SIDNEY 
 
 BY 
 
 MARGARET DELAND 
 
 AUTHOR OF "JOHN WARD, PREACHER," "FLORIDA DAYS 5 
 AND " THE OLD GARDEN " 
 
 O me ! what profits it to put 
 An idle case? If Death were seen 
 At first as Death, Love had not been, 
 
 Or been in narrowest working shut. 
 
 IN MEMOKIAM 
 
 TENTH THOUSAND 
 
 BOSTON AND NEW YORK 
 HOUGHTON, MTFFLTN AND COMPANY 
 
 1892 
 

 Copyright, 1890, 
 BY IIOUGHTON, MIFFLIN & CO. 
 
 All rights reserved. 
 
 The Riverside Press, Cambridge, Mass., U. 8. A. 
 Electrotype^ and Printed by H. O. Houghton & Company. 
 
To 
 
 LORIN DELAND 
 
 THE STORY HE HAS HELPED ME TELL 
 
 IS 
 DEDICATED. 
 
 May 2glk, i8go. 
 
SIDNEY. 
 
 I. 
 
 " YES," said Mrs. Paul, " they are really the most 
 extraordinary people. Mortimer Lee began to be 
 queer as soon as he was married, and his wife was 
 always a silly sort of woman ; their living in the 
 south on account of her health was one of her ab 
 surd ideas, it was entirely unnecessary. She was 
 born here in Mercer, you know ; that house they live 
 in now was left her by her grandfather. When she 
 died, Mortimer Lee came back to it with Sidney. 
 He made the excuse that he wanted the child to be 
 brought up near her mother s people (though they ve 
 all died out now), but I think that he wanted to get 
 back to Mercer himself. I knew him before he was 
 married. Ah, he was very different in those days. 
 Marriage ruined him. Marriage has more effect 
 upon a man s character than upon a woman s. Just 
 remember that, sir ! " 
 
 Alan Crossan laughed. " And always for the 
 worse ? " he suggested. 
 
 " Some men cannot be worse," said Mrs. Paul 
 significantly ; " but for Major Lee, all these theories 
 of his developed after he met his wife." 
 
 "They were the effect of her death, though, 
 were n t they ? " the doctor asked. 
 
SIDNEY. 
 
 cpui-fee," ^nswtfred his hostess sharply; "but 
 if he had n t had such a wife to die, he would not 
 have been so affected. She was a woman of abso 
 lutely no sense, I tell you, some people called her 
 handsome, though I never could see it ; but that he 
 grieved so wickedly for her shows the result of hav- 
 - ing lived with her for ten years. For really, you 
 know, by nature, Mortimer Lee is no fool ? " 
 
 " Well, no," said the young man, smiling. 
 
 " I did n t see him while she was alive," proceeded 
 Mrs. Paul, "they lived somewhere in Virginia; 
 Sidney must have been about three years old when 
 her mother died, and he came back; let me see, 
 yes, he has been here twenty -two years, cer 
 tainly. Dear me! I did not realize that Sidney 
 was so old. He took her education in hand as soon 
 as she could talk ; and you see the result. She is 
 her father over again." 
 
 " Is she ? " the doctor said. " I remember that she 
 was unlike anybody else when we were children, be 
 fore I went abroad ; but that was fifteen years ago." 
 
 Alan Crossan sighed. There had been many 
 changes in these fifteen years ; scarcely anything re 
 mained as he had known it then. Only the two old 
 houses, Mrs. Paul s and Major Lee s, looked as they 
 had looked when he and his mother had come to say 
 good-by, before they sailed for Germany, where he 
 was to be educated. His mother had died there, 
 leaving him at twenty to drift down into Italy, where 
 the years had wrapped him in a lazy dream, and 
 where he had studied a little, painted a little, and 
 fancied that he had thought a great deal. Indeed, 
 
SIDNEY. 3 
 
 this sunny life might have gone on indefinitely, if 
 the sharp distress of another man had not aroused 
 him to the thought of coming back to America. 
 With that thought came a realization of the useless- 
 ness of his life, and a desire for the new interest of 
 action. To be sure, he had practised his profession 
 in the little Italian town where he had first met 
 Eobert Steele ; but it had never absorbed him, any 
 more than his violin had absorbed him, or his wood- 
 carving, or his painting. He was at heart a dilet 
 tante, he told himself; but this reflection did not 
 disturb him, for he declared that he was no more 
 responsible for his disposition than for the color of 
 his eyes, and he was almost as powerless to change 
 the one as the other. But when he came to observe, 
 curiously, though with sympathy, Robert Steele s 
 pain, he began to be half ashamed of himself be 
 cause he had never suffered, and never very greatly 
 cared about anything. 
 
 " Odd," he thought, " that it is the sight of trouble 
 which makes me want to live more earnestly ; for 
 the deeper you live the more trouble you have. But 
 I suppose trouble is a man s birthright, and instinct 
 makes him seek it. Well, I am going home, and 1 
 am going to do some work in the world before I 
 die." 
 
 Such an impulse was amusing, he said, but that 
 did not change his purpose. " I will go back to 
 America with you," he announced to Mr. Steele. 
 " I shall make a well man of you yet, Bob. I shall 
 be your physician : all rich men have a physician at 
 their elbow, and, thank Heaven, you re a rich man 
 
4 SIDNEY. 
 
 now. Don t groan, it s a good thing. But if it 
 distresses you too much, why, my fees will doubtless 
 be a comfort. Yes, we 11 go back to Mercer. There 
 are half a dozen families there who will have to em 
 ploy me, out of sentiment. That s the advantage 
 of being the son of your father, it creates senti 
 ment. And they all know you, of course. I tell 
 you, old man, you 11 be a coward if you don t go 
 back there and live it down. Come, now, when shall 
 we start?" 
 
 There was a cheerful certainty about this young 
 man s determinations which made people incapable 
 of resisting them. His friends yielded to his wishes 
 with protestations which were not often serious, be 
 cause they were known at the outset to be useless. 
 Robert Steele was too sad and too indifferent to pro 
 test ; and so it came about that they found them 
 selves, that autumn, settled in Mercer, in a house 
 that belonged to Alan, which an obliging tenant had 
 just vacated. The doctor had to admit, however, 
 that sentiment did not move the half-dozen families as 
 it should have done, and patients came very slowly. 
 
 But Mr. Steele, at least, had not been forgotten. 
 The young man who had invested trust money in a 
 certain company of which he was himself a director, 
 and then, seeing that values were about to fall, had 
 refused to sell without proclaiming the future depre 
 ciation of the stock, was toouextraordinary a person 
 to be forgotten. If Robert Steele had embezzled 
 half a million dollars, the community could scarcely 
 have been more startled and horrified than when it 
 learned of his abnormal honesty which had permitted 
 
SIDNEY. 5 
 
 five thousand shares of stock to become worthless in 
 his hands. The money he had invested had been 
 his mother s, and that Mrs. Steele s death was has 
 tened by her bitter and futile anger at her son s 
 wicked quixotism could not be doubted, least of all 
 by her son. The misery of that time left its imprint 
 upon his soul, and it was the sarcasm of fate that at 
 the end of two years the stock which had been 
 thought worthless slowly regained its value. What 
 did he want with money, while his mother s re 
 proaches still rang in his ears ? 
 
 It was at this crisis that Alan had found him in 
 the little sunshiny Italian town, sick in mind and 
 body, and blurring the misery of memory by a cer 
 tain daily prick in the arm. He had begun this use 
 of morphine to make bodily pain endurable, for he 
 had been very ill, and after that the tortured mind 
 demanded it. To the doctor, Robert Steele had at 
 first been merely an interesting case. A man strong 
 enough to perform an act of moral heroism, but 
 weak enough to seek relief in morphine, was an 
 anomaly which suggested defective cerebration to 
 the physician. But after a while, the sweetness of 
 Robert s nature, his noble ideality, appealed to 
 Alan with a demand for respect which grew into 
 reverence. 
 
 " I cannot understand it," he acknowledged 
 frankly to the sick man. " You were a fool about 
 that stock beyond a doubt, but it was a glorious 
 folly ; and you are a coward now, with nothing 
 glorious about it. But here I am, going back to 
 America with you. Well, such capacity for enthu 
 siasm proves that I am still young." 
 
6 SIDNEY. 
 
 This dull November afternoon the doctor had been 
 telling Mrs. Paul of certain noble traits in Kobert 
 Steele, for whom she had nothing but contempt, and 
 he had spoken of Major Lee s kindness to the sick 
 man, to which she replied that that was only because 
 Mortimer Lee was himself unintelligible ; and from 
 that their talk had drifted to those theories which 
 had been developed in the life and education of the 
 major s daughter. 
 
 A chill mist had brought an early dusk into the 
 garden outside, but there was a fire smouldering on 
 the hearth, which made a little halo of brightness 
 about Mrs. Paul. The room was full of shadows, 
 although the Venetian blinds had been drawn up to 
 the very tops of the long windows, so that the gray 
 afternoon light might delay Davids with the lamps 
 as long as possible. That John Paul, sitting close 
 to one of the windows, his big head showing like a 
 silhouette against the pale background of the sky, 
 could not see to read his paper did not trouble his 
 mother at all. Of course he had not protested ; to 
 John Paul s mind there were very few occasions that 
 were worthy of protest. But his mother was aware 
 that he had put his paper down, and was waiting for 
 the lights. Indeed, it would have been hard to 
 name any circumstance in her own house of which 
 Mrs. Paul was not aware. She made no comment 
 upon it, however ; instead, she repeated Alan s 
 words. 
 
 " Fifteen years ago ! " she said, lifting one deli 
 cate hand to shield her face from the fire. " Is it 
 possible that you have been away fifteen years? 
 
SIDNEY. 1 
 
 Shame on you ! You deserve to find yourself for 
 gotten. Indeed, I should have forgotten you ten 
 times over, except that I knew your father so well. 
 Yes, you are right in saying that Sidney was dif 
 ferent from other children ; perhaps it was because 
 she knew so few of them. That was another of Mor 
 timer Lee s beautiful theories, that she should not 
 know girls of her own age. I suppose he was afraid 
 she might acquire some healthy ideas. But he 
 needn t have been. Good sense is not catching. 
 Look at Sally Lee. I ve done my best for her. I 
 suppose I ve seen her nearly every day for twenty 
 years, but she will always be a goose. She can t 
 develop brains in her old age. I call Sally old, in 
 spite of her ringlets. Dear me ! why is it that an 
 unmarried woman does not know how to grow old ? " 
 
 The flicker of the fire showed a glimmering smile 
 in Alan s eyes. He was standing with his elbow on 
 the high mantelpiece, looking down at the keen old 
 face before him. 
 
 " I am very fond of Miss Sally," he said. " She 
 belongs to the salt of the earth." 
 
 Mrs. Paul lifted her hands impatiently. " Good ? " 
 she said, " of course ; but, Lord, how uninteresting 
 goodness can be ! " Her careless glance rested on 
 his face, and lengthened into a steady look. " Alan," 
 she declared, " you are really a very handsome man. 
 You remind me of your father." 
 
 The doctor smiled, and amusement will always 
 save a man from embarrassment ; " I thought I 
 looked like my mother ? " 
 
 " Oh, your mother ? " she said carelessly. " I m 
 
8 SIDNEY. 
 
 sure I don t remember her well enough to say. Yes, 
 you have a beautiful face ; but there is nothing be 
 hind it. It is the face of a dreamer. It would serve 
 Mortimer Lee right if Sidney fell in love with you ; 
 but she sha n t. I suppose you have about two cents 
 to live on ? But, seriously, I hope great things from 
 Robert Steele s being in town." 
 
 " Great things ? " said Alan lightly. " For whom ? 
 Sidney ? " 
 
 " Of course for Sidney," returned the other. 
 " For whom else ? " 
 
 " Well, there s Miss Sally ; and as Sidney is 
 never to marry " 
 
 "Oh, fudge! Sally! Don t talk to me about 
 Sally," interrupted Mrs. Paul. " If the young man 
 has lost his wits, you had better never take him to 
 the major s again, that s all I have to say. And 
 as for Sidney, of course she 11 marry. We all know 
 what paternal plans amount to when a girl falls in 
 love," - she seemed to brush aside an invisible 
 feather. " Beside, she must marry. What is going 
 to support her when her father s gone ? And he 
 can t live forever. He s quite old now ; sixty-five, 
 at least. Yes, Robert Steele s money is just the thing 
 that family needs. I hope you will make him call 
 there often." 
 
 " If you remember Robert Steele," returned the 
 doctor, " you will know that you can t arrange things 
 for him. And if you decide that he is to fall in love 
 with Sidney, it will be the very thing he ll not do." 
 
 " Fudge ! " cried Mrs. Paul again. " My dear 
 Alan, you don t know what you are talking about. 
 
SIDNEY. 9 
 
 He can t help it. Neither could you, if you had 
 anything to support a wife upon." 
 
 " But poor Steele," protested the doctor, " why 
 should you want his heart broken ? If the major is 
 in earnest that Sidney shall not marry, and if she 
 agrees with him " 
 
 " Of course he is in earnest, and of course Sidney 
 agrees with him," Mrs. Paul broke in ; " but a 
 theory cannot change the order of nature, my young 
 friend. Really, I almost lose my patience when I 
 think of it. Of all ridiculous notions ! A girl must 
 not marry, forsooth, because her husband may die, 
 and so she may be unhappy. As though to be a 
 widow with plenty of money were the hardest thing 
 in the world ! " 
 
 " You have not found it so ? " inquired Alan 
 amiably. 
 
 " You are impertinent, young man ! " declared 
 his companion, and then she laughed. " I suppose 
 that is the reason I like you. But these ideas of 
 Mortimer Lee s, I am sure that they grew out of 
 some disappointment after his wife s death. I shall 
 never believe that such a man as he could blast his 
 whole life because of a chit of a girl, though I 
 have no doubt that he was attached to her. He may 
 have loved some one else, for instance, but thought, 
 because he was a widower, a man is really settled 
 when he is a widower, or perhaps But why 
 do I talk to you ? You don t know anything about 
 Mortimer Lee ; I do. I watched him in those days, 
 I can tell you. Johnny s father had just died, and 
 naturally I understood him. Lord ! how little 
 
10 SIDNEY. 
 
 sense men have ! " She drew her eyebrows together, 
 and frowned, absently, at the fire. The room was 
 quite dark now, and under cover of the shadows 
 John Paul yawned. He had risen, and stood like a 
 spot of burly darkness against the fading oblong of 
 the window. He was not interested in the conversa 
 tion about the Lees : perhaps because the topic was 
 far from new ; perhaps because he was wondering 
 how that speech upon the tariff, which he had put 
 down when it grew too dark to read, had ended. 
 With his hands behind him, he stood, while his 
 mother talked, staring out into the forlorn and 
 frosted garden, which lay in shivering nakedness 
 under the cold sky. This garden, inclosed by its 
 brick wall, extended behind the house, as well as in 
 a narrow strip on each side of it. In front, below 
 the drawing-room windows, there were no flower 
 beds ; only a bit of decorous lawn ending in three 
 terraces, and then a hedge along the low stone wall 
 upon the street, which some twenty years ago had 
 been a country road ; but the street had been graded, 
 so that now the old house was high above its level. 
 The dreary outskirts of the bustling little man 
 ufacturing town had pushed closer and closer upon 
 the house ; a mill loomed up in the street below, and 
 now and then a belching flame from a giant chimney 
 sent a flare of light through the fan-shaped window 
 above the white front door, or a fitful gleam across 
 its brass knocker and knob. The hall within was 
 wide and cheerless, although it had plenty of light ; 
 the leaded windows on either side of the door threw 
 two lines of fluctuating brightness across the old 
 
SIDNEY. 11 
 
 Turkey carpet ; and opposite the drawing-room door 
 for the house was not double there was a wide, 
 low window, full of many small panes of glass. It 
 looked only upon the blank of the garden wall, dark 
 with ivy, and across a small grass plot on which 
 upon a pedestal, was a sadly rusted iron Magdalen 
 with a cross upon her knees. The sunshine poured 
 through this window for a little while in the morning, 
 and the dimity curtains were always pushed back, 
 that all day long the hall might have as much light 
 as possible ; yet it was never anything but gloomy ; 
 dark family portraits in tarnished frames followed 
 the wide staircase, and a faded engraving of the 
 Trial of Effie Deans, hanging between the entrance 
 to the dining-room and the green baize door of the 
 drawing-room, added to its solemnity. Under the 
 staircase stood a row of tall old fire-buckets, and a 
 rosewood table for the candles and lamps, which, 
 however, were never lighted until a certain hour, no 
 matter how the late afternoon might darken with 
 fog and mist. 
 
 Mrs. Paul s rules were not to be broken by such 
 things as wind and weather. And as for cheerless- 
 ness, her house suited her, she said, and other 
 people were not obliged to live in it. It did suit 
 her, although sometimes she resented the loud in 
 trusion of the approaching town, but it was more 
 with the petulance which is an occupation than 
 because of any genuine annoyance. The felting 
 in the windows, and the green baize door closing 
 with noiseless tightness, shut out the clamor of the 
 street below. Furthermore, there was always the 
 
12 SIDNEY. 
 
 consciousness that, if she wished, she could move 
 away, as half a dozen other families had done; 
 their estates being swallowed up by streets, and 
 their dignified old houses turned into mills, or fac 
 tories, or great tenements. When money is to be 
 considered, human beings often display a curious 
 indifference to the roofs which have sheltered their 
 joys and sorrows and their sacred death-beds. But 
 it was not any sentimental regard for her old house 
 which kept Mrs. Paul here on the hill, nor was it 
 altogether the feeling of superiority in being loyal 
 to traditions to which her neighbors had been 
 faithless. 
 
 Her sense of duty, she declared more than once, 
 was really morbidly strong. " Of course," she said 
 candidly to Miss Sally, " you and Sidney are not 
 fit companions for me, and Mortimer Lee never 
 chooses to come to see me ; but what would you do 
 without me ? Heaven knows what would become 
 of Sidney if I were not here to teach her manners. 
 No, I will not give you up." 
 
 Little by little, all her interests had centred upon 
 the major s household. It was ten years since the 
 last of her older neighbors had moved away ; and 
 although no one knew that they had ceased to remem 
 ber, or were themselves forgotten, these friendships 
 belonged only to the past. 
 
 u Yes," Mrs. Paul explained to the doctor, " my 
 first thought is for Sidney. "With a simpleton for 
 an aunt and a wicked infidel for a father, what 
 would become of her if it were not for me ? And I 
 mean that she shall be married, I can tell you that, 
 
SIDNEY. 13 
 
 if it were only to teach Mortimer Lee a lesson ! 
 Everybody knows Robert Steele s folly, but it s all 
 over and past. I m not one to remember a man s 
 sins against him. Besides, he has his money back 
 again, and this time he 11 keep it. Now, remember, 
 you are to take him with you to the major s every 
 chance you get. I shall invite him to meet Sidney 
 here, too. It won t be the first time I ve given 
 Providence a hint. Johnny knows that. I was 
 bound he should n t have her, for Sidney must marry 
 a rich man, and Johnny has n t a cent, except what 
 I choose to give him." 
 
 John Paul shrugged his shoulders in the dusk, but 
 did not speak. 
 
 " It s a pity he is n t well," she continued. " What 
 did you say was the matter with him ? " 
 
 " I did not say," Alan answered briefly. 
 
 Mrs. Paul laughed, with an impatient gesture. 
 " Oh, you young doctors ! " she said, " your impor 
 tance is most amusing. I suppose you use it instead 
 of sense ? There ! go home. I m tired of you. I 
 wish you would see that that medicine is sent in for 
 Scarlett. I hope you appreciate my friendship in 
 letting you experiment upon my maid ? Johnny ! 
 
 " Yes, mother," said her son, coming to her side, 
 as the door closed behind the doctor. 
 
 " I will play a game of draughts with you," she 
 said, pushing her straight-backed armchair a little 
 farther from the fire : kk there is time before tea. Just 
 fetch the table, and ring for Davids to bring the 
 lamps." 
 
 John Paul rang the bell and silently brought the 
 
14 SIDNEY. 
 
 small table, with its inlaid checkerboard of ivory and 
 ebony ; as he did so, the baize door opened, and Da 
 vids stood like a lean shadow against the dusk of the 
 hall behind him. 
 
 " You may bring the lamps," said Mrs. Paul, be 
 ginning to arrange her men, the old-fashioned rings 
 flashing upon her hands. 
 
 " It is not," said Davids, moving his shaven jaws 
 with deliberation, " a quarter to six." 
 
 Mrs. Paul looked up. " I think you might as well 
 bring them," she said, half apologetically, " if they 
 are ready." 
 
 " They are not yet lighted " he began to say, 
 with respectful stubbornness, but John Paul inter 
 rupted him quietly. 
 
 " Bring the lamps," he said ; and the man went 
 at once to get them. 
 
 " I can give my own orders, thank you ! " cried 
 Mrs. Paul angrily. " You take too much upon 
 yourself, sir ! Please remember that this is my 
 house." 
 
 She was still frowning when Davids returned with 
 two tall lamps whose ground-glass globes faithfully 
 imprisoned the light. He put one on either end of 
 the mantel, and then, with a noiseless step, brought 
 a footstool, and arranged a screen between his mis 
 tress and the fire, which had brought a delicate flush 
 to her soft old cheek. After that he lit the candles 
 in the sconces and put another lamp on a table at 
 Mrs. Paul s elbow, so that in a moment the room 
 was flooded with soft light. 
 
 This drawing-room of Mrs. Paul s was handsome, 
 
SIDNEY. 15 
 
 and almost interesting; but the wainscoting above 
 the bookcases built into the wall made the corners 
 dark, and there was no cheerful litter of home life 
 about it. A bust of the late Mr. Paul stood between 
 the further windows, and over the mantel there was 
 a painting of a very young girl in a white gown 
 and pink ribbons. This was Annette, the child who 
 had died, and for whom, it was said, Mrs. Paul had 
 not grieved. Indeed, she had seemed angry at the 
 child rather than at fate. She never spoke of her, 
 but silence is sometimes more bitter than words. 
 
 All this was more than twenty-five years ago, 
 when John Paul was less than twelve years old, 
 and had been sent away to boarding-school that he 
 might not be a nuisance to his mother. Mrs. Paul 
 did not often look up at this picture, even when she 
 was alone, and she had been heard to say carelessly 
 that a woman could live her youth over again in her 
 daughter, whereas a son 
 
 But Providence arranged those things, she sup 
 posed. 
 
n. 
 
 WHEN Mrs. Paul s door closed behind Alan 
 Crossan, he stood a moment upon the steps think 
 ing. A bell had rung in one of the factories, and 
 down in the street a group of tired girls chattered 
 shrilly as they turned toward their homes. Alan, 
 looking through the arbor which covered the flight 
 of stone steps down the terraces to the gate, could 
 see them, and the cobble-stones of the street, and the 
 dingy doorways opposite. It was only through the 
 arbor one caught a glimpse of it all, for on either 
 side of the gate, along the wall, was the high black 
 thorn hedge. 
 
 Just now, heavy drays, loaded with rattling iron 
 rods or bales of dirty cotton, rumbled slowly past. 
 A hand-organ, a block away, broke into a sharp 
 jingling tune ; one of the mill-girls began to dance, 
 and there was a shout of noisy laughter from her 
 companions. Alan Crossan frowned. It set his 
 teeth on edge, he said to himself, the bleak skies, 
 the bald and vulgar streets, and the shrewd wind 
 clattering through the branches of the trees. The 
 doctor was tired. He had been in the almshouse 
 infirmary all the morning, and then had come home 
 to find Robert Steele sunk in the deepest depression. 
 
 Of course Alan understood its cause. As his 
 friend made a better and better fight against his 
 
SIDNEY, 17 
 
 controlling weakness ; as, steadily, he pushed his 
 morphine further from him, he not only suffered 
 physically, but he grew more aware of his cowardice, 
 and the burden of that thought seemed to fling his 
 soul into the dust of shame. Ordinarily, Alan s 
 glad courage was quick to cheer and comfort the 
 sick man, but this dark afternoon he had felt inca 
 pable of the exertion of cheerfulness, and so had wan 
 dered out, rather aimlessly, and had found himself, 
 towards dusk, in Mrs. Paul s drawing-room. She 
 amused him, and that, he declared, was good for his 
 moral nature, so it was a duty to call upon her often. 
 As he stood now watching the jostling crowd in the 
 street, the remembrance of Robert s loneliness op 
 pressed him ; but he found himself thinking of 
 Major Lee s library and Miss Sally s kindness, 
 rather than of his own power to help his friend. 
 He was in that frame of mind where a man likes to 
 be made much of. " I will go and ask Miss Sally 
 to give me a cup of tea," he said. 
 
 He thought again of Robert, as he opened the 
 heavy iron gate and found himself in the street, and 
 he declared that he was a brute to leave his friend 
 alone. But he did not turn back. 
 
 Major Lee s house was on the other side of Mrs. 
 Paul s garden wall. Its long-unused driveway (for 
 the major kept no carriage) circled about a little 
 lawn before the porch, and then opened upon a side 
 street, which was really only a lane. Back of the 
 house there was a great tangled garden, inclosed, 
 like Mrs. Paul s, by a brick wall, it was much 
 larger than hers ; beyond it was a pasture, and then 
 
18 STDNEX. 
 
 a hillside crowned by sparse, open woods ; beyond 
 that were the rolling hills of the tranquil country, 
 untouched as yefc by the taint of trade. 
 
 The confusion of the bustling town did not in 
 trude here, as it did at Mrs. Paul s. Perhaps this 
 was because of that large silence which seemed to 
 hold the life within. 
 
 "How little the major talks! " Alan-fthought, as 
 he came through the lane, and looked up at the 
 great gray house, set back in its walled courtyard, 
 " and Sidney only listens. How gracious that bend 
 of her head is, when she listens ! Miss Sally talks, 
 of course, but she does not say anything, and her 
 voice is so pleasant." 
 
 The Lees house was larger than Mrs. Paul s, be 
 ing double and with low wings on either side. The 
 veranda, with its four white pillars reaching above 
 the second story, gave it a certain stateliness, in 
 spite of a look of dilapidation and neglect. 
 
 " The fact is," Mrs. Paul had once explained to 
 Robert Steele and the doctor, " Mortimer Lee has 
 no money for repairs. He saves every cent for Sid 
 ney, Sally tells me. But I believe he grows poorer 
 and poorer each year. I don t understand it, unless 
 Sally is wasteful about her housekeeping, which I 
 am sure is very likely, for she has less sense than 
 any one I know. She tries to make both ends meet, 
 but " Mrs. Paul closed her lips with decision, 
 though with the look of being able to say more, if 
 she chose ; which indeed was true, but, frank as she 
 was in expressing her opinion of the major s sister, 
 she would have been incapable of parading t ir ar- 
 
SIDNEY. 19 
 
 rangements with Miss Sally, whereby she listened 
 every day to a French novel, or a history, or a news 
 paper, and Miss Sally, in consequence, accumulated 
 a little fund, which she called although Mrs. 
 Paul did not know it her "poor money." Sidney, 
 quite unconscious of payment being made, some 
 times took her aunt s place, although only when it 
 was history or the news. 
 
 " French novels won t hurt you, Sally," Mrs. Paul 
 declared frankly ; " you are too old and too silly." 
 
 So Miss Sally, with her delicate and gentle face 
 tingling with blushes, read many strange things to 
 the handsome old woman in the carved armchair. 
 That Miss Sally often went home and washed her 
 little hands with vigorous and tearful protest and 
 with a burning sense of degradation Mrs. Paul never 
 knew, but she would have been delighted had she 
 discovered it. 
 
 Housekeeping for Mortimer Lee, with his Vir 
 ginia ideas of living and his narrow income, was not 
 easy ; but Miss Sally was always joyfully content, 
 for was not money being put aside, little by little, 
 for Sidney s future support ? Beside, the pleasure 
 of having her allowance for household expenses go 
 sometimes a little further than she had dared to 
 hope, in making her brother and her niece comfort 
 able, filled her faithful life with a reason for being. 
 They were so patient with her, she thought, these 
 two shining ones ; they let her love them all she 
 could, though she was so different and so dull. How 
 often she thanked God, with tears, for the blessing 
 of being able to give them all her humble life ! 
 
20 SIDNEY. 
 
 The doctor walked across the sharp cobble-stones 
 of the courtyard, up between the two ailantus trees 
 which guarded the wide flight of steps, and rang the 
 bell. He could hear its echoing jangle through the 
 long hall, and then, a moment later, Miss Sally 
 Lee s light, hurrying step. Some wet leaves drifted 
 heavily down from ivy which had matted thickly 
 across the lintel of a window, and on the other side 
 of the house a shutter banged drearily. The pre 
 monition of cheerfulness within made him shiver in 
 the raw wind. He was glad to take Miss Sally s 
 cordial hand, and then follow her along the hall and 
 into the library. As they opened the door a gush of 
 firelight danced out, and lit two sudden stars in Sid 
 ney s eyes, as she glanced up from her seat in the 
 corner of the old sofa by the hearth. 
 
 The room was full of the dusky glow of the fire, 
 for the lamps had not yet been lighted ; it glimmered 
 on the bindings of the books which lined the walls 
 and on the heavy furniture, and it lit a mimic flame 
 in the darkness against the window-panes. 
 
 " Sit down, dear Alan ! " cried Miss Sally, push 
 ing a chair toward the fire before the doctor could 
 prevent her. " How is poor Mr. Steele, and won t 
 you tell Sidney she must not try to read by fire 
 light ? I was just going to fetch her a lamp when 
 you rung." 
 
 Miss Sally s small, anxious face and timid manner 
 always caused Alan to think of a deprecating bird, 
 and made him want to stroke the somewhat ruffled 
 plumage of her hair and dress, and bid her never 
 fear. Instead, he remonstrated with Sidney. " By 
 
SIDNEY. 21 
 
 this flickering light ? " he said. " Why, I am as 
 tonished at you ! " 
 
 She had been bending down, so that the fire could 
 shine on the page of her book, and her smooth cheek 
 was scorched in spite of her protecting hand. 
 
 " I just wanted to finish a paragraph," she ex 
 plained, smiling at his reproaches and closing the 
 book quietly. 
 
 " What is it ? " said the doctor. " What ! Von 
 Hartmann, and in German ? To ruin your eyes for 
 that sort of thing, Sidney, reflects upon your judg 
 ment." 
 
 " I did n t understand it very well," she said, 
 " and I did n t like to give it up." 
 
 " Of course you did n t understand it," Alan de 
 clared, with the instant irritation of a man who sees 
 a charming young woman do a thing which is not 
 charming. Sidney Lee and German pessimism were 
 not compatible ; it was like running a steam engine 
 through a flower garden for a girl to study that sort 
 of thing, he had said to himself more than once. 
 " Nobody understands it who has a healthy mind," 
 he continued. Sidney only smiled. "At least no 
 one should want to understand it," he amended, 
 beginning to be good-natured again. 
 
 The lazy sweetness of Alan Crossan s temper for 
 bade annoyance for any length of time, so, as he 
 began to talk to Miss Sally, he dropped his solici 
 tude for Sidney s brown eyes, and banished her un 
 pleasant course of reading from his mind. 
 
 The cordial firelight, the faint scent of many 
 leather-covered books, mingling with Miss Sally s 
 
22 SIDNEY. 
 
 mild chatter, rested and comforted him. He began 
 to think for it was not necessary to follow her 
 words of how he would brace Robert Steele when 
 he went home, and his intention was so genuine that 
 it made him forgive himself for having left his friend 
 alone all the afternoon. From a word caught now 
 and then, he knew that Miss Sally was saying kindly 
 things about Mr. Steele. That she did not know the 
 secret of his illness did not trouble Alan ; he was 
 quite certain that her sympathy for suffering did not 
 depend upon the cause of the suffering ; and so, sure 
 of her interest, he burst out into praises of Robert 
 which made him forget that he had been selfish in 
 leaving the sick man. 
 
 " I admit," he said, his face full of charming ani 
 mation, " that his action about that money was ab 
 surd; we all acknowledge that. But the motive 
 was noble. And after all, it s the motive that 
 counts. He threw away trust money, and the world 
 calls that sort of thing dishonorable ; but he did it 
 from a strained idea of honor. Think how brave a 
 man has to be to turn the world s standards upside 
 down ! When you come to think of it, though, 
 that s what all great men have done. Yes, Bob is a 
 man capable of greatness. I am so glad you and 
 the major are good to him, Miss Sally. His own 
 people are very cold ; Kate Townsend is civil to him 
 (those Townsends on the other side of the river are 
 relatives of his, you know), but no one else is. The 
 Draytons in Ashurst are his cousins, but the colonel 
 has n t noticed him since he returned, and of course 
 Steele won t go there without an invitation. As for 
 
SIDNEY. 23 
 
 me, I am that anomaly, a man without relatives, 
 except the Pauls, they are far off cousins, I believe ; 
 so I have no one who will show him kindness and 
 appreciation, and that sort of thing. But the fact 
 is, there are not many people big enough to appre 
 ciate Steele, anyhow. Not that I believe much in 
 relations," he went on, amused by Miss Sally s hor 
 ror of such a sentiment ; " the tie of blood is purely 
 conventional. Sometimes people are friendly in 
 spite of it, but not often. I am convinced that 
 if Mrs. Paul should recollect that her husband was 
 my grandfather s cousin she would treat me as badly 
 as she does John, so pray don t mention it, Miss 
 Sally?" 
 
 " Oh, I won t, Alan," she responded, in an anxious 
 flutter ; " but I m sure you are wrong. Dear Mrs. 
 Paul would only love you more. But you must al 
 ways feel sure that we love you. Your mother was 
 a dear friend of mine, although I was so much 
 younger than she. I shall always remember how 
 kind she was when I came here first, just a girl, and 
 so distressed at my brother s unhappiness." 
 
 Alan did not speak. The reference to his mother 
 silenced him. Her memory was the one deep and 
 sacred thing in his life, the one sorrow of his cloud 
 less years, whereby he was a richer and better man. 
 He felt the pity in Sidney s eyes, although he did 
 not look at her, arid he almost forgave her Von 
 Hartmann ; or rather, he almost forgave the major, 
 who was responsible for Von Hartmann. The real- 
 it} 7 of Alan s own sorrow revealed his unconscious 
 flippancy when he once told Mrs. Paul that Major 
 
24 SIDNEY. 
 
 Lee s grief of twenty-two years was like a fly in 
 amber : it might be perfect, but it had no vitality. 
 He could not let Miss Sally speak of his mother 
 again. 
 
 " Do you know Katherine Townsend ? " he said to 
 Sidney, in a changed voice. She was staring into 
 the fire, her chin resting in her hand and her elbow 
 on her knee. 
 
 She shook her head. " No," she said. 
 
 " You don t know many girls of your own age, do 
 you ? " he asked. 
 
 " No ; you see all the people we used to know 
 have moved away, except Mrs. Paul. Not that I 
 ever knew any children very well. Somehow, I did 
 not need to know children, when I had father ; and 
 now there are nothing but tenements around us." 
 
 Miss Sally sighed. " Dear me ! " she said, " and 
 what dreadful places they are, the tenement houses ! 
 There is so much suffering among the mill people." 
 
 " You enjoy it, dear," interposed Sidney, smiling 
 a little, with her serious eyes on Miss Sally s trou 
 bled face. " What would you do without your sew 
 ing-school and your visits to your sick people ? She 
 will make you go to see them, too, Alan." 
 
 " Do you go ? " he said, watching the firelight 
 shining in her eyes. 
 
 " Oh, no ! " cried Miss Sally deprecatingly ; " no, 
 indeed, Sidney could n t go. You don t know how 
 sad it is, Alan." 
 
 Sidney shook her head, with a shiver. " No," she 
 said. " It is dreadful to think that there is suffer 
 ing, but to go to see it ! " 
 
SIDNEY. 25 
 
 " But if by going you make it less ? " Alan per 
 sisted, too interested to be displeased. 
 
 " But you know it cannot really be helped," she 
 answered gravely. " The facts of life are not to be 
 changed by a bowl of soup or a bottle of medicine. 
 Of course there is the pleasure of giving, to the 
 giver ; but that is really all there is." 
 
 " Altruism is another name for selfishness, then ? " 
 Alan said, laughing. 
 
 " Perhaps so," she admitted ; " or perhaps it s 
 something worse than that; those people had far 
 better die they are no good to the community or 
 to themselves but you philanthropists try to put 
 aside the laws of nature, and keep them alive ! " 
 
 "That," observed Alan, " is as inhuman a senti 
 ment (I beg your pardon, Sidney) as I have often 
 heard." 
 
 She looked troubled. " But it is true," she said 
 gently. " Oh, I am glad my garden walls are high, 
 and shut sad things out. I I saw a baby s funeral 
 to-day, aunty ; and oh, the poor father and mother 
 were taking the baby s little rocking-horse out to 
 the grave with them, to leave it there, I suppose." 
 
 " What pathos there is in that," said the doctor, 
 " that putting things on the grave ! It is a sort 
 of compromise with death." 
 
 Sidney nodded, but Miss Sally was full of inter 
 est. " Did you notice where the funeral came from, 
 my dear? Was it from Mary Allen s, do you 
 think? But you don t know where she lives. It 
 came out of Dove s Lane, you say ? Oh, yes, 
 yes, I m afraid it was her baby. I heard that it was 
 
26 SIDNEY. 
 
 sick. I must go to see her, to-morrow ; poor, poor 
 thing ! " 
 
 Sidney looked up at the doctor and smiled. " That 
 is the way she does," she said. 
 
 They did not talk of the pitiful little funeral any 
 longer, for Miss Sally s kind eyes were full of tears, 
 and Sidney shrank from any mention of pain. The 
 sight of her aunt s concern seemed to fill her with 
 silent impatience ; she frowned at the fire, and for a 
 while no one spoke. 
 
 The logs had smouldered into a dull glow, when 
 Miss Sally rose to bring the lamps. Alan sprang to 
 his feet to help her, but Sidney, lifting her eyes 
 from the red ashes, only glanced back into the shad 
 ows, and said she had not realized that it was so 
 dark. Miss Sally, however, refused Alan s aid, and 
 the two young people fell again into silence, until a 
 step in the hall made a sudden gladness flash into 
 Sidney s face, and she rose to welcome her father. 
 Alan could hear the murmur of their voices in the 
 hall, and then they entered together; the major 
 standing for a moment in the doorway, like a waver 
 ing shadow, while he put his glasses astride his nose, 
 and peered through them at the guest in the chimney 
 corner. Then he extended his hand to the young 
 man, in silent and friendly greeting. 
 
 His eyes were only for Sidney, but he smiled at 
 Alan when he heard Miss Sally, as she came in with 
 the lamps, tell the doctor that he must stay to tea, 
 and he said gently, " Yes, surely, surely." From 
 the hollows under his shaggy brows, eyes as dark 
 and shining as Sidney s own watched her as she and 
 
SIDNEY. 27 
 
 Alan talked. It seemed as though every motion 
 and glance of hers fell upon the shrine of his heart ; 
 he smiled when she did, for very joy of seeing his 
 darling pleased. He did not listen to what the 
 young man said to her, although sometimes he bent 
 his white head in gracious attention; he took no 
 part in the conversation, and did not speak again 
 until they rose to go in to tea. 
 
 Then he said, " I called upon Mr. Steele this 
 afternoon, Alan." 
 
 " Did you ? " cried the doctor, his face brighten 
 ing with surprise and pleasure. But the major did 
 not pursue the subject just then. 
 
 "Will you give my sister your arm, sir ? " he said 
 courteously. 
 
 As he spoke, he offered his own to his daughter, 
 and gravely followed Alan and Miss Sally to the 
 dining-room. This formality was as much a part of 
 the major s precise and silent life as was his daily 
 walk to the bank or his cigar at seven. Family 
 rudeness, which goes by the name of affection, was 
 impossible in Mortimer Lee s household ; that the 
 stately walk through the wide, bare hall was to a 
 most frugal tea-table was of no importance, and 
 could have no effect upon these decencies of life, 
 at least in the major s mind. 
 
 The doctor had taken tea here frequently since 
 his return to Mercer ; for when he had called first, 
 the major, holding his hand silently for a moment, 
 had said, " Let us see you often, Alan. I loved 
 your father, sir. . There was something in the old 
 man s voice which made Alan s eyes sting for an un- 
 
28 SIDNEY. 
 
 accustomed instant, and he had come, very often. 
 Sometimes, after having taken a great deal of tea 
 from Miss Sally s little thin blue cups, and eaten 
 many slices of bread, he would, as he went home, 
 stop to satisfy his appetite at a convenient shop ; for 
 there was a marked absence upon the major s tea- 
 table of those things which appeal best to a hungry 
 man, although, to be sure, there was a great show of 
 silver, and plenty of glass dishes cut into wide, un 
 equal stars. But it was a pleasure to Alan to be 
 there, even if he stopped at an eating-house after 
 wards. 
 
 The dining-room was behind the library ; its cor 
 ners were cut off to make convenient closets for 
 Miss Sally s jellies, thereby turning the room into 
 an octagon. It was large and always seemed dark 
 because of the heavy sideboard, the big armchairs, 
 and the bare and shining mahogany table, although 
 the walls were covered with a light paper in a wide, 
 faint pattern of green palm leaves, and the chintz 
 hangings in the windows were pale and faded. 
 
 The major and Miss Sally were at either end of 
 the table, and Sidney sat opposite the doctor ; as 
 usual the group was very silent. The major had 
 but few interests ; Miss Sally had no opinions ; and 
 Sidney s serene indifference to the world needed no 
 words. So, the doctor, eating his bread and drink 
 ing his tea, could, without the interruption of con 
 versation, look at Sidney and enjoy himself very 
 much for a whole hour, for Mortimer Lee did not 
 understand haste. 
 
 Sidney had a habit, which delighted Alan, of look- 
 
SIDNEY. 29 
 
 ing up at him from under her level brows, thinking 
 her own thoughts all the while, but smiling with a 
 grave, impersonal kindliness. Alan could even for 
 get German pessimism when she looked at him in 
 this way. That he ventured sometimes to return 
 her calm, wide-eyed gaze never disconcerted her, 
 which made him perhaps less happy. Now, in a 
 gown 0f some vague color, that shimmered a little 
 when she moved, Sidney sat dreaming over her 
 bread and honey, quite unconscious of the young 
 man s eyes ; the quaint little rosy garland about her 
 cup, or the Chinese pagoda on her plate, interested 
 her as much as he did. The soft color on her cheek 
 was like the flush of clover, and the shadows from 
 her shining hair rested on a smooth white forehead ; 
 two lamps on the sideboard and the candles at either 
 end of the table did not light the dining-room very 
 well, so there were many shadows on the young 
 face. 
 
 Miss Sally s little maid, who always looked as 
 anxious as her mistress, waited on them as noise 
 lessly as though she were only a small gray and 
 white shadow herself ; it was in one of the pauses, 
 while she removed the plates, that the major said 
 again, "Yes, I called this afternoon upon Mr. Robert 
 Steele. I am sorry that he does not look better." 
 
 " Yet he is improving," Alan answered. " But 
 you know it is hard lines, Major Lee. There are 
 plenty of people to call him a fool ; though a man 
 can bear that, for who is going to decide what is 
 wisdom and what is folly, in this world ? But when 
 it comes to being called a rogue " 
 
30 SIDNEY. 
 
 " True, " said the major, " true." 
 
 " Oh, how can any one be so wicked as to think 
 that he meant to do anything wrong ? " cried Miss 
 Sally warmly. 
 
 "It occurred to me," proceeded the major (his 
 sister s questions did not often require an answer), 
 " it occurred to me that it might perhaps be painful 
 for the young man to be alone so much" He 
 paused ; it struck him that such a remark might in 
 dicate that he thought Alan neglectful of his friend, 
 so he hastened to say, " And you are of necessity 
 absent occasionally, needing recreation from your 
 professional duties," Alan smiled, "so I ven 
 tured to ask Mr. Steele to make us a little visit. My 
 sister will, I am sure, see that he is made comfort 
 able ; and with my household and your frequent 
 calls he will be at least less lonely." 
 
 " I hope he said he would come," said Alan joy 
 ously. " Ah, he is a good fellow ! I know you will 
 like him and find him delightful." 
 
 " Most certainly," returned the major, lifting his 
 eyebrows a little. He had not asked Robert Steele 
 for his own pleasure. 
 
 Miss Sally, however, was saying to herself in 
 dismay, "A visitor, and eggs thirty-five cents a 
 dozen ! " 
 
 " He did not say definitely that we might expect 
 him," proceeded the host. " Doubtless he wishes to 
 consult his physician. I depend upon you to pre 
 sent my request in more attractive terms than I was 
 able to do." 
 
 " Oh, I shall insist upon his coming," answered 
 
SIDNEY. 31 
 
 the doctor cheerfully ; "it will be the best thing in 
 the world for him. Miss Sally, you will rob me of 
 a patient ! " 
 
 " Pray," Major Lee protested, " pray do not make 
 my invitation insistent. The young man must not 
 be driven into it. I could not refrain, however, 
 from asking him to come, he was apparently in such 
 a sad state." 
 
 That suggestion of a " sad state " sobered the 
 doctor. Perhaps, before urging him to come to his 
 house, the major ought to know of that weakness 
 which Robert Steele called "sin"? So, a little 
 later, when his host had risen to open the door for 
 his sister and daughter, and then had returned to 
 the table for his single small glass of wine, Alan 
 spoke of the cause of his friend s illness with some 
 lightness, but with much tenderness. Major Lee 
 made no comment ; he only said again, as he pushed 
 the decanter towards Alan, " I shall depend upon 
 you, sir, to tell Mr. Steele how much pleasure it will 
 give me to see him in my house." 
 
 It was evident that he meant to forget the doc 
 tor s explanation. 
 
III. 
 
 " So the major lias invited your Sfceele to visit 
 him ? " said John Paul. " Do you realize what an 
 effort that is to him ? I suppose he did it because 
 everybody is so down on Mr. Steele. I am, myself, 
 confound him! though I don t think him any 
 thing worse than a crank." 
 
 Alan laughed and frowned. " You can t appre 
 ciate him, Paul, that s what s the matter with 
 you. But the invitation is odd. Your mother has 
 an idea But I fancy the very fact of the major s 
 taking Bob into his house shows his confidence in 
 the result of Sidney s training ? " 
 
 The doctor wanted to be contradicted, but his com 
 panion, after a moment s pause to guess the mean 
 ing of the unfinished sentence, nodded, and said, 
 " Yes, exactly. Mortimer Lee would not hesitate to 
 bring the most attractive man in the world into Sid 
 ney s presence (and I suppose you hardly call Steele 
 that ?). She s safe ; more s the pity for the girl." 
 
 Alan looked at him with lazy annoyance. To 
 have Paul assume so positively that Sidney s unnat 
 ural training would certainly spoil her life irritated 
 him ; and yet it gave him a vague assurance, too. 
 The thought of Robert s probable intimacy with the 
 major s family had not been entirely pleasant to the 
 
SIDNEY. 33 
 
 doctor ; indeed, the more he had reflected upon it, 
 the less certain he became that such a visit would 
 benefit the sick man. But all the while he was 
 thoroughly aware of the fear which lay behind this 
 thought, and even amused by its pretense, so it did 
 not prevent him from using his utmost influence to 
 persuade his friend to go to the major s ; though 
 when, at last, after much urging, Robert consented, 
 Alan took up his violin, and spent an hour, with 
 knitted brows, picking out a difficult movement. 
 
 He reflected now that there was no reason why 
 John Paul s assurance that Sidney was safe should 
 be comforting, but it was, at least so far as Mr. 
 Steele was concerned. 
 
 The two men had met upon the little covered 
 bridge that spanned the hurrying river, upon either 
 side of which lay the manufacturing town of Mercer, 
 and now they were walking on together ; Alan to 
 the house of an unexpected patient, and John 
 Paul- 
 
 " I am going," he had explained, with unneces 
 sary frankness, and with a dull flush upon his 
 brown cheek, "I am going out to Red Lane to 
 see a little boy. He has some pups. It s Ted 
 Townsend, brother of Miss Katherine Townsend, 
 you know : nice boy ; nice pups." 
 
 " Nice girl ? " Alan observed, stopping to light a 
 cigarette, his eyes smiling over the sputtering match 
 in his hollow hand. 
 
 " Oh ! " returned the older man hastily ; " yes, 
 quite so. Don t see much of her, of course. She 
 has pupils, and that sort of thing. She has to earn 
 
34 SIDNEY. 
 
 her own living, you know. Steele is her cousin, 
 is n t he ? " 
 
 " Yes, but she would n t permit him " Alan 
 began to resent. 
 
 " No," interrupted John impatiently, " she won t 
 permit any one, that s just it. And she has those 
 sisters to look after, and Ted." 
 
 " And the pups ?" suggested Alan, but John did 
 not notice him. 
 
 " Why, think of it, Crossan," he said, taking his 
 hands out of his pockets to gesticulate : " here she 
 is, Katherine Townsend, a woman who is worth 
 any ten I ever saw in my life (I in just an outsider, 
 and unprejudiced ; you d say the same thing if you 
 knew her), here she is, giving music lessons to 
 this little Eliza Jennings in the toll-house. Eliza 
 Jennings is a nice little thing, no doubt, but " 
 
 John Paul wore a fur cap, and as he spoke his 
 forehead seemed to disappear under it in two big 
 wrinkles. 
 
 " Does Mrs. Paul know Miss Townsend ? " in 
 quired the doctor, after a moment s pause ; and his 
 companion s abrupt " No " made Alan s eyes dance. 
 Robert Steele, and the smallness of his own practice, 
 and all the little worries of life could be forgotten 
 when he found anything droll. It was a happy tem 
 perament, this, which could banish an unpleasant 
 thought by a merry one. " With it, a man does n t 
 live on a mountain-top," Alan admitted gayly, "but 
 he finds the foot-hills amazingly pleasant." 
 
 John had no more to say of the sister of the 
 boy with the pups ; yet, as they went past the toll- 
 
SIDNEY. 35 
 
 house, he looked searehingly into the window from 
 which it was Mrs. Jennings habit to extend one 
 tight, plump hand for a penny. But in John Paul s 
 eyes, the small room within was empty, although, in 
 deed, Eliza Jennings sat rocking comfortably in a 
 big chair, which had a crocheted antimacassar on its 
 back. There was a row of geraniums on the win 
 dow-sill beside her, which strained the wintry sun 
 shine through a net of scarlet blossoms and broad, 
 vigorous leaves. 
 
 " Was it Mr. Paul, ma ? " she said, with a sort of 
 gasp, as the fur cap vanished from the small horizon 
 of the toll-window. Eliza s freckled little face grew 
 quite intent as she spoke. It is curious how lasting 
 is the interest in a question of this nature. Eliza 
 Jennings had kept a half look, which meant hope 
 and expectation, upon that window of the toll-house 
 for many months. Yes, it was quite six months ago 
 that Mr. John Paul began to take these very fre 
 quent walks towards Red Lane, and in that time 
 Eliza had had many a pleasant nod, or a word or 
 two about the weather, as he handed her a penny 
 for the toll. 
 
 With a view to this interest in her life, Eliza 
 could not have lived in a better place than the toll 
 house. The pedestrian could not come from Old 
 Mercer to Little Mercer save across this bridge. 
 Then, too, as he returned, he must stop long enough 
 to extract a penny from the pocket of his breeches, 
 and where a man is tall and stout this is not done 
 hastily. 
 
 The gray toll-house at the end of the covered 
 
36 SIDNEY. 
 
 bridge did not seem to belong among the smart new 
 houses of Little Mercer, but rather as if it had been 
 pushed out of the older town when the bridge first 
 crossed the river, and was now looking back with 
 regret. There was a yard around it, inclosed by 
 high palings, which were always dazzling with fresh 
 whitewash. In summer, poppies, and bouncing- 
 bets, and bachelor s-buttons pushed between the 
 bars, and gazed with honest sweetness at the foot- 
 passengers, for the garden was always full of riotous 
 color and perfume. 
 
 Now, only a few brown stalks stood straight and 
 thin in the snow. The wooden arbor in the middle 
 was reached by a tiny graveled walk, which curled 
 about among the flower-beds to make a respectable 
 length. On this cold November day its seats were 
 piled high with powdery snow, which rose in a 
 gleaming dust when the wind blew from up the 
 river, and then settled in small icy ripples along the 
 floor. But the arbor (in which, during the summer, 
 it was the custom of Mrs. Jennings to serve tall 
 glasses of ice-cream to hot wayfarers) had, even in 
 November, a certain sacredness for Eliza. Was it 
 not here that she had first talked to Mr. John Paul ? 
 It was a June day, ah, how well she remembered 
 it ! He had brought little Ted Town send into the 
 summer-house, through the hot sweetness of the 
 blazing garden, and had begged Eliza to fetch him 
 two glasses of ice-cream. 
 
 "Every ft" cents Kitty gives me," Ted said, 
 breathless with anticipation, " I spend here, don t I, 
 Miss Eliza?" 
 
SIDNEY. 37 
 
 John, in a look across Ted s curly head, good- 
 naturedly shared his amusement with Eliza, who 
 felt her heart beat with pleasure. 
 
 " He s just grand ! " she told her mother, and 
 Mrs. Jennings agreed with her ; " it was real good 
 in him to treat Master Ted," she said, " though I 
 should have thought a gentleman like him would V 
 brought the boy s sister along too; for it would 
 seem right nice to her, workin all day like she does, 
 teachin this one or that one ; " and Mrs. Jennings 
 was glad that her Eliza could stay at home, like a 
 lady, with only a bonnet to trim now and then for a 
 neighbor. But the little milliner had resented even 
 this small criticism upon the grand gentleman in the 
 garden. 
 
 Mrs. Jennings, except where love made her 
 shrewd, was a woman of slow, dull thought, but she 
 began to connect her daughter s sudden desire for 
 improvement in one way or another with that scene 
 in the garden, and not long afterwards, seeing 
 Eliza so faithful in her blundering practice upon the 
 melodeon, she had suggested that her daughter 
 should take organ lessons from Miss Townsend, 
 " an be a real musician, Liza," she explained. " I 
 guess you ll find he s musical, too. Besides, she 
 ain t real well off, you know, and I like to help a 
 body along." 
 
 " And pray why not ? " Katherine had demanded 
 of Mr. John Paul, as he stood indignant and aghast 
 in her small parlor. 
 
 "But, Miss Townsend," he stammered, you 
 you are " 
 
38 SIDNEY. 
 
 " Delighted to have a new pupil," she finished, and 
 laughed. 
 
 Katherine Townsend was always cordial and oc 
 casionally sincere. This time she was both. " Don t 
 you see," she said, u it would be absurd in me to say 
 I would not instruct little Eliza how to play upon 
 her organ with twenty-two stops. I want pupils, 
 and she wants lessons. Why should we both be 
 disappointed ? " 
 
 " I I could find you some pupils ; there are lots 
 of people who would be glad " he began ; but 
 there was nothing more to say. Miss Katherine 
 Townsend was a young woman who managed her 
 own affairs. Her little house was quite out of sight 
 of any^vistful eyes at the toll-house window which 
 might follow Mr. John Paul s figure to the turn by 
 the big barberry bush, which hid the footpath along 
 Red Lane. To be sure, it was plain enough that 
 Mr. Paul often happened to be going in or coming out 
 from Old Mercer just when Miss Townsend did, but 
 it did not follow from that, that he went to see her. 
 He never paid the toll for her, Eliza had noticed ; 
 she always put down her own money in the most 
 matter-of-fact way, and what could be more natu 
 ral than for the milliner to say, "Well, ma, they 
 ain t hardly friendly. A young gentleman who 
 was waiting on a young lady would n t let her pay 
 her own toll." And Mrs. Jennings assured her 
 that she was right. Indeed, Mrs. Jennings would 
 have assured Eliza of almost anything, so truly 
 did the heart in her large bosom feel all her 
 daughter s joys and griefs. It was not necessary 
 
SIDNEY. 39 
 
 that Eliza should confide in her ; although she had 
 never seen the diary in which was recorded, in 
 violet ink, the emotions of an empty and harmless 
 little life, Mrs. Jennings knew all, with that maternal 
 instinct which is not dependent upon knowledge. 
 Perhaps the only thing she had not guessed was her 
 daughter s desire for a confidante. Eliza had often 
 thought how happy she would be if she could only 
 " tell " some one, granted, of course, that the day 
 might come when there would be anything more to 
 " tell " than that there had been a cheery good-morn 
 ing or a laugh about Ted s passion for ice-cream, and 
 granted also that the confidante should not be her 
 mother. With such indifference is maternal devo 
 tion too often received ! Sometimes, in a pheasant 
 dream, while she trimmed a bonnet behind the ge 
 raniums in the window, or watched the light from 
 the river ripple upon the low ceiling, she thought 
 how much she should like to tell Miss Katherine 
 Townsend that she had "given her heart away. 
 She often pictured the scene to herself, as she sat 
 rocking and sewing, in that delightful misery which 
 only the sentimental young woman knows ; and she 
 would sometimes drop a tear upon her ribbon, which 
 always brought her back to practical life with anx 
 ious haste. But although Miss Townsend was most 
 kind during the weekly music lesson, this confiden 
 tial talk never seemed possible. There was a look 
 behind those gray eyes which forbade intimacy, and 
 sometimes made Eliza s thick little finders tumble 
 
 O 
 
 over each other on the keys, and her heart beat with 
 a sort of fright. 
 
40 SIDNEY. 
 
 " It s perfectly ridiculous in you, Liza," said 
 Mrs. Jennings impatiently ; " she ain t got any more 
 money than we have, so I tell you ! Yes, and them 
 three children to bring up, too. It was different 
 enough when her pa was alive. There ! I m sorry 
 for her. But you do make me real provoked at you, 
 when you act as if you were more n half afraid of 
 her. "She ain t situated so as to be proud." 
 
 And indeed Miss Katherine Townsend would have 
 been apt to agree with the mistress of the toll 
 house. There was much anxiety and hard work in 
 her plain and quiet life, much keen disgust, and 
 weariness with many things. But below all this, 
 which may be forgotten, there was a dull regret 
 which she never put into words. It was in her mind 
 this cold; bright afternoon, when the doctor and 
 John Paul had gone over the bridge, and then out 
 along the turnpike into the country. 
 
 Katherine had come home from a lesson, tired, she 
 said to herself, of everything; which was but an 
 other way of saying that she was feeling the lack of 
 some absorbing occupation of mind. These music 
 lessons were necessary, but never pleasant ; Kath 
 erine had too much self-consciousness ever to find 
 teaching a delight for its own sake. Ted had run 
 down the lane to welcome her. He had forgotten 
 his coat, in excess of affection, and Ted s colds were 
 a constant anxiety to his sister. Carrie and Louise 
 were squabbling in the upper hall ; and the one maid- 
 of-all-work came with heavy, slipshod tread to the 
 foot of the stairs, to say that the flour was out and 
 the coal low. 
 
SIDNEY. 41 
 
 Why did the girls squabble? Why did Ted 
 cough? Why were Maria s aprons always dingy? 
 " Father s house ought not to be like this ; father s 
 children ought not to have such voices." Something 
 seemed to come up into Katherine s throat, but she 
 only stopped to kiss Ted, and break up the small 
 quarrel by asking her sisters to see that his shoes 
 were not wet. Then she dropped down upon her 
 bed until tea-time. She hid her tired eyes in the 
 cool pillow, although with no thought of tears. Miss 
 Katherine Townsend was not one of those women to 
 whom can come the easy relief of tears. Beside, 
 she had nothing to cry about. This thought of John 
 Paul, she said to herself, was too familiar for emo 
 tion, and too impersonal. She was only sorry that 
 he was not a braver and a stronger man. 
 
 " And yet he is so good," she said, with that same 
 feeling in her throat, so good, and honest, and 
 kind. Oh, what shall I do if I cannot make Ted 
 a brave man ! " 
 
 Of course this young woman understood John s 
 ittentions to Ted ; she knew what those accidental 
 meetings on the bridge meant to the big, slow, sim 
 ple man ; but what was she to infer if he never put his 
 meaning into words ? What she did infer, and what 
 made her manner such that these unspoken words 
 seemed more and more impossible to John, was, that 
 he was unwilling to marry upon the small income 
 which Mrs. Paul gave him ; and that he was too 
 indolent or too cowardly to take his life out of his 
 mother s hands, and live it as he chose, with poverty 
 if necessary, but with love. For, knowing the sort of 
 
42 SIDNEY. 
 
 life which John Paul led, and knowing too that it was 
 not the natural bent of the man, her conclusion was 
 that he led it because it was easiest. She knew just 
 how his day was passed. There was the warehouse 
 in the morning, where he sat in a little glass office, 
 but where the old head clerk never dreamed of go 
 ing for assistance or advice. She " preferred to 
 give her own advice," Mrs. Paul had declared con 
 temptuously. John read the letters, but Murray 
 answered them as he saw fit ; his ostensible em 
 ployer, meanwhile, studying his English newspaper, 
 or writing scholarly and stupid articles upon free 
 trade (" which might be the ruin of the house, 
 if Anybody ever read them," grumbled Murray). 
 Besides this, the mornings were good times to look 
 up the pedigrees of favorite dogs. One of these re 
 searches among kennel-books resulted in a present to 
 Ted of the mastiff puppies, which greatly incon 
 venienced Ted s sister. In the afternoon, John could 
 walk, or ride, or read more newspapers, and dream 
 much of Katherine Townsend. 
 
 But she, here alone in the cold November dusk, 
 thinking of this lazy, comfortable life, said to her 
 self that it served him right that, after such a day, 
 he had to spend his dull evening until nine listening 
 to his mother s tongue, while they played at draughts 
 by the drawing-room fire, " and just because he has 
 not the courage to break away from it all ! " Al 
 though in her heart she added " and love me," yet 
 her indignation was that which every earnest mind 
 feels at the sight of neglected possibilities, and 
 not at all the smaller pain of wounded self-esteem. 
 
SIDNEY 43 
 
 Perhaps her inner consciousness, however, that he 
 did love her made this finer attitude of mind pos 
 sible. 
 
 But Katherine, in her bitter thoughts, was not 
 just. She did not understand that this sort of life 
 may begin in a sense of duty, and end in the habit of 
 content. John Paul had gone into the warehouse 
 for his mother s sake. How glad he would have 
 been to do the work there heartily and earnestly, 
 and how completely his mother had pushed his de 
 sires aside, Katherine did not know, and would 
 hardly have respected him more had she known. 
 She could not guess the gentleness of this silent 
 man, nor imagine that he shrank from disappointing 
 his mother, even though he hurt his self-respect by 
 the sacrifice. 
 
 But little by little, habit had blurred that pain. 
 John was thirty-six, and for years he had been liv 
 ing on the very small allowance which his mother 
 chose to make him. He had never felt that he 
 earned it, unless indeed he earned it by sitting in 
 silence beneath her gibes, to which he had become 
 so accustomed that he could think his own thoughts 
 all the while. One of the best things he had ever 
 written upon the tariff had been thought out during 
 a game of draughts, while Mrs. Paul had railed 
 about Miss Sally Lee until she was white with 
 anger. 
 
 One other thing Miss Townsend overlooked : John 
 had no motive for action greater than this self-sacri 
 fice upon which he was throwing away his soul. 
 
 " If Katherine cared anything about me," he said 
 
44 SIDNEY. 
 
 to himself, " if she would even look at me, I d fling 
 the whole thing over in a minute." 
 
 So this makeshift of life went on, and John Paul 
 made no effort to do anything but endure. He 
 wished he had known Miss Townsend before ; per 
 haps she would have cared for him when he was 
 younger. John felt very old and very dull now, 
 and the only thing he could do was to comfort him 
 self by seeing Ted often, and hearing him talk about 
 Kitty, which was certainly not very satisfactory for 
 a lover. 
 
IY. 
 
 MRS. PAUL had a moment of great astonishment 
 when she learned of Major Lee s invitation to Alan s 
 friend. Miss Sally had been her informant ; but 
 instead of being thankful for a bit of gossip and a 
 new interest, she was angry that no one had told 
 her sooner. 
 
 " He invited him day before yesterday ? " she 
 said. " Why are you so secretive, Sally ? Why 
 did n t you tell me before ? " 
 
 " I have not had a chance to come in," Miss Sally 
 explained, gently. "I have had so much on my 
 mind about the kitchen, you know, and " 
 
 44 Much difference it will make in what the poor 
 young man gets to eat," interrupted Mrs. Paul, 
 " whether the kitchen is on your mind or not, Sally ! 
 And as for not having had a chance to come in, why 
 did n t you make a chance ? " 
 
 But Mrs. Paul was really too much delighted with 
 the arrangements of Providence " for such things 
 are providential," she declared to find much fault 
 with Miss Sally. She was full of interest and 
 pleased expectancy. 
 
 " Young Steele can t live in the house with Sid 
 ney," she reflected, " and not fall in love with her ; 
 the mere fact that Mortimer Lee does n t want him 
 to will insure that. Well, I shall do my part. No 
 
46 SIDNEY. 
 
 one can say that I ever shirk a duty ! " She lost no 
 opportunity to inquire about Mr. Steele ; his health, 
 his frame of mind, his manner. " All those things 
 mean so much to a girl," she thought, impatiently. 
 
 When John Paul came in to tea, one evening, a 
 day or two after Robert had gone to the major s, she 
 was instant with a question. 
 
 " Did you go to call upon Mr. Steele this after 
 noon ? I wonder if you would know enough to make 
 a call upon any one unless I sent you ! Well, why 
 don t you answer me ? " 
 
 Yes," said John. 
 
 " Yes ? " cried his mother. " Are you as sparing 
 of ideas as you are of words, Johnny ? " 
 
 " I saw him." 
 
 "Well? What? what? what? Can t you tell 
 me about it? Here I sit alone all day, and you 
 make no effort to entertain me. Your weight is not 
 confined to your body, my friend. The only really 
 interesting and curious thing about you, Johnny, is 
 how you can be so dull, and yet be my son. Was 
 anything said ? " 
 
 " Nothing much," John answered, slowly. He was 
 thinking at that moment of Katherine Townsend. 
 
 " I 11 warrant, if you were there. Johnny, 
 you Ve less sense each year. I suppose I must put 
 it into plain words. Did Eobert Steele seem im 
 pressed by Sidney ? There, you can answer that ! " 
 
 " No," said John. 
 
 Mrs. Paul struck her hands sharply together. 
 " Either you are blind or he is," she declared. 
 
 Indeed, there seemed to be no one from whom she 
 
SIDNEY. 47 
 
 could gain satisfactory information ; least of all 
 could she learn anything from Sidney herself, 
 although the girl came more than once, in her aunt s 
 place, to read aloud, which gave Mrs. Paul an op 
 portunity to ask questions. 
 
 But Sidney s absolute unconsciousness baffled her. 
 Coming in out of the icy wind, which blew the snow 
 in drifts along the path, and ruffled her hair about 
 her forehead, she looked at the older woman with 
 serene eyes, and a face on which the delicate flush, 
 as fresh as the curve of a sea-shell, never deepened 
 nor changed. Sometimes her level brows gathered in 
 a fleeting frown. It was not pleasant to talk so 
 much of Mr. Steele, she thought ; it was enough to 
 have him in the house ; and the best thing to do was 
 to forget his presence, so far as she could. 
 
 " I don t like to think about sick people," she said 
 once, in her placid way ; " it is so disagreeable." 
 
 Miss Sally, to whom the remark had been made, 
 was distressed that her darling should be annoyed, 
 although, to be sure, she said bravely, " Is it quite 
 kind to feel so, love ? " But that little protest made, 
 she did all in her power to keep Mr. Steele out of 
 her niece s way. Robert was perfectly aware that 
 she did -so. He felt Sidney s aversion, without 
 realizing that it was not for him, but for his suffering, 
 and the consciousness of it threw him back with in 
 finite relief upon Miss Sally s gentleness and pity. 
 She, at least, did not despise him ; and he even began 
 to tell himself that her friendship was an incentive 
 to fight for his honor and his manhood. 
 
 Perhaps his first week at the major s was the 
 
SIDNEY. 
 
 crisis of Robert Steele s struggle for liberty and 
 self-respect; but the last clutch of the old habit 
 struck sharp into his heart. He was, however, far 
 nearer freedom than he knew, for he was so absorbed 
 in wrestling with this horror of weakness that he did 
 not stop to remember how rapidly Alan was reducing 
 his morphine. He was blind to everything which 
 might have encouraged him, and quite unable to 
 perceive his own progress. He felt as though he 
 were remaining stationary, or even drifting, little by 
 little, further away from hope. He spoke after 
 wards to Alan of his mental condition at that time. 
 " It was a horror of great darkness," he said. " I 
 felt you know the old illustration as though a 
 maelstrom were roaring for me, to suck me down 
 into furious blackness of night, and then as if I were 
 beating my way out along a side current, only to find 
 that it too was whirling round the same terrible 
 centre." 
 
 Here, in this despair, Miss Sally s little friendly, 
 timid hand was reached out to him. Her kindness 
 seemed greater, perhaps, for Sidney s coldness ; but 
 its cheer and strength no one knew save Robert him 
 self. So it came about, when he had been at the 
 major s two or three days, that he and Miss Sally 
 began to sit together in the parlor across the hall, 
 and leave Sidney and her father alone in the library. 
 
 Robert did not talk much ; it was pleasure enough 
 just to listen to Miss Sally s mild voice, so full of 
 confidence and respect. She, it must be admitted, 
 talked a great deal. Once she told him, and it 
 soothed him inexpressibly, that she thought he had 
 
SIDNEY. 49 
 
 been so noble and so brave about that money. 
 He must forgive her for speaking of it, but she did 
 think so. 
 
 That Miss Sally was as ignorant of finance as 
 little Susan, singing in the big, sunny kitchen, made 
 no difference to Eobert Steele ; although perhaps he 
 did not probe her knowledge by a question because 
 he feared to discover its shallowness. He was quite 
 content to sit here, in the long-unused parlor, mak 
 ing no effort to talk, only listening dreamily to her 
 pleasant chatter. It was not a cheerful room, save 
 for her voice, even when the afternoon sunshine 
 streamed through the leafless branches of the ailan- 
 tus trees, and touched the faded yellow damask of 
 the old furniture and the gray paper with its scat 
 tered spots of gilt. Sometimes the sunshine rested 
 in a glimmering dust upon the half-length portrait 
 of a very beautiful young woman, who lifted a stately 
 head and throat from a crimson velvet wrap, and 
 looked with calm, level eyes over the heads of the 
 people in the room, and out into the golden light 
 behind the trees. Robert looked persistently at this 
 picture while his hostess talked, although the same 
 indifference which he had seen in Sidney chilled him 
 in the face of this woman, long since dead, and 
 made his heart shiver for the warmth and comfort 
 of Miss Sally s kindness. 
 
 They had been sitting here together the first Sun 
 day of Mr. Steele s visit, when it occurred to Miss 
 Sally that it might be a pleasure to him to see Mrs. 
 Paul, and so she proposed that he should go to call 
 upon her. 
 
50 SIDNEY. 
 
 " I m afraid it is dull for you," she said, apologet 
 ically, "just to talk to me. Mortimer never 
 comes in here, because of Gertrude s picture, you 
 know, he does not like to see it ; and he and Sid 
 ney always spend their Sunday afternoons reading 
 and studying, or they would beg you to come into 
 the library with them. But I am sure you will en 
 joy seeing Mrs. Paul. Won t you go ? " 
 
 To Robert, pale, sad-eyed, and ashamed, there 
 seemed but one thing to do, and that was to be 
 guided by any one who would take the trouble to 
 lead him. 
 
 " If you wish it," he answered ; " and if you will 
 go, too." 
 
 So they started out together ; Robert walking 
 ahead to make a path through the snow for Miss 
 Sally, and feeling a trembling dignity in this slight 
 assertion of care for some one else. Feathery thim 
 bles fell from the rusted hinges as he pulled open 
 the door in the wall, and a wreath of snow shaken 
 from the twisted branches of the wistaria powdered 
 his shoulders with misty white. He laughed, and 
 made light of Miss Sally s fear that he might take 
 cold. This, too, was good for him. 
 
 " Now what in the world," Mrs. Paul was saying, 
 observing them from her bedroom window, " does 
 that Sally come with him for ? " However, she 
 made haste to take Scarlett s arm, and welcomed 
 them, a moment later, at the fireside in the draw 
 ing-room. " So good of you to come to see an old 
 woman," she said, smiling at Robert under dark 
 brows which had not yet lost their delicate arch. 
 
SIDNEY. 51 
 
 " And it was good in dear Sally to show you the 
 short way between our houses ; but you must not 
 let Mr. Steele trespass upon your kindness, Sal 
 ly, by keeping you here now, if you are needed at 
 home ? " 
 
 " Oh, no," said Miss Sally, cheerfully, delighted 
 at Mrs. Paul s consideration. " I can stay just as 
 well as not, thank you." 
 
