THE 
 
 LEPROSY 
 OF 
 MIRIAM
 

 

 
 THE LEPROSY OF MIRIAM. 
 
 BY 
 
 UKSULA N. GESTEFELD. 
 
 NEW YORK. 
 
 THE GESTEFELD LIBRARY & PUBLISHING CO. 
 1894.
 
 Copyright, 1894, 
 URSULA N. GESTEFELD. 
 
 All rights reserved.
 
 DEDICATION. 
 
 To my friend K. S. P., whose never-ceasing helpfulness in the 
 world of her environment counts her as one Who "hath done 
 what she could," and makes her an inspiration for those who are 
 doing what she would. 
 
 2229003
 
 FOREWORD. 
 
 IN the Jewish history of the Old Testament is found 
 a people which has come out from an environment 
 made hateful by generations of bondage, and has set 
 its face toward a promised land of freedom. 
 
 This journey of the Children of Israel illustrates the 
 progress of the human soul, which is to outgrow the 
 bondage of the flesh and reach the freedom of the 
 spirit. It is typical of the individual and universal 
 development recognized to-day as the continuity of 
 evolution, which, crossing the line of demarcation be- 
 tween shapes and souls, is to some time bring the high- 
 est species of the genus Man. 
 
 In this journey the people, though they have "tri- 
 umphed gloriously," are halted for a season through 
 what befalls Miriam. For having " spoken against " 
 Moses, she is stricken with leprosy and shut out from 
 the camp, " and the people journeyed not till Miriam 
 was brought in again." 
 
 The progress of the human race is limited by the de- 
 velopment and position of its women. Naturally the 
 perceptive and intuitive half of Man, woman's preroga- 
 tive and possibilities have been obscured by the mascu- 
 line intellect. Stimulated partly by the inherent vital- 
 ity of her own nature and by the force of masculine 
 
 5
 
 6 
 
 example, she has taken the forward strides which have 
 produced the typical nineteenth century product the 
 intellectually developed woman, self-reliant, positive, 
 forceful. 
 
 She is strongly en evidence to-day, a factor in the 
 body politic to be reckoned with, not ignored. She is 
 no religionist, because she sees the mistake of being a 
 mere emotionalist. She is becoming has become 
 agnostic. Failing to recognize that part of our dual 
 nature which is the true leader to higher things, and 
 because of her intellectual ambition " speaking against 
 Moses " she has been smitten with the leprosy of scien- 
 tific ( ?) materialism. And thus she is " as one dead " 
 because not alive to her own higher nature and true 
 office. 
 
 Truly, the people may not journey further till she is 
 received in again. Past glories were good, present 
 glories are better, the best are yet to come. Foreshad- 
 o wings are with us. The sixth sense which marks a 
 higher species is beginning to appear. It is feminine, 
 and it pertains to the "divine womanly which ever 
 leads us on." The intellectual womanly, blind to the 
 divine, halts us in the wilderness. 
 
 URSULA N. G-ESTEFELD.
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 A HUMMING rustling crowd filled the fashionable 
 church of Benton. It was within a few minutes of 
 the time appointed for the marriage ceremony. 
 
 Friends of the bride weighed and measured friends 
 of the bridegroom. Friends of the bridegroom sur- 
 veyed and criticized the friends of the bride. Perme- 
 "ating the general expectation was a parry-and-thrust 
 atmosphere perfumed with the aroma which always 
 clings around a wedding. 
 
 In one of the pews far enough from the altar to 
 mark its occupants as related to the contracting parties 
 socially rather than by blood, was seated a man who 
 surveyed the scene with well-bred indifference and an 
 occasional raising of the eyebrows as remarks intended 
 for the speakers' neighbors reached his ear from differ- 
 ent directions. 
 
 "She was just dying for him, you know, long be- 
 fore" 
 
 "Her family were much opposed to the match, 
 and" 
 
 11 He seems to almost worship her, but " 
 
 "I've seen most of her trousseau and it does not 
 compare with " 
 
 " She's one of the sweetest girls I know, and I do 
 hope" 
 
 7
 
 8 
 
 " Papa does not believe he'll ever amount to much, 
 and" 
 
 The organ began to breathe soft strains into the 
 conglomerate atmosphere, a precursor of that harmony 
 which is to survive discord, unnoticed by many in their 
 eager vivisection even as the grand purpose and order 
 which underlie the turmoil and froth of our daily life 
 unfold unheeded. The strains swelled louder and he 
 turned with the rest toward the door through which 
 the bridal party was to enter, in time to see the bride 
 upon her guardian's arm. 
 
 His gaze followed her and her attendants as they 
 took their places before the altar. The exhortations 
 and injunctions of the marriage ceremony fell upon 
 deaf ears, the sense of hearing, with most of those 
 present, being absorbed in that of sight and curiosity. 
 
 From the distance the bride was an enchanting 
 statue of white mystery. Those near by saw the flush 
 upon her cheek and the tremulousness of her delicate 
 mouth which revealed her repressed emotion, the sol- 
 emnity which overspread her face as the impressive 
 tones of the officiating clergyman resounded in the 
 sanctuary. 
 
 In marked contrast to his bride were the attitude and 
 expression of the bridegroom. His face wore a look 
 as near triumph as a sense of his surroundings allowed, 
 an almost exultant satisfaction which seemed less like 
 the recognition of a developed and strong manhood 
 than the temporary impulse of a child. 
 
 As they turned from the altar to retrace their steps, 
 wedded husband and wife, the gazer in the pew looked 
 at him intently, the corners of his mouth drawn down-
 
 9 
 
 ward with a contemptuous expression, his right hand 
 clenched, his whole form suggestive of the animal's 
 instinct to spring upon its prey. 
 
 Half-way down the aisle, as if drawn by the other's 
 compelling gaze, the bridegroom looked directly in his 
 1'arr. His look and manner at once lost a little of 
 their inflation. He glanced straight before him and 
 seemed to impulsively hasten his steps. 
 
 At the same moment his bride, though she had not 
 raised her eyes, came almost to a standstill, giving her 
 the appearance of endeavoring to hold him back as she 
 leaned upon his arm. The flush left her face, she 
 turned pale and seemed to keep herself from falling 
 only by clinging to liim. 
 
 It was but an instant however. Even while her 
 husband looked at her wonderingly she went on as 
 before. Those near enough saw that her step seemed 
 uncertain and that she breathed almost pantiugly. 
 
 The incident was so quickly come and gone it was 
 noticed by very few. The husband helped his wife 
 into the carnage waiting at the door, others were 
 quickly filled with her attendants and the church was 
 soon emptied of the waiting throng. 
 
 The man in the pew was one of the last to emerge 
 and the carriages had already disappeared in the dis- 
 tance. He stood a moment upon the sidewalk looking 
 idly at the guests as they departed in various direc- 
 tions. Then he stooped and picked up something 
 which lay at his feet. It was as pray of the lily-of-the 
 valley, crushed and bruised, its freshness trampled out 
 under the passing feet. It was the bride's flower. He 
 laid it in the palm of his hand and looked at it. Its
 
 10 
 
 sweetness stole over him, battered and dying as it 
 was. 
 
 " Its rough usage but liberates its fragrant soul," he 
 said half aloud. 
 
 " Bah ! What of it ? " he ejaculated, suddenly fling- 
 ing it from him and walking away. He had gone but 
 a few steps when a gentleman walking rapidly in the 
 same direction came up with him. 
 
 " How are you, Everett ? " with a friendly slap on the 
 shoulder. "Been to the wedding?" with a jerk of the 
 head in a backward direction. 
 
 " Yes," answered the other briefly. 
 
 "Who is she?" 
 
 " Emma Haines." 
 
 "A prize?" 
 
 " An embodied mistake. She has married a man to 
 save him."
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 EVERETT LONG at thirty-three had exhausted the 
 pleasures of life and was left with only its endurance. 
 He had "got through" with everything else. He 
 knew the world, men, women, and things. What 
 more ? What more was there to know ? 
 
 On the morning following the wedding he sat at the 
 window in his snug bachelor apartments, newspaper 
 fallen unheeded to the floor, idly gazing upon the walls 
 and richly draped windows opposite. He turned with 
 a languid expectation as the bell announced a visitor, 
 but his face lighted up with genuine pleasure as a gen- 
 tleman entered the room. 
 
 " More than glad to see you, Paul," he said as he 
 went quickly forward to meet him. " It seems an age 
 since you were here." 
 
 A greater contrast than the two men presented as 
 they stood together could not well be imagined. Everett 
 Long physically left little to be desired. Tall, straight, 
 muscular, with a face full of suggestion of what it 
 might be could but the light of an awakened soul shine 
 through it, he grasped the hand of a man who did not 
 reach to his shoulder and who let go of one crutch 
 supporting himself with the other as he received the 
 greeting. 
 
 Shrunken, misshapen he stood there, seemingly so 
 11
 
 12 
 
 fragile a child running against him in play would have 
 felled him to the floor, looking up at Long with a smile. 
 His face was a revelation and a perplexity. Seeing it 
 alone one would have been unable to determine whether 
 it belonged to a man or a woman, for, guiltless of 
 beard, it combined a man's strength and dominance 
 with a woman's gentleness and beauty. 
 
 His hair was a golden glory waving back from a 
 noble brow and showering upon his shoulders in loosely 
 curling locks that clung lovingly around his neck. His 
 eyes lifted to the face above him were soft and clear as 
 a limpid pool under the kiss of a June sun. His curved 
 spine spoke of past pain and suffering of which his 
 glorious face gave no hint. No suspicion of melan- 
 choly or morbid self-consciousness clung to him. One 
 lost sight of the hunchback in looking at the mingled 
 peace and power of his face. 
 
 " I've tried to look you up once or twice," continued 
 Long, "but never succeeded in finding you. Why 
 didn't you come before ? " 
 
 " You have not needed me," replied Paul Masters 
 gently, and his voice did not belie his face. Sweet and 
 sympathetic it yet had a resonance suggestive of some- 
 thing held in reserve, and his words had a particular 
 distinctness though his tone was low. 
 
 "That means that you thought the time had come 
 around again for one of your sermons, eh ! Oh ! 
 Paul ! Paul ! Save yotir powder ! I am not worth it," 
 returned his host as he drew forward a particularly 
 easy chair and took his guest's crutches from his hands. 
 
 "You are worth all the means at my command for 
 your salvation, Everett," replied Paul Masters as he
 
 settled into the capacious chair, looking so diminutive 
 by contrast as to be almost extinguished. Only his 
 glorious head stood out from the dark background, 
 beauty framed in obscurity. 
 
 " One would think to hear you, Paul, that you were 
 a religious exhorter of the first water, and yet you 
 never give me the pill of religion in the apple-sauce of 
 friendship. Your views are as queer as your liking for 
 me. They are equally a puzzle." 
 
 " All puzzles are simple when you understand them," 
 said his companion. " I love you." 
 
 There was a quiet steadfastness in his tone, more im- 
 pressive than wordy protestations could have been, as 
 he gazed serenely in the other's face. 
 
 A wave of feeling passed over it, breaking up 
 its studied indifference, as Everett Long responded 
 heartily : 
 
 " I really believe you do, Paul. You have stood by 
 me for years when you had nothing to gain by it and 
 I abused your friendship. You have nursed me when 
 I was ill, helped me out of scrapes when I was well, 
 opened your pocket-book when I needed it and, best of 
 all, you have never bored me with a goodness whose 
 reward was a seat in Heaven." 
 
 His friend did not reply and a silence fell between 
 them. 
 
 " Tell me," said Paul Masters at last, " what has oc- 
 curred since I saw you last. The money was paid you 
 all right, wasn't it ? " 
 
 "Yes, no trouble whatever. And your advice has 
 had some effect at last, I have invested it securely and 
 do not mean to spend more than the income it yields.
 
 Perhaps, too, my recollection of past experiences was 
 keen enough to determine my action. I did not quite 
 enjoy being reduced to a ten-dollar note." There was 
 a trace of bitterness in his tone. " However, that's 
 past and gone. This legacy has come in good time 
 and I appreciate its value more than I would formerly 
 have done." 
 
 " It has come to you as all things will to all men 
 when it is best for them to have them; not always 
 when they want them," replied Paul. "You have 
 learned, I think, that money is for use, not abuse. So 
 much experience has done for you." 
 
 " Humph ! " returned his companion as he rose from 
 his chair and began to pace the floor. " Experience is 
 a sorry jade. For every sugar-plum she pours you out 
 more than one dose of wormwood." 
 
 " Experience is the angel of revelation to those who 
 have need of her," said Paul Masters quietly. But a 
 light glowed in his face which made it as a sun in the 
 cloud of his surroundings. "The time will yet conic 
 when you will be thankful in your soul for every part 
 of it, even while you regret some of it." 
 
 Everett Long smiled half sadly, half ironically. 
 
 " You have more faith in my possibilities and future 
 than I have," he said. 
 
 " Because I know your possibilities and you as yet 
 do not," replied Paul Masters quickly. " You have en- 
 joyed the sense-man while I have studied the higher 
 one. Were you at the wedding yesterday ? " 
 
 The other walked more rapidly. " Yes," he replied 
 briefly. 
 
 His visitor watched him silently for a moment.
 
 15 
 
 " By G d ! I have committed many a bad act but 
 never a mean one ! " he burst out suddenly. 
 
 " So much the better for you," replied Paul quietly. 
 " You will have to take the consequences of only your 
 own acts." 
 
 " Well ! I am able to take them ! " said Everett, throw- 
 ing his head back haughtily. "I will never seek to 
 throw them upon any one else." 
 
 Paul looked at him fixedly until he returned his 
 gaze. 
 
 " Remember that ! " Everett said. " I may yet remind 
 you of it." 
 
 Neither spoke for a moment, during which Everett 
 continued to pace the floor and Paul seemed to be pon- 
 dering something. Then : 
 
 " Come here, my friend, will you not, and sit by me ? " 
 he said. "I cannot 'sermonize' for such a walking 
 whirlwind." 
 
 It would have struck an observer as curious, the 
 ready obedience Everett Long showed his diminutive 
 friend. With strength enough to have carried him 
 with one hand, he seemed to yield to a superior strength 
 at a word. He came at once and seated himself beside 
 Paul, who laid his hand on his knee. 
 
 " You are not suffering so much from disappointed 
 love, Everett, as you are smarting under a mixed sense 
 of unfairness toward yourself, contempt for him and 
 an angry pity for her. Experience has not yet become 
 revelation for you. I will not rouse your anger by tell- 
 ing you that it is better as it is you will yet tell me 
 that but rather try to show you what use you may 
 make of what you have passed through. First, look
 
 16 
 
 back over your life. What had you to offer her in re- 
 turn for what she had to give ? " 
 
 " Don't I know that ! " broke out Everett Long. 
 " Was it not because I knew that the smirch of my own 
 life made it unfair to seek connection with hers, that I 
 waited and held aloof when I might I think I might 
 have won her ? And he knew it the cur and stepped 
 in and drew her to him, not because he loved her, but 
 because he thought I did, and then boasted of his suc- 
 cess, using her name in company where his tongue 
 should have rotted first. I hope that his days will be 
 torment and his nights torture " 
 
 " Stop ! " said Paul sternly. " Now you are unworthy 
 of yourself. He has his future before him. He will 
 have quite enough to do to meet it. You need not 
 make it harder for him. l Thoughts are things ' and 
 once created run their course. I repeat, what is called 
 a disappointment in love does not apply to you now. 
 Underlying the outer man who has lived for and 
 through the senses you have a fine strong nature with 
 high instincts and noble impulses. The divinity in you 
 is bursting its prison-house and will not be held captive 
 much longer. It was this nature, attracted by a sweet 
 lovable woman, which compelled you to look upon the 
 outer man and recognize the difference between him 
 and her 5 which showed you the unfairness of taking 
 advantage of her innocence, born of her ignorance. 
 The very honesty and simplicity which attracted you 
 both through the recognition of your higher nature 
 and the contrast they offered to what you were most 
 used to made it easy for Walter Hemmingway to win 
 her. He could not act as you did any more than you
 
 17 
 
 could do as he has done. He followed his bent as you 
 did yours. His awakening is to come and through 
 pain." 
 
 His companion made a motion as though to inter- 
 rupt him, but Paul went steadily on. 
 
 " You loved because really you have affinity with 
 certain qualities in her. Good little woman as she is, 
 she would not have called out the best in you. That 
 your best must be active is for you a vital necessity. 
 Your past tribulations have been a war with yourself 
 because you were never satisfied in your excesses. 
 They were great because your nature is great. There 
 is nothing mediocre about you. When your soul spoke 
 you were always self -condemned. She is a good but 
 a weak woman, weak because she lives in her affections 
 which are strong. He is weak morally, so weak he is 
 not wicked but worse. He is a moral idiot. Their 
 married life will be a scourge for her, but the means 
 for her development as well. For him it will be a pas- 
 time, a forgotten fact, an irritating impediment, or a 
 temporary refuge, as his experiences multiply them- 
 selves. You are a strong man, you need a strong 
 woman. You will have her when you are worthy of 
 her." 
 
 He paused as if to give his companion opportunity 
 for reply. None came. The young man's head had 
 dropped forward and he seemed to be thinking deeply 
 while the fierceness in his face died away. 
 
 " Every one has his ideal," continued Paul Masters, 
 "but the ideal of your awakened manhood will not be 
 Emma Haines. You have become disgusted with ex- 
 cess, impatient with moral faults your finer nature in-
 
 18 
 
 stinctively spurns. You are groping vaguely and 
 blindly after something which begins to draw you an- 
 other way. Everett Long ! " and he spoke impressively, 
 looking earnestly in Everett's face the while, " you have 
 reached an important period in your life. Yesterday's 
 experience was the closing incident in a series which 
 has brought you to it. On your choice now, more than 
 you realize depends. I have waited for this and am 
 here to help you. If you will set free this struggling 
 god within you, if you will serve him as he will serve 
 you, you will have a hard but glorious road before 
 you ; up hill, therefore an ascension. At every step 
 you may score a victory, leaving the possibility of de- 
 feat further and further behind you." 
 
 His listener was breathing quickly, he had forsaken 
 his drooping attitude, and while a tenseness seemed to 
 pervade his whole form a tremor played about his 
 mouth and nostrils. 
 
 " It seems," he began, and his voice had lost its defi- 
 ant ring, "as if I remember something I cannot re- 
 member. Such a strange sensation ! " 
 
 Paul smiled quietly. 
 
 " That which is immortal by its own nature may be 
 covered, but never extinguished," he said. " Some time 
 it will speak. Be quiet a moment." 
 
 The young man seemed to struggle under the influ- 
 ence of a strong emotion. He was like a turbulent sea 
 within, where tossing waves made confusion and tur- 
 moil and there was nothing firm and sure to sus- 
 tain him. Gradually something seemed to make itself 
 heard through the storm, a voice and yet not a voice, a 
 message, faint but growing more distinct as he list-
 
 19 
 
 ened, an impression rather than words " Self-mastery 
 is the secret of power." 
 
 Self-mastery ! Power ! Something within him 
 seemed to spring suddenly into life. A new ambi- 
 tion stirred him. An eagerness, he hardly knew for 
 what, routed his old indifference. He heard his friend's 
 voice saying : 
 
 " And now that you have made your choice, let us " 
 
 " How do you know that I have made my choice ? " 
 interrupted Everett. 
 
 Paul smiled again. " I will leave the question with 
 you. Have you not?" and he looked at him inquir- 
 ingly. 
 
 A moment's hesitancy, a perceptible inward struggle, 
 and Everett Long held out his hand. 
 
 " Help me ! " he said as appealingly as a child. 
 
 Paul Masters grasped it in both his own and Everett 
 looking in his face was almost awed by what he felt 
 rather than saw. He seemed on the verge of a discov- 
 ery, a new world was opening to him. Its threshold 
 was a sanctuary and his friend the ministering priest. 
 A .solemnity stole over him, he had a sense of consecra- 
 tion and baptism, undefined at first, but which deepened 
 as they sat a few moments in silence. 
 
 Paul was the first to speak. 
 
 "Two things cannot occupy the same space at the 
 same time, you know," he said. "As all feeling is as- 
 sociated with thought you must try to change your 
 thoughts, that you may have different feelings. By 
 cultivating certain thoughts, you may dislodge others 
 you have entertained and the feelings they engender. 
 Walter Hemmingway is not your enemy and you
 
 20 
 
 must not consider Mm such. You must have no ene- 
 mies. You must become able to act toward him as you 
 would toward one who had never wronged you. You 
 owe this to yourself because you are able to do it. You 
 are always able to do the right and noble thing under 
 all circumstances ; and you are capable of more than 
 this if you will only recognize the possibility. You are 
 able to think the right and noble thought under all cir- 
 cumstances." 
 
 "I have heard you say before this morning that 
 'thoughts are things/" said Everett as Paul paused, 
 " but I begin to see now what you mean." 
 
 He was quiet, even gentle, a marked contrast to his 
 former manner. 
 
 " To build a new life one must lay its foundation. 
 Thoughts make acts," Paul continued, " therefore it is 
 not the acts but the thoughts that now need watching. 
 Deadly, revengeful thoughts are murderous ones and 
 can slay as surely, if more slowly, as a keen-edged 
 knife. Such thoughts directed toward any one passive 
 enough to " 
 
 " Was that the matter yesterday ? " interrupted Ever- 
 ett hastily. "As they came down the aisle on their 
 way out of the church I felt such a contemptuous rage 
 as I looked at him but No ! that could not be, for I did 
 not feel it toward her." 
 
 " What occurred yesterday ? " asked Paul. 
 
 "Just before she reached the door she turned pale 
 and swayed as if she might fall. It was only an in- 
 stant but I noticed it." 
 
 " You had been thinking all the while they stood at 
 the altar and for some time before as you have ex-
 
 21 
 
 pressed yourself to me this morning, had you not?" 
 asked Paul. 
 
 His companion nodded. 
 
 " And as they retraced their steps you were mentally 
 concentrated upon them to the exclusion of all else. 
 Your intense nature gave a force to the thought you 
 sent toward them, a projectile which entered where 
 there was not sufficient resistance to prevent. He was 
 less affected, consciously, than she." 
 
 Everett Long looked at the speaker half incredu- 
 lously. 
 
 " Do you mean to say that her attack of faintness, or 
 whatever it was, was caused by my thoughts ? " he 
 asked. 
 
 " If you had taken a pistol and shot her down, would 
 it not have been merely the instrument through which 
 you executed your thought?" replied Paul Masters. 
 " If it is possible for thought to act on others without 
 the medium of a visible instrument as you will some 
 time know could not the kind of thought prompting 
 such an act affect her or another unpleasantly ? " 
 
 Everett did not reply and the speaker continued 
 earnestly : 
 
 " As a thinking being you are a centre of force in the 
 universe. From the moment you begin to recognize 
 this fact you are responsible for the use of your power. 
 You are done with the past. All that remains for you 
 is what you have brought out of it. Its only value is 
 what you have learned from it. To-day you are born 
 again, and the new man is to grow from his infancy to 
 his maturity by overcoming the consequences of his 
 past acts."
 
 22 
 
 He reached for his crutches and rose from his chair. 
 
 "I will see you again in a few days. Meanwhile 
 keep yourself from revengeful, even unkind thoughts 
 as you would keep your hand from the pistol or the 
 knife. You can do this only by cultivating better ones. 
 At present this is the way you must feed the new-born 
 and it is your part of the work." 
 
 Left alone a few minutes later, Everett Long walked 
 to the mirror and gazed intently. "Only the instru- 
 ment ? " he said half aloud. Minutes passed and still 
 he stood there. Again came that inner sound which 
 was not sound. 
 
 "Crucifixion is resurrection. Be your own re- 
 deemer." 
 
 He felt a gentle glow at some inward centre which 
 seemed to spread in waves, accompanied by a tingling 
 sensation as if a new life were flowing into his body. 
 Finally, raising his hand he drew with his finger a 
 cross in the air over the image reflected in the mirror.
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 THROUGH the doors opening upon the street a crowd 
 was pouring from one of the large halls of Benton. 
 
 " Admirable ! " " Exceptionally fine ! " " Quite an 
 extraordinary production ! " "A remarkably gifted 
 woman ! " was heard from all sides. 
 
 A curious observer would have been told that a meet- 
 ing of the large and influential " Society for Mutual 
 Help and Improvement," which had been addressed by 
 Miss Miriam Hart well, a prominent member, had just 
 been dismissed. He might have heard a good natured 
 looking cabman standing by the curb say to his brother 
 cabby : 
 
 " It beats all what a crowd there is to them meetings 
 when that there lady speaks." 
 
 "Yes. Ther wimmin is gittin there sure 'nough. 
 Hi ! there ! Drat yer ! Take care er yer own din- 
 ner ! " as the cab horse who had his oats, as some peo- 
 ple have honors, thrust upon him, tossed his head the 
 better to get the dinner at the bottom of the canvas 
 bag fastened over it. A shower of oats between the 
 back of the cabby's neck and his collar, which worked 
 their own way to a more intimate acquaintance with 
 the rest of his anatomy, interrupted temporarily the 
 masculine view of " wimmin gittin there." 
 
 23
 
 24 
 
 " That's her now ! " said cabby number one as he 
 administered a friendly rub and slap to the other's 
 back. 
 
 The crowd had dissipated as a lady, a little in ad- 
 vance of another who evidently accompanied her, 
 emerged from the central exit. Tall and erect in fig- 
 ure, her gait as she crossed the wide sidewalk to a wait- 
 ing carriage confirmed the promise of her face. She 
 was a worthy specimen of the nineteenth century 
 species the advanced woman. Here was no timidity, 
 hesitation, or need of protection. She knew what she 
 wanted to do and was conscious of her ability to do it. 
 Her whole aspect conveyed the impression that she was 
 sufficient unto herself. 
 
 A gentleman stepped forward as she reached her 
 carriage. 
 
 " Allow me to congratulate you on your effort of this 
 morning, Miss Hartwell," he said as he assisted her and 
 her companion. 
 
 " Oh ! Good-morning, Mr. Long ! " she replied. " I 
 saw you in the audience. Our subject was a most in- 
 teresting one, was it not ? " 
 
 " Exceedingly so, as was the manner in which you 
 handled it." 
 
 " I believe you have not met my sister, Mr. Long. 
 Sarah, allow me to introduce to you Mr. Everett Long." 
 
 Sarah Hartwell was a marked contrast to her sister, 
 not so much in appearance as in the impression she 
 made on one, or rather in the lack of strong impression 
 made on first meeting her. This much he observed as 
 he stood at the carriage door exchanging the common- 
 places incidental to an introduction.
 
 25 
 
 " Remember our Friday evenings, Mr. Long ! " called 
 Miss Hartwell as they drove away. " We shall always 
 be glad to see you." 
 
 Everett Long walked slowly down the street. He 
 had changed greatly even in the year since the morn- 
 ing conversation with his friend Paul Masters which 
 had been fraught with so much to him. More of the 
 underlying possibilities of his nature had come to the 
 surface and erased in a degree the impress his former 
 life had made. His intellect, always active, was work- 
 ing in a new direction, no longer devising ways and 
 means for carrying out undisciplined impulse; no 
 longer acting as the tool of the sense-nature, but as the 
 faithful and respected servant of its growing master. 
 
 He had had many a battle with his old self, battles 
 which had left him scarred. Former friends he had 
 called them friends had first laughed, then sneered, 
 then dropped him. Companionable no longer, they left 
 him to such companionship as he could find in his 
 ideals, his efforts, his aspirations ; left him to that lone- 
 liness all awakened souls must experience when sur- 
 rounded by the spiritually dead, but in which Paul 
 Masters' faithful service was the bright star that ever 
 showed him the way. 
 
 He observed that the times when he was most de- 
 pressed and discouraged were the times he either saw 
 or heard from Paul ; when he questioned if there were 
 a divinity, as Paul called it, within Mm, and if it were 
 worth while to live and struggle if he could end it all. 
 But then there surged within him such a protest, such 
 an uprising as it were from some hidden deep in his 
 nature, an almost audible "Are you sure that death
 
 26 
 
 ends all ? " that he, half in despair and half in hope, re- 
 sumed his efforts again. 
 
 Paul's injunction, " Live to your best, not your least, 
 for you are able to do it," was a tonic to him. He 
 never heard Paul mourn over his past, express fear for 
 his present, or anxiety for his future. He was always 
 confident and serene, always sure of his friend's ability 
 to achieve whatever he appointed for himself. Never 
 once did he say to him, "You are liable to fall." It 
 was always, " You are able to stand." 
 
 He kept his resolve to spend no more than his in- 
 come and began to read and study, to take some inter- 
 est in the pressing questions of the day. From living 
 to himself alone, he began to notice how other people 
 lived, to feel sympathy for their privations, a connec- 
 tion with humanity which impelled him to closer in- 
 spection of its burdens and needs. 
 
 He walked slowly along, meditating on what he had 
 heard that morning " The Relation of Education to 
 the Progress of a Community." How admirably Miss 
 Hartwell had filled the position assigned her! How 
 clearly she had defined what education must be and 
 traced the progress of a people under intellectual stim- 
 ulus ! How logical were her arguments, how remark- 
 able her reasoning power! What an exceptional 
 woman she was ! How different from those with whom 
 his former mode of life had brought him in contact ! 
 
 " How are you, Long f " 
 
 He looked up at Walter Hemmingway, who, standing 
 before him with his wife, went on in a hail-fellow-well- 
 met sort of way, " Have not seen you for an age ! 
 Why don't you come and look us up ? "
 
 27 
 
 Since that wedding day Everett Long had met his 
 former associate but seldom. At first the old rage and 
 contempt swelled within him, but he had come to see, 
 as Paul Masters had taught him, that thoughts harm 
 or help those toward whom they are directed and that 
 every thought brings its harvest to the sower of the 
 seed. He had begun to see the act of Walter Hem- 
 mingway as the impulse of a weak vain nature rather 
 than the premeditated plan of an intentional enemy ; 
 and this perception added to the other enabled him to 
 meet him with a reserved courtesy which limited their 
 intercourse to ordinary salutations. Emma he had not 
 met at all. 
 
 She stood before him now holding out her hand with 
 a smile, looking at him with a gentle persuasiveness as 
 she said : 
 
 " Pray give us convincing proof that our friendship 
 is not merely a memory." 
 
 He was constrained to acknowledge the manifest de- 
 sire for future intercourse, he could not repel the hus- 
 band's advances in the presence of his wife. She could 
 not know, even if she might guess, of his former feel- 
 ings toward her, for he had never expressed them. A 
 fool had rushed in where he had feared to tread. In 
 that incomprehensibly short space of time which is no 
 time he reviewed the past and reached the present to 
 find that there was really no reason, in the light of his 
 present views and consciousness, why he should not 
 meet them as he did others ; not as friends for friend- 
 ship was growing to have a deep significance for him 
 but as members of the same human family whose well- 
 being was involved in his own.
 
 28 
 
 With a cordial pressure of Emma's hand and a court- 
 eous response to her husband's invitation he left them 
 committed to an indefinite call upon them. 
 
 " How he has changed ! " said Emma. " He seems 
 so much older in some way ; and yet it is barely a year 
 since I saw him. Did you notice it, Walter ? " 
 
 Her husband did not seem to hear her. He was 
 ruminating as he walked along, and his mental pictures 
 did not seem to be altogether pleasant ones. His wife 
 laid her hand on his arm. 
 
 "What? He older? I suppose so. It's a natural 
 consequence of living. I did not notice. Say, Emma, 
 you go on home. I will be up in time to take you for 
 a drive this afternoon. I want to see some one." 
 
 His wife did not at once reply. She stopped, as had 
 he, her hand still upon his arm. A mixed emotion 
 showed itself in her face, the wish that he should not 
 leave her, the doubt of his return at the appointed 
 time, and the desire not to offend him by expressing 
 either. 
 
 " Will you surely " she began timidly, but was cut 
 short by his signal to a car-driver. 
 
 " Here you are, dear ! " he said, drawing her from the 
 sidewalk as the car stopped. She stepped on silently, 
 pressing her lips closely together they would have 
 trembled otherwise and did not even look after him 
 as he continued on his way. 
 
 Emma Hemmingway was more than a year older in 
 experience than Emma Haines had been. She was 
 learning many things, had learned one she could not 
 rely upon her husband's word. A promise with him 
 was something that did not necessitate a performance.
 
 29 
 
 It was an expedient, handy on occasion, with no en- 
 durance beyond it except to carry out his own desires. 
 While she knew this fact, knew that it was a fact, her 
 heart refused to acknowledge it. That always found 
 excuses, reasons why he did this and did not do the 
 other. It sternly refused to look upon the growing 
 revelation of character in her husband and hugged to 
 it instead the ideal she had married. 
 
 That afternoon she sat by the window where she 
 could see him as he came down the street. She was 
 dressed for the promised drive and wore a more cheer- 
 ful face. One of the resolves made on the eve of her 
 wedding, which she had striven faithfully to keep, was 
 that her husband should never see her cry; he should 
 see only a pleasant face. For, she argued to herself, a 
 man's home must be pleasant for him, something more 
 than a place to stay in, if he shall be content to remain 
 in it. And how can he be contented if he is to see a 
 discontented, worried, or crying wife ? 
 
 So she had striven bravely to put her own f eelings so 
 far in the background that they should never come 
 within his line of vision when they were of a kind likely 
 to be disagreeable to him. 
 
 "A wife's duty is to consider her husband in all 
 things before herself," was her motto. 
 
 She sat at the window, a book in her hand, which 
 she read at intervals, till the fading daylight told her 
 the time for driving was past. She busied herself with 
 needlework such a dainty bit of fine white flannel and 
 embroidery ! till the clock showed her the near ap- 
 proach of the dinner-hour. She listened for his quick 
 run up the steps, worked a little, listened again, then
 
 30 
 
 gave orders that dinner should wait as Mr. Hemming- 
 way had not yet come home. 
 
 She waited a half -hour, an hour, an hour and a half, 
 and then attempted to eat her dinner alone, that she 
 might release the servants from the delay imposed 
 upon them. Attempted, for, try as she would, her 
 heart was too full to allow her to eat. 
 
 She resumed her work, her listening, till the hands 
 of the clock in their slow dragging away from the hour 
 of ten had nearly reached eleven. " I will wait till the 
 clock strikes," she said to herself. 
 
 The clock struck. He had not come. She went up- 
 stairs to their room and prepared slowly for bed. The 
 last nicker of cheerfulness she had kept to the front all 
 the evening, dying down at intervals only to flash with 
 renewed brightness as she thought she heard his step, 
 died out altogether as she laid her head upon her pil- 
 low. Tears stole gently down her face as she lay in 
 the semi-darkness waiting, listening, hoping, till the 
 clock struck twelve. 
 
 He had not come. Burying her face in the pillow 
 she sobbed aloud.
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 WALTER HEMMINGWAY was roused the next morning 
 by his wife's gentle hand on his face and loving voice 
 as she said, " Walter ! Walter ! Wake up ! It is very 
 late, and a man is down-stairs who declares he will not 
 go away until he has seen you." 
 
 "Eh? What? D nyou! Let Oh! Is it you, 
 Emma ? What's the matter ? " 
 
 She had shrunk back from the bed, the color coming 
 and going in her face, as he struck out wildly with one 
 arm. More than once that morning she had gone to 
 see if he were not about to waken. She had noticed 
 his heavy breathing, his loosely dropping jaw, the 
 flushed, almost mottled appearance of his face, the in- 
 describable and repulsive odor which clung about him 
 and permeated the room. 
 
 She had struggled not only to repress but to expel 
 the fear which possessed her, making excuses, invent- 
 ing reasons for his late home-coming the previous even- 
 ing and the stupor rather than sleep which was so pro- 
 longed in the morning. The possibilities suggested by 
 what she saw were put resolutely one side by what she 
 wanted to believe. 
 
 Had not Walter promised to forsake his old ways, 
 solemnly promised to give up his pleasures, to use wine 
 
 31
 
 only in moderation as social duties demanded it of him, 
 to be a model husband and family man if she would 
 only marry and help him ? 
 
 Had he not assured her again and again that he 
 would do anything to win her, that never such a hus- 
 band lived as he would be to her, never such a home 
 was known as they would have together ? 
 
 Had he not declared on his knees at her feet that he 
 would die if she did not marry and help him? He 
 could not live without her ! She was his life, his soul, 
 his salvation, his all. With her he was everything, 
 without her he was nothing. 
 
 How he loved her ! He could not fail to be what she 
 expected of him, what he had promised to be ! It was 
 simply impossible. 
 
 " There is nothing the matter," she replied, her voice 
 quavering suspiciously, "only it is the middle of the 
 forenoon and this man insists on seeing you." 
 
 He muttered something under his breath. " Who is 
 he anyway ? " 
 
 " I do not know. When I asked his name he said it 
 did not matter, but to tell you he must see you." 
 
 " Well, tell him I am sick and in bed. I do not 
 know who it is and I do not want to see him anyway." 
 
 His wife stepped quickly forward and leaned over 
 him anxiously. 
 
 " What is it, dear ? How do you feel ? Shall I " 
 
 " Oh ! It's nothing much ! " he interrupted her im- 
 patiently. "I shall be all right when I have pulled 
 myself together. Do go down and get rid of him." 
 And rolling over he pulled the bedclothes about him, 
 showing his determination to remain where he was.
 
 33 
 
 She hesitated a moment, began to speak, checked her- 
 self and slowly left the room. 
 
 In a few minutes she returned. Her lyisband did 
 not move. Reluctantly she again approached the bed. 
 
 " Walter dear ! I'm sorry to disturb you, but he has 
 sat down in the hall and declares he will not go with- 
 out seeing you if he lias to wait until to-morrow morn- 
 ing." 
 
 With a smothered oath Walter Hemmingway threw 
 back the bedclothes and sat up. 
 
 " I suppose I shall have to go down and settle him," 
 he said. " I should think, though, you might get rid of 
 any one I don't want to see." 
 
 Emma felt a pang which sent a sudden weakness 
 through and through her. Had she not done her best 
 to save her husband annoyance ? 
 
 Noting her silence as he dressed, he seemed to awake 
 more fully to the situation. 
 
 "I declare, Emma," he exclaimed, "I have been a 
 home-body for so long that a little fun with the boys 
 uses me up. I met my old friend Hal Smith, who is 
 just back from a trip abroad, as I was about coming 
 home to dinner last night. He stepped from the car 
 into my arms, almost, as I was waiting to step on. He 
 couldn't come up with me, for he had to make a train 
 early in the evening, so I took dinner downtown with 
 him and then looked up some of our mutual friends. 
 The evening was gone before I knew it, and I really 
 did not get home till twelve o'clock. You were sleep- 
 ing soundly as a baby when I came, dear, and I took 
 good care not to disturb you. You don't mind, do you ? 
 Give me a kiss."
 
 She threw her arms around his neck. 
 
 " N o, not much, Walter," she replied. " I am glad 
 you enjoyed yourself, though I wish you could have 
 brought him home with you. But was it not later 
 than twelve o'clock when you came ? I had not gone 
 to sleep then." 
 
 She looked- earnestly in his face and he seemed to 
 feel uncomfortable under her inspection. Kissing her 
 hastily he turned and began to look for something, 
 opening one drawer after another. 
 
 " Hadn't you ? It was pretty near that. Where are 
 my turnover collars ? Can't stand a choker this morn- 
 ing ! " and he rummaged industriously. 
 
 Emma took them out almost from under his hand. 
 
 " Oh ! There they are ! " he continued. " What should 
 I do without you, little woman ? " 
 
 She smiled, rather faintly in spite of her effort to be 
 cheery, and helped him till he was ready to go down- 
 stairs. As they descended she felt rather than saw the 
 start he gave as his eyes fell upon the man waiting 
 below. 
 
 "Just see if breakfast is ready for me, will you, 
 Emma ? " he said as they reached the hall. 
 
 She went away at once, hearing nothing of what 
 passed between them, Walter carefully closing the door 
 after her. 
 
 In a few minutes he came to the dining-room, sitting 
 down to the table and talking, in a busy bustling sort 
 of way, of everything and nothing at the same time. 
 She poured his coffee and hovered around him lovingly 
 while he rattled on. Had she the inclination he gave 
 her no opportunity of speaking.
 
 35 
 
 " That girl does not cook as well as she used to," he 
 said, as he pushed his beefsteak from him. " Another 
 cup, dear. No, I won't have any eggs. Just give me 
 a piece of that toast. By Jove ! It is awful late ! I 
 must be off. What are you going to do to-day ? " 
 
 He hardly seemed to hear her answer as he looked at 
 his watch and pushed back his chair. He had scarcely 
 touched the toast, had eaten a mere nothing, but he 
 had drank three cups of strong coffee. 
 
 She followed him to the hall. He continued to talk 
 while putting on his coat. 
 
 "Now good-by, little one! Take care of yourself 
 and I'll be up bright and early to-night. There ! 
 There's two kisses for you instead of your regular 
 allowance." 
 
 He turned back as he stood on the step, saying as he 
 shut the door : 
 
 " Say, Emma, if that man comes here again tell him 
 I have gone out of the city and you don't know when 
 I will be at home." 
 
 She stood silent for a moment after he had left her 
 and then went slowly up-stairs to her own room. 
 
 Who could that man have been ? What did he want 
 with her husband ? How dared he be so dictatorial I 
 Why did Walter seem to want to get away from her ? 
 Why had he told her he got home at twelve o'clock ? 
 She was awake till long after twelve. Had he could 
 he have told her a lie ? No ! Oh, no ! How could she 
 think such a thing? How dared she? Her husband 
 could not 
 
 Suddenly she remembered that he had said nothing 
 of the promised drive. He had met his friend only as
 
 36 
 
 he was about to come home to dinner. Could he 
 have forgotten her ? 
 
 The tears welled to her eyes she was safe, for he 
 was gone. " What should I do if he should forget me 
 quite?" she said to herself. A desolateness began to 
 creep over her, a paralyzing feeling that seemed to 
 check the beating of her heart, that made her breath- 
 ing fainter and fainter. 
 
 She roused herself by a vigorous effort. What was 
 she doing ? Making herself miserable by suppositions. 
 A sensible thing to do, truly. Her husband was her 
 husband. He could not do anything mean, deceitful, or 
 wicked. He was impulsive, warm-hearted, generous. 
 He might make mistakes in judgment, though even 
 that was doubtful. He must know about everything 
 better than she. What a goose she was to sit there 
 and cry over her own imaginings ! Men could not be 
 like women and remember every little word and thing. 
 They had too busy lives, too much crowded upon them. 
 He would explain everything to her satisfaction when 
 he had more time. Of course he would. She had bet- 
 ter attend to her household duties and see that every- 
 thing was just as he liked to have it when he came 
 home. 
 
 She went down-stairs and busied herself. She sang 
 at her work. She read for a time when everything 
 was in order. The book did not interest her. 
 
 She had settled everything satisfactorily. Why did 
 her heart ache ?
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 " You will have to attend to that, Sarah. I have an 
 important essay to prepare and I cannot be distracted 
 by these petty details. See that Ann does not meddle 
 with iny desk when she cleans my room, won't you ? I 
 am going down to the public Library to get some sta- 
 tistics I need." 
 
 Miriam Hartwell stood in the hall bonneted and 
 gloved, her hand on the door-knob as she spoke. Her 
 sister carefully adjusted the folds of her mantle as she 
 passed out. 
 
 " Good-by, dear," she said. 
 
 " Good-by, Sarah. If I should not return by lunch- 
 eon-time, keep some warm for me. And do see that it 
 is not allowed to dry by being kept. I detest unsuc- 
 cessful things of all kinds." 
 
 Sarah Hartwell closed the door and went up-stairs. 
 It was a bright, genial day in October, cool without be- 
 ing cold. Her own room, which adjoined her sister's, 
 looked very inviting with the warm sunshine streaming 
 in and flooding it with a subtle vitality. Beside her 
 work-basket lay a newly arrived magazine, its leaves 
 still uncut. She looked at it longingly a moment, but 
 passed into her sister's room and began carefully to 
 move and dust the contents of her writing-table. 
 
 37
 
 38 
 
 She worked busily till everything was restored clean 
 and whole to its original place ; worked hour after hour 
 in many and devious ways with many and devious 
 things pertaining to the care of a household. Late in 
 the forenoon she tapped softly at a door at the end of 
 the upper hall, opening it gently. 
 
