought. She loves you and she loves her child. It means we have conquered. You will win her at last, at last. Danae! Danae!" He had not strength to finish. There was a rattle in his throat. As he stood there in front of the fire, the pink sheet in his upraised hand, his head began to sway backward, his eyes to close. He threw up both arms, still swaying dreadfully backward. Grandfather had scarcely time to cry out in fear, to run to him with outstretched arms. Frederick fell heavily into Grandfather's arms and the two men, together, sank gently to the floor. If Fred- erick's fall had been unbroken, he would have struck the marble center-table, with fatal force. He was too ill to be moved to his own lodgings that night, so he was to stay in Grandfather's room. Rue was not afraid to sleep alone in a little room up-stairs. Before she went to her bed Cousin Frederick wanted to see her. His 358 THE SILENT DOOR eyes looked painfully large in his white face among the pillows. "Don't be afraid of me, Rue," and his smile was sweet as a woman's. " I am not afraid, Frederick, I love you ever so much." "Her forehead," he breathed, touching Rue's forehead with his finger, while his spirit touched another's. "Will you kiss me, Rue ? " The little girl, shy of her kisses, hesitated. " I have never in all my life been kissed by a little girl." She put her fragrant mouth to the starved white face. XLI A TRAIN OF THOUGHTS THERE was a host of things to ponder about and it seemed as if she would never find time for sleep. Little thoughts and big thoughts, pale thoughts and rosy thoughts, frightening thoughts and kindly thoughts, queer thoughts and ordinary thoughts. Rue did not know there were so many thoughts in the whole universe as those that linked themselves hand in hand and visited her that night. On the journey from Joppa, a long freight train had gone by and Rue tried to count the cars as they jolted endlessly past. The train of thoughts that visited her was like this interminable freight train. You could not see any end to it, no matter how far ahead you looked. But the train did come to an end at last, whereas this train of thoughts kept crowding faster and faster and more numer- ously, the longer she lay awake. Sometimes the thoughts came in companies, and dragged her with them in a buzzing circle, like the little children playing ring- around-a-rosy in the school-yard. Sometimes one modest thought came by itself, and then got bigger and bigger inside her head, like Ellen's dough rising and rising in the bread-pan. After a while, the thought puffed up mountainous in the middle and gushed 359 360 THE SILENT DOOR over at the edges and still Rue could not restrain it, this troublesome yeasty thought. By and by it leaped out- side her head and filled the room and instead of the thought being inside her she was inside the thought. It was the thought of Cousin Frederick lying in a white heap on the floor that comported itself in this fashion. Finally, Rue made a gigantic effort and climbed out of that thought, and then other thoughts danced in at the door. There were thoughts with variations, wreathed and interwoven monstrosities, like the musical composition that a swishing young lady with rings on her fingers had performed on the piano at Penrith House and called a "Variation on the Maiden's Prayer." These were some of the thoughts that came with vari- ations: Mrs. Gideon's sugared buns; a planted bun; a tree of buns. How would a bun look when it blossomed ? An unripe bun, a withered bun, like the topmost unpicked sweet apple that was copper-colored outside and jelly-like within. This was a disgusting thought. Would the birds like the buns and peck at them as they did at the cherries ? Climbing a bun-tree in the Constantinople cloak. She fell down out of the tree and then that thought was uprooted. Or the wind blew away the whole bun-tree. Uncle Jupiter's flowing ice-cream; a bowlful, a soup tureen of delicious soft ice-cream. She fell over head-first into that thought and the splash gave her impetus for other meditations. She thought of Augustus choosing the center of the circular watering- trough; of the long-necked straw- A TRAIN OF THOUGHTS 361 berries whose habitation on the grassy lane she alone knew; of the austere but sympathetic mahogany sofa; of Grandfather's garden- trousers; of Aunt Serena's white knit shawl with ball fringe; of Justine's satiny pig- tails; of Mr. Boscoway's thrust-forward lips and the secretive dinner-pail. A tall sunny thought was one of the Guest-Room Picture and Lillo fishing in the Fairy Brook. Out of that thought grew another which by and by covered the first thought completely over like the moon-flower vine over the barn-yard trellis. This running-over thought of the large leaves and the rapid growth was much more beautiful than even the moon-flower vine. It was of her mother and was fragrant and embracing and lily-white. It clasped her in its arms and by and by began to swing her to-and-fro just like a vine swaying in the wind. Strange to say, she was not in the least afraid of falling, but pressed the satiny skirts of the flowers closely against her face. It rocked her to-and-fro, to-and-fro, and in the sweet mother-skirts of the moon-flower vine she was soothed to sleep. This explains how she really did go to sleep at last. XLII THE PHANTOM BY THE FIRE AM not crazy or delirious," said Frederick quietly, I "but I know we have come to the end of our wandering. That scrap of pinkish paper tells me the story. Danae may hold back for a while but not for long. She wants her child." " I am dull," said the older man, " or perhaps I do not know Danae as well as you. Why, if she loves Rue, should she ask me to give Rue into the hands of Joseph Beak ? Why, if she loves me, does she not come to me ? " "She did not ask you. She wanted to find out if what had been told her was true. Perhaps he was trying to buy her with a price. And she rebelled at being bought with pirate's gold. She loved you too much to hurt you by a theft." The feverish eyes of the sick man burned with a clair- voyant light. " Where is she to-night ? " asked Justinian. " I do not know,, but she is thinking of us of you and of her child. Not of me, no, not of me." " Why does she not come to me ? " " Perhaps she is afraid," said Frederick, gently. After a pause " Perhaps if we if you, I should say, if you and little Rue return to Joppa, Danae will come to you there at her own time in her own way - 362 THE PHANTOM BY THE FIRE 363 "At her own time in her own way," repeated the old man. " If she could only know that I am that I that I forgive, that I ask her forgiveness." "Barbara Day will tell her," said Frederick, "I am satisfied of that. She knows where Danae is, she will not want her to suffer, she will comfort her she will tell her of our of your search. "I am very tired, Dr. Penrith, now that all is over. Yet I cannot sleep." The relation of nurse and patient is one of the most intimate and can be one of the most endearing relations in the world. To see human life at low ebb or going out to the vast Unknown, makes one acquainted with a new and rare lovableness, the infinite lovableness of death. With the sob of receding life we, ourselves bystanders on the shore, are carried in spirit to the other land. On the shore of death as on the shore of sleep, are we granted a vision beyond. The released spirit struggles to free itself and the dying body struggles to keep fast its comrade. It may not be the final contest between soul and body, but it is always the shadow of what is to come, of the last supreme sur- render, when the soul wins. The luminosity of mortal illness, like Alpine glow on rugged peaks, discovered and transfigured all that was finest on Frederick Droll's features. The hard lines be- neath the eyes, the cynical curve of the mouth, the mocking light that played about the face, these had disappeared. They would appear again, perhaps, with physical strength renewed, but for the time the soul 364 THE SILENT DOOR had her way. The sweetness of a man is more poignant than a woman's sweetness, for it lies deeper and is born of pain. Once or twice Frederick spoke, but with a curious un- willingness to the least betrayal of sentiment about himself. "If I'm knocked out by this," he said, "remember that all I have is for you and Rue and her." Later in the night, again: " I'm a different man from what I was some weeks ago when I first met you. I was insolent then, an insolent dog. Do you know, I never told you I had Rue's wardrobe and little steamer trunk all ready, to take her with me across the water." He smiled, half -derisively, half -tenderly, at the thought of the little unworn garments that hung in the closet. He spoke only in fragments afterwards: "That most unspiritual god, Circumstance," Justinian heard him mutter. And again: "A little child shall lead them." As the fire sank low in the room and the city sounds died away, Frederick slept. Justinian did not know whether he himself slept. He only knew that suddenly he was wide-awake and that his eyes were fastened upon the arm-chair where he thought he had hung his clothes the night before. In this chair sat a quiet figure before the sinking red coals. It was a woman's graceful figure in an attitude of deep meditation. The shoulders were white-wrapped, one hand supported the head, the hair fell across the bosom and made a background for the THE PHANTOM BY THE FIRE 365 delicate profile. The gaze was turned intently, sorrowfully, upon the dying fire. Some subtle light from the window aureoled the edge of the hair but left its masses in dark. The firelight brought out in chiaroscuro the brow and nose and lips. The slender wrist against the temple shone like life. The idle fingers in the lap were revealed by a glint amid the suggested darkness of skirts. All the rest of the moveless figure was blended mysteriously of shadow, like one of Velasquez' marvelous paintings. It was as clearly Danae as if she herself sat there in meditation before the fire. Justinian did not take his eyes from it for fear it would vanish. The awful stillness of the figure was the only unrealness. No living woman could have sat so motionless. Not a fold of the drapery stirred. Not a breath moved the white shoulders. The fragile wrist bore the head's weight without a tremor of change. Not a tress of hair fluttered with the bosom's respiration. The sad, delicate profile did not vary by the least angle. The profound gaze searched the depths of the glowing coals. The quiet and the silence of the seeming Danae was chilling. It was Danae, without a doubt, clearer, nearer, dearer, than she had ever been in her life, but oh, the stillness of her, and the unearthly sadness of that look. Justinian shut his eyes for a moment to dissipate this figment of his brain. But when he looked again, he realized the figure, as lovely, as motionless, as before. There came a stir, a movement from Frederick's bed. The sick man had raised himself and was propped against the pillows. 366 THE SILENT DOOR " Do you see her ? " asked Justinian, in the dead silence of that vigil. "I have seen her for a long time." Then Justinian knew that no figment of the brain had deceived his sight, for two people do not share such illusions. They spoke almost inaudibly as if their voices might disturb that statued Danae. " Head upon her hand ? " said Justinian, still wondering that another's eyes could see what he saw. "And hair across her bosom," whispered Frederick. "Danae!" said her father, in a voice of great fear and awe. The figure stirred not. The fire had now sunk very low and only the last breath of life illuminated the coals. The embers hiccoughed as they crumbled away. Even so slight a sound startled the two men, issuing as it did from the hollow of night in the chamber, but it did not startle the quiet seated figure, upon whose curves and outlines the shadows were steadily encroaching. One could dis- tinguish, even in the darkness, as in the obscure back- grounds of Velasquez, the somber, shadowy figure. Then a faint and far-away singing voice was heard. So faint and so far-away it might have come from the blue points of the Pleiades in mid-sky or the depths of the underworld. When that shadow of a singing voice had ceased, the seated figure was wiped out in absolute dark. " You heard the music ? " whispered Frederick. "Yes." THE PHANTOM BY THE FIRE 367 It was an air from Norma, one that Frederick had taught Danae years before. "Padre, tu, piangi! Padre, ah, padre! Ah! bello a me ritorna die fido amor primiero." Rue also had heard those words in the deserted garden. XLIII A HAUGHTY SPIRIT AND A FALL FREDERICK returned to Joppa with Dr. Penrith. They were both possessed of a great hope that Danae would come to them soon. How near she had come to them twice they could not guess. It seemed impossible to reach her, but surely she knew of the search, she knew that her father awaited her with open arms. When a person has been to foreign parts and returns home with not only material possessions in the way of coat and scarlet cap and fluffy foreign-looking clothes, but also the vast added assets of experience and wisdom, it can be imagined with what resplendent luster that person's reputation shines. Rue had also acquired the friendship of Frederick Droll, who now became as one of her "impedimenta" in the "Sullen Interlunar Cave," and between whom and Justine she had for some days the honor of being both ambassadress and interpreter. Justine, uncountenanced by the moral support of the limp kitten who had pined away in the interval of Rue's New York visit, stood with her finger in her mouth and surveyed the new creature warily from behind the fortifica- tion of the rustic chair. Frederick held out an inviting hand. "Speak to him. He is nice," said Rue warmly. Then to Frederick: "Justine is so young, she is a little afraid. 