 " How fortunate ! " returned her hostess, with the 
 suggestion of a shrug ; then she turned her shoulder 
 towards Miss Sally and began to talk altogether to 
 Robert. 
 
 Here, too, was solace. With Mrs. Paul his past 
 was all a matter of course. It was a little amusing, 
 perhaps, an excess of virtue is apt to be amusing, 
 but it could not change her friendliness, nor that 
 charming cordiality which could forget his amiable 
 folly. Robert Steele felt braced into a glow of con 
 fidence and hope ; not even the pang of disgust 
 with himself, which came when his hostess cleverly 
 turned the conversation upon Sidney, could rob him 
 of that thrill of courage. In his heart he was thank 
 ing Miss Sally for it ; but how could Mrs. Paul 
 fancy that ? 
 
 Alan Crossan, of course, had a clearer under 
 standing of Robert s frame of mind ; he knew that 
 it was time to look for strength and courage, whether 
 Miss Sally had been kind or not ; but he was none 
 the less pleased, when he called at the major s, to 
 know that his friend had gone out with her. The 
 doctor had dropped in to see Mr. Steele, he said, 
 and was delighted to learn that " Bob was beginning 
 
52 SIDNEY. 
 
 now to gad about." He found the major and his 
 daughter alone in the small room beyond the library, 
 where the old man kept his dearest books and did 
 some little writing, and where Sidney had learned 
 all the bitter lessons which his life could teach. 
 Sunday was the best time in the week to these two 
 friends ; the beautiful, silent hours marked Sidney s 
 spiritual growth, because in them she looked deeper 
 and deeper into her father s love. Miss Sally never 
 thought of sitting with them, even when she did not 
 go to church ; and they had no callers, except once 
 in a while when John Paul came in, and ate a piece 
 of Miss Sally s plain cake and took a glass of wine 
 from the decanter, which, more out of regard for 
 ancient habits of hospitality than because of ex 
 pected guests, stood on Sunday afternoons on a side- 
 table in the library. 
 
 This December day was cold and bright ; the win 
 try sunshine crept about the long room, gleaming 
 on the silver collar of the decanter, and fading the 
 glow of the smouldering logs in the fireplace. The 
 major was tired, but he let Sidney lead him over to 
 the old sofa and arrange the cushions for his head, 
 more for the happiness of her tender touch than for 
 rest. Then she had brought a hassock to his side, 
 and a book, and without words they were very 
 happy. 
 
 Major Lee would have been dismayed if he had 
 seen his daughter ungracious, yet, as he rose to wel 
 come Alan, he felt vaguely that Sidney regretted 
 " this pleasing interruption " (it was thus he an 
 swered the doctor s apology) less than he divL It 
 
SIDNEY. 53 
 
 was she who said, in her glad young voice, " You 
 must wait until Mr. Steele comes back, Alan ; " and 
 the major could do no less than beg him to be seated, 
 adding, " And you will take tea with us, sir ? " Of 
 course the young man accepted the invitation ; in 
 deed, he had counted upon receiving it. 
 
 " It s very good of Miss Sally," he said, " to de 
 vote herself to Steele in this way, instead of going 
 to church. But what will Mr. Brown say? His 
 name is Brown, is n t it ? " 
 
 " Perhaps next Sunday she will induce Mr. Steele 
 to accompany her to church," the major answered. 
 
 " She will not have to urge him," Alan declared. 
 " He is one of those naturally religious people, you 
 know. He goes to church as a matter of course." 
 
 " Ah? " returned Major Lee. Mr. Robert Steele s 
 eccentricities did not interest him. 
 
 But this mention of church-going introduced a 
 subject upon which Alan wanted to speak to the 
 older man. To be able to express his own opinion 
 on one or two points would be an escape for the ir 
 ritation which the major s attitude had aroused in 
 him. 
 
 " To bring up a girl in this way is outrageous ! " 
 he had said to himself a dozen times since he had 
 come back to Mercer ; for Alan knew all about the 
 major s theories upon education. Miss Sally s quick 
 and tender and somewhat shallow nature made re 
 serve about herself impossible, and her abundant 
 kindliness claimed her friends affairs as her own. 
 So, very long ago, Mrs. Paul had been told that Sid 
 ney was never to marry, and why ; and, naturally, 
 
54 SIDNEY. 
 
 Alan Crossan s mother had known ; and Mr. and 
 Mrs. Brown, down in the little rectory of St. James 
 the Less, although, indeed, that the clergyman 
 was aware of Mortimer Lee s unholy project was 
 not entirely due to Miss Sally. The major himself 
 had had one keen, clear word with the young man 
 concerning his daughter s training, arid Mr. Brown, 
 sorry and disapproving, had yet, in his calls upon 
 Miss Sally in her brother s house, respected the fa 
 ther in the infidel, and made no effort to save Sid 
 ney s soul. 
 
 Little by little, Major Lee s purpose had become 
 a subject of half -amused, half - indignant gossip. 
 Probably he was not aware of it, but it would not 
 have troubled him at all had he learned it. There 
 was nothing in this world now which could trouble 
 Mortimer Lee, if Sidney were well and happy. 
 Very literally, he lived for her. To show her how 
 to live, he was content to bear life. If the sight of 
 his enduring pain could save her from pain, it was 
 enough. 
 
 Sidney, he had said, was to be taught to seek for 
 truth ; to do without illusions ; to look the facts of 
 life full in the face. She was to judge, emotionally, 
 first, whether it was probable that there was a benefi 
 cent and all-powerful Being in a world which held 
 at the same time Love and Death ; and next, with 
 inexorable logic, she was to find a universe of law, 
 empty of God. Reason, with relentless and majes 
 tic steps, trampled upon many things before this 
 conviction was reached. It pointed out the myths 
 and absurdities of the Bible ; it left no hope of per- 
 
SIDNEY. 55 
 
 immortality ; it destroyed the Christ of Chris 
 tianity. It demonstrated that morality and expedi 
 ency were synonymous. It counseled negation in 
 stead of happiness. More than all, it pointed out 
 the mad folly of love in a world where death follows 
 love like its own shadow. 
 
 As a result, Sidney was sincere, but not earnest ; 
 which is perhaps inevitable, when one believes, but 
 does not feel. She simply took her father s word, 
 and so her unbelief was not her own, but his. 
 
 Major Lee had not dogmatized his infidelity ; it 
 was his opinion that dogma in negation was as un- 
 philosophical as the dogmatic assertions of theology. 
 He had only shown his daughter certain terrible 
 facts, in a terrible world, and then subtly guided her 
 inference. He had been careful to point out to her 
 the falsehoods, and wilful blindnesses, and astonish 
 ing egotism of Christianity, and with this to present 
 the calm reasonableness of law. 
 
 That Christians called Law "God," Sidney knew; 
 but what they felt when they said " God " was un 
 known to her. With all his fairness, Major Lee had 
 never been able to tell his daughter that. He had 
 spread his life, like a strange and dreadful picture, 
 before her eyes, and she had seen, with terror, that 
 it had been blasted by love and death. Love, he 
 had declared, was the certain road to despair ; and 
 she was instant to put his deduction into words, 
 therefore, never love. 
 
 This conclusion of hers was as unaffected as the 
 most spontaneous impulses in the lives of other 
 women, and it became perfectly natural. Rappac- 
 
56 SIDNEY. 
 
 cini s daughter, it will be remembered, found, in 
 course of time, poison her daily and necessary food. 
 
 Alan Crossan, seeing the result of Major Lee s 
 teachings in Sidney s serene indifference and in 
 her understood determination never to marry, had 
 burned to attack the sad old man. Yet, oddly 
 enough, though his indignation was no less, he had 
 felt of late a growing disinclination to antagonize Sid 
 ney s father. So, instead of rushing into argument 
 upon the wisdom of love, he found himself consider 
 ing that skepticism from which, he was assured, the 
 major s morbid theories sprang. 
 
 "You never go to church, do you, Sidney?" he 
 began. 
 
 " Yes," she answered, " occasionally. I like the 
 music." 
 
 "Oh," said Alan, rather blankly, "I thought, 
 from something you said once about belief, that 
 you would hardly go." 
 
 " It has nothing to do with belief," Sidney ex 
 plained. " I never think of that, except some 
 times." 
 
 The major looked up at his daughter in silence. 
 
 " I think of it," she said, quite simply and gravely, 
 answering the question in his eyes, " when I see the 
 power which it has. Oh, the lif ted-up look one often 
 sees ! Poor little Mrs. Brown, the light in her face 
 on Easter, you know their eldest son died just 
 before Easter ? it meant absolute confidence. And 
 then to think it is only belief, and not knowledge, 
 which causes such confidence ! It is wonderful, even 
 if it is not real." 
 
SIDNEY. 57 
 
 " Yes," observed the major, " it is certainly most 
 interesting that a self-created illusion will sustain 
 the soul in such a crisis, even temporarily. Yet it 
 always fails. It cannot outlast the capacity of the 
 brain for nervous exaltation. Mrs. Brown s resigna 
 tion did not last, you remember, poor soul poor 
 soul ! " The major, with his long white fingers 
 pressed together, looked absently at the spark of 
 sunshine in the little worn ring upon his left hand. 
 
 44 1 don t think you ought to call belief unreal," 
 the doctor protested. 4< True or false, it is real to 
 the believer." 
 
 44 You mean the hope of immortality and reunion, 
 and all that ? " Sidney asked, a little disdainfully. 
 44 Do you think that is often real to people ? " 
 
 44 Yes," he said ; 44 but all the belief in the world 
 cannot overcome the weakness of human nature." 
 
 The major smiled. 44 You are right. It cannot 
 change facts ; assertions will not conquer the inev 
 itable." 
 
 44 And, Alan," cried the girl earnestly, " surely, if 
 its belief were genuine, human nature is great 
 enough, love is great enough, not to be so horribly 
 selfish as to mourn ; if it could really believe that 
 death did not end all, and there was a heaven and 
 happiness. They have to say so, the Christians, 
 and I suppose they think they believe it, or else they 
 could not love any one, you know ; but you can see 
 that it is not lasting, as a reality would be, for they 
 mourn just as much as the people who have no illu 
 sions. The talk of the church about immortality, 
 and meeting again, and Easter, why, it seems to me 
 
58 SIDNEY. 
 
 like taking hasheesh ; but the burning pyre, and the 
 smoke, and the flames are there, all the same." 
 
 Alan did not answer her. His mother was in his 
 heart. Had he not loved her enough to rejoice in 
 her happiness, if, in his soul, he had believed that 
 she was happier, that she was at all ? Instead 
 and the memory of those empty days came back 
 like a sickness of the soul. Perhaps Sidney was 
 right, and his belief was not genuine. 
 
 u You are not a Christian, are you, Alan ? " Sid 
 ney asked, suddenly. 
 
 u I don t know," he said, smiling. " I suppose I 
 am. But I prefer to keep my illusions, if you 
 please ; so I don t examine myself very critically." 
 
 " How can you say that ! " cried Sidney. " How 
 can you even think that perhaps your beliefs are 
 illusions ! Either, it seems to me, a man would 
 have to believe with all his heart, and not know that 
 he was blind to facts, or else see the truth of life 
 and make the best of it." 
 
 " Or the worst," Alan answered, lightly. " There 
 was Steele s father ; every one says he was a most 
 unhappy man. He was a freethinker, was n t he, 
 Major Lee, what would be called an agnostic, to- 
 day?" 
 
 " Yes," said the major. 
 
 " And you, you are also an agnostic, are you 
 not?" 
 
 The major looked at him, with mild patience in 
 his eyes. " I do not call myself so. I do not know 
 enough ; I have not yet compassed the sum of my 
 
SIDNEY. 59 
 
 Alan felt instinctively that Sidney s father re 
 garded him with disapproval, and as one who spoke 
 of great things flippantly. A little color came into 
 his dark cheek, and he made haste to comment upon 
 the fact that Robert Steele, with such a father, had 
 a deeply religions nature. " I don t mean that he 
 is one of your stiff sectarian fellows," he explained, 
 " only that he is so devout that he can worship any 
 where from a Quaker meeting-house to St. Peters. 
 Very likely he gets it from his mother ; she became 
 a Roman Catholic, you remember. It was always a 
 surprise to me that so intelligent a woman could be 
 a Catholic." 
 
 The major smiled. "But religion and intelli 
 gence have nothing to do with each other, my young 
 friend." 
 
 Alan laughed. "Very little, I acknowledge." 
 
 " Oh, how can you say that, and still call yourself 
 a Christian ! " said Sidney. 
 
 "I suppose," observed the major, courteously, 
 " that the doctor would spare himself the pain of 
 knowledge." 
 
 "No," answered the girl, looking with tender 
 gratitude at her father, " it is only knowledge which 
 spares pain." 
 
 " And so," Alan declared, amused and half an 
 noyed, " you are to have no pain in life, Sidney, 
 because your knowledge has taught you to cast out 
 the things that comfort other people, and save them 
 from the fear of death, I mean the belief in God 
 and immortality ? " 
 
 He had risen, and was standing in his favorite 
 
60 SIDNEY. 
 
 attitude by the fire, his elbow on the mantel and his 
 hand grasping his coat collar. His dark, sensitive 
 face was flushed a little by the glow of the logs. 
 The sunshine had quite gone, and the dusk was be 
 ginning to creep in from the garden. " How can 
 any knowledge spare such suffering?" he went on. 
 " It is bound to come to us all ; we cannot cheat 
 life, or lose the anticipation and the fear of death. 
 Where was there ever a happy soul, except a 
 child ? " 
 
 " Here," said Major Lee ; he touched Sidney s 
 shoulder as he spoke. There was something in his 
 voice which made the young man start. The pas 
 sion of tenderness in the worn old face sobered him 
 into earnestness. 
 
 " But some time," he stammered, u some time 
 even if she loves no one else " 
 
 " She will lose me ? Yes. But that is regret, not 
 grief. Affection for a parent is natural; it is the 
 instinct of the animal ; it is not love" 
 
 His voice shook with sudden excitement, and he 
 said that word with the awe of one who takes the 
 unspeakable name upon his lips. 
 
 u But," Alan protested, " you make it appear that 
 love is the curse of life ! " 
 
 The major was silent. 
 
 " You forget," insisted the young man, " that love 
 is its own exceeding great reward, it is worth the 
 pain." 
 
 " You have, of course, experienced both love and 
 grief, that you speak so positively," said Mortimer 
 Lee, his face darkening in the shadows. 
 
SIDNEY. 61 
 
 A sharp reality came into the moment. Alan 
 knew that in the sense in which the older man spoke 
 he had never felt either. " No," he answered, " but 
 I know that life is beautiful and good where there is 
 love, I mean the love of a man and woman : it is 
 not always fierce and terrible ; it does not of neces 
 sity involve the unreason of passion; and it does 
 glorify existence. But life is still good, even when 
 death takes love out of it." 
 
 " I do not call that love," said the major, "which 
 can be taken away and leave anything ! Passion, 
 truly, is but the incident of love, but love and the 
 worth of life end together." The momentary agita 
 tion had left his face ; he even smiled a little at 
 Alan s excitement. 
 
 "But," persisted the young man, confused, by 
 Major Lee s contempt and his own lack of words, 
 into contradicting himself, " we must love. It means 
 ambition and hope, and all that makes life worth 
 having. Why, life without it, or without any com 
 fort in religion to help a man meet death, life is 
 tragedy ! " 
 
 " Has that iust struck you ? " said the major. 
 
V. 
 
 " Now, Sally," said Mrs. Paul, " I want to talk to 
 you about Sidney ; just put that book down, will 
 you ? Are you in such a hurry to get back to Mr. 
 Steele that you want to plunge into it at once ? Or 
 is it that you are so charmed with Entre Nous 
 Trois? " 
 
 Miss Sally s quick disclaimer only made Mrs. Paul 
 shrug her shoulders. 
 
 " You have not enough sense, my dear, to appre 
 ciate it ; it can t be called innocence, at your age." 
 
 They were sitting in the little room which opened 
 out of Mrs. Paul s bed-room : in it she wrote her 
 notes, or received her head clerk from the ware 
 house, or looked through her housekeeping accounts. 
 Davids knew that room well. He knew that when 
 Mrs. Paul sent Scarlett to summon him there, it was 
 with the intention of finding fault. "Law, now," 
 he had often remarked to Scarlett, " if Mr. John 
 only knew how to handle her as I do ! Give in just 
 a bit here, and stick it out there, and let on you re 
 more n half offended, and law ! she comes round in 
 a minute. But Mr. John would rather bear her 
 tongue than argufy. People that keep such close 
 mouths," said Davids, with a reproachful look at the 
 little silent serving-woman, "are exasperating. I 
 ain t one to deny it, for all I think of Mr. John." 
 
SIDNEY. 63 
 
 Miss Sally often read aloud in this small, severe 
 room, so small that Mrs. Paul, sitting by the win 
 dow which overlooked Major Lee s library, with her 
 back to the reader, shut out a great deal of light, and 
 made it necessary that Miss Sail} should hold the 
 book close to her eyes. Just now, however, Mrs. 
 Paul had turned a little so that she might look at 
 her. " For I want you to pay attention, if you know 
 how, to what I am going to say," she had explained ; 
 and Miss Sally had put down the novel with a sigh 
 which was at once relief and apprehension. 
 
 Mrs. Paul permitted herself, in this room, some 
 thing which was an approach to neglige : the bit of 
 lace which did duty for a cap upon the soft puffs of 
 her white hair was missing, and she wore a wrapper 
 of changeable silk, lavender and black, with an edge 
 of black fur down the front and around the throat 
 and wrists ; her white, delicate hands were without 
 rings. " The morning," announced Mrs. Paul, lean 
 ing back among her cushions, listening to the French 
 novel, " is for work, and jewels are for the leisure of 
 a drawing-room. Thank God, I understand the pro 
 prieties of life, or how would Sidney ever be taught ? 
 No one, Sally, not even Mortimer Lee, insists more 
 upon the observance of propriety than I do ; but 
 you can make a goose of yourself about it, and that 
 is just what you do, in looking after Sidney and 
 young Steele." 
 
 " I ? " said Miss Sally, startled into self-defense. 
 " Why, I don t know what you mean, dear Mrs. 
 Paul ! " 
 
 " What should I mean," cried the other, " except 
 
64 SIDNEY. 
 
 that you are with him all the time, not Sidney ! 
 You seem to think a girl must not sit with a young 
 man, or walk with him, or let him so much as look 
 at her. All very well, to a certain extent, but are 
 you never going to give him an opportunity ? I de 
 clare, one would think you were in love with him 
 yourself." 
 
 "Opportunity?" faltered Miss Sally. 
 
 " Yes," answered Mrs. Paul, emphatically. " He 
 has been at the major s nearly three weeks ; he 
 must have been impressed by Sidney, if you had 
 ever permitted them to be alone for a moment, so 
 that she could talk. She can t, with your chatter 
 going on, Sally ; you know that as well as I do. 
 With this absurd idea of propriety, you never leave 
 them for an instant." 
 
 Miss Sally s face flushed a dull and painful red, 
 and then faded into breathless pallor ; in her aston 
 ishment, she even gasped a little, with a sob in her 
 throat. She was used to being found fault with, 
 but she never could get used to the pain of it. 
 
 " Mrs. Paul," she said, " I don t know what you 
 mean ; I I never thought of propriety. Mr. 
 Steele is not very strong, and I have tried to take 
 care of him. Sidney does not want to talk much to 
 him, and Mortimer is so much occupied that he can 
 not entertain him ; it would not be polite to leave 
 him alone, so I try to be with him. And as for Sid 
 ney, it never could make any difference how much 
 she talked to Mr. Steele or to any young man ; you 
 know she will never care for anybody." 
 
 44 1 know you are a fool, Sally," said Mrs. Paul, 
 
SIDNEY. 65 
 
 calmly. " If this has been stupidity on your part, 
 instead of anything better, I gave you credit for 
 something better, you see, all I can say is, you 
 can t plead ignorance any longer. Arrange things 
 a little. Lord ! have you no imagination ? Send 
 Sidney over with a message to me, this afternoon, 
 and ask him to see her through the garden." 
 
 " But I have n t any message, and Sidney would 
 not" 
 
 Mrs. Paul sat up quite straight, and tapped her 
 foot for a moment. 
 
 Miss Sally was too fluttered to continue. 
 
 " Well, you will send her over here this afternoon ; 
 remember ! Now read ; that s what you are here 
 for. I gave up any hope of conversation long ago." 
 And Miss Sally, in a trembling voice, began. 
 
 She would have been glad if she had been allowed 
 to explain a little further. She would have re 
 peated once more that unforgotten talk with her 
 brother, to show how impossible it was that Sidney 
 should ever fall in love with any one, no matter 
 what " opportunity " Miss Sally flushed as that 
 word came into her mind was offered. 
 
 She went on reading quite steadily, but that scene 
 of twenty-two years ago rose before her eyes. How 
 much younger Mortimer was then, but how old he 
 looked that night ! She had gone upstairs to put 
 Sidney to bed, and her brother had entered just as 
 the child lisped after her aunt, her sleepy head on 
 Miss Sally s shoulder, " God bless dear father and 
 aunt Sally, and make Sidney a good girl, for Jesus 
 sake. Amen." In the dusk of the fire-lit room, his 
 
66 SIDNEY. 
 
 sister saw a strange expression on Mortimer Lee s 
 face, but he only said, quietly, " When the child is 
 asleep, Sarah, will you be so good as to let me see 
 you in the library?" With what a light heart 
 she had gone down-stairs to hear what he had to 
 say, she was young then, only seventeen, with 
 what high hopes of usefulness and comfort and love 
 for the little motherless baby and the bereaved and 
 lonely man! He was walking restlessly about his 
 library ; his face was haggard, and bitter lines were 
 deepening about his lips. He stood still when his 
 sister entered. " Sit down," he said curtly. " I 
 have something to say to you. I heard the child 
 praying when I came into her room. It must not 
 happen again, Sarah." 
 
 " But but, Mortimer " - Miss Sally answered, 
 trembling, for his face frightened her. " I thought 
 I ought to teach her to say her prayers. Do you 
 mean that you are going to, brother ? " 
 
 " I ! " he said, and laughed. " Yes ; yes ; that s 
 it. I am going to teach her, my dear." 
 
 " Then you will hear her say her prayers ? " she 
 asked. It seemed perfectly natural to her that the 
 child s father should claim the sweet task. Major 
 Lee looked at her with pitying impatience. 
 
 " You do not understand me, Sarah. Sidney is 
 to have no religious instruction." 
 
 His sister opened her lips to speak, but dismay 
 robbed her of words. 
 
 " I will not have this folly of prayer in my house," 
 he continued, "at least for the child. You may 
 pray, and believe, and suffer, if you want to ; your 
 
SIDNEY. 67 
 
 life is your own. But Sidney is mine. She shall 
 know that this God you talk of and this pretty hope 
 of immortality have no more foundation in reason 
 than her fairy stories. No miserable egotism shall 
 induce Sidney to address her puny wishes to the 
 First Cause, nor make her fancy that she is immor 
 tal, so that she may dare to fasten her soul on 
 some other soul, which at any instant death may 
 snatch away from her. Without your God and 
 this idea of immortality she will not love, and so 
 she shall escape suffering." 
 
 Miss Sally could not argue ; she could only pro 
 test. She clang, sobbing, to his arm, which never 
 relaxed to take her to his heart. 
 
 " Oh, Mortimer, don t don t say those things! 
 Oh, spare the child ! Don t take God away from 
 her. She can t live without God. And oh, let her 
 love somebody, Mortimer, if it s only me ! " 
 
 " Love you ? " he said sharply. " Of course, that 
 sort of affection, certainly. I was not speaking 
 of that. She will be fond of me, undoubtedly. I 
 meant love ! " 
 
 He groaned as he spoke, and Miss Sally dared 
 not look at him. " Oh, brother," she entreated, 
 " don t say she must never marry ! People are 
 happy who care for each other. You and Gertrude 
 were happy." 
 
 " You think people are happy, do you ? " he an 
 swered. " It is only observation, not experience, 
 which draws such a conclusion. There is not, 
 listen, Sarah, there is not an hour of a day, no 
 matter how heavenly happy it may be, when the fear 
 
68 SIDNEY. 
 
 of death, the terror of the certain parting, does not 
 strike upon a man s heart. It stains every hope, it 
 darkens every thought; and that you call happi 
 ness ! " He pushed her away from him, and began 
 again that terrible walk up and down the room. 
 
 " But, Mortimer, dear brother, listen ! " she cried, 
 the tears rolling down her cheeks. " God makes up 
 for it afterwards, when we meet those we love." 
 
 "We do not meet them," he said, turning and 
 looking at her with stern eyes. " What ! could life 
 be endured one instant if I thought she was any 
 where ? Could I wait long enough to think before 
 I followed her to search for her oh, to search 
 for her ! " 
 
 He dropped his face in his hands. It seemed to 
 Sally Lee as though she dared not breathe until he 
 spoke again. 
 
 " So you think your God would add that misery 
 too ? Well, if it makes you happier, child, but 
 keep it to yourself. If your imagination can create 
 a Being who permits love and death in the same 
 world, and yet is not a I suppose you can find 
 some comfort. But not one word to Sidney, remem 
 ber. I am going to save her from love, and then 
 perhaps she will forgive me that she has this cruel 
 and damnable thing called life." 
 
 He left her without another word, and Miss Sally 
 heard the key turn in the door of his little room be 
 yond the library. As for her she sat down on the 
 edge of the sofa and cried as though her young 
 heart would break, for her brother and for the baby 
 who was to be the subject of his unnatural and un- 
 
SIDNEY. 69 
 
 Christian grief. " If only I can be good, the dear 
 child cannot help coming to the Saviour," she said, 
 
 between her sobs. " because she will see how He 
 ^* 
 
 helps and comforts me. Oh, I will try to be good. 
 And if I m happy when I am married, she will 
 know that Mortimer is all wrong." 
 
 But Christianity taught Miss Sally no subtlety, 
 only simple-mindedness; so how could she contend 
 with the clear and clever reasoning which, little by 
 little, drew hopes and illusions from before the eyes 
 of the growing girl, and displayed the baseness and 
 bitterness of life, while at the same time Sidney s 
 instinct showed her in her father s character, that 
 this cruel knowledge was compatible with spotless 
 honor and gracious sweetness ! As for the other 
 way in which Miss Sally was to teach her niece, the 
 gradual years had blurred her anticipation of mar 
 riage ; for, like all those mild souls who are born old 
 maids, she had cherished the conviction that marriage 
 was a woman s duty, and looked forward to it as a 
 matter of course. Now, at nearly forty, although, 
 from force of habit, vague thoughts of it flitted 
 through her mind at times, she had ceased to think 
 of it as a probability ; the cares of housekeeping and 
 the interests of other people made her assume and 
 feel a sedateness far beyond her years ; and so, in 
 stead of precept or conscious example, she simply 
 loved. 
 
 It all came back to her as she sat reading the 
 unsavory novel ; and if Mrs. Paul had not been so 
 interested in the plans she was making for Sidney, 
 she might have noticed the vagueness of the reader s 
 voice. 
 
70 SIDNEY, 
 
 " I should just like to tell her there is no use in 
 thinking of Sidney s falling in love," Miss Sally 
 was saying to herself. " Mortimer would never per 
 mit it, and how could I seern to bring it about 
 against his wishes and Sidney ! " It seemed to 
 Miss Sally, in spite of her theories about the sphere 
 of woman, improper to think of Sidney in such a 
 way. 
 
 " Do go," Mrs. Paul said, suddenly, in the middle 
 of a sentence, " and send Scarlett to me as you go 
 down-stairs. Lord, what a book ! There is sorrow 
 enough in real life without having tragedies in novels. 
 I want to be amused, if you please. I hope you will 
 make a better selection next time." 
 
 Miss Sally s horrified protest that the choice had 
 not been hers delighted Mrs. Paul. 
 
 " No, I suppose not," she said. " You haven t 
 sense enough. Every woman of the world should read 
 such books, so as to make allowance for life and 
 learn to be charitable ; it is a religious duty. But 
 you will never be a woman of the world, my dear ! " 
 
 " I think," returned Miss Sally, timidly, " a bad 
 book can t teach us charity if it amuses us too." 
 
 Occasionally this gentle and not very sensible 
 little creature made a remark implying a moral 
 bravery of which she could not have been supposed 
 capable. 
 
 " I could n t let her speak of wicked books in that 
 way," she thought, as she went down-stairs, her 
 heart pounding with fright. 
 
 She gave Mrs. Paul s message to Sidney, and 
 dared not omit adding, " Perhaps Mr. Steele will 
 walk across the garden with you, my love? " 
 
SIDNEY. 71 
 
 " No," said the young woman, looking at him with 
 wide, calm eyes, " I will not trouble Mr. Steele." 
 
 He had risen with quick pleasure, but at Sidney s 
 words he shrank back. " She does not want me," 
 he thought, and with bitter gratitude his mind re 
 turned to Miss Sally. The thought of her kindness 
 was like wine to a resolution which sometimes flagged ; 
 it never failed him when the struggle was hard. 
 How much this courage which came with the thought 
 of her, was due to increasing bodily health Robert 
 Steele never asked himself. 
 
 When, late that afternoon, Sidney opened the 
 green baize door of Mrs. Paul s drawing-room, she 
 found her sitting by the fire. She seemed to be ex 
 pecting some one, the girl thought ; at least, as Sid 
 ney entered, she looked beyond her into the hall. 
 u Well ? " she said ; and then, " Did you come 
 alone ? " 
 
 " Yes," Sidney answered, brightly. " Aunt Sally 
 told me that you wanted to see me." 
 
 " That Sally I " said Mrs. Paul, under her breath. 
 " But why did you not ask that poor, forlorn Mr. 
 Steele to come with you ? I m sure he can t find 
 your aunt s conversation very interesting ; my draw 
 ing-room might be a little more entertaining." 
 
 " I did not think of amusing him," said the girl. 
 " Aunt Sally proposed that he should walk across 
 the garden with me, as though I were afraid to come 
 alone ! " She smiled, but Mrs. Paul made an im 
 patient gesture. 
 
 " Well, never mind now. (I 11 see Sally to-mor 
 row !) Sit down, my dear." 
 
72 SIDNEY. 
 
 "Can t I read to you?" Sidney asked. "You 
 are alone, and " 
 
 "I m always alone," said Mrs. Paul, sharply; 
 " do n t say foolish things. No. I want to talk to 
 you." 
 
 She waited while Scarlett placed before the fire a 
 screen, made of a fan, which had nymphs and 
 shepherds painted upon it. Then she leaned her 
 head against the carved and uncomfortable back of 
 her chair, and looked up at Sidney. Her keen dark 
 eyes had an unwonted gentleness in them. 
 
 " My dear," she began, " you must be a little more 
 thoughtful for your poor sick man. Talk to him 
 sometimes; it must be very dull when your father is 
 not at home, if you never speak to him." 
 
 Sidney raised her eyebrows. "I don t like to 
 talk to him," she announced, calmly ; " he is n t ex 
 actly ill, but to see any one who is not quite well is 
 not pleasant. It is n t as if I were aunt Sally, and 
 could make him more comfortable, you know." 
 
 The frank selfishness of this did not disturb Mrs. 
 Paul. " I do not want you to make him more com 
 fortable," she said, with a short laugh, " but don t 
 ignore him while he is your father s guest. Why, I 
 am driven to entertaining him myself. I am going 
 to ask you all to take tea here, Alan and all. I 
 suppose Mr. and Mrs. Brown must come; that is 
 the nuisance of the clergy, you have to invite 
 them ; and of course you and Mr. Steele. He seems 
 a most amiable young man ? " 
 
 "Yes," Sidney answered, with something as near 
 carelessness as can come into the voice of a young 
 woman when speaking to her elders and betters. 
 
SIDNEY. 73 
 
 "And Mortimer Lee. Perhaps he will be 
 willing to do me a favor, for once ? I don t ask him 
 very often. It was three years on the 18th of last 
 July since he entered this house." 
 
 "But father never goes anywhere," Sidney ex 
 plained. 
 
 When that strange resentment came into Mrs. 
 Paul s voice, Sidney s happy readiness to reply for 
 sook her ; instead, there was something like anger in 
 her serene eyes ; what right had Mrs. Paul to seem 
 to disapprove of him ? 
 
 "Don t I know that?" cried the older woman. 
 " I knew him long before you were born, young lady ! 
 And he would have been a great deal happier man 
 to-day, if he had had more sense. There ! don t talk 
 about it ; it irritates me to talk about such folly, 
 a man like Mortimer Lee to make a hermit of him 
 self ! Stop, I say, don t talk about it! But I 
 suppose he can do this, at least ; it is n t asking very 
 much." 
 
 " I hope he will come," Sidney said. " It will be 
 so pleasant if he will come." 
 
 " It will be pleasant, if you behave as a well-bred 
 young woman should, and endeavor to be agreeable 
 to my guest ; and also if you wear a decent dress, as 
 befits your father s daughter. What have you to 
 
 ?M 
 
 " I have that muslin, with the blue ribbons," the 
 girl answered, doubtfully ; " or I suppose aunt Sally 
 might get some new ones, another color." 
 
 " Nonsense," said Mrs. Paul ; " you are not a 
 miss in your teens; pray have some sense." She 
 
74 SIDNEY. 
 
 stopped, and frowned. " If you had not so much 
 wicked, wilful pride, I would buy you a proper 
 gown. Sally does n t know how to dress you. But 
 I tell you what I will do. Hush ! don t begin to 
 protest ; it is most unladylike to protest. I have 
 some dresses in the garret, old ones, child, old 
 ones, and Scarlett shall shape one over for you. 
 I have my reasons for wanting to see you properly 
 dressed, for once in your life." 
 
 " Oh, but, Mrs. Paul," said Sidney, " I would rather 
 wear my muslin." 
 
 44 Well, I would rather you did n t wear your mus 
 lin," interposed the other, grimly. " Now, say no 
 more about it. We will go and look at them, at least. 
 Just ring for Davids ; we must have candles ; the 
 garret is dark by this time." 
 
 44 Had n t we better wait for daylight ? " Sidney 
 said, anxious to put off the evil hour ; but Davids 
 was already listening to his mistress s orders. 
 
 " Tell Scarlett to take up two lamps ; and do you 
 light all the bedroom candles, and put them on the 
 red chest of drawers, over against the chimney- 
 breast, so that the light will fall on the big mirror ; 
 and make haste, make haste ! " 
 
 Davids was as incapable of haste as Major Lee 
 himself, but Scarlett came hurrying in, a moment 
 later, to say that the lamps were lighted, and to pre 
 cede her mistress to the garret, a flaring candle in a 
 tall silver candlestick in each hand. Davids gave 
 Mrs. Paul his arm, and Sidney, annoyed but help 
 less, followed them through the hall and up the wide, 
 winding stairs. The silence was broken only by the 
 
SIDNEY. 75 
 
 soft thud of Mrs. Paul s stick, or a sharp word to 
 Scarlett lest a drop of wax should fall on the faded 
 Turkey carpet. 
 
 In the garret, Davids had drawn an armchair to 
 one side of the old cheval-glass, which, as the can 
 dles gleamed and flickered across it, seemed a pool 
 of misty light among the shadows under the rafters. 
 On the chest of drawers, which stood against the 
 great unplastered chimney-breast in the middle of 
 the room, were two lamps with frosted globes, which 
 looked like moons glimmering in a mist ; Scarlett 
 had put some candles there, also, and on a shelf 
 above the mirror a candelabrum dropped a wavering 
 plummet of light into its mysterious depths. But 
 the garret was quite dark, except for this spot of 
 brightness about the three women. The stains and 
 streaks on the yellowing plaster of the walls had 
 faded into the dusk, and one could scarcely see the 
 spider -webs between the rafters, or the strange 
 array of " things " on shelves and pegs : there were 
 three warming-pans in a row upon the wall, no 
 one knew how long ago their brass had been pol 
 ished last ; at one end of the room old-fashioned 
 bonnets hung, cavernous with shadows, and seeming, 
 when the candles flickered, to nod, as though ghostly 
 heads whispered and chattered together ; and hang 
 ing above the presses were portraits of the forgotten 
 dead, which no one had the courage to destroy. 
 
 Mrs. Paul sank, a little breathlessly, into the 
 chair by the glass, as Davids left her and noiselessly 
 closed the door behind him. " Now ! " she said, 
 with great satisfaction. " Open the blue chest first, 
 
76 SIDNEY. 
 
 Scarlett. I think I think it is in that." Scarlett, 
 on her knees by the blue chest, lifted out the piles 
 of clothing within it. " No, no, not that," Mrs. Paul 
 commented, impatiently, " not that ; have you no 
 eyes, Scarlett ? That quilted satin petticoat was my 
 mother s, Sidney ; look, child ! She wore that when 
 she rode into Washington, on a pillion, behind my 
 grandfather, to see Congress assemble. Nor that ! 
 Lord, Scarlett, have you no sense ? " 
 
 " The chest is empty, madam," answered Scarlett. 
 It was curious to see the eager look on Mrs. Paul s 
 face, when there was but a dream in Sidney s eyes, 
 and quiet indifference in Scarlett s voice and man 
 ner. 
 
 " Then look in the big press," Mrs. Paul directed. 
 " It is the lavender brocade, with bunches of flow 
 ers ; don t you know ? " 
 
 When it was found, and shaken from its folds of 
 years, and she had helped Sidney put it on, the ser 
 vant began to be interested. Mrs. Paul leaned back 
 in her chair and watched them. The yellowing lace 
 ruffles in the sleeves scarcely touched the girl s white 
 elbows, and the flowered bodice would not meet 
 across her young bosom. But the high-heeled satin 
 slippers which Scarlett produced fitted her quite per 
 fectly, and the full skirt was long enough, the train 
 twisting itself about her ankles as she turned and 
 looked into the clear darkness of the mirror. 
 
 " There is a taffeta scarf there," said Mrs. Paul, 
 plucking at Sidney s sleeve, and then pushing aside 
 the lace in the square neck, her wrinkled hand seem 
 ing to lose its whiteness where it touched the girl s 
 
SIDNEY. 77 
 
 soft skin ; " just put that over her shoulders, and 
 then lace the bodice across it Lower, lower ! Don t 
 cover her throat. Don t you know better than to 
 cover her throat ? Now, hold the candles so that I 
 can see her ! " 
 
 Scarlett moved the candles upon this side and 
 upon that, the lights and shadows falling on the dis 
 tressed young face and the gleaming folds of the old 
 brocade. 
 
 " It seems to me," Sidney said anxiously, and try 
 ing to draw a long breath, " that the muslin would 
 be better ; this is quite stiff, Mrs. Paul, and tight, 
 truly it is." 
 
 " Nonsense," said Mrs. Paul, impatiently. " I went 
 to parties before you were born ; I know what is 
 proper for a young woman to wear. Of course 
 Scarlett shall alter it. You don t think, Scarlett, 
 that a band of black velvet about her throat ? 
 Jewels can t be thought of." 
 
 "No, madam," Scarlett answered, the candles 
 shining on her little worn face as she walked around 
 the girl. " She s beautiful ! It does remind me of 
 other days, madam ! " 
 
 The two old women had apparently forgotten the 
 young creature, with her protesting eyes. " Make a 
 courtesy, Sidney ! " cried Mrs. Paul, shrilly ; " but 
 you don t know how ! There, take my stick, Scar 
 lett ; " and rising stiffly, her head held high, her lips 
 breaking into a smile, she lifted her plum-colored 
 silk skirt daintily and sunk back, with the sweeping 
 bend with which long ago she had greeted one lover 
 or another. 
 
78 SIDNEY. 
 
 " Do you remember, Scarlett?" she said, falling 
 into her chair with a sigh which was almost a groan. 
 " I was as young as you, Sidney, when I saw your 
 father first, it was before he was married. It was 
 nothing to me, of course, there were so many young 
 men ; I don t know why I should happen to remem 
 ber it. I wore a yellow satin that night. You 
 could n t do that with your color ; there are few 
 women who could stand it. Do you remember, Scar 
 lett ? There ! the gown is beautiful ; but you must n t 
 let it make you vain. Fine feathers, you know. 
 Yes, it must be altered a little ; women dress so fool 
 ishly nowadays. Now, come downstairs. I want 
 to see you walk across the drawing-room. A woman 
 manages a train by inheritance ; if your mother was 
 used Well, come downstairs, come down 
 stairs. Scarlett shall do your hair the night you 
 come to tea. Don t interrupt me ; in my young 
 days, chits of girls did n t interrupt their elders." 
 There was a strange excitement in Mrs. Paul s face. 
 " It will be beautiful, Scarlett. What ? " In some 
 dim way it was not Sidney who stood, young and 
 flushed, with eyes like jewels under her shining hair, 
 but she herself. " And this is the way I held my 
 fan," she said, opening the ivory sticks upon Sid 
 ney s round arm. " There, swing it so ! Can t 
 you look across it and then down again, at your 
 hands. Oh, not like a Sunday-school child repeat 
 ing its verse. Lord, Sidney ! " 
 
 Sidney laughed. " But it is easier to look straight 
 at you, Mrs. Paul," she said. Then the little pro 
 cession moved across the sagging floor, and down 
 
SIDNEY. 79 
 
 the stairs to the drawing-room. Sidney, still reluc 
 tant, but young ; for the soft colors, the shimmering 
 folds, the cobwebs of lace, were a glimpse into a new 
 world. 
 
 . You seem too pleased with life, Sidney," de 
 clared the old woman, watching her with puzzled ir 
 ritation. " I did not look like that when I walked 
 down a drawing-room, I can tell you. Oh, Alan 
 Crossan ? Here, what is the matter with Sidney ? 
 What will keep her from looking so good ? " She 
 laughed as she spoke, with a droll glance. 
 
 The doctor had entered, with an unheard an 
 nouncement from Davids. u A little further instruc 
 tion from Mrs. Paul," he observed, critically, while 
 beneath his eyes Sidney stood with a new, unpleas 
 ant consciousness of being embarrassed. " A little 
 more attention to your example cannot fail to re 
 move obtrusive goodness. And yet, do you know, I 
 doubt if it would be altogether an improvement ? " 
 
 Mrs. Paul laughed, her keen, dark eyes sweeping 
 him from head to foot with charming insolence. 
 " You are impossible ! " she said. " Sidney, you 
 can go upstairs, now. She does n t get her timidity 
 from Mortimer Lee, I can tell you," she went on. 
 " I suppose it is Gertrude Randolph over again. 
 And yet, there is a certain way in which she can 
 carry her head that promises hard things for young 
 Steele." 
 
 " Steele ? " questioned the doctor, frowning. 
 
 " Yes, my friend," cried Mrs. Paul, " and I am 
 doing my part, I can tell you. I have opened that 
 Sally s eyes, and well, we shall see. That is, if 
 
80 SIDNEY. 
 
 the young man is not a fool, though they gener 
 ally are. How is he, your Steele ? " 
 
 " Better," returned Alan, cheerfully. " I left him 
 just a moment ago talking to dear Miss Sally, by 
 the library fire. They said Sidney was here, and 
 I came to bring her home to tea." 
 
VI. 
 
 MRS. PAUL S unusual softness as she talked to 
 Sidney that afternoon, had its natural reaction when 
 she played at draughts with John Paul in the even 
 ing. 
 
 " He s that badged," said Davids, when he left 
 the mother and son at the tea-table, arid came out 
 into the serenity of Scarlett s shining kitchen, " that 
 it does seem like as if he must jaw back. But he 
 ain t said a word, except to tell me to fetch him 
 some more curried roe. Well, thank the Lord, 
 he can eat." Scarlett s invariable response of si 
 lence filled the man with such wrath that he almost 
 forgot his sympathy with his master. " A woman d 
 better have a tongue," he said, " even if she can t 
 use it no better than she does ! " 
 
 But John Paul found so much comfort in his 
 curry, and in studying out a phase of the fishery 
 question which it perhaps suggested, that Davids 
 sympathy was really unnecessary ; John did not 
 even remember his mother s anger over night. 
 There was nothing to remind him of it, for he never 
 saw Mrs. Paul in the morning ; only Scarlett, and 
 sometimes Miss Sally, were admitted to her bed 
 room while she breakfasted. 
 
 He took less time than usual that day over his 
 coffee and paper, although breakfast was a most 
 
82 SIDNEY. 
 
 important affair to John Paul ; for he was in haste 
 to jot down those ideas about the fishery trouble, so 
 that later in the day he might go and talk them 
 over with Katherine Townsend. Indeed, such was 
 his interest in his bit of work, and his impatience to 
 have, he said to himself, the benefit of Miss Town- 
 send s clear criticism, that he started out over the 
 old bridge quite early in the afternoon. 
 
 Little Eliza, staring from the toll-house window, 
 answered his cheery nod with a flickering color in 
 her round cheeks. " Had your music lesson, Miss 
 Eliza?" he called out, and waited good-naturedly in 
 the wind while she ran to open the door that she 
 might answer him. 
 
 " Pretty cold, is n t it ? " he asked, beating his 
 hands together, and looking back across the bridge. 
 u Seen Miss Towusend come out from town yet? " 
 
 u No, sir, not yet," responded Eliza ; " she comes 
 late to-day, Miss Townsend does. Thursdays she 
 doesn t pass the toll-house before half past four, 
 sir." 
 
 " Pshaw ! what did I start so early for ? " he 
 thought. He was uncertain what to do. He might 
 go on, and wait for her in the parlor of the house in 
 lied Lane; but though Ted was a first-rate little 
 boy, and the brother of his sister, talk of pups did 
 sometimes pall. " What time is it now ? " he asked, 
 bending his head so that he could look through the 
 low doorway and see the fat Dutch clock ticking 
 above the dresser. " Twenty minutes to four ! I 
 wonder if you d let me wait in your pleasant sit 
 ting-room, Miss Eliza? I I m a little early for 
 a call I wanted to make, and, " 
 
SIDNEY. 83 
 
 " Oli ! " cried Eliza, after a speechless moment of 
 delight. 
 
 So Mr. John Paul entered, and from the kitchen 
 pantry what did Mrs. Jennings hear, "just as socia 
 ble and friendly like, but, Won t you take off your 
 coat, Mr. Paul? " 
 
 " It gave me such a turn," Mrs. Jennings con 
 fessed afterwards, as she and Eliza talked it all over, 
 " that I was like to. sit, right down on the floor. And 
 wasn t I thankful thaU"" 1 ! put them cakes in the 
 oven ! " For they had cakes and tea, in the little 
 sitting-room with the antimacassars on the chairs 
 and the geraniums in the windows ; and it was all, 
 Mrs. Jennings declared, just as genteel and cozy as 
 could be. Of course, after she brought in the little 
 hot brown cakes, the mistress of the toll-house, in a 
 discreet and proper way, retired to the pantry, 
 where, with overflowing eyes and palpitating bosom, 
 she could hear the whole conversation. 
 
 What that half hour was to Eliza and her mother 
 John Paul never knew. " Thank God, you was at 
 home, Liza," Mrs. Jennings reuiarked more than 
 once ; and then she excused the warmth of her 
 words by saying that most people would say Provi 
 dence, she supposed, but, for her part, she only said 
 Providence when things did n t go right; and she 
 wanted to find fault. " And you can t find fault 
 the other way ! " said Mrs. Jennings, piously. 
 
 "When it was time to go, John Paul, in the good 
 ness of his heart, said many pleasant things of the 
 gay little room, and complimented the cakes and the 
 geraniums, and even the hens in the yard. Mrs. 
 
84 SIDNEY. 
 
 Jennings was so thrilled by his condescension, and 
 so tearful with admiration of her daughter s " pretty 
 manners," that she began to make plans for his next 
 visit. " For he 11 come," she said, nodding and 
 winking, as she and her daughter sat that night by 
 the little air-tight stove, which smiled redly through 
 its square mica eyes, and filled the room with a 
 cheery glow. 
 
 " Law, ma ! " 
 
 " Yes," continued Mrs. Jennings, it was her 
 habit, before going to bed, to sit thus by the stove, 
 in a wadded short gown, with carpet slippers on her 
 ponderous feet and a cup of tea in one hand, 
 " yes, he enjoyed it, he said he did. So he 11 
 come again ; you mark my words." 
 
 " Did he say he enjoyed it ? " Eliza murmured, 
 meditatively, although she had herself repeated to 
 her mother those very words when the door had 
 closed behind John Paul ; but it was a pleasure to 
 hear them again. 
 
 " Yes, he did," declared Mrs. Jennings. " Thank 
 you for letting me come in, he says. It s been very 
 pleasant to wait here, he says. 4 1 ve enjoyed it 
 very much. What do you call that, Liza ? " 
 
 " And then he said that about the cakes," added 
 Eliza, dreamily. 
 
 "Yes, then he said that about the cakes," her 
 mother assented, with great satisfaction. " You d 
 ought to have asked him to come again and have 
 some more ; still, it s best to be sought, I will say ! " 
 
 "Oh, ma!" 
 
 " And then you talked all that about your music 
 
SIDNEY. 85 
 
 lessons. Well, now, it does seem to me I would n t 
 V kept on like you did about Miss Townsend ? " 
 
 " But he was asking about my lessons," Eliza ex 
 plained. 
 
 " Yes, but you need n t a gone on praisin her," 
 said Mrs. Jennings, in a discontented voice. 
 " There ! I do get out of all patience with her ; 
 and yet when she s here, I don t know why it is, 
 but I never seem to know just what to say. Well, 
 never mind her. Only, next time he comes, do let on 
 that you ve something else to talk about than her." 
 She twirled her teacup round, and then looked 
 searchingly at the grounds. " There s a man there," 
 she said, pointing with her stubby forefinger at the 
 bottom of the cup ; " he s a visitor ! See those 
 grounds ! " 
 
 Eliza shook her head. "I don t believe he 11 
 ever come again," she said, with mournful common 
 sense. 
 
 But Mrs. Jennings pressed her lips together in a 
 mysterious way. " I understand such things, Liza. 
 I know a man don t say to a young lady, 4 Thank 
 you for letting me stay, letting me, says he, 
 without some meaning in it. Would Job Todd say 
 it, d ye think ? I guess not ! " 
 
 In spite of her good sense, Eliza s spirits rose, or 
 at least she allowed herself to enter into the enjoy 
 ment of her delusion. She blushed and smiled in 
 the firelight, until Mrs. Jennings shed tears of hap 
 piness at her darling s happiness. 
 
 " Oh, ma," the little milliner said, rising with a 
 happy sigh, and standing a moment before the glass, 
 " oh, ma, if I just was n t freckled ! " 
 
86 SIDNEY. 
 
 But Mrs. Jennings pushed back the soft hair from 
 her daughter s forehead with a loving hand. " Theie, 
 now, deary, don t tliink of that. My ! if your skin 
 was n t just so soft and fair, you would n t freckle. 
 Freckles is a sign of beautiful complexion under 
 em." 
 
 This was so comforting, Eliza smiled again. John 
 Paul little knew what a commotion and joy his visit 
 had caused ; had he known, possibly he might not 
 have trespassed upon Mrs. Jennings hospitality 
 again, even to the extent of coming in to buy a 
 bunch of geraniums for Miss Townsend, later in the 
 winter. 
 
 On this especial afternoon, however, he only knew 
 that it had been a pleasure to listen to Eliza s rap 
 tures about her teacher. (" She s just splendid ! " 
 Eliza had said, and sighed for want of better words.) 
 Indeed, the expression was so much in his mind that 
 he found himself smiling as he joined Miss Kather- 
 ine Townsend and asked her to let him go as far as 
 Red Lane with her. He had the most casual way in 
 the world of asking such favors ; it was almost irri 
 tating, unless one happened to know that it was his 
 method of disguising his shyness. 
 
 " You have a most ardent admirer in your toll 
 house pupil," he declared. "I ah stopped 
 there a moment." 
 
 Katheriiie s smile was like sudden sunshine ; she 
 knew quite well why Mr. John Paul had stopped at 
 the toll-house. " She is a good little thing," she said, 
 " and her mother is delightful. Mrs. Jennings told 
 me, when she engaged me," John winced, 
 
SIDNEY. 87 
 
 " that she was always glad 4 to give the benefit to 
 people that was real poor and had to work hard. " 
 
 " Confound her ! " grumbled John Paul, " do you 
 call that delightful?" 
 
 44 Charming ! " returned Katherine, gayly. " I 
 told her that I was very much obliged to her, and 
 she said in the most comfortable way, 4 Well, never 
 you mind ; may be you 11 get settled down one of 
 these days ! She had the respectable mechanic in 
 her mind s eye, I m sure." 
 
 She laughed as she spoke. One could easily be 
 lieve, however, that Mrs. Jennings would have hesi 
 tated at that final suggestion. There was a look 
 in this young woman s face which puzzled and irri 
 tated the mistress of the toll-house, in spite of her 
 knowledge that the Townsends had as little money 
 as she had. That slight immobility of the upper lip, 
 which gives piquancy as well as a hint of hardness to 
 the whole face, or, it were more exact to say, a prom 
 ise of justice without sentiment, gave also a look of 
 pride which the carriage of her head accentuated. 
 As Mrs. Jennings had confessed to her daughter, 
 she never knew just what to say to Miss Townsend ; 
 so naturally enough she disliked her. 
 
 They had almost reached Red Lane when John 
 stopped. " Are you very tired ? " he asked. " Could 
 you walk a little further out into the country ? That 
 grove of birches on the Perryville Plank Road must 
 be marvelous." 
 
 There had been a storm of sleet in the morning, 
 which, as the cold deepened, had frozen on the trees, 
 and now in the late afternoon, when the gray clouds 
 
88 SIDNEY. 
 
 lifted in the west, and a flood of ruddy gold poured 
 over the white landscape, the icy branches blazed 
 with all the jewels of Aladdin. The pools of ice by 
 the roadside caught a sudden red, and the fringe of 
 windy clouds in the east quivered with rosy light. 
 The birch grove would be beautiful, John thought ; 
 its trees were so slight that they would bend like 
 wonderful feathers under the weight of ice, and in 
 this glow of gold gleam and glitter as though pow 
 dered with the dust of a thousand diamonds. 
 
 It would be interesting to know how many men, 
 in offering themselves to the women they love, use 
 the subtile, or passionate, or tender sentences with 
 which they have beguiled their imagination for many 
 a day. Instead, the flutter of an eyelid, a broken 
 word, or a beautiful silence may tell all ! 
 
 John Paul had composed the story of his love in 
 his own mind a dozen times in the last month, only 
 to sigh as he ended it and say that he was a fool; 
 she would never look at him, except with that con 
 tempt in her kind gray eyes which he could not 
 understand. Nevertheless, he knew precisely at 
 what point he meant to take her hand and tell her 
 that he had loved her ever since he had known her 
 and and would she let him take care of her 
 now, and of Ted and the girls ; and that no man 
 had ever loved a woman as he loved her ; and all the 
 other statements usually made upon such occasions. 
 
 Who then could have been more astonished than 
 John Paul to hear himself say, as they walked along 
 the road, which was bordered witli wild blackberry 
 bushes, bending into a glistening network of ice, 
 
SIDNEY. 89 
 
 " The respectable mechanic must he be a me 
 chanic? " 
 
 Katherine Townsend flashed a quick look into his 
 face, but how could he see that, with the sun shining 
 straight into his near-sighted eyes ? 
 
 " Yes," she said, lightly, " I am inclined to think 
 he must be. To tell you the truth, Mr. Paul, I have 
 come of late to feel an immense amount of respect 
 for him, I speak generically, my acquantaince 
 with him being, unfortunately, limited to the piano 
 tuner at the other end of Red Lane, and Mr. Job 
 Todd, who built the kennel for the puppies." 
 
 " But, Katherine, I I meant " John began to 
 say, his voice quite hoarse, and in his agitation strik 
 ing at a frozen mullein stalk with his cane ; but she 
 interrupted him, with a ring in her voice which made 
 him stumble with astonishment. 
 
 " You see, they amount to something in the world, 
 these simple, hard-working men. Oh, since I have 
 had to teach, since I have really seen what living is 
 to most men and women, since I have understood 
 ihe meanness of luxury, I have burned with con 
 tempt for my old, lazy, easy life, the time when I 
 did nothing for myself, and just let people wait upon 
 me and take care of me." 
 
 John Paul s face stung ; there was something in 
 her voice which said that these words about herself 
 were for him. A woman, plodding through the 
 snow, looked towards them with that dull curiosity 
 with which wayfarers regard one another, and John 
 wondered if his face betrayed the ache in his heart. 
 " You are severe," he said. 
 
90 SIDNEY. 
 
 " I can t help it," she answered ; and then a mo 
 ment later, " The iron has entered into my soul, Mr. 
 Paul. The unevenness of life has seemed too horrible 
 to bear. I think I hope that if I were suddenly 
 to have plenty of money again I should keep on 
 doing something to earn it, and not be lazy, and in 
 different, and satisfied with a small, ignoble, com 
 fortable life. Oh, I feel this so about Ted. If I can 
 but teach him to be a man ; to feel the shame, the 
 disgrace, of dependence, either upon one person 
 me, for instance or upon one class in the commu 
 nity. He must earn his own bread, and not take 
 one crumb or one cent more than he gives, somehow ; 
 I don t care how ; by his brains or his hands ; 
 only he must be independent. I try to make him 
 feel it now, although he is just a little boy." She 
 stopped, and put her hand up to her eyes a moment. 
 " There is such a glare on the snow," she explained, 
 in an unsteady voice. 
 
 " Miss Townsend," John said, " it seems to me 
 that you are hardly fair to the man whom the acci 
 dent of birth places in a position where work is not 
 necessary " But she interrupted him. 
 
 " Birth never places us where we should not work ; 
 our own weakness or cowardice may let us take ad 
 vantage of circumstances that we have nothing to 
 do with. Oh, I despise such men, men who are sat 
 isfied with small, useless lives, and take what they 
 do not earn." 
 
 " I am afraid you are a socialist," John answered, 
 but his face was white. 
 
 Katherine shook her head. " I am a Christian, 
 that is all." 
 
SIDNEY. 91 
 
 " You are not fair ! " he burst out. " For instance, 
 I my mother " 
 
 " Yes ? Well ? " she said, for he had paused ; to 
 defend himself made all her scorn personal, and 
 killed his hope. 
 
 " You know my position," with an impulsive ges 
 ture. " It was my duty to go into the warehouse, 
 no matter how much I hated it. I don t work, I 
 know, though I should have liked to ; but why 
 should I have consulted my own wishes (I had n t 
 the motive then that I have now), why should I have 
 made her miserable ? " 
 
 " Why disturb your own comfort ? Is n t that 
 what you really mean ? " Katherine said, with bitter 
 lightness. " But perhaps I don t call things by the 
 names that you do." 
 
 " What do you call it, Miss Townsend ? " John 
 asked, quietly. 
 
 " I don t think my opinion is of any consequence," 
 she said, but she bit her lip to keep it firm. 
 
 " It is everything in the world to me, Katherine." 
 
 Her contempt scorched his face, but somehow there 
 was a strange comfort in it, which he did not stop to 
 analyze. 
 
 " Please do not call me Katherine, Mr. Paul," she 
 commanded, with an attempt at gayety, " even to 
 show that you are friendly in spite of my candor. 
 I to tell you the truth, I should call such an atti 
 tude as yours toward your mother, selfish and 
 cowardly." 
 
 John started as though he had been struck in the 
 face ; to be sure, that talk about Ted and herself 
 
92 SIDNEY. 
 
 had meant it, but to put it into words ! They had 
 reached the grove of birches, and stood looking mis 
 erably at the sparkling trees. The wet folds of the 
 clouds had quenched the sunset light, and a low 
 wind, blowing up from the river and wandering 
 across the hills, made the mail-clad branches creak 
 and rattle. 
 
 " It is beautiful ; " Katherine said, vaguely, look 
 ing into the glittering mist of the woods with un 
 seeing eyes. 
 
 " Very," John answered, with his back to the 
 trees ; " I am astounded by your use of words, Miss 
 Townsend." 
 
 " Why should you be ? " she cried. " Look, cow 
 ardly : how many times have you told me that you 
 have kept silent rather than have a discussion ! " 
 
 " Never when there was a principle involved," he 
 interposed, doggedly. 
 
 " There is always a principle in everything," she 
 declared. " More than that, deeper than that, you 
 have preferred the ignoble comfort of your life to 
 working hard and honestly at anything." John saw 
 the sheen of tears in her eyes. " And selfish ? Can 
 you for one instant claim that this effacement of 
 yourself has been for any one s peace and comfort but 
 your own? Have you ever, by one single protest, 
 helped your mother ? Forgive me for speaking of 
 her, but you asked me, and I have to be honest. 
 You know as well as I do that there is a point in the 
 relation of parent and child where the parent grows 
 no older, apparently, but the child ceases to be young, 
 and at that point there has to be an adjustment of 
 
SIDNEY. 93 
 
 ideas which is not agreeable. But what are you to 
 call the child who will not assert his individuality 
 because it would be unpleasant to do so ? Indeed, 
 I don t know any other word than selfish. Oh, it 
 seems to me that so many, many wrong things are 
 done under the name of self-sacrifice ! " 
 
 John did not speak. The branches of a tree 
 creaked shrilly ; some oak leaves, stiff with a glaze 
 of sleet, rustled, and bits of ice fell sharp upon the 
 frozen snow. 
 
 " If I can only keep Ted from such twisted moral 
 ity ! " she ended. 
 
 John said something between his teeth. " I wish 
 you would be so good as to drop Ted ; you mean all 
 this for me, of course. But you are cold. I ought 
 not to have kept you standing here. Let us go 
 back." 
 
 They turned, and began to walk silently towards 
 Eed Lane. Katherine could not talk ; she had 
 spoken out of a full, hot heart, but she knew very 
 well what the reaction would be. She saw herself 
 beaten with self-reproach and helpless regret. They 
 had almost reached Eed Lane, when John said 
 gently : 
 
 " I want you to believe that I value your sincerity. 
 It has hurt you to say all this." 
 
 "Not at all," Katherine answered, holding her 
 head high ; " the truth is never hard. I have felt 
 that we were friends, and " 
 
 " And it is only right that I should know what 
 you think of me ? " 
 
 " Yes," said Katherine. 
 
VII. 
 
 ALAN CROSSAN, as Miss Sally said, was really 
 devoted to his friend. There had been scarcely a 
 day since Robert had come to the major s that the 
 doctor had not called to see him. " And it s so nice 
 for Sidney and me," Miss Sally asserted, in one of 
 her long, pleasant talks with Mr. Steele. " To 
 think, now, that he should have taught her to carve 
 so beautifully! But then Sidney could be taught 
 anything. I ve always said that." 
 
 They were in the long parlor, which was only a 
 little more dreary than usual, with the gray rain 
 sweeping in against the front windows under the 
 dark roof of the porch, and spattering down the 
 chimney once in a while upon the fire. Except Miss 
 Sally Lee s kind face, the soft-coal fire was the only 
 cheerful thing in the room ; it burned with a dancing 
 whirl of flames in an old-fashioned grate, which had 
 two brass balls on its hobs, and an iron back wrought 
 into the flaring rays of a broad-faced sun. On the 
 high black mantelpiece stood an ormolu clock, with 
 a dome-like glass shade to protect the figures of 
 Iphigenia and Diana ; it had not moved a gilt hand 
 across its fretted face for years. Robert Steele 
 watched it now vaguely, listening to the rain and to 
 Miss Sally s chatter. He was thinking of her rather 
 than of what she said. She was so upon the out- 
 
SIDNEY. 95 
 
 side of \vhat was greatest to her, so ignored and un 
 noticed, and yet so true and good, that she stirred 
 his pity and then his tenderness. When to tender 
 ness he added gratitude, it is no wonder that the 
 quiet little spinster was transformed in his eyes. 
 " Yes, a noble woman, nobly planned, " he thought. 
 Yet he did not finish the quotation ; he could not, 
 despite his convictions, looking at the simple, gentle 
 face, matter of fact and incapable of subtlety, with 
 mild eyes under sleek brown hair, which she wore 
 in old-fashioned bands over her ears. But though 
 she might not warn or command, at least she com 
 forted him, because, he said to himself, she believed 
 in him ; he did not reflect that she believed in every 
 one, even in Miss Sidney Lee, whose neglect of her 
 aunt filled him with indignation. Nor did he realize 
 that to be one s self neglected will sometimes bias 
 the judgment. With this thought of Sidney, he 
 glanced, reluctantly, towards the portrait at the 
 other end of the room : here was the same insolent 
 sweetness, the same serene selfishness, the same charm 
 which stung him into anger and, he said, dislike. 
 Yet he still looked at the painting, with something 
 beneath his anger, which he called content. It was 
 so much better to be with Miss Sally, he thought, 
 than to see that look in the face of Miss Sidney 
 Lee. 
 
 " You are so much better," he heard Miss Sally 
 saying; "and when you are well, just think what 
 good things you will do with that money." Robert 
 had made some dreary comment upon his money, and 
 it was thus Miss Sally received it, following out a 
 
96 SIDNEY. 
 
 suggestion she had made some time before, but which 
 she had taught Robert to feel was his own. 
 
 " If the thirty pieces had come back to Judas/ he 
 answered, " do you think that the establishment of a 
 lazaretto would have washed them clean ? " 
 
 " But it is not the same kind of thing," said Miss 
 Sally, with a little awe at the allusion, but much 
 good sense ; " and it s time for you to have your 
 beef-tea, anyhow." 
 
 " I think," returned Robert, smiling at her with 
 wistful eyes, " that your good opinion is better for 
 me than beef tea." 
 
 " I m afraid," she said, with a gleam of fun (it 
 was wonderful how, under kindly influences, she was 
 developing a harmless gayety which had never been 
 called out when it might have better matched her 
 years), "I m afraid that you could n t live up to 
 the good opinion without the beef tea." She nodded 
 and smiled with a small assumption of authority, 
 and then went to fetch it, coming back presently with 
 a tray on which was a frail blue bowl of soup and a 
 glass of sherry. 
 
 " How are you so wise in caring for people, Miss 
 Sally ? " Robert asked, watching her spread a little 
 table at his side. " You know just what to do for 
 everybody." 
 
 " Well, I am an old woman, you know," she 
 answered brightly. But it was strange how young 
 she looked with the glow of the fire on her face, 
 although there were some threads of gray in the 
 knot of ringlets at the back of her head. 
 
 " You are not old," Robert protested loyally ; but 
 
SIDNEY. 97 
 
 nevertheless he was astonished when she said she 
 was but thirty-nine. " You are so wise," he ex 
 plained, with the simple candor which Miss Sally 
 had been quick to appreciate, " so wise and kind, 
 that I had thought you were more than thirty-nine. 
 I am thirty-five, you know, and you are so much 
 wiser than I am." 
 
 Miss Sally blushed. " Oh, but indeed I am not 
 at all clever. When I think how much Mortimer 
 knows, and Sidney, I feel as if I really belonged in 
 the kitchen with Susan. But you ? " she added, with 
 sudden constraint, " why, I thought you were only 
 Alan s age." 
 
 It was curious what an instant change of atmos 
 phere this mutual knowledge caused. Miss Sally 
 began to wonder if she had been quite polite in 
 telling a man as old as Mr. Steele what he ought or 
 ought not to do. She began to feel a little awe of 
 him. Perhaps he had thought her forward ? Robert, 
 too, was aware of a subtle difference. He became 
 more assertive ; sympathy and confidence meant 
 more from a woman so nearly his own age than from 
 one as much his senior as he had supposed Miss 
 Sally to be. A friendship which holds within it the 
 possibility of something warmer than friendship is 
 always attractive, whether the possibility is recognized 
 or not. Robert, hearing at that moment Sidney s 
 voice in the hall, said to himself that while he was 
 honored with Miss Sally s regard it made no differ 
 ence whether Miss Sidney Lee ignored him or not. 
 But he felt suddenly old and tired, as the room dark 
 ened with a dash of rain against the windows, and 
 Sidney and Alan entered. 
 
98 SIDNEY. 
 
 As he looked up at them a surprising thought first 
 presented itself to him. Perhaps it sprung from 
 Sidney s careless glance ; but he did not stop to 
 analyze it. His mind went back to the dull rooms 
 in town, the empty days, the weight of undesired 
 wealth, and being so far recovered the remem 
 brance with a thrill of fear of the old bondage ; but 
 with that remembrance came the thought of Miss 
 Sally s belief in him ; and then the possibility ! 
 
 " Steele," Alan s voice broke in, Miss Sally 
 had slipped away, " to look after somebody s com 
 fort," Robert was sure, " Steele, I have been tell 
 ing Sidney about your charming cousin, Miss Town- 
 send. I can t persuade her to go and see her. She 
 would teach you lots of things, Sidney ; even to 
 read novels, perhaps. Bob, did you know Miss 
 Sidney Lee scorned novels ? " 
 
 " No, I don t," said the girl ; " only I do not read 
 them, Alan. Is n t it a little waste of time to read 
 novels ? And Miss Townsend as she is a teacher, 
 I suppose she is positive, and " 
 
 " And what, pray, are you ? " cried Alan. " No, 
 really, she is delightful. I called on her last night, 
 which is more than you ve done for a month, Bob. 
 School-ma am ? Not a bit of it ! Simply a charm 
 ing woman, though worldly and decidedly practical." 
 
 Sidney smiled with serious eyes. To hear him 
 talk in this way gave her a curious feeling of being 
 left out ; she did not understand it. She did not 
 answer him, but waited for him to go on, with that 
 peculiar and silent graciousness which stirred Alan s 
 heart as an unseen and noiseless wind blows red 
 coals into a flame. 
 
SIDNEY. 99 
 
 " She brought up a question which interested me," 
 Alan proceeded. " I don t know whether to call it 
 ethics or taste. Bob, listen. You look half asleep. 
 She had come across a sketch, or story, or some 
 thing, she said it was true, about a man and 
 his wife who came over in a steamer ; I think it was 
 that one which went down on the Newfoundland 
 coast. Well, the man, it seems, was the sole sup 
 port not only of his wife, but of his mother and his 
 sisters. When the steamer began to sink, it was 
 found that only a few could be saved ; so of course 
 the women were to go first. But this fellow s wife 
 wouldn t move. No, she said. 4 You ve got to 
 be saved because of your mother and sisters. And 
 the man if you d call him a man actually did go 
 off in the life-boat, and leave his wife to drown ! 
 What do you think of that, Steele? Your cousin 
 told me of half a dozen people who upheld him. 
 He saved his miserable life at the cost of his wife s." 
 
 " I don t see that he had any choice," Robert an 
 swered. 
 
 " Bob," the doctor admonished him, " I shall have 
 to order you to bed, if you utter such sentiments ; 
 it shows that you are not strong. Sidney, you are 
 not going to agree with him ? " 
 
 She shook her head. " I think they should have 
 died together. They had a right to themselves. 
 Why should the woman have insisted that her hus 
 band should live heart-broken all his days ? Oh, 
 she was cruel! She didn t really love him." 
 
 " Do you think so ? " Robert asked, with that hes 
 itation which always came into his voice when he 
 
100 SIDNEY. 
 
 spoke to Sidney. " I think she loved him divinely, 
 because she wanted the highest thing for him ; and 
 what must have been his passion for duty that he 
 could leave her ! " 
 
 " My dear fellow," said Alan, " the value of an 
 effort is determined by its result, not by the nobility 
 of motive which prompts it. You are both wrong ; 
 he should have saved her and died himself. Here s 
 Miss Sally. What do you say, Miss Sally ?" And 
 then he told her the story. 
 
 " I think they should both have put on life-pre 
 servers," answered Miss Sally earnestly ; at which 
 they laughed at her, even Robert ; yet there was a 
 new consciousness in his heart as he did so, a sort of 
 pity that she had not seen the deeper thing ; and 
 with it that tenderness without reason, which ex 
 cuses and commends at the same time. The laugh 
 ter, Sidney s at least, made him resentful as well as 
 tender. 
 