 It was a large room that was revealed, at the back of 
 the house and overlooking a small but well-kept gar- 
 den. In the bay-window in an invalid chair was seated 
 a man who turned his face toward her as she entered. 
 It was wan and worn as if with pain, and framed in 
 scanty white hair. The hand he held out to her as she 
 approached was the hand of a student, of a mental 
 rather than a physical worker. 
 
 " You have been very busy, my child, have you not ? " 
 
 "A little more than usual, father," she replied, 
 smoothing his hair lovingly. 
 
 " I have not yet seen Miriam," he continued. " Where 
 is she?" 
 
 " She has gone to the Library to get material for the 
 work upon which she is engaged." 
 
 A sparkle came in his eye and a slight flush to his 
 face. 
 
 " She will do it well," he said, " excellently well. 
 Your sister is a very superior woman, my child." 
 
 " Yes, father, she is," Sarah replied heartily. 
 
 " Did you see this letter from Professor Dobbinson 
 in reference to that last article of hers in the ' Rational 
 Age'? He admires it exceedingly and pays me the 
 compliment of saying her ability must be in part the re- 
 sult of my example and training. Well ! Perhaps ! " he 
 continued musingly as Sarah read the letter.
 
 39 
 
 "You know," he went on, "I have always believed it 
 a monstrous wrong that our former system of educa- 
 tion should include so much for young men and so lit- 
 tle for young women ; that the training of the intellect 
 should be given almost entirely to our boys. Fortu- 
 nately of late years that wrong has been largely righted 
 and your sister has been able to afford proof that in- 
 tellectual ability is not confined to the masculine sex. 
 I would not be afraid to match her with many of its 
 leaders," he concluded triumphantly. 
 
 " She could stand the comparison without loss, I am 
 sure, father," assented Sarah. " But I came to see if 
 there was any special dish you would like for your 
 luncheon to-day." 
 
 He pondered a moment. "I believe I could eat a 
 little broiled chicken if you will prepare it. Maria is 
 apt to scorch it somewhere and the least touch spoils 
 it. You look tired, though," looking up into her face. 
 " Are you tired, my child ? '' 
 
 " I am never too tired to do something for you, father 
 dear," she replied gently, as with a parting pat she left 
 the room. 
 
 " A good child ! A good child ! " he mused half aloud 
 as she went. 
 
 Dr. Hartwell was a retired physician and a confirmed 
 invalid. Having been in his years of activity a very 
 successful practitioner, he had established a reputation 
 which led to his still being frequently consulted by his 
 professional brethren and had accumulated means suf- 
 ficient to live in comfort with his two daughters. 
 
 He was a widower, his wife having died some years 
 previous. He had been a specialist in his practice
 
 40 
 
 and, curiously enough, he suffered from the same dis- 
 ordered organ he had professed to restore to harmony 
 the stomach. A studious man, enthusiastic in his 
 profession and in all intellectual culture and attain- 
 ment, he had afforded his daughters opportunities to 
 excel in scholarship which they had not neglected. He 
 had made them, especially Miriam, intellectual com- 
 panions. She had shown greater eagerness and apti- 
 tude than her sister, and her father's pride in her was 
 not ill deserved. She was one of the leading women of 
 Benton, taking precedence of many whose wealth and 
 family connections were far beyond hers. 
 
 Sarah soon returned with a servant bearing the tray 
 containing her father's luncheon. The chicken was 
 broiled to perfection, the accompanying jelly quivered 
 suggestively in its cut-glass dish, the toast was a deli- 
 cate golden brown and buttered to the edges, the silver 
 was shining its thanks for the labor bestowed upon it, 
 the linen was fine and white and showed signs of care- 
 ful laundering. 
 
 She remained with him while he ate, waiting upon 
 him so unobtrusively, and chatting so entertainingly, 
 that before he was aware of it he had eaten nearly all 
 she had provided. 
 
 " Really, I am afraid I have eaten too much ! " he 
 said as the tray was removed and his reading-table took 
 its place. 
 
 " Oh, no, father ! " said Sarah cheerily. '" You were 
 really hungry to-day and you will suffer no harm I am 
 sure. Now I am going to leave you to take your nap 
 and then by and by I will come and read to you Dr. 
 Patterson's last article on the brain."
 
 41 
 
 She brought another cushion for his head, covered 
 him carefully with a light but warm silken slumber- 
 robe, drew down the shades and stole carefully out of 
 the room. 
 
 Passing her own door again she hesitated a moment 
 the magazine had not been touched but went on 
 down-stairs. She must make sure that Miriam's lunch- 
 eon was ready to be served at a moment's notice, for 
 her sister did not like to wait, and that it did not reach 
 the state which was sure to call forth her displeasure. 
 Miriam worked hard she was so ambitious and ex- 
 pected ample provision for her creature comforts. She 
 had too much to accomplish to give her own time and 
 attention to trivial things. 
 
 It was Miriam's reception evening also, and she must 
 see that the flowers were sure to be ready, the tea 
 things properly arranged, and the table on the very 
 spot where Miriam wanted it, and Oh ! Maria had 
 burned the wafers this week and she must send, or 
 go herself, to Whitney's and get some. Miriam would 
 never have forgiven her if she had forgotten it, or at 
 least not for a long time. 
 
 It was of no use, she could get no leisure for herself 
 to-day, there was too much to be done. 
 
 An hour later she was sitting with her sister while 
 she partook of her late luncheon. Miriam did not like 
 to eat alone. 
 
 " I saw Walter Hemmingway on the street this morn- 
 ing," she was saying, " and he looked not at all as he 
 did six months ago. I wonder if he is behaving him- 
 self now ? " 
 
 " I hope so, for his wife's sake at least," replied Sarah.
 
 42 
 
 Miriam's face took on a severe expression. 
 
 " Why did she marry him 1 She knew what he had 
 been. Whatever conies she has no one to blame but 
 herself." 
 
 "She loved him very dearly and thought that he 
 loved her so well he would be different if she were his 
 wife. She felt that she could save him," said Sarah 
 gently. 
 
 " Well, she will probably have what so many women 
 experience who marry foolishly or ' all for love/ a lif e 
 of dependence and mortification spent in making apolo- 
 gies for her husband. I do not see why women will be 
 so foolish as to live in their emotions instead of using 
 the reason that would save them from such a fate. 
 Hearts are good things to have, but brains are better, 
 for hearts are continually getting people into difficul- 
 ties. This chocolate is altogether too thick, Sarah. I 
 wish you would remember that I like it thinner. Can't 
 you sew the lace in the sleeves of my brown silk this 
 afternoon ? I want to wear it this evening." 
 
 Sarah did not answer at once. 
 
 " I'll try to do it," she said finally. 
 
 " I met Paul Masters this morning, also," Miriam 
 continued. "He came into the Library while I was 
 there. He is such an interesting man to talk to, though 
 he has some very strange ideas and his views on many 
 subjects are far from sound, I think. He is too much 
 of an idealist and facts are what we want. They have 
 value, while theories are generally untenable and im- 
 probable. Why have you placed that jelly so far away ? 
 That will do. I wonder if Everett Long will come 
 to-night ? He is really quite an entertaining conversa- 
 tionalist, for he always gets away from the dead level
 
 43 
 
 of small talk. Now I am going up- stairs " rising as 
 she spoke " and please see that I am not disturbed for 
 at least two hours." 
 
 Sarah heard the bolt turn in the lock as Miriam 
 closed her door. She remained seated in the high- 
 backed dining-chair, her relaxed attitude indicating 
 weariness. She seemed unconscious of the frequent 
 glances of the maid who was clearing the table. 
 
 " Why don't you go up-stairs and take a nap, Miss 
 Sarah ? " said Ann at last. " You've been at it all the 
 morning and must be beat out." 
 
 She opened her eyes and raised her head. A soft 
 light shone in them, while a gentle smile played over 
 her face. 
 
 " By and by, Ann," she said as she rose. " I am go- 
 ing to father's room now. If any one calls for Miss 
 Miriam you will come to me and not disturb her. And 
 please try to keep the house as quiet as possible. Doors 
 will shut hard sometimes if we do not watch them, 
 won't they ? " 
 
 " Yes, ma'am, I'll remember," replied Ann. 
 
 But when she reached the kitchen she relieved her 
 mind to Maria, the cook. 
 
 " I vow to gracious ! if it isn't a shame the way Miss 
 Sarah has to wait on her sister ! She hadn't ought 'er 
 be so good : she's jest imposed upon." 
 
 Maria nodded with a tempered approval "Miss 
 Miriam's a smart 'tin though," she said. 
 
 " Smart ! Humph ! " ejaculated Ann as she went to 
 a closet. "Nobody says she isn't, but there's things 
 in this world better than smart, I'm thinkin'. O Lord ! 
 I forgot ! " this, as the door shut loudly behind her, em- 
 phasizing her opinions.
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 " No, I do not think so. The time has largely gone 
 by when women are considered less attractive because 
 they have found they are fitted for something more 
 than the drudgery of household routine and the care 
 of a family." 
 
 Miriam Hartwell's head was very erect as she spoke. 
 Everett Long was seated beside her, and his look as it 
 rested upon her coincided with her view. They had 
 been considering the progress to be made toward the 
 highest civilization and woman's share in the work 
 which helped it forward. 
 
 The room was well filled and conversation was ani- 
 mated. Miriam Hartwell desired to draw around her 
 people who had something to talk about instead of 
 those who make conversation, and she generally suc- 
 ceeded in whatever she undertook. As she said, she 
 " hated failures." 
 
 Everett Long thought her very attractive. He felt 
 something in her to which he was akin. Her inde- 
 pendence, her ability, her freedom from the small affec- 
 tations of the average woman appealed to him. Her 
 confidence in her own power communicated itself to 
 him and he found himself watching her every move- 
 ment and listening for her every word. 
 
 Dr. Hartwell was comfortably installed at one side 
 
 44
 
 of the room. His fatherly pride was quite visible as he 
 marked the deference paid his eldest daughter. Men 
 whom he knew as scholars and eminent in different 
 lines, men of national and international reputation, con- 
 versed with her as an equal, not as with most women. 
 There was no palpable letting down to a level below 
 their own, but instead, the natural exchange of com- 
 rade with comrade. 
 
 Sarah was near her father, quietly attentive to his 
 possible wants and to the comfort of the guests, bear- 
 ing but little part in the animated discussions which 
 followed each other as differing views were presented. 
 But if any one seemed to be out of the direct wave and 
 a little lost in the highly intellectual atmosphere of the 
 room, he found her at his side and his incipient uneasi- 
 ness soon disappeared. He found himself speaking 
 fluently to a most interested listener, and when she left 
 him he was not overburdened with a sense of her in- 
 tellectual superiority. 
 
 She rose and moved toward the door as some one 
 entered. A glad expectation was in her face as Paul 
 Masters advanced to meet her. Only a low word or 
 two was spoken as they for a moment clasped hands, a 
 strange salutation. 
 
 "How are you thinking?" from him. 
 
 " Love is the fulfilling of the law," from her. 
 
 A light shot from their eyes, met, mingled, and faded 
 as he passed on to greet Miss Hartwell. 
 
 She looked more regal than ever as she received and 
 welcomed him, the contrast between her commanding 
 figure and his own operating particularly to her ad- 
 vantage.
 
 It was surprising to mark the result when Paul Mas- 
 ters became one of a company. Whatever the subject 
 under consideration, little by little the interest centred 
 in him and the various members found themselves 
 listening first with polite attention, and later with an 
 intense absorption which for the time shut out all re- 
 membrance of his physical imperfections and recog- 
 nized only the charm of his face and voice, the power 
 of his words. 
 
 They found themselves lifted into an atmosphere 
 and a region hitherto unknown to them and following 
 liim as the guide who was leading to new and newer 
 beauties and wonders. He transported them out of 
 their every-day selves, and they met these with some- 
 thing like a shock when they took them up again. 
 
 He was an idealist, some of them said, with the ex- 
 planation which does not explain, but is the refuge of 
 the intellectualists who admit nothing but " facts." 
 
 In spite of his physical defects he impressed them 
 with a sense of power, though many would have but 
 hesitatingly so named their impression. The outer 
 man contradicted it too palpably. 
 
 Everett came to him as he sat down. Paul looked 
 up in his face as he took his hand. " Well ? " he said. 
 
 Everett smiled. " Yes. It is well with me," he re- 
 plied. 
 
 They conversed for a few minutes, when Paul 
 stopped in the middle of a sentence to listen. 
 
 " The atomic theory is the most valuable aid to sci- 
 entific investigation of the nature of matter this age 
 has furnished," some one was saying. 
 
 " Undoubtedly ! " replied Miss Hartwell. " But we
 
 47 
 
 must not forget that this aid is as yet theory only and 
 not proven fact. Professor Dolbear is very careful to 
 say that it is inferential knowledge only." 
 
 A commendatory rustle pervaded the room as one 
 learned professor nodded to another learned professor 
 in approval. 
 
 " Miss Hartwell takes nothing for granted," said the 
 first. 
 
 " Quite different from the rest of her sex," assented 
 the other. 
 
 " The basic atom being defined as a 'whirling ring of 
 ether in the ether/ " continued Miriam, " the existence 
 of the ether and the nature of its properties must first 
 be established." 
 
 " But this view of the nature of the atom accounts 
 for all material phenomena," said Professor Latham. 
 
 " Possibly, so far as our present range of observation 
 is concerned," she replied quickly. "I am quite in 
 favor of it. It interests me exceedingly. But I wish 
 to see it demonstrated as fact." 
 
 "It seems to me," spoke up a young man eagerly 
 from the other side of the room, who had read Pro- 
 fessor Dolbear's book and saw a chance to demonstrate 
 that fact, "he has shown conclusively that all phe- 
 nomena are, as he says, reducible to nothing more 
 mysterious than a push and a pull." 
 
 "Do you find the impetus for the push and the 
 pull ? " asked Paul Masters. 
 
 "The old question again," said Miriam, "and still 
 unanswerable." 
 
 "Or only still unanswered? for you," he replied 
 quietly.
 
 48 
 
 " But I am open to conviction ! " she exclaimed, 
 turning toward him. " I am ready to accept whatever 
 is proved to be true." 
 
 " My daughter always maintains the scientific atti- 
 tude of mind," said Dr. Hartwell. 
 
 "When you determine the nature of the proof?" said 
 Paul so gently as to rob his words of all offensiveness 
 and without seeming to hear her father's words. 
 
 " When it is of the kind accepted by all great minds, 
 past and present," replied Miriam firmly. " When it 
 confronts me as visible fact." 
 
 " May there not be a kind which is recognized by all 
 great souls, past and present ? " continued Paul Masters. 
 " A kind which confronts them as visible fact ? " 
 
 No one spoke. 
 
 " Possibly. I am acquainted with only one kind of 
 a laboratory," she said finally. 
 
 Sarah was looking at her sister with a yearning ex- 
 pression in her eyes which changed to confidence as 
 she caught Paul's glance. 
 
 " Professor Dolbear says," he went on, " most phe- 
 nomena are so highly complex that one can never be 
 quite sure he is dealing with all the factors until ex- 
 periment proves it. May it not be possible that we 
 are possessed of senses and powers, lying dormant 
 for lack of cultivation, which enter as factors into the 
 demonstration of the nature of the causes of phenom- 
 ena ? That the way of proof is open to us if we become 
 able to recognize and follow it ? " 
 
 Some of his listeners looked at each other as much 
 as to say, " There he goes again ! " 
 
 " Of course we may suppose this and work accord-
 
 ing to the supposition if one thinks it worth his while," 
 said Miriam. " But it seems to me a dangerous prac- 
 tice and likely to end in self-deception. Emotion and 
 i in agination are unsafe leaders and it is better to fol- 
 low in the footsteps of those intellectual giants who 
 have accomplished so much for us." 
 
 " By all means, so long as this course satisfies," re- 
 plied Paul, while most of the listeners nodded approv- 
 ingly. " I know that many here are in sympathy with 
 this theory of the nature of matter. So am I. I only 
 wish to know more. If there be this all-pervasive me- 
 dium called ether, which is not atomic in structure, 
 presents no friction to bodies moving through it, and 
 is not subject to the law of gravitation, and compels 
 by this nature another designation than matter ; if a 
 vortex ring of this ether is the basic atom, atoms com- 
 posing molecules and molecules making up visible 
 bodies differing from each other according to the rates 
 and modes of motion, how is this vortex ring formed 
 in the ether ? " 
 
 He paused for a reply, but no one answered. 
 
 "The author under discussion says, l Imagine J then, 
 that vortex rings were in some way formed in the 
 ether, constituted of the ether.' All the rest follows. 
 It seems to me that even here much depends on the 
 imagination." 
 
 "But this is the scientific use of the imagination," 
 said Professor Latham quickly. " Granting the vortex 
 ring, the conclusions are sound." 
 
 " It seems to me," returned Paul quietly, " that im- 
 agination remains imagination whoever uses it; and 
 that what you denominate its scientific use is but its
 
 50 
 
 permissible employment by the scientific investigator 
 in framing an hypothesis which will account for facts 
 he cannot deny, but which he cannot satisfactorily con- 
 nect with anterior causes. It seems a little odd that 
 the scientific caution which warns against the dangers 
 of imagination should employ it, and even then not in 
 a definite way. The atomic theory has, from the con- 
 sistent scientific point of view, a fatal weakness in its 
 foundation. 'Some way' allows very wide range of 
 speculation. As a scientific man you cannot admit 
 this theory correct until it has been shown how the 
 vortex ring is formed. Meantime your only resource 
 is the continued exercise of your imagination." 
 
 They looked at each other and at Professor Latham, 
 who appeared to be thinking deeply and did not 
 reply. 
 
 "He is right," finally said Miriam, who had given 
 Paul undivided attention. 
 
 " Why is it not equally permissible," he continued, 
 "to assume powers within our own common nature, 
 which, if developed and brought into conscious connec- 
 tion with physical phenomena, will supply the evidence 
 now lacking, because they constitute some of the fac- 
 tors involved ? " 
 
 Everett listened with absorbing interest. Since he 
 had made his choice as to whom he would serve, 
 whether his best or his least, he had felt the develop- 
 ment in himself of much which was formerly unknown 
 to him. He could have given no names or qualities to 
 inward facts as yet too intangible to be formulated 
 and labeled. But he had proof of their reality. 
 
 " Of course it is," spoke up the young man from the
 
 51 
 
 other side of the room. " Any one can see that your 
 proposition is as fair as the other." And then seeing 
 all eyes turned in his direction he blushed painfully 
 and subsided. 
 
 Glancing toward Sarah, Everett was surprised. With 
 her eyes fixed on Paul's face her own glowed as from 
 an inward sun. A flash of recognition passed between 
 them as Paul looked at her for a moment, as if she not 
 only knew the truth of what his words suggested, but 
 far more ; as if their minds were in such perfect accord 
 she was his silent corroborative witness. 
 
 " There is a missing link in this atomic theory yet to 
 be supplied," assented Miriam with a graceful inclina- 
 tion of her head in the direction of the blushing young 
 man. " Who can furnish it ? " 
 
 Again Paul looked at Sarah, who returned his glance 
 with one half beseeching as she drew farther back in 
 her chair. 
 
 " Perhaps your sister might suggest a clew to it," he 
 said. " I have found her views very interesting." 
 
 All eyes were turned to her, in some astonishment 
 plainly visible. While the regular visitors at Dr. Hart- 
 well's all knew and liked her, she had been so over- 
 shadowed by her brilliant sister that when topics like 
 the present were under discussion their interest had 
 centred in Miriam. Paul continued to look at her en- 
 couragingly as she hesitated, noting her sister's won- 
 dering glance. 
 
 " Come ! Give us the benefit of your idea, my child," 
 said her father. 
 
 " I have thought that among others two of Professor 
 Dolbear's statements helped in this direction," she be-
 
 52 
 
 gan. " If l every kind of phenomena is the result of the 
 transfer of some kind of motion from one body to an- 
 other/ and if l motion is the antecedent of motion,' it 
 seems to me that the whirling ring of ether in the ether 
 is the result of the transfer of motion, and there must 
 be an antecedent motion as a cause for the vortex ring. 
 This brings us working by induction to a primal mo- 
 tion, one which is its own cause." 
 
 " In other words, a causeless cause ? " asked Professor 
 Latham. 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 "Do you mean God, Sarah?" demanded Miriam, 
 with an air of readiness to dispose of the whole matter 
 at once. 
 
 " If you choose to so apply the term," she answered 
 steadily. 
 
 " With all due deference to your and every one's be- 
 lief in a God, one which I wish I was able to share, I 
 can find no convincing proof to sustain it. This clew 
 but again leads us to the unknowable, it seems to me," 
 and Miriam leaned back in her chair as if it were not 
 worth while to discuss the matter further. 
 
 "I was not speaking of a belief, but of a logical 
 necessity," said Sarah. " To call the great First Cause, 
 God, does not mean necessarily a personal being dwell- 
 ing in a locality called heaven and ruling all things 
 by His own fiat ; but rather that No-thing which is the 
 beginning of all things, answering approximately to 
 the mathematical point." 
 
 " Then one does not need to be a religionist to accept 
 this view of God ? " asked Everett.
 
 53 
 
 "Perhaps not after the orthodox manner," inter- 
 rupted Miriam before Sarah could answer. " But re- 
 ligionists of any kind are sure to be one-sided in their 
 views." 
 
 " How is it with intellectualists ? " asked Everett im- 
 pulsively. " May not the realm of physics, with what 
 it indicates even more than what it includes, bear a 
 relation to our emotional as well as to our rational 
 nature ? One quite worth our while to cultivate and 
 understand if we can ? " 
 
 " Oh ! Yes ! If we can ! " she said. " But the rational 
 must always lead, otherwise we shall mistake feeling 
 for demonstration. The glory of this nineteenth cent- 
 ury is the recognition accorded to reason and intellect- 
 ual research which marks all true progress, and the 
 opening vision of women to this fact. Their saintly 
 piety belongs to a bygone an undeveloped age." 
 
 And the flush upon her cheeks, the sparkle in her 
 eyes as she spoke, together with her regal carriage, 
 made her most attractive in the eye of Everett Long, 
 suggesting the Miriam of old. Might she not be the 
 prophetess of the new age whom the women would 
 follow as they sang their song of victory? 
 
 His was not the only admiring glance directed to- 
 ward her. That subtlest of all flattery, intellectual 
 homage, was accorded her from every man in the room ; 
 that sweetest of all incense, women's admiration for a 
 woman, as well. Only her sister and Paul Masters 
 seemed to stand outside the charmed circle. Could it 
 be pity that Everett Long detected in the glance they 
 bent upon her?
 
 54 
 
 The conversation became more general, and after a 
 few moments of thoughtfulness he rose and seated 
 himself at Sarah's side. 
 
 "The question at issue seems to have lost interest 
 for our friends," he said, "but what you have said 
 seems very suggestive to me. I should like to follow 
 it further. Can you form that conception of first 
 cause which will enable you by logical deduction to 
 reach and account for the varying phenomena of 
 nature?" 
 
 " Yes," she replied quietly. 
 
 " Such cause must be infinite, it seems to me ; and I 
 do not see how a finite being can comprehend it," he 
 said. 
 
 " Neither do I," she replied. " But I can see that it 
 is possible to apprehend it sufficiently to draw logical 
 conclusions. We may apprehend through the woman 
 in ourselves while the man in us vainly waits for his 
 comprehension." 
 
 He was more than surprised now, he was perplexed. 
 What did she mean ? She remained silent and seemed 
 waiting for him to continue the conversation if he 
 chose. 
 
 " Would you give me a brief outline of your idea ? " 
 he said finally. 
 
 " Most gladly," she replied, turning toward him cor- 
 dially. " But let me first ask you a few questions. 
 Can anything be evolved which is not involved ? " 
 
 " As an abstraction, no." 
 
 " What is called the varying phenomena of nature is 
 the orderly unfolding to view of that which was poten- 
 tial or hidden, is it not ? "
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Then it is all involved in something which does not 
 appear except as it is manifested ? " 
 
 He nodded thoughtfully. 
 
 " We deal with a series of effects which involve op- 
 rrative causes, do we not?" 
 
 He nodded again. 
 
 "Now think a moment of the words 'cause' and 
 ' motion.' Your concept of the first, as well as of the 
 second, will include action, for it is the nature of cause 
 to produce." 
 
 " You are right," he said. 
 
 " All the effects we see, which we weigh, measure, 
 and analyze, are 'modes of motion,' the results of 
 ' transfer of energy,' or the products of operative causes 
 which are related to others more remote, possibly ; but 
 all must be involved in first cause, the primal anteced- 
 ent motion." 
 
 " At present, I can neither admit nor deny your con- 
 el usion," he said thoughtfully. "Your reasoning ap- 
 pears to be sound." 
 
 " Think of first cause as intelligence," she went on. 
 X<> ! Not as the product of brain " as he seemed about 
 to interrupt her. " Intelligence is infinite. Not mine, 
 nor yours, which are limited at present. It is infinite 
 in its possibilities, or in what it involves. It is that 
 circle whose centre is everywhere and circumference 
 nowhere. It has two aspects for us, the passive and 
 active ; or, what it is in itself, and what it does because 
 of what it is. The action of first cause, or the opera- 
 tion of intelligence, is the primal, the antecedent mo- 
 tion ; the ' push ' of the infinite which compels not only
 
 56 
 
 the phenomenon of nature, but that of individual being 
 and the recognition of both. The action in its continu- 
 ity becomes the ' pull ' through this developing recog- 
 nition in ourselves. What in finite intelligence is, is the 
 unknown which gradually becomes the known through 
 what it does, the process being the orderly evolution 
 of what is involved in it ; that evolution which is the 
 gradual manifestation of God. The action of Infinite 
 Mind, Primal Force, Creative Energy, Antecedent Mo- 
 tion call it what you will is the Word which is to 
 be made flesh. You and I, as this evolution goes on, 
 are to embody it. We are to become the living Word." 
 
 Her tone had gradually become lower and lower, so 
 that what she said was inaudible to those about them 
 even while its intensity thrilled him. He seemed con- 
 scious of a curious change. She was far away from 
 him. Her voice seemed to come from a distance and 
 to have a rhythmic vibration. She was looking down 
 upon him from a far-off height. Colors seemed to 
 radiate from her and play about her, meeting, separat- 
 ing, darting, melting, till they merged the one in the 
 other, and a pure white light, dazzling in its radiance, 
 shut her from view. 
 
 " Will you take a cup of tea with me, Mr. Long ? " 
 
 What was that crash ? Was it only some one speak- 
 ing to him ? Miriam Hartwell stood beside him. 
 
 " You look as if you had been dreaming," she said. 
 " Have my sister's transcendental physics earned you 
 out of yourself?" with a smile fully one-half ironical. 
 
 " I quite believe it," he said with a slightly puzzled 
 expression as he looked from one to the other. " May 
 I trespass on your kindness still further, Miss Sarah,"
 
 57 
 
 he continued, as if he had not heard Miriam's invita- 
 tion, as indeed he had not, " and ask you to come down 
 to particulars and show me how the vortex ring is to 
 be accounted for with your theory ? " 
 
 The color flashed to Miriam's face, and her eyes, 
 always brilliant, fairly glittered as with a hardly per- 
 ceptible shrug of the shoulders she turned away and 
 walked to the other side of the room. 
 
 Sarah hesitated a moment. 
 
 " If this view of the nature of first cause is altogether 
 new to you," she said finally, " I doubt if I can tell you 
 so as to be clearly understood. I would rather not 
 appear dogmatic, but without time for careful and sys- 
 tematic deduction I fear I cannot help it. 
 
 " If we accept mind, intelligence, as first cause the 
 abstract its direct effect would be its concrete ex- 
 pression. If these terms are synonymous with con- 
 sciousness, this concrete expression is individualized 
 consciousness individualized as related to its cause, 
 universal as related to its own effects. Hence it would 
 fill and include all space. This is the ether of modern 
 science, which cannot be described in the terms we em- 
 ploy for matter, as it must precede matter in the order 
 from first cause down to visible phenomena. Being 
 the product of action or motion, which is ceaseless, it 
 must possess motion as a transfer from its cause. This 
 motion, in form, must be round or a ring. The circle 
 is the symbol of that which is ceaseless. Is it very 
 obscure ? Do I tire you ? " she asked suddenly, looking 
 at him as if she would not be surprised were he to ap- 
 pear bored. 
 
 " No ? indeed not," he answered quickly. " Pray go on."
 
 58 
 
 " What mind is, is expressed by the ether. What 
 mind does, is expressed in the ether. It pushes from 
 and pulls to itself. The divine energy goes forth in 
 expression, it returns in manifestation. As it goes 
 forth it differentiates, reaching its highest differentia- 
 tion at the point where its return begins. The vortex 
 ring, as the basic atom of the visible world, is the mo- 
 tion of infinite mind transferred to that individualized 
 consciousness which is universal for all souls or self s. 
 The differentiation we see as the physical universe is 
 but the objectivity of its inherent possibilities. 
 
 "The world of matter is but the extremity of the 
 ' push ' and the point in the sequence involved in mind 
 where the l pull ' begins. ' The only variable factor is 
 motion.' Mind is forever the same. Its immediate 
 product, the ether, is always the same. Its secondary 
 product, the vortex ring or basic atom, is always the 
 same because always sustained in the ether by the an- 
 tecedent motion, which, potentially, includes all forms 
 of motion. Its form appears as the ring. The forms 
 included in that form, due to the relation between 
 cause and effect, appear as the l three primary modes ' 
 of the atom. Their compounds and interrelations 
 appear as the physical universe. That which does not 
 thus appear is greater than all. And ' it doth not yet 
 appear what we shall be. 7 But to be 'the image of 
 God ' includes everything, potentially. Do you realize 
 what this means ? " 
 
 He shook his head half doubtfully, half sadly. 
 
 " Indeed I do not cannot. Who does ? " 
 
 " Who indeed ! " she replied. " Were it so we should 
 have god-men instead of blind human souls. But it is.
 
 59 
 
 to be." And she raised her head as if she already felt 
 the dignity of an inborn divinity. 
 
 "Where did you get these ideas, Miss Sarah?" he 
 asked abruptly. 
 
 " Where they and more are always to be found," she 
 answered quietly. "From the within. Pardon me," 
 she continued, rising from her chair as he was about 
 to speak; "my father needs me." And she left him 
 before he could utter the thanks upon his lips. 
 
 When the guests had departed and Sarah had gone 
 up-stairs to her own room after giving the careful over- 
 sight necessary below, she found the door leading to 
 her sister's room closed. It usually stood open at night 
 or whenever Miriam, not being engaged in work at her 
 desk, might need her sister's friendly offices. 
 
 She stood for a moment as if undecided what to do, 
 then prepared for bed. Shutting off the gas she went 
 to the window and leaning far out inhaled the crisp 
 night air. Raising her head she looked yearningly 
 into the starlit expanse above, motionless, as if waiting 
 for something. Slowly a look of perfect peace and 
 rest overspread her face. 
 
 In the next room Miriam was walking up and down 
 with a perplexed expression. "What is the matter 
 with me ? " she said to herself. " I have determined on 
 my course, and have always been able to rule out of 
 mind whatever interfered with my ambition." 
 
 Drawing the curtains aside she looked out at the 
 distant lights of the city, listening to the hum and stir 
 which the darkness of night could not entirely extin- 
 guish. 
 
 " There is nothing like power," she mused. " Noth-
 
 60 
 
 ing can take its place. I crave it, I long for it, I will 
 have it ! " And her thought took expression on her 
 body in an attitude of command. " What are the do- 
 mestic joys " and her lip curled " which content the 
 undeveloped woman, compared to it? I will be no 
 man's housekeeper and nursery maid. I will be the 
 peer of any man in the intellectual world. I will help 
 to shape the mind and mold the thought of the coming 
 generations. My name shall live ! "
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 " 'ERE's yer ' Shouter' ! ' Rattler' ! mornin' < Plunger' ! 
 All ther news fer two cents ! " 
 
 Following the voice a grimy paw was thrust through 
 the car door to make room for a still more grimy face. 
 
 Everett Long beckoned to the boy, who shuffled un- 
 steadily along the jolting car to where he sat. As he 
 paid for his paper and settled back preparatory to 
 reading it, his attention was again drawn to the boy, 
 who was endeavoring fruitlessly to make change for 
 his next neighbor. 
 
 " Give us change fer a nick, mister ? " said he, evi- 
 dently encouraged in his request by a look at Everett's 
 face. 
 
 He produced the desired change, looking at him 
 more intently as he did so. " Of whom does that boy 
 remind me?" he mused. "I have seen eyes like his 
 before." 
 
 Suddenly a wave of color passed over his face and, 
 receding, left a saddened expression in its place. He 
 unfolded his paper and began to read only to be inter- 
 rupted by some one falling and an exchange of oaths 
 at the other end of the car. The boy was picking 
 himself up, shielding his head with one arm as if he 
 expected a blow, while he muttered as loudly as he 
 dared: 
 
 61
 
 62 
 
 " Can't yer take care o' yer feet ? " 
 
 "Can't you get out of a car without stepping on 
 some one ? " returned Walter Hemmingway, who was 
 sitting near the door, impatiently. 
 
 Everett noticed that he looked heavy-eyed, was some- 
 what unsteady of hand, and that a coarsening redness 
 was increasing in his face and neck. Poor girl ! he said 
 to himself, as his thoughts reverted to Emma. Paul 
 had been right when he told him he was not really in 
 love with her. He had kept his promise and called 
 upon them, more than once, and found that his pulse 
 beat in her presence as calmly as ever, that his only 
 feeling was one of sympathy and compassion. 
 
 He was clearer-eyed than formerly and could see 
 that her clinging affection would not have satisfied 
 him later on that he would have felt a lack in her. 
 Miriam Hartwell was so different ! so strong and cour- 
 ageous ! 
 
 A spring by the conductor at the end of the car and 
 a scream were simultaneous. Everett was the first to 
 jump from it as it stopped, and helped the conductor 
 lift the boy from the ground. 
 
 " The wheels have passed over his foot," he said as 
 he bent over him and tried to stop the flow of blood. 
 A policeman near by sent in a call for an ambulance, 
 which soon came clanging up the street. 
 
 "Is he seriously injured?" he asked of the surgeon 
 as the boy was lifted in and made as comfortable as 
 possible. 
 
 " Looks like it," returned the other in a matter-of- 
 fact way as he sprang to his seat in the rear. 
 
 Ascertaining to what hospital the boy would be car-
 
 63 
 
 ried, in the afternoon he went to inquire the extent of 
 his injuries. While the child was not particularly 
 attractive rather the contrary, he would say he felt 
 in some way drawn to him, could not get him out of 
 his thoughts. It was because of the accident probably, 
 he said to himself. He found the decision of the ex- 
 amining physicians to be that the boy would recover, 
 although he would always be lame. Asking if he 
 could see him, he was shown to the ward where he lay 
 and where he found Paul Masters sitting by the cot. 
 
 " Why, Paul ! How do you come to be here ? " he asked 
 surprised. " I need not ask though," he added. " You 
 are usually to be found with those who need help." 
 
 As Paul looked up at him, Everett noted, as he had 
 often done before, the steady light in his deep blue eyes. 
 
 " I have had an interest in this little fellow for some 
 time," Paul said. 
 
 The boy took slight notice of them as they looked at 
 him and conversed in low tones. He was stupefied by 
 the opiates which had been given him to deaden his 
 pain. Now and then he attempted to move, and mut- 
 tered half -inaudible profanity as he found himself 
 unable. 
 
 As the two friends withdrew, Everett stopped to ask 
 the attendant to do all that was possible for the child's 
 comfort, as he would be responsible for the expense 
 involved, and followed Paul from the building. 
 
 " Let us sit down for a while in the park," said the 
 latter as he led the way in that direction. 
 
 " Did you see the announcement of Miss Hartwell's 
 newly acquired dignity in this morning's ' Plunger ' f " 
 asked Everett as they sat down.
 
 64 
 
 " Not yet," replied Paul. " What is it? 
 
 " She has been admitted to membership in the l Athe- 
 nian Circle ' the first woman to be accorded that 
 honor. Only men of unusual prominence in the intel- 
 lectual world have found it possible to become mem- 
 bers." 
 
 Paul remained silent. 
 
 " You do not seem surprised/' continued Everett. 
 
 " No. I expect she will reach the height of her am- 
 bition." 
 
 " She is a grand woman," said Everett as he straight- 
 ened himself and drew a deep, full breath. "Happy 
 the man who wins her." 
 
 " Do you think so ? " said Paul with a quiet smile. 
 
 " Why, surely you agree with me ! " returned Everett 
 as he looked searchingly at his companion. 
 
 "It depends upon the man," replied Paul. "She is 
 not the woman for you." 
 
 The blood surged to Everett's face. " Pardon me ! " 
 he said a little stiffly. "I cannot hear you speak of 
 her in this way. I asked her yesterday to be my wife." 
 
 " I know it," said Paul without seeming to notice the 
 change. " She told you, while acknowledging an inter- 
 est in you above most men she had met, she did not 
 wish to marry as it would interfere with the career she 
 had marked out for herself. And you, while assuring 
 her to the contrary, begged her to reconsider her de- 
 cision and give you her answer a fortnight hence." 
 
 Everett stared at his friend in blank astonishment. 
 
 " How did you know that ? " he demanded finally. 
 " Surely, she did not " 
 
 "Certainly not," replied Paul, placing a soothing
 
 65 
 
 hand upon his friend's shoulder. "Miss Hartwell is a 
 strong woman. She is able to settle personal matters 
 for herself without seeking help from others." 
 
 " Then how in the name of all that's mysterious did 
 you know this ? " said Everett again. 
 
 "One has but to have a strong interest in another 
 and be a keen observer to see and know much," replied 
 Paul. " It requires no exceptional perception to know 
 what a woman like Miss Hartwell would do under given 
 circumstances. Then there is another way. Thought 
 is creative. Every one carries with him a personal at- 
 mosphere filled with his thought creations. One skilled 
 in a kind of knowledge ignored by physicists can see 
 and read them." 
 
 While Paul was speaking Everett did not take his 
 eyes from his face. He had learned much from him, 
 had for Paul great respect and affection ; but this ! 
 Another thought struck him. If it was true, one able 
 to see and read thought creations would be the most 
 dangerous kind of a spy. 
 
 Paul smiled. " Have no fears, my friend," he said. 
 " The obligations of friendship are sacred. Moreover, 
 one who possesses this power in its higher form, who 
 looks down upon this thought world from a height 
 beyond, is incapable of abusing it." 
 
 Everett had said nothing. Here was proof that 
 thoughts could be seen and read, for Paul had answered 
 his own at the moment. 
 
 " Let us return to our subject," continued Paul after 
 a pause, as Everett remained silent. "I repeat, Miss 
 Hartwell is not the woman for your wife, grand woman 
 as she is. But I must wait for you to prove this. You
 
 66 
 
 cannot and should not accept and act upon my dec- 
 laration. I wish to speak to you of another matter. 
 Do you know who that boy whom we have just left is f " 
 
 "No." 
 
 " He is your son ! " 
 
 A shock as of electricity passed through Everett 
 Long and left him speechless for the moment, in which 
 two sparrows on the ground near him, quarreling over 
 a diminutive worm, seemed the only things in the world 
 claiming his attention. 
 
 " My son ! " he said at last feebly, as the power of 
 speech struggled back to consciousness. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 The blood rushed through his veins with redoubled 
 velocity after the check it had received. His son ! It 
 could not be possible ! Incidents in his past life rose 
 upon the plane of his mental vision, passed quickly, 
 and were gone. He turned upon Paul finally as he 
 sprang to his feet, and said : 
 
 " What do you mean ? Speak out, and quickly ! " 
 
 " He is Helen Mathers' son and yours." 
 
 Helen Mathers! Swiftly memory brought before 
 him the time of his early manhood, when he was a man 
 in the strength of his impulses and desires, and a boy 
 in his ability or wish to control them. During a sum- 
 mer's outing at a country village where she had spent 
 the season with her mother a weak and fashionable 
 woman who consoled herself for the temporary social 
 burial necessitated by her husband's financial reverses 
 with novel-reading and white wrappers, to the neglect 
 of her daughter he had met her ; met her too often, he 
 remembered. He had left the place first and had never
 
 67 
 
 seen her since. He had even forgotten her till yes ! 
 It was her eyes of which the boy's had reminded him 
 that morning in the car. 
 
 God in heaven ! What ghost from that past he was 
 learning to abhor was come to confront him now .' 
 
 He sank to his seat again as if lacking strength to 
 stand, but grasped its iron arm and braced himself 
 quickly. 
 
 " Go on/' he said in a constrained voice. He did not 
 see Paul's glance as it was bent upon him, full of 
 yearning tenderness like a mother's for her dearly loved 
 child when it suffers, and with whom she would so 
 gladly change places if she could. 
 
 " After you left Grovedale," and Paul's voice as he 
 went on was gentle, though firm and purposeful, " her 
 mother awoke to the situation to which she seemed 
 blind while you were there. Its consequences were 
 forced upon her. She went away with her daughter 
 and they did not return to their home for nearly a 
 year. It was given out that they were traveling for the 
 benefit of Mrs. Mathers' health, who, while not seriously 
 ill, was unequal to the demands of social life in the city. 
 This excuse was accepted in good faith even by Mr. 
 Mathers, who had all he could do to supply the funds. 
 The winter after their return Helen was brought out 
 and married at the close of the season." 
 
 Paul paused, but as Everett's eyes continued to ques- 
 tion he went on : 
 
 " They were living in a distant city under assumed 
 names when the child was born. It was placed with 
 strangers, and its support was paid for till after Helen 
 and her mother left the place, which they did secretly
 
 68 
 
 as soon as she was able to travel. The boy grew up 
 anyway, anyhow, uncared for and abused till he drifted 
 to Benton, where he has been for nearly a year. He 
 belongs to no one, and no one belongs to him. You see 
 plenty of his kind in every large city. He is the prod- 
 uct of his environment and of his begetting." 
 
 Paul observed his companion intently as he uttered 
 the last words. Everett's head fell forward. He 
 covered his face with his hands and remained silent. 
 For a time neither moved. Paul had an air of waiting 
 waiting with peace and confidence for something. 
 His face was serene, his eyes looked out into space as 
 his head rested against the back of the seat. It hardly 
 came above it when he sat as erect as his slight frame 
 would allow. 
 
 So small ! So weak ! So powerless ! 
 
 So great ! So strong ! So powerful ! 
 
 Everett heard the beating of his own heart as it 
 thumped and labored within him. Once, even a short 
 two years ago, he would have but little heeded such an 
 announcement. It was the way of the world, common 
 enough, he would have said. But now it was a revela- 
 tion. He could not turn lightly from what it showed 
 him. The man born since then, though very immature, 
 could not fail to see through such sophistry. With him 
 was active a sense dormant in the old man the sense 
 of justice. 
 
 "As a man soweth, so shall he reap." 
 
 It did not occur to him to question the truth of Paul's 
 announcement. He knew him too well. He groaned 
 aloud. A wave of feeling passed over Paul's face, but 
 he did not speak.
 
 " I cannot do it ! I cannot do it ! n exclaimed Everett 
 suddenly, straightening himself with his hand clenched 
 on his knee. 
 
 A glory lit up Paul's face which made it shine as a 
 star; a light which suggested the same remoteness. 
 Taking the clenched hand in both his own he said 
 quietly but very distinctly, " You are able to do what- 
 ever your own conviction of right demands." 
 
 Everett turned upon him with some of his former 
 fierceness. " You ask too much ! It is more than hu- 
 man nature can perform ! " 
 
 "J ask of you nothing. You ask it of yourself. 
 Your higher nature demands it of you," replied Paul. 
 
 " Why should this fall altogether on me ? I was not 
 alone to blame," exclaimed Everett after another pause. 
 And then ashamed of having even for a moment seemed 
 to shelter himself behind a woman, he continued, " No ! 
 Let it rest with me ! " only to burst out a moment later 
 as his thoughts reverted to Miriam Hartwell and the 
 possible consequences to himself if he did what his con- 
 science forced upon him as his duty to the boy : 
 
 "But what can I do? My God! What shall I 
 do?" 
 
 He turned toward Paul appealingly, while his face 
 quivered with his strong emotion. 
 
 " Let us first review the circumstances as calmly as 
 possible," said the latter. " When barely twenty, a 
 child in your power of self-control, you met this girl 
 four years younger than yourself, under circumstances 
 which threw you together for companionship and with- 
 out frequent oversight. The seduction to call it such 
 was mutual; was without intention on either side.
 
