? 
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 IN THE CITY BY THE LAKE.
 
 Here in this splendid city by the lake, 
 
 I dream that man has a majestic hope, 
 
 Because all elements of life and thought 
 
 Enrich her blood and stimulate her brain. 
 
 Here is the world epitomized, for here 
 
 Are pulses out of every nation's heart, 
 
 And men may study mankind at their hearths. 
 
 This is to be a favorite battle-ground 
 
 For truth and error. Here, as time moves on, 
 
 Great causes will be marshaled. Times have been 
 
 Already, when the stirring trumpet blast 
 
 Of an approaching conflict, shook the world 
 
 Out of its dream of safety. Oh, then teach 
 
 All capable of bearing the bright arms 
 
 Of reason, fearless, independent thought! 
 
 If you would lead men surely angelward, 
 
 Teach them to think, not what to think, but how.
 
 IN THE CITY BY THE LAKE 
 
 IN TWO BOOKS 
 
 THE SHADOW, AND THE SLAVE GIRL 
 
 BY 
 
 BLANCHE FEARING, 
 
 Author of " The Sleeping World, " Etc. 
 
 CHICAGO: 
 
 SEARLE & GORTON 
 1892
 
 Copyright 1892, 
 By BLANCHE FEARING 
 
 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
 
 TS 
 
 TO MY SISTER, 
 
 MARIEN E. FEARING
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 BOOK I. THE SHADOW. 
 
 PART i. LOVE ... . . . n 
 
 PART 2. LIFE 28 
 
 PART 3. DEATH 53 
 
 PART 4. RESURRECTION ... 71 
 
 BOOK II. THE SLAVE GIRL. 
 
 PART i. FREEDOM .... 95 
 
 PART 2. SLAVERY .... *io8 
 
 PART 3. REVOLT . ... . .130 
 
 PART 4. FREEDOM REGAINED . . 167 
 
 762990
 
 BOOK I 
 
 THE SHADOW
 
 PART I 
 LOVE 
 
 There is a splendid city by a lake 
 That beats against its sea-wall restlessly, 
 Like a great heart that hungers; ever beats 
 With mournful, mystic music, as if chafed 
 By a great nameless sorrow; beats and beats, 
 As if the secret heart-aches of all hearts 
 That ever in that city beat and break, 
 Were buried in it. Almost it would seem, 
 Some great magician plied his magic art 
 To build that city, for so swift it raised 
 Its domes, and towers, and spires to the sun, 
 Far swifter than the slowly-building hand 
 Of man is wont to raise them. Up it sprang, 
 Most like the phantom fabric of a dream. 
 One day a lonely fort 'mid savage tribes 
 Who scudded through the waving prairie grass 
 After the deer and bison; and the next, 
 A little village cradled by a lake 
 That sang to it its solemn old sea-song, 
 With but a handful of men's souls; the next, 
 A busy town, an infant Hercules 
 Among earth's splendid cities, even then, 
 In sturdy childhood, giving prophecy 
 
 11
 
 Of giant labors to be wrought; to-day, 
 
 A mighty city, and the whole world hears 
 
 Its roaring wheels of commerce, and its din 
 
 Of flying shuttles and of thunderous looms, 
 
 Fierce heart-throbs of its mighty engines driven 
 
 By the white steeds of lightning and of steam, 
 
 Whose splendid pulses to the borders roll; 
 
 A city whose own breath has dimmed the sun. 
 
 And once a flying fiend of fire swept, 
 
 With lurid wings and blasting, stifling breath, 
 
 Across the city, and behold, a heap 
 
 Of dully glowing embers where it stood. 
 
 Again the great magician plied his art 
 
 The spirit of the new age and again 
 
 That city raised its gleaming domes and spires 
 
 To greet the early kisses of the sun. 
 
 Now men who cannot prick their slower brains 
 
 Up to the dizzy speed of life and thought 
 
 That through the streets upon the whirling car 
 
 Of progress, thunder, rub their eyes and gasp, 
 
 As if, like Rip Van Winkle, they had slept 
 
 For twenty years, "Ah! pray, what doth it mean? 
 
 Why, here we had a village yesterday!" 
 
 Out of the city's hot, tumultuous heart, 
 Just out of sound of the fierce hum and hiss 
 Of human insects spinning their cocoons, 
 His little world of interest, each for self, 
 To bury himself in it, and the buzz 
 Of golden honey-makers, 'round one flower, 
 A thousand swarming for its poison sweets; 
 
 12
 
 Just out of sound of these lived Robert Earle, 
 A quiet, courtly man, who, having stored 
 Enough of golden honey, had withdrawn 
 Into his princely hive to live upon it, 
 With his one child, a daughter, Edith Earle. 
 He, in his youth, against the wish and will 
 Of all his kindred, had been early wed 
 Unto a simple maiden, who had naught 
 To recommend her but a brave, true heart, 
 Revealed within a sweetly serious face, 
 As clearly as the silver sands that lie 
 At bottom of a lucid mountain lake. 
 So deep and constant was his love for her, 
 That when she died at end of three bright years, 
 And left him with a helpless babe, he kept 
 Her memory like a fragrance in his heart, 
 As if an angel, stooping, plucked a rose 
 Out ol his bosom, but the perfume rare 
 Lingered through all life's garments, sweetening all. 
 "Edith, my rose! '' he called her in her life; 
 Nor thought nor wish had he to wed again, 
 No love but for his child his child and hers. 
 Now all of joy and hope and loveliness 
 That wealth of gold and wealth of love could give 
 To make life beautiful, to her were given; 
 And little Edith had her mother's heart, 
 As well as violet eyes and shining hair, 
 And more the careful culture of the mind. 
 All rapturously the father watched his bud 
 Unfolding into girlhood's radiant rose. 
 "Edith, my rose!" he cried in clasping her 
 
 13
 
 "My rose without a thorn!" and kissed her cheek, 
 First one and then the other, each a rose, 
 And then the mouth, a rosebud in between, 
 And then the forehead, like a snow-white dove 
 Outgleaming from its nest of shining curls, 
 And had no thought, no heart for aught but her, 
 Except one friend, the comrade of his youth 
 And later life. Between these two had grown 
 A friendship that had ripened with the years 
 Into a noble intimacy. He, 
 Like Robert Earle, possessed an only child, 
 The rosy star of his declining years. 
 Now Lucius was a bright, gay, handsome youth 
 A little rollicking but honorable, 
 With kindly, courteous ways and easy grace 
 That won all hearts, and pleased his father well. 
 Now Robert Earle and Arthur Coventry 
 Spoke much about the children, till it came 
 To be the cherished idol of their hearts 
 That they should love each other, and then wed. 
 "Nothing by force!" said Robert, "we will sow 
 The precious seed, then nurse the tender plant 
 With gentle words of praise like summer dew, 
 And sweet companionship like summer sun." 
 So played the children, and the fathers smiled, 
 And so the rosy hours of childhood flew, 
 Like birds of passage, and were lost to sight, 
 Far in the dim, blue distance of the past. 
 All rapturously the father watched his bud 
 Unfolding into girlhood's radiant rose, 
 And had no thought, no heart for aught but her ; 
 
 14
 
 And Edith loved her father ardently. 
 
 In him was childhood's playmate, girlhood's friend, 
 
 Father and mother, almost lover he. 
 
 It chanced upon a night, (we say it chanced, 
 Nor know if it be chance, or if, indeed, 
 An unseen tether to a hand divine, 
 Draw us so gently this way, that we go, 
 Unconscious of the leading) a June night, 
 That Edith met, as any one might meet, 
 In all this labyrinth of human ways 
 Where footpaths meet and cross, and meet no more, 
 A quiet, sober man, a modest clerk 
 In a great merchant house; young, but he seemed 
 Older by ten years than in truth he was, 
 For his had been a lonely, thoughtful life. 
 Years make not old, but only thought that is 
 The ripening frost of the eternal. Lo, 
 Over the life of Walter Gray there flushed, 
 On that June night, a color and a glow, 
 When Edith Earle broke on him like the morn, 
 A rosy light between monotonous hills 
 Of toil and duty, till they burned and glowed 
 Like colored altar-fires by angels fed. 
 Day after day caught up the rosy light, 
 And flashed it kindling on from day to day, 
 As morning beam is flashed from peak to peak, 
 When, 'neath the white feet of the morning star, 
 The crimson billows of the day surge up. 
 A sudden inspiration filled his life, 
 As when one turns the leaves of some old book, 
 
 15
 
 And stumbles on a poem suddenly, 
 
 That flames afresh life's purpose in his soul. 
 
 So, slowly turning o'er the thumb-worn leaves 
 
 Of life's prosaic book with weary hands, 
 
 He stumbled on this poem Edith Earle; 
 
 And all his thoughts ran into rhythmic words, 
 
 And set themselves to music in his brain. 
 
 For what is poetry but that which gives 
 
 A glory and divineness unto things 
 
 Of common names and uses? Men and women, 
 
 Who set us palpitating with the thrill 
 
 Of something loftier than we yet have dreamed, 
 
 Are God's sublimest poems. 
 
 Edith Earle 
 
 Felt in her life a sudden strength and breadth, 
 A deepening downward toward unsounded depths, 
 A lifting upward toward unmeasured heights; 
 And all her soul shook out its gleaming sails, 
 And through them blew a fresh, strong breath of life, 
 Which brought her to a new mysterious world; 
 As one, who, sailing on familiar seas, 
 And carried by a fresh wind from his course, 
 Is startled by an undiscovered land. 
 How is it that one human soul draws out 
 Another's grace and power, where a third 
 Can find no strength or sweetness, as the sun 
 Brings out the flush and flavor of the fruit 
 From which the moonlight draws no taste or tint? 
 Edith kept this first secret of her life 
 Unshared with him who shared all things beside, 
 And kept it through ng fear or bashfulness, 
 
 16
 
 But through the wonder of it; it seemed so strange, 
 
 As if a waiting angel stretched his hand 
 
 Just at the moment when the soul was right, 
 
 And touched a secret spring that opened wide 
 
 A mystic chamber that was unforeguessed; 
 
 And all her words and actions grew subdued, 
 
 As if to keep the music in her heart, 
 
 As a musician sometimes muffles up 
 
 The instrument to keep the music in. 
 
 Now Robert Earle looked wise, and in his heart 
 
 Shook hands with Cupid, smiling, but spoke not. 
 
 So, like a serpent taking tail in mouth, 
 
 Completed was the circle of the year, 
 
 Whose end and whose beginning met in June. 
 
 After the first sweet rapture of it all, 
 A trouble thrust itself in Walter's heart, 
 And beat there like a heart within a heart; 
 And sometimes he would clasp his hands upon it, 
 As if to ease it, for it seemed a thing 
 So tangible, it ached and quivered so. 
 Once in that second June he said to her: 
 "Edith, my heart is troubled; I must speak. 
 However hard the doing of a thing, 
 'Tis easier done than thought of night and day. 
 I do but wrong you with this love of mine. 
 Why should I love you I, who am so poor 
 In all those things which make life pleasurable? 
 You have been used to costly robes and gems 
 And fairy laces, and those lily hands 
 Were never soiled with labor. This will change, 
 
 17
 
 Unless we be your father's pensioners, 
 Which never can be. I but do you wrong 
 To link your life with mine, and mar it so." 
 Then Edith turned upon him with her face 
 Flushed like the sunrise, answering, "I do pray 
 No darker trouble ever come to you, 
 My Walter. When I was a little child, 
 And my good nurse would clothe my baby limbs 
 In costly garments, I would run away, 
 And find my father, sobbing piteously, 
 'My father, take them off I cannot play.' 
 I like the best to wear a simple dress, 
 And only wear the costlier ones to please 
 My father, who delights to see me clad 
 In beautiful garments. True, these idle hands 
 Have never learned to toil, but I am strong; 
 I hate the ease and languor of my life, 
 And it will be a joy to strive with you, 
 To brave the things that other hearts have braved, - 
 So taste the life most men and women live. 
 My father shall not help his children more 
 Than fathers help their children commonly. 
 O Walter, we are both so young and strong!" 
 She paused all breathless, for the hurrying words 
 Had tripped each other, coming tremulously, 
 As if each had a heart that beat too fast; 
 And such a high, sweet courage lit her face, 
 A tender mist came over Walter's eyes. 
 He knew her maiden fancy tinged the truth, 
 But had no heart to tell her, for she looked 
 So flushed and splendid, so he, only gazed, 
 
 18
 
 And almost worshiped her. Instinctively 
 We "bow the head before the soul that dares. 
 "Another thing" he said, "have you no dread 
 Of his, your father's anger?" Edith smiled: 
 "My father never yet has frowned on me; 
 He never crossed my will in anything; 
 To make me happy is his happiness, 
 But I will tell him of it now, this night." 
 
 So Edith came and laid her shining head 
 
 Against her father's knee, and clasped his hand, 
 
 And looking up with her frank, fearless gaze, 
 
 She said, "My father, I have kept too long 
 
 My secret; I have loved now for a year. " 
 
 Then Robert Earle brushed something large and 
 
 bright, 
 
 That like a jewel rolled down from his cheek, 
 And laid a hand upon the shining head: 
 "My daughter does but share the common fate, 
 For every one will have his time to love 
 As surely as he has his time to die. 
 And does he love my rose? But wherefore ask? 
 Could any help it, being loved by her?" 
 "He loves me, father." 
 
 "Where is he the rogue! 
 
 Why comes he not to ask my blessing? Go, 
 And send for Lucius; tell him I would see him. " 
 Then Edith looked aghast, and all the rose 
 Died from her cheek, like sunset from the west 
 When suddenly a cloud drops down the sky. 
 "It is not Lucius that I love no, no! 
 
 1'J
 
 My father, you have never seen his face." 
 The hand slipped downward from the shining 1iead. 
 For the first time in all her whole sweet life, 
 Her father frowned upon her, and she drooped. 
 'Edith, why have you kept this thing so long? 
 This surely is a fancy that will flit 
 Across your brain, and leave it clear again." 
 He pushed her from him, clinging to his knees, 
 And, rising, paced the room three times, then turned, 
 Saying, "Go bring him to me, and I swear 
 To bless you both, if he be worthy of you. " 
 Again he paced the room, and shook his head, 
 And muttered to himself, "What cursed fools 
 Men are when they adjudge themselves most wise." 
 Meanwhile came Edith to where Walter stood, 
 Leaning against a pillar of the porch. 
 She said, "He asks to see you, Walter, come! " 
 And Walter followed her, as one who goes 
 To meet his doom. One's seldom at his best, 
 Feeding himself on trial. He only does 
 His noblest in the sweet unconsciousness 
 Of observation. Walter never missed 
 His manly poise so far as on that night. 
 He sat uneasily upon his chair, 
 
 And plucked his fingers, groping through his words, 
 And almost felt the manhood in him die; 
 And, feeling that he shamed her he loved most, 
 Was thrice unmanned; but Robert Earle was cool 
 And critical, probing calmly, point by point, 
 His mind and prospects, noticed every flaw, 
 Without discriminating between those 
 
 20
 
 Which were by nature and by habit wrought 
 Into the substance, and those which were made 
 Upon the surface, idle finger marks 
 Of the occasion, to be brushed away 
 By the next happier moment. When at last, 
 Ihe trial ended, the accused dismissed, 
 Came Edith in her fleecy robe of white, 
 And nestled like a lamb between his knees, 
 Who dropped his withered hands like autumn leaves 
 Upon the golden summer of her hair. 
 She, thinking to herself that he had seen 
 The manhood through the moment's awkwardness, 
 Let her sad heart beat lighter. Then he spoke: 
 "Edith, my rose, he is not worthy of you, 
 Has neither personal grace nor gifts of mind 
 A stupid, penniless fellow, who but seeks 
 To make his own nest soft with others' down. 
 Wake from this dream! he is not worthy of you." 
 She drew away from his caressing touch. 
 "You shall not speak so, father; you have heard 
 How any one may wear a guilty look, 
 \Vhen put upon his trial; and besides, 
 No man was ever seen alike by two. 
 My nature has a side for every friend; 
 No one may stand upon a middle height, 
 And view the complex whole. Do you not know 
 We often seem least noble in the hour 
 When we would seem our noblest? Furthermore, 
 We see the thing we seek for, good or ill, 
 Far easier than the thing we would not see. 
 You should not judge him, knowing him one hour; 
 
 21
 
 You should believe me who have had a year 
 
 For passing judgment." Robert Earle looked down 
 
 Into the glowing face upturned to him, 
 
 And, like an angel gleam in every look 
 
 And queenly motion, saw her mother's soul, 
 
 But stronger, loftier, and set himself, 
 
 With all his strength of will, against the man, 
 
 Who dared to win her heart, while being so far 
 
 Unworthy of her, and the ominous clouds 
 
 Began to gather on his brow; the smile 
 
 Died down upon his lips, and left them dark. 
 
 "Take a month, Edith think of it a month." 
 
 "My father, I have thought of it a year." 
 
 But take another month now that you know 
 My heart is set against it, and he seems 
 To me unworthy of you, for you know 
 That you are all I have on earth to love." 
 He motioned, and she rose and sadly went. 
 
 In those dark days of coldness and restraint, 
 
 The first between them, Sorrow first appeared 
 
 Sorrow, who never slighted human heart, 
 
 And touched her, shrinking. Walter shook his head, 
 
 Saying in sadness, "He will never yield." 
 
 But Edith answered, "Walter, never fear, 
 
 Because he loves me so." 
 
 Now when a month, 
 
 A golden wheel that forward bears the year 
 Upon its circle, turned upon itself, 
 Came Edith in a fleecy robe of white, 
 And nestled like a lamb between his knees, 
 
 22
 
 Who laid a hand upon her shining head: 
 "Edith, my rose, speak, tell me that this dream 
 Has vanished in the light of sober thought." 
 She answered softly: "Learn to love? not hard; 
 Unlearn it? surely God can unmake souls 
 Most easier than we do that, being true. 
 I am not dreaming, therefore cannot wake." 
 "Take a month, Edith, take another month, 
 Then come again, and speak the final word; 
 Remember you are all I have on earth." 
 He motioned, and she rose and sadly went. 
 "Edith, I know that he will never yield," 
 Said Walter Gray, and sadly shook his head. 
 "And if he will not, Walter, we will wed, 
 And when 'tis done past all undoing, then 
 I know he will relent, and bless us both 
 He loves me so!" 
 
 So slipped another month, 
 
 Wanting yet two nights only. Walter walked 
 Beside the lake, and listened to it sob, 
 As if the heart-aches of all human hearts 
 Were hidden in it, and his strong soul shook 
 With a great storm of passion. "Help me," he 
 
 prayed, 
 
 "O God, to do the thing I ought. I hate 
 The social forms which made her rich, me poor, 
 With neither praise nor blame to her or me; 
 That make the inward good the outward wrong; 
 That rob earth of its glory and its grace, 
 And make a man's life war with manfulness; 
 But since these things are, help me, God, to be 
 
 M
 
 Heroic, strong and noble." So he prayed. 
 The smiling August moon rose from the lake, 
 And clambered into heaven among the stars, 
 Leaving a silver trail across the waves 
 He felt the shadow of an unseen woe 
 Slanting across the future years, until 
 It sloped to meet his footsteps. So he prayed, 
 Until he felt his heart and purpose strong 
 Felt through his inmost being all the strength 
 The triumph of self over self can give. 
 
 So when they sat within the marble gaze 
 
 Of Schiller's statue gleaming through the trees 
 
 Clasping some tender poem in its hand, 
 
 While snowy moonlight drifted through the shade, 
 
 Said Walter, "Edith, I have done you wrong; 
 
 I will not wrong you further." Edith turned, 
 
 A mingled shade and splendor on her face, 
 
 As comes a cloud at morning from the east, 
 
 Trailing the sunrise: "If you love me not, 
 
 Then have you spoken wisely." 
 
 "Nay," he said, 
 
 "Say not, if I love not, but, if I love 
 So much that I would rather die than bring 
 A weight of care and trouble on your life. 
 I give my heart a willing sacrifice, 
 And in that sacrifice my heart is strong, 
 To spare you grief and trouble." 
 
 "Listen," she said, 
 
 "You give your heart a willing sacrifice 
 To spare me grief and trouble, and you make 
 
 24
 
 A life-long anguish for us both; I give 
 
 A little ease I love not over much, 
 
 And in the sacrifice my heart is strong, 
 
 To make you joy, and both of us are blest. 
 
 Which sacrifice is nobler yours or mine?" 
 
 Her sweet, firm voice and gentle strength of will 
 
 Shook his strong soul, and in her tender smile 
 
 He felt his purpose vanish, like a drift 
 
 Of foolish snow beneath an April sun. 
 
 Stoop through the heavens, thou blushing August 
 
 moon, 
 
 And lay thy full, red cheek against the dark! 
 Open unto their uttermost, ye stars, 
 Your bright, unwearying eyelids! It is light 
 More light we want on earth. Then Walter bowed 
 His head upon his breast, and clasped her hands: 
 "Choose, Edith, for us both I cannot choose." 
 She answered softly, "Walter, I have chosen!" 
 
 Night in the city, and its ponderous heart 
 
 Begins to beat low with the jar and clash 
 
 Of change and exchange half-subsiding. Lo, 
 
 There souls are dying souls are being born. 
 
 Hark! some are praying, and not far away 
 
 The sound of wassail, and the gambler's oath 
 
 Who loses, and his chuckle who wins. Hark! 
 
 The moan of anguish, like the wandering wind 
 
 Amid the naked branches, and, dear God, 
 
 The very babes have curses on their lips, 
 
 Who know not what a curse means. Hark! the 
 
 sound 
 
 25
 
 Of gospel singing, and not far away 
 
 The babble of the drunkard, and, lo! there 
 
 A little twelve-year girl is taken up drunk 
 
 From off the stones, and laid in the patrol. 
 
 O God, how can your angels sing in heaven, 
 
 With sights and sounds like these on one pale star? 
 
 Yonder the thief prepares his midnight tools, 
 
 The murderer like a serpent stealthily seeks 
 
 An ambush, where he coils and waits his prey. 
 
 Lo, there a three-months' bride, with streaming 
 
 tears, 
 
 Showers her passionate kisses on cold lips 
 That but an hour since answered kiss with kiss. 
 Some word of hope strikes bell-like deep and sweet, 
 With multiple echoes. Listen! do you hear 
 The music of a lover's first kiss? Hush! 
 The sobbing of a lonely heart that breaks, 
 Like a wild wave upon a desolate shore, 
 Thrice lonely in a city full of hearts. 
 Across the rainbow fringes of the light, 
 The mirthful murmur of some social joust 
 Is heard not far away, and from the lake 
 The pale fog-angel comes and spreads his wings, 
 Smoke tinged, above the city; over all 
 'The passionless stars, in bright, eternal hush, 
 Unsleeping ever, almost seem to sleep. 
 
 This night came Edith in her fleecy robe, 
 And nestled like a lamb between his knees, 
 Who laid a hand upon her shining head, 
 And waited for her word. She gently said: 
 
 20
 
 "My father, can it be that you forget 
 How you once wed, against the wish and will 
 Of all your kindred, a poor simple girl, 
 Who made three years of life so sweet to you, 
 You could not love another? Do you hold 
 My love more cheaply? Father, I have chosen." 
 She thought his fond caressing touch a sign 
 Of melting, but 'twas only as the brook, 
 After the first frost, feels the morning sun, 
 And thaws a little, but congeals again 
 Into a twofold winter iciness, 
 After it feels the second night of frost. 
 The force of will that in his youth was strength, 
 The winter in his blood made obstinacy. 
 So men do sometimes nurse some foolish wish 
 And give the dearest thing they hold in life 
 Rather than calmly yield it to events. 
 The hand slipped downward from the shining head, 
 And Robert Earle arose, and thrice he strode 
 Across the room and thrice again, then turned, 
 And motioned her to leave him: "Go!" he said, 
 "Henceforth I am alone and childless. Go!" 
 She gave a sharp cry like a wounded thing, 
 And sprang into his arms, and clasped his neck: 
 "Edith, your rose! My father, say it not!" 
 He tore away the tender arms that clung 
 Like ivy tendrils to his bosom: "Go, 
 And come not back again, except, " he smiled 
 A scornful, bitter smile that burned itself 
 Into her bosom, where it ached and throbbed 
 Heart-like unto her dying day "except 
 
 27
 
 You or your children hunger, or are cold, 
 
 Or shelterless, then come to me again, 
 
 And I will give you shelter, bread and clothes." 
 
 She turned, and like a wounded bird that tries 
 
 After the hunter's shot to fly again 
 
 But flutters helplessly along the grass, 
 
 She crept away to Walter, where he stood, 
 
 Leaning against a pillar of the porch. 
 
 She slipped her hand in his, and whispered, "Come!" 
 
 She looked so white and wounded that he caught 
 
 Both fluttering hands, and held her gently back: 
 
 "Choose yet again," he said, and gravely bent 
 
 And kissed her with a long and passionate kiss. 
 
 The spirit of a sweet smile, timorous, bright, 
 
 Uncertain if it dare to light at all, 
 
 Hovered about her young lips' tempting red: 
 
 "It is not yet too late choose once again!" 
 
 And Edith answered, "Walter, I have chosen." 
 
 PART II 
 LIFE 
 
 So Edith Earle and Walter Gray were wed, 
 And made their nest up in a pleasant flat, 
 Upon a quiet street, and merrily chirruped 
 And sang like birds about its furnishing. 
 Then Edith set herself to learn new arts, 
 Turning her pretty hands to homely tasks, 
 Laughing about her blunders and mishaps, 
 
 28
 
 Rehearsing them to Walter with such art 
 
 And graceful humor that he also laughed, 
 
 Until the tears would come. And many a night 
 
 They walked and talked together, while they heard 
 
 The restless waters moaning to the shore 
 
 Their sad, mysterious longings, that awake 
 
 Emotions that have lain too deep for thought, 
 
 As thought will often lie too deep for words. 
 
 They watched the people thronging to and fro 
 
 Beneath the lamplight lovers hand in hand, 
 
 Grave men and women weary and worn with toil, 
 
 And children bubbling over with young life; 
 
 All waiting for the wave-washed winds that come 
 
 Whispering shoreward, shaking their cool wings. 
 
 And so they walked and talked and read and dreamed, 
 
 All in a rosy mist of life and love; 
 
 And so the summer and the autumn went 
 
 And Edith never spoke of that deep wound, 
 
 Too deep for time's slow healing. 
 
 Christmas came, 
 The glad, white Christmas. "Our first Christmas^ 
 
 time," 
 
 He whispered as he clasped her, and she smiled. 
 But Walter thought the smile was mixed with shade, 
 Like sunlight with the shadows of the leaves. 
 He looked at her so keenly that she dropped 
 Her lashes low to hide the blinding tears, 
 Saying, "We are so happy, but you know 
 The brightest day will have a little cloud, 
 And there's a mournful thought creeps to my heart 
 My father sits alone and sad to-night." 
 
 29
 
 She lifted up her eyes and saw his face 
 
 Was grave and troubled, and she blamed herself 
 
 For having spoken of it. Every day 
 
 She watched and waited for the tender word: 
 
 "Edith, my rose, my darling, come to me! " 
 
 The word that never came. Oh, dull, slow pain 
 
 Of watching for a good that does not come, 
 
 And which the watcher has no power to speed! 
 
 Still Edith's heart beat lightly, for she hoped, 
 
 And life and love were young and strange and sweet 
 
 So was it that almost before she knew 
 
 That they had come, the weeks and months flashed by, 
 
 Like shining sheets of water and green groves 
 
 And banks of flowers, seen from a flying train. 
 
 Edith was never used to hoard and count 
 
 The pennies, and; although she planned and saved 
 
 And calculated wisely, yet she found, 
 
 As household cares increased, expenditures 
 
 Exceeded income, and with all her thrift, 
 
 She could not make the two perverse ends meet. 
 
 She spoke no word to Walter, but she sold 
 
 The jewels from her casket one by one, 
 
 Telling herself she should not wear them more, 
 
 And meantime she would find a better way. 
 
 A shadow sometimes crept across her brow, 
 
 A look of anxious trouble in her eyes, 
 
 But Walter only saw the perfect smile. 
 
 It happened once upon a holiday 
 That Walter sat with Edith in the house, 
 When many flags were flying in the sun, 
 
 30
 
 Orchestral music throbbing through the streets, 
 And all the city in its gay attire, 
 For Walter took his holidays for rest. 
 He held a book, and thinking that he read, 
 She propped her elbow on her knee, and leaned 
 Her chin upon her hand, and gravely gazed 
 Upon the busy street, but nothing saw 
 Of all the life and tumult that were there. 
 She saw before and after, and there came 
 A look of anxious trouble in her eyes. 
 And Walter, with his book before his face, 
 Seeming to read, but looking keenly at her 
 Over the top, observed the troubled gaze, 
 The sudden shadow cross the sunny brow, 
 As swift and noiseless as a flying world 
 Across the golden forehead of the sun. 
 He felt a sudden anguish in his breast, 
 As if his heart had beat against a thorn. 
 "Does she pine for the old life with its ease, 
 Its pleasure and its plenty? Does she hide 
 A stinging, live regret within her heart 
 Forever, like a wasp within a rose?" 
 He leaned a little forward, speaking low: 
 "Edith, my darling, could you choose again 
 To-day, would you so choose? I thought I saw 
 A shadow of regret upon your brow." 
 She turned to meet his hungry questioning gaze 
 Then bent to brush away a teasing fly 
 That troubled little Robert's rosy dream, 
 Who lay upon his pillow flushed and fair, 
 With dewy breath of sleep from unseen flowers, 
 
 31
 
 And cool, white fountains sparkling in green glades. 
 
 She laid a hand upon his rosy palm, 
 
 Flung out upon the pillow like a flower, 
 
 Then turned again to Walter, speaking low: 
 
 "Oh! life has many sweet relationships, 
 
 The tender ties that hold the heart to earth 
 
 Through which its pulses run but to return 
 
 Enriched upon the heart the sweet upflow 
 
 From child to parent, like the gentle dew 
 
 Sent down from heaven returned to heaven again; 
 
 The passionate out-gush from friend to friend, 
 
 Lover to lover, wedded heart to heart, 
 
 Brother to brother, like the pure exchange 
 
 Of limpid lakes, through secret hidden springs; 
 
 The pure down-flow from parent unto child, 
 
 Divinely tender, sweet, mysterious; 
 
 And more than these; but, wanting one of these, 
 
 The heart-aches for a thing missed out of life. 
 