 Robert Steele, not yet strong, very pitiful, very 
 grateful, was drifting gradually to a position where 
 he should say, " She is so kind to me. I am so sorry 
 for her. I will try to be worthy of her friendship. 
 I love her!" He sighted this point that rainy 
 morning in January, though it was nearly two weeks 
 later that he fairly rounded it, being then within 
 three days of his departure from Major Lee s house. 
 II is visit had prolonged itself far beyond Alan s ex 
 pectation ; indeed, it had been evident to the doctor 
 ten days before that Robert had stayed as long as 
 the most ardent hospitality might desire ; but such a 
 thought had not occurred to the sick man. Miss 
 
SIDNEY. 101 
 
 Sally had assured him/vvheri lie 1 protested at the 
 trouble he gave, and said he must go away, that it 
 was a pleasure to have him stay ; and Major Lee, 
 courteous, indifferent, almost unconscious of the 
 young mail s presence, but never forgetful of that 
 forlorn, half invalid life of which he had had a 
 glimpse, said, too, " Pray do not think of leaving 
 us, sir." So Robert had remained. He had, of 
 course, no inkling of Mrs. Paul s joy in this, as he 
 had not seen her. She had fallen ill, " and when I 
 have a cold in my head," she announced to Miss 
 Sally, " I don t go about making an object of my 
 self." It was for this reason, too, that the tea-party 
 had been postponed, and that she did not know that 
 John had gone away from home for a week ; for it 
 was not Mrs. Paul s habit to receive her son in her 
 bedroom, and no one cared to impart the informa 
 tion. Only Scarlett and Miss Sally were privileged 
 to see the undress of their tyrant, and they found 
 her more awful with her white hair drawn straight 
 and tight away from her fierce eyes, and without the 
 softness of lace about her neck and wrists, than 
 when in the dignity of her satin gowns. 
 
 She had taken cold the day of the sleet storm, 
 she remembered the date with angry exactness, 
 and the Lord only knew when she could be down 
 stairs again, and able to ask the people to tea. Yet 
 Mr. Steele s lengthened stay was somewhat pacify 
 ing, and the first time that she was in the drawing- 
 room again, and had had a talk with Sidney about 
 him, she was really pleasant for the rest of the even 
 ing, even to Mr. Brown, when he called, as was his 
 
10.2 t 8f#$Y. 
 
 duty, to congratulate flic richest member of his par 
 ish upon her recovery. But all the while that she 
 was listening to him or giving advice ("I never 
 shrink from giving advice," she had declared more 
 than once, which, indeed, was strictly true), she was 
 making many plans for Sidney and Robert Steele. 
 
 It was almost a pity, for it would have saved her 
 much disappointment in the future, that she could 
 not at that moment have seen Miss Sally and Mr. 
 Steele sitting by the fire in the yellow parlor. The 
 major was in his library, where, as a matter of 
 course, Sidney had joined him ; so these two per 
 sons, no longer young, arid therefore to be trusted, 
 were alone. 
 
 It was a relief to Robert when Sidney left them. 
 That wide questioning look in her frank eyes always 
 kindled in him a hot disgust with himself, and a de 
 sire to be soothed by Miss Sally s gentle if ignorant 
 approval. How well she understood his rnoods, he 
 said to himself, as she fell into a pleasant silence. 
 So long as he did not know that her thoughts were 
 upon the failure of her beef stock to clear, his con 
 tent could not be lessened. He sat in his usual at 
 titude, his head resting on his hand, and his sad 
 eyes watching the dancing shine of the flames. Miss 
 Sally had drawn a bit of cambric from her green 
 workbag, and was softly stroking the gathers with 
 her needle. 
 
 "That is something for somebody, I am sure?" 
 Robert commented. 
 
 She nodded pleasantly. " Sidney does n t like to 
 sew," she explained. 
 
SIDNEY. 103 
 
 Robert Steele sighed. " I suppose you have 
 never known the feeling of self-reproach for neglect 
 of any one you love ? " 
 
 " Why, I almost think," said Miss Sally, " that 
 love means self-reproach. I don t see how a person 
 can ever be satisfied with what he does for any one 
 he cares for." 
 
 " Still, love always forgives love," Robert an 
 swered, "even for apparent neglect." lie was 
 thinking of that last look in his mother s face, when 
 weakness and fear had silenced her reproaches, and 
 she had how Robert blessed her for it ! " for 
 given " him. Then his thoughts followed the story 
 of his own miserable cowardice. " It is your own 
 forgiveness that it is hardest to get," he said. 
 
 Miss Sally looked puzzled ; then, with a gleam of 
 that good sense which seems an actual part of a 
 somewhat foolish character, she said, " But I think 
 you forgive yourself when you make yourself wor 
 thy to be forgiven by somebody else ; not when they 
 do forgive you, but when they ought to. Some 
 times, it seems to me," continued Miss Sally, who 
 could not remember an injury over night, "that wo 
 patdon tilings too easily." 
 
 Robert sighed. " You are so kind in spite of your 
 justice. You have forgiven me." 
 
 " Oh, dear me, Mr. Steele," protested Miss Sally, 
 " I did n t mean why, of course I was not talking 
 about you ; you have done nothing which needs 
 forgiveness ; you know what I think about that 
 money." 
 
 As for his remorse for his cowardice, it never en- 
 
104 SIDNEY. 
 
 tered Miss Sally s mind. To tell the truth, she had 
 been reproaching herself for not scolding Susan 
 about the ruined beef stock, and wishing that she 
 had been more strong-minded than to forgive her so 
 quickly. 
 
 " If I am ever anything in this world," cried 
 Robert, his face lighting with earnestness, " it will 
 be because you believe in me, Miss Sally ! " 
 
 " Oh, Mr. Steele," she said humbly, " don t say 
 that. God gives you the strength. I only see it. 
 I sometimes think that I can see such things, be 
 cause I am a little on the outside of life, you know ; 
 and so perhaps I have more time to see what is good 
 in other people." 
 
 " If you think that a man is good, it will make 
 him so. He has got to live up to it," Robert 
 answered. 
 
 Miss Sally laughed. It was so strange and pleas 
 ant, this talking out her little thoughts. 
 
 " If you believe in me," he went on, " I will grow 
 into something for your sake. I will build a better 
 future on this miserable past, if you will show me 
 how." Miss Sally put her work down, startled by 
 the earnestness in his voice. His eyes had a strained 
 and hunted look in them, and his lips, under his soft 
 brown beard, were pressed hard together. " And 
 you shall not be on the outside of anybody s life ; 
 you shall be in mine, you shall make it ! " 
 
 "I I 11 help you all I can," she said simply, 
 but her voice trembled ; she did not know why, but 
 she was vaguely frightened ; she began to sew very 
 fast, and looked toward the door, as though medi 
 tating flight. 
 
SIDNEY. 105 
 
 " I will be something in the world. Oh, care for 
 me just a little, Miss Sally ! " 
 
 "I I don t understand," she faltered, and then 
 regained her presence of mind. " I m sure we all 
 like you, Mr. Steele." But her hands shook, and 
 the needle flashed in and out unsteadily. 
 
 " Why, I " he paused, and put his hands over 
 his face for an instant ; he was saying to himself that 
 it was for her sake that he was conquering his sin 
 " I love you. You have been good to me, you have 
 made me feel that there is hope for me yet, you have 
 given me life and I love you ! " 
 
 Nothing could have been more honest than this 
 declaration. No young man who has played the 
 sighing lover for a year could, at that one instant of 
 unrecognized pity and profound gratitude, have felt 
 himself more truly in love than did Robert Steele 
 now. How could he tell that his growing hold upon 
 life was due not only to Miss Sally s belief in him, 
 but also to a firmer pulse and a healthier circulation ? 
 And how could the timid, trustful little spinster dis 
 criminate ? She had had no past experience with a 
 man in love, with which to compare this scene ; she 
 merely began to cry with all her might, stealthily 
 wiping her eyes on the bit of cambric, and saying, 
 "Oh, why, my! You must n t talk that way, Mr. 
 Steele ! " 
 
 Robert had risen, and stood beside her ; one ner 
 vous hand upon the back of her chair, and the other 
 covering the bit of cambric and her trembling fin 
 gers. It would have been hard to say which trem 
 bled most. He had always seen her strong for him, 
 
106 SIDNEY. 
 
 and this weakness stirred him profoundly. " Don t 
 you see? I love you. I want you to love me, Miss 
 Sally," he spoke as gently as to a sobbing child, 
 " care for me, and for your sake I will try to be 
 all you can desire." 
 
 " You ve got to have your wine," replied Miss 
 Sally, with sudden determination and calmness. " I 
 don t know what I ve been thinking of to let you 
 talk so much." 
 
 She thrust her sewing into the green bag in a 
 resolute way, but her lips were unsteady, and the 
 tears glittered upon her lashes. 
 
 " Just say one word," he pleaded. His own ear 
 nestness was like wine to him. " Love me, and I 11 
 be worthy of you. Say that you will marry me." 
 
 "I I must think," she said. So many things 
 came rushing into her mind : assured comfort for 
 Sidney and the major ; some one who would care for 
 her ; a happiness of her own which might show Sid 
 ney many things. All this without the slightest 
 thought of love itself. " I must think ! " she re 
 peated, and, without waiting to hear his entreaty, 
 she slipped out into the hall and up to the darkness 
 of her bedroom. Her face burned and throbbed, 
 and she put her hands up to her throat, as though 
 she could not breathe ; a little quivering sob parted 
 her lips. She made haste to light her lamp, for Miss 
 Sally was not one to whom the reserve of darkness 
 was a comfort. Then she sat down on the edge of 
 her high bed, and tried to compose herself ; but her 
 breath was hurried, and her eyes blurred once or 
 twice with half-frightened tears. 
 
SIDNEY. 107 
 
 " I must really," she said to herself, "I must 
 really take some pellets. I am I am agitated." 
 A small chest, holding many little vials, stood on 
 the straight-legged dressing-table. Miss Sally lifted 
 the lid and regarded the contents critically. " What 
 would be best ? " she pondered, and was not satisfied 
 until she had opened her " Domestic Physician," and, 
 glancing down the list of emotions of the mind, 
 learned that fear, excessive joy, violent anger, and 
 unhappy love might be benefited by and then a 
 list of names. Miss Sally did not pause to classify 
 her emotion. Ignatia was advised for three of the 
 four conditions, so it was the safest thing to try. 
 Five little white pills were counted carefully into 
 one shaking palm, and then placed upon her tongue, 
 while she stood, the bottle in her hand, awaiting 
 their effect. A moment later she went over to her 
 bedside, and kneeling, buried her face in her hands. 
 She was ashamed that she had not thought of this 
 before. The small pills had no doubt calmed her 
 mind enough for faith. She prayed with all her 
 simple heart for wisdom, then looked up to see that 
 the lamp was not smoking, and prayed again. 
 
 It must have been nearly three hours later, when 
 the house had fallen into the sleepy silence of night, 
 that Sidney, sitting by the old hour-glass table in her 
 bedroom, her smooth forehead frowning over some 
 accounts the major had begged her to settle for him, 
 heard a hesitating knock at her door, and Miss 
 Sally entered. 
 
 The bare and lofty room was full of shadows, ex 
 cept for the spot of light in which the young woman 
 
108 SIDNEY. 
 
 sat, so, glancing up in a preoccupied way, she did not 
 see that Miss Sally s eyes were red and her mouth 
 tremulous. Miss Sally s gray flannel dressing-gown 
 was short and scanty, and when she knelt by the 
 hearth and stirred the fire she shivered a little. 
 
 " It is cold in here, Sidney," she said. 
 
 " Is it ? " the girl answered tranquilly. "With the 
 soft color in her cheek and the swift, warm youth in 
 every vein, how could Sidney know that the little 
 drowsy fire in the wide black fireplace quite failed 
 to heat the big room ? There were many draughts 
 in Sidney s bedroom, which had windows on two 
 sides, sagging doorsills, and a great chimney, and the 
 room was cold, so cold that on the small fan-lights 
 which capped the windows there was a faint cross- 
 hatching of frost, and when the moon looked in upon 
 Sidney, adding the columns of figures, these wonder 
 ful lines and feathers sparkled as though a diamond 
 had been shivered against the glass. A path of 
 moonlight lay across the floor, and touched the pil 
 lows and the white canopy of the bed. It glim 
 mered on the brass knobs of the dressing-table, and 
 spread a film of silver upon the oval mirror bal 
 anced on the chest of drawers. It showed, too, Miss 
 Sally crouched upon the hearth, and holding up one 
 hand to shield her face from the fire. 
 
 Is a woman ever too worldly or too simple, too 
 young or too old, to desire sympathy in a love affair? 
 A man rarely burns to pour even a successful love 
 into any other man s bosom ; but a woman must say, 
 or look, " My life is not uncrowned." The accept 
 ance or nonacceptance of the crown is the usual 
 
SIDNEY. 109 
 
 excuse for such confidences. Miss Sally felt vaguely 
 that her niece was altogether remote from love and 
 loving, and yet, she must talk to some one ! 
 
 " Sidney," she began. 
 
 The girl glanced at the forlorn gray heap beside 
 the fire, and noted, with the cruel exactness of youth, 
 that Miss Sally s hair showed some white threads 
 about the temples. " Well, dear ? " she said. 
 
 " How do you think " Miss Sally seemed ab 
 sorbed in following the pattern of the brass fender 
 with her eyes " that a woman knows she is in 
 love ? " 
 
 Sidney put down her pen, and stared at her aunt 
 with undisguised astonishment. " I am sure I don t 
 know ! How do you suppose ? " There was the 
 impersonal interest in her voice with which an in 
 habitant of another world might question a state of 
 mind he could never know. " Who has been asking 
 your advice ? " 
 
 Miss Sally shook her head miserably. " I ve 
 always thought, at least it has seemed to me, that 
 one would feel, if she fell in love," Miss Sally 
 blushed " that she could n t have any life in the 
 future without the other person ; and as if she 
 had not been alive in the past, not having had 
 the other person. And yet, you see, Sidney, there 
 are so many other things ? " 
 
 " What other things ? " Sidney asked, curiously. 
 This odd conversation did not suggest anything seri 
 ous ; it only amused her. Miss Sally never needed 
 a premise, and was incapable of reaching a conclu 
 sion, so her niece was not apt to look for meaning 
 in her chatter. 
 
110 SIDNEY. 
 
 " Well, i you like a person very much, and he 
 likes you very much, and he will make you happy, 
 and he needs you, and you think it would be pleas 
 ant, only of course life would be pleasant, any 
 how, but not as pleasant, in fact well, if you 
 want to Sidney, I suppose that s a kind of love ? " 
 
 Sidney flung her head back with a laugh, closing 
 her account-book with a soft bang. " I don t pretend 
 to know what love is. but I know what it is not ! 
 Has your Mr. Steele been asking your advice ? Has 
 he fallen in love with anybody ? He had better ask 
 father s advice." A quick gravity came into her 
 face as she spoke of the major. 
 
 Miss Sally shook her head. " You know I don t 
 think as brother does?" 
 
 Perhaps if she had not just risen from her knees, 
 she would not have invited argument by even so mild 
 an assertion of her opinion. Very long ago, she had 
 given up discussion upon such subjects, and put her 
 theories into an unselfish life. In earlier days she 
 had tried argument once or twice, but had been 
 quickly worsted by her brother s logic, given in Sid 
 ney s silver voice. 
 
 " It s better," Miss Sally had assured herself with 
 wistful humility, " for little minds to leave great 
 things alone ; somehow, if I meddle with them, it 
 is n t only I that am ridiculous, but the great things 
 are, too." That she referred to her belief now 
 showed how deeply she was moved. 
 
 " I think people are happier when they love each 
 other," she said. 
 
 "If they believe themselves immortal," Sidney 
 
SIDNEY. Ill 
 
 answered, with that pitying contempt which affec 
 tion keeps good-natured, " or if they can forget 
 death." 
 
 " I think," answered Miss Sally, rising and look 
 ing at her niece with another kind of pity, " that if 
 they remember the dear Lord, they can trust the 
 rest." She was so earnest, she almost forgot that 
 she had been asking advice for herself. " If they 
 just take God into their lives, darling, they need n t 
 fear death." 
 
 Sidney smiled. "Dear!" she said, putting her 
 strong young arms about the little figure ; and the 
 amusement in those starlike eyes silenced Miss 
 Sally. 
 
VIII. 
 
 IT was sadly a matter of course that Sidney should 
 forget that half hour by her bedroom fire, and Miss 
 Sally s troubled look. Like every one else she was 
 usad to her aunt s inconsequence ; that Miss Sal 
 ly should have discussed the symptoms of falling in 
 love meant nothing more practical than did her 
 views on political economy, when she suggested that 
 all the money in the world might be divided, so that 
 there should not be any more poverty. " Well, at 
 least," she had explained, blushing but persistent, 
 " it would be more like the golden rule." Only 
 Robert Steele had had the insight to know how 
 brave she was to stand by her little foolish opinion, 
 and it was he, now, who knew the meaning of the 
 blush that flickered in her face when any one spoke 
 to her. 
 
 There was a look of half-frightened importance, 
 and a fluttering delight, in Miss Sally s eyes the day 
 after Robert had told her that he loved her, which, 
 however, had no relation to love. She was undenia 
 bly pleased, but as for accepting Mr. Steele, that 
 was another matter. Yet there were so many rea 
 sons for it, she said to herself, absently dusting the 
 library for the second time. " It would be a good 
 thing for Sidney, oh, in so many ways ! And if I 
 
SIDNEY. 113 
 
 still lived here" (it did not occur to her to say 
 "we "), "if I still lived here, I could take better 
 care than ever of Mortimer. And oh, what pretty 
 dresses Sidney should have ! " And there was some 
 thing as near malice as could come into her gentle 
 soul, when she reflected, " How surprised Mrs. Paul 
 would be ! " To Robert himself she had only said, 
 looking hard out of the window, as she handed him 
 his beef-tea, in a sidewise, crab-like manner, " Please 
 to wait a little, Mr. Steele ; please to let me think." 
 She looked so small and frightened that, with a 
 warmer wave of that impulse he had called love, he 
 answered very tenderly, " Yes, Miss Sally, only 
 do not give me up." 
 
 The pleading in his voice seemed to his listener 
 irresistible ; she had the same desire to make him 
 happy which she felt whenever she stopped to com 
 fort a crying child in the street, and give it a penny 
 and a kiss. But she could not frame the words 
 for which he asked. Instead, he heard her in the 
 hall, and caught the major s patient impatience as 
 she fussed about his coat. " Fussed " was the un 
 compromising word which flashed into Mr. Steele s 
 mind ; yet he knew very well, as he resented his 
 own thought, that had that care been expressed in 
 his behalf he would not have called it " fuss." He 
 was to leave Major Lee s the next day, and as the 
 two households were almost one, it was only proper 
 that he should go that afternoon to say good-by to 
 Mrs. Paul ; the strain of expectation made it hard 
 to sit alone in the parlor, and Miss Sally seemed 
 suddenly occupied upstairs, so it was a relief to go 
 out. 
 
114 SIDNEY. 
 
 He found Mrs. Paul just getting into her carriage, 
 a bad moment for pleasant commonplaces, or indeed 
 for anything, a moment at which Davids, diplo 
 mat as he was, always quailed. She was angry that 
 Robert Steele should see her thus, muffled in hid 
 eous wraps and supported by her man-servant ; look 
 ing no one knew it better than she old, and 
 awkward, and pitifully feeble. Yet the quiet way 
 in which Mr. Steele took Davids place, and with 
 wonderful gentleness lifted her into the carriage, dis 
 armed her pride by its appeal to the suffering body. 
 She glared at him through her veils, and said grudg 
 ingly, " Come, get in. You might as well call upon 
 me in the carriage as anywhere else." Yet when he 
 had seated himself opposite her, and Davids had 
 slammed the door, pride asserted itself. With weak, 
 uncertain hands, and bitter impatience at the weak 
 ness, she pulled the lace back from her face. She 
 was perfectly aware that the soft black folds made a 
 fitting frame for her dark eyes and her shadowy 
 puffs of white hair. Then she smiled. 
 
 "Really, this is very nice of you," she said, 
 " though I wonder Sally Lee permitted you to come 
 out alone. She has been a most devoted nurse." 
 She lifted her eyebrows, with that air which says, 
 " I can sympathize with you ! " 
 
 " She has indeed," Robert answered. He was 
 aware that he spoke warmly, and vaguely dismayed 
 at his own consciousness. " There is no one so kind 
 as Miss Lee," he added. 
 
 "True," returned Mrs. Paul, with the slightest 
 shrug under her laces. " Kindness is Sally s metier 
 
SIDNEY. 115 
 
 A woman has to have some peculiarity ; goodness is 
 Sally s. It is very monotonous." 
 
 " If it were more general, it would not be a pe 
 culiarity," Robert answered curtly. 
 
 " I suppose you have found it amusing some 
 times," said Mrs. Paul, again with that look of 
 camaraderie and understanding. " A little of it is 
 amusing ; it is only when one goes through years of 
 it, as I have done, really from a sense of duty, 
 you know, to keep my hold upon Sidney, that one 
 finds it a bore. Poor little Sally ! How well I re 
 member when I saw her first ! Mortimer Lee 
 brought her with him to take care of Sidney, when 
 he came North after his wife s death. But it was a 
 pity he couldn t have had a person of more sense. 
 She has encouraged all his wicked ideas, even that 
 folly of never going into the parlor where his wife s 
 picture hangs, you know. She means well, no 
 doubt, but she is so silly ; sometimes I almost fear 
 she makes Sidney dull." 
 
 She looked at him keenly as she said that. Mrs. 
 Paul knew very well that a little slur is like oil upon 
 the fire, and there certainly was a quick annoyance 
 in his face, which gave her much satisfaction. 
 
 " Yes," she went on, " Sally was quite plump 
 when she first came to Mercer, twenty years ago 
 and more ; let me see, she must have been twenty- 
 five, and she looked for all the world like a pin 
 cushion in a tight black cover ; she wore a jacket, 
 should n t you know that Sally would wear a 
 jacket?" 
 
 Robert Steele tingled under the contempt in her 
 
116 SIDNEY. 
 
 voice. " Whatever Miss Lee wore must have been 
 suitable." 
 
 Mrs. Paul laughed. " I am glad you admire 
 Sidney s aunt, that is quite proper. But, really, 
 between ourselves, she is amusing ? Oh, how I used 
 to admire her moral courage in those days ! It was 
 before there was a Mrs. Brown at the Rectory, and 
 Lord ! how regularly Sally went to church ! Really, 
 you know, Mr. Steele, where an unmarried woman 
 goes with increasing devotion to a church where the 
 clergyman is attractive and also unmarried, it shows 
 a willingness to be misunderstood which is noble. 
 It is a common virtue among old maids ; if the 
 clergy could only know how the female mind con 
 founds religion and love, they might not be so hope 
 ful of their converts." 
 
 " There was never such a thought as that in Miss 
 Lee s mind ! " cried Robert, his face dark with an 
 ger. (If only she had given him the right to de 
 fend her !) 
 
 " Ah, well," said Mrs. Paul carelessly, " it does n t 
 signify. Mr. Brown was too intelligent a man ; al 
 though once I really did fear but I had a word 
 with him ! I ve no doubt he s been grateful ever 
 since ; for a clergyman is so unsuspecting that a de 
 signing Who was that young woman you bowed 
 to?" 
 
 "My cousin, Katherine Townsend," Robert an 
 swered ; " and if you will allow me, I shall say 
 good afternoon. I must see her for a moment." 
 
 This terrible drive must end. He could not pro 
 tect Miss Sally, but he need not listen to her nia- 
 ligner. 
 
SIDNEY. 117 
 
 " She walks superbly," observed Mrs. Paul, watch 
 ing the tall, straight figure hurrying along the road. 
 " Is she handsome ? Who is she ? " 
 
 Kobert, with one hand on the door-knob, gave her 
 antecedents, and said she was not at all handsome ; 
 but Mrs. Paul nodded approvingly at the name of 
 Dray ton, and forgave the lack of beauty. 
 
 " A woman," she declared, " who holds her head 
 like that can afford to be positively ugly. And 
 poor, you say ? That is nothing. She s her mother s 
 daughter, and she can t escape the habit of good 
 manners any more than any other habit. And it is 
 manner that counts." 
 
 She was reluctant to have him leave her, and as 
 he stood bareheaded by the carriage door she dealt 
 one more blow for her cause. 
 
 " Sidney will miss you when you go," she said ; 
 " she hears so little sensible talk : for Mortimer Lee 
 with his egotism, his grief is nothing in the world 
 but inordinate self-love, is as absurd in his way 
 as Sally is in hers. Good-by, good-by, let me see 
 you often." 
 
 Eobert joined his cousin, and walked on with her 
 to make the long-delayed call ; but when he went 
 away Katherine Townsend drew a breath of relief. 
 He was so preoccupied, so silently depressed, that it 
 was an effort to talk to him. He had had an in 
 stant of dismay in realizing that he perceived a 
 perverted truth in some of the things Mrs. Paul had 
 said of the woman he loved, " the woman I love 
 with all my heart ; " and his dismay was, he de 
 clared, because of the weakness of his character, 
 
118 SIDNEY. 
 
 not the weakness of his love. " That is the strong 
 est thing about me, at least," he thought drearily. 
 He brightened up a little when, near the bridge, 
 Alan overtook him. Alan made too many demands 
 upon his friends to admit of anything so selfish as 
 depression. Just now, too, the doctor was full of 
 an impetuous determination to be happy. He had 
 come out to walk with this purpose distinctly in his 
 mind. 
 
 It was one of those still, raw days, with a feeling 
 of snow in the air, and a mist settling like smoke 
 along the thawing ground. On hills that faced the 
 south, patches of sodden grass showed here and there 
 through the melting snow. The river had not been 
 frozen over for nearly a fortnight, but its black, 
 hurrying current bore occasional blocks of broken, 
 snowy ice. Alan was blind to the cheerlessness of 
 the day. He was thinking, with an intentness which 
 was a new sensation, of Sidney and her view of life. 
 Not because he feared it, but because it was a part 
 of her charm, this strange and exquisite aloofness 
 from the things which other women took into their 
 lives. He would not have had it otherwise, he told 
 himself, and yet he was not altogether happy. 
 " We are queer beings, men," he declared, smiling 
 and frowning together. 
 
 He had taken this walk out into the country for 
 the pleasure of thinking about Sidney, but some 
 times this pleasant thinking was interrupted by an 
 annoyed remembrance of a certain erratic action of 
 his heart, which he had watched with a good deal of 
 interest for nearly two years now. " That s the 
 
SIDNEY. 119 
 
 worst of being a doctor," he grumbled ; " knowledge 
 divides your chances by two. But hang it ! I won t 
 think about it." And he dismissed it, as he had often 
 done before, but this time with a new unwillingness 
 to see a thing which might affect Sidney Lee ! This 
 determination and the joyous flight of his fancy had 
 brought exhilaration and satisfaction into his face. 
 
 O 
 
 " Hello, Bob ! " he called out gayly, as he saw 
 Robert walking slowly through the mist; and, as 
 he reached him, he struck him lightly on the shoul 
 der. " Where do you hail from ? Been to see the 
 charming Katherine ? " 
 
 " Yes," Robert answered, " and Mrs. Paul. Alan, 
 what a woman she is ! " 
 
 " Superb ! " cried the other, with a grimace. 
 " Has she been giving you good advice ? I observe 
 that whenever she does not set a bad example, she 
 gives good advice." 
 
 Robert was in no mood for flippancy. He did 
 not reply, but looked drearily before him and sighed. 
 He was trying to understand his depression. " With 
 such hope of happiness as I have," he was saying to 
 himself, " why can I not conquer what is, of course, 
 bodily weakness? " But he sighed again ; it was at 
 such a moment as this that his face was an especial 
 index of his character. Deep, wistful gray eyes, 
 under a sweep of brown hair that fell across his 
 forehead, and required at times a half-backward toss 
 of his head to keep it in its place ; a delicate and 
 sensitive mouth hidden in a pointed beard, which 
 concealed a chin whose resolution belied the tender 
 ness of his eyes and the weakness of his lips. It 
 
120 SIDNEY. 
 
 was an interesting face ; not from what it hinted of 
 reserve, but because of its confiding sweetness. He 
 was only silent now, he thought, because he had no 
 right to tell Alan of his new hope. 
 
 On the bridge the two men stopped and, leaning 
 on the hand-rail, looked down into the water. The 
 river was so high that there was a jar and thrill all 
 through the tumbling old structure. 
 
 " Look here," Alan said, when they had watched 
 the sweep of the water a moment in silence, " what 
 a mighty fine girl Miss Townsend is ! " 
 
 " Why, of course," Robert answered, smiling ; 
 " is n t she my cousin, man ? " 
 
 " No nonsense about her," Alan proceeded ; " no 
 money; reasonably good-looking; no morbid father 
 with preposterous theories." (Alan had not yet 
 reached the point where he could take the major 
 seriously, although, to be sure, he was apprehensive 
 that the major might take him seriously.) " I 
 should think you would be the fellow to say you saw 
 the hand of Providence in it." 
 
 " I don t know what kind of a hand John Paul 
 would see in it then," returned Robert. 
 
 "Oh!" said Alan. "What? Well, I always 
 knew Paul was a man of intelligence, though he 
 has no tongue. I in sorry for you, Bob." 
 
 " You need n t be," Robert assured him. 
 
 " Now, look here," Alan insisted. " (Come on, 
 don t stand here in the cold.) There must be some 
 reason that you did n t fall in love with her, because 
 it was so plainly the thing for you to do. A girl 
 who is poor, charming well, I said all that and 
 yet you did n t ? " 
 
SIDNEY. 121 
 
 " I don t see why this does n t apply equally to 
 you," answered the other ; " and, furthermore," 
 he looked at his friend with affection shining in his 
 eyes, " furthermore, I don t see how she or any 
 other woman could have helped " 
 
 " Bah ! " cried Alan. " No, there s a reason for 
 your not doing it. I swear, Steele, I believe there 
 is Another ! What?" 
 
 Robert s face flushed. Alan was delighted. 
 " Come, now," he demanded, " out with it ! " 
 Then his amusement suddenly faded in the thought 
 of Sidney ; he even looked anxious. 
 
 "Don t be an ass," Robert began, laughing to 
 protect himself. But Alan was in earnest under his 
 lightness. 
 
 " You d better tell me," he said. " If you don t, 
 I 11 think that it is Miss Sally ! There ! I ve no 
 business to jest about her. But, seriously, you may 
 as well make up your mind to ask my advice, be 
 cause, you know, you ve got to have my consent, 
 and " 
 
 Robert had been breathless for a moment ; then he 
 broke in sternly, " You are right ; you have no busi 
 ness to use Miss Lee s name." 
 
 The doctor looked at him in astonishment. " Bob," 
 he said, and paused. A woman had brushed 
 past them, coming with hesitating and uncertain 
 steps out of the mist. Alan, seeing her face, forgot 
 his raillery, and forgot too the thought which had 
 flashed into his mind at Robert s words. " Poor 
 soul ! " he said ; " did you see that, Bob ? What a 
 face ! sick with misery. A look like that strikes 
 
122 SIDNEY. 
 
 on your heart like a hammer." He stopped and 
 glanced back, but seemed to check the impulse to 
 follow her. "Poor, forlorn creature ! At least we 
 never saw that kind of wretchedness in Italy. The 
 earth was kind, and the air. People were not phys 
 ically wretched, and to me physical suffering is no 
 end worse than moral misery." 
 
 " That is unworthy of you, Alan," Robert began, 
 still confounded by that reference to Miss Sally and 
 hearing only the end of the sentence ; then he too 
 looked back at the hurrying shape in the fog. 
 " Hold on a minute, will you ? " he said. " She is 
 in some sort of trouble ; perhaps a little help " 
 and he turned to follow the gaunt young figure 
 which had so old and awful a face. Alan tried to 
 detain him. 
 
 " No good, Bob ; money given that way does no 
 good except to the giver. Sidney says that s the 
 use of all philanthropy." 
 
 But Robert had gone, and Alan sauntered on 
 slowly, alone. He smiled as he spoke Sidney s 
 name, and now, as he walked, he whistled softly to 
 himself. Just then, back from the middle of the 
 bridge, and wavering down to the water, came a 
 shrill scream, followed by a splash which sent a 
 shudder through the darkening mist. Alan turned, 
 while the sound still rang in his ears, and ran back. 
 How very long the bridge seemed before he reached 
 Robert ! He had one glimpse of him, starting for 
 ward as though to jump into the river, and then 
 staggering back, faint with horror, against the side 
 of the bridge. " She climbed upon the rail," he 
 gasped, " and then " 
 
SIDNEY. 123 
 
 Alan pulled off his coat, and with one bound 
 swung himself over the hand rail and would have 
 dropped into the water, but Robert clung to his 
 arm. 
 
 " No," he cried, " you shall not, you ve no 
 right" 
 
 " Let go ! " the doctor said between his teeth ; he 
 twisted himself from his friend s grasp, and in an 
 other moment was in the river. He must have 
 known, even as he jumped, that it was too late, and 
 that Death had already pulled the woman under the 
 water. But he called out to her not to fear, that 
 he was coming, that he would save her. The echo 
 of that brave young voice surely followed her into 
 eternity. 
 
 As for Robert, he stood an instant in horror and 
 dismay, staring at the hurrying river with its flecks 
 of white ice, where Alan, buffeting the water and 
 the mist, was whirling out of his sight. Then he 
 made as though he would follow his friend ; then 
 cried out, " My God, what have I done ! " then ran 
 towards the toll-house, shouting madly for a boat. 
 But a skiff had been put out. Mrs. Jennings had 
 seen the girl jump, and had screamed to a man upon 
 the shore, with all the might of her little vo^ ce hid 
 in folds of flesh. The whole thing was over in ten 
 minutes, and Alan safe on land. But it seemed to 
 Robert Steele as if he lived a year as he stood wait 
 ing for the boat to come back. He saw them row 
 ing about, looking for the woman, he supposed ; 
 the suspense was unbearable. 
 
 " You re hardly able to stand," Job Todd was 
 
124 SIDNEY. 
 
 saying to Alan, for it was he who had pulled the 
 doctor into the skiff ; " and what made you try to 
 do it, anyhow ? A woman s bound to have her own 
 way about dyin , like everythin else. And in that 
 current you had about as much heft as a shavin ." 
 
 Alan was shivering so that he could scarcely 
 speak ; but he laughed. " I believe you d have 
 been the very man to do it, if I had n t had the first 
 chance." 
 
 " Well, very likely I should have been just such a 
 fool," Job admitted modestly, and then leaped 
 ashore to help Alan out of the boat and hurry him 
 up to the toll-house. 
 
 " I m all right," the doctor said to Robert, " but, 
 poor soul we were too late!" As he spoke, it 
 occurred to him that Robert had been almost at the 
 woman s side when she threw herself into the river. 
 He was too confused by the realization that he had 
 just seen death, and by the shock, just making itself 
 felt, of his plunge into the icy water, to have any 
 thing but puzzled wonder in his mind ; but when he 
 was in the toll-house, and Mrs. Jennings, with tears 
 and brandy and hot blankets, was hovering about 
 him, ponderous, but ecstatic, his wonder took defi 
 nite shape. Why had not Robert tried to save her ? 
 Why had he waited ? Fear ? He refused to har 
 bor the thought. But wliy ? 
 
 Mrs. Jennings was pouring out her unheeded 
 praises, and regretting that her Liza had not been 
 at home to see such bravery, though it " would a 
 been a shock, too, that poor, dear, beautiful young 
 woman. Job, take a sup o somethin hot ; it s agi- 
 
SIDNEY. 125 
 
 tatin to see such sights, I feel it myself." So 
 she took the sup of something hot, which Job, hav 
 ing signed the pledge for Eliza s sake, declined. 
 Then she looked at Robert, standing silent, with de 
 spair agonizing in his eyes which he never lifted 
 from Alan s face. " I suppose," she said, " you ain t 
 in no great need of anythin ? I saw you on the 
 bridge watchin her, till this dear gentleman came 
 up. Well, the Lord knows it s pleasanter not to 
 be so feelin as some of us is. Tis n t everybody 
 as could a stood there, and not a tried to save the 
 poor creature. Now, this blessed gentleman here, I 
 see he s one to give way to his feelin s, like me," 
 declared the mistress of the toll-house, weeping com 
 fortably. Then she asked him, being anxious to 
 learn his name, to write in her Liza s autograph al 
 bum. Alan laughed, protested that he did not de 
 serve the honor of Miss Eliza s autograph book, ad 
 mired the geraniums, and told Mrs. Jennings he 
 believed she d make a first-rate nurse, especially for 
 any one needing stimulants ; but he never looked at 
 Robert Steele. 
 
 When the carriage which Job had made haste to 
 order, arrived, it seemed as though Mrs. Jennings 
 enthusiasm would lead her to bundle herself into it ; 
 it made her praises of Alan almost insulting to the 
 silent " coward " she only hinted at that word 
 who took his place beside the doctor. But when the 
 two men were alone in the carriage, with Mrs. Jen 
 nings admiration shut out, it was Alan who was 
 silent. 
 
 " Oh, Alan," Robert said, in a smothered voice, 
 
126 SIDNEY. 
 
 " what is right ? " The doctor frowned. " I thought 
 and yet to see you do it risk your life because 
 of me ! And if you had died, what then ? " He 
 covered his face with his hands, in overwhelming 
 and passionate pain. 
 
 " Please do not give it another thought," Alan 
 answered, with a carelessness which seemed too per 
 fect for disdain ; " you see I am none the worse." 
 
 " I saw her first," Robert went on, almost as 
 though speaking to himself, and with that singularly 
 distinct enunciation with which a man baffled by 
 conflicting emotions seeks to keep one idea clear in 
 his mind. "I I watched her there in the water, 
 in an eddy, I could have saved her then. But I 
 felt so sure then you came. Oh, what is right ? 
 That man in the toll-house would have done it ; even 
 that woman said " 
 
 " Pray drop the subject," Alan interrupted, im 
 patient and shivering. The suggestion of Mrs. Jen 
 nings was more than he could bear. He was saying 
 to himself, " He was afraid." 
 
 " Oh, Alan," cried the other, in an agony, " help 
 me ! Was I right ? You saw it one way, I another. 
 What is right?" 
 
 " I was very glad to do it," Alan answered curtly ; 
 " probably you were not strong enough to attempt 
 such a thing. Of course you were wise to hesitate, 
 and oh, damn it, Steele I Why did n t you do 
 it? " His face was quivering. 
 
 Robert looked at him, dimly seeing what his 
 friend s thought had been. He was not hurt. The 
 moment was too great for personal pain. 
 
SIDNEY 127 
 
 " I did not try to save her," he said simply, " be 
 cause I believe that no one ought to interfere with a 
 moral act. The woman had a right to take her own 
 life ; it lay between herself and her God." 
 
 Alan stared at him incredulously, but his face 
 flushed with shame. 
 
 " I dared not interfere," Robert ended, with sad 
 sincerity. 
 
 Alan drew a quick breath ; then he caught his 
 friend s hands in his own, his voice breaking as he 
 spoke. " Forgive me, Steele," he said. 
 
IX. 
 
 OF course, when they reached home, they talked 
 it all over. " Suicide is another name for insanity, 
 Bob," the doctor declared. " To my mind, we have 
 as much right to try to save such a person as to 
 treat a man with a fever." But Robert insisted 
 that no one had a right to say that weariness of life 
 was insanity. 
 
 " What about the right and wrong of it ? " Alan 
 questioned. 
 
 " It is a sin," the other admitted. 
 
 " Then," said Alan, " according to your theory, 
 one may only use example and precept, but not in 
 terfere with force to prevent crime ? " 
 
 "If it injures no one but the sinner, I should not 
 interfere ; but there are few crimes which do not in 
 jure others than the criminal. For instance, if the 
 community did not see it, and no one could be con 
 taminated by his example, I should not feel justified 
 in preventing a man by force from shameless drunk 
 enness. Otherwise, I should prevent him. With 
 suicide, only the principal and his God are con 
 cerned." 
 
 " Stuff ! " cried Alan, with wholesome common- 
 sense. " It depresses the community ; and, by 
 Jove ! it s given my heart a knock that takes a year 
 off my life. I don t believe any act can be confined 
 
SIDNEY. 129 
 
 in its consequences to the principal. There is al 
 ways the example." 
 
 But Robert would not grant that. 
 
 " Bob," said the doctor, his hands clasped behind 
 his head and a cigar between his lips, " I give you up, 
 I can t follow you ; and in the matter of this poor 
 soul, you may be right, you may be right. But I 
 never should have had the courage to let her drown ! " 
 
 Robert shook his head. " I cannot seem to see 
 the point," he said after a while, sadly, " at which 
 what is theoretically right begins to be practically 
 wrong. I tell you, Alan, I understand the comfort 
 of making somebody else your conscience. That is 
 the peace of the Catholic Church." 
 
 " Stuff ! " cried Alan again, good-naturedly. 
 
 When Robert went back to the major s, that even 
 ing, he was very silent. "Very sad," Miss Sally 
 thought, touched, and filled with self-reproaches for 
 her uncertainty. 
 
 She had been trying all day to make up her mind, 
 but to see him now, unhappy and about her ! 
 She must decide. She grew more shy,- and scarcely 
 spoke, so that Robert almost forgot her presence. 
 It was recalled to him, however, when, with a curious 
 mixture of humiliation and justice, he mentioned at 
 the tea-table what Alan had done that afternoon. 
 Even before her pity for the " poor thing " and pride 
 in Alan could be put into words, Miss Sally s thought 
 of Robert sprang to her lips. u Oh, I am so glad 
 you did n t do it," she said ; " you might have taken 
 cold ! " There was a half sob in her voice, and an 
 instant resolution to " ask Mortimer " at once. For 
 
130 SIDNEY. 
 
 the first time since he had been her patient, Robert 
 did not find Miss Sally s solicitude sweet. 
 
 Mr. Steele was to go away the next day, and 
 although Miss Sally was inclined to be sentimental 
 in the silence of her heart, she knew, vaguely, that 
 she should feel a curious kind of relief when the 
 excitement of his presence was withdrawn, an ex 
 citement felt only since he had declared himself her 
 lover. 
 
 " May I come to-morrow, Miss Sally ? " he said 
 meaningly, when in the morning he bade her good- 
 by ; and she, remembering his low-spiritedness of 
 the night before, could only reply, trembling, " Yes, 
 please." 
 
 It was not, however, until the evening of that day 
 that she summoned courage to ask her brother s con 
 sent to Mr. Steele s proposal. The necessity of hav 
 ing some sort of an answer ready for her lover, drove 
 her to the library door. 
 
 She had waited in her bedroom, growing momen 
 tarily more chilly and more timid, until she had 
 heard Sidney]s door close, and knew that her brother 
 was alone. Then she went out into the upper hall 
 and looked over the stair-rail, to see that no one was 
 wandering about below. She felt her heart pound 
 ing in her throat, and her small hands clasped them 
 selves nervously together. All was quiet ; there was 
 only the faint crackle of the fire in the parlor, which 
 still sent a dull glow out into the darkness of the 
 hall. It took her many minutes to go down the 
 wide staircase, but the very effort made something 
 which had a likeness to love stir in her heart. 
 
SIDNEY. 131 
 
 Major Lee, writing at the square table in the 
 room beyond the library, looked up with surprise as 
 his sister entered. He even put on his glasses for a 
 moment, with a keen glance at the agitation in her 
 face. 
 
 " Mortimer," began Miss Sally, " may I have a 
 few words a short conversation with you ? " Only 
 Kobert Steele had seen the pathos of Miss Sally s 
 unfailing effort to " express herself well " when talk 
 ing to her brother. 
 
 "Pray sit down, Sarah," said the major, with 
 grave politeness. " I trust nothing has troubled 
 you?" 
 
 "I am sure you are very good," Miss Sally 
 answered. She was so silent after that one speech, 
 and her agitation was so apparent, that the major 
 looked at her with sudden alarm. 
 
 " Is there anything wrong with Sidney ? " he asked 
 sharply, half rising from his chair. 
 
 " Oh, dear me, no ! " said Miss Sally, relieved to 
 have something to say ; then she coughed a little, 
 and gazed intently at the small, scuffed toe of her 
 slipper. " I merely wished to say to observe, at 
 least don t you think, Mortimer, that there has 
 been a good deal of snow this winter?" 
 
 The major did not smile. This was probably his 
 sister s way of leading up to the needs of the coal 
 bin ; poor Sarah had a somewhat tiresome habit of 
 coming to the point sidewise. She seemed to the 
 major like a little hurrying sail-boat, which yet 
 tacked and tacked, in an endless zigzag, before 
 reaching its destination ; especially when she wished 
 
132 SIDNEY. 
 
 to make a request was there this rather foolish hes 
 itation. 
 
 But Major Lee s unfailing courtesy forbade that 
 he should hurry his sister, so he only replied, " Yes, 
 a great deal ; and the skies are overcast, so that it 
 is probable there will be more before daybreak." 
 
 "Yes," said Miss Sally, "very true," and then 
 lapsed into silence. 
 
 Major Lee s habit of refusing to be interested 
 spared him much. He did not urge her to pro 
 ceed. He sat brooding and dreaming before the 
 fire ; whatever she had to say, good or bad, would 
 come soon enough without a question from him. 
 It did not concern Sidney; that was all he cared 
 to know. 
 
 " Mortimer," she began, and stopped to cough be 
 hind her hand, "I I think it is wonderful how 
 well Mrs. Paul keeps ; it is really remarkable for a 
 woman of her age." 
 
 This needed no reply. The major, gazing at the 
 fire, his chin resting on his breast, was twisting, 
 absently, the thin gold ring upon his left hand. 
 
 " What a pity Annette did not live to cheer her ! " 
 Miss Sally commented. " Only, perhaps she would 
 have married, and left her mother. Most young 
 women do." 
 
 " Yes," said the major, noticing only the pause 
 for his reply. 
 
 "Don t don t you think they do, Mortimer? 
 Don t you think most women marry more than 
 men do?" 
 
 He smiled. " I should think it was about equal." 
 
SIDNEY. 133 
 
 " But women," Miss Sally explained, " generally, 
 expect to be married. Don t you think so ? " 
 
 "I suppose," the major admitted, with a polite 
 ness that might have softened his words even to a 
 more sensitive hearer, " that they are generally less 
 intelligent than men." 
 
 Miss Sally did not see the connection, but she was 
 too intent upon her subject to seek an explanation. 
 " I know, Mortimer," she said, " that you think mar 
 riage is a mistake, but but I can t help thinking 
 Annette might have been happier married." 
 
 Her brother made no comment. 
 
 " And oh, dear me, if somebody had been living 
 in the same house with her, and and cared for her, 
 you could n t really blame her ? " 
 
 " Pity, Sarah, pity. One does not blame a 
 child." 
 
 " And if he cared, oh, very much," Miss Sally 
 was too earnest to pause " and would be unhappy 
 if she did n t why, then and oh, Mortimer, I 
 do respect him ! " The major put on his glasses and 
 looked at her in sudden astonishment. This emotion 
 was not because of Mrs. Paul s dead daughter. He 
 was interested, but vaguely alarmed. " You see," 
 she proceeded tremulously, " he has been with us 
 for nearly two months now ; long enough for any 
 body to learn to like him. And when he told me 
 oh, Mortimer, I was so surprised I didn t know 
 what to say ! Nobody knows it, of course ; not even 
 Sidney." 
 
 Miss Sally s fright had made her eyes overflow, so 
 that she did not see the flush on Major Lee s face. 
 
134 SIDNEY. 
 
 " What ! " he said, in a low voice. " But you say- 
 Sidney does not know it ? " 
 
 She shook her head, in a bewildered way. " No, 
 no ; it did n t seem proper to tell her." 
 
 Major Lee had risen, in his alarm and indigna 
 tion. " Certainly not ; but are you sure that he has 
 not told her? " 
 
 " Oh, no, indeed," answered Miss Sally. " He 
 would n t say a word until until I said he might. 
 And if you are not willing that I .should accept him, 
 Sidney need never know it." 
 
 " Sarah," he said, after an empty moment of as 
 tonishment, " I thought he spoke of her ? " 
 
 " Sidney ? " she repeated vaguely. " Oh, no ; it s 
 only me." 
 
 Major Lee turned sharply away, and walked the 
 length of the room and back before he could trust 
 himself to speak. Miss Sally had risen, and stood 
 watching him. Her brother s relief did not hurt 
 her ; it was only natural. " Sarah," he said, coming 
 back to her, " I fear I was abrupt. Pray sit down. 
 I am distressed that you should have been annoyed 
 by this young man. I have been neglectful, or such 
 a thing could not have come about. I will see him 
 to-morrow." 
 
 " You you are so kind, dear brother," Miss 
 Sally answered, trembling very much, and with a 
 look of the keenest perplexity on her face. 
 
 " I am much disappointed," the major began 
 sternly. " The young man was my guest. It had 
 not struck me that it was necessary to protect my 
 household from possible annoyance. I must beg 
 your pardon, Sarah." 
 
SIDNEY. 135 
 
 Miss Sally twisted her fingers together and 
 breathed quickly. " But, Mortimer, I thought I 
 thought perhaps you would be willing for me to live 
 here, so that I could still take care of you and Sid 
 ney?" 
 
 It was a long time since Mortimer Lee had expe 
 rienced such successive shocks of emotion. He 
 looked at her a moment in silence ; then he said, 
 "Do I understand, Sarah, that it is your wish to 
 accept Mr. Steele ? " 
 
 " Yes, if you please, dear Mortimer," she answered 
 faintly. 
 
 Again the major walked away from her and back 
 before he spoke. " Sally, of course you shall do as 
 you wish, but I am sorry." 
 
 She looked at him furtively. His voice was so 
 gentle that she realized vaguely the thought behind 
 his words, and yet it eluded her as she tried to speak. 
 "I I m sure he is a good man, Mortimer. You 
 don t disapprove of him, brother, do you ? I m 
 sure he will do anything you wish, only he seemed 
 to want me, Mortimer ? " The major smiled. " I 
 know," proceeded Miss Sally, the words fluttering 
 upon her lips, " that you think it s a mistake to 
 to care ; but I ve never been afraid of sorrow." 
 
 " Have you ever known any joy ? " he said. " But 
 I wonder if you can know joy, I wonder if you 
 can love." He looked at her with sad intensity. 
 " Do you love him, Sally ? " 
 
 His sister s face flushed from her little chin to 
 the smooth line of her hair. "I I have a regard 
 for Mr. Steele," she said. 
 
136 SIDNEY. 
 
 The major threw himself down into his chair. 
 " You are safe. You might as well marry him. 
 And I suppose he has a regard for you ? Well, that 
 is as it should be. Never cease to have a regard for 
 him, my dear, and you need not fear the future." 
 
 Miss Sally saw that he was amused by something, 
 and she smiled, but with a wistful tremor of her 
 lips. "You are willing, Mortimer?" 
 
 He did not reply for a moment ; then he said, " I 
 see no reason to object. I hope you will not be too 
 happy, but I think there is no danger, at least for 
 you." Mortimer Lee would not permit himself to 
 think that Miss Sally could not inspire profound 
 love. He took her hand and led her to the door. 
 44 Good-night, Sally," he said ; and then, taking her 
 face between his hands, he gently kissed her fore 
 head. 
 
 The fire burned low before he left it that night, 
 and the wind, rumbling in the upper chimney, scat 
 tered the white ashes out upon the hearth. 
 
WHEN Kobert saw Miss Sally next, the mists o 
 wonder about his motives had been cleared away by 
 a sharp reality. He found, when he reached home, 
 that Alan had been very ill the night before. 
 
 That plunge into the river was a great strain upon 
 a heart already weak, and during the long midnight, 
 alone, the doctor wondered, solemnly, whether he 
 might not die before morning. The next day he was 
 weak and still suffering a little, but, as he expressed 
 it, " all right ; " yet there was a dusky pallor in his 
 face which terrified Robert, and made him forget 
 his own perplexities. True, this illness had been 
 because Alan had done what he had refused to do, 
 but his passionate tenderness for his friend forbade 
 even so much self-consciousness as that. He watched 
 the doctor, with a comprehension of his smallest 
 wish which was like a woman s ; it was so intent, so 
 absorbing, that he almost forgot Miss Sally and his 
 anticipated happiness. He was, however, reminded 
 of both. They had been talking again of that con 
 flict on the bridge. " Steele," Alan said, " I thought 
 it all out last night. You were right, from your 
 point of view ; and it has taught me a lesson, it has 
 revealed the smallness of my imagination to me. 
 
138 SIDNEY. 
 
 After this, I shall approve of everything you do, on 
 principle. If you murder your grandmother," 
 Robert winced, and Alan swore at himself under his 
 breath, "I shall know it was from a lofty motive." 
 The doctor felt so keenly that his simile had been 
 unfortunate that he made haste to talk of something 
 else. " See here, what made you so fierce to me 
 yesterday, when I spoke of Miss Sally ? I don t think 
 I deserved it." 
 
 Eobert had been sitting at the foot of Alan s sofa, 
 but at that he rose and began to walk about the 
 room, steering his way among chairs, and tables lit 
 tered with books and papers. " What a room ! " 
 he said. There were two stands which held chem 
 icals and retorts ; and there was a music rack, and 
 an easel with mahl-sticks crossed in front of an un 
 finished canvas. " You are a disorderly beggar, 
 Alan ! " he declared. 
 
 The doctor looked at him keenly. " She s good, 
 but not what you d call brilliant, and you know 
 perfectly well that I did not mean any disrespect. 
 She s been a first-rate nurse for you, Bob, but 
 scarcely a companion, I fancy ? " Alan was very 
 serious. " Is it possible ? " he was asking himself. 
 
 Robert stood still. " 1 have never known," he 
 said slowly, " a wiser or a kinder companion. I am 
 a better man, Alan, for this visit to Major Lee s." 
 Had he had the right, with the rush of memory 
 which came at Alan s mention of her name, how 
 much more he might have said, how he would have 
 gloried in saying it ! With a backward shake of his 
 head he tossed the soft hair away from his forehead, 
 
SIDNEY. 139 
 
 and his eyes brightened ; the happiness in them was 
 unmistakable. 
 
 " Great heavens ! " Alan said to himself, when, a 
 little later, he was alone. In his amazement he sat 
 up, letting his bearskin cover fall on the floor ; he 
 leaned his elbows on his knees, and whistled ; then, 
 involuntarily, laughed. " Jove ! what will Mrs. Paul 
 say?" 
 
 The next day, Robert went hopefully for his an 
 swer. Miss Sally, trembling and blushing, was 
 awaiting him in the library. In one word she told 
 him she would marry him, and then left him to the 
 grave and puzzled greetings of her brother. 
 
 The major s view of the sadness of love might 
 have found words had Robert aspired to any one 
 save Mortimer Lee s own sister; but instinct was 
 stronger than reason, and he only said, "You are 
 probably not aware that the marriage of a friend is 
 always a matter of regret to me. I cannot there 
 fore contemplate my sister s marriage with satisfac 
 tion. Nevertheless, you and she must make your own 
 judgments. I hope you will not be unhappy." 
 
 What congratulations ! Robert stumbled over his 
 awkward thanks, and was grateful that the major, 
 with a courteous excuse, withdrew to the study, 
 and left him to find his way back to the parlor 
 and Miss Sally ; but there he forgot all but his 
 thankfulness. 
 
 They had a long and happy talk together. How 
 Miss Sally beamed and brightened ! The flattery of 
 her joy intoxicated him with confidence in himself. 
 He was full of plans ; she should tell him how she 
 
140 SIDNEY. 
 
 wished the money " her money," he called it to 
 be spent, and what would make her happiest to do. 
 Should they travel? Would she like to build? 
 Such deference took Miss Sally s breath away, and 
 frightened her a little, too. 
 
 " I thought we could live here ? " she faltered ; 
 " the house is so big, and, you see, I must always 
 take care of Mortimer and Sidney." 
 
 Robert was too happy to be startled by this sug 
 gestion. He laughed and shook his head, and said 
 she would have enough to do to take care of him, 
 and talked with eager haste of his gratitude and 
 joy. Miss Sally did not know how to speak ; she 
 looked at him with overflowing eyes, but he made 
 her silences eloquent by saying to himself that her 
 sympathy and understanding were perfect. The 
 possibilities of silence are the materials from which 
 Love builds her most stately palaces ! 
 
 The light in Robert s eyes flickered for an instant, 
 as though a cold wind had blown across this new 
 fire in his heart, when, answering his passionate 
 declaration that she had saved him from that old 
 horror of weakness (he felt himself saved now ; 
 the future struggle was nothing, if her hand were in 
 his), Miss Sally said, with quick, uncomprehending 
 pity, " Oh, never mind that ; you were sick, that 
 was all. I never think of it." 
 
 Never think of it ! All the bitter months rose 
 before him, all the wasted opportunities, all the self- 
 contempt which she had turned to aspiration. Rob 
 ert seemed to find a violent silence opposing his im 
 petuous words. He did not stay much longer. " I 
 
SIDNEY. 141 
 
 want," he declared, " to tell Alan, and to proclaim 
 my happiness upon the housetops, Miss Sally ! " 
 He suddenly realized that it was impossible to say 
 anything but " Miss Sally," and to ask himself pain 
 fully, "Why?" 
 
 For her part, she said, " Good-by, Mr. Steele," 
 with a little blush and a half-courtesy which went to 
 his heart. There was a solemn moment in Robert s 
 soul, when, with intense consciousness of what he 
 was doing, he kissed her. " Just the way Mortimer 
 did ! " she thought, as, with a candle in her hand, 
 she stood that night peering into the looking-glass, al 
 most as though she expected to see some mark upon 
 her forehead. Kisses were rare things in Miss Sally s 
 life ; she, to be sure, kissed Sidney night and morn 
 ing, but that any one should deliberately kiss her! 
 As she stared at her small, old face in the depths of 
 the mirror, where the candle s shifting light gleamed 
 on a silver thread in her hair, she felt that she could 
 never be quite the same again. Happier ? Oh, yes, 
 happier, but how strange it all seemed, how excit 
 ing ! and she sighed. 
 
 As for Robert Steele, when he left her, it was 
 with a little uncertainty as to his destination. It 
 was strange, but he had no desire to go at once to 
 Alan. Instead, in an aimless way, he wandered out 
 into the country, stopping for a shuddering instant 
 at that spot upon the bridge where he had suffered. 
 
 It must have been two hours later that he went, 
 towards dusk, to Katherine Townsend s, and told 
 her that he was the happiest man in the world. Her 
 start of surprise, almost of consternation, as he 
 
142 SIDNEY. 
 
 named Miss Sally Lee, lie could not at once forget, 
 although she made haste to congratulate him in that 
 cordial manner which means consideration rather 
 than sincerity. 
 
 " I ve heard Mr. Paul speak of her, and I Ve 
 seen her at church ; she s a saint, cousin Robert, and 
 I am so glad for you." 
 
 He brightened under her interest, and realized 
 how thankful he was for the blessing of Miss Sally s 
 love. " I don t deserve it," he said, " but Kate, I m 
 going to try to." 
 
 " I know you will ! " she cried, putting her hands 
 in his, and looking at him with such understanding 
 in her face that he said quickly, " God bless you, 
 Kitty!" 
 
 When he went away, there was a mist of tears in 
 Katherine Townsend s frank eyes. "Poor cousin 
 Robert ! " she said, but she did not ask herself why 
 she pitied him. She was in that mood where one 
 sympathizes with one s self, under the pretense of 
 sympathizing with some one else. She had been less 
 happy since that walk with John Paul to the birch 
 woods. " I told him only the truth," she assured 
 herself, " and of course he did n t like it, but I can t 
 help that ; I am glad I did it." Yet it seemed that 
 this assertion needed frequent repetition ; " I was too 
 severe," she began to say ; and after a while, " It is 
 all over. At least, there was never anything, but 
 now I know there never will be. Well, I m glad I 
 did it." It was at this time that Ted observed, one 
 evening at tea, that Kitty looked just as if she d 
 been crying ! 
 
SIDNEY. 143 
 
 These reflections of hers were not caused by any 
 diminution of friendship on the part of John Paul, 
 although he came to Ked Lane less often than former 
 ly. He still brought jackknives and carpenter outfits 
 with him. In fact, he paid Ted far more attention 
 than he did Ted s sister. He told Miss Townsend, 
 with the gladdest anticipation, that he had gone to 
 the great city of the State to examine into the busi 
 ness of a newspaper a free -trade journal, of 
 course with which he hoped to connect himself. 
 It would mean leaving Mercer, but he did not seem 
 to be unhappy at that. 
 
 These were bright days to John Paul. That bit 
 ter talk on the Perryville Eoad had told him much ; 
 he dared to hope now with all his heart ; yet, he 
 said to himself, he must try to grow more worthy of 
 her before he should ask Katherine to make his 
 hope a reality. He began to " answer back," as 
 Davids expressed it, at the tea-table or at the check 
 er-board. Not very often, to be sure, and not very 
 successfully ; the attempt to break a habit of years 
 is necessarily experimental. At this time, he was 
 cordial to everybody ; even to Mr. Steele, whom he 
 overtook coming home from that call upon Katherine 
 Townsend which had announced his engagement. 
 Alan had been right in saying that John Paul was 
 incapable of appreciating Robert. Still, one s own 
 happiness goes far in blotting out the mistakes of 
 others ; so on this occasion he was willing to slacken 
 his pace, and the two men walked on together. Mr. 
 Steele was too tired to talk much, which made his 
 companion think that the fellow was really pleasanter 
 
144 SIDNEY. 
 
 than usual ; but when they reached the dreadful 
 place on the bridge, Robert could not pass it with 
 out saying how Alan had risked his life there. He 
 told the story heartily, but he did not speak of him 
 self. He could not have displayed the confusion of 
 his soul to John Paul, whose brief and downright 
 expressions of opinion always repelled the man whose 
 mind moved in subtle and inverted lines. 
 
 John was enthusiastic. " The boy has something 
 to him ! It was splendidly brave in him. Don t 
 you think so ? " 
 
 " It was human," Robert said, after a moment s 
 pause. 
 
 u How do you mean ? It was superb ! Ice in the 
 river, and such a current as these thaws make ! " 
 
 " I mean that it was instinct," Robert answered 
 reluctantly ; he knew it must appear to Paul that he 
 was cheapening his friend s action. "Alan is su 
 perb, but an act like that, instantaneous, without 
 reason, can scarcely be called brave, it seems to me. 
 Alan does brave things always ; he is the truest man 
 I know." 
 
 " Well," John said coldly, " I suppose we look at 
 it differently. For my part, I m proud of him." 
 
 " Oh, so am I," Robert Steele protested ; but his 
 companion did not pursue the subject. 
 
 It was not an opportune moment, but they had 
 nearly reached the stone steps that led up the ter 
 races to Mrs. Paul s house, and Robert would not 
 lose this chance. " Mr. Paul," he began, aware of 
 an effort to make his tone match the gladness of his 
 words, "I I am to be congratulated ! I have 
 become engaged to be married." 
 
SIDNEY. 145 
 
 John stared at him. " Well, you are the most 
 dejected-looking subject for congratulations, but it s 
 a good thing, I m sure." He sighed enviously, and 
 then laughed in a short, good-natured way. "So 
 living in the major s household has not demoralized 
 you ? I suppose Miss Sally s ministrations have 
 made you feel you had better get a wife ; she is the 
 kindest-hearted little creature in the world when 
 anybody is under the weather, even if she hasn t 
 much sense." 
 
 After that remark, Eobert Steele thanked Heaven 
 that some one stopped to speak to John, and pre 
 vented the inevitable question, "Who is she?" 
 
 John Paul, however, was so much interested in 
 this curious news he always thought of Robert as 
 " that queer fellow " that he actually became com 
 municative, and mentioned it, of course in the brief 
 est way, to his mother ; but that he should talk of 
 his own accord surprised her into momentary amia 
 bility. 
 
 " You say he s engaged ? Now why in the world 
 don t you tell me such things of tener ? You know 
 how I like a piece of news." 
 
 " Does n t happen every day," John observed. 
 
 " Well, to whom, to whom ? Sidney ? " They 
 were sitting at the tea-table, and Mrs. Paul rapped 
 the bare mahogany with her stick, to hasten his re 
 ply. But he only shook his head. " Don t know ? 
 Why, you must know ! Do you mean to say you 
 did n t ask?" 
 
 John was really abashed. " Somebody interrupted 
 us just then," he explained, wrinkling his forehead. 
 
146 SIDNEY. 
 
 " Well," Mrs. Paul said, "really! " Sometimes 
 stupidity is too great for reproach. " Whom do you 
 think it is? Or perhaps you don t think? That is 
 one thing you ve never been accused of, Johnny. 
 Lord ! have n t you any idea ? It must be Sidney. 
 I 11 wager it is. How stupid in you, Johnny, not 
 to have thought of her I Yet I never should have 
 guessed it from her manner to-day/ 
 
 John Paul looked startled ; he had not thought 
 of Sidney, that was true. But perhaps it was 
 she ; yes, very likely. He hoped so, he said to him 
 self ; it would be a good thing for the girl ; she 
 would be saved from her unnatural life. " But I 
 wish he were a bigger fellow," he thought. 
 
 Mrs. Paul was radiant. " Scarlett," she said, 
 when she took the woman s arm to go into the draw 
 ing-room, " I do hope it has turned out as I wished 
 about Miss Lee ! " The hope began to be a cer 
 tainty before long, and when she called for the 
 checker-board she nodded to herself once or twice, 
 her lips pressed exultingly together, and her mind 
 so full of plans that she forgot to criticise her son s 
 moves. 
 
 " If it s true," she declared, " I 11 give her a 
 check on her wedding morning that will make Mor 
 timer Lee open his eyes ! " 
 
 " She 11 need it more if it is n t true," John ob 
 served. The clock was almost on the stroke of 
 nine, and it was his habit to say good-night then, so 
 he knew he could escape any railing such a remark 
 might provoke. But Mrs. Paul was too amiable to 
 rail. 
 
SIDNEY. 147 
 
 " Well, she won t get it ! I don t propose to give 
 my money to any silly person ; just remember that, 
 Johnny." She was so intent upon her pleasant 
 thoughts that she almost forgot it was her son to 
 whom she spoke, and smiled at him with that arch 
 look which still flashed sometimes from her faded 
 eyes. " If Sidney marries well, I 11 make it my 
 business to see that she does n t go to her husband 
 empty-handed. I shall tell Mortimer Lee so. I 
 want to see Mortimer Lee. I want to find out 
 whether I m right. I know I am ! Johnny, just 
 fetch the writing-table here." 
 
 John made no comment ; if his mother chose to 
 let her curiosity hurry her into such a thing, it was 
 her affair. From this it will be seen that Miss 
 Katherine Town send had yet something to achieve. 
 He lifted the table to Mrs. Paul s side, and although 
 the brass handles of the drawers rattled upon their 
 square plates, she did not reprove him. She was 
 flushed with interest. 
 
 " Fetch a lamp," she cried, " and open that little 
 box for the wax and taper ! I shall ask him to 
 come here at once, to-morrow. And I don t 
 want you about, Johnny ; this is not a thing to be 
 discussed before you. I shall ask him to take tea 
 with the others Thursday night. I ve decided to 
 ask the people for Thursday night." 
 
 She took the feathered pen in her impatient hand, 
 trying the nib upon her thumb-nail, and moving the 
 lamp a little, for a better light upon her paper. 
 Then in her delicate, old-fashioned hand she wrote : 
 " Mrs. Edward Pau) presents her compliments to 
 
148 SIDNEY. 
 
 Major Lee, and begs that he will call upon her, on 
 a matter of mutual interest and importance, on the 
 afternoon of Sunday, January the 30th, at any hour 
 after four." She sealed the note apparently forget 
 ful that she had asked her son to be her messenger ; 
 
 O * 
 
 and then John left her, sitting by the fire, with in 
 terest and pleasure sparkling in her keen old face. 
 But when he reached the major s he almost forgot 
 the letter in his pleasure at seeing Alan Crossan. 
 
 The doctor had no business to go out, Robert had 
 assured him ; but there he was, rather white, and 
 with a new look in his eyes whenever they rested 
 upon Sidney. 
 
 " Crossan," John began, hardly waiting to bid 
 Sidney good-evening, and looking with a beaming 
 face at Alan, " why did the young woman choose 
 such vicious weather for suicide ? " 
 
 " Pshaw ! " said the doctor, laughing and frown 
 ing, u how do you know anything about it ? But it 
 was the weather that made her do it." 
 
 John was too much interested to drop the subject, 
 and was full of praises for the doctor s courage. 
 
 Alan laughed, but with a sudden determination to 
 speak of what Robert had done, or rather failed to 
 do (" it will come out," he said to himself, " so I d 
 better put it in its right light at once.) Talk about 
 bravery ! " he said, " Steele displayed a bravery be 
 yond me. He didn t jump in." 
 
 " I did n t know he was present," said John Paul, 
 stiffly, looking at Sidney. 
 
 " How do you mean, Alan ? " Sidney asked ; her 
 aunt and Mr. Steele were, as usual, in the parlor 
 across the hall. 
 
SIDNEY. 149 
 
 " Why, he has a theory," the doctor answered, 
 " that no one has a right to interfere with a moral 
 act." 
 
 " Does he call suicide moral? " John inquired. 
 
 Alan was eager to explain. " And, Paul," he 
 ended, " surely you see how much finer such hesita 
 tion was than mere brute instinct ? A dog could 
 have jumped into the river as well as I, but only a 
 human soul would long to save the woman, and yet 
 deny itself, lest it meddled with infinite issues." 
 
 John Paul looked bored. " I don t understand 
 that sort of thing. If I were such a fool as to throw 
 myself into a river, I d dispense with a human soul 
 upon the bank, if there were any brute instinct on 
 hand to pull me out." 
 
 " It was noble ! " Sidney exclaimed. And for a 
 moment John thought that his mother had been 
 right in her surmise ; but as he went on speaking of 
 Robert, he was relieved by the indifference in her 
 face. 
 
 " I tell you what it is," he said doggedly, " cold 
 water is not agreeable in any form, and your 
 Steele " 
 
 Alan was almost angry. " You have no idea of 
 the struggle ! Steele was wretched ! The conflict 
 of the higher duty and the lower duty is anguish to 
 a man like my friend." 
 
 " Oh, he regretted it afterwards, did he ? " (John 
 was sure now that it was not Sidney.) "Pity a 
 man can t foresee his regrets." 
 
 " He was in despair," Alan said. 
 
 " But," Sidney interposed, " if he did not try to 
 
150 SIDNEY. 
 
 save the woman because he thought he had no right 
 to, he should not have despaired." 
 
 " Where is he ? " John asked suddenly, looking 
 about as though he expected to see Mr. Steele. 
 
 " He s with aunt Sally," Sidney answered. 
 
 John Paul s eyes widened. " Ah ! " he said in 
 voluntarily ; and later, as he lounged home through 
 the garden, he said to himself, " I 11 let the major 
 break it to her ! " 
 
XL 
 
 SIDNEY was the last one to know of her aunt s 
 engagement. Miss Sally had longed to tell her, but 
 was incapable of speaking of it to the girl, and so 
 had gone about the house with a confused and ab 
 sent air, which at last attracted the attention of her 
 niece. But Sidney would not ask what the matter 
 might be, lest she should have to hear some tale of 
 distress about Miss Sally s poor. Nevertheless, the 
 next morning, it was a relief to have her father say, 
 " Sidney, you are probably unaware that your 
 aunt " He paused ; the major was at a loss for 
 words which would properly express this extraor 
 dinary event. 
 
 " Yes," she answered, " what is it ? I know there 
 is something." 
 
 They were alone in the major s little study ; Miss 
 Sally and her lover had gone to church. " I want 
 to give thanks," Robert had said, with that quiet 
 happiness which always shone in his eyes when he 
 was alone with her. But Miss Sally felt the awk 
 wardness of the unaccustomed in taking possession 
 of this new thing called happiness, and for once in 
 her life would rather have stayed at home. She 
 almost envied her brother and Sidney, reading to 
 gether in the study, with the pale sunshine streaming 
 into the room, and a green log singing and whisper- 
 
152 SIDNEY. 
 
 ing on the andirons. Sidney was sitting on the broad 
 bench in the window, and had looked up in sur 
 prise because her father had not come to her side for 
 the word or two about her book, or the silent resting 
 of his hand upon her head, with which, as though 
 to satisfy himself of the presence of his treasure, he 
 always began the day ; instead, he stood by the 
 table, frowning slightly and hesitating. She smiled 
 and waited, and then the astonishing news was told. 
 
 " Oh, father ! " she said, under her breath. But 
 the incredulity in her face was not like Alan s, or 
 John Paul s, or even the major s. That would be 
 felt later, when she stopped to think that it was 
 Miss Sally to whom love had come ; but for a mo 
 ment it was the thought of love itself which as 
 tounded her. Love ! " Oh, poor aunt Sally ! " 
 
 Major Lee sat down at his writing-table, with the 
 air of a man who has done his duty. He began to 
 mend his pen, and appeared to forget Miss Sally s 
 small concerns. " We shall lose part of our after 
 noon to-day," he observed ; " Mrs. Paul has re 
 quested me to call upon her." 
 
 " But, father," Sidney said, " why is it? Does n t 
 aunt Sally know what she is doing ? Oh, father ! " 
 
 He smiled as she came and knelt down beside 
 him, her face full of confusion and wonder. " You 
 know what she thinks," he explained ; " with her 
 peculiar beliefs she is not unreasonable." 
 