 70 
 
 There was no wickedness, no premeditated plan. Your 
 relation was the natural result of sex-magnetism unre- 
 strained by the moral nature which had not sufficiently 
 developed. You had both heard, in a general, indefinite 
 way, of the unlawfulness of such relation, as all young 
 people do ; but you had never been taught the natural- 
 ness of your own impulses, the dignity of their right 
 fulfillment, and the dangers of ignorance. 
 
 " She was as innocent as most ignorant girls are, but 
 she was full of vigor and health and mistook the at- 
 traction you had for her for love. Equally, hers for 
 you was love also, as love appeared to you at that time. 
 Your strong dominant nature was too much for her 
 more feeble one ; for hers was an exceedingly sensuous 
 temperament, the legitimate product of her parentage, 
 not strong enough to withstand natural attraction when 
 undefended "by moral integrity. You flowed together 
 as naturally as two streams, the barrier between them 
 being removed, become one. It was nature pure and 
 simple, for though outwardly you were both veneered 
 with that conventionalism which accompanies our civil- 
 ization, inwardly you were both on the animal plane of 
 existence. 
 
 " The mistake you made will be repeated till men and 
 women learn that marriage is not the legalized oppor- 
 tunity for self-indulgence regardless of results, thus 
 begetting offspring who are the living incarnation of 
 this indulgence ; till parents learn that education of the 
 young begins instead of ends with knowledge of their 
 own natures and their consequences, physiological as 
 well as moral. But the sin of ignorance bears fruit 
 equally with the wilful sin, You have both to pluck
 
 71 
 
 and eat it, for law is inexorable. Her line of life has 
 led away from yours. You know nothing of her, and 
 at present have no responsibility regarding her. But 
 yours has led you directly to this boy, the product of 
 his parents' passion before they had time to know the 
 meaning of love. 
 
 " Everett Long ! You have changed much in the last 
 year and a half. Then you said to me you were able 
 to bear the consequences of your own acts. You would 
 never seek to throw them upon another." Everett 
 started. " You are no longer the man of impulse, liv- 
 ing for the moment. Your eyes are opening to the 
 grand meaning of life, to that continuity which leads 
 you to a region dazzling in its possibilities. You are 
 able to answer your own question. What will you do ? 
 What ought you to do ? 
 
 Paul's voice ceased, but many rang in Everett's ears, 
 some mockingly, some mournfully, but all persistently : 
 "What will you do?" 
 
 " I ought to take him from his present conditions and 
 provide him with better, and I will ; especially as he is 
 likely to be crippled for life/' he replied finally. 
 
 " Any man without others depending upon him for 
 support could do that," said Paul. " Is he entitled to 
 nothing more?" 
 
 Everett started to speak, but remained silent as if 
 aware of the uselessness of reply. 
 
 " Every child born into this world," continued Paul, 
 " is entitled to parents as long as these wear the flesh. 
 This one is the product of your pleasure. Is it right, 
 is it manly to leave its consequences with him while 
 you avoid them ? You can care for and educate him
 
 72 
 
 yes. But then you will have done your least, not your 
 best. You can, if you will, give him a father." 
 
 " But what would that mean for me ? " exclaimed 
 Everett. "How can I stand before the world as the 
 father of an illegitimate son ? " 
 
 "Is it the fact or not?" 
 
 Everett folded his arms across his heaving chest as 
 if to hold it within bounds, and did not reply. 
 
 " Which is more to be regretted of the two," continued 
 Paul and now there was a touch of sternness in his 
 voice "the fact, or the world's knowledge of it?" 
 
 " O Paul ! " said his companion appealingly, " the fact, 
 of course-. I know that. But it cannot be altered. 
 Present circumstances can be dealt with. Even if I 
 could bring myself to do this, the consequences of his 
 illegitimacy will remain. He will have no mother." 
 
 " But their weight will be lightened," returned Paul. 
 " A father's protection will save him much that other- 
 wise he must experience, and give him the benefit of 
 example. A man's example is good, but a father's is 
 better." 
 
 Slowly, in spite of his natural resistance to it, Ever- 
 ett Long's conviction of duty was increasing. The 
 right, the noble thing, was coming home to him with 
 added force as he pictured the boy's probable future. 
 He could place him where he would have good moral 
 training with his education, and physical care. But 
 who would have the interest in him that a parent would 
 have? Could money supply what only this relation 
 afforded ? More, as a matter of strict justice, of equity 
 rather than human law, to what was the child entitled
 
 73 
 
 by his birth ? Through his own self-indulgence the boy 
 was here. What were his rights I 
 
 He could not evade these questions, though his own 
 hopes of the future were menaced by them. But were 
 they so seriously menaced after all! Suddenly a new 
 one sprang up within him. If Miriam Hartwell on 
 second thought should consider his proposal favorably, 
 as he hoped and believed very probable, would she not 
 recognize the justice of such action as his conscience 
 demanded of him? He had told her frankly of his 
 past, she could not accuse him of deception. Would 
 .she not cooperate with him in the performance of his 
 duty ? She was such a grand woman ! The ordinary 
 woman would not, could not, do this. But she ! 
 
 As he meditated, varying expressions passed over 
 Paul's face ; sympathy, hopefulness, assurance, followed 
 by sadness as Everett reached his conclusions. 
 
 " You know my hopes and wishes, Paul," said Ever- 
 ett finally, turning toward him. " I must let the mat- 
 ter wait till I have seen Miss Hartwell. I owe her this." 
 
 " You owe her this," repeated Paul assentingly after 
 a moment's thought. " And now let me tell you of my 
 great joy over one victory you have gained. You have 
 not once thought of concocting a story to legitimize 
 the child, thereby making the performance of your duty 
 toward him easier. While this could readily be done 
 ' a secret marriage/ and all the rest of it you havS not 
 applied this salve to your conscience under the plea 
 that it would be better for the child. My friend ! of 
 whom I travail in birth till the divine be formed in 
 you" and he placed both hands affectionately on
 
 74 
 
 Everett's shoulders " you are making progress in the 
 fulfilling of your destiny, that destiny which is involved 
 in your origin. We come from, we go to, the eternal. 
 Existence is growth. Experience furnishes the condi- 
 tions. Whatever conies to you, be not bowed under it. 
 Stand above it, upheld by your potential divinity. You 
 are able to accomplish all right things." 
 
 A peculiar influence seemed to steal over him, as had 
 often happened when he listened to Paul as he gave 
 expression to his thoughts. Although at first quieted 
 and stilled, his senses of hearing and touch seemed to 
 be extended. He came out of bounds. He came into, 
 he flowed into all things about him, a consciousness 
 entering into the vibrating life of all objects. He par- 
 took of their life, their energy. He felt with them. 
 He could hear their feelings. He became one with 
 them. He was not himself and yet he was himself, but 
 a different self, one that overflowed former barriers. 
 He seemed to belong to a universal pulsating rhythm 
 which he could see, hear, smell, and taste, which in- 
 creased in volume till 
 
 " Let us go," Paul was saying, standing before him. 
 
 He rose to his feet with a curious "coming back" 
 feeling, which, however, dissipated in a moment. He 
 said no word, but, grasping Paul's hand for an instant, 
 he turned and left him. He carried with him a con- 
 sciousness of power.
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 THE up-stairs shutters of Walter Hemmingway's 
 house were closed to keep out the slanting rays of the 
 afternoon sun. In the front chamber from whose win-- 
 (lows his wife could look down the street the hours 
 and hours of watching and waiting Emma lay, white 
 and weak. 
 
 In the next room sat a motherly nurse with a pillow 
 on her lap. Sarah Hartwell was bending over it, an 
 expression of awe in her face, tempered with a pitying 
 sweetness as she held her hands to her bosom to keep 
 back the falling lace of her dress. 
 
 " It is too fragile to touch," she said in the nurse's 
 ear. 
 
 Her companion nodded. " What c'n ye expect ? " she 
 said under her breath. " Hasn't the poor thing been 
 worrited to death all these months ? A nice father he 
 is! Hasn't been home sence yesterday mornin' and 
 couldn't be found when he was sent for." 
 
 " What ! " exclaimed Sarah. 
 
 " Sh ! Jest push that door to, won't ye ? I hadn't 
 ought to be tellin' this, but you are a good friend o' 
 hers and 't won't go no further. The poor thing was 
 took early yesterday afternoon when she was alone in 
 the house but fer her help, Mary Ann, who run fer me. 
 I saw how things was goin' and sent fer the doctor, but 
 
 75
 
 didn't send fer 'er husband, thinkin' he'd be home to 
 dinner, which was time enough. But he never come, 
 and when we sent fer him in the evenin' he couldn't be 
 found, an' 'tain't the first time it's happened neither, 
 I'll be bound." 
 
 She stopped abruptly, nodding her head violently, 
 with her lips shut tightly together, as if there were much 
 more she could tell were she disposed. 
 
 " There now ! There now ! " she crooned with a 
 cradle-like motion of her knees as the infant set up a 
 feeble wail. 
 
 "Do you think it will live, Mrs. Cranch?" asked 
 Sarah. 
 
 " The Lord knows ! " replied the nurse. " You never 
 can tell. I've seen worse 'n this come up strong an' 
 hearty, an' then again it's right the other way. Lots 
 on 'em grow up a purpose to punish their parents, I'm 
 thinkiii'." 
 
 Placing the infant on a couch in a remote corner of 
 the. room, she tiptoed carefully to Emma's door and 
 looked in. 
 
 " Who is with you ? " asked a weak voice. 
 
 " Only Miss Sarah. You must drink your cup of 
 gruel now. What?" bending to hear something 
 Emma was whispering. " No, not yet. Oh, come now ! 
 Do ! jest a few swallows ! " as she turned her face from 
 her with quivering lips. 
 
 But Emma lay very still with closed eyes, and Mrs. 
 Cranch, after hesitating a moment, went again to the 
 other room. She met Sarah's inquiring glance with a 
 whispered, " You go in an' see her a minute. It'll com- 
 fort her."
 
 Sarah went noiselessly to the bedside and bent over 
 the young mother. Emma did not seem to notice her, 
 but great tears began to roll from under the closed 
 eyelids. Sarah took the feeble hand and carried it ca- 
 ressingly to her own face, imprinting upon it a tender 
 kiss. She saw the brave effort Emma made in spite 
 of her weakness to hide her sorrow, as she turned her 
 face toward her and tried to smile. 
 
 " Have you seen my baby ? " 
 
 " Yes, dear." And Sarah lovingly stroked the hand 
 she held. 
 
 " Is she like her father ? " 
 
 " I think she will have her father's brown eyes instead 
 of your blue ones," replied Sarah. " But Mrs. Cranch 
 will send me away if I allow you to talk," she added 
 gently as she saw the searching expression in Emma's 
 eyes fixed on her face. " Let me sit by you quietly for 
 a few minutes." 
 
 She noticed that Emma seemed to feel no alarm, 
 only sorrow, at her husband's absence from home, and 
 sighed witliin herself at this confirmation of Mrs. 
 Cranch's opinion. 
 
 " How a woman whose affections are centred upon 
 some man can suffer ! " she mused. 
 
 " Sarah ! What does it all mean ? " whispered Emma. 
 " Life is so hard ! " 
 
 " It means that we are learning to know ourselves, 
 dear. To know what is possible to us through our 
 weakness and through our strength." 
 
 " I suppose God wills it," Emma sighed and remained 
 quiet. 
 
 Sarah sat silently by her, thinking of the grand
 
 purpose being wrought out through human suffering. 
 Her thoughts mounted to planes above it, beyond a God 
 who could purposely afflict men, to where she could 
 look down upon it and see its relation to that which is 
 higher. 
 
 There were realms upon realms of light, of joy, of 
 glory, infinite in comparison with the petty threescore 
 and ten years constituting the all in all for so many, 
 who, having eyes, could not see. 
 
 There the infinite potentialities of finite being, first 
 quickened by the agonized throbbiugs of a mortal 
 heart, unfolded in all the beauty and power of selfless- 
 ness and service. 
 
 There the agony became aspiration, the woe, wor- 
 ship, the weakness, strength, the suffering, a saving 
 power. 
 
 There the divine alchemy transmuted the mortal 
 into the immortal, the human into the divine. 
 
 There ? Here. Here, in the world, traveling in the 
 road of self-knowledge, " the King's Highway," travel- 
 ing through on our o\mi feet, turning aside neither to 
 the. right nor the left. 
 
 Here, where the only way out of suffering was the 
 way up. 
 
 Here, where the way up was revealed to us through 
 the recognition of our own godlike powers. 
 
 Here, where the hammer-strokes of misfortune fell 
 thick and fast till we woke through pain from the sleep 
 of sense-consciousness. 
 
 Here, where, our appeals to a far-off Deity failing to 
 bring relief, we woke to the divinity entombed in hu- 
 manity.
 
 79 
 
 Here, where the crucifixion of the mortal brings the 
 resurrection of the immortal. 
 
 Here, where he who has put all things under his feet 
 knows that he lives forever. 
 
 Here, where the thorns of mortal loves and longings 
 ah ! God ! the smart of them ! became the victorious 
 crown of waiting divinity. 
 
 When she came down from this mount of transfig- 
 uration her face shone. 
 
 She turned toward the bed. Emma was sleeping 
 quietly. The look of suffering had disappeared from 
 her face. It was as placid as a child's. She passed to 
 the other room. The baby was sleeping also, and Mrs. 
 Cranch's head had fallen forward on her breast as she 
 sat in a capacious rocking-chair. Sarah heard the rattle 
 of a key in the door below. Moving swiftly and 
 silently forward she closed the door of the room and 
 began to descend the stairs. 
 
 As Walter Hemmingway shut the front door behind 
 him and turned toward the staircase, he stopped sud- 
 denly, his foot upon the bottom step. Was it a vision ? 
 
 Above him stood a woman's form clothed in floating 
 white, one hand raised warningly, the other resting 
 lightly on the balustrade, a golden halo playing round 
 her head and shining through her wavy hair. And 
 what a peculiar light in her face ! 
 
 He waited as she descended toward him, passing 
 below the ray of light from a window above the stair- 
 case. 
 
 "Oh! it's you, is it?" he said. "Glad to see yon, 
 Miss Sarah. How's Emma ? By Jove ! it was un- 
 fortunate that I had to go out of town suddenly last
 
 80 
 
 night. A new client with large interests involved " 
 he went on rapidly without giving her an opportunity 
 to speak. " A man in my profession never knows " 
 
 He stopped suddenly as he looked in her eyes. His 
 own fell. He saw the uselessness of subterfuge. Her 
 glance pierced him through. 
 
 " Your wife is very weak. She is sleeping quietly 
 now. Mrs. Cranch and the baby are in the blue room. 
 You had better go up as noiselessly as possible." 
 
 Her tone was low, her words few, but there was 
 something about her which seemed to scorch and 
 wither him. She stood aside, and he passed her with- 
 out once raising liis eyes. 
 
 She went on to the kitchen to confer with Mary 
 Ann and assure her of help in the management of the 
 household while Emma was incapacitated. Before long 
 she heard Mrs. Cranch whose tread the good woman 
 tried in vain to make light running rapidly down the 
 stairs. 
 
 " Oh! Miss Sarah [ Miss Sarah ! " she said breathlessly 
 as she reached the kitchen door. " The baby's dead ! " 
 
 Crash went a pitcher Mary Ann was filling with ice- 
 water as she sent up a wail and dropped into the near- 
 est chair. 
 
 " Hush ! " said Sarah sternly. 
 
 " Dear ! dear ! the poor thing ! " went on the nurse. 
 " It hadn't life enough to breathe long. I'm afeard for 
 Mrs. Hemmingway. She's that clingin', poor child, that 
 I don't know " and she shook her head mournfully 
 
 " Have you told them ? " asked Sarah. 
 
 " No, I didn't dare. He kem up an' jest glanced at 
 the child over his shoulder like and went into her
 
 81 
 
 room. When I went to see to it, it was gone God 
 rest its soul." 
 
 Sarah left the room and Mrs. Cranch followed her 
 up-stairs. She bent over the little stranger, not with 
 sadness, but as one who knows. The tiny lamp had 
 been lighted but for a moment and had burned itself 
 out. Sympathy was for those who needed it, not for 
 the child. 
 
 She heard their voices in the next room Walter's 
 coaxing, explanatory, Emma's pleading and tearful. She 
 was so weak now she could not help crying. 
 
 "He'll make her worse," whispered the nurse ex- 
 citedly. 
 
 " Go in with this milk for Mrs. Hemmingway," said 
 Sarah. And as Emma's husband turned from the bed- 
 side to make room for Mrs. Cranch, she beckoned to him 
 from the door. He came at once, but avoided her eye. 
 
 "The child is dead," she said briefly. "You must 
 help your wife to bear it." 
 
 He went to the couch where the child lay. " Poor 
 little mite," he said as he bent over it. " Why should 
 it have been so feeble, I wonder? It's too bad, but 
 Emma would have found it a great care if it had li ved. 
 She'll take its death very much to heart though, I sup- 
 pose. Hadn't you better tell her?" and he looked at 
 Sarah for an instant, only to look away again and 
 bend over the child as a refuge from what he saw in 
 her face. 
 
 "What is the matter?" came Emma's feeble voice 
 from the next room. 
 
 " Jest drink the rest o' this an' I'll go an' see," replied 
 the nurse.
 
 82 
 
 Sarah hesitated. She knew was she not a woman ? 
 that Emma would crave her husband's presence and 
 sympathy, would turn to him as her all in all more 
 than ever now. And from whose lips could the an- 
 nouncement come with less power to crush an already 
 suffering heart than his ? 
 
 " Come with me and I will tell her," she said, moving 
 toward the door. 
 
 He started to follow her, stopped, turned back, went 
 noiselessly out of the room and down the stairs. 
 
 " I cannot bear to see suffering," he said to himself. 
 " I'll come back when she has gotten over the shock 
 of it." 
 
 As Sarah approached Emma's bedside and saw the 
 mingled alarm and expectation in her eyes, knowing 
 without looking back that Walter Hemmingway was 
 not with her, she opened within her own soul that door 
 which leads to the infinite to that great reservoir of 
 life, of strength, of power, of love, which can never be 
 exhausted but is always sufficient for our mortal needs ; 
 opened it that the healing and saving stream might flow 
 through her to the suffering one who knew it not and 
 yet needed it so sorely. 
 
 The world of love for one, to the exclusion of the 
 many, which seems to us so vast and entrancing, 
 proves its limitations when we wound ourselves by 
 striking unawares against the hedge of thorns that 
 bounds it. The fair gardens and flowering plains, the 
 verdure-clad mountains which lift themselves to where 
 the " I Am that I Am " reigns supreme, are the unknown 
 and the undesired for us as we endeavor to bind our 
 wounds and turn back to new experiences.
 
 83 
 
 Only when the thorns remain to rankle in the flesh, 
 only when they are plucked out by the strong hand of 
 their master, do we live in the two worlds, loving with 
 the love which is God, mediators for the Most High. 
 
 The sun had set and a gathering twilight filled the 
 room as, taking Emma's hands in hers, she said gently, 
 " The little bud has gone to blossom where it is always 
 sunshine, Emma dear. Help it with your love." 
 
 Emma looked at her for a moment as if she did not 
 comprehend her. She saw Mrs. Cranch wipe her eyes 
 furtively with her apron. "My baby is dead?" she 
 said inquiringly, catching her breath. 
 
 " Yes, Emma," said Sarah. 
 
 " Walter!" 
 
 The agonized cry rang through the chamber and 
 then all was still. 
 
 " She's fainted," exclaimed Mrs. Cranch, running for 
 water. " Here, put this on her face and slap her hands 
 while I go and send her husband for the doctor. He'll 
 pay for this sometime or other or I'm mistaken," she 
 muttered as she hurried down-stairs.
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 AFTER days of battle with himself, days whose hours 
 seemed marked one by one with his very life-blood ooz- 
 ing from open wounds, Everett Long's sense of duty 
 and justice won the day. He was compelled by its 
 very strength, which wrestled with him and would not 
 let him go, to acknowledge it ruler over worldly policy 
 and expediency, to feel that he could better face an 
 adverse public opinion than his own self-condemna- 
 tion. 
 
 His pulse beat rapidly as he sat in the parlor of her 
 father's residence awaiting Miriam Hartwell. Had a 
 harder task ever been allotted to a man than this he 
 was about to perform ? Tell the woman he wished to 
 make his wife that he had an illegitimate son whom he 
 was about to acknowledge and care for in all respects 
 as if he had been born in lawful wedlock, making only 
 such explanations to the world as the simple truth 
 afforded nothing more ? 
 
 The impulse to go while there was yet time and write 
 his explanation rose up within him ; but again came 
 the thought, " I am able to do my best, not my least," 
 and he turned to that inner support which Paul had 
 taught him to seek and find. He turned to that under- 
 lying potential nature in which is the seed of all power, 
 of all achievement, waiting to be fructified through the 
 
 84
 
 85 
 
 spoken word. " Dominion is mine. It is not in the 
 condition or circumstance," he said to himself. 
 
 He heard a step upon the stairs and Miss Hartwell 
 entered the room. His heart gave a mighty bound and 
 then seemed to stand still. But no trace of this np- 
 peared in his face as he stood awaiting her. 
 
 She came toward him with a new graciousness tem- 
 pering her usually reserved manner and extended her 
 hand. He took it in both his own, holding it for an 
 instant before he relinquished it, and said gently, "I 
 did not mean to come until the expiration of the fort- 
 night, but since I saw you last I have learned some 
 things which compel a certain course of action on my 
 part, and which you should know also, that you may 
 judge to what extent your promised decision shall be 
 influenced by them." 
 
 She looked at him with a surprised expression, 
 seemed about to speak, checked herself, and sat down 
 facing him without a word. Standing before her with 
 a manner so composed she little knew the effort it cost 
 him, he told her all, offering no excuse for himself, 
 shading none of the facts. As he ceased speaking and 
 awaited her reply with a quiet dignity which com- 
 manded respect, a deep regret, even shame, for the 
 deeds he felt himself obliged to make known to her 
 was plainly apparent. 
 
 While he spoke varying expressions passed over 
 Miriam's face, which finally assumed the judicial aspect 
 of a judge on the bench. 
 
 "It seems to me, r she said, "you have reached your 
 most extraordinary conclusion as to your course of 
 action on very insufficient evidence. How do you
 
 86 
 
 know this boy is your son ? You seem to have accepted 
 Paul Masters' statement without a question." 
 
 " I have indeed," replied Everett gravely. " I know 
 him so well that it had not occurred to me to question its 
 truth. I am quite sure he will be able to give me a 
 satisfactory explanation." 
 
 " You have great confidence in him/' she said coldly. 
 
 " And not without reason," he assented eagerly, rais- 
 ing his head, which had been bowed before her ; and 
 the color flashed to his face as his eye brightened. " He 
 has been everything to me counselor, comforter, ex- 
 ample, brother, friend tried and proven." 
 
 A shadow passed across her face. "With such a 
 friend one need hardly feel the lack of other compan- 
 ionship," she said. 
 
 There was a tinge of irony in her tone which escaped 
 him, but which a jealous woman would have under- 
 stood. 
 
 11 Miss Hartwell Miriam," he burst out impulsively, 
 taking a step forward. " I long with all my being for 
 the companionship, the love of a woman. I have but 
 one aim, to live my life henceforth nobly, reverently, 
 unselfishly, placing my duty before my desire, making 
 the most of every faculty and power I possess, achiev- 
 ing all it is possible to achieve in this world with right 
 intention and honest endeavor. The woman who could 
 hold this aim with me, who could overlook that past 
 which I deeply regret how deeply none but myself 
 can know who could stand beside me as a comrade 
 and yet above me as that more than myself, continually 
 drawing me higher, should have the love of my heart,
 
 87 
 
 the service of my life, the adoration of my soul. Can 
 you will you " 
 
 He hesitated, and stopped with his hand stretched 
 toward her. 
 
 " For such a woman would you give up your purpose 
 to publicly acknowledge this child your son?" she 
 asked, looking at him intently and enunciating each 
 word with a particular distinctness. 
 
 His arm fell. His face showed an inward struggle. 
 He turned from her and walked to the other side of 
 the room. What could he not do for the woman he 
 loved, for the woman who loved him, that was right ? 
 A conflict raged in him which he had thought fought 
 and won. Perhaps he had everything to gain by re- 
 linquishing his purpose, perhaps everything to lose by 
 holding to it. Why should he take this extreme posi- 
 tion, when men all about him, good men too, failed to 
 see its necessity ? Why should the error of an undis- 
 ciplined youth fall so severely upon the head of the 
 man struggling upward? Was his load not heavy 
 enough, the accompanying compensation little enough ? 
 Must his life be one prolonged strife without rest ? 
 
 What? Breaking through the noise of the battle 
 came that far-off voice he had heard before in time of 
 need. Was it Paul's voice? 
 
 " Live to your best, not your least. You are able." 
 
 He felt a new vitality coursing through him. He 
 was able. 
 
 He came back to her she had not taken her eyes 
 from him and his voice, though firm, was as gentle as 
 a woman's as he said, " It would be very hard to refuse
 
 anything to the woman I loved ; but should she ask 
 that which was incompatible with my sense of right 
 and conviction of duty I should be obliged to refuse 
 her request, suffering with her in the refusal." 
 
 With a gesture of impatience Miriam sat erect. 
 
 " Listen to me, Everett Long," she said impetuously, 
 and there was a dangerous sparkle in her eyes, a rigid- 
 ity about her mouth. " You are in danger of becoming 
 fanatical through excess of sentiment. Let us review 
 this whole matter impartially. I am, at all events, your 
 friend, and must point out the danger which threatens 
 you. 
 
 " So far as your past life is concerned, it is neither 
 better nor worse than that of most men. Were I like 
 most women I should grieve over it with you, were I 
 not too greatly shocked to mingle my tears with yours. 
 But I am too unsentimental for which I am devoutly 
 thankful to be ignorant, or to pretend to be ignorant, 
 of the way men live, of the way they are tacitly allowed 
 to live. Wliile I regret the latitude allowed them and 
 their use of it, I am accustomed to deal with facts as 
 they are rather than as they should be. 
 
 " Your present and future, then, are what are to be 
 considered, and the present specially in its bearing 
 upon the future. You are a rising man. You have 
 great ability. You have most of the requirements for 
 a leader and are gaining the rest. Such men are not 
 so plentiful as to deprive you of necessary opportunity. 
 I believe you capable of reaching a high position in the 
 world. You need only the stimulus of ambition, for 
 you have plenty of determination. The fact that you 
 are the father of an illegitimate child will not injure
 
 you so long as it is known only by the few and appears 
 to be but a rumor. 
 
 " But acknowledge it as true, proclaim the fact by 
 putting the child in the position of your acknowledged 
 son, and you ruin every prospect you now have. And 
 what will the boy gain ? Without this acknowledg- 
 ment he can have all needed care, be educated and 
 trained for whatever future he seems best fitted to fill. 
 He need have no real lack unsupplied. Is it worth 
 while to jeopardize your own future, all that makes 
 life worth the living, for the sake of a mere sentiment 
 which is productive of no real or lasting good ? 
 
 "Put the past behind you and do not insist upon 
 making its dead corpse the drag upon your living 
 present. Success is all a man needs to compel that 
 recognition, that homage, which the world is slow to 
 accord until it is compelled. Put everything from you 
 that interferes with it. Bend every energy to the 
 making of a name which shall live after you." 
 
 She had risen to her feet as she proceeded, and stood 
 before him drawn to her full height, her eyes glowing, 
 her breast heaving, her form and attitude regal, in- 
 domitable. She seemed a goddess newly descended 
 from Olympus, or a woman warrior capable of lead- 
 ing vast armies through storm and strife to victory ; 
 a fitting representative of her own ideal of the coming 
 woman. 
 
 His eye kindled as he looked upon her. She stirred 
 his blood. He felt a desire to do all and to dare all if 
 but her eyes might rest upon him while he labored, 
 her arms sometimes enfold him, her heart but keep 
 alive the fire in his own. Her first words had de-
 
 90 
 
 pressed and chilled him, but her last had roused some- 
 thing he had not felt before. 
 
 He was about to stretch his arms toward her when 
 again the inner voice, breaking through some obstruc- 
 tion, repeated its note of warning. "Live to your 
 best ! " The impulse died out as he seemed to hear 
 again the pulsating rhythm, becoming one with it as 
 on that day in the park when he sat by Paul's side. 
 
 He was out of the room, out of the world yet in it ; 
 out of all limitation and one with the great pulse of all 
 worlds, which rose and fell and rose and fell with a 
 music and a majesty indescribable. He was more than 
 it, he was less than it, he was it. Suddenly a minor 
 tone, faint at first, swelling louder and louder, moaned 
 and sobbed in his ears a wail of passion, of sorrow, of 
 despair. 
 
 There she was before him ! Where had he been ? 
 She showed no surprise, as if waiting in vain for an 
 answer. Instead, the last word seemed to have just 
 left her lips. He was growing more accustomed to 
 these sudden experiences an hour compressed into a 
 brief instant of time. But the desire to follow her to 
 victory, to death if need be, had gone. He saw the 
 worldly wisdom in her words, felt the danger of its 
 allurement, which led him away from the path he must 
 follow if he should live to his best. 
 
 " I feel the force of what you say," he replied, and 
 his tone was as before. " I know that expediency in- 
 stead of right rules in the world, that we allow it to 
 masquerade in the other's garments and convince our- 
 selves of its rectitude. Perhaps I am without ambition, 
 as once I seemed to be without a conscience, I do not
 
 91 
 
 know. But I feel that I cannot turn from that which 
 is nobler to that which is least, for the sake of what is 
 called success. 
 
 "Make a name that shall live after met" and his 
 fine eyes, bent on hers, held something which caught 
 her with a sudden wonder. " I live, and perhaps shall 
 live when names are forgotten and gone. Listen to 
 me," he said appealingly, with a sudden change of 
 manner. " For years I lived for the day, caring naught 
 for yesterday or to-morrow. I lived for enjoyment 
 only. I do not think I was intentionally regardless of 
 the claims of my fellow-men, of a higher ideal than the 
 gratification of the senses. I was thoughtless, careless, 
 had no family ties, did as I saw other men do. 
 
 " But the time came when I began to question my 
 mode of life, question myself ; when a vague dissatis- 
 faction haunted me. Then was the time when Paul 
 Masters proved his worth as a man, his value to me as 
 a friend. He showed me myself as I was and as I 
 might be. He taught me the necessity of cleansing the 
 within as well as the without. He showed me that all 
 act was the expression of thought, and that I must be 
 pure in thought if I would be pure in life ; that we are 
 members of one body, and that no one can truly rise 
 without helping others to rise also. He gave me no 
 doctrinal religion, but he gave me a God-like ideal and 
 taught me how to reach it. He never told me I must 
 believe, but, ' You must see and do.' 
 
 " For the last two years I have tried, with many a 
 failure, to do according to what I see. This course I 
 must continue. I cannot I dare not turn aside from 
 it. And yet I am weak when I should be strong. My
 
 92 
 
 heart cries out for love. Help me to reach my ideal ! " 
 and again he stretched his arms toward her implor- 
 ingly- 
 
 She leaned toward him for an instant as if drawn in 
 spite of herself. Her face softened, her mouth trem- 
 bled, her eyes were dewy. She was not the warrior, 
 she was the woman. But even as she swayed as if 
 about to fall into his arms, she caught herself, her face 
 assumed its expression of a set purpose, the tenderness 
 vanished from her eyes. 
 
 She seemed conscious of having experienced a mo- 
 ment of temptation and weakness, and to feel resent- 
 ment at the possibility. Her voice and aspect were as 
 judicial as before when she said : 
 
 " Of course you must form your own decision in this 
 matter and act accordingly. Freedom of choice and 
 action is essential. The well-meant advice of friends 
 should not be allowed to check it. I shall think you 
 mistaken if you carry out your present intention, and 
 that the time will come when you will see reason to be 
 a far safer guide than sentiment. You will find that 
 you have unnecessarily made yourself a target for ridi- 
 cule and reproach. Men whose lives have been no bet- 
 ter than your own will laugh at you, those who have 
 been more moral will condemn you, women, if they do 
 not openly denounce, will avoid you. 
 
 " You will ruin your future utterly ; the high position 
 you might reach, you are able to reach, will be closed 
 to you. The position of your wife would be one insup- 
 portable to me. I am ambitious. I admit it, I glory 
 in it," and she raised herself proudly. "I never could 
 be content with the narrow confines of 'woman's
 
 93 
 
 sphere ' or ' sacrifice all for love.' My nature demands 
 a name and a place in the world. Women have been 
 too long content with mediocrity in themselves and an 
 inferior position as compared to men. 
 
 '' I mean to demonstrate their higher possibilities in 
 my own person ; to stimulate them to such endeavor as 
 shall place them shoulder to shoulder with men, carv- 
 ing their way to competence and reputation. Why 
 should they not have both ? Not as a reflected glory 
 from the men with whom they are connected, but as 
 their own achievement ? I, too, have my conviction of 
 duty, and my inclination goes with it. I mean to help 
 forward that progress which has seemed so long in 
 coming, to march in the van of the new era which rec- 
 ognizes and gives to woman her due in the industrial, 
 the financial, the political, the intellectual world. I 
 hope to li ve to raise the song of triumph for woman 
 come to her own at last, even through the Red Sea of 
 insurmountable difficulties ; for I know, I feel in my 
 soul, that every opposer of woman's progress shall 
 finally be overthrown." 
 
 Again she seemed the warrior leader as she paused 
 for an instant, intoxicated with the glory she saw 
 awaiting her, the very incarnation of that victorious 
 womanhood which had battled successfully for its 
 rights. The crown of triumph was already on her 
 brow, the peace-offerings of a conquered foe at her 
 feet. 
 
 He looked at her silently with a heavy heart. He 
 foresaw the refusal she was preparing for him. How 
 grand she was ! How she stirred him to desire a part 
 in the same battle, a share in the same victory ! Help
 
 94 
 
 the world forward ? Surely there was no nobler work 
 And yet and yet there was something lacking. 
 
 " I have neither time nor inclination for that weak- 
 ness which many women call love," she went on. " It 
 belongs with their religion, both the consequence of 
 generations of intellectual bondage, and both her foes 
 under the guise of friends. For whatever stands in 
 the path of woman's advancement is her foe. Women 
 suffer for this love of theirs which robs them of their 
 strength, and their intellectual darkness makes them 
 lie content in the dust while men march triumphantly 
 over them. 
 
 " When you proposed marriage to me I told you that 
 I did not wish to marry, and you know why. I have 
 marked out a career which I intend to follow to the 
 end. You begged me to take time for consideration 
 and I consented, for I tell you frankly you have 
 awakened more response in me than any man I ever 
 met. I set myself to consider carefully the effect our 
 marriage would have on my future. I saw your abil- 
 ity, the growing recognition you are receiving, and the 
 possibilities of your future, especially if you had a wife 
 who, so far from being a check on your efforts, would 
 further them and stimulate your ambition. I saw that 
 such a woman as I am and such a man as I believe 
 you to be could, if united, accomplish more than either 
 singly; and I had nearly determined to give you a 
 favorable answer. But now " 
 
 She hesitated. 
 
 "And now?" he said gently and sadly. 
 
 She waited a moment. He did not speak. 
 
 " Now I am obliged to refuse you," she said firmly,
 
 95 
 
 looking him directly in the face. " Your determination 
 makes it impossible for me to become your wife." 
 
 He accepted her decision silently. Only he con- 
 tinued to look at her with a yearning expression in his 
 face, as if something he longed for was fading from 
 sight. 
 
 She turned from him abruptly, walked a few steps, 
 came back, and extended her hand. 
 
 " While I cannot agree with your view or approve of 
 your course, I have much esteem for you. We remain 
 friends ? " 
 
 " We remain friends," he replied as he took her hand, 
 bent down, and left a lingering kiss upon it. Then 
 without looking back he left the room. 
 
 As he approached the front door it was opened from 
 without and Sarah Hartwell entered. 
 
 "Oh! Good-morning, Mr. Long ! I hope the door did 
 not strike you. No ? You are sure ? " as she stood 
 with her hand still on the knob. 
 
 Assuring her as he returned her salutation that he 
 was untouched, he passed out, when her quick eye 
 caught the expression of his face. 
 
 " You are in trouble," she said very gently. " I am 
 sorry." 
 
 He did not reply. He could not. Raising his hat he 
 went quickly down the steps. 
 
 She stood thoughtful for a moment. Glancing 
 through the half-open door she saw her sister. 
 
 She understood.
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 THE Hemmingway cottage had a new occupant, a 
 beautiful widow. Much stir and comment had been 
 aroused when she first made her appearance in Benton. 
 No one seemed to know her, and speculation was rife. 
 
 So far as her beauty was concerned there was no room 
 for speculation. The male population assented to a man 
 that she was by all odds the handsomest woman one 
 would see in a day's journey, a verdict not altogether 
 agreeable to their sisters and wives. They called upon 
 her, however, when after a few weeks' stay she pre- 
 sented letters of introduction to some of the prominent 
 people of Benton. Then it was known that she came 
 from New York, was rich, had been a widow over a 
 year, and was ordered by her physician to live quietly 
 for a time before resuming the social duties of her own 
 circle. 
 
 "Young," said the men ; " Older than she looks," said 
 the women ; but all agreed that Mrs. Jasper Cunning- 
 ham was charming and her half-mourning toilettes 
 ravishing. She was received in their inner circle and 
 admired from the distance of the outer one. 
 
 Emma had been seriously ill for some weeks after 
 the death of her child. She did not seem able to rally 
 and her husband had proposed a change of air and 
 scene. Combined with his anxiety for her for he 
 
 96
 
 97 
 
 loved her, as he assured her frequently Was an uneasi- 
 ness and perplexity which she did not understand, but 
 which she was too weak to do more than wonder over 
 at intervals. 
 
 She had remonstrated at first, feeling he could not 
 afl'ord to leave his professional interests in other hands, 
 for he proposed going with her. When he had found it 
 so impossible to give her much of his time while at home, 
 she felt sure they must suffer from his absence; and of 
 late he had seemed to feel the expense of their modest 
 household a tax upon his resources. But he overruled 
 her objections and persuaded her that it was best not 
 to keep up their establishment for a time, but to rent 
 their house the beautiful little home left by her par- 
 en ts to their only child; for she had been an orphan 
 under the care of a guardian glad to be rid of his re- 
 sponsibility when Walter married her. 
 
 Through an agent a tenant had been found, and they 
 had gone away, Emma thankful enough for her hus- 
 band's companionship to feel little regret at leaving 
 home, he with an air of mingled relief and devotion to 
 his wife which revived the hope in her heart, wearied 
 with the fluctuations between certainty of his safe fu- 
 ture and dread of she knew not what. 
 
 The man who had insisted so strenuously on seeing 
 her husband the first time he had been at their home 
 had been there frequently since, and Walter had always 
 seen him alone on the plea of "business." She had 
 heard their voices raised in anything but business-like 
 tones, and her husband was always moody and ab- 
 stracted after his visits. But her husband must know 
 better than she. How foolish to worry over what did
 
 98 
 
 not concern her! Walter had unusual ability in his 
 profession. Every one conceded ' that. " An excep- 
 tionally capable man, who will do well if he will only 
 behave himself/' her guardian had said. And of course 
 he would do right. He could not do otherwise when 
 she was so devoted to him. What should she do if he did 
 not ? What if he should cease to love her ? She should 
 die. There would be nothing to live for nothing. 
 
 Sarah had been her faithful friend through many 
 weary weeks. Eveiy time she came to her she brought 
 comfort and strength. Even if she only sat by her 
 silently for a little while, Emma felt uplifted, borne 
 above the haunting perplexities of her mental visions. 
 And yet Sarah did not seem a strong woman like her 
 sister. She was so gentle and so placid. She appeared 
 to know nothing of strife, to live always in a world 
 of her own which she carried with her as a protecting 
 armor. 
 
 Benton had experienced a decided sensation, a more 
 than nine days' wonder. Everett Long, a growing 
 man in the public esteem, who was being mentioned as 
 a desirable candidate for one of the most important 
 offices in the city, had taken a boy out of the gutter 
 and frankly acknowledged him his son ; had placed him 
 in that position and provided him with everything but 
 a mother, admitting when questioned that he had never 
 been married. 
 
 Was the man crazy? Of course every one knew 
 that he had formerly sown abundant wild oats, but 
 what man had not ? Why should he parade the crop 
 they had borne in people's faces ? " D d fool ! " said 
 many of the men, " to ruin his chances so needlessly ! "
 
 99 
 
 while many of the women in neighborhood conclave 
 set their faces as a flint against such flagrant immo- 
 rality. 
 
 Others, more lenient, for they had marriageable 
 daughters, deeply regretted he should make it impossi- 
 ble for them to continue to receive him. Many and 
 vigorous were the discussions his conduct provoked, 
 and, curiously enough, it was his present course rather 
 than his past which received the most condemnation. 
 
 "How shocking to parade his wickedness so bra- 
 zenly ! " commented the virtuous Bentonians on their 
 way to prayer-meeting. And he had been held up to 
 the youthful visitants persuaded to seek that way of 
 salvation, as a warning example, even while they pro- 
 claimed God's grace sufficient for the repentant sinner, 
 whose sins, though scarlet, should be made white as 
 wool. 
 
 He had never affiliated with any of the churches, 
 though he had attended services in all of them; and 
 the efforts made by some of the good people with that 
 end in view were now brought to an abrupt conclusion. 
 
 Zealous members of the " Society for the Suppression 
 of Vice," who had had an eye upon him as a valuable 
 Accession to their ranks, closed it, and opened the other 
 one to see the heinousness of his crime. 
 
 A committee from the "Association for Mutual 
 Helpfulness and Improvement," of which he was a 
 prominent member, visited and remonstrated with him. 
 It would have been much wiser to have quietly helped 
 the child and been silent as to his parentage. It was 
 deplorable to have such an odium attached to one of 
 their number.
 
 100 
 
 On all sides he heard and felt more than he heard 
 denunciation and disparagement. Sore need had he of 
 Paul's faithful companionship and unwavering confi- 
 dence in his better self. No other human soul had held 
 out to him an encouraging hand. 
 
 Yes ! there was one exception. How could he have 
 momentarily forgotten? He was walking with bent 
 head along a quiet path by the river, fighting one of 
 his many battles in the solitude of nature, which he 
 had learned to find helpful. 
 
 What was this untamed creature within himself 
 which would not be led in leash? which tore and 
 rended him with its struggles ? The height he strove 
 to reach was so far away ! The strength he needed for 
 the journey was consumed in this never-ceasing con. 
 fiict! He was faint and weary and longed for rest. 
 When he seemed to have made a little progress, some- 
 thing was sure to arise, and often from his old past, 
 which brought the strife over again. He was lonely. 
 He would not have the old, and the new rejected him. 
 Was he condemned to struggle and work with the love 
 and loyalty of but one faithful soul ? 
 
 Some one stood before him, barring the path. He 
 looked up. Sarah Hartwell was gazing upon him with 
 a look he had never seen in a human face but Paul's. 
 How beautiful she was ! Was it beauty he saw in her 
 now ? He was startled and did not speak. She held both 
 hands toward Mm and they drew his own to meet them. 
 
 " What you have done is brave and noble," she said, 
 and the melody in her voice blended with the murmur- 
 ing of the trees and the river. " With all my heart I 
 honor you for it," dropped his hands and was gone.
 
 101 
 
 He stood motionless where she had left him. What 
 had happened to him I Where the strife, the noise of 
 conflict ? " And there arose a great calm." He felt a 
 stillness, a hush, as of a benediction brooding over him. 
 
 He carried its influence with him when he went home 
 to resume his daily duties. For his life now was a 
 series of duties indeed. He had taken the boy to his 
 own home, making him his companion, while he became 
 his child's teacher, thinking it better to follow tliis 
 course for a time before sending him away to school. 
 It would be easier for the child and for those who might 
 have him under their care if some of the effects of his 
 Ishmaelite life were first removed. 
 
 But he found this daily companionship to be a harder 
 tax upon his endurance than he had foreseen. The boy 
 was so unlovely. He seemed to be impelled by the 
 mere brute instinct in its various forms, which gained 
 strength as he thrived physically. He seemed to have 
 no understanding of the relation of parent and child 
 except that his father should produce the supply for all 
 his desires. 
 