368 A HAUGHTY SPIRIT AND A FALL 369 You'll have to catch her the way we do the little chick- ens, all-of-a-sudden." They laughed at this absurd comparison, but Justine's laugh lacked the hilarity of less strained situations. She proceeded to emulate the example of her compeers, the chickens, by creeping under the rustic bench as if it had been a coop. Rue clucked to her insultingly and rattled an imaginary pan of corn. You will see by this that the relationship between Justine and Rue had been consider- ably altered. Whereas in the old days Justine, on account of her superior practical and home-keeping qualities, had patronized the wild and helter-skelter Rue, now Justine regarded her with veneration as mouthpiece of wisdom and fountain head of romance. Ellen would consult Rue as to the shape of the extra loaves that were the last by-product of baking-day, and Mr. Boscoway listened in regardful silence while Rue lectured upon the botanical individualities of New York roses. This was while he was on the step-ladder cutting roses for the supper-table from the tall Provence rose-bush that grew against the south side of the house. Nor did the altitude of his physical position abate his mental humble- ness. Rue was an ardent conversationalist and no change or necessary stridency in the occupation of her opposite dimmed the ardor of her recitals. Many of them took time in the telling and, beginning with Mr. Boscoway cutting ears of corn between the rustling rows of the corn patch, continued while he was spitting on his hands and spading up the strawberries, reached a climax when he was pro- saically heaping manure into the wheel-barrow and did 370 THE SILENT DOOR not perhaps finish till he was making a long tour of the orchard looking for the lightning-struck tree, with faithful Rue attached to his large footsteps, and fervently bringing her reminiscence to a close. It was trying at times to have Ellen select Rue's choicest rhetorical moment for a hideous rattling of the ash-pan, or for her ponderous strokes with the biscuit-roller. Ellen and Mr. Boscoway inevitably missed the fine points, but Rue took pains to question them, following Grandfather's educational methods, to stimulate their slack and undrilled minds. Several times she detected them in glaring inaccuracies, as when Ellen said: "Sure, it was the Gargyles in the picter-place that opened the faces of them and yelled." Mr. Boscoway was unable to enumerate, till after a number of rehearsals, the menu, in its proper order, of that memorable luncheon. In the end he became letter perfect. Their errors performed the useful office of sug- gesting to Rue attractive modifications and additions to the original stratum of fact. The facts finally bore a certain resemblance to the facades and columns of Lombard architecture, jestingly decorated with post-organic fancies. By and by a myth developed which Justine never tired of hearing and for which she was even allowed, when Rue was in an indul- gent mood, to add characteristic scraps. Rue found a new interest in her trips to the village because she could not only receive but impart informa- tion. Sancho, Mr. Dewsnap's terrier, of a cynical turn of mind, recognized Rue's dignity on her first visit to the meat-shop, by standing askance with stiffened tail and A HAUGHTY SPIRIT AND A FALL 371 rolling eyes. Formerly he had leaned against her legs in a familiar manner. Mr. Larrabee or Mrs. Gideon would salute her: " Howdy, Rue! You found Noo York a purty big place, eh, for a little gell?" This was because they themselves had never been there and though patronizing, was intended as an opener to conversation. If imagination was not soaring freely that day, Rue would reply with dignity, "Yes, thank you. Very large and full of all kinds of things." Then she would pass quickly on with a counte- nance compact of mystery. The first time that Rue attended church after her home- coming was the crowning day of her glory. She was attired in one of the fluffy white frocks with which Cousin Frederick had enriched her wardrobe, and thus immacu- late, with polished forehead and well-combed hair, she followed the churchly cavalcade, composed of Grand- father at the head, Aunt Serena, Justine, herself, and lastly Ellen, with yellow roses in her bonnet, bringing up the rear. They walked in the central path of the grassy lane, holding their skirts aside from the tall, dewy grassy. This pious practice Justine assiduously followed, in respect to her abbreviated frocks. Ellen chuckled with ungodly Irish chuckles at the sight of Justine's plump legs lavishly displayed in the rear. Rue walked at a subdued pace as became Sunday morning, but with an elate heart. There were several distinct and separate joys in contemplation. There were the abodes of stay-at-home persons to be passed, persons who, either from feebleness of age or 372 THE SILENT DOOR from impious indifference, were cut off from the privilege of public worship. One of them, the free-thinking Mr. Dewsnap, was sure to be ostentatiously chopping wood in his front yard, while Mrs. Loami Larrabee was sure to be at her front window, the Bible ostentatiously open on her knee. Rue was glad to have Mr. Dewsnap see .her in her whiteness, instead of in the brown linen dress with the three-cornered darn in the front breadth and the Mexican bag on her arm. Little enough reading did Mrs. Larrabee do in her Bible while the long and straggling church procession went by, beginning with the Welsh people from the Hills, who came early because they lived so far away and ending with the Penrith family, who always were late. This lateness Grandfather attributed to Aunt Serena's over- elaboration of the children's toilet; Aunt Serena to Grandfather's habitual loss of his spectacles just before starting; Rue to the glutinous slowness of the Sunday pace, and Ellen to the "fidgetty ways of Himsilf," Him- silf being Dr. Penrith. After Mrs. Larrabee's window had been passed, houses became more plentiful on the way to the white-painted church, and the Penriths mingled with an increasing pro- cession, sometimes as many as twenty-five in sight at one time, according to Mrs. Loami Larrabee's careful sta- tistics. Mrs. Gideon had a dog, not Mrs. Gideon who baked the bread, but Old-Mrs. Gideon who lived in the same house. This dog was another window gazer. You could not deceive her as to Sunday. She knew when the day A HAUGHTY SPIRIT AND A FALL 373 of the week came around as well as those individuals do who keep track by the calendar. She was an old dog of an unknown brand, fat, brown, with pop eyes and curly ears, remotely suggesting the spaniel type. No sooner was Sunday breakfast finished than Poppy began a series of excruciating yawns prognosticatory of her coming boredom. When Old-Mrs. Gideon got her bonnet from the band-box in the dining-room cup- board, Poppy, with the hugest yawn of the series, assumed her wonted place in the cretonne-covered chair and placed her paws upon the sill. To this chair she had been consigned during that first dreadful Sunday, years ago. Rue always looked for Poppy's bored and yawning furry face at Old-Mrs. Gideon's window, and Poppy always looked back like the prisoner of Chillon, as' if she saw but " vacancy absorbing space, and fixedness." That was Poppy's Sunday look. When Rue entered the church door she would pass Uncle Jupiter, the negro confectioner, who occupied the back seat in the corner. This position did not seem to Rue one of humility, as many considered it, but of unique dignity. He was separated by at least six pews from the nearest worshipers and could always be located as the black center of obscurity from which issued audible groans at the telling points in Elder Trimble's discourse. Rue stood in great awe of Uncle Jupiter, more than of any other resident of Joppa. The causes for her awe were his distinguished color, these self -flagellant groans, and the fact that he had once been a slave, three inviolate 374 THE SILENT DOOR mysteries. Upon his slavery days he would never expa- tiate, only saying: "Law, chile, I could done relate," so there it remained, more and more investing his person with majesty. Uncle Jupiter wore his clothes in the slack manner characteristic of greatness, which does not hold itself bound by the ordinary links of suspenders, buttons and buttonholes. His vest was unfastened at irregular inter- vals, and though he wore a collar with a magnificent collar button, he never added the superfluous cravat. Rue had for a long time been anxious to make a good impression on Uncle Jupiter, and on this glorious Sunday her opportunity arrived. Then there was Elder Trimble who, during the delivery of the sermon, often bent his eloquent unseeing gaze on Rue's special individual set of features. At those times he never recognized her, though she looked back with responsive intelligence to his glossy anecdotes. She won- dered if ministers really saw in sermon-time, or if their eyes were veiled by a holy haze, such as befell Saul on the road to Damascus. Once during the sermon the outer door had been loudly rattled by some ruffian boys, egged on by Sulky as ringleader. Elder Trimble had stopped in the middle of his sermon and said in a different tone of voice that was a shock to everybody: "Will Deacon Larrabee kindly close and bolt the outside door very firmly so as to prevent a recurrence of that annoying ah strepitation." Mrs. Gideon had said afterwards, "To think of an A HAUGHTY SPIRIT AND A FALL 375 elder up in the pulpit taking notice to such a thing and calling out Loami's name right between his secondly and thirdly." To-day Rue thought that Elder Trimble could not fail to note even from the pulpit the regenerate goodness of her face, for Grandfather, deceived by her gentle manner, gentle with the fullness of worldly content, had re- marked to Aunt Serena on the " chastened sweetness of our little Rue." These various occasions for installing herself in the good graces of her world were the joys that Rue antici- pated. But humiliation was in store for her. It awaited her in the Sunday-school Room, whither, all unknowing her fate, she repaired after the service. She was taken out of the Infant-Class, where she would have shone as the biggest and wisest and where on the pygmy front bench her overgrown knees would have pro- truded upward like Brobdignag among the Lilliputians. Only to have sat there one more Sunday was her wish, to make this day of glory an everlasting tradition in the benighted Infant-Class. But no, she was taken in hand by Miss Alvira and placed in a select class of four little girls, of whom she was the youngest. Two of them were strangers to her and vis- itors in the village. Miss Alvira called them Enid and Geraldine and they reminded Rue of Georgiana (or was it Flora ?) in the Guest-Room Picture. They had extreme- ly fat legs with stockings that came to an indecent end above their shoe-tops so that Rue was ashamed to look, though the fat pink legs attracted her gaze as by a mag- 376 THE SILENT DOOR net. These little girls haughtily edged away from her when she first sat down. The culminating cause of her humiliation was a grasshopper. This insect, with the well- known fondness of its kind for Sunday rambles among muslin gowns, selected Rue's person as an eligible retreat and by some method known only to himself, hid between her garments and made his first appearance during the expounding of the Sunday-school Lesson. He was a bright green creature, agile in build and with potential spright- liness in the fold of his wing and the kink of his knee. When Rue discovered him he was rambling meditatively ' between her skirt and petticoat and verging steadily upward to the intricate gathers below her sash. When this elysium should be reached, he would be lost to view and his movements followed by agonizing conjecture. Rue withstood his progress by a hand placed firmly across his path, but with a horrible spring he eluded her and she relaxed her efforts. Rue could only have removed the troublesome visitor by a highly improper procedure which would shock the assembled Sunday-school. To lift and shake her clothes was out of the question. The haughty little girls, Enid and Geraldine, had also discovered the grasshopper, and instead of giving Rue their serious sympathy they moved away and giggled under their breath. At this painful mo- ment, Rue became aware that Miss Alvira had asked her a question. The lesson was about Judas Iscariot. "And instead of killing himself, what ought he to have done ? " asked Miss Alvira, a second time and more distinctly. A HAUGHTY SPIRIT AND A FALL 377 Rue heard but was too