 " But," Sidney protested, all her young heart in 
 her eyes, "we know her belief cannot really help 
 her ; have n t we done wrong not to show her ? Oh, 
 he does not love her as as I should think a per. 
 
SIDNEY. 153 
 
 son might love, or else he would not try to teach her 
 to love him ! Why did n t we save her, father? " 
 
 The major hesitated. " Sarah has so few pleas 
 ures ; her hope of immortality, and all that, was so 
 much to her, I had not the heart to take it from 
 her ; I never thought, at least, it did not seem to 
 me probable, that she would wish to marry. But I 
 should have remembered that Sarah is not a thought 
 ful person. Poor Sally ! " The major had not 
 thought so tenderly of his sister for years. 
 
 Pity for her aunt made Sidney for a moment 
 almost remorseful that, she had had a love to make 
 her wise to escape suffering, and Miss Sally had 
 not ; but she would not let her father reproach him 
 self. " No, you were right, you are always right ; " 
 she lifted his hand, that scholarly and delicate right 
 hand, to her lips ; u but poor aunt Sally." 
 
 As she went back to her seat in the window, the 
 major followed her with adoring eyes, and then 
 began to write ; absently at first, though not because 
 his mind was upon his sister, only that this an 
 nouncement had turned his thoughts from his work 
 to his daughter s safe and not unhappy future. Sid 
 ney, too, dropped the subject, and opened her book. 
 Miss Sally, with her little hopes and fears, or sor 
 rows and joys, had not enough personality to hold 
 her attention. Yet while she read, the mystery 
 which this step of her aunt s suggested burned in 
 her heart ; and an hour afterwards, when the major 
 had banished it all and was absorbed in his writing, 
 she looked up and said, " It is the certainty of living 
 after death that makes it possible for her to love 
 him." 
 
154 SIDNEY. 
 
 " Yes," Major Lee answered ; " immortality is 
 the ignis fatims which Love creates to excuse its 
 own existence." 
 
 " How strange it is," she said, " how strange, that 
 people can blind themselves with such a belief, when 
 every day they see that it cannot separate grief from 
 death ! But God ? I suppose they fall back upon 
 their God, when they find that their hope of heaven 
 does not comfort them." She laughed lightly, and 
 would have picked up her book again, but the major, 
 with a sort of contemptuous anger, repeated her 
 word. 
 
 " God ! My darling, you would find such persons 
 very quickly dropping their belief in a God if they 
 gave up the desire for eternal life." 
 
 " Would they ? " she asked slowly. " And yet, 
 do you know, that idea of a God seems to me so 
 much greater than just the hope of prolonged exis 
 tence. To have Some One who is, who knows, 
 that would be enough, it seems to me, without mak 
 ing such a thought minister to little human wishes 
 for immortality. If one were sure of an Intel 
 ligence, then, indeed, one might bear death. But of 
 course it is foolish to talk about it." 
 
 kt Yes," her father answered. " To limit Force 
 by the idea of personality is indeed foolish." 
 
 " There might be something higher than per 
 sonality," she began doubtfully. 
 
 "What?" 
 
 She shook her head, and her father smiled. 
 
 " It is unlike you, Sidney, to amuse yourself with 
 such reflections ? I don t believe you go to church 
 
SIDNEY. 155 
 
 enough ; you are idealizing Christianity when you 
 speculate upon the personality of the First Cause. 
 Go to church, my dear." Sidney s face burned. 
 " Or else, do not divert yourself by imagining what 
 a difference it would make if light, heat, and elec 
 tricity should arrange a heavenly mansion for you." 
 
 " But I did not mean a heavenly mansion," she 
 said, with quiet persistence, though her cheeks were 
 hot. " Only that if there were any understanding 
 of life, anywhere, one might be content." 
 
 The major shrugged his shoulders. " If ? " And 
 she said no more. 
 
 His reproof banished Miss Sally s romance from 
 Sidney s mind, and when she saw her aunt for a 
 moment before dinner she had forgotten what the 
 flushed embarrassment of the little face meant. 
 When she recalled it, she kissed Miss Sally, with a 
 hurried look, and said she hoped and then she 
 kissed her again, for she really did not know what 
 she hoped. " What is the use of wishing people 
 happiness when you know they will find only sor 
 row ? " she thought. 
 
 Miss Sally, however, did not attach much mean 
 ing to hesitation, and beamed as she told Robert, 
 who fell into sudden silence at her words, that Sid 
 ney had congratulated her in such a pretty way. 
 She was wondering if she ought not to announce her 
 engagement to Mrs. Paul, and trembling at the 
 prospect, when the major said, as he opened the 
 door for her after dinner, 
 
 " Sarah, will you be so good as to see that my 
 blue coat is laid out for me ? " 
 
156 SIDNEY. 
 
 "Oh, Mortimer," she said, with sudden inspira 
 tion, " will you ? " 
 
 " Will 1 ? " he repeated vaguely. 
 
 " I thought," faltered Miss Sally, " that perhaps 
 you were going to see Mrs. Paul ? " 
 
 Her brother looked surprised. u Yes, she has 
 sent for me. I do not know why ; possibly to con 
 sult me upon some business matter." 
 
 Even Miss Sally might have smiled at that had 
 she been less agitated, but she only said, " Oh yes 
 of course. I only thought maybe you would 
 tell her." 
 
 "Tell her?" inquired the major, puzzled. 
 
 " Yes, about me. You see she sent over a note 
 this morning, inviting us all to take tea with her on 
 Thursday. Perhaps she has guessed, because she 
 said something about special occasion, 1 but I don t 
 know, and I thought she ought to be told." 
 
 " Oh certainly, yes," said the major. " I beg 
 your pardon, Sarah." 
 
 Of course he could not know that Miss Sally was 
 full of tremulous haste for him to be off. As soon 
 as he went into the library she brought him his blue 
 coat and even his stick, which she unconsciously 
 dusted. Then she went upstairs and waited in the 
 upper hall to hear him start. Since Robert Steele s 
 departure the yellow parlor had gone back to its hoi- 
 land covers and closed shutters, and Miss Sally, as 
 in the days before she knew what love was, sat 
 alone in her bedroom, or in this open square of the 
 upper hall. She could hear the murmur of voices 
 from the library as, between their pleasant silences, 
 
SIDNEY. 157 
 
 Sidney and her father talked ; and she began to fear 
 that the major had forgotten his appointment, that 
 he might have forgotten her was of so little impor 
 tance that she did not think of it. At last she went 
 downstairs, hovering near the library door with a 
 fluttering excuse about books before she dared to re 
 mind her brother that the clock in the hall had 
 struck four, with that rattling sigh with which old 
 clocks let the hours slip away. 
 
 The major thanked her, but it was with an evident 
 effort that he roused himself from his deep chair and 
 his book, and started out. 
 
 Miss Sally did not realize that some one else was 
 as impatient as she. Mrs. Paul had been watching 
 the green door in the garden wall with keen eyes. It 
 did not occur to her, in her excited expectation, that 
 Major Lee would not come in so unconventional a 
 fashion ; the lane, and the terraced steps, and the 
 formal waiting at her white front door finally brought 
 him while she was frowning at his delay. She had 
 spent the greater part of the afternoon at her toilet 
 table, and she was still sitting there, in front of the 
 mirror, when Davids at last announced the major. 
 
 It was a matter of indifference to Mrs. Paul that 
 her serving-woman should have seen her excitement 
 or understood her anxiety about her dress. Scarlett 
 was useful to her ; Mrs. Paul declared that she could 
 not live without Scarlett ; but to her mind a servant 
 had no personality, and so she made no more effort 
 to conceal her emotion from the little, silent, shriv 
 eled woman than from a chair or table. She was 
 quite aware, and equally indifferent to the fact, that 
 
158 SIDNEY. 
 
 Scarlett knew why she was made to puff her mis 
 tress s soft white hair with such precision, and con 
 sulted so sharply upon the black lace scarf which 
 Mrs. Paul pinned about her head to frame her face 
 in softened shadow. The servant heard her sigh as 
 she looked down at her black satin dress. " If I 
 had known a week ago, Scarlett, you could have 
 done another gown ? " 
 
 " Yes, madam," the woman replied, but nothing 
 could have become you better." 
 
 Mrs. Paul, resting her elbow on the table, looked 
 at herself in the glass ; her lip curled, and she struck 
 the floor with her stick. " What difference does it 
 make ! " she said, under her breath. Then she 
 leaned back in her chair, absently plucking at the 
 lace about her wrists, and waited. 
 
 Major Lee was very long in coming, Scarlett 
 thought. She sat outside the bedroom, in the some 
 what chilly upper hall, where she could be within 
 reach of Mrs. Paul s voice and could see her face 
 in the mirror. Scarlett had her own thoughts in 
 that half-hour while she waited in the cold ; her thin, 
 stiff fingers were hidden in her sleeves for warmth, 
 and her little dim eyes stared at the faded engrav 
 ing on the wall beside her, of some long-dead Paul, 
 who, in a silken gown, pointed with the pallid fore 
 finger of his right hand at the roll of manuscripts in 
 his left, and who had a simpering consciousness 
 of the inscription below the portrait, " The Honor 
 able," etc. Scarlett never dreamed of making her 
 self comfortable, but sat upright on the broad, hard 
 seat which ran across the window and was covered 
 
SIDNEY. 159 
 
 with glazed calico. She reflected that Mrs. Paul 
 was annoyed at Major Lee s delay, but she neither 
 rejoiced nor grieved with her, although it seemed 
 to her only right that her mistress should suffer 
 sometimes. In her passionless way, the woman con 
 templated Life, as it was revealed to her under this 
 roof, with interest; but it never touched Scarlett 
 herself. When at last Davids came to say that the 
 expected guest was in the drawing-room, Scarlett 
 could see in the mirror the sudden quiver of her 
 mistress s face at the major s name. " TJiat 11 never 
 grow old, nor her pride," she thought calmly. 
 
 Mrs. Paul rose, carrying her head with a certain 
 lofty grace that hinted at lines of her neck and 
 shoulders which must once have been beautiful. 
 She took Davids arm to the parlor, but discarded it 
 there, and then, handing her stick to Scarlett, she 
 motioned them both back with an imperious gesture. 
 The man and woman looked at each other a moment, 
 as she entered the room without support, and Davids 
 said, under his breath, " Law ! " but Scarlett was 
 silent. 
 
 The green baize door closed, and the two servants 
 did not see her sweep backwards in a superb courtesy 
 as the major bowed over her hand. " It is a very 
 long time," she said, " since this roof has had the 
 honor of sheltering Mortimer Lee." Her momentary 
 strength was failing, and she needed his arm to 
 reach her chair, into which she sank, trembling be 
 neath the folds of her black satin. 
 
 " A recluse, Mrs. Paul," returned the major, re 
 garding her with grave and courteous attention, 
 
160 SIDNEY. 
 
 " does not often permit himself the luxury of pleas 
 ure." 
 
 " I have not seen you here for nearly four years," 
 she said, with sudden weakness in her voice. 
 
 " That must mean," he answered, " that there has 
 been no opportunity for me to be of service to Mrs. 
 Paul for nearly four years. Let me hope to be more 
 fortunate in the future." 
 
 She looked up at him, standing at her side, abso 
 lutely remote and indifferent, and her face sharpened, 
 but her voice was as even as his own. " I took the 
 liberty, my dear Major Lee, of sending for you, be 
 cause I wished to say a word to you of Sidney s fu 
 ture." 
 
 With a charming gesture and a smile, she begged 
 him to be seated. The major, in his well-brushed 
 blue coat, with his soft felt hat upon his knees and 
 his worn gloves in his left hand, waited in silent pa 
 tience until this echo of his past, in her mist of lace 
 and hazy sparkle of jewels, should choose to explain 
 why he had been summoned. It was not business, 
 evidently. Sidney s future ? That belonged to him ; 
 but no doubt she meant well. 
 
 " To tell the truth," continued Mrs. Paul, " such 
 a pleasing hint was given me yesterday of Mr. Steele 
 that I felt I must take the liberty of an old friend 
 of Sidney s, she has, I think, no friend who has 
 loved her so long? and ask you directly about it. 
 Pray, Major Lee, do you like young Steele ? " 
 
 The major had looked puzzled, but his face cleared, 
 and there was even a smile for a moment behind the 
 enduring sadness of his eyes. " I scarcely know him 
 
SIDNEY. 161 
 
 well enough to have a personal regard for him," he 
 said, " but his father was my friend." 
 
 " Oh, yes, true," returned Mrs. Paul ; " and that 
 Sidney s father was once I am sure I may say is 
 still my friend, must be an excuse for my questions 
 and interest. You think, I am sure, that he is an 
 admirable young man ; one who must be successful 
 some time, even though some youthful theory of 
 honor, which he has doubtless outgrown, made him 
 rather foolish. He will certainly be a successful 
 man ? " 
 
 " Successful ? " The major lifted his eyebrows. 
 " In his particular line he will no doubt be success 
 ful. I should think he might achieve a trifle bril 
 liantly." 
 
 " Are you not severe ? " she said gayly. " But I 
 feared you might have some such impression, and I 
 wished to say I begged you to come this after 
 noon that I might say that if, as I have surmised, 
 he desires the honor of connecting himself with the 
 family of Major Lee?" the major bowed " I 
 should like to express my confidence in his ability, 
 and to add, if you will permit me, one word of my 
 intentions concerning Sidney." 
 
 "You do my daughter much honor by your kind 
 interest," he answered, still with a slight smile. "I 
 shall be rejoiced to listen to all that you may say of 
 her ; but for Mr. Steele my sister must thank you 
 for your very cordial expression of approval." 
 
 " Sally ! " cried Mrs. Paul, sitting upright, grasp 
 ing the arms of her chair with white jeweled fingers. 
 
 " My sister begged me," proceeded the major 
 
162 SIDNEY. 
 
 calmly, " to ask for your congratulations, and I shall 
 be glad to be the bearer of them to Mr. Steele." 
 
 " Sally ! " said Mrs. Paul again, faintly ; and then 
 falling back into her chair, she looked at her guest s 
 grave face. "I I beg your pardon, I am sur 
 prised ; I had imagined hoped that the young 
 man had thought of Sidney." 
 
 The putting it into words banished any glimmer 
 of amusement from the major s eyes ; he frowned 
 slightly. " My sister is extremely happy." 
 
 That he should ignore her allusion to Sidney stung 
 Mrs. Paul into momentary forgetfulness of her dis 
 appointment. " I am distressed that it is not Sid 
 ney. The child s future, what is it? Surely 
 surely you have not thought of that ? " 
 
 There was no tenderness in her voice, but the 
 major reproached himself for that. Perhaps he had 
 not been courteous to refuse to speak of Sidney. 
 "You are most kind," he said, with an effort, "but 
 I have no fear for my daughter s future ; she will 
 not be unhappy." 
 
 " She will not be happy," returned Mrs. Paul 
 quickly, " if you mean that she is never to care for 
 any one, never to marry. Oh, spare Sidney your 
 theories ; let her have some happiness in life ! " 
 
 " If there were such a thing," the major answered 
 simply ; " but the best I have been able to do has 
 been to teach her how to escape misery." 
 
 " You make it appear," she said, " that there is 
 nothing positive but pain. Is not life worth having ? " 
 
 " I have not found it so," the major replied; "have 
 you?" 
 
SIDNEY. 163 
 
 " No ! " she cried, with a sharp gesture, " I have 
 not, but I might." 
 
 Mortimer Lee sighed. "Yes? Well, Sidney 
 shall at least not learn its worthlessness through grief, 
 as you have learned it, and as I have." 
 
 "Ah!" she said, with a quick indrawn breath; 
 and then, with an inconsequence which made him 
 look at her with sudden attention, "I I had the 
 greatest respect for Mr. Paul." 
 
 "My very slight acquaintance with him," Major 
 Lee replied, relieved to change the subject, " I re 
 member with pleasure. He was a person of most 
 amiable manners." 
 
 Mrs. Paul bent her head. "He had not a re 
 deeming vice." The major made no answer, and 
 she, looking steadily into the fire, was silent ; they 
 could hear the clock ticking in the hall. " If you 
 do not give her the only thing which makes life en 
 durable," Mrs. Paul began, " it may not last, or 
 it may not be very great, but it is the best we know, 
 if you will not let her have the happiness of love, 
 think how empty her life will be ! Oh, when she is 
 as old as we are, what will she have ? " 
 
 " No hopeless pain," he answered briefly, " no 
 bitter memories." 
 
 " But what will she have ? " insisted the other, 
 leaning forward in her earnestness. "If she has 
 once had love, nothing can take it from her. She 
 need not be afraid of memory, if she has had it. It 
 is only when it has been denied that life is bitter." 
 
 " Ah, well," said the major, and despite his polite 
 ness there was a little weariness in his voice, for the 
 
164 SIDNEY. 
 
 hour was late, " we are old enough to see that it is 
 misery either way. Only the pain remains." 
 
 " Oh, that is not true ! " she cried with sudden 
 passion. " No, I know it is not true. An instant s 
 happiness, one would pay for an instant by years 
 of misery ! I know it now ! My soul is not old, 
 I am not old, Mortimer, oh, this miserable body ! " 
 She struck her hand fiercely against her breast ; 
 anger at the fetters of the years, the extraordinary 
 effort of her soul to break the ice of age, sent a wave 
 of color into her cheeks, her eyes burned and glowed, 
 her whole form dilated, she was a beautiful woman. 
 It was only for a moment ; then she shrank down in 
 her chair, and her lips had the tremulous weakness 
 of age. " Let the child be happy, let her love 
 some one." 
 
 " You are very good," he answered, frowning, and 
 with averted eyes, " you are very kind to take such 
 thought for my daughter, but I merely express her 
 own judgment and inclination in this matter. And 
 to return to the subject for which you were so good 
 as to summon me, I rejoice that you approve of Mr. 
 Steele." 
 
 " What I meant to say," she replied, with instant 
 composure, " was connected with him only because 
 I supposed him to be Sidney s lover. Otherwise, I 
 confess, he does not interest me. I was glad to 
 think that she was to marry a rich man." She 
 stopped, wishing that she might fling out some cruel 
 word to wound him. Then, in a flash, she had an 
 inspiration. " To tell the truth, I had been fearful 
 that, with the perversity inherent in young women, 
 
SIDNEY. 165 
 
 she might fall in love with a poor man. Indeed, 
 seeing Alan Crossan s infatuation, I was somewhat 
 anxious ; there is no money, and he has, I believe, 
 heart disease. However, as her opinion agrees so 
 entirely with yours, there is perhaps no danger of 
 that ? " 
 
 "None, I think," the major answered, hot and 
 cold at once ; " but I must not intrude my daughter 
 further upon your kindness." 
 
 He rose, with a look which was unmistakable, and 
 which acted upon Mrs. Paul as some sharp pain does 
 on a half-stunned and suffering animal. She stood 
 bracing herself by one shaking hand on the back of 
 her chair, and smiling calmly from under the arch 
 of her delicate brows. " You are so very kind to 
 have come," she said, " although, to be sure, I am 
 disappointed to find that it was unnecessary to 
 trouble you, and I cannot be of service to Sidney, as 
 I had hoped ; but I must not detain you any longer I 
 The little tea-party which I had proposed for Sidney 
 must turn into one of congratulation for dear 
 Sally. And you are so much occupied, I fear we 
 must not hope that you will join us ? " Her eyes 
 glittered as she spoke, and there was a sting in her 
 voice which would have made acceptance impossible, 
 even had the major wished to come. But nothing 
 was further from his desires, and with an old- 
 fashioned stateliness he " regretted " and " deplored," 
 and, then, bowing over her hand, yet soft and white 
 under its rings, he left her, standing, smiling, in the 
 firelight. 
 
 Later, when Scarlett came in to see if she should 
 
166 SIDNEY. 
 
 fetch the lamps, she found her mistress fallen in a 
 heap back into her chair, her head resting in her 
 hands and her bent shoulders shaken by feeble sobs. 
 " Take me upstairs," she said. " I want to go to 
 bed, Scarlett, you fool ! Don t you see I m sick ? 
 Oh, let me go to sleep ! I m so old so old so 
 old." 
 
XII. 
 
 THE Sunday desolation of the streets pressed 
 upon Mortimer Lee, as he went home, like a tangi 
 ble misery. The working-folk in their best clothes, 
 staring out of the windows in forlorn and unaccus 
 tomed leisure, or walking about in the gray, cold 
 dusk as though restless from too much rest, were 
 part of the hopeless dreariness of life to him ; and 
 he would have felt that bitter pity for humanity, 
 which is often only intense self-pity, for each man 
 is to himself the type of humanity, had not that 
 hint of Mrs. Paul s concerning Alan been burning 
 in his heart. He could not banish it, although it was, 
 he said to himself, absurd, nay, improper, to give it 
 any thought ; but he wished Mrs. Paul had not sug 
 gested such a thing. It was only in this connection 
 that the sobbing, angry old woman was in his mind. 
 
 When, the next morning, he told his sister that 
 the tea-party was to be one of congratulation for 
 her, she turned white with pleasure. " Dear Mrs. 
 Paul, how good and kind she is ! If it were Sid 
 ney, now ; but just me ! " 
 
 The major frowned. " Sarah, I wish you would 
 be so good as never to refer to Sidney in such a 
 connection." 
 
 Miss Sally was very much abashed. " Of course 
 I won t, Mortimer. I only meant " 
 
168 SIDNEY. 
 
 " Just so, I understand," said the major hastily. 
 " Pardon me for interrupting you, but we need not 
 discuss it." 
 
 Miss Sally had a moment of blankness, but her 
 new interest filled her with such unwonted exhilara 
 tion that she forgot the snub in reflecting that she 
 must decide what she should wear, or rather she 
 must ask Sidney, for in so important a matter 
 she could not trust her own judgment ; so, humming 
 a little song in unaccustomed joyousness, she went 
 to consult her niece in the lumber-room of the east 
 wing, where of late Sidney worked at her carving. 
 It was one of those mild days which sometimes 
 come in winter, when the skies are as blue as June. 
 Little clouds, like foam or flocks of snowy birds, 
 drifted up and across from the west ; here and there 
 brown patches of grass, wet from the melting snow, 
 caught the sunshine in a sudden gleam ; like a fringe 
 of light the icicles along the eaves sparkled and 
 glittered, and, as they melted in the sun, the flash 
 ing instant of each falling drop ended in a bell-like 
 chime upon the wet flagstones below. 
 
 This room in the east wing was full of sunshine. 
 Sidney s pots of jonquils on the window-ledge 
 bloomed in white and gold, and filled the air with 
 fine and subtle sweetness. The dusk of the room 
 seemed laced with the sparkle of the sun and the 
 golden burst of blossoms on the sill. Sidney had 
 pushed into the stream of sunshine by the win 
 dow, a round rosewood table, which was supported 
 by a single rotund leg ending in vicious-looking 
 brass claws ; her tools were on it, and a design Alan 
 
SIDNEY. 169 
 
 had drawn for her, and she was intent upon her 
 carving, the sun powdering the soft hair about her 
 forehead, and glittering along the blade of her 
 small, keen knife. Miss Sally, twisting her feather 
 duster nervously between her loosely gloved fingers, 
 slipped into the lumber-room from the hall, closing 
 the door behind her with an elaborate quiet which 
 sent a muffled echo along the lofty ceiling. Sidney 
 looked up, and blushed deeper than did her aunt. 
 It was all so strange ! Somehow, instead of the 
 old affectionate indifference, she felt a frightened 
 interest, which was at the same time half repulsion. 
 Her hand shook, and the mid-rib of a curling leaf 
 was notched and bent. 
 
 " Sidney," said Miss Sally, going over to the jon 
 quils, and examining their brave green spears, 
 " what do you think I had better wear on Thurs 
 day ? The major says the party is for me, just 
 think of that, Sidney ! So of course it s only proper 
 that I should pay Mrs. Paul the compliment of look 
 ing well, at least as well as I can." 
 
 Sidney listened absently. When her aunt paused, 
 after enumerating her dresses, she made this or that 
 comment upon the modest wardrobe, scarcely know 
 ing what she said. 
 
 " After all," continued Miss Sally, with a con 
 tented sigh, "a good black silk is the very best 
 thing, don t you think so, love ? And you know my 
 bit of thread lace ? I washed it out only yesterday, 
 and put it around a bottle to dry, and then pulled it 
 a little so it really does look very well. That in the 
 neck and sleeves, and my mosaic pin, will be nice 
 
170 SIDNEY. 
 
 and neat and in good taste, and Mrs. Paul will like 
 it, I m sure." She hesitated, wrinkling her fore 
 head anxiously. " I wish my black silk had a little 
 train ; but I remember that when I bought it a train 
 did seem too extravagant. I might piece it and let 
 it down in the back, but it has been turned twice, 
 you know, and is so very old I m afraid it would n t 
 stand that ? " Sidney nodded. " It is really a very 
 important occasion," proceeded the other. " I can t 
 get used to being so important. Dear Mrs. Paul, I 
 hope she knows that I appreciate her kindness ! " 
 Then it struck her that she had forgotten Sidney, 
 and with remorseful haste she began to talk of what 
 her niece should wear. 
 
 " Aunt Sally," saH. Sidney, leaning back in her 
 chair, but still playing with her little sharp knife, 
 "I suppose you don t have to think of what Mr. 
 Steele would like, because he will be pleased with 
 anything you wear ? " 
 
 " It s very good in you to think so," responded 
 Miss Sally brightly. 
 
 " I meant," Sidney said, "I wondered " But 
 she could not put her wonder into words. Love? 
 Was this love ? She shook her head silently, and 
 began with a steady hand to curve the petal of a 
 rose. Miss Sally, however, did not stop to speculate 
 upon the nature of love ; nor did she know that this 
 new thing in her life had brought a brightness into 
 her timid eyes and a little color into her face which 
 was as though youth had looked back upon her for 
 a moment. Sidney watched her, mystified by it, 
 and by the apparent contradiction of her aunt s 
 thought for small things. 
 
SIDNEY. 171 
 
 Major Lee also observed Miss Sally closely in 
 those days, but he did not misunderstand her frame 
 of mind. " It is the newness of feeling important," 
 he explained to himself, " and the interest in some 
 thing quite her own, and the pleasure of being cared 
 for. She does not even trouble herself by the en 
 deavor to suppose that it is love." 
 
 And indeed Miss Sally was so happy that she had 
 almost forgotten that she was in love, although she 
 never for a moment forgot that Mr. Steele "cared 
 for her." It was thus she thought of his affection. 
 " She is so happy," Sidney said to her father once, 
 her eyes clouding with a puzzled look, " she never 
 seems afraid ? " 
 
 " True," the major answered, with half a sigh, 
 " but there are three reasons for that, Sidney. In 
 the first place, she never thinks of his death, 
 your aunt has no imagination, as you very well 
 know ; in the second place, her heaven would con 
 sole her if she did think of it ; but thirdly, she 
 has a regard for Mr. Steele ! " 
 
 In fact, Miss Sally had never in the whole course 
 of her devoted and self-effacing life created half so 
 much interest in her own household, and she had 
 never before given so little thought to her brother 
 and Sidney. Afterwards, when the newness of it 
 all had worn off, and she was even wearying a little 
 for the old accustomed round of emotions, she re 
 proached herself for this. But for the present it 
 was all a fluttering and growing joy. 
 
 Thursday evening was a climax. Miss Sally 
 scarcely slept the night before for thinking what she 
 
172 SIDNEY. 
 
 should do and say at a tea-party given in her honor. 
 Nor did Mrs. Paul sleep well that night ; she was 
 enraged at herself that she had not withdrawn her 
 invitations. " Why in the world," she had cried to 
 her son, sweeping the checkers off the board when 
 she saw defeat approaching, " am I to be bored by 
 these people to-morrow evening ? I have n t seen 
 Sally this week ; I would n t. I sent word by Sid 
 ney that I did n t want her to read to me, and what 
 does the fool do but write me a note to thank me for 
 my consideration ? And that young Steele ! Lord ! 
 I can forgive him about the money; vice can be 
 overlooked, but not stupidity ! " 
 
 She changed her mind about the tea-party twenty 
 times before Thursday morning dawned. " I can 
 say I have a headache, and put it off, even at the 
 last moment, Scarlett, only " Mrs. Paul closed 
 her lips suddenly. Perhaps Scarlett guessed the 
 rest. Mortimer Lee should not think that his 
 affairs or his daughter s changed her plans. So the 
 tea-party was not postponed, and Thursday evening 
 arrived. At precisely half past six, Miss Sally, 
 breathing quickly with excitement, took Robert 
 Steele s arm, and went with little tripping steps 
 through the garden and up to Mrs. Paul s door. 
 
 The path was too narrow for Sidney to walk 
 beside her aunt, and Robert, aware that she was fol 
 lowing him, found it strangely difficult to listen to 
 Miss Sally s chatter. Again, as he met the two 
 ladies at the foot of the stairs, he knew with painful 
 consciousness that Sidney s wondering eyes were 
 looking down at him as she stood a step or two 
 
SIDNEY. 178 
 
 above him ; one hand was on the twisted rail of the 
 banister, and the other lifted the train of the old 
 brocade, with its gleaming folds of soft blue, and its 
 quaint, stiff bunches of flowers. Miss Sally, fum 
 bling over a glove button, was saying something 
 he did not know what with a hysterical little 
 laugh. 
 
 Except Alan and the Browns no one had arrived, 
 so Miss Sally breathed more freely as they entered 
 the drawing-room. Mrs. Paul was sitting, as usual, 
 in state beside the fire, and in answer to Miss Sally s 
 bow and outstretched hand she motioned her aside, 
 and cried, " Sidney, you look like Madame la Mar 
 quise in that gown and with your hair pompadour ! 
 Let me kiss you, child ! " 
 
 Sidney s fleeting color deepened into a smile as 
 she caught Alan s eye, and then, while Miss Sally 
 blushed and trembled against her lover, Mrs. Paul 
 adjusted her glasses, and extended two fingers to the 
 guest of the evening. " Well, Sally, so you re to 
 be congratulated at last ! " 
 
 " I claim your greatest congratulations, Mrs. 
 Paul," said Kobert, in a voice which made Miss 
 Sally s heart come up in her throat, but delighted 
 the older woman. She did not much care upon 
 whom she vented the anger which still stung her as 
 she thought of that interview with the major, but 
 her disappointment about Sidney had turned into 
 contempt for Mr. Steele, so she was glad to make 
 him uncomfortable. As for the major s sister, she 
 could scarcely think of her with calmness. 
 
 " You may kiss me," she said, turning her cheek 
 
174 SIDNEY. 
 
 towards Miss Sally, with that peculiar look of 
 endurance with which some people accept a kiss. 
 
 " I was afraid we were late, dear Mrs. Paul ! " 
 cried Miss Sally, her eyes filling with pleasure at 
 this favor. 
 
 " I should never complain of your lateness, Sally," 
 returned the other grimly. 
 
 " You are so good to say so ! " said Miss Sally. 
 
 Robert s face had darkened, but it did not repel 
 Mrs. Paul ; she motioned him to draw a chair to her 
 side. " I knew your father so well, I I had an 
 opportunity of observing his devotion when he was 
 in love, so I can imagine how very happy his son is 
 now. A young man just engaged, and to so estima 
 ble a person as our dear Sally, is, of course, in hea 
 ven?" 
 
 Robert bowed ; he could see, without looking at 
 her, that Miss Sally was still guarding her shyness 
 with nervous laughter. His heart glowed with pity. 
 Mrs. Paul was interrupted here by fresh arrivals, 
 and he had a moment in which to reflect how he 
 might seem to be unconscious of the sneer in her 
 words. As soon as she could she turned to him 
 again. "And you are very, very much in love? 
 How charming it is to be young and have enthusi 
 asm ! Sally must think so whenever she looks at 
 you." 
 
 " We are neither of us very young," said Robert, 
 " but perhaps we are the better able to appreciate 
 happiness, now we have it." 
 
 "Oh, of course," returned Mrs. Paul, looking 
 away with scarcely concealed weariness. She lifted 
 
SIDNEY. 175 
 
 her glasses to stare at each guest, but stopped for a 
 longer glance at Alan Crossan and Sidney. 
 
 Alan had not looked well since that struggle in 
 the river; he was pale, and there was a luminous 
 intensity in his eyes that was new. Mrs. Paul saw 
 it, and a curious look came into her face. 
 
 This was as it should be. It was better that 
 Mortimer Lee had not come ; he must not see it too 
 soon ; when it had gone so far that opposition would 
 only increase it, then, perhaps, she might be able to 
 forget her humiliation in pointing out to him his 
 own. Mrs. Paul was able to think these thoughts, 
 and yet say pleasant things to her guests. The 
 gleam of many lights, the voices and laughter of her 
 company, the courtly badinage of an old admirer, 
 and more than all, the chance to fling into Robert 
 Steele s quivering soul a truth, tipped and sharp 
 ened by a lie, braced her into positive enjoyment of 
 the dreaded tea-party. She would have been glad 
 if Colonel Drayton had seen fit to ignore his cousin 
 Mr. Steele, even though it would have been a rude 
 ness to their hostess ; anything to wound the young 
 fool! 
 
 There were moments during that evening when 
 she almost forgot her rage at the designing Sally in 
 her contempt for Sally s lover. " One can t blame 
 Sally, at her time of life, she said to Mrs. Brown, 
 " but the young man Lord ! " 
 
 When, at half past seven, Davids flung open the 
 doors into the dining-room, Mrs. Paul, leaning on 
 Colonel Dray ton s arm, marshaled her guests with 
 charming grace. To be sure, by some oversight, as 
 
176 SIDNEY. 
 
 Miss Sally explained, there was no one to offer her 
 his arm, until Alan, with a word to Sidney, who had 
 been assigned to him, came to her side. 
 
 " Dear Miss Sally," he said, " won t you walk into 
 the dining-room with me ? " 
 
 Miss Sally hesitated to deprive Sidney of an 
 escort. "And yet, you know, Alan, Mrs. Paul 
 would feel so badly to think she had forgotten me, 
 when the party is for me perhaps I d better ? " 
 
 So Alan placed her at the table, by John s side, 
 and saw her flash one happy look at Robert Steele, 
 who was upon Mrs. Paul s right. Robert s stern 
 expression delighted his hostess and brought a finer 
 cordiality into her face ; it also inspired her to make 
 her other guests uncomfortable. She introduced a 
 theological discussion between Mr. Brown and Alan 
 by asking the clergyman if he knew that he had 
 another heathen in his parish. " Fancy," she cried, 
 " how shocked I was (anything irreverent is very 
 shocking to me, Mr. Steele) to hear him say that the 
 church which taught that the Almighty required the 
 blood of Christ as an atonement made Judas Iscar- 
 iot its chief saint ! " 
 
 " I merely quoted, Mrs. Paul," the doctor began 
 to say, embarrassed and annoyed, seeing the distress 
 in Miss Sally s eyes, and aware that Colonel Dray- 
 ton adjusted his glasses for a disapproving look. 
 
 Then she turned upon Sidney to regret that 
 Major Lee was not present, ending, with a careless 
 gesture, " But he is so odd your father. Genius 
 is always taken out of common sense." 
 
 These thrusts made, she could devote herself to 
 
SIDNEY. 177 
 
 Miss Sally. Mrs. Paul was smiling now and very 
 handsome. " You have taken care of Mr. Steele to 
 advantage," she said, bending forward to catch Miss 
 Sally s eye ; " to his advantage, I mean, of course." 
 
 " He is better," answered Miss Sally proudly, and 
 Eobert s face burned. 
 
 I suppose the little pills have done it ? " she said, 
 turning to Robert. " Sally s little pills give her so 
 much pleasure, and I suppose they never do any 
 harm, do they, Alan Crossan ? She wanted me to 
 take some once when I was ill," she went on with a 
 shrug. "I told her I preferred death to idiocy. 
 Seriously, I am a loss to understand how persons 
 who believe in the virtues of little pills can be any 
 thing but knaves or fools, I mean the medical 
 men, of course. Don t you agree with me, Mr. 
 Steele?" 
 
 44 Alan agrees with you, no doubt, Mrs. Paul," 
 he said carelessly ; " but I have a great respect for 
 them." 
 
 His face was dark with anger. Mrs. Paul was 
 witty at the expense of the woman he loved ; yet 
 how ridiculous were the manual and the little pills ! 
 
 " We must drink to Sally s future," she began 
 again, later; "you young people can stand, but 
 Sally and I may surely think of comfort. Alan 
 Crossan, come, you ve been talking to Sidney long 
 enough ; propose the toast, and congratulate Sally 
 on the opportunities of life. All things come to 
 one who waits ! You might congratulate yourself, 
 too, upon having carried dear Mr. Steele to the 
 house where he was to find his happiness." 
 
178 SIDNEY. 
 
 By this time, every one at the table, except perhaps 
 Sidney, who was more absent-minded than usual, and 
 Miss Sally, who was incapable of thinking an un- 
 kindness intentional, was thoroughly indignant. 
 Alan was tingling with anger. But he rose, and by 
 a happy turn of words said so many true and pretty 
 things of poor scarlet Miss Sally that she sniffed 
 audibly, and very honestly and frankly wiped her 
 eyes. Even Sidney was touched by the gentleness 
 in Alan s cordial young voice, and she looked at the 
 little shrinking figure in the black silk, with a smile 
 which made Miss Sally feel that her cup overflowed 
 with blessings. 
 
 "Now," said Mrs. Paul, striking Eobert lightly 
 with her fan, " what have you to say ? Surely you 
 and Alan have been rivals. Sally, I did n t know 
 you had so many lovers." 
 
 " We are all Miss Sally s lovers," observed John 
 Paul ; it was his first remark that evening. 
 
 Robert was on his feet in an instant, with one 
 quick look of gratitude at Alan, and then a burst of 
 self-congratulation, which in Mrs. Paul s ears told of 
 something beside happiness and hope. She smiled 
 as he proceeded. " He distrusts himself," she thought ; 
 and when he sat down, flushed and glad, and with a 
 look at Miss Sally, who was in tears, she smiled again. 
 
 " You took no wine," she said, with the solicitude 
 of the hostess ; adding, " Not even to drink dear 
 Sally s health ? " 
 
 " No," he answered, " I do not use wine." 
 
 " Mr. Steele does not approve of wine," Miss 
 Sally explained proudly. 
 
SIDNEY. 179 
 
 The doctor frowned. Was Kobert about to assert 
 a temperance which he had not practiced ? 
 
 " What ! " cried Mrs. Paul, holding up her wine 
 glass so that the light sparkling through the claret 
 flashed red upon the starlike cutting about the bowl, 
 " you do not approve of the moderate use of wine ? 
 Surely that is one of Sally s theories to which you 
 have submitted ? Ah, the head is always the slave of 
 the heart ! " 
 
 " No," Robert answered miserably, the discrep 
 ancy between his protest and his life was so appal 
 ling that he could not stop to think of the impression 
 he was making, " No, I do not approve of it. I 
 think Miss Lee agrees with me, but I felt that it was 
 wrong, for me, before I knew her views. I have 
 always felt that it was wrong," he added, nervously 
 anxious to say without words that, though he fell 
 short of his principles, he never doubted them. 
 There was no self-consciousness in the distress in 
 his face ; only the dismay which every sensitive soul 
 feels in claiming a nobility of thought which his 
 past contradicts. Indeed, it is strange how long 
 after a sin is atoned for, forgotten, even, by all ex 
 cept the sinner, it will thrust a high impulse out of 
 the soul, with a cry of " Unclean, unclean! " Rob 
 ert s pain was so great that he did not feel Mrs. 
 Paul s significant look, nor care for Alan s annoy 
 ance. He was quite silent for the rest of the uncom 
 fortable occasion, which, however, was not prolonged. 
 Mrs. Paul was tired ; she was glad to motion Davids 
 to throw open the folding doors again, and once 
 more settle herself in her great chair by the draw 
 ing-room fire. 
 
180 SIDNEY. 
 
 Every one was relieved when the dreary evening- 
 came to an end. Miss Sally, to be sure, talked 
 cheerfully all the way home of Mrs. Paul s good 
 ness, looking over her shoulder at Sidney and Alan to 
 say that Mrs. Paul did not mean to be unkind when 
 she spoke sharply. 
 
 But there were tears in her eyes, which the dark 
 ness hid even from her lover. 
 
XIII. 
 
 FOR days afterwards the tea-party was a night 
 mare to Robert Steele. It was not that Mrs. Paul s 
 cruelty to Miss Sally hurt him, for it made him ten 
 derer to her, and so, in a certain way, he could al 
 most exult in it ; but with terror he found himself 
 examining the quality of his love, and realizing that 
 until that evening at Mrs. Paul s, he had seen Miss 
 Sally only in her relation to himself, and not in re 
 lation to life. He could never again be deaf to her 
 foolish laughter or her little fluttering talk, which 
 skirted great subjects without any understanding, 
 though with the same reverence which she gave to 
 all things, both small and great, in a humility that 
 was only humiliation. He saw it all, and despaired 
 at his own perception. " How is it possible," he 
 asked himself, "loving her as I do, honoring her, 
 saved by her, that I can have an instant s thought of 
 what is so small ! " He was shamed by his own 
 meanness, and so aware of it that he depended more 
 and more upon Miss Sally s courage and affection. 
 With the consciousness of weakness came greater 
 love. Perhaps this frame of mind was induced by a 
 sharp return of the old pain, and a consequent neces 
 sity of morphine with the resulting struggle against 
 that habit, which had become almost dormant. So, 
 
182 SIDNEY. 
 
 thrown more for help upon the woman he loved, the 
 weeks passed not unhappily, although sometimes, 
 when his mind was not filled with her, he was 
 vaguely miserable, because ever since his engage 
 ment he had been aware of a subtile estrangement 
 
 O 
 
 from Alan. It was nothing more than the doctor s 
 unexpressed astonishment at the step he had taken ; 
 it was too intangible to question, more a mood than 
 an emotion, and yet enough to make this soul, which 
 marked with quivering exactness every changing 
 expression of its own or of another, fall back into 
 depression. Feeling himself rebuffed, he kept his 
 moods and wonders and vague terrors to himself, or 
 forgot them in Miss Sally s presence and affection. 
 After all, what is redemption but to be healed of 
 self-despisings ? Little by little, led by her hand, 
 Eobert euierged again from weakness, and looked 
 about him ; then, gradually, returned that terror 
 of perception which had followed Mrs. Paul s tea- 
 party. It must have been in March that, one day, 
 depressed beyond the point where words could cheer 
 him, he went drearily out into the country for a long 
 walk. 
 
 It was snowing with steady persistency, and there 
 was no wind ; only the white cheerfulness of a storm 
 that shut out the world. Robert would have been 
 glad to lose himself at once in its vague comfort, 
 but, with that painstaking kindness which was part 
 of his nature, he stopped in Red Lane to learn how 
 Ted was, for the child had been ill. The inquiry 
 made, he turned, with a sigh of relief, down the 
 lane, crossed an unbroken field, and entered the soft 
 
SIDNEY. 183 
 
 gloom of the woods. The silence closed about him 
 like down. He drew a breath of thankfulness ; it 
 was good to be alone. He sat down upon the trunk 
 of a fallen tree, whose twisted and fantastic roots 
 had been plucked long ago from the earth, and 
 spread now in the air like the fretwork of a great 
 rose-window which, on all its curves and ledges, had 
 caught the white outlines of the snow. He could 
 hear, back in the woods, the faint sound of flakes 
 falling on the curled and brittle leaves, which still 
 hung thick upon the branches of the oaks. The 
 vague trouble which he had refused to face was 
 soothed for the moment into forgetfulness and peace. 
 These sounds of nature have a wonderful claim upon 
 consciousness, both joy and sorrow melt into them : 
 the noise of rain trampling at midnight through a 
 garden, the wind whispering in the dry grass along 
 a hilltop, the rustling haste of hail on frozen snow, 
 all have a power over the mind, and seem to draw 
 it back into the complete whole from which it has 
 been for the moment separated. 
 
 With the weight of snow the underbrush about 
 Robert s feet had bent into wonderful curves, which 
 made a network of low, glittering corridors, vaulted 
 and arched, and so far reaching that when some 
 furry creatures a rod away moved, or nestled softly 
 against each other, a pad of snow from the fretted 
 roof fell with a powdery thud into the white depths 
 at his side. A rabbit bounded past him, turning for 
 one bright, frank glance at the motionless figure 
 upon the log, and leaving small intaglios of his steps 
 upon the surface of the snow. The rustle of the 
 
184 SIDNEY. 
 
 flakes upon the dead leaves, the muffled wood noises 
 about him, his own breathing, were the only sounds 
 which broke the white silence of the woods. 
 
 Robert sat with his head resting in his hands ; 
 his eyes had but the range of a pile of fresh nut 
 shells dropped at the foot of the big hickory opposite 
 him, and a wild blackberry bush powdered on every 
 thorn and spray with feathery white. Little by lit 
 tle, after that first relief of forgetfulness, he began 
 to come back to his unrecognized pain. There was 
 nothing to distract his mind from Miss Sally, and 
 yet he found himself refusing to think of the treas 
 ure of his love, and instead, wondering how long it 
 would be before the snow would cover the shells, 
 and gazing with bated breath at two keen black eyes 
 which watched him with friendly suspicion from a 
 mossy hole between the wrinkled roots of the hick 
 ory. He remembered, and then sighed helplessly 
 because he remembered, that Miss Sally had once 
 said she should think it would be dreadful to be 
 alone in the woods. There was something which 
 frightened her about the bare heart of nature. Not 
 that Miss Sally had ever said the "bare heart of 
 nature," but that was her meaning. 
 
 After a while, as he sat there on the fallen tree 
 trunk, a tense stillness seemed to take possession of 
 him, which made even the squirrel alert and anxious. 
 The snow settled on his shoulders, and covered the 
 pile of shells at the foot of the hickory. The storm 
 was thickening, and the bending branches of the 
 blackberry bushes were almost hidden by the piling 
 flakes. A whirl of white shut him in upon himself, 
 
SIDNEY. 185 
 
 and in the furious silence of the storm the conster 
 nation in his soul clamored to be heard. Beneath 
 the prayer of gratitude for Miss Sally s love, with 
 which he tried to stifle this tumult, one fact asserted 
 itself and insisted upon a hearing. 
 
 Robert Steele s heart grew sick. How gray and 
 lark it was here in the woods, under the snow-laden 
 ooughs ; what an unhuman silence ! He looked up 
 through the branches and the driving mist of flakes 
 at the leaden sky. " God ? " he said in a whisper. 
 It was the cry of the convict soul which would es 
 cape from itself. 
 
 The face of Truth had at last confronted him and 
 compelled his horrified eyes ; he knew that his self- 
 reproach for perception was an effort to protect what 
 had never existed. He saw that he had called grati 
 tude love, and that he had mistaken pity for pas 
 sion. No wonder that the hopeless cry trembled on 
 his lips ; reproach and despair, and anguish, all at 
 once. God ! why had he been born, why had he 
 been thrust into the misery of consciousness ? His 
 self-deception was the juggle of Fate, and the very 
 horror of it was his irresponsibility. If he could 
 have blamed himself for having mistaken his emo 
 tions, there might have been some comfort for him ; 
 but can a man blame himself for the curve of his 
 skull, which decides his character before he is born ? 
 Fate ? What is it but temperament ! Helpless and 
 without hope, he contemplated his own nature. He 
 dropped his head upon his hands without a sound, 
 and his very soul was dumb with dismay. 
 
 It must have been an hour before Robert emerged 
 
186 SIDNEY. 
 
 from the deeper and more selfish terror of self- 
 knowledge, to cry out, with the thought of the 
 wrong to Miss Sally, " What have I done ? " 
 
 A long while after that, he rose, the snow falling 
 from his knees and shoulders ; the squirrel darted 
 back into his nest, and far down in the woods there 
 was the skurry and flutter of frightened things. 
 
 Robert had a fit of sickness as a result of that 
 morning in the woods ; but there was no return to 
 morphine, the hour was too great for that. Miss 
 Sally did not see him for a fortnight, and when she 
 did she said it was no wonder he had been ill, sit 
 ting there in the snow, for Alan had explained that 
 Mr. Steele was fond of the woods, especially in a 
 snow-storm, and had taken cold there ; for her part, 
 she wondered that he escaped with nothing worse 
 than a sore throat. 
 
XIV. 
 
 BEFORE Kobert was really well, and could go 
 back to the pleasant evenings with Miss Sally in the 
 yellow parlor, April had come, with swallow flights, 
 and sweeping rains, and a hint of greenness on the 
 south slope of the pasture beyond Major Lee s. 
 Miss Sally had missed her lover very much, and 
 welcomed him with timid warmth. She was the 
 more affectionate, perhaps, because his fortnight s 
 absence, apart from her anxiety about him, had 
 been she was ashamed to acknowledge it to her 
 own heart a strange relief (it is not always easy 
 to live in the exciting air of happiness; common 
 place monotony is really restful) ; and so she was 
 very remorseful and very kind to her lover. She 
 even told him, with a blush, that she had thought 
 of what he had said of being married in June, but 
 if if he did n t mind if he had just as lief, 
 could n t it be in August ? The question of living 
 at the major s afterwards had never been settled, 
 because Robert had never thought of it seriously ; 
 but Miss Sally made haste to drop the subject of 
 marriage, lest it might have to be discussed. She 
 knew quite well what she wanted, but she knew also, 
 by experience, that it was extremely unlikely that 
 her wishes would govern her circumstances. She 
 
188 SIDNEY. 
 
 began to chatter her small news : Alan had scarcely 
 been to see them since Robert s illness, and she was 
 puzzled to know why ; Mrs. Paul had taken Scarlett 
 and gone away for a fortnight s visit (Miss Sally, 
 anxious to be agreeable, did not add that Mrs. Paul 
 had declared that she should die if she had to live 
 among idiots any longer) ; John Paul had told the 
 major that he was going to leave Mercer by the 
 middle of May, to enter a newspaper office in the 
 city ; she had seen Miss Katherine Townsend quite 
 often. " How pleasant she is ! " she said, her face 
 beaming. " Once she met John Paul here, and it 
 seems they know each other." It would interest 
 Robert, Miss Sally thought, to talk about his cousin. 
 Katherine had been so cordial and so sweet, and her 
 manner betrayed such pretty deference, that Miss 
 Sally s easily affectionate heart had been quickly won. 
 Of course she could not see what a pathetic little 
 creature she seemed in Miss Townsend s eyes, or 
 know that during the walk home with John Paul, 
 after that meeting at the major s, pity which was 
 almost pain kept the girl in unexplained silence, 
 which caused Mr. Paul much anxiety. Indeed, as 
 he went back to town alone, he became very gloomy, 
 and did not even notice Eliza at the window of the 
 toll-house, so her heart ached also. It is easy to 
 circumscribe a cause, but who can tell how far the 
 effect will travel ? Robert Steele had made the 
 gravest mistake a man can make, and here, in the 
 parlor of the old toll-house, Eliza Jennings cried 
 until she could scarcely see. 
 
 Eliza s pain of unrequited love it was thus she 
 
SIDNEY. 189 
 
 expressed it, uncomforted by hot muffins and cups 
 of strong tea had made her pine more than ever 
 to confide in some one. That impulse to confide 
 generally strikes outside the family circle ; perhaps 
 one s family sees too clearly the extenuating circum 
 stances, and offers comfort too readily. The easy 
 consolation of those who know us is dishonor to our 
 grief, and it is natural to appeal to a stranger for 
 sympathy. 
 
 In this connection, Eliza thought, as she had 
 thought many times before, of Miss Katherine 
 Townsend. Mrs. Jennings might share her joys, 
 but Eliza could not bear to display her sorrows to 
 the maternal eye. It was very well to tell her 
 mother that she had had a talk with Mr. Paul at the 
 toll-house window ; or that he had asked her for 
 some crocuses from her garden border (which he 
 had made haste to give to Miss Townsend) ; or, 
 most beautiful of all, that he had overtaken her at 
 the other end of the bridge, and walked across with 
 her, lifting his hat when he left her. " Oh, ma, if 
 you could a seen the way he lifted his hat ! " 
 Upon that occasion, Eliza had been so dazed with 
 happiness that, as she came into the house, she 
 almost tumbled over her mother, who had been 
 peering out of the window at this unusual scene, 
 and she had felt the sharp anger of one who is 
 rudely shaken out of paradise by a blunder of her 
 own. But Eliza s paradise was speedily regained ; 
 she seated herself by the stove, and, first carefully 
 turning her skirt back over her knees that it might 
 not be scorched, told her mother every word of Mr. 
 
190 SIDNEY. 
 
 Paul s conversation. She ended the recital with a 
 sigh, as though aware that one kind of happiness 
 consists in understanding just when to be miserable. 
 She knew exactly what Mrs. Jennings comment 
 would be, and she knew also, in the bottom of her 
 heart, how groundless were her mother s assertions 
 that it " would all come out right ; " but such know 
 ledge did not interfere with her happy imaginings. 
 
 It needed something real and tangible to do that, 
 and the reality came the afternoon that Mr. Paul 
 passed the toll-house without giving her a pleasant 
 nod and smile. Eliza treasured this grief for many 
 days. It put a certain life into her sentimentality, 
 and gave her some genuine pain. The entries in 
 violet ink in the diary became shorter as this small 
 reality crept into them. It is not impossible that 
 under such unnatural and artificial conditions a 
 sickly sort of love can actually be created ; or 
 rather, as love has no varieties, but many resem 
 blances, a very good imitation can spring from 
 such circumstances. Eliza s round face was really a 
 little pale under her freckles, in those first soft 
 spring days ; as the daffydowndillies and hyacinths 
 pushed their green tips through the cold, wet ground 
 in the toll-house borders, her eyes seemed to grow 
 large and her lips took a pitiful droop. She began 
 to spend much time in looking at the river, now 
 very high with the spring rains, or in walking about 
 the winding paths of the garden, stopping to lean 
 her elbows on the white gate and stare down the 
 road or along the bridge ; in fact, she was thor 
 oughly enjoying the misery of sentiment. 
 
SIDNEY. 191 
 
 It is not only the young man s fancy which is 
 affected by the spring ; the sunshine and the softly 
 blowing winds, the scudding ripple on the river s 
 breast, the nod of the daffodils and the brimming 
 gold of a crocus cup, touch the young woman s 
 heart, too, and then a confidante becomes absolutely 
 necessary. So it happened, when, on one of these 
 wonderful spring days, Miss Townsend came to give 
 Eliza her music lesson, and noticed with a kindly 
 word the paleness of her pupil s face, that Eliza s 
 misery sprang to her lips. 
 
 " Oh, I m that unhappy ! " She swung round on 
 her music-stool, and put her hands up to her eyes. 
 Mrs Jennings chanced to be out, so there was noth 
 ing to check the stream of confidences, long re 
 strained and swelling for expression. 
 
 " Why, you poor little Eliza ! " said Miss Town- 
 send. " Something troubles you very much ? " 
 
 " Oh, my goodness," sobbed the pupil, " I guess 
 it does ! " 
 
 " Can t I help you ? " Katherine asked. She was 
 distressed to see the little milliner so unhappy, but, 
 as she spoke, she thought, vaguely, how impossible 
 it was to judge by the outside of things. She would 
 never have connected anything so great as grief with 
 the life in the toll-house ; it had seemed to her too 
 full of drowsy satisfaction to feel the spur of sorrow. 
 Geraniums were always glowing on the white win 
 dow-sills of the little sitting-room, and the rippling 
 light, striking up from the river, played in a sleepy 
 rhythm back and forth across the low ceiling ; the 
 cheerful warmth which danced out from the isinglass 
 
192 SIDNEY. 
 
 windows of the stove, and shone on the keys of the 
 family organ and on the lithographs upon the walls, 
 told only of content ; everything, Katherine had 
 thought, was as comfortable as the big feather cush 
 ion in Mrs. Jennings rocking-chair. Heartache 
 was incongruous in such a room. " Tell me about 
 it," she said, with good-natured amusement, for the 
 sense of incongruity is hostile to reverence. 
 
 " I m I m so unhappy ! " Eliza answered with 
 a gasp. " I d like to ask your advice, Miss 
 Townsend." 
 
 " Have you asked your mother s advice ? " (" Can 
 it be that Mrs. Jennings does not approve of Job 
 Todd ? " Katherine wondered.) 
 
 As for Eliza, she was trembling with joyous 
 excitement ; the moment had actually come, she 
 was going to tell Miss Townsend! She rose from 
 the revolving stool, and motioned her teacher to 
 take Mrs. Jennings big chair, which, however, 
 Miss Townsend declined, and then she flung her 
 self down on a hassock, and once more buried her 
 face in her hands. " Ma don t know anything about 
 it," she declared, with filial indifference. " I 
 could n t tell any one but just you, and I want you 
 to advise me." 
 
 " Your mother ought to know whatever troubles 
 you," Katherine said, with kindly sternness, " but 
 tell rne, and let me see if I can help you." 
 
 " Miss Townsend, I don t know what you 11 think 
 of me," Eliza answered, from between her fingers, 
 " but I I m in love, Miss Townsend ! " 
 
 Katherine s smile was like sudden sunshine. 
 
SIDNEY. 193 
 
 " That ought to make you happy, if he is a good 
 man and your mother approves of him." 
 
 " Yes," Eliza quavered, " only he he don t care 
 anything about me ! " 
 
 " Oh ! " said Katherine blankly. So this was 
 how unhappiness might come to the toll-house. Job 
 was unfaithful ! " If he does not love you any 
 longer, you must try not to think of him, my dear." 
 She was really very sorry for her pupil. 
 
 " Yes, but," explained Eliza, wiping her eyes and 
 looking up in her earnestness, " he never did, you 
 see." 
 
 "Never did?" 
 
 " Care, I mean ; and I don t know what to do. I 
 thought you would advise me." 
 
 " But I don t see what advice there can be." 
 
 " Oh," the girl cried, wringing her hands, " don t 
 you see ? I don t know what to do ! " 
 
 " I should n t think there was anything to do," 
 Katherine answered, really puzzled. " But if it is 
 Job Todd, I am sure you are mistaken, and it will 
 all come out right ; I know that he " 
 
 " Taint him," interposed Eliza briefly. 
 
 " Then," Katherine said, after a moment s pause, 
 " the only thing for you to do, whoever it is, is to 
 put him right out of your mind." 
 
 " Do you think it s wrong to love him, if he don t 
 love me ? " Eliza persisted, in a broken voice. 
 
 Katherine hesitated. It was not wrong ; it might 
 even be very great, but not in Eliza. How could 
 she explain it ? 
 
 "Not wrong, but-- 1 don t think I would." 
 
194 SIDNEY. 
 
 The poor little creature on the hassock was really 
 so miserable that Katherine felt like putting her 
 arms around her and bidding her dry her eyes ; had 
 she done so, the frightened pleasure of it would 
 probably have banished her romance from Eliza s 
 mind, at least for the moment. " If he cared for 
 Another," she protested, " it would be different. I 
 would I would tear him from my heart." 
 
 " Certainly," Katherine agreed ; " but, anyhow, 
 you must try to put it all aside, and " 
 
 " I thought," interrupted the other, she was so 
 impressed with the importance of the occasion that 
 she actually dared to interrupt Miss Townsend, 
 " that may be you d know if if there was any 
 other young lady. You know him." 
 
 " I have no idea whom you mean ; but don t you 
 see ? that is his affair, not yours nor mine. All 
 you have to do is just, cheerfully, to make your life 
 richer and better by giving, or else to forget it, and 
 that is far the wiser way." 
 
 " But how ? " And after all, the question was 
 very pertinent. 
 
 " Be a sensible girl, and do your duty, and " 
 
 " It s Mr. John Paul," observed Eliza, in a sort 
 of parenthesis. 
 
 Katherine Townsend had risen, meaning, with one 
 or two cheerful, friendly words, to bring this con 
 versation to an end ; but she was so absolutely dum- 
 founded that she stood for an instant with parted 
 lips staring at the figure on the hassock. 
 
 " I thought," proceeded Eliza, "you d know if he 
 was waitin on anybody ; for, of course, if he is, I 
 must tear him from my heart ! " 
 
SIDNEY. 195 
 
 Katlierine s impulse to laugh made her face scar 
 let, but she was conscious of a perfectly unreason 
 able anger. She sat down again. " I am ashamed 
 of you, Eliza," she said sharply. " Mr. Paul is 
 you know very well, Mr. Paul is not in your station, 
 and it is absurd and immodest for you to think 
 about him in this way." 
 
 At the change in her voice, Eliza looked up, half 
 frightened. " Is he waitin on somebody is he 
 engaged ? " 
 
 " Not that I know of," Katherine answered, after 
 an instant s pause, " but that has nothing to do with 
 it. Mr. Paul is a gentleman, and you will probably 
 never know him ; he would certainly never think of 
 you in any such way. Now, don t be a silly girl. 
 Just put this whole matter out of your mind. I shall 
 not respect you if you give it any more thought." 
 
 " I do know him ! He s been in an taken a cup 
 of tea. I know him real well, Miss Townsend. He s 
 walked over the bridge with me, an he s just as 
 kind" 
 
 " Of course he is kind ; but don t you understand ? 
 Mr. Paul is kind to every one, and you have no 
 right to think of him in that way. Try to be 
 sensible, Eliza." 
 
 Katherine was aware that she was unjust, and 
 that her lofty thoughts of the greatness of giving 
 were somehow blotted out ; so, as she opened the 
 door to go, she tried to throw some sympathy into 
 her voice. " Now, don t cry ; just see how foolish 
 you have been. It is n t worthy of you. There ! 
 Promise me you 11 not think of it again." She went 
 
196 SIDNEY. 
 
 back, and rested her hand on the girl s shoulder with 
 a kindly touch. 
 
 This moved Eliza so much that she gasped out, 
 " I 11 try but it is n t any use but I 11 try " 
 and she even nodded, with a watery sort of smile, 
 when Miss Townsend looked back at her from the 
 road. 
 
 In spite of a curious indignation, the absurdity of 
 which she could not help recognizing, Katherine was 
 so alive to the drollery of the situation that she 
 laughed under her breath ; and when she met Mrs. 
 Jennings, a little later, she said " Good-evening " 
 with such smothered gayety that Eliza s mother was 
 stirred to curiosity. 
 
 " I d like to know," Mrs. Jennings reflected, wad 
 dling breathlessly towards the toll-house, " what 
 she s got to laugh at, poor soul ! " But she was 
 to discover the cause of Miss Townsend s mirth. 
 " Law ! " she said, standing still in the doorway, as 
 she caught sight of her daughter rocking and sob 
 bing in the big chair, " what is it, Liza? You give 
 me such a turn ! " 
 
 It was some time before Eliza could tell her, and 
 all the while Mrs. Jennings sat in her big fur- 
 trimmed jacket, only loosening her bonnet-strings 
 and taking off her gloves. She was far too excited 
 to think of her own comfort. To see her Eliza cry 
 ing, and swaying back and forth, and declaring that 
 she wished she were dead, and refusing to say what 
 was the matter, was anguish to Mrs. Jennings. 
 
 " Was it your music lesson ? " she cried, in 
 despair. " Did n t you know it ? Did she scold 
 you, Liza?" 
 
SIDNEY. 197 
 
 That opened the flood-gates ; with tears and sobs 
 Eliza confessed that she had told Miss Townsend 
 about Mr. Paul. " An she said that he d never 
 look at me cause he was rich an I was poor, an 
 there was n t no use to think of him an so an 
 so" 
 
 She was really incoherent by this time, but Mrs. 
 Jennings could not discriminate between grief and 
 hysterics. She was beside herself with anger. 
 
 ." So that was what she was laughin at, the hussy ! 
 Not another lesson do you take from her, do you 
 hear that?" In her excitement, she flung her bon 
 net down upon the floor, and tore her jacket open at 
 the throat for breath ; her face was purple. " The 
 like of her to say he would n t look at you ! She 
 wants him herself, so she does. I 11 tell her so to 
 her face, a miserable music teacher ! " 
 
 " Ma ! " expostulated Eliza. u She was just as 
 kind " - 
 
 " The idea of telling her, any way ! " burst out 
 Mrs. Jennings. " You ain t got a proper pride, 
 Liza, you don t know your place. Telling such 
 a person as her I in ashamed of you ! But I 11 
 see to her, just trust me, trust your mother, lovey, 
 poor lamb, poor dear ! " 
 
 She lifted her baby in her big trembling arms, to 
 soothe her upon a bosom which held a flame of 
 maternal love as true and tender as though she had 
 been as slight and subtile as any wiser mother. But 
 though she comforted Eliza, and, a little Liter, still 
 in the heavy jacket, brought her a steaming cup of 
 tea and a wedge of cake, she was rowing and doubt- 
 
198 SIDNEY. 
 
 ing at once in her own heart ; even while she was 
 assuring her daughter, now able to sit up, and eat 
 and drink, that she " knowed the ways of men 
 and if she was n t very much mistaken well ! " she 
 had a vague and awful fear that her first absurd 
 charge was true, and the " hussy " wanted him for 
 herself. Yes, and might get him, too ! " Ain t he 
 always a-walkin over the bridge with her?" she 
 groaned, when she went out to the pantry for an 
 other piece of cake for her darling ; " though he ain t 
 gentleman nough to pay the toll for her ! Well, 
 she s welcome to such meanness. Liza would n t 
 have him. But I 11 see to her ; she sha n t get him, 
 so there ! " And then aloud, " Here, lovey, now 
 eat a bit of cake, darliri ; there, my heart, it 11 
 be all right, lovey ! " 
 
XV. 
 
 As Miss Sally had said, Alan had not come to 
 the major s very often during Robert s illness. The 
 doctor s care for the sick man explained this per 
 fectly to Miss Sally, but there was another rea 
 son. Alan, for the first time in his life, was find 
 ing decision so difficult that he was deterred from 
 action. He had been uncertain many a time be 
 fore, and found it hard to make up his mind ; but 
 when this had been the case, he had always said 
 gayly, " I 11 drift. Fate must decide for me ; " and 
 generally he was well content with Fate. But he 
 had come to a point now, when this could not be ; 
 he must keep his life in his own hands, he must de 
 cide for himself. And these hours with Robert 
 Steele were his opportunity. 
 
 " What is the right thing to do ? " he asked him 
 self again and again. He knew now, with all his 
 happy heart, that he loved Sidney Lee. The know 
 ledge had come to him in that midnight when he 
 felt that he might die from the strain and shock 
 of his plunge into the river. It is the thought of 
 death, the realization of the poverty of an eternal 
 lull which opens the eyes to the treasures of life. 
 Before this, Alan had been alternately charmed and 
 antagonized by Sidney s attitude towards life. Her 
 
200 SIDNEY. 
 
 father s view he regarded merely as a most inter 
 esting expression of the abnormal ; it never oc 
 curred to him to consider it seriously. An idee 
 fixe he had called the major s belief, and had the 
 usual patient, or impatient, amusement with which a 
 doctor regards such a mental condition. But, al 
 though the unnaturalness of Sidney s ignorance of 
 life was almost repulsive, her charm became greater 
 every day, even while he realized more forcibly the 
 distance which she placed between herself and the 
 natural human instincts. 
 
 With the recognition of his own love, the subtle 
 antagonism departed, and with antagonism his dis 
 may at her tranquil selfishness, and his approbation 
 of that beautiful aloofness which had charmed him. 
 All which had repulsed now attracted him. Even 
 her selfishness seemed natural, for was it not herself 
 that she loved? Perhaps love of the same object 
 often blinds the lover to selfishness. But Alan s 
 anxiety at present had nothing to do with character 
 or with love itself. He was only concerned to know 
 what course of action was demanded of him in view 
 of Mortimer Lee s wishes for his daughter s future, 
 and his own position as the major s friend, or at 
 least as his trusted acquaintance. Over and over 
 the doctor argued with himself that the major s 
 theories were monstrous and unnatural. Sidney 
 had a right to life, which meant love, and he, 
 Alan, had a right to offer it to her. Yet to betray 
 her father s trust ! 
 
 He frowned and whistled in his perplexity. The 
 young man was as confused in his honest desire to 
 
SIDNEY. 201 
 
 see clearly as Robert Steele himself might have 
 been. 
 
 " If I tell the major I love her, and ask his per 
 mission to tell her so," he said to himself, " it will 
 only give him a chance to stuff a lot more pessimistic 
 nonsense into her mind, and warn her against me ; 
 besides, he would probably show me the door. Now, 
 it is n t fair to Sidney to treat her in that way. I 
 think I ought to speak to her first, and then tell the 
 major." 
 
 Alan was perfectly aware that this was not his 
 honest opinion, though he continued to assert that 
 it was. As a result, he stayed away from the 
 major s, assuring himself each day that he would go 
 on the next and warn his old friend. 
 
 He knew very well for Alan felt the moods of 
 his friends as truly as a sunny pool reflects cloud 
 shadows, and perhaps no more deeply that Sid 
 ney s father was less cordial to him. The major 
 himself did not recognize any change ; he only knew 
 that those words of Mrs. Paul s were a continual 
 but vague discomfort. He watched Alan now very 
 closely, and with a perplexed and anxious look that 
 sometimes turned upon Sidney, but never found any 
 words of question to the one or of warning to the 
 other. Indeed, he did not put what he feared into 
 words even to himself ; to combat it in his thoughts 
 would have been to dishonor his convictions by a 
 doubt of the power of truth. But he was depressed, 
 and grew more silent than ever. He fell into a 
 habit of returning from the Bank by way of the 
 great iron-yards of the rolling-mills beside the river, 
 
202 SIDNEY. 
 
 which were deserted after six. Here he walked, his 
 hands clasped behind him, and his worn old face 
 sunk upon his breast, scarcely ever looking up. It 
 pleased him sometimes to stop and glance into the 
 sm el ting-furnaces, and see the glow of molten metal 
 as it was run into bars of pig-iron in the sand, and 
 note the black figures of the puddlers standing 
 against the fierce glare of red light, or coming out 
 into the gray evening like shapes from the mouth of 
 hell. No one noticed the old man in the blue cloak, 
 and he could brood and dream in his slow walk 
 without fear of interruption. But once, in the keen, 
 sweet dusk of an April evening, Alan Crossan 
 chanced to see him turn from the crowded street 
 towards the river bank and the mill yards, and with 
 a sudden impulse followed him. 
 
 It had been in the doctor s mind, as a part of this 
 troublesome question as to whether it was honorable 
 to seek Sidney Lee s love without her father s know 
 ledge, that he would some day discuss these absurd 
 theories of love and life with the major himself. It 
 would probably lead up to a fuller confidence ; but 
 in the mean time, merely to plan such a conversation 
 seemed in some intangible way to satisfy his con 
 science for not having boldly told her father that he 
 meant to win Sidney s love if he could. A dis 
 cussion would at least hint the direction of his 
 hopes, he thought ; and it was something to let the 
 major know how foolish, nay, how wicked, to his 
 mind, was such a blighting of her life as her father 
 proposed. He had, that very day, concluded to say 
 something like this to Major Lee ; and with a de- 
 
SIDNEY. 203 
 
 cision all his gladness had come back again, and he 
 felt the exhilaration of a man who has done his 
 duty ; for the opportunity is a small thing, when 
 the will is ready. But here was the opportunity, 
 and so he made haste to follow the major, his face 
 full of anxious gravity. Mortimer Lee s mind had 
 been of late so occupied with that miserable sugges 
 tion of Mrs. Paul s that when he looked up, in an 
 swer to Alan s greeting, and saw the earnest expres 
 sion, he felt a pang of apprehension. A forlorn 
 dismay looked out of his mild eyes. But Alan, as 
 they began to talk, or rather, as he began to talk, 
 grew more cheerful. The thought of combat 
 always brought a fresh gayety and boyish confidence 
 to his face, which added to its charm of indolent 
 and sweet good-nature. He scarcely waited for the 
 major s " Good-evening." 
 
 " Major Lee," he said, rushing into his subject 
 with all the enthusiasm of a young knight who has 
 never tried his armor, " I have thought so often of 
 that talk we had in your library, one Sunday after 
 noon in the winter ; do you remember ? You spoke 
 of the worth of life and the folly of love, and, do 
 you know, I think you were all wrong?" 
 
 If Alan had been any less direct, his companion 
 would have quietly turned the subject. The misery 
 of life, as he saw it, was not a thing the major 
 talked about. He had no desire to prove a point ; 
 he had felt it. When the grave had closed over his 
 wife, all was said, and life needed no comment. 
 Talk for the sake of talk was impossible, and the 
 fashion of the day to protest .hat life was not worth 
 
204 SIDNEY. 
 
 living was not honored even by his contempt. The 
 young man s frank declaration that he was wrong 
 would have pleased him, even had there not been 
 something in the young courage of a fool which 
 touched him. Of course he did not mean to enter 
 into a discussion, but he put on his glasses and 
 looked at Alan kindly ; he even smiled a little. He 
 had never been so near liking the doctor. 
 