 And these concerned chiefly his appetite. He ate 
 voraciously, never appearing satisfied, but always crav- 
 ing something he had not yet had. Soap and water 
 possessed no attraction, but were to be avoided by 
 every means in his power. He enjoyed the clothing 
 provided for him and would spend any amount of time 
 arraying himself in one garment after another ; but re- 
 monstrated in the choicest gutter-snipe profanity when 
 compelled to leave his occupation for a lesson, which, 
 with Everett, was a daily wrestle with a gigantic igno- 
 rance, an unwillingness to learn and an infantile mind.
 
 102 
 
 He was very fond of jewelry. Its glitter seemed to 
 have an irresistible attraction for him and he would 
 seize every opportunity to possess himself of the little 
 belonging to his father, regardless of how he obtained 
 it, picking a lock if necessary, an occupation at which 
 he became an expert. Command and reprimand were 
 unheeded by him. To be deprived of some article of 
 food he particularly liked was the only punishment he 
 seemed to feel, for Everett, though sorely tempted, 
 could not bring himself to meet the brute instinct with 
 brute force. 
 
 His chief characteristic was cunning, which grew 
 apace. He would devise endless ways and means for 
 carrying out his own purposes and avoiding his 
 father's ; and his lameness, which was not excessive, 
 did not seem to prevent the accomplishment. 
 
 While the boy seemed to have no desire whatever to 
 learn, he enjoyed music ; and here Everett found his 
 first ray of hope. But he soon discovered that the 
 boy's feeling was enjoyment only, on a par with his 
 love of his dinner, and with no inclination to overcome 
 any obstacles that he might be a musician himself ; al- 
 though there was no lack of inclination to get around 
 such as interfered with his own gratification. 
 
 Scarcely a day passed but Everett was defeated in 
 some project he had formed for the child's good. There 
 was nothing in the boy to attract him, and after months 
 of endeavor there seemed nothing to encourage him in 
 his eif orts, save his conviction of duty and the habit he 
 had cultivated of looking for the best in every one and 
 placing it before the worst. 
 
 That good is stronger than evil was to him a vital
 
 103 
 
 truth, one Paul had declared to him again and again 
 before he found himself able to acknowledge it. When 
 his heart sank at some unusually abominable act of the 
 boy's and he felt he could do no more, that with all his 
 unceasing effort the result he obtained was well-nigh 
 unnoticeable, he could only rest in that conviction, sure 
 that in its own time and in its own way, rather than in 
 those we try to compel, it would triumph over all. 
 
 Did he love the boy? No and yes. He did not, 
 could not love him because he was his father. This 
 relationship was the natural effect of the causes in- 
 volved, and could not of itself call up in him a feeling 
 lln> boy's nature made impossible. That repelled him 
 at every point. 
 
 But there was growing within him a feeling, in which 
 the boy had share, as he studied and analyzed that 
 curious compound, human nature. He would not have 
 called it love, and yet it was a pitying and protecting 
 tenderness; an inclination to minimize frailties and 
 faults instead of exalt them ; a willingness to take upon 
 himself pain and suffering if he might thus lift them 
 from others; a growing tendency to forget his own 
 desires in the remembrance of the needs and necessities 
 of others; a growing perception of that eternal and 
 changeless truth that sentiment found so often in the 
 mouth, so seldom in the heart the brotherhood of 
 humanity. 
 
 As time went on the sting of condemnation died out. 
 It was less an effort to meet people and see in their 
 faces their only half -concealed judgment of him. Their 
 opinion of the boy, unequivocally expressed to each 
 other, was incapable of change :
 
 104 
 
 "That child is bad! Bad all through! No good 
 will ever come of him." 
 
 He was learning more continually of the nature and 
 power of thought ; learning to guard his own thoughts, 
 that they might be messengers of "peace on earth, 
 good will toward men," rather than the agents of the 
 lesser human nature venting itself in its own anger 
 over unsatisfied desire. The sum of human misery 
 was heavy enough without his adding to it those men- 
 tal deposits which generate and prolong it. 
 
 He had suffered intensely after his final interview 
 with Miriam. Never before had he asked a woman to 
 be his wife. Never before had he held the ideal of 
 marriage his association with her had formed in him. 
 His own intellectual development, the more vigorous 
 in growth for its late cultivation, refined and modified 
 his former views. He sought the companionship equal- 
 ity alone can give, while he also desired how fervently 
 only a hungry, aspiring heart can know that divine 
 womanliness which should shine as the guiding star of 
 his soul, leading him up and on to the heights now 
 veiled in a mysterious but suggestive silence. 
 
 With no intention to exaggerate his own efforts and 
 their results, he was conscious of a higher motive than 
 had ever impelled him before in his association with 
 women, and felt himself to be far more worthy of their 
 esteem; and yet he was to be denied what only his 
 awakened manhood could appreciate. The nails of 
 crucifixion were being driven home. 
 
 Paul never failed him. He seemed possessed of an 
 inexhaustible store of wisdom from which he drew 
 what exactly suited Everett's needs. He not only knew
 
 105 
 
 much, but he knew that he knew. His confidence was 
 strength, his strength was knowledge, his knowledge 
 was power that never lacked. 
 
 What others called his misfortune did not bear that 
 name for him. It had been something to conquer. 
 Taken captive, it became his friend. He knew the 
 way out of bondage, away from those taskmasters who 
 make us "serve with rigor" according to the require- 
 ments of our modern Egypt, supplying us with none of 
 the material for the brick with which we build a stable 
 future, yet demanding successful result at every going 
 down of the sun. 
 
 When Everett's heart sank and the impulse to effort 
 well-nigh died out, he had but to think of Paul, of 
 his unconquerable will, his never-failing courage and 
 gentle benignity, to have his heart strengthened and 
 impulse quickened, his eye cleared of the obscuring 
 mists which made cloudy phantoms appear opposing 
 obstacles. 
 
 He often reviewed the circumstances of their first 
 meeting. Coming home early in the morning as the 
 sun's bright rays began to awaken the sleeping city, 
 after a night spent in what he then termed enjoyment, 
 he was accompanied by a boon companion who, smart- 
 ing under the consciousness of empty pockets, insin- 
 uated that he had been cheated by Everett at the gam- 
 ing-table. 
 
 A few hot words and he had raised his arm to strike 
 down the one who had insulted him, when " Stop ! " 
 uttered in a commanding voice which aroused ringing 
 echoes in the quiet street, arrested him. 
 
 His companion turned quickly into a side street as
 
 106 
 
 he looked down upon a diminutive figure, which he 
 lost sight of in the wonderful head and face upturned 
 to his. 
 
 " Why should I stop ? " he demanded after a moment 
 in which he gazed speechlessly. 
 
 " Because such an act is unworthy of you," was 
 the calm reply, and the deep blue eyes held his own 
 steadily. 
 
 His first thought of unwarrantable interference van- 
 ished as he caught their light. It seemed to shine 
 upon him from some far-off height of which he had 
 vague glimpses in his dreams. His passion ebbed and 
 a certain sadness began to take its place. 
 
 The stranger without further words started in the 
 opposite direction, and Everett, looking after him for 
 a moment, walked home thoughtfully. After this he 
 saw him frequently. He always received the same 
 steady, penetrating glance, and finally, one day, meet- 
 ing him in an unfrequented portion of the park, he 
 had approached him and thanked him frankly for what 
 he had done. 
 
 Then had commenced a friendship which had in- 
 creased in strength till now; which was destined to 
 broaden and deepen as their lives flowed nearer and 
 nearer to the measureless sea. 
 
 Paul's life of self-denial had contrasted forcibly with 
 his of self-indulgence. He lived in the most simple 
 manner, content where Everett would have felt priva- 
 tion. And yet he was not without means to command 
 more for himself, for he always furnished help for such 
 imperative needs as came to his notice. 
 
 He was quite alone j he had told Everett that he had
 
 107 
 
 neither father, mother, brother, nor sister ; no relations 
 at all so far as he knew; that his parents dying in 
 liis boyhood, he had been early obliged to learn how to 
 live in the within instead of the without; that what 
 would have seemed to others an unbearable existence 
 had become for him a song of praise and thanksgiving. 
 
 Always ready to improve opportunities for helpful- 
 ness, he became a magnet drawing to him many whose 
 hidden lives became an open scroll to him. Partly 
 from this contact and also partly from the power he 
 had developed of penetrating to the subjective planes 
 of existence, he was possessed of a knowledge of people 
 and their affairs which would have alarmed many had 
 they known of it, and been productive of disastrous 
 consequences had he been capable of abusing it. 
 
 He had been a resident for a time in that distant 
 town where Helen Mathers and her mother had made 
 their temporaiy home, living in their near neighbor- 
 hood, unknown to them in their seclusion. He had 
 seen them afterward with Mr. Mathers in New York, 
 whom he knew slightly through a business transaction. 
 Everett's confidences had revealed much, and a seem- 
 ingly chance encounter had again thrown in his way 
 the woman who had brought up the boy if the no 
 care, scanty sustenance, and frequent abuse could be 
 called " bringing up " and who, finding him in Bentou 
 and earning money as a newsboy, had endeavored to 
 secure a share of it.
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 EMMA'S pretty home, under Mrs. Jasper Cunning- 
 ham's tenancy, took on an air of luxury unknown to 
 it before. She was a woman who enjoyed the good 
 things of life; who, she would have said of herself, 
 could not live without them. If she must for a while 
 longer forego the social pleasures at home from which 
 she had been debarred by her widowhood, she would 
 have at least all the comforts to which she had been 
 accustomed, and such enjoyment as a limited circle of 
 acquaintances in Benton could afford her. 
 
 The rich and beautiful Mrs. Cunningham had called 
 upon Miriam, whose growing fame had reached even 
 her ears. With the gracefully expressed hope that her 
 call would not be deemed an intrusion, and an allusion 
 to the attraction of such a woman as too strong to be 
 resisted when in her neighborhood, she had chatted a 
 short half -hour and left with a cordial invitation to the 
 sisters to visit her informally and give her opportunity 
 for further acquaintance. 
 
 Dr. Hartwell was much gratified at this token of 
 deference paid his eldest daughter. His pride in her 
 continually increased as she demonstrated more and 
 more the truth of his conviction that women need but 
 the opportunity to, if they choose, compete intellect- 
 ually successfully with men. 
 
 108
 
 109 
 
 Miriam unbent somewhat from her usual stately 
 dignity and fraternized with Mrs. Cunningham quite 
 affably, accepting her invitation to informal intercourse 
 in good faith. Sarah, while unfailingly courteous, did 
 not seek her further acquaintance so willingly, fre- 
 quently requiring urging from Miriam to go with her. 
 
 " Why are you so reserved with Mrs. Cunningham, 
 Sarah ? " she would say. " It is far better worth your 
 while to cultivate her than some of the people to 
 whom you devote so much time and who amount to 
 nothing in particular. You never do seem to have 
 sufficient thought for your interests in the choice of 
 your friends ! " 
 
 "People affect us differently, you know, Miriam," 
 Sarah would reply in her usual gentle way. She knew 
 by experience that it was useless to argue with her 
 sister. 
 
 While together at Mrs. Cunningham's one evening 
 when she was entertaining some of her lately acquired 
 friends, Sarah chanced to be seated with her hostess in 
 a retired corner of the room. She was listening to an 
 animated description of the delights of New York in 
 the "season," and endeavoring to feel an interest in 
 What was evidently the sum of human happiness to 
 her companion, when one of two gentlemen conversing 
 near them mentioned the name of " Long," followed by 
 a remark in a lower tone and evidently intended for 
 the ear of the other only. 
 
 Mrs. Cunningham halted in her description abruptly, 
 listened an instant without avail, turned to Sarah, and 
 asked, " Is the Mr. Long they mentioned a resident of 
 Bentou?"
 
 110 
 
 " Yes," she replied, " he is." 
 
 " Do you know his given name ? " 
 
 " It is Everett, I believe." 
 
 She felt the start which Mrs. Cunningham gave as 
 she heard her reply, and looked at her involuntarily, 
 but turned her eyes at once in another direction when 
 she saw the color come and go in her face, and appeared 
 to be unaware of the widow's effort at unconcern. She 
 began to speak of something else, but was interrupted 
 by Mrs. Cunningham as if she had not heard her. 
 
 " How old is he, should you think ? " 
 
 " He appears to be about thirty-five or six." 
 
 " Tell me what you know of him, will you please ? " 
 
 " He is one of the rising men of our city, and worthy 
 every one's respect and esteem. He is one of the no- 
 blest men I ever knew," Sarah replied warmly as a light 
 leaped to her eyes. 
 
 " Is he married ? " 
 
 "No." 
 
 The beautiful widow drew a long, tremulous breath. 
 "It is very warm here, do you not think?" and, ris- 
 ing, she went to one of the windows and stood there 
 silently. 
 
 Sarah observed her thoughtfully. What an interest 
 she seemed to have in Mr. Long, though she evidently 
 had not heard of what was generally termed if no 
 stronger expression was used his unmitigated foolish- 
 ness ! 
 
 Ah ! the wisdom of this world which was foolishness 
 as compared with a higher. How many of those who 
 condemned him could have acted as he had done? 
 could have found the strength to be true to their best,
 
 Ill 
 
 to face and endure a merciless public opinion rather 
 than an accusing conscience ? How many would have 
 had an accusing conscience ? 
 
 The way of the world was the way of expediency, with 
 as much personal gratification as could be secured. 
 
 The way of the eternal was the "Via Dolorosa" 
 which leads to the blessedness beyond happiness. The 
 journey of him who had courage to pursue it, to tread 
 its flint-strewn surface unallured by the flower-decked 
 paths on either side, was uncheered by companionship. 
 In its appalling loneliness his head must be bared to 
 every storm, his naked feet leave blood behind them. 
 All honor to that pilgrim who as yet was an uncrowned 
 king and whose sought-for kingdom was not of this 
 world ! 
 
 Mrs. Cunningham did not have her usual reposeful 
 manner the rest of the evening. She seemed distrait, 
 and sometimes returned irrelevant answers to the re- 
 marks of her guests. Later in the evening she drew 
 Miriam into a quiet corner. 
 
 " Come and tell me something of what you are doing 
 now," she said. " You are such an indomitable worker 
 you make me almost ashamed of myself. How are you 
 succeeding with the 'Woman's Higher Thought League' 
 you are endeavoring to organize ? " 
 
 "Not so well at present as I had hoped," replied 
 Miriam with a sigh. " Women some women are so 
 slow to get out of the old ruts. Their inertia is very 
 discouraging. They have been tied to the priesthood 
 so long, have been taught for so many generations the 
 beauty and womanliness of unquestioning faith, the 
 disastrous consequences of questioning what they are
 
 112 
 
 told, that they view with alarm any effort to stimulate 
 them to this end. The most hopeless slave is the one 
 who does not know he is in bondage." 
 
 " But you will yet succeed, I am sure/' answered her 
 companion encouragingly. "You always do succeed 
 in whatever you undertake. I never knew a woman 
 like you." 
 
 " Not yet, if the women I am endeavoring to rouse 
 to individual thinking agree with the Rev. Mr. More- 
 naught. He told them last Sunday that the intelligent 
 agnostic was more dangerous to the church than the 
 pronounced infidel," replied Miriam with a cold smile. 
 "Harder even to overcome than the prejudice and 
 bigotry of ignorance is the ill-founded enthusiasm of 
 women who are governed by sentiment. They simply 
 will not see that the progress of the race depends upon 
 woman's advance beyond what they call religion as 
 well as in other directions." 
 
 "Well, your splendid example will go a long way 
 toward helping them to see it," returned Mrs. Cunning- 
 ham consolingly. " By the way, do you know a gentle- 
 man in this city by the name of Everett Long ? " 
 
 A change came over Miriam's face. " Yes," she an- 
 swered briefly. 
 
 " Is he a friend of yours ? " 
 
 Miriam hesitated. 
 
 " I knew him quite well at one time, but I have seen 
 very little of him lately." 
 
 " Is he a prominent man here ? " 
 
 "He has a very undesirable prominence in some 
 respects." 
 
 "Why! How? TeU me aU about it," said Mrs. Cun- 
 ningham eagerly.
 
 113 
 
 "It is commonly talked of; I should suppose you 
 would have heard of it," replied Miriam. " He threw 
 away every prospect he had " and her tone was hard 
 and severe " by acknowledging openly an illegitimate 
 son, and taking the boy to live with him. What is the 
 matter ? Are you ill ? " 
 
 Mrs. Cunningham's head had fallen back against the 
 chair and the color had left her face. Miriam was 
 about to start up when her companion put forth a de- 
 taining hand. 
 
 "It is nothing," she said tremulously; "I shall be 
 better in a moment." 
 
 Her maid was surprised that evening when her mis- 
 tress dismissed her much earlier than usual, cutting 
 short the usually elaborate preparations for the night 
 and for the preservation of her beauty. 
 
 " Sometliing must have happened to upset her," she 
 confided to the parlor maid. " She says perhaps she'll 
 give up this cottage and go to the sea-shore some- 
 wheres. Lord ! the more some people have the more 
 they want ! " 
 
 Two days later the agent through whom Mrs. Cun- 
 ningham had become a resident of Benton received a 
 visit from his fair patron, who announced her intention 
 of leaving the city. 
 
 " Of course I will pay for the full term for which I 
 engaged the house," she said. " But the place does not 
 agree with me as well as I expected. I think I need 
 the air of the sea-shore. It was always a tonic for 
 me," and she smiled engagingly. 
 
 Like most men, he found her smile, which made her 
 mouth, if possible, more beautiful than ever, irresisti- 
 ble. Between the effect it had upon him, surprise at
 
 114 
 
 her departure, and relief that there was to be no 
 trouble over the financial part of the situation, he 
 almost stammered as he replied: 
 
 u Sorry, indeed, to lose you, Mrs. Cunningham . Your 
 departure will be generally regretted. I was thinking 
 only this morning that you might like the house and 
 Benton well enough to have a permanent residence 
 here. I have just received instructions from Mr. Hem- 
 ming way to sell it if possible." 
 
 " Indeed ! " The lady moved gracefully to the door. 
 " I do not think I wish to purchase it. My prepara- 
 tions will require a few days yet. No, my carriage is 
 not here," as, having accompanied her, he looked in- 
 quiringly up and down the street. " My coachman is 
 ill and I came in the car. Is there not a river path 
 near here which leads to our section of the city ? Yes ? 
 I thought I had heard of one. Oh, no, thank you," as 
 he proposed accompanying her to the entrance of the 
 path. " I can find it readily. It is very quiet and re- 
 tired, I believe. I think I will walk. I am quite sure 
 I have had hardly enough exercise lately." 
 
 And with another charming smile she moved in the 
 direction pointed out to her. 
 
 Everett Long was taking one of the solitary walks 
 which soothed and encouraged him. The path by the 
 river owed part of its well-beaten surface to his fre- 
 quent tread. Often as he had traversed it, he contin- 
 ually found new beauties in the surroundings, new 
 revelations of the relation of nature to man. 
 
 How often has the failure of cherished hopes to find 
 their fulfillment in the human world turned the eager 
 seeker to the natural, there to find hitherto unknown
 
 115 
 
 treasures, compensation and consolation for losses and 
 disappointments ! The heart's extremity is the soul's 
 opportunity. 
 
 His hours of sadness became at times songs of glad- 
 ness, of rejoicing that, so far, he had been able to make 
 unceasing effort to live to his best. The many voices 
 of nature, unheard by those who have not yet learned 
 to seek her ministrations, sang to him of a soul world 
 thinly veiled by the visible ; a veil growing more and 
 more transparent for him as he caught the echoes of 
 the majestic harmonies beyond it. 
 
 He was learning to see the meaning of a phrase 
 Paul had quoted to him, which had seemed more than 
 obscure when he heard it first : 
 
 " Before the eyes can see they must be incapable of 
 tears." 
 
 He knew oh, how well ! that when his eyes were 
 filled with the tears of unsatisfied desires and thwarted 
 mortal hopes they were blinded to glories which lie 
 beyond and which must wait for a season ; wait till 
 the slowly kindled fire of aspiration should dry the 
 eyes and clear the vision ; wait till the god within, 
 feeling the loosening of the fetters binding him, lo ! 
 these thousand years, should raise his head and look 
 out serenely at the trials confronting him, knowing 
 their powerlessness and his own might, knowing the 
 end from the beginning. 
 
 As he walked his thoughts dwelt upon Sarah Hart- 
 well. Here she had met him when he was bowed 
 beneath the effort to do his duty, and had seemed a 
 heaven-sent messenger. 
 
 What an influence seemed to emanate from her, sub-
 
 116 
 
 tie, indefinable, but leaving its results with him when 
 she had gone ! She was so gentle and unobtrusive, 
 when in Miriam's presence so overshadowed by her tal- 
 ented sister, he had noticed her but little. He had often 
 thought and with increasing admiration of her ability 
 of what she had said to him that evening when 
 he had asked her to explain her views, and of his own 
 curious experience as he listened to her. 
 
 What she had said came back to him now and then, 
 each time with added force, a new revelation of mean- 
 ing. The agnostic "I do not know" was changing for 
 him to " I am finding the way to know." Her words 
 were no longer so enigmatical. He was finding their 
 translation in his own within. 
 
 After months of unceasing effort and some modifi- 
 cation of the boy's habits, he had sent his son away to 
 school, keeping himself informed of his welfare. It 
 was a great relief, for which he felt self-reproach. 
 " Only that which is overcome helps us on, not that 
 which is avoided," he said to himself. 
 
 He saw a lady approaching him as he rounded a 
 bend in the path, and moved to one side to give her 
 more room to pass. As their eyes met, something 
 halted him, seemingly without Ms own volition. 
 
 Who was she ? 
 
 She, too, had come almost to a stop, but half turned 
 as if undecided whether to go backward or forward. 
 She looked at him again with a startled yet searching 
 expression in her face. He took a step forward, im- 
 pelled by he knew not what, and " Helen Mathers ! " 
 " Everett Long ! " burst from their lips simultane- 
 ously. 
 
 Seventeen years vanished, and he was back again in
 
 117 
 
 the country village where a summer-time had been a 
 fools' paradise for the youth who was yet to learn 
 and at what cost ! the purpose of life. A dark-haired 
 girl with bewitching brown eyes had been the Eve of 
 that Eden. Truly her desire had been unto him and 
 he had ruled over her. 
 
 But this woman who looked into his eyes now a 
 mingled dread and expectation in her own could 
 this be that youthful companion who had power to 
 draw him whither she would ? And did he now feel 
 only the impulse to leave her, to go away as quickly as 
 he could ? 
 
 She seemed to take a sudden resolve as they stood 
 facing each other, the lightning-like rush of reminis- 
 cence half blinding and deafening them and making 
 every nerve quiver. She held out her hand with a 
 smile which belied the pallor of her face, whitened by 
 the fear still lurking in her eyes, and said, " Are you 
 not glad to see me after all these years ? " 
 
 He took her hand, noting with that curious analysis 
 which sometimes attends even the strongest emotions 
 that the contact did not thrill him as it once had done. 
 But he did not readily find the words with which to 
 reply to her greeting. 
 
 "It is indeed many years since we met," he said 
 finally. 
 
 He did not smile. His face was grave as he gently 
 let go her hand. 
 
 " Do you live in Benton ? " she went on. 
 
 The surprise was as yet too great for anything but 
 commonplaces. 
 
 "Yes. And you?" 
 
 " Oh, I am here temporarily only."
 
 118 
 
 A silence fell between them. Each was waiting for 
 the other. She looked up and down the path, which 
 was visible for some distance from the bend where they 
 stood. No one was in sight. The fear slowly vanished 
 from her eyes. She laid her hand caressingly on his 
 arm. 
 
 " Have you nothing to say to me Everett ? " 
 
 " Much, Helen. Much, indeed, when I remember the 
 past." 
 
 He looked at her still gravely and placed his hand 
 gently over her own. 
 
 She was very beautiful, he thought ; a dangerous 
 rival for the Helen of old. The brown eyes were soft 
 and melting, the cheeks had retained the rose-flush, the 
 mouth the seductiveness of sixteen. Her form was 
 full and round, with a swelling bust which rose and 
 fell with her still startled breath ; her throat was white 
 and firm. She had ripened in the years since they 
 met, but she was still young. 
 
 " How have you fared ? Well, I hope and believe ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes ! I have nothing of which to complain. I 
 was married at eighteen, and to a kind, indulgent hus- 
 band." 
 
 He moved a little away from her, and her hand 
 dropped from his arm. 
 
 "Helen," he said, "in the years that have passed 
 since we separated I have learned something. In my 
 life there has been much to regret, much to redeem. 
 I have made many mistakes and have suffered shall 
 continue to suffer their consequences. This is just. 
 I wronged you, not intentionally, but as the result 
 of thoughtless youth. There is nothing I would not
 
 119 
 
 do to atone for it, were atonement in my power. Can 
 you believe me and forgive me ? " 
 
 He bowed his head before her ; his whole attitude 
 attested his sincerity. 
 
 She gave a startled glance up and down the path, 
 moving a little to have the better view in either direc- 
 tion. She seemed relieved as she replied : 
 
 " What is past is past. It cannot be recalled. We 
 had better leave it to itself. Do not let us refer to it 
 again. I have only kindly feelings toward you," and 
 the melting eyes for an instant sought his. "If we 
 meet in the future, let us remember only that we are 
 friends. Shall we ?" and her little hand was again out- 
 stretched to him. 
 
 " With all my heart," said Everett, meeting it frankly 
 and looking at her gratefully. " I thank you." 
 
 In the distance she saw some one advancing. " Good- 
 liy,' ? she said, withdrawing her hand and moving for- 
 ward. 
 
 " Good-by," raising his hat. 
 
 He watched her a moment as she walked rapidly but 
 irracefully from him, and then continued his own way. 
 His head was in a whirl, and the ground seemed un- 
 certain under his feet.
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 MRS. CUNNINGHAM was alone in her own room. She 
 had given directions that she was not at home and was 
 not to be disturbed, had locked the door, and felt 
 herself secure from interruption. She was in a very 
 perplexed frame of mind and needed uninterrupted 
 opportunity for " thinking it all out." 
 
 She was reclining on a luxurious couch heaped high 
 with cushions. She had pulled the pins from her hair, 
 which tumbled unchecked over her shoulders and bust 
 in its nest of lace, half revealed by the unfastened soft 
 silken wrapper she wore. The raised arms, her clasped 
 hands supporting her head, added the alluring witchery 
 of womanhood to the soft seductiveness of childhood. 
 White and smooth and round, they could frame in a 
 world of hitherto only dreamed-of delights. 
 
 " How handsome he has grown ! " she mused. " I 
 never saw a more distinguished-looking man. But 
 how he has changed ! He was so careless and light- 
 hearted, and now he seems grave and reserved. Really, 
 he quite awed me. I wonder dear me ! this couch is 
 not as comfortable as it used to be," and she moved 
 restlessly. 
 
 " He used to be very fond of me. I could do with 
 him whatever I wished. I do not think I have lost the 
 power to attract." She looked steadily in the mirror. 
 "No. I am beautiful enough to win any man if I 
 
 120
 
 121 
 
 choose to do it. I wonder if it is worth my while ? " 
 She was lost in reverie for a moment. 
 
 Suddenly she started to her feet. " Oh, heaven ! the 
 child ! Can it be no. It is impossible. He cannot 
 know " 
 
 Her breath came pantingly. She looked furtively 
 about, as if even in the privacy of her room something 
 dangerous to her might be lurking ; and then covered 
 her eyes with her hand as though to shut out some- 
 thing she did not wish to see. But she could not close 
 her ears. She heard again across the intervening 
 years the infant wail that had sounded in them but a 
 few brief moments brief in the new feeling wliich 
 suddenly sprang up within her, sweet in its short-lived 
 intensity, long in the haunting shame which stood by 
 spectre-like and sternly forbade her to desire aught 
 but silence and flight. 
 
 The silence which covered that period of her life 
 for she had obeyed had been unbroken till now. Her 
 mother had gone into the invisible with the secret still 
 kept. Her father did not know, no one had ever 
 known. And Everett could not know, for she was 
 ignorant herself of her condition when he went away, 
 to come back in a fortnight. And he never came. 
 
 She had forgotten, in the surprise of meeting him, 
 what Miriam had told her about his illegitimate son. 
 She remembered it now, but it could not be. It was 
 quite impossible. Then this must be another! She 
 almost laughed. " O Everett, Everett ! yours has been 
 the way of the world after all. No, not the adoption. 
 That is a new departure ! Strange ! How could he do 
 such a thing, I wonder ?
 
 122 
 
 " But he is very handsome. I have half a mind not 
 to go. I wonder what I shall risk by staying? I 
 should like to try my power with him again. It seems 
 to me that as long as he is ignorant of that, I am 
 safe enough. I never failed with a man yet if I chose 
 to bring him to my feet. There is something im- 
 mensely fascinating in his dark eyes. What is it? 
 Melancholy ? N no, not that. Oh dear ! life is not 
 worth living without some excitement. This is such a 
 slow place ; but perhaps " 
 
 Her eyes fell on a diamond bracelet which dazzlingly 
 reflected a sunbeam as it lay on her dressing-table. 
 
 " How careless ! " as she went to it and picked it up. 
 " I have told Susan repeatedly not to leave one of my 
 jewels in sight." 
 
 She held it caressingly in her hand for a moment 
 before opening a door in the side of a bureau, reveal- 
 ing a small but heavy steel box. 
 
 " And here is the key in the lock, too ! Imbecile ! " 
 
 She raised the lid and disclosed rings, brooches, 
 pendants, a glistening array, which she patted lovingly 
 as she deposited the bracelet. 
 
 " Oh, you darlings ! Aren't you superb ? " 
 
 She could not remember when she did not love gems. 
 As a child they possessed a charm for her, of which her 
 mother had taken advantage. She could be persuaded- 
 to do anything by being allowed to wear a necklace or 
 some other ornament for an hour. This childish liking 
 had grown with her growth, and strengthened with her 
 strength, till it had become a passion with her. Her 
 husband had gratified it most generously, for he was 
 dotingly fond of her; and she carried many of her
 
 123 
 
 treasures with her wherever she went, unable to be 
 parted from them. The loss of a beautiful emerald 
 ring had wrung as bitter tears from her as she had 
 ever slied. 
 
 Her thoughts reverted to Everett again, as having 
 locked the box she placed the key where it was not 
 likely to be found except by one who knew its hiding- 
 place. 
 
 " Miriam said he was a rising man, sure to be one of 
 the leaders of the time had he not thrown away his 
 chances by his foolishness. Then he has plenty of sen- 
 timent for all he was so grave and reserved to-day. He 
 loved me once and I loved him then oh, well ! I 
 have seen more of the world since. I thought I never 
 could get over it when he did not come back. There 
 is all the difference in the world between the girl of 
 sixteen and the woman of thirty; just thirty. I do 
 not intend to be a day older for the next five years. I 
 wonder if he is rich? I did not think of that then. 
 How it used to thrill me when he held my hands and 
 looked at me in that persuasive way of his ! Nonsense ! 
 The past is past. Why can I not let it alone ? It seems 
 to me I am safe enough now. How far above me he 
 seemed with all his gentleness ! I have seen unap- 
 proachable men before and I have seen them " 
 
 She smiled triumphantly as reminiscences passed be- 
 fore her. She had measured successfully the sword of 
 woman's beauty with the weapon of man's dignity too 
 often to have any timidity now. Only that past ! that 
 past ! She had said " Let it go " often enough. But it 
 would not go and stay. She was haunted by the fear 
 that it might rise up at any moment to confront her.
 
 124 
 
 But how could it? There was just enough danger 
 in the prospect to add an exciting element. She was 
 free, rich, young, and beautiful. The more she thought 
 of Everett Long the more she wanted to meet him 
 again, the more her curiosity was aroused to know of 
 his life since that summer in Grovedale where he had 
 been, what he had done. They were to be friends. 
 Why might she not stay for a while longer ? 
 
 A sudden thought seemed to strike her. Rising, she 
 went to a desk in one corner of the room. With care- 
 ful deliberation and many pauses she wrote a note, 
 which she folded and inclosed in an envelope, dipping 
 her pen in the ink ready to address it. Then she be- 
 thought herself that she did not know his address. 
 
 "Never mind; I can find that out. The directory 
 will tell me. This will make it easier." 
 
 Another was written, which bore the address of the 
 agent she had visited. 
 
 " Mrs. Cunningham has exercised her woman's privi- 
 lege and changed her mind," he said to his assistant 
 when he read it the next day. " They never do know 
 what they want for more than twenty-four hours at a 
 time. Glad of it though. Hope she'll take it into her 
 head to buy the house next. It'll mean something for 
 us. Hemmingway's pretty hard up, I guess." 
 
 Everett came home after the meeting in the river 
 path as one in a dream. It was so sudden, so unex- 
 pected. Since taking the boy under his protection he 
 had thought of her many times and wondered if he 
 should ever see her again. " It is the unexpected that 
 always happens," he quoted to himself. Happens? 
 Ah, no ! He knew better now knew that nothing
 
 125 
 
 happens, but that the sequence of cause and effect is 
 the immutable law seeming to be chance for the short- 
 sighted mortals unable to read its continuity. 
 
 He knew that existence was but sowing and reaping, 
 and that the reaper's astonishment at his harvest was 
 often due to his ignorance of the nature of his seed. 
 He knew that every intermediary between the begin- 
 ning and the end would be in its own place and he 
 would have to reckon with every one of them. 
 
 He looked for no interposition of Divine Providence 
 to produce or remove any. He had no angry wrath to 
 fear, no supplications to make. The law of cause and 
 effect satisfied his reason and fortified his heart and 
 soul. He had but to see and do. 
 
 He remembered that he did not know her name 
 knew of her absolutely nothing. He wondered if he 
 should meet her again; wondered, with a flash of 
 recollection which cut him like a knife, what she would 
 say if she knew he had their child. He had not once 
 thought of the boy while with her the boy who had 
 her eyes, with a devil in them he had never seen in the 
 mother's. 
 
 The complications of their mutual position rushed 
 over him all at once. She had abandoned the child in 
 its tender infancy, had known presumably nothing 
 of it, and had not cared to know. Would she care 
 now? 
 
 No, she was married. The knowledge would but 
 rouse in her an appalling horror instead of a mother's 
 yearning to look upon her child. Perhaps they would 
 not meet again ! And yet future meeting was probable 
 if they could thus come face to face after so many
 
 126 
 
 years. How should he meet her? What should he 
 do ? As friends, she had said. And he had assented. 
 Should he, then, not only meet her as a friend, but be 
 to her a friend whether he ever met her again or not ? 
 
 Clearly. As a friend to her, then, her sincere friend, 
 what should be his course of action ? He thought long 
 and carefully, listening for the inner voice which had 
 guided him so wisely ; which had never failed to sound 
 its note of warning when he gave it opportunity to be 
 heard. 
 
 "Live to your best," came ringing over interminable 
 spaces in the moments when he weighed duty and in- 
 clination the one against the other. 
 
 He had nothing and she had everything to lose 
 through relationship to the child. His step had been 
 taken ; he had faced and was passing through its conse- 
 quences. He had no right to force unwelcome knowl- 
 edge on her, no right to show her her duty as his had 
 appeared to him. She had family ties, probably chil- 
 dren ; he had none. It was only right he should bear 
 his own burdens in silence. She did not live in Ben- 
 ton ; she had said she was but stopping there tempo- 
 rarily. It was not probable that she and the boy would 
 ever come together. He wondered what would be the 
 result if they did if any of the attraction of kinship 
 would be felt by either ? 
 
 It was the third day since he met her. He had set- 
 tled and dismissed the questions roused by the meeting, 
 and gone back to his accustomed routine. He read a 
 great deal, studied much, thought more. In the soli- 
 tude in which he lived since he had placed the boy at 
 school, and which was largely self-imposed for many
 
 127 
 
 who had either laughed at or denounced him were be- 
 ginning to manifest a change in their views he was 
 opening up deeps in his own nature of which formerly 
 he had had no knowledge. 
 
 He, too, could say, "Old things are passed away, and 
 all things are become new." A world grew up around 
 him in which he had no lack of companionship. It 
 held no sorrow, misery, or crime. It was active, glow- 
 ing, continually expanding with the mighty rhythm 
 which throbbed everywhere, unseen and unheard with 
 the outer senses. Vista on vista of overwhelming pos- 
 sibilities opened to him as he blended his consciousness 
 with this great -pulse of the universe, and which he was 
 learning to do at will. He could look in and through 
 a changing, revolving, ever-developing series of circles, 
 in light, of light, made up of light, their whole essence 
 and substance, and all contained in them, light, light, 
 light. Worlds on worlds, all living, breathing, throb- 
 bing light ! And colors which were alive, so alive that 
 the variegated forms of the external world were thrice- 
 dead corpses beside them ! 
 
 In the nineteenth century, in the prosaic city of Ben- 
 ton, in the every-day atmosphere of an apartment 
 where he was surrounded by the common chairs and 
 tables of common every-day life, he was beginning to 
 taste of infinity. 
 
 To-day he turned to this inner world, which smiled 
 upon him the more gloriously fair for the darkness of 
 the moment through which he had been feeling his 
 way. Silent and motionless he sat something sat 
 with head leaning against the chair, hands long, strong 
 hands with sensitive finger-tips lying passive. He
 
 128 
 
 was gone, moving, with a freedom and an impetus 
 which continually fed itself, through regions where he 
 was at home, where he belonged, for he was of them. 
 
 He came to a great city which lifted its mighty 
 towers and domes far out of sight. He walked through 
 its spaciousness, seeing the whole at every point ; or- 
 der, symmetry, harmony power in visible form. For 
 it was peopled ; peopled with men who were as gods in 
 their majesty and strength, as goddesses in their beauty 
 and tenderness. They trod as conquerors. In their 
 faces were benedictions. From all sides the vast sea of 
 living color vibrated to a central point above, which 
 was veiled in a mellow glow. Whiter and whiter it 
 grew as he gazed upon it, brighter and brighter, more 
 dazzling, more radiant, till there burst forth the sun of 
 that city the woman of light. 
 
 " Man which is born of woman is of few days, and 
 full of trouble." 
 
 Man which is born of the woman is for eternity and 
 full of power, for he is born King. 
 
 He was walking no longer, he was rising toward her, 
 drawn by invisible chords which thrilled with a subtle 
 music, impelled by the very atmosphere of the wonder- 
 ful city, whose men-gods gazed after him. But the 
 glow began to close over him as she stretched toward 
 him welcoming hands. 
 
 " Sorry to disturb you, sir, but the messenger boy is 
 waiting for an answer." 
 
 The servant stood beside him with a note. He 
 looked at it, unable to recognize the handwriting. He 
 broke the seal.
 
 129 
 
 " DEAR EVERETT : We are to be friends. This was 
 our compact. Will you grant a wish of mine? If our 
 next meeting should be in the presence of others will 
 you please appear as if it were our first as if we 
 were strangers to each other ? " 
 
 The note bore no date or signature. He pondered a 
 moment. Why not? he said to himself. He wrote a 
 reply : 
 
 " It shall be as you desire." 
 
 The messenger had but just departed when Paul ap- 
 peared. 
 
 " Old chap ! you are as welcome as a spring of water 
 in a thirsty land/' said Everett as they clasped hands. 
 Paul's sweet and benignant smile played over his face 
 as he replied : 
 
 " May your thirst increase and the supply never fail ! 
 How are you thinking ? " 
 
 "Trying to think up and not down. You have 
 coached me so persistently in that line it ought not to 
 be an effort." 
 
 " Good. What do you hear from the boy ? " 
 
 Everett's face changed. " They write me that he is 
 very hard to control and seems to have little ambition 
 to learn. I fear " 
 
 " Up and not down, Everett," said Paul quickly. 
 
 "You are right, Paul. We help no one by seeing 
 his worst, do we ? I I have something to tell you." 
 
 "You have seen Helen Mathers," returned Paul 
 composedly. 
 
 Used as he was to Paul's wonderful foreknowledge 
 he stared at him.
 
 130 
 
 u Traces of your contact with her are about you still/' 
 his frieiid continued with a slight smile at the stare. 
 
 He knew that Paul read books not composed of paper 
 and printers' ink. 
 
 " Yes. I met her three days ago, and I have just re- 
 ceived a note from her/' and Everett gave him a brief 
 account of what had occurred. 
 
 Paul mused a few moments without reply. 
 
 " My friend/' he said at last, " experience is multiply- 
 ing for you according to the law of growth. You are 
 being tried and proved. Look steadily to the god 
 within. Prepare his way before him and the rest is 
 sure. I could tell you something of the future, but it 
 is better that you should meet it as it comes. I am go- 
 ing away for a time and have come to say good-by." 
 
 " Going away ! " exclaimed Everett with almost a 
 sinking at his heart. He had not realized how much 
 he depended upon his friend. "I hope it is not for 
 long." 
 
 " I cannot say. I may be away for some weeks. But 
 before I go tell me of the result to yourself of this 
 meeting. Do you regret it ? " 
 
 " No, I do not think I do. I am glad to know that 
 she is happy and prosperous. She bears every appear- 
 ance of being well cared for and to lack nothing. She 
 must have a kind husband, and she is very beautiful." 
 
 "Do you think she would wish to know of the 
 child?" 
 
 " Oh no ! " replied Everett quickly. " I am sure she 
 would not. I have made-up my mind to be silent re- 
 garding him." 
 
 " That is well. Do you know, Everett, that senti-
 
 131 
 
 ment is changing toward you that people are learn- 
 ing to admire and value you in spite of what they have 
 termed your Quixotic nonsense?" and Paul looked at 
 him inquiringly. 
 
 " You may be right as to the change. I had hardly 
 thought of it. One has his life to live as best he can, 
 whatever the outside view of it." 
 
 "Yes. One has only to keep his mental eye fixed 
 steadfastly on the highest, noblest, and best, to, in time, 
 induce others to see it also. The mental currents we 
 set up bear others in their direction. People are learn- 
 ing to discern. Your efforts have not been altogether 
 in vain for them, while rich for yourself in result. The 
 good we strive for always has double effect: what it 
 brings to us and what it bestows on others. I think 
 you may soon be active in prominent positions here if 
 you choose. One of the officers of the 'Association 
 for Mutual Helpfulness and Improvement' asked me 
 the other day if I thought you would accept the presi- 
 dency were it offered you." 
 
 Everett looked surprised. " I ! President ! Why, 
 I thought Miss Hartwell filled that office." 
 
 " She has been twice elected and was offered the 
 nomination for the third time. But she does not wish 
 it. She is throwing all her energy at present into her 
 recently organized ' Woman's Higher Thought League.' 
 She has set her heart on bringing women out of what 
 she terms the 'religious bondage, instituted by that 
 self-styled apostle who allowed his prejudice to foster 
 his ignorance of the nature of woman, her capabilities 
 and necessities.'" 
 
 "Will she succeed, do you think?"
 
 132 
 
 " If she has something really better to give them in 
 place of what she takes away, and if she is the woman 
 to give it." 
 
 " You have no doubt of her ability ? " 
 
 " No. Only of her quality." 
 
 Everett looked at Paul silently for a moment. 
 " What do you mean ? " he asked finally. 
 
 " A certain kind of woman is to be the mother of a 
 new world, a new race, a new religion ; a world without 
 sin, a race without guile, a religion without bigotry 
 and intolerance ; the world, race, and religion of the 
 spirit, not of the letter, partaking of her pure virginity, 
 sustained by her humanity, vivified by her divinity." 
 
 The intensity of Paul's face and voice vibrated a re- 
 sponsive chord in himself as Everett looked at him. 
 Sometimes he understood his friend's utterances but 
 vaguely, but he felt him to be a prophet to be filled 
 with the spirit of prophecy. 
 
 " Not the woman wandering in the wilderness, much 
 as she may witness overthrown, but the woman who is 
 ' visited by the Lord/ is to lead mankind out of bond- 
 age. Intellectual freedom is sweet, and vast in its pros- 
 pects to those who have long been denied it ; but it is 
 abject slavery compared to spiritual illumination and 
 the power that goes with it. Miriam Hartwell, though 
 an intellectual giant, is spiritually dead. With her as 
 leader the people will not journey. They will wander 
 in the wilderness 'till the men of war have perished 
 from among the people.' Redemption comes through 
 the woman, but she must be the priestess rather than 
 the warrior, winning her cause first by what she is, 
 afterward by what she does."
 
 133 
 
 Paul did not seem to be talking to Everett, but to 
 have forgotten that he was there and to be thinking 
 aloud. 
 