 Oh! do not blame me, Walter, if I miss 
 
 My father's gentle hand upon my head, 
 
 Where oft it lay so fondly." 
 
 After that 
 
 There came a little song-bird to the nest, 
 The sweetest, gladdest thing that ever ruled, 
 The queen and rosy despot of a home. 
 And Walter's heart was full as a full cup, 
 With the sweet wine of gladness, as he watched 
 The baby with her mother's eyes and hair, 
 The little leaping, laughing, loving thing, 
 Growing from day to day. And when, at last, 
 They walked abroad at eve, the little ones 
 
 32
 
 Running before them hand in hand a way, 
 
 Now pausing to await their graver steps, 
 
 Or question them about some curious thing; 
 
 Or Walter lifted one, and Edith one, 
 
 With rosy mouths and blue eyes wonder wide, 
 
 To gaze upon the jarring, roaring wheels 
 
 Of some great engine panting at its task, 
 
 Like a fierce captive giant, and they strove 
 
 To smooth and tame some mighty idea down 
 
 To suit the grasping of the baby brain, 
 
 Then Walter's heart was full as a full cup. 
 
 So was it that his life flashed into song, 
 
 Burst into sunlight, like a river that runs 
 
 A long time through a dark, deep gorge, then breaks 
 
 Out on a ledge, leaps down a rock, and sweeps 
 
 Into a sunlit valley, where it glides, 
 
 Untroubled as a child's first thought of God. 
 
 The man was gayer than the boy had been; 
 
 'Tis marvelous how much we change with change. 
 
 But Edith's life grew graver, for to her 
 Was more of loss as well as more of gain. 
 How could he understand what she had missed? 
 The gay, bright world she came from like a bird 
 From golden tropics with their cloudless skies, 
 The deathless bloom of flowers, and the sound 
 Of music that could make the angels weep, 
 The social life and splendor, and the light 
 Of friendly faces, waiting for her smile 
 To breathe their homage, and, the best of all, 
 The tender touch upon her shining hair 
 
 33
 
 Of one dear hand, the fond light of one smile; 
 Came, like a rare bird shedding its bright hues, 
 Daring the northern bleakness, blast and frore, 
 And wearing sober plumes to match its mate. 
 She sometimes felt a hunger for these things, 
 And chafed a little at the long, dull days' 
 Unyielding bonds of duty she, whose will 
 Was never thwarted, who had never felt, 
 Through childhood's happy May or girlhood's June, 
 The thorn-thrust of a sharp, unyielding no; 
 And Waiter sometimes vexed her with his eyes, 
 Searching her through and through to find some 
 
 spark 
 
 Of smoldering regret or discontent. 
 Less noble natures had grown irritable, 
 But Edith bravely trod the secret thorns, 
 And ever told herself his gravest fault 
 Was loving her too fondly; and each day 
 She battled with herself heroically. 
 And Walter only saw the perfect smile, 
 And asked no other splendor in his life, 
 No music but the laughter of his babes, 
 That kept his young heart full as a full cup, 
 So full it needed but a little jar 
 To spill a portion of the joyous wine. 
 
 Once in the morning paper, Walter came 
 Upon the name of Lucius Coventry. 
 He read the name aloud, and after it 
 The brilliant marriage notice, and then cast 
 A sidelong, searching glance at Edith. She 
 
 34
 
 On either shoulder laid a loving hand, 
 And looked down with a mirthful, quivering smile; 
 A smile that, like a sunbeam on her lips, 
 A sunbeam falling between tremulous leaves, 
 Quivering like golden water on the floor, 
 Danced back and forward playfully, a smile 
 That made him blush with conscious foolishness, 
 And in confusion draw the bright face down 
 For tender kissing, and read hastily on. 
 
 Upon a shining morn when Walter romped 
 With little Elsa ere he went from home, 
 He tossed her lightly like a rose, then caught 
 Her falling flushed into his hands, 
 Then tossed her high in air again, and cried, 
 "Elsa, my rose!" and caught her to his breast. 
 Then how the tiny maiden leaped and laughed, 
 As if she heard a sweet, familiar sound, 
 A name the angels whispered in her ears, 
 Just' as they kissed her at the brink of earth. 
 But Edith whitened with a sudden pain, 
 As when a sudden storm is on the lake, . 
 And quick as thought she crossed to Walter's side, 
 Before the after, wiser thought had come, 
 And laid rebuking hands upon his lips: 
 "Not that name, Walter, do not call her that!" 
 He dropped the child, who, feeling herself wronged 
 At being so rudely treated, wailed with grief. 
 He looked in Edith's face, as one who dreams, 
 Or half awake still fancies that he dreams, 
 And heard a smothered sob in the white throat. 
 
 35
 
 He passed into the street, and seemed to see 
 All things like flitting shadows through a mist. 
 Men jostled him; a cabman, reining back. 
 Cursed his slow steps. He heard the rush and roar, 
 Far-off, like distant breakers on a beach. 
 And all day long he heard that smothered sob 
 Which made him start and blunder at his work. 
 Again the shadow of an unseen woe 
 Slanted across the future years and sloped 
 To meet his shuddering footsteps, and he shrank. 
 
 At evening Edith met him with her smile, 
 
 Unfailing as the sunset. She observed 
 
 His unaccustomed silence, questioned him, 
 
 If he were troubled, very tired or ill. 
 
 He only pressed his hand against his brow, 
 
 And Edith, thinking that his head ached, stroked 
 
 His forehead with her cool, soft finger tips. 
 
 She early hushed the children at their play, 
 
 Sent Robert to his pictures, and took up 
 
 The little prattling Elsa on her knees, 
 
 And hummed to her a drowsy, silvery tune, 
 
 Until the golden head reluctantly 
 
 Drooped on the mother's bosom like a flower. 
 
 Another morning Walter went from home 
 
 To hear through all the day that smothered sob 
 
 Which made him start and blunder at his work. 
 
 At evening Edith met him clad in white, 
 And smiling like the sunset. She observed 
 
 36
 
 .. His silence, but refrained from questioning. 
 She early hushed the children at their play, 
 And with the little Elsa on her arm, 
 Flushed with the mystic beauty of deep sleep, 
 Rocked gently to and fro, and softly sang. 
 She lifted up her eyes she knew not why, 
 Except that something drew her, and observed 
 That Walter's eyes were looking keenly at her. 
 "Walter, what vexes you?" she gently said. 
 "Oh! silence may be best when all is well, 
 When thoughts outrun the slowlier-moving words 
 To meet and kiss, and hearts keep perfect time, 
 But wrong makes wrong of silence, when a word 
 Might, like a sunbeam, melt the ice which else 
 Would grow too thick for warm hearts to beat 
 
 through ; 
 
 And he is no true lover or true friend, 
 Who will not bravely speak the fault that flaws. 
 'Tis noble to forgive 'tis nobler still 
 To ask to be forgiven; and this I know, 
 That even if frankness should be harshly met, 
 'Twere better pride should bear a little wound 
 Than risk the life-long aching of two hearts." 
 Walter arose, still looking keenly at her, 
 And bent above her, whitening as he spoke: 
 "Edith, I have been watching you of late, 
 And, oh! it breaks my heart to see you grieve 
 For that of which I robbed you. It was this 
 The fear of this that haunted all my dreams 
 Like a dark spectre ere I called you mine." 
 A flame of anger flashed in Edith's heart, 
 
 37
 
 One said once, "Love is blind," and thereby erred; 
 With eagle eyes she faces the soul's blaze, 
 Sees finest flaws where she craves perfectness, 
 But, being so patient, seemeth not to see. 
 Then Edith dropped her face upon her hands, 
 And battled with herself heroically, 
 Repeating to herself, "His gravest fault 
 Is loving me too well. Help me," she prayed, 
 "O God, to do the thing I ought, to be 
 Patient and true and gentle." Walter stood 
 Looking upon her, knowing not she pra)'ed. 
 She lifted up her face bathed in a smile 
 That lit her like an angel: "Walter, listen! 
 'Tis vain to watch; what life is sorrowless? 
 Our very joys make shadows, as the birds 
 And fruits and flowers that make earth beautiful, 
 All cast a little shadow in the sun. 
 The joy you brought me took some joy away. 
 Forgive me, Walter, for if I could choose 
 Again to-day, 'twould be as I have chosen. 
 Be patient with me, Walter, when I miss 
 The tender face, whose never-clouded smile 
 Made rosy all the morning of my life." 
 He drew her toward him, till her shining head 
 Lay trembling like a meteor on his breast: 
 "Edith, forgive the shadow of distrust; 
 'Tis love's intensity makes its own clouds. 
 Forgive me, darling, that I hurt you so." 
 Then Edith looked up, smiling in his eyes, 
 Saying, "Love's rapier, like Achilles' spear, 
 Has ever power to heal the wounds it makes." 
 
 38
 
 So Walter's heart beat joyously again, 
 And swiftly flew the days like happy birds. 
 O happy years, O happy, hurrying years, 
 Why is it ye are mad with haste? Behold 
 The lagging of the sorrowful, slow years. 
 
 One winter night, when all the air was full 
 Of the faint, fairy music of the snow, 
 Soft,, rustling wings of gently jostling flakes, 
 Walter and Edith sat and read by turns, 
 And now the "Romance of the Swan's Nest" read, 
 While Robert sat near by, with book and slate, 
 And little Elsa, perched upon the arm 
 Of a great rocker, swaying to and fro, 
 Sat singing like a linnet on a limb, 
 The music swelling in her tiny throat, 
 And over all the glowing grate-fire threw 
 Its rosy warmth and color. Walter read 
 Just as the song began. His father's heart 
 Swelling with pride, he paused a while to listen, 
 Then bent toward Edith, whispering cautiously, 
 Lest he should fright the warbler from her song, 
 Asking if she had marked the wondrous voice, 
 And Edith smiled and nodded. When at last 
 The carol was quite finished, Walter sprang, 
 And caught the little songster in his arms, 
 And tossed her high, and caught her in his hands, 
 Waving her hands and feet in mad delight, 
 And tossed her high again, and cried, "My bird! 
 Now the old tyrant hunter has you fast." 
 And ever after called the child his bird. 
 
 39
 
 Now Edith's costly jewels were all sold 
 
 From out the casket where they erst had lain, 
 
 Twinkling like stars within a midnight sky, 
 
 Single and double stars and clusters rare; 
 
 And still, although she worked and planned and 
 
 saved, 
 
 She could not make the two perverse ends meet. 
 "I will not speak to Walter," Edith said, 
 "Because a girl less delicately bred 
 Had been a better wife to Walter yes, 
 Had made our modest income easily 
 Supply the household needs, and educate 
 And clothe the little ones; no, I must find 
 Some work to do, the while they are at school, 
 And Walter need not know." But what and how, 
 Were ever restless questions in her brain. 
 
 There came what in this clouded hour appeared 
 A sunbeam, but which darkened afterward. 
 So seems each blessing sometimes half a curse, 
 Each angel shape that gleams athwart the gloom, 
 Constrained to dip its wings in some dark pool. 
 Martha, the good nurse, who had fondly watched 
 Her infant slumbers, loved her as her own, 
 Carne to her on a late autumnal day. 
 "My heart was sick to see my pretty child," 
 She cried, the strong arms round the slender neck a 
 Bending it forward like a lily stalk, 
 Almost to breaking. "Is my sweet child well? 
 And is my white dove happy with her mate? 
 You ought to hear how the fine people talk. 1 ' 
 
 40
 
 "What say the people, Martha?" Edith asked. 
 "They say you were a silly, senseless girl 
 To slight a man like Lucius Coventry, 
 Who is, they say, a kind of natural king, 
 And take up with a clown like Walter Gray; 
 And now, no doubt, you're miserable enough." 
 Then Edith crimsoned from her slender throat 
 Up to the golden edges of her hair. 
 "Tell them," she said, "that I am happy; say, 
 I'd not change kings with any queen on earth. 
 What of my father? Tell me, is he well, 
 And does he ever seem to miss his rose?" 
 "Miss you, dear heart? I've never seen him smile 
 Ever so faintly since the night you went. 
 'Twould make you weep to see him wandering 
 From room to room, so white and shadow-like. 
 The hand that lifts the goblet to his lips 
 Trembles so pitifully! Miss you? he keeps 
 Your room just as it was the night you went 
 Sometimes he bids us air and dust it, then 
 He goes to see that all things are replaced 
 The white dress lightly thrown across the chair, 
 The handkerchief you dropped upon the floor, 
 The Bible open, with the passage marked 
 Where Ruth clings to Naomi with sweet words. 
 I've heard him pacing up and down your room 
 At midnight, and one night I heard him groan." 
 Like April sky was Edith's streaming face, 
 Half shining, half in shower, glad to be missed, 
 But sad to think of him so sorrowful. 
 Said Martha, cuddling up the little one, 
 
 41
 
 "II lie could only see the cherub here, 
 As like her mother as I ever saw 
 A perfect rosebud like a perfect rose, 
 His heart would melt I'm very sure of that. 1 
 Then Martha's talk went wandering through events, 
 Things done, things rumored done, unspoken words 
 That should be spoken, spoken ones best unsaid, 
 Like wind through tangled grasses, till at last, 
 The swift autumnal twilight scared away 
 The yellow sunbeams sleeping on the floor. 
 When she arose to take her final leave, 
 She took the delicate face 'twixt her large hands, 
 And held it long, and kissed it many times 
 Now grown more lily-like than like a rose: 
 ."You are quite happy then, my pretty child?" 
 "Quite happy, only " and the sweet voice hung 
 Upon that word as caught upon a thorn. 
 O human heart, that bitter only hides 
 In the all-perfectness of every joy. 
 "Ah! only what?" Then Edith simply told 
 How, never being used to count the cost, 
 And save the pennies, she could scarcely make 
 Their modest income meet their household needs, 
 And now the little ones were sent to school, 
 The days were long and lonely, and she thought 
 'Twere better could she find some work to do 
 To help a little, and fill up the hours; 
 Could Martha think of something? Martha took 
 The delicate hands between her ample palms, 
 And stroked and kissed and patted them and wept, 
 As if to coax from them some happy thought: 
 
 43
 
 "To think these pretty hands must toil for bref 
 And plenty wasted in your father's house! 
 But I will set my little wit to work, 
 And try to think of something they can do." 
 Then she remembered how those fingers flashed 
 Over the gleaming keys, and under them, 
 The sound of winds and rippling rivulets, 
 The song of birds, the crash of waterfalls 
 And tender, tearful sounds that stir the heart 
 
 
 
 With mystical, sweet sorrow, as of things 
 Known in another life, and now forgot, 
 Except in these faint, waking moments. Then 
 She queried, why not write to some old friends, 
 The best and kindest, frankly ask of them 
 To let her teach their children? Edith smiled: 
 "I thank you, Martha, I will think of it." 
 And she did think of it for nights and days, 
 And tried to tell herself if it were wise. 
 
 One day she leaned against the window sill, 
 Turning the problem over in her brain, 
 When a tall liveried coachman on his seat, 
 By his familiar motions caught her glance. 
 Within a man sat waiting. Edith's heart 
 Beat hard against her bosom, like a hand 
 With close-shut fingers upon prison bars. 
 Then Martha's words came echoing in her ears, 
 "If he could only see the cherub here, 
 His heart would melt I'm very sure of that." 
 She called the little Elsa from her play: 
 "Come, birdie, take these pennies here, and run 
 
 43
 
 Where yonder stands the. old banana man 
 Upon the corner; he is old and lame, 
 And all day long has had but little trade; 
 His fruit will surely spoil. Now run away 
 And see how quickly you can come again. 
 Be careful, darling, when you cross the street. 
 And do not fall upon the slippery stones, 
 Or get before the horses." Like a bird, 
 Wing-swift, away the little maiden flew, 
 And Edith watched the fairy figure dart 
 Amid the jostling throng, the little feet 
 Twinkling across the stones, the yellow curls 
 Dancing behind her in the autumn wind. 
 She drives her little bargain, and receives, 
 Because of rosy cheeks and flying curls, 
 A whole banana over purchase price. 
 Now, swift returning, come the flying feet; 
 A second time they pass the carriage door; 
 Will he not see her? Edith's heart beats loud, 
 Beat tripping beat, they seem to come so fast. 
 What stays the flying feet? Has some one called? 
 A white head from the carriage leans and looks. 
 The old man, stepping to the pavement, takes 
 The little wondering maiden in his arms. 
 One hand is laid upon the shining hair, 
 And Edith bows her head, and almost thinks 
 'Tis on her head that gentle hand is laid. 
 He kisses her on either glowing cheek, 
 Then fumbles in his pocket till he finds 
 Pencil and paper, writes some hurried words, 
 And slips the paper in the dimpled hand. 
 
 44
 
 A blinding mist comes over Edith's eyes; 
 
 She hears the fairy tread upon the stairs; 
 
 It comes at last, the happy word has come: 
 
 "Edith, my rose, my darling, come to me!" 
 
 She holds the crumpled paper to her lips, 
 
 Then opens it with trembling hands and reads: 
 
 "Give me the child; the child is not to blame, 
 
 And I will give her such a bringing up, 
 
 As will be worthy her, and worthy me. 
 
 Give me the child." And then the trembling name. 
 
 Then Edith dropped her face upon her hands, 
 
 And in her heart the flame of hope died down. 
 
 Between her ringers ran the swift, bright tears, 
 
 One after other fast and faster fell, 
 
 Until it seemed there were no more to weep, 
 
 As when, once having broken a string of pearls, 
 
 Each after each slips, leaving a pearlless string. 
 
 "My father, O my father, is it well 
 
 To tear your rose out of your bosom so?" 
 
 Edith arose, and resolutely turned 
 Her face upon the future, and her back 
 On all the hopeless sorrows of the past; 
 And then she wrote, in frank and courteous way, 
 Some letters to the friends of other days, 
 The best and kindest, saying modestly, 
 They would recall how, in her girlhood days, 
 She loved the art of music best of all; 
 And now the the little ones were sent to school, 
 The days were long and lonely, and she thought 
 To fill the hours with pleasant work, and so 
 
 45
 
 Increase their modest income; would they let 
 Her teach their children she would strive to please. 
 A prompt and kindly answer came from each. 
 Said Edith with her blue eyes full of tears 
 "The world is not so cruel after all. 
 Oh! many a heart is full of gentleness, 
 Sweet, copious springs of kindness, if we will 
 But bend a little to receive it." So, 
 Lightlier Edith's heart beat spite its wound, 
 And cheerily she daily worked and planned, 
 And saved a little, saying to herself, 
 When Walter's brief vacation came again, 
 Beside some still, blue lake or running stream, 
 Where there is heard no more distracting life 
 Than folding and unfolding water lilies, 
 Singing of birds, dew-drinking of the flowers, 
 Sighing of trees and grasses, and the stir 
 Of sweet, unsullied air, the livelong day, 
 Far off from all the city's dust and din, 
 There they would pass their second honeymoon. 
 Walter would look at her in mild surprise, 
 And wonder how she saved it. She would smile 
 Into his eyes, and answer playfully, 
 "Would any untaught maiden bred to toil, 
 Know better how to scrimp and save than she?" 
 And then she thought how Walter's eyes would shine 
 With unshed tears, and how his sweet, firm lips 
 Would tremble with unspoken words of love. 
 The unsought bliss of which we never dream, 
 Comes to us with a fuller wave of joy, 
 Because the rosy cup drained suddenly 
 
 46
 
 No bitter lees of disappointment has. 
 
 But, oh, the pictured rapture of a dream, 
 
 O'er which the heart bends, flushed with ecstasy, 
 
 Supplying here and there a tender shade 
 
 Or happy gleam of color! Never doubt 
 
 But that some cruel chance, with mocking hand, 
 
 Will draw a blighting brush across your work 
 
 Ere it has passed into reality. 
 
 One of the happiest of happy, days, 
 Just as the purple jags of twilight fit 
 Into the golden edges of the day, 
 Walter and Edith, in the Sabbath calm, 
 Gazed at the sweet, veiled future reverently, 
 That stood like Isis, robed in mystery, 
 When, like a wild bird fluttering through the door, 
 A dainty little maiden flitted in: 
 She could not take her lessons for a week, 
 And teased to come and bring the word herself. 
 So saying, the pretty babbler wound her arms 
 About the neck of Edith, who, confused 
 And vexed to find her secret out, returned 
 The child's caress, but looked at Walter; he 
 Looked first at Edith, then upon the child, 
 Like one who has been wakened suddenly; 
 And when the innocent mischief-maker went, 
 He murmured, "Edith, is it then so bad? 
 Is it so hard to make our little reach 
 To all our needs? So often I have seen 
 The weary flush upon your cheek at night, 
 The drooping of your eyelids, and the lines 
 
 47
 
 Of patient care about your sunny mouth." 
 Edith replied: "O Walter, be not vexed! 
 The days were long and lonely, and I thought 
 To fill the empty hours with pleasant work. 
 Perhaps we have enough for simple needs, 
 But is it well to keep our lives pent up 
 In such a narrow channel? Let me help 
 To widen out our pathway through the world." 
 Walter could make no answer, but her words 
 Went ringing bell-like on from thought to thought. 
 Edith was silent, knowing not his mind, 
 Fearing her words might jar upon his mood. 
 
 At morn he kissed her silently, and went 
 Down the long street, where darkly rolled the tide 
 Of roaring life, till at the open bridge, 
 It foamed and fretted, while the splendid boat 
 Swept like a stately swan toward the blue lake, 
 Churning the stagnant water to faint foam. 
 On plunged the tide again with deafening roar, 
 And Walter swept on with it. What was that? 
 The man before him dropped a little pack 
 Of papers on the pavement. Walter stooped 
 Mechanically, and took it up to see 
 If there were aught of value, and he saw 
 A check was in the package, and made haste 
 To overtake the loser, but he swept 
 Around the corner, like a drifting leaf 
 Caught by a counter current, and sucked down 
 Into the raging vortices of life. 
 So Walter placed the check within his desk, 
 
 48
 
 And there it lay for three days. On the third, 
 He chanced upon it; it had been forgotten. 
 "Only a thousand, but enough to make 
 My darling's pathway blossom for a while, 
 Whose delicate feet had trod on dewy flowers, 
 Had I not led her out on this bleak way." 
 It seemed as if a mist on Walter's brain 
 Lay like the fog, that, rising from the lake, 
 Rolled dark above the city that day, and made 
 The noontime as the night, and through the fog 
 He heard the words of Edith toll like bells. 
 The pen was in his ringers, where it hung, 
 Vibrating like the delicate beam of fate, 
 On which a floating feather or a breath, 
 Falling, tips suddenly toward good or ill. 
 He held it quivering, till a breath of pain 
 Jostled the springs of will; then Walter bent, 
 And with a few strokes signed forever away 
 His right to honor, peace and happiness. 
 Forging the payee's name upon the check, 
 He cashed it with the money of the house 
 And tossed it blindly in a secret drawer. 
 That night a gentle wind arose and swept 
 The dense fog from the city, and revealed 
 The passionless, pure stars, and Walter woke. 
 The gentle breath of sleep had blown away 
 The vapors from his brain; thought after thought 
 Flashed out of his unclouded consicousness 
 What he had done, what might come of that deed. 
 An icy horror ran along his veins; 
 His heart seemed bursting with its frozen tears. 
 
 49
 
 Then Edith, breathing softly, slipped her hand 
 
 In his, as by command of some sweet thought 
 
 Escaped the slumbering will, and Walter rose, 
 
 Put on his garments, left a little note 
 
 For Edith, saying he was called away. 
 
 He leaned above the dark lake from the pier, 
 
 And listened to it rub its shaggy sides 
 
 Against its prison bars with mournful moan, 
 
 Like a dumb, helpless creature, hurt and bound, 
 
 And felt a fascination in his blood 
 
 To leap and end his anguish. So he leaned 
 
 And looked, until his brain swam with the waves. 
 
 Even so a man looks in upon himself, 
 
 And thinks upon himself, until his brain 
 
 Grows giddy, and he seems a mere machine. 
 
 Listen the footfall of a passer-by, 
 
 That lonely hour, and near that lonely spot! 
 
 He started, but what matter? no one cares, 
 
 In a great city, what another does, 
 
 Except you touch on his self-interest. Oh! 
 
 Observe! he is alive and quivering then, 
 
 As if you had touched with a cold steel point 
 
 Upon a naked nerve. For Edith's sake 
 
 He must live on; perchance he might escape 
 
 The consequences of that rash, blind act; 
 
 But if they fell upon him he must live 
 
 To tell her that he did it for love's sake. 
 
 He thought how her old friends, would wag their 
 
 heads, 
 
 Smiling the devil's smile of cool sarcasm; 
 Of the grim triumph in her father's heart, 
 
 50
 
 And then of Edith battling on alone; 
 Of all her shame and grief and loneliness; 
 Then of his children with their sullied names. 
 So many pale forms of that one grief paced 
 Through the dim chambers of his brain, for so 
 The knife of agony has many blades: 
 Grief never cutteth with a single edge. 
 The unseen woe, whose shadow went before, 
 Had fallen upon him, and he wrestled there 
 In anguish, till the stars were all dissolved 
 Into the rosy dawn, like pearls in wine. 
 For many days he thought he slept too sound, 
 So sound his head ached with a weary dream 
 Of prison walls, and courts, and unjust men, 
 Rushing his trial through with cruel haste, 
 Unto the bitter sentence ten blank years 
 Of prison life, dead, miserable years. 
 
 He fancied he slept still, when Edith knelt 
 And laid her shining head against his breast: 
 "Speak to me, Walter! Walter, speak to me! 
 Walter, I cannot live unless you speak! " 
 Then Walter looked, and knew that it was day. 
 He saw the glow and glory of the west, 
 As the sad sunshine slipped along the world, 
 Wooing the darkness; for, to eyes that weep, 
 The sunshine seemeth sadder than the night. 
 "Edith," he murmured incoherently, 
 "Is it worth while to try to live again, 
 And come to you again with prison taint 
 Upon my lips, to kiss you and the babes?" 
 
 51
 
 "O Walter, try to live, and let our love, 
 
 Through years of parting grow more ripe and sweet, 
 
 And I will teach the little ones to watch 
 
 Your coming, talking much of you to keep 
 
 Your memory unfaded in their hearts; 
 
 And, Walter, I will strive to have them grow 
 
 Noble and beautiful to welcome you." 
 
 "You do not scorn me then, my darling?" 
 
 "Scorn? 
 
 Walter, you did it just for love of me. 
 Now if a pure soul do a righteous thin-g 
 For love's sake, that being easy, who shall say, 
 That if a noble nature wound itself, 
 Doing a thing ignoble for love's sake, 
 That being so hard, this love is less divine?" 
 He leaned his noble brow on the bright head, 
 And shuddered with a mighty storm of grief, 
 Bathing her sweet face in his streaming tears, 
 That mingled with her own like blending showers. 
 The children, standing by, and seeing them weep, 
 Wept for the grief they could not understand, 
 Except as if a cloud had crossed the sun, 
 And flung a sudden shadow over them, 
 And hid the smile upon the lips of love. 
 A kindly officer with tear-wet eyes 
 Took up the little Elsa in his arms, 
 And held a colored picture to her view, 
 Whereat a ripple of childish laughter drove 
 Away the cloud, and checked the falling tears, 
 As a light wind might chase a summer shower; 
 But little Robert's face was very grave. 
 
 52
 
 "My Edith," Walter murmured, "had you known, 
 On that last night of choice, what you now know, 
 Would you have chosen then as you did choose? 
 But say it once again, and I will live 
 After these ten long, lifeless years in tomb. 
 Thank God, love is immortal!" Edith rose, 
 Upon her girlish face, around which clung 
 Her soft hair like a golden evening cloud, 
 The light of an ineffable love which glowed 
 Like the reflected gleam of angel wings 
 From some far height of heaven. "Walter, " she said, 
 "If I had looked, on that last night of choice, 
 Down the long, winding way of life which led 
 From that bright then, even to this sad now, 
 And seen the thorns awaiting for my feet, 
 Even this height of anguish at the end, 
 Crowned with the snows of unwept, frozen tears, 
 I should have chosen then as I did choose." 
 
 PART III 
 DEATH 
 
 So Edith sold her pretty furniture, 
 And took a room upon a noisy street, 
 Where all day long hoarse, inarticulate cries 
 Of the street venders, and the beat of hoofs, 
 The rumble of heavy carts, and the shrill scream 
 Of fretful mothers for their truant brood, 
 The wrangling of rude children, and the broils 
 
 53
 
 Of miserably mismated men and women, 
 The din of barter, the discordant shriek 
 Of jangling whistles, and the poison breath 
 Of the green river, crawling like a snake 
 Under the bending bridges, and the fog, 
 Mixed with the breath of factories that keeps 
 The golden sunlight tarnished, and beneath, 
 The black, unresting stream of human life, 
 Wearied the senses from the dawn till night. 
 Then out the tired people swarmed like flies, 
 And crawled upon the pavements and the steps, 
 And clung about the windows and the doors,, 
 And so they gossiped, laughed and quarreled and 
 
 sang. 
 
 But now the autumn wind, with cutting edge, 
 Early drove in the people, and maintained 
 A kind of nightly silence in the street. 
 
 Edith toiled bravely on from day to day, 
 
 With breaking heart, but with a steadfast will. 
 
 It is so hard to spin life's golden threads 
 
 With steady hand, and no one by to say, 
 
 "How fares thy work?" or, "Love, it is well done." 
 
 But Edith kept the little ones in school 
 
 And comfortably clothed and fed, and so 
 
 The glad, white Christmas came and went, and 
 
 seemed 
 No Christmas without Walter. 
 
 When again 
 
 The sun moved north with summer in his arms, 
 The little Elsa drooped like some frail flower. 
 
 54
 
 A languor came upon her, and all day 
 She sat beside the window, her blue eyes 
 Turned listlessly upon the busy street. 
 Then Edith rose at sunrise every day, 
 And took the little ones to breathe the air, 
 That from the lake, which in the morning sun, 
 Like waves of liquid silver darkly gleamed, 
 Came hastening shoreward, spray-washed, sweet 
 
 and clean. 
 