 " So ? " he said. " You think I am wrong, do 
 you?" 
 
 " Yes," Alan answered ; " and I ve been meaning 
 to ask you how you account for the desire to be 
 alive, even in the greatest pain or misery, we doc 
 tors see that all the time, if, as you seem to think, 
 life is not worth living ; and, also, how it is that 
 those whose love cannot be questioned are yet capa 
 ble of happiness even after death has robbed them ? " 
 
 Perhaps because Alan had for a moment drawn 
 his thoughts away from that hint of Mrs. Paul s, and 
 he had the kindly feeling which is a part of relief ; 
 perhaps, too, because it was not easy to avoid a di 
 rect question, the major found himself saying some 
 thing about the blind will to live, in the first place, 
 and the belief in immortality, in the second place. 
 
 While he was speaking they reached the street, 
 which was parallel to the river, and were about to 
 cross it and enter the mill yard, when Alan felt a 
 detaining hand upon his arm. Drearily along the 
 muddy street came a little funeral procession. Major 
 Lee stood silently, with uncovered head, until it had 
 passed, and then went on with the sentence which it 
 had interrupted. 
 
SIDNEY. 205 
 
 " How genuine he is ! " Alan thought, with sud 
 den compunction. For a moment the young man 
 almost forgot the absurdity of remembering death in 
 one s plans for life. 
 
 They walked on, down between the great piles of 
 pig-iron, and reached the high bank of the river, but 
 there the major seemed to hesitate. u Am I not 
 taking you out of your way, sir ? " he said. In his 
 own mind he was wondering why in the world the 
 young man should choose this path ; it did not oc 
 cur to Mortimer Lee that it might be for the pleasure 
 of his society. The major would not have walked 
 with any one, save Sidney, for the pleasure of society. 
 Nor did it at that moment strike him that to walk 
 with Sidney s father might be agreeable to a young 
 man. 
 
 " Not if you will allow me to accompany you," 
 Alan answered, with that fine deference in his voice 
 which was instinct and training rather than reason, 
 for he was tingling with impatience. 
 
 The river, between banks of cinders which had 
 been thrown out of the mills and furnaces, lay black 
 under the falling dusk, but was touched by the wind 
 here and there into a metallic sheen and lustre. On 
 its further side, beyond Little Mercer and the distant 
 hills, the sky was a pale, clear yellow, that melted 
 up into the violet of early night ; bars of filmy gray 
 were gathering in the west, but in the upper heavens 
 they rippled into fading fire ; a puff of brown smoke 
 from a great chimney drifted like a stain upon the 
 tranquil night. Now and then, from the rolling- 
 mill through the yard of which they had come, a 
 
206 SIDNEY. 
 
 flare of light lifted and quivered and blotted out the 
 tender sky colors, leaving only the gray dusk and the 
 gray river. The very air was a caress, and all the 
 sounds of day came softened into a tired murmur. 
 
 The major felt the peace of it, and could have 
 wished that Alan had chosen some other time to con 
 vert him ; but doubtless the young man s intentions 
 were good. So, in answer to the request to walk 
 with him, he said patiently, " Surely, surely," and 
 began to calculate how soon the doctor would have 
 to turn into the street again to seek his own home. 
 
 " This blind will to live, of which you speak," 
 Alan began, " has, it seems to me, a certain reason 
 ableness on the face of it, and that is what concerns 
 us. As you talked of life, that night, you apparently 
 did n t consider any of the pleasures of living, with 
 which the will certainly justifies itself. You did not 
 admit any happiness. Now, Major Lee, there is 
 happiness ! " 
 
 " You are fortunate in thinking so," said Morti 
 mer Lee absently. He had no desire to convert the 
 doctor ; he was even glad, in a pathetic way, that 
 any one could be so foolish. 
 
 " Surely," Alan persisted, his eager young face 
 aflame with the sunset light, " surely it is not fair, 
 in making one s estimate of life, to leave out the joy 
 of success, and of hope, and of love, the gladness of 
 the senses. Why, this very sky and soft wind, the 
 ripple of the river over that sunken slag, are so 
 beautiful that it is almost pain." 
 
 "It is pain," returned the major. He was glad 
 that Alan had not stopped at love, in summing up 
 
SIDNEY. 207 
 
 the happiness of life ; he could not have put the 
 reason into words, but he did not care to talk of love 
 to Alan Crossan ; and for fear that the doctor might 
 return to it, he began to repeat, with quaint impres- 
 siveness : 
 
 " I know not what they mean : 
 Tears from the depths of some divine despair 
 Rise in the heart and gather to the eyes, 
 In looking on the happy autumn fields." 
 
 " Oh, no, no, it is not that ! " said the other, " for 
 the days that are no more are not nearly so beauti 
 ful as the days which are to come," his face was 
 radiant at the thought of those coming days. " I 
 think that that pang with which we see beauty or 
 power is only the assertion that we belong to it all, 
 but are not in it ; it is the protest of the molecule," 
 he ended, laughing ; " the instinct to melt into the 
 current of life, from which we have been for a moment 
 separated. But, Major Lee, I can t be abstract. I 
 think my mind is inquisitive rather than speculative. 
 The concrete attracts me, the real tangible reasons 
 for thinking as you do, or as I do." 
 
 The major made no reply. 
 
 " You say life is miserable because there is death 
 in it, but it seems to me you don t take belief into 
 consideration. You forget the consolations of re 
 ligion. Of course I am not stopping to argue for 
 the truth of the belief in immortality, the belief in 
 God ; but its comfort cannot be denied. Well, 
 granting that, never mind what is the fact, life is 
 good, and love is wise." 
 
 " True," the major agreed mildly, " you would 
 not be apt to consider the fact." 
 
208 SIDNEY. 
 
 "I consider the peace and happiness," Alan 
 answered ; " I do not care to search too deeply. If 
 I am happy, I am satisfied. It is better to have a 
 false belief than none, and with belief loss can be 
 borne." 
 
 " Just so," returned his companion, " the truth 
 which makes us free by no means necessitates 
 happiness." 
 
 " Whereas," Alan insisted, " your position neces 
 sitates imhappiness ! " 
 
 " I cannot see," observed the major, " that happi 
 ness or unhappiness can affect belief ; because I 
 should suppose a man must endeaver to believe, not 
 what makes him happy, but what he thinks is true." 
 
 " I wonder," Alan said, " whether happiness is 
 not the deepest truth, and so we believe in God, and 
 immortality, and love ? " 
 
 " Because you prefer to ? " 
 
 " Because I am a man, because I cannot help it ! 
 Yes, and I suppose because I prefer to ; at least, I 
 refuse to disbelieve, and I make myself as happy as 
 I can." 
 
 Major Lee looked about for escape ; this foolish 
 talk was as annoying as a cloud of gnats. But sud 
 denly a thought struck him : he might show the 
 young man, he might prove to him the folly of it all ? 
 The boy was a sensible boy in the main, and per 
 haps he could be taught ? The major began to feel 
 a little glow of friendliness. 
 
 " If you are in no especial haste, I should be glad 
 to hear your views. May we not stop here and talk 
 for a little time ? We shall suffer no interruption if 
 we go down to the river side." 
 
SIDNEY. 209 
 
 " I shall be delighted to ! " cried Alan, really as- 
 ;ounded at what he naturally felt to be the result of 
 lis logic. 
 
 They left the mill yard and the smelting-furnace 
 
 hiiid them ; the river was banked by slag which 
 bad been run into great conical moulds, and then 
 flung out to cool and crumble down by the water. 
 Upon one of these moulds the old man seated him 
 self, drawing his blue cloak around him, and resting 
 bis hands upon his stick. He waited a moment, 
 thinking how he might best begin, and looking up 
 at the young man standing against the sunset. Alan 
 had taken off his hat, and threw back his head with 
 a certain beautiful joyousness which made it good 
 to look at him. His voice held the sound of pleas 
 ant thoughts. The major s patience exhilarated him. 
 He did not wait for the older man to begin, but hur 
 ried on with his arguments. 
 
 " Yes ; it seems to me you quite leave out this 
 ability of the soul to be satisfied, this power of be 
 lief which makes it possible to bear grief ; and 
 there s another thing, which I think prevents a 
 roally fair judgment upon the worth of life, you 
 dwell constantly upon death, Now I beg your 
 pardon, but the normal and healthy soul does not 
 consider death ; it lives in the present, as it was 
 meant to do." 
 
 The major did not stop to be amused at one who 
 declared that he understood what the soul was 
 " meant " to do. " Does it really seem to you ab 
 normal to take a certainty into consideration in mak 
 ing your plans for living ? " he asked. 
 
210 SIDNEY. 
 
 " Absolutely so ! " Alan answered, and then hesi 
 tated. " Perhaps because, while the consideration 
 of such a certainty may be reasonable enough, it 
 simply is not human. And humanity sets the limits 
 of the normal." 
 
 " Then you would have a man a fool, just because 
 there are, it must be admitted, more fools than wise 
 men in the world ? " 
 
 " Hold on ! I don t admit that to forget death is 
 folly, it is merely sane ; and I think that the joy 
 of life I I mean love, you know, while it lasts, 
 is worth the pain of loss. Beside, I do believe in the 
 goodness of God, immortality declares that ; and 
 if God is good, the purpose of life must be." 
 
 " Yet, no doubt, even you go through a process of 
 reasoning ? " the major queried thoughtfully ; " and 
 when you say that the grief of death can be borne 
 because death does not end all, you prove the reunion 
 in which you say you believe ? " 
 
 " Yes," Alan answered, " I prove it, at least to my 
 own satisfaction, by saying that God is good." 
 
 44 Ah, I see," commented the other. " Life, which 
 is one long endurance of sin and misery and exquis 
 ite suffering, must be compensated for by an eternity 
 of joy, or else the Creator would be a conception so 
 blastingly cruel that men would die at the very 
 sight of the Frankenstein they had called into their 
 minds ; men must be immortal to prove the morality 
 of God?" 
 
 " Yes," Alan said again. 
 
 44 But observe," continued the major, 44 your belief 
 in the goodness of God rests upon your belief in im- 
 
SIDNEY. 211 
 
 mortality, and your belief in immortality rests upon 
 your belief in the goodness of God. Admirable 
 logic." 
 
 " But " Alan began to protest, in a confused 
 way. 
 
 The major stopped him with a gesture. " Now, if 
 you were not so fortunate as to be able to retain your 
 belief in God and immortality in the face of reason 
 and as dependent upon each other (and there are 
 some persons who are unable to do so), may I in 
 quire whether you would still feel that life is 
 good?" 
 
 " I never maintained that it was entirely good," 
 Alan answered ; " only that " 
 
 " Goodness is not comparative, I think," inter 
 rupted the other. 
 
 " Only that it is worth having. It is beautiful 
 and precious because oh, because, Major Lee, of 
 this very love which you think is an invitation to 
 sorrow ! " 
 
 The old man had risen, and put one lean white 
 hand on Alan s arm ; he was so earnest that his 
 voice shook. " Yes, love," he said, " love is the 
 greatest curse of all ! That is what I wanted to say 
 to you. To the man who cannot go through life 
 with his eyes shut, who cannot summon the dream 
 of immortality to comfort him with the thought of 
 reunion, and there are few who can do that gen 
 uinely, love is only terror and misery beyond 
 words. Love returns fourfold despair, whatever ab 
 sence of pain there may be in success, or hope, or 
 the beauty of conduct. Love is hell." 
 
212 SIDNEY. 
 
 Alan was shocked into silence ; the misery in this 
 old face swept the light assertions from his lips. 
 The yellow sunset had faded, and the fog was begin 
 ning to steal up the river. Alan shivered. 
 
 " This love, in marriage, what is it ? Friendli 
 ness, perhaps, which commonplace daily living turns 
 almost into indifference ; when it is that, it is the 
 profanation of an ideal. Passionate joy, which is 
 the ideal, and with it the blackening, blasting fear of 
 grief, or grief itself. Then, in either case, the 
 responsibility of bringing new souls into the world, 
 to suffer; such a responsibility is like your God s! 
 But what man shrinks from it ? I know that you 
 would say that children make the parting between 
 husband and wife less terrible ; it may be so, some 
 times ; but at what a cost to the child ! It m ust 
 live, it must suffer, it must endure the agony of the 
 fear of death. It is a hideous selfishness that 
 brings another soul here to suffer ! You think that 
 I am declaring existence to be a curse. I do so de 
 clare it. The only escape from the tragedy of con 
 sciousness which the caprice of the motiveless will 
 fastens upon us, is resignation is the giving up of 
 desire is the giving up of living. Resignation ! 
 even your religion teaches that, disguising it beneath 
 promises of recompense and some future of happi 
 ness. Sir, I have studied life as other men study 
 art or nature, and I know listen to me, young 
 man, I beseech you I know that the nearest ap 
 proach to what we call happiness is negation. Be 
 lieve me, Alan." 
 
 The two men stood motionless in the shadows, but 
 
SIDNEY. 213 
 
 Alan could see the older man s face, and there was 
 a look in it which made him turn away his eyes. 
 There is a brutal indecency in watching a naked 
 soul struggle in an agonized human countenance. 
 
 " But to seek only freedom from pain is moral 
 suicide," he stammered, scarcely knowing what he 
 said, "and a woman who is cheated of her right 
 to suffer, of the beauty that there is in pain, has a 
 life deformed and " 
 
 " Ah ! " cried the other. " Young man, you talk 
 of the beauty of suffering? Because you know no 
 thing about suffering ! " 
 
 Mortimer Lee turned away; it was time to go 
 home. Why had he wasted his words ? Who can 
 convince a youth ? Yet he would have saved him ; 
 there had been a point when he had been really dis 
 interested in what he said. He was so absorbed in 
 his own disappointment that for a few moments he 
 was unaware that Alan was still walking at his side. 
 The young man s heart was hot within him, the phy 
 sician was lost in the lover ; he forgot that Major 
 Lee was morbid. The human horror of death and 
 the human instinct of love each entreated him, and 
 he looked at both with that strange simplicity which 
 comes when a man forgets himself in the presence of 
 primal things. For once he could find no words. 
 
 It was not until they reached the major s gate 
 and were within the little courtyard that he burst 
 out, " No, 110, no ! you are wrong. Love is worth 
 while. A man can blind himself, he can cast out 
 fear, he can be divinely happy, with belief or with 
 out it. Love is enough ; we can shut our eyes to 
 everything else." 
 
214 SIDNEY. 
 
 "Until the end, until one is taken, and the 
 other left," the major answered. 
 
 As he spoke, the hall door opened, and Sid 
 ney stood upon the threshold, looking out into the 
 night. As she saw the two dark figures beneath 
 the ailantus trees, she said under her breath, with 
 that wonderful intonation which was the promise 
 of untouched depths of tenderness in her nature, 
 "Father?" 
 
 She came down the steps, and took her father s 
 arm. " You are coming in, Alan ? " she said. 
 The major stood as erect and silent as though upon 
 the parade ground, but he glanced at Alan. The 
 young man only shook his head silently, and turned 
 away into the dark. 
 
XVI. 
 
 THAT glimpse of a living grief sobered Alan into 
 patience, almost into reverence, for Mortimer Lee ; 
 indeed, he felt a pitying tenderness for the old man s 
 theories which the major would have resented with 
 a pity of his own. But after a while Alan s own 
 hopes claimed him, and Jie declared that the way 
 was clear. The major knew, he insisted to himself, 
 that he loved Sidney. " I did n t say it in so many 
 words, but he must know it, and so I need not feel 
 like a sneak," and his courage and his hope increased 
 together. There was nothing now to distract his 
 attention, or to prevent him from going to the ma 
 jor s on every possible excuse. He was well aware 
 that Sidney s father did not welcome him, and he 
 guessed, with the compassionate amusement of youth, 
 that the major did not forbid his coming only be 
 cause that would have seemed to doubt Sidney s 
 convictions. Sidney s convictions ! What were they ? 
 Thistledown, if the breath of love should touch her 
 lips. It was inconceivable to Alan that there should 
 be any reality in an attitude of mind attained by 
 precept and not experience (he admitted the major s 
 reality since that talk by the river), and he set him 
 self with all Iiis heart to win a conscious look from 
 Sidney s tranquil eyes, a deeper flush on her smooth 
 
216 SIDNEY. 
 
 cheek, or one word that was not as impersonally 
 kind as the April sunshine itself. 
 
 Alan s absorption and happiness, but perhaps still 
 more, the absence for the first time in many months, 
 of any anxiety about Robert Steele, shut his friend 
 outside the doctor s life. "Bob is all right," he 
 reflected carelessly, and then had no more thought 
 for him. 
 
 Robert was well. There had been a physical re 
 bound after that sore throat which had made Miss 
 Sally so anxious, and he was better than he had 
 been for years ; which was of course a great happi 
 ness to Miss Sally. But that very health was a 
 humiliation to him. There are times when the body 
 seems to flaunt itself before the sick and cringing 
 soul. Robert was walking in spiritual darkness; 
 he was searching for his duty with blind gropings 
 into his fears. But the blood leaped in his veins, 
 this spring weather ; his hand was steady, his eye 
 clear; he was a well man. It is curious how some 
 times the soul is outraged by the body. Grief re 
 sents hunger as an insult to its dead ; anxiety flies 
 from sleep which pursues it with unwelcome com 
 fort ; remorse turns its eyes away from the soft 
 impulses which invite it ; but how often the body 
 triumphs ! Robert Steele felt a deeper shame for 
 his health s sake. And all the while Miss Sally 
 rejoiced. 
 
 After that revelation of himself in the woods, 
 there had come to Robert that dogged acceptance of 
 despair which is a sort of peace. His duty to Miss 
 Sally was all he had to live for, and that meant the 
 
SIDNEY. 217 
 
 fulfillment of his engagement. In his eyes, marriage 
 without love was a profanation, and there had been 
 a terrible moment when it seemed that he must tell 
 her of his baseness ; but he had flung the thought 
 away from him. It was profanation ; but why should 
 he not profane himself if it saved her pain ? (Robert 
 honored Miss Sally too truly ever to suspect the 
 quality of her love for him.) To blacken his own 
 soul was a small thing, if she could be spared the 
 grief and humiliation of the truth. Yet he cringed 
 at the thought, and, without being aware of it, be 
 neath his resolution a continual argument was car 
 ried on. 
 
 There were days when this strange secondary con 
 sciousness brought nearly to the surface of his de 
 termination, the belief that truth to Miss Sally was 
 his first and only duty. Truth to his ideal walked 
 unrecognized beside that duty. But of late this 
 hidden thought came boldly into his most sacred 
 moments, came, saying, " Truth is God mani 
 fested in the soul. To let silence lie to the woman 
 who thinks you love her is the cruelest wrong you 
 can do her." And Robert, with anguish, admitted 
 to himself that this was so, and the peace of despair 
 was lost in the possibility of greater pain. 
 
 But he was, during all this time, as even Mrs. 
 Paul admitted, a most devoted lover ; it was she, 
 however, who detected a confession in his devotion. 
 To be sure, she did not witness it, and only knew of 
 it by questioning Sally Lee, and sometimes Sidney, 
 for she scarcely saw Mr. Steele. He had made the 
 proper call after the tea-party ; then he had been 
 
218 SIDNEY. 
 
 ill ; after that, he was always ready with an excuse 
 when Miss Sally suggested that they should go to 
 call upon dear Mrs. Paul. She never did more 
 than hint that they should go, not having courage 
 enough to reproach her lover for ill manners, but 
 she did hint quite constantly ; not because she at 
 tached so much importance to the conventionalities 
 of life, but because she was daily reminded of Mr. 
 Steele s shortcomings in this respect by Mrs. Paul. 
 
 Indeed, Mrs. Paul s desire to see him was known 
 to everybody except Mr. Steele himself ; for the 
 longer he neglected her, the more generally was her 
 annoyance felt ; what was really anger at him vented 
 itself in sharp words upon any subject to any per 
 son. Unfortunately, it does not follow that the ob 
 ject of one s anger receives its expression ; expres 
 sion is all that is necessary to most people. There 
 was a collateral justice, perhaps, in abusing Miss 
 Sally ; but it was hard that Sidney should be scolded, 
 and the girl protested to Mr. Steele, during one of 
 their rare moments of conversation, for Kobert 
 was quite right in feeling that she avoided talking 
 to him. " You must go to see Mrs. Paul, Mr. Steele," 
 she said, with a directness which took away Miss 
 Sally s breath " she really holds this entire family 
 responsible for your absence." And the next after 
 noon Kobert went. 
 
 He had gone to the major s first, and finding Miss 
 Sally out thought that she might be at Mrs. Paul s, 
 and to go to fetch her home would be an excuse for 
 a very short call. But Davids, as he announced him, 
 said that Mrs. Paul was alone, and it was too late 
 
SIDNEY. 219 
 
 then for retreat. It came into his mind, as he saw 
 her alert, keen face, that he had " gone up the wind 
 ing stair," and here was the spider awaiting him. 
 Her eyes lighted as he entered. 
 
 She had long ago decided what she should say to 
 him when he came ; yet she approached her subject 
 so delicately, and by that most subtle flattery of 
 friendly silences, that Robert began to be remorseful 
 for having judged her too harshly. It must have 
 been as Miss Sally said, that Mrs. Paul had not been 
 well that dreadful night, and that she was kinder 
 than she seemed. She was entertaining now; she 
 said clever things, but forgot to be bitter. Robert 
 almost enjoyed the twenty minutes before she 
 touched on Miss Sally. 
 
 " Oh, you expected to find her here ? But you 
 will never be so ill-mannered as to say you did not 
 come to see me ? " 
 
 " Yes," Robert answered, with instant constraint 
 in his voice, " ! came to call upon you, but I hoped 
 to find her here, so that I might walk home with 
 her." 
 
 This evident desire to protest his devotion de 
 lighted Mrs. Paul ; she was almost fond of him, be 
 cause of what such a desire betrayed, and because 
 of the chance it gave her to wound him. " To be 
 sure, and how sorry she will be not to have waited ! 
 She is really, you know, the most lovesick person ; 
 and it is n t becoming to a middle-aged woman to 
 be in love ! Oh, come, now ; if you take offense so 
 quickly, how will you stand the jars of domestic 
 life ? And why should you take offense if I merely 
 say that Sally is very much in love." 
 
220 SIDNEY. 
 
 " Because you do not speak as Miss Lee s friend." 
 She made a gesture, which meant apologetic 
 amusement. " No, no, you misunderstand me," she 
 said, watching, as though to see how far it was safe 
 to go, the frowning antagonism gather in his face. 
 u I am Sally s friend, her best friend, when I say " 
 
 she hesitated, with a look of interest and concern 
 
 " that I am sorry with all my heart that she has 
 become engaged to you." 
 
 Robert caught his breath. Was she in earnest? 
 Did she really see how despicable he was? 
 
 "I am not worthy of her," he began to say, 
 "but" 
 
 " Of course not," she answered, the restraint of 
 temper beginning to show in her voice ; " no one is, 
 you know. But what I meant was, I ve known 
 Sally so long, you must let me say just this, it 
 has been a mistake of hers, we 11 say, not yours. 
 She will not be happy, I speak for her sake, 
 she may fancy she s in love now, but she can t be 
 happy. Lord ! an old maid can t change her na 
 ture." Mrs. Paul lost her patience and her policy 
 together. The young man rose, with compressed 
 lips. " And would n t it be better to release her ? " 
 she ended. 
 
 Robert was shaken by that tumult of dismay 
 which comes when a man sees what he has thought 
 
 O 
 
 good, looking at him with a devil s leer, or hears a 
 solemn truth upon lips which turn it into a lie. He 
 does not stop to say that the medium distorts it, and 
 that truth is still true. 
 
 " That is for her to say. Whatever she wishes of 
 
SIDNEY. 221 
 
 me, even my happiness, is hers. But I dare to be 
 lieve that you are mistaken. I bid you good-after 
 noon, Mrs. Paul." 
 
 He hurried out of the house, tingling with rage 
 and resolution. He would never see that woman 
 again ; he would never cross her threshold ! And as 
 for her vile suggestion, a thousand times no ! He 
 would be true to Miss Sally, he would make himself 
 love her. He thanked God that that wicked old 
 woman had put his thought into words, the pur 
 pose which he had said to himself was honor. He 
 thanked God that she had shown him his own heart, 
 and torn the mask of duty from the face of the 
 hideous selfishness which had insisted that he must 
 toll Miss Sally that he did not love her. Yet how, 
 as that conviction of duty had grown, silently, in his 
 mind, he had weighed his motives to see whether he 
 was honest, how he had scanned each one in an 
 agony of fear lest he might find a taint of self in it ! 
 Over and over again, since he recognized those 
 unseen processes which revealed to him his duty, 
 had he retraced the mental steps which led him to 
 a terrible conclusion, looking for a way of escape, 
 and finding none, believing all the while that he 
 was honest. He knew better now, he said. Mrs. 
 Paul had confessed him to himself. He had been 
 trying to find his own freedom, he had been hiding 
 behind fine words, he had taken the holy name of 
 honor upon his profane lips. " I have lied unto 
 God ! " he groaned. 
 
 He was almost blind with terror and pain. He 
 did not know that people looked after him in the 
 
222 SIDNEY. 
 
 street, with a shrug or a half-laugh, and a light word 
 that he was drunk. Mrs. Jennings, toiling across 
 the bridge, shrank away from him as he passed her, 
 and for a moment forgot her own troubles. His 
 loathing of himself was so overpowering that he be 
 came indifferent to Mrs. Paul ; he had not rage to 
 spare for her. But could he have thought of her, 
 he would have been incapable of imagining that the 
 pleasure of having implanted in his mind the seed 
 of what she must have felt was dishonor, had left her 
 delightfully amiable, so amiable that when Davids 
 told her there was a person in the hall who wished 
 to see her, she nodded to him in a gracious way, and 
 said, 
 
 " Very well, Davids." 
 
 " It is," Davids observed, his eyebrows well lifted 
 and his voice full of condescension, " the bridge per 
 son, I believe." 
 
 " Very well," Mrs. Paul said again, pleasantly. 
 " She wants some help, no doubt." She smiled 
 archly as the man left her. " Lord ! what fools, 
 what fools they are ! They can be led about like 
 animals. Of course he was angry, but he 11 do it." 
 
 She looked up, still smiling, to see Mrs. Jennings 
 entering with heavy awkwardness. Davids, stand 
 ing flat against the baize door to keep it open, was 
 regarding the woman with an intolerable indifference, 
 which so confused her that she forgot to make the 
 decent bow she had planned, and was filled with the 
 wordless fury of a vulgar woman. " As though I 
 did n t know him fore he was in breeches ! " she 
 thought. But by the time she had seated herself 
 
SIDNEY. 223 
 
 and said " Good-evening," and made a remark about 
 the weather, she was more composed. She panted a 
 little and swallowed hard before she began to speak, 
 perhaps because, although she had thought of this 
 scene for days, she really did not know what to say. 
 She hardly knew why she had come. A blind im 
 pulse to do something for her little Liza had made 
 her resolve that she would " see his mother and stop 
 him breakin of her girl s heart." Her daughter did 
 not know of her intention. Eliza was too interested 
 in her own grievances to take much thought of the 
 pain her mother suffered for her sake. Mrs. Jen 
 nings rage at Miss Townsend had found an echo in 
 Eliza s soul ; she was full of that stinging anger 
 which is really shame, and which follows bursts of 
 unnecessary confidence. 
 
 " Oh, why did I tell Miss Townsend ? " she asked 
 herself a dozen times a day, with a pang of humilia 
 tion which sent the tears into her eyes. As is the 
 rule in such cases, the revenge Eliza took caused her 
 as much suffering as she hoped it might cause her 
 victim. She decided to give up her music lessons. 
 
 " Miss TOWNSEND," she wrote, "I ain t go 
 ing to take any more lessons. You can send your 
 bill. Miss JENNINGS." 
 
 Mrs. Jennings approved of this note, though she 
 would have been glad if Eliza had said right out 
 that she considered her music teacher a meddlesome 
 hussy. The only relief the poor mother had was to 
 abuse Miss Townsend, which abuse blew up a great 
 flame of wrath out of her almost imperceptible 
 material, so imperceptible, in fact, there was 
 
224 SIDNEY. 
 
 danger that it would burn out before she could put 
 it into words, here in Mrs. Paul s presence. So 
 Davids supercilious looks were really most helpful, 
 although for the moment they made her forget how 
 she had intended to tell her story. There was a 
 blown and breathless appearance about her, as she 
 sat upon the edge of her chair, looking at Mrs. Paul. 
 Her small crepe bonnet was very far back upon her 
 head, and her large and anxious face was mottled 
 with rising color. Her hands, covered with those 
 unpleasant gloves the fingers of which are gathered 
 into a little bag, tied and untied the cord about the 
 waist of an umbrella, which she held between her 
 black bombazine knees. 
 
 " Well, my good woman ? " Mrs. Paul interro 
 gated, adjusting her glasses and crossing her feet 
 with lazy comfort ; her gown rustled, and then fell 
 into soft gleaming folds. 
 
 Ma am," replied her visitor, swallowing once, 
 " my name is Jennings, Mrs. Asa H. Jennings." 
 
 "Yes?" said Mrs. Paul. 
 
 " An I Ve come to see you," proceeded the other, 
 her voice growing louder. " I ve been meaning to 
 come this long time " 
 
 " Yes ? " This enormously stout woman, whose 
 face was quivering with emotion, and who had a 
 chin like the folds of an accordion, was really very 
 droll. Nor, for once, was Mrs. Paul more cruel 
 than the rest of the world. Emotion which tries to 
 express itself through a weight of flesh does not 
 often reach the sympathies of the beholder. 
 
 "Yes, I ve been meanin to come, for I ve some- 
 
SIDNEY. 225 
 
 thing to say. I m sorry to be the bearer of bad 
 news. I ain t one that likes to tell unpleasant 
 things ; no, nor gossip ; no, nor make trouble in 
 families." 
 
 "Of course ; I think I know exactly how much 
 you would dislike to gossip, Mrs. What did you 
 say you were called ? " 
 
 Mrs. Jennings supplied her name, and then, care 
 fully unwinding the cord from around her umbrella, 
 so that its generous folds flapped loosely about the 
 wooden handle, she said, " So it ain t to make mis 
 chief I come, only to tell the truth. I m a mother 
 myself, an I know how you 11 feel havin some one 
 comin an findiii fault. But it s truth, gospel 
 truth, an my Liza, she s suffered enough, so she 
 has ! T ain t only right but what he d ought to be 
 made to be different. Stead of that, he s goin to 
 see another young lady ; nothin but a music teacher, 
 too ! An I made out it was my duty to come an 
 tell his mother." 
 
 The lazy amusement had faded out of Mrs. Pa-ul s 
 face. 
 
 " You are referring, I suppose, to Mr. John 
 Paul ? " she said. 
 
 "Yes, ma am, I am," answered Mrs. Jennings, 
 her eyes roving about the room. " I m not one to 
 deny it. I am. That s the truth, an I m not 
 ashamed to tell it. He s been he s been my 
 Liza s heart s just broken. An now he ain t satis 
 fied with sendin her to her grave, but he s makin 
 up to some one else. I d just as lief tell her name, 
 if you want me to ? " 
 
226 SIDNEY. 
 
 " I will not trouble you." 
 
 " A poor, miserable music teacher ! " burst out 
 Mrs. Jennings, "with two sisters and a brother 
 dependent on her. She thinks he 11 marry her ; I 
 believe in my soul she thinks he 11 marry her. But 
 I told my Liza I guessed not, not if what every 
 body says about you was true, I guessed not." 
 
 44 Well," said Mrs. Paul, tapping her glasses 
 lightly upon the arm of her chair, " and what is your 
 object in coming here? " 
 
 Mrs. Jennings stared at her ; there was a sudden 
 collapse of all her windy anger. What had been 
 her object? What good would it do, after all? 
 There had been the moment s relief of talking out 
 
 O 
 
 the pain of her poor old heart, but what now ? She 
 opened her lips, but she had nothing to say. There 
 is something pathetic in the struggle of a small soul 
 to grow great with passion. Mrs. Jennings burst 
 into tears, and fumbled in her pocket for her hand 
 kerchief ; not finding it, she wiped her eyes upon a 
 fold of her umbrella. " My Liza " she sobbed. 
 
 "Oh," Mrs. Paul said; "yes, I see." She 
 leaned back in her chair, with delicately knitted 
 brows. " Well ? " 
 
 " Well? " Mrs. Jennings repeated blankly. 
 
 " I suppose you have threatened my son with this 
 visit to me ? " 
 
 " Ma am ? " said Mrs. Jennings. 
 
 " But you have made a mistake. I do not inter 
 fere with Mr. Paul. You must go to him for 
 money. I shall not give you any, you may depend 
 upon that." 
 
SIDNEY. 227 
 
 Mrs. Jennings stared at her. "Why, I ain t a 
 poor person ; I ain t in any need," she said. " I 
 don t know what " 
 
 Then it burst upon her. She rose, her lips 
 parted, her broad bosom laboring for breath. 
 
 " Shame on you ! " she stammered, " shame, 
 you bad woman ! What are you thinking of ? 
 Money for my Liza that s had her innocent heart 
 broke? An what kind of a heart have you that 
 you can think such thoughts of your own son ? " In 
 her honest and womanly anger her foolish jealousy 
 of Miss Townsend was forgotten. " You think bad 
 thoughts easier than good ones," she cried shrilly, 
 running her hand down the staff of her umbrella, so 
 that it opened and closed with her quickened breath 
 ing. " I come here cause I was most wild bout my 
 Liza, an to warn you bout Miss Townsend. Thank 
 the Lord, my Liza ain t in any danger of comin 
 into such a family ! An if it was n t that I m a 
 Christian, an always do as I d be done by, I d say 
 I wish t Miss Townsend would rnarry Mr. Paul, just 
 to bring your dirty, wicked pride down ; but she s 
 too good for a son of yours, if she is poor. Shame 
 on you ! " She struck the floor with her mildewed 
 old umbrella as sharply as Mrs. Paul could have 
 done with her gold-headed stick. 
 
 " She is poor, is she ? " Mrs. Paul inquired, watch 
 ing the tears course down Mrs. Jennings quivering 
 cheeks. 
 
 " I have n t anything more to say," Mrs. Jen 
 nings responded, with a gasp, trying to tie her bon 
 net-strings into a tighter kn:>t beneath her shaking 
 chin. 
 
228 SIDNEY. 
 
 " But I have ; " returned Mrs. Paul. " Of course 
 I know very well why you came here, and if you had 
 conducted yourself properly no doubt something 
 could have been arranged. But you have chosen to 
 gossip about Mr. Paul. If you had given your 
 attention to your daughter a little sooner, it would 
 have been wiser. As for this Miss Townsend, who 
 ever she is, Mr. Paul has no idea of marrying her, 
 and you will never allude to such a thing again ; 
 do you hear me ? " 
 
 " I will do just exactly what I please ! " cried the 
 other, thrusting out her lower lip and flinging her 
 head back. When Mrs. Jennings chose, with her 
 hands upon her broad hips, to make this unpleasant 
 gesture, she was the embodiment of insolence. 
 
 Mrs. Paul was furious. She rang her bell wildly, 
 and the savage jangle, echoing through the silent 
 house, brought Davids running to the parlor door. 
 
 " Show her out ! " said Mrs. Paul. " Show this 
 person out, Davids! " 
 
 " Don t trouble yourself, Billy, don t trouble your 
 self, my dear ! " screamed Mrs. Jennings purple and 
 panting. " I would n t stay, I would n t stay, no, 
 not for all her money ; no, nor I would n t let my 
 Liza cross his threshold. An I 11 warn Miss 
 Townsend against him, but I hope he 11 get her, 
 poor as she is ! " 
 
 Mrs. Paul made a motion of her hand which was 
 unmistakable. Davids took Mrs. Jennings wrist, 
 and before she knew it, still railing and sobbing, she 
 found herself running with the terrifying speed of a 
 large person down the steep stops of the terrace and 
 
SIDNEY. 229 
 
 out through the iron gate. She was hardly able to 
 check her pace by the time she came to the bridge, 
 and, when she reached the toll-house, her knees were 
 still shaking, from such unusual exercise. 
 
 Eliza had been watching for her mother, holding 
 back the dimity curtain, so that a wavering line of 
 cheerful light fell across the road ; when she saw the 
 familiar figure she hastened to open the door. " The 
 tea-table s set, and the toast is ready, ma," she said, 
 and then broke into a cry of amazement at her mo 
 ther s face. 
 
 "I ve been I Ve been " Mrs. Jennings 
 panted, falling into the big rocking-chair, trembling 
 very much, and pressing her hand upon her side 
 " I ve been to his mother s and that woman, that 
 bad, wicked woman " 
 
 " Whose mother s ? " said Eliza faintly. " His f " 
 She had run and fetched the toast from the kitchen, 
 but in her agitation she put the plate down among 
 the geraniums on the window-sill. 
 
 Mrs. Jennings nodded. She tried, with clumsy 
 gloved fingers, to unfasten her bonnet-strings, and 
 looked appealingly at Eliza for help, but her daugh 
 ter was too excited to be dutiful. 
 
 " Tell me about it, ma, every word, quick ! " 
 
 Mrs. Jennings, her voice still unsteady, told her 
 story ; at least part of it. She could tell Eliza that 
 her mother had been insulted, but she could not soil 
 her daughter s mind with Mrs. Paul s suspicion. 
 When she stopped for breath Eliza burst into tears ; 
 in vain Mrs. Jennings tried to soothe her ; she had 
 nothing but sobbing reproaches for her mother. 
 
230 SIDNEY. 
 
 " I don t know what in the world you went for, 
 anyhow," she wailed, " an I don t see that you said 
 anything, either. Don t seem, somehow, as if there 
 was any point in it, an I 11 never hold up my head 
 again. Oh, mother, how could you do it, how 
 could you ? " 
 
 " But, Liza," quavered Mrs. Jennings, " I did n t 
 mean no harm ; I only meant I only meant " 
 
 " You ve disgraced me. She 11 tell him, and 
 what 11 he think?" 
 
 Even as she spoke a vision of Job Todd came into 
 little Eliza s mind : partly because, in this sudden 
 light of common sense, her sentimental fancies 
 showed their real value, and were almost blotted 
 out ; and partly because she reflected that if she 
 " took Job, why, then he d never know anything, 
 even if his mother did tell him ! " 
 
 Of course this was all too confused for words, but 
 Mrs. Jennings was profoundly thankful that Eliza s 
 sobs did not continue very long ; and, indeed, she so 
 far recovered that she was soon able to sit up and 
 eat a piece of toast, while shedding a few excited 
 tears into her tea-cup ; Mrs. Jennings, all the while, 
 hovered about her like a ponderous butterfly. She 
 was full of small caresses, and tender words, and 
 little clucking sounds of maternal love, but there was 
 a mist of tears in her fierce little eyes. " I was 
 never spoke to so in my life," she was thinking. " I 
 would n t a minded for myself, but to think bad of 
 my Liza ! " 
 
XVII. 
 
 MRS. PAUL S face was white when Mrs. Jennings 
 left her, and her hands shook. She could not bear 
 excitement very well, she admitted, impatient at 
 bodily weakness. She smiled a little, and frowned, 
 and said, tremulously, to herself that it was outra 
 geous that such an affair should have been brought 
 to her ears. But by the time Davids, full of care 
 fully concealed curiosity, returned from ejecting 
 Mrs. Jennings to inquire if his mistress were ready 
 for lights, he found her calm and almost agreeable. 
 
 " When Mr. John conies in, say to him that I 
 wish to see him, Davids," she said pleasantly ; and 
 Davids, who knew perfectly well that Mrs. Jen 
 nings visit "meant something," pursed up Ms 
 shaven lips, and went out to the kitchen to say to 
 Scarlett, "She s too polite to be safe, poor Mr. 
 John!" 
 
 But it happened that John Paul was late, and his 
 mother had no opportunity for conversation with 
 him before tea. He found her at the table, and 
 glanced at her with some interest ; for Davids had 
 had a word with him before he entered the dining- 
 room. 
 
 "If you please, sir," the man had ventured, stand 
 ing with a napkin over his arm, gravely watching 
 
232 SIDNEY. 
 
 John pull off his overcoat, "Mrs. Paul wished to 
 speak with you, sir ; but that was when she thought 
 you would be in, in good season for tea, Mr. John." 
 
 The words were simple enough, but there was a 
 significant look, which John had known from boy 
 hood. However, the threatened storm was not of 
 enough importance to think about, and he merely 
 had a moment of surprise at finding his mother 
 quite good-natured. Indeed, had he come a little 
 earlier, this would have been more striking. She 
 was beginning to remember something that the 
 shocking old woman had said, which was neither 
 amusing nor interesting, something about a per 
 son called Townsend. This hint had begun to as 
 sume annoying proportions by the time John arrived. 
 He had been going to see this young woman, had 
 he ? Who was she ? The name was familiar, but 
 a music teacher? Johnny was always a ploughboy ! 
 However, as he entered, she banished all that, and 
 said her clever and unkind things in a really friendly 
 way. Her son took the trouble to be glad of this 
 eccentricity, for he had planned to tell her that 
 night of his intentions for the future. The matter 
 of his interest in a newspaper of the great city of 
 his State had been concluded, and he was to leave 
 Mercer by the middle of May, and, for the first 
 time in his life, go to work. He was full of enthu 
 siasm, and full of hope too, for the step which was 
 to follow this, but of which, of course, no one could 
 know until he had Katherine s promise, 
 
 John Paul knew quite well that the breaking his 
 purpose to his mother would not be an agreeable 
 
SIDNEY. 233 
 
 business, so it was a comfort to find her less irrita 
 ble than usual. He only hoped that her amiability 
 would last until they reached the drawing-room ; 
 but it never occurred to him to hurry through his 
 supper, that he might assure himself of her mood. 
 Supper was far too serious a matter to John Paul to 
 be disturbed by anything so unimportant as his 
 mother s temper. Mrs. Paul bore his delay with a 
 patience which confused Davids, who was standing 
 behind her chair, and watching John with an ex 
 pression of the deepest solicitude. 
 
 " There s something pretty bad up," he said to 
 Scarlett, when he went out to the kitchen for an 
 other plate of toast, in his sympathy for his mas 
 ter, his eyebrows quite lost their supercilious arch 
 upon his narrow forehead, " something pretty 
 bad. Maria Jennings don t come here and talk 
 about him, and get put out, for nothing ; and she 
 ain t so smooth for nothing, either. But, law ! I m 
 glad he can eat. It s hard to stand a woman s 
 tongue on an empty stomach." 
 
 u The toast is getting cold," Scarlett observed. 
 As usual, she kept her opinion to herself. 
 
 " Like a woman ! " Davids thought bitterly, with 
 a man s inconsistency in regard to the mothers of 
 the race. His curiosity was really anguish when, 
 later, he was obliged to shut himself out of the 
 room, leaving the mother and son together. He in 
 vented a dozen excuses to go back again, but his 
 common sense stood firmly in the way, and Scar 
 lett would not hazard a single guess, or even look 
 interested ! Davids gnashed his teeth. " Women ! " 
 
234 SIDNEY. 
 
 lie said. "The world would be a sight better if 
 there was n t a woman in it ! " 
 
 Scarlett turned her passive face towards him, and 
 looked at him. 
 
 " See the trouble she makes for Mr. John," the 
 man hastily explained. 
 
 But in spite of Davids anxiety and sympathy, 
 John Paul was not at all troubled, although towards 
 the close of supper he had begun to feel that there 
 was something unusual in the air. His mother s 
 face had grown harder ; she spoke with an increas 
 ing sharpness ; there seemed to be a deliberate prep 
 aration for anger ; yet, oddly enough, he could not 
 rid himself of the idea that, beneath it all, she was 
 more than ordinarily good-tempered. 
 
 They were no sooner in the drawing-room, where 
 a little fire was burning on the hearth, and where 
 the air was heavy with fragrance from the pots of 
 hyacinths in the south window, than Mrs. Paul be 
 gan with great bitterness to reproach her son for 
 having been late to tea ; John meanwhile silently 
 calculating how soon he could escape into the fresh 
 night, and take a turn in the garden with his cigar. 
 The thought struck him that, according to Kathe- 
 rine s doctrine, he ought, in order to teach his mother 
 a lesson in unselfishness, to refuse to play at draughts 
 in a room which was made insufferable by a fire and 
 by the heavy sweetness of flowers. But he shook 
 his head, and laughed under his breath. Heat, and 
 perfume, and interminable checkers were better 
 than the possibilities in that voice. Yes, very likely 
 he was a coward in such matters, but at least he had 
 
SIDNEY. 235 
 
 no shrinking from greater things. Now that the 
 final moment had come, he did not feel the slightest 
 disinclination to tell his mother of his plans, and he 
 was really glad when Davids, having brought the 
 footstool and arranged the fan-shaped screen, left 
 him alone with his opportunity. 
 
 " Now ! " said Mrs. Paul. " Davids dawdles so 
 over his work, I really thought he meant to spend 
 the evening with us. No, don t bring the checker- 
 table, your intolerable lack of punctuality has 
 lost me my game. for I have something to say to 
 you, and you are too selfish to stay with me later 
 than nine. One would think I had plenty to enter 
 tain nie, instead of sitting here alone for hours. 
 Though to-day, thanks to you, I have had a diver 
 sion, a most unpleasant, a most shameful inter 
 ruption. I am astounded, sir, at your conduct ! " 
 She struck her clenched hand on the arm of her 
 chair, and John, sitting opposite, noted, lazily, how 
 her rings sparkled. " Of course you know what I 
 mean?" 
 
 Her son had been so heedless of her words that 
 his face was quite blank. 
 
 "I don t pretend," she said, "that you are a pat 
 tern of virtue, though you are a fool ; but at least 
 you might keep such affairs from your mother s 
 ears, and not subject me to what I have endured 
 this afternoon." 
 
 " What in the world is the matter now? " thought 
 John Paul. He yawned furtively in his beard, and 
 wished that he might begin his own story. If it 
 had not been for a curious feeling that his mother 
 
236 SIDNEY. 
 
 was in a good humor under all this fierceness, he 
 would not have noticed her railing; he observed 
 that she addressed him as " John," with a hint of 
 respect in her voice which he could not understand ; 
 he watched her, faintly interested. 
 
 Mrs. Paul polished her glasses delicately with her 
 handkerchief, and then put them on and looked at 
 him. 
 
 " It is scandalous that I should know of it," (John 
 sat up straight, in sudden attention), " and that you 
 should have permitted that abominable old creature 
 to come here about her daughter." (Her son leaped 
 to his feet, with an unspoken word upon his lips.) 
 u I do not purpose to interfere in such a matter ; of 
 course I deplore it, and all that, but it is n t my affair, 
 and I only refer " 
 
 John cried out, with a sharp gesture, " Not your 
 affair ? Oh, mother ! " 
 
 She frowned at his interruption. " Let me pro 
 ceed, if you please. You should know enough to 
 silence her mother s tongue, and prevent her from 
 coming here to me to ask for my interference, 
 or aid, I don t know which. It is outrageous." 
 
 " What are you talking about? " said John Paul, 
 very quietly. 
 
 " You know perfectly well ; the girl s mother has 
 been here. It appears that you have made her jeal 
 ous. And I have to listen to that, too, /, your 
 mother ! " 
 
 "My mother," John repeated. His face was 
 white. John Paul had borne many things from this 
 handsome woman ; he had been railed at, and 
 
SIDNEY. 237 
 
 snubbed, and neglected ever since he was a child. 
 He had never shown her the affection which she 
 apparently despised ; perhaps he had never stopped 
 to see whether he felt any affection ; but beneath 
 his indifference had been always the instinct of the 
 child for the parent. Once he had rested on her 
 heart, she had carried him in her arms, he had slept 
 in her bosom ; she was his mother. And now it was 
 his mother who said that the evil life which she be 
 lieved he led was no affair of hers. John caught 
 his breath in something like a sob. Then he said, 
 " Who is this person whom you have seen ? " 
 
 Mrs. Paul shrugged her shoulders. " I do not 
 care to discuss it. I have merely mentioned it to 
 insist that you shall keep such matters from me, and 
 and to say how your conduct distresses me of 
 course." 
 
 " I must insist upon the name of your informant." 
 
 His mother made an impatient gesture. " Be 
 good enough to drop this affectation." 
 
 " I have no intention of defending myself to you," 
 John answered. " I only desire to know who has 
 said these things ; then I will drop the subject." 
 
 "Really?" said Mrs.. Paul. "But I certainly 
 shall not tell you, my friend, for you know perfectly 
 well. One thing, however, I will say : it is shame 
 ful that you should permit such a creature to gossip 
 about you. You should know better than that, at 
 least. This person who has made her jealous, ap 
 parently, this Miss Townsend " 
 
 "Silence!" cried John Paul. "What do you 
 mean ? Who has dared to speak her name ? " 
 
238 SIDNEY. 
 
 His calm white face suddenly blazed with passion, 
 and he stammered as he spoke. Mrs. Paul felt as 
 though caught in an unexpected hurricane ; she was 
 breathless for a moment. 
 
 " You you use that tone to me ? / dare ! I 
 accuse you. I say plainly that I am astounded at 
 your stupidity and your low ways." 
 
 " Have you finished ? " 
 
 " No, sir, I have not ! This Townsend girl 
 that" 
 
 "You will leave Miss Townsend s name out of 
 this discussion," interrupted her son. He was stand 
 ing before her, his arms folded, so that the grip of 
 restraint in his hands was not seen. 
 
 " What? There is something in that, is there ? 
 You do go to see this person, do you, this school 
 teacher ? And perhaps she does think you are go 
 ing to marry her ? The old woman knew what she 
 was talking about, it appears." 
 
 " I don t know what you are talking about, and I 
 don t know what you mean by your old woman, : 
 John answered slowly. " I have no idea to what 
 absurd and lying scandal you have listened, nor do I 
 care to inquire further into it, unless some damnable 
 gossip has dared to use Miss Townsend s name with 
 out reverence ; in which case, she will answer to me. 
 I ask you once more, what is the name of this per- 
 
 O 99 
 
 son : 
 
 Her lip curled into a short laugh. " You may 
 ask me as often as you wish. I shall not tell you ; 
 you know perfectly well. Unless, indeed, there are " 
 (" Oh, hush, hush ! " John said. " Oh, mother ! ") 
 
SIDNEY. 239 
 
 * As for this Miss Townsend, I want it distinctly 
 understood that I shall not permit such a thing for 
 a moment." 
 
 " Permit what ? " 
 
 Anger and shame had transformed John s face ; 
 it seemed to have grown years older. 
 
 " You to marry her. Your friend informed me 
 that the girl had some such expectation ; but you 
 had better make her understand that I will not al 
 low it, and that if you choose to disobey me you 
 shall not have one cent of my money. Not one 
 cent ! Do you hear me ? " 
 
 " I hear you perfectly ; and now, if you please, 
 you will hear me. I have too much respect for my 
 father s wife to deny to my mother such an accusation 
 as has been made, though I do ask you for the name 
 of the person whom you permit to slander your son. 
 But for this other matter, I have the honor of in 
 forming you that Miss Townsend is to be my wife." 
 
 " Go on," said Mrs. Paul. 
 
 " I had also intended, this evening, to tell you 
 that I shall end my connection with the warehouse 
 on the first of next month." 
 
 " Go on." 
 
 u I have nothing more to say." 
 
 " Then listen to me ! " cried his mother. " If you 
 marry a beggar, you can live like a beggar. Do 
 you understand what that means ? Answer me." 
 
 " Yes, it is what I have done all my life. It is what 
 comes to an end when I cease to eat your bread." 
 
 Mrs. Paul choked with rage " I will not have 
 you marry her ! " 
 
240 SIDNEY, 
 
 John did not speak for a moment ; then he said, 
 under his breath, " How terrible, how terrible ! " 
 
 44 Ah, you are coming to your senses, are you? You 
 are wise to reflect upon the husks that the swine do 
 eat, rather than to try them. I warn you that the 
 role of the prodigal son shall never be played in my 
 house. If you disobey me once, it ends everything. 
 Forgiveness is weakness. I never forgive." 
 
 " We shall be married very soon," John said, look 
 ing away from her, almost as if he had not heard 
 her. " You may do what you please with your 
 money ; it is nothing to us. But oh, I wish you 
 could see Katherine, I wish you could see her ! It 
 must make a difference." His voice softened as he 
 spoke. " I have been a coward ; I see it now. I 
 have helped to make this possible in you. Forgive 
 me. And yet and yet I think I shall never 
 forgive you." 
 
 Mrs. Paul, staring at him, dumb with anger, and 
 struggling to see some meaning in his words, sud 
 denly shrank back into her chair, and put her hands 
 before her eyes. " You look like your father!" 
 she said, in a whisper. 
 
 John, turning on his heel, glanced back at her. 
 " My poor father ! " 
 
 He did not stop to call Scarlett or Davids, but 
 went at once out into the heavy darkness of the 
 moonless night. An intent purpose blotted out even 
 the anger in his face, but his hands were clenched, 
 and he breathed quickly between his teeth, in un 
 conscious rage. 
 
 When he reached Katherine s door, he stood with 
 
SIDNEY. 241 
 
 an impatient hand upon the knob, waiting the an 
 swer to his ring, and a moment later pushed past 
 the mournful Maria without a word; for he saw 
 Katherine in the parlor, standing by the bookcase, 
 absorbed in the volume in her hand. He was so in 
 tent upon his own thoughts that he would scarcely 
 have noticed it had the room been full of people. 
 As it was, there was only Ted, curled up in the big 
 armchair, reading Mother Goose, like a wise baby. 
 
 John went at once to Katherine s side, taking the 
 book and her hands in his. " Katherine," he said, 
 " we must be married at once, dear." 
 
 " Very well," she answered. She drew a quick 
 breath and bit her lip, and then the tears came into 
 her eyes. 
 
 "John," observed Ted, putting down Mother 
 Goose, " why do you and Kitty look at each other 
 so funny ? Why don t you do something ? " 
 
 Katherine laughed tremulously, but John s face 
 was stern with the greatness of the moment. He 
 lifted her hand to his lips. " I will try to be a good 
 man, Katherine. God bless you ! " 
 
 Ted did not see why he should have been taken 
 in his sister s arms, nor why she should have kept 
 her face hidden so long in his little thin neck ; nor 
 did it seem reasonable that he should have been sent 
 to bed just " as John is here, and we could a gone 
 and played with the pups ! " It was hard, to be 
 sure, so Mr. Paul promised to come earlier the next 
 time. 
 
 After that, there was a very long talk, very 
 long and very happy. It seemed to John, watching 
 
242 SIDNEY. 
 
 Katherine with worshiping eyes, as though each mo 
 ment showed him more clearly how great, and sane, 
 and beautiful life was. He had not meant to do it, 
 but he told her, briefly, that he had had a scene with 
 his mother. " I shall never forgive her, Katherine, 
 and she is my mother ! " he ended. 
 
 " Yes, dear, yes," she answered, he had heard 
 that tenderness in her voice before, but it was al 
 ways for Ted or her sisters, " you will. I think 
 you do already, John, in your pity and your own 
 regret." 
 
 But John Paul shook his head. 
 
 Katherine s eyes had blazed with sudden under 
 standing at the mention of " some old woman and 
 her daughter," but she offered no explanation. How 
 much her silence was kindness towards poor little 
 silly Eliza, and how much that absurd anger which 
 she had felt when she learned the milliner s harm 
 less secret, she did not try to understand. 
 
 " When can we be married ? " John insisted, after 
 many plans were made and many things explained. 
 u In a week, Kate, surely ? " 
 
 She laughed, with a rippling gladness on her face 
 that was not a smile, but light in her eyes and 
 tenderness about her lips. " Why, you have never 
 asked me to marry you, John ! We ve never been 
 engaged. I ve just thought of it." 
 
 " Have n t we ? " John said, frowning, joyously. 
 " It seems as if we had been, always. But that 
 does n t make any difference, you know ; only it s 
 queer it did not strike me when I told my mother 
 that we were to be married. I think we take the 
 best things for granted ! Now, Katherine, when ? " 
 
XVIII. 
 
 THE next morning, Sidney, pacing between her 
 garden borders, heard her name called, and saw Mr. 
 John Paul coming down the path. These spring 
 mornings filled Sidney Lee with that strange joy 
 which is quite apart from personal experience, and 
 has nothing to do with reason ; indeed, it blurs the 
 sense of individuality, for it is but another expres 
 sion of that life which leaps with the sap in a lily 
 stalk, and guides the frolics of the young sheep in 
 an upland pasture, or brings a prayer upon a man s 
 lip and tears to his eyes. 
 
 Sidney forgot the sad world outside her garden 
 walls as easily as she forgot that Miss Sally was 
 busy in the kitchen, and that another pair of hands 
 would make her aunt s work lighter. She was sing 
 ing softly to herself ; singing was like breathing, in 
 this sunshine, and soft wind, and scent of growing 
 things. She stopped when she saw John, and 
 smiled, shielding her eyes from the fresh glitter of 
 the sunshine with one hand, and giving him the 
 other. 
 
 " Sidney, my dear," John said, keeping her hand in 
 his big grasp, " look here ; will you do me a favor ? " 
 
 " I 11 be glad to." His face was so serious that she 
 added, " Is Mrs. Paul ill ? " At which he scowled so 
 blackly that Sidney felt she had said something 
 
244 SIDNEY. 
 
 wrong, and was puzzled, but waited for him to ex 
 plain ; like her father, she did not ask many ques 
 tions. 
 
 " I want you to do me a favor," John began again. 
 " I want you to go and see Katherine Townsend, 
 and ask Miss Sally to go, too. She knows her ; Miss 
 Townsend is Robert Steele s cousin, you know. I 
 believe you were n t at home either time she came 
 to call on Miss Sally ? " 
 
 " No, I have n t seen her," Sidney answered, won 
 dering at the color which had come into Mr. Paul s 
 face. " I 11 go with pleasure ; " and she waited to 
 be told why. 
 
 But John suddenly became aware of the observ 
 ing windows of his mother s house, and hurried his 
 companion into the evergreen alley that ran across 
 the garden from the green door in the wall on one 
 side, to the fence that shut off the lane, on the other. 
 The alley widened in the middle of the garden into 
 a little circle, where a sun-dial stood ; but the path 
 was always in the shade, and the dial did not mark 
 the quiet hours on its stained copper face. The 
 branches were so thick that the alley was quite dark, 
 and the black earth was damp, and faintly green 
 with mould, and powdery with white streaks about 
 the roots of the trees. (There was no danger that 
 Mrs. Paul could see them here ; but before they 
 turned into the pleached walk she had a glimpse of 
 her son calmly walking up and down by Sidney s 
 side. That sight was like wind upon a fire ; after 
 an instant s breathless silence, she called out to Scar 
 lett with furious fault-finding, and even made as 
 though she would strike the woman with her stick.) 
 
SIDNEY. 245 
 
 " I 11 tell you what it is, Sidney," John was ex 
 plaining in the evergreen alley. " Miss Townsend, 
 she s she s going to marry me. And my mother 
 
 well, she is n t willing, you see. And though, of 
 course, it does n t make any difference, it is sort of 
 unpleasant for Kate. So I want some of my friends 
 to be nice to her. I knew Miss Sally would go to 
 see her, she s so good ; but I thought, perhaps, if 
 you would go you are nearer her own age you 
 know ? " 
 
 Sidney, with parted lips, stood quite still, and 
 looked at him. 
 
 John blushed. " I know I seem old to you, Sid 
 ney, and I m sure I wish she d taken me ten years 
 ago, twenty years ago ; only I did n t know her until 
 last fall. Oh, Sidney, she is really, I don t speak 
 in any personal way I mean I am unprejudiced, 
 entirely unprejudiced but, by Jove, Sidney, she s 
 
 she s a very remarkable woman ! " 
 
 Sidney drew a long breath. " I will go, of course ; 
 and aunt Sally will, too ; but I I don t under 
 stand ! " 
 
 " You will love her," John declared, following his 
 own thoughts, and blind to Sidney s confused look. 
 " We are not going to be married until August. 
 Katherine won t have it a day sooner, I m afraid. 
 Miss Sally is to be married then, too, is n t she ? " 
 
 Sidney nodded, frowning a little. 
 
 " We shall not live in Mercer," John proceeded. 
 " I am going into the office of The Independent 
 Press. The major takes it, does n t he?" 
 
 " But Mrs. Paul," Sidney said, scarcely hearing 
 
246 SIDNEY. 
 
 his reference to the newspaper, " what will she 
 do?" 
 
 John s face darkened savagely. " Sidney, you 
 don t understand these things, more s the pity. But 
 listen to me. If a man and woman care for each 
 other, nothing in heaven, or earth, or the waters 
 under the earth has a right to part them. Do you 
 understand? They belong to one another. See? 
 Why, it would be wicked to let anything interfere. 
 There is," declared John Paul, " no such thing as 
 duty to any one else (even if a a mother deserved 
 it) that should keep two people apart who care; 
 at least who care as we do. The only thing in the 
 world, Sidney, to be considered, is love, my dear, 
 love ! " John lowered his voice, and looked up at 
 the drift of white clouds above the swaying points 
 of the cypresses. Sidney caught her breath. It 
 was wonderful, this illumination in his good-natured 
 face. " And so," he continued cheerfully, " there s 
 nothing to be said about anybody s wishes but just 
 our own." Then he fell to talking in the frankest 
 way of his plans, and economies, and many practical 
 things. 
 
 There was gladness in his face, to be sure ; but 
 rent? and the size of a house? and whether it were 
 better to be on the line of the steam or horse cars ? 
 Sidney felt as though dropped suddenly from a 
 height. 
 
 " I will go," she said slowly ; " only, if you please, 
 I would like to tell Mrs. Paul." 
 
 John looked uneasy. " I don t think it is neces 
 sary." 
 
SIDNEY. 247 
 
 But Sidney was determined. " I shall surely go," 
 she insisted, smiling. " I want to." And with that 
 he had to be contented. 
 
 She watched him closely as he spoke again of 
 Katherine ; he was certainly very happy. She 
 looked up at the soft blue of the April sky, and at 
 the snowy clouds stretching across the east like a 
 flight of cherubs. She shivered a little and seemed 
 about to speak, but could not. u Does he forget 
 death?" she thought. After he left her, with this 
 new joyousness in his eyes, which made his step 
 lighter and his face younger, Sidney still walked up 
 and down the shadowy alley. 
 
 Perhaps, for the moment, John Paul s indiffer 
 ence to his mother and her wishes was the most for 
 cible comment he could have made upon the power 
 of that new emotion which so transformed him. 
 Sidney s very instincts were her father s ; disobedi 
 ence had never been a temptation, because it was an 
 impossibility. Of course she knew that, outwardly, 
 John s relation to his mother was quite different, 
 but she was his mother. That was the first won 
 der at what love could do, but the greater wonder 
 came. 
 
 There was an old wooden bench near the sun-dial, 
 curved like an irregular crescent ; it had stood here 
 so long that its paint had flaked and worn away, 
 and its four thick posts were mossy green and 
 stained with a rust of lichen. In summer the slats 
 of the back were hidden by a tangle of vines, but 
 now only leafless stems and brittle tendrils twisted 
 in and out between them ; crocuses grew close about 
 
248 SIDNEY. 
 
 the bench, and, opening their white and purple cups, 
 filled the damp, warm air with that fresh eartn-scent 
 which belongs to spring. Sidney sat down here, rest 
 ing her elbow on one knee, and her chin in her hand. 
 
 " Death : death : " she said to herself, " he can 
 forget it ; he never thinks of anything but happi 
 ness. Perhaps that is because it is all new ; per 
 haps as soon as he gets used to it he will begin to be 
 afraid ? " She watched, with absent eyes, a brown 
 butterfly flicker along the shadows of the path into 
 the open light of the circle ; then, with a start, she 
 remembered that she must tell Miss Sally. Did 
 Alan know ? she wondered. Sidney s mind was in 
 a tumult. Never in her calm, self-centred life had 
 she been so stirred. Miss Sally s little love affair ? 
 She frowned as she thought of it. Yet to stop to 
 talk about rents and steam cars ! What did it all 
 mean ? 
 
 She told her aunt in the briefest way that Mr. 
 Paul was to marry Miss Townsend, but she did not 
 wait to listen to the little spinster s delighted sur 
 prise. To have Miss Sally, with a ladle in her 
 hand, fall into a chair, and gasp, and exclaim, and 
 laugh with pleasure through twinkling tears, seemed 
 to the girl profane ; she wished she could get away 
 from it all. A strange dislike and passionate inter 
 est clamored in her mind. 
 
 When she went to see Mrs. Paul, the scolding of 
 the older woman was almost a relief. It was some 
 thing tangible and easily understood. " I thought I 
 ought to come," she announced in her calm way, 
 " to say that this afternoon I am going to see Miss 
 Townsend. Mr. Paul asked me to." 
 
SIDNEY. 249 
 
 Mrs. Paul was so angry, so dismayed, so unwill 
 ing that Sidney should see her discomfiture at her 
 son s defiance, that for a moment she did not know 
 how to reply. 
 
 " I am very sorry to hear it," she said, " very 
 sorry and disappointed in you. This Miss Town- 
 send has a foolish infatuation for John which I do 
 not at all approve of, not at all. I am very sure 
 that she is not a proper person for you to know. I 
 suppose, though, like every other young person in 
 these impudent days, you set yourself up to know 
 more than your elders, so I need not expect you to 
 be guided by me when I say that you ought not to 
 see her ; but at least I can insist that you do not call 
 upon this very offensive young woman without your 
 father s permission. Your aunt knows you are 
 going ? As though Sally had the slightest sense in 
 such matters ! I have no doubt she would think it 
 proper to visit her washerwoman ! " 
 
 " But," said Sidney gently, " Miss Townsend is 
 Mr. Steele s cousin, Mrs. Paul." 
 
 Mrs. Paul was astounded, but not for a moment 
 dismayed nor softened. " What, the girl whose 
 mother was a Drayton ? I remember ; some one 
 told me. More shame to her, then, for her conduct 
 in running after a rich man, at least a man with 
 a rich mother. I am perfectly disgusted with those 
 Steeles and every one connected with them. I 
 wouldn t have had you look at young Steele for 
 worlds, though it s plain enough why he took Sally. 
 You very properly repulsed him." 
 
 Sidney looked at her with faint curiosity. 
 
250 SIDNEY. 
 
 " This Townsend girl is shockingly forward," con 
 tinued Mrs. Paul, her voice shrill and her hands 
 unsteady. u No well-brought-up young woman 
 would try to marry a man against his mother s 
 wishes. I should think you would know better than 
 to want to see her. It s this talk of love and mar 
 riage that pleases you ; you are like all the rest of 
 them, in spite of Mortimer Lee s fine theories. But 
 there shall be no wedding gayeties, I can tell you 
 that, miss ! " 
 
 Another girl, with quick consciousness, would 
 have disclaimed interest in such subjects ; but Sid 
 ney only looked with puzzled surprise at the fierce 
 old woman, whose eyes blurred once as though with 
 terrified tears. Sidney was stinging with interest, 
 and painful interest ; it did not occur to her to deny 
 it. 
 
 " It shall not be ! " cried Mrs. Paul, forgetting 
 that she was betraying her own fear. " Johnny 
 won t throw his bread and butter away, I can tell 
 you ! " 
 
 But Sidney was too much absorbed in her own 
 wonder to care for Mrs. Paul s dismay. She did 
 not stay very long ; she was impatient to see the girl 
 who was going to take love into her life. Perhaps, 
 without being aware of it, this experience of another 
 woman was the greatest reality which Sidney had 
 ever known ; for her love for her father was so 
 much a part of herself she was almost unconscious 
 of it. 
 
 It was evident, from the confusion of her thoughts, 
 as she walked out to Red Lane this April afternoon, 
 
SIDNEY. 251 
 
 that, whether she knew it or not, the slumber of her 
 mind, which had followed an accepted opinion, had 
 been rudely broken. Life was very bewildering to 
 Sidney Lee. First, her calm and almost beautiful 
 egotism (there is a certain beauty in anything which 
 is perfect) had been touched faintly by Miss Sally s 
 timid happiness. It was as though a hesitating 
 knock had fallen upon the outer gates of a sleeping 
 palace, only loud enough to make the contented 
 dreamer within stir impatiently. But now had come 
 a clamor upon the very door of her heart. She must 
 hear Life ! Its importunate gladness banished 
 dreams, even though she barred the door and re 
 fused to look upon its glowing face. 
 
 She went over in her mind John Paul s words and 
 looks. " It is n t just because he is happy in caring 
 for her," she thought, " but because he has imagined 
 a heaven where his happiness will be continued. 
 And there is no heaven ! Oh, that is n t what I 
 should suppose he would imagine, for it does n t 
 seem to me that heaven would be enough to make 
 up for the years that may come and stand between 
 them. Time is like death, in a way ; but if they 
 were sure that their God knew what it all meant, 
 love and death in the same world, why they lived 
 and why they suffered, I should think they could 
 bear to be without their heaven. But it is immor 
 tality, not God, apparently, that excuses love. Oh, 
 /should imagine Some One who knows ! " Then 
 she fell to thinking of a certain wise man who left a 
 field untilled for many years, that he might observe 
 how it was altered or affected by the earth-worms 
 
252 SIDNEY. 
 
 below the surface. " If the worms could only have 
 known," she thought, intent upon this reality which 
 had pressed upon her dreaming eyes, " if they could 
 have guessed why their field suffered those conditions, 
 and why they were living their poor, dark lives, it 
 would have been worth while. Oh, if there were 
 only any great reason above all the little reasons and 
 ignorances, I could understand that people might be 
 patient to suffer ! " 
 
 Katherine Townsend saw Sidney coming, and, 
 guessing who it was (for John, taking every oppor 
 tunity to send a note to Red Lane, had announced 
 that she would call), opened the door herself, and 
 took the girl s hand in her cordial grasp. 
 
 " You are Sidney Lee ? " she said, leading her into 
 the parlor. " I am so glad to see you." She looked 
 at her with keen, friendly eyes. u John told me you 
 were coming." 
 
 Sidney was far more embarrassed than Katherine ; 
 but it was not shyness nor any unworldliness, in the 
 sense of what was unaccustomed ; only the wonder 
 of the dreamer who has been unaware of any other 
 landscape than the blurred world of sleep. 
 
 Katherine s charming tact was for once at a loss. 
 The weather, and the fresh, sweet skies, and the bird 
 singing in the rain under her window the day before ; 
 Miss Sally, and Robert Steele s good fortune in win 
 ning her, and how kind, and gentle, and unselfish 
 Katherine thought the little spinster ; Ted and the 
 pups, all in vain ! Sidney answered quite sweetly 
 and briefly, with a little dignity in her manner which 
 held Katherine very far away. Yet there was an 
 
SIDNEY. 253 
 
 eager, wistful look in her eyes that seemed a shadow 
 of trouble in their placid depths. 
 
 Katherine drew a sigh of relief when her guest 
 rose to go, but, with a simplicity which was born of 
 her great content, she held Sidney s hand a moment 
 as she said good-by. 
 
 "I wish," she declared, "that everybody could be 
 as happy as I am." 
 
 " Oh ! " cried Sidney, with a half-sobbing breath. 
 
 Katherine looked at her, surprised and not under 
 standing. Long ago John had told her of this young 
 girl s destiny as Major Lee had planned it, but to 
 the very practical and warm-hearted woman it was 
 too absurd to remember. 
 
 " Are you happy ? " Sidney asked, almost in a 
 whisper. 
 
 There was something in the way in which Kather 
 ine said, looking frankly at her questioner, " Yes, 
 indeed I am! " that gave Sidney Lee a pang. 
 The tone was too glad. "How can she say it?" 
 would have been her thought, had she known enough 
 to put it into words ; it was exactly the same feeling 
 with which she heard when Mr. Paul talked of rent 
 and steam cars. 
 
 The question brought back to Katherine the 
 strange thing John had told her, and, with that 
 common sense which hid amusement under the kind 
 liest manner in the world, she added, smiling, " Don t 
 you think I ought to be ? " 
 
 " But Sidney said, and then waited a moment, 
 " death ? " 
 
 That word touched the glad content upon Kath- 
 erine s lips, and left her silent 
 
254 SIDNEY. 
 
 " Forgive me ! " Sidney cried. " I had no right 
 to say that, but oh, I do not understand ! " 
 
 "Why," the other began; it was towards 
 dusk, and the room was full of shadows, but she 
 could see the strained look in Sidney s face, " Oh, 
 Miss Lee ! " She had no words. 
 
 "Are you not afraid every moment? I have 
 no right to ask you, but it all seems so strange, so 
 terrible." 
 
 "No, I am not afraid," Katherine answered. 
 "Death? Yes, of course, but life first; and life 
 is so rich and so beautiful ; and after that heaven." 
 