 "I see the coming woman, the woman clothed with 
 the sun. In her right hand is power, in her left hand 
 peace. She is shod with wisdom and crowned with 
 love. She is masculine in her dignity and force, fem- 
 inine in her gentleness and patience. She is all-con- 
 quering in her power, all-winning in her love. She is 
 neither the subject nor the competitor of man. She is 
 beside him as his comrade, before him as his shield, 
 above him as his ideal, around him as the divine virgin 
 of whom he is to be reborn. She holds witliin her the 
 divine instead of the sensuous conception of man. As 
 woman she conceives, as wife she brings forth, as 
 mother she protects, as leader she defends, as priestess 
 she exalts. 'In her name shall all the nations of the 
 earth be blessed.' " 
 
 Paul's voice ceased, and swiftly before Everett's vision 
 passed the scene of the previous hour the wonderful 
 city, the God-like men, the woman of light, who was its 
 sun. 
 
 Paul resumed : " To come to the actual, the world is 
 agitated to-day as it has not been for years. New ad- 
 justments of old conditions, growing out of old rela- 
 tions, are being compelled on every hand. Progress is 
 the watchword. The pendulum is swinging from the 
 extreme of conservatism to the extreme of radicalism. 
 The time has produced its type. Woman has sprung 
 to the front with an energy and a purpose the more in- 
 tense for being held so long in check. She is threat- 
 ened with a danger which always attends reaction.
 
 134 
 
 In the development of her intellectual she is losing 
 sight of her spiritual nature. She is growing brilliant 
 where she should be luminous. She is hardening in- 
 stead of expanding. She is drawing into herself in- 
 stead of sending forth from herself. She is losing 
 sight of an end in the means. She is turning a deaf 
 ear to one side of her nature and with a strong hand 
 she is silencing it. She is killing aspiration with am- 
 bition. She has given religion for humanitarianism. 
 Self-deceived, she has exchanged sentiment for reputa- 
 tion, determined to win fame. Believing she is work- 
 ing for others, she is working for herself. Intending 
 to live for all, she is living for one. Compelling ad- 
 miration, she is losing her ministration. Aiming for 
 the high, she is falling below the most high. Seeing 
 the fallacies of what has been called love, she is becom- 
 ing blind to the real. Hail ! the woman of the nine- 
 teenth century. All hail! the woman who is yet to 
 come." 
 
 Paul rose as he ceased. " You will say as you used 
 to, Everett, that I have been ' sermonizing ' again. But 
 you will be spared for a time. Good-by." 
 
 " Good-by, Paul," replied Everett as he placed both 
 hands lovingly on the shoulders so far below him and 
 looked into the wonderful eyes. " I wish I were not to 
 be spared. Peace abide with you, and may you be the 
 tower of strength for some other one that you have 
 been to me." 
 
 " And with you be peace," said Paul gently. 
 
 A moment's silence and the door closed behind him.
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 AFTER a short stay at the sea-shore, where the ocean 
 breezes, together with her husband's company, brought 
 a little color to Emma's cheeks, they had gone to a 
 quiet country village where board was to be had at a 
 merely nominal sum, and where Walter settled himself 
 as for an indefinite stay, although newspapers and like 
 necessities for a business man in the city were infre- 
 quent. 
 
 She wondered sometimes, vaguely, how he could 
 adapt himself so readily to circumstances, only to as- 
 sure herself with a throb of wifely pride and gratitude 
 that it was for her sake he did it. He was more de- 
 voted to her than he had been before the baby came, 
 more thoughtful of her wishes and feelings. He seemed 
 anxious to spare her all exertion, did not encourage 
 even the short excursions to neighboring places which 
 she proposed, but reminded her constant!} 1 " that she 
 must husband her slowly returning strength, and had 
 better remain quietly where they were. 
 
 He went away frequently for two or three days at a 
 time on the plea of " business" that dreadful "busi- 
 ness," which of course had to be attended to, but which 
 deprived her of so much ; for when he was away she 
 felt as if she had dropped entirely out of the world. 
 She saw no one but strangers, heard nothing of what 
 
 135
 
 136 
 
 was going on elsewhere. When he was with her she 
 did not mind. He was her all. She could have been 
 content with him on a desert island. 
 
 At times he was much preoccupied and seemed anx- 
 ious of course about her; and when she would assure 
 him that she was very well and improving all the time, 
 he would rally for a while. Sometimes when he re- 
 turned after an absence he would be almost hilarious, 
 and at others he seemed tired out, as if he had been 
 working too hard. She made every effort to accommo- 
 date herself to his moods, for she had found that vfcth 
 all his love for her for, of course, he loved her de- 
 votedly : he told her so frequently he would blaze into 
 a sudden anger when she questioned him too much 
 that frightened her. 
 
 Once he had brought her papers to sign, and had 
 seemed very impatient when she did not do it imme- 
 diately, assuring her it was only a matter of form 
 necessary for him in the transaction of some of his 
 business. She felt as if she ought to understand better 
 what it was for, but wrote her name obediently in the 
 place he pointed out. He had kissed and petted her 
 afterward and called her " good girl," and she had been 
 very happy. 
 
 If only he would be like that all the time ! Of 
 course he knew what he was about, she assured herself 
 frequently for there was an anxious feeling at her 
 heart ; a feeling without reason, for her husband knew 
 about everything better than she did. A sorry mess 
 she would be likely to make of business. She won- 
 dered sometimes that he seemed so frequently short of 
 money, for their expenses were very light and he was
 
 137 
 
 receiving the rent of their home in Benton in addition 
 to the profits of his business. 
 
 But he always explained. When he did not return 
 at the time he had told her he would come back, he 
 always had a good reason, the best of reasons. And 
 when he had explained to her she was always so sdt'- 
 condemned because she had felt the least little bit of 
 resentment at his delay. When she could see no possi- 
 ble excuse he always had one, so plain and reasonable 
 after he had explained she wondered why she had 
 not thought of it, and vowed to herself that never 
 again no, never would she allow such feelings ; not 
 the smallest shadow of a doubt but that he was every- 
 thing her husband should be. 
 
 One afternoon on waking from a nap she heard 
 voices down-stairs, her husband's and another she did 
 not recognize. She was preparing to go below when 
 she heard the strange voice raised in loud threatening 
 tones. She could not understand what was said, but 
 the tone frightened her. She could not move for a 
 moment and when she did go down her husband was 
 standing before the door and looking down the road 
 with a scowl on his face, a clenched fist, and muttering 
 something which made her catch her breath. 
 
 " O Walter ! What is it ? " she said. 
 
 He controlled himself, seemingly with a great effort, 
 and laughed his eyes did not laugh as he replied : 
 
 "Oh, nothing! That fool seems to think that be- 
 cause a man is a lawyer he can accomplish impossibili- 
 ties on demand. I have charge of a matter he wants 
 settled, and it cannot be done just yet." 
 
 As she looked in the same direction she saw a man
 
 138 
 
 who seemed familiar. Yes, she had seen him before. 
 It was the one who had insisted on seeing Walter be- 
 fore he was up in the morning, and who had been at 
 their home frequently since. 
 
 "Why! there is that 
 
 Her husband cut her short as he turned into the 
 house and drew her after him. 
 
 "That is no one you know/' he said. "Did you 
 have a good nap ? How long have you been awake ? " 
 
 When she told him that she had heard their voices 
 but could not understand what was said, he seemed 
 relieved, and explained, as he always did, so satisfac- 
 torily, she was surprised and annoyed that the anxious 
 and foreboding feeling at her heart would not leave 
 her. 
 
 "You see, Emma, a fellow who knows nothing 
 about the processes of law, the complications and de- 
 lays, gets wrathy over it all and thinks his lawyer is to 
 blame. This chap, now, threatened me with all sorts 
 of consequences if I did not hasten matters to his sat- 
 isfaction." 
 
 Emma could not help but feel it a little queer that 
 one of her husband's clients should follow him to such 
 an out-of-the-way place, but she dismissed the feeling. 
 
 "I do not think this place agrees with you any 
 longer," he said. "You do not look as well as you 
 did." 
 
 Emma assured him she was doing very well indeed ; 
 but he insisted he was right, and was going to look for 
 another one. She proposed going back to Benton, but 
 to this he would not listen. 
 
 For all Emma's determined confidence in her hus-
 
 139 
 
 band and in his judgment, she began to long exceed- 
 ingly for her own home. She rarely heard from Ben- 
 ton. She had received one letter from Sarah, which 
 her husband had given her with an apology for having 
 opened and read it first, as he knew she would not 
 mind. She was very lonesome sometimes, but of course 
 Walter knew what was best.
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 IT was as Paul had said. Since Everett had sent his 
 son away to school a decided change had taken place 
 in the conduct of the good citizens of Benton toward 
 him. The illegitimacy of the relation between them 
 was not so prominent and its remembrance was not 
 so alive. His real worth, his straightforward honesty, 
 were beginning to be appreciated. His reserve and 
 dignity had compelled a show of respect, which his true 
 merit, as it came to be known, made sincere. 
 
 There was no conflict of opinion as to his intelli- 
 gence and ability. All agreed that his word was to be 
 depended upon absolutely ; and he had proved that he 
 was not afraid to do what he believed to be right, 
 neither would he shirk the consequences of his doing. 
 
 People who had formerly condemned him said, "It 
 was very noble in him to do as he did ; " and some of 
 those who had inveighed against his immorality ad- 
 mitted that he had done what he could to repair the 
 wrong ; especially as the strictest watchfulness failed 
 to reveal further wrong-doing, but, on the contrary, 
 disclosed many an effort on his part with young men 
 to prevent them from making his former mistakes. 
 
 A committee from the "Association for Mutual Help- 
 fulness and Improvement " had waited on him with the 
 
 140
 
 141 
 
 request that he would allow himself to be nominated 
 for the presidency, assuring him that he was sure of 
 election since it had come to be known that many of 
 their most valued members, young men, were his de- 
 voted adherents. 
 
 Realizing the value of a warning word at the right 
 time as to the mistake of " sowing wild oats," which is 
 fostered by general opinion of the difference in nature 
 between young men and young women, in a very quiet 
 way he had organized a class of "Seekers for Self- 
 Knowledge," to which he had given of his time and 
 means without stint. He took pains to find and pro- 
 cure for them the best instructors from the physio- 
 logical basis, who exploded the old view of "physical 
 necessity " and showed them, instead, " the transforma- 
 tion of energy." He gave ethical culture due emphasis, 
 made them acquainted with the best philosophies an- 
 cient and modern, and left them to form their own 
 religious opinions without any bias from himself. 
 
 He held before them the motto of his own life 
 " Live to your best " and helped them in every way 
 in his power to carry it out. Many a mother agoniz- 
 ing over the recklessness of her son and its dreaded 
 consequences found, when her prayers and entreaties 
 supported by her clergyman were of no avail, that 
 she had reason to thank him for the timely check her 
 boy's career had received. The declared but not yet 
 experienced " wrath of God " often fails where a living, 
 human, "I know, for I have proved," succeeds. 
 
 After careful deliberation he had expressed his will- 
 ingness to serve in the office and had been elected. 
 The Society soon showed evidences of a new vitality.
 
 142 
 
 Applications for membership rapidly increased, and its 
 fame became more than local. What had threatened 
 to be a bone of contention was successfully removed. 
 He had frankly stated his wish that " good moral char- 
 acter " determined by a censorship in the organization 
 should not be the standard of admission, arguing that 
 those who were most in need of help were the ones who 
 should have it, and that all who were led by the name 
 and work done by the Society to seek admission should 
 have the opportunity they sought; that those who 
 should come might be made better and those who were 
 in need not be made worse. He begged them to re- 
 member that this was not to be a mutual admiration 
 society, but an instrument for practical service which 
 could be used on any and all lines for the betterment 
 of mankind. It was not to be exclusive, but inclusive, 
 and of any and all material; for there was none but 
 could be utilized for some part of the great whole. 
 
 After an animated discussion and some opposition 
 from a few mistaken, but well-meaning, sticklers for 
 " respectability," his view had carried the day. He 
 greatly enjoyed the abundant work and opportunities 
 the position afforded him. He had stored up energy 
 and vigor in his period of comparative seclusion. He 
 was thankful from the depths of his heart for every 
 battle he had fought in the past, for he knew his was 
 no exceptional experience and he was able to feel the 
 needs of others even before they expressed them. 
 Where they stood bewildered and reckless, he had 
 been, and he could point them the way out. As Paul 
 had done for him, he showed them the god in them- 
 selves and left them to find the other. He showed
 
 143 
 
 them their inherent, if undeveloped, goodness, and left 
 them to deal with their wickedness. 
 
 Sarah Hartwell was one who seconded all his efforts. 
 He found that for her explanation was unnecessary. 
 She always understood ; and he was surprised to find, 
 as he came more intimately in contact with people, of 
 what a force she was possessed, what a power she 
 wielded. Every one admired Miriam, but they stood 
 in awe of her. Sarah they loved. They turned to her 
 as naturally as a child to its mother children, many of 
 them, in their trust and reverence, their need of help 
 and confidence of getting it. 
 
 He saw her under all circumstances, some of them 
 very trying ones ; and never did he see her lose patience 
 or relax her endeavor to help. Now and then he had 
 been surprised by an unexpected sternness when she 
 was dealing with some feather-bed individuals in whom 
 she was endeavoring to arouse the impulse to stand on 
 their own feet. She was usually gentleness itself, which 
 made her masculine inflexibility the more unexpected. 
 But it always appeared when it was needed. 
 
 When he attempted to analyze her nature and char- 
 acter he found himself brought to the conclusion that it 
 was an unusually round, evenly developed one. While 
 it presented no aggressive projections it seemed forti- 
 fied at every point. 
 
 Miriam had softened toward him. For a time after 
 she refused him he could not see her even from a dis- 
 tance without a pang at his heart. More than he real- 
 ized he had built hopes of a future with her as a com- 
 panion, and his loneliness seemed the more insupport- 
 able when his dream was dissipated. He had solace,
 
 144 
 
 however, in his work for others. He felt their disap. 
 pointments and forgot his own. He was glad to see a 
 more kindly expression in her eye in place of the cold 
 disapproval which had hurt him so sorely. She even 
 sought his advice and commendation of projects of her 
 own a new departure for her who had always been 
 sufficient unto herself. 
 
 He had attended a reception which had been given 
 her by the Society on her retiring from the presidency, 
 and he thought he had never seen her more regal than 
 on that evening when she stood receiving the compli- 
 ments and laudation of the admiring throng. Every 
 one pressed about her for at least a look or a word. 
 Many had come a long distance to honor " the most 
 remarkable woman of the day." The cup her ambition 
 and determination had poured for her was full and 
 running over. At thirty-three she had won fame and 
 power and proved what was possible for a woman. She 
 was a living refutation of the assertion that woman is 
 man's intellectual inferior. 
 
 He had been standing in a quiet corner where he 
 could gaze upon her unobserved, when he became 
 aware of that subdued murmur about him which 
 marks a general observation of one in particular, and 
 some one crossed his line of vision. The ejaculations 
 " How lovely ! " " Isn't she beautiful ? " caused him to 
 look more closely. It was Helen who was making her 
 way toward Miriam. Though momentarily startled he 
 was not surprised. He had felt that he should meet 
 her again and he had been schooling himself to be able 
 to carry out her wish and f ulfill his promise to meet her 
 as if she were a stranger.
 
 145 
 
 He moved to another part of the room and made no 
 attempt to observe her. But later in the evening as 
 he stood conversing with some one he felt a slight tug 
 at his coat-sleeve. Looking around he saw Helen, the 
 fringe of whose dress had caught on a button, accom- 
 panied by Sarah Hartwell, who performed the ceremony 
 of introduction as she helped Mrs. Jasper Cunningham 
 to disentangle it. The incident made the meeting less 
 formal than it would otherwise have been and smoothed 
 the way for him. 
 
 " Mrs. Jasper Cunningham ! " he exclaimed to him- 
 self when they had moved on. "Can she really be 
 Helen?" He had heard of the rich and beautiful 
 widow who had taken Beuton by storm and wondered 
 that they had not met before. She was by all odds the 
 most beautiful woman in the room, the most beautiful 
 he had ever seen, he decided. A little overdressed 
 perhaps, at least rather too many jewels according to 
 his critical taste. They became her exceedingly, how- 
 ever, and his thoughts went back to that fair summer- 
 time as he remembered her delight when he had given 
 her a ruby scarf-pin she had coveted. He had won- 
 dered then that her liking for gems could be such a 
 passion. 
 
 A few days afterward she had sent him an invitation 
 to a dinner-party, which he had declined, as that even- 
 ing belonged to his class of young men, an engagement 
 with which he allowed nothing to interfere. Then she 
 had sent him a note requesting him to give her his 
 first free evening as she wished to consult him on mat- 
 ters concerning the Society he represented. He had 
 gone to her and she had been very sweet and gentle,
 
 146 
 
 receiving him as an old friend but without the slightest 
 reference to the past. She appeared to him as if she 
 had really as she had said let it go. She treated him 
 with winning deference, a silent appeal in her beautiful 
 eyes which touched him. She spoke of her loneliness 
 since her husband's death and her need of some in- 
 terest and occupation which should take her out of 
 herself. 
 
 " I fear I have been rather a useless individual/ 7 she 
 said, " and I should like to begin to make amends for 
 my negligence." 
 
 She asked for detailed information as to the aims 
 and work of the Society and ended by proposing her- 
 self as a member willing to furnish substantial finan- 
 cial assistance. She carried out her plan and became 
 very zealous in her championship of the cause, and the 
 members generally became quite devoted to "that 
 lovely Mrs. Cunningham." 
 
 Everett was thrown with her continually and it was 
 not long before he found himself visiting at her house 
 as a familiar friend. Throwing himself heart and soul 
 into his work, the past faded more and more till at 
 times he forgot it utterly and knew only that while he 
 held within the secret recesses of his being his own 
 ideal, he was laboring with heart and hand, with brain 
 and pen, to help others form and achieve one that 
 should ennoble and uplift them. 
 
 He was continually devising ways and means for 
 practical as well as intellectual effort ; for the applica- 
 tion of carefully considered theories. He studied the 
 individual bias and tendency of the members and how 
 to make the ability of each operate for the good of the
 
 147 
 
 whole. No one was so insignificant but that sooner or 
 latfi- lit- was startled out of his self -depreciation by 
 finding that he could do something for some one and 
 that he was necessary for what it was desired to ac- 
 complish. 
 
 But with all his efforts in the without he never lost 
 sight of the all-important necessity, his own mental 
 attitude, for he knew that here lay the secret of power. 
 He knew that he could not think failure and achieve 
 success, that this law of the individual was the law for 
 the mass. Having a noble aim and a pure motive, this 
 mental attitude made him a center of force for the 
 Society, and made it a center of force in the city. 
 
 Such was the growing fame of the organization that 
 delegates from others in all parts of the country came 
 to observe its methods and if they could learn the 
 secret of its success ; and frequent propositions were 
 made to organize subsidiary societies in other places 
 which should remain in vital connection with the par- 
 ent-head. 
 
 One night after a meeting which both had attended, 
 Sarah observed that her sister was more than usually 
 thoughtful. Miriam had thrown herself into an easy- 
 chair instead of preparing for bed, and for some mo- 
 ments had neither moved nor spoken. As Sarah 
 passed frequently the open door between their rooms 
 she looked tenderly and wistfully at her sister, but she 
 knew better than to interrupt her meditations with a 
 remark. 
 
 " Why is it that with all my efforts I cannot rouse 
 women from their apathy cannot make them see the 
 narrowness and bigotry of their religious views ? " she
 
 148 
 
 burst out at last. " They are not entirely content with, 
 them, I can see they are not. Their hearts are bigger 
 than their creeds. "Women who are fearless in their 
 efforts in philanthropic and ethical work simply will 
 not break away from their churches, but continue to 
 uphold them in spite of their palpable defects. I can- 
 not understand it." 
 
 And the deep lines between her brows testified to 
 the knotty nature of the problem. 
 
 " I think it is because of what the church represents 
 to women," said Sarah gently. " They cannot do with- 
 out religion." 
 
 "Religion!" repeated Miriam impatiently. "What 
 better religion can any one want than facts? The 
 magnificent discoveries of this age have disproved and 
 rendered worthless the traditions so long cherished as 
 divine truths. I have no patience with that obstinacy 
 which places manifest impossibilities before the demon- 
 strations of science." 
 
 " Deep down in the heart of many women, Miriam, 
 there is a discrimination between ecclesiasticism and 
 religion ; one which is more feeling than reason. The 
 first they will sometime let go, but the last never. It 
 is a part of their inmost selves, it is their breath of life. 
 It is not formulated, it bears no label, it is not for the 
 outside world, to be analyzed and inspected; It is for 
 themselves. It is their connection with the infinite, 
 that hidden channel through which flows all that re- 
 deems and purifies life. They may believe that God is 
 an incomprehensible One containing three persons, that 
 the first man God made was out of the dust, fallen, and 
 redeemed by the blood of God's own Son. But this is
 
 149 
 
 their belief, not their religion. They may not under- 
 stand their belief, may accept it blindly; but they do 
 kn<nr their religion. Woman's intuition is sure and 
 steadfast, and the discoveries of modern science will 
 never overthrow it. On the contrary, it will yet prove 
 to be the successful mediator between what, to you, 
 seem opposites." 
 
 Sarah spoke with a quiet intensity and even author- 
 ity which surprised her sister, who for the moment 
 made no reply. 
 
 " Everett Long is an atheist," she said finally, " and 
 yet he is having more success with that society than I 
 am with mine." 
 
 " No, he is not ! " burst from Sarah with a sudden- 
 ness which made Miriam start. "He is a religious 
 man. He is not a creedist, but he worships the divine 
 wherever he finds it manifest. He is devout in every 
 fibre of Ids being and responds to the least touch of 
 Deity like a perfectly attuned instrument. You mis- 
 take if yon think he has no God. He may not accept 
 a doctrinal Deity, or a wrathful Jehovah, for he has 
 risen above them. With the woman in him he has felt 
 after God and found what he sought." 
 
 Miriam gazed fixedly at Sarah as she stood before 
 her erect and tense as she had never seen her, her eyes 
 brilliant and far-seeing. They seemed to have changed 
 places for the moment. Sarah turned and went back 
 to her own room. After a little Miriam rose and closed 
 the door. 
 
 " How she turned upon me ! " she mused. " I did not 
 think she could be so aggressive. But she always was 
 queer. It is surprising what a change has taken place
 
 150 
 
 with Everett Long, both in himself and in people's 
 attitude toward him. He looks so noble and com- 
 manding, his very appearance impresses an audience 
 before he has opened his mouth. And his executive 
 ability is something marvelous. He holds every thread 
 of that great organization in one hand and directs it as 
 he will. He does not seem to know how much power 
 he wields. I wonder if I made a mistake ? "
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 HELEN CUNNINGHAM was very well satisfied with her- 
 self. She was really doing something for others for 
 the first time in her life. She lost sight of the motive 
 which had actuated her, in the fact. She felt very 
 good and self-denying as she looked over her quarterly 
 expense account and saw how much money she had 
 given away. Not that any need of her own had been 
 unsupplied, but then, she could have had so much 
 with it. 
 
 She really enjoyed contact with people so different 
 from those to whom she had been accustomed. Some 
 of them were dreadfully in earnest, so possessed with 
 an idea that they seemed to be utterly indifferent to the 
 luxuries of life. How they did work ! Everett, even, 
 did not allow himself any time whatever for his own 
 personal enjoyment. He was always so busy with a 
 new plan to be developed, a new effort to be made. 
 But he seemed very glad of her help and his eye soft- 
 ened when he looked at her. 
 
 She was waiting for him now, expecting one of those 
 rare visits she could induce him to make. She was 
 losing none of her beauty. She was an enchanting 
 picture as she sat in a high-backed, carved oaken chair 
 which she affected, and which threw her beautiful head 
 and perfect figure into bold relief . The sweeping dra- 
 
 151
 
 152 
 
 peries of her white robe fell about the gold-embroidered 
 cushion on which reposed her small, exquisitely shod 
 feet. Every line was grace itself. Carelessly thrown 
 over the corner of the chair-back, as if they had dropped 
 from above, was a bunch of long-stemmed Catherine de 
 Mermet roses which nestled on her neck and over her 
 shoulder and arm with telling effect. None knew bet- 
 ter than she the power of visual impressions or how to 
 gather and employ her forces to this end. 
 
 The picture which met his eye as he came into the 
 room was very gratifying to Everett's esthetic sense. 
 He loved the beautiful in all its forms for its own sake. 
 Helen met him with the half -entreating, half -confiding 
 manner which she always wore for him when no one 
 was about. 
 
 11 It is so good of you to come, Everett. With all 
 your busy life you never forget your friends. Sit here 
 by me and tell me of your plans." 
 
 Nothing loath he placed himself in the cushioned 
 great chair she had indicated and told her of his pres- 
 ent efforts to enlarge the scope of his work, his views 
 and hopes for the future. She listened to him as he 
 talked with her head lying against the back of her 
 chair and her face turned to his; listened with an 
 apparent sympathy and appreciation which were very 
 pleasant to him. 
 
 Within herself she was wondering at the change 
 from the Everett she used to know, this strong self- 
 sufficient man with the steady commanding eye and 
 yet the gentleness of a woman. He used to be mirth- 
 ful, even volatile, ready to break into a laugh at the 
 smallest provocation. Now he smiled but rarely. He
 
 153 
 
 was serious but not solemn. He was filled with a 
 tremendous earnestness. But when he did! Ah! 
 One of those smiles was worth the study of how to 
 bring it to his face. He was, as she said, "so good," 
 but she wanted him to be something more to her. 
 
 He had kept his promise sacredly. He had never 
 alluded by word or look to the past. He had been 
 what she desired, her friend. He was a new species 
 in her experience. She had never met his kind before. 
 She began to wish that he would speak of it, that the 
 even kindly manner might be broken in some way, even 
 if it were by a storm. 
 
 "Tell me of your ' Young People's Search-Light 
 League,' Everett. That is an odd name you have 
 chosen for it." 
 
 " I did not choose it. They chose it for themselves," 
 he replied. " I wanted them to form a habit which I 
 feel will be invaluable to them as they grow up ; the 
 habit of watching their thoughts. Young people natu- 
 rally act on impulse, which they are taught they should 
 curb and restrain ; but they are not shown the value 
 and necessity of governing their thoughts as the means 
 of ruling their impulses. I try to show them the 
 wisdom of daily self-examination, being their own con- 
 fessors. They call it ' turning on the search-light.' " 
 
 " And do you think one can control his thoughts ? " 
 she asked. 
 
 "I think we can develop the power of control of 
 them, if we will," he replied. "Thoughts are the 
 food of the soul. Except we control them we do not 
 give it the food best adapted to its growth and devel- 
 opment."
 
 154 
 
 She sighed inaudibly and made no reply. He was 
 getting beyond her depth. 
 
 " I like boys," she said finally, " and you have some 
 wonderfully bright little fellows in that League." 
 
 " Indeed they are," he responded heartily. " Those 
 Gordon boys, for instance. Their mother is so anxious 
 about their education. She has been a widow since 
 they were babies and has struggled on single-handed 
 and alone." 
 
 " How unevenly things are divided in this world ! " 
 she continued musingly as she gathered up one of the 
 roses which had fallen to her lap. " She has the chil- 
 dren and no money, and I have the means and no chil- 
 dren. She thinks her position a hard one doubtless, and 
 I think she has a great good fortune denied me. I 
 have always wished I had children." 
 
 Everett's heart gave a bound. He had schooled 
 himself so vigorously to silence as to the past, that he 
 sometimes forgot even in her presence that she was the 
 mother of his son. He had put himself in her place so 
 thoroughly, feeling what the knowledge might be to 
 her, the probable dismay and dread which would over- 
 whelm her, that he was firmly resolved she should not 
 be made to suffer through him. When he had found 
 that she was a widow and childless, he had felt, at 
 first, that there was a possibility of her recognition 
 of the child. But this hope, if the thought had ever 
 been definite enough to be a hope, dissipated as he re- 
 membered what such a recognition must mean to a 
 woman. 
 
 No. They were not fitted for fighting such battles. 
 They had every reason to avoid them. Where a man
 
 155 
 
 might conquer, were he strong enough, they would be 
 overthrown and crushed because of the public opinion 
 which makes a crime in the woman of that which is a 
 mistake in the man. 
 
 He had had the curiosity to observe her in her inter- 
 course with children and had never been able to detect 
 any of the " mothering " instinct in her. He could not 
 help but wonder now "If she knew! If she only 
 knew ! " 
 
 " I have thought sometimes," she went on, as he did 
 not answer her, " that I would adopt one. But I have 
 been afraid to do it. It would be a great responsibility." 
 
 She was devoured with curiosity about his son, whom 
 he never mentioned. Much as she wanted to know of 
 the boy, she had never dared to allude to him. If he 
 would only give her an opportunity by the smallest 
 reference ! But no, he was as silent as the grave. She 
 had set her heart, however, on finding out about him. 
 Discreet questioning of others had revealed nothing 
 save that he had been a newsboy there in Benton who 
 had been hurt by a street-car. She wished she could 
 see him, but was not likely to as he was in boarding- 
 school. 
 
 " It would be a great responsibility, but also a great 
 pleasure," he replied. " So many children do not have 
 half a chance in the world. Modern civilization owes 
 them a terrible debt and will be sure to suffer in its 
 discharge." 
 
 Though he answered quietly, the possibilities stirred 
 by her words moved him profoundly. Only that day 
 he had received a letter from the principal of the school 
 where his son was placed, requesting him to remove
 
 156 
 
 the boy as he found his presence detrimental to the 
 others in his charge. He had been detected in theft 
 and after admonition had repeated the offense, stealing 
 some jewelry belonging to the other pupils. His heart 
 had been heavy as he read this letter. He was willing 
 to do his best for the boy, but was his best sufficient ? 
 If the youth only had a mother ! He must bring the 
 boy home and 
 
 The hope he had discouraged sprang up again in his 
 heart. Could he not bring them together ? Might she 
 not, with this desire stirring in her, be led to take an 
 interest in the boy ? If not for his own sake perhaps 
 for the father's? For he could not but see that 
 Helen was very tender toward him, that she courted 
 his opinion and deferred to his judgment. He had 
 sometimes felt it unwise to be much with her alone. 
 
 He had determined to work in the future, heart and 
 soul, for the general good, and he did not like to find 
 aroused in him, as had sometimes happened in her 
 society, contradictory thoughts and feelings. He had 
 felt afterward as if he had dropped in some way from 
 the plane on which he wished to stand. 
 
 But she was very beautiful, very lovely, and very 
 winning now, as she sat facing him with that soft color 
 in her cheek, a wistful confiding look in her eye, and a 
 slight tremulousness of her sweet mouth. This was a 
 different Helen from the one he had known. Might he 
 not risk preferring a request, risk bringing the boy to 
 her? He felt a light touch on his hand. Helen was 
 leaning toward him and had laid her own on his. 
 
 " Could you would you mind would you let me 
 help you with yours, Everett ? "
 
 157 
 
 His heart swelled with mingled emotions till it seemed 
 as if it would burst. But he was thankful. This would 
 make it easier. Mother and child would come together 
 without any violation of his pledge. She had taken 
 the initiative. 
 
 He looked at her with eyes kindled by his deeply 
 stirred feelings. Her own were dewy. How irresisti- 
 ble she was, as with her head thrown back and face up- 
 raised to his, so very near his own, her breath touched 
 him gently, the perfume of her hair stole over him ! 
 He was back in the long ago, when he had held her 
 passionately in his arms and shut out all the world he 
 did not find in her. His pulses throbbed violently as 
 he grasped her hand in both his own and moving 
 slowly nearer and nearer to the bewitching face how 
 she drew him ! pressed a kiss full upon her sweet 
 curved lips. 
 
 She sighed tremulously as with slowly closing eyes 
 her head fell back against her chair. 
 
 How had it come about ? Even in the partial intoxi- 
 cation of that contact, he felt a slight recoil, a twinge 
 of self-reproach. What was he doing ? 
 
 She opened her eyes and looked into his. She held 
 her arms toward him he had dropped her hand 
 and " Everett ! " fell on his ear like the soft summer 
 breeze. 
 
 But he was recovering his self-control. With a 
 strong effort at restraint he took her hands again in 
 his, and his tone, a little shaken at first, grew firmer as 
 he said, "With all my heart, Helen, I thank you. I 
 shall be more than glad of your assistance with this 
 boy of mine who has no who has never known a
 
 158 
 
 mother. I mean to do niy full duty by him, but he 
 needs what I cannot give a woman's influence." 
 
 A shade passed over her face, but he did not see it. 
 Her tone was very sweet and gentle as she replied : 
 
 " I will gladly do all in my power for him because he 
 is yours, if for no other reason." 
 
 But she continued to look at him inquiringly and he 
 felt that it was natural she should expect some explana- 
 tion in regard to him. But what should he say f 
 
 " I did not know that he was my son till two years 
 and a half ago. When I found it out it cost me a great 
 struggle to do what I recognized as my duty. He had 
 only low associations, no opportunities for better ones 
 or for education. I took him to my home as my ac- 
 knowledged son. Will you forgive me and trust me if 
 I do not tell you any more now? Perhaps some- 
 time " 
 
 He waited for an answer as he looked at her, almost 
 appealingly, still holding her hands in his own. She 
 was disappointed, but no trace of her feeling appeared 
 as she said, " I will trust you now and always." 
 
 Bending his head he gently kissed her hands and re- 
 leased them. 
 
 " I am very grateful to you, Helen." 
 
 As he rose to his feet she said, " I have not yet told 
 you that I have made it possible to remain in Benton 
 as long as I wish. I have bought this house." 
 
 " Bought this house ! " he repeated in surprise. " I 
 did not know it was for sale. But I am doubly grate- 
 ful that I shall not lose you as soon as I had ex- 
 pected." 
 
 " Yes. The purchase was completed only yesterday.
 
 159 
 
 The house was offered for less than its real value. I 
 think it a good investment." 
 
 Before going to bed that night she reviewed the cir- 
 cumstances of the day. 
 
 " I think I have done very well so far. He is coming 
 my way. To think I should have to make all this effort 
 after what he was to me once. I never saw a man so 
 changed ! But he cannot resist me. And he is very 
 proud. No, I do not think it is pride. I do not know 
 what it is. He is different from any man I ever knew. 
 I believe I am beginning to care very much for him 
 really. He will tell me all about that boy yet. I won- 
 der if I could really marry him ? And with that child ? 
 I would not have believed any man could make me 
 think so much about him when he was out of my 
 sight."
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 MRS. CUNNINGHAM was expecting a visitor. She had 
 invited Raymond Long to spend the afternoon with 
 her, feeling it wise to follow up the advantage she had 
 gained with his father, immediately. She would use 
 every means to make the boy fond of her and draw 
 him to herself. She was so unused to young people or 
 children she hardly knew how she should entertain him. 
 
 She bethought herself of a collection of beautiful 
 colored photographs from Japan which were on a shelf 
 above one of the bookcases in the room. Moving a 
 chair forward she mounted it and reached to get them, 
 but found she could just touch the case containing them 
 with her fingers. She gave a little spring to enable 
 her to grasp them. The impetus given the chair moved 
 it from her, and at the same moment some heavy books 
 dislodged by her hand fell, crushing it against a sharp 
 edge of the bookcase. She could just reach the chair 
 with one foot and did not dare to use her other hand to 
 free the imprisoned one as she had to grasp the side of 
 the bookcase to keep from falling. 
 
 She was about to call for help when she heard a 
 laugh behind her. Turning her head she saw a youth 
 of sixteen standing in the door with his hands in his 
 pockets, a mocking expression in his eyes and his 
 strong white teeth gleaming as he laughed at her help- 
 lessness, making no motion to assist her. 
 
 160
 
 161 
 
 "Why do you not come and help me instead of 
 standing there ! " she exclaimed angrily, all thought of 
 her obligations as hostess swallowed up in the precari- 
 ousuess of her position. 
 
 " Because you look so awfidly funny spreadin' your- 
 self all over that bookcase," he replied, still laughing, 
 coming slowly toward her as if to longer enjoy the 
 pleasure her situation afforded him. 
 
 Her hand hurt her cruelly and she felt the chair slip- 
 ping slowly from under her. A violent resentment 
 against him flamed up in her. It seemed ages before 
 he finally reached her and pushing the chair forward 
 held it so that she had secure footing and could release 
 her hand. She made no further effort to get the pho- 
 tographs, but stepping down looked ruefully at the 
 broad red mark on her injured hand. 
 
 " Say ! You don't know how funny you looked ! " he 
 repeated. 
 
 She gazed at him and saw a handsome face which 
 yet had a strong suggestion of coarseness, a mouth 
 lacking delicacy and firmness and with red sensual lips, 
 bold eyes which also contained an expression of furtive- 
 ness. Not one trace of sympathy or indication of any 
 feeling but enjoyment. 
 
 " Heartless ! " she said to herself. " He's nothing but 
 a handsome animal." 
 
 Suddenly he stretched out a finger and touched the 
 rings she wore. 
 
 " Ain't they beauties ! " he said eagerly, and she 
 noticed that his hand almost quivered like a creature 
 about to pounce upon its prey and there was a covet- 
 ous gleam in his face.
 
 182 
 
 With the instinct of self-preservation she covered the 
 rings with her other hand while a fierce impulse of re- 
 sistance flamed up in her, and moved away from him. 
 She disliked him thoroughly, and it was only with a 
 strong effort at self-command that she was able to at- 
 tempt the discharge of her duties as hostess. But her 
 tender feelings for his father and her own curiosity 
 concerning him stimulated her in this direction. 
 
 He was restless, roaming limpingly about the room, 
 seemingly unable to remain long in one place or posi- 
 tion, and to have little regard for social amenities or 
 good manners. He picked up and handled indiscrimi- 
 nately whatever attracted his attention, interrupted 
 her as she spoke whenever impulse seized him. He re- 
 minded her, in a vague indefinite way, as she studied 
 him, of his father as she had formerly known him ; and 
 yet he had not been at all like this boy. 
 
 Intent upon finding out all she could she questioned 
 him as to his past. 
 
 " How long have you lived in Benton ? " she asked. 
 
 " Not a long while before my father found me," he 
 replied. " How long have you ? " 
 
 " Where did you live before ? " ignoring his question. 
 
 " In By ginger ! That's a mighty pretty knife ! " 
 picking up a small jewel-handled stiletto which Helen 
 used as a paper-cutter. ' " Where'd you get it ? " 
 
 " I bought it in New York. But you did not answer 
 my question." 
 
 " What do you want to know for ? " said he, turning 
 and looking at her with an expression of cunning in 
 his face. 
 
 She blushed at his impertinence, she said to herself.
 
 163 
 
 " I am interested in you and your welfare/' she re- 
 plied. 
 
 " What for ? " he again demanded. 
 
 She picked up a fan from the table beside her and 
 fanned herself. Really ! He was a most uncomforta- 
 ble youth to deal with ! 
 
 " I was thinking of your former life before your father 
 found you. You must have suffered great privation." 
 
 " H'm ! I was awful hungry sometimes. But I'd 
 rather sell papers now than go to school. I hate 
 school ! " and the accompanying scowl emphasized his 
 words. 
 
 " But you must have an education. There are many 
 things you need to learn," she remonstrated. 
 
 " What does a feller need to learn for ? My father's 
 got money enough. I like to do as I've a mind to." 
 
 " A thorough savage ! " she said to herself. It did 
 not occur to her that the boy had but expressed a de- 
 sire universal in human nature. 
 
 " Do you not want to be like your father ? " she asked. 
 " You are fond of him, aren't you ? " 
 
 " Oh, he's a nice enough sort of a chap." And down 
 went his hands to the depths of his pockets as he 
 stretched out his legs, crossed his feet, and straightened 
 back in his chair. " But he won't let me go out even- 
 ings except when I'm with him ; and I should think he 
 might give me more money." 
 
 "Your father knows what is best for you. You 
 should have confidence in him." 
 
 She would have spoken severely but that she still 
 hoped to elicit more information from him. He made 
 no reply.
 
 164 
 
 " Do you remember your mother ? " she ventured 
 after a pause. 
 
 " No. Never had any," he answered shortly. 
 
 She gave it up. She could not press such questions 
 without rousing his suspicious combativeness. She 
 must wait. He seemed disposed either to be on the 
 alert as if defending himself from something or to be 
 sullen. He brightened up, however, when some refresh- 
 ments were brought in. Knowing young people's fond- 
 ness for sweets which she shared she had provided 
 some fine confectionery. 
 
 He ate greedily ; and on c as her hand was moving 
 toward a particularly fine marron glac6 he interposed 
 his own and snatched it quickly, laughing that he had 
 cheated her of it. 
 
 As the afternoon wore away and she observed him 
 further she found it difficult to analyze her feeling 
 toward him. He both attracted and repelled her. He 
 was very large of his age, almost a man in his physical 
 proportions, and very active notwithstanding his lame- 
 ness, which was not pronounced. The shape of his 
 head would have betrayed an intensely sensual nature, 
 one lacking in the higher qualities, had she been able 
 to read the signs. But he had beautiful wavy brown 
 hair, unusually heavy, with golden lights in it, which 
 he continually threw back with an impatient jerk of 
 the head. 
 
 There was an ill-concealed recklessness pervading his 
 every look and movement, as if he would act inevitably 
 on impulse, with no effort at self-restraint. Under the 
 surface, which was a thin veneer created by the last 
 three years of his life, was plainly apparent a restless
 
 165 
 
 nature threatening continually to break out of bounds 
 in its efforts for self-gratification. While he repelled 
 he also fascinated her. She did not like him and yet 
 she had a sense of kinship in a curious indefinite way, 
 a feeling as if he were not altogether new and unknown 
 to her, as if what he might say or do next would be 
 portentous for her. 
 
 But keeping her object steadily in view, she exerted 
 herself to make the time pass pleasantly for him. He 
 grew more amenable and chatted with her quite freely 
 of his life at school, drawing pictures of some of his 
 teachers and school-fellows which made her laugh 
 heartily and established a kind of fellowship between 
 them. She had a keen sense of the ridiculous herself, 
 the faculty of seeing the absurd and inconsistent in 
 people, which gave her much quiet enjoyment unsus- 
 pected by others who looked at the open-eyed inno- 
 cence of her soft brown eyes. He gave no hint of why 
 he was at home again, however. The indifference he 
 had at first manifested disappeared, and from roam- 
 ing around the room he was sitting contentedly quite 
 near her. 
 
 " Say, you're a mighty handsome woman ! " he burst 
 out suddenly with his eyes fastened on her face. 
 
 Helen laughed. Even boyish admiration was not to 
 be disdained. 
 
 " Thank you ! " she said lightly. " I shall be very 
 glad if you approve of me." 
 
 But she was beginning to tire of him and was not 
 Bony when the time came for his departure. 
 
 " Will you come and see me again ? " she asked as he 
 took leave.
 
 166 
 
 " Oh, yes ! I don't mind," he replied nonchalantly. 
 " Will you have some more of that candy if I do ? " 
 
 She promised there should be a full supply, and 
 breathed a great sigh of relief when she was once more 
 alone. 
 
 " He is a most unpromising specimen except for his 
 good looks," she said to herself. 
 
 But the remembrance of his father's kiss stole over 
 her that grave, strong man who unbent only to her. 
 It was like a wooing from one whom she had met but 
 lately. For all of the past, she had never known this 
 man before. 
 
 " Oh, well ! We shall see ! " and she smiled softly.
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 THERE was a stir in certain circles in Benton. Their 
 own Miriam Hartwell was to make the effort of her 
 life. She was working incessantly for the " Woman's 
 Higher Thought League," throwing all her energies 
 into the endeavor to bring women out of their bondage. 
 How religion had become an intellectual bondage, how 
 women were serving under hard and cruel taskmasters, 
 how necessary for their deliverance was a bold and de- 
 termined stand against such encroachments, was plain 
 to her. 
 
 She had given the great religions of the world care- 
 ful thought and study ; had spent time, money, and 
 labor without stint in the search for and examination 
 of the origin of the Christian Church. She had found 
 much accepted as fact which was only belief belief 
 without justifiable foundation. 
 