 The children played together in the sands, 
 Or watched the boatmen sponging out their boats, 
 Or the white sails upon the distant sky, 
 Or troops of men and boys that cityward 
 Went wending, carrying long strings of fish; 
 Or laughed with glee, as one retreating wave, 
 And one that hurried shoreward, winged with foam, 
 Met and leaped up together in the sun, 
 And grappled, white with anger, and rolled over, 
 Struggling, dissolving in each other's arms. 
 And sometimes, when the lake was wild and white, 
 The mad waves leaped upon the gray sea-wall, 
 Like wild, caged creatures, and fell back again, 
 Or, dashing over, chased with flying foam, 
 The shouting children, who had ventured near. 
 But often, when the lake was blue and still, 
 Save for light ripples made by gentle winds, 
 They gathered stones, and tossed them in to see 
 How soon the silver dint was smoothed away. 
 But Edith sat apart, and sadly smiled, 
 Or spoke some gentle word of kindly cheer 
 To women, who had brought their sickly babes 
 
 55
 
 To drink the sweet air, ere the risen sun 
 
 Had sapped its strength and sweetness. Oft she took 
 
 The puny little creatures in her arms, 
 
 To rest the tired mothers, while she asked, 
 
 With sweet, compassionate looks, inviting trust, 
 
 How life went with them. "Hard enough!" said one. 
 
 Her husband had a head for something great, 
 
 Handled machines as children play with toys, 
 
 But a long, wasting fever laid him low, 
 
 Just when the little home was almost theirs. 
 
 And what with payments due and doctor's bills, 
 
 And keeping of the family, all was gone; 
 
 The mortgage was foreclosed, and all was gone. 
 
 "How many children?" 
 
 "Eight, too young to work, 
 And one a cripple, one this sickly babe." 
 Another said her husband lost his place 
 To make room for a foreman's favorite. 
 He was disheartened, and had taken to drink, 
 And who was there to feed six hungry mouths? 
 And since the little one was cutting teeth, 
 And fretting with the fever day and night, 
 How could she leave it now and go away 
 From home to labor? Edith's gentle heart 
 Ached for the great world's sorrow, and her breast 
 Swelled with a holy anger, as*she raised 
 Her eyes, and saw within the morning sun 
 The gleam of princely mansions, and she cried, 
 "It is unjust, dear God, it is unjust, 
 That a few men should idly waste enough 
 To lift up multitudes; that hearts should break, 
 
 56
 
 And souls go down to hell, all for the want 
 
 Of such a little of their magic gold 
 
 As would not cause the lady slumbering there 
 
 Behind her silken curtain, to deprive 
 
 Her poodle of a single lap of cream. 
 
 O God, the earth is bright and beautiful, 
 
 So lovely that we laugh with pain-warped lips, 
 
 And stored with ample riches for us all; 
 
 Why then are not men happier?" 
 
 "Aye, unjust!" 
 
 The woman said, "but tell it not to God! 
 What does he care for all our toil and pain? 
 Would I so smite my sweet child lying there, 
 And mix his golden curls with dust and tears, 
 Then hear him wailing, 'Mother, it is I, 
 Here by thy will not mine; then give to me 
 Enough to live without such agony!' 
 But God will hear us weeping unto death, 
 Praying till we lack breath, but will not check 
 One cloud in heaven, or speed one beam to earth, 
 For all our prayersand weeping. It is strange 
 We get our air and sunshine without tax. 
 We'll take our sunlight bottled by and by, 
 And buy air in pound boxes." 
 
 In those days 
 
 The little Elsa brightened for a while, 
 But drooped again, and would not leave the house. 
 She sat beside the window, her blue eyes 
 Turned languidly upon the busy street. 
 She watched the children flitting to and fro, 
 With foaming pitchers of vile-smelling beer. 
 
 57
 
 She liked to have the organ-grinder come 
 
 And sit upon the curb across the street, 
 
 And grind out his monotonous melodies; 
 
 Or, better still, the three Italian boys, 
 
 Who played upon the harp and violins 
 
 Some tender, plaintive melodies which struck 
 
 A hidden chord of sadness. Once she saw 
 
 A ragged woman searching with a stick 
 
 Among the garbage for discarded food. 
 
 Her blue eyes filled with pitying tears; she cried ) 
 
 She has no dinner for her little ones; 
 I am not hungry, mother; give her mine." 
 And once she saw a woman carrying 
 A barrel filled with kindling, on her back. 
 She hid her face behind her little hands, 
 And wept aloud, and Edith, bending, asked, 
 "What grieves my darling?" 
 
 "Oh! I only thougn*, - 
 She sobbed, "dear mother, what if that were you!" 
 
 One morning, when the sun rose fierce and red, 
 The tired child took up her mother's hand, 
 And laid it on her flushed cheek coaxingly, 
 And murmured, "Do not leave me!" Edith sent 
 A message to her patrons, telling them 
 She could not come until the child was well. 
 And so, for many days she sat and watched 
 The wasting iever burn the little life 
 Low in its fragile socket, till at last 
 Only a faint spark flickered. All that day, 
 The cruel, yellow sun beat through the blinds^ 
 
 58
 
 And Edith hung in anguish o'er the child, 
 Bathing the burning lips and fevered brow, 
 And stroking back the tangled yellow curls, 
 Marking the wandering gaze of the blue eyes, 
 Speaking fond words, and praying in her heart. 
 While Robert hovered round his sister's couch, 
 And kissed the little burning hands, and asked 
 A thousand times, "Is sister better now?" 
 All day the little one tossed restlessly, 
 Moaning upon her pillow. When the eve 
 Closed in with clouds and thunder, Robert stood 
 And watched the bounding raindrops on the sill, 
 His young heart bathed with prayer like flower 
 
 with dew, 
 
 Until the lamps were lighted in the street, 
 Then lay beside the little one to watch, 
 But, child-like, fell into a dreamless sleep. 
 And then, as if the shadow of sleep's soft wing 
 That brooded him, had touched the little one, 
 A light and troubled slumber fell on her. 
 Then Edith, falling prone, lay motionless, 
 As one that hath no strength to weep or moan, 
 Her delicate cheek pressed hard against the floor. 
 Out slipped the fastenings from her gleaming hair, 
 That rippled like a 'golden rivulet down, 
 And lay in shining waves along the floor. 
 Out burst the full moon like a lily in bloom, 
 Through clouds blown leaf-like open either side. 
 Then Edith cried a strong and bitter cry: 
 "Walter, O Walter, Walter!" and again 
 "My father, O my father! " and then hushed 
 
 59
 
 That sharp-edged cry upon her lips, for fear 
 
 That it might cut the silken cords of sleep, 
 
 Which bound the little sufferer a while. 
 
 Then all was midnight silence, save outside, 
 
 The boisterous laughter of a merry crowd 
 
 Of homeward-straggling revelers, and again 
 
 A solitary whistler in the street, 
 
 The bellowing of a great boat at the bridge, 
 
 Or the fierce, petulant screaming of a tug, 
 
 And not far off the cry of a sick child. 
 
 Edith stretched forth her hands and softly prayed, 
 
 "Take me, O God, take me, but spare the child!" 
 
 The memory of a scornful, bitter smile 
 
 Was burning in her bosorn like a rlame, 
 
 Whose embers were the cruel words: "Except 
 
 You or your children hunger " and again 
 
 "The child is not to blame; give me the child." 
 So saying to herself, "If I should die, 
 He would receive my children to his heart, 
 And love them as his own," she softly prayed, 
 "Take me, O God, take me, but spare the child." 
 Then, rising up, she saw a woman's form 
 Beside the couch, and started, pale with fear, 
 Thinking a phantom came to take the child. 
 But Martha said, "I heard the babe was ill, 
 And could not wait till morning." Edith fell 
 On Martha's bosom, weeping piteously. 
 And Martha folded her puissant arms 
 About the quivering form, and kissed her hair, 
 And soothed her like a sick and we*ary child. 
 Skilled in the art of nursing, Martha knew 
 
 60
 
 The thing to do, and better still, the thing 
 
 Not to be done, and ere a week was gone, 
 
 A gentle moisture on the tender skin 
 
 Lay like the evening dew upon a rose 
 
 That has been drooping all a summer day. 
 
 Slowly the little life came fluttering back, 
 
 Like a reluctant bird, that, half escaped 
 
 Between the wires, is coaxed into its cage, 
 
 But not the joyous, bounding life of old. 
 
 The pale child leaned against her mother's knees. 
 
 And chirruped a few faint wood-notes plaintively, 
 
 Or oftener lay upon her mother's arm, 
 
 And listened to some pretty fairy tale; 
 
 And Edith had no heart to go away. 
 
 So in the chill autumnal days she searched, 
 
 And found some work that she could do at home. 
 
 The little Edith loved to sit and watch 
 
 Her mother's white hands flashing in and out 
 
 The rainbow-colored worsteds, as she wove 
 
 The green and crimson and the blue and gold 
 
 Into the little jackets, caps and skirts. 
 
 But medicines and coal and food and rent, 
 And clothing for the children, pressed her sore, 
 Till she was forced to find a cheaper room, 
 Up three long flights of stairs against the roof, 
 Which only had the strangled light and air, 
 That came through one small window opening out 
 Upon a gloomy passage, where the light, 
 Sallow and sickly, through a skylight fell. 
 And there, through many a dark and gloomy day, 
 
 61
 
 She worked with aching eyes and throbbing bro" , 
 
 Turning sometimes the gaslight on at noon, 
 
 And heard far off the roaring sea of life, 
 
 Like long, low thunder; scarcely marked at all 
 
 The languor of her limbs, the short, dry cough, 
 
 Or checked the flying fingers to abate 
 
 The sudden, cruel pain that pierced her chest. 
 
 And once a crimson rill burst from her lips, 
 
 And stained the purple jacket in her hands. 
 
 So the long, weary winter wore away, 
 And summer panted in the veins of earth. 
 Climbed little Elsa, on a da} 7 in June, 
 Up the steep, wooden stairs with dancing feet; 
 She had not moved so blithely for a year; 
 And Edith looked up smiling when she broke 
 All quivering like a sunbeam through the room. 
 Then breathlessly she told, with shining eyes, 
 How the rich lady in the great stone house 
 Around the corner, had two pretty dogs, 
 As white as snow, with noses black as jet, 
 With silver, tinkling bells around their necks, 
 With 'broidered crimson blankets over them, 
 That slept in baskets lined with gorgeous plush. 
 But after luncheon, when my lady slept, 
 The little darlings, at their merry play, 
 Disturbed her with their frolics; she would give 
 The little girl five cents an afternoon, 
 To watch them at their gambols, and restrain 
 Them when they grew too boisterous; could she go? 
 
 A crimson wave of anger overswept 
 
 62
 
 The marble forehead: an indignant no 
 
 Trembled on Edith's lips; a second thought 
 
 Restrained it; no, it could not harm the child; 
 
 She would be better for more light and air, 
 
 And hours of frolic. "Yes, a little while," 
 
 She said, "a while, till Robert's school is out." 
 
 And so my lady, who had gone abroad, 
 
 And bought the title nature had refused, 
 
 Slept tranquilly the golden afternoons, 
 
 While little Elsa tenderly restrained 
 
 Her boisterous pets, and sometimes wistfully 
 
 She gazed upon the dish of yellow cream 
 
 Their slender, scarlet tongues lapped daintily, 
 
 The tempting cakes they crumbed upon the floor. 
 
 Now when at four my lady went to drive, 
 
 On either side of her, complacently, 
 
 With canine gravity they sat and looked 
 
 Down on the little maiden, as she thought, 
 
 With lofty condescension, and, withal, 
 
 An arrogant, commiserating gaze. 
 
 "O mother," once sfie cried with tearful eyes, 
 
 "I wish I were a pretty little dog, 
 
 Just long enough to ride far, far away, 
 
 Where there are many birds and trees and flowers! 1 
 
 The mother's heart grew bitter in her breast. 
 A morning came when Edith could not rise, 
 But struggled to her elbow, and fell back, 
 Fainting, upon her pillow. Days went on, 
 And still the busy fingers, white and limp, 
 Lay motionless upon the coverlid. 
 
 63
 
 Veiled in the shadow of the night, she wept 
 
 Hot tears that burned her eyelids, murmuring, 
 
 "O Walter, I have tried to w'ait for you; 
 
 Were I a little stronger 1 could wait, 
 
 But I am tired, so tired, and sick at heart. 
 
 I'll wait for you in heaven I am so tired!" 
 
 She wrote a letter in a tremulous hand, 
 
 And on the back, the name of Robert Earle, 
 
 And kissing it, as one might kiss a flower, 
 
 That some dear hand has touched, or soon will touch, 
 
 Placed it beneath her pillow, whispering, 
 
 "Not a reproachful word, my father, not one; 
 
 Your rose has no more thorns to. hurt you with! 
 
 Not a regretful word, my father, not one; 
 
 Because my angels have been crowned with thorns, 
 
 They are not less my angels I have chosen." 
 
 Spoke little Robert, bending over her, 
 
 "Dear mother, there is nothing left to eat." 
 
 Then Edith answered, wandering in her mind: 
 
 "How strange I should forget my little ones! 
 
 Wait, Robert, till I rest a little while, 
 
 Then I will rise and set you out some food." 
 
 Said Robert tenderly, his manly lips 
 
 All quivering with anguish, "I will go 
 
 And try to sell some papers; I will come 
 
 As quickly as I can, and bring some food." 
 
 The great sun, like a furnace of the gods, 
 Replenished with a hundred dead old worlds, 
 Blazed that day with a fierce and yellow glare, 
 Till, like a web of incandescent fire, 
 
 64
 
 Woven above the city, its wires glowed, 
 
 And every shadow lay oasis-like, 
 
 Darkling within the desert of white light, 
 
 With gasping men and women overfull. 
 
 Horses and men sank in the reeking tide 
 
 Of human life, and every now and' then, 
 
 A pale, white-sheeted form was borne away 
 
 To dismal morgue or hospital or home. 
 
 Like idle sails, the leaves hung listlessly. 
 
 The wretches used to sleeping in the sun, 
 
 At noontime, on the lake shore, crept away, 
 
 Seeking a shadow, for the blue lake slept, 
 
 Placid and pitiless, puffed its burning breath 
 
 Into the strangled city. With scorched cheeks, 
 
 And brows burned to their helmets, faithfully 
 
 The brave policemen faced the blasting sun, 
 
 Upon the blazing corners of the streets. 
 
 The sun went down in splendor, hemmed about 
 
 With sunset clouds upon each other heaped, 
 
 Like Pelion on Ossa. Peak on peak, 
 
 They piled in glory 'round the feet of night. 
 
 Then the clear stars, like mocking, tearless eyes, 
 
 Burned through the humid darkness and the lamps 
 
 Threw out their rainbow fringes. 
 
 "Paper, sir? 
 
 I cannot sell them, sir, and we have had 
 No supper, and my mother is so sick." 
 A white-haired man upon the corner stood, 
 Waiting a car. When little Robert thrust 
 The paper toward him, he looked kindly down, 
 And through his frame a sudden shiver ran, 
 
 63
 
 As if the hot south wind had turned to sleet, 
 
 And pierced him through and through. He stretched 
 
 his hand, 
 
 And dropped it like a withered autumn leaf 
 Upon the child's head, asking tremulously, 
 "What is your name, my boy? Tell me your name." 
 "Robert Earle Gray!" 
 
 "I knew it, yes, I knew it! 
 The violet eyes are Edith's, and the brow; 
 But the thick locks, and grave, unyielding mouth 
 And proud smile, are his father's. Edith's boy, 
 Bearing my name too! Edith's child, her son! 
 Tell me your street and number, Robert Gray." 
 And then, as Robert answered wonderingly, 
 A shining coin was dropped upon his palm, 
 That made his large eyes shine with speechless joy. 
 He faltered, "Thank you!" but the old man turned 
 And hailed the passing horse-car. Robert Earle, 
 Pacing his lonely chamber on that night, 
 Felt his heart bursting with pent agony, 
 And from his lips there broke a heavy moan 
 Against the desolate silence of the night, 
 Like a great wave upon a barren rock: 
 "Edith, my rose, my darling, sick, alone, 
 Trodden down somewhere in the mire and slime 
 Of this great city somewhere sick, alone 
 Weeping alone in some close, stifling den! 
 My God! My God! it need not thus have been, 
 If I had acted nobly, and obeyed 
 The inmost angel promptings of my heart. 
 I think if I had given a helping hand 
 
 66
 
 To Walter, he had been a better man; 
 And I had been so happy all these years, 
 With Edith's tender smile to light the house, 
 Keeping a twelve-month bloom about the hearth, 
 And Edith's children climbing on my knees." 
 No sorrow strikes its aching roots so deep 
 Into the heart, as that whose seed we sow 
 Ourselves, in anger, pride or heedlessness. 
 No bitterer cry can pierce the ear of heaven 
 Than this: "My God, it need not thus have been, 
 If I had acted nobly, and obeyed 
 The inmost angel promptings of my heart." 
 
 So Robert Earle his lonely chamber paced 
 Through all the livelong night, as he had paced 
 It many another night. When he had heard 
 Of Walter's crime and sentence, he had felt 
 A kind of cruel triumph, muttering: 
 "Now surely she will come to me again, 
 And I will pardon her, and take her in, 
 And love her children as my own. " Sometime"^ 
 We fail most, when we seem to triumph most, 
 Or triumph, when we seem the most to fail. 
 A year went by, and Edith did not come, 
 Asking his pity, pardon, or his aid. 
 Upon the eve of a fierce summer day, 
 When wild storm winds were sobbing out of sound, 
 In lightning-steeded clouds that, chariot-like, 
 On wheels of thunder, rolling lakeward went, 
 And out the moon burst like a lily in bloom, 
 Amid the dying sounds of wind and rain 
 
 67
 
 And distant thunder, ringing through the night, 
 
 He thought he heard ajoud and bitter cry. 
 
 The voice was Edith's, only sharp with pain: 
 
 "My father, O my father!" Robert Earle 
 
 Paused, whitening to the white edge of his hair, 
 
 And swaying like a tall pine in the blast, 
 
 Then staggered to the window, flung it wide, 
 
 And leaned his silver head into the night 
 
 Until the dripping eaves had drenched his locks, 
 
 And all his heart went out to meet that cry. 
 
 He would forgive her, find her, bring her home; 
 
 And ere he knew, he sent an answering cry 
 
 Ringing along the darkness of the night: 
 
 "Edith, my rose!" And then he started back; 
 
 It was a trick of fancy he would wait 
 
 A little longer; she would come to him. 
 
 Beware, who drive some sweet emotion back 
 
 Upon the heart, and will not let it break 
 
 Upon the shores of action, for behold, 
 
 Its white soul-inspiration, foam-like, melts, 
 
 As it recedes into the depths again, 
 
 And new emotions, foaming, forward press. 
 
 Act 'neath the flush of purpose, like a light! 
 
 Speak with the dew of longing in thy heart, 
 
 For there are angel touches on the will,. 
 
 Which, slighted, come no more. A year passed by, 
 
 And Edith did not come; and so to-night 
 
 Paced Robert Earle his lonely chamber through, 
 
 And waited till the tempest in his soul 
 
 Should have abated. When the first faint pulse 
 
 Of light had quickened in the purple veins 
 
 68
 
 Of the far east, he reached with trembling hand, 
 And rang the bell: "Bring me the carriage, John! " 
 
 Came Robert to his mother joyously, 
 With laden arms, and in his close-shut hand 
 A shining heap of silver. Edith smiled, 
 A strange, bright smile, like a fore-radiance 
 Of the new dawn at hand of a new world. 
 She tasted not the dainty food he brought, 
 But drew the letter from beneath her head 
 And gave it unto Robert, whispering, 
 So softly that it seemed like a light wind 
 Sighing along the grass, and Robert leaned 
 To catch the words that trembled from her lips: 
 "At early morning go, deliver this. 
 To-night I go away, a long, long way. 
 Come here, my bird, and listen I go away. * 
 Be strong and pure and gentle; never forget 
 You have a noble father, who will come 
 Some day to claim his darlings; welcome him 
 With tenderest love, and gladden all his life. 
 Sing 'Jesus, Lover of my Soul,' my bird." 
 And then the little maiden, linnet-like, 
 Perched by the pillow, raised her tiny voice, 
 The human instinct of the sorrowful 
 Making the sweet notes quiver with a grief 
 But vaguely comprehended, like a cloud 
 That darks the sunlight of a day in June. 
 A splendor fell upon the dying face, 
 A kind of angel wonder, like the light 
 That well might break across an angel's face, 
 
 69
 
 Who, underneath a heavenly palm-tree, smiles, 
 
 To hear across ethereal night and hush, 
 
 Some new star singing its creation hymn. 
 
 The song being ended, Edith seemed to sleep, 
 
 And Robert took, with manly tenderness, 
 
 His little sister on his knees, and rocked 
 
 Her to and fro, and hushed the childish talk 
 
 Into a quiet whisper, lest it break 
 
 The sleeper's fragile sleep. When the first pulse 
 
 Of light had quickened in the purple veins 
 
 Of the far east, then Edith woke, arose, 
 
 And stretching out her hands, as if she clasped 
 
 The hands of one before her, whispered, "Come!" 
 
 And then, as if a pitying angel stood, 
 
 Holding the soul of that last lover's kiss, 
 
 Until the fitting moment, when he leaned, 
 
 And laid it like a glory on her lips, 
 
 She smiled and murmured, "Walter, I have chosen.' 
 
 Then fell back on her pillow, and, smiling, died. 
 
 Then there arose a piteous, plaintive cry, 
 
 As from young birds the hunter's cruel shot 
 
 Has left unmothered in the fragile nest, 
 
 Exposed to night and storm and heartless hands. 
 
 Within the open door stood Robert Earle, 
 And from his lips there broke a heavy groan, 
 Like a great sound of heart-break: 'God, too late!' 
 Then, coming near, he took the little ones 
 Upon his heaving bosom, faltering, 
 "Her last words! Can you tell her very last?" 
 Said Robert, weeping, "Walter, I have chosen." 
 
 70
 
 PART IV 
 RESURRECTION 
 
 Forth from his tomb at last came Walter Gray, 
 Threw back his head to let the soft air feel 
 With cool, sweet touches 'round his face and throat, 
 With a wild throb of life along his veins. 
 No angel rolled, with noiseless finger-touch, 
 A white stone from his sepulcher away, 
 But hard the heavy doors behind him clanged, 
 Like a loud clap of thunder, and he stood, 
 Drinking the golden air and sunlight free! 
 And that one thought of rapture swelled his soul, 
 Like a pure wind that fills a snow-white sail. 
 So easy 'tis to glad the heart of man! 
 For, like a golden sunbeam through the dark, 
 One smile can make life sweet and liveable. 
 How would the world look without Edith now, 
 Whose smile had been in color of all clouds, 
 Whose voice in all the music of the waves, 
 Who made a part of all things unto him? 
 Had he forgotten when a summer day 
 Was dying in the arms of night and storm, 
 He heard the cry of Edith through the night, 
 So sharp and strong it pierced the heavy walls 
 "Walter, O Walter, Walter!" and he cried, 
 Out of a weary dream, "My darling, here!" 
 The voice was silent now forevermore 
 That never by a harsh word was untuned, 
 
 71
 
 But sweet with unspent kisses, like low wind 
 Soft with the unshed drops of summer rain. 
 Edith was gone; had he forgotten the night 
 That word of lightning pierced the prison wall, 
 And struck his shuddering heart with double death 
 A death in death? Nay, he had not forgotten, 
 But life, dear God, is sweet, in spite of fire 
 Upon the brain, and frost upon the heart. 
 Some hours are sweet still, with the sweetest flown; 
 Some hearts are dear still, with the dearest dead; 
 And Walter had his little boy and girl. 
 That ten years seemed like a night's sleep to him, 
 And a night's sleep divides, like a soft hand, 
 A bright day from a day, like wave from wave, 
 And cheats old Time a little of his power. 
 It seemed but yesterday his little ones 
 Clambered like squirrels up and down his arms, 
 His fingers twined amid their flower-like locks; 
 Their little kisses moist were on his cheeks; 
 The music of their light, gazelle-like feet 
 And little laughing lips were in his ears. 
 The golden waves of sunlight gently beat 
 Against his quivering eyelids, and above, 
 Light clouds, with snowy fleece and windy feet, 
 Chased one another through the fields of heaven. 
 
 Back to the city, through old walks and ways, 
 Drifting and drifting, like a last year's leaf, 
 With no will but the wind's, so, on and on, 
 Upon the ceaseless tide of human life, 
 That writhed and twisted in and out the streets, 
 
 72
 
 Alleys and tunnels, till he leaned at last 
 
 Against a granite pillar, weary and sad. 
 
 Above him rose a grand, gray, massive pile 
 
 In its gray dignity of stone and tower, 
 
 The city's latest glory, and beneath, 
 
 The pavement seemed to gently rise and sink, 
 
 In slow pulsations, timing with the lake. 
 
 Heedless of one another, and of him, 
 
 The people rushed by, each on some mad quest 
 
 Of personal gain or glory. How they jarred 
 
 And jostled one another, each one deep 
 
 In his own tangled meshes of desire, 
 
 Lost like a spider snarled in his own web. 
 
 No one would know him whom the state disnamed, 
 
 And numbered in a deep baptism of shame. 
 
 Amid the clash and clatter of the street, 
 
 Came drifting human accents rich and low 
 
 A wave of music on a sea of sound. 
 
 Each heart-beat made a ripple in the voice 
 
 That murmured over it. He caught his breath 
 
 Like hers, but not hers golden tresses too! 
 
 "For Charlie's Christmas greeting when he wakes!" 
 
 The throbbing voice was saying. Walter clung 
 
 Close to the granite pillar Christmas, then 
 
 Christmas was coming that which used to be 
 
 The happiest day of all the happy year. 
 
 He raised his eyes, and a familiar face 
 Gleamed out amid the strangeness like a light. 
 His heart cried out, "A friend!" as from the shore, 
 
 73
 
 A shipwrecked sailor cries, "A sail, a sail!" 
 "Martyn, old friend!" he cried, and stretched his 
 
 hand. 
 
 They had been friends in Walter's prosperous days, 
 When, condescending somewhat from his height 
 Of seeming affluence, he had deigned to ask 
 A modest loan of Walter in a strait. 
 The wheel of fortune, turning suddenly, 
 Had whirled him to the bottom, and with him, 
 A hundred men and women, who, unversed 
 In subtle trickery and slick disguise 
 Of wise world ways, had trusted him too much. 
 Then Martyn's wife was suddenly possessed 
 Of unguessed riches; with her jeweled hand 
 Turned back the wheel of fortune, lifted him 
 Into the public favor and social smile, 
 But left his trusting victims in the ruin. 
 Back drew the man, and ran an insolent glance 
 Cool, keen-edged, up and down the cowering form, 
 And passed on like a stranger. Walter's heart 
 Was bitter in his bosom. "Who is wronged, 
 Except my wretched self and those I love?" 
 So, leaning on the pillar, Walter mused, 
 And fancied that the lap-dogs, riding by, 
 With silver bells and bright embroidered coats, 
 Looked sideways at him as they sniffed the air. 
 
 A gentle hand was laid upon his arm, 
 The only gentle thing that he had met, 
 And Martha whispered, "This is Walter Gray." 
 "Hush, Martha, say it not I have no name," 
 
 74
 
 He said, but kissed with joy the withered cheek, 
 All wet. with tears, half sorrow, half delight. 
 "Forgive these tears my heart spills over, sir." 
 "God bless you, Martha, for I think he led 
 You to me in my anguish, dear, kind soul!" 
 When sorrow strikes its lightning through our days, 
 The hearts to which we look for kindly help, 
 Unquestioning, as the rose to heaven for rain, 
 Most often will have nothing sweet to give; 
 While out of hearts of which we least had thought, 
 Burst sparkling springs of human kindliness. 
 "The children, Martha, tell me what of them! 
 Does Aunt Maria have the children still?" 
 "The children, children!" Martha spoke the words, 
 As if they had been strange from a strange tongue: 
 "Ah! sir, the world keeps moving while we wait; 
 The roses grow on while the gardener sleeps. 
 Your boy and girl are man and woman now, 
 Both married! How you start! Yes, married well! 
 You've not forgotten Lucius Coventry; 
 Well, Robert married Lucius' daughter, Grace, 
 And little Elsa, his son, Lucius; yes, 
 Both rich and happy! They are not yours now." 
 "The babies married? Why! when last I held 
 Their pretty, rosy faces to my breast, 
 Robert was twelve, and little Elsa nine. 
 Not mine, not mine! Ah! they will love me still. 
 Where are they, Martha? Let me go to them! " 
 "Don't seek them, sir don't try to drag them down 
 From the high, sunny places where they sit; 
 They're rich and happy, and a little proud. 
 
 75
 
 They don't remember the old nurse at all, 
 
 But they are Edith's children. Do you know, 
 
 I sometimes vex my brain with these queer things 
 
 How little there is of the human soul, 
 
 Apart from all the places, times and things 
 
 And people that become a part of it? 
 
 Don't blame the little ones for growing proud; 
 
 The angels would grow dim and change, I think, 
 
 'Neath forces that constrain the human heart. 
 
 I love the children, but I keep away, 
 
 And if you love them, sir, you'll let them be." 
 
 "Keep from my babies Edith's babes and mine! " 
 
 "Ah! maybe, sir, they'd not remember you." 
 
 Walter clasped both his hands above his heart, 
 
 As if an arrow pierced it, and he reeled: 
 
 "D6 we forget the loving eyes that lean, 
 
 Star-like above our cradle love and lean, 
 
 Through all the tender dawn of infancy? 
 
 Nay, Martha, they will know and love me still." 
 
 "Ah! sir, you do not know them as I do. 
 
 Maybe they think you're dead." 
 
 "Nay, Martha, nay, 
 
 For I have written to them many times. 
 Dead people do not write, or else I think 
 I had had angel letters long ago." 
 And Walter would have smiled, had not his lips, 
 Unpracticed in that grace for ten long years, 
 Almost forgotten the sweet way of it. 
 "Dead people sometimes come to life again 
 At disagreeable times and places, sir." 
 "Did Aunt Maria teach them I was dead?" 
 