 " If," Sidney protested hurriedly " if there were 
 not any heaven, then would the beauty and the rich 
 ness be worth while ? " 
 
 Katherine was flung into a seriousness which after 
 wards greatly surprised her. She put her hands up 
 to her eyes for an instant ; then she shook her head. 
 Katherine Townsend was too well satisfied with the 
 comfort of her religion ever to have invited any 
 doubts of it by subjecting it to the scrutiny of her 
 intelligence, and therefore she did not feel the dismay 
 which might have shaken some persons with the 
 memory of a forgotten terror. Although not aware 
 of her mental processes, Katherine had curtailed her 
 perceptions to fit her creed, knowing, without 
 having taken the trouble to reason about it, that she 
 could not stretch her creed to contain her perceptions. 
 As a result, she was quite happy, and found the en 
 deavor to live up to her religion far more comfortable 
 than would have been the endeavor to understand it. 
 But Sidney s words showed her a shuddering possi- 
 
SIDNEY. 255 
 
 bility. " No," she said, " oh, no, it would not be 
 worth while, not without another life." But her 
 composure was shaken only for a moment. " My 
 dear Miss Lee, I know what you think, John told 
 me ; but you won t feel so when you care for some 
 one. Indeed, indeed, you are all wrong. The good 
 Lord meant us to love each other, and death does 
 not end all, it only begins it." 
 
 Sidney smiled sadly ; it seemed to her very pa 
 thetic. " Of course you could not love unless you 
 thought that." 
 
 " I know it ! " Katherine declared. 
 
 "How?" 
 
 The two women looking into each other s faces 
 had forgotten conventionality ; the tears were upon 
 Katherine s cheeks, and Sidney s eyes threatened her 
 for an answer. It was a cry for the unknown God. 
 
 But Katherine could only tell her of the longing 
 of the human soul for compensation for the pain of 
 life. " Oh," she exclaimed, " because life would be 
 too terrible if it were not true ! It must be true ! " 
 She sobbed as she spoke ; she was very tired, ner 
 vous, she told herself afterwards, not remembering 
 the fierce demand in Sidney s young face, or this 
 would have been impossible. 
 
 " I hope," Sidney said, in a low voice, " that you 
 will not be unhappy." 
 
 " I shall be heavenly happy ! " cried Katherine, 
 half terrified. Then she put her hand on the girl s 
 shoulder and kissed her. " I hope you may be, too. 
 And and, Miss Lee, we have Christ and his 
 promises, the Resurrection and the Life. Oh, 
 do think of that ? " 
 
256 SIDNEY. 
 
 As for Sidney, she went home with a certain 
 equilibrium of mind asserting itself. This love which 
 could be indifferent to grief, because it hugged a 
 fallacy to its heart, was not beautiful nor great. It 
 deliberately refused to think of the coming of sor 
 row, or it even forgot sorrow ; and forgetf ulness may 
 be another name for cowardice. 
 
 " If she had said yes, she knew that death would 
 come, and that she had no imagined heaven, but 
 that love was worth while, anyhow, it might seem 
 great. But that would need what ? " Sidney 
 had no words except that vague Some One who 
 knows. Ah, with that ! But she shook her head, 
 with a wild instinct of freedom. She exulted, even 
 while she pitied Katherine and felt the terror of 
 life. 
 
 " And to talk of promises," she thought, the old 
 contempt coming back, " promises ! Oh, how 
 strange it is that these Christians are not satisfied 
 with their idea of God! Why do they belittle it 
 by their creeds and promises and their non-human 
 man ? I should think a God would be enough. But 
 they hang all these little thoughts about the one 
 great thought until they almost hide it. I suppose 
 one could cover a mountain with lace ! " She smiled ; 
 perhaps there is no conceit so arrogant as the con 
 ceit which follows a conviction of emancipation. 
 Still, the mystery and wonder lingered in her eyes, 
 and did not escape Major Lee. He watched her 
 closely at their silent tea-table, that evening, and 
 later, he asked her what her afternoon had been. 
 
 They were sitting by an open window in the 
 
SIDNEY. 257 
 
 library, for the day had been very warm. The 
 spring twilight, full of the scent of the sun-warmed 
 earth, came in from the garden, and hid their faces 
 from each other as Sidney told her story. 
 
 Major Lee s astonishment made him put down his 
 cigar. " John Paul ! Is it possible that he found 
 words enough to ask a lady to marry him ? " 
 
 His face lighted as she told him of Katherine, 
 and of that strange talk, and of her own conclu 
 sions. u Yes, it is always so ; the young woman has 
 the prodigality of youth in promising what does 
 not belong to her. She can talk about this life, 
 perhaps, although her experience is not large ; but 
 her suggestions of another life are pathetic or amus 
 ing, as one looks at it. The way in which persons 
 who want to excuse or to explain a position wrench 
 a statement from their imaginations, and then label 
 it a fact, is amazing. But John Paul ? He seemed 
 to me a young man of a fair amount of intelligence. 
 Ah, my darling, 4 we are the men, and wisdom will 
 die with us ! " He laughed a little ; the major felt 
 more cheerful than for many a day. Sidney had 
 seen it for herself. 
 
XIX. 
 
 JOHN PAUL S engagement produced an astonish 
 ment in the small world upon the hill, second only 
 to that felt when Miss Sally and Robert declared 
 their passion ; and in this case, as in the other, the 
 most astounded and angry person was Mrs. Paul. 
 John s laconic note announcing that he was to be 
 married in August, and repeating his intention of 
 leaving the warehouse, gave her a pang of more 
 personal pain than she had felt for a very long time ; 
 perhaps, indeed, she had never felt that kind of pain 
 before. The smothered and forgotten instinct of 
 maternity was wounded, although not deeply enough 
 to arouse anything but anger. 
 
 The major was annoyed that Sidney should have 
 to see more of " this sort of thing," and somewhat 
 disappointed in John Paul, but otherwise indiffer 
 ent. Miss Sally was frankly delighted; she soon 
 grew very fond of Katherine, and chattered about 
 her incessantly to Robert ; repeating the bright and 
 pretty things his cousin had said, and laughing so 
 heartily herself that she scarcely noticed the forced 
 and tired smile on her lover s face. Robert had no 
 heart for Katherine s gayety; he was absorbed in 
 his own perplexities. When that storm of anger 
 and determination in which he had left Mrs. Paul s 
 house had subsided, he was distinctly aware of the 
 
SIDNEY. 259 
 
 ebb of the convictions gained then, and the slow 
 flooding in of the terrible demand of honor; he 
 must tell Miss Sally he did not love her, and be for 
 ever a dishonorable man in the eyes of his friends ; 
 or fail to tell her, and be dishonorable in his own 
 eyes. How fierce was the alternative : to give her 
 everything he was and hoped to be ; to make every 
 day, by tenderness and loyalty, secret reparation for 
 secret robbery ; in a word, deceive her so skillfully 
 that she could never detect him, or, humiliate and 
 wound her ! 
 
 With this was always the thought of what he 
 owed her, for surely it had been the will-of-the- 
 wisp of love which had led him out of his slough of 
 despond. He looked back and saw himself holding 
 her hand, that poor, silly little hand, which be 
 lieved (had he not taught it so ?) that it was a ne 
 cessity to him, saw himself struggling to emerge 
 from the terror of weakness ; gaining from her his 
 life, his reason, his very honor. The fact that now, 
 standing on firm ground, in clear sunshine, he could 
 see how foolish was the amiable little soul that his 
 imagination had clothed with every power and virtue 
 could not alter the past conditions. Yet again and 
 again returned the simpler and the truer thought. 
 Was he to delude her, to offer her tinsel which she 
 should accept as gold ? Was he to let her take, 
 through ignorance, what knowledge might teach her 
 to reject ? What answer could there be but No ? 
 
 With a nature which demanded sympathy and 
 support, Robert was singularly alone ; no one knew 
 of his struggle, not even Alan. Once he thought 
 
260 SIDNEY. 
 
 of going to Mr. Brown for advice, but instantly 
 realized that what he wanted was not man to man 
 counsel, but direction which might not be questioned, 
 
 the relief of shifting responsibility. It was in 
 this connection that, with blank wonder at his own 
 possibilities, he found himself thinking of the refuge 
 of the confessional. His mother s church beckoned 
 him, offering the allurement of infallible guidance, 
 
 the temptation to become as a little child. He 
 said to himself bitterly that when his mother entered 
 the Catholic Church she had left him behind her. 
 He despised his own intelligence, which had de 
 prived him of such peace. 
 
 Perhaps, if Alan had been less joyfully absorbed 
 in himself, he might have helped Robert ; as it was, 
 the doctor began to be a little impatient with his 
 evident depression. " Steele is perfectly well," he 
 said to himself, " and there is n t any excuse for de 
 pression ; " so he shrugged his shoulders and si 
 lenced his conscience. " It does n t do to notice that 
 sort of thing," he excused himself, with the convic 
 tion of the practical man, as well as the instinct of 
 the physician. It is a curious and not a pleasing 
 experience to discover how much real selfishness, 
 and willingness to escape personal annoyance, can be 
 concealed beneath that " conviction of the practical 
 man " that morbidness and supersensitiveness must 
 not be noticed, and to learn how often, in dealing 
 with weak and unhappy souls, a little less sense 
 would have been the greater wisdom. Robert was 
 so alive to the doctor s intentional neglect that he 
 had no impulse to ask his friend s counsel ; and yet, 
 
SIDNEY. 261 
 
 one morning, after wandering aimlessly about the 
 streets, he found himself standing miserably at their 
 own door. 
 
 " What would Crossan do?" he asked himself. 
 
 It was Alan s office hour ; a time so free from in 
 terruption that the two friends had amused them 
 selves by regarding it as the part of the day to be 
 devoted to pleasant things ; they did some translat 
 ing together ; or Alan practiced quite faithfully 
 for him while Robert read. So the unhappy man 
 felt sure of finding the doctor alone. He opened the 
 door of their library, not even looking into the de 
 partment dignified by the name of office. Alan 
 knew the step, and did not turn as he called out, 
 " Hello, Bob ! " He was standing by the window 
 with an intent look upon his face, stringing his violin. 
 The room had all the comfortable confusion of a 
 bachelor s lodgings, and much luxury as well. There 
 was the smell of chemicals, to be sure, for Alan 
 made some experiments here, so there was a stand 
 with retorts upon it, and traces of blackened ashes, 
 and bottles of salts, and crystals ; but the odor of 
 cigar smoke was stronger, and a great bowl of roses 
 stood upon the table, among the books. 
 
 " I want to talk to you," Robert said, throwing 
 himself wearily into a big chair. 
 
 " Go ahead," responded the doctor, frowning over 
 the strings of his violin. 
 
 Robert lifted an illuminated copy of Italian son 
 nets from the table beside him, and began, absently, 
 to turn the yellow leaves. 
 
262 SIDNEY. 
 
 " Per esser manco almen, signiora, indegnio 
 Dell immensa vostr alta cortesia, 
 Prima, all incontro a quella, usar la mia 
 Con tutto il cor volse 1 mie basso ingegirio. 
 Ma visto poi c ascendere a quel segnio 
 Propio valor non 6 c apra la via " 
 
 He put the book down, as though the words had 
 stung him. 
 
 " Well ? " Alan interrogated, suddenly noticing the 
 silence, and glancing over his shoulder at his friend. 
 
 " John Paul is fairly started, it appears," Robert 
 said. " I saw his name on the editorial page this 
 morning." , 
 
 " Is that all you have to say ? " inquired the doc 
 tor. " Ah, confound it ! there goes another string ! " 
 
 " I wonder if his mother has forgiven him yet ? " 
 Eobert went on, vaguely. 
 
 " I believe not. Sidney told me he did not see her 
 before he started." 
 
 The spring wind from the open window blew one 
 trembling chord back into the room. Alan smiled 
 joyously ; Sidney s name seemed blended with the 
 music. He drew his bow lightly across the strings, 
 and a burst of sound, like sudden sunshine, flooded 
 the room. Then they talked of many things, in the 
 old pleasant, desultory way; Paul s engagement 
 most of all, with the amused question whether it was 
 the major s theories which had kept him so long un 
 married. 
 
 " Ah, well," said Alan, with half a sigh, turning 
 round to look at Robert, " the major is right, you 
 know, but not human. Listen ; I ve set these verses 
 of Henley s to a little air of my own. J want you 
 
SIDNEY. 263 
 
 to hear it." He stopped, and tuned his instrument, 
 and then, lifting his head, began to sing in a musical 
 tenor, which was without that thread of pain that is 
 so often woven into the tenor voice : 
 
 " Fill a glass with golden 
 
 And while yet your lips are wet 
 Set their perfume unto mine, 
 
 And forget 
 
 Every kiss we take or give 
 Leaves us less of life to live. 
 
 Yet again ! your whim and mine 
 
 In a happy while have met. 
 All your sweets to me resign. 
 
 Nor regret 
 
 That we press, with every breath, 
 Sighed or singing, nearer death ! 
 
 There ! is n t that morbid enough for anybody ? 
 What do you think of that minor, and forget 
 forget ? " Eobert said something vaguely, but Alan 
 was too pleased with himself to notice his friend s 
 lack of enthusiasm. "Of course," he proceeded, 
 " if there were no love, there would be no sorrow ; 
 we all admit that. But what are you going to do 
 about it ? Cripple and deform life, to be spared 
 pain ? And we can t be spared, anyhow ; we re 
 bound to love, no matter how we fear it. There are 
 really only two conditions in life : one is ignorance 
 and the other is misery. Major Lee undertakes to 
 create a third, indifference. But it can t be done ! 
 The thing to do is to be ignorant as long as you can, 
 that s my belief. Yes, it is the only rational 
 plan : live in the present ; forget the future. It is 
 intolerable to think of death and love together. 
 The major s right." 
 
264 SIDNEY. 
 
 "You are not so great a coward, Crossan," said 
 the other, smiling in spite of his misery. 
 
 " My dear fellow," Alan exclaimed gayly, " I am 
 exactly so great a coward. I don t believe I shall 
 have a very long life, with this heart of mine, and 
 shall I refuse tcr make the most of it ? " 
 
 " Why do you say that?" Robert protested un 
 easily. " You are as strong as anybody ; you know 
 you are." 
 
 Alan shook his head. " Bob, the value of a med 
 ical education is, that you can number your days, 
 and apply your heart to whatever seems most worth 
 while. In a word, have a mighty good time, and 
 don t bother with a lot of unnecessary things. 
 
 Quid brevi fortes jaculamur aevo 
 Multa ? 
 
 (I think that line is the extent of my Horace ! ") 
 
 " You you are not in earnest ? " Robert insisted, 
 not noticing the careless words, and his voice break 
 ing with fear. 
 
 " I am entirely in earnest, but please don t look so 
 dismayed. I am making the most of to-day, and I 
 mean to make the most of to-morrow, trust me! 
 Why, bless you, I may live to be a hundred ; only, I 
 may not. But I assure you I intend to be alive as 
 long as possible." 
 
 With his easy sympathy, Alan knew quite well 
 the stunned and horrified dismay in Robert s mind, 
 and so, with a touch that was a caress, he put his 
 face against the violin, and hastened to talk of other 
 things. He was sitting 011 the arm of a chair, swing 
 ing his foot with lazy comfort, intent upon enjoyment 
 
SIDNEY. 265 
 
 of the spring day, and the sunshine, and the soft 
 wind which blew his hair about his forehead. 
 
 " There, hang it ! don t look at me as though this 
 were my last day. I ve a lot of life in me yet, I 
 can tell you, and I mean I mean to enjoy it." 
 
 " But," Robert stammered, forgetting his own 
 pain, " I can t believe it, Alan ; it can t be. You 
 must see a specialist, you must " 
 
 " Stuff ! Do you doubt my knowledge ? And 
 don t I tell you I may live to be a hundred ? Drop 
 it, Bob! Don t look so dejected; if there is any 
 thing I hate, it is dejection." 
 
 All the while, running through his words, was 
 the low and tremulous breathing of the violin ; his 
 face, and his careless words, and the ripple of a 
 song somehow blurred this terrible thing he had 
 been saying. Robert drew a long breath of relief. 
 He came back sharply to his own distress. 
 
 " Alan," he said suddenly, careful only to protect 
 Miss Sally, and eager to display his shameful uncer 
 tainty and weakness, "if you ve made a mistake 
 which involves somebody else, what ought you to do ? " 
 
 "Remedy it. Why?" 
 
 Robert got up, and began to walk about the room. 
 The doctor had turned again to the window, and 
 was tightening the strings of his instrument. 
 
 " And yet the person might be happier mis 
 taken?" " 
 
 " Yes, a delusion is very comfortable once in a 
 while," Alan admitted ; " only, unfortunately, we 
 can t delude people to make them comfortable. Look 
 here ; ask a straight question, will you ? You always 
 go ahead sidewise ! " 
 
266 SIDNEY. 
 
 " I can t," Robert answered hoarsely, " I ve no 
 right to ; but I 11 tell you the sort of thing I mean. 
 Suppose that I had learned, after giving it to you in 
 good faith, that that Corot was not an original. 
 Suppose that you could never discover the cheat for 
 yourself. Should I tell you ? " 
 
 Alan laughed, glancing at the dark canvas framed 
 in a great oblong of dull gold which made a glim 
 mering brightness on the chimney-breast. " Well, I 
 should be happier to be ignorant, no doubt; but 
 that does n t help you any. I trust this is only an 
 illustration, Robert?" 
 
 " You think I should tell you ? " 
 
 "Why, I don t see how you could do anything 
 else," Alan said, with that interest in a question of 
 ethics which is often a part of a lazy temperament. 
 " I m sorry for you if you ve got to open any 
 body s eyes, but I m sorrier for the other man. 
 You ve no choice, so far as I can see. If you give 
 what you think is a jewel to your friend, and after 
 wards discover that it is paste, you ve got to tell 
 him, all the more, that the friend, just because he 
 is a friend, might never know it (only he would ; 
 those things always leak out in time) ; and as for 
 your picture illustration, which is unpleasantly per 
 sonal, art would be profaned if you called a spurious 
 thing by its name, to say nothing of the lie of silence ! 
 Poor Bob ! " 
 
 He drew his bow across the strings, and there was 
 a rollicking laugh from the violin. 
 
 Robert groaned. " But there are things one can 
 not do, because they are impossible ! " 
 
SIDNEY. 267 
 
 " That does not follow, Steele, " Alan said sympa 
 thetically, watching his friend s restless walk about 
 the room. (" What in the world has come into his 
 mind now ? " he was asking himself. " I wonder if 
 he means to divide his fortune among the stock 
 holders who were pinched, and is afraid to break it 
 to Miss Sally?") 
 
 " I know it ! I know it ! " cried Robert passion 
 ately. "Yes, if there is an impossible thing de 
 manded by duty, by God, the impossibility is God s, 
 the duty is ours. Yes, you are right, you are 
 right ; it is to be done." 
 
 " But, my dear fellow," expostulated Alan, " glit 
 tering generalities are my forte ; you must not make 
 my words particular. The first thing I know, you ll 
 say I have advised you to do Heaven knows what ! 
 And look here ; let up on your conscience a little ; 
 don t get seedy on conscience ! I tell you, Bob, 
 there is a point where concern about right and 
 wrong becomes the subtilest kind of egotism. Yes, 
 sir, you d be a better man if you were n t so con 
 foundedly good, if you had a little more of the 
 devil in you ! " 
 
 Robert was not listening ; he shook his head, with 
 a gesture which meant that all was decided. " I 
 will" he said to himself ; and yet, oddly enough, as 
 he reached the point where he saw himself capable 
 of his duty, a flash of memory brought back the 
 peace of the conquered dreams, the refuge of mor 
 phine. He thrust it out of his mind in an instant ; 
 but it had come. 
 
 Alan looked at him anxiously. " You make too 
 much of this thing, whatever it is. If anybody is 
 
268 SIDNEY. 
 
 mistaken through a mistake of yours, it is n t an un 
 pardonable offense ; go and explain, and get the 
 thing off your mind. Man alive ! it is n t such a 
 great matter. One would think you were a young 
 woman upon the steps of the altar discovering that 
 she didn t love the man." 
 
 A strange look came into Robert s face. Alan 
 had a sudden and terrible thought; so terrible 
 did it seem to him that even as it flashed into his 
 mind he banished it, as an insult to his friend. His 
 face burned at his own meanness. 
 
 Robert sat down, bending forward, with his hands 
 clasped between his knees. "Alan, the space be 
 tween a man s ideal and the man himself is his op 
 portunity. But God help the man who hates his 
 ideal!" 
 
 " I don t know what you re driving at ? " said 
 Alan cheerfully. 
 
 After a pause Robert spoke, and his voice was 
 curiously dull : "I m going ; you have given me 
 good advice, and I shall take it." 
 
 " Oh, now," Alan protested again, " I tell you, I 
 object to giving suggestions in the dark ! " 
 
 Robert smiled a little, but he had nothing more to 
 say. There seemed to be no alternative now, and 
 that brought a sort of peace. 
 
 " It would profane love to call a spurious thing by 
 its name," he thought afterward, going over Alan s 
 arguments, " and silence would be a lie." To hear 
 his own convictions put into words by some one else 
 gave him new confidence in his often broken resolu 
 tion to tell Miss Sally. 
 
SIDNEY 269 
 
 The doctor was puzzled by Robert s abrupt de 
 parture, as well as by those confused questions. " I 
 swear, there s as much danger of overcultivating 
 one s conscience," he thought, " as of neglecting it. 
 I wish he was n t so ridiculously good ; people don t 
 appreciate it unless they know him well, and it keeps 
 them from liking him, though it makes them love 
 him!" Then he smiled, and reflected that when 
 Steele saw fit to speak out he would do so, and that 
 it was absurd to feel any anxiety beforehand. In 
 stead, he began to think of Sidney, and later, in the 
 afternoon, he went to Mrs. Paul s, where his hope of 
 finding her was fulfilled. She had come in to read 
 the paper to the fierce old woman, who had grown 
 more bitter and impatient in these last weeks than 
 Sidney had ever seen her. With the new look in 
 Mrs. Paul s face, since her estrangement from her 
 son, had come a new feeling into the girl s heart 
 that delicate foresight of the imagination, which is 
 called pity. But Sidney only knew it as a vague 
 discomfort in Mrs. Paul s presence, which she re 
 sented ; so she kept away from her as much as pos 
 sible. She would not have been here today, had she 
 not been sent for ; although Miss Sally was too busy 
 to come, conveniently, and had thought of asking 
 Sidney to take her place. Miss Sally had developed 
 in the last few months a mild self-assertion, which 
 even Sidney noticed, not because of what it was in 
 itself, but because of its contrast with the past. 
 However, as Mrs. Paul s message had come, it was 
 not necessary for Miss Sally to make her request, 
 and Sidney went over to the other house in silent 
 
270 SIDNEY. 
 
 reluctance. She did not look at Mrs. Paul in her 
 usual direct way; the pain and perplexity in the 
 face of the older woman were too unpleasant. She 
 made haste to open the daily paper, that she might 
 begin to read at once, but stopped for a moment of 
 surprise at seeing, instead of the broad head-line of 
 " The Republican," on which she had been brought 
 up, the smaller Roman letters of " The Independent 
 Press." Mrs. Paul actually blushed. 
 
 " I m told that it is a very decent paper. I am 
 not a person who looks only on one side. I was 
 never unjust in my life. And my my son is 
 connected with The Independent Press. " 
 
 " Yes," Sidney answered, "I heard Mr. Paul talk 
 ing of it to father, last Sunday." 
 
 " Last Sunday ? I did not see him on Sunday 
 I mean I would not see him. I disapprove of this 
 newspaper folly, and he knows it. Though it won t 
 last, it won t last ! But I am willing to overlook 
 it ; he may come in, if he wishes to, the next time 
 he is in Mercer. You might tell him so. Only I 11 
 have no talk of of that Townsend girl ! Just let 
 him understand that ! " Her hands trembled as she 
 spoke. 
 
 "Mrs. Paul," said Sidney tranquilly, "if you 
 knew Miss Townsend, I think you would like her." 
 
 " What ! " cried Mrs. Paul. " You would dictate 
 my likes and dislikes, would you? And I can tell 
 you, I know quite enough of her. I know that she 
 meditates marrying my son against my wishes. But 
 how long is it that you have been an advocate of 
 marriage, Sidney ? This shows what stuff your the 
 ories are made of." 
 
SIDNEY. 271 
 
 " I think," the girl answered, in a low voice, " that 
 it is a pity they should love each other ; but since 
 they do, it would be happier for them if you were 
 friendly." 
 
 " Well ! " said Mrs. Paul. " But I don t know 
 why I should expect you to be different from the 
 rest of the world ; of course you are inconsistent. 
 Your father is the only consistent person I ever 
 knew, and that is because he has no soul. There ! 
 don t look at me in that manner ; I know more 
 about your father than you do, I can tell you ! And 
 what does he think of your passion for this Town- 
 send girl ? " 
 
 " Why, he admires her himself, he thinks her 
 charming." 
 
 " Mortimer Lee has not the slightest idea what 
 charming means," returned Mrs. Paul contemptu 
 ously. " Now, remember you are to tell John I wish 
 or at least that I am willing that he should come 
 here at once. I am tired of this folly." 
 
 "Shall I not write a little note," Sidney pleaded, 
 " and say that you want to see him ? " 
 
 " Certainly not ! I don t want to see him un 
 less he can behave himself. Tell him he may come ; 
 do you hear me ? I am willing that he should come. 
 Put it any way you choose, only don t bother me 
 about it. Just say that he is to come." 
 
 It was at this moment that Alan made his appear 
 ance, and the subject of John s disobedience was 
 dropped. 
 
 Mrs. Paul s past was too vivid a remembrance 
 to her to allow her to feel any surprise that Alan 
 
272 SIDNEY. 
 
 Crossan came so often to see her ; but for once she 
 forgot herself in the purpose which had been grow 
 ing in her mind since that day when she suggested 
 to Major Lee the possibility which gave him so 
 much discomfort. She was waiting her time to 
 make the same suggestion to Sidney. Indeed, so 
 far as subtile words had gone, she had already done 
 so, but had never yet brought the conscious color 
 into the girl s face. Now, as she saw Alan, she cried 
 out, with a significant look, " She is here, doctor ! " 
 Alan s radiant face answered her. That any one 
 should recognize what his heart knew gave it a real 
 ity that elated him beyond words. " You are just 
 too late to hear Sidney advocating marriage," she 
 continued. " Did you know that she approves of 
 love ? " 
 
 Alan dared not look at the young woman at his 
 side ; yet he might have done so without giving her 
 an instant s embarrassment. 
 
 " No, you misunderstood me, Mrs. Paul. We 
 were speaking of some people who love each other, 
 Alan, and I said it was a pity, that was all." 
 
 Alan walked home with Sidney, tingling with the 
 exhilaration of recognized love, but she was as un 
 conscious of the passion in his eyes as a dreamer is 
 of the sunshine. 
 
XX. 
 
 AFTER that talk with Alan, Robert Steele had no 
 doubt as to what he should do. That he still delayed 
 to tell Miss Sally that he did not love her was not 
 from any uncertainty as to his duty, but simply that 
 the crushing misery of it made him incapable of 
 action. He went as usual to see her; listened 
 absently to her gentle and aimless chatter, responded 
 in his kindly way, and waited. " Just one day 
 more," he told himself, again and again. More than 
 once, while in her presence, he had tried to nerve 
 himself to his duty, but her absolute trust in him 
 made her unconscious of the direction of his 
 thoughts, and overwhelmed Robert with the terror 
 of what he had to do. In this way more than a 
 fortnight passed, until the dawn of a wonderful May 
 morning, whose beauty protested against the lie in 
 his soul. 
 
 Alan had started out early, meaning to drop in at 
 the major s and look at Sidney s carving, before he 
 went to visit a patient; so Robert waited yet an 
 hour longer, not caring to encounter the doctor 
 when he went to proclaim his own shame. 
 
 Alan, meantime, was walking along in the sun 
 shine towards the major s, absorbed in his own 
 happy imaginings. Soon, he said to himself, surely, 
 
274 SIDNEY. 
 
 soon, something must awake in Sidney Lee s heart 
 to which he might address, himself ; as yet there had 
 been nothing but meaningless friendship, and to 
 that he was silent. 
 
 He found her, that morning, in the garden. She 
 was kneeling, with a trowel in her hand, beside a 
 great bunch of day-lilies, looking at their broad 
 leaves, and wondering what was the promise for 
 August blossoming. When she saw Alan, she took 
 him into her confidence in the frankest way in the 
 world. 
 
 " I thought it would be nice if they would bloom 
 when aunt Sally is married, she is so fond of 
 them." 
 
 " Won t she be married until August ? " Alan 
 inquired, looking down into her calm, upraised eyes. 
 
 t I think," she explained indifferently, pausing to 
 lift the bending blossom of a crown imperial, and 
 look down into its heart at the three misty tears 
 which gather in the scarlet bell, "I think that she 
 wants to finish most of the preserving first." 
 
 " Oh, Sidney ! " he said. Her complete selfish 
 ness, here among the flowers, shocked him even 
 through the glamour of his love. " Is n t it a pity 
 to interfere with their happiness just for pre 
 serves ? " he demanded, laughing. 
 
 She rose and smiled ; then her face sobered. 
 " Miss Townsend and Mr. Paul are to be married 
 then, too." 
 
 " I am so glad ! But I thought it was to be 
 sooner ? " 
 
 Sidney looked at him curiously. "Do people 
 
SIDNEY. 275 
 
 always say that they are glad ? Aunt Sally said it 
 when she heard of Mr. Paul and Miss Townsend, 
 and so did Mr. Steele ; and Mrs. Brown said it of 
 aunt Sally." 
 
 " Well, yes, I think it is a matter of course to say 
 one is glad," Alan answered, lifting his eyebrows a 
 little. " I suppose it is civil to take happiness for 
 granted." Sidney waited. " I mean," he ex 
 plained, "people may not be happy at all, you 
 know ; they may quarrel awfully ; but it s civil to 
 suppose they won t." 
 
 "Quarrel!" 
 
 "Oh, they don t quarrel where they really love 
 each other, Sidney," he declared ; " never where 
 there is real love." This was an assertion which 
 Alan would have been the first to find amusing if 
 another man had made it. 
 
 " But I thought you were speaking of people who 
 loved each other," she said simply, " married 
 people?" 
 
 What young man in love could resist the tempta 
 tion to instruct such ignorance ? Not, certainly, 
 Alan Crossan. And yet, despite the eloquence with 
 which he explained, Sidney still looked a little puz 
 zled. " Oh," he cried, at last, impatiently, "you are 
 like a person from another world, you don t 
 understand what I am saying ! " 
 
 It was one of those perfect spring days, without a 
 breath of wind to ruffle the silence of the sky, or a 
 cloud to blur the sparkling blue in which the world 
 was wrapped. There was the subtle fragrance of 
 sunshine and freshly dug earth ; a row of cherry 
 
276 SIDNEY. 
 
 trees in Mrs. Paul s garden stood white against the 
 blue, and now and then a breath of their aromatic 
 sweetness wandered through the still air. The 
 young man and young woman, the young day, the 
 first flowers, the twitter of birds swinging in the 
 vines upon the wall, or whirling in and out among 
 the cherry blossoms, surely words were hardly 
 needed ! 
 
 Sidney and Alan had walked along the shadowy 
 path towards the sun-dial in the evergreen circle, 
 and there he begged her to sit down on the crescent- 
 shaped bench. They were silent for a moment, 
 listening to the murmur of the busy town outside 
 the garden walls, and then Alan said, a How strange 
 it is, this quiet spot in the middle of all that 
 clamor ! How shut off we are from it all ! " Sid 
 ney had taken off her hat, and was leaning back, 
 looking up between the points of the firs at the sky. 
 
 " It is like your life," he continued ; " it is some 
 thing apart, something which does not belong to 
 its time." 
 
 " It is very pleasant, I mean the garden." 
 
 " But it is not very great ! " cried the young 
 man. 
 
 " My life or the garden ? " she questioned, with 
 happy indifference in her face. 
 
 " Of course your life. It is neither happy nor 
 unhappy, so it cannot be great." 
 
 Sidney shook her head. " I am perfectly happy," 
 she declared. " As for greatness, I don t care for 
 greatness ; I only want happiness." 
 
 " You will fail of either," he said abruptly ; and 
 
SIDNEY. 277 
 
 then, having gone no further in his love-making 
 than that point where a man falls readily into the 
 vice of quotation, he began to say, his face radiant 
 with the happiness of inexperience, 
 
 " Then welcome each rebuff 
 
 That turns earth s smoothness rough, 
 Each sting that bids nor sit nor stand, but go I 
 Be our joys three parts pain ! 
 Strive, and hold cheap the strain. " 
 
 Sidney looked at him with a sparkle of laughter 
 in her eyes. " Now, Alan, what do you know about 
 roughness ? For my part, I confess I m content 
 with peace." She smiled, with that serious sweet 
 ness which had always charmed him. The soft air, 
 the sunshine, the flickering white of the cherry 
 trees, Alan s presence, in a word, youth, gave her all 
 she needed, while she was yet unaware that she had 
 need of anything. 
 
 " Such content is only ignorance ; you must have 
 infinitely more to make life great, to make it worth 
 having ! " 
 
 " What ? " she asked lightly. 
 
 Alan drew a quick breath. He had not meant to 
 tell her yet ; he had not meant even to general 
 ize ; he still felt lingering doubts about his respon 
 sibility to the major ; more than all, he had declared 
 that Sidney should not know his deepest life until 
 she had herself begun to live, he would not startle 
 her into repulsion. But now he did not stop to say, 
 Is it wise ? still less, Is it right ? 
 
 "What?" she asked again, turning to look at 
 him. 
 
278 SIDNEY. 
 
 Alan s hand tightened upon his knee. " Love," 
 he said. 
 
 Sidney Lee started ; a slow, fine color burned 
 across her cheek, and was gone. There was a 
 breathless moment between them ; for the first time 
 she did not meet his eyes. But when she spoke her 
 voice was as even as his had been shaken. 
 
 " Greatness at such a cost ? I cannot see how 
 any one can desire it, greatness that grows out of 
 unhappiness ! " 
 
 " You are wrong," he said, in a low voice. " It 
 is n t unhappiness, love." 
 
 " It brings unhappiness," she replied calmly. 
 
 " It makes life glorious ! " he cried. The hope 
 which had been hidden in his face, which had baffled 
 Sidney and tormented Major Lee during these last 
 few months, challenged her from his eyes. Not 
 knowing why, she rose, trembling, breathless. 
 
 " Yes while it lasts ; but it does n t last, you 
 know." She wanted to go away ; the tumult in her 
 placid soul frightened her ; there was a flying ter 
 ror in her eyes. 
 
 " But you don t think of that ; the joy " 
 
 " Forgetfulness does not cheat death," she inter 
 rupted ; " and the joy ? I should think that would 
 make the calamity at the end greater for its great 
 ness." 
 
 " Sidney," Alan began, and stopped. Some 
 one was coming along the path towards the sun-dial. 
 Sidney had grown very white, but now suddenly a 
 flood of color mounted to her forehead ; her eyes 
 stung with tears. She was conscious only of anger 
 
SIDNEY. 279 
 
 at this extraordinary embarrassment. Why should 
 she want to hide her face as Robert Steele came 
 upon them ? Why should her voice tremble when 
 she answered his greeting ? She was dumfounded 
 at herself. What did it mean ? She could hear, as 
 though at a distance, Alan laughing at Robert s 
 anxious voice, as he asked where Miss Sally was. 
 Alan was entirely himself, and good-naturedly mat 
 ter of fact. Sidney s confusion gave her a moment 
 of positive faintness. 
 
 " Sidney is neglecting her carving," she heard him 
 declare. " I have reproached her so that she vows 
 she won t have me for an instructor. No, I m sure 
 I don t know where Miss Sally is, Bob ; probably 
 delving in a tenement house after somebody s soul." 
 
 "I ll I ll wait, I think," Robert answered; 
 and his voice seemed to grope like a blind man. 
 
 " Oh, will you?" said Alan blankly. 
 
 Robert sat down beside them in silence. For a 
 moment no one spoke. Then the doctor proposed, 
 gayly, that Sidney should let him see her work. 
 " You must not be discouraged. I 11 give you an 
 easier design." He rose. " Come ! " he entreated. 
 
 " Won t you wait for aunt Sally in the house ? " 
 Sidney said, looking at Mr. Steele. 
 
 " Yes," he responded miserably. He would have 
 followed them without this invitation ; he had the 
 * human instinct to seek companionship in suffering. 
 He even went into the lumber-room with them, and 
 glanced with unseeing eyes at Sidney s work, a 
 curious piece of deep carving, a bitter and evil face 
 under a wreath of laurel leaves. 
 
280 SIDNEY. 
 
 " Why don t you go and meet Miss Sally, Bob ? " 
 Alan suggested, for Sidney had recovered her voice 
 enough to say that her aunt had gone in to Mrs. 
 Paul s. 
 
 Robert was incapable of suspecting Alan of diplo 
 macy, so he only repeated dully, " I will wait." 
 
 " You need her to cheer you up," Alan com 
 mented ; " you look awfully down in the mouth." 
 
 Sidney, hearing his careless words, was bewildered 
 by her own questions. What had it meant, that 
 thrill in his voice, that wonderful light in his eyes, 
 most of all that sudden storm in her own heart ? 
 Yet now Alan was jesting with Mr. Steele, and she, 
 too, was apparently quite composed, although be 
 neath the surface she was stinging with sharp an 
 noyance at herself. She lifted one of her tools, and 
 saw with dismay that her hand was unsteady ; she 
 was almost terrified, her very body was playing 
 her false. Unreasoning anger made her answer 
 Alan, shortly, that she would rather not carve that 
 morning. She put her hands behind her and held 
 her head with a proud indifference ; she said to her 
 self that she hated Alan, and she wished he would 
 go away. The doctor, however, had no such inten 
 tion ; he took up a tool, and began to praise and 
 criticise with as much discrimination as though he 
 were not raging at his friend, who stood silently at 
 his elbow. Even in his annoyance he felt vaguely* 
 that this silence of Robert s was strange, and he 
 looked at him once or twice keenly. " Poor Bob ! " 
 he said to himself. " Confound him ! " 
 
 When Robert saw Miss Sally push open the door 
 
SIDNEY. 281 
 
 in the garden wall, he went with a heavy step into 
 the parlor to await her. But by that time a subtile 
 distance had come between Alan and the young 
 woman. Sidney s composure made it impossible to 
 turn the conversation in the direction it had taken 
 out in the sunshine. Those words belonged to the 
 blue sky, and the white gleam of cherry blossoms, 
 and the twitter of birds ; here, in the gloom of the 
 lumber-room, with the murmur of voices from the 
 parlor, nothing was possible but the business in 
 hand, and so Alan talked about the carving as long 
 as he could endure the antagonism of Sidney s 
 silence, and then he went away. 
 
 Robert Steele only had to wait in the parlor for 
 Miss Sally a moment or two ; when he heard her 
 light, quick step in the hall, it seemed to him he 
 could count his heartbeats. Miss Sally had gone to 
 Mrs. Paul s that morning, although Sidney had 
 promised to do so. " But you know I must be out 
 in the garden," the girl pleaded. So Miss Sally 
 read " The Independent Press," and talked, or tried 
 to, until Mrs. Paul s patience gave way over some 
 trifling exactness in her mild little visitor. 
 
 " Sally," she cried sharply, " you were an old maid 
 when you were born ; and I don t care how often 
 you get married, you ll be an old maid when you 
 die!" 
 
 Miss Sally was so earnest in her desire to be 
 agreeable that she laughed tremulously, which an 
 noyed Mrs. Paul so much that she ordered her to 
 go home, and not be a goose. Miss Sally, still 
 anxious to please, said, "Oh, yes, I think I must 
 
282 SIDNEY. 
 
 go," this to keep Mrs. Paul from any conscious 
 ness of rudeness. " I 11 get ready at once." 
 
 " Oh, pray, Sally, don t get ready ; be ready, for 
 once in your life ! " returned the older woman. 
 Then she watched her impatiently while Miss Sally, 
 with small, trembling fingers, buttoned her cloak, 
 and wrapped her long white nubia round and round 
 her face. 
 
 " I ve had neuralgia," she explained. Miss Sally 
 was always experimenting with human nature ; it 
 seemed to her that Mrs. Paul must be sympathetic. 
 On the contrary, a retort upon the indecency of 
 talking of one s ailments sent the gentle soul home 
 almost in tears. She stopped under the cherry 
 trees to wipe her kind eyes, and then to bend down 
 to smell the lilies of the valley, growing thick in 
 the shadow of the wall ; so that by the time she 
 reached the parlor and her lover she was her own 
 cheerful self again. 
 
 But Robert s haggard face brought an anxious 
 look into her eyes. " I hope you are very well, Mr. 
 Steele ? " she said. Miss Sally had never gone be 
 yond " Mr. Steele." 
 
 He lifted her hand to his lips, but made no reply. 
 Her affection ("Love" Robert called it, to him 
 self) seemed to him more than he could bear. Miss 
 Sally did not dream of being hurt or surprised that 
 he had not kissed her. If she had stopped to think 
 of it at all, it would have been to wonder why he 
 should ever kiss her : she could count upon her fin 
 gers the number of times that he had done so. 
 
 " I am so glad to see you," she said brightly, un- 
 
SIDNEY. 283 
 
 winding her nubia as she spoke. " I want to ask 
 you what you think would be nice to give that sweet 
 Katherine for a wedding present. I know it is 
 pretty far off, August ; but it is so pleasant to 
 plan things. And you know they won t have much 
 money, unless dear Mrs. Paul will forgive John. 
 Dear me, she could n t help it, if she would but con 
 sent to see Katherine. I tried to suggest it," said 
 Miss Sally, turning pale at the memory of Mrs. Paul s 
 fury ; " but you know she has such a fine mind, she 
 does n t like to be dictated to, though I m sure I 
 did n t mean " 
 
 Robert was absently holding her hand, but here 
 he dropped it, and began to walk restlessly about 
 the room. Miss Sally looked puzzled. Then she 
 remembered that she had not removed her overshoes, 
 and, with a little hurried apology, ran out into the 
 hall to take them off. When she came back, she 
 was startled by his face. " Why, is there anything 
 the matter?" 
 
 Robert whitened under her kindly look. "Yes, 
 there is something the matter," he almost groaned. 
 Then he gathered all his manliness together: he 
 must not think of himself, he must not even suffer, 
 the justice of pain was almost relief, and he did 
 not deserve that ; he must only think how to spare 
 her, how to tell her the truth as tenderly and as faith 
 fully as his unworthy lips might utter it. He came 
 and sat down beside her on the yellow satin sofa, 
 but he did not take her hand. There was an empty 
 moment, in which they heard the voices in the room 
 beyond ; and then, through the open window, up out 
 
284 SIDNEY. 
 
 of the sunny street, came a wandering strain from 
 Verdi, trailing off into silence as the itinerant mu 
 sician moved further away. 
 
 " I have come here," Robert said slowly and dis 
 tinctly, looking all the while at the portrait at the 
 further end of the room, and noting, with that ex 
 traordinary faculty of the mind to observe trivial 
 things in the extremest pain, how cruel was the 
 curve of the beautiful lip, and vaguely aware that 
 he was associating it with the white glitter of cherry 
 blossoms and the careless sweetness of Sidney s 
 voice, "I have come here to tell you that I am an 
 unworthy man ; to tell you that my life is yours, that 
 all that I have or hope is yours, but I am not worthy 
 that you should look upon me. I have come here 
 to tell you this." Miss Sally was bewildered ; there 
 were tears in Robert s eyes, and his lips were un 
 steady. "I am unworthy that you should marry 
 me," he said. 
 
 " Nonsense ! " cried Miss Sally cheerfully. " Of 
 course you are worthy for anybody to marry. But 
 you are not well, or you would not be so low-spirited. 
 I saw that the moment I came in." She looked at 
 him with affectionate concern. His words were 
 merely a symptom, in Miss Sally s mind, he had 
 taken cold, he was overtired ; and her solicitude sug 
 gested her manual, or, at the very least, Alan. She 
 put her hand upon his arm, blushing a little at the 
 boldness of a caress. " You must be more careful 
 of yourself." 
 
 Robert stared at her blankly ; his face was full of 
 helpless despair. As for Miss Sally, she reflected, 
 
SIDNEY. 285 
 
 with comfortable common sense, that when a man 
 was in such a nervous state the only thing to do was 
 to take his mind away from himself ; and so, in her 
 pleasant voice, she chattered of half a dozen pleasant 
 things, never waiting for his replies, and ending, 
 with a woman s instinctive and happy interest in a 
 wedding, with the assertion that she and Robert 
 must give Katherine something practical. 
 
 44 Dear me," declared Miss Sally, " I suppose it s 
 sympathy, but I am perfectly delighted for them ! " 
 
 Robert had been so flung back upon himself by 
 her failure to understand him that, during all this 
 talk, he could only struggle dumbly towards the 
 point at which he had begun, and when at last he 
 said, 44 1 cannot lie to you ; you must know how base I 
 am, how dishonorable," it was evident that he had 
 not heard one word she had been saying. " I want 
 you to know what I am, and then, if you will trust 
 me, if you will tell me that you will marry me, oh, I 
 shall thank God I" What else he said he 
 never knew ; only that over and over again, after 
 the truth was told, he implored her to let him devote 
 his miserable life to her, to let him atone for his ter 
 rible mistake, to be his wife. 
 
 He did not look at her, but he felt that she was 
 drawing herself away from him. The changes in the 
 atmosphere of the soul are as unmistakable as they 
 are intangible. The broken and humiliated man 
 knew, before she spoke, that it was the sister of 
 Mortimer Lee who answered him ; little kindly Miss 
 Sally had gone out of his life forever. She rose, 
 and stood looking down at him for a moment ; when 
 
286 SIDNEY. 
 
 she spoke, her voice was perfectly calm, though her 
 face was pale. Robert felt, although he dared not 
 look at her, that she even smiled slightly. 
 
 " Mr. Steele," he started, the tone was so like 
 her brother s. " pray do not be disturbed. Pray 
 do not give it another thought." 
 
 " I honor you above any woman I have ever 
 known ; your goodness makes it easier to believe in 
 God s goodness. But I could not deceive you ; I 
 could not let you think I had given you what it is 
 not in my weak, miserable nature to give any one, 
 love such as you ought to receive. But take all I 
 can give, Miss Lee ; take my life, and loyalty, and 
 gratitude ; let things be as they have been." 
 
 " There has never been anything," she answered, 
 with such placid dignity that Robert dared not en 
 treat her, " and, don t you see, there never can be ? 
 There is nothing more to be said, please." She 
 looked at him, and then all the gentleness came back 
 into her face and her eyes filled. " I am so sorry for 
 you," she said simply. Then, quietly, she left him. 
 
 Robert Steele did not move, even to follow her 
 with his eyes ; he sat there upon the yellow sofa, 
 his head sunk upon his breast, his hands hanging 
 listlessly between his knees. The shadows from the 
 swinging branches of the ailantus tree in the court 
 yard fell across a square of sunshine on the carpet 
 at his feet ; little by little the bar of light traversed 
 the dusky room, until it reached the portrait and 
 touched the calm eyes of Sidney s mother. 
 
 He watched the silent, joyous dance of sun and 
 shadows ; he was incapable of thought, but a dull 
 
SIDNEY. 287 
 
 sense of what Sidney s contempt for him would be 
 when she learned what he had done, took the place 
 of remorse and self-reproach. 
 
 He saw Alan cross the courtyard, and heard the 
 iron gate creak on its rusty hinges, as the doctor 
 went out into the lane. A little later, Major Lee 
 came up the steps ; and then he heard Sidney tell 
 her father, carelessly, that her aunt had a headache, 
 and would not be down to dinner. No one caught 
 sight of him in the darker end of the parlor, half 
 hidden by the open door. It must have been long 
 after noon when he left the house ; he did not stay 
 because he hoped to see Miss Sally again, but only 
 because he had not the strength to go away. 
 
 It was nearly five o clock when Alan Crossan en 
 tered his house. The day had been a good one to 
 the doctor. The glory of the morning had touched 
 every hour afterwards. He was still elate and joy 
 ous, but on the threshold of the library he stopped, 
 appalled. In his absorption, these last few weeks, 
 he had become perfectly accustomed to what he 
 thought of as the meaningless distress in Kobert s 
 face, and scarcely any accentuation of that pain 
 could have startled him. But there was no distress 
 in it now; only dull silence. He went over and 
 touched him on the shoulder, in an authoritative 
 way. 
 
 " You have taken morphine," he said. 
 
XXI. 
 
 MRS. PAUL had not seen her son for nearly six 
 weeks, when, the first Sunday evening that he 
 chanced to be in Mercer after having received Sid 
 ney s message, he entered her drawing-room. Dur 
 ing that time she passed from rage to contempt, 
 then to indifference, and now she had reached some 
 thing like fright. Not that she feared losing John s 
 affection, it was not credible to Mrs. Paul that 
 she could lose the affection of any one ; but she had 
 an awful glimpse of a desolate old age. Who would 
 play at draughts with her in the long evenings? 
 Who would listen patiently to her gibes and sneers? 
 Scarlett might do the latter, perhaps, that was 
 what she was paid for, but there was no feeling 
 in her silent endurance. Sidney might be sum 
 moned for the former, except that of late Mrs. Paul 
 had found Sidney less interesting. Not from any 
 change in the girl, but because her project concern 
 ing Mr. Steele had fallen through, and mostly be 
 cause her own interest of anger at her son pressed 
 upon her and shut Sidney out. She was in a state 
 of tremulous fierceness when at last the night came 
 on which John Paul, with new and leisurely indiffer 
 ence, presented himself at her door. 
 
 "Well," she said, rapping the. little table at her 
 side sharply, " you are here, are you ? I told Sid- 
 
SIDNEY. 289 
 
 ney that if you were sorry for your conduct you 
 might come home." John raised his eyebrows. 
 " Yes," Mrs. Paul declared, " I m willing to overlook 
 your behavior. Every man has in him the capaci 
 ty of absolute idiocy at some time or other in his 
 life, and that was your opportunity. Well, you im 
 proved it, Johnny, you improved it. I m willing 
 to forgive and forget," she continued. " We 11 say 
 no more about it. Just wind up this Independent 
 Press folly as soon as you can. Do you want any 
 money for it ? " 
 
 But there was something in her son s look that 
 troubled her. In spite of her bold words, her voice 
 shook. In the brief answer that John made, Mrs. 
 Paul heard her defeat announced ; heard, but could 
 not realize nor accept it. She grew so angry that 
 her son bent his eyes upon the ground, and refused 
 to look at her. 
 
 " You shall not marry that woman ! " she cried ; 
 " or, if you do, not a cent of my money shall you 
 have, do you hear me ? And she shall never en 
 ter my house, do you understand me ? I will not 
 see her." 
 
 John had been standing silently all this time, 
 frowning at the jug of lilacs in the fireplace ; once 
 he lifted from the mantelpiece a carved and fretted 
 ball of ivory which held another within its circling 
 mystery, and looked at it critically ; then he put it 
 down, and waited for his mother to continue ; but 
 he glanced at the clock in an absent, indifferent 
 way. 
 
 " You are a cruel and unnatural son ! " she said, 
 her voice breaking into tears. 
 
290 KDNEY. 
 
 John looked at her with attention. " Yes, I think 
 I am unnatural, but I can t help it now ; neither of 
 us can help it now. I am what you have made me ; 
 I suppose I am hard. I am sorry." 
 
 " Hard? You are stone ! My only son ! " 
 
 John sighed. Human nature is as helpless to re 
 store as to create love. But had he ever loved his 
 mother ? He had certainly never analyzed his feel 
 ing for her. Affection for one s mother is a matter 
 of course ; it is a conventionality, in a way. But 
 now something had snapped, something had broken ; 
 he no longer took his affection for granted. 
 
 " No," he thought sadly, looking away from her 
 convulsed face, " I do not love you ; and I shall 
 never forgive you." He knew quite well that, no 
 matter what gloss of reconciliation might cover that 
 awful scene when she had accused and condoned at 
 once, he could never forget it. 
 
 Those promises of pardon which we bestow so 
 readily are apt to be given without thought of this 
 terrible and inescapable power of memory. The 
 lover or the husband, the mother or the child, may 
 love as deeply as before the quarrel or the crime, 
 but the remembrance of one bad and cruel word, the 
 color of a tone, the meaning in the glance of an eye, 
 will too often linger in the soul ; such a recollection 
 will start up between two kisses, force itself beneath 
 the hand that blesses, be renewed in vows of re 
 newed tenderness. No assertions of forgiveness or 
 of love can blot it out ; it is as immortal as the soul. 
 
 Perhaps Mrs. Paul read the inexorable truth in 
 her son s face ; her anger was drowned in a new 
 
SIDNEY. 291 
 
 emotion. She looked suddenly up at Annette s 
 picture. 
 
 " Oh, why did you die ? " she said, half aloud. 
 " It is your fault. I would have been different " 
 
 " I must go," John was saying constrainedly. 
 " Should you need me at any time, I will come at 
 once. Mother, I wish you would let Katherine 
 come to see you ? " 
 
 But she burst out into such bitter insult to the 
 woman he loved, that, without another word, he left 
 her. 
 
 She did not even ring for Scarlett when he had 
 gone, and she was wonderfully quiet all that evening. 
 Davids noticed that she left the tea-table without 
 eating, and he hazarded the remark to Scarlett that 
 he believed she cared more for Mr. John than she 
 had ever let on. Scarlett s response of silence made 
 him, as usual, quite angry, but left him with that 
 sense of her wisdom which the mystery of reserve is 
 sure to produce. 
 
 " Lord ! " said Davids, " if I could hold my 
 tongue like her, she d think me something great ! " 
 
 Mrs. Paul was experiencing this same respect for 
 silence. If John had argued, or attempted to ex 
 plain, she could have had all the solace of her own 
 rush of angry words. She felt, unanswered, like 
 a flying brig, left suddenly to the waves without 
 the driving force of the hurricane. Her own fury 
 tossed and beat her, but without John s anger she 
 could make no progress. 
 
 She did not sleep much that night ; she thought 
 persistently of Miss Towrsend. She wished, with 
 
292 SIDNEY. 
 
 hot resentment, that she could see her, at a dis 
 tance, so that she might know what sort of a per 
 son it was who had wrought this change in her son. 
 Alone in the darkness of her bedroom, the slow and 
 scanty tears burned in her eyes and dropped upon 
 her pillow ; the old grief for the dead Annette, the 
 grief which had railed at Heaven, but hidden itself 
 so completely that no one knew that it existed, was 
 sobbed out again in despair and hatred of ail the 
 world. " Why did she die? Mortimer is right; it 
 is not worth while to love any one. Oh, I wish she 
 had never been born ! " The thought came to her 
 at last, it was towards dawn, and the furniture 
 was beginning to shape itself out of the shadows as 
 the windows grew into oblongs of gray light, the 
 thought came to her that she might go to see this 
 young woman ; yes, and tell her what she thought 
 of her, and what would be the result if she married 
 John, which, of course, would end the matter, for 
 all the girl wanted was money. Rage which can be 
 expressed in action is almost pleasure. Mrs. Paul fell 
 asleep when she had thought this all out ; but Scar 
 lett was startled by her white face and haggard eyes, 
 when she brought in the coffee the next morning. 
 
 " Tell Davids," Mrs. Paul said, as she sat before 
 the oval mirror of her dressing-table, and watched 
 the woman puff her hair with delicate and gentle 
 little fingers, " tell Davids to go to the major s, 
 and say Mrs. Paul s love, and will Miss Lee step 
 over for a few minutes after breakfast ? 
 
 " Miss Sally ? " asked Scarlett, whose sense of 
 justice always made this little protest for Miss 
 Sally s dignity. 
 
SIDNEY. 293 
 
 " Of course not ! " cried Mrs. Paul. " I said Miss 
 Lee." 
 
 Sidney came, and was asked, in the most casual 
 way in the world, where " that Townsend girl " 
 lived, although the desire for such information was 
 not explained. 
 
 Mrs. Paul had ordered the carriage for two 
 o clock, and she drove towards Red Lane with a 
 face which tried to hide its eagerness beneath the 
 greatest indifference. She had been full of excuses 
 all that morning, explaining to herself that this ap 
 parent weakening was only strength. Johnny should 
 see he could not defy her ; she would put a stop to 
 his absurdities once for all. No fear that the young 
 woman would want to marry him when she knew 
 the facts of the case. 
 
 Miss Katherine Townsend, however, was away 
 from home, and Mrs. Paul s anger was for the mo 
 ment restrained. " I will wait," she said, sweeping 
 past Maria, who was very much overcome by the 
 caller s rustling silks, as well as by her impatient 
 and disdainful eyes. It was curious that the ser 
 vant s vacant face and the plainness of the house 
 should have aroused in Mrs. Paul, not anger at 
 John, but the old indignation at what, long ago, she 
 had called the " low tastes" of her husband. " He 
 gets it from his father," she thought, her lip curling 
 as she looked about at the severe but cheerful room. 
 
 The walls between the windows and doors were 
 covered with bookshelves, so that there was no room 
 for pictures ; the piano was open, and sheets of music 
 were scattered beside it ; there was no carpet on the 
 
294 SIDNEY. 
 
 painted floor, " only," said Mrs. Paul to herself, 
 " those detestable slippery rugs." On the table was 
 a great India china bowl full of locust blossoms. 
 The shutters were bowed, for the day was warm, 
 and one ray of sunshine fell between them, striking 
 white upon the flowers, but the rest of the room was 
 shadowy ; so dusky, indeed, that Mrs. Paul did not 
 observe Ted standing in the doorway, his grave little 
 head on one side and his hands behind him. 
 
 " Who," he observed at last, " are you ? " 
 
 " Oh," thought Mrs. Paul, "this is the brother. 
 Of course the child is pert and forward." 
 
 " Kitty says," said Ted gently, " at it s polite 
 to speak when you are spoken to." 
 
 " You are an impertinent boy ! " Mrs. Paul assured 
 him. She put her glasses on and inspected him. 
 
 " No," Ted corrected her, " I m not an imperti 
 nent boy. 1 m Kitty s big brother." 
 
 " I am Mrs. Paul," explained his auditor, " now 
 you can run away, please." 
 
 " Oh," cried Ted, with evident delight, " are you 
 John s sister? We love John, Kitty and Carrie, 
 Louisa and me." 
 
 Little Ted knew of no other relationship than 
 that of brother and sister, so his remark had no 
 flattery in it, but Mrs. Paul smiled involuntarily. 
 "I am his mother," she said. ("A scheming, ill- 
 bred person," she added, in her own mind, " teach 
 ing the children to talk about Johnny in such a way, 
 to please him, of course.") 
 
 " Should you like to see the pups ? " Ted asked, 
 anxious to be agreeable. " John gave em to me." 
 
SIDNEY. 295 
 
 " Oh, pray be quiet ! " returned Mrs. Paul impa 
 tiently. " When is your sister coming home ? " 
 
 " Do you mean Kitty ? " The child leaned his 
 elbow confidingly on Mrs. Paul s knee, and looked 
 into her face. " You have n t got such pretty eyes 
 as John." 
 
 There was no reply. 
 
 " Kitty thinks his eyes are beautiful," declared 
 Ted calmly, " an she s coming home most any 
 time. Kitty does just as she pleases, you know." 
 
 Mrs. Paul s face expressed only silent endurance. 
 
 " Does John love you the same as I love Kitty ? " 
 Ted continued, after a pause, during which he in 
 spected the lace upon Mrs. Paul s wrap. A mo 
 ment later, he exclaimed gayly, " There she is ! 
 Kitty, there s somebody here ! " 
 
 For once Katherine scarcely noticed him. She 
 had guessed whose was the carriage at the door, 
 and she had summoned all her happiness and her 
 courage to her aid. She entered with a smile, in 
 which there was the faintest gleam of amusement. 
 
 " You are Mrs. Paul," she said, with an out 
 stretched hand, which, as Mrs. Paul did not notice 
 it, began to wheel an easier chair forward. " How 
 good of you to come to see me ! But pray take a 
 more comfortable seat." 
 
 Words fluttered upon Mrs. Paul s lips, and left her 
 silent. This dignified young woman was so different 
 from her expectations that it was necessary to take a 
 moment to adjust her anger to her circumstances. 
 
 Katherine, meanwhile, had drawn her little brother 
 to her side. The old sofa upon which she sat, with 
 
296 SIDNEY. 
 
 its uncomfortable mahogany arms and its faded 
 damask covering, had an air of past grandeur about 
 it which impressed Mrs. Paul, although she did not 
 know it. All the furniture in the room had this 
 same suggestiveness, as well as the rows of leather- 
 covered books upon the shelves. 
 
 " She comes of People," Mrs. Paul thought an 
 grily. " Her conduct is inexcusable ! " 
 
 " I trust you have not waited very long ? " Kath- 
 erine was saying. " And, Ted, you have not been 
 a bore, have you ? " 
 
 " Indeed," said Mrs. Paul, " he has been quite 
 talkative." She was furious at herself for ending 
 her sentence so mildly. 
 
 " Had I known that you were coming, I should 
 have been at home," said Katherine. 
 
 But Mrs. Paul was not to be drawn into common 
 place civilities. "Miss Townsend, will you be so 
 kind as to send this child away ? What I wish to 
 say perhaps he had better not hear." 
 
 "Certainly," answered Katherine gravely. But 
 when Ted, with his usual reluctance, had left them, 
 she said, with quiet dignity, that had in it a curious 
 condescension, " Mrs. Paul, I know very well that 
 your son s engagement to me is a disappointment to 
 you, and I appreciate with all my heart your com 
 ing here to see me." 
 
 " You are quite right," returned Mrs. Paul ; " it is 
 a disappointment. It is for that reason that I am 
 here. Of course my son will do what he wishes 
 with his future, but at the same time it is only 
 proper that you should know what that future will 
 
SIDNEY. 297 
 
 be if he displeases me." Katherine s slight, wait- 
 ins: smile, full of courteous and decent deference for 
 
 o 
 
 her age, confounded Mrs. Paul. She was perhaps 
 more puzzled than angry, and the sensation was so 
 new that she was at a loss for words. Those which 
 she had prepared for the upstart music teacher were 
 not to be spoken to this young woman. " Yes," she 
 ended, " his engagement is a very great disappoint 
 ment. I regret that I am obliged to say this." 
 
 " I hope you will believe," Katherine Townsend 
 answered, " that I have realized perfectly that it 
 might be so. I do not mean because I am poor, 
 that is something which neither you nor I could con 
 sider, but I have the care of my brother and sis 
 ters, and it is a very serious thing for a man to 
 marry when he must assume such responsibilities." 
 
 " I am glad to see that you appreciate this," said 
 Mrs. Paul. "I " 
 
 " Yes," interposed Miss Townsend quietly, " of 
 course I know it. And yet I have felt that this 
 very assumption would give John the strength 
 which your strength has really withheld from him. 
 He has had no responsibility in life, I think, has 
 he? I am sure you understand me. I do not mean 
 to reproach your love for him, which has spared 
 him, but surely responsibility will help him, too ? " 
 
 " It is, however, scarcely necessary that he should 
 marry, in order to find responsibility," Mrs. Paul 
 answered ; she leaned back in her chair, glancing at 
 Katherine from under slightly lifted brows ; Miss 
 Townsend sustained the look with a calm, direct 
 gaze. 
 
298 SIDNEY. 
 
 " True ; " she admitted. 
 
 " My son has, of course, told you that he has no 
 means of support other than my " 
 
 "Other," Katherine finished, "than your too 
 great kindness." " Yes, of course, I know that ; 
 and I know, too, that it must end now. To con 
 tinue it would be quite wrong ; indeed, I should be 
 entirely unwilling that John should accept it when 
 we are married. He must make his own way in the 
 world, and I am sure I need not say to you how 
 confident I am, that your son will make his own 
 way." The little gesture with which she said this 
 was subtly flattering; she felt the color come into 
 her face as she spoke. (" It is true," she assured her 
 self, " the son of so clever a woman must succeed/ ) 
 
 " Yes I have no fears," she continued, aloud, 
 " but I am talking too much of my own concerns ! " 
 She stopped, smiling in half apology. " It is such a 
 tiresome drive over from the hill ; will you not 
 excuse me for one moment, and let me bring you a 
 cup of tea ? " She rose, ignoring Mrs. Paul s quick 
 negative. "Pray let me," she said, and left the 
 room. 
 
 In the hall she drew a long breath and set her 
 lips ; then she went into the kitchen, and with an 
 intent haste, which silenced Maria, she made the tea 
 herself and arranged the small tray upon which she 
 was to carry it to her guest. It was a bold stroke, 
 she reflected, and the risk was great in leaving Mrs. 
 Paul alone to collect her thoughts and her objec 
 tions ; but it had been the only thing that had sug 
 gested itself to Katherine. The excitement and 
 
SIDNEY. 299 
 
 restraint made her eyes bright, and there was a little 
 color in her cheeks ; and when, tranquilly and with 
 out haste, she came back to the parlor, she was 
 almost handsome. Mrs. Paul could not help seeing 
 that, nor the quiet way in which Katherine seemed 
 to dismiss the subject of John and his engagement. 
 She began, as she poured the tea, to talk lightly, 
 with cutting words, of this person or of that. Had 
 Mrs. Paul heard of that absurd affair in Ashurst ? 
 What a painful thing for the family such a scandal 
 must be ! And what did she think of that ridiculous 
 love-story which, just now, every one was reading ? 
 
 It was the mention of love which gave Katherine 
 Townsend the chance to say things as bitter and as 
 untrue as even her guest might have done. 
 
 " A book," Mrs. Paul was constrained to say, 
 " which tries to denounce second marriage is silly, is 
 immoral." 
 
 " Who is it that says a second marriage is the 
 triumph of hope over experience?" queried Kath 
 erine gayly. " Truly, I don t like the idea myself, 
 but it s better than Major Lee s theory." This 
 with a slight shrug. Even as she spoke, she was 
 excusing herself by saying she would confess to Sid 
 ney Lee what she had said, never for a moment 
 realizing how incapable Sidney was of understand 
 ing the situation, or approving of that temporary 
 insincerity which is a weapon of society, and rarely 
 implies a moral quality. 
 
 At that suggestion of a sneer, Mrs. Paul saw her 
 anger slipping away from her. She made an effort 
 to recover herself. " At least, absurd as it is, Mor- 
 
300 SIDNEY. 
 
 timer Lee s view would prevent many unhappy mar 
 riages ; and I am sure you will agree with me that 
 no marriages are so unhappy as those which are 
 unequal in any way. It is of this, Miss Townsend, 
 that I wish to speak to you." 
 
 Then Katherine, who had given away her warm 
 and honest heart as loyally as any woman ever did, 
 lifted her eyebrows a little and seemed to consider. 
 " Yes," she said cynically, " of course ; except that 
 the reasons for an unequal marrirge are always so 
 apparent. No one ought to be deceived. Regard 
 has very little to do with it. It is invariably per 
 sonal advantage which is considered ; happiness is 
 not expected." She held her breath after that ; 
 perhaps she had gone too far ? Yet if it made Mrs. 
 Paul feel that, in her own case, she acknowledged no 
 inequality, much was gained, even at the expense of 
 a slur upon love. (" This is bowing in the house of 
 Rimmon," she thought, with shame and elation 
 together.) 
 
 But Mrs. Paul smiled. At least this young 
 woman was no fool, there was to be no love-talk, 
 no tears ; and yet, as she again tried to turn to that 
 subject which she was here to discuss, she found 
 such a discussion as difficult, although not as disa 
 greeable, as if she had been answered by tears and 
 protestations. She could not make her threat about 
 money to this young person who treated money with 
 such high-handed indifference. Indeed, so skillfully 
 did Katherine parry the slightest hint of the disap 
 probation Mrs. Paul wished to express that the older 
 woman became aware that, although she was not 
 
SIDNEY. 301 
 
 allowed to say what was in her mind, Miss Townsend 
 knew quite well all she desired to say. 
 
 There are few who are not more or less impressed 
 by cleverness ; but Mrs. Paul respected it, even 
 when it was to her cost. As for Katherine, she was 
 exhilarated by her opportunity ; to anticipate Mrs. 
 Paul s sneers was like a game. That she was not 
 sincere she was aware, but she silenced her con 
 science by a promise to repent as soon as her wrong 
 doing was ended. It could not, however, end with 
 its recognition ; she was not yet victorious, although 
 she saw victory ahead. So, for the present, she 
 must not lose the chance of assuring Mrs. Paul, 
 that, for her part, she believed that vanity was the 
 beginning of most of the virtues, and expediency of 
 the rest, or any such flippant untruth as Mrs. 
 Paul s conversation might suggest ; and Mrs. Paul s 
 conversation never lacked suggestion. 
 
 At last, the older woman s final reserve broke 
 down. " My dear," she cried, " you are delightful. 
 The Providence that takes care of children and fools 
 has guided Johnny. As for your brother and sis 
 ters, no doubt we can find a proper boarding- 
 school " She ignored Miss Townsend s laughing 
 negative. Mrs. Paul was never half-way in any 
 thing ; she was as charmed as she had been enraged. 
 
 "But I am afraid," Katherine said, "I am 
 afraid that I must beg you to excuse me. I have a 
 lesson to give in just twenty minutes, and I must go. 
 I am so sorry ! " She rose as she spoke, extending 
 her hand in very courteous and calm dismissal. 
 " It has been a pleasure to see you," she said, with 
 no more enthusiasm than ^oliiteriess demanded. 
 
3D2 SIDNEY. 
 
 Mrs. Paul was beaming. She glanced at Kather- 
 ine keenly for a moment, as she took her arm. 
 " Where have you learned to walk ? " she demanded. 
 " One does not expect deportment from Little Mer 
 cer. But what am I thinking of? Your mother 
 was a Drayton, of course ! I remember now : young 
 Steele told me so, and Sidney, but I had forgotten 
 it. So foolish in Johnny not to remind me ! How 
 could I suppose that anybody he would care for 
 could have antecedents ? " 
 
 " But poor John," said Katherine lightly, " he 
 was more concerned with living than with dead rel 
 atives. Four Townsends are bad enough, without 
 a dozen Draytons too." 
 
 " Oh," Mrs. Paul assured her, " I have no doubt 
 that they are very well, the children ; I assure 
 you I sha n t mind them much." They had reached 
 the carriage, and a thought struck her. "You 
 are going out to give a lesson ? (Nonsense, all non 
 sense ; we 11 stop that at once !) Then just get 
 right in with me, and I 11 take you wherever you 
 want to go. It has begun to rain, you see." 
 
 " That will be delightful ! " Katherine assented. 
 She had not removed her bonnet when she entered 
 the parlor, so without any delay she took the place 
 by Mrs. Paul s side. The enjoyment of leaning 
 back among the carriage cushions, and directing the 
 coachman to drive to one of those cheap suburban 
 villas, which irritate the eyes and look as though 
 they had been made with a jig-saw, was something 
 Katherine never forgot. 
 
 " You are to come to see me to-morrow morning," 
 
SIDNEY. 808 
 
 commanded Mrs. Paul, more pleasantly excited and 
 interested than she had been for many a day. " I 
 shall send for Johnny, and we will wind up this 
 nonsense of the paper." 
 
 Katharine laughed and shook her head. " I am 
 so sorry, but I am occupied to-morrow morning. I 
 must not disappoint a pupil for my own pleasure, 
 you know." Under all her calm, Katherine was 
 flushed with victory. She had triumphed, yet it was 
 at the cost of her self-respect. She realized this 
 when she stood at the carriage door saying good-by. 
 
 " My dear, you are a clever woman, and I con 
 gratulate you. (No one can say I have not always 
 appreciated cleverness.) You don t make any sen 
 timental pretenses, I like that. As for Johnny, 
 I dare say you will make the best of him ; he s 
 stupid, but that s all." 
 
 Katherine grew hot with shame ; she could scarcely 
 control her voice to thank Mrs. Paul for having car 
 ried her to her pupil s door. She had succeeded too 
 well. 
 
 Mrs. Paul, when she drove away, was in that state 
 of radiant satisfaction which demands a spectator. 
 So it was something to come across Miss Sally trudg 
 ing home in the rain, and to stop and insist that she 
 should get into the carriage. 
 
 " Why in the world," she cried, " did n t you tell 
 me about Katherine Townsend ? " She would not 
 drive home immediately, " for I want to talk to 
 you," she said. And so Miss Sally, sitting op 
 posite, shivering a little in her damp skirts, listened 
 with genuine pleasure to Mrs. Paul s praises of 
 
304 SIDNEY. 
 
 Katherine. " It is really a pleasure to talk to such 
 a young woman ; and a great relief, after what I 
 have endured these last few years. Why did no 
 body tell me what she was like ? Of course I could 
 not know ; the fact that Johnny was in love with 
 her made me think she could not amount to much. 
 Johnny has no sense about women. I was always 
 afraid he might think he was in love with you. But, 
 thank the Lord, he never reached that state ! So it 
 was natural that I should object to her, not having 
 seen her, and neither you nor Sidney having the 
 sense to tell me what kind of a woman she was." 
 