confused to understand. Miss Alvira often modulated her voice so that her questions were self-answering. Deceived by the inflection, Rue cried feverishly: "Killed others." The haughty little girls laughed outright, Miss Alvira looked grieved and Rue perceived that she had made a terrible mistake. Looking down at her skirt she saw that the wily grasshopper had disappeared upwards. Then los- ing all self-control, she burst into sobs and had to be led from the room. To complete her mortification, the Infant-Class doors were at that moment opened, and Rue was hazily con- scious of Justine the much more youthful Justine, surveying with placid maternal surprise Rue's humiliating exit. XLIV THINGS YOU SEE WHEN YOU SHUT YOUR EYES SHUT your eyes again, Frederick, and tell me what you see." Rue had dropped the Cousin, as being unneces- sary for the terms of perfect equality which existed between her and Frederick Droll. He lay in his steamer-chair between the rose of Sharon tree and the meadow-rue plant, with one of Aunt Serena's best cushions under his head. Aunt Serena had taken kindly to the young man. Rue stood at one knee and Justine at the other, both faces bearing an expression of spellbound interest. Justine did not understand the conversation, but not wishing to be left out, caught what crumbs she could from the rich man's table. Frederick's face was still the large-boned, gaunt, dis- torted face that had at first repelled both Rue and her Grandfather. It was as white and pained as it had been that June day in Greenwich village. But a change had come over it, the look of the slave had gone out of the bloodshot brown eyes and the large irregular mouth did not wear the hard smile. Rue no longer saw Frederick's features, only the dear soul that lived behind. " I shut my eyes and I see I see " began Fred- 378 THINGS YOU SEE 379 erick, in the most remote alluring voice that ever was, "I see " " Oh what do you fwink he is goin' to see this time ? " gurgled Justine. " Keep still. His lips are beginning to speak." " I see the top of a mountain, not a snow-capped moun- tain, but a green and wooded mountain. The top of it is smooth like a plain, so they call it II Pian' Verde. Some people have built on the Pian' Verde a little village with white houses and gray roofs, rough and silvery gray and a church with a square campanile " 1 "Fwat's that?" "Keep still!" "A square campanile and a bell that tolls out Ave Maria and Angelus and the people down in the village listen and say: 'That's San Giovanni up on the Pian' Verde.' " Rue's face wreathed with delight at these unknown syllablings. Justine looked slightly offended. "There is a deep, deep valley with a winding river, gray-green, the color of oats. It pours down from a glacier "Fwat's that?" "It pours down from the caves of a river of ice that never entirely melts and this river of ice the people on the green mountain see all summer long and all winter long, hung between the white mountains. The sun shines on the glacier all day and the moon travels over it at night, and out of its blue caves that river runs and the people hear it roaring like a railway-train, when you hear it very far away and echoing from the Twin Mountains. 380 THE SILENT DOOR Across at profound valley, across the roaring river, and across the Ghiaccio Bondasca rises a dome of white. It is snow. It is rounded like the breast of a swan and it arches against the blue sky untouched by a single dent, as smooth and perfect as a white cheek. The snow fell a thousand years ago and has lain there ever since. No one has ever walked on it. " Sometimes it looks so near that one might think he could, with a single stride, step from the Pian' Verde across the valley and put his foot down in the middle of that white snow-drift against the sky." "I guess that person would step right down into the middle of that roaring river," exclaimed Rue, scornful at the idea of such presumption. " Does the river roar like this ? " asked Justine, with a bovine mooing, supposed by her to be of a terrific nature. "If a giant should step into the middle of that white swan's cheek, would the people see the print of his big foot the next morning ? " inquired Rue. " Yes, the people on the Pian' Verde would see the big footprint, but they have looked hundreds of years and no footprint was ever seen on the Cacciobella. "I see I see the little piazza before the castle, and a fountain that runs day and night like steady rain, and an old woman with a white handkerchief around her head washing wool in the fountain. I see, I see the carved heads nailed on the castle wall with rings through their ugly laughing lips. The horses are tied to those rings, when the horses have to stand and wait. THINGS YOU SEE 381 " I see old women going with heavy baskets on their backs, and little boys blowing horns, and goats running along behind them, jingling their little bells. They are all climbing the tiny path that zigzags among the hills till you can't see it any more. "I see a poor old man sitting on a stone bench against the castle wall, mending a red cotton umbrella. He is blind in one eye, but he mends neatly and all the people on the Pian' Verde bring him their old red cotton um- brellas and he mends them and eats yellow polenta and boiled chestnuts for his dinner. When the little boys pass they say respectfully, ' Buon appetit', Guiseppe.' " The lady comes out of the castle hall and she smiles too. 'Buon appetit', Guiseppe.' " She is a tall lady with hair like autumn leaves hanging around her face, and she has long, thin, white hands, and she wears a pointed frill and a jeweled belt." "What is her name?" " Violante de Salis and her picture hangs in the castle hall to-day, but she was dead three hundred years ago." " Can you still see her ? " "I can see her, oh, so plainly. She has come out to watch the counting of the sheep on the piazza, the black sheep, the white and brown sheep huddling together; and little lambs, sucking at their mother's teats in the midst of that hurly-burly." " I suppose they are hungry," said Justine sympathetic- ally. " The sheep push each other and say, Baa, baa, and the short-skirted women run around, trying to find their own 382 THE SILENT DOOR sheep and the little boys keep all the gates of the village streets shut, and the gray-bearded sheep-counter counts the sheep and the lambs and writes them all down in his book. Violante de Salis, with her long, pale face, stands and watches and smiles when oh, listen, listen." Justine turned to the barn in great excitement but heard nothing except Mr. Boscoway pumping at the barn pump. " Fwat ? " "Hush, it's something in his head he hears." " I hear, I hear a noise like thunder, only it does not stop but grows louder and louder. The hills echo with it and the sheep stop baaing and the birds stop singing and even the leaves on the trees look curled-up and frightened. A fearful noise, louder and louder." " Oh, what is it, what is it ? It is not going to kill that autumn lady - "And all the dear little lambs ?" "It is La Valanga. All the people cry out: 'The ava- lanche, the avalanche ! ' Somewhere a stone, a single stone ' has been torn out and has begun to slip down and slip down. It tears out another stone and another stone, and then the whole side of a mountain is loosened and slips down and roars down and grinds down till it overwhelms a village, covers it all up and you would not know a vil- lage had ever been there. It is buried under the side of the mountain." " Was it the village with the gray roofs and the castle ? " "No, it was Piuro, another village not far away. The avalanche swept down upon it and buried it. One chateau remained and in that chateau Violante's lover lived. THINGS YOU SEE 383 " To-day the chestnut trees are growing where the roofs of the houses used to be. One bell-tower stands up above the ruins of the rocks. The rest of the church is deep buried in the soil. You can go there to-day and see the bell-tower and the chateau and the ruins of rocks and Violante's picture. She is very pale and tall and level- browed, with autumn hair around her face." " I suppose she was pale because the avalanche came," mused Rue, "and because she was thinking of her lover." In such ways were the long summer days passed while Frederick and Dr. Penrith waited and hoped against hope for further news from Danae. Meanwhile the mea- dow-rue, grown exceeding tall, was beginning to toss out feathery fronds that were the color of moonlight. XLV RUE IN SWITZERLAND , SEE another story with me in it!" " And me," echoed Justine. " I will begin with Rue because she is older," said Frederick. He took Rue upon his knee. "I see, I see a train winding through a sweet country. People are looking out of the windows." " Am I one of those people ? I do hope so, Frederick ! " "Wait, Rue. There is a lake with the bluest water you ever saw. Blue like a turquoise stone, crystal clear, luminous, reflecting cloudy mountains and mountainy clouds. They melt together and float upward, lake and cloud and sky and mountain. Climbing the steep shore of the lake are towns and vineyards with terraces built to keep the vineyards from slipping down hill. The hills are purple with grapes. By and by the train turns away from the lake and twists off into a meadowy upland coun- try. People look out of the windows and they see on the edge of the landscape a village lying between the folds of blue-green hills. This little gfay village is scrambling to the top of a hill of its own and is crowned by a castle that all the houses seem to point to and strive to reach, lean- ing up against each other like children around their school-teacher. The gray castle crowns the village in a 384 RUE IN SWITZERLAND 385 beautiful way, and the stone houses cluster about it as if they knew just the becoming way of wearing their red roofs and composing their attitude to suit the lines of the hills. "People look out of the train and say: 'What a lovely little village! How exquisitely it composes itself! What is its name ? ' " That is all they say. For the train winds and twists in the valley of the Broye, and soon the village is lost to view and no one is going to stop there, except one person." "That is I," cried Rue, beaming with self-satisf action. " The train comes to a standstill at a little town called Palezieux and a girl steps from the train. The porter hands her luggage after her. She is a beautiful girl, with hair the color of ripe chestnuts and a child's eyes, dark blue and wondering and a Greek music in the movements of her body, as if one of the Tanagra statuettes had grown life-size and begun to walk about. People look at her a second time, for she is young and Greek and beautiful." "That is I," cried Rue. "I am young and Greek and beautiful. Go on, please, quickly. Am I alone? I don't want to be alone." "No, she is not alone," said Frederick slowly, almost reluctantly. "A man, a young man, is standing beside her as the train moves away. Now they are alone together, very happy and looking off toward the hills where lies the lovely vanished village." "Tell me about his face." " I cannot see his face, but he loves her and is very, very happy. " 386 THE SILENT DOOR "I think it is Lillo," said Rue quietly to herself. "They buy a drink of fizzy limonade and eat some grapes and wander about in a pine wood and wait for another train that will take them a few miles nearer to the place where they are going." " Where are they going ? To that little gray village with the castle ? " "When they have come to the end of the next little jaunt they are at the end of their railway journey. The sign above the Gare says Ecublens-Rue. The engine puffs and backs away and leaves them in the middle of the fields. There is a pine wood and that red-roofed village has come into sight again and is far away climbing up to the castle and the sky. The name of the village is Rue and Ecublens is somewhere else, no one knows where." " Is it really named Rue ? " "Yes, you may find it for yourself on the map." " Was it named after me ? " "Before you, but perhaps for you. It was a Roman town once and the sweetest hill-town in the world. "Some blue-bloused peasants gather and ask them where they want to go, thinking that the beautiful youth and the Greek maiden have made a mistake. The lovers soon learn that Rue is two hours' walk distant, and that there are no vehicles to be hired. They are very glad, be- cause the fields are delicious, there are foot-paths, and the sun is golden in the west, and they are lovers." "'But our luggage?'" "The peasants whisper and smile and lift their hats and say ' Perhaps monsieur desires a poussette ? ' ' RUE IN SWITZERLAND 387 "'A poussette?'" " After a few moments the poussette is produced and it is a perambulator. The young girl blushes while the peasants put their luggage side by side in the baby car- riage, smile, lift their hats and move away. A black- aproned gar9on pushes the perambulator. The lovers strike out across the meadows and by the brooks, keeping the gray towers and the red roofs in sight. The shadows of the trees are long in the level sunlight. The young girl pulls meadow-sweet and bluebells and twines them in her hair." "Doesn't she wear a hat?" " No, she has taken off her hat because