 She was convinced that irrefutable proof of the cor- 
 rectness of the life of Jesus as given in the Gospels 
 could not be produced. More there was good reason 
 to suppose that the character itself was a myth, clothed 
 upon with the hopes and aspirations of a people and a 
 time ; good and noble, but not necessarily true. She 
 could see the same ideal in all religions, the same iden- 
 tical ethical teaching, She was sure that women were 
 
 167
 
 168 
 
 pinning their faith and their hopes to a sentiment 
 roused by their own undeveloped natures, a sentiment 
 which the broader intellectuality of men rejected as 
 founded in truth. 
 
 And her breast swelled with pride as she reflected 
 that she had been able to reach this vantage-ground 
 and could look down upon the fallacies of to her ob- 
 solete religion, instead of being held in its toils, to the 
 stultifying of her intellectual nature. She must there- 
 fore her clear vision and conviction compelled con- 
 stitute herself a leader and deliverer for women. She 
 must and she would devote herself and everything of 
 which she was capable to their progress. 
 
 As the result of her researches she had prepared a 
 careful statement of the history of the Christian relig- 
 ion supported by historical evidence and by the lack of 
 it, the inconsistencies and contradictions of the Bible, 
 the overwhelming proof of the falsity of religious teach- 
 ings through the demonstrations of science which 
 she was to deliver as an address to the combined 
 women's clubs and societies of Benton in the largest 
 hall the city afforded. She knew these would be rein- 
 forced by a general attendance of the intelligent popu- 
 lation. Her name was sufficient to crowd the hall. 
 Even the opponents of her views respected her power 
 and admired her ability. 
 
 If she would have admitted it to herself, she would 
 have said that she was somewhat nervous in the antici- 
 pation of this ordeal. For it was an ordeal in view of 
 what she had at stake. She never had failed yet in the 
 accomplishment of what she had undertaken. Her in- 
 domitable will and exhaustless energy had carried her
 
 169 
 
 through. Failure was something she could not brook. 
 She never thought of it but it gave her a death-like 
 faintness. 
 
 This recent organization whose success was to be the 
 crowning achievement of her life did not grow as she 
 wished to see it, either in numbers or enthusiasm. 
 Sarah's views of the reason why were too unwelcome to 
 be encouraged for a moment. Reason must finally ob- 
 tain control over a mere sentiment. 
 
 The "Association for Mutual Helpfulness and Im- 
 provement " meanwhile kept steadily on its way. While 
 Everett worked as vigorously as ever, there were times 
 when he felt some of the old unrest. His desire and en- 
 ergy did not flow so solidly in one direction as before. 
 Some of it seemed to be diverted at times. He was 
 drawn two ways. 
 
 Helen was much in his thoughts. He had put from 
 him all expectation of marriage and domestic life in 
 the intention to devote himself to the broader life and 
 larger family of mankind. He honestly desired to be 
 unselfish, to have no individual interest which was not 
 a universal good. He wished to live for others before 
 himself. But Helen's continued interest in the boy 
 modified these views and opened new prospects. He 
 was growing very fond of her, he was compelled to 
 admit to himself. 
 
 With the habit of self-analysis he had cultivated he 
 examined his feelings and saw that they varied at dif- 
 ferent times. When he was away from her he was able 
 to calmly consider the advantages and disadvantages 
 of lifelong association with her. When he was with 
 her the disadvantages faded from view and his desire
 
 170 
 
 for her increased fourfold. It seemed as if that kiss 
 had kindled a fever in his blood which, when with her, 
 he found it hard to control. Why should he? he 
 thought sometimes. Why not clasp her in his arms 
 and enjoy to the full, regardless of the consequences to 
 either, the pleasures her ripe, warm, palpitating beauty 
 would aif ord him ? 
 
 But invariably at those moments of threatened mad- 
 ness that inner voice like a distant low-toned bell 
 sounded its warning appeal, " Live to your best." And 
 when it had passed he was surprised, sometimes almost 
 dismayed, to find that he could still be brought under 
 the power of his sense-nature sufficiently to compel a 
 battle with himself. He had thought that victory 
 gained. 
 
 At these moments he wished for Paul, who still con- 
 tinued absent. He could turn to no other one. But 
 he knew he must lead and not lean, that he must prove 
 and show the way by walking in it. -The clearer vision 
 born of his experience showed him that the bridge to 
 higher possibilities for the race must always be a living 
 one. 
 
 Sometimes in an almost rebellious frame of mind he 
 sought justification for the gratification of his impulses. 
 But the rebellion disappeared when he saw nature as a 
 whole, traced that continuity of desire in all her king- 
 doms which acts as an impetus forward, the universal 
 instinct which unites the sexes throughout the ascent 
 of species up to the human, as much instinct, natural 
 and justifiable, in the human as in those below it. He 
 saw that this continuity of instinct was the necessary 
 corollary of evolution, that evolution which was to 
 bring a yet higher species. For the human, with its
 
 present manifest weaknesses and defects, could not be 
 the highest development of the genus Man. 
 
 How? Through transformation of energy trans- 
 mutation. 
 
 " Be ye transformed by the renewing of your mind, 
 that ye may prove." 
 
 By transmuting the unconscious animal instinct into 
 conscious power through self-control. 
 
 Where ? Where this alchemy alone is possible with 
 the human species. 
 
 When ? When experience has brought perception of 
 the aim and meaning of evolution the development of 
 the divine from the human. 
 
 " Ye shall be as gods ! " 
 
 When on that battle-ground, human nature, the con- 
 test between animal instinct welling up and divine im- 
 pulse flowing down is waged and won, the instinct not 
 killed but ruled. 
 
 When as captive instead of ruler it falls into the di- 
 vine as well as the natural order. 
 
 When the animal nature of the human species is thus 
 made to serve as a way-preparer of the divine. 
 
 When human dominion of the universal animal im- 
 pulse makes possible the divine dominion of the uni- 
 versal human. 
 
 When manly vigor is no longer the animal instinct 
 intensified and differentiated by the addition of intel- 
 lect, but is the calm equipoise of focused forces directed 
 by the illuminated will. 
 
 Deep down in his soul he knew. With the eye which 
 was unclouded because it did not belong to the sense- 
 nature, which gravitates downward, he began to see the 
 coming man, king, not slave.
 
 172 
 
 After a period of this self-examination, which always 
 resulted in a strengthened aspiration, he was able to 
 consider more calmly his course of action. And if he 
 were with Helen immediately afterward he felt in her a 
 disappointment, a lack. Had he put his feeling into 
 words he had hardly denned it even for himself he 
 would have said she did not feed that higher nature 
 which was individually his own. She stimulated, in- 
 stead, the one he shared in common with other crea- 
 tures, and roused in him the desire of possession. 
 
 His son was to be considered. He must do the best 
 in his power for the boy. If he married Helen, if she 
 would many him knowing nothing of the boy's history, 
 surely the child's future was made as smooth and as 
 sure as was possible for it to be. He should risk noth- 
 ing then by telling her the truth, and she would but be 
 the more thankful to stand before others in her relation 
 to the youth as she was in reality. The boy would 
 have his mother, she would have her child, he would 
 have both, and no stain in the eyes of the world would 
 rest upon her. But 
 
 Admirable as this arrangement would be from every 
 point of view but that of his awakened and maturing 
 soul, there was something lacking. 
 
 The woman clothed with the sun ? 
 
 In those rare moments when every clamoring voice 
 in him was stilled, when his whole being went out in 
 adoration to that possible divinity enshrined in his holy 
 of holies, he could conceive of a woman, " the divine 
 womanly." Did this world afford such an one ? Should 
 he ever see her in the flesh ? 
 
 The boy perplexed him. When he thought he could
 
 ro 
 
 see signs of filial love, an attachment which was not 
 prompted by the good things of life the youth received 
 from him, something was sure to occur to make him 
 doubtful again if the tie between them was above that 
 level for the boy. 
 
 Sarah Hartwell was the only one who seemed able to 
 call out the best in him. The rough restlessness of his 
 manner always disappeared in her presence. He be- 
 came quiet and respectful, even gentle. His bold eyes 
 softened as he looked at her, and she often found him 
 sitting or standing silently by her when at the social 
 meetings of the Society, which he frequently attended. 
 Her heart went out to him, motherless and lonely, 
 chafing under restraint he did not understand, unable 
 to fraternize with associations foreign to his own igno- 
 rantly sensual nature, held back from those toward 
 which he naturally gravitated. 
 
 It was a case of a square post in a round hole. His 
 edges and angles had yet to be drawn through experi- 
 ence into conformity to the eternal pattern. She saw 
 in him the infancy of the soul with the maturity of the 
 sense-nature the feeble infant bound round with the 
 swaddling-clothes of fleshly tendencies, lying in the 
 manger where the beasts feed. She saw that this in- 
 fant needed mothering that it might outgrow its swad- 
 dling-clothes. And out of that heart of love which 
 gave as ceaselessly and as silently as the sunshine falls 
 upon the earth, she ministered to it. 
 
 Everett saw the effect she had upon his son upon 
 every one with whom she had to deal and was thank- 
 ful. She had more influence with him than had Helen, 
 of whom he often spoke indifferently. But his defense
 
 of Sarah was instantaneous if he heard of her what he 
 construed as an unfavorable criticism. He sometimes 
 though never in his father's presence referred to 
 Helen as "the widder," but Sarah was always "Miss 
 Hartwell," and often, with an almost reverential tone, 
 " that nice Miss Hartwell." His street- Arab manner 
 had been quite effectually toned down. It cropped up 
 at times, but never when with Sarah. He yielded with- 
 out resistance to her slightest request. 
 
 Everett's estimate of her had undergone a great 
 change since he had been thrown more in her company 
 through their common interests and work in the So- 
 ciety. He had always thought her very good and kind, 
 but lacking her sister's force and ability. There was 
 nothing about her to take one by storm, but he was 
 coming to see that she could be a continual revelation. 
 
 Much of the good result with individual members he 
 could trace to her influence. High as was the estima- 
 tion in which she was held by all as they came to know 
 her better, he could not detect in her the smallest trace 
 of egotism. She seemed to be almost unconscious of 
 herself, though keenly alive to the smallest need of 
 others. He did not merely admire her, he was learning 
 to reverence her.
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 IN that part of a great city where the narrow streets 
 and tall buildings are alive with a sweating and toiling 
 humanity, on an evening when the heat, which had not 
 disappeared with the sun, added to the labor of the day 
 strengthened the sense of oppression growing in the 
 toilers, a company of them was crowded into an upper 
 rear room which afforded a comparative refuge from 
 the noise of the street. 
 
 It was spacious according to their idea of spacious- 
 ness, being large enough to hold from fifty to seventy- 
 five persons. It was clean, so clean and orderly as to 
 produce in many of its occupants by the force of sug- 
 gestion an effort at greater personal tidiness than the 
 treadmill round of their daily duties required of them. 
 It contained but little furniture, but the little was sub- 
 stantial in construction. Benches with backs, to pre- 
 vent pressure against the wall and consequent soiling, 
 were ranged around the room. A large strong table 
 stood at the upper end, surrounded by comfortable 
 wooden arm-chairs; others were scattered indiscrimi- 
 nately about the room. A bookcase filled with books 
 and a rack containing files of the daily papers com- 
 pleted its furnishings, with the exception of a large 
 stone jug which stood in a shallow pan, surrounded by 
 stone mugs, on a small table in one corner. 
 
 175
 
 176 
 
 Seated at the table in a chair raised sufficiently to 
 bring his face on a level with their own was Paul Mas- 
 ters, surrounded by half a dozen men, varying in age 
 from twenty-two or three years to fifty. Their faces 
 were intensely earnest in expression as they conversed 
 with one another, their voices rising frequently above the 
 conversational point, their words emphasized by a blow 
 of the fist on the table which indicated an immense 
 amount of brute strength precariously under control. 
 
 There was a noticeable change, however, both in voice 
 and gesture whenever they addressed Paul; a toning 
 down which bore witness to the superior force opera- 
 tive in him, small and frail as he was. Any of the men 
 in the room could have handled him as a plaything, and 
 yet a word, a look of his was sufficient to check the 
 threatened quarrel arising from heated dispute. The 
 frequenters of this room were of the class which sub- 
 mitted to their superiors in the industrial world, a sub- 
 mission near akin to rebellion. Here and to him they 
 yielded obedience. 
 
 Among themselves they knew him as "the Helper." 
 He had come among them when, "out on a strike," 
 some of the more hot-blooded of their number were 
 planning a personal attack on two or three men whom 
 they believed to stand between them and their " rights." 
 At first they had been inclined to resent his proffered 
 advice, while wonder-struck at his knowledge of their 
 intentions and affairs, which compelled them to abandon 
 their project. But disarmed by his fearlessness com- 
 bined with his physical weakness they were soon won 
 to recognition of his true interest in them and desire 
 that they should have all that was justly their due.
 
 177 
 
 He gave unmistakable evidence of his sympathy with 
 them, and yet he never " took sides." He always looked 
 on both sides of every question, every position, and 
 usually succeeded in showing them something in favor 
 of the one opposed to their own of which they were 
 unaware, or had overlooked. They always found him 
 ready and usually able to give help not always the 
 financial assistance which some of the more ignorant 
 among them directly requested and indirectly demanded 
 as soon as they saw his interest in them ; though there 
 was little material evidence to show that he was much 
 better off in this regard than the more industrious of 
 themselves. 
 
 He came and went among them, maintaining the ex- 
 pense of the room which was their common meeting- 
 place, quiet, gentle, resourceful for them at all times, 
 his cool-headedness and strong sense of justice the oil 
 upon the angry waters of their undeveloped natures 
 smarting under a sense of oppression. 
 
 Their curiosity concerning him had disappeared, 
 swallowed up in their growing regard and confidence. 
 They had a certain kind of fear of him which did not 
 interfere with this regard or confidence but rather 
 strengthened it. Not a few of them had been startled 
 by Paul's approaching them privately and advising 
 them not to do what they were thinking of doing, what 
 they had not opened their lips upon to a living being, 
 what, probably, nothing would have induced them at 
 that time to mention. But they also found that they 
 could trust him absolutely, could repose the most inti- 
 mate confidence in him, which he would keep inviolate. 
 
 Among themselves it was becoming a habit to refer
 
 178 
 
 every subject of dispute, every matter upon which in- 
 dividually they were unable to make up their minds, to 
 " the Helper," and he never failed them, never discour- 
 aged or seemed tired of them. He did not always say 
 what they wished to hear, but sooner or later they had 
 to confess he was just. 
 
 The heated discussion at the table evidently needed 
 cooling. One after another rose and went to the jug 
 in the corner, which soon reached that state of empti- 
 ness that brought an exclamation of disappointment 
 from a young fellow who turned it upside down. Go- 
 ing to the oldest man at the table he said a word or 
 two. The other rising left the room with the empty 
 jug, returning in a moment with another which he 
 handed to the disappointed one, saying good-naturedly, 
 " Mind you youngsters drink fair now ! " 
 
 With a conciliatory grin the young fellow refreshed 
 himself, saying to another waiting his turn, as he 
 smacked his lips, " That isn't bad for beer anyhow ! " 
 
 " I thought 'twas mighty thin stuff 't first," returned 
 the other, " but I'm gittin' used ter it." 
 
 Recognizing the naturalness of thirst and the craving 
 for the social element that goes with " a drink," Paul 
 had provided a constant supply of home-made root-beer 
 for his visitors, for visitors they were. The place was 
 his, not theirs, and he required of them the conduct 
 which accorded with the fact, while he gave them no 
 room for doubt of their welcome. He did not inveigh 
 against tobacco or upbraid them for their use of it ; but 
 he let them see it was very unpleasant to him and they 
 had no right to make him uncomfortable when they 
 were his guests. Indirectly, when discussing ways and
 
 179 
 
 means, the needs of their families as well as their own, 
 he brought the needless expense it involved before 
 them, leaving them to deal with the problem as they 
 saw fit. 
 
 " I tell yer 'tain't fair that one man should have 'is 
 millions an' 'nuther nothin'. Things orter be evened 
 up ! " said one of the men. 
 
 " There yer go again, Jim. Yer might's well let up 
 on that 'n' take what yer c'n git," replied another per- 
 suasively. 
 
 " I'm dommed if I do," returned Jim impetuously. 
 " I'll git all I c'n take." 
 
 " Jim's goin' ter be a capiterlist yet 'n' sit in board- 
 meetin's '11' smoke twenty-five-centers. See ! " said a 
 third, and a good-natured laugh went round at this 
 picture of Jim's ambitions. 
 
 " 'Tain't a question of what I'd do with it," he persisted 
 stoutly. " It's what a man orter have when he works 
 all the time the best he knows how." 
 
 " Or when he's willin' ter work an' 'tain't his fault if 
 he don't have none," chimed in a fourth. 
 
 " That's it ! That's jest it, Bill ! " assented one of the 
 older men. " But who's ter blame 'f ther ain't no work 
 f er him to do ? " 
 
 " It's pollertics ! That's just what it is ! Pollertics ! " 
 broke in another. 
 
 " Why don't the guv'nment take care of its citizens ? " 
 demanded the one called Bill. "It orter. Here I've 
 got six children 'n' 'nuther comin'. I've thought I had 
 all I c'd do ter feed them, an' sum er workin' too. But 
 I'll manage somehow. Can't the guv'nment ? " 
 
 A storm of pros and cons, demands and counterde-
 
 180 
 
 mands, raged for a few minutes, when Paul's voice 
 breaking in produced silence. 
 
 " You had three dollars more than your regular pay 
 last week, didn't you, Jim, for that extra job you did 
 for your foreman ? " 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 " How did you spend it ? " 
 
 Jim colored, dropped his eyes, and remained silent. 
 
 "You 'went on a tear/ as you call it, on Sunday, 
 which lasted most of the night and sent you to your 
 work on Monday with a cut on your face that was not 
 there before." 
 
 Jim shifted uneasily in his chair, while the others 
 winked at each other and grinned. 
 
 " If you cannot use wisely so small an amount be- 
 yond what you have been accustomed to, do you think 
 you are capable of dealing with what would fall to 
 your share were the division made of the world's wealth 
 which you demand ? " and Paul looked at him steadily, 
 though kindly. 
 
 Jim still remained in a self -convicted silence. 
 
 " Moreover," Paul went on, " the share you would each 
 receive would not amount to as much as you suppose. 
 Some of you have now more than you would have then. 
 And no one of you I think not one of you here would 
 wish to receive that for which you did not return an 
 equivalent honest work for an honest dollar." 
 
 Chorus of " That's so ! " " Yer right ! " " Bet yer 
 life!" 
 
 " Now then, what do you give for what you get ? 
 You give that of which you are capable no more. You 
 can give no more. Do you always get what it is worth ?
 
 181 
 
 Yes and no. Considered as the best yon have to 
 offer, honestly, industriously, faithfully tendered, you 
 do not always receive what your effort and time are 
 worth in consequence. Considered as a commodity in 
 the market, your service is worth the market price not 
 more. This you receive. The difference between the 
 value you naturally place upon your blood, bone, and 
 sinew converted into labor and the value it has in the 
 market is a great one. To you there is injustice some- 
 where. To your employers it is simply justice every- 
 where. They wish they could be generous instead of 
 giving just what labor can command understand now 
 I am talking from their point of view, which should be 
 considered as well as your own but they cannot. 
 
 " It is a question of dollars and cents, of business, 
 not generosity. They have to sell the products of your 
 labor for the market price, not for the one their gener- 
 osity to you their sense of justice would prompt 
 them to name. They are in business to make money. 
 You labor to make a living. Both are entitled to that 
 for which you work. Neither is entitled to it by unfair 
 means. But one thing is sure. Those who are capa- 
 ble of the labor of the body only will fail to see the 
 financial value of ideas. The man of muscle and the 
 man of brain will continue to be placed in the position 
 of antagonists till both see themselves as members 
 of one body, and their relation to each other through 
 their relation to it. Till then the man of brain will 
 continue to be the monopolist and the man of muscle 
 the one who suffers in c<ms.-i|iirii<-..." 
 
 "Tain't fair that Mandergilt should live in a palace 
 an' spend five thousand dollars on a party when I
 
 182 
 
 hain't got 'miff to pay my next month's rent," broke 
 in one who had listened attentively. 
 
 " 'N' he didn't earn his money neither ! " added Bill. 
 "He never done anything. He had it stuffed in his 
 pockets afore he was born." 
 
 " Who got the money spent on the party, Walker ? " 
 said Paul, turning toward the first speaker. "It all 
 went for supplies furnished by tradespeople directly 
 and by the labor of such as you indirectly. Through 
 one channel it flowed into many, coming to the labor- 
 ing man as the supply for his necessities, rent included. 
 Think of the kinds of labor and number of laborers 
 connected with that five thousand dollars! And as 
 for the palace, would you consider it a great privilege 
 and pleasure to live in it yourself ? If you could have 
 it now for the asking, would you take it, to be obliged 
 to live according to its requirements ? You know you 
 would not. You could not. There is the question of 
 fitness. Its owner's happiness would be your torment. 
 Only last week when you had to wear a stiff shirt and 
 collar and what you call your ' company manners,' at 
 the i Working-men's Social,' for a few hours, you were 
 in misery. Imagine what life would be if you had to 
 keep that up all the time." 
 
 A roar of laughter at the picture of Sam Walker fill- 
 ing the place of a many-times millionaire interrupted 
 Paul's efforts to show him his hopeless nonconformity 
 to the pattern. 
 
 "As to earning his money, Bill," he continued, when 
 the merriment had subsided, "what would you have 
 him do stand up and say, < Here ! I won't have this 
 money because I did not earn it and my father and
 
 183 
 
 grandfather did. Take it, somebody'? Would you 
 do it if you were in his place ? You might be one of 
 the many to step up and take what you could get of it, 
 but would you think honestly now give it away for 
 any such reason, or deny yourself what it would bring 
 you? No. You know you would not," as Bill shook 
 his head slowly. "Do not forget what I so often tell 
 you all. Learn to look on both sides of every position, 
 every question. There is some right with every one. 
 You and your class bestow injustice as well as re- 
 ceive it. 
 
 "An organic body is one, its members are many. 
 Every member is necessary to the body, however use- 
 less some of them may seem to each other. Judged by 
 the immediate results of contact between them, some 
 could well be spared ; but judged according to the in- 
 direct results to each through the one intermediary, 
 the body, all would suffer through the loss of one, all 
 do suffer through injury to one. The foot is down in 
 the dust, begrimed with the soil of travel, that carries 
 the body along. The hand, as the foot looks up at it, 
 is aloft, free to see and move and enjoy in the unre- 
 stricted air. And so the foot says, -' I will no longer 
 work until I can have what the hand has, 7 thinking that 
 because the hand is further removed from the dust, the 
 sweat, and the soil, it is spared what the other endures 
 unjustly. Ah ! But the hand has burdens to carry ! 
 Burdens which bring a pain which is the dust and 
 sweat and soil on another plane ; burdens which only 
 the hand can carry and the foot could not endure, even 
 as the hand could not endure what the foot discharges 
 nobly. Relativity between the one and the many, my
 
 184 
 
 friends, is the only solution to the problem of right 
 relations between the many. Get your bearings! 
 Learn try to learn to see what humanity is as a whole 
 and then your present place in the great plan." 
 
 This evening, as at all times before Paul dismissed 
 them, a great change was apparent in the faces and 
 words of those who conferred with him. They lost 
 much of the careless roughness and unthinking impet- 
 uosity habitual to them, became sober and thoughtful. 
 He had great influence because they could not fail to 
 see his fair-mindedness. And some knew another side 
 to him, a yearning, tender, loving one which brooded 
 over them as gently and as constantly as the mother- 
 bird over her young. They had seen in his face, heard 
 in his voice, what had thrilled them as a dreamed-of 
 but never-to-be-experienced love which could see all, 
 endure all, be all for them, asking, expecting no return ; 
 one which but grew richer in the growing, deeper in 
 the bestowing, more exhaustless as their needs multi- 
 plied. At these times a few words were sufficient to 
 lead them as he would, for, as they said among them- 
 selves, " D'yer mind the light in his face ? " 
 
 When they had all gone Paul still sat in his chair, 
 his head leaning against the back, his hands passive 
 on the arms, his eyes far-seeing because, though look- 
 ing out, he was looking in. He saw a long road with 
 many windings and turnings, which wound up and up 
 and out of sight. It began in darkness and disappeared 
 in light. 
 
 There was a traveler on this road to whom these 
 windings seemed like new paths leading from it. As 
 he came to them and paused to look he always stepped
 
 in, for they were carpeted with grass and flowers and 
 the road was diy and dusty. He saw other travelers 
 enjoying their cool greenness. There he would have 
 companions; in the dry and dusty road he was alone. 
 
 But the coolness and the greenness and the compan- 
 ionship faded after a time, and as his eye followed the 
 course of his falling tears he saw that they dropped 
 upon the same dry road. He did not know it, but go- 
 ing on he had come back and was toiling along the 
 path that led up, up out of sight. 
 
 Whenever he stepped into those winding ways that 
 looked like new paths, he looked young and straight 
 and vigorous. When he found himself in the old road, 
 he was old and bent and gray till he came to where the 
 darkness at the beginning began to be put out by the 
 light at the end. Then it was the old man who tried 
 the seeming new ways and the young man who pressed 
 vigorously forward with his face toward the light. 
 
 And slowly, very slowly he went up while he wan- 
 dered around. However long he wandered he always 
 went up, for the light drew him and the darkness 
 pushed him on. And as the darkness heaped up against 
 him, pushing him on, Paul saw his own burden-laden 
 back ; and as the light drew him further and further he 
 saw his own face. 
 
 There was a timid uncertain knock at the door, an 
 appeal for "the Helper," doubt of the help. He did 
 not call " Come in," he went and opened the door. 
 
 A woman stood waiting. The darkness was in her 
 face, not the light. It was hard, red, and seamed. It 
 was of the dust of the ground, coarse, and stamped with 
 the likeness of the beast. But over it as a veil was a
 
 186 
 
 yearning, a blind groping, a pitiful helplessness. " An 
 infant crying in the night." 
 
 As she hesitated he took her hand and led her to his 
 own chair, taking one beside her. For an hour they 
 talked, her voice rough, broken, uneven, his tones firm, 
 earnest, and tender. And then she had slipped from 
 the chair to the floor and was sitting at his feet, look- 
 ing up in his face with awe in her own, the likeness 
 of the beast grown fainter, the likeness of the woman 
 come. For where his feet were planted was the mount- 
 ain of transfiguration. 
 
 Magdalen Madonna. Two sides of one nature. The 
 face of the darkness and the face of the light. Between 
 the two the long, dry, dusty road.
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 " I DO wish Walter would go home." 
 
 Emma Hemming way looked very disconsolate as she 
 sat in a garden chair under a big tree, the profusion of 
 color and bewildering tangle of a real country garden 
 all about her. Her book had fallen unheeded to the 
 ground, her attitude was listless in the extreme. From 
 the cottage not far off came the sounds suggestive of 
 that woman's work which is never done, which is con- 
 tinually swallowed up in the ever-present necessity. 
 Otherwise an occasional wagon passing along the dis- 
 tant road was the only sign of the proximity of human 
 beings. 
 
 It was unspeakably dull even when Walter was with 
 her. When he was away it was unbearable. She had 
 remonstrated with him until she was afraid to do it 
 again. He had become very angry, almost violent, 
 answering her as he had never spoken before. She 
 could not understand him now. He was so moody and 
 fitful, sometimes almost hilarious, and again, without 
 any cause as far as she could see, gloomy and depressed. 
 He insisted that she was not well enough to go home. 
 And she had to confess that of late she did not feel as 
 well as she had some weeks before. 
 
 She was so homesick that was why. If she could 
 only go back to her own dear home ! Go back she 
 could fly back ! Tears stood in her eyes as she pictured 
 
 187
 
 188 
 
 it to herself, the beautiful cottage, with the lovely little 
 garden she was so proud of, which had been her home 
 so many years. Every nail in it, every foot of ground, 
 was dear, and she longed for it unspeakably. Her hus- 
 band had suggested the possibility of, living elsewhere 
 that he might find it advisable for business reasons. 
 
 But she would not listen to such a proposition for a 
 moment. She simply could not live anywhere else. It 
 would break her heart. How could he think of such a 
 thing ! And how could he have been so cross with her 
 when she said so ! Her eyes ran over at the remem- 
 brance. What if if he did not love her as much as 
 formerly ! Her heart stopped beating. Anything but 
 that ! Anything ! Anything ! 
 
 She must try and persuade him without irritating 
 him. He was so easily irritated now. He had been 
 away for three days and had just come back, and he 
 seemed almost angry when she questioned him about 
 where he had been and what he had done. Oh, dear ! 
 Life was hard. It did not grow any easier as one grew 
 older. Walter was sleeping very late this morning. 
 By and by she would make one more effort. She sim- 
 ply must go home. There he was now coming around 
 the corner of the house. 
 
 She met him with a smile and a cheerful "Good 
 morning," noticing that he looked very tired. But she 
 would not tell him so he did not like it. 
 
 He threw himself down upon the ground at her side, 
 with his back against the tree, and stretched his arms 
 in a prodigious yawn. 
 
 " Warm, isn't it ? " he said. 
 
 She stroked his hair and patted his face gently.
 
 189 
 
 " I think it is warmer here than where we were be- 
 fore," she replied. 
 
 " What have you been doing while I was gone ? " he 
 continued, turning his face further toward her. He 
 liked to be petted. 
 
 " Oh, nothing much ! Reading and sewing. There 
 is nothing to do." And there crept a mournful tone 
 into her voice. 
 
 " You've got enough to do to get well." 
 
 " But, Walter, I can't get well when I am so home- 
 sick ! " she burst out impulsively. She could restrain 
 her desire no longer. " I do so long to go home ! And 
 I shall be worse if I do not go ! I know I shall ! " 
 
 She looked at him with swimming eyes as he got up 
 from the ground and began to pace impatiently back- 
 ward and forward, muttering something she did not 
 hear. 
 
 " Do, Walter, please go home ! " she entreated. " We 
 have been away nearly a year now, and the time seems 
 so long." 
 
 He seemed to take a sudden resolution, stopped in 
 his walk, and faced her doggedly. 
 
 " It's no use, Emma ; we can't go home. I've sold the 
 house." 
 
 Sold the house ! She looked at him speechlessly. 
 What did he mean ? 
 
 " I needed money and had to do it." 
 
 Needed money ! She was conscious only of the echo 
 of his words. 
 
 " Don't stare at me so ! " he exclaimed impatiently. 
 
 Their meaning began to penetrate her consciousness, 
 and a sharp pain smote her.
 
 190 
 
 " Sold the house ! " she exclaimed faintly. " You do 
 not really mean it, Walter ? " 
 
 " Yes, I do mean it," he replied with the air of a man 
 who, having something disagreeable to do, means to 
 get it over with as quickly as possible. 
 
 "Why did you seU it?" 
 
 "I told you, didn't I, that I had to have money?" 
 
 " But but I don't understand," she continued with 
 quivering lips. 
 
 He faced her determinedly. 
 
 "See here, Emma. The matter is very simple. I 
 needed money and I had to sell the house to get it. 
 That is all there is to it, and you might as well make 
 the best of it." 
 
 His authoritative tone and manner roused a new 
 feeling in her. 
 
 " But it is my house," she said with an emphasis on 
 the possessive pronoun she had never used in all her 
 married life. 
 
 " Can't help that," was his brief comment. 
 
 " But how could you sell it, when it is mine ? " 
 
 " You signed the necessary papers some time ago,'' 
 he replied, looking beside her, around her, anywhere 
 but at her face. 
 
 Swiftly came to her the remembrance of the time 
 when he had brought her some papers with the request 
 for her signature, and his impatience at her delay and 
 inquisitiveness over "a mere matter of form." Had 
 she, without knowing it, given away the home endeared 
 to her by so many associations ? Had he allowed no, 
 compelled her to do it ? 
 
 A mixture of emotions possessed her. Her home 
 gone, her life narrower than ever without the hope of
 
 191 
 
 returning to it, her trust in her husband shaken, a for- 
 lorn helplessness seized her. Why had he could he 
 have done this ? She looked at him as he stood for a 
 moment, then paced restlessly up and down, biting his 
 lips and snapping his fingers nervously. What was 
 the matter? What could it be? Was this her hus- 
 band ? Where then was the money ? 
 
 " Why did you not tell me the truth when I asked 
 you what those papers meant?" she asked, trying to 
 speak quietly but looking at him reproachfully. 
 
 " Because, Emma, you were not well, you would not 
 have understood women never do understand the ex- 
 igencies of business. I thought it better you should 
 not know then," he replied with an air of relief . " I 
 would not have told you now but you give me no peace 
 when I am trying to save you all I can." And now 
 the reproach was with him. 
 
 Her heart smote her. Was she unjust? 
 
 "But what have you done with the money?" she 
 asked appealiiigly. 
 
 A disinterested third party would have seen that he 
 was bracing himself as he prepared to reply. 
 
 " I got into difficulties through the failure of others 
 to meet payments when they were due. I could not 
 collect what was owing to me fast enough to meet the 
 demands upon me. The whole matter is involved and 
 intricate, and I am sure you would not see all clearly, 
 however carefully I might explain it to you. Can you 
 not have confidence enough in me, Emma, to know that 
 it was best to do as I did, or I would not have done it ? 
 You love your husband, don't you ? " 
 
 Did she not love him ? Was he not her world ? Of 
 course he knew better than she. Was she not wrong
 
 to feel even a momentary suspicion that all was not as 
 it should be was not right ? If only he had not failed 
 so many times to keep his word had not made her 
 feel, do what she would, when he went away and she 
 said " Good-by," that it was very doubtful if he would 
 return when he promised ! 
 
 She wanted to believe him, to trust him fully, abso- 
 lutely. Why was it difficult to do it ? After all, what- 
 ever his faults, he loved her devotedly. No one could 
 be to him what she was. This he had assured her 
 again and again. And had he not gone away with her 
 uncomplainingly when it was for her good to go and 
 let his business interests suffer in consequence ? 
 
 So she reasoned within herself, swayed between her 
 love and her bitter surprise and disappointment, while 
 he watched her furtively. 
 
 " Of course you must have felt it necessary to sell 
 the house, Walter, or you would not have done it," she 
 began. "I do not suppose I am able to understand 
 all the details of your business affairs, but I think I 
 could understand a great deal if you would explain 
 them to me. It does not matter just now," she added 
 as she saw the impatient expression come again on his 
 face, " but one thing I do want must insist upon. I 
 want to go back to Benton. If our home is gone," and 
 her lips quivered again, " we can hire a house or board 
 for a time." 
 
 "I do not think we had better go back just yet," he 
 began, but she interrupted him. 
 
 "I cannot help it, Walter. I want to go back. I 
 will not stay here any longer."
 
 She spoke with a decision he had never seen in her 
 before. It both surprised and offended him. 
 
 "Hold on, my dear," he said. "Gentleness is a 
 woman's chief charm." 
 
 What his remark suggested was the last straw. She 
 broke out in a passionate sobbing. 
 
 "There, There, Emma! Don't cry so! It'll all 
 come right. I shall make plenty of money by and by 
 and then I'll buy the place back again. Come ! Don't 
 take on this way ! " 
 
 With much coaxing and petting on his part she 
 filially became calmer when he assured her that in a 
 few weeks at the latest they would go back to Beiiton. 
 He induced her to go up-stairs and lie down for a 
 while, breathing a sigh of relief as she disappeared 
 within doors. 
 
 " Thank Heaven, that's over ! " he said to himself. 
 "I've got out of it better than I expected. Hang 
 women, anyhow ! " 
 
 She laid her head wearily on the pillow. Were they 
 really homeless ? 
 
 Well ! And if so ? At least she had him and he was 
 all her own, she was the only woman in the world for 
 him. How often he had assured her of this ! She grew 
 more quiet. She was exhausted with the violence of 
 her feelings, the shock she had experienced. Suddenly 
 she was in the church in which she had been married. 
 She was coming down the aisle in her bridal robe and 
 veil, leaning on her newly made husband's arm. The 
 death-like faintness seized her, the sense of falling 
 down, down into darkness and
 
 194 
 
 She sprang up. The sunshine was streaming into 
 the room, which she saw by the clock she had entered 
 only half an hour before. Had she been asleep ? Had 
 that experience been an omen, a prediction of her 
 future life ? Was it being fulfilled ? "Was there such a 
 thing as fate ? Was her life to go out in darkness ?
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 EVERETT sat in Helen's parlor awaiting her. He had 
 reached a momentous decision which gave an added 
 touch of gravity to his expression. 
 
 Endeavoring to hold persistently to his desire and 
 intention to do only what was best and right, not al- 
 lowing himself to be unduly swayed by the charm of 
 Helen's beauty and seductiveness, he had decided that 
 the unity of their three lives through marriage with 
 Helen was the course of action productive of the great- 
 est good to the greatest number. 
 
 He intended to propose to her this evening and had 
 no doubt whatever of the result ; for, without egotism, 
 he could not help but see that she was his for the ask- 
 ing. In a thousand ways she showed him her prefer- 
 ence, the difference between what he was to her and 
 other men. He could have understood this in view of 
 their early relations, but there was more ; a tenderness 
 in her intercourse with him which she took no pains to 
 conceal when they were alone, a tenderness which had 
 cost him many a struggle, which assured him he was 
 more to her now than any other could be, even apart 
 from that early experience. 
 
 Although his mind was fully made up, another ele- 
 ment tinged his feelings, preventing them from being 
 
 195
 
 196 
 
 those of the happy and assured lover. He was not 
 satisfied. Though his reason gave consent and he loved 
 Helen yes, he was sure he loved her some part of 
 him, something within him, still clamored. An ideal 
 had grown with him which was so far beyond this mar- 
 riage. Something sacred and apart from the common 
 ways of men, yet entering into the commonest acts of 
 every-day life. Another world for two in one, the com- 
 mon world for one in two. But it was veiled in the mist 
 of the improbable, the unlikely. Let him cherish it 
 where alone it could exist, in that inner world where 
 he was creator, in whose fair temple he remained the 
 worshiper, the adorer. 
 
 He heard Helen's light footfall in the room above. 
 Soon she would descend, the step would be taken, the 
 future faced. A few moments, a few words, a mere 
 breath, and a change of one's whole future life. 
 
 For better ? For worse ? For good always, whate'er 
 the surface. Through mistake the good was found, and 
 it triumphed always. 
 
 Up-stairs Helen was preparing to meet her lover. 
 Lover? Yes, he was her lover. She had made up her 
 mind that he should be, and she had never failed when 
 she directed her best efforts to that end. She wondered 
 if she would really marry him when he asked her to 
 which he was sure to do. Wondered if she could give 
 up what was a breath of life to her, the constantly 
 planned artifice by which she extorted the open admira- 
 tion that as constantly fed her vanity. For this grave, 
 stern Everett Long would brook no coquetry with 
 other men. He was sure to be very exacting. She 
 was not sure if it would be really worth while. Yet
 
 197 
 
 he was very fascinating. In some queer way, do what 
 she would, he was continually out of her reach. 
 
 But one thing she was fully decided upon, she could 
 bear delay no longer. She would know about that boy, 
 about his mother. The longer she knew him, the more 
 strangely he affected her. She was drawn to him with 
 a feeling she could not define like a savage instinct to 
 defend him if one attacked him, and yet she would have 
 treated him as savagely herself if she followed her 
 sometime inclination. He was a boy, nothing but a 
 boy, she told herself, and yet once he had made her 
 flesh creep. 
 
 When he was visiting her for a few days during his 
 father's temporary absence from the city, she had come 
 home from a dinner-party late in the evening and 
 found him still up. She had sat with him for a few 
 moments, and he had drawn nearer and nearer to her 
 till he was close beside her, finally putting out his hand 
 toward her. She had thought it was to touch the 
 jewels she wore, for they always seemed to fascinate 
 him, but he had laid it instead upon her bare shoulder, 
 sliding it along with a touch and a look which filled 
 her with a sudden horror and made her spring up with 
 a sharp command to " Go to bed immediately ! " 
 which he had sulkily obeyed. 
 
 The vague attraction he had for her, mingled with 
 her aversion and her intensified curiosity for she had 
 found out from him where he had lived in his childhood, 
 and it was the place vivid in her memory which she 
 wished most of all to forget made her determined 
 without further delay, this very night even, to know 
 whose cluld he was. But she must use tact. Everett
 
 198 
 
 was not a man to be driven. So far he had avoided 
 every effort she had made. 
 
 Through the richly draped doorway Helen entered 
 and came slowly toward him. Everett thought he had 
 never seen her more lovely. Even in daylight she did 
 not show her age, and in the dim rose-tinted light of 
 the room she was very young and fair. The softly 
 falling clinging white robe she always wore when re- 
 ceiving him showed every line and curve of her beau- 
 tiful form, giving an added grace to her movements as 
 it trailed after her noiseless step on the rich rug be- 
 neath her little golden-sandaled feet. Her only orna- 
 ment was a jeweled girdle Everett did not share her 
 liking for a profusion of gems and a single glowing 
 red rose in her bosom. His blood stirred more quickly 
 as he looked at her and took in both his own her prof- 
 fered hand. 
 
 " If it were possible, you grow more beautiful every 
 day, Helen," he said. 
 
 She laughed a pleased little laugh. 
 
 " I like you to think me beautiful, Everett," she said 
 with a slight emphasis on the " you." " I am so glad 
 you have come this evening. I want to consult you 
 upon some investments that are turning out badly. 
 You always have such good advice to give ! I do not 
 know what I should do without you." 
 
 "All of which I am capable, Helen, is at your ser- 
 vice," he replied as he seated himself at her side. She 
 drew the folds of her dress away to make room for his 
 chair close, very close to her own. " What is it ? " 
 
 She explained her affairs to him unreservedly. She 
 knew she could trust Jiim, He entered into them with
 
 199 
 
 an interest which was unfeigned, considered carefully, 
 and counseled her as wisely as he knew how. She 
 knew that whatever the future relations between them, 
 her interests were safe in his hands; that her own 
 would be her own as his wife as much as if she were 
 single. On the financial side she could appreciate the 
 broadness, the generosity of his nature. 
 
 It was a glorious evening without. The light of the 
 full moon streamed into the room and mingled with 
 the semi-darkness Helen so much liked. The perfume 
 of roses laded the air. She was never without them, 
 summer or winter. She liked to surround herself 
 with them, to sink into the dreamland created by her 
 own fancies added to their beguiling. They lulled her 
 into a delicious sensitiveness, wafted her to a region 
 where she knew only love, nothing but a rose-hued, 
 rose-scented, intoxicating love. Not a shadow, not an 
 insufficiency, not a pang. Only a ceaseless soul and 
 body compelling love. Ah! Love was the master 
 passion beside which everything else sank into insig- 
 nificance. 
 
 The time slipped rapidly by and the subtle suggestion 
 of their surroundings, their isolation for the moment, 
 stole over them both. Sweet, maddeningly sweet as it 
 was to her, she did not forget her purpose. Something 
 in her, she did not know what, was too deeply roused. 
 That boy haunted her continually. Yet she thrilled in 
 every fibre as she pressed closer to her companion and 
 looked in his face with a fervor which compelled a 
 response as she murmured, "You are so good to me, 
 Everett ! So good ! " 
 
 He looked down at her, at the exquisite face uplifted
 
 200 
 
 to his, with her head slightly thrown back, which even 
 as he looked sank to his shoulder and remained there. 
 
 What a world of delight was in her softly glowing 
 eyes, her ripe sweet mouth, her velvety cheeks, the full 
 voluptuous bust which rose and fell with waves of feel- 
 ing so near his heart ! Her warm breath played over 
 his face; one little hand stole up and lost itself in the 
 waves of his hair. 
 
 He could not help it. He threw both arms around 
 her and strained her to him, his lips on hers, drinking 
 up her luscious beauty in one long passionate draught 
 as with a thirst that could never be satiated. She did 
 not stir. She lay in them well content, her arm around 
 his neck, till he finally raised his head and moved as if 
 to place her gently in her chair. 
 
 His other 'self warned him of the necessity of com- 
 mand. He felt more than ever the discretion of his 
 contemplated proposal. He was about to speak, the 
 words were on his lips, when she resisted his motion, 
 drew her arm more tenderly about his neck, turned his 
 face close to her own with her other hand, and whis- 
 pered in his ear : 
 
 " I want to know something so much, Everett ! Tell 
 me, won't you? Promise me!" and pressed her lips 
 cooingly to his neck just below. 
 
 She was so coaxingly childish, so womanly tender ! 
 