 " I should think," ventured Miss Sally, shivering 
 a good deal, " that you would have known she must 
 be a sweet, good girl, just because John cared for 
 her." 
 
 "Sweet? good?" repeated Mrs. Paul contemp 
 tuously. " That s like you, Sally. And it s like 
 you to say I must have known, because Now 
 that you are engaged yourself, you really are too 
 silly." 
 
 Miss Sally swallowed once or twice, and then 
 looked out of the window. "I am not engaged, 
 Mrs. Paul." 
 
 Mrs. Paul s " What ? " was explosive. " When 
 did you break it off? What an idiot you were, 
 Sally, to let him go ! You will never get the chance 
 again. Why did you do it ? " 
 
 "I I did n t break it off," said the other simply ; 
 "he told me he had made a mistake. So there 
 was n t anything to break off, you see." 
 
XXII. 
 
 IF Mrs. Paul had not been so absorbed in Kather- 
 ine, she would have felt in Miss Sally s broken en 
 gagement the collapse of a person who has lost a 
 grievance. As it was, she thought of it only to 
 repeat the news, two or three days later, to Robert s 
 astounded and dismayed friend, and to rail at Sally 
 for a fool to have let young Steele slip through her 
 fingers. When Alan Crossan really grasped the 
 fact that Robert had thrown Miss Sally over, it 
 was thus Mrs. Paul expressed it, he stood in 
 shocked silence for a moment ; it was too tremen 
 dous for comment. Then came the instant rebound : 
 it was impossible ; it simply could not be ; by be 
 lieving such a slander he again had wronged his 
 friend. Why, it was only a week ago that Robert 
 had come to look for Miss Sally in the garden 
 Then, like a blow, came the remembrance of the 
 evident return to morphine in the afternoon of that 
 day, and since then Robert had been away from 
 home. 
 
 The doctor scarcely heard Mrs. Paul s triumphant 
 talk of Katherine ; he only waited for a pause to 
 say good-by, and then he went at once, not knowing 
 why, to the major s. There, at first, it seemed as 
 though this terrible news was confirmed. Sidney 
 met him, looking puzzled and half annoyed. 
 
306 SIDNEY. 
 
 " Aunt Sally is ill, I think. She has a cold. I 
 was going to send for you, Alan, though you won t 
 mind if she keeps on taking her little pills too, will 
 you?" 
 
 " Is is anything else wrong, Sidney ? " he said. 
 " Does Mr. Steele know she is ill ? Has he been 
 here to-day ? " 
 
 Sidney shook her head. " There is nothing wrong ; 
 what could be wrong ? Aunt Sally is ill, and I can t 
 tell what she wants done downstairs. She is sleepy 
 all the time." She frowned ; she was troubled, and 
 she was impatient of all trouble. 
 
 It was no time to ask questions; Alan had to 
 forget Eobert. A physician s private anxieties are 
 out of place by the bedside of a patient, and Miss 
 Sally was really sick. That walk in the rain, and 
 then the long, shivering ride with Mrs. Paul, had 
 come upon a little body which the new emotions of 
 the last few months, and especially of the last week, 
 had greatly taxed. Miss Sally was exhausted. Her 
 pathetic desire to appear stronger and wiser than 
 she was had been a continual strain ; that desire was 
 at an end now, and she felt instead the old content, 
 the old enjoyment of a narrow life. Yet such con 
 tent was a mysterious pain to Miss Sally. 
 
 In the night of that day upon which Mr. Steele 
 told her that he did not love her, she had cried as 
 though her heart would break. She knew, vaguely, 
 that her grief was not because she had lost her lover, 
 yet she knew no more than that. She was incapable 
 of finding a reason for her tears, or of understand 
 ing that there is a bitter pain, which recognizes its 
 real grievance in the lack of srief. 
 
SIDNEY. 307 
 
 There, in the dark, kneeling at the side of her 
 high bed, she cried until, from weariness, she fell 
 asleep ; sinking down upon the floor, her head rest 
 ing against the carved bedpost. In the morning 
 she awoke, stiff and chilled, and in a dazed way 
 groped about in her mind to find her sorrow. She 
 caught a glimpse in the mirror of her small anxious 
 face, stained with last night s tears, and pressed into 
 wrinkles and creases where it had rested on the 
 gathers of the valance. The tears were still very 
 near the surface. She drew a little sobbing breath 
 of pity for herself. But perhaps at that moment 
 she dimly understood that it was relief which had 
 come to her, not sorrow ; and that the dear and 
 commonplace little life was hers again. There 
 would be no more effort, no new emotions. She 
 cried as she smoothed her hair and bathed her tired 
 eyes, because, without understanding it, she knew 
 vaguely, that her tears would soon be dried. It was 
 a little soul s appreciation of how impossible for it 
 is greatness. But no one could have guessed this 
 cause of grief, least of all Robert Steele, drowning 
 his misery in the old familiar dreams of opium. He 
 had shut himself up in a hotel in the city, and given 
 all his thoughts to the contemplation of his own base 
 ness ; and when that grew too terrible to be borne, 
 taking up that strange little instrument of heaven 
 and hell, and by a prick in his arm forgetting. 
 There was a fitness in such sinning, he said to him 
 self, deliberately yielding to temptation. He had 
 flung Miss Sally s saving love away, so he had best 
 fall back into the misery from which she had res- 
 
308 SIDNEY. 
 
 cued him. Perhaps no one, not even Alan, could 
 have appreciated the sincerity of a man allowing 
 himself to sin, as a punishment to himself. 
 
 But the doctor, on that day, a week later, when 
 he found Miss Sally ill, had no knowledge of Rob 
 ert or his condition, and he could not spare a 
 thought for him in concern for her. Alan looked 
 worried when he rejoined Sidney in the library. 
 
 She was reading, and it was evidently not easy 
 for her to leave her book. 
 
 " Yes," he said, " Miss Sally is ill ; but don t be 
 alarmed." Sidney looked surprised ; evidently, noth 
 ing was further from her thoughts than the annoy 
 ance of alarm. " So far as I can see, she has n t 
 anything on her mind. (Mrs. Paul was wrong ; I 
 knew she was.) But I don t like that room for 
 her : there is no sunshine, and too much draught. 
 The room across the hall would be better. I think 
 she ought to be moved at once." 
 
 " But," said Sidney, in consternation, and putting 
 her book down, " that is is " 
 
 " Your room ? " Alan finished. " Why, Sidney ! " 
 The selfishness which could admit of such a thought 
 startled him for a moment. 
 
 Sidney did not speak. To put some one else 
 before herself required an adjustment of ideas ; but 
 when that was done, the resulting consciousness was 
 not altogether unpleasant. 
 
 " Miss Sally ought not to be alone," Alan began, 
 he must not pause to give a lesson in ethics, with 
 his patient s pulse over a hundred, " some one 
 ought to be with her." 
 
SIDNEY. 309 
 
 " Oh I " Sidney answered blankly, so plainly dis 
 tressed at her duty, that Alan forgot his. 
 
 " Sidney, don t you care for Miss Sally ? " he pro 
 tested. 
 
 " Yes, of course I care," she said ; but there was 
 no offended affection in her face, nor did she say 
 " love." In such matters the major had taught her 
 to call things by their right names. 
 
 " Then," cried Alan, " why don t you want to be 
 with her, and to give up your room to her ? " 
 
 " Because," she explained, " it is n t pleasant, 
 Alan." 
 
 The doctor looked at her. " But is this sort of 
 thing pleasant, this selfishly refusing to see what 
 is painful ? " 
 
 " It is n t unpleasant," she replied. But she was 
 troubled; Alan seemed to disapprove of her, she 
 thought. 
 
 " Oh, Sidney," he said, " it distresses me to have 
 you unwomanly and selfish. I cannot bear to see 
 you selfish." (This was the first time that they had 
 been alone since that morning in the garden.) 
 
 She smiled. " But look ; why do you want me 
 to be different? Because it is unpleasant to see 
 what you call selfishness ? " 
 
 " And it is not right," added the doctor. 
 
 " What is right ? " she asked. " Oh, Alan, you 
 and I act from the same motive, comfort ; only 
 you are more subtle about it than I. You call 
 4 comfort right ; it s expedient to be good, you 
 know." She laughed, and looked at him so frankly, 
 with such entire absence of that beautiful conscious- 
 
310 SIDNEY. 
 
 ness which had filled him with hope, that Alan s 
 heart sank. 
 
 " Sidney," he said passionately, " I told you that 
 you needed love to make you really live. It is re 
 generation, as well as beauty ! Do you remember 
 what I told you ? Oh, you could not be selfish if 
 you had love in your heart ! " 
 
 He stood close beside her ; it seemed as though a 
 wave of light quivered across his face as his eyes 
 sought hers. Miss Sally, right and wrong, the sub 
 tleties of altruism and selfishness, were forgotten ; 
 the woman he loved was looking into his face. 
 
 " Oh, begin to live, Sidney, begin to live, 
 now!" 
 
 It was an extraordinary moment, which seemed to 
 Alan an eternity, as, with her hand crushed in his, 
 he demanded life from the frightened silence of her 
 face. The scene stamped itself upon his brain : the 
 sunshine streaming in through the long, open win 
 dows ; the murmurs of the busy street ; the Virginia 
 creeper swaying from the eaves of the west wing ; 
 the sudden sparkle of a crystal ball upon the writ 
 ing-table ; and through all a wandering breath of 
 mignonette, and the ripple of a song from little 
 Susan, singing in the kitchen. 
 
 Alan s voice sounded strangely in his ears. His 
 individuality was swept into that Power of which 
 each individual is but the fleeting expression. It 
 was Life which called to Sidney ; it was the Past, it 
 was Humanity, it was all Nature, nay, it was her 
 own soul which entreated her from Alan s lips. 
 
 " Love is more than death ; it is life itself. I 
 love you." 
 
SIDNEY. 311 
 
 She did not take her hand from his, nor turn her 
 eyes away ; she looked at him in absolute silence, 
 dazed and uncomprehending. Alan had one mo 
 ment of blankness, which was so intense that it 
 seemed a physical shock ; it was as though he had 
 uttered that " Come forth ! " into the ears of the 
 dead. 
 
 " Do you love me ? " His tone compelled an an 
 swer. 
 
 Sidney, looking at him as though she could not 
 take her eyes away from his, slowly shook her head. 
 The spell of the moment was lifted ; the sense of 
 power was gone. The young man was no longer 
 the creator, summoning life, but the lover, pleading, 
 fearing, scarcely daring to hope. 
 
 " Oh, you are not in earnest ? Think ! Don t 
 you, a little?" 
 
 " No." 
 
 Her voice was as the voice of one who dreams ; 
 but she knew, keenly and intensely, what she was 
 doing and saying. It was this knowledge which 
 brought the absorbed vacancy into her eyes. This, 
 then, was love ? this look in Alan s face ; this 
 strange earnestness, which was, she thought vaguely, 
 like anger ; this breathless pain in his voice. How 
 terrible was love ! " Alan, Alan," she said, " please 
 do not be so unhappy, please do not love me." 
 
 " Not love you ? Why, I should not be alive if I 
 did not love you, Sidney. It seems as if it were my 
 very soul, this love. Don t you care for me at all ? " 
 
 But already he despaired ; it did not need that 
 she should answer him, trembling, " Indeed, I do 
 
312 SIDNEY. 
 
 not ; truly I do not," to assure him that his entrea 
 ties fell upon ears which could not understand them. 
 He felt, watching the dismay growing in her calm 
 face, as though he had been telling his love to a 
 marble woman. For a moment he did not feel the 
 despair of a rejected lover. It seemed to him, look 
 ing at her passionless pity, as though the girl were 
 incapable of emotion ; there was something unhu- 
 man about it, which gave him, at the heart of his 
 love, a curious sense of repulsion. 
 
 " I am so sorry for you, Sidney," he heard himself 
 say ; and then he burst out once more : " Sidney, 
 you don t know what I am trying to tell you, you 
 don t know what love means ! But you must learn ; 
 let me teach you ? " He took her hand again, with 
 a gentleness which may come when love is great 
 enough to forget itself. 
 
 Sidney looked away, and sighed. " Alan, don t 
 say anything more." Her voice was so ultimate 
 that the young man was silenced for a moment ; then 
 he said simply, 
 
 " Don t you think you could learn to love me, Sid 
 ney?" 
 
 " Truly I don t," she answered. There were tears 
 in her eyes. Alan turned sharply away. 
 
 He went over to the window, and stood with his 
 hands behind him, staring into the garden. 
 
 The crystal ball in its ebony circle still flashed in 
 the sunshine ; the murmur of the bees and the scent 
 of flowers came in through the windows. Life and 
 the day went on ; little Susan was still singing in 
 the kitchen, and, like a green and flowing arras, the 
 
SIDNEY. 313 
 
 woodbine wavered in the wind. All was the same, 
 and yet, to this young man and woman, how infi 
 nitely and eternally different ! 
 
 " Alan? " Sidney said at last. 
 
 " Yes ? " he answered quietly, but he did not look 
 at her. 
 
 "I I think I must go to aunt Sally," she be 
 gan, her voice unsteady. 
 
 He turned quickly. " Wait one moment," he 
 said. " I want to write a prescription for her." 
 
 He sat down, and began to make queer cabalistic 
 marks upon his prescription paper. He did not lift 
 his eyes to hers ; the repression of the moment made 
 his face stern. "Will you have this filled, please?" 
 he said. 
 
 Sidney did not answer. A soul had revealed it 
 self to her in this last half hour ; all her twenty-five 
 years had brought her no such wisdom as had come 
 in these quick moments. What had been a word 
 to her, flashed before her eyes, a living creature. 
 Love had looked at her, had implored her. Sidney 
 had that feeling of escape which comes to one who 
 has seen another overwhelmed by a danger which he 
 fears. Alan left her with a very brief farewell ; 
 but she sat there by the window with the prescrip 
 tion paper in her hand, until long after the time her 
 aunt should have taken her medicine, sat there, 
 in fact, until Katherine Townsend, entering, with 
 an anxious look upon her face, asked her how Miss 
 Sally was. 
 
 Katherine had seen Alan, and when she heard 
 that Miss Sally was ill she said she would go to her 
 
314 SIDNEY. 
 
 at once. " For I am afraid," she added good-na 
 turedly, " that Miss Sidney Lee is too dreamy to be 
 of much use in a sick-room ? " 
 
 Alan was apparently too absorbed to express an 
 opinion. " Doctors think of nothing but their pa 
 tients," Katheririe complained to herself. She would 
 have been glad to talk of Sidney, who interested 
 her extremely, but Alan did not encourage her to 
 pursue the subject, and so she turned to an interest 
 and anxiety of her own. 
 
 " Dr. Crossan, I want to ask you something. Mrs. 
 Paul told me that that cousin Robert had broken 
 his engagement, and now you say Miss Sally is ill ; 
 and it almost seems But I would not believe 
 Mrs. Paul!" 
 
 Alan came back with a start; he had forgotten 
 Robert and Miss Sally too. " Mrs. Paul told me 
 the same thing, but it cannot be true. Miss Sally s 
 illness has nothing to do with any nervous condition. 
 She has a cold, and she is feverish ; pneumonia 
 is what I fear. Miss Townsend, I would not be 
 lieve such a thing of Robert, if he told me so him 
 self!" 
 
 Katherine s face brightened. " I thank you for 
 saying that. I don t think I really believed it, only 
 Mrs. Paul said But never mind that. Then it 
 is not broken off, you think ? " 
 
 "I don t know," Alan answered. " It may be at 
 an end ; Miss Sally may have broken it, you know. 
 I have n t seen Robert for a week. But Mrs. Paul 
 insinuated if you will pardon the word that 
 Steele had asked to be released, and of course that 
 
SIDNEY. 315 
 
 is impossible. I wonder why Mrs. Paul always puts 
 the worst construction upon everything ? " 
 
 Then, with a comment upon the weather, he left 
 her. It is odd what attention one can pay to the 
 commonplace, with one s soul in a tumult of pain. 
 He thought of Robert again, only to declare to him 
 self, briefly, that this thing Mrs. Paul had said was 
 obviously false ; and then he forgot him until later 
 in the afternoon when he reached home. 
 
 Robert Steele was waiting for him in their library. 
 He was resting his elbows on the table, and his face 
 was hidden in his hands. "Alan," he said, "how 
 is Miss Sally? I called there, and they told me 
 she was ill." 
 
 His manner confessed him. The doctor was flung 
 out of his trust and confidence. " She is ill," he 
 said sternly. " She is very much prostrated, also. I 
 suppose you know why that is ? " 
 
 " Yes, I know," answered the wretched man be 
 fore him. 
 
 Alan stared at him with dismay. " Steele, tell me 
 what this means. Is your engagement broken ? " 
 
 Yes." 
 
 " But it is not true that you did it ? That is 
 what is said, but of course it s a lie ! " 
 
 " It is true," returned Robert, running his finger 
 along the carving on the edge of the table, and not 
 lifting his head. 
 
 " Good heavens, Steele, what are you saying ? I 
 don t believe it ! You are an honorable man. It is 
 some piece of insane folly that you have fastened 
 upon yourself which has made her dismiss you. 
 
316 SIDNEY. 
 
 But then, why are you so miserable ? Did you " 
 he lowered his voice " did you love her, after 
 all?" 
 
 " No," answered the other, " I never loved her, 
 and I told her so. I told her that it had been a 
 mistake from the beginning." 
 
 Alan did not speak. 
 
 Robert raised his head. " Do you want me to go 
 away?" 
 
 Alan looked at him speechlessly. Robert did not 
 love Miss Sally? He realized that he had made a 
 mistake ? The doctor could easily believe all that, 
 but tell her! Was it not a sufficient injury to 
 fail in love without adding the insult of telling her 
 so ? His face grew darkly red. " I am done with 
 him," he thought. 
 
 44 Do you want me to go away ? " Robert repeated, 
 in a dull, hopeless voice. 
 
 " I do," said the doctor. 
 
 Without a word, Robert Steele rose and left the 
 room. 
 
XXIII. 
 
 "On, pray, Sidney," said Mrs. Paul, "don t look 
 so forlorn ; I have no patience with people who look 
 forlorn. Sally will do well enough. I don t know 
 why in the world she should keep Katherine with 
 her all the time. It s just like Sally to monopolize 
 any one. You do very well, my dear, but you are 
 not Katherine." 
 
 Mrs. Paul was in Scarlett s hands, sitting before 
 her mirror, holding her head very straight, and 
 looking sidewise at Sidney. 
 
 Alan said aunt Sally was not so well this morn 
 ing," Sidney answered, with persistent anxiety in 
 her face. 
 
 " Well, never mind ! Scarlett, have you no sense ? 
 That puff is crooked. She 11 be all right in a day 
 or two ; don t be foolish, Sidney. Now, can t you 
 persuade Katherine to come over? I don t want 
 you, if she can come. Besides, there is nothing of 
 any consequence the matter with Sally ; so cheer up 
 at once ; do you hear me ? " It was unpleasant to 
 have Sidney low-spirited, and so she took the trou 
 ble to administer comfort : " I tell you she will be 
 well in a day or two, child. So go and see if you 
 can t induce Katherine to come in for a while." 
 
 Sidney s life was too full of real things, just now, 
 for her to be hurt, or indeed aware that Mrs. Paul 
 
318 SIDNEY. 
 
 had very decidedly and completely dropped her. 
 The fact was, the older woman found an absorbing 
 interest in Katherine Townsend, who told her bitter 
 truths with a charming air, and refused to do as she 
 was bid with a high-handed indifference as perfect 
 as her own. Katherine had captured all her affec 
 tion and her pride. Sidney was stupid, Mrs. Paul 
 declared ; and instead of making herself miserable 
 over the failure of her plan to marry the girl to Mr. 
 Steele, or furthering the project of bringing dismay 
 to Major Lee by encouraging Alan s suit, she gave 
 herself up to the thoughts of John s marriage. Her 
 one desire was to put an end to the folly of " The 
 Independent Press," and make her son bring his 
 wife home. 
 
 " He never can support you, my dear," she told 
 Katherine ; " and though I love you, I won t be dic 
 tated to by Johnny. He has got to come to his 
 senses, if he wants me to continue his income." 
 
 Outwardly, Mrs. Paul had made a truce with her 
 son, and, by many contemptuous allusions to himself 
 and his plans, she tried to restore her old suprem 
 acy ; but things were not the same. During his 
 dutiful weekly visits he listened silently, as of old, 
 to her sneers, but there was a new look in his face, 
 which made her always conscious of that dreadful 
 scone between them. Even her praise of Katherine 
 did not move him to any friendliness, and he 
 scarcely replied to the entreaty, disguised as a com 
 mand, that he should live at home after his mar 
 riage. Indeed, Mrs. Paul could think of nothing 
 but this home-coming, and took every opportunity 
 
SIDNEY. 319 
 
 to urge it upon Katharine as well as John. So it 
 was really very annoying to have Sally Lee take it 
 into her head to fall ill at such a time, and claim 
 Kate so constantly. 
 
 " I am tired to death of hearing about Sally," she 
 announced, as Katherine, on Sunday afternoon, was 
 about to leave her, to go over to the other house. 
 44 1 wish she would get well, or or do without 
 you ! " 
 
 John looked at his mother with that interested 
 and impersonal curiosity which struck upon her 
 heart afresh each time she saw him, but Katherine 
 was ready with a reply. 
 
 44 How frank you are, dear Mrs. Paul! As for 
 me, I am afraid I try to hide my selfishness ; I am 
 such a coward that I assume a virtue. But I shall 
 have you for an example now." 
 
 44 My dear," returned Mrs. Paul, with a wicked 
 smile, 44 do not be discouraged : you are very much 
 like me ; we may even be mistaken for each other." 
 
 4 Do you think," cried Katherine, with a laugh, 
 44 that the recording angel can make any such mis 
 take? You should warn him, really." 
 
 44 Lord, Kate ! " said John, as they left the house, 
 and Katharine s impertinence sobered into anxiety, 
 and a little self-contempt as well, 44 how you do talk 
 to her ! " 
 
 44 The worst of it is," she confessed, 4 that what 
 she said is true. I am like her. Oh, dear ! why 
 am I not good, like Miss Sally, or true, like Sid 
 ney ? John, Sidney is so strange. She spoke to 
 me yesterday of love and death ; I suppose anxiety 
 
320 SIDNEY. 
 
 about her aunt put it into her mind. She said there 
 would be no sorrow in the world, if there were no 
 love. Just think no love ! It is dreadful that she 
 should be so morbid. Why can t she take life as 
 we do, and let the future alone ? " 
 
 " Yes," he answered, looking at her with simple 
 and honest tenderness, " life is a first-rate thing, and 
 the major I m fond of him, you know, Kate, but 
 really he is an old fool? And for him to have 
 taught Sidney all that trash it s too bad ! " 
 
 " Besides," Katherine went on, " there is heaven. 
 I never think of death unless I think of heaven ? " 
 
 John nodded. " Of course," he said, in his com 
 fortable, matter-of-fact way ; " but I never do think 
 of death, anyhow, unless I have a fit of indiges 
 tion, though I m sure I hope I m prepared for 
 it ; but it is morbid to think about it." 
 
 Nevertheless, with that word they fell into silence, 
 as though the inevitable shadow laid a solemn finger 
 upon their happy lips. 
 
 Sidney was indeed anxious about Miss Sally, but 
 there had been no thought of her aunt in the one or 
 two troubled words of death and love which she ven 
 tured to say to Katherine. Her mind was dwelling 
 constantly upon those words of Alan s. She felt a 
 trembling exultation as of escape from a great 
 calamity, but there was a consciousness in her face 
 that declared that at last the calm of her life was 
 broken. 
 
 Major Lee saw a change in her, and was quick, 
 although Sidney told him nothing, to connect it with 
 Alan. The little reserve in the doctor s manner 
 
SIDNEY. 321 
 
 gave the old man a sense of relief and assurance, 
 but he wished that Sidney saw fit to confide in him ; 
 and yet he felt, regretfully, that it would scarcely be 
 proper for her to do so. In his absorption in his 
 daughter, he was the last person to be affected by 
 Miss Sally s illness. To him it meant, for the most 
 part, that Alan seemed to find it necessary to make 
 a great many visits, and that his own meals had not 
 the punctuality to which he was accustomed. With 
 scrupulous exactness he asked Sidney every day 
 about her aunt, but her knowledge was almost as 
 vague as his. This was partly because it pained 
 her to hear bad news, and so she did not often 
 inquire of Katherine or of the doctor ; but mostly 
 because she kept out of Alan s way as much as she 
 possibly could. Once he met her in the library, 
 and told her briefly of Robert s broken engagement. 
 " I thought," he ended, u that you ought to know 
 about it. Miss Sally wishes, when she gets well, to 
 explain to the major the real reason that the engage 
 ment is broken ; she told me so the other day. I 
 am only to tell him now that it is at an end. But 
 you ought to know the truth, so that you need not 
 see Mr. Steele when he comes to ask for her. 
 Susan says he comes two or three times a day." 
 
 His face puzzled her. " Why do you speak so 
 fiercely ? Are you angry with Mr. Steele ? " 
 
 " Angry ? " cried Alan. " I despise him ! I am 
 done with him ! " 
 
 u But why ? " 
 
 " Why did he do it, do you mean ? Because he 
 I can hardly speak of him ! he felt that he did 
 not love her." 
 
322 SIDNEY. 
 
 " Well ? " she questioned gravely. 
 
 " He did a dishonorable thing, Sidney ; to break 
 his engagement was dishonorable." 
 
 " Was it ? " with a doubtful look. " Why, Alan, 
 I should call it dishonorable not to have told aunt 
 Sally?" 
 
 " I despair of making you understand life," he 
 said, love so impatient in his eyes for hope had 
 grown again, after that first dismay that the young 
 woman, in sudden terror, left him, without the ques 
 tion she wanted to ask of Miss Sally s condition. 
 
 Alan s pity and tenderness were giving Miss Sally 
 a joy which she had never known before, and her 
 small confidences came as naturally to her lips as 
 though the young man were her brother. " Alan 
 understands," she said to herself, with a sigh of com 
 fort and relief. He never made her feel how foolish 
 she was, she thought, although, of course, he was so 
 much wiser than she. To her timid suggestion that 
 for such symptoms as hers her manual prescribed 
 coffea, the two hundredth potency, he listened with 
 " as much respect as if she had been Mrs. Paul ! " 
 He never even smiled, when she said, looking up at 
 him with wistful entreaty that he would be patient 
 with her, that the little pills in the vial labeled 1 
 were for certain disorders of the left side of the body, 
 and those in the vial labeled 2 for indispositions of 
 the right side. It was curious to see with what gen 
 tle pertinacity she clung to her belief in the manual, 
 although admitting, with a contradiction which in its 
 entire unconsciousness was distinctively feminine, 
 that Alan knew far more than did the writer of her 
 
SIDNEY. 323 
 
 beloved volume. It was on the third or fourth day 
 after she was taken ill that she had said to the 
 young man in a hoarse voice, that she had some 
 thing to tell him when they were alone. So the doc 
 tor was instant to send Katherine out of the room, 
 upon some excuse, and then to take Miss Sally s lit 
 tle hot hand and wait for whatever she might have 
 to say. She looked up at him appealingly, and with 
 a face upon which a veil of years seemed suddenly 
 to have fallen. 
 
 " Where is Mr. Steele ? " she said. 
 
 Alan flushed. "I do not know, Miss Sally." 
 
 " I m afraid he is not happy," she went on, appar 
 ently taking for granted the doctor s knowledge of 
 the broken engagement ; " but he was so good, Alan, 
 so good and kind to me. And he did just what was 
 right. It would have been cruel to have deceived 
 me, when I trusted him." Alan was silent. " But 
 what I wanted to say was, that I m afraid Mortimer 
 would n t understand, and and I don t want him 
 to know that it was Mr. Steele who who did it. 
 You know what I mean, Alan. I 11 explain, when 
 I get well ; but will you just tell Mortimer now that 
 I that I didn t want to get married? He won t 
 blame me. He 11 think I am wise." She smiled 
 a little as she spoke, and closed her eyes, as though 
 she were tired ; but in a moment she looked up 
 brightly. " Will you please give Mr. Steele my love, 
 Alan?" 
 
 If Miss Sally had been able to think, she must 
 have had enough worldly wisdom to see the apparent 
 connection between her illness and her broken en- 
 
324 SIDNEY. 
 
 gagement, and to have explained her honest and 
 mortifying relief. As it was, she concerned herself 
 only with facts ; and the little plea made for her old 
 lover, she fell asleep. 
 
 Alan, with a brevity which concealed the truth, 
 told the major that Miss Sally desired him to know 
 she had felt it best that her engagement with Mr. 
 Steele should come to an end, and the major received 
 it as briefly. " I have no doubt my sister acts wisely 
 in this matter." He would not let Alan fancy that 
 he could blame a woman of his own house, but he 
 was annoyed at what he thought of as Miss Sally s 
 changeableness. He made up his mind that he 
 would speak of this to Sarah as soon as she was 
 about again. 
 
 There are some persons whose place in the world 
 is so small that it is not easy to fancy they may die, 
 and Major Lee never thought of his sister in connec 
 tion with anything so great as death. It was only 
 Alan who saw how seriously ill she was. 
 
 One day, Miss Sally had been sick for more 
 than a week, and the household had fallen into that 
 acceptance of discomfort which comes with an illness 
 which promises to be long, Sidney met the doctor 
 on the staircase, just after he had left her aunt s 
 room. He looked troubled, and for a moment did 
 not seem to notice her ; then his face brightened, in 
 spite of his anxiety. 
 
 " I want to see you a moment, Sidney. Come 
 into the library, won t you 9 " 
 
 "I am just going to aunt Sally," she answered 
 quickly. She was on the first landing, where the 
 
SIDNEY. 325 
 
 great square window with a fan-light over its many 
 little leaded panes, opened outwards and let a flood 
 of June scents and sunshine pour down into the 
 dusky silence of the hall. She did not look up at 
 him, as he stood on the step above her, his hand rest 
 ing on the stair rail, and his serious eyes searching 
 her face. 
 
 " Then sit down here." He pointed to the broad 
 cushioned seat that ran across the window. " I want 
 to ask you about Miss Sally." 
 
 Sidney sat down, reluctantly ; but she looked away 
 from him at a trailing spray of woodbine which 
 crept along the window-sill. One hand, with up 
 turned palm, lay idly in her lap, and the other 
 plucked at the leaves of the vine. 
 
 "I am really alarmed about Miss Sally," said 
 Alan. " I want to ask the major to let me bring in 
 some other doctor, so that we may consult. I don t 
 know whom he would prefer, and I must not wait 
 until evening to see him. I thought you might tell 
 me whom he would like to have me call in ? " 
 
 Sidney had had no experience with sickness, and 
 she did not have the heart-sinking with which one 
 hears that a consultation must be called. On the 
 contrary, she was so much relieved that Alan chose 
 this, instead of that other subject, that she looked 
 directly at him. " I am sure she is better, Alan : 
 she does not talk so much ; you said she talked be 
 cause she was feverish." 
 
 " She is a good deal worse," he answered decid 
 edly ; " to tell you the truth, I am very anxious 
 about her." 
 
326 SIDNEY. 
 
 Sidney s face whitened. "Is she going to die?" 
 she said, almost in a whisper. 
 
 " I hope not, I hope not ! " cried the young 
 man. " But we must do all we can ; and so I want 
 to call iii some one else." 
 
 Sidney nodded ; she could not speak. Alan 
 looked up and down the stairs, and over his shoulder 
 into the garden. Then, leaning forward, he took her 
 hand in a quick grasp. 
 
 " Sidney, have you thought, have you thought 
 again ? " The speechless reproach in her eyes could 
 not silence him. " I had not meant to say anything 
 just now ; but oh, Sidney ? " He felt the protest 
 of her silence. " I can t help it. I I love you, 
 and I can t help telling you about it ; perhaps it 
 will teach you to care a little ? " 
 
 " Alan," said the girl, her voice trembling, " won t 
 you please let go of my hand ? " 
 
 He released it, but he lifted it to his lips and 
 kissed her soft white wrist with sudden passion and 
 instant compunction. " Oh, Sidney, I ought not to 
 have done that. I won t do it again " 
 
 A kiss is a wonderful thing. Sidney turned 
 white and red ; her eyes filled, and her breath came 
 in a sob in her round throat. For a moment nei 
 ther of them had any words. The sun, pouring in 
 through the great window, fell in a pool of gold at 
 the foot of the bare, dark staircase, where a jug of 
 roses stood on a spindle-legged table ; the tarnished 
 gilt of the picture-frames along the wall showed in 
 straight glimmering lines ; all was so still down in 
 the dusky hall, one could see the motes floating in 
 the long bar of sunshine. 
 
SIDNEY. 327 
 
 " Sidney ? " he entreated softly. 
 
 She glanced at him hurriedly, and then out at 
 the fragrant tangle of the garden. 
 
 " I ve been thinking ever since," she said, with 
 simple directness, "and it has seemed to me that 
 you did n t know what you were saying, and I felt 
 as though I wanted to tell you how foolish you were, 
 Alan." She was so earnest that he smiled. " I felt 
 as though you did not understand, you had not 
 thought, how dreadful it is to care for any one. 
 And I I thought I would explain to you. Oh, 
 listen to me, don t interrupt me ! Oh, Alan, love 
 is so terrible ! " 
 
 "No, you mean that grief is terrible," he pro 
 tested. " Love is only good and beautiful." 
 
 " There would be no grief if there were no love. 
 Love means grief ; it means fear. Oh, truly, I do 
 not see how sane people can deliberately invite suf 
 fering by loving each other." 
 
 " But, Sidney," he interposed, " we don t keep 
 thinking of death all the time ; it is n t natural it 
 is n t " - 
 
 " Oh, but, Alan," she cried, her voice breaking, 
 " death is coming, whether we think of it or not. 
 Why, it seems to me, if some being from another 
 world could look down at us, and see us actually 
 planning our grief and misery, arranging for it by 
 loving each other, it would be horrible ; but it would 
 be it would be almost something to laugh at ! 
 And yet that is just what you would do." 
 
 The young man looked at her in despair ; he knew 
 not how to oppose to this unhuman reasonableness 
 
328 SIDNEY. 
 
 and calm reality (a reality life studiously ignores), 
 that passion of unreason called love. 
 
 "To teach any one to love," Sidney went on, 
 " seems to me selfish ; indeed, it does. How could 
 I, if I cared for you, how could I let you love 
 me, when I know that it would mean, some time, 
 sorrow or fear for you ? We are such friends, you 
 and I, I can t bear to think that you might suffer, I 
 can t bear to make you unhappy." She had risen, 
 and stood looking down at him, her face quivering 
 with tears. " Oh, how can people bear life ? Father 
 is the only person in the world I love, and when I 
 think, when I remember, that perhaps he will he 
 will Oh, I cannot say it ! When I know that I 
 fear that, then I say to myself, I will suffer only 
 once ; sorrow shall never come to me again. Alan, 
 Alan, I do not love you, and I never will love you ; 
 and I would not, for anything this world could offer 
 me!" 
 
 Even as he listened, he knew in his soul that this 
 terrified, entreating woman loved him ; he knew it 
 with a sudden pain about his heart that made his face 
 gray. He could not speak, except to say, brokenly, 
 " It is nothing ; do not be alarmed." 
 
 Sidney, in the terror of ignorance, knew not what 
 to say or do. " What is it ? Oh Alan ! what is 
 the matter?" 
 
 He caught his breath, and tried to speak, to reas 
 sure her, but could only motion with his hand, as 
 though to say again, " It is nothing ; " and then, 
 almost before Sidney realized that it had come, the 
 attack was ended, although his breath was still la 
 bored and his face haggard. 
 
SIDNEY. 329 
 
 In that instant, Alan Crossan came face to face 
 with great realities. The physician claimed the con 
 sciousness of the lover. He thought, in a sudden 
 flash of intelligence, that he knew what this increas 
 ing pain and hurrying breath foretold. It meant 
 that he had asked Sidney to give him what might be 
 only a few months of happiness, and at the cost of 
 lasting grief to her. He could not collect his 
 thoughts enough to reply to her, with this horrible 
 spasm still lingering at his heart, yet he knew that 
 he exulted and resigned at once. 
 
 A moment later, he answered her, his beautiful 
 dark eyes radiant with gladness : " My own Sidney, 
 you are not right, not right ; love is worth the cost. 
 One does not think of the end with the hope of 
 many years together. But if there may not be 
 many years, then it is not for you to withhold it ; it 
 is for me to resign it. So don t grieve ; I will not 
 let you love me, Sidney." 
 
XXIV. 
 
 UNTIL that day when he promised Sidney that she 
 should not love him, Alan had felt incapable of de 
 livering Miss Sally s message to Robert. He had 
 seen his old friend once or twice in the street, or 
 corning out of the major s gate, and had given him 
 some stern, brief greeting, but nothing more ; no 
 encouragement, no reproof, no reproach. He knew 
 where Robert was staying, and was careful to avoid 
 that part of the town. Such avoidance was really, 
 although the doctor did not know it, the protest of a 
 possibility, the fear that he might forgive him. But 
 after those moments with Sidney upon the landing 
 of the stairs, after his glimpse of death and life and 
 love together, Alan entered into that exalted silence 
 which accompanies the glory of renunciation, and in 
 which a man girds himself with joy for any duty. 
 
 So, towards evening, still very much weakened 
 by that terrible pain about his heart, he went to find 
 Mr. Steele, that he might tell him what Miss Sally 
 had said. When he reached Robert s door, a new, 
 or rather a very old, tenderness began to assert itself 
 in his heart. " Poor Bob ! " he said to himself 
 once ; adding fiercely, " He deserves all he gets ! " 
 
 Robert was sitting listlessly at his desk. He 
 looked up, as the doctor entered, with a terrified 
 question in his eyes. " No," said Alan curtly, " but 
 
SIDNEY. 331 
 
 she s worse. I am here she sent me here to say 
 that you did right, that you were always kind 
 and good, " Robert dropped his head into his 
 hands, and Alan, with satisfaction, observed that at 
 every word the iron entered deeper into his soul, 
 " kind and good, she said ; and she sent her love 
 to you." 
 
 " She is going to die ? " the other asked, at last. 
 
 " Probably." And then silence. 
 
 After a while Robert looked up. "I thank you 
 for coming." His face was so changed and strained, 
 so haggard, and, worse than all, so stamped by the 
 relief which he had sought, that something blurred. 
 Alan s eyes for one quick instant. 
 
 "My God, Steele! why did you do it?" he de 
 manded. 
 
 " I had no right to deceive her," Robert an 
 swered. " She was going to marry me because she 
 thought I loved her. I did not love her. I had to 
 tell her so." There was no question in his voice ; 
 only dull despair that the inevitable should have 
 fallen upon him. 
 
 " I cannot grasp it ! " Alan cried ; and then, 
 remembering, " So this is what you asked my ad 
 vice about, and I spoke of the picture or the 
 jewel?" 
 
 The other assented, absently. He had no thought 
 of sharing his responsibility. 
 
 Alan struggled with instinct and affection. Rob 
 ert had been dishonorable, but he was Robert! 
 " Bob, I know you meant what was right ; I I 
 understand, old fellow, but I can t forget it, ever, 
 
332 SIDNEY. 
 
 nor forgive it. You must have a friend who is 
 greater than I. You must let me go, Bob." 
 
 Robert Steele s lack-lustre eyes stared blankly at 
 the emotion in the doctor s face. " Very well," he 
 said. 
 
 It was a comment upon the power of that moment 
 which had so shaken Alan s soul, that he felt no 
 repulsion as be saw this betrayal of the return to 
 weakness and vice. He grasped the listless hand of 
 the miserable man before him, and held it hard in 
 his. " I will trust your motives so long as I live, 
 but I detest the expression of them." 
 
 He turned as though to leave him ; he was too 
 much moved even to warn or entreat his friend to 
 shake off the habit which was fastening upon him 
 again. Alan s hand was on the door, when Robert, 
 smiling dully, spoke : " I ve gone back to hell, 
 Alan. It is retribution ; it is just." 
 
 " You shall not go back to hell ! " cried the other. 
 " I will not let you go ! " 
 
 He turned, and came again to Robert s side. 
 Neither of the men spoke : Alan because he could 
 not ; but the other, his head bowed upon his hands, 
 was apparently as indifferent to silence as he had 
 been to words. At last the doctor began to speak, 
 and told him, pitifully and truly, all about Miss 
 Sally, and how little hope there was. Yet Alan 
 had to learn, as many another eager and forgiving 
 soul has learned, with tears, that forgiveness may 
 not sweep away the fact; a good deed and a bad 
 deed have, equally, the permanence of the past. 
 His friend seemed to listen, but made no comment. 
 
SIDNEY. 333 
 
 Alan s tenderness, even his remorse for his harsh 
 ness, could make no difference to Robert in this 
 stress of fate. He had wounded, insulted, humili 
 ated, the woman who trusted him : and now she 
 was dying. He scarcely noticed when Alan left 
 him, with that speechless sympathy of the grasp of 
 a hand which is better than brave words. 
 
 The drift of circumstances in these June days 
 brought Miss Sally into the very centre of her small 
 world ; and when her patient feet went down into 
 the valley of death every one s thoughts were upon 
 her. Perhaps it is the possibilities of the Great 
 Silence which so dignify the most insignificant liv 
 ing thing. Miss Sally had never, in all her useful 
 life, commanded such respect as now when her use 
 fulness was drawing to an end. Her dignity silenced 
 even Mrs. Paul, sitting alone in her big drawing- 
 room, and forgetting to rail at neglect which once 
 would have infuriated her ; for of course Sidney 
 could not leave her aunt, and Katherine was always 
 at the major s when not giving a lesson. Once Mrs. 
 Paul had cried out impatiently at Sally s selfishness 
 in keeping her ; but Katherine s quick indignation 
 had silenced, even while it delighted, the old woman. 
 
 Katherine still kept up her teaching, to the annoy 
 ance of Mrs. Paul, and the great but protesting 
 admiration of Mrs. Paul s son. To be sure, there 
 was one pupil less, as Eliza Jennings had ceased to 
 experiment upon the organ with twenty-two stops. 
 Katherine told John that Eliza had dropped her, 
 but she did not see fit to add why. Indeed, it 
 would have needed a more subtle mind than Kath- 
 
334 SIDNEY. 
 
 erine Townsend s to have understood why it was 
 that, under all her amusement at the silly little mil 
 liner, under her laughter at having been dismissed 
 " without a character," there was a feeling very 
 much like anger when she reflected that Eliza had 
 said she was " in love with Mr. Paul." This was 
 far below the surface. Katherine s mind and heart 
 were too full, while Miss Sally lay dying, to give 
 way to such folly ; whereas Eliza had nothing to 
 keep her thoughts from preying upon her own 
 humiliation. Her little freckled face tingled when 
 ever her eyes rested on her organ, which she abso 
 lutely refused to open. In vain did her mother 
 implore her to play the hymns with which it was 
 their custom to end every Sunday evening, or to 
 practice " just a bit, to keep your hand in, Liza." 
 
 " No, ma am," returned her daughter sternly. " I 
 ain t got any music in me, nowadays." 
 
 She said this with such a bitter look that Mrs. 
 Jennings almost wept. Indeed, Eliza s disappoint 
 ment, which expressed itself by filial disapproval, 
 wore so upon her mother that Mrs. Jennings face 
 really looked thinner; her small, twinkling eyes, 
 rimmed with red, grew larger, and their short lashes 
 held very often a glitter of tears. Both mother and 
 daughter had heard that Mr. Paul was to marry 
 Miss Townsend. Mrs. Jennings did not attempt to 
 conceal her anger and spite, but the little milliner 
 set her lips and fell into stony silences, which terri 
 fied her mother. Everything had come to an end, 
 Eliza told herself. To be sure, she still occasionally 
 saw John Paul s burly figure lounging across the 
 
SIDNEY. 335 
 
 bridge and hurrying towards Red Lane ; but what 
 was that to her, if he loved " Another " ? So she 
 let her mother take the toll, and turned her eyes 
 away, lest she might have to say good -after noon. 
 She had nothing now this in the diary in violet 
 ink and underlined " to live for." So, as one 
 will fill a vacant life with anything, she thought 
 much of Job Todd. 
 
 One day> it was towards the end of June, 
 Mrs. Jennings was more than usually unhappy about 
 her daughter. Eliza had been very morose for two 
 days. That morning she ate her breakfast in si 
 lence, and then started out for a walk, at least so 
 her mother supposed; but Eliza vouchsafed no 
 information concerning her plans, although Mrs. 
 Jennings hinted timidly that the gooseberries and 
 black currants ought to be picked, and she did n t 
 know but what Eliza would like to do it ? Eliza, 
 however, ignored the veiled entreaty that she should 
 help her mother in the tiresome task. So Mrs. Jen 
 nings, when she was alone, with a sigh which seemed 
 to struggle up from the soles of her feet, took her 
 shining tin bucket, and went out into the garden to 
 do the work herself. The black currant bushes 
 stood in a row along one of the winding paths, and 
 although it was inconvenient to peer through the 
 leaves, Mrs. Jennings, sitting on the ground and 
 holding the pail between her knees, could still keep 
 an eye on the toll-house window, in case any one 
 wanted to change a nickel. Again she sighed ; she 
 wished Eliza could have stayed at home just this 
 once. The soft roughness of the musky leaves was 
 
336 SIDNEY. 
 
 still gleaming with dew, and when she began to 
 pluck the black shining clusters, her hand and 
 sleeve were wet. There was a bush beside her, of 
 big pink flowers, with the pungent scent of peach 
 kernels. Mrs. Jennings called them " piano-roses ; " 
 and she glanced at them as one regards, listlessly, 
 an outgrown interest ; then she stopped to smell a 
 spray of lad s love, and stick it in her bosom, but it 
 was from habit rather than any enjoyment of sum 
 mer sights and scents. On her fat left hand the 
 narrow thread of her wedding ring was sunk deep 
 into the flesh. Mrs. Jennings eyes filled as she 
 looked at it. " I do believe I 11 get thin," she 
 thought ; looking as unhappy as a very stout woman 
 may. (It is strange what poignant misery this 
 thought of lessening weight indicates in a large per 
 son.) But her self-pity never reproached Eliza. 
 
 The hot sunshine and the glitter of the river be 
 low, the glow of her poppies and lady s-slippers, and 
 even the loaded branches of the black currants failed 
 to cheer her. She picked the fruit with dreary 
 steadiness, winking away her tears now and then, 
 and thinking all the while of Eliza. 
 
 The hour among the currant bushes seemed very 
 long to Mrs. Jennings, and she was glad at last to 
 go back to the house, and begin to make her jam 
 and jelly. Still Eliza did not come home. Mrs. 
 Jennings was not an imaginative person, but her 
 anxiety during the last two months because of her 
 daughter s trouble, and her forlorn dismay at being 
 disapproved of, had made her really quite nervous ; 
 that is, if nerves are ever found in such depths of 
 
SIDNEY. 337 
 
 flesh. At all events, she began to be tremulous and 
 frightened ; she glanced often out of the window, 
 along the footpath of the bridge, and once or twice 
 she walked to the little gate, and, shading her eyes 
 with her hands, looked up and down the dusty white 
 road. But there was no sign of Eliza. She found 
 herself remembering with cruel persistency that 
 winter afternoon when the handsome gentleman 
 jumped from the bridge into the river, because a poor 
 girl had tried to take her own life. Mrs. Jennings 
 shivered and gasped, and went back into her spot 
 lessly clean little kitchen to stir the black currant 
 jam. Once she heard a noise upon the bridge, and 
 rushed breathless to the toll window, with a horrible 
 vision of her Eliza being borne home, drowned ! 
 Her slow, unused imagination showed her the drip 
 ping,- clinging garments, the loosened hair, even that 
 strange sneer with which, through their half -closed 
 eyes, the dead sometimes regard the living. She 
 was experiencing that quickening of the mind which 
 comes under the spur of terror or grief ; indeed, her 
 anxiety had brought a sort of refinement into her 
 face. The noise, however, was only because a flock 
 of sheep was being driven to the shambles. She 
 stood and watched them, staring into the gloom of 
 the covered bridge. Dusky lines of sunshine 
 stretched down into the darkness from the small 
 barred windows in the roof ; they were so clearly de 
 fined that the poor silly sheep, trampling and run 
 ning, leaped over them, one after another. In the 
 past this had often diverted Mrs. Jennings, but it 
 could not divert her now. 
 
338 SIDNEY. 
 
 The drove of sheep came out into the glare of sun 
 shine, a cloud of dust following them up the road ; 
 and then all was still again, only the splash of the 
 river and the slow bubble of the jam in the kitchen. 
 
 Mrs. Jennings could not stand the strain. She 
 dropped into the big rocking-chair, and burst into 
 tears. Rocking and sobbing, she did not hear Eliza 
 enter ; but when the little milliner spoke, the change 
 in her voice electrified her mother. 
 
 "Ma," said Eliza; then she put her hand behind 
 her, and thrust forward, bashful and uncomfortable, 
 Job Todd. 
 
 " La ! " gasped Mrs. Jennings. 
 
 " Yes," returned Eliza gleefully. " Job s building 
 way up at the end of Red Lane, an I was walking 
 up there ; an an then I coaxed him to come here 
 to dinner." 
 
 " Thank the Lord! " said Mrs. Jennings devoutly. 
 " That s just right. An he shall have the best din 
 ner he ever had in his life." 
 
 Job protested, but suffered her to put him in the 
 chair she promptly vacated for him; he then ac 
 cepted Eliza s offer of cake, and received a fan from 
 Mrs. Jennings hand. The two women said nothing 
 to each other, but both beamed with happiness, and 
 seemed to consider Job Todd an object of the tender- 
 est solicitude. Apparently, they thought that he 
 had been through such an exhausting morning that 
 he needed refreshment and repose. Eliza told her 
 mother to hurry and get dinner, " and," she added, 
 u I 11 play the organ, so Job can rest." Eliza blushed 
 so prettily as she assumed this air of proprietorship 
 
SIDNEY. 339 
 
 that Mrs. Jennings, before she prepared the dinner, 
 even before she removed the kettles of jam and jelly 
 from the stove, knelt slowly and heavily down by the 
 dresser in the kitchen, and, hiding* her face in her 
 hands, breathed a very humble and grateful prayer. 
 
 That was a great day at the toll-house. Job spent 
 the whole afternoon in the sitting-room, rocking ve 
 hemently in the big chair, or sitting on the horse 
 hair sofa, at Eliza s side. Once or twice, Mrs. Jen 
 nings, first coughing outside the door, ventured to 
 enter, just to see her darling s happiness and to 
 assure herself that she was forgiven. In Mrs. Jen 
 nings circle, the formality of asking and receiving 
 pardon is not often observed. 
 
 In Eliza s mind, however, the end for which this 
 whole blissful day had been created was the manner 
 in which the evening was to be spent. By dint of 
 entreaties and a little pouting, she persuaded Job to 
 go with her to tell Miss Katherine Townsend the 
 great news. " I want her to know it first of all," 
 she confessed, sitting on Job s knee and hiding her 
 face in his shoulder. Of course she did not explain 
 why she wished Miss Townsend to be told, nor did 
 she yield to Job s suggestion that it would be just as 
 well to go the next night. She was shrewd enough 
 to be perfectly certain that her plan must be carried 
 out on this especial evening, or not at all. This first 
 day was an occasion so solemn, so important, so un 
 comfortable, that Job could be induced to bear 
 almost anything. To-morrow it would be quite dif 
 ferent. So when, at Miss Townsend s door, Maria 
 told them that her mistress was not at home, Eliza 
 
340 SIDNEY. 
 
 had one moment of blank dismay, while Job s honest 
 face began to brighten. But the milliner was equal 
 to the occasion. 
 
 " Where is she ? " she demanded, and Mr. Todd s 
 jaw dropped. 
 
 Maria mournfully directed her to Major Lee s 
 house, adding that somebody was sick there, and 
 
 " Never mind," said Eliza ; " we re just going to 
 the door," and, taking Job s arm, she marched off 
 triumphantly. 
 
 " Well, now, do ye know, really, it seems to me," 
 observed her lover, " I ain t sure but what it would 
 be as well to just fetch up with a walk, stead of 
 making a call, Liza ? " This with a tender look ; 
 but Eliza was firm. 
 
 It was quite dark when they reached Major Lee s, 
 and under the heavy shadows of the ailantus the un- 
 lighted house looked blank and forbidding. There 
 had been no thought of lights in the library, that 
 night, or in the hall ; only in the dining-room, where 
 the little group about the table spoke in hushed 
 voices, and fell into long silences. 
 
 Miss Sally was very ill ; Miss Sally was dying. 
 Alan had told Major Lee so, and Katherine. He 
 could not tell Sidney yet ; he would not let her give 
 up hope. He had come down from Miss Sally s 
 room for a cup of tea, and Sidney slipped upstairs to 
 her aunt as he entered. Major Lee was pacing rest 
 lessly up and down. Katherine and John sat silently 
 watching Alan, as he hurriedly ate and drank. 
 
 It was just then that little Susan, trembling in a 
 way that told her terror as well as her grief, pushed 
 
SIDNEY. 341 
 
 the door open and looked into the room. It was a 
 comfort to see the people, Susan thought, now, while 
 Miss Sally lay dying upstairs, even if it were only to 
 say there was somebody waiting at the door. " If 
 it had been any one else that was that was 
 dyin , Miss Sally would n t a let a girl sit all alone 
 in that big kitchen," she thought, with a sob, looking 
 fearfully over her shoulder at the shadows on the 
 staircase. 
 
 "Miss Townsend," she said, "there s a lady and 
 gentleman to see you, but they won t come in." 
 
 "To see me?" Katherine answered, surprised, 
 and rising. 
 
 " Shall I not go for you ? " John asked, with that 
 lowered voice which is the tribute of life to death ; 
 but she shook her head. 
 
 She waited for Susan to follow her with a lamp, 
 and then went to the front door, which the servant, 
 uncertain of the character of these callers, had 
 closed, leaving them standing on the porch. 
 
 Neither Job nor Eliza could see the anxiety in 
 Katherine s face, for taking the lamp from Susan, 
 she held it so that the light fell only upon her vis 
 itors ; but the man was more sensitive than the 
 woman, and felt instinctively that they had made a 
 mistake in coming:. He shifted from one foot to the 
 
 O 
 
 other, and would have shrunk behind his sweet 
 heart, had she permitted it. But Eliza had no 
 intention of permitting it. She put her little rough 
 hand upon his arm and pulled him forward. 
 
 " Miss Townsend," she said, an unusual glitter in 
 her eyes and a hint of boldness in her voice, " we 
 
342 SIDXEY. 
 
 came. Job and me, to tell you to t*U you" 
 Eliza hung her head. 
 
 * Yes, Eliza ? "" Katheriiie answered, guessing the 
 news at once, but too sad and too absorbed to ex 
 press the pleasure she really felt. 
 
 We are engaged ! " burst out Eliza, 4% Miss 
 Townsend. we re engaged, and we expect to be mar 
 ried." 
 
 " Liza would come to tell you," Job objected 
 feebly. 
 
 "She knew I would be glad to hear it," said 
 Katherine : and then she added some kind and 
 pleasant things, and Eliza, to her great surprise, 
 felt all the old love and respect come back with a 
 rush. 
 
 "You are real good. Miss Townsend," she de 
 clared, and squeezed her teacher s hand between her 
 own. " Ain t she good. Job ? ? 
 
 *"I was always saying that," Job answered gal 
 lantly, feeling really very happy. 
 
 Katherine was honestly glad of little Eliza s hap 
 piness, but she was astounded to find something 
 beside gladness in her heart ; was it possible that it 
 was relief? * Well," she thought, listening to Job s 
 clumsy praises of his betrothed, " after all, there is 
 nothing which can surprise one so much as to dis 
 cover one s own possibilities. Heaven knows what 
 crime I may be capable of. if I have resented Eliza s 
 nonsense ! " 
 
 She smiled at the lovers in the kindest way, and 
 then, with a word of there being sickness in the 
 house, dismissed them ; for it was evident that Eliza 
 was willing to linger for further display of her joy. 
 
SIDNEY. 343 
 
 Katherine stood in the doorway a moment, hold 
 ing the lamp high above her head, so that her guests 
 might see their way across the courtyard to the 
 gate ; but as she turned to go into the house, she 
 was startled to see a dark figure approach her from 
 the distant end of the piazza. 
 
 " Who .is it ? " she said quickly ; and then, 
 44 Cousin Robert ! " 
 
 " How is she now ? " he said hoarsely. His face 
 was wrung and torn by suffering, and the tears 
 sprang to Katherine s eyes. 
 
 44 Oh, have you been out here all alone ? Come 
 in, come in." 
 
 He shook his head. 44 Is it over ? Is she dead ? 
 
 44 Xo, oh, no ! " cried Katherine. 
 
 44 She is dying, I know that ; Alan told me." 
 
 Katherine could not answer him, for tears. 
 
 44 1 have killed her, Kate," he said dully. 
 
 44 Dear cousin Robert," she entreated, 44 don t stay 
 here in the darkness ; come in, and wait and pray 
 with us. We all love her, and while there is life, 
 you know" She forgot that John Paul was 
 within, - John Paul, who had called this agonized 
 soul "a man too contemptible* for contempt." 
 44 Come in, come in ; don t stay out here by your 
 self. She would be grieved to know that you suf 
 fered so." 
 
 44 She would be grieved ? " His voice broke into 
 a cry. 4t At least she does not know it at least 
 she is spared that ! " 
 
 And then he turned back into the night. 
 
XXV. 
 
 SIDNEY said, very quietly, that she would sit up 
 with Miss Sally that night. Heretofore, Katherine 
 and Scarlett had divided the watching- between them, 
 and for the last two nights Alan had not left the 
 house ; but it was a matter of course to every one 
 that Sidney should rest, and, so far as the others 
 knew, she had done so. At least, she had gone to 
 her room. But Sidney was living too intensely, 
 easily to lose herself in sleep. She was leaving her 
 old life to go out into a wider living, and she found 
 Death standing on the threshold. Love did not 
 oppose him, but human instinct did. Her neglect 
 of her aunt, of the pitiful little love which was 
 drifting away from her, stung her with intolerable 
 impatience. She felt that helpless impulse to go 
 back into the past which comes with the sense of 
 duty left undone.; and the consciousness of the futil 
 ity of such an impulse is almost anger. It could 
 not be too late. She must do something, say some 
 thing now ! Yet, there being no love in her heart, 
 this effort was, although she was not aware of it, for 
 her own relief rather than for Miss Sally s happi 
 ness. Again and again, before the dull stupor 
 drowned her aunt s unfailing tenderness, Sidney 
 had tried, in broken, hesitating words, to say, "I 
 am sorry forgive me." But Miss Sally never 
 
SIDNEY. 345 
 
 seemed to understand ; she was only feebly con 
 cerned that her darling should be sorry about any 
 thing. That Sidney could blame herself because 
 she had neglected her aunt was not credible to Miss 
 Sally, whose life had been too full of the gladness of 
 giving to realize that there had been no receiving in 
 it. 
 
 As Sidney watched the relentless days carry her 
 opportunity away from her, the pain of self-know 
 ledge grew unbearable. Alan had told her she was 
 selfish ? Oh, he did not know how selfish she was ; 
 no one knew it but herself. The burden of a hu 
 man soul fell upon her, the knowledge of good 
 and evil. 
 
 Her remorse filled her with a mysterious fear. 
 It was something outside herself, terrible, inescap 
 able ; with it was an insistent suggestion of some 
 different line of conduct, which confused her by its 
 contradiction of all which had been the purpose of 
 her life. What was this impulse to self-sacrifice 
 against which she had always opposed herself, as 
 one who beats against an unseen wind ? To turn 
 and advance with it might be peace, for setting her 
 self against it had brought dismay ; but the recogni 
 tion of such an impulse filled her with the terror of 
 the Unknown. 
 
 She saw the unloveliness of selfishness, and was 
 quick to turn away from it, with an aesthetic percep 
 tion of the beauty of holiness. Goodness com 
 mended itself to her ; she would be good, she would 
 be unselfish. She could not comprehend why, this 
 resolution made, pain should still dominate her con- 
 
346 SIDNEY. 
 
 sciousness. Anger and fear lifted her out of her 
 self ; it was the same tumult of emotion which had 
 clamored in her soul when Love had first whispered 
 to her. 
 
 Miss Sally s dim realization of Sidney s pain was 
 too indistinct even for her sweet forgiveness, which 
 would have protested that there was nothing to for 
 give. She liked just to rest, she said, and let Sid 
 ney read the daily chapter in the Bible to her ; or, 
 sometimes, to listen to a word or two from Mr. 
 Brown, who came often, in these last few days, to 
 see her. It was Mr. Brown s presence which 
 pointed out the future to Miss Sally. 
 
 " Why, am I very sick, Alan ? " she said, in her 
 little weak voice. 
 
 " We are anxious, dear Miss Sally," the young 
 man answered tenderly. 
 
 She looked up at him and smiled. " Don t he 
 worried," she said, with the old instinct to make 
 other people comfortable; and then, later, as though 
 half asleep, " I thought that I had all the world, 
 Alan but I seem I seem to have eternity, in 
 stead." And with great content Miss Sally went 
 down into the shadows. 
 
 All that last day, except in the paroxysms of 
 coughing, she had seemed to Sidney to sleep. But 
 it was a strange sleep ; and when she roused a little 
 from it, there was no loving look, no murmur of 
 thanks, even when Alan gave her medicine, or when 
 Katherine slipped a bit of ice between her lips. 
 
 John Paul stayed very late that night. Little 
 Susan sat trembling in the kitchen until twelve. 
 
SIDNEY. 347 
 
 The major walked softly and restlessly through the 
 halls, and up and down stairs. Katherine, worn out 
 with watching, had fallen asleep on the broad seat 
 of the first landing, her head resting on a cushion 
 the major had brought her from the library. Alan, 
 quite without hope, sat outside Miss Sally s door ; 
 Sidney was within. Everything was tingling with 
 the intensest life to the girl ; the dark silence of the 
 stately old house was palpitating with the thoughts 
 of birth and death ; the procession of the years had 
 left luminous touches upon the very walls. Every 
 thing thrilled with life ; the house was alive, and 
 this drama of death was its soul. Sidney was living 
 as she had never lived before ; every nerve was 
 tense with terror, not of death, but of life. 
 
 As she sat by Miss Sally s bedside, she watched 
 the yellow blur of the night-lamp in the darkness of 
 the further corner, or glanced at the terrible white 
 ness of the face upon the pillow ; and to each to 
 darkness, and to death, and to her own stress of life 
 her soul cried out, What are you ? The slow 
 hours drifted into each other, marked only by Alan 
 entering or departing, or by Major Lee pausing in 
 the doorway to glance silently, first at his daughter, 
 and then at the small, motionless figure upon the 
 bed. 
 
 It had rained early in the night, and now the 
 breath of the wet flowers down in the garden was 
 fresh and cool. Sidney went over to the window, 
 and looked out at the distant darkness of the dawn. 
 The silent night was a hush of breathless expec 
 tancy. The gray sky, the stars fading as the east 
 
348 SIDNEY. 
 
 lifted and whitened, the misty outlines of sleeping 
 houses, were all waiting ; and for what ? Death ! 
 She knelt down by the window, resting her face 
 upon her folded arms. Alan was in the next room. 
 What if it were Alan lying there upon the bed, 
 without words, or motion, or remembrance ; Alan 
 who was waiting death ; Alan who would be 
 nothing? Down below, the wall between the two 
 gardens began to loom out of the crystal dark ; one 
 by one, as though to some unheard call, the trees 
 shaped themselves in the mist. How strangely one 
 were night and day ; how all life grew out of death ! 
 Human existence, like an endless spiral touching 
 light and darkness, life and death, stretches into 
 eternity : a blossom falls ; a seed ripens ; another 
 flower blows to die ! Over and over, the pastime 
 of eternity enacts itself, and the heartbreak of the 
 world gathers into one word, " Why ? " Yet with 
 the majesty of an inevitable certainty proceeds the 
 universe. Men s cries and wonders echo far into 
 the past, and accompany the present ; yet all the 
 while the perfection of detail never falters, seed 
 time and harvest, night and day, life and death. 
 
 A Lombardy poplar, close to the house, swayed 
 and shivered in the night wind. Sidney felt rather 
 than saw that flying quiver of its leaves which is a 
 voice made visible. Each smallest leaf obeyed in 
 beauty the same law that orders star systems, scat 
 tered thick as dust in the vast silences of space. 
 How all things are only one thing ! 
 
 What were those words she had read t;> her aunt? 
 
SIDNEY. 349 
 
 " All things work together for good." What if that 
 were true ? What if one could believe it not only 
 for the leaf and star, but for life and death ? They 
 do work together, surely, each grows out of the 
 other ; but suppose it were for good, suppose it 
 were with some sort of purpose ? " Working to 
 gether for good ? " They would be part of a plan, 
 then ; there would be a meaning somewhere. It 
 would not matter whether the meaning were under 
 stood. The good need not be a human good ; it 
 might be an infinite and unknowable good, one 
 which needed men s pain, nay, men s sin for its per 
 fection ; but to think that there was a good some 
 where ! To feel that would make up, perhaps, for 
 grief and for death ; one s own death, yes, surely, 
 a thousand times ! " The Eternal God is thy 
 refuge." A purpose, if there were such a thing, 
 seen or unseen, would be a refuge. But the Domi 
 nant Will which enacts forever its own tragedy is 
 caprice, traveling without motive, in the circle of 
 eternity ! Yet if it were true, just suppose it were 
 true, and all things did work together for good, all 
 things did have some purpose and meaning, then 
 one could be content to cease, just as that star 
 dropped out of darkness into the growing brightness 
 behind the edge of the world. But if one loved the 
 star ? Would it be enough that it were swallowed 
 up in light, swallowed up in what was itself, if it 
 should not dawn again ? Suppose it were Alan lying 
 there, would it be enough to say, The Eternal God 
 is my refuge ? That is, there is an Eternal Mean 
 ing in it all if it were Alan? 
 
350 SIDNEY. 
 
 The bank of mist in the east melted into filmy 
 bars ; they throbbed as though they hung before 
 some beating heart of light ; the bushes in the gar 
 den grew out of the shadows like soft balls of dark 
 ness, and the Virginia creeper, hanging from the 
 lintel of the window, showed in wavering streamers 
 black against the sky. Sidney strained her eyes 
 down into the gloom ; surely, over against the ever 
 green hedge, where the tall lilies stood, there was a 
 gleam of white ? The garden was very still ; not a 
 tremor of air stirred the motionless leaves, or the 
 roses on the lattice below the window ; a bird twit 
 tered in the poplar tree, and another answered it 
 over by the lilies, and then another and another. 
 There was a wandering perfume from the white 
 trumpets of the petunias in Miss Sally s border, and 
 then a breath of the keen sweetness of mignonette 
 brushed her cheek, and she seemed to hear Alan s 
 voice, as she heard it once before in the fragrance 
 of mignonette : " Do you love me, Sidney ? " What 
 if it were Alan ? 
 
 Oh, if there were a refuge ! But is there any 
 thing that is eternal ? Endless desire, endless rest 
 lessness, or call it the pain of life, for is not life 
 desire ? Oh, weariness of longing which is the ex 
 pression of the universe, which is eternal ! And the 
 deepest longing is for a meaning. Conduct is not 
 everlasting ; conduct is only expediency, the deepest 
 and most subtile selfishness ; her father had shown 
 her that beyond a doubt. But expediency is neces 
 sity, in one way ; or call it Right. " All things 
 work together." Is not conduct part of all ? con- 
 
SIDNEY. 351 
 
 duct, and the perception of right, and the pain of 
 sin, and the mystery of love, and that demand of the 
 soul for Something which would explain all things, 
 the Eternal Meaning of all. To see a meaning 
 would be to find a refuge ; yes, it would be like arms 
 in which one rested and trusted. 
 
 What is this which beckons to the stars, or lifts 
 the sweetness from the flowers ? What is this which 
 makes the thought of Alan flash into her brain ? 
 What is it which moulds the rain into a drop in the 
 heart of that rose, and brings the instant remem 
 brance of Miss Sally s love of roses to burn Sidney s 
 eyes with tears and lay upon her heart the burden 
 of regret ? All working together ; all one ; an eter 
 nal what ? Force ? All these were force, and 
 force is one, and " force is the energy of a cause." 
 Who said that ? Never mind, now ; Sidney could 
 not stop for verification, with her hand upon a fact. 
 
 Like a person walking in the dark, through peril 
 ous places, she had touched something firm and sure ; 
 she knew not what, but she clung to it. If Miss 
 Sally had spoken to her at that moment, Sidney 
 would not have heard her. 
 
 After all, it was this oneness, this cause, her 
 father stopped at the energy, which people called 
 eternal, which they chose to name God ; that was 
 all. They might as well have named it anything, or 
 left it without a name. It meant nothing ; there is 
 no such thing as justice or pity behind phenomena ; 
 so how could it help her, how could it comfort her, 
 to admit the unity of the force which produces at 
 
352 SIDNEY. 
 
 once pity and the suffering which calls it forth? 
 But if there were a Purpose, a Meaning, in the ex 
 pression of this Force, and phenomena is its ex 
 pression ? Ah, if ? Surely then we might be con 
 tent not to speak of it as it affected humanity ; we 
 might be content to leave out such definitions and 
 limitations as "pity "and "justice." That it was 
 would be enough. But why should such a Meaning 
 seem so much to her ? Only that her soul claimed 
 it ; was not this very claiming an expression of it ? 
 Might not Death belong to it, and life belong to it ; 
 would not love be in it ; would not all things be It ? 
 If this were so, then it was the explanation and the 
 mystery, the certainty and the doubt, the meaning of 
 all things, the refuge and the Eternal God I 
 
 The clouds across the east had caught the light 
 upon their rippling gray, and turned to fire. It 
 seemed as though, far up above the world, a wind 
 without noise was blowing across flames. She turned 
 to look at Miss Sally. All was still; the sick 
 woman was sleeping in the profoundest quiet. 
 "That is good for her," Sidney thought, with a 
 strange reverence for her own tenderness, which was 
 not hers, except as she was part of the Eternal 
 Meaning, as she was one with her aunt herself. 
 
 The dawn had transfigured Miss Sally s face with 
 a light which thrilled Sidney like a touch out of the 
 darkness. Outside, the brightness in the east wid 
 ened and spread until the whole sky was a luminous 
 shadow, which began to flush and glow, and along the 
 eastern hills a film of gold rose like a mist across 
 
SIDNEY. 353 
 
 the flames. The Cause ; the Meaning ; which was 
 always ; which was strong ; which was right, at 
 least inevitable. If it were Alan going out into 
 blankness, that is going back into this mystery, or 
 Cause, to be part of it forever, as he had been part 
 of it always, but not to be Alan always, would it 
 seem right? No, "right" was not the word; she 
 could find no word. But the pain would be part of 
 the mystery, part of the Eternal Purpose, and so, 
 bearable. Sorrow worked together with joy in the 
 Meaning of all things, and therefore could be borne. 
 But one could not use little words, little human 
 words like " right " and " justice," to make it seem 
 worth while to suffer. Oh, just to rest upon a cer 
 tain Purpose ! that would be enough. A Refuge. 
 Yes, yes, but what terror ! It did not make life less 
 terrible ; it only filled it with confidence and peace. 
 It made it worth living, if it were lived struggling 
 for oneness with the Eternal Purpose, of which sor 
 row was as much a part as joy, death as life. 
 
 Back over the evergreens there was a rim of gold. 
 Sidney held her breath and looked. How quickly, 
 how greatly, it grew, pushed up from the darkness 
 into the wide spaces of the endless air, fuller and 
 rounder, the whole generous, beautiful soul of light ! 
 The birds, twittering over by the white lilies with 
 joyous expectancy of waiting, fell into silence with 
 the fulfillment of desire. The Eternal : for the 
 sun, for the birds, for her. The Eternal was that 
 exquisite pain of joy in the beauty of the dawn ; it 
 was the passion of desire for itself ; it was the in 
 stinct of unselfishness, the terror of remorse ; it was 
 
354 SIDNEY. 
 
 her Refuge. " I don t know how," she heart! her 
 self saying in a sobbing breath ; " but that I want a 
 Meaning proves it, it is the want ! " 
 
 Does not the hunger of the body declare that 
 there is bread ? Even so the hunger of the soul im 
 plies immortal food! She did not speak of love, 
 for love was swallowed up in that of which it is only 
 one single expression. 
 