 70
 
 "I am not sure I think so; many times 
 I've picked the pieces of your letters up, 
 And tossed them in the fire; I think, mayhap, 
 She never read them to the little ones, 
 Telling them you were dead, for she was wise, 
 Was Edith's Aunt Maria, very wise." 
 Then Walter clasped his brow, and underneath, 
 His great gray eyes burned with a holy wrath. 
 "And Edith, Martha, what did Edith say?" 
 "Always the good, sir, never a bitter word. 
 She told the children you had gone away, 
 That some day you were coming home again; 
 And every night she had them kneel and clasp 
 Their little hands like folded lily buds, 
 And bow their heads upon them, side by side, 
 The dark and bright together, praying for you." 
 Then Walter murmured, "I have come again, 
 And I will find my pretty boy and girl." 
 "If you will seek them, wait a little wait 
 Tide over Christmas. " 
 
 "Martha, wherefore wait? 
 Have I not waited ten long, lonely years? 
 Why suffer this heart-thirst another day? 
 I'm starving, Martha, for a crumb, of love." 
 Then Martha laid a hand on either arm, 
 And turned him gently 'round, until her eyes 
 Looked into his steadfastly, then she spoke: 
 "A merry day is Christmas to the rich; 
 Don't spoil it for the children." Blinding flash 
 Of swift, white lightning, parting back the night, 
 An instant, and revealing heaven and earth, 
 
 77
 
 Then leaving double darkness! Walter drew 
 
 His hand across his eyes as if to brush 
 
 A cobweb 'twixt him and the sunlight hung: 
 
 "My pretty boy and girl disown me? ha! 
 
 My deepest anguish sounded not such depths. 
 
 But if they know not why I went away, 
 
 Ah! surely they will welcome me with smiles." 
 
 Then Martha clutched her fingers on his arm, 
 
 And the large tears splashed down from cheek to 
 
 breast: 
 
 "Oh! there's the trouble, sir, they know it all. 
 I meant to spare you, but you drove me to it. 
 The morning papers blazoned your release, 
 Telling your story over, coloring it, 
 So that the newsboys had a prosperous day." 
 Then Walter clasped his brow between his hands, 
 And turning, looked in the great window-pane. 
 He saw the close gray hair about the face, 
 All seamed and counter-seamed, the stooping form, 
 And then the vision faded, and he saw 
 A pretty room all decked with Christmas wreaths 
 And Christmas tokens, and a lithe young man 
 With richly curling locks, a happy smile 
 Upon his grave young mouth, and at his side 
 A slender woman crowned with golden hair, 
 Two pretty romping children at their feet, 
 The tender look and smile, the clasp and kiss, 
 The clear, unclouded lovelight all the day. 
 The thunder of the multitude outside 
 Melted into the distance, and his ears 
 Were filled with ringing laughter and sweet speech 
 
 78
 
 A human music sweeter to man's ears 
 
 Than angel wings beat out of silver lutes. 
 
 There came a gentle pressure on his arm: 
 
 "A crowd is gathering, sir, let us move on, 
 
 For crowds are not nice things for such as us; 
 
 Shall you not want some further talk with me?" 
 
 "I want my boy and girl!" he fiercely said. 
 
 "Homeless and wifeless, childless, nameless! God! 
 
 Has my sin called for so great punishment?" 
 
 He covered up his eyes, and sobbed aloud, 
 
 While Martha drew him gently down the street, 
 
 Striving to speak some homely words of cheer: 
 
 "Try to forget the anguish of the past, 
 
 God's bitter medicine of pain; believe 
 
 The future yet has sweet wine stored for you." 
 
 "Nay, Martha, nay, a whole eternity 
 
 Of shadowless delight can never make 
 
 Amends for such an hour of agony." 
 
 S,he begged that he would come and dine with her: 
 
 "I have six stalwart, rosy sons," she said, 
 
 "So that I need not toil for strangers now. 
 
 I shall be proud to have you take their 'hands. 
 
 Come dine with us we shall be honored, sir, 
 
 If you will only eat a little crust 
 
 From off our table." Walter shook his head. 
 
 To joyless hearts the sight of others' joy 
 
 Makes the heart faint, and sorrow doubly sad, 
 
 And food is hard to swallow with tears for wine. 
 
 "Nay, Martha, nay, the sweetest food would choke; 
 
 I'll go and think. Farewell, dear, loving soul!" 
 
 79
 
 So Walter sought out an obscure hotel, 
 
 And registered his name, And Company. 
 
 "A queer name! " said the clerk, and idly changed 
 
 The And to Andrew: "Holland, sir, or Swede?" 
 
 "Saxon!" the stranger muttered, as he caught 
 
 The key tossed to him, on his open palm. 
 
 All night he paced his chamber up and down, 
 
 Fanning a flickering purpose in his heart, 
 
 And when the white face of the morning looked 
 
 Smiling, in through the dingy window-pane, 
 
 He turned to greet it, saying, "I am resolved." 
 
 As the sad sunshine slipped along the world, 
 Melting its dreams, for to the eyes that weep, 
 The sunshine seemeth sadder than the night, 
 He trod the long streets hushed in Christmas peace. 
 Shone never so radiantly a Christmas sun, 
 But Walter's heart was full of night and storm; 
 Pealed Christmas laughter never so merrily, 
 But Walter had forgotten the way to smile. 
 Swift, happy feet went hurrying to and fro 
 On missions glad he had a mission too 
 To find his children, and to hear his doom. 
 
 It was a young man set the door ajar; 
 Dark, richly-curling locks, blue, splendid eyes 
 Under a broad, white brow, and a grave mouth, 
 With just a mirthful quiver at its red curves; 
 So like the father in his happy youth, 
 With glimpses of the mother here and there. 
 So handsome and so manly, Walter gazed, 
 
 80
 
 Thrilled with a sudden ecstasy his boy, 
 Robert Earle Gray, yes, Edith's son and his! 
 So long he gazed, that over the bright face, 
 A black suspicion darkened like a cloud. 
 He closed the door behind him while he spoke: 
 "What will you have, sir? I am Robert Gray." 
 "I knew your father, Robert, long ago," 
 Came back the hollow answer from white lips, 
 Like a deep murmur from an ocean cave. 
 "I thought perhaps that you would like to know " 
 "Stop there!" he cried in anger, "stop just there! 
 You've read the shameful story, and you've come 
 For money, blackmail speak, is it not so?" 
 But Walter spoke not, dumb from lips to heart. 
 Then Robert leaned back, and the lightnings played 
 From his blue, splendid eyes, while he spoke on, 
 As if none other listened but himself: 
 "I have no love, no, not a spark for him! 
 And wherefore should I have for such a wretch? 
 I have been taught to think that he was dead, 
 Dead with the love and honor of men's hearts 
 Thick on his grave as white dew from the st'ars. 
 I have believed a lie, it seems. By heaven!" 
 He straightened, whitening with a sudden wrath: 
 '"Twere better for us all if he were dead! 
 Tell me by what right, human or divine, 
 He comes, a skeleton of buried shame, 
 To stalk across the sunshine of my life? 
 Now if you know him, or can find him out, 
 Go ask of him that question!" Walter turned, 
 Still answering nothing, dumb from heart to lips, 
 
 81
 
 The cruel word-wounds bleeding inwardly. 
 
 Robert stretched forth his hand imperiously: 
 
 "You have not said what brought you hither! Speak! " 
 
 Should Walter speak? Were it not kinder now, 
 
 Knowing his son's heart toward him, who had come, 
 
 A shadow 'twixt him and the shining sun, 
 
 To, shadow-like, in silence, glide away? 
 
 But, faint with wild heart-hunger, Walter spoke, 
 
 With all the father yearning from his eyes: 
 
 "Were / your father " Robert caught the words 
 
 Up from his burning lips like sparks of fire, 
 
 That kindled a fresh anger in his breast: 
 
 "Were you my father, you would comprehend 
 
 How every breath you draw creates a mist 
 
 To darken, soon or late, into a cloud 
 
 Upon the fair horizon of my life; 
 
 And if you loved me, you would go away, 
 
 Far, far away into some lonely land, 
 
 Where you could hide forever your self and name, 
 
 Until until you died." The beauteous face, 
 
 Unrippled by a sweet emotion, bent 
 
 Like scornful marble. Walter clinched his hands, 
 
 And tottering like a half-felled pine, he cried, 
 
 "I am your father!" 
 
 "Aye, I thought as much!" 
 
 Robert made answer, while his youthful cheek 
 Whitened with fury, and his red lips twitched. 
 Forth Walter stretched a faltering hand, and cried, 
 "Robert, my boy, am I so vile a wretch 
 You will not take my hand in parting, once?" 
 But Robert heeded not the tremulous hand: 
 
 82
 
 "''Make no appeals to me have I not said 
 
 I love you not; your life is but a threat, 
 
 A muttering cloud upon my sunny heaven?" 
 
 Then Walter murmured, "Robert, I will be 
 
 A kind and loving father. You are right; 
 
 I might have known, and yet I thought, I thought 
 
 No matter what I thought." And Walter turned, 
 
 Blinded with tears of fire, and groped his way, 
 
 Half creeping, down the gleaming marble steps. 
 
 'Twere well if sound, like sight, were drowned in 
 
 tears, 
 
 For Robert, with a merry, mocking laugh, 
 Made answer to a sweet voice at the door, 
 "Only a Christmas beggar, Gracie!" Oh! 
 That pricked the fainting manhood in his breast. 
 Hope after hope had, like a meteor, burst, 
 And fallen in dull gray ashes, but one star 
 Still through the deepening darkness softly burned 
 His pretty, prattling Elsa, his sweet bird, 
 Who wept aloud for pity when she saw 
 A cripple struggling on his hands and knees 
 Bravely across the slippery, crowded street. 
 Surely the little girl had kept for him, 
 Burning in some dim chamber of her heart, 
 A little lamp of love all pure and bright, 
 Filled last time from a mother's dying lips, 
 Trimmed by the angel hand of memory. 
 Ah, little girl! she is a woman now, 
 Another man to love, but what of that? 
 A noble heart is never wholly filled; 
 Each love enlarges it to hold new love, 
 
 83
 
 And deepens old affections; as the stream 
 
 Fed by new streams, must widen out its shores, 
 
 And deepen its old channel. 
 
 "Not at home!" 
 
 The servant sharply answered at the door. 
 "Away so early, and on Christmas morn?" 
 "Well, sir, I only meant she can't be seen." 
 If she but knew the suppliant at her door, 
 Would she not fly on swift feet winged with joy, 
 With bursts of ringing laughter and sweet speech? 
 "Tell her," he faltered, "that an old-time friend, 
 Who knew the family many )^ears ago, 
 Is at the door, and prays to speak with her." 
 The maid withdrew with slow, reluctant steps, 
 And Walter lifted up his eyes and saw 
 A golden head lean from the drifted lace, 
 That veiled the polished window near at hand, 
 As from the white rim of a filmy cloud, 
 A star half slips. Blue, curious eyes peered out. 
 This second Edith was so like the first, 
 The first time she had dawned upon his sight, 
 Ripe, rosy cheeks, blue eyes and golden hair, 
 He scarce refrained from crashing through the pane. 
 The bright star disappeared behind its cloud; 
 Then there were footsteps, softly-closing doors, 
 And earnest whisperings, and through it all, 
 The even music of a manly voice, 
 And presently the maid, returning, spoke: 
 "My mistress says she cannot speak with you, 
 And bids you state your business." Did she feel 
 A shadow hovering near on that bright morn? 
 
 84
 
 Was she in league with that hard, bitter world? 
 Where was the winsome, loving, laughing child, 
 So tender that she wept to wound a worm? 
 A storm of grief and anger swept aside 
 All the restraints of reason and of will: 
 "Tell her her father stands without the door, 
 And asks to speak with her." There came a sound 
 Of footfalls light as dropping autumn fruit, 
 Of rustling robes like wind blown autumn leaves, 
 And as a scared bird from the thicket flies, 
 Another listener, from behind the door, 
 Glided along the hall and up the stairs; 
 And from above dropped down a sweet bird voice, 
 As sweet and pure as dewy morning notes 
 By happy, soaring linnet careless dropped, 
 From vortices of rosy mist and cloud, 
 Through golden rhythms of light upon the world. 
 "Susie," it twittered, "send that man away; 
 Tell him I have no father." Walter leaned 
 Forward, and sent a strong and shuddering cry 
 Ringing among the rosy, perfumed halls: 
 "Elsa, my bird, come down, come down to me; 
 For the old tyrant hunter waits for you!" 
 That was the cry that wooed her baby feet 
 To the mad evening frolic; now it rang, 
 All sharp and shivering, with the startling sound 
 Of something costly breaking. A heart broke. 
 Then fell the hush of deep dismay which comes 
 After the crash of ruin, then a moan, 
 The tender sound of weeping and low sobs, 
 With whispered pleadings she is coming; joy! 
 
 85
 
 The child is coming! Walter stretched his arms. 
 
 Oh! now is recompense! Hark! a man's voice, 
 
 Stern and commanding: "Susie, close the door; 
 
 The fellow's crazy; have John drive him off!" 
 
 And Susie whispered with an honest tear- 
 
 Of pity shining on her rosy cheek, 
 
 "Her husband!" as she softly closed the door. 
 
 Then Walter's reason faltered, and his brain 
 
 Was full of flitting shapes and jangling sounds, 
 
 The silver crash of waters on the shore, 
 
 The jostling, staring multitude, the glare 
 
 Of gorgeous windows, and the idle jest 
 
 And laughter of gay people, and the whirl 
 
 Of pleasure's giddy wheels, and miles and miles 
 
 Of crowded streets, and then long, lonely ways, 
 
 With scattered houses and bare, bloomless fields, 
 
 And only one thought beating in his brain 
 
 To press his lips to Edith's grave, and die. 
 
 And when at last the gleaming granite shaft, 
 On which was carved the name of Robert Earle, 
 And on the right, the name of Edith Earle, 
 And on the left, the name of Edith Gray, 
 Flashed coldly on his burning sight, there lay 
 A shining sunset cloud across the west, 
 Stretched like a splendid angel at full length, 
 Within the dusky splendor of whose smile 
 Glistened the white 'spires of the city of sleep. 
 Then Walter, falling prone on Edith's grave, 
 Lay motionless, except for the faint breath 
 That stirred his pale lips, while the noiseless hours 
 
 86
 
 Trod softly through the darkness, till at last, 
 The beautiful, slow-footed dawn approached. 
 The dimming moon like a strained eyeball stared, 
 Until a light cloud, sliding down the sky, 
 Like a white eyelid folded over it. 
 Then ached his heart with a returning sense 
 Of agony, a conscious bruise and strain, 
 As if it had been crushed 'neath sorrow's heel, 
 Until too numb to feel its own great hurt. 
 He pressed his pale lips close to the cold grave, 
 And cried, with a loud, agonizing cry, 
 "Edith!" and once more "Edith!" and again 
 "Edith!" beseechingly, as if he thought 
 The mighty anguish of the voice of love, 
 Entreating through the silence of the grave, 
 Could strike through even the dreamless ear of death. 
 Only the faint stir of the faded grass 
 Made gentle answer, and a withered leaf 
 Came quivering down beside him on the grave. 
 Ungenerous nature left earth's naked limbs 
 Without their timely robe of snowy grace. 
 There was a crystal silence everywhere, 
 Save when a young wind, like a viewless bird, 
 With frosty pinions winging through the night, 
 Would light among the branches, panting there, 
 Shaking the skeletons of the dead leaves 
 That clung about the branches. Walter rose, 
 Seeing far off and dim a radiant thought, 
 Hovering upon the brain's edge distantly, 
 Too far and dim to trace its glorious shape, 
 Advancing and retreating like a star. 
 
 87
 
 Straining his gaze lest it should slip from view, 
 
 He wandered blindly on and on, until 
 
 He heard the silver lapping of the lake 
 
 Close by his feet. And far off in the south, 
 
 A cloud of thick smoke sprinkled through with 
 
 lights, 
 
 Showed where the city, in unquiet sleep, 
 Lay breathing heavily in feverish dreams, 
 And over it the still, star-trodden skies. 
 Some great thoughts seem to burst into the brain 
 Full-orbed, like heaven's new stars, but only seem; 
 For all a man hath ever done or been, 
 His slightest thought, emotion, word or deed, 
 All works of God, of angels, or of men, 
 The whole weight of the past eternity, 
 Bears down upon the moment as it comes, 
 Shaping resistlessly its thought and deed. 
 Walter looked out upon the darkling lake, 
 Bounded by pale fog flecked with glimmering lights, 
 As strong and swift and sleepless, the great boats 
 Backward and forward flew like carrier birds, 
 With olive twigs of commerce in their beaks, 
 And thought some strange new thoughts of life and 
 
 things: 
 
 "It must be happiness is good for man; 
 His heart, hot-lipped, thirsts so for one deep draught 
 Of life's joy, that, like eucharistic wine, 
 An angel seems to pass from lip to lip, 
 That each may simply touch the rosy rim, 
 And keep the taste to smile by in his dreams. 
 No fear the soul will drink so de.ep of bliss 
 
 88
 
 That it will sink in languor and soft dreams, 
 Since life is life, and death is always death, 
 And 'twixt these the unthinking elements, 
 Blind lightnings and deaf thunders, thoughtless 
 
 winds, 
 
 Unfeeling waters and dumb earthquake shocks, 
 Play with man's delicate senses and fair limbs, 
 As with insentient rocks and trees and flowers. 
 Say not that trouble falleth a white flame, 
 From hands divine, all-tender and all-wise, 
 To burn souls white! We're done with that dead 
 
 creed, 
 Since many hearts are crisped and scarred and 
 
 scathed, 
 Where one walks glistening, unsinged through the 
 
 flames. 
 
 I think God smiles upon our human smiles, 
 And man brews most of his own bitterness, 
 From harvests of his own heart's selfishness. 
 The century's cry is not from man to God 
 For the divine compassion and reprieve, 
 But from the outraged heart of man to man, 
 For simple justice. Thou, God, make us wise 
 Enough to know the happiness of each 
 Is measured by the happiness of all, 
 As the most kingly sun that ever swayed 
 The fairest constellation in the heavens, 
 Moves only to the music of all worlds, 
 Vibrating to the touch of unseen stars. 
 Since the first time man gazed on sun and cloud, 
 Breathed breath pf flowers, and listened to low 
 
 winds, 89
 
 And himself made the music of sweet speech, 
 
 And sinned and loved and labored and learned tears, 
 
 His heart has whispered to him prophetwise: 
 
 ' 'Tis thou that sittest at the forge of time, 
 
 With iron music and with flakes of fire, 
 
 Beating thine own fate from the glowing years; 
 
 Thou forgest thine own fetters for thy feet.' 
 
 So with wild dreams and blood and tears and fire, 
 
 With thrones and anarchy and social schisms, 
 
 In hope and fear and anguish, he has striven 
 
 To build a city, whose strong, glistening walls 
 
 Shall make it ever inaccessible 
 
 To human selfishness, the one great foe 
 
 Of human happiness; and when one falls, 
 
 He searches for another, loftier site. 
 
 So, through the gloom of ages he has gone 
 
 Groping his way from shining height to height, 
 
 Like some blind angel lost in ether darks, 
 
 Feeling his doubtful way from star to star, 
 
 Knowing the good, but knowing not the way 
 
 To best achieve it." 
 
 Walter raised his eyes, 
 
 And lo, heaven shone like a great amethyst 
 On God's forefinger. "Help me, God," he prayed, 
 "To send some golden sunbeam down the dark, 
 One shaft of sunlight quivering through the night 
 Of the storm-threatened future; let me break 
 Some pathway open, that shall one day lead 
 Down to the feet of morning through all tears, 
 And I shall live, and have a joy in life, 
 The joy that comes through doing of a thing 
 
 90
 
 That's noble in the teeth of human scorn." 
 When up the sun rose like a lake of fire 
 Out of a lake of water, Walter stretched 
 His hands toward Edith's grave, and .cried, "Fare 
 well! 
 
 Farewell, beloved! I take a second bride, 
 And name and being forevermore are merged 
 In this, my second love Humanity." 
 
 [NOTE: I am indebted to Mr. Collins Shackelford's sketch in an issue of 
 the Evening News in December, 1889, for some of the incidents in Part IV of 
 this book. THE AUTHOR.] 
 
 91
 
 PART I 
 FREEDOM 
 
 It lay, that splendid city by the lake, 
 'Neath all the summer splendor of blue skies 
 A blue as fresh and stainless and urisoiled 
 As if a band of cherubs sent from heaven, 
 Had washed it up with white clouds dipped in dew. 
 Even where the city's heart beat loud and fast 
 With the returning pulses of the day, 
 The heavy smoke, upbreathed from panting lungs 
 Of myriad engines, seemed to shrink abash'ed 
 From the pure heaven, as a polluted soul 
 Shrinks back in awe from spotless innocence. 
 The river like a headless giant lay 
 Headless, but heaving still with torpid life. 
 Along the languid arms and sluggish sides, 
 Full in the monstrous armpits ceaseless swarmed 
 The ever-building, building human ants. 
 Not long since the first big, white-winged canoe 
 Came flying o'er the blue, astonished lake, 
 And lo, the liquid music which rude oars 
 Were beating out of tuneful wave-harps, ceased, 
 And the wild songs of savage love and hate 
 Died in sad echoes on the lonely shore. 
 Then faded from the waters the bright dream 
 Of glancing bark-canoes and waving oars, 
 And scarlet-shirted oarsmen, to and fro 
 Waving in time to song and stroke of oar. 
 
 95
 
 Not long since, like a beauteous thing of life, 
 
 With neither beating oars nor waving wings, 
 
 With throbbing heart and .breath, almost a brain, 
 
 Defying will of winds and waves' caprice, 
 
 Came walking o'er the waves majestically, 
 
 The conquering steamer in whose white wake sprang, 
 
 Like Aphrodite radiant from the foam, 
 
 The spirit of the new age, and behold, 
 
 Where the wild onion waved upon the shores 
 
 Of the "Chicaugou, " flowing sluggishly, 
 
 Stretch miles and miles of dockage, and no more 
 
 The echo of a savage melody 
 
 Finds room 'mid roar of traffic night and day. 
 
 And now the languid river, like the bond 
 
 Which held the twins of Siam, firmly binds 
 
 In one the threefold city triple birth 
 
 Of the young century, that, now grown gray, 
 
 Stands on its radiant evening's golden edge, 
 
 Leaning upon its staff, and with a smile, 
 
 Half triumph, half mysterious prophecy, 
 
 Looks eastward where the sweet, prophetic glow 
 
 Of the new dawning century appears, 
 
 Faint flushing up the heavens. 
 
 So it lay 
 
 Anointed with the sunrise, like a queen, 
 That splendid city by the lake, whose waves 
 Were in their gentlest mood, and softly purred 
 Against the quiet shore, while eastward far, 
 It dimpled faintly, like the cheek of one 
 Who sleeps and dreams, and all unconscious smiles. 
 As shoreward surges an incoming tide, 
 
 96
 
 The refluent sea of life rolled cityward, 
 Like heart-blood swift returning on the heart, 
 And the long streets like shuddering arteries beat. 
 Now high in heaven pushed the golden sun, 
 And quiet fell upon the wide, fair streets, 
 Where smiled serene and stately in the sun, 
 With mutual congratulations, each 
 Upon the other, calm, complacent smiles, 
 The rich men's dwellings. Oh! the hearts of men 
 Mix with the city's brick and mortar. Aye, 
 And cry out of the pavements and the walls, 
 The things men strive to strangle out of sound. 
 
 This morning walked two children hand in hand, 
 
 Beside the gray sea wall, against which laughed 
 
 The happy little waves like gleeful babes, 
 
 And after them a woman meanly clad, 
 
 But with a gentle grace, meek, mournful eyes, 
 
 Gently beseeching, unresentful, yet 
 
 Mutely reproachful, like dumb creatures' -eyes; 
 
 A mouth 'round which a subtle sweetness lurked, 
 
 So sweet that all life's bitterness had failed 
 
 To make it bitter. Any one had said, 
 
 "The mother of both children, and the boy 
 
 Has seen eight summers, and his sister, ten." 
 
 Because the boy was small and slightly built, 
 
 With cheeks like lilies, bloomless, and with eyes 
 
 Like timid violets, and a wide, white brow 
 
 With tremulous blue veins crossed, and clinging 
 
 * waves 
 
 Of brown hair flowing 'round it; while the girl 
 
 97
 
 Betrayed in rounded limbs and ruddy cheeks, 
 In restless, raven curls and dark eyes' gleam, 
 How leaped the rosy tides of strong, sweet life, 
 Unchecked by pain or passion, through glad veins. 
 Twice gentle were her gentle words and ways, 
 As of an elder sister unto him, 
 But both were ten in that rare month of June, 
 >Vnd only Magia was the child of her 
 Who seemed a kindly mother unto both, 
 bweet Magia, who, like some flowers that bloom, 
 Though starved of dew and sunlight and soft showers, 
 Had kept her sweet life without blast or blight, 
 Defiant of all gloom and stagnant air. 
 
 Close where the river, reeking in its slime, 
 Crawls green and venom-breathing, like a snake, 
 Where virtue, life and love, and rent are low, 
 Lived Magia with her mother in a room 
 Bare of all luxury except the flow 
 Of bright, impartial sunlight, all untaxed, 
 Upon the spotless floor, and on a shelf 
 A few worn volumes. Here had Magia lived 
 A twelvemonth with her mother, whose white face 
 Was set with the strange patience of mute vows 
 Against the social order that compelled 
 Her to its cold embrace and forced her still 
 To please its idle humors, though divorced 
 Forever from it by its cruelty. 
 That mother had a secret in her eyes, 
 And kept her eyelids drooped to shut it in. 
 In vain the frowsy women of the house 
 
 08
 
 Had leered and jeered upon her, calling out 
 That the fine lady better get herself 
 A brown-stone front upon the avenue, 
 And live with the fine people like herself, 
 Too good to speak to poor folk; but she kept 
 Upon her quiet way, and paid no heed 
 To taunts of misery, or cold neglect 
 Of wealth and happiness, asked naught, gave naught, 
 Loved nothing but the little loving thing, 
 The sweet child Magia, before her eyes 
 Like a live picture of her fair, dead self. 
 Nor ever Magia played upon the street 
 With the thick swarms of children that poured out 
 From hive-like tenements, and cursed and quarreled, 
 Aping the older ones in perfect way, 
 But always dressed in bright and dainty clothes, 
 She played alone about the barren room. 
 No toys had little Magia to beguile 
 The long, long hours of childhood, for so far 
 The mother's heart was swept from that bright isle 
 Of fairy groves and grottoes and white rills, 
 By life's wild tempest, that she had forgot 
 The pretty, foolish fancies of a child. 
 But Magia needed nothing, for she watched 
 The white steam clouds upfloating, and she played 
 With gleaming suds, that from her mother's hands 
 Fell off like fairy snow in some rare clime 
 Produced by warm south wind and summer sun, 
 Or tried to break the golden lines of dust 
 Thridding the rays of sunlight, or else played 
 At gathering up the sunbeams from the floor, 
 
 99
 
 Or laughed to see the raindrops leap and dance 
 
 Upon the window sill, or even sometimes 
 
 Threw back her head and clasped her little hands, 
 
 And burst in peals of laughter long and sweet. 
 
 Whereat her mother faintly smiled and said, 
 
 "What pleases you, my Magia?" and the child, 
 
 In pauses of the music, out of breath, 
 
 Made answer, "There is something in me laughs." 
 
 It was the ecstasy of perfect life, 
 
 That like an angel leaped and clapped its wings 
 
 With sounds of rhythmic sweetness in the soul, 
 
 And silver bursts of laughter from the lips 
 
 That rippled unrestrainedly. 
 
 Never yet 
 
 Had Magia played with children, or exchanged 
 The pretty speech of childhood with a child. 
 But in the ceaseless flitting to and fro 
 Of souls from tenement to tenement, 
 Amid the toiling populace, like birds 
 That nest but for a season, in the spring 
 There came a noisy pair and took the room 
 Dingy and dismal at the long hall's end. 
 The pair had one pale child, a boy who grew 
 Too slowly and not strong or straight. Perchance 
 The mother, in a drunken stupor, dropped 
 The babe and jarred life's delicate machine 
 Out of its fine adjustment, after which 
 The wheels of life ran painfully, and jarred 
 Sometimes on one another. Oftentimes, 
 Through thin partitions came discordant sounds 
 Of drunken quarrels and scuffling, flying curse 
 
 100
 
 And flying missile, hideous laughter blent 
 With the low, piteous sobbing of a child. 
 
 One day when little Magia played alone 
 Within the soft May sunshine on the floor, 
 The din of blows and curses grew so fierce, 
 She gently set the door ajar and stood 
 Peering along the dim hall. Suddenly 
 The door flew wide, and with a piteous cry, 
 That like the frightened bleat of a lost lamb 
 On which the wolf has pounced with savage snarl, 
 Rang sharply down the passage, the pale child 
 Was flung out like a heap of rubbish, full 
 Against a ragged corner of the wall, 
 Which marked the white brow with a crimson gash. 
 Then little Magia's heart beat loud and fast, 
 Swelling with an emotion strange and new, 
 Like the inrush of waters warm and sweet 
 From newly opened fountains. 'Twas not joy 
 Nay, nor yet sorrow, but betwixt these two, 
 Tender and warm and sweet and undefined, 
 Like mist 'twixt clouds and sunshine a May morn 
 Divinest pity. Swift as summer breeze 
 Through grassy lane, fled Magia down the hall, 
 And flung her dimpled arms around the boy. 
 As if an angel, stooping to her ear, 
 Whispered the heavenly prompting, Magia cried, 
 "Come, little brother, come and live with me. 
 You shall play with my sunbeams, and shall have 
 The half of all my good things." Then she drew 
 Him unresisting through the open door 
 
 101
 
 Into the soft May sunshine, and she told 
 Him all the bright things in her little life 
 Her sunshine and her snow-flakes and her rain, 
 And how upon one day in all the week, 
 If nature lent one bright in all the seven, 
 Her mother took her to the cool, green park, 
 And told her wondrous tales, or read to her 
 Out of some bcok. He might go with them now. 
 So Magia prattled till the pallid mouth 
 Began to curve and quiver with the light 
 Of an approaching smile, as a spring flower, 
 Chilled by the night-wind, trembles with the glow 
 Of an approaching sunbeam. Then he laughed, 
 And startled by the music hid his face; 
 But Magia leaped with rapture at the sound. 
 Which changed at once the simple melody 
 Of her own childish laughter evermore 
 To double-toned, deep sweetness, never more 
 The single note, but ever the complex chord. 
 She tried to pull the fragile hands apart, 
 That, like the petals of a folded bud, 
 Unwilling to be parted, tightly clung, 
 And being stronger, forced the delicate palms, 
 And gathered up her lips into a kiss. 
 But he sat unresponsive, knowing not 
 Whatever a kiss could mean. Then, like a flash, 
 An angel intuition, a warm glow 
 Of the May sunshine from the hills of heaven, 
 It broke on Magia's soul, the strange perhaps, 
 That when the angels taught this little soul 
 The alphabet of heaven that it must learn 
 
 102
 
 To fit it for the world, they had forgot 
 
 The happy angel instinct of a kiss. 
 