her lover likes to see her with flowers in her hair. So there they are, hand in hand and very soon they will be climbing the ruined stairway of the Roman tower at Rue." "Is that the end?" "No, it is just the beginning for them." Frederick opened his eyes by which symbolism Rue was informed that the story had come to a conclusion. " Where will they sleep to-night ? " asked Justine, showing her practical bent. "They will sleep at an auberge called the Fleur-de- Lys. It will have stone halls and rough stone stairs, almost like steps in the rocks. They will have for supper," continued Frederick, forestalling Justine's probable next question, " an omelette aux fins herbes, a bottle of Yvorne, a salad, some Gruyeres cheese, and perhaps, very much perhaps, two pretty scalloped sponge-cakes with zabag- lione poured over them." 388 THE SILENT DOOR In this manner did Frederick and Rue travel abroad. One day she showed him her Sullen Interlunar Cave and her priceless possessions; the paper dolls propped up in linked rows against the wall; the rag baby whose waist was encircled with an elegant string and whose soiled countenance needed both washing and ironing; a string of withered red hips, relics of the previous au- tumn; her bow and arrows; a gnarled bough bearing a curious likeness to a man on horseback. (No one but Rue had ever been able to catch the similarity.) A dried lizard, some putty images and the pencil sketches (Ho- garthian school) of Grandfather, the Evil Gray Ones and the triumphant Rue. After they had finished the inspection of this Archaeological Museum, Rue conducted her visitor past the three little steps that led to the Silent Door. "Wait a minute," said Rue, "Listen! do you hear anything ?" Frederick did not hear anything. Rue put her ear to the keyhole. "It is very quiet in there to-day." She shut her eyes. " I see I see a lovely lady with golden hair. She is singing so sadly so sadly. She wants to get out of the Silent Room." Why did Frederick suddenly sit down on the ledge and lean his head against the wall ? Something was hurt- ing him, for his mouth twisted and he closed one hand on the other in a fierce way. "Let's go outdoors and see things with our eyes open. Let's look at the meadow-rue and see if it's all in flower. RUE IN SWITZERLAND 389 On the lawn they made a delightful discovery, which was that Rue's head and the top of the meadow-rue were just on a level. " This means," said Grandfather, " that Rue is going to have a party." Rue had never had a party in her life, so you can imagine the ensuing splendors of anticipation. "Perhaps, perhaps," said Grandfather to Frederick. "You have had no word, no clue?" "But if She should come on that day!" " Who's coming, Uncle Justinian ? " piped Justine. " Can I wear my pinky hair ribbing if She comes ? " XLVI THE PEDDLER WITH THE BOOK THE details of the party were fully arranged. The number of guests had been gradually re- duced from Rue's original scheme which included the whole of Joppa village to the modest number of eight. Uncle Jupiter was the eighth and Rue insisted on retaining his name on her list because the ice-cream was to be ordered of him, and it seemed a cruel discrimination to allow him to serve them and not include him among the guests. Another inward reason was the rare honor that his distinguished color and enslaved past would confer upon Rue's gathering. The list that she now submitted to Grandfather for approval was as follows: GRANDFATHER! / , N . c, > (of course) AUNT SERENA J FREDERICK (because we all want him) JUSTINE (so that she won't cry) RUE (because I'm the Person) ELLEN (She makes the cake) MR. BOSCOWAY (because he has such long whiskers) UNCLE JUPITER (the ice-cream man ought always to be in- vited) Grandfather, expecting a much longer list, had told 390 THE PEDDLER WITH THE BOOK 391 Rue to have her reasons ready. She preferred to put them in written form, this being more cogent and sub- stantial. Sometimes the most effective arguments will slip from one under the destructive artillery of incredulous glances. She had added in very fine writing at the bottom of the page (hoping that Grandfather would not notice), " LILLO, if I can find him." Grandfather put on his spectacles and deciphered the addendum. " How do you expect to find this mysterious Lillo?" "I'm going to pin the invitation on some tree where maybe he'll pass by," replied she, inventing this scheme as she spoke. "Very well," said Grandfather. "If Aunt Serena is willing, I have no further objections to your list." Familiar and heavenly formula to a child's ear! That afternoon, while the family were napping, each in his chosen spot, Rue started on a walk, with several carefully worded invitations in her pocket and a small pincushion enameled with pins around its perimeter. She struck across the meadows, and reached the river road to Pisgah. It was daisy and clover-time, just before the whir of the mowing-machines would be heard on every farm. A hot afternoon, but Rue's enthusiasm made her oblivious to physical sensation. The bees were abroad, buzzing contentedly from flower to flower, for it was their busiest season and stocks were quoted high in the clover market. 392 THE SILENT DOOR The edges of the road were marshy and in the long, bright grass Rue discovered a glint of blue. Upon investi- gation, she found a sluggish rivulet and a trailing ribbon of forget-me-nots. These she felt bound to gather. Her nosegay soon became too heavy for one hand to manage, which was a pity, for there were many more flowers eager to be picked. She selected a number of wiry grasses, with which she girded the waist of her too corpulent nosegay, now almost as large as herself. While thus en- gaged, she observed a peddler in a wagon. The miscel- laneous burden of his wagon gave forth the gleam of tin and the bulge of rags. Both wagon and horse were note- worthy, the former because of an amphibious sidling gait to its enormous wheels, denoting their precarious attachment to the body of the wagon. There was an un- certainty about the horse's gait, an ever present possibil- ity that he might sit down on his haunches to rest. The horse was of a nondescript color and his mane and tail were plentifully sprinkled with gray. Rue had never before seen a gray-haired horse. He was of a portly figure, and as he came nearer, she saw that he had a bright and amiable eye. He stopped to rest himself during the ascent of an imperceptible hill, and then, flicking backward an investigating ear, took up the burden of life without urging from the peddler. A civil and prudent beast was the gray-haired horse, an invaluable beast for one of the peddler's absent-minded habit. The peddler's inattention to the road was occasioned by his absorption in a book, a little leather book. He was a black-bearded, black-haired, black-browed man. In THE PEDDLER WITH THE BOOK 393 fine, he was as black and shaggy-looking as a bear-skin sleigh-robe. Nature seemed to have fitted him for Arctic regions. His clothes were rusty brown, with metal buttons and were surmounted by a purple neckerchief negli- gently tied under one ear. Rue, in the middle of the road, was fascinated by the sight of this peddler with the book, so that the gray-haired horse was obliged to stand still and thrust forward an inquiring nose as much as to say: "To what am I in- debted for this honor ? " The peddler was aroused from his book and bent his dreamy eyes upon Rue, who stood looking up at him, clasping her huge bouquet to her bosom. His eyes were so unmitigatedly black that they seemed to drop ink, and if you had been dressed in white you would actually have looked for ink-blots where his glances fell. " Did you speak to me ? " asked the peddler in a voice like one awakened from a trance. There was an alien cadence to his words which cannot be reproduced. Though he spoke in fairly correct English, Rue asked him what he had said, thinking he had used some foreign tongue. She was conscious that she had impeded the gray-haired horse and interrupted the peddler's reading, and that she ought to have had some important reason. "I just said that the book must be very interest- ing." "Yes, the book interests," he replied with rich gurg- lings in his throat and trills of his r's like a bird. " If you be going my way I gife you a lift. You ups with me." Rue decided that she was going his way and climbed 394 THE SILENT DOOR into the wagon. The gray-haired horse resumed his meditative progress. There was now an opportunity to observe more closely the pages of the book. They were brownish like his clothes, inscribed with characters exceedingly black like himself and crooked like gesticu- lating dwarfs. For some time the peddler read and did not notice his small companion. By and by he put the thick little book away in his pocket and chirruped to the gray-haired horse. " Where do you live ? " asked Rue. He pointed to the east, toward the Twin Mountains where a spectral half moon hung in the daylight sky. "Ofer bey on t" was his answer, accompanied by a shrug of the shoulders to intimate unspeakable distance. Rue nodded comprehension. He was probably one of the Welsh from the Hills. With this graceful initiative the conversation pro- ceeded briskly. The peddler poured out his oddly tailored rhetoric and accompanied it with fluent speech of hands and shoulders and eyebrows. Rue understood and felt tenderly toward him because of his lingual deficiencies. In order to set him perfectly at ease concerning her errand, she informed him that she was intending to sup with a friend. She would soon show him the house. In the meantime, she determined to prolong the intercourse with this most interesting man and to select a house and a friend only when necessity arrived. As they approached habitations, he broke into a melodious roar, with wonderful harmonic pauses and cadences that were heart-piercing. It made you think of THE PEDDLER WITH THE BOOK 395 deaths, dooms and destinies. It disturbed your veins like the music of the sea. The chant went like this: Oh, O-! bye-bye Oh, O d- A-ags, a-a-AOS; Gla-a-a; san-AN-an- Dai-yai-YONt The semicolons indicate exquisite, fearful pauses, not quite pauses, but worn-out places, with a tail of sound flickering across them like the end of a shooting-star. Where the capitals are, his voice climbed upward into an awful Valkyrie-cry that made your heart jump. Rue learned that this doomful delirious song meant: " Buy old rags, rags, glass and iron." He simply opened his mouth, between those black thickets of beard and the sounds streamed forth like the roar from a sea cave. "How excellently you can warble," exclaimed Rue. " I hardly see how you do it." He could not explain the process any more than the bobolinks can explain their ballads. They were passing the purple-waving marshes for which the Jerusalem river is famous. A black-and-buff-winged fellow followed the peddler's course, keeping always ahead and selecting the tallest, swayingest of tamarack branches for his brief halts. Rue pointed out to the peddler this aesthetic whim of bobolinks, explaining at the same time that it was lucky there were enough trees to go around. " There can only be one bobolink on one tree for there is only one tiptop spray." 396 THE SILENT DOOR When they came to a house where business was trans- acted, the lady looked at Rue sharply. "You be Dr. Penrith's granddaughter, if I'm not mistaken. I declare to't, you be a long way from home." " I'm going to visit a friend, I am seven years old." Rue hoped that the peddler would not linger long. At the mention of Dr. Penrith's name, he turned and looked at her out of his dreamy black eyes. When they were by themselves he said : " I know your Grandfetter. He iss fery goot man. And your mother she is well ? " In days before Rue's time, when Danae was a little fair-haired child and during the years of Danae's girlhood, the reading peddler had included Joppa in his itinerary, and had made semi-annual visits to Penrith House. But for some years he had found other parts more profitable and was now returning to Joppa for the first time after his long absence. Rue explained to him her motherless condition and went on to relate many other facts in her life, with that impetus to self-revelation that .one often notices between strangers on railway trains and steamers. The detachment from one's own life of an absolute stranger stimulates to the most surprising confidences. Rue related the legends of Miss Dainy, the incidents of the Silent Door, of her journey to New York, of Cousin Frederick and Justine and Mr. Boscoway, and finally ended with the mystery of the Singing Lady who had kissed her in the deserted garden. She also told him of the party and of the delicious ice-cream which Uncle Jupiter would bring. The peddler showed the profoundest interest in all THE PEDDLER WITH THE BOOK 397 her narrative. When she had finished, he reverted to an earlier portion. "Your Grandfetter say he had no daughter?" "Yes." The peddler shook his shaggy head innumerable times. " The lady in the garten kiss you ? " "Yes." " You do not efer see her face before ? " " Not ever-or-ever." "O, I am sorry, fery, fery mooch sorry," said the reading peddler in a voice so troubled that the tears came to Rue's eyes. Several