 He responded readily, " Certainly I will, Helen, if I 
 can." 
 
 " Tell me, then, of your child's mother," she con- 
 tinued without stirring. " Whose son is he ? " 
 
 A pang like a shot went through his heart. She felt 
 him start, but held him the closer. Her question was en-
 
 201 
 
 tirely unexpected. He had not had the faintest idea 
 she would ask this now. What should he do? He 
 had intended to tell her all afterward. But perhaps he 
 was taking an unfair advantage to keep her in igno- 
 rance of her relation to the boy. She had demanded it ; 
 he would speak. With a purpose she could not resist 
 he raised her and moved a little from her. 
 
 A Delilah without conscious intent on his part she 
 received a Delilah's reward. 
 
 He looked her steadily in the face as he answered in 
 a quiet, penetrating tone, "Your own ! " 
 
 A cannon had boomed near her and left her stunned, 
 deafened, helpless. Or was it a knife thrust some- 
 where in her very vitals that deprived her of speech, 
 of breath ? She could not move. With hands lying 
 nerveless in her lap she could only look at him, power- 
 less to take her eyes from his face, her own growing 
 white and whiter with the blood driven back to her 
 la-art. 
 
 A wave of pity broke up its sternness as he saw the 
 horror and dread in her eyes ; a desire to comfort her in 
 spite of the revulsion of feeling he experienced as he 
 comprehended her calculation under the guise of an 
 all-compelling tenderness. Slowly and dispassionately, 
 without a suggestion of reproach at her abandonment 
 of the child, he told her the boy's history as he knew it 
 up to the time he had met him, of their meeting in the 
 horse-car and in the hospital, Paul's revelation, and his 
 subsequent procedure. 
 
 " When I met you here," he went on, " and you re- 
 quested me to let the past go as if it never had been, I 
 made up my mind not to tell you of him. I could un-
 
 202 
 
 derstand what the knowledge would be to you. I had 
 no desire to bring you pain, perhaps great suffering. I 
 knew you could have no special affection for him, hav- 
 ing never had him with you from his birth. You had 
 far more to lose through acknowledgment of his par- 
 entage than I. For me the worst was already over." 
 
 He waited a moment, but she did not speak. She 
 moved feebly in her chair as if in a painful position 
 but without strength to change it. 
 
 He was about to resume, to assure her of his inten- 
 tion to continue as he had begun, when suddenly, be- 
 fore he could realize what she was about to do, she 
 flung herself on the floor at his feet, clasping his kn < -s 
 in her arms ; and in a tone of agonized entreaty, yet 
 hushed as if fearful of being overheard, she exclaimed : 
 
 "O Everett! Don't tell! Promise me swear to 
 me you will never, never tell ! " 
 
 The reaction had set in and she was nearly frantic. 
 No rush of long-restrained mother-love, no relief from 
 knowing at last the fate of the child she had aban- 
 doned ; only the fear of exposure, of disgrace for her- 
 self. 
 
 He attempted to raise her, but she shuddered out of 
 his hands, repeating gaspingly, " Promise me ! Prom- 
 ise me ! " 
 
 " Be quiet, Helen, and listen a moment. Do you not 
 know me well enough to know you have nothing to 
 fear from me?" and he took hold of her shoulders 
 authoritatively. " Let me help you to your chair. I 
 cannot talk with you while you are in this position." 
 
 She let him raise her from the floor and remain <<! 
 submissively in the chair in which he placed her. Even
 
 in the excitement and stress of the moment he was 
 struck with the change in her. She had aged ten years 
 in five minutes. Even the rose-tinted light could not 
 hide it. The sculptor Fear had carved lines in her 
 beautiful face with a few instantaneous strokes that 
 successfully banished its soft witchery. Tears were 
 rolling down her cheeks, which she made no effort to 
 wipe away. Her abject misery touched him. But he 
 had lost all desire to sit close to her, to take her in his 
 arms. 
 
 " You need fear nothing from me, Helen," he re- 
 peated gently. "For you the future can be what the 
 past has been. I have charged myself with his care 
 and the responsibility which accompanies parents ire." 
 
 She gave a great sigh of relief as she passed her hand 
 wearily over her brow and hair. Thank God ! that 
 d linger was past. She knew he would keep his word. 
 Her load began to lighten. 
 
 All at once she heard footsteps in her room immedi- 
 ately above them. She had told her maid not to sit up 
 for her. and no one else had a right to be in the room. 
 Slu glanced at the eloek. It was late, nearly twelve. 
 A sudden thought seemed to strike her. With a hasty 
 "Wait a moment" she left the room and ran noise- 
 lessly up-stairs. 
 
 Some one darted to the window as she reached the 
 door of her chamber, the window which she had always 
 feared might afford an entrance to the room because of 
 the win 4 trellis by which a honeysuckle grew. A quick 
 glance at the place where her jewels were kept. The 
 door was open and in the hand of the one climbing 
 through the window great God! it was Raymond
 
 204 
 
 Long ! she saw something glitter. Even as she looked, 
 in that brief instant which is no time, a pendant fell 
 through his fingers to the floor. 
 
 With a scream she sprang forward. Her dearly 
 loved treasures were in danger. Their threatened loss 
 swallowed up every other thought, every feeling. She 
 clutched frantically at the hand which held them, tear- 
 ing his flesh with her nails. 
 
 He was balanced on the window-sill, reaching with 
 his disengaged hand for the trellis. The pain, added 
 to his detection and the probable loss of that for which 
 he had risked so much, maddened him, and bending 
 his head quick as a flash he set his teeth in the hand 
 tearing at his own. 
 
 Like a wounded tigress she glared at him, struggling 
 to release her hand, her efforts raising his head so that 
 his eyes in turn glared into her own, his lips drawn 
 back in a wolfish snarl as his strong white teeth re- 
 mained fixed in her flesh. With a quick movement she 
 wound her other hand in his thick wavy hair, twisting 
 it so fiercely he loosened his jaws, and at the same 
 instant she gave him a violent push from her. 
 
 With a curse which struck her face with the hiss 
 and venom of a serpent his hand lost its hold of the 
 trellis and he fell. She heard the crash as his head 
 struck the stone flagging below. 
 
 It was all done so quickly that though Everett heard 
 the scream and bounded up the stairs he was just in 
 time to see the form disappear from the window- 
 sill while Helen leaned far out with her hands resting 
 upon it. 
 
 In one, tightly clenched, was a lock of brown hair,
 
 the other was covered with Mood. Scattered over the 
 floor around her were glittering jewels. He sprang to 
 her side. 
 
 On the walk below, in the silvery moonlight the 
 same moonlight which a few moments ago had helped 
 to weave a spell about him lay his son, his face up- 
 turned to their own, silent and motionless. He looked 
 at Helen. She was glaring down upon him with a 
 searching, eager expression as if seeking for something. 
 A moment, one horror-struck moment, and the boy's 
 eyes slowly opened and fixed themselves upon her face. 
 
 " Damn you ! You've killed " came in faint tones 
 to their ears, and all was still. 
 
 From the window above, the father and mother 
 looked down upon their dead child.
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 THE time was drawing near for the address so many 
 were eager to hear. It would be worth listening to, 
 whatever the views of the listener. Miriam Hartwell 
 had proved her intellectual mastery and wonderful 
 ability too often to leave any doubt with those who 
 knew her of what she could do. 
 
 It had been postponed once on account of her illness, 
 something which had never occurred with her before. 
 She prided herself on her robust health and on the fact 
 that she had never yet broken an engagement. The 
 postponement had been a great trial to her. She had 
 found it hard to bear. She found herself unable to 
 bear much that formerly passed unnoticed. Little 
 things fretted her. She was nervous she who had 
 laughed at "women's nerves" depressed, and some- 
 times filled with forebodings. In some indefinable way 
 the ground on which she had stood securely for so many 
 years seemed slipping from under her feet. She laughed 
 at and rallied herself, only to feel after a time the same 
 loss of energy and depression. 
 
 She had experienced a great shock in the death of 
 Raymond Long and the manner of it, which had made 
 a sensation in Benton. He had fallen and been killed 
 in the attempt to rob the beautiful Mrs. Cunningham 
 
 206
 
 207 
 
 of her jewels. Who would have thought that one so 
 young could have been capable of such depravity ! 
 
 She was very sorry for his father. Indeed she could 
 not get his father out of her mind. Why did her 
 thoughts dwell upon him so continually? Why did 
 she begin to long yes, long for his presence, his com- 
 panionship f Why at times did a sense of desolation 
 creep over her, almost paralyzing her energies ? Why 
 did the honors she had gained, for which she had 
 striven so hard, fail to satisfy her? Once she would 
 have thought the position which was hers to-day the 
 height of happiness. And now there was something in 
 it, or something not in it she did not know which 
 that almost sickened her. She had coveted power. She 
 had power. And yet she had a vague presentiment 
 that it would fail her when she needed it most ; prove 
 insufficient at some crucial period. She would not care 
 so much if he 
 
 Nonsense ! She had worked all her life for a certain 
 definite end and it could not fail her. She was getting 
 sentimental. She, of all women ! A weakness she de- 
 spised ! Where was the leader now the deliverer of 
 women from bondage ? 
 
 So she argued with herself, and the day of the ad- 
 dress, which was to be given in the evening, found 
 her with her nerves strung to an unbearable tension. 
 Everything was ready, her manuscript carefully pre- 
 pared ; and word had come that every seat in the hall 
 was sold. What more could a woman want? The 
 simple announcement of her name and subject had 
 been sufficient to sell the house. What a comfortable 
 sum the League would have in its treasury !
 
 208 
 
 As the day wore on she became positively ill. A 
 deadly faintness and nausea seized her, and at six 
 o'clock she could not leave her bed. Her father did all 
 in his power for her, sent for a brother practitioner, 
 but their combined efforts were not sufficient to put 
 her on her feet again. He was almost beside himself. 
 His cherished daughter in whom he took so much pride ! 
 He had never seen her like this. And so much depend- 
 ing upon her too. A second postponement might be 
 fatal. The public was apt to be fickle. What was to 
 be done ? 
 
 Seven o'clock came and there was no avoiding the 
 fact that she would be unable to leave home. There 
 was no help for it Miriam herself proposed that Sarah 
 should take the manuscript and fill her place as best 
 she could. It would never do to dismiss the assembled 
 audience, and she had taken such pains, the manuscript 
 was perfectly clear, no interpolations or interlinings. 
 
 Sarah, it was true, was not accustomed to public 
 speaking, but she was familiar with her sister's line of 
 thought and would be able to read intelligently. It 
 was the best that could be done. Sarah was very re- 
 luctant to fill the role assigned her. She shrank from 
 publicity, was not in full sympathy with Miriam's 
 views, feared she could not do them justice or fill with 
 any degree of accuracy her sister's place. But she had 
 all sympathy for her and for her father's fear that her 
 sister's usefulness would suffer, and consented to do the 
 best she could. 
 
 Accompanied by one of the maids, she went away 
 in the carriage that had come for Miriam, leaving her 
 wrestling with the prostration which had overtaken
 
 209 
 
 her. A crowd was pouring into the main entrance of 
 the hall as she passed it on her way to the one leading 
 to the platform. Some one opened the door as the car- 
 riage stopped. 
 
 " Why, Paul ! " she exclaimed in surprise as she saw 
 his face. " I am so glad to see you ! I did not know 
 you had got back ! " 
 
 He pressed her hands affectionately and helped her 
 to alight as he said, "I arrived only this morning," 
 adding affirmatively, "Your sister is ill." 
 
 She did not ask him how he knew this. She knew 
 him. 
 
 " Yes," she answered simply. " I am to take her 
 place as best I can." 
 
 He went with her to the room adjoining the platform, 
 where one of the most prominent citizens of Benton, 
 who was to make the introductory remarks, and repre- 
 sentatives of various organizations, were awaiting her 
 sister. The surprise in their faces as they saw Miriam 
 was not with her changed to disappointment and per- 
 plexity when they heard the reason for her absence. 
 Thrir well-bred attempts to suppress their feelings did 
 not reassure her. But if the proposed arrangement 
 caused them fear for the results, what was their dismay 
 when Sarah suddenly exclaimed, " Where is the manu- 
 script ? " when after all her efforts to find it, to which 
 they added their own, and the hurried exit of the 
 prominent citizen to examine the way by which she 
 had come and the carriage as well, had been barren of 
 results 1 
 
 Sarah tried to think where or how she could have 
 lost it. The carriage door had opened once on the way,
 
 210 
 
 and she had leaned forward and closed it. It must 
 have dropped out then. A strong wind was blowing 
 and there were but few chances it could be found even 
 if it were not already past the advertised hour and the 
 audience manifesting signs of impatience. "What was 
 to be done? The prominent citizen was advising the 
 dismissal of the audience as the only thing possible, 
 when Paul said in a low tone to Sarah : 
 
 " Go and speak to these people yourself. You have 
 a message for them. You have not sought the oppor- 
 tunity. It has come to you." 
 
 She looked at him amazed as if she could not have 
 understood his words. 
 
 " I ? " she said incredulously. 
 
 He returned her look with one of quiet confidence. 
 
 "Yes! You!" 
 
 " Why, Paul ! what do you mean ? " she gasped. 
 " You know I never spoke a word in public in my life." 
 
 " Well ! Why should you not make a beginning ? " 
 he replied, still quietly and confidently. 
 
 " But I cannot ! You know I cannot ! " she insisted, 
 while her color came and went rapidly and she trem- 
 bled at the thought of such temerity on her part. 
 
 " I know that you can," he said firmly, taking her 
 trembling hands in his and looking her steadily in the 
 face. 
 
 The trembling began to lessen as she felt his strong 
 firm grasp and looked in his eyes. Those standing by 
 exchanged significant looks as they overheard what 
 was said. 
 
 " Go before these people," Paul continued, " and tell 
 them first what you see, then what you feel. Have no
 
 211 
 
 thought of how they will receive it, of what they will 
 think of you. Speak what to you is truth and leave 
 the rest." 
 
 She grew calmer, as she listened to him, and some- 
 thing suddenly sprang to life within her. She forgot 
 what she was, where she was. She was filled with that 
 which surged and throbbed, which expanded her, which 
 lifted her to where Sarah Hartwell was forgotten. She 
 was a voice, and words were pressing, pushing, to find 
 their way out living burning words formed and im- 
 pelled by this new something within her. 
 
 " I will go," she said. And her voice was a new 
 voice, deep, intense, thrilling. 
 
 The prominent citizen slipped quietly out. He had 
 promised to present Miriam Hartwell to the audience. 
 There his obligation ceased. One after the other of 
 those waiting in the room followed his example on 
 various pretexts and they were left alone. Paul, with 
 a light in his face reflected in her own, went to the 
 door admitting to the platform, opened it, and stood 
 aside for her to pass through. 
 
 " You can do it," he said in a low but positive and 
 assured tone as she moved slowly past him. 
 
 Sarah was conscious of a hum of astonishment as she 
 advanced to the centre of the platform. All eyes were 
 fixed on her as she stood for an instant silent before 
 them. She had a curious feeling as if that great sea 
 of faces surged up against her where she stood on the 
 shore and then receded. And how still it was ! except 
 for that loud knocking somewhere near her. Was it 
 her heart ? 
 
 With a perfectly composed manner and in well-
 
 212 
 
 chosen words she explained her presence and her sis- 
 ter's absence, Miriam's deep regret, her own loss of the 
 manuscript, and requested them if they wished to go 
 to make an orderly departure, when their money would 
 be refunded. To those who cared to remain she had a 
 few words to say on the subject in hand. She waited 
 a moment to give them an opportunity to withdraw, 
 but the momentary stir and buzz subsided and no one 
 left his seat. She felt that a connecting current had 
 begun to flow between her and them and that she liad 
 a message to deliver. There was a silent asking, an 
 expectation, a demand for which sprang a supply. She 
 felt Paul's presence beyond the still open door. There 
 was a feeling of comfort in the sense of human sup- 
 port. There were momentary threatenings of the 
 surge of the sea again, but they ceased as she found 
 herself resolving all those faces and heads into one and 
 addressing that one person who wanted to know some- 
 thing to which she had given much thought. 
 
 Calmly and dispassionately she sketched an outline 
 of evangelical Christianity, its historical foundation, 
 the reasons for and against the claims made by its ad- 
 herents, the Bible as divinely inspired, as history, and 
 as a piece of literature. She did not go into the elab- 
 orate detail Miriam would have furnished. She had 
 not sufficient knowledge of it. But no one, not even 
 Miriam herself, could have surpassed her in her lack of 
 partisanship or individual bias, her clear analysis of 
 claims and the evidence supporting them, with frank 
 admission of their inefficiency and of the mass of in- 
 consistency and contradiction included in the letter of 
 the Bible,
 
 213 
 
 She gave full credit to the demonstrations of modern 
 science, admitting that proved facts overthrew and 
 demolished many dearly cherished beliefs, tenable no 
 longer, and compelled the Christian to revise them. 
 She was so absolutely fair, without prejudice on either 
 side, so frank in her admissions, that one having no 
 previous knowledge of her would have found it impos- 
 sible to determine her own opinion. She held the un- 
 wavering attention of her audience. They were so still 
 that her voice, untrained as it was, was distinctly audi- 
 ble throughout the hall. It had an effective, penetrat- 
 ing quality, and her dignified yet gentle and composed 
 manner, added to her lawyer-like statement of her case, 
 won their admiration. She had yet to begin to plead. 
 
 They looked at one another, surprise plainly visible 
 in their faces, as though saying, "Who would have 
 thought it?" Some well-known materialists and ag- 
 nostics who had anticipated a rich treat in Miriam's 
 address nodded at each other approvingly. And when 
 Sarah paused for a moment to consider the thread she 
 should follow next, a sharp, quick round of applause 
 greeted her. Their critical examination was over. 
 They accepted and were willing to follow her. 
 
 " Admitting the great change which to many means 
 loss," she continued, " this overturn of beliefs sacred to 
 our forefathers as the divine mysteries with which \\ 
 should not meddle, what remains? Only the cold fiat 
 of the materialist which dissipates into nothingness 
 this warm, glowing, living something that loves and 
 hopes and fears and grows into more and more stately 
 beauty and symmetry ? Or the equally cold and possi- 
 bly as hopeless ' I do not know ' that is proof positive
 
 214 
 
 of only misdirected effort to know? Is nothing left 
 but to live our lives from day to day as best we may, 
 believing, fearing, that because our reason rejects what 
 has been taught us as truth there is no truth in what 
 we have been taught ? No God, no hereafter, no pres- 
 ent, even, differing in kind from that of the creatures 
 we see around us, differing only in the quality we are 
 able to impart to it by our efforts to < eat, drink, and be 
 merry/ the pleasure we gain by our intellectual de- 
 struction of all that raises us above their level ? 
 
 " No, my friends, more is left. Truth is left. Our 
 puny efforts, puny because we are not able to rise to 
 its level, where alone is telling strength, will never over- 
 throw it. We but strike the air and tire ourselves, even 
 if we are not wounded by the return of our blows. 
 You will ask me the old, old question, l What is Truth ? ' 
 It is that which is eternal and infinite in itself because 
 of its nature. Do what we will, therefore, at present, 
 with all honest effort, we cannot have it in its fullness. 
 Each may, nay, must, possess that which is true to 
 him ; and his possession will be as much of the Truth 
 as he has capacity to receive. This will be his religion. 
 Creeds may go, doctrine and dogma crumble away in 
 the heat and friction of a growing world ; but religion 
 will remain, for not one of us can do without it. It is 
 the native air of the soul, to which our intellect is but 
 the vestibule, the atmosphere in which it will come to 
 bud, blossom, and fruit. 
 
 " Every one of us has his religion. Every one holds 
 dear, nurtures, and defends that which is truth to him ; 
 and every one of us is a worshiper of God when in our 
 words, thoughts, and acts we are loyal to it. Every one
 
 '215 
 
 of us has that which no other one can fully compre- 
 hend ; for the true to us individually can only be indi- 
 vidually known. And yet it is fact for which we re- 
 quire no outside proof. Its presence with us is its 
 own proof. But we continually offer proof, must offer 
 proof, to others through what it does in, with, and for 
 us, and for them through us. Every one is a mediator 
 for the world between the Most High and the most 
 low, through that measure of the infinite we individu- 
 ally include and embody. Every one of us is in con- 
 nection with that Most High through that measure 
 which is ours. Within ourselves is the open road lead- 
 ing to Deity, the road in which we are all, without ex- 
 ception, traveling, for try as we will, strain, pull, en- 
 deavor as we will, to live as the brute lives, that meas- 
 ure of truth we do possess, the aspiration it kindles 
 within us, compels the slow advance to that great whole 
 of which it is a part. 
 
 " Who then is the religious man ? He who is loyal 
 to the best of which he is capable. Not he who merely 
 believes a creed, for this crystallizes his soul. Not he 
 who believes that some personage in the past is the only 
 Son of God and necessary to his salvation, for he but 
 halts with crutches instead of walking on his own feet. 
 But he who through this loyalty continually expands 
 his capacity to receive and know and prove." 
 
 As she went on there was a curious change in her 
 which many observed and at which they wondered. 
 It seemed as if she had grown taller, had expanded, 
 was filled with a burning energy which fell in showers 
 around her, rousing a response in them, an impulse, a 
 hope, a desire, an effort to rise beyond what they had
 
 210 
 
 felt before. There was something more there, beyond, 
 just out of their reach. 
 
 She had grown beautiful, too. She looked command- 
 ing, noble. Her whole frame seemed tense with power. 
 She was not Sarah Hartwell, Miriam's quiet gentle sis- 
 ter. She was a woman they had not previously seen or 
 known. Commendation, even admiration was in their 
 faces as they followed her. 
 
 "But it is possible to make a mistake. We have 
 made a mistake. This capacity of ours is two-sided, 
 and we have become divided into two classes of wor- 
 shipers. We have a rational and an intuitional na- 
 ture, two halves of one whole. Some of us have sought 
 only with the one, others only with the other, and de- 
 veloped, in consequence, only the capacity to find and 
 receive which accords with the one or the other. So 
 we have the men of science and the religious emotion- 
 alists, embodiments of these natures separated from 
 each other. What we must have, what experience 
 sometime will compel, is their unity. Both these na- 
 tures are legitimate avenues to truth. It will reach us 
 through both. 
 
 " But to the one who sees and receives through one 
 only, what he sees and receives will not accord with 
 what is seen and received through the other. Here 
 has been the battle-ground for centuries, where are still 
 seen decaying corpses and the freshly slain. For ' the 
 cause of science ' and ' in the name of religion ' blows 
 have been struck which have brought bleeding wounds 
 to those who used the weapons. From the blood- 
 stained soil have sprung up the plants of intellectual 
 pride and prejudice, of religious bigotry and persecu-
 
 217 
 
 tion. The smoke of battle has obscured the sunshine 
 that is yet to bring the blossom Love. 
 
 'Tin- man of science fears to trust to his intuitional 
 nature. The religious emotionalist fears to be led 
 astray by his rational nature. But Love casts out fear. 
 And the very first glimpse either gains of the true, the 
 impersonal God who, changeless forever, becomes per- 
 sonal to us, is when he at last, becoming able to look 
 on both sides of one whole, begins to see and feel that 
 Love which dispels all hatred, reconciles all differences, 
 overlooks all mistakes, gathers into one family all man- 
 kind. 
 
 u Ah, my friends ! '' and the light which had been 
 glowing in her face became like a sun sending its 
 beams from afar "there is a ladder set up on earth 
 whose top reaches Heaven ; and from round to round 
 we are all climbing in that grand evolution which 
 brings us finally to consciousness of our own infinite 
 being to that conscious capacity to see, know, be one 
 with eternal changeless truth, which has slowly evolved 
 through countless ages as the highest species of the 
 genus Man. Dominion is to be ours. Dominion over 
 all things is the birthright of man. Subjection is only 
 the condition of the not yet fully developed soul which 
 is on its way to equality with man ; it is the limitation 
 of a species." 
 
 They listened with absorbing interest. What was 
 this doctrine? She used no names or labels, referred 
 to no authority past or present, seemed to lean no 
 more in one direction than in another. She appealed 
 straight to something within them instead. She spoke 
 " as one having authority " and no need to seek it.
 
 218 
 
 Observing her and her effect upon her audience one 
 could not have believed she had never spoken in public 
 before. But one would also have seen she was striving 
 for no oratorical effect, had no thought of effect, only 
 to give utterance to what she saw and felt ; an utter- 
 ance clothed with dignity and power through her own 
 self -surrender to that which burned within her. 
 
 " A new era is dawning. A great mountain has con- 
 fronted us, the mountain of ignorance. What are we ? 
 Whence came we ? Whither go we ? To get an open 
 road workmen have attempted to tunnel this mountain. 
 Divided in two bands they have worked from both 
 sides. Unable to see and follow the track each was 
 making they have believed themselves far apart. Catch- 
 ing in the distance the faint .ring of each other's tools 
 they have feared, believing it the voices of wild and 
 untamed creatures inhabiting the mountain. But they 
 have worked steadily, undeterred by their fears, and 
 they are coming nearer and nearer together. Though 
 working in opposite directions, they have really worked 
 in one, for they have worked to the same end. The 
 wall yet between, though rock, is thin, and soon they 
 will come face to face and clasp hands, rejoicing that 
 the work they began so far apart has brought them to- 
 gether while it has opened the way for all travelers. 
 The signs of this coming unity between science and 
 religion are on every hand, the time when we shall 
 know even as we are known, because our whole nature 
 is engaged in the search and the proof, instead of a 
 part. And what is woman's place in this work? 
 What is her religion ? What is her office to-day ? " 
 
 She paused, and her listeners hung breathless on her
 
 219 
 
 words. They feared to lose one of them. Her voice 
 had sunk lower and yet they heard her. She stood 
 upon the platform, motionless, yet drawing their inner 
 consciousness in her direction straight as the needle to 
 the magnet. 
 
 " She is to be present at the marriage feast where the 
 water of investigation is to be turned into the wine of 
 realization. By what she is, and the work that she does, 
 she is to help forward this unity. For woman is the 
 unifier when she is free. She has been long in physi- 
 cal and intellectual bondage, but she has been born out 
 of it through suffering. She has been purified in the 
 furnace heated seven times hotter for her than for any 
 other because of her affectional nature. She has come 
 forth without even the smell of fire upon her garments, 
 for she is clothed with righteousness. 
 
 " She has left in the furnace the ashes of her creeds, 
 yea, even of her mortal hopes and longings. She has 
 brought forth only her religion the spirit of the Love 
 divine ; only the aspirations and ideals of which she 
 is the sanctified mother ; only the great heart of pity- 
 ing tenderness that beats for all even as for the one. 
 The flame has dried up the tears that blinded, de- 
 stroyed the hand that lacked firmness, the foot that 
 was uncertain, the heart that ached. 
 
 " Clear of vision, she sees what is really the office of 
 helpmeet, sees her womanhood as the link between the 
 human and the divine in which both blend. Strong of 
 hand, she will do the will of the highest, not the least. 
 and, undismayed, let it be unto her according to that 
 will. Firm of foot, she will stand in the secret place of 
 the Most High, and at the foot of the cross, held above
 
 220 
 
 its crucifixion, ministering to the crucified. Without 
 pain for her own woes, for they too will have burned 
 themselves out, hers will be the mother-heart which 
 feels, consoles, and protects, even while the immovable 
 foot and the firm hand execute the higher will. 
 
 " Oh ! Women of to-day ! " and her voice rang 
 through the great auditorium with a thrilling pathos 
 as she stretched her arms toward them "have you 
 suffered ? Have you felt the devouring flame ? Have 
 you seen your loves, your hopes, your religion, shrivel 
 and dry and fall in dead ashes at your feet ? 
 
 " Come out from it new-born ! Come forth as the 
 priestess of that more than human love, to bring its 
 message to a waiting world ! 
 
 " Come forth as the reconciler of the human to the 
 divine, as the purified soul fit to conceive the highest 
 while dwelling with the least ! 
 
 " Come as the leader, the deliverer of men from the 
 bondage of their own natures ! 
 
 " Come as that shower of the way who walks before ! 
 
 " Let a song of rejoicing go up for every pang you 
 have suffered, every tear you have shed. By so much 
 are you redeemed, by so much can you redeem. 
 
 " There is none higher than the office you are to fill. 
 Developing and using every faculty and power of your 
 natures, masculine and feminine alike, developing to 
 full fruition every plane of your being, you are to 
 combine in yourselves, and bring to unity in the with- 
 out, the two halves of that great whole God-like man. 
 
 " You have been knowing through feeling. To-day 
 you are knowing through reason. To-morrow you are 
 to know through the union of both. As you lead all
 
 221 
 
 will follow, for regeneration is through woman. You 
 have the moulding of the future, the making of the 
 race, the redemption of the world in your hands. 
 Your offiee is that of helpmeet, indeed. As woman, 
 witV, and mother in one, man is your lord, your love, 
 your child." 
 
 She stood before them exalted, glorified. She was 
 leading them whither she would, they powerless to re- 
 sist, though dazzled by the blinding splendor of which 
 she was the open door. The silence was intense. It 
 was the silence of deep feeling. A moment she stood 
 thus with upraised face and arms, seeing only the glory 
 on the other side of the shadow. Then her arms fell 
 and she turned and went swiftly from the platform. 
 
 The door had closed behind her before they awoke 
 to the fact that she had finished and gone. Then the 
 spell in which she had held them was broken and a 
 burst of applause, hearty and spontaneous, followed, 
 died away, and was renewed again and yet again. But 
 the door did not open. Her work was done. 
 
 She had sunk into a chair and Paul was standing by 
 her holding her hands again in his own. " In that same 
 moment it shall be given you," he said. 
 
 There was a noise at the door, and the prominent 
 citizen and those who had been with him came crowd- 
 ing in. 
 
 " Let me congratulate you on your remarkable your 
 truly remarkable effort, Miss Hartwell," he said. 
 
 There was a chorus of congratulations, words of 
 praise and well-meant approval, which, while she ap- 
 preciated their kindly motive, fell harshly on Sarah's 
 ears. They had been open to a heavenly harmony, had
 
 222 
 
 been catching that mighty and majestic rhythm in 
 which this earth and they that dwelt thereon were but 
 an infinitesimal part. She had but spoken what she 
 knew. It, not she, deserved their appreciation. 
 
 Only as she listened to them did the first feeling of 
 weariness overtake her. As she stood upon the plat- 
 form she could have spoken for hours. There was no 
 exhausting the flood that poured into her for those 
 who waited to hear. But these compliments she did 
 not desire. She wanted to go home. 
 
 She looked at Paul appealingly. He understood and 
 moved with her toward the door. Some of them ac- 
 companied her even down the stairs and to the car- 
 riage which waited for her. The prominent citizen was 
 particularly officious. So dear is even a little reflected 
 glory. 
 
 But Paul's was the last even as it had been the first 
 encouragement. His words would have been enigmat- 
 ical to others had they heard them, but to her they 
 were holy. In a low tone he had said, leaning forward 
 after the carriage door was closed and she was about 
 to drive away : " And seeing the multitudes, he went up 
 into a mountain : and when he was set, his disciples 
 came unto him." 
 
 She had made no word of reply, had left him stand- 
 ing on the sidewalk answering the eager questions of 
 her surprised admirers. But driving home in the 
 darkness she asked herself, was she " set " ? 
 
 Seeing from her girlhood the waiting multitudes, 
 filled with the desire to minister unto them, she had 
 indeed gone up a mountain. She could not feed her 
 own soul with the husks offered in the name of religion.
 
 223 
 
 How then could they feed theirs ? They sought here 
 and there on the denominational plains, only to hunger 
 still. 
 
 The only way left was the way up up above their 
 level, up in the free air that encircled the mountain's 
 ruggedness. Only by climbing to where she could 
 have a broader horizon could she see what was invisi- 
 ble on the plains. And so she had climbed, for their 
 sakes as well as for her own. 
 
 And was she " set " ? Was she so firm and sure, so 
 one with the almighty truth that makes free that es- 
 sence which must ever be liberated from the form in 
 which it appears that she had but to open her mouth 
 to teach those willing to come unto her, willing to climb 
 the same mountain and view the wider horizon ? 
 
 Was she so wholly surrendered to it, so wholly with- 
 out a personal ambition, that the Spirit of truth, which 
 guides into all truth, should alone speak when she 
 opened her mouth ? For this, only, could teach. 
 
 These waiting multitudes had had preaching. Teach- 
 ing, alone, could meet their needs, and this could be 
 given only when the eye was fixed on the wholeness 
 seen from all sides of the mountain-top. 
 
 Had the hour come ? She had not sought the oppor- 
 tunity. Were disciples come unto her because they 
 had come unto it ? Was she ready ? Was she " set " ?
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 THE morning papers gave full accounts of the hap- 
 penings of the previous evening; the full house and 
 intelligent audience, Miss HartwelPs illness which pre- 
 vented her appearance, the substitution of her sister, 
 the loss of the manuscript, and Sarah Hartwell's ad- 
 dress, of which they all spoke respectfully, and some of 
 them with appreciation. But they were all in accord 
 in the terms in which they spoke of her : 
 
 " Such astonishing self-possession on a first appear- 
 ance ! " 
 
 " A most impressive personality ! " 
 
 " Such remarkable ability, it is a pity it has not been 
 sooner utilized." 
 
 "We are proud to have such gifted sisters as resi- 
 dents of Benton," etc. 
 
 Dr. Hartwell beamed like a rising sun, notwithstand- 
 ing Miriam's continued illness, as he read them. Truly 
 he had every reason to be proud of his children, but 
 even he was astonished. He did not know that his 
 gentle, unselfish, devoted Sarah, so frequently eclipsed 
 by his magnificent Miriam, was capable of such a suc- 
 cessful effort. Truly, one might live side by side with 
 others without knowing them. 
 
 Though his own work had well-nigh ceased he should 
 live in his children's. He had helped to make them 
 
 224
 
 what they were. Miriam's was the more likely to be 
 lusting. She had the more stable foundation. But 
 Sjii-ah was a dear child. 
 
 She was the same loving caretaker and sympathizer 
 this morning, meeting his needs and her sister's as well. 
 She did not seem to even care to read what the papers 
 said of her, but went about her duties as serenely as 
 ever. 
 
 Miriam seemed to grow worse as the day wore on, 
 and exhibited a petulance and irritability, especially 
 toward her sister, very unpleasant to see. Her disap- 
 pointment had been intense. She had staked so much 
 on her intended work of the previous evening ! And 
 to be compelled to give it up ! She who hated failures ! 
 It was the opportunity of a lifetime, and there she was 
 chained in bed, while her sister 
 
 No. She would have nothing. She did not wish to 
 eat or drink. She wished to be let alone. 
 
 Kverett Long had been one of the listeners the pre- 
 \ious evening. He was recovering from the shock of 
 his son's death, had recovered from the surprise and 
 regret of the circumstances preceding it. He was 
 more than amazed, he was awed, as he went back and 
 reviewed his life and its connection with Helen's, to see 
 how surely, how relentlessly and even rapidly their 
 reaping had followed their sowing. He was no fatal- 
 ist. He but saw the eternal changeless relation be- 
 tween cause and effect. 
 
 " Every seed produces after its own kind." 
 
 This was immutable law, yet he and all men was 
 the lawgiver, for he could determine the kind of seed 
 he would sow. The harvest was sure, for the vitality
 
 of the seed which caused it to fructify and bring forth 
 was not from him. 
 
 The boy had been the legitimate product of his con- 
 ception, for he had been the seed of selfish enjoyment 
 of animal passion, thoughtlessly, in some measure ig- 
 norantly, sown, inheriting and carrying along only 
 those qualities in both their natures which at that 
 time were supremely active, and which had also been 
 the channels through which had been carried along and 
 intensified like qualities in their progenitors till a crisis 
 was reached. 
 
 He had no thought of blame for the boy. He was 
 what he had been made. The surface-nature, which 
 had been the embodiment of his inheritance, had but 
 covered the higher, which was not yet roused to resist- 
 ance and control and was biding its time. 
 
 So far from feeling regret for his death that feel- 
 ing was only for the manner of it he had a sense of 
 deep peace. He was thankful, from the very depths of 
 his soul he was thankful, that he had been able to rise 
 to what duty demanded of him. Hard as what it re- 
 quired had been to perform, he would not abate one 
 jot or tittle of his struggle if he could. However great 
 the cost, the results had been worth more than that cost 
 to him. 
 
 He could see clearly now what the nature of his feel- 
 ing toward Helen had been. His never-ceasing desire 
 to do justice to their child, added to the witchery of 
 her beauty and proffered tenderness, had warped his 
 judgment and colored his affection for her according 
 to her own desires. The color was gone. The affec- 
 tion remained.
 
 227 
 
 Never again could she beguile him and a part of 
 his own nature had assisted in the beguiling into 
 forgetting to live to his best, into compromising with 
 his least. He was not beyond temptation. Far from 
 it. But she could no longer be the tempter. He 
 would serve her at any and all times as a fellow-trav- 
 eler along the road where his own feet left footprints. 
 But he would not lie down with her in the dust. 
 
 He had gone the previous evening with the expecta- 
 tion of listening again to Miriam Hart well, whom he 
 had never ceased to admire. Admire? Yes. That 
 was the word. Her never-flagging determination, her 
 boldness in expressing her convictions, her wonderful 
 intellect, compelled his admiration. 
 
 His first feeling of disappointment at her non-ap- 
 pearance and sympathy for Sarah were swallowed up 
 in a boundless surprise as he listened to her. Who 
 was this woman? Where had she been that he had 
 never seen, never known her before ? 
 
 Intellectually she was the peer of her sister. In in- 
 sight, penetration, intuition, and even power to lift and 
 carry others with her, both head and heart assented she 
 was far, far beyond her sister. What did it all mean, 
 this sudden revelation of something growing right in 
 their midst yet unknown ? 
 
 It was the hour and the woman come together, the 
 woman who was luminous from within. As he listened 
 to her, the impediments, the stones in the way of living 
 to one's best vanished, and a glorious vista opened 
 before him. Dazzlingly radiant, in it his dreamed-of 
 possibilities were realities. 
 
 The woman clothed with the sun, the moon under 
 her feet.
 
 228 
 
 Not the borrowed light of the intellect the leader 
 and deliverer of the people ! No ! Never ! 
 
 The deliverance was accomplished only with the in- 
 tellect servant instead of master, underfoot because 
 used instead of worshiped ; under the feet of the true 
 leader and deliverer, the woman clothed with the sun 
 of spiritual perception, uniting within herself the two 
 great lights and ruling both the spiritual day and the 
 material night. 
 
 The time of revelation was come. She was the 
 priestess, indeed j he but the worshiper from afar.
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 " How many kisses will you give me, little woman, 
 if I will take you back to Beiiton ? " 
 
 Walter Hemmingway held his wife on his knee as he 
 rallied her on her pale face and listless manner, which 
 were a continual reproach to him, though he would not 
 acknowledge even to himself that he was the cause of 
 them. Women were so queer. They would persist in 
 making themselves miserable by brooding over what 
 could not be helped. 
 
 " O Walter ! A thousand ! A million ! " and she threw 
 her arms delightedly around his neck. " Will you take 
 me back right away ? " 
 
 She was a dear little thing when she was good when 
 she stopped fretting and did everything he wanted her 
 to do. He liked to pet her. He always got more than 
 he gave. 
 
 " Yes, just as soon as we can pack up and get ready. 
 I had a letter from the agent this morning, who says 
 Mrs. Cunningham has gone away and wants him to 
 rent the house for anything he can get for it. She 
 cannot bear to live in it since that boy who attempted 
 to rob her was killed, and she is willing to sell it for 
 less than she paid. So you see ' it is an ill wind that 
 blows no one good/ eh ? We'll buy it back again one 
 of these days." 
 
 How delightful ! Emma cuddled close to her hus- 
 229
 
 230 
 
 band. He was so nice to-day so different from what 
 lie had been lately ! 
 
 " Walter dear," she said in an appealing tone, her arm 
 close around his neck, " love me, just love me whether 
 we ever have it or not, won't you ? " 
 
 " Why, of course I love you !" and he patted her cheek 
 reassuringly. " Haven't I trotted around with you to 
 the neglect of my business because I wanted to see you 
 well and strong again ? " 
 
 Yes, of course he had. What a little goose she was, 
 always wanting to be told what she ought to know 
 without the telling ! 
 
 " I am sorry for Mrs. Cunningham ; aren't you, Wal- 
 ter ? But I cannot be sorry she does not want to live 
 there any longer. I wonder if my garden is as we left 
 it, or if she has changed it all about? What is she 
 like?" 
 
 " Don't know. I've never seen her. Thompson says 
 she's a first-class beauty, a regular stunner." 
 
 "You do want to go back, don't you, Walter?" and 
 she looked in his face wistfully. She had had so many 
 vague forebodings, so many fears that her husband had 
 some reasons of his own for staying away from Benton, 
 fears to which in her wifely loyalty she had refused to 
 listen. 
 
 " Certainly I do now. By the way, Emma, you re- 
 member that man who bothered me so awhile ago ? " 
 
 Did she not remember? Did not those fears and 
 forebodings start up afresh every time she remem- 
 bered him ? She nodded assent. 
 
 " Well, he's settled where he won't bother me any 
 more, He's in the State prison for life,"
 
 231 
 
 " O Walter ! " she exclaimed. She was shocked, not 
 only at the fate which had overtaken the man, but at 
 something in her husband's manner as he told her of it. 
 
 " Yes. He got into a quarrel with a man and beat 
 him so that he died of his injuries. And I helped to 
 get the evidence that convicted him. I wish it had 
 been the gallows instead ! " he half muttered vin- 
 dictively. 
 
 His wife turned cold. " O Walter ! " she exclaimed 
 again, more shocked than before. 
 
 He realized that he had unwisely given way to his 
 feeling, and recovered his usual manner. 
 
 "Well, if a man cannot control himself he has to 
 take the consequences. Come along now and let us 
 begin to pack up our belongings." 
 
 In spite of her joy at going back to Benton and into 
 her own house once more even if it were not her very 
 own, now a dark shadow seemed to hang over her. 
 She could not get out from under it. It traveled with 
 her and stood waiting at the door as she crossed the 
 threshold again. She felt as if she had lived years 
 since they went away. The garden was changed and 
 the house did not seem the same. 
 
 But she was glad to be with her friends, whom she 
 hud not seen for so long. Sarah, dear Sarah Hartwell 
 had come to her as soon as she heard that she was at 
 home again. And what a famous woman she had be- 
 come ! All Benton was talking of her. Such a won- 
 derful, such a powerful speaker as she was ! Requests 
 to address audiences were flowing in to her from all 
 sides. And Miriam was still ill ! What a pity ! Such 
 a gifted woman !
 
 232 
 
 She heard all about the dreadful occurrence in her 
 old home. She could not pass the place where Ray- 
 mond Long fell without a shudder. How Mrs. Cun- 
 ningham must have felt because she could not save him 
 from falling even if he had stolen her jewels ! No 
 wonder she wanted to get away as soon as possible. 
 
 And Everett Long ! What a grand man he was ! 
 He looked much older and his hair was becoming quite 
 gray. But how dignified, how imposing he looked ! 
 And yet so gentle when he spoke or smiled. Oh ! It 
 was good to be with them all again. 
 
 One morning about a week after their return, and 
 when her husband had gone to his office with the part- 
 ing remark that he had to work harder than ever now 
 to make up for lost time, there was a ring at the door 
 and the maid came to her saying a man was there who 
 would not come in but had a package for her that he 
 must deliver into her own hand. 
 
 She went immediately and saw a low-browed ordi- 
 nary kind of a man who looked at her searchingly and 
 inquired, "Are you Mrs. Hemmingway ? " 
 
 She answered in the affirmative. 
 
 " Then this is for you," handing her a small package 
 carefully sealed and addressed in her name, going away 
 immediately before she could question him as she 
 took it. 
 
 Surprised, she held it in her hand and examined it 
 closely. It seemed to contain papers only, was none 
 too clean, and the handwriting was unknown to her. 
 That weight at her heart again ! 
 
 She went up-stairs to her own room and locked the 
 door. There seemed a menacing stillness around her
 
 233 
 
 like that which precedes a violent thunder-storm. She 
 broke the seals. Some letters fell out of the cover. 
 All but one were in her husband's writing. This one 
 she read first, read and grew white as if dead. 
 