 And so she taught him what it seemed to her 
 
 The angels had forgotten its sweet lore, 
 
 Its fashion and its meaning. As he heard, 
 
 His eyes with wisdom and with wonder grew, 
 
 And in their far blue depths crept up a light, 
 
 A shining like the dawn upon the lake, 
 
 And kindled like a sunrise in the soul. 
 
 A shadow on the happy sunlight fell; 
 
 A discord crossed the harmony of speech, 
 
 And Magia's mother, with rebuking words, 
 
 Frowning upon the strange child, bade him go. 
 
 But Magia clung about her mother's neck 
 
 With passionate pleadings, while the stranger hid 
 
 His frightened white face in the crimson folds 
 
 Of little Magia's skirt. Meanwhile she told 
 
 His pitiful story, and the mother bent, 
 
 Uncovered the stained brow, and gently asked, 
 
 "What might your name be?" 
 
 "Manley!" 
 
 "Manley what?" 
 
 "Manley Marcellus." "Stay," the mother said, 
 "Stay till they seek you." Lo, a woman's shriek, 
 Unto a two-edged sharpness terror-whet, 
 Pierced through the thin walls of the startled house, 
 And for a fresh sensation famishing, 
 Thither the people flocked, like clamorous birds 
 About a carcass, finding what they craved 
 A woman reeking in her own warm blood, 
 And, crouching on the floor, his crazy brain 
 
 103
 
 Sobered by shock of his own violent deed, 
 
 The man, the woman's mate, clutched in his hand 
 
 A knife red with the same blood. After that, 
 
 The inquest and the trial, and one day 
 
 A man was hung for murder, late in June, 
 
 Wife-murder. All was done, done and passed by, 
 
 Leaving upon the restless social sea 
 
 No firmer impress than a stone far cast 
 
 Upon the heaving bosom of the lake, 
 
 And no one sought the child, or paused to ask 
 
 If child had been. 
 
 So little Manley stayed, 
 
 And Magia's heart was brimmed with new delight, 
 Believing he was hers to keep and guard; 
 Because a noble nature, being twice strong, 
 And yet twice tender, joys to spend itself 
 In loving service and sweet sacrifice, 
 Yearns to be leaned upon, and to uphold. 
 "A year this June day," little Magia said, 
 "Since little brother came!" The mother smiled 
 And answered, "It shall be a holiday." 
 And so the children played among the trees 
 Of one cool gree.n oasis left by men 
 In the great city desert of blank stone. 
 Often, as they were clambering up a knoll 
 Or flight of steps, she reached her hand to him, 
 To her it was so natural to help. 
 They sometimes rested by the mother's knees 
 And listened to some story they would weave 
 Into their own bright world. So when they heard 
 The old Norse legend how the world was wrought 
 
 104
 
 Out of a mighty giant's frame they lay 
 
 And watched the white-cloud-brains drift lazily 
 
 In the great skull that formed the heaven's blue. 
 
 vault, 
 And guessed what lightning thoughts and thunder 
 
 dreams 
 
 Were hidden in their white folds; wondered too 
 If the blue lake that once had been his blood 
 Still quivered with his pulse's ebb and flow. 
 So, like a snow-flake from the hills of time, 
 Melted that June day quickly out of sight. 
 
 Now as the golden sun was falling fast, 
 And they were drawing figures on the sand, 
 A flock of noisy children, whose young lips 
 Were deft with curses as with sugar-plums, 
 Thither came thronging at the sunset hour. 
 A splendid mastiff, like a tawny lion, 
 Bounded among them. One had brought a stick, 
 And waving it on high, cried, "Fetch it, Jack!" 
 And flung it far as his young arm could throw. 
 Into the shining water, lo! a splash, 
 And a dark form amid the white caps plunged, 
 And struck out like a swimmer skilled and strong. 
 A breathless silence reigned upon the shore, 
 Unbroken till a wild, triumphant shout 
 Greeted the noble swimmer as he leaped 
 All dripping from the foam, with stick in mouth, 
 Shaking his shaggy sides till showers of spray 
 Scattered the laughing children right and left. 
 Then Manley, with his blue eyes luminous, 
 
 105
 
 His little heart with boyish rapture swelled, 
 
 Clapped his small hands and shouted with delight. 
 
 A boy with heavy frame and shaggy locks, 
 
 With dull, unthinking face that spoke a heart 
 
 More brute than human, such a heart as finds 
 
 No pleasure half so sweet as giving pain, 
 
 Pointed his finger at the child and cried, 
 
 "The hunchback! ha! the hunchback!" Came a rush 
 
 Of scarlet to the pale face from the heart, 
 
 And swift returning on the heart again, 
 
 A twofold whiteness left in the white face. 
 
 Her dark eyes gathering lightning Magia stood; 
 
 Her red cheeks gathering crimson, then she sprang 
 
 Upon the cruel boy and bore him down ; 
 
 Her dimpled knee upon his chest, she rained 
 
 The hot blows fast and fierce about his head, 
 
 The rest, delighted by the novel sport, 
 
 Shouted and clapped their hands and cheered her 
 
 on, 
 
 Jeering their fallen comrade lustily. 
 I think she would have killed him, but a cry, 
 A sweet, pathetic, passionate, pleading cry, 
 Sounded above the tumult, "Magia!" 
 Then quickly Magia sprang to Manley's side, 
 And with their arms about each other twined, - 
 They passed from sight amid the waving trees, 
 Amid the loud applause and cruel taunt, 
 "Whipped by a girl! " hurled at the fallen foe. 
 They sat themselves upon a grassy knoll 
 And Magia raised a flushed and eager face: 
 "Say, did I grieve you, brother, was I wrong? 
 
 100
 
 Speak to me, little brother, was I wrong?" 
 But Manley answered nothing, in his face 
 The solemn revelation-light of pain, 
 Revealer of mysterious depths of life. 
 
 Behold the soul is born in a deep sleep, 
 
 A calm unconsciousness of life and time, 
 
 But Fate, or an appointed angel, sets 
 
 And winds up the alarm which, at the hour, 
 
 Peals sharp and shrill across the brain. The soul 
 
 Awakes, starts up, and knows that it has slept. 
 
 Some are awakened in the early dawn, 
 
 When stars are faint, and morning is not yet. 
 
 They rise alone amid the dim and chill 
 
 And hear the quiet breathing of the souls 
 
 That still are sleeping. So on that June day 
 
 The soul of Manley heard its rude alarm, 
 
 And started up half blind with light, and deaf 
 
 With strange confusion, like one suddenly, 
 
 From cold, mute space swept in upon the sun. 
 
 Seeing the revelation in his face, 
 
 But understanding nothing, Magia lay, 
 
 Her cheek against his hand, until at last 
 
 The mother sought and found them lying there, 
 
 Like a fresh rose and lily on the grass. 
 
 "We're tired playing," Magia sweetly said, 
 
 Forestalling questions, and they rose and went. 
 
 107
 
 PART II 
 SLAVERY 
 
 It was the hour of moonrise, and the moon 
 Lay like a silver island of the blest, 
 Without a ripple on its peaceful shores. 
 Then Magia and Manley sat and spoke 
 In quiet whispers, while the mother slept, 
 Who lay half stricken by a dread disease, 
 As if death, like an executioner, 
 Striking with tremulous hand but half achieved 
 His fatal task. Near by the children sat, 
 And 'round them fell the moonlight soft as sleep, 
 And bright as down dropped from an angel's breast. 
 Said Magia, "Little brother, I will go, 
 And earn our bread and clothes, for I am strong." 
 Then Manley's pale cheek flushed, and in his voice 
 Was the soft quivering sound of unshed tears: 
 "Call me not little brother; / am strong. 
 I will go with you, Magia, and work too. 
 I will not, like a baby, stay at home." 
 As if their soft words pierced her fragile dream, 
 The sleeper stirred, and stretched her one live hand, 
 Clasping the children's clasped hands fast in hers: 
 "Ah, what is virtue? Is it not the strength 
 By which we stand steadfast against the wrong? 
 The slender cord which never felt a strain, 
 And never snapped, shall it be counted strong, 
 The while the splendid anchor that has stood 
 
 108
 
 A century of mighty tug and strain, 
 
 Yet breaks at last and wrecks the gallant ship, 
 
 Is counted weak? Hark, my sweet Magia 
 
 White as thy thoughts so shall thy garments be. 
 
 Yes, if thy thoughts be pure, then shalt thou pass 
 
 Through all pollution unpolluted. Yea, 
 
 As fire unto asbestos, unto thee 
 
 Will all corruption be. Even more thy touch 
 
 Will purify the vileness, and thy robes, 
 
 Gleaming with threefold whiteness from the filth, 
 
 Come shaming the mock purity of those 
 
 Who sit in high, clean places. Magia, go, 
 
 You and your brother; earn us bread and clothes. 
 
 I still have one strong hand to serve myself, 
 
 And make and mend the garments for you both." 
 
 So Magia and Manley, hand in hand, 
 Upon the scorching stones went up and down, 
 From street to street, to factories, stores and shops, 
 Asking for work. Most often there was none, 
 But sometimes Magia's rosy, dimpled face 
 That, like a flower washed in the morning dew, 
 Which neither heat nor cold had power to wilt, 
 Would make one turn and look again and say, 
 "We may have room for you, but- not for him." 
 "He is my brother," Magia sweetly said, 
 "And we must work together. Thank you, sir." 
 Then Magia's dimpled fingers tightlier twined 
 Through Manley's, and they meekly went their way, 
 Until at last they found a place for both. 
 
 109
 
 Then Magia and Manley, hand in hand, 
 Went into serfdom meekly, joyously. 
 And all day long, amid the jostling throng 
 That steamed with summer heat, and filled the air 
 With stifling odors, mingled with the scent 
 Of mold and mildew from the damaged stuff 
 The eager rabble, wrangling over, dragged 
 Hither and thither, drawn like silly moths 
 By flaming lies which promised something fine 
 For foolish prices, only to be burned, 
 And still be drawn again, again be burned 
 All day amid the ceaseless din of gain 
 And bargain, iri the fierce electric glare, 
 Ever the little feet fled up and down. 
 And everywhere the sweet child Magia came, 
 Her face a blossom brimmed with morning sun, 
 Like flickering sunbeams on the pallid lips 
 Of other little serfs, broke timid smiles, 
 For there was morning dew upon her brow, 
 A dream of mountain sunshine in her eyes; 
 The summer wind breathed in her restless curls; 
 Each motion was a hint of rustling leaves, 
 Her laugh the echo of a waterfall. 
 Oft when the tall slave-driver's searching eyes 
 Were turned another way, although they seemed 
 To look all ways at once sharp, baleful eyes, 
 Deep set in hueress cheeks, like embers burned 
 Low, and half buried in gray ashes, then, 
 If little Magia saw a fragile child 
 Beneath a beastly burden staggering, 
 She sprang and lent her young arm's dimpled strength 
 
 110
 
 To bear the heavy burden to its place; 
 She, being so fleet and light of foot, regained 
 Quickly all time thus lost in loving deeds. 
 So there are hearts that live too fast for time, 
 And fill with kindly deeds and helpful words, 
 The golden interstices up, which lie 
 Between the lazy minutes. 
 
 Bessie drooped 
 
 Her shining head until the yellow curls, 
 Falling low forward, veiled her face and eyes, 
 That none might see her weeping. Then she wept, 
 For Bessie's mother was but two days dead. 
 The tears fell flashing through the yellow hair, 
 Like rain through sunshine. Magia turned aside, 
 And kissed the tender eyelids dripping wet 
 Like leaves with summer showers, the pallid cheBk 
 Like a red rose washed white with too much rain. 
 Around them gathered soon an eager group 
 Of pitying children, when a sudden crack, 
 Like dry sticks struck together in the air, 
 Caused them to leap and startle like wild fawns 
 Scared from the thicket, flying fleet and far. 
 Fast the pursuer followed, and he smote 
 His dry palms as he drove the frightened flock 
 Before him. 
 
 Ever through the twice long days 
 The brave child Magia kept a loving watch 
 Over her fragile brother, guarding him 
 From wrong and insult, sometimes helping him 
 Perform some task too heavy for his strength, 
 When she could do it slyly. When he lost 
 
 111
 
 The pennies saved for noontide bread and tea, 
 
 She gave him hers and said, without a blush, 
 
 "I found them, brother, where you let them fall;" 
 
 And to her own pure conscience answering said, * 
 
 "Because I am so strong, and he so frail." 
 
 Oh, white deceit of angels, falsehood fair, 
 
 Oh, generous lie that shames the selfish truth! 
 
 Use is the grace and glory of the world. 
 
 Justice and honor, truth and purity, 
 
 Are merged in one white splendor human use; 
 
 And many a lie has had so white a soul, 
 
 And worn such beautiful garments of chaste love, 
 
 That the cold, naked, unavailing truth 
 
 Has humbly bowed herself and kissed its feet, 
 
 As, like an angel beautifully clothed 
 
 And loftily crowned, it came from the soul's height, 
 
 Serving divinest purposes. For naught 
 
 Is ever good or evil in itself. 
 
 The purpose is the spirit and the power. 
 
 In the white hand of purity all things 
 
 Which men have deemed unchaste, turned to chaste 
 
 ends, 
 Glisten with angel grace and purity. 
 
 The air was heavy with the August heat, 
 
 And sickening exhalations from the throng. 
 
 She saw him tugging at a heavy sack 
 
 That would have taxed a strong man's strength that 
 
 day, 
 
 His blue eyes straining wide, the purple veins 
 Large on his forehead, where the drops of pain 
 
 112
 
 And weakness gathered, his pale lips apart, 
 
 His delicate nostrils quivering. Suddenly 
 
 A crimson jet burst from them and splashed down 
 
 Upon the white hands. Magia reached his side, 
 
 Careless of angry word or ugly frown, 
 
 And lent her tender strength to move the weight. 
 
 As if a rude wind hurled a naked bough 
 
 From some dead tree, and smote her tingling cheek, 
 
 It reddened with a sudden angry blow: 
 
 "Who bade you do his work? Go mind your own. 
 
 If he's not able, we will send him home 
 
 To help his mother. Get to business, girl!" 
 
 Then Manley's eyes were full of flash and fire. 
 
 Like a poor little bird, confused and stunned, 
 
 That dashes blindly at a blank stone wall, 
 
 He would have beat his life out on the man, 
 
 But Magia clasped his trembling hands and said, 
 
 "It didn't hurt me, brother, do not mind." 
 
 And, smiling at him, darted through the throng, 
 
 As if a sunbeam fled along the world, 
 
 Forgotten by the setting sun, nor chilled, 
 
 Nor dimmed, nor frightened by the shades of night. 
 
 "I wish I could have killed him, Magia," 
 He said at night, while Magia, like a bird, 
 Flew here and there, and made the little room 
 With cleanliness and order blossom forth. 
 And Manley followed her, where'er he could 
 Lending a helping hand. "Oh ! that is wrong. 
 Perhaps he only did what he was bid." 
 "But, Magia, I think there are two ways 
 
 113
 
 Of doing every duty one that's sweet 
 
 And one that's hard and bitter. The sweet way 
 
 Will make our duty sweet to every one. 
 
 The hard way, hard to others, though to us 
 
 It have the pleasure of a duty done." 
 
 "Sweet Magia, " the mother said, and reached 
 
 Her feeble hand to twist a live, bright curl 
 
 That seemed to breathe and stir on Magia's brow, 
 
 "Come smooth my pillow; kiss me; that is sweet. 
 
 Each night I look at you and smile to see 
 
 Your cheeks are no less dimpled, round and red. 
 
 But even plants that flourish in the dark 
 
 Must have the air. The breeze is from the lake; 
 
 The night is sweet and cool; the stars are bright. 
 
 Go with your brother out and breathe the air." 
 
 "O mother, I would rather stay with you. 
 
 To morrow we will go a half hour soon, 
 
 And see the sun upon the lake and breathe 
 
 The pure wind blowing from it washed in foam. " 
 
 So in accord with Magia's word they went. 
 
 She tossed her curls back toward the morning sun, 
 
 And waved her dimpled arms and leaped and 
 
 laughed: 
 
 "See, Manley, how I run to meet the spray. 
 O brother, what a lovely world it is! " 
 "Yes, Magia, if people were but kind!" 
 "If we are kind and good, why should it mar 
 The beauty of the world when men are bad?" 
 "If people have been wicked or unkind, 
 It takes the golden color from the sun, 
 And makes the bluest sky look dull and gray." 
 
 114
 
 "O brother, it is never so to me. 
 
 If people have been cruel, then I look 
 
 At the sweet sunlight; that is always kind. 
 
 The sky is pure; the stars are always true; 
 
 They fill me with sweet comfort." 
 
 "Magia, 
 
 Nature is sometimes wicked and unkind. 
 She often hurts us or else those we love. " 
 
 The long and beauteous autumn by the lake 
 Had passed away. With loud and blustering breath 
 The winter came up howling from the sea, 
 Clipping the' days' bright locks with frosty shears. 
 Through all the morning little Manley drooped. 
 At noontime Magia turned and saw him climb 
 With slow and painful steps the long, steep stairs. 
 Unmindful of the printed card which hung 
 Upon the wall, prohibiting the "cash" 
 From taking hands when climbing up the stairs, 
 She turned and clasped her brother's hand in hers, 
 And so they climbed together, hand in hand. 
 At top of stairs a sharp glance pierced her through, 
 And held her trembling like a humming-bird 
 Upon a tyrant's bodkin: "If you please," 
 Said Magia sweetly, "brother is not well." 
 The thin lips of the overseer laughed, 
 A laugh that crackled like a burning brier: 
 "Is that our business, brazen, insolent girl? 
 We do not keep a sanitarium. 
 
 You've been transgressing long enough. Now take 
 Your brother home and nurse him." His pale lips 
 
 115
 
 Curled slowly backward from his gleaming teeth, 
 Like sneering waves that curl back from white rocks 
 Where they have wrecked brave ships. 
 
 So up and down 
 
 Went Magia and Manley, hand in hand, 
 Through the long streets, the bitter, biting wind 
 Driving them to and fro like tufts of down. 
 And often they were rudely turned away, 
 And often, looking at the rosy face 
 Of little Magia, one would say, "Perhaps 
 We have a place for you, but not for him." 
 "He is my brother," Magia sweetly said, 
 "We must have work together." So they went 
 Until the gray wings of the winter eve 
 Began to early fold, and then they came 
 To a great factory where cloaks were made. 
 Here was a place for both the boy and girl. 
 Here Magia sat and sewed the long day through, 
 While Manley stood and pressed the finished work. 
 The room was large and low and faintly lit, 
 And here the little slave girls sat all day, 
 Patient and pale, their pretty heads bent low, 
 Almost against the work upon their knees, 
 Straining to see the stitches as they sewed. 
 The air was thick with dust and lint, and scent 
 Of many colored dyes, and tainted breaths. 
 The din of flying shuttles, and the click 
 Of busy needles, and the roar of wheels, 
 Made up the long monotony of sound. 
 No happy speech or innocent laughter struck 
 A chord of sweetness through the loud discord, 
 
 116
 
 For silence was the iron law, unless 
 
 The overseer with the plump, pink cheeks 
 
 And silken brown mustache, and locks that curled 
 
 In hyacinthine beauty 'round his brow, 
 
 Was called to leave his post unsentineled; 
 
 Then Rosy straightened up her flaxen head 
 
 And crooked little shoulders, while she hummed 
 
 An old hymn tune or ballad of the street. 
 
 Once Bertha leaned her arms on Magia's knees, 
 
 Saying, "You will not keep red cheeks like that, 
 
 If you stay in the Slave Hole. I work hard, 
 
 And only earn enough to pay the rent, 
 
 Nothing for shoes. See how my toes peep out. 
 
 They'd like to gnaw the flesh off of our bones, 
 
 Then keep the bones for making penny soup. 
 
 Say, Magia, tell me, do you think God knows 
 
 About the Slave Hole? Do you think he cares 
 
 About our backaches?" 
 
 "Surely," Magia said, 
 Uplifting the fresh blossom of her face, 
 Brimmed with the happy sunlight of a smile, 
 Its calyx of dark ringlets falling back, 
 "Why else I see no use of all the world. 
 Why should the flowers eat sunlight and drink dew, 
 The sky and sea change colors hour by hour, 
 The winds and waves make music, but for us? 
 And why for us unless God cares? I think 
 There must be flights of angels every day 
 From heaven to earth, and back again to heaven, 
 To bring us good and carry back our needs." 
 Then Rosy laughed and kicked her ragged shoes: 
 
 117
 
 "What good are angels loafing rourid in heaven, 
 
 Playing on harps? I wish they'd come and sew 
 
 One of my shoes and patch the other. Ho! 
 
 They ought to substitute a little while 
 
 In Slave Hole, and give us poor souls a turn 
 
 At the green fields and streams of Paradise." 
 
 Said Bertha, leaning still on Magia's knees, 
 
 "I wish they'd come and sew this facing on, 
 
 My back aches so, and let me rest an hour." 
 
 "Oh! let me play at angel for a while, 
 
 And sew it on!" the sweet child Magia cried. 
 
 "And what of your work, Magia? Don't you know 
 
 They pay by piece in Slave Hole, not by time?" 
 
 "Oh, when Pm working for myself, I work, 
 
 But when I work for others, then I play. " 
 
 Still went the days, and still the roses lived 
 
 In Magia's cheek, nor seemed to fade or droop. 
 
 As if the brave persistence of their bloom 
 
 Angered the pink-cheeked overseer, he seized 
 
 Each cruel chance to give her a harsh word, 
 
 Rebuke her if her eyes were off her work, 
 
 Or rudely bid her rip the long day's task. 
 
 And once his fat, white fingers clutched her curls, 
 
 And forced the small head toward the trembling 
 
 knees. 
 
 Grasping the pretty shoulders with both hands, 
 He crushed them rudely forward, crying, "Jade, 
 You cannot do your work and sit so straight." 
 The brave child Magia uttered not a word, 
 Although her heart was bleeding. For herself 
 Another master miVht have soon been found,
 
 For she had willing hands and strong, swift feet, 
 But Manley was so frail 'twas hard to find 
 Another place for him, and for his sake 
 She could bear any wrong or cruelty. 
 
 All day the dull sound of the iron smote 
 On Magia's tender heart, and oftentimes 
 When there was no one standing sentinel, 
 She slipped away and stood in Manley's place, 
 Pushing the heavy iron to and fro 
 Amid the clouds of vapor, while he tried . . , ' 
 To rest his weary arms and aching back. 
 The little Rosy shaped her pretty lips 
 To make a low, peculiar sound, which served 
 As danger signal, when the foe approached, 
 Which, Magia hearing, bird-like, noiseless flew 
 Into her place and bent above her work. 
 And now the April days returned the days 
 Of tearful sunshine and of sunny showers. 
 A flaxen head was missing: "Where is Rose?" 
 The whisper ran, "She's sick. " Her place was filled, 
 As wave succeeds to wave, and no one seeks 
 The little wave that ran along the shore 
 And sparkled in the sun an hour ago. 
 As Magia stood upon a sweet, warm day, 
 Pressing a heavy garment, Manley cried, 
 His blue eyes full of pleading, "Do not stay. 
 There's no one now to warn you. I am strong." 
 "O brother, see the drops upon your face, 
 And I am tired sitting all day long." 
 While Magia spoke, a rude hand grasped her arm, 
 
 119
 
 And flung her back so hard against the wall, 
 
 She staggered, dizzy with the sudden shock, 
 
 Nor the loud words of harsh dismissal heard. 
 
 But Manley put his little hand in hers, 
 
 And drew her forth into the gentle rain 
 
 That fell upon their young heads like soft tears 
 
 Out of the tender but unclouded sky, 
 
 As from a gracious blue eye pity-dim. 
 
 So fell a gentle rain on Manley's cheeks, 
 
 Out of the tender blue of his own eyes. 
 
 "Dear .little brother, tell me why you weep." 
 
 "You are so kind you hurt me, Magia. " 
 
 "I would not hurt you, not for all the world." 
 
 "I know it, Magia, but you do forget 
 
 That brave 'hearts find it sweeter to give help 
 
 Than to receive it. Always being helped, 
 
 And never helping, makes a brave heart sick." 
 
 "Dear brother, they who love well never know 
 
 How much or in what ways they help, because 
 
 By nature, as our breathing, it is done. " 
 
 But Magia saw he was not comforted. 
 
 They found that day a place called "Little Hell" 
 By the poor slaves who toiled there through long 
 
 hours 
 
 Beneath the unlashed eyeball of the sun. 
 Here Magia restrained her heart and hands 
 From offices of love: "I have been dull," 
 She whispered to her heart, "not to have seen 
 That even kindness sometimes has a sting." 
 Now when the summer sat upon her throne, 
 
 120
 
 Mantled in dust and fire, and the blue. sky 
 Was like a furnace roof, and the blue lake 
 Was like a furnace floor from which hot blasts 
 Were belched into the city, came a day 
 When little Manley wilted like a flower, 
 And white and gasping fell upon the floor, 
 And the command was given to bear him off 
 And lay him on a heap of dirty rags 
 Behind a door that shut off any breath 
 Of languid air that might have chanced to breathe 
 Across his forehead. Magia, at her work, 
 Heard something of the momentary stir, 
 And turning, missed her brother from his place. 
 She fled away to seek him. Bending low, 
 She bathed his face with water from a cup 
 And tears from her full eyelids: "Brother, wake! 
 W T hy do you sleep so strangely? Brother, wake!" 
 And presently, as when a light wind stirs 
 Between the leaves of a white rose, his lids 
 Quivered and parted, and his pale lips smiled: 
 "I've only earned a dollar every week. 
 How weak I am to faint and earn but that! " 
 "Why, Manley, I have never earned but two, 
 But there's no need of buying coal, you know; 
 God keeps up such hot fires in the sun, 
 And we can make three dollars last a week." 
 "Here, damn you! get to work! It's bad enough 
 To have one bag of bones upon the floor," 
 Roared like the wind a voice in Magia's ear. 
 A pair of lurid eyeballs glared on her. 
 The brave child Magia simply answered him: 
 
 121
 
 "I will not leave my brother; he is sick. 
 You are the crudest man in all the world." 
 "Take the sick kitten home and nurse him there, 
 And see you do not bring him here again." 
 "O Magia, how strong and brave you are!" 
 Spoke Manley, leaning sweetly on her arm, 
 For brave hearts sometimes find it sweet to lean. 
 "I've read in books and sometimes heard men say 
 That girls are weak and timid, but I think 
 That when God tries to make a woman brave, 
 She has an angel courage that outdares 
 The noisy valor and brute force of men." 
 Spoke Magia softly, "Yes, I know men say 
 That girls are weak and fearful, but somehow 
 I think we're made of the same stuff as men. 
 What is there noble that a man dare do, 
 I dare not do, if there be need of it? 
 I am afraid of nothing in the world, 
 Except of being ungenerous or unkind, 
 Or doing anything which is untrue." 
 And so they talked together as they took, 
 Seeking the shadows, their slow homeward way. 
 
 Now brought the peaceful autumn sunnier days 
 Unto the little slaves. They having found 
 A kinder master, and being older grown, 
 Performed their work with more efficient hands, 
 And wiser heads by harsh experience trained. 
 And Magia grew and blossomed day by day, 
 As lithe and strong and slender as a plant 
 That has sweet tutelage of sun and wind, 
 
 122
 
 All gentle ministry of rain and dew, 
 And the rich sustenance of fertile soil; 
 And Manley, growing too, though slowlier, 
 Increased in stature and in thews of limb, 
 And on his cheek there came a faltering flush. 
 According as the body slowly grows, 
 Ofttimes the soul grows fast, too strong and fast. 
 Years make not old, but sorrow; one night's frost, 
 And lo! the delicate bloom of youth is gone. 
 So grew the soul of Manley strong and fast. 
 He thought as men do, felt as men do, .lived 
 In fifteen years as much as most men do 
 In twice fifteen. And strangely stirred his blood, 
 As the deep mysteries of human life 
 Broke on his dazzled being, and his heart 
 Began to start and flutter at the touch 
 Of Magia's hand, the music of her voice. 
 Her grace was in the motion of the trees, 
 Her laughter in the rippling of the waves, 
 Her smile gleamed in the starlight, and he said, 
 "I will not call her 'sister' by and by, 
 But only 'Magia,' and then and then 
 I'll call her 'sweetheart,' oh! and then and then 
 I'll call her 'wife.'" And so he dreamed a dream, 
 And lived in it until the present grew 
 Misty and dim about him. Many souls 
 Thus live in moonlight, melancholy, sweet, 
 Of a to-morrow that is ever lit 
 By the reflected light of some bright orb 
 Of unseen happiness that shines afar. 
 Love is a bird that comes to every heart, 
 
 123
 
 Each in its season, to some soon, some late, 
 
 To wake the deep recesses with its thrills 
 
 Of tuneful song, to stir the yet green leaves 
 
 Of promise, gather up the scattered shreds 
 
 Of faded joys and tufts of soft dream-down 
 
 From long-forsaken pillows, bear them up 
 
 Into the sunlight, and green boughs of hope, 
 
 To build of them a nest in which to brood 
 
 The snowy dream-eggs of new life and song. 
 
 So early came the bird to Manley's heart, 
 
 Filling its ^depths with melody; the while 
 
 Dwelt Magia in the sunlight of to-day, 
 
 In childhood's slumberous, sweet unconsciousness 
 
 Of pain and passion. And so flowed the years, 
 
 Another and another and another, 
 
 Until it seemed that they would flow on so 
 
 Forever and forever and forever. 
 