times he opened his lips to speak and then closed them without a word. "Can't you catch the words?" asked Rue anxiously. He gave his head an ambiguous shake and fell to reading once more in the thick little book till they came to a place where the road forked. One branch went up a steep hill, the other continued along the valley in an uninter- esting way. A square farmhouse shaded by maple trees showed itself in the latter direction. There may have been houses up the hilly road, but it was so steep and took such a sharp turn, one could not see. At the fork in the road, the gray-haired horse halted and inquired of his master which way he should proceed. The peddler turned to Rue with the same mute question and a dawn- ing doubt in his hitherto trustful eyes. Rue was irresist- ibly attracted to the hilltop and answered: "My friends live just on top of that hill, thank you." The peddler looked surprised, for when he had last 398 THE SILENT DOOR traveled through the neighborhood, there were no habi- tations between "The Forks" and the stuttering Welsh- man's house on the far side of the mountain. Nevertheless, he pulled a line, and the horse pitted himself with sturdy patience against the ascent. Then the peddler lost him- self in the pages of his book. The fields were full of dry furze and everlasting flowers, and there were hedges of brake and sweet fern with a hot aromatic odor. Over all brooded the sleepy spell of a mid- July afternoon. The peddler followed the dwarf - like characters in the page with a slow hairy thumb. "I should like very much to have you read aloud," suggested Rue, drawing her knees together with excite- ment, " that is, if it wouldn't be too much trouble." The peddler glanced at her almost unseeingly and commenced reading in a labored fashion, like a school- boy translating Virgil: "Jesus he stoop and wit His finger on the grount Jesus write as dough He not at all hear dem. So when dey not stop for still askin' of Him, He liften Himself up and speaks Jesus: 'He dat be among you withouten sin, let him first cast at her de stone.' Again he stoop down and on the grount Jesus He writes:" Every time at the name Jesus he bowed his head. There was something solemn in those words from the little book and in the peddler's look and voice. Rue folded her hands and her heart melted with emotion. Now they had come to the top of the hill. On the right side of the road was a Red Bungalow, half hidden in vines and trees, with stone steps and a small flagged walk THE PEDDLER WITH THE BOOK 399 leading to the front door. Other odd little houses, their windows boarded up, were nestled in a hollow. Not a person was in sight. The peddler opened his mouth and emitted that pleasant roar. Oh, O! bye-bye; Oh; 0, ol A-ags, a-a-AGS; Gla-a; san-AN-an; Dal-yairYON" Not a person appeared. He looked at Rue question- ingly. She was apologetic, but forgot whether he was buying or selling. "I am afraid they do not want to buy any of your nice things; I am sorry. This is the house where I am going to stop. I will tell them what very nice things you have." At a queer noise from the peddler the gray-haired horse stopped, planting his legs wide apart. The peddler lifted Rue down over the enormous wheel. He felt hesi- tant about leaving her at this quiet house, but addressed her tactfully. "I go ofer de hill to my frient John Evans. When I returns back, little lady, if you wants lift home again, here I s'all be." He remounted his cart. " Oh, Mister Peddler, wait one minute. Will you come to my party ? It is to-morrow." The invitation was but a slight return for the reading peddler's kindness. He was pleased and thanked her heartily. 400 THE SILENT DOOR " But you will really come ? Everybody will want to see you and there will be plenty of ice-cream." The peddler promised to come, said good-by, and pegged on his way, up another twist of the same hill and down into the valley where his friend John Evans lived. Rue watched him for a few minutes, as again he busied himself in the pages of the thick little book. XLVII IN THE RED BUNGALOW THE people in the Red Bungalow had arrived the night before from town. In Lillo's vehement mind a dramatic climax was shaping itself. His play was in four acts. Act one had but two characters, himself and the little girl of the violet-meadow. Act two was laid at Joseph Beak's glittering Riverside house and the characters included his mother, the great manager, Angela and Rue. Act three was the drab hallway at Lafayette Place where Dr. Justinian and he occupied the stage center with a bunch of supes for background. Act four was to untangle the snarled skeins of the drama and all the characters were to be brought face to face. The scene of action would probably be Penrith House, and Lillo's would be the unexpected agency by which the tour-de-force would be effected. Rue and her Grandfather must live somewhere in the neighborhood of the Red Bungalow, for did not the little girl call for letters at the Joppa post-office which was only three miles distant, as the crow flies. His mother had refused to make any explanation of the mysteries of that turbulent night in New York. She had for- bidden him to broach the subject; but Lillo, nothing daunt- ed, resolved to set out on a mission which should only end with a happy finale. 401 402 THE SILENT DOOR At the present moment, he was grappling with a problem fully as difficult, if less romantically elusive. He was in the kitchen of the Bungalow, in a very maelstrom of cooking utensils and condiments, out of which an astonishingly sim- ple menu of baked potatoes, stewed tomatoes and broiled steak was due to burgeon forth. Babbie, who hated domes- ticity and was again in straits, had given Ned free play in the kitchen that day. She extolled the educational value of such an experience for her boy. " It's so awfully good for the kid, don't you know. I be- lieve in letting a man learn how to do woman's work. It makes them more considerate. " She surveyed her plump white hands with satisfaction. Danae listened without interest. They sat curled up on the window-seat, and could look down into the valley where the Jerusalem river glinted in loops and stretches. " What are you thinking of, girl ? You're always looking away off, far away. What d'ye see ? " " I'm only seeing one thing, Babbie, my little Rue. I al- most had her and then I lost her again, Babbie ! " "What, girlie?" " I'm tired of hiding things and stage names and all that. There's a lot I haven't told you. " " You needn't tell me, Angela. We all of us have several lives rolled up into one, and it's a gamble which life we show to which person." "Now let me tell you, Babbie. If I were only brave enough, I would have told you long ago. Look there, across the river yes, past that big willow-tree it looks little from here On, up under the white -cloud like a horse IN THE RED BUNGALOW 403 with its mane cut away and floating backward Yes, there ! Do you see the darkness it's an orchard and tall locust-trees and a Norway spruce. Oh, I can't pick them out from here, but I know them, every one. That's where I live. " " Where you live ! Angela ! " " Call me Danae. " " You did live there ? I don't see any house. " " There's a house. I did live I do live there, all the time, my spirit. Rue is there, my little daughter, and Father and Aunt Serena. It is home. I ran away from there years ago. Now you know why I laughed and cried so when you first told me you had rented a bungalow among the Jerusalem hills." " And you never told me. " " I want to go home to see them all If I could fly there invisible, watch them all, as they sit around the dining- room table. Father with his books Rue, her violet eyes. How sweet she is, Babbie, how darling! I am shut out. W T ould Father forgive me if he knew I had given him back Rue, for his sake ? I would not steal her. " " Go to him, go to him, Danae. " "I dare not. After all these years, they say his love has died, that he hates me now. To be turned away, to meet a gaze of stone, and little Rue to witness her mother's shame. No, she must remain happy. She must never know." "Danae, your father does not hate you." " He does, he does. He scorns, he disowns, he denies 404 THE SILENT DOOR me. I have ruined his life. He has put me out of his heart forever. I would rather not see his face." "Danae, who told you this? It is false. I know it is false." " She told me, little Rue I saw her in the deserted garden where I used to meet him, her father. Oh, Barbara, it broke my heart that she did not know me. She said she had no mother. Father has never forgiven me. He will never forgive me, never. I have wounded him so that he is turned to stone. He is getting old now and his hair is gray, she says. He walks with a cane slowly. We used to have such horseback rides together. I have not any right to my own child. I shall never see her again. Oh, Barbara! Barbara! Her name is Rue." " There's rue for you and here's some for me You must wear your rue with a difference. Oh, with a difference." "You've told me the truth, Danae, and by Heaven, I'll do no less. Beak lied to you that night. Your father does want you. He has forgiven you or I don't know the look in a human face. I saw him. He came to me. He was hunt- ing for you." "Where? Oh, Barbara!" "In New York. Everywhere. Forgive me, won't you? You know you made me promise not to tell any one." " But my father. I did not say my father." " You will forgive me, Angela. I wanted you to be happy, to marry Beak." " To be happy, to marry Beak ! " laughed Danae in bitter irony. "Oh, I understand now. I see it is impossible between IN THE RED BUNGALOW 405 you. But then Beak thought he might win you by keep- ing you from your father, by " " Babbie, all the time I hungered so you knew, you knew! " " It's not too late now, Danae girl." A man's reproachful voice broke in upon the talk be- tween the two women. "Babbie, Babbie! Don't leave a fellow alone all day." "Poor Jenny," cried Babbie. "I must run and cheer him up. He's hungry, too." Meals occurred with spasmodic irregularity at the Red Bungalow, and though it was now mid-afternoon, the late breakfast had not yet been succeeded by another meal, Ned was still in the kitchen trying to evolve a finished menu from his maelstrom. Barbara and Jermyn Day went to the piano together and, to put courage into Danae's failing heart, they played and sang merry catches from a Broadway opera. Then, leaving Danae to herself, they strolled out to a bench under the pergola, that, with anachronistic audacity, some vaudeville architect had appended to the East In- dian Bungalow. Danae paced up and down the living-room and out again. In the hall by the settle stood a tall jar, holding a sheaf of field flowers, brown-eyed Susans, tangles of clematis, blue succory and a trailing length of Virginia- creeper, touched scarlet in premature decay. She stepped before the mirror and half absent-mindedly, half with aesthetic deliberation, wreathed blue succory and crim- son leaves in the soft masses of her hair. She was singing to herself snatches of Ophelia's songs. 406 THE SILENT DOOR How should I your true love know From another one ? By his cockle hat and staff And his sandal shoon. At this moment the reading peddler's unnoticed cry sounded from the mountain lane, but the front windows were closely blinded and Jermyn Day on the other side of the house was not in a mood to heed country trafficers. Rue, approaching timidly around the shady corner, saw a short red-brown man with a long cigar in his mouth, watching his own spirals of smoke and directing them with a connoisseur's deftness. In a moment the billowy lady appeared and plumped herself beside him. Her head and waist rose out of a sea of skirts, that crum- pled around her in circular lines and exposed her large legs, clad in openwork stockings. The man's beard was cut short and turned up in an aggressive manner, while his mustache was startlingly long and stiff and lorded it over his other features. The man and woman could not see Rue as she approached. The man was haw-hawing over some joke he had made, probably about stockings, for the billowy lady drew down her skirts in an injured way, yet her legs remained as much exposed as ever. "Don't laugh so loud, Jenny," she said to the man. "Miss Field is not well to-day, and I'm broken-hearted for her." Then they saw the small figure of a child walk- ing toward them, brown-pinafored, chestnut-haired, with a sunbonnet fallen backward on her shoulders. She clasped in one hand a wilted nosegay of forget-me-nots. IN THE RED BUNGALOW 407 Babbie Day, who had only had the one glimpse of Rue, asleep in bed that eventful evening at Joseph Beak's, did not recognize the child in this different costuine and setting. The man stared, the woman smiled a little. Rue, un- comfortable, but trying to maintain outward composure, bowed quaintly: "Good-morning, it must be almost supper-time, so I thought I had better stop." " Where do you come from ? " asked the Billowy Lady kindly. Rue thought it safer not to betray her identity. "I didn't come from any special place. I've just been riding with the Reading Peddler. He's such a nice man. He let me get off here." " Where do you live ? " "Oh, I live in a house," said Rue secretively. "They