 MRS. HEMMINGWAY : If you want to know the kind 
 of a man your husband is, read the inclosed letters. 
 You will see that they are genuine, for you know his 
 handwriting. He did me a deadly wrong. He ruined 
 my wife, and she's not the only woman he has been in- 
 timate with since you married him, let alone what he 
 was before. He thinks he's got me where I can't strike, 
 but this will show him he don't know me. I've bled 
 him all I could and hope this will finish him. 
 
 JAMES PUTNAM. 
 
 She was sinking away, down, down into a fathomless 
 abyss. But no ! it could not be true ! It was impossi- 
 ble ! Her husband ! It might be true of every other 
 husband in the world, but never of hers ! Some enemy 
 had plotted against him. She would not read those 
 letters. 
 
 With a quick movement she brushed them from her 
 lap to the floor. As she sat looking at them the inky 
 characters seemed to grow into little black serpents 
 thrusting venomous tongues at her. They began to 
 fascinate her, to draw her nearer and nearer. She 
 found one in her hand. She could not help reading it. 
 It had fallen from her hand and another had taken its 
 place another and another, and she had read them all, 
 four of them. 
 
 They were couched in words of tenderness, contained 
 appointments for private meetings with references to
 
 234 
 
 previous ones which left no room for doubt of their 
 nature; and their dates showed them to have been 
 written during the first year of her married life to his 
 " darling," his " only beloved Fanny." 
 
 Nearer dead than alive, she staggered feebly to the 
 bed and fell upon it. Everything faded from her,, but 
 finally came a consciousness of suffering one great, 
 consuming, all-absorbing pain which deadened her to 
 the without only to make her more keenly alive to the 
 within. How long she had lain there she did not 
 know, but she heard the maid coming up-stairs. Those 
 letters ! 
 
 She slid from the bed and crawled to where they lay 
 on the floor, gathered them up and crawled back again, 
 pulled herself up by the bedclothes, and hid them under 
 the pillow as she lay down, her strength spent. She 
 endeavored to command her voice sufficiently to an- 
 swer the servant's knock in a natural manner, saying 
 she did not wish for luncheon as she had a headache, 
 and desired to be left to sleep quietly through the 
 afternoon. 
 
 She listened to her footsteps dying away as, after 
 hesitating a moment, the maid went down-stairs. She 
 wished for nothing in this world but to be left alone 
 till she passed out of it. If only she might go now, 
 right away, before her husband came home ! Her hus- 
 band? She had no husband. Who was this man? 
 What was this man whom out of her great love she 
 had married to save ? 
 
 The words rang mockingly in her ears. " Married 
 to save ! Married to save ! " They assumed form, 
 there, out in the room, and with fingers pointed in 
 derision jeered at her.
 
 235 
 
 She could not bear it. She would have given her 
 life hud given her life for him. She could not live 
 without love. He did not love her had never loved 
 IKT or lie could not have been untrue to her. There 
 was nothing for her but to die. There was nothing 
 for which to live. She was glad her baby was dead. 
 Yes, glad ! It was a girl and it would only have lived 
 to suffer. How her head ached ! Or was it her heart ? 
 
 The afternoon wore away and she did not move. 
 Her husband came home to dinner and not seeing 
 her below inquired her whereabouts. He found her 
 door locked and there was no response when he 
 knocked. Repeated knocking and calling were of no 
 avail. Alarmed, he broke in the door. She was lying 
 on the bed unconscious. Dispatching the servant for 
 a physician, he endeavored to restore her, and in mov- 
 ing her about he shoved the pillow to one side, expos- 
 ing some letters. He picked them up quickly and 
 glanced over them. He understood. 
 
 With an oath he thrust them into an inner pocket 
 and continued his efforts, his face flushing and paling 
 by turns. She moaned feebly. She did not seem to 
 recognize him, however, when she opened her eyes, only 
 to close them again and appear as lifeless as before. 
 
 "Has your wife experienced any great or sudden 
 shock ? " the physician asked as he stood thoughtfully 
 at the bedside after his examination. 
 
 Walter hesitated. " Xo, I know of none," he replied 
 finally. " I found her in this state when I came home. 
 The servant tells me she complained of not feeling well 
 and wanted to be left undisturbed." 
 
 They remained with her until she sank into what 
 seemed to be a natural slumber, when the physician
 
 23S 
 
 went away with, the promise to come again the next 
 morning. After he had gone Walter Hemmingway 
 stole carefully from the room and went to the small 
 library below. Locking the door behind him and 
 lighting the gas, he drew the letters from his pocket 
 and looked them over carefully. His face darkened 
 as he read. 
 
 James Putnam had hounded him successfully until 
 he had been put behind the bars. He had thought 
 himself safe then. As for the man's wife pshaw ! 
 What was one woman in an experience so varied as 
 his had been ! He would have forgotten her long ago 
 but for that sneak, her husband. 
 
 It was different with Emma. She was his wife and 
 he really cared for her. She ought to know that. She 
 ought to know that he was only like the majority of 
 men. However much he might amuse himself, she 
 was secure in her place as wife. Anyway, what a 
 woman did not know did not hurt her. He was soriy 
 she had found it out. He should probably have hard 
 work to smooth her down. 
 
 Lighting one of the letters at the gas-jet he burned 
 them carefully in the grate, poking the ashes cautiously 
 to see that none of the paper was left unconsumed. He 
 breathed a sigh of relief. 
 
 " There ! So much is disposed of at last. Wish I 
 may get out of the rest of it as easily. Bet I'll never 
 put anything of this kind in black and white again. 
 Why do women some women take such things so 
 hard, I wonder ? "
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 TRY and evade it as she would, Miriam Hartwell had 
 to confess to herself she was utterly miserable. 
 
 And yet she had won what she had worked for up 
 to a certain point. Here, where she had staked so 
 much, another had stepped in and carried off the 
 honors. Every visitor who came to the house con- 
 soled her in her long illness by sounding her sister's 
 praises her sister who had lived a quiet humdrum life 
 while she had worked and studied and thought, never 
 sparing herself in her effort to show the world what a 
 woman could be and do. 
 
 How she had gloried in compelling the recognition 
 of men, the envy of women ! What to her had been 
 the softness and tenderness of what they called love, 
 so she could see in their eyes the gleam of their admi- 
 ration ! 
 
 Oh dear ! Oh dear ! Why was she suffering so ? 
 What was her suffering? While she was weak and 
 nervous, with frequent pains in her head, it was not all 
 physical. Her heart 
 
 What ! Yes. It was of no use. She had a heart 
 like the rest of humanity ; a common every-day heart ; 
 and it ached, ached, ached. It was hungry, starving. 
 
 She had not seen, had not known. While still active 
 and energetic, anticipating the results to come, she had 
 
 237
 
 238 
 
 turned a deaf ear to its cries, which were but feeble. 
 But now, after two years of illness, lying there or sit- 
 ting listlessly in her great chair such a long, long 
 time she could not close her ears, could not still it. 
 
 Was it really worth while after all ? All these years 
 of effort, and now this disappointment and pain ? Even 
 in the full blaze of her glory there had been haunting 
 shadows. These closed around her now and the light 
 faded, faded, faded. 
 
 She saw again Everett Long's face when she had dis- 
 missed him, his grave earnest eyes which looked so 
 longingly into her own. 
 
 What a fool she had been ! She had thrown away 
 the love offered her, for what ? He had steadily risen 
 in spite of her prophecy, and she Oh ! if she could 
 only take it all back ! He was a kingly man yes, a 
 king ! 
 
 She put her hands over her face and rocked to and 
 fro, only to throw her head back again and laugh bit- 
 terly. She was safe. She was alone. Not for the 
 world and all it contained would she betray this feel- 
 ing to others. But she ! Miriam Hartwell ! to really 
 be miserable because she could no longer be sufficient 
 unto herself ! Because she loved and in vain ! 
 
 But was it really in vain ? Was it even yet too late 
 to win him back ? Could she, a mature woman old 
 woman in comparison with the bloom and freshness of 
 youth compel herself to try to do this ? How she had 
 scorned " woman's wiles " ! How she had scorned the 
 woman weak and foolish enough to use them ! How 
 young girls secure in the charm of their youth would 
 laugh at her now if they knew !
 
 Bah ! What was their love to hers ? How could 
 they, young, vain, ignorant, and inexperienced, love a 
 man ! They were attracted by their kind. The man 
 she loved he was a man and far above them. Year 
 after year, unknown, this love had been growing in 
 her heart, till now, too strong to remain unrecognized, 
 it leaped up and confronted her, demanding its rights. 
 Like some other things, it was the more intense for 
 coming late in life. 
 
 Love ! What did girls know of love ? Yes, she 
 would, she could do anything to win him back. 
 
 A gentle tap on the door and Sarah looked cautiously 
 in. 
 
 " Oh, Miriam dear ! are you up ? Shall I bring you 
 a cup of chocolate ? And may I not open the shutters 
 a little more and let some of this glorious sunshine 
 into the room ? " 
 
 She moved forward as she spoke, dropping a gentle 
 kiss on her sister's forehead on her way to the window. 
 Miriam turned her head impatiently to one side. 
 
 Sarah took no notice of her sister's rejection of her 
 caress, but moved to the window and opened the shut- 
 ters. As she turned again and took a step forward she 
 halted suddenly. 
 
 Miriam was sitting half crouched in her chair, bend- 
 ing forward with her hands on the arms and one foot 
 advanced as if she were about to spring upon her, such 
 a look of concentrated rage and hate in her face that 
 she had nearly lost resemblance to a human being. 
 Involuntarily Sarah recoiled, wonder-struck at her sis- 
 ter's appearance. 
 
 " I hate you ! I hate you ! " she hissed, and her eyes
 
 240 
 
 fastened on Sarah's face were like those of a wild beast. 
 ' You have stolen my place ! You have taken what be- 
 longs to me ! Your sweet looks and words are lies lies 
 all of them. You are a trickster and a deceiver ! You 
 are a conspirator ! You conspired to rob me of my hard- 
 earned fame and get it for yourself. You never lost 
 my manuscript. If you had lost it, it would have been 
 found. You stole it and " 
 
 Sarah had stood motionless, so appalled by Miriam's 
 first words she could not stir. But at 'this charge the 
 indignant blood leaped to her face, and her whole form 
 quivered. 
 
 " Stop ! " she exclaimed. " How dare you " 
 
 Even as she uttered the words a change passed over 
 her. The red flush faded, the quivering ceased. A 
 struggle was perceptible in her face. A moment's si- 
 lence, and again she raised her eyes and looked calmly 
 at her sister, while her hands, which had momentarily 
 clenched, hung passive at her side. 
 
 " You know that what you say is untrue," she said 
 quietly, " and you do not really mean it. Your long 
 illness has given you a distorted view of many things. 
 We will both forget this. You need your chocolate 
 now. I will go and get it." 
 
 Miriam sank back in her chair as her sister left the 
 room, white and nerveless, the sudden energy which 
 had flared up in her gone. Her head fell forward on 
 her breast and a moan broke from her lips. But she 
 tried to draw herself up and wear a haughty look when 
 she heard Sarah's returning footsteps. 
 
 All trace of her previous feeling had disappeared 
 when Sarah entered the room, her own well-poised,
 
 241 
 
 steady, reliant self. She placed the chocolate by her 
 sister's side and unobtrusively performed every office 
 her loving nature suggested as helpful and comfort- 
 ing. 
 
 Miriam suffered her attentions, seeming not to notice 
 them. Through the long afternoon she pondered, tak- 
 ing no notice of the new books and magazines Sarah 
 placed ready to her hand. She did not go to bed im- 
 mediately after her early tea, as had for some time been 
 her custom. She still pondered. 
 
 In the evening the door-bell rang. Usually she did 
 not notice it, but she caught the sound of a voice that 
 made her heart leap, asking for Miss Sarah Hartwell. 
 
 He had not asked for her. Why no, of course not ! 
 He knew she was ill. 
 
 She heard her sister going down-stairs. She strained 
 her ears to hear what they were saying, but she could 
 not hear. She started up. She would not be ill. She 
 would not stay there in her room weak and helpless, 
 and he in the house. 
 
 Her knees trembled under her as she moved about 
 preparing to go down-stairs. She dressed slowly and 
 carefully. She looked in the mirror anxiously. She 
 was haggard, old. If she only had some rouge ! But 
 there was none. She had always scorned such follies. 
 
 She went toward the door, stepped into the hall, 
 hesitated, then turned back. She was trembling more 
 than when she began to dress. Could she go down ? 
 She heard the deep tones of his voice. Yes, she would 
 go down. 
 
 She descended slowly and carefully, holding to the 
 balustrade. As she appeared at the door Everett Long
 
 242 
 
 rose to his feet. Sarah, turning to see why, saw her sis- 
 ter, and came toward her surprised. 
 
 " Why, Miriam dear ! I am so glad you feel able to 
 come down. Why did you not tell me and I would 
 have come to help you ? " 
 
 Everett greeted her cordially as she sank into the 
 easy-chair he drew forward. He was unfeignedly glad 
 to see her, to find her able to leave her room. But al- 
 though he knew she had been ill for a long time now, 
 during which he had seen her but infrequently, he was 
 surprised to see the change in her. The flush that had 
 been on her cheeks from her exertion, when she first 
 entered the room, faded, leaving a weary look in its 
 place. Her eyes had lost their brilliancy, but he liked 
 them even better so. They were no longer cold ; there 
 seemed more feeling in them. 
 
 " I was asking Miss Sarah," he said after the greet- 
 ings incidental to her appearance were exchanged, " for 
 the latest news of Mrs. Hemmingway. I am grieved to 
 hear that there is no prospect of her recovery." 
 
 Miriam looked at her sister inquiringly. 
 
 "No. Her physician says she will live but a few 
 days longer," replied Sarah. " Since her sudden attack 
 shortly after their return to Benton some time ago she 
 has steadily declined." 
 
 " A case of quick consumption, her husband told me 
 when I met him a short time ago," said Everett, " for 
 which the resources of medical science are as yet in- 
 sufficient," he added musingly. 
 
 " It is a case of broken heart," said Miriam, " if we 
 may believe all we hear." 
 
 " Broken heart ! " exclaimed Everett, looking up 
 quickly. He had heard nothing.
 
 243 
 
 Sarah remained silent. 
 
 "Yes," continued Miriam. "While one ordinarily 
 would pay little attention to servants' gossip, Walter 
 Hemmingway's character is so well known it is more 
 generally credited than otherwise it would have been. 
 One of their neighbors told me all about it. It seems 
 a strange man brought a package which he would de- 
 liver onl} r into her own hand, the day she was taken ill. 
 And afterward the maid heard her rave about some 
 letters her husband had written to some woman and 
 that he had broken her heart." 
 
 " Poor child ! " said Everett feelingly. He remem- 
 bered the day of the wedding, when he had picked up 
 the bride's flower, crushed and broken. 
 
 His eyes and Sarah's met. There was in them the 
 quick flash of recognition when two have the same 
 thought. Both were thinking how much harder it is 
 to live with, than to die from sorrow, live till it is con- 
 quered and the soul is enriched and ennobled by the 
 suffering. 
 
 Miriam sa\v the look, saw that they understood eaeh 
 other without the need of words; saw an expression in 
 his eyes as he looked at her sister which first choked 
 her with fear and then filled her with renewed rage. 
 
 He had never looked at her like that ! Never ! 
 Never! It was what she wanted, craved, panted 
 was starving for. Unwittingly she groaned, and her 
 head fell back against her chair. Sarah was at her 
 side in an instant, stooping over her, only to recoil 
 slightly as her sister for an instant looked up in her 
 face. 
 
 With a strong effort Miriam controlled herself. 
 
 " Yes, it is a pity," she said. " But she knew what
 
 244 
 
 he was when she married him. She was warned. Such 
 a man is not easily made over." 
 
 " But do we any of us heed our warnings when they 
 jar with our inclinations ? " said Everett. " She loved 
 him she thought she loved him devotedly, and that 
 he loved her equally. She could see no impossible 
 even if she could see danger, which was doubtful." 
 
 He could conceive a love that could save, but only 
 by inciting in the loved one the impulse to save him- 
 self. It was savior only as inspirer. His eyes again 
 sought Sarah's. How naturally they turned to her 
 when the highest ideals, the noblest and loftiest 
 thoughts were in his mind ! Again the flash of rec- 
 ognition. His thought was her own. 
 
 How Miriam dragged through the evening she hardly 
 knew. She remained till Everett Long took his leave, 
 which was early. It fed his soul even to be in the room 
 with Sarah. He was content with little. He was still 
 the worshiper from afar. Within him was no noise, 
 no strife ; only a great stillness and peace. 
 
 But when Miriam laid her head on her pillow bitter 
 tears wetted it, scalding tears that welled up from her 
 sore and aching heart. She was no longer the conqueror 
 leading women to victory, but one of the suffering rank 
 and file. In vain she reviewed her brilliant achieve- 
 ments, striving to still her pain with the memory of 
 the admiration she had won which she could still win 
 if she chose. 
 
 Ah, but she had had enough of admiration ! She 
 wanted love, love, love. She would have it ! 
 
 She sprang up in bed with hand clenched and eyes 
 dry and burning. Nothing should successfully oppose
 
 245 
 
 her. Nothing ! That soft-spoken sister of hers ! How 
 did she dare 
 
 Her head was buried in the pillow again, strangling 
 the sobs that half suffocated her. 
 
 Morning found her early astir. She had formed a 
 resolution. She had had no sleep. It was not the first 
 night she had lain till daylight with wide-open eyes. 
 Insomnia was slowly but surely threatening her with 
 its terrors. 
 
 In the long weary time since she had mingled with 
 the world, the time in which her sister, profiting by her 
 misfortune, had built up a name and reputation for 
 herself, she had thought much of Paul Masters and 
 become convinced that he was possessed of some mys- 
 terious power. 
 
 She remembered how she had been impressed by his 
 calm confidence in all their intellectual discussions, how 
 he had appeared as possessing a knowledge beyond 
 her ken, a possibility which irritated her even while 
 she refused to admit it as such. 
 
 She had heard it said that he knew things before 
 they were going to happen and had laughed at the 
 idea. It teas funny that after being away for a long 
 time, nobody knew where, he should have appeared 
 the very night her sister went to take her place and 
 incited her to do what she did after losing the manu- 
 script if she did lose it. She knew all about it, for 
 some of the ladies who had been in the reception-room 
 had told her. 
 
 She wanted to know she could not wait, could not 
 bear it. She had heard of people going to fortune- 
 tellers to hear the future. That was folly, a remnant
 
 246 
 
 of superstition. She might be weak to look to any 
 one, but, thank Heaven ! she was without superstition. 
 Paul Masters was an educated, cultivated man, and 
 every one who knew him knew he was always ready 
 to give all the help in his power when help was needed. 
 She was going to see him. She had learned his address 
 from Everett Long the night before. What friends 
 those two men were ! 
 
 Later in the morning Paul was surprised by a visi- 
 tor, a lady who came in a cab and sent in her card. 
 "Miss Hartwell," he read in surprise. 
 
 He greeted her most cordially as she came in and 
 dropped exhausted in a chair. Before she had spoken 
 a word a shadow passed over his face, passed, and left 
 its accustomed serenity, and also an expression of pity. 
 
 "I have come I want to see you. We are alone?" 
 she said inquiringly. 
 
 He noted the trembling of her hands, the alternate 
 flushing and paling of her face, the uncertain look in 
 her eye, which sought his only to look away, here, there, 
 anywhere, and then seek his again. 
 
 He assured her they would be uninterrupted and 
 waited quietly for her to make known her errand, 
 while his expression of pity deepened. 
 
 "You know," she continued, "that I have been ill 
 some time. I do not recover as I should. Nothing 
 seems to help me. The physicians do not, and I am 
 tired of them. I have heard you say that we can help 
 ourselves both to secure and retain health. Tell me 
 how, will you ? " 
 
 " By living aright," he said gently after a moment's 
 hesitation.
 
 247 
 
 She made a gesture of impatience. 
 
 " Every one knows that. But how do we live aright ? 
 That is the question. One can study his eating, drink- 
 ing, clothing, sleeping, and then fall ill through igno- 
 rance of something else. How to live aright is the 
 thing of which we are all most ignorant, it seems to 
 me." 
 
 "It is summed up in three words/' replied Paul. 
 " Govern your thinking." 
 
 " Govern your thinking !" she repeated incredulously. 
 " What do you mean ? What has my thinking to do 
 with it?" 
 
 " Not that which goeth into the mouth defileth the 
 man, but that which cometh out of the mouth. For 
 onl of the heart proceed evil thoughts. These are the 
 things which defile a man," said Paul, looking her 
 steadily in the eye. 
 
 " Don't quote Bible to me," she cried, starting up im- 
 petuously. "I have no use for it. Health of body is 
 purely a physical thing. I am sick of cant and relig- 
 ious twaddle." 
 
 " Health of body is inseparable from health of mind," 
 In- replied, ignoring the rest. " Can you have a raging 
 fever in mind, fear, confusion, uncertainty, falsehood 
 and hatred, jealousy and deception, and then be strong 
 of body, calm of nerve, perfect in digestion, thorough 
 and regular in all organic functions? Mind and body 
 are a unity. Whatever the quality of the controlling 
 force within, body will manifest it without. There must 
 and will be a likeness between the two. Thoughts 
 poison and disintegrate or regenerate and upbuild. 
 You cannot think hate and live love."
 
 248 
 
 She looked at him with a mingled expression of ridi- 
 cule and fear. Well she knew the thoughts that rankled 
 within her! But how could he know? And it was 
 too ridiculous to be thought of, anyway. She was only 
 temporizing. She did not like to approach the real 
 object of her visit too suddenly. 
 
 " You hold views which to me are peculiar, I know," 
 and she turned her head wearily as it lay against the 
 back of her chair. "I do not say they are without 
 foundation. Many things do not seem to me as they 
 used, not so stable and secure. Do you think I shall 
 recover very soon ? " and turning quickly she looked at 
 him keenly. 
 
 " I think you can. I do not know if you will," he 
 answered gravely. 
 
 She laughed, the better to hide what she was really 
 seeking. 
 
 " Why, Mr. Masters ! I am surprised ! Don't you 
 know you have quite a reputation for being able to 
 read the future ? I expected to hear a positive yes or 
 no. " 
 
 Paul knew she had come to see him with some spe- 
 cial object of her own in view which she did not wish to 
 betray. Merely his knowledge of the past and her na- 
 ture was enough for that conclusion. 
 
 " Come, tell me," she went on lightly. " Shall I get 
 the desire of my heart ? " 
 
 He did not laugh. His gravity deepened. "You 
 will get what we all get, Miss Hartwell the harvest 
 from the seed we have sown. We can all know the 
 future, for it is sure to be what our use of the present 
 makes it,"
 
 249 
 
 " Oh, platitudes ! platitudes ! " she exclaimed wearily 
 as he ceased. " I have heard that ever since I was 
 born. You do know more than most people do," turn- 
 ing toward him impetuously, her eagerness for satis- 
 faction breaking down her caution and habitual re- 
 serve. " I am sure of it. I want something so much, 
 so much I cannot eat or sleep. I cannot rest with this 
 ceaseless gnawing here," and she pressed her hand to 
 her heart while a wild look came into her eyes. " I 
 want to know I must know shall I get it ? Tell me, 
 shall I get it?" 
 
 It was not a request, it was a demand. Paul looked 
 at her compassionately. 
 
 " You have accomplished have conquered so much 
 for yourself, Miss Hart well, surely you " 
 
 " But this is not like that," she interrupted him. " I 
 would give it all, fame, power, position, for just this 
 one thing I want, just one just one." And as she 
 covered her face with her hands he saw the tears trickle 
 through her fingers. 
 
 It required no necromancy to divine the one thing 
 she wanted. He knew what her life had been and he 
 know the human heart. Nature's revenge ? The soul's 
 balancing of accounts with itself. 
 
 Sore indeed must have been the strait which could 
 bring this proud woman to such an exposure of her 
 weakness. Without divination, with only the ordinary 
 review of what he knew, of her connection with Ever- 
 ett, of the change, the development in him, he knew 
 she would not get her desire. His heart ached for her, 
 for the suffering which was inevitable, which he would 
 gladly have lifted from her. Biit he knew, too, there
 
 250 
 
 was no such thing as vicarious atonement possible on 
 earth or accepted in heaven. 
 
 " If you wish me to tell you honestly what I think, 
 Miss Hartwell," and his voice was full of feeling, " and 
 I am not mistaken in my supposition of what you de- 
 sire, I must say I think you will not get it." 
 
 Her hands dropped wearily in her lap and she sat 
 looking hopelessly in his face. A moment and she 
 began to laugh hysterically. 
 
 " Why ! really ! How serious we are ! One would 
 think ha ! ha ! ha ! " 
 
 He took her hands firmly in his own. 
 
 " Wait a moment. Look at me ! At once ! Look 
 in my eyes ! " 
 
 His authoritative tone arrested her and she did as 
 he bade her. In a moment or two she grew quiet and 
 Paul released her hands. 
 
 " You have great opportunities, Miss Hartwell," he 
 said, "such as fall to few. Turn your magnificent 
 talents in the right direction and every really good 
 thing will, at some time, come to you. Learn to see 
 the continuity of life and you will see that what you 
 lose now will but fall in fourfold blessings on the path- 
 way of your fellow-men ; while all you with a chastened 
 heart and purified soul truly desire will surely in the 
 great forever be yours." 
 
 She smiled wanly. 
 
 " Thank you. You have been very kind to me," she 
 said. " I think I will go home now," rising to her feet 
 and steadying herself with a hand on the back of the 
 chair. Speaking a moment of indifferent things as if 
 she had dismissed the subject from her own mind, she 
 went away.
 
 251 
 
 Alone in the cab again she clenched her hands till 
 the blood nearly started from the pressure of her nails. 
 
 "How could I betray myself in this manner! " she 
 muttered. "How could I do it? If he should ever 
 speak of it " 
 
 She went to bed as soon as she reached home. She 
 was very weak and violent by turns. She would not 
 have Sarali in her room, and to all her father's entreat- 
 ies begged only to be let alone. 
 
 The news went abroad that the nervous prostration 
 from which Miss Hartwell had suffered so long had 
 greatly increased in severity.
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 WALTER HEMMINGWAY had seen his wife slowly fad- 
 ing before his eyes since the day he found her uncon- 
 scious after receiving the letters he had burned. She 
 had been delirious for a time and had raved about 
 them, of his unfaithfulness, of her broken heart 
 "broken, broken, broken," she would say, her voice 
 sinking lower and lower till it died away in a faint 
 whisper. 
 
 The physician had regarded him suspiciously from 
 the first, and the nurse whom he had been obliged to 
 procure to attend his wife gave him the shortest pos- 
 sible answers to his questions and seemed to avoid 
 speaking to him at all if she could. 
 
 Life had not been altogether pleasant for him since, 
 and at times he suffered severely from the twinges of 
 a spasmodic conscience. At others he wondered why 
 he should be punished so severely for what was com- 
 mon enough with men, and cursed his luck at being 
 found out. 
 
 He had been relating his woes to some of his asso- 
 ciates in a downtown bar-room when "that conceited 
 prig," Everett Long, had passed him, evidently search- 
 ing for some one, and had stopped short, looking him 
 in the eye with an expression which had silenced his 
 tongue. Everett had said nothing if he had he would 
 
 252
 
 253 
 
 have knocked him down but had passed on to a young 
 man drinking at the bar, who had gone away with him 
 shortly after. 
 
 He felt like cursing every time he remembered that 
 look. What business was it of his, what he had or 
 had not done ? Everett Long had always owed him a 
 grudge for taking Emma away from him, and he prob- 
 ably felt sore yet even if he had turned saint. 
 
 She was a nice little thing ! But why she needed to 
 take that affair so much to heart he could not under- 
 stand. The physician had told him she would live but 
 a few days at the longest. It seemed as if when a man 
 was married his troubles were multiplied. It was too 
 bad. She had been very fond of him. 
 
 Sitting alone down-stairs listening to the footsteps 
 over his head in his wife's room, he ruminated. He 
 did not know what he should do when it was all over. 
 He would go up-stairs now for a while if Sarah Hart- 
 well were not there. He thought he knew women 
 pretty well, but she was the one woman he could not 
 face. He felt uncomfortable if he were in the room 
 with her, and when she looked at him with those won- 
 derful eyes of hers he wanted to get into some corner, 
 anywhere, out of sight. There would be precious little 
 fun in the world if all women were like her. Thank 
 Heaven ! they were not ! 
 
 There was one he knew ah ! but she was a beauty 
 though ! 
 
 When in New York some weeks previous he had 
 gone to see Mrs. Cunningham. Emma felt so badly 
 he thought he would see what he could do about buy- 
 ing the house for her. It would cheer her up and help
 
 254 
 
 set things right again. She had received him very 
 graciously, and before he knew it he had been there 
 over two hours and missed a business appointment. 
 
 What a glorious creature she was ! What a look she 
 gave him when he took leave and she invited him to 
 call and confer with her again about the house ! She 
 was sure they could make some arrangement, as she did 
 not care to keep it. He would, too. What a curious 
 scar she had on the back of one of her hands ! 
 
 He heard the nurse coming rapidly down-stairs. 
 
 " You had better come to your wife now, Mr. Hem- 
 mingway," she said ; " I think she is going fast." 
 
 He went slowly up-stairs. Emma was propped up on 
 pillows and seemed to breathe with difficulty. Sarah 
 stepped back as he moved to her bedside. 
 
 His wife stretched her hand feebly toward him. He 
 took it in his own with a shudder. How cold it was ! 
 What an awful pallor on her face ! Such a thin, pinched 
 face ! She tried to speak, and he had to bend over her 
 to hear what she said. Was she really so near gone ? 
 " Love me when I'm " came in broken whispers. 
 
 He fell on his knees beside the bed and buried his 
 face. He could not look at hers. He began to weep. 
 He wished she would not leave him. But the hand he 
 held grew colder and colder, the breath fainter and 
 fainter. 
 
 Finally how long he had knelt there ! came a cu- 
 rious noise in her throat and he heard her breath no 
 longer. He raised his head to look at her and recoiled. 
 She was looking directly at him ! Such a terrible look ! 
 No. The eyes were staring into his, but she had gone. 
 
 He began to sob and call to her to come back and
 
 255 
 
 not leave him alone, but the nurse stepped forward and 
 closed her eyes, saying more gently than she had ever 
 spoken to him before, " You had better leave the poor 
 little thing to us now, Mr. Hemmingway." 
 
 He went down-stairs again and threw himself on a 
 couch still weeping. What should he do now ? How 
 he should miss her ! Poor little Emma ! She was al- 
 ways fragile. It had been a terrible strain on his 
 nerves, her long illness. It was pretty hard for a man 
 to see his wife fade away day by day before his eyes. 
 
 Two days later they stood about her open grave. 
 Her husband was inconsolable. As the first shovelful 
 of earth fell upon the coffin, he threw himself down be- 
 side it and refused to leave it so that the undertaker's 
 assistants could finish their work. Some of those 
 standing by were greatly affected by his distress and 
 endeavored to comfort him. But one woman, a near 
 neighbor, who knew all the affairs of every one in the 
 neighborhood, said loud enough for them to hear : 
 
 "Pity he hadn't had some of this feeling a little 
 sooner ! Every one knows that she died of a broken 
 hcai'l." 
 
 Paul, Sarah, and Everett stood by and heard the re- 
 mark. They looked at one another. They knew she 
 had died of self-deception.
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 IN less than a year afterward Walter Hemmingway 
 and his new wife, the beautiful widow, Mrs. Cunning- 
 ham, departed for a prolonged season of travel in Eu- 
 rope. Great was the sensation in Benton when the 
 news arrived, and every scrap of information was seized 
 upon with avidity. 
 
 Some of the men said, " Well, he has struck luck ! 
 She is as rich as Croesus." 
 
 Some of the women said, " He'll get paid yet for his 
 treatment of his first wife ! See if he don't ! n 
 
 As time passed on rumor after rumor penetrated to 
 Benton. He was living royally and flinging money 
 right and left. He was drinking to excess in spite of 
 his wife's efforts to restrain him. But she evidently 
 did not dare to deprive him of money. He seemed to 
 have some hold over her, and though she often refused 
 she always yielded finally when he looked significantly 
 at the curious scar on the back of one of her hands. 
 
 It was said she seemed to almost hate him and at the 
 same time to be very much afraid of him. More than 
 once when she could not get money quickly enough he 
 had taken her jewels and sold them and made her al- 
 most frantic. People guessed there was little love lost 
 between them and that he would drink himself to death 
 before long, but not before he had impoverished her, 
 at the rate he was going on. 
 
 256
 
 2ST 
 
 Dr. Hartwell had passed to that land whose echo of 
 retreating footsteps is caught on this side only by those 
 who have learned how to listen. It was said that, al- 
 though he had been an invalid for years, his end was 
 hastened by his grief over the sad fate of his brilliant 
 daughter Miriam. 
 
 She was hopelessly insane. She was not usually 
 violent and was kept at home in her father's old room. 
 Sarah was her devoted attendant, although there were 
 times when she could not enter her sister's room. Mir- 
 iam would become excited and rave over what she had 
 stolen from her ! 
 
 Most of the time she sat quietly in a dark corner of 
 the room, the picture of abject misery. Deep lines 
 were graven in her face, her eyes that once were so 
 bright and daring were faded and blurred with contin- 
 ual weeping, her hair was thin and gray and dry, her 
 tall commanding form feeble and bent. 
 
 She would sit for hours moving her head from side 
 to side, tears streaming down her face, her hands lying 
 loose and lifeless in her lap. Or she would throw her 
 arms around herself as if hugging something to her 
 bosom and rocking to and fro would mutter, " Too late ! 
 Too late ! Too late ! " with a monotony that never 
 varied. The best medical advice had been procured for 
 her, but nothing availed. 
 
 "Melancholia," the physicians said "an incurable 
 case." 
 
 Paul Masters was the only one who seemed to do her 
 any good. The only spark of interest in anything or any 
 one she ever showed was when he came to see her ; and 
 she was always better for days after one of his visits.
 
 258 
 
 Sarah Hartwell had become well known as a speaker 
 and worker for all that tended to help women, to help 
 progress through women. She had frequently been 
 urged to enter and become a minister in the Unitarian 
 Church as the only one liberal enough in its tenets 
 to afford her sufficient scope; and the advantages of 
 connection with some recognized organization had been 
 pressed upon her. 
 
 But she had gone quietly on as a " minister at large," 
 as she laughingly called herself, feeling it imperative 
 that, if she should do the best of which she was capable, 
 she must be free even in appearance from all sectarian 
 bias. 
 
 Though she half laughed, it was with the deepest 
 reverence that she tried to fill her office as " minister at 
 large," for a minister to her was literally one who min- 
 isters, and in any and all ways where the human heart 
 hungers and suffers. 
 
 Helping to lif t it to where it could see and lay hold 
 with its own hands on the eternal exhaustless supply 
 for every human need, and which is always the same 
 whatever the name by which it is called, was the work 
 she reverently gave herself to do, desiring only that 
 through her it might be said, " The people which sat in 
 darkness saw great light."
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 SEVEN years had passed where ? since that conver- 
 sation with Paul after the wedding which had been the 
 turning-point in Everett's life. 
 
 What hopes and fears, what struggles and sufferings, 
 what compensation and peace had coine to him ! He 
 had proved that the way out is the way up, and that 
 wandering in the wilderness for a season is inevitable. 
 Looking forward it had been dark. Looking backward 
 the whole way was illumined. 
 
 Seated with Paul under one of the trees by the river 
 path, he had been reviewing the circumstances of those 
 seven years. Retrospection was something he seldom 
 allowed himself. The " might have been " was touch- 
 ing poetry, but bad doctrine as a stimulus to right liv- 
 ing. "Forward" must be his constant impulse and 
 endeavor, having no use for the past but to apply in 
 the present the knowledge gained from its experiences. 
 
 " You knew me then, Paul, better than I knew my- 
 self," he said. 
 
 Paul had changed but little. The same glorious face 
 and head, the same wonderful eyes lit with that soul 
 flame which, once lighted, never dies out but burns per- 
 petually on that altar within, which has always one 
 adoring worshiper. 
 
 " I saw your possibilities long before," he said, " but 
 259
 
 260 
 
 knew I must wait till the time was ripe. It is quite as 
 important to know when as what to speak. Uncon- 
 sciously you had received your impetus in the upward 
 direction. ' Every man in his own order/ you know. 
 Not in mine or another's." 
 
 Everett looked at him with an affection passing the 
 love of women ? Passing the love of some women, for 
 it was incapable of misjudgment. The bond between 
 them was soul quality. They knew each other. 
 
 " Could I have seen the experiences before me, I 
 doubt if I should have had the courage to make the 
 effort to live to my best," Everett continued. " It is 
 better that we cannot read the future till we are able 
 to live it also." 
 
 " You would have given up in despair," assented 
 Paul. " But you have had to meet only one thing at a 
 time as it came, and it did not come till you were able 
 to meet it. This will always be the experience of him 
 who proves his nature through his own life instead of 
 demanding the evidence from others. What we are, 
 we find out through what we can accomplish. There 
 is no break between the human and the divine. They 
 blend together." 
 
 " Do you think those incidents of which I have told 
 you, those moments of conscious existence beyond the 
 limitations of body, will become common and normal 
 to those who are making right effort ? " asked Everett. 
 
 " Surely," said Paul, " because they are in themselves 
 natural, not unnatural. They may be uncommon be- 
 cause of the darkness and bondage of the sense-nature. 
 But as the soul awakens and struggles to escape, its 
 own efforts bring it in touch with inner and higher
 
 261 
 
 planes of being where every sense is enlarged and 
 quickened through the wider scope afforded it for ex- 
 ercise. Time and space are but the fixedness of the 
 sense-nature. The soul eludes and defies them, even 
 while using the flesh. Existence is a chain, link within 
 link, ending only with that which is eternal I AM." 
 
 " I wonder I marvel now, that one can ask doubt- 
 ingly, ' Is there a soul f ' " said Everett musingly after 
 they had been silent for a time. One of the results of 
 their friendship was to be able to keep silence and still 
 commune with each other. "And yet I used to ask 
 the question more than doubtingly, with almost positive 
 conviction there was none." 
 
 " There is none for many. It is absolutely non-ex- 
 istent for those who are spiritually dead, though always 
 latent and waiting its development. They speak truly 
 who say they have no evidence. Cultivated intellectu- 
 ality without accompanying impulse toward the spirit- 
 ual but multiplies the evidence against the existence of 
 a soul." 
 
 Everett's thoughts reverted to Miriam. 
 
 "Do you think Miss Hartwell will recover?" he 
 asked. 
 
 Paul did not answer for a moment. 
 
 " I think, generally speaking," he said finally, " such 
 cases as hers are by no means hopeless, whatever they 
 may be from the medical point of view, but that there 
 are certain contingencies individual to her own which 
 will prevent otherwise possible recovery. I think her 
 continued and determined suppression of her spiritual 
 impulses has resulted in the almost complete separation 
 of the soul of the higher from the lesser portions of
 
 262 
 
 the personality, while still wearing the flesh. Denied 
 expression it is seeking and finding its own world, 
 while what is left still functions in the visible one. 
 With all her brilliancy and power she has been for 
 years but half alive. The animation yet imparted to 
 that corpse sitting in the darkened room, through the 
 slender thread which still holds it to that which has 
 gone, is being slowly withdrawn ; and it will go back 
 to the dust from whence it came. Resurrection and 
 ascension are from the dead, not of the dead." 
 
 Everett felt a momentary sadness, momentary be- 
 cause followed by the sound of the mighty, majestic 
 rhythm out of discord, order ; out of order, harmony ; 
 out of harmony, victory. The " survival of the fittest" 
 was no hypothesis, no merely physical fact, but a 
 spiritual truth as well. 
 
 Paul turned to him with a smile of benignant sweet- 
 ness. 
 
 " The pains of crucifixion for you, my friend, were 
 severe, but one stage of it is past and the resurrection 
 of that stage has come. You have been new-born are 
 a new man. Look back, and then at what is opening 
 before you now. Would you have been spared the 
 labor and travail of the birth, if you could ? " 
 
 "No." * 
 
 There was no ecstatic willingness for martyrdom in 
 Everett's reply, only the calm intelligent assent to a 
 seen and felt, therefore doubly proved truth. 
 
 "Do you remember what I told you then," Paul 
 continued "that you needed a strong woman and 
 when you were worthy of her you would have her ? " 
 
 Everett turned eagerly toward him. 
 
 " Do you think " he began, but Paul went on.
 
 " You did not know then, you could not recognize a 
 strong woman. You had first to struggle and attain. 
 Emma Haines was the woman of your first feeble 
 stirrings through the contrast she offered to your life 
 and associates. Miriam Hartwell was the woman of 
 your awakened and developing intellectual nature. 
 Helen Cunningham was the woman of strife the com- 
 bat between your allied ethical and sensuous (not sen- 
 sual) natures, which your invigorated intellect quick- 
 ened, and your spiritualized soul. The strong woman 
 is she who can renounce and stand firm ; not she who 
 refuses to feel, but who, instead, feels the instincts, the 
 impulses of every part of our composite nature ; feels, 
 and rules through her perception, her constantly grow- 
 ing realization of the nothingness of the material as 
 compared to the allness of the spiritual. She is likely 
 to live her mortal life alone, for she can mate only with 
 her kind. Seldom will she find the strong man who is 
 her complement. She sinks the office of wife for one 
 in that of mother for many, of priestess for the race. 
 Inspired herself, she inspires." 
 
 There was a reverence, an exaltation in Paul's voice 
 and manner which made Everett observe him with awe. 
 A hope he had cherished since the time Sarah Hartwell 
 had burst upon him as " the woman clothed with the 
 sun," but which he had hardly dared to cherish so far 
 above him did she seem, stirred with new life when 
 Paul referred to what he had previously said. But it 
 died again as he went on. With all his soul he rever- 
 enced her. How could he approach her ? 
 
 Paul leaned forward and placed his hand on his 
 shoulder. 
 
 " It is only the new-born, the resurrected man who
 
 264 
 
 knows what love is," he said. " To renounce and stand 
 firm is to receive the baptism where the heavens open 
 and reveal its birthplace. It is not indigenous to the 
 senses. The time has come when you are worthy." 
 
 Everett sprang to his feet with the sudden joy that 
 flooded his whole being. 
 
 " Dare I ask ? Dare I speak ? " he said in a hushed, 
 tremulous tone. 
 
 " Speak with your soul she has no need of words 
 and look for her in the sunrising," replied Paul. 
 
 Everett turned and walked a few steps. Had the 
 time really come when he might dare? He faced 
 about again and Paul was disappearing down the path. 
 
 He went home, that home which was a sanctuary 
 where he had long worshiped. All night he pondered. 
 He felt unworthiness and yet he knew he had honestly 
 striven to live to his best. Hours passed by and he was 
 not sure. How would she receive him if he dared ? 
 
 In the darkness surrounding him where he sat a faint 
 light began to glow, brighter and brighter, yet soft 
 and warm, weaving itself into a sphere which at last 
 opened, and he saw the woman of the heavenly city 
 her face Sarah's face and she held out to him wel- 
 coming arms. 
 
 He sprang forward ; the glow faded, and he was in 
 darkness again. 
 
 Going to the window he saw the first faint indica- 
 tions of day. With his face toward the east, with his 
 whole soul flowing toward her, he dared. With a love 
 purified in the furnace, he asked that if she found him 
 worthy she would come to him in the river path. 
 
 He watched the daylight growing stronger and
 
 265 
 
 stronger. The perfect stillness of the night began to 
 be broken. He left the house and went to the river 
 path. 
 
 All was quiet save the stir of nature which comes 
 with the dawn. He stood motionless under a great 
 tree and waited. Just as the sun burst above the hori- 
 zon he saw her coming toward him, clothed in its radi- 
 ance. Its first rays illumined her face, her hair, filling 
 her garments with a golden light. 
 
 He stretched his arms toward her. 
 
 Without a word she came and laid her hands in his. 
 
 When the first sun-rays penetrated Paul Masters' 
 room they found him awake, his bed untouched. He 
 was looking out over the tree-tops far, far out beyond 
 the range of physical sight. As the rays shot athwart 
 the wall and touched with a new beauty after their sleep 
 of the night the flowers and shrubs in the garden be- 
 low, a look of pain passed over his face, passed and was 
 gone, leaving it transformed. It was radiant, glorified. 
 
 The messenger is human, the message divine.

 
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