 But down the aisle one morning passed a youth, 
 Giving command on either hand like one 
 Clothed with authority. His curls were brown 
 As the ripe nuts of autumn, and his eyes 
 Of one tint with his curls. His lips were red 
 As ripe twin berries, lithe his form and straight, 
 And eloquent with motion, and his smile 
 Was such a one as being meant for none, 
 Yet seemed bestowed on each particular face 
 With an especial sweetness. So he passed 
 Smiling on all wan faces, till he came 
 To Magia's counter, where he paused and gazed, 
 Then passed on, muttering beneath his breath, 
 
 124
 
 "By Jove, the prettiest face I ever saw!" 
 Upon the morrow morn he came and talked 
 About the pretty laces that she sold, 
 And said, "I think you have not slaved long thus 
 For little, in a dark and dingy place." 
 And Magia answered, smiling, "Five years, sir! " 
 "By Jove! I think those roses that you wear 
 The hardiest ever bloomed on maiden's cheek." 
 Each day he stood by Magia and leaned 
 His face down smiling, till the whisper ran, 
 "He has a lover's look for Magia." 
 And once he gently took her hand in his; 
 Her face was lifted glowing like a flower 
 On which a sudden gleam of sunlight falls. 
 She said within herself, "He likes me well, 
 And I am glad. 'Twas never so before. 
 It will be better for my brother now." 
 Late on an afternoon he passed and said 
 In a low, sudden whisper, bending down 
 Until his red lips seemed to touch her curls, 
 "Your books are wrong. Come back a little while 
 After the rest are gone, past six o'clock, 
 And I will show you where the error is." 
 So Magia, mutely wondering, took her way 
 Along the crowded highway to the bridge, 
 Then, smiling, turned, "My brother, do not wait, 
 For Mr. Grandville says my books are wrong, 
 And bids me come to have them straightened out." 
 He answered nothing, but the hot blood burned 
 Away the spirit whiteness of his brow. 
 He stood and leaned and watched a stately boat 
 
 125
 
 Puffing its slow way through the yawning bridge, 
 And pressed his hands together. Magia passed 
 Within the door, and stood to wait the will 
 Of him who bade her thither. When he came, 
 He swung the heavy door upon its hinge, 
 And turned the heavy key within its lock, 
 Then set his back against the door, meanwhile 
 Crossing his youthful arms and looked at her; 
 And in his look was something new and strange, 
 Something which burned and blighted, clothed her 
 
 cheek 
 
 With blushes for a shame which was not hers, 
 A shame she understood not blushes pure 
 For man's impurity, discerned afar 
 And faintly in the pure depths of her soul 
 Far off like smoke in an unclouded heaven; 
 And like some flowers by nature sweetly taught 
 To fold themselves away from human touch, 
 She gathered up herself into herself, 
 And with a shiver shut her eyelids down. 
 He said, "Your books are wrong, but there's a way 
 To set them right. I've helped the girls before." 
 Quickly the cherub innocence in her 
 Grew to a wise archangel, armed and strong. 
 She raised her fearless eyes and looked at him, 
 As if she looked upon a loathsome worm 
 That crawled upon a white fold of her dress, 
 And which she brushed off with a shuddering touch, 
 A shudder born of loathing and not fear; 
 And then she lifted up her little hand 
 With an imperious gesture, and he shrank 
 
 126
 
 And cowered, and again she raised her hand 
 With that imperious gesture, and he moved, 
 And like a serpent by an angel's eye 
 Charmed to her will, wide open set the door, 
 And stood aside, with eyes cast meekly down 
 In gentle reverence, to let her pass. 
 
 All night upon her pillow Magia tossed, 
 
 And reasoned with herself what course were wise. 
 
 "For if I go, my brother will go too, 
 
 And there's no likelihood that we can find 
 
 Another place so suited to his strength. 
 
 But if I stay and keep as still and pure 
 
 As snow upon a hidden mountain ledge, 
 
 What harm can come to me or any one?" 
 
 Upon the morrow morn a better place 
 Was made for Manley with increase of pay, 
 And Arthur Grandville, passing Magia's way, 
 Scarce looked at her, or if perchance he spoke 
 On necessary business, then his tone 
 Was low and full of gentle reverence. 
 But Manley's face was overcast with gloom. 
 And Magia said, "What is it I have done? 
 I have been over anxious to be kind, 
 Have helped him sometimes when there was no need 
 Forgetting kindness sometimes has a sting. 
 I will be wise and watchful after this." 
 So she restrained herself from helpful deeds 
 That were so natural, and asked instead, 
 "My brother, kindly bring me this, or that;" 
 
 127
 
 Or, "Brother Manley, help me with this task 
 
 I pray;" or, "Please to carry this for me." 
 
 Whereat he always flashed into a smile. 
 
 Once Magia came and laid a loving hand 
 
 On either shoulder, as she sometimes did, 
 
 And leaned her lips to his, her rich, warm lips. 
 
 The conscious color leaped into his cheeks; 
 
 He pushed her gently from him: "You forget 
 
 That you are not my sister, Magia; 
 
 There is no tie of blood between us two." 
 
 She started back in pale, large-eyed surprise: 
 
 "Ah! brother Manley, you forget that I 
 
 First taught you the sweet lesson of a kiss." 
 
 "Nay, Magia, I remember it so well 
 
 That it reminds me that there is no tie 
 
 Of blood between us two." She answered him 
 
 With lips that quivered, and with hands hard 
 
 clasped, 
 
 "Oh! there are sometimes gulfs as deep as hell 
 Between hearts bound as close as blood can bind, 
 While others, fettered by no natural ties, 
 Move side by side together through the world, 
 As we may often see two stars in heaven, 
 Bound by no visible cord, yet wandering on, 
 Brother and sister-like among the spheres. 
 Oh! kiss me, Manley; be my brother still!" 
 He leaned and kissed her then, and went away, 
 And laid himself upon the cool white sand, 
 And turned his pale face toward the cool green sea. 
 "Mad, foolish thought within a mad fool's brain 
 To dream that I could be a mate for her! 
 
 128
 
 I dreamed and waked not until yester morn, 
 
 When by an accident I saw us three 
 
 Reflected in a mirror. Did I say, 
 
 'An accident it seemed?' and yet it seemed 
 
 As if the hands of doom and destiny 
 
 Were laid upon my brow to make me turn 
 
 And logk upon the vision. There we stood, 
 
 They two together with their curls flung back. 
 
 Their cheeks were ripe with youth, and he so strong 
 
 And tall and lithe and bright and beautiful, 
 
 And she more bright and beautiful than he. 
 
 I stood apart so small and sad and pale, 
 
 With stooping shoulders and with slender limbs. 
 
 I saw the vision, and my heart leaped up, 
 
 I almost heard it cry out in my breast. 
 
 But I will love her still, and love her well, 
 
 As loves the sea the moon far off, far off, 
 
 And follows her forever 'round the world, 
 
 Crowning itself with jewels in her light, 
 
 Reflecting all her phases for I know 
 
 I shall be nobler loving one so pure; 
 
 And then and then love is not all of life. 
 
 I shall grow learned and good and wise and strong, 
 
 Winning an angel mastery o'er myself, 
 
 And do perhaps some great work in the world, 
 
 And men shall say, 'How good is it he lived!'" 
 
 The white moon like a fair young shepherdess, 
 Above him watched amid her starry flock, 
 Feeding on light as they moved tranquilly 
 Through the wide, dewy pastures of the skies. 
 
 129
 
 He rose and walked across the cool, white sands, 
 And turned into the street that homeward led. 
 
 NOTE: I am indebted to a series of articles in the Times for 1888, for some 
 of the incidents in Part II of this book. THE AUTHOR 
 
 PART III 
 REVOLT 
 
 "Sweet sister, let us rest upon our oars. 
 The evening flings his purple mantle wide, 
 And shows his starry girdle. Tell me, pray, 
 How many do you love in all the world?" 
 "My mother and my brother." 
 
 "None but these?" 
 
 "None other; I have no one else to love." 
 "And do you love me truly, Magia?" 
 "Whom should I love, my brother, if not you? 
 Who is so kind to me in all the world?" 
 "We do not always love those hearts the best 
 That beat most kindly toward us, and God knows 
 We cannot help it. Hearts are curious things. 
 But, sister, there's a thing that I would say. 
 I have not been a spy upon your ways, 
 But a fond brother's eyes are quick to see 
 What threats a sister's happiness, and I 
 Have marked how often Grandville takes your hand! 
 How low and tenderly he speaks to you! 
 And you are kind to him. I like it not, 
 Because I like him not; he is not true. 
 
 130
 
 I speak with reason; trust me, Magia. " 
 "If he but knew it is for love of him 
 That I am kind for most part but no, no! 
 I would not have him know for all the world, 
 For all the world and all the stars in heaven." 
 So Magia spoke in silence with herself, 
 And then aloud: "But surely it is good 
 To treat the sins of men with gentleness, 
 As you would treat a sickness of the flesh, 
 For are they not a sickness of the soul? 
 And heal them with the touch of purity 
 And truth and honor!" 
 
 "Sister Magia, 
 
 I oft have seen the black filth of the street 
 Smirch up the angel whiteness of the snow, 
 But I have never seen the purest snow 
 Convert the slime and vileness of the street 
 Into a snowy whiteness." 
 
 "But he's kind. 
 
 Shall kindness, brother, not be kindly met?" 
 "I say there is no honor in the world 
 That is not tarnished by expediency. 
 I say there is no kindness in the world 
 That does not bear the rust of selfishness. 
 To do the kindly act where lies the need, 
 In the first pure, virgin impulse of the heart, 
 Stead of where lies the earnest of reward, 
 Demands such calm, unbiased heights of love, 
 Sweet courage and brave purpose heights so far 
 Above the common levels of the world 
 That few have ever gained their starry peace. 
 
 131 *
 
 Do not our laws confess that men are brutes, 
 
 Incapable of noble self-restraint, 
 
 By licensing the brutish and the base 
 
 In human nature, making our great sins 
 
 Simply a little costlier than our less? 
 
 None is for the sweet sake of goodness, good, 
 
 Gaining an angel mastery of himself, 
 
 Without the fear of evil or the hope 
 
 Of profit." 
 
 "True, my brother, true, and yet, 
 Had all the angels sinned with Lucifer, 
 But one being leal and steadfast unto God, 
 By him is angelship made possible 
 In heaven forever, to angels after-born, 
 Redeeming angelhood. So Christ, being pure, 
 Made purity ever possible to men, 
 Redeeming mankind. Brother, it is true 
 That Circe boldly walks amid the throng, 
 And builds her palaces on every street, 
 Inviting men to enter and be swine, 
 And most men without blushing enter in. 
 But since I know my brother is heart-pure, 
 Untarnished by the baseness of the world, 
 Through him my heart will keep its faith in man." 
 He turned and looked upon her with a smile: 
 "Faith! faith in God, that is, in ultimate good, 
 Faith in humanity, in thine own soul 
 Of all the virtues faith's the fairest star 
 Of those that 'round the splendor of the soul, 
 Cluster and show its brightness, like the sun 
 Clasped by his shining rosary of worlds. 
 132
 
 Do you believe in me, my sister?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 "And in no other man?" 
 
 "None other." 
 
 "Thanks! 
 
 That is the sweetest tonic of my life." 
 Then they took up their oars, and silence reigned, 
 Except the silver clash of oar and wave, 
 And the soft kissing of the liquid lips 
 Of sleepless waters on the little skiff, 
 While many rays of starshine, softly blent, 
 Made a faint splendor, till the rising moon 
 Flung out a silver plank across the sea, 
 Like a fair ship unto her moorings come. 
 Then slowly shoreward moved the little boat, 
 And the sweet Sabbath rest was at an end. 
 Then after three nights Arthur Grandville came, 
 In all the fair assurance of bright youth, 
 And sat at Magia's feet, and bowed his head 
 Above her hands, and murmured, "Magia, 
 You are the sweet saint whose rebuking smile 
 Has curbed the youthful passion of my blood, 
 And waked the angel yearning in my breast 
 To stand beside you, pure as you, nay, more 
 For he who once has tasted sin, and been 
 A slave to passion and to appetite, 
 Then throttled both, and stood up brave and strong 
 And angel -pure, is more than angels are, 
 Who never have been tempted, nor have known 
 The witchery of passion. O beloved, 
 I never knew how lovely virtue was, 
 
 133
 
 How beautiful are purity and truth, 
 What joy to make our strongest passions slaves, 
 And lead them captive at the chariot wheels 
 Of some pure, conquering purpose, until you 
 Unveiled the mystic beauty unto me. 
 Deal kindly with me; I was never taught 
 That license is not liberty, nor yet, 
 By kindly circumstances nobly wrought. 
 For what we are, we are, not of ourselves, 
 But from the hissing crucible of life, 
 Poured out into the iron mold of things, 
 Stamped with the universe that is and was, 
 And all the long, long aeons. Magia, 
 Will you not come and help me to be good?" 
 "Sir, I can never love you, though I fain 
 Would help you to be pure. Pray loose my hands. 
 I cannot love you, and I pray you go." 
 "You shall not send me from you, Magia. 
 No, for your brother's sake you will not. Know 
 His comfort and promotion are with me." 
 "Is this the newly wakened angel's voice?" 
 Was Magia's low and sorrowful response. 
 "It is an infant angel, and its voice 
 Is but a plaintive, inarticulate cry. 
 It must be watched and nurtured tenderly." 
 "Sir, you are young and strong and beautiful; 
 Is there no other one to love you well?" 
 "There is a fair, sweet girl, with locks like rays 
 Of golden light about the brow of morn, 
 And she has loved me long and loved me well. 
 But if I love her not, what then, what then?" 
 
 134
 
 "I think we are too apt to lightly prize 
 Affections easily and always ours." 
 "You will not send me from you, Magia, 
 And strangle the new yearning in my breast? 
 You will be kind at least, and grant to me 
 One touch of your pure lips upon my own, 
 To be the inspiration of new hopes. 
 You would not feel its loss more than the sun 
 Would miss a little sunbeam going forth, 
 Laden with life for some despairing flower." 
 Then Magia wavered, arguing with herself, 
 "If I could do him good, and so bring good 
 Unto my brother, should I not do this?" 
 She said, "For his sake and for yours!" then stooped 
 And gently kissed him, and the little clock 
 Upon the mantel, sharp and shrill, struck nine; 
 And Manley passed before the open door, 
 Unseen, but seeing with wide, glittering eyes. 
 He fled into the night and seized a boat 
 And bending all his strength, rowed fast and far 
 Beyond the bar, then laid aside his oars, 
 And listened to the chuckling of the waves 
 That seemed to mock his sorrow, and he cried: 
 "I think, if death had taken her in his arms, 
 And kissed the mirth and music from her lips, 
 I think I could have kissed her eyelids then, 
 And her lips' richness with the rose-mist gone, 
 And her brow's marble with the thought-grace fled 
 The cold snow of her throat, her cheeks, her hands, 
 And whispered, 'O beloved, thou art missed, 
 But still thy memory lingers like a glow, 
 
 135
 
 An after-sunset splendor that will bridge 
 The darkness 'twixt the evening and the dawn 
 Of parting and of meeting. But to know 
 That she has stooped to baseness; that she is 
 Less noble than I thought her; that her heart 
 Is not the pure and perfect pearl I thought 
 Beat in her bosom, this is agony, 
 A thorn to which the mighty sting of death 
 Is as a tender rose. My heart, my heart, 
 How thou dost ache, being full of frozen tears, 
 Which yet will burst thee if thou dost not ease 
 Thyself by weeping or by utterance! 
 Have I not oft read poems quivering 
 With lovers' heart-beats, written to allay 
 Their secret heart-pain? I will write one too: 
 
 :i 'Twas not you that 1 loved, but an ideal that grew 
 
 in my brain, 
 
 Like a beautiful infant angel unconscious of pain, 
 Born of my heart and my brain, and nursed to its fill 
 At the rose-tinged, white bosom of Fancy through 
 
 long months, until 
 
 It stood up beautiful, strong, full-statured, complete 
 From radiant wing-tip to wing-tip, white forehead 
 
 to feet. 
 Then I searched till I found a woman's fair form to 
 
 enshrine 
 Most fitly my angel, then cried, 'Thou art mine! 
 
 thou art mine!' 
 
 Then I knelt, and I worshiped, and wept in a trans 
 port of bliss, 
 Till a voice, through the shock of events, cried 
 
 aloud, 'What is this? 
 Look, fool!' And I saw that the shrine had been 
 
 fractured; and lo, 
 
 136
 
 Through the flaw all the want and the weakness 
 were visible. Oh! 
 
 In anguish I learned that my shrine was not fit to 
 retain 
 
 My beautiful ideal; that I must receive it again. 
 
 If an angel leaned over the golden edge of yon star, 
 
 And motioned the spheres into silence, and whis 
 pered from far 
 
 That the music and splendor of heaven would make 
 full amend 
 
 For the discord and darkness of earth from begin 
 ning to end, 
 
 I think I should dare then to challenge his angelic 
 word; 
 
 I should laugh as I answered, 'Thou snow-plumed, 
 heavenly bird, 
 
 Escaped from God's palm trees of peace! O thou 
 star-crested dove, 
 
 What knowest thou of the human passion of love, 
 
 With its thrills and its anguish? Return to thy 
 bowers of bliss. 
 
 All heaven can never atone for an hour like this.'" 
 
 This does not ease my heartache. Oh! I would 
 That I could take up some sweet instrument, 
 And breathe myself out through its trembling strings! 
 For music is the language of those deep 
 Emotions that, too subtle even for thought, 
 Burst from the heart in sweet concordant sounds, 
 Breathing the yearning passion and the pain 
 That human speech is impotent to bear. 
 God, if thou hast an angel yet to spare, 
 Send him to comfort me. How vain I speak! 
 For prayer is but man's low wail of despair, 
 His infant cry of weakness, his complaint 
 Against the might and majesty of things. 
 
 137
 
 Lo, when I pray, see how the words drop back 
 
 Upon my burning heart, like meteors 
 
 Cast upward from the sun, to fall again 
 
 Into its seething bosom, or go forth 
 
 Into the darkness, and sink cold and dead. 
 
 Listen, my heart, thou never wilt grow strong, 
 
 Till thou hast learned to battle, and not cry, 
 
 'Help, help!' for there is none to give thee help. 
 
 Each thrids his night of agony alone, 
 
 Feels out sometimes to find a strong, bright soul 
 
 To lean on, thinks he finds one, tries to lean. 
 
 Alas! it fails him where he needs it most. 
 
 He learns 'tis easier to move upright, 
 
 Self-poised, self-balanced like a wheeling star 
 
 About his own soul's center. Magia, 
 
 Magia, do I not love thee still? 
 Can I forget all in one little hour, 
 
 Thy gentle tones, the sweet wine of thy lips, 
 And the perpetual daybreak on thy brow, 
 Thy gracious readiness to kindly deeds 
 Things woven into the tissues of my soul 
 By years of tender intercourse? No, no! 
 
 1 must unravel through slow months and years, 
 This shining thread from out the warp and woof 
 Of all my being, loving somewhat still. 
 
 Now will I hold myself aloof from men, 
 With just enough of contact to preserve 
 A kindly human warmth about the heart, 
 And make myself a world of love and truth, 
 Honor and purity, with noble thoughts, 
 And the great, gracious souls that dwell in books. 
 
 138
 
 I will not be a hermit, for I know 
 The world needs every pure life. A true man 
 Should have an upward and a downward reach, 
 One hand grip earth, the other grasp at heaven. 
 I never thought much of Saint Simeon, 
 Who let the pure life in him run to waste 
 On a grim pillar, cheating men of good." 
 So Manley, moving homeward, mused, and so, 
 Flushed with fresh resolution like new wine, 
 His heart beat lighter, and his lips half smiled 
 As Magia met him: "Brother, why so late?" 
 "My sister, wherefore do you wait for me?" 
 "Wherefore? and wherefore not, since you are sad? 
 Tell me your trouble; 1 will comfort you." 
 "Some sorrows, sister, must be borne alone." 
 "But there are heavy rings around your eyes. 
 You used not thus to talk, but ever spoke 
 Your griefs and troubles freely in my ear." 
 "Yes, children prattle, and I was a child. 
 If I feel strong, shall I make boast of it? 
 A boast is hateful in the sight of heaven ; 
 For, mark you, when you boast that anything 
 Is thus, or thus, according to your wish 
 The contrary will happen. If I say 
 'I have not slipped in this way for thus long,' 
 'I'm doubtless cured of this fault,' straight I slip; 
 Or if I say, 'This pain is vanquished quite,' 
 Straightway the dead nerve twinges, and I think 
 That silence is the badge of dignity. 
 In youth mind's golden center lieth bare, 
 But ripening years do shrine it in like leaves, 
 
 139
 
 Because we learn that there is none to help." 
 "God help you, brother, if I cannot." 
 
 "No, 
 
 God cannot help me; I must help myself. 
 For there is a divinity within, 
 A spirit and a power that compels 
 Us on and on to shape our destiny; 
 To wrestle godlike with the iron bands 
 Of social wrong, and of inevitable, 
 Cold, blind necessity of natural laws, 
 That, riveted upon the rocks of time, 
 Would hold us down forever and forever, 
 The while above us, upon eagle wings, 
 Our aspirations, hovering, ascend 
 And descend, feeding on our beating hearts." 
 Then Magia clasped her hands upon her brow, 
 And answered very slowly, reverently: 
 "I know not if there be what men call God, 
 A power divine, external to ourselves, 
 That guides the arm of Justice when she strikes, 
 And through the vast unmeaning of men's ways 
 Weaves out sublimest purpose; but somehow, 
 There is an inward faith, a conscious rest 
 On something constant in the whirl of change, 
 A power divine that makes the right to win, 
 And on the beautiful feet of goodness, swift 
 And sure, makes good to follow. " Magia paused, 
 And Manley turned the sorrow of his eyes 
 Upon the eager beauty of her face: 
 "Each act of ours will have its sure result. 
 Deceive, and you will have deception's fruits. 
 
 140
 
 Be sure no angel stands behind our deeds 
 
 To gather up the tangled ends we leave, 
 
 And weave them into beautiful designs. 
 
 And what we are, we are because we will. 
 
 The stern, invincible rocks of circumstance, 
 
 Formed by the ages that have gone before, 
 
 'Gainst which we beat ourselves like ocean waves, 
 
 Make the bright foam and music of our lives. 
 
 A splendid anvil is necessity, 
 
 On which we lay our souls like glowing steel, 
 
 And with the mighty hammer of the will, 
 
 Amid the ringing notes and flying sparks, 
 
 Beat out that which we are and will to be." 
 
 "You seem so strange to-night you make me sad. 
 
 I do not understand you, but I think 
 
 It is the strange books that you read of late. 
 
 Tell me their names, and I will read them too, 
 
 So comprehend you." 
 
 "'Tis not what we know, 
 Nor yet what we believe, but what we are 
 That fashions our Hereafter, as our Here. 
 Be true, whatever else you are, be true." 
 "Why talk to me, my brother, of deceit, 
 And being true? Am I not always true?" 
 "My sister, you are always kind." ' 
 
 "Not kind 
 But true, say true." 
 
 "My sister, always kind! " 
 
 With that he turned and kissed her and went out. 
 But Magia sat still with chin on hand, 
 With eyelids drooping, and with tremulous mouth: 
 
 141
 
 "The night is close, and I am sad at heart. 
 How is it I have so offended him? 
 Perhaps I am too loving for a girl 
 That is no kin of his. He thinks me bold, 
 Wanting somewhat in maidenly reserve. 
 How can I learn to blush beneath his glance, 
 I who have looked so frankly in his eyes, 
 As if he were my brother, all these years? 
 True, we were children, and, dear God, I would 
 We could be always children, simple, pure, 
 As frank and free and fond as children are. 
 Hereafter I will teach myself reserve 
 And all restraint becoming to a girl 
 Who is no kin of his." And so it was 
 That Magia met her brother with a smile 
 That was like frost upon a sunny morn 
 Bright and yet cold, and all her words and ways 
 Were gentle but restrained, and still they went 
 Together to their work and home again, 
 And Manley's heart ached hard against his will, 
 Seeing how cold and distant she had grown. 
 Magia gathered up his every word, 
 And analyzed it in her secret soul. 
 Was heaven wise to lock each human heart. 
 With such a mystic spring that but one key, 
 Which heaven itself may never duplicate, 
 And but the owner in the lock may turn, 
 Will bid it open? Were it otherwise, 
 The lover, yearning in his heart to know 
 The heart of his beloved, might sometimes 
 Set soft the door ajar, ajnd see her there, 
 
 142
 
 Who with a calm word and indifferent smile, 
 Late met him coldly see her bending low 
 Above the heaped up treasures of his smiles 
 And tender words and glances. "Ah!" she says, 
 "How tender is this smile! This one how bright! 
 This tremulous with fear, this touched with pain! 
 This jeweled word will match the tender smile; 
 See how it glistens with half-uttered thought! 
 And this one hath a subtle meaning in it; 
 And this one hath the ruddy glow of hope; 
 And this one hath a dark and anxious gleam. 
 I'll string them all upon a single thread, 
 And see what beauty and what grace they have, 
 When linked together." And so Magia, 
 Locked in herself, communing with herself, 
 Reviewing Manley's words and ways, confessed, 
 "I love him, though I know not how I love 
 'As sweetheart or as sister or as friend. 
 I do not understand love, but I know, 
 If loving means to be most sad at heart, 
 Whenever from the heart, like a pale mist, 
 A cloud of doubt floats up between us two, 
 And hides us from each other; if to love, 
 Means to be happy only in his smile, 
 And seeking for his good why then, I love." 
 So was it Manley, locked within himself, 
 Reviewing Magia's words and ways, confessed, 
 "I love her still, whatever she has done. 
 Whatever she has done, she meant no wrong. 
 I understand what love is, and I know, 
 If loving is to trust the one beloved 
 
 143
 
 Against the witness of the eye and ear, 
 
 To find the sweetest pleasure in her smile, 
 
 And seeking for her good why then, I love. 
 
 She said she loved but two in all the world, 
 
 And if she said it, it was wholly true, 
 
 Whatever act of hers gainsay her words, 
 
 For by no act meant she to be untrue. 
 
 I know there is no evil in her heart, 
 
 For there's an atmosphere in which we float, 
 
 Like stars in ether, breathed out of the soul, 
 
 A spiritual ether, and all they 
 
 Who come into our presence, breathing it, 
 
 May surely tell if we be true or false. " 
 
 So Manley went to Magia with a smile 
 
 As frank and sweet as when he was a child: 
 
 "Forgive me; I was sad the other night, 
 
 And all the world seemed muffled in a cloud. 
 
 Forgive me, Magia, be my sister still, 
 
 And I will be your brother as we were 
 
 In the sweet days of childhood." Magia sprang 
 
 And twined her arms about his neck and cried, 
 
 "And we shall love as children once again." 
 
 That was at early morning, and the sun 
 Kissed their fair foreheads as their young lips met. 
 At evening Arthur Grandville came again, 
 And Manley calmly rose and yielded up 
 His place at Magia's side, and quit the room. 
 Then Arthur tossed the rich locks from his brow, 
 And turned the passionate bloom of his young face 
 Toward Magia, smiling: "What a world is this! 
 
 144
 
 A marvelous world to him whose veins are full 
 
 Of the bright streams of youthfulness and strength, 
 
 When life is wooing him at every sense, 
 
 And every sense, wide open like a flower, 
 
 Is drinking life in; then if the warm beam 
 
 Of ripening love should fall upon that life, 
 
 How rich and sweet it grows! O Magia, 
 
 If love begetteth love, as I am told, . 
 
 Then I shall win your love by strength of mine." 
 
 He caught her in his arms and held her fast, 
 
 And Magia, struggling faintly, sick at heart, 
 
 Fearful lest any one should hear a sound, 
 
 Murmured through tremulous white lips, "Set me 
 
 free, 
 
 Or I shall surely hate you! Set me free!" 
 At that he loosed his clasp, and Magia sprang, 
 All crimson as the sunrise with the shame 
 And anger of her spirit: "Pray you, go. 
 To morrow we will find another place. 
 I will not, even for my brother's sake, 
 Bear with you longer. It would grieve his heart. 
 I wrong him by my kindness; that's not kind." 
 "No, Magia, you will not go away. 
 You shall have nothing more to bear from me, 
 And I will take no worse revenge than this, 
 To treat your brother kindlier than before. 
 You will not send me from you, Magia, 
 And strangle those new yearnings in my heart, 
 Toward purity and goodness?" 
 
 Manley sat 
 
 Within his chamber, wrestling with himself, 
 
 145
 
 Like Jacob with the angel: "Shall I steal, 
 
 And look upon her through the open door, 
 
 See if her face be tender, kind or cold? 
 
 No, I will not distrust her by a look; 
 
 For if all evidence proclaimed her false, 
 
 Against the witnessing of every sense 
 
 I should believe her true. And yet and yet 
 
 Thou shiningest archangel, strong enough 
 
 To stand unveiled the nearest to the throne 
 
 Of the Eternal One, beware, boast not 
 
 Thy power to resist and pass unscathed 
 
 All earth's temptations. There is none that knows. 
 
 Till tempted, what temptation is its power 
 
 To paralyze the will and steep the brain 
 
 In deep forgetfulness; but he who once 
 
 Has stood on ruin's brink with fainting heart 
 
 And reeling brain, with pleading hands and eyes 
 
 Uplifted to the stars, deals evermore, 
 
 Gently with those that err. I do believe 
 
 That he who highest climbs above the brute, 
 
 Closest to angelhood, being finer wrought, 
 
 Is tempted more and more, and suffers more 
 
 Through wrestling with temptation, by response 
 
 To subtleties of passion and of pain, 
 
 That grosser natures never feel." 
 
 He rose, 
 
 And then, as if a magnet drew him on, 
 He crept along the dark and narrow hall 
 To where the lamplight glimmered through the 
 
 door. 
 
 He saw the rosy light on Grandville's face 
 
 140
 
 Bent over Magia's, hidden on his breast. 
 
 Their rich curls flowed together, and their tones 
 
 Were low and passionate. Then Manley's heart 
 
 Gave a great throb of doom, and his brain swam. 
 
 Forward into the shadow, on his face, 
 
 He fell, his hands locked tight, nntil the nails 
 
 Wounded the fair flesh. Every now and then, 
 
 He whispered in the darkness, "I believe, 
 
 Yes, I believe, I do believe in her." 
 
 He rose up presently and groped his way 
 
 Down the dark, narrow stairs, and through the door 
 
 Into the gaslight, when an arm was linked 
 
 Through his in friendly way, and Grandville said, 
 
 With kind, familiar grace, as was his way: 
 
 "Come, let us stroll together toward the lake. 
 
 The night is close; perhaps the languid wind 
 
 Is stirring weary wings about the shore. 
 