don't care if I go off walking. I always come home and I learned my lessons before I went." Before those strange faces and under this cross-exam- ination she was sick at heart and almost ready to cry. It seemed to her important to maintain a careless de- meanor. How should she get home again ? She did not know. She wished the Reading Peddler would return. The reddish man haw-hawed and took his cigar from his mouth, settling himself to enjoyment of the situation. " Let's hear you say your lessons," he remarked bluntly, making his eyes stick out preposterously. They were odd people to ask so many questions and not invite her to sit down, nor to stay to supper. " Do you want to hear verbs or the poetry piece ? " 408 THE SILENT DOOR They decided on the poetry piece. "It's a very long book, and I've only learned two stanzas. I began it yesterday, but I like it ever so much. I will say it from the beginning. "A gentle knight came pricking o'er the plain " Midway of the stanza Rue stopped. Perhaps they were luring her on to recite and there was not to be any reward. She did not smell the crisp appetizing odor that preceded Ellen's savory meals. Only a peculiar sooty smell issued from somewhere, and rattling noises as of an angry person. "I'm too hungry to say any more now. How soon do you think supper will be ready, please ? " " That's what I want to know, too, " burst out the man crossly. He seemed just to have realized his injuries. " Look here, Barbe, I won't stand for this picnic racket much longer. It's up to you to turn in and give us a decent meal." "Oh, rubbish, Jenny," laughed the Billowy Lady. "The maid's coming out to-morrow for sure. We can scratch along on tinned stuff till then." The man took out his watch. "Half-past three," he announced grimly. "I told the boy to put the potatoes in an hour ago," remarked the Billowy Lady easily. "And if he doesn't know how to broil a beefsteak, it's time he should learn." The boy's education in this respect was evidently on her conscience. Then Lillo rushed through the open door, a fork in his hand and an apron tied by the sleeves around his neck. "Mommer," he shouted, " the whole steak's fell into the coals and it's burning up like blazes." IN THE RED BUNGALOW 409 At this disastrous announcement both the man and the \voman hurried precipitately into the house. They left Lillo standing on the steps. He had caught sight of Rue's disconsolate figure, "Rue, Rue," he cried in his ringing boy's voice. "What are you doing here ? " This, his favorite form of salutation, brusque as it was, filled Rue's heart with a sense of friendly protection. She ran to him and seized his hand. "Oh, Lillo, Lillo, please take me home. I don't like to be so far away from home." Neither of them noticed that at the sound of Rue's name, Danae's slight blue-robed figure had come to the threshold of the door. Her lips were parted and her eyes wide open and one hand was pressed to her heart, as if to restrain its wild beating. But she kept silence, watching the two children. " Whatever brought you to this house ? " insisted the explicit Lillo, "I never expected to see you here. I'm awful glad, though." The happy memory of her party that was to be occurred to the little girl. "I came to invite you to my party. To-morrow I'm going to be the same highness as the meadow-rue on our lawn and so Grandfather says I shall have a celebration because my name is Rue." "Oh," came a broken little cry from behind them. They turned and Rue recognized Miss Lady of the deserted garden. She stood there, in her long blue coat that she had wrapped around her for warmth earlier 410 THE SILENT DOOR in the day, with the blue succory and scarlet leaves in her pale hair. "Oh!" exclaimed Rue, wonder and awe in her eyes. "Come here, Rue, Rue," cried the lady passionately. " Rue for remembrance." "That is not my name," said Rue gently. "It is Rue Penrith. I am Grandfather's little girl." The lady stooped and strained the child to her breast. One would not have thought that the fragile form had so much strength. "I am warmer now. I am warmer," she murmured. Then she let go and held Rue's face between her two hands, looking straight into her eyes. " Rue, you are my little girl. I am your mother." Rue looked at her in deep and wondering silence. " Then you may come to my party," she said solemnly. " I will go home and tell Grandfather that I have found a mother." "No, no," said Miss Lady, with frightened eyes. "Do not tell Grandfather." "But you will come. Please, please come!" entreated Rue. " I will come. I will 1 1 will!" cried the lady in a strong voice, and yet as if the words were difficult. " I am so glad, so very glad I have found you," said Rue. "You will not tell Grandfather? I do not want him to know beforehand. I want him to see me without know- ing beforehand. You will not tell Grandfather?" The lady begged like a little child. "I will not tell Grandfather," promised Rue. "And IN THE RED BUNGALOW 411 you need not be afraid, Miss Lady. I can keep a secret as dark as night." "Do you think, ah, do you think he will be glad to see me ? " the lady asked. Rue answered, giving one of those whimsical little reasons that children so often give and which are hard for grown people to understand. " I think he will be glad to see you if you come with those flowers and leaves in your hair." They heard the doomful voice out on the mountain lane. "Bye-bye; bye-bye oh," "That is my friend. He has come to take me home." Miss Lady could hardly let Rue go from her arms. "What time is your party, darling Rue ?" "My party is at two o'clock. I liked to have it early so as to have it long." It was the first time in Rue's life that she had ever known anything to happen at two o'clock. She almost feared, at times, if it were not of ill-omen to set her party at that barren and unproductive hour. The peddler and the gray-haired horse and Rue were soon lost to sight below the steep curve of the mountain lane. Danae was unable to eat. She went about the Bungalow, laughing, crying, singing little snatches of sad songs. Which was more of a child, Rue or her mother, it would be hard to say. XLVIII THE LONGEST MORNING THAT EVER WAS AT five o'clock in the morning Rue awakened and crept into Justine's bed. They enjoyed an hilar- ious seance together, repressed at intervals by poor Grandfather's warning knock on his side of the wall- There is something peculiarly conducive to gaiety in being nightgowned, bedded, and wide-awake at five o'clock with a congenial spirit beside you. The very necessity for caution in the fact that elderly people are trying to prolong their miserable slumbers adds the last required ingredient of spice. Thus, bound together in more than usual amity by the merry hour and the coming festivity, Rue and Justine chatted on diverse subjects. "This is the same as a birthday party," said Rue. " No one need ever say again that I have no birth- days." "You never did have one before," remarked Justine defensively. "Different people begin to have them at different times," said Rue. "It took me longer to begin, that's all." She thought of something to add that would tease Justine. "The nicer you are the longer it takes you to have your first birthday. I am seven years old, but this is my first birthday, because I am so very nice." 412 THE LONGEST MORNING 413 Justine reflected sadly on her own four disgraceful celebrations, while Rue's eyes twinkled. "I don't care, I'm going to ask Aunt S'weena," pouted Justine. " Aunt S'weena, Aunt ' At this point occurred one of Grandfather's most decided knocks. "I was just funning," said Rue. She deserved additional glory in return for the many years when she had gone birthdayless and little girls like Enid and Geraldine had taunted her airily. " I'm no longer like Melchizzy Decker, because I have a " She caught herself just before the word mother escaped her lips, remembering in time that not a person was to know till Miss Lady herself appeared, blue-robed and leaf-crowned, at the mystic hour of two. The sudden pause aroused Justine's attention. "A what?" "Oh, nothing." " You were going to say somefing. A what ? " insisted Justine, with ever-increasing suspicion. For it is a code of honor among children that if you begin, you must finish. It is like putting your finger on a checker. You are inviolably held to the move. "It's somefin that Aunt S'weena and Uncle don't know about," said Justine in pious horror. "This was what I was going to say," began Rue, to Justine's satisfaction, who had been confident that her final accusation would fetch the unwilling confession. " I'm not like Melchizzy Decker because I have a red coat and cap." 414 THE SILENT DOOR Justine, who was shallowly shrewd yet deeply simple, was both appeased and disappointed, by this completed statement. She had expected something more sensational, such as that Rue had secreted somewhere in the house a kitten or a Newfoundland puppy, standing threats with which Aunt Serena's peace of mind was disturbed. "Who was Melfizzy Pecker?" asked Justine, pleased at this addition to her vocabulary. " He was somebody in old ancient times," replied Rue, unconsciously imitating Mr. Boscoway's "old ancient" voice. " He had neither beginning of days nor end of life. I'm not like him any more." She half regretted her loss of this unique distinction. Retributive Justice had its way. The merry hours that had passed so quickly before breakfast while the older people clung to their perturbed pillows, were followed by what was, for the children, an interminable morning. It certainly was the longest, the most attenuated, the most sluggishly progressing morning that had ever happened since the world began. Rue would occupy her- self in a million ways and then, returning to the clock, would find that only five minutes had passed. Of course she knew it was not really so. If all the clocks that had ever been made were placed in a row and all witnessed unanimously to that lapse of time and to this was added the strengthening testimony of Grandfather, Aunt Serena, Mr. Boscoway and Ellen, as well as the supreme information culled from that more occult and sacred timepiece, Grandfather's vest-pocket watch, Rue would still, in her heart of hearts, have known that their testi- THE LONGEST MORNING 415 mony was a fallacy, a lure, an evil conspiracy against the truth. If five minutes is a year, how many years will roll by before two o'clock ? It was a neat arithmetical problem which Aunt Serena proposed that Rue should demon- strate. Aunt Serena had the goodness to provide Rue with a newly washed slate and slate-pencil, to facilitate the problem. " It is very simple," said she, " you have only to divide 60 by 5 and then multiply by " Aunt Serena had a clever way of diminishing mathematical difficulties by a rapid enunciation and a casual tone of voice. Rue shivered and fled precipitately from the vicinity of the slate and slate-pencil. There is something livid and sullen about the very touch and appearance of these symbols of exact science. She stationed herself opposite the tall clock in the hall and determined to watch it per- sistently and, if possible, catch it in the nefarious act of stopping at intervals, thus further elongating an already sufficiently attenuated morning. It was now only nine- thirty-five and Rue had been active and flourishing since the hour of five A.M. The clock was sly and, noting her espionage, ticked imperturbably. Rue concealed herself behind the front door, peering through the lacquered grating of the upper half, and from this coign of vantage she distinctly ob- served the pendulum of the clock to dawdle frightfully, and in fact become moribund with every swing. A similar phenomenon may be observed among the street laborers on a city contract, with whom every stroke of the spade 416 THE SILENT DOOR seems destined to be their last. The hands of the clock moved in an adhesive manner, as flies do after a visit to the mouth of the molasses jug. From this retreat Rue emerged because of her dis- covery by Cousin Frederick. "I was amusing myself," she replied in answer to his surprised query. She was almost tempted to tell him of the dawdling pendulum and the slothful hands, but decided not to impugn the character of a hitherto blameless article of household furniture. She went outdoors to see if the passage of time might not be accelerated under the open sky. It was hardly possible that she could sustain her existence till the auspicious event took place. If God made the world in seven ordinary days then surely in the space of a pre- ternatural morning like this he could construct a world so vast that its geography could never be acquired even in an indefatigable life-time of study. Rue sat down on Mr. Boscoway's wooden chair in the shade of the barn. " Land of the livin', " said heartless Ellen, passing by to get fresh water at the pump, " you've got as long a face on ye as Terry O'Tooley they tell about." Ellen's speech teemed with allusions to historic person- ages of whose lives the mystic " They " had been chroniclers. But beyond these allusions she could never be persuaded to go, and the personages forever remained shrouded in the tantalizing simile. "Why don't yez play or set about some of yer doins ? " When