 Besides, I needs must have a word with you." 
 
 "About my sister?" 
 
 "Ah! how well you guess!" 
 "Because it is the finest strings respond 
 To lightest touches, and the finest string 
 That vibrates in my heart, is love of her." 
 "You cannot blame me then for loving too?" 
 "If I can blame the flowers for loving light! " 
 "And if the light should deign to love a flower, 
 You would not blame it?" 
 
 "But the light, you know, 
 
 Love's weeds and flowers and all that is, alike, 
 And makes itself no darlings in the world." 
 "We'll leave the fancy then, of light and flowers. 
 
 147
 
 Tell me, would you be glad or sorrowful 
 
 To know that Magia loved me?" Manley smiled, 
 
 Faintly at first like the pale streak of dawn 
 
 That brighter grows and brighter till the east 
 
 Is glorious and glowing with the flush 
 
 Expectant of the sunrise; so his smile 
 
 Kindled from lip to cheek, from cheek to brow, 
 
 And in his heart he answered ere his lips 
 
 Could shape the words of a steadfast reply: 
 
 "Oh! you unsheathe a sword against my breast, 
 
 And like a noble Roman, fearing shame, 
 
 The shame of being conquered by the strength 
 
 Of mine own weakness, I will fall on it, 
 
 And pierce my young heart through, and then arise 
 
 Out of the blood and anguish, and exclaim, 
 
 'How well I died!'" And then he spoke aloud: 
 
 "We seek the happiness of those we love. 
 
 If loving you will make her sweet soul glad, 
 
 I shall be glad too." 
 
 "Ah! 3 T ou are indeed 
 
 A fond and faithful brother. One thing more 
 Will you not tell her this? One word of yours 
 Will have more weight to tip the scale with her 
 Than all my pleading, for she loves you well. 
 Nay, were you not her brother, I should feel 
 The ache of jealousy because of you. 
 Are we not well matched, being both young and 
 
 strong, 
 
 And nature having given to us both 
 The gift of human beauty a rich gift 
 To those who wear it graciously and feel 
 
 148
 
 No arrogance because of it; and then 
 I have an ample fortune for us both. 
 Are we not well matched?" 
 
 "Aye, you are indeed. " 
 
 "Then will you speak to her in my behalf, 
 Urging her gently for my sake?" 
 
 "I will." 
 
 "Thanks! thanks! You are my brother now indeed, 
 A noble fellow! Now, good night! " 
 
 "Good night! " 
 
 Then Grandville, turning south, went cityward, 
 While Manley northward moved along the shore, 
 Until he found a stretch of sandy beach, 
 Where gurgling through the stones, the water crept 
 With the soft sound of kissing. There he knelt, 
 His face turned toward the gray, complaining sea: 
 "Tell thyself truth, my heart, they are well matched, 
 For he is bright and beautiful like her, 
 And all the evil thoughts I had of him, 
 Were but a prejudice of my own mind, 
 Born-of a selfish dread of losing her. 
 I will break every chain that binds my soul 
 From doing justice. Yes, I will be free. 
 However much a slave to other men, 
 I will not be in bondage to myself. 
 What art thou, Liberty, sweet Liberty? 
 Art thou in broken bars and rended chains, 
 In shattered thrones and trampled codes, blood-writ, 
 In strangled trusts that erst had tyrannized 
 Over earth's trade and commerce and man's bread, 
 In laws repealed, emancipation acts, 
 
 149
 
 Dead institutions that outlived their use, 
 Disabled great political machines, 
 The right to equal shares of light and air 
 And standing room upon this ample star, 
 The right to have the fruits of one's own toil; 
 Art thou in these things, O sweet Liberty? 
 Thy breath is in them all, but thou art not. 
 Oh! libert)' is the grand consciousness 
 Of strength to sever every Cord that draws 
 The soul away from its sublimest course 
 Of perfect truth and honor to itself 
 The slender silken cord of gratitude, 
 So soft, and yet as strong as fine- wrought steel 
 That stronger chain whose shining golden links 
 Are obligations wrought out of good turns, 
 Each heavily conditioned like a bond, 
 Expressly or impliedly, that it bring 
 Each turn a full return or forfeiture 
 Of all the doer's further acts of grace 
 The strong steel bands opinions lay on us, 
 Strongest by those we love. Such chains as these 
 Are subtly woven around us day by day. 
 Oh! we are free if strong enough to rise, 
 And, with that brightest, bravest sword of man 
 The will to do or, not to do the thing 
 Himself deems right or wrong unto himself, 
 To sever every fetter laid on us 
 By law or love or custom, unsustained 
 By justice, truth and reason. Once again, 
 I will be lord and master of myself. 
 I will arise and go to Magia. " 
 
 150
 
 Thrice he arose and moved a little way, 
 
 And thrice he turned again and stretched his hands 
 
 Toward the gray waters, while his pale lips moved, 
 
 But spoke no audible word and breathed no sigh. 
 
 O heart of love and longing, what art thou? 
 
 Dost count for nothing in the vast of things? 
 
 In thee what storms rage, and what fair stars rise! 
 
 Angels take counsel in thee, and fiends lurk, 
 
 And sometimes heaven reigns, and sometimes hell; 
 
 Yet no one passing even hears thee beat. 
 
 For nothing? Aye, for something: some one writes 
 
 How once an empire fell. The world says, "Ah!" 
 
 And never pausing, goes about its work. 
 
 There comes a poet with a tuneful tongue, 
 
 And sings about the breaking of a heart 
 
 That's mixed with heart-dust for a thousand years; 
 
 And lo, the world is melted into tears. 
 
 Meanwhile, beside her white unrumpled couch 
 Knelt Magia, all her dark curls drenched with tears: 
 "Oh! to be free, free, free free to be true 
 Unto myself, to shun whom I would shun, 
 To love whom I would love, and free to say, 
 'O my beloved, I love you,' without shame. 
 For if we love, why not act lovingly, 
 Speak lovingly, because we can but read 
 And judge each other by the outward signs. 
 God does not send an angel forth from heaven 
 To gather up our thistles from the wind, 
 And change them into roses for our feet. 
 Oh! I am but a slave; I dare not act 
 
 151
 
 My will for fear of harm." Sweet Magia, 
 
 Thou dost but swell the universal moan 
 
 Of human slavery, but iterate 
 
 The universal cry for freedom. Lo, 
 
 This wondrous social fabric we have woven, 
 
 Majestic in proportions, in design 
 
 So intricate that all the world cries out, 
 
 "A master product of the human brain!" 
 
 Is a vast web, a snare, imprisoning 
 
 The beautiful and valiant in man's life, 
 
 Like jealous Vulcan's fine-wrought golden snare. 
 
 And underneath the fair externe, i' th' dark 
 
 Of the sub-structure, lies a mesh of chains, 
 
 Heavy and cold and rusted with men's tears. 
 
 With every throb of the great social heart, 
 
 Hark to the deadly rattle and the clank, 
 
 As they do bind and bruise and suffocate. 
 
 Hark! some one lightly tapping: "Brother, come. " 
 And Manley, entering, set himself a chair 
 Beside her where the moonlight softly shone, 
 Disputed by no artificial beam. 
 Then Magia flung her curls across his knees, 
 And hard against them pressed her tear-wet cheek. 
 He thrust his fingers in among her curls, 
 And felt their warmth and richness chilling him. 
 "How damp your cheek is with the summer heat!" 
 His presence brought her peace, and she was mute. 
 "How tenderly the moonbeams kiss your hair!" 
 "Why is it that the moonlight makes us sad?" 
 "Because 'tis a suggestion and a hint 
 
 152
 
 Of far-off warmth and splendor we have not 
 We're minded of the good that we have missed, 
 And sweet suggestions of life's grand Might Be 
 Fall on the soul like moonlight 'mid the hush 
 And cold and shadow of life's stern Must Be." 
 "You're sad to-night, my brother." 
 
 "Only grave. 
 
 I walked with Grandville by the lake to-night. 
 He says he loves my sister. Is not this 
 Enough to make a loving brother grave?" 
 "And if I love him, will it make you glad?" 
 "Whatever gladdens you will gladden me. 
 I blame me that I ever spoke of him 
 With words of slur and slight, for now he seems 
 To have a manlier spirit than I thought, 
 And he is bright and beautiful like you. 
 I only nursed a foolish prejudice, 
 Born of a selfish dread of losing you." 
 "Have I not told you that I love but two, 
 My mother and my brother?" 
 
 "So you have; 
 
 But do you know what re-creative force 
 Dwells in the little breast of one brief hour 
 To change us from the semblance of ourselves? 
 We sometimes face the image of ourselves 
 Of yesterday, that memory paints for us, 
 And start in wonder, asking, 'Is it 1?'" 
 "I have not changed, my brother." 
 
 "You are sure?" 
 
 This moonlight is no surer." Then they sat 
 With the deep silence ringing in their ears, 
 
 153
 
 And Manley felt an impulse in his soul 
 
 To speak himself out plainly, and to say, 
 
 "I am not bright and' beautiful like you, 
 
 But I have strength of soul, and with my soul 
 
 I love you, my beloved. Answer me; 
 
 What is to be the tie between us two?" 
 
 And Magia felt a tremor in her blood. 
 
 A wild new thought was beating in her brain, 
 
 To dare to be herself, and to defy 
 
 The fiat of blind Custom, and to say, 
 
 "Dear brother Manley, you are my beloved. 
 
 If you are not my lover, I'll have none 
 
 In all the world, no, never in all the world. 
 
 What is to be the tie between us two?" 
 
 But still they heard the silence in their ears, 
 
 And neither dared to speak a word. 
 
 Meanwhile 
 
 Amid his crimson cushions Grandville sat, 
 His rich brown curls piled up like autumn leaves 
 Abbut his forehead's whiteness, and he smiled: 
 "There is no sweeter victory than this 
 The conquest of a noble human heart ; 
 And no defeat more full of pain than this 
 To fail to win its favor. I will win. 
 I have not been so good, nor yet so bad, 
 Considering I was never taught to draw 
 The rein upon my passions, nor deny 
 My senses any pleasure. May the soul 
 Not bathe itself so oft in pure resolves, 
 And spread itself out to the gentle dews 
 Of holy inspirations, and absorb 
 
 154
 
 The sweet sunlight of truth, till it is bleached 
 As snowy white as souls just from the loom 
 Of the Eternal Weaver, woven in tune 
 To the sweet symphonies of seraphim? 
 So will I cleanse my soul, and by her side, 
 Grow like her day by day and hour by hour, 
 As flowers that are planted side by side, 
 Borrow each other's tints. For Madeline, 
 My pretty Madeline, a face so fair 
 Wants not for worshipers. " 
 
 The changing leaves 
 
 Were falling fast where fell the kiss of death 
 On the ripe cheek of summer, on the day 
 When Magia and Manley, hand in hand, 
 As was their wont on sunny Sabbath days, 
 Roamed in the park together, while their feet 
 Trod rustling music from the dying leaves. 
 "Who is the stranger, Manley, who has come 
 To talk with you alone so oft of late? 
 And then so oft you sit and think and smile, 
 As if you had bright dreams, and I am glad." 
 He flushed a little as he answered her: 
 "Suppose that I were found to be sole heir 
 Of a rich uncle who had lately died 
 Intestate? Magia, what if 1 were rich?" 
 "I should be happy, Manley, for your sake." 
 He did not hear her answer, for his ears 
 Were deafened by the beating of his heart: 
 "This is the hour that I have dreamed upon. 
 This is the hour that I have lived so oft, 
 Rehearsing all its pulses ere it came. 
 
 15f)
 
 This is the very moment." Then he spoke: 
 "There would be no more slavish toil for us. 
 We would be wholly free to follow out 
 The natural inclinations of our souls." 
 He paused to gather breath for that next word, 
 Whose wings should bear the spirit of his dreams, 
 And Magia took the pause to make reply: 
 "I've heard there is no thing in all the world 
 That is so potent to transform a man 
 As sudden wealth, but I presage no change 
 That will transform my brother from himself." 
 "No, Magia, all my riches would be yours, 
 And you should have all pleasure and all good 
 Earth could be bribed to give, and none should dare 
 To show you insult or indignity. 
 We would be slaves no more; we would be free." 
 "Dear brother, what is freedom? Tell me, pray, 
 If I must wait upon another's grace 
 To satisfy my needs, shall I be free? 
 I scarcely understand I somehow think, 
 That love is best and sweetest that's most free. 
 Oh! I would rather love for love's own sake, 
 Unmixed with any dross of personal gain, 
 Save that large gain of soul that always comes 
 From loving any one that's pure and true. 
 I have no splendid gifts to cultivate, 
 And I am strong, and have no need of wealth; 
 But you, with all your noble gifts that want 
 Leisure for cultivation you whose strength 
 Is not sufficient for the daily strain 
 Of unremitting toil, have need of wealth. 
 
 156
 
 How happy I should be if you were rich! 
 But that would be a tale for fairy books. 
 For me I find much pleasure in the world. 
 Oh! there are drums and bugles in the sea, 
 And solemn organ thunders, and the wind 
 Plays upon flutes and trumpets, and the trees 
 Make of themselves sweet harps and violins. 
 I think there must be music everywhere, 
 If there is but a consonant chord in us, 
 And beauty, if our souls respond to beauty. " 
 "Ah! Magia, there are worlds and worlds that lie 
 Beyond us that we dream not of until 
 We touch upon their shores, and catch, far off, 
 Sweet concord and bright visions unforedreamed. 
 We have no thirst or .hunger for the things 
 That we have never tasted, but sometimes 
 A feverish craving for we know not what 
 A blind, dumb passion feeling round the heart, 
 Unconscious of itself." But Magia smiled: 
 "I wish you wealth, my brother, but for me, 
 I am not ill content." Then Manley's heart 
 Fell in his bosom like a meteor 
 That, striking on the world's cold atmosphere, 
 Ceases to be a star and drops a stone. 
 He found a deeper meaning in her words 
 Than Magia gave them, for his fine-strung soul 
 Vibrated, like a delicate instrument, 
 To imperceptible breathings of the wind. 
 A shadow fell before them in the sun, 
 And Arthur Grandville in their pathway stood, 
 And smiling stretched to either one a hand. 
 
 157
 
 He said, "The autumn day is beautiful." 
 
 And Magia echoed faintly, "Beautiful!" 
 
 "Come, let us sit and rest a little while." 
 
 But Magia murmured, "No, I cannot sit. 
 
 I have already been too long from home; 
 
 But you, my brother, stay and rest a while, 
 
 So soft and pure the touches of the air." 
 
 Soon as her step had ceased to stir the leaves, 
 
 Then Grandville questioned with an eager smile: 
 
 "Did you present my cause? What did she say?" 
 
 "Nothing!" 
 
 "What! nothing?" 
 
 "No, not anything, 
 
 Though I did plead your case as best I could, 
 But this, 'I love but two in all the world, 
 My mother and my brother.'" 
 
 "Pshaw! absurd! 
 Girls do not marry brothers." 
 
 "Not of blood, 
 
 But there's no tie of blood between us two. 
 She found me when I was a feeble child 
 That knew not how to kiss, or even to smile; 
 That knew not what love meant; she found me then, 
 And taught me how to live, and ever since 
 Has called me brother. It is but a name." 
 "And do you say you are no kin to her?" 
 "None!" 
 
 "None? Not a half-brother?" 
 
 "No, not even 
 Step-brother!" 
 
 "Well, what does she mean by this? 
 158
 
 To have you for a lover?" 
 
 "I know not, 
 
 But this I know, whatever she may mean, 
 That I do love her better than my life. 
 You think me not a fitting mate for her?" 
 "Well, to speak frankly, since you frankly ask, 
 When one is bright and beautiful like her, 
 One wishes her to wed with one as full 
 Of youthful strength and beauty, does he not? 
 Why do you grow so red and then so white? 
 I meant to speak but kindly, and indeed, 
 Your gentleness of manner, and the play 
 Of kindly thought upon your face, might well 
 Win such a gracious, tender soul as hers." 
 Then, faintly flushing, Manley slowly spoke: 
 "I came into possession recently 
 Of a fair fortune, and on yester eve 
 I made my will. I do not know what thought 
 Prompted me to it, but I made my will. 
 I laid it in a little secret drawer 
 To which this is the key; remember this." 
 "I'm glad of your good fortune," Grandville said. 
 "Our mutual love must make us mutual friends 
 Whatever be the outcome of it all. 
 At least we are too wise for enmity." 
 "Friends always, Grandville! See, the sun is low. 
 Our ways divide here." 
 
 "Well then, friend, good night!" 
 "Goodnight! I wish you well." Then Manley turned 
 And wandered north and eastward toward the lake, 
 And sat him down amid the withered leaves, 
 
 159
 
 Beneath a rustling tree, and turned his face 
 Toward the blue lake, nor stirred for one long hour. 
 At last he drew a sheet of paper forth, 
 And laid it on his knee and slowly wrote, 
 Then folded it and waited till a child, 
 A little ragged boy, went strolling by, 
 Whistling a happy tune. To him he gave 
 The folded paper, bidding him to bear 
 It at the hour named, to whom he named, 
 And placed within the grimy little hand 
 So large and bright a guerdon that the boy 
 Whistled for joy and tossed his tattered cap, 
 And bounded lightly off. Then Manley turned 
 Himself again to silence and the sea, 
 Silence without, but tumult in his brain: 
 "Whenever I am weary of myself, 
 I know it is a sign of inward change, 
 A transformation working in my soul; 
 That soon or later I must cast aside 
 The withered semblance of my former self, 
 As sheds the locust its dry shell, and stand 
 A creature new and strange unto myself. 
 Shall I be conquered, I who oft have said, 
 'I will be lord and master of myself?' 
 The sin whose hideous face starts suddenly 
 Out of the darkness, makes us to recoil 
 With dread and horror, till we turn and rly; 
 But when we gaze upon it first far off, 
 And it approaches slowly, wooing us 
 With pleasant smiles and glances, till at last 
 Its hands clasp ours, its breath is on our cheeks, 
 
 160
 
 Its kiss is on our lips, and its strong arms 
 Enfold us with a warm, magnetic clasp 
 That lulls to drowsiness all sense of wrong, 
 Then that which else were monstrous in our eyes, 
 Becomes a pleasant thing. I talk of sin; 
 Who says I sin if I shall take my life? 
 Is it not mine? Yet did I never ask 
 To have it given me, but it was thrust 
 Upon me, like a feeble, flickering flame. 
 Nor did I pray to keep it, but it burned 
 And burned on, till it grew too fierce and bright, 
 And now consumes me. Whose the right but mine 
 To bear the heat of this Promethean flame, 
 Or quench it in the blue lake, solving so, 
 Life's vain, insoluble problem easily? 
 I said I would create myself a world, 
 A w"orld of spirits; others have done so, 
 And dwelt therein; but I I want the flesh, 
 Rosy, warm flesh that I can find and fold. 
 Go, thou sweet wind, and kiss her fragrant curls, 
 Then come again, and wander through my locks! 
 Go thou, and move across her warm, red lips, 
 In whose sweet purity I have believed 
 Against the witnessing of every sense, 
 Then come again and bear that kiss to me. 
 My heart is breaking, Magia! 'Let it break! 1 
 In laughter comes the mocking answer back 
 From the blue, leaping waves. The moon is risen. 
 The wind is blowing strongly from the west, 
 Piling the clouds up moonward, and the lake 
 Whitening with gathering passion frets and moans. 
 
 161
 
 I think 'twill storm ere midnight. That is well." 
 
 Within her chamber meanwhile Magia stood, 
 Re-robing in a simple dress of white, 
 And rearranging the dark curls that twined 
 Vine-like about her temples, for the moon 
 Between the parted curtains softly beamed, 
 And lit up Magia's mirror where she stood, 
 Smiling upon the vision of herself. 
 "How fair I am! Yes, I am fair indeed. 
 How full and white the forehead flashes out 
 Of its dark curls! The eyes how luminous! 
 The lips how red 1 And see how gleams the throat! 
 How rare a gift is beauty rightly used! 
 Oh! he will be returning presently, 
 And I would rather he would think me fair 
 That he would think me noble, brave and true, 
 Than any king that ever wore a crown. 
 I've dressed to night just as he likes me best. 
 I'll drape this lace across my bosom so. 
 That curl- looks better this way. See, my cheek 
 Is clothed with burning blushes, for a thought 
 Has ripened to a purpose in my brain, 
 And will this night be born a perfect act. 
 See how my cheek glows redder with the shame 
 Of such presumptuous thoughts, and'j^et I think 
 He magnifies his frailty, and I think 
 I'll think the thought so softly in my brain, 
 The beating of my heart shall drown it. Yes, 
 I think he thinks I think perhaps he thinks, 
 He is not strong and beautiful enough. 
 
 162
 
 And yet his eyes are bluer than the heavens, 
 
 And full of such sweet light; and then his brow 
 
 Is like the brow of Dante which I saw 
 
 Once in a picture. Oh! he seems to me 
 
 To be the very noblest type of man. 
 
 Of late he has been gayer than his wont, 
 
 Playful, nay, almost merry, jesting oft, 
 
 Which is not like him, but it pleases me, 
 
 Though gayety is often but white foam, 
 
 Brief sparkles on the dark wine of despair. 
 
 Now he will be returning presently, 
 
 And I will lay my cheek against his arm, 
 
 As I have done in childhood. I will say, 
 
 ' Dear Manley, I'm not worthy of your love, 
 
 And if you do not love me, tell me so; 
 
 But I shall love no other in the world. 1 
 
 Then he will fold me close and kiss me Idng, 
 
 And all will then be well. O saucy moon, 
 
 How suddenly you stooped into a cloud, 
 
 And gathered all your light up from the world. 
 
 Ah! what a gust of wind! I think 'twill storm. 
 
 I'll close the window. Why does he not come? 
 
 Who knocks? A letter? Who should write to me?" 
 
 "I have been dreaming wild and foolish dreams. 
 Because my life was woven in with yours, 
 And all the threads so crossed and over-crossed, 
 That it were death to disentangle them, 
 I thought that we should marry, Magia. 
 And when the fortune came, you know I asked 
 Do you remember? 'What if I were rich?' 
 Then all my blood ran rippling merrily. 
 I almost heard it singing in my veins. 
 But then the shadow that so many times 
 
 103
 
 Had threatened me far off, approached, and fixed 
 
 Dread eyes of fire upon my soul, and said, 
 
 'Alas! how bright and beautiful she is! 
 
 As well the thistle marry with the rose.' 
 
 And so farewell, sweet Magia, my beloved! 
 
 I saw when Grandville held you to his breast, 
 
 And pressed a passionate kiss upon your lips. 
 
 I heard him speak to you in tender tones, 
 
 But would not seem to doubt by questioning. 
 
 Though testified against by every sense, 
 
 I should believe you noble, pure and true. 
 
 My will is in the little secret drawer. 
 
 You know the lock; you have the sister key. 
 
 I could not stay with you and hide my love, 
 
 And if you knew it, you might wrong yourself, 
 
 Being so kind and tender as you are. 
 
 I will not stand between you and your good. 
 
 Be happy, my beloved; fare you well!" 
 
 A moment like a statue Magia stood, 
 
 Making no moan or outcry, being used 
 
 To suffer all things mutely. Then she turned 
 
 And caught her mantle up and fled the house; 
 
 And Grandville, who was lingering by the door, 
 
 Demurring if to enter or pass on, 
 
 Followed her white robe like a flying cloud, 
 
 Until she stood upon the pier, and stretched 
 
 Her white arms toward the waves that swooped 
 
 along, 
 
 Like giant birds of prey from some dead age, 
 Shaking their white plumes till the air was thick 
 With glistening down of spray, and then she cried, 
 "My heart is breaking, Manley!" 
 
 "Let it break!" 
 
 In^thunder came the hollow answer back 
 From the mad, bounding billows, from far depths. 
 
 1G4
 
 Her mantle streamed behind her in the wind 
 That tossed her dark curls wildly to and fro. 
 Her robes were drenched with sea-foam, still she 
 
 stood 
 With outstretched arms, while Grandville vainly 
 
 strove 
 
 To draw her thence, until at last she fell 
 Fainting upon her face, and then he raised 
 Her gently up, and staggering down the street, 
 Pressed with his burden through the night and 
 
 storm. 
 
 Now when the beauteous lily of the light 
 Unfolded its white petals on the waves, 
 Revealing its sun-heart of gold, there came 
 The sound of heavy footsteps through the house, 
 And startled Magia from her swoon. She rose 
 And came to hear the heavy tidings. There, 
 All drenched with sea-foam, lay upon a chair, 
 His hat and coat, the linen handkerchief 
 Her patient hands had delicately wrought 
 With fine embroidery. "Alas!" said one, 
 "The hungry sea would have its sacrifice. 
 We could not save him, and, poor soul! he scarce 
 Had resolution for the deed. He stood 
 Long gazing in the roaring waves, then turned, 
 And thrice he moved away and thrice returned; 
 And when the light was breaking in the east, 
 He stretched his hands toward the wild sea and cried, 
 ' My heart is breaking, Magia!' and leaped in. 
 We did not see him struggling in the waves, 
 
 165
 
 So quickly they devoured him, but found 
 Only this hat and coat and handkerchief, 
 All drenched with sea-foam, lying on the pier. 
 His sister Magia comes. Stand back ! make way! " 
 She knelt, and on the garments laid her face 
 Buried in curls, but no one heard her words, 
 But knew she pleaded with him who was gone, 
 As if she thought his spirit lingered still 
 About its earthly garments, for they heard 
 Her piteous accents and sometimes his name. 
 Into her bosom's snowy drapery 
 Glided her hand and drew a picture forth. 
 And as she gazed, its blue eyes seemed to fill 
 With the sweet sorrow of all yearning love. 
 "I love you, Manle)-, I shall love none else 
 In all the world beside. You do not speak. 
 Alas! you cannot, but I am your bride 
 From this hour and for all eternity. 
 Behold I seal our marriage covenant!" 
 She pressed her warm mouth to the pictured lips, 
 Then to the sea-wet garments many times. 
 All they who stood about her brushed the tears 
 That gathered on their lashes. Magia 
 Wept not, but clasped the cold, wet garments close 
 Against her shivering bosom, kissing them. 
 At last, a strange light shining on her face, 
 She laid them by, and rising from her knees, 
 Passed from the room. They fell back reverently, 
 Who stood about the threshold. Grandville set 
 The door wide open for her feet to pass; 
 And like a ray of snowy moonlight marked, 
 
 160
 
 Where the rich summer midnight of her hair 
 Met with the white dawn of her youthful brow, 
 A streak of silver. And he turned and wept. 
 
 PART IV 
 FREEDOM REGAINED 
 
 Right in the heart of sin and poverty, 
 Where Vice, unblushing and unvisored, walks 
 With his dark consort, Ignorance, up and down, 
 Quickly devouring up each little grain 
 Of virtue that dares sprout amid the filth, 
 Jeering at laws and laughing down reforms; 
 Here where the serfs of labor sometimes dream 
 Of being men and women some bright day 
 When they less hardly feel the cursed grind 
 Of getting honest bread; here lifted up 
 The People's Institute its sober walls, 
 And asked the toiling populace to come 
 And taste a little of life's beautiful 
 In ar. an d learning, in its galleries 
 And spacious libraries. And there, each day, 
 Were classes held in arts and sciences, 
 And learning's simplest rudiments, and there 
 Were weekly concerts free to every one, 
 That all might feel the grace of harmony. 
 For music, like an angel, gently moves 
 On the sweet pool of tears within the soul, 
 And troubles it unto its secret depths 
 
 1G7
 
 With healing inspirations. Lectures too 
 
 Were given free to all, and once a week 
 
 Were social gatherings where all might come 
 
 And sit within the comfort and the peace 
 
 Of those bright, spacious rooms, and rest and chat. 
 
 Here oftentimes the toiling populace 
 
 Would come together, and in peaceful way 
 
 Discuss the evils of the social state, 
 
 The various remedies, how best applied; 
 
 And freely every individual spoke 
 
 Out the rude sense of justice in his soul. 
 
 This was the monument which Magia 
 
 Raised unto Manley's memory with the wealth 
 
 m 
 
 Bequeathed to her, and here she lived and worked, 
 And moved among the people like a light 
 A star that quits its native firmament 
 And sister orbs, to wander through the gloom 
 Of unillumined spaces. Everywhere 
 Her footsteps came one dreamed that flowers sprang. 
 The children held their little faces up, 
 Smiling like blossoms turning to the sun 
 To catch the sunbeams. Angry eyes grew mild, 
 Hard faces softer, wrinkled brows more smooth, 
 In Magia's presence. So she lived and worked, 
 And never paled the rose upon her cheek, 
 As if, indeed, the sweet immortal soul 
 Immortalized the body; but the streak 
 Of silver on her forehead slowly grew, 
 Until the soft curls fell like drifted snow 
 About the gentle summer of her face. 
 There came a timid girl into the midst 
 
 1G8
 
 Of the assembled people, on a night. 
 
 None turned his head or raised a curious eye, 
 
 But yet she blushed and shrank, and found a seat 
 
 By side of Magia, who gave her hand 
 
 In welcome. "Do I trespass?" 
 
 "None does that 
 
 Who comes to us in faith and friendliness." 
 "You wish my name?" 
 