Ellen was particularly officious she addressed THE LONGEST MORNING 417 one in the plural number. That morning she was officious because N she had sole possession of the kitchen, both children having been excluded by imperial edict "I've thought of everything in the world, Ellen, that a person could do, and there's not a single thing that's really interesting, unless" (ingratiatingly) "you'd let me come into the kitchen and watch you cook." "You know what The Grandfayther tolt you," was Ellen's virtuous answer, as she marched firmly to the house with her splashing pail. Yet Ellen knew perfectly well that it was not The Grandfayther but herself who primarily stood in the way of Rue's admission. By and by it transpired that there had been an impor- tant omission in the list of invited guests, to wit, Augustus the horse. Of course Augustus must be a guest at the party. " But he could not really sit down at the table with us," said Aunt Serena, a humorous suggestion that called forth many sallies from Rue and Justine. " And have a napkin round his neck ? " "And eat with a fork!" " And rest his front hoofs on the table." " And have a big enormous bowl to drink from," added Rue, mindful of the circular watering- trough. The final accepted amendment was that Augustus, free from the mortification of carriage and harness, should be tethered comfortably at the horse-block under the locust-tree, given a plentiful supply of delicious green grass and clover, with lumps of sugar for dessert, and thus 418 THE SILENT DOOR allowed to participate in the revelry of the hour. Rue and Justine were furnished abundant occupation in pro- viding the clover and grass. Those who were present on the occasion say that more than once, when a pleasant laugh or a pretty story went round, Augustus's lips were seen to part, in an appreciative equine smile. During this preparation for Augustus's delectation, Rue's spirits perceptibly rose. She had noticed that the older people, when caught in conversation by themselves, were serious, almost sad. They talked quietly and stopped short when Rue came near them, summoning to their faces the pale smiles which cloak a heartache. Once Rue thought she heard Frederick speak about the Silent Door. And Grandfather answered quickly: " Oh, not yet, not yet." "You are not sad, Grandfather, because I am the highness of the meadow-rue ? " " My darling, we are much older than you and we hax r e many serious things to think about." The obvious fact of their being older was no reason for sadness, and she also had many serious things to think about. There was the secret of Miss Lady's arrival, a serious secret, indeed. Rue hoped from the bottom of her heart that Grandfather would be glad to see Miss Lady. XLIX THE FATEFUL HOUR OF TWO O'CLOCK AROUND table was set on the strip of lawn between the Rose-of -Sharon- tree and the meadow- rue plant. The lawn had been beautifully cut with the whizzing lawn-mower, so that the grass was as short as short can be and not an obnoxious dandelion blossom nor a plantain leaf showed itself. Grandfather and Mr. Boscoway were proud of this bit of emerald plush in the rambling grounds around Penrith House. Frederick was coming to share their pride and was heedful to locate his chair differently each day so that his feet should not wear a spot in the grass. Augustus, glossy and self-complacent, was already at his post of observation and munching his pile of clover with that splendid sound which horses make when they eat. As he was impolite enough to begin before the other guests arrived, Rue and Justine removed the succulent feast from under his very nose. The table, set with its snowy linen, with the gold bor- dered china and with the tumblers on slender stems, looked surprised at itself to be standing out there under the trees, without any carpet under its feet and the un- roofed blue sky above it. Ellen, in a stiffly starched gown, with new shoes in 419 420 THE SILENT DOOR honor of the party, creaked back and forth between the blind door and the table, carrying edibles, the comfort- able kind that do not have to be instantly transferred from the fire to your mouth. There was sliced tongue and meat jelly, and deviled eggs and pickled cucumbers, gnarled and wholly desirable. Later, oh, later there was to follow but we must not forestall those later crisp and flaky joys. We will only say that from the sounds and odors that had penetrated the upper regions, sundry sounds of delicacies that required beating and whipping and pounding, sundry smells of mingled sweetness and spices one would deduce that there were to be cakes of astounding ornate- ness, and pastries of artful design and generous interior depths. Promptly at half-past one o'clock Rue and Justine were freed from Aunt Serena's ministering hands, and repaired to the lawn to superintend the final operations. They walked gingerly in holiday clothes and shoes, con- scious of the stamp of elegance upon hair and finger- nails. Some enterprising insects had already arrived upon the scene of action and were conducting a research party about the viands prepared for their delectation. A capable and able-bodied ant took the lead. News was rapidly being spread among the remoter districts and commis- sary expeditions were being fitted out as far away as the ant-city under the cherry-tree at the top of the garden. Augustus had managed to free himself from his halter and was galloping about the orchard, with an eye directed THE FATEFUL HOUR 421 toward the corn-patch. He evaded with playful coquetry Mr. Boscoway's advances. Uncle Jupiter was the first guest to arrive, toiling with the ice-cream keg in one hand and the other swung out to keep his balance. The ice-cream pail was large and wooden, packed with slushy ice surrounding a small receptacle in the middle. This latter was ensheathed in a wet cloth. If ever an ice-cream keg spoke, this one did, loudly proclaiming its ambrosial contents but saying also, "Touch me not till the appointed time." Uncle Jupiter placed his burden in the shade of the lilac-bush and mopped his sweating brow. His waistcoat was unbuttoned more copiously than usual. The haughty collar with which he had started out was reduced to sub- missive meekness, and adapted itself to every turn of his black neck. His complexion showed a high degree of luster like the blackest of ebony and his gray woolly head was set off to unusual advantage. Rue greeted him re- spectfully and seated him in the rustic bench under the locust-tree, where he professed to be enjoying himself mightily without need of further entertainment. Augustus had by this time been cajoled to the horse- post and securely fastened. One would not have suspected a beast of such sobriety to be capable of such frivolity in his hours of liberty. Mr. Boscoway added himself to the number of expectant guests and occupied the round- backed wooden chair from the barn. He placed it between the pump and the horse-post, within range of the lunch table and not too far from his own familiar territory. Rue expected that he would be too aristocratic to share 422 THE SILENT DOOR the general provision and would bring a brown paper parcel and the secretive dinner-pail, but no sign of them yet appeared. His hair was carefully combed, a long lock being wrested from its natural position and distributed over the bald spot on top of his head. The trousers which he wore were elegantly patched with rectangular designs and a suspicion of wilted white glimmered below his short coat sleeves. He and Uncle Jupiter conversed with each other across the wide space which separated them. Altogether, except for the conversation, it was a little like early prayer-meeting when only the deacons have come. Rue's invitation to the Peddler and to Lillo had already been ratified, but "Maybe somebody else is coming," she said mysteriously, and advised that an extra plate be laid at the table. Aunt Serena and Grandfather insisted on more ex- plicit information, but Rue remained mysterious. "You can't always tell who might come to a party," she said, as if her experience in party giving had been vast. The extra plate was laid, for, as Cousin Frederick said, this was Rue's day and everything must be exactly as she wished. The three grown-up people came from the house, with a look upon their faces as if they had been crying, but they smiled and said pleasant things to everybody. Cousin Frederick was white, with dark circles under the eyes; Grandfather's cheeks were drawn to stern lines and Aunt Serena's eyelids trembled, but they were cheerful in their voices and made Uncle Jupiter and Mr. Boscoway THE FATEFUL HOUR 423 feel at home. The latter had brought a shining new trowel for Rue, with which he laid off her height and that of the meadow-rue. "Just abaout the self-same hayt'th," he said. "There might be just a leetle speck's difference, but none to no- ways count." Mr. Boscoway was a cautious gentleman and always guarded his speech. Uncle Jupiter then produced his present for Rue, a handsome book comprehensively entitled "From Cradle to Grave." The unworldly Rue, overwhelmed by these unexpected gifts, was on the point of bursting into tears of joy when the rumble of wheels was heard and the gray-haired horse appeared, breaking through the foliage of elderberry- bushes at the end of the grassy lane. "Oh, there's the Reading Peddler," she cried, "and Lillo, but but where's " Only Lillo and the peddler occupied the rickety seat in the two- wheeled wagon. The peddler looked as shaggy and sleigh-roby as ever. His metal buttons had acquired an extra polish, and his purple handkerchief was tied under his left instead of his right ear. He made a mysterious sign to Rue, and as soon as possible, under the confusion of arranging a standing-place for the gray-haired horse, he gained her private ear. "Her iss coming," he whispered. "I puts her down a piece back, she wass wanting to walk." "And now that we are all assembled," said Grandfather in his stately way, "shall we draw up and partake ?" 424 THE SILENT DOOR Mr. Boscoway and Uncle Jupiter confessed to having already dined (an act of perfidy!), and insisted on re- maining where they were and enjoying the feast as spec- tators. Ellen spread napkins over their knees which made them look more a part of the family. "Please let's wait a few minutes," murmured Rue, dragging on Grandfather's hand, "maybe Some One else will come and would feel badly to be late." But Ellen was bringing on the hot dishes and Justine was arraying herself in her napkin, and it was a quarter after two o'clock. Aunt Serena sat down and that settled the matter. Everybody followed her example, including the peddler and the unwilling Rue. Grandfather asked a blessing. " For what thou hast set before us, O Lord, help us to be truly grateful, and as thou hast provided for our bodily hunger, minister also, we pray Thee, unto our spiritual hunger, blessing both those who are present and the absent ones for Christ's sake, Amen." This was followed by a fervid amen from the shaggy peddler and a commendatory groan from Uncle Jupiter's bench. It was the same blessing that Grandfather had asked for years, and yet Rue for the first time noticed that he prayed for the absent ones. Perhaps it was the shake in his voice which made the phrase stand out. Justine clamored for a biscuit and jam, but Rue left her food untouched on her plate. The peddler smiled at her and nodded his shaggy head several times, much to the bewilderment of Cousin Frederick. Aunt Serena thought it was just his kindliness but Rue knew what he meant. THE FATEFUL HOUR 425 Every few seconds she turned around to look at the elderberry-bushes and the grassy lane. Yes, there was a faint sound of some one parting the bushes and stepping on the crackly twigs. She jumped down from her chair. "Oh, Grandfather, She's come!" There stood Danae, like an apparition between the bushes, the folds of the long linen cloak straight and blue about her, and the scarlet leaves and wild flowers wreathing her hair. She had not forgotten her promise. Her face was pale with emotion and uncertainty. She hardly looked an earthly being, more like one of Luini's nymph-like saints. What Danae saw at the first unforgetable glimpse was the dear familiar playground of her girlhood days and the little group of loved familiar faces: Aunt Serena in the same gown she had worn years before, with her hair parted in the same smooth way. But her father looked grayer and older. When she last saw him the white lightning of anger had dis- torted his features. Now his cheeks were sunken and his eyes profoundly weary. There was Frederick Droll, her old lover. How came he to be there? Uncle Jupiter and Mr. Boscoway, and the shaggy peddler, she knew them well. But little black-haired Justine was new to her. And her own daughter Rue, running to meet her with outstretched hands! Danae was outside of them all, outside in the cold. She was sick with the sweetness and the dearness and the unattainableness of that heaven. All this must have been in her face, for Rue's heart burst with pity and foreboding. 