 "No, not except you choose." 
 "Then call me simply Madeline, no more. 
 What are the people saying with such heat?" 
 "It is the social question which they moot. 
 One says, 'We are one family and the State 
 Should nurture us in fond maternal love, 
 Cherish the helpless and uphold the weak, 
 And lavish her abundance upon all 
 Impartially, like children she has borne.' 
 Another says, 'A tyrant is the State, 
 And laws but curse. Behold how they are mocked 
 And twisted, like a weathercock i' th' wind 
 Of every crazy brain that desecrates 
 The throne of Justice, sitting in pretense 
 Of the interpretation of the law, 
 But in the eyes of Justice blowing dust, 
 Meanwhile to prostitute the fairest laws 
 To personal, base ends. Down with the State! 
 Let each man follow out the natural law 
 Of his own being, and, amid the clash 
 Of human interests, and the daily shocks 
 Of conquest and defeat, the flash and fire 
 Of will smote hard on will, brain struck on brain 
 
 109
 
 Work out his highest individual good, 
 Giving mankind that noblest gift a man.' 
 Another says, 'All wealth is from the land. 
 Give every man his birthright in the land, 
 Then will a vaster Eden Come to earth 
 Than that whose white dews glimmered in the light 
 Of young creation's dawn.' Another says, 
 'Oh! let the old world spin around the sun, 
 And ripen when the golden season comes 
 For worlds to ripen. Let alone, I say.'" 
 "The man with snowy locks and burning eyes, 
 And flowing white beard, tell me, who is he?" 
 "He is a kind of prophet in our midst. 
 We call him Father, or the Nameless Man, 
 For so he calls himself. Hark to his words: 
 'None, none is free. It takes how vast a brain 
 To compass the whole thought of freedom! Lo, 
 Tyrants are slaves, not knowing they are so. 
 The rich have their peculiar bondage. Those, 
 Who do not cringe beneath some social lash, 
 Are oft in lowest serfdom to themselves. 
 O word of light upon the tongue of truth! 
 O tear of rapture in the eye of Love! 
 O marriage ring upon the strong white hand 
 Of most divinest Justice! Liberty! 
 Thou angel leader of the centuries, 
 We see thy white wings strained against the dark 
 Of the far future, and thy starry locks 
 Clustered about thy temples, and thy mouth 
 A red rose glowing through the night, th)' hand, 
 Like a white wand, still beckoning, beckoning. 
 
 170
 
 Thou wilt not come to us, but we must haste 
 And follow after thee, and thoii wilt lead 
 Us through the desert to a promised land 
 Where walk men's deeds like angels clothed in 
 
 truth, 
 
 No cruel brand upon their foreheads white, 
 Made by the tiger claw of selfishness, 
 Their free wings rumpled by no fluttering 
 Against the cords of custom and of law.' 
 The fair, frail woman sitting at his side, 
 His daughter, is the people's nightingale. 
 They know her by no other name, and he 
 In speaking to her, always says: 'My Bird!' 
 And they two live and work among the poor, 
 She singing to the dying till they think 
 That seraphim float 'round them; to the sick 
 Not nigh to death, till soothed to healing sleep; 
 Unto the sad, and they are comforted: 
 So shares her rare gift freely with the throng." 
 Spoke Madeline, "I know her face. 'Tis she 
 Whose convict father, on a Christmas morn, 
 When all the bells were ringing merrily, 
 Her wedding chimes still echoing in her heart, 
 She being one month a bride, he having served 
 His prison sentence, came a suppliant. 
 She pleaded, but her husband shut the door 
 Upon him like a tramp, and after that 
 Remorse and secret grief made her cheek pale. 
 Whereat he grew suspicious, and he set 
 A watch upon her footsteps night and day, 
 Detected her in conference with a man, 
 
 171
 
 Accused her. She protested earnestly 
 
 She only met her father; but he laughed. 
 
 Many believe she was a stainless wife, 
 
 As pure as snow before it falls from heaven, 
 
 And others say she was not wholly true 
 
 But she was driven and hounded into sin. 
 
 However it may have been, I know the court 
 
 Granted him his divorce, and took the child 
 
 Out of her arms, and gave it unto him, 
 
 And after that he never saw her more. " 
 
 Said Magia softly, "Let no word of this 
 
 Be breathed in any other ear than mine. 
 
 The past is past; why should it leave its grave 
 
 To tread our present paths with haunting feet? 
 
 It takes the heart's whole strength to meet each hour 
 
 As it approaches; why should we give half 
 
 To combat with the ghosts of the dead years? 
 
 We ask of no one what his past has been, 
 
 But what his present is." Said Madeline, 
 
 "How many here have secrets in their eyes! 
 
 Their brows are palimpsests whereon are traced 
 
 Many strange records." 
 
 "Aye," said Magia, 
 "For every human life's a tragedy, 
 If but a Shakespeare or Euripides, 
 With glorifying touch, would lift ft up 
 In the sweet light of sympathy which shows 
 All men its kindred touches unto all." 
 Then Madeline uplifted her fair face: 
 "I have grown very weary of myself, 
 And of the giddy world in which I move. 
 
 173
 
 I pray you let me tarry here a while 
 And work with you. " 
 
 "Most welcome!" Magia said. 
 So for a week the gentle Madeline 
 Went up and down with Magia everywhere, 
 And drank her words and dwelt upon her ways. 
 Upon the evening of the seventh day 
 She came and flung herself at Magia's feet, 
 Crossing her gleaming arms on Magia's knees, 
 And over those white arms her auburn curls 
 Flashed down like rays of sunset, and through them 
 Her snowy fingers strayed caressingly. 
 "Am I not beautiful?" 
 
 "Most beautiful, 
 
 And through the mortal beauty glows a mind, 
 And over all the glorifying grace 
 Of spirit beauty like a splendor falls." 
 Then Madeline made answer, drooping low, 
 "And yet one does not love me whom I love." 
 "Can you be sure of this? Have you been true? 
 Be sure no angel stands behind our deeds 
 To gather up the tangled ends we leave, 
 And weave them into beautiful designs! 
 These are the truest words of him /love." 
 Then Madeline drooped lower. "No," she said; 
 "For when they told me that he had gone wild 
 Over a beggar girl, a factory slave, 
 I would not hear him speak, nor even read 
 The letters that he sent me." Magia smiled: 
 "I am the beggar girl, the factory slave, 
 But we've not spoken alone for these three years. 
 
 173
 
 He does me kindly service when he can, 
 Teaches the classes sometimes, sometimes speaks 
 Brave words unto the people, but I think 
 He has forgotten that fancy long ago." 
 Then Madeline drew down her thick, bright curls 
 Over her burning cheeks: "I did not know 
 Forgive me, Magia, I did not know." 
 Magia, stooping, raised the drooping head, 
 Parted the sunset-colored ringlets back, 
 Kissing the fair brow: "Speak to him," she said. 
 "I fear me I shall seem unmaidenly. " 
 "Fear nothing half so much as being untrue. 
 He comes again to-night; tell him the truth, 
 The simple truth, then let him go his way 
 And do his will; but speak the truth to him. 
 Oh! woman is too narrow, too bound in 
 By steels of custom, too opinion-laced. 
 Even in her fullest, fairest growth she shows 
 Some ugly twists where she has grown too cramped, 
 Some littlenesses that defeat her right 
 To the grave reverence of noble men, 
 Unfit her for great causes. Ask yourself, 
 Whate'er you do, 'Does reason sanction this? 
 Do I thus follow out my being's law, 
 Or serve a blind tradition?' Oh! I long 
 To see some splendid woman once attain 
 To all the fair proportions of a man, 
 His intellectual breadth, his passion's depth, 
 His height of courage and his strength of will; 
 Nor, in the fair unfolding of herself, 
 Miss aught of gracious sweetness; nor yet lose, 
 
 174
 
 Through wisdom, the white bloom of innocence: 
 Snow pure, but not through ignorance of sin, 
 Or social screens set up to break the heat 
 Of fierce temptation's fires which men must face, 
 But through experience strong, through knowledge 
 
 wise, 
 
 Spotless as heaven by conquest of herself." 
 Then Madeline made answer tremulously: 
 "No wonder that the children, when they pray, 
 Forget that it is God to whom they pray, 
 And lisp the name of Magia instead; 
 And the old men and women breathe the name 
 To charm away diseases; and the vile, 
 Who never yet have known a sense of shame, 
 Blush crimson in her presence; and no doubt, 
 Lovers will swear by her." Then Magia smiled: 
 "Oh! there are heavenly moments in our lives, 
 When sympathy makes angels of us all, 
 Clothing us with a mystic aureole; 
 And those whose sorrows have transfigured us 
 Seeing a light about us, kiss our robes, 
 And almost worship us, while other men 
 See nothing but unluminous, cold clay." 
 While she yet spoke, one stood within the room, 
 And seeing Grandville, Magia smiling passed 
 Out of the rocm in silence. Madeline 
 Rose from her lowly seat and moved toward him. 
 "Arthur!" she said; he answered, "Madeline!" 
 And they two looked into each other's eyes, 
 The while the noiseless footsteps of the light 
 Were stealing from the room. At last she drew 
 
 175
 
 Herself unto her utmost queenly height, 
 Assuming a new dignity and strength, 
 Like a new royal robe: "I tell you true 
 I have not ceased to love you in these years, 
 And I would know how is it now with you?" 
 He moved a little nearer, and knelt down, 
 And kissed her snowy fingers twice or thrice. 
 "You are as brave as you are beautiful, 
 As true as you are brave. Oh! I would bare 
 My forehead of its crown, were I a king, 
 Being so honored by the noble love 
 Of such a splendid woman. Yet if I say 
 That Magia is my heart's beloved, my star, 
 By which I shape the courses of my life, 
 The one true note by which my being tunes 
 Itself to the deep harmonies of life? " 
 "Why then I would not have it otherwise. 
 No other is so worthy to be loved," 
 She answered, faintly flushing. On that night, 
 The lecture finished, all the people pressed 
 To touch the hand of Magia ere they went; 
 And when the last had gone, the last but one, 
 And they two stood within the empty hall, 
 He touched her hand, all reverent as the rest: 
 "I have been keeping silent, Magia, 
 Till I could grow up slowly to your height 
 Of moral greatness, struggling day by day 
 To fashion something nobler of myself. 
 My cheek is scorched with burning shame to think 
 How weak and base you know me to have been, 
 Yet I have more to utter of myself, 
 
 170
 
 Ere I am free to say the thing I must, 
 More that I faint to breathe to one Christ -pure. " 
 "Speak truly, but speak chastely, for believe 
 That truth and purity may lover-like 
 Walk hand in hand together through all speech, 
 Aye, through all thought and action, never divorced 
 Save in the thought of man and by his will." 
 "Oh! then, there are dark places in my life, 
 For there's a social license given to men, 
 Ruthless to trail the virginal white robes 
 Of their affections in the social slime." 
 "The past is past; why call it from its grave 
 To haunt the present?" Magia softly said. 
 "I say to you that I have sometimes stood 
 In presence of unblushing, naked sin, 
 And laid my hand upon its beating heart, 
 And analyzed its pulses, and I know 
 That that which is most God-like in a man 
 May make him most a fiend, as the same force 
 Which in the lurid lightning blasts the oak, 
 And fells the strong man sheltered under it, 
 In the brave hand of Science makes the night 
 Almost the radiant sister of the day. 
 So that which made us demons yesterday, 
 To-day may make us angels, if we will." 
 "Then, Magia, have I leave to speak of love, 
 Having concealed aught of myself from you?" 
 "Oh! I am married, Arthur, married! Why! 
 You would not seek to woo another's bride?" 
 "Married!" he said; "I scarcely understand." 
 "Yes, married, for I hold that when two hearts 
 
 177
 
 I 
 
 Stand up together in the light of truth, 
 Before the rosy altar-fires of love, 
 Amid their pulses' music loud and sweet, 
 Like angel orchestras and wedding bells, 
 Confessing each to each, 'We truly love,' 
 This is the marriage moment; this the act. 
 What more can form or ceremony add? 
 And all earth's forms and rituals cannot make 
 That marriage where this hath not been; and they, 
 Who deem that they are wedded by mere rites, 
 But live unchastely, out of marriage. Some 
 May think that death dissolves the marriage tie; 
 Indissoluble it makes it unto me, 
 For while life is, there may be death of love, 
 But after death love has no power to die." 
 "Oh! it was you who saved me, Magia. " 
 "No, no, salvation is within a man 
 A deathless spark at center of the soul, 
 That any breath of love or truth may fan 
 Into a splendor unimprisonable, 
 Illumining and quickening the whole man." 
 He bowed his head in sorrow: "I can wait." 
 
 The years rushed by, the tireless, swift years, 
 And made no change in Magia, save to turn 
 The white curls whiter, like soft drifted snow. 
 And Madeline dwelt with her, drinking in 
 Her pure soul's strength and sweetness, as a flower 
 Follows the sun with thirsty anthers. Now 
 Was Magia's early sorrow ten years old. 
 Upon its birthday morn she robed herself 
 
 178
 
 In bridal white, and sat alone, and held 
 
 Some humble poet's volume in her hand. 
 
 She read aloud, aloud, though to herself, 
 
 A quivering, far-off sweetness in her voice, 
 
 As when a sweet-tongued clock down some long aisle 
 
 Throbs lingering music, like an angel hid 
 
 Amid the shadows, singing to himself. 
 
 Now Arthur Grandville, not remembering 
 
 What day it was, came with a purpose firm 
 
 To say, "See, I have waited patiently. 
 
 Dear Magia, I am content to take 
 
 Love's blossom of the later spring." He stood 
 
 Within the door. Her face being turned from him 
 
 She knew not of his presence, and read on: 
 
 "O Yesterday, sad Yesterday, return 
 And be a willing bride to this To-day 
 With all its fuller knowledge, and behold 
 The beautiful To-morrow the bright birth, 
 Fair issue of this noble marriage. Oh! 
 Yet our mistakes are angels, if we throne 
 Them in our hearts, and sitting at their feet, 
 Learn meekly all the wisdom they can teach." 
 She slowly turned the leaves and once more read: 
 
 "Sleep on thy white cloud pillows, O sweet wind, 
 And whisper of thy wanderings in thy sleep. 
 See yonder the white eyelids of the dawn 
 Tremble their dewy lashes and close down 
 Over their starry orbs, as the day comes, 
 Veiling the morning stars with stronger light. 
 
 179
 
 I'm weary, for, through all the starful night, 
 My soul has reached forth the strong arm of thought 
 And searched about the world for truth, pure truth. 
 Once did my fingers close upon the hem 
 Of her white garment, and I felt the thrill 
 Of her electric being through me run. 
 I laughed for jo)', when, lo! she fled my touch. 
 And once, oh, joy! I caught her, held her fast, 
 And lover-like I strained her to my soul. 
 She looked up into my soul's eyes and smiled, 
 A calm, compassionate, half disdainful smile. 
 She said, ' O soul, what wilt thou do with me? 
 Make me a robe of perishable words, 
 And show me to thy scoffing race? Knowest not 
 That when this new age, being fully ripe, 
 Shall drop into Time's palm and have its wine 
 Pressed out by his strong fingers, many things 
 Men hold as truth will be disproved, undone, 
 Only the wine, the spirit essence left? 
 Then shall I stand of words disgarmented, 
 Leaning in naked glory upon God. 
 I tell thee each must seek me for himself. 
 Nathless, if thou wilt have me bide with thee, 
 Thou must mount higher, nearer to God's throne, 
 Nor faint nor falter.' So she spoke, and slipped 
 Forth like a shining shadow. After her 
 My soul kept following hard, and passed at length 
 Into a realm of dim abstraction, where 
 Are awful glooms and mighty leaps of thought. 
 And there it grew confused and missed its way, 
 Yet struggled onward, shivering with doubt, 
 
 180
 
 Like a scared angel stumbling 'gainst the stars, 
 
 Jostled to right and left by rushing worlds. 
 
 On, on and up, forever on and up, 
 
 Through shadowy wonders, tangled lights and darks, 
 
 Through labyrinths of nebulous star-shapes, 
 
 Ethereal essence upon essence heaped. 
 
 On, on and up, forever on and up, 
 
 Truth's silver footfall tinkling just above. 
 
 She passed within the circle of God's throne. 
 
 My soul, recoiling, veiled its dazzled eyes, 
 
 And prayed 'Come forth to me, O blessed Truth!' 
 
 With bended brows that could not be upraised, 
 
 Because of that great weight of glory, prayed, 
 
 'Daughter of God, come forth.' And presently 
 
 She came, with her grand head inclining low, 
 
 To kiss my soul's dropped eyelids, strengthening 
 
 them. 
 
 She led it back into the world of sense. 
 Straightway I fell to work with feverish zeal 
 To make a robe of subtly woven words 
 With which to clothe her limbs. When it was done, 
 And from her shoulders fell in graceful sweeps, 
 I held her from me, gazing long. She smiled, 
 A calm, compassionate, half-disdainful smile, 
 And cried, <Lo, thou hast won me for thyself. 
 But though thou sing a song so strong and sweet 
 That it were worthy to be sung in heaven, 
 And thou shouldst sit beneath the evening star 
 And hear some seraph warbling that same song, 
 As Theban Pindar heard the great god Pan 
 Singing a. mortal ode of his, and smiled 
 
 181
 
 In voiceless rapture; and though other men 
 Should take your song of truth upon their lips, 
 And nimbly jingle it from tongue to tongue, 
 Yet would it not be theirs without the strife, 
 The strong, persistent struggle of the years 
 That wins the truth, a salt into the blood, 
 A tissue in the being's tissues. Yea, 
 I say that none shall have me for his own, 
 Except he follow me as thou hast done.' 
 Now I behold the pensive, dewy earth 
 With a long sweep of flowing sunlight dries 
 Her dewy lashes, rises up and goes 
 A-singing to her work. I rise and go, 
 Believing I have only slept and dreamed, 
 Yet having gained some wisdom out of dreams." 
 Once more she turned the leaves and once more 
 read: 
 
 "All social schemes, like embryo infants, lie 
 In the vast evolution of the world, 
 Beneath its mighty heart, whose thunder-throbs 
 Are the world-shaking centuries. Let them grow, 
 Unfolding slowly, ripening to their hour. 
 To force them to their birth is certain death. 
 But nourish the great mother with the wine 
 Pressed from the fruit of ripe experience; 
 Make her blood rich with wisdom; let the sun 
 Of science shine upon her; let her breathe 
 The calm, pure air of reason, till at last 
 Unimportuned she will present the world 
 With its sublimest social dream fulfilled." 
 
 182
 
 He heard the quivering sweetness of her voice, 
 
 And felt himself abashed, as if he stood 
 
 In presence of an angel strayed from heaven, 
 
 Whom one might worship, but not marry. Then 
 
 She turned a little way, and Grandville saw 
 
 A picture 'twixt the pages of her book. 
 
 He knew the white breadth of the thought-stretched 
 
 brow, 
 
 The meek fire of the beautiful, mild eyes, 
 The mouth's grave sweetness, and he bowed his head 
 In reverential sorrow, would have passed 
 Out swiftly, noiselessly, but Magia felt 
 Rather than saw him there, and turned and smiled, 
 And beckoned to him. Arthur came and sat 
 Upon a footstool low at Magia's feet. 
 Then Magia softly said, "If I should die " 
 "What then were life to me?" 
 
 "If I should die " 
 "Oh! do not speak of death." 
 
 "If I should die, 
 
 I leave this work to you and Madeline. 
 Here in this splendid city by the lake, 
 I dream that man has a majestic hope, 
 Because all elements of life and thought 
 Enrich her blood and stimulate her brain. 
 Here is the world epitomized, for here 
 Are pulses out of every nation's heart, 
 And men may study mankind at their hearths. 
 This is to be a favorite battle-ground 
 For truth and error. Here, as time moves on, 
 Great causes will be marshaled. Times have been 
 
 183
 
 Already when the stirring trumpet blast 
 
 Of an approaching conflict shook the world 
 
 Out of its dream of safety. Oh! then teach 
 
 All capable of bearing the bright arms 
 
 Of reason, fearless, independent thought. 
 
 If you would lead men surely angelward, 
 
 Teach them to think, not what to think, but how. 
 
 I fear me that the tendency of man 
 
 Is backward and not forward, down, not up. 
 
 But for a white-winged instinct in his soul, 
 
 Impelling him to strive against the things 
 
 Which drag him bruteward, he would sink again 
 
 Into the ape and tiger. Oh, how long 
 
 It takes to move the whole, great world an inch, 
 
 The whole, great world together! As for me, 
 
 I am a-weary of the heat and din 
 
 Of the perpetual warfare. If I lie 
 
 Down like a wounded soldier in his tent, 
 
 And slumber, will you carry on the siege 
 
 'Gainst sin and ignorance?" He simply said, 
 
 "The cause is truth, the lifting up of men, 
 
 The lighting of the world, your cause and mine." 
 
 She rose up then, complaining weariness, 
 
 But smiling still, and with the lightest touch 
 
 Of lips upon his forehead, left him there, 
 
 Still as a breathing statue, one long hour. 
 
 Soon there arose a tumult through the house, 
 The sound of hurrying feet and closing doors. 
 As swift as hungry fire through withered leaves, 
 From lip to lip the mournful message ran, 
 
 184
 
 That Magia was dying. How they thronged 
 About the doors and through the rooms and halls, 
 The ragged children sobbing, and the men 
 And women, with their homely garments thick 
 With honest grime and odors of their toil, 
 Sobbing like children; those who, stained by crime, 
 Touching that pure and perfect life, had grown 
 More nearly pure and perfect; hearts made hard 
 And sour through man's injustice, that her smile 
 Mellowed and sweetened, knowing she had bent 
 Her young head to the biting, wintry wind 
 Of inhumanity, still uncongealed 
 Keeping the warm, sweet fountains of her heart. 
 The street was darkened by a sea of heads 
 That ever swayed and murmured, now and then 
 Sending a loud, hoarse moan up, as the word 
 Was passed along that Magia would die. 
 The wind blew and the rain fell on their heads, 
 And still they stood and shivered hour by hour. 
 A stranger forced his passage through the throng, 
 A man with sunburned cheeks and mild blue eyes. 
 At edge of the brown hair there gleamed a streak 
 Of delicate white skin, where the broad-rimmed hat 
 Had foiled the passionate kisses of the sun. 
 He was not tall enough nor straight enough 
 For perfect physical beauty, but he wore 
 An air of gracious dignity and strength 
 About him, as of one who, once for all, 
 Has laid a master hand upon himself. 
 Nor was there wanting manly thews of limb, 
 Nor the warm flush of health upon the cheek. 
 
 185
 
 Breathless he pushed his way amid the crowd, 
 With gentle rudeness thrust the children by, 
 And all who would restrain him, till he came 
 Where Grandville, standing sentinel at the stairs, 
 Kept back the anxious throng. "You must not 
 
 pass." 
 
 "I must, for I must see her. Will she die?" 
 "She will." 
 
 "She shall not." 
 
 "Aye, I think she will, 
 
 As some rare rose, in full and perfect bloom, 
 That stands the season's storms, untimely frosts 
 And all prevailing blights, and shows no flaw, 
 Then suddenly upon a still, fair day, 
 Sheds all at once its petals, and is gone. 
 But who are you?" 
 
 "One who may bring her help." 
 "A new physician?" 
 
 "Aye, and one that brings 
 An unknown remedy. Pray let me pass." 
 He pressed on unresisted, till he stood 
 In Magia's chamber, where she lay and smiled, 
 Her eyelids shut, like delicate curtains drawn 
 On luminous windows. And as one who turns 
 His back upon the sun that he may look 
 Down some long, shadowy vista, Magia seemed 
 To gaze far backward, murmuring as she gazed, 
 That quivering, far-off sweetness in her voice: 
 "Lean on me, little brother. I am strong. 
 I'll hold my cloak around you. How the sleet 
 Pricks in the face like needles! Thank you, sir; 
 
 180
 
 He is my brother, and we must have work 
 
 Together. Ah! the sun is shining bright. 
 
 You feed the swans. There's only a few crumbs. 
 
 You like to feed them, and I like to watch 
 
 Them stretch their red beaks. Brother, when we're 
 
 rich 
 We'll buy some water lilies just like those." 
 
 All day the rain had fallen heavily, 
 
 And the low thunder moaned about the sky, 
 
 And the wind grieved from street to street; but now 
 
 A sea of crimson glory filled the west, 
 
 Arched by a rainbow bright as angel dreams, 
 
 Above which rolled the storm-clouds, thridded 
 
 through 
 
 With lightning threads that ran and counter-ran, 
 As if an angel, holding in his hand, 
 A needle threaded with a silver thread, 
 Were mending the rent mantle of the storm. 
 Then Magia turned her eyelids toward the west, 
 And with uplifted finger cried, "Behold! 
 An angel stands on yonder sunset cloud, 
 A rainbow on his forehead. It is he!" 
 The stranger knelt. None understood his words, 
 But knew he pleaded with her, for they heard 
 His piteous accents, and sometimes her name. 
 She, thinking that the angel in the cloud 
 Was speaking to her, stretched her hands and cried, 
 "He beckons to me; he is speaking. Lo, 
 His tones are sweeter than they were on earth, 
 As angels' should be. Brother, I will come!" 
 
 187
 
 She stretched, both hands toward the bright sunset- 
 cloud. 
 
 "O Magia," the stranger cried aloud, 
 Clasping her outstretched hands in wild despair, 
 "Help! help! Your brother needs you, Magia! 
 I die except you save me, Magia! 
 Will you not stay and help me, Magia?" 
 Slowly she turned her sweet, bewildered face, 
 And gazed into his beautiful, mild eyes. 
 "O Magia, I have returned alive, 
 I am not dead, although I meant to die, 
 Up to the very moment. Then there came 
 A wiser thought, touched with a gleam of hope 
 To go away, and let you think me dead 
 For ten long years, so leave you free to choose. 
 And so I left my garments on the pier, 
 To carry the false message unto you, 
 And in the dawning's darkness crept away, 
 And journeyed to a far-off land, and there 
 I lived and worked beneath a tropic sun, 
 And gathered health of body and peace of mind. 
 These ten years being past, I set my face 
 Toward home and Magia, all my senses whet 
 Unto a twofold keenness. I could hear 
 The timid pulses in the veins of flowers, 
 The dazed stars tripping on the robes of dawn, 
 The soft wing-music of the passing hours, 
 Strange melody from spheres beyond our own, 
 The low-toned planets, and the flute-like wail 
 Of patient suns that feed their worlds with light 
 Through linked forevers. I could see the eve 
 
 188
 
 Distilling its bright dews far up in heaven. 
 I saw the sun and ocean making clouds, 
 The opening of new buds, the birth of worlds; 
 And yet, through all my journey's weary length, 
 The glory of her smile was everywhere, 
 Clothing the whole world with an aureole. 
 The music of her voice was everywhere, 
 Girdling the world with melody. I seemed 
 To hear her calling to me night and day, 
 'Hasten, my brother! Oh! make haste!' I tried 
 To warn my heart against too wild a hope, 
 Lest it should bring too wild despair. I said, 
 'Alas! she may be dead, perchance be wed!' 
 But still my soul was jubilant, and came 
 Swift as a bridegroom certain of his bride. 
 You cannot die and leave me in the world. 
 You must not, will not, Magia!" 
 
 "No," she said. 
 
 "Then we are married, married, Magia. 
 Behold we seal our marriage covenant." 
 He laid his warm, red lips against her own, 
 And in the kiss-long rapture of that breath 
 Was all of life to him, of life to her. 
 
 CONCLUSION 
 
 The autumn day was almost done. The lake 
 Was at its stillest, and the sun was low. 
 Two little boats rocked gently on the waves 
 Near to each other. Madeline laid by 
 
 189
 
 Her dripping oar, and Lifted up her face, 
 Ripe cheeks that tempt the rich, red lips of youth, 
 White forehead with a nimbus of bright hair, 
 And speaking to her fellow oarsman, said, 
 "See how the sunlight gleams on Magia's curls! 
 Oh, that I were like her so strong and sweet!" 
 Then Arthur too laid by his oar and said: 
 "Sometimes a solstice in the soul's year comes, 
 When in its calm, high spheres its great lights 
 
 pause, 
 
 While lower elements tempestuous rage, 
 And then move on serenely, calm, but changed, 
 For a new season has been ushered in. 
 So was it my soul's solstice on the day 
 When young Marcellus from the grave returned. 
 Then a new season reigned. Then I beheld 
 What heights of spiritual life had risen 
 Between my soul and Magia's; how she moved 
 Too far above me, like the^moon in heaven, 
 In calm, pure splendor, while I, like the sea, 
 Yearned far below in passionate unrest. 
 But I will love her still, and love her well, 
 As loves the sea, the moon, far off, far off 
 As man might love an angel. But for you, 
 You who are like her in all gracious ways, 
 In gentle truth and sweet sincerity, 
 You are my earthly Magi a whom I dare 
 To love and marry. Answer if I may." 
 "I am content," she answered, "to be loved 
 Because I am like Magia. " Then they heard 
 A sudden chord of music from the lips 
 
 190
 
 Of Magia and Manley, a brief pulse 
 
 Of laughter. He had raised a snowy curl 
 
 That gleamed on Magia's shoulder, to his lips. 
 
 "It is more beautiful than when it wore 
 
 Its richest midnight luster." 
 
 "Ah!" she said, 
 
 "A little life's how slight a thing! It falls, 
 And like a snowflake slips into the sea, 
 And melts from sight; and yet what costly things 
 JTears, anguish, passions, dreams, wrongs, battles, 
 
 blood, 
 
 It takes to make a strong, true life that feels 
 All human nature conquered in the blood! 
 Men ar'e so bound, and yet so wide apart! 
 Together by what mighty likeness held! 
 Yet, by what differences immeasurable, 
 What gulfs impassable, oft separate! 
 So one may move a stranger in the throng, 
 Feeling he has no kindred in the world, 
 Yet, yearning, knows that all men are his kin. 
 So when I thought you were not in the world, 
 I seemed a stranger, brother." How he smiled! 
 "Who is it calls me brother? What! my wife? 
 These ivy vines of habit, how they cling 
 About our thoughts and actions, creeping in 
 Amid the careless words that shape our speech, 
 Binding us to the ruins of the past 
 That else might crumble from us." Then they two 
 Struck a low chord of laughter, thrilled and sweet, 
 Which throbbed an instant on the wind, then fell 
 Into the blue waves, fading out of sound. 
 
 191
 
 Now, like a golden period from the pen 
 
 Of Time, the ancient scrivener, the great sun 
 
 Fell on the shining surface of the lake, 
 
 And left the western sky all glorious 
 
 With tints innumerable, as if it were 
 
 The gathering place of souls of earth's dead flowers. 
 
 Spoke Manley: "Let our chiefest mission be, 
 
 To make ourselves the noblest that we may; 
 
 And second, to ennoble other men; 
 
 Because the great Christ-passion to redeem 
 
 Burns in our hearts, and life is but half lived, 
 
 Unless we feel that men have touched our robes, 
 
 And virtue has gone out from us." 
 
 "And yet," 
 
 Said Magia, gazing thoughtfully, "and yet, 
 I do not like this clang of forging men, 
 Like white hot iron at our social forge. 
 I think salvation is within a man, 
 A deathless spark at center of his soul, 
 That outward burns; and they who beat the drums 
 Of progress, and ring out the wild alarms 
 Of death and danger, oft confuse the world. 
 And yet, we may not live unto ourselves. 
 How shall we serve th^ world best? Let us think. " 
 
 192
 
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