426 THE SILENT DOOR "Grandfather, you are glad to see her?" she cried wildly, seizing her mother by the hand. All rose to their feet, thrilled by this great arrival. Danae stood still and her father approached her slowly, slowly as if his feet failed him, as if his eyesight was grow- ing dim. " Father," cried Danae. Every one turned aside, every one of that little group, with hearts too reverent for look or speech. The shaggy peddler's lips moved, and Mr. Boscoway's fingers combed the gray-haired horse's mane. "Daughter, I have sinned and repented," said Dr. Penrith, holding out both arms to his home-come child. But Danae did not seem to hear him, for she dropped on her knees and caught at his hand. " Father," she said again, " forgive me for her sake ! " Rue clung closely to her mother's side, with her little hand wrapped in the blue cloak. Dr. Penrith raised Danae to her feet and folded her in his arms. "My daughter! my daughter!" There was no need to say much more, but after a while Danae raised her head from her father's shoulder and smiled a little. Her fluttering hands went to her hair and the disarranged wreath. " You didn't think I was silly to come like this ? " she questioned in the old girlish Danae way. It was not till then that the heartstrings were wholly loosened and she began to cry. It was such a little thing to cry about, after all, a wreath of flowers and scarlet leaves! CHOOSE YOUR TRUE LOVE THE impidence of the cray ther," exclaimed Ellen, albeit with wet eyes, as she flickered from the lunch table with a stiff corner of her apron an aeronautic spider who had descended upon the sugar-bowl. This was the beginning of conversation. Danae shook hands with all the people. " As it mought be jest yisteddy she was returning from," said Mr. Boscoway afterward, in recounting the day's experience to Mrs. Gideon. It must not be thought that luncheon was the only event. There was other diversion, provided as it chanced, by Lillo. It was not known what had been planned by Grandfather and Aunt Serena. Possibly Grandfather had in mind that form of entertainment known as loud reading, when one person sits in the middle discoursing from a large book ( Bacon's Essays, or the Sermons of Bossuet ), and the passive recipients in an attentive circle, endeavor to keep open their leaden-weighted eye- lids. This entertainment, though not hilarious, has its informing features. Aunt Serena may have planned a ripping-bee or a raisin party, which terms require ex- planation for the uninitiated. A ripping-bee is apt to occur when Miss Alvira visits Penrith House and one 427 428 THE SILENT DOOR or more antique garments are in process of rehabilitation. Each person is furnished with a pair of scissors, more or less blunt, according to the years of the user, and zip-zip off travels a ruffle or a row of woolen braid. Raisin parties precede Thanksgiving or Christmas and the number of raisins eaten must not exceed the number of stoned raisins in a bowl that are the result of one's toil. When Rue pined for amusement it was such diverting occupations that Aunt Serena's practical mind was ever ready to suggest. It was some years before Rue was able to put into words the idea long latent that utilitarian gaieties are a snare and a delusion. It was Lillo who, not long after Danae's coming, pro- posed that they all play Wild Irishman. This intrepid suggestion was welcomed, especially as it gave certain ones, who felt a little " trembly round the lips and teary round the eyes," opportunity to recover their balance. Nobody knew the game and therefore Lillo rose to a position of temporary splendor as instructor of its move- ments and cabalistic legend. The legend ( to be chanted as you dance round and round in a circle ) runs as follows : Heigh-ho jim along, jim along josy, Jim along jo ! Hitch your oxen to your cart And go to the mitt with a load of bark Heigh-ho jim along, jim along josy, Jim along jo I Certain motions correspond with certain lines of the verse and there are times when somebody outside gets CHOOSE YOUR TRUE LOVE 429 in or somebody inside gets out it is a little difficult to explain and then every once in a while somebody is caught and kissed. At one of these strategic points in the game the somebody was Rue, and the other somebody was Lillo. A kiss like this, occurring in a legitimate yet unexpected manner, is one of the most exciting things in the world. Like a billow breaking over your head when you are surf-bathing or a horse jumping a fence with you, you see It coming and It takes your breath away and then It's all over before you know. Another stanza of Wild Irishman is as follows: Happy is the miller who lives by himself, As the wheel turns round he gains on his wealth. Hand in the hopper, the other in the bag, When the wheel turns round he cries out GRAB. Heigh-ho jim along, jim along josy, Jim along jo ! Do I need to say that the word GRAB marks another of those delicious strategic points, where, if you are not very careful, something will happen again ? To the carping critic who may inveigh against the irregular scansion of this ditty, I would reply that as chanted and accompanied by the rhythm of merry feet, it scans perfectly. As for the rhymes, perhaps they are not letter perfect, but could you do better yourself ? Lillo at the lunch table had been oppressed by the burden of his own good manners, but perceptibly revived during the prosecution of Wild Irishman. Another game was proposed by Mr. Boscoway, and as the accompanying text smacks somewhat of his 430 THE SILENT DOOR own philosophy and cautious utterance, it deserves quoting : The needle's eye Thai, doth so ply, The thread that runs so smoothly, Many a lass That I have passed, But now I love you truly. There will be some to inveigh against the syntax of this lyric and the " Jim along josy " rondeau. To such I would say: "Leave them alone, they are not for you." The nameless ( and probably composite ) authors of these lyrics, will, like Remy de Gourmont and Maeter- linck, appeal only to souls attuned in sympathy. For her part, Rue found the mystic verses heavy with mean- ing- Frederick was not able to play many of the circular games because the pirouetting round and round made things go black before his eyes and the cold drops stand out on his forehead. But Danae joined in all the sports and became latterly a leading spirit. She it was who sang so loudly and so sweetly in Copen- hagen. Come, philanders, let us be a-marching, Every one your true love a-searching. Choose your true love now or never And be sure you never choose another. When Frederick heard this lovely verse sung by Danae's voice he wanted to join the game. They let him be the CHOOSE YOUR TRUE LOVE 431 middle one. So there he stood, all the others dancing around him in a jubilant ring. Ellen, her skirts cracking with sprightliness; the shaggy peddler's sleigh-robe beard nodding in the breeze made by himself; Mr. Bosco way's perverted lock taking advantage of the opportunity to fall back into its natural position and Justine's satiny black hair shaking up and down like a Shetland pony's mane. Copenhagen was the last game of the afternoon. It was that sweet hour when the shadows stretch out to heroic lengths, when the thrushes began to sing from the depths of the Norway pine, when the wind dies down, and the reflections in the river have a charmed stillness, when an amethyst light touches the tops of the Twin Mountains. Copenhagen leaves all its "philanders" happily paired off, ready to march away, each happy boy with his sweetheart on his arm to whatever may come next. At Penrith House they went to the shady eastern plaza where lemonade and cake were provided. Frederick walked by Danae's side and Justine looked extremely well under the ample shadow of Uncle Jupiter's elbow. Frederick and Danae had a great deal in their hearts to say to each other, so much that it was easier to say nothing. Enough for Frederick to be by her side again, to hear the faint sound of her skirts on the grass and to get the faint odor of her hair. There was only one love in his life and that was for Danae. It was the sort of love that shook him at mention of her name, and now that after many years he saw her again, there was no abate- 432 THE SILENT DOOR ment of love's mastery. There had never been an abate- ment during the years of separation, but sometimes the Face re-seen will shatter the dream of years. " How are you, Frederick ? " asked Danae, turning toward him her misty eyes. She meant to inquire after his health, the simple query that weighs so much or so little. " I am the same the same to you, Danae," he answered, not wishing at all to be dramatic and unaware of the light in his eyes and the sob in his voice that made her catch her breath, for Danae knew enough of real love to be reverent and afraid in its presence. All night long in her sleep Rue was performing endless delightful gyrations and singing those profound words: Jim along, jim along josy, Jim along jo ! There was a little, round, warm, tingling spot in her cheek where somebody had kissed her. Reader, did you ever have a little, round, warm spot like that on your cheek ? LI THE DOOR IS OPENED FATHER, I should like to go to my room," said Danae, "just to see it," she added. " May I go, too ? " said Frederick, very low. "And me ?" asked Rue, with an odd little surmise that the Silent Door was about to be opened. Grandfather went off somewhere and came back with the key, that key which had been locked away, nobody knew where, for very many years. The little procession mounted slowly to the third floor of Penrith House. They descended the three small steps. Grandfather turned the key in the lock. The door opened. They stood in the room. There were three windows rather high up, and barred crosswise, which gave the room a medieval air. You had to stand on the window bench in order to see out of the windows. The walls were irregular and steeply slanted below the mansard roof. Aunt Serena pulled a cord and away flew a blue shade, discovering a skylight in the ceiling, which now admitted a flood of late afternoon light. Rue looked about her in awe and excitement. There was a bed with its dimity coverlet, a dressing-table simi- larly draped with a few feminine articles scattered on it, and an old-fashioned oaken school-desk like the one in 433 434 THE SILENT DOOR the West Room. On the lid of the desk was a pen dipped in an ink bottle, long since gone dry, and a sheet of lilac note paper with these words on it, in Danae's girlish hand. " Dear Peter, T J The sheet of paper and the pen lay as if abandoned a moment before by the thoughtless scribe. Danae's lips quivered when she saw the words on the paper and she crushed the sheet quickly in her hands. Over the back of a wicker chair was flung a cape in a style of long ago, and a pair of slippers stood at the foot of the bed. Danae turned to her father with tears in her eyes. " Why, Father, it looks just the same as it did." "No one has touched a thing, no one has entered the room since you " She kissed him tearfully and that ended the sentence. Frederick, unobserved by the others, dragged a fold of the old-fashioned cape passionately to his lips. At least, he would kiss something that she had once worn. There is irresistible lovableness in garments. Rue was examining with admiration the crocheted slippers and fitting them to the soles of her feet. Danae looked upward at the distorted faces of her plaster women, cracked and yellow with age, but still decorative below the ceiling. "Oh, how be-youtiful, how funny!" laughed Rue, looking up at her mother's sculptural designs. "You never scraped them off, did you, Aunt Serena ?" Danae was touched with gratitude. THE DOOR IS OPENED 435 " No," said Aunt Seren i, a trifle sadly, " I thought they might as well stay there. No one ever saw them. 1 ' "They're not so bad, after all," exclaimed Danae a little tenderly, a little gaily. Rue recognized in her mother's voice the note, was it of creative fondness ? " Oh, Mother, did you do them ? I think they're just bee-youtiful, I do, Mother." Danae sat down on the edge of the bed and sobbed happily into her handkerchief. It was not to hear her plaster women praised, but to have her little girl call her mother. Frederick passed his hand over his forehead. His eyes were shut. Rue touched him lightly. "What are you thinking about, Frederick?" "About many things." " Dear and happy things ? " "Yes, dear and happy things." "About the voyages over sea you have taken and the far-away lands where things happen ? " Frederick opened his eyes and caught an unfeeling image of himself in Danae's pretty mirror below the water- women. How ill he looked, how ugly, how spent! He folded Rue's hand in his. " I believe I am thinking about another voyage, Rue, that I shall soon take." Danae heard the words and dropped to her knee beside him. It was a free, impulsive little act, but no one criticized Danae now. She put her head against his shoulder. 436 THE SILENT DOOR "Poor Frederick!" she said softly. Frederick's other hand rested on Danae's golden head. " And now/' said Grandfather, in his mellow would-be cheerful voice, " had we not better all repair to the dining- room ? The supper-bell has already rung twice." One by one, they went out of Danae's room. Grand- father was the last and he left the Silent Door standing open behind him. THE END TH McCLCRB PRESS, NEW YORK