 Outside, the world was waking to its old story of 
 disappointment and continual hope, but Sidney, 
 standing in the golden light, saw a new heaven and 
 a new earth. A thread of smoke went up from one 
 of the chimneys of the tenements beyond Mrs. 
 Paul s house. The salutation of the dawn smote 
 like a finger of flame upon countless windows, gray 
 a moment before, and beckoned men out to their la 
 bor. The splendor of the dawn, the small needs of 
 living, the swaying and murmuring of far-off seas, 
 the flute in a bird s throat, the melting back into It 
 all which we call death, the consciousness of Itself 
 which we call life, all were one. Sidney looked 
 down at the smile of her garden, and then at the si 
 lent, smiling face upon the pillow ; as she did so, 
 her father entered. He stopped an instant at Miss 
 Sally s side, and touched her hand ; the look upon 
 his face turned Sidney white. " Father? " 
 
 " My darling," he said in a whisper, " she is 
 dead." 
 
 He would have taken Sidney in his arms, but she 
 put her hands upon his breast and breathed rather 
 than spoke. "No, not dead, there is no death. 
 Life and death are one ; the Eternal Purpose holds 
 us all, always. Father I have found God." 
 
XXVI. 
 
 SIDNEY LEE came out from that experience of 
 death and dawn with an absolute conviction. She 
 did not attempt to justify herself by reasons. She 
 knew. That was all, but it was enough. 
 
 She had left Miss Sally s room with a face which 
 shone ; even the grief which veiled it while yet 
 that silent Presence dominated the household could 
 not hide the solemn light in her eyes. Grief and 
 pity and regret moved across the peace which she 
 had found, but did not disturb it ; even as the winds, 
 engraving themselves upon the sensitive sea in a 
 thousand intricate and flying paths, do not stir the 
 quiet of the deeps below. 
 
 With Sidney, there was perhaps less grief than re 
 gret. She was feeling, even in her exaltation, the 
 misery of the lost opportunity; she was realizing 
 that it is impossible to atone to the dead for indiffer 
 ence to their small interests, carelessness of their 
 daily cares, in a word, for unexpressed love ; that 
 such a realization is always pain Sidney had never 
 known before. But it was that pain, mingling with 
 her strange gladness, which brought into her face a 
 new look, at once wistful anxiety and calm desire. 
 Major Lee saw it, and, remembering his daughter s 
 words on the night when Miss Sally died, " Fa 
 ther, I have found God," said to himself that this 
 
356 SIDNEY. 
 
 changed expression was part of the same nervous ex 
 citement. Sidney had come to him that next clay, 
 and tried to tell him, briefly, what those words had 
 meant ; not that she courted discussion, only that, 
 with the gladness of the woman of old, who, after 
 lighting her candle and searching diligently, called 
 in her friends and neighbors and said, " Rejoice with 
 me," Sidney desired to share her certainty. But her 
 broken words, with no attempt at argument, indicated 
 only a physical condition to her father. As soon as 
 this strain was over, her common sense would assert 
 itself ; he was sorry and perhaps a little disappointed, 
 Sidney had been so different from the ordinary 
 hysterical young woman, but he would let it pass ; 
 it was of no importance. 
 
 Even Mrs. Paul noticed the change in the girl, 
 and she was annoyed by it ; it made her uncomforta 
 ble, as anything which she did not understand was 
 apt to do. " Poor, dear Sally is dead and buried," 
 she said to Katherine, " and crying won t bring her 
 back again. Sidney should look pleasanter, or keep 
 her room. Red eyes belong to one s bed-chamber ; 
 they are too personal to be modest. You never see 
 me with red eyes." 
 
 " Because you are too modest ? " said Katherine, 
 with great simplicity. She was sitting in the draw 
 ing-room with her prospective mother-in-law, behind 
 bowed shutters. It was very hot ; all the sounds 
 which crept into the shadowy room were hot, the 
 droning of the bees in the honeysuckle around the 
 west window, the rattle of heavy drays down in the 
 scorching street, and the pant of a steam-drill a block 
 away. 
 
SIDNEY. 357 
 
 Katherine looked white and languid, but Mrs. 
 Paul, fresh from Scarlett s cool fingers, was alert and 
 comfortable. Her thin black silk had a frost of del- 
 icate lace about the neck and wrists, and she swung 
 lightly, back and forth upon her arm, a green taffeta 
 fan. On a table by her side was an India china 
 bowl crowded with roses, and near it a tall silver 
 tumbler full of sangaree, which was so cold that the 
 polish of the silver was dimmed with beaded mist. 
 Katherine had declined the claret and the fan, and 
 everything, in fact, except a little cushion in a white 
 lavender-scented linen cover, which Scarlett placed 
 behind her head. 
 
 " Still," Mrs. Paul conceded, " I have no objec 
 tion to your declining things, because you don t an 
 noy me by looking uncomfortable. Poor Sally used 
 to distract me by declining, I suppose out of some 
 foolish idea of politeness, and then looking like a 
 martyr. Really, you know, Kate, not that I would 
 talk against the dead, I don t approve of it, but 
 poor Sally was very trying at times ? " 
 
 " I never found her so," Katherine answered. " I 
 think it was the instinct of unselfishness which made 
 her decline a pleasure. Oh, how good she was ! (It 
 is strange how quickly we learn to say was instead 
 of 4 isM") 
 
 " Of course she was good," returned Mrs. Paul. 
 "I never said she wasn t good. But really, you 
 can t say she was entertaining. Now, I never pre 
 tended to any remarkable goodness, but I am not 
 uninteresting, I think ? " 
 
 " Oh, far from it," said Katherine. " You are 
 
358 SIDNEY. 
 
 interesting, most interesting. And Miss Sally, as 
 you say, was not ; but she was good and lovable." 
 
 Mrs. Paul looked blank for a moment, but Kath- 
 erine s frank and confidential air reassured her. 
 
 " It was her goodness," she announced, clinking 
 the bits of ice in the silver tumbler, " which made 
 your cousin propose to her. Katherine, my dear, 
 the only thing I don t like about you is your cousin." 
 
 " Poor cousin Robert ! " said Katherine sadly. 
 " Yet I am sure, I am quite sure, that he did not 
 realize that he was dishonorable." 
 
 " He was only dishonorable because he was a fool," 
 returned Mrs. Paul, with a shrug. " He should have 
 made Sally break the engagement. A man of the 
 world engaged to a prude would easily have arranged 
 that. It was hard, though, that Sally should die. 
 It was merely coincidence, of course, but the young 
 man gets the credit of it, and people think she died 
 of a broken heart. (As though Sally could die of 
 a broken heart ! Between ourselves, my dear, a 
 good woman is not capable of a great passion. Did 
 that ever occur to you ? ) No, to my mind, your 
 Steele is unpleasant rather than dishonorable, 
 most unpleasant. And what do you think I heard 
 yesterday ? That the very day of the funeral he was 
 found in his hotel drunk ! Now, I am not a temper 
 ance fanatic. I have seen a gentleman overcome 
 after a dinner, for instance, and thought none the 
 worse of him ; but after a funeral ! Really, the 
 occasion should be considered." 
 
 " Oh ! " said Katherine, the tears starting to her 
 eyes. 
 
SIDNEY. 359 
 
 " He is a mass of inconsistencies," Mrs. Paul con 
 tinued, tapping her fan thoughtfully upon the edge 
 of the table. " Some one told me Scarlett, I be 
 lieve it was that those last nights he hung about 
 the house all night long. He gave Scarlett quite a 
 start, when she came upon him in the darkness. Yes, 
 I have no doubt he was unhappy ; and yet to be 
 intoxicated! Did you know Alan had taken him 
 back to live with him again ? Alan has not very 
 much backbone. Men with faces like his have no 
 depth nor persistency. I only hope his passion for 
 Sidney will last." 
 
 " But if she does not return it, that is hard upon 
 him." 
 
 " I was not thinking of Alan," Mrs. Paul an 
 swered. " I was thinking of Mortimer Lee ! " 
 
 Katherine looked at her with wondering interest. 
 " You really have no heart, have you, Mrs. Paul?" 
 she said. 
 
 " My dear," explained the older woman, " I am 
 all heart. But I believe in justice. Mortimer Lee 
 has been a wicked atheist, and he ought to be pun 
 ished. And you know ridiculous as it is what 
 it would be to him if Sidney fell in love with any 
 one. But of course my chief desire is to benefit 
 Sidney. It has always been my habit to try to help 
 others. Lord ! how annoyed I was that your cousin 
 did not fall in love with Sidney! I could forgive 
 his conduct about his mother s money and the break 
 ing of his engagement, but to propose to Sally ! 
 I can forgive wickedness ; but that was worse than 
 wickedness, it was stupidity. 
 
360 SIDNEY. 
 
 " It seems to me a matter of imagination," Kath- 
 erine observed. " We can forgive a condition which 
 we can imagine for ourselves ; but what we can t 
 fancy ourselves capable of, we despise." 
 
 " Exactly ; you have a great deal of sense, Kate. 
 Now, I could not be a fool." 
 
 "No, indeed," Katherine assured her, warmly. 
 " But what an inference you make one draw ! " 
 
 " Very true ! " cried the other, in high good hu 
 mor. She was distinctly flattered, and loved Kath 
 erine more than ever. " As for Sidney and Alan," 
 she continued, " unless I am very much mistaken, 
 and I never am mistaken in such matters ; I ve 
 lived myself, Sidney has come to her senses at 
 last, and Mortimer Lee is to learn a lesson." 
 
 " What do you mean ? " 
 
 " I mean that Sidney is in love with Alan. Such 
 a change does not come into a woman s face as has 
 come into hers, for nothing." 
 
 " Mrs. Paul," said Katherine, sitting up and look 
 ing at her with sudden attention, " there is a change, 
 but " - 
 
 "Well?" demanded Mrs. Paul. "Don t grow 
 commonplace, Kate, and hesitate over a sentence." 
 
 " It is not because of Dr. Crossan, I am sure of 
 that. It is because (yes, I don t see why I should 
 not speak of it. Sidney told me, and I think she 
 would be glad to have it known), it is because 
 Sidney is not what she was." 
 
 " Go on," said Mrs. Paul. 
 
 " I think the change in her face is from some 
 deeper reason than that she has fallen in love. (If 
 
SIDNEY. 361 
 
 she has, which does n t seem to me probable.) But 
 she told me that she believed." 
 
 " Believed ? " repeated the other, frowning. " Be 
 lieved what?" 
 
 " She said she had found God. Katherine 
 lowered her voice. " I tell you only because I am 
 sure that as we all knew what her old thought was, 
 she would wish us to know her new thought." 
 
 " What ! " cried Mrs. Paul. " Sidney says she s 
 found God ? (though I am sure I think the ex 
 pression very irreverent. I suppose she means she s 
 been converted ?) Lord ! what does Mortimer Lee 
 say ? Well, I am glad ! " 
 
 " Oh, Mrs. Paul! " said Katherine, shocked into 
 remonstrance. 
 
 "But how has it come about?" persisted the 
 older woman. " Has Mr. Brown seen her ? I did n t 
 suppose Sidney had been to church for years." She 
 paused, lifting in her delicate old hand a little silver 
 vinaigrette, made like a fish, with glittering scales, 
 and curiously flexible. Her face was full of the 
 keenest interest and pleasure. " Mr. Brown was 
 never allowed to try to convert her, you know. 
 Well, I am very thankful, of course. It has always 
 been a grief to me to have Sidney out of the Church. 
 She was never even baptized, did you know that ? 
 I expected to be her godmother ; but Mortimer Lee 
 woiild not have the child christened. Shocking, 
 wasn t it?" 
 
 " How careful you are of your creed ! " commented 
 Katherine, with delightful deference ; " and yet I 
 notice you do not often intrude your religion ? " 
 
362 SIDNEY. 
 
 " I hope not, indeed ! Conversation about reli 
 gion leads to horrible self-consciousness ; and thank 
 Heaven, I never had any need to talk about my 
 spiritual condition. I never had a doubt in my 
 life." 
 
 " You mastered the eternal verities with your cat 
 echism, I suppose ? " said Katherine. 
 
 But Mrs. Paul did not notice the remark. " As 
 for Sidney, with her antecedents her unbelief did 
 not reflect upon her socially, although it was unbe 
 coming, most unbecoming. I m sure I m re 
 joiced that she has come to her senses. I suppose 
 she 11 be confirmed at Easter? " 
 
 Katherine shook her head. " I don t know, but 
 think not. I spoke of it, but she looked at me in 
 the blankest way ; and when I said something about 
 seeing Miss Sally again, you know, and all that, she 
 apparently did n t understand for a moment, and 
 then she said, That expression of the Eternal is 
 gone, but lie remains/ I don t know what she 
 meant," proceeded Katherine doubtfully. " I asked 
 her if she did not believe in immortality, and she 
 said she did not know anything about it, but God 
 w,as. " 
 
 " She does n t know what she is talking about ! " 
 cried Mrs. Paul impatiently. 
 
 " At least she is convinced," Katherine answered. 
 
 " Convinced ! " returned the other. " My dear 
 Kate, anything so positive as a conviction is scarcely 
 modest in a well-bred young woman. And there is 
 too much talk about convictions in these days, and 
 too little good behavior. Sidney should have been 
 
SIDNEY. 363 
 
 confirmed ten years ago, with convictions or without 
 them, if I had had my way." 
 
 " I wonder if her change of opinion will make 
 any difference in Major Lee ? " Katherine asked. 
 
 " Certainly not. The day when the infant con 
 verts his grandfather is past, my friend ; and as for 
 saying she believes, but not in immortality, and that 
 she won t be confirmed, I never heard such non 
 sense ! Eeally, Kate, I wouldn t encourage her to 
 talk in that way; it is quite improper. I hoped, 
 when you first spoke, that she had become well 
 you know what I mean a change of heart, you 
 know a Church woman." 
 
 Katherine did not pursue the subject ; she had 
 been awed by Sidney s uplifted look, and she had 
 vaguely understood it ; but as she tried to explain it 
 the idea melted away. 
 
 Sidney had chosen to name u God" that tireless, 
 eternal activity which constitutes the universe ; that 
 energy which is in all and through all, pulsing in 
 every atom, recognizing itself in the conscious in 
 stant of a man s life, creating and destroying, work 
 ing towards its own infinite end. With this naming 
 (or let us say this perception), and the devout sub 
 mission to and trust in the laws of nature which it 
 implies, there had come to her, not happiness, but 
 blessedness, and that peace which, truly, the world 
 can neither give nor take away. But the process 
 by which she had reached peace must be personal 
 before it can commend itself to the understanding, 
 and for that reason she could not show it to Katherine. 
 
 In a direct and simple way, Katherine felt that 
 
364 SIDNEY. 
 
 Sidney would wish that others might know her pres 
 ent attitude, and so told Mrs. Paul, whose absolute 
 inability to understand the situation made her un 
 certain as to her own grasp of it. She did not want 
 to speak of it any further, and she was glad that at 
 that moment Sidney entered ; not that she meant to 
 question the girl, but she wanted to watch her. 
 
 Mrs. Paul looked up impatiently. Sidney, in her 
 black gown, her face marked by some deeper pain 
 and meaning than merely grief for Miss Sally s 
 death, confused and annoyed the older woman ; be 
 side, with that curious vanity which leads one to con 
 fess a fault, she had been just about to tell Kate a 
 story Lord I why could not Sidney have stayed 
 at home ? Innocence is a great nuisance at times. 
 
 " Well ? What ? Dear me, Sidney, the heat has 
 made you white ; pray go and ask Scarlett for some 
 rose-water, and bathe your face. It is very un 
 pleasant to see any one look fagged." 
 
 " I came over," Sidney answered, with an absent 
 air, which did not acknowledge the fault-finding, 
 " to ask you I was putting away her things, and 
 I thought you might like something which belonged 
 to her and I came to ask you if you would care to 
 have this piece of lace ? " 
 
 " Do sit down, and don t look so white. Lace ? 
 Let me see it. Yes, I 11 take it ; but I am sure I 
 don t see why in the world you should bring me lace. 
 I have more now than I know what to do with. I 
 mean to give Katherine some superb lace when she 
 is married. Do you hear that, Kate ? " 
 
 Katherine was looking anxiously at Sidney. " My 
 
SIDNEY. 365 
 
 dear," she said gently, " you really are worn out ; 
 you should not have crossed the garden in this blazing 
 sun. I shall have to ask Dr. Crossan about you." 
 
 In an instant Sidney s face flushed to the fore 
 head. Katherine smiled and glanced at Mrs. Paul, 
 who asked, " Does Alan still call every day ? Really, 
 poor, dear Sally s sickness was an opportunity for 
 Alan ! I saw him yesterday," she continued, swing 
 ing her fan lazily. " He is looking shockingly. I 
 don t believe he will live long." Katherine gave her 
 a warning look, but Mrs Paul ended her sentence. 
 " He is really ill, you know." 
 
 Sidney drew a quivering breath; her eyes dimmed 
 with a flying terror. " Is Alan going to die ? " 
 
 " Well, some time, I suppose," returned Mrs. Paul. 
 (" You see, Kate ? I said so ! ") 
 
 u Is he ? " Sidney repeated, standing before Mrs. 
 Paul, and trembling very much. 
 
 " Oh, Lord, Sidney, don t glare so ! No, of course 
 not. But he was ill a little while ago, you remem 
 ber ; and poor Sally told me that Mr. Steele had 
 told her Bat what is it to you, my dear ? " 
 
 Sidney did not answer. She scarcely heard Mrs. 
 Paul say, in a perfunctory manner, that Katherine 
 had told her something she was very glad to hear, 
 and she hoped Sidney would try to live a consistent 
 life, and be sensible about confirmation ; and then, 
 
 " Just arrange, will you, to come in when Kath 
 erine isn t here? I don t need anybody else if she 
 is here. Oh, and give the lace to Scarlett, will 
 you ? " 
 
 Sidney would not let Katherine go home with 
 
366 SIDNEY. 
 
 her ; she shut herself out of the cool darkness of the 
 hall, and then went slowly back through the blazing 
 garden. She had left that inevitable task of " put- 
 ing away " to bring Mrs. Paul the piece of lace, but 
 she forgot how much yet remained to.be done. Alan 
 had been ill! She walked over to the evergreen 
 circle, where the sun-dial stood among the shadows, 
 and sat down on the curved bench. It was here 
 Alan had told her that she needed love in her life, 
 it seemed to Sidney that her life dated from that 
 day ; then, afterwards, he had said he loved her, and 
 she had declared that she did not, and never would, 
 love him. " Oh, but I do," jshe said quietly, aloud. 
 " I do." She looked up between the dark points of 
 the firs into the cloudless and dazzling sky; her 
 eyes overflowed with tears, but her lips smiled. 
 
 She forgot everything but joy. She was as en 
 tirely glad as the soul can be which has one moment 
 without memory. She put out her hands as though 
 to meet the hands she loved ; her face was wet with 
 tears, but it was illumined. Suddenly it changed. 
 Love ? No, she must not love him. Her heart was 
 bounding, her lips breaking into smiles, her joy over 
 flowing in words, when this old habit of thought as 
 serted itself. With it came the memory of that 
 experience of dawn and death ; the strange unreason 
 ing conviction, the solemn instinct, that her life was 
 to be an expression of the Eternal Life. Yes, that 
 was all true, all true ; and she would be good ; and 
 it was well to be alive, though she did not know why. 
 She would do her work ; she would tiy to help any 
 one who needed her, but she would not know sor. 
 
SIDNEY. 367 
 
 row ; why need she ? She could do her part in the 
 world as well, and better, unhampered by the hor 
 rible fear of death ; she would not love Alan. Yet 
 inescapable joy shone in her eyes; she only knew 
 that she loved, while, mechanically, she asserted that 
 she would escape from love. The long z-z-ing of in 
 sects stabbed the silence of noon ; the hot scent of 
 flowers wandered in among the shadows ; and on the 
 old sun-dial a bird perched, and plumed itself, look 
 ing at her with fearless interest. 
 
 In a numb, helpless way Sidney was struggling to 
 be obedient to the heavenly vision, and yet to save 
 herself. At last it seemed to her that she was in 
 capable of meeting this crisis, and, with that power 
 which comes at rare moments into every life, she put 
 aside the truth which had been revealed to her, and 
 took up again the small details of death and life. 
 " I will finish putting the things away, and then I 
 will think," she said to herself. 
 
 She went into the house, so intent upon thrusting 
 this new greatness aside, until she could find an hour 
 which should be all its own, that she was really only 
 aware of the work she at once began to do ; she did 
 not think of Alan. Her eyes blurred again and 
 again as she folded Miss Sally s little wardrobe 
 away: the pathos of the small darns, of carefully 
 brushed, and turned, and turned again gowns, of 
 bits of ribbon, and treasured pieces of lace, struck 
 upon Sidney s heart with a pain which was part of 
 her new experience of life. " Oh, if I had only been 
 kinder ! " she said over and over to herself. 
 
 If we could but take our possessions with us when 
 
358 SIDNEY. 
 
 we leave this world, life would be less terrible to 
 those who love us, whom we leave. The many small 
 things, which are so useless to every one except the 
 owner, suddenly become sacred. They cannot be 
 destroyed ; to give them away is a confession that 
 they are cumbersome, and is another unkindness to 
 the dead. This thought came to Sidney, on her 
 knees before the lower drawer of Miss Sally s 
 bureau. Of what use to any one was the little ugly 
 mosaic pin ? But Miss Sally s fingers had touched 
 it ; it was her pride and joy ; it must be kept. The 
 black silk aprons which Sidney had always disliked, 
 the small bags of rose leaves which would so soon 
 crumble into dust, none of these could be thrown 
 away. The collection grew as the girl s tenderness 
 and remorse grew. There was a little faded pin 
 cushion, which with a pang she recognized as one of 
 her youthful gifts to her aunt, which Miss Sally had 
 cherished through Sidney s indifferent years. There 
 were daguerreotypes ; and some photographs of Sid 
 ney, on which were written, " My darling Sidney," 
 and " Dear little Sidney," and the child s age. One 
 thin, square book gave her a shock of memory, as 
 she unfolded the white paper in which it was wrapped, 
 and saw the familiar gilt cherubs on the brown cover 
 of " Reading without Tears." Sidney sat down on 
 the floor, and leaned her head against the old dress 
 ing-case, with the book open in her lap. How it all 
 came back to her ! the time when she learned her 
 letters standing at Miss Sally s knee, while her 
 aunt s gentle voice alternately implored and en* 
 couraged her, as might be the condition of Sidney s 
 
SIDNEY. 369 
 
 temper. Never out of patience, never unjust, what 
 matter if sometimes unwise? " Oh, if I had only 
 been kinder ! " she sobbed. It was not reading with 
 out tears now. And so the book was added to the 
 " things to be kept ; " memory of that old tender 
 ness made it sacred. Almost all these forlorn little 
 treasures were connected with Sidney or her father, 
 in some way, and so made the sting of her remorse 
 sharper. 
 
 These voiceless possessions of Miss Sally s raised 
 such an outcry of regret and self-abasement in Sid 
 ney s mind that, at last, she could not bear it, and 
 rose, the pathetic task still unfinished. Her con 
 science clamored that she must do some kind act. 
 Miss Sally s poor seemed to entreat her, and it was 
 to them she fled : down, in the fading afternoon, to 
 one miserable tenement after another ; then coming 
 shuddering back again. " No, it is all too awful ! 
 Oh, I cannot live! I cannot bear it. It is not 
 enough to know that there is a Meaning, and I will 
 not love Alan." 
 
XXVII. 
 
 THE blue July day grew sullen with heat towards 
 evening, and the skies blackened along the west. 
 There was no wind, but the trees shivered. That 
 night the major s tea-table was very quiet ; Sidney 
 could not talk, and her father desired only to listen. 
 He knew that she was troubled, and longed for 
 deeper understanding of her pain, but he asked no 
 questions ; he waited for her to know that she 
 needed him before he should try to help her. Un 
 less, indeed, she did not need him? The remem 
 brance of that hysterical experience might now be 
 only a painful mortification, and she would prefer 
 that they should both forget it. 
 
 But as they sat at tea, in the half darkness of the 
 long, octagonal room, it was too hot for lights, 
 he was aware of a hopeless depression in her face 
 that filled him with an aching pity. " If Sarah had 
 not dieil ! " he said to himself. The major had 
 never recognized his affection for his sister until she 
 was dead ; but it was not of his own loss that he 
 thought, as he saw Sidney s pain. He was almost 
 angry at Miss Sally because she had died, and so 
 his darling suffered. He spoke only of common 
 place things, however: of the mutter of thunder, 
 retreating and retreating, in the west ; of the heavy 
 sweetness of the white phlox beneath the window; 
 or some query concerning Katherine and John. 
 
SIDNEY. 371 
 
 Sidney scarcely heard him ; the tumult in her 
 mind shut out everything else; it seemed to her 
 almost as though her father must hear it, too. Once 
 she lifted her eyes and found him looking at her 
 with a face full of troubled love. She started, and 
 smiled. " Did you speak to me ? " 
 
 "No," he answered; and then, as they rose to 
 leave the room, he rested his hand for a moment 
 upon her shoulder. " Sidney, what is it ? " 
 
 She put her hands up to her face. " Oh," she 
 said sharply, " I do not know I thought I knew 
 and yet and yet " 
 
 "Yes?" the major queried, in a mild voice. He 
 was already less anxious ; she was going to tell 
 him, and it was inconceivable to him that his child 
 could have any trouble that he could not lighten. 
 He already saw himself explaining that of course he 
 had attached no meaning to those confused words of 
 hers, and she must not feel the slightest embarrass 
 ment ; that such a nervous condition was most nat 
 ural under the circumstances. The major readily 
 appreciated that she suffered as she remembered her 
 foolish excitement. The patience and sweetness in 
 his worn old face made the tears spring to Sidney s 
 eyes. " Oh, I have not even thought of him ! He 
 wants to help me, and I have shut him out for fear 
 he would not understand." 
 
 44 1 cannot seem to make it right," she said ; 
 44 what shall I do?" They had come into the li 
 brary, and the major, sitting down in his big leather 
 chair, still kept her hand in his. 
 
 44 Make what right? " he asked. 
 
372 SIDNEY. 
 
 " That there should be suffering," she answered, 
 with a cry in her voice. She dropped her head 
 upon her father s knee, and he felt her tears against 
 his hand. " I thought God was enough ; but when 
 I see pain, when I feel it, myself, then it seems to 
 me that the Meaning must be understood before the 
 pain can be borne ; and yet a Meaning ought to be 
 enough." 
 
 " Sidney," he said, " my darling, I had not meant 
 to refer to this ; I hoped that you were better, if I 
 may be allowed the expression. Surely, you are not 
 serious in speaking as though this were a reasonable 
 subject ? " 
 
 She lifted her head, but still knelt beside him, 
 looking at him. with miserable eyes. "It is the only 
 subject there is, it seems to me ; there is nothing 
 but the Eternal. Suffering and death are part of 
 it ; only only I do not want pain, father ? " 
 
 For a moment Major Lee was too amazed for 
 words ; then he said gently, " Let me understand 
 you. I fear I have not followed you intelligently, 
 the fault is mine. But do I understand that you 
 have " he stopped and smiled " have become a 
 Christian ? " He was troubled at the condition 
 which this conversation indicated, but he was 
 amused. He wondered if it were worth while to 
 treat it seriously. 
 
 " A Christian ? " the girl repeated vaguely. 
 " Oh, no, I am not that. That means to believe 
 that Christ is God ? " She paused ; then she 
 added, eagerly, "Except as God is in all things, 
 in every one ; in Him preeminently. And, father, 
 
SIDNEY. 373 
 
 He felt that it was worth while to suffer, to lend 
 His life to the End." 
 
 " I beg that you will be more clear," the major 
 said. " I still do not follow you ? " 
 
 Sidney had risen, and was sitting near him ; she 
 had an open fan in her hand, and in the dusk it 
 looked like a great white moth swaying upon a 
 flower. Her face had grown clearer as she spoke, 
 but her voice was unsteady. " Oh, it is not that my 
 truth is not true, and that it is not enough ; it is only 
 that I do not want to suffer. But," she ended with 
 a hopeless sigh, " that is equivalent to saying that I 
 do not want to do my part ! " 
 
 "You will have to explain what you mean, Sid 
 ney," said her father patiently. " What is enough ? " 
 
 "The the Meaning," she answered, almost in a 
 whisper. " Eternal, I call it to myself." 
 
 The major leaned forward in his chair and looked 
 at her. "If you were quite strong, my darling, 
 instead of being worn out by your aunt s illness, it 
 would be worth while to discuss this with you ; but, 
 for the present, had we not better put it aside ? " 
 
 "No," she entreated, "oh, no, let me tell you 
 about it now ; " and then began to speak with the 
 deliberation of one who fears to lose the thread of 
 his discourse, as, step by step, he advances along 
 some intricate path of argument. She did not even 
 look at her father; she pressed her lips together 
 once or twice as she proceeded, as though to insist 
 upon calmness. It had been so real to her, that 
 one great moment of her life, that she could not 
 understand, as she tried to tell the story of Miss 
 
374 SIDNEY. 
 
 Sally s death and the beginning of her own life, 
 how impossible it is to bound an experience by 
 words, or by an explanation define the unutterable 
 God. Once the major made an impatient move 
 ment, and said something under his breath, but she 
 did not seem to hear him. 
 
 " And so," she ended, " the Meaning in the uni 
 verse is the Refuge, is what aunt Sally called 
 God ; and oneness with that, it seems to me, makes 
 life bearable, and it ought to make it beautiful." 
 
 " Is that all ? " said the major. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 He looked at her with puzzled tenderness ; he 
 was so grieved that she should suffer, so anxious 
 because of her white face, so incapable of treating 
 her convictions seriously or entering into an argu 
 ment upon this fantastic idea which she chose to 
 regard as the solution of life, that he did not know 
 what to say. It occurred to him to beg her to go 
 and rest, and yet he would not hurt her by dismiss 
 ing her convictions lightly. 
 
 "Your proposition," he began with the gentlest 
 courtesy, "is of course gained without the assistance 
 of reason. And you will forgive me if I say that I 
 am sure your calmer thought will show you its inad 
 equacy." Sidney did not answer. " And its .inev 
 itable conclusion : you now call the universe God, 
 just as one creates a name for a hitherto unappre- 
 hended fact ; but you might as well have called it 
 Devil. You invest it with no personality, I observe, 
 but you regard it with that poetic fervor which is, I 
 am inclined to think, a phase of intellectual growth 
 
SIDNEY. 375 
 
 that expresses itself in art, or religion, or love. Do 
 you mean" he smiled, with tender amusement 
 " do you mean to have a garland of roses and a goat 
 with gilded horns, and to sing hymns to the great 
 god Pan ? For you see just what you have evolved, 
 
 pantheism." 
 
 She tried to say that her conviction was without 
 a name ; that terms, it seemed to her, were limita 
 tions. 
 
 " If I were not assured of your intelligence," her 
 father said, "I should fear lest you might go a step 
 further, and say that this 4 Meaning was good, and 
 that it was Love " (" Love is God," Sidney said, 
 under her breath), " and then all the rest of it," 
 proceeded the major lightly, but with that sweet con 
 cern for her in his voice that would spare her the 
 pang of mortification, " the coming down to the 
 earth, the vicarious atonement, heaven, hell, even 
 prayer, perhaps." 
 
 Sidney leaned forward, resting her cheek in her 
 hand. " Why not prayer ? " she said slowly. " That 
 impulse is the Eternal. Is not prayer just claiming 
 one s self, in a way ? Oh, father, everything is of 
 Him." She was so absorbed that, for the first time, 
 her father felt a thrill of anxiety. " But to call the 
 Eternal good," she went on, " why, it seems to me it 
 would be almost presumption ! or to say that I love 
 
 It. But still good ? Yes, I suppose so, if that 
 means the process by which an end is attained. 
 What the end may be we may not know ; but that 
 there is an end, a meaning, is enough." 
 
 " So, then," questioned the major, " you construe 
 
376 SIDNEY. 
 
 that sin, misery, in a word, life, is for your 
 good ? " 
 
 " My good ? Oh, no, not mine ; only they must 
 be for good, in some way. I don t think it need 
 make any difference to us what the good is, do you ? 
 See, father, the clay in the brickyard : it is pounded, 
 and burned, and made into bricks, and houses are 
 built and streets paved. Well, that is good, is n t 
 it? Not the clay s good, but what of that? 
 There is a reason why the clay should be tortured, 
 and if it could only just dimly know that there was 
 a cause for its pain, it would be content ; yes, and 
 do its part. Well, I ve seen that there is a mean 
 ing, for us. I don t know what, but that does not 
 matter." 
 
 Major Lee looked at his daughter, in silence. 
 Was this the result of twenty-four years training to 
 exact thought, the poetical fancy of a tired girl ! 
 
 " Yes," Sidney proceeded, " life is worth while 
 when one sees that the Eternal Purpose is a refuge ! 
 Do you remember that little church we saw the 
 summer we went to the seashore, made of stones 
 from the beach, stones covered with barnacles ? 
 Well, the barnacles were killed, but the church was 
 built. Oh, father, life is surely less hard to bear if 
 there is a meaning in it ! " She rose as she spoke, 
 her face radiant, and with an uplifted look ia her 
 eyes. 
 
 The major took her hands in his, and drew her 
 down beside him. " Come, be your reasonable self, 
 Sidney ! My dear, I detect traces of the Calvinism 
 of your maternal grandfather. You have practically 
 
SIDNEY. 377 
 
 announced your willingness to be damned for the 
 glory of God ! But, seriously, you have nothing 
 more than you had before ; you have not even per 
 sonified the Unknowable, as an attempt at comfort." 
 
 " No, I trust Him, that is all," she answered 
 eagerly ; " and I don t say Unknowable any more. 
 Unknown, perhaps, but, oh, in my soul I know 
 God! It limits Him to say Unknowable, and have 
 we a right to do that ? One has but to give one s 
 self to the purpose of life, I think, so far as one 
 can see it, and then, wait." 
 
 " For heaven ? " inquired the major. He was 
 torn between derision and anxiety, but tenderness 
 dominated each. 
 
 " Waiting means trust, it seems to me," she said 
 slowly. " No, I have not thought we were immor 
 tal. Somehow, that seems unimportant, father. 
 But have we any right to dogmatize either way? 
 It may be so. We used to say love needed the illu 
 sion of immortality as an excuse for being. But " 
 she stopped " but the Eternal is enough." 
 
 " Sidney," said Major Lee, " has Alan Crossan 
 told you that he loves you ? " 
 
 " Yes," she said, in a whisper. 
 
 " Well ? " questioned her father, sternly. 
 
 "I told him I did not love him." Major Lee 
 breathed again. " But I do. Only I cannot ! " 
 
 It must have been eight o clock when this talk of 
 theirs began, but it was two in the morning when Sid 
 ney, without the good-night kiss which had been hers 
 for all her unmothered years, left her father and 
 went up to her room. After that acknowledgment 
 
378 SIDNEY. 
 
 that she loved Alan, Major Lee paused, as though 
 to gather all his forces of love and sympathy and 
 wisdom to meet this crisis. That breathless "I 
 cannot ! " meant nothing to him. She loved, and 
 love is at least as immortal as the lover. He saw 
 now, clearly enough, what had blinded Sidney s rea 
 son. The theory of a God was only the first step ; 
 he was confident that she would follow it by the 
 assertion of that belief in immortality with which 
 Love, venturing into the same world with Death, 
 excuses its own existence. So he must first demon 
 strate the folly of this extraordinary fancy of hers, 
 which denied personality, but declared a person. 
 
 It seemed simple enough to Major Lee ; he would 
 go over again the old conclusive arguments. He 
 knew perfectly well that the girl s knowledge, which 
 was only his knowledge, could not possibly stand 
 against him. How could she fence with weapons he 
 had given her, which were pointed against herself ? 
 She did not attempt to. Again and again he stopped, 
 courteously, for " her reasons," and she responded, 
 " I do not reason, father ; I know." " You feel," 
 he corrected her. and the anxiety in his voice seemed 
 to her contempt. Once she attempted to say that 
 one fact which, to her mind, proved the morality, as 
 humanity thought of morality, the morality of the 
 Eternal Purpose, was the awful pain of remorse 
 for sin. It was in violation of the Purpose ; not 
 the palpable inexpediency ; something deeper, 
 the thwarted God ! That Major Lee brushed this 
 assertion away with a word produced not the slight 
 est effect. 
 
SIDNEY. 379 
 
 " The Eternal is in us," she said gently, but with 
 a voice as determined as his own. 
 
 " You play with words, Sidney," he affirmed. 
 " You have not moved one whit ; you stand exactly 
 where you have always stood ; you know nothing ! 
 Only you wish to find an excuse for choosing sor 
 row, and you declare yourself satisfied with what ? 
 A Great Nothing in Particular ; a universe which is 
 a differentiated God ; nay, the attraction of gravi 
 tation ! Is it not better, instead, to have a noble 
 acceptance of necessity, and silence ? And you say 
 you love ? Let me tell you what love has made my 
 life." He paused, and looked at her. " I am as 
 tounded that this should be necessary ; that I, who 
 have lived the folly of love before your eyes, should 
 yet have to assert its misery in words ! " 
 
 His surprise was so genuine that for a moment, in 
 the half darkness of the room, they stared at each 
 other like two strangers. 
 
 The wind twisted the flame of the lamp into a 
 blue whirl ; a moment later the storm broke, and 
 the rain went trampling through the garden. The 
 silence in the room could be felt. Then Mortimer 
 Lee began to say that love was the curse of life, and 
 life itself was only free from misery in proportion as 
 it was free from happiness. As Sidney listened, she 
 lived over with him his days and months of hideous 
 anxiety and inescapable dread. She saw that the 
 joy of his marriage walked by the side of fear. She 
 watched his fierce struggle with death, the hand- 
 to-hand conflict with fate, while he held a dying 
 woman in his arms, a woman who besought him 
 
380 SIDNEY. 
 
 not " to let her go." And then she listened to his 
 life afterwards, empty, black, hopeless ; lived only 
 to teach her how to live that she might escape such 
 suffering. 
 
 " And now," he ended, holding out trembling and 
 entreating hands, "you tell me you love Alan Cros- 
 san ! Oh, child, if I could only see you dead in 
 stead I" 
 
 " I love him," she said, her breath coming as 
 though she sobbed, though her eyes were without 
 tears, "but I cannot bear it, father. Yet we are 
 wrong, you and I." 
 
 " No ! " he cried, and it seemed to Sidney that his 
 voice was suddenly that of an old, old man, " we are 
 right ; and you shall not love him, you shall not 
 suffer!" 
 
 " You cannot save me from myself," she said. 
 
 " I will," he answered. He put his trembling 
 hands on either side of her face, and looked at her 
 as she had never seen him look before. Then he 
 said very gently, " Go, Sidney." 
 
 She dared not intrude upon that look by a word, 
 or by the familiar good-night. She turned, and 
 softly went away. 
 
XXVIII. 
 
 WHEN his daughter left him, Mortimer Lee began 
 to walk up and down his library. Long after Sid 
 ney was faintly smiling in her sleep as her dreams 
 opened the doors of resolution and bade joy enter, 
 even after the lamp burned white in the gray of 
 dawn, he still kept pacing back and forth, think 
 ing. He did not tell Sidney the conclusion of his 
 deliberations, when, in the morning, as usual, hang 
 ing upon his arm, she walked with him to the iron 
 gate to say good-by ; there was a conscious tender 
 ness in her manner, the major thought, which made 
 his dim eyes burn at the very pity of it, for her and 
 for hun. When he left her, he went at once to Alan 
 Crossan s house. 
 
 There were one or two people waiting for the doc 
 tor, and the major took his place among them. His 
 white head was bowed a little, and the fingers upon 
 his stick were tremulous, but that was all ; there 
 was no anger in his face, only the patient habit of 
 sorrow. When Alan, opening the office door, caught 
 sight of the old man, he started with surprise, and 
 went to him at once with extended hand. " What 
 is it ? " he said hastily. 
 
 The major looked at the hand, and then at Alan s 
 face. " I wish to see you," he answered. 
 
 Alan was confused and puzzled. " If you will 
 
382 SIDNEY. 
 
 come into my library," he said, aside, " these people 
 can wait?" 
 
 " I will wait." 
 
 Alan went into his office, his face tingling. " It 
 is about Sidney, but why ? " The wild thought 
 even occurred to him that she had sent her father to 
 say " Yes." His two poor people were somewhat 
 ruffled, as is the habit of non-paying patients, that 
 the doctor did not give them the attention and in 
 terest which they felt assured their cases demanded. 
 Instead, he hurried them away, and then begged 
 Major Lee to come into his library. 
 
 " Yery well," the major answered, and followed 
 him through the hall and up the stairs to the pleas 
 ant room, with its sunshine, and chemicals, and 
 stacks of music. There, when they had seated them 
 selves, the two men looked at each other in a silence 
 which Alan was the first to break. " I was afraid 
 some one was ill, but I hope I can be of service in 
 some other way than by pills and powders." He 
 attempted to speak lightly, but it was evident that 
 he was excited. 
 
 "You are very good," returned the other, by 
 force of habit. " I have come to ask a favor, 
 namely, will you kindly refrain from coming to my 
 house ? " As he spoke his voice began to tremble 
 with anger. Alan, instantly, was calm and joyous. 
 
 " I am sure," he said, " that you would not say 
 such a thing unless I had offended you, and I beg 
 that you will tell me in what way I have been so 
 unfortunate ? " 
 
 " I have made no complaint, merely a request. If 
 
SIDNEY. 383 
 
 it needs an explanation, you will, I think, find it in 
 your own conscience." 
 
 Alan felt his face growing hard and impatient. 
 " You are displeased because I love Sidney ? " 
 
 " Pray be exact," answered the major. " I regret 
 that you love my daughter, but I have no right to 
 be displeased ; although, indeed, had I the time and 
 inclination for personal feeling, I might be dis 
 pleased that you had told her of your love. You 
 observe the difference ? It is, however, unnecessary 
 to discuss it further." He rose as he spoke ; he was 
 an old man, and the restraint and grief told upon 
 him. His whole body was trembling. 
 
 " But you cannot leave me in this way," said 
 Alan hotly. " I do not admit for a moment that it 
 was wrong to love Sidney, or to tell her so. I will 
 not be thrust out of your house, Major Lee, without 
 an explanation, as though I were a rogue ! She has 
 refused me : is not that enough ? " Alan s hurried 
 breath showed that this agitation was not good for 
 him. 
 
 " Can you not perceive that it might be " Major 
 Lee paused; he was not used to deception "it 
 might be displeasing to my daughter to see you, 
 under such circumstances ? But you admit nothing 
 wrong ? Very possibly, very possibly. Yet when 
 your father and I were young men, Alan, we would 
 not have considered it honorable to have endeavored 
 to win the regard of a woman without the consent of 
 her father. What, then, would have been our opin 
 ion of a man who won it who tried to win it 
 against the known wishes of her father ? " His sad 
 
384 SIDNEY. 
 
 eyes had in them something beside personal injury ; 
 it was the son of his friend who had done this thing. 
 
 Alan s face flushed, but he was angry at himself 
 that he should feel ashamed. " I cannot agree with 
 you, Major Lee. And you have no right to suggest 
 dishonor. We must not argue now about the wis 
 dom of love ; of course I know your ideas. But will 
 you not grant that if it were my honest conviction 
 that you were wrong and all the world was right, 
 that love was good and worth the cost, then I had a 
 right to speak of it to your daughter ? Granting 
 my conviction, you cannot speak of dishonor." 
 
 Mortimer Lee hesitated. " It was not my pur 
 pose to accuse you ; I merely wished to request " 
 
 " You have accused me, however," interposed the 
 young man quietly. 
 
 " If you insist," returned the major, " upon pur 
 suing this subject, yes, I do consider such conduct 
 dishonorable. You have no right to decide upon my 
 views, unless you investigate them, which, if I mis 
 take not, you are entirely incapable of doing." 
 
 " Then I am to understand," said Alan slowly, 
 " that you make this request because you do not 
 consider me an honorable man ? " 
 
 Major Lee looked straight into the stern, beauti 
 ful eyes. His own were suddenly filled with en 
 treaty. " If you loved her, your first thought would 
 be to spare her ! " 
 
 Alan s indignation vanished with the confession 
 of those words, he forgot everything except that 
 Sidney loved him, and her father knew it ; and then 
 came the tender desire to shield the major from him- 
 
SIDNEY. 385 
 
 self, he must not guess that his pretense at anger 
 had betrayed his fear. (How that look in his face 
 brushed the years aside, and showed Sidney s en. 
 treating and disdaining eyes!) As that thought 
 came to Alan, he smiled, and the major, watching 
 him, said to himself, " No wonder, no wonder ; 
 but it shall not be." 
 
 " It is strange," he began to say, " that you do 
 not see the reasonableness of my position, Alan " 
 (he did not know that his voice had softened), " even 
 without the investigation of which I spoke ; for I 
 should suppose that even the most superficial ob 
 server of life must at some time be struck by the 
 sorrow of love? Every school-boy will remember 
 his Plato, and the wisdom of moderation ; and you, 
 a man, you surely know that love is not moderation ; 
 it is the highest height and the deepest depth. And 
 you wonder that I would protect her ! " 
 
 " To gain the heights once, a man would walk in 
 the depths afterwards ! " cried the other. 
 
 " But you " Mortimer Lee had nothing but en 
 treaty now " you have not the hope of a very long 
 life before you, I have been told ! Is it possible 
 that you do not see " 
 
 " I think I see what you mean," Alan answered 
 gently. "I suppose I shall not live very long, 
 but" 
 
 The major looked at him, with a strange simplic 
 ity in his worn face. " Is is the time short ? May 
 it not be quite far off ? " The hint of hope in 
 his face was so unmistakable that it touched Alan 
 into a smile ; but there was a mist of pity in his 
 happy eyes. 
 
386 SIDNEY. 
 
 " Well, you know," he said, " dying is not one of 
 those things which can be arranged by date." He 
 bit his lip to hide his smile. It was an unusual ex 
 perience, the frank intimation that his early exit 
 from the world would give pleasure. " Sidney has 
 refused me," he added encouragingly. " So you 
 must not be anxious. Yes, I know what you mean. 
 I do love Sidney, and because I love her she shall 
 not love me. I had made up my mind to that. But 
 if you think that she may that I mean, if you 
 think it would be best, I will go away from Mercer. 
 But " He stopped ; a quick determination came 
 into his face. " Look here," he said ; " I want to 
 say something right here." He rose, and stood 
 looking down at his companion. " You are an old 
 man, Major Lee, and I am only a young fellow 
 but I I am going to tell you something, sir, and I 
 beg your pardon in advance. I think you ought to 
 hear it ; I think some healthy-minded person ought 
 to show you how preposterous, how absurd, this idea 
 of yours is. Why, I assure you, I can t take it seri 
 ously," protested Alan, frowning and gesticulating. 
 " It is perfectly fantastic ! " 
 
 Mortimer Lee was too much astonished for words. 
 This boy, this light-headed boy, who knew no more 
 of life than a frolicsome puppy, to whom love and 
 death were only words, was going to " show " him 
 that logic was not to be applied to life. 
 
 " If Sidney," proceeded the young man, " could 
 just get away from this one-sided habit of thought, 
 this dealing with death as an isolated fact ; if she 
 could fall in love," the dignity of reserve came 
 
SIDNEY. 387 
 
 into his face, but his voice was gentle and his words 
 simple, " if she could fall in love in a natural, 
 wholesome, human way, it would be far better for 
 her than the egotism of the avoidance of pain which 
 you inculcate. I trust, sir, that I have not offended 
 you, but it has seemed to me that this should be 
 said." 
 
 " Sir," returned the major, " you have a right to 
 express your opinion ; the more so that you have 
 done me the favor of assuring me that you will 
 leave Mercer." 
 
 Alan flushed. " Major Lee, you know that I did 
 not mean to take advantage of of that. I shall 
 go away, but I thought it proper that you should 
 know my going was no concession to your views. It 
 is only because I have not a man s ordinary chances 
 of life. If I had ! But I will go away." A man, 
 however, cannot doff his character as he would his 
 coat, and Alan added, " for a time." 
 
 The major was very much moved, too moved 
 to resent the folly of the youth who had attempted 
 to instruct him, or to discuss his own position ; he 
 did not try to conceal his relief at Alan s acknow 
 ledgment of ill health, nor his joy that he was going 
 away. " Young man," he said tremulously, " there 
 is, in this distracted world, one certain thing, 
 compensation. You spare Sidney, and you are your 
 self spared the pain of leaving her." He put out 
 his hand, and Alan took it in his brave young grasp ; 
 neither of them spoke. It was not a time for thanks 
 or for protestations. 
 
 A moment later he had gone, and Alan was alone. 
 
388 SIDNEY. 
 
 No one can contemplate the two realities of life 
 and remain unchanged ; he must be either narrower 
 or nobler. Alan Crossan, looking into the eyes of 
 Love and Death, in these last few weeks, had gained 
 a point where he was not aware of himself. This 
 talk with Major Lee was not, as it would have been 
 six months ago, a " situation," a " scene," to be ob 
 served with interest ; instead, it was felt. 
 
 " I will go away," he determined. And this sol 
 emn joy of renunciation made him decide that he 
 would not even say good-by to Sidney. That very 
 day he began his arrangements for departure. 
 
 The first thing to be thought of was Robert. Rob 
 ert needed him. "Yet," Alan had grumbled to 
 himself, only the day before, " the fellow does n t 
 want me. How the deuce am I to get at him?" 
 But after that promise to Major Lee, he had the in 
 spiration which is so common in friendship that the 
 wonder is it is not commonplace and futile, Rob 
 ert must feel that he was needed. (The curious 
 part of this plan is that both sides regard it as sub 
 tile.) 
 
 As soon as this suggested itself to Alan, he went 
 in search of his friend. " Bob, I wish you d do me 
 a favor," he began, as he entered Robert s room ; 
 and then he unfolded his plan that they should 
 travel together for a time. fct I am not up to going 
 by myself," he admitted ; and Robert was eager and 
 grateful for the chance to be of use. 
 
 " See here, old man," Alan said, as he rose to go, 
 "I ll have to prescribe for you; you ve let up on 
 morphine too suddenly ? " 
 
SIDNEY. 389 
 
 " No," answered the other, " it had to be done at 
 a blow. I made up my mind to that when I made 
 up my mind about the Church." 
 
 "The Church?" 
 
 Eobert smiled faintly. " Yes. I can t manage 
 my own life ; I ve made a failure of it ; but I can 
 put it where it won t do any more harm, and per 
 haps I dare to hope, some good. I have entered 
 the Catholic Church, my mother s church, you 
 know." 
 
 " Good Lord ! " said Alan. 
 
 " She forgave me," proceeded the other, " but I 
 cannot forgive myself ; I do not mean for telling 
 her, that was right, but for misleading her, in 
 the first place. I cannot trust myself. The church 
 which directs, and governs, and obliterates the indi 
 vidual is the place for a man like me. When you 
 are well and strong again, I shall enter some broth 
 erhood and and I shall at least be harmless." 
 
 " You will be crazy," Alan assured him. " Man 
 alive ! how can you be a Catholic ? What are you 
 going to do with your reason ? " 
 
 " Have I used it so well that I can rely upon it, 
 do you think ? " returned the other. Alan looked at 
 him despairingly. " Well," he said, " by Jove, Bob, 
 when conscience takes the bit of common sense in 
 its teeth, it will run as viciously as the most unbri 
 dled passions ! " But Robert refused to discuss it 
 in such a spirit ; and later, when the two men talked 
 seriously of this matter, Alan reluctantly admitted 
 that his friend was wise. 
 
 They hastened their arrangements for departure, 
 
390 SIDNEY. 
 
 and, without discussion or apparent agreement, it 
 came about that they left Mercer the day before 
 John and Katherine were married. The doctor was 
 sorry for this, but he felt Robert s pain at the re 
 membrance of what that day was to have been to 
 him and to Miss Sally, and made no protest. He 
 called to say good-by to Mrs. Paul the night before 
 they went away, but she was too happily excited to 
 regret very deeply his absence from the wedding, or to 
 think of mentioning it to Sidney. So the girl went 
 to the little church, that pleasant August afternoon, 
 full of strange fear and hope ; Alan would be there, 
 she thought. She was willing to see him, she had 
 said to herself a dozen times ; with too little under 
 standing of love to know that she was selfish. 
 
 Since the night when she had talked with her 
 father, Sidney had changed from one opinion to an- 
 another as to the expediency of love, even when 
 one s soul rested in the assurance of God. She was 
 like a flower swaying into the sunshine and into the 
 shadow, but rooted all the while in the earth from 
 which it sprang. Sometimes it seemed to her that 
 she would tear love out of her heart ; then, that 
 she would love Alan a little, but he should never 
 know it ; then, that he might know it, and they 
 would both forget it ; and, again, that love should 
 end. But, no matter what temporary opinion she 
 might hold, she never doubted that love meant sor 
 row, nor swerved from the determination not to 
 marry him. There was, however, no reason, she 
 said to herself, that she should not meet him, some 
 times, and she was confused and a little troubled 
 that he no longer came to see her. 
 
SIDNEY. 391 
 
 Of course she should see him at the wedding, she 
 thought. She was to have gone to church with Mrs. 
 Paul, but Mrs. Paul had forgotten her ; so Sidney 
 found her way to Miss Sally s seat, which was in the 
 shadow of a pillar and beside a blue window, that 
 was tipped half-way open, so that she could see the 
 glimmering line of the river across the meadows, 
 and beyond, the hills, misty with August sunshine ; 
 nearer were the dusty roofs of the brick-kilns, and 
 long rows of sun-baked bricks ; and nearer yet was 
 the frame of ivy leaves about the little window. 
 With the singing murmur of the organ John and 
 Katherine entered. Sidney had never seen a wed 
 ding before. She sat in the dark corner, leaning 
 forward, nervously grasping the back of the pew in 
 front of her ; she listened with an intensity which 
 made her breath come hurriedly, and her eyes blur 
 so that she could scarcely see the bunch of white 
 August lilies which some one had placed in the book- 
 rack, behind Miss Sally s small shabby Prayer-Book. 
 Scarcely a month ago, what a different scene the lit 
 tle gray church had witnessed ! It had been Death, 
 then, which had moved up the aisle to the chancel ; 
 and now, Love followed, joyously, in Death s very 
 steps, forgetting ! 
 
 Perhaps the words which remained in Sidney s 
 heart, out of all the stately and beautiful marriage 
 service, were those least thought of in the daily care 
 less life of husband and wife, "till death us do 
 part." 
 
 "Part!" she thought. "If they believe what 
 they say they believe, that death does not end all, 
 why is it not till death us do join ? " 
 
392 SIDNEY. 
 
 " O Eternal God," she heard Mr. Brown say, 
 " Creator and Preserver of all mankind, Giver of all 
 spiritual grace " and Sidney knelt with the rest, 
 but with a certain terror. To presume to address 
 the Unknown ! oh, would not silence be better ? 
 
 Death had not been so solemn to Sidney as was 
 this crown of life, solemn and terrible ; an enter 
 ing into the Eternal, a yielding up of God to God. 
 It was neither joy nor sorrow, but an acceptance of 
 life as part of the Purpose of the universe. 
 
 She dared not look into the faces of the man and 
 woman thus glorified, as they turned to leave the 
 church. Still kneeling, she hid her eyes in the bunch 
 of white lilies, and waited. Yet she might have 
 looked. It is conceivable that Moses could have 
 come down from the mount, good and glad, but with 
 no glory in his countenance that need be hidden from 
 awestricken eyes. No one saw Sidney in the dark 
 corner ; and after the gay little company had gone, 
 she still sat there by the blue window. Some birds 
 twittered in the ivy, rustling the leaves as they 
 moved ; the organist in the dusky loft pushed in the 
 stops and shut the organ, and a muffled echo crept 
 along the arches of the ceiling. A rosy finger of 
 light from the west window pointed up the aisle and 
 into the chancel ; the shadows of the leaves moved 
 across it like living things. 
 
 " Why do they have words," Sidney was think 
 ing, " and why were we here ? We had no right to 
 see them. A wedding is love and God ; it was pro 
 fane to see it." 
 
 The sexton, old and wrinkled, went limping up 
 
SIDNEY. 393 
 
 into the chancel to take away the flowers ; he sang 
 to himself in a soft falsetto, which cracked into un 
 expected bass. 
 
 " The Lord my Shepherd is ; 
 
 He makes me down to lie 
 In pastures green ; He leadeth me 
 The quiet waters by." 
 
 He did not seem to be aware that he was treading 
 upon holy ground. Back and forth he went, carry 
 ing the flowers in his lean old arms ; then, still sing 
 ing, he came with a long pole to shut the windows, 
 set deep in the gray walls. Sidney startled him, as 
 she rose and went away. 
 
 Oh, how terrible life was j how unbearable with 
 out the Eternal Refuge of the enfolding understand 
 ing of it all ! Yet, how foolish to invite sorrow as 
 these two had done ! She would not do that. 
 
 But her heart was full of Alan, as she walked 
 home ; not with any weakening of resolution, but 
 with the human joy of love, which is not to be de 
 stroyed by reason, or time, or death itself ; so that 
 when she came into the library, and saw, leaning 
 against the crystal ball on the oak table, a letter 
 addressed to her in Alan s hand, her face flushed 
 with happiness. She opened it with smiling haste ; 
 and then stood, in the yellow dusk of sunset, read 
 ing its brief and friendly words : 
 
 DEAR SIDNEY, I am sorry to go away and 
 for an indefinitely long time so hastily that I may 
 not say good-by to you ; but I must leave Mercer to 
 night. [Sidney, her face settling into white calm, 
 
394 SIDNEY. 
 
 mechanically looked back ; it was dated the day be 
 fore.] I hope to sail for Europe very soon, but 
 just now I in off for the mountains for a few weeks, 
 to 4 loaf and invite my soul ! Robert Steele, who goes 
 with me, begs to be remembered to you. 
 
 Sincerely yours, ALAN CROSS AN. 
 
 The yellow light faded and faded ; the sparkle of 
 the crystal ball trembled into gray ; the shadows 
 stretched themselves about the room. There was 
 the click of the iron gate in the courtyard, and Ma 
 jor Lee s step upon the porch. 
 
 " It is better so," she said, lifting her head. " I 
 am glad that he has gone ; this decides it. It is 
 better for him." 
 
XXIX. 
 
 ALAN went ; but he took his disposition with him. 
 He was full of the exaltation of sacrifice ; yet he 
 watched critically for the first indication of weaken 
 ing resolution. After a while, with the reality of 
 absence came a depression which was new, and in 
 which, for once, he failed to find his own mood in 
 teresting. It became necessary that he should as 
 sure himself repeatedly that he had done well to 
 spare Sidney his love, because he spared her also the 
 end which was hurriedly approaching. Perhaps 
 Alan s weakness of soul, as well as body, in those 
 yellow September days, was good for Robert Steele. 
 Usefulness was to be his salvation, he said to him 
 self, and, gradually, his purpose of going into the 
 Catholic Church became not only a flight from de 
 spair, but a hope for the future. He and Alan spoke 
 of it often, as they wandered and rested among the 
 hills ; Alan admitting, reluctantly, that it was best, 
 yet filled with the friendliest curiosity and wonder. 
 He recognized in Robert the absence of that spirit 
 ual passion which, having little to do with sweet rea 
 sonableness, often hurries an impressionable man 
 into some expression of reli gion. In the past, Rob 
 ert had had scarcely more of a creed than Alan, yet 
 he had felt the need of one, and to feel that is al 
 most a creed in itself ; and now he was terrified at 
 
393 SIDNEY. 
 
 his own nature, and sought to escape from it in the 
 strong, wise arms of that church which nourishes the 
 soul, and leaves the intellect to itself ; here, with bit 
 ter knowledge of his cowardice, he saw his safety 
 assured. Necessity had thrust a creed upon him ! 
 
 Alan understood and sympathized with all his 
 sweet and generous heart, but refrained from theo 
 logical discussion. This for two reasons : he did 
 not know anything about theology, and he cared less. 
 He entered into Robert s plans, however, with the 
 greatest interest, and furthered them by suggesting 
 that, as soon as he himself was a little stronger, they 
 should go together to Rome. Then he fell to think 
 ing how rich his life had grown since he saw Italy 
 last, and the light in his face was as though for a 
 moment the flame of life lifted and glowed behind 
 his smiling eyes. These moments of satisfaction 
 with himself became rarer, however, as his strength 
 declined, and so the date of departure for Europe 
 was postponed, and still postponed. 
 
 October came, and yet they lingered among the 
 hills. Alan had begun to say to himself that perhaps 
 he was a fool ; and when a man reaches that point, 
 it is only a step to the determination to renounce his 
 folly. Yet to break one s word to one s self is dis 
 tinctly unpleasant, although, if the responsibility of 
 it can be shared with another person it is a little less 
 so. Alan instinctively sought approval ; and who 
 would be so ready to approve of anything he might 
 do as Robert ? 
 
 One still day, early in November, the two young 
 men went very slowly, and resting often, up and 
 
SIDNEY. 397 
 
 across a ferny pasture on a steep mountain side, and 
 stopped at last near a low, shaggy cedar. It was late 
 in the afternoon, but the Indian-summer mildness 
 lingered, even while the gradual amethyst of evening 
 fell around the feet of the mountains opposite, and 
 crept, like a tide of dreams, up the great ranges of 
 the hills. From behind the shoulder of a peak misty 
 with this haze of night, which yet is not darkness, 
 the yellow sunset blurred the distance in flooding 
 gold, and fell upon the bosom of this rocky field. 
 Down in the valley, a little tumbling branch of the 
 Youghiogheny grew dark in the shadows, only gleam 
 ing with sudden white where the water leaped and 
 broke across the great stones in its path. 
 
 Alan had changed in these two months. His eyes 
 yet smiled, but his face was white. He lay flat on 
 his back under the cedar, where the sunshine was 
 warm still upon the frosted ferns ; his hands were 
 under his head, his knees crossed, and there was a 
 cigar between his lips. Robert sat beside him, look 
 ing down into the darkening valley, thinking. As 
 he watched the twist of blue smoke from Alan s 
 cigar, or, absently, the swing of a stalk of goldenrod 
 under the weight of a brown butterfly, he was press 
 ing his own weakness in upon his memory, as a fa 
 natic will again and again open a healing wound. He 
 would not even accept the consolation of a look into 
 the future, with its hope of a better life, except, 
 as he said to himself, that he would never take any 
 positive stand again so long as he lived ; he would 
 do only as he might be directed, and then, perhaps, 
 he could get through life without injuring any one. 
 
398 SIDNEY. 
 
 " Bob," said the doctor, " do you know, I believe 
 I ve been a fool to come up here ? " 
 
 " Why? " Robert asked, turning with quick anxi 
 ety to look into his face. " You are no worse ? " 
 
 " Oh, I was n t thinking of that. I mean in leav 
 ing Mercer." 
 
 "Yes?" 
 
 " Well," Alan began slowly, " I 11 tell you what I 
 mean ; " and then he told him. 
 
 It was not a long story, and the main fact his 
 hearer had long ago guessed ; but, in the middle, at 
 the point at which he had told Major Lee that he 
 would not see Sidney, Alan stopped, perhaps to 
 relight his cigar, perhaps to seek some words which 
 might make his change of mind seem to himself rea 
 sonable, or at least inevitable. Robert looked at him 
 with a tenderness which might have shone in the 
 eyes of a woman. 
 
 " It was a mistake to take such a stand," the doc 
 tor proceeded ; " and to stick to a blunder, when you 
 recognize it as such, is obstinacy, not consistency. I 
 mean the going away was a blunder; there is no 
 reason why I should not have stayed in Mercer. I 
 need not have I mean, just to see her sometimes 
 would have done no harm. There is no reason why 
 I should not see her. As for the major, his plan of 
 life is wicked." 
 
 "It is against nature," Robert admitted. 
 
 " How does it strike you," Alan asked, after a 
 pause, " the going back to Mercer ? " 
 
 Robert hesitated. " I am confused," he said at 
 last, " between the right she has to receive, even to 
 
SIDNEY. 399 
 
 claim, sorrow, and the right you have to withhold it 
 from her. But that is not your question. Your 
 promise to Major Lee is the first thing. Of course 
 he must release you from that before you can re 
 turn." 
 
 " There was no promise exactly," Alan explained 
 impatiently. 
 
 Robert s face flushed, and he looked away from 
 the doctor. " It would not, however, be honora 
 ble." He dropped his voice, miserably, at that last 
 word. 
 
 Alan struck him on the knee with friendly rough 
 ness. " I don t pretend to be as good as you ; no 
 doubt you are right. But I m going back. Per 
 haps I 11 die there, but not directly ! And just 
 to see her, Bob ! " 
 
 He had only said that he loved Sidney, and she 
 had refused him ; the sacred confession of that 
 second refusal he kept in his own heart. But the 
 gladness in his face betrayed the truth. 
 
 Not many days later, they returned to Mercer: 
 Robert, with faint protestations that the major should 
 be asked to release Alan, or at least warned of the 
 doctor s intentions ; Alan, with the reckless gayety of 
 the man who refuses to recognize his own misgivings 
 about his duty. They went back to their old rooms 
 in Mercer, for the agent had found no other tenants ; 
 and the sunshine dancing on the walls of the library 
 met them with the welcome Alan s heart supplied. 
 
 " Ah," he said. " it is good to be in the same town 
 with her. To-morrow I shall see her, and I 11 see 
 Major Lee, of course ; you need n t look at me in 
 that way!" 
 
400 SIDNEY. 
 
 But that was not to be. To-morrow came, and 
 with it the rising tide of death. Alan was very ill 
 for nearly a week. Robert wondered, as he watched 
 the young man s brave fight for life, whether his 
 friend was glad the fates had spared Sidney. But 
 Alan, smiling with white lips, settled that question. 
 
 " Bob, if this is going to be the end," he said, with 
 a pause between his words, " you must bring Sidney, 
 you know." His face lighted as he spoke. 
 
 It was not the end. Little by little he came back 
 to life, but it was some time before he spoke of Sid 
 ney again. " You have n t seen her, have you ? " he 
 asked. He was watching at dusk the dance of the 
 flames on the hearth. 
 
 " I ? " Robert answered. " No, of course not." 
 
 Alan raised his eyebrows. "I cannot imagine 
 why not." 
 
 " Because I did n t suppose you wished her to know 
 that you were here before you had seen her father/ 
 
 Alan looked at him in despair. " As though I 
 remembered that nonsense, with one foot in the 
 grave. And she must have heard it from some 
 body." He frowned as he spoke ; it had been a 
 beautiful solace, in those sharp hours, to fancy that 
 Sidney s thoughts were with him. 
 
 " No," Robert returned. " Mrs. Paul is away, as 
 you know, and unless the major has chanced to hear 
 that we are in Mercer, and mentioned it to Miss Lee 
 (which does not seem probable), how could she know 
 it?" 
 
 Alan shook his head impatiently. " I want her 
 to know it ! " Robert made no reply. " You must 
 go and tell her," Alan declared. 
 
SIDNEY. 401 
 
 " You will write to Major Lee ? " his friend en 
 treated gently. 
 
 " Write to nobody ! " said Alan sharply. " Un 
 less it is to Sidney, if you refuse to take my message. 
 Do you refuse ? " 
 
 " Alan," the other evaded, " do reconsider this ? " 
 Kobert Steele had never been so heroic as when he 
 raised his standard of honor out of the wreck and 
 ruin of his own life. The sick rnan wearily turned 
 his head away. " Steele," he said, " conscience, un 
 restrained by common sense, is worse than a nui 
 sance, it s a snare ! " He could not argue ; how fool 
 ish it seemed, this straining at a gnat ! Yet a little 
 later he was able to say, with friendly cheerfulness, 
 " All right ; only you are wrong, old man." At that 
 Robert threw his scruples to the winds. Of course 
 he did not know that Alan had quietly made up his 
 mind to "manage his own affairs," but that would 
 not have made any difference. Without a word of 
 his plans he said he was going out to walk. 
 
 Robert had not entered Major Lee s house since 
 that day when he went to tell Miss Sally the truth, 
 and, as he crossed the courtyard, memory assailed 
 him like a physical pain. The little paving-stones 
 were wet with November mist, and the fallen leaves 
 lay in wind-blown heaps, too heavy with dampness to 
 rustle as he walked through them. Just a year ago 
 Miss Sally welcomed him here ; the major trusted 
 him ; Alan respected him ; and Sidney ? The thought 
 of seeing her now was intolerable. 
 
 He followed little Susan to the library, but with 
 a shuddering consciousness of the yellow drawing- 
 
402 SIDNEY. 
 
 room, and even that strange sidewise look with which 
 one sees a spot where perhaps a coffin has stood. 
 Behind that closed door Miss Sally had listened to 
 his confession. As he stood waiting, saying to him 
 self, " She is dead, she is dead," he forgot the 
 terror of meeting Sidney ; after all these weeks his 
 humiliation was too absorbing for the consciousness 
 of shame. 
 
 Sidney, when she heard who was in the library, 
 turned white, and then a wave of color covered her 
 face. Mr. Steele in Mercer ? Then Alan must be, 
 also ! Oh, why had he come back ? She went 
 downstairs slowly, her hand resting on the banister, 
 her mind in a tumult. Then the thought struck her 
 of the pain it must be to Mr. Steele to enter this 
 house where death had been, and her own confusion 
 was forgotten. That Sidney could so forget was in 
 dicative of that change in her which Robert saw in 
 her face. For an instant it seemed as though this 
 woman, in her black gown, with earnest, pitying 
 eyes, could not be the old Sidney Lee ; her wide, in 
 different gaze was gone, and with it self-satisfaction 
 and a certain sweet disdain which had charmed and 
 wounded at onse. Instead, there was a quiet ac 
 ceptance of life, lightened, indeed, by that great 
 moment when she had recognized her larger self, but 
 only by its memory, not its repetition. Such memo 
 ries feed the soul ; a man who has once lifted his 
 eyes to the midnight heavens may walk forever 
 afterwards with his face towards the dust, but he 
 cannot forget that he has seen the stars ! So Sid^ 
 ney, failing again and yet again, bowed by the shame 
 
SIDNEY. 403 
 
 of self-knowledge, struggling with her own weakness 
 and incompleteness, was sustained by the memory of 
 that Strength which was sufficient for her. 
 
 She had suffered, and her soul was born. 
 
 Robert and she looked at each other a moment, 
 as she gave him her hand, and then he turned sharply 
 away from her. Sidney did not speak ; those mean 
 ingless commonplaces, which wash realities out of 
 life, were not easy to either of these two. The tears 
 trembled in her eyes ; sympathy, which was a new 
 sense, showed her what to say. 
 
 " Mr. Steele, the lilies in the church the day that 
 Katherine was married were so beautiful ; I knew 
 you put them there." 
 
 " I had no right to do even that ! " he answered, 
 in a low voice. His own misery made him forget 
 his purpose in coming, and Sidney was too pitiful to 
 think of herself, and so remind him. 
 
 "You are unhappy," she said gently, and with 
 that calm, direct look which made any subject fit 
 ting. " You are unhappy because you brought your 
 engagement with my aunt to an end. That is not 
 right, it seems to me. Truly, I think you honored 
 truth in doing it ; but you degrade truth in being 
 sorry that you did it." 
 
 " It it is not that ! " he cried ; and then, almost 
 with a groan, " I am unworthy to speak her name ! " 
 
 Sidney waited. " I wonder where Alan is," she 
 was saying to herself ; but she waited. 
 
 " No," he went on, after a pause, " I did right to 
 tell her ; but the sin the sin was in the beginning, 
 that I did not see that it was not love " 
 
404 SIDNEY. 
 
 "Yes," she assented. 
 
 " And now," Robert ended, " she is dead." 
 
 They neither of them spoke for a few moments. 
 
 " Miss Lee," Robert began, his voice firm again, 
 " will you tell me a little about her illness ? I know 
 nothing of it. I felt I had no right to ask Alan." 
 
 Sidney started. "It was not very long, you 
 know. Alan was with us almost all the time. He 
 was so good." 
 
 "Yes?" 
 
 " Oh, where is he ? " she cried, turning, and look 
 ing straight into his face. " Where is Alan?" 
 
 " He is here in Mercer. I came to tell you." 
 
 "Here?" she faltered. "We have not seen 
 him." 
 
 " We only came ten days ago," he explained. " I 
 want to tell you about him, Miss Lee." 
 
 " Yes, tell me ! " It would not have occurred to 
 Sidney to disguise her wish to hear of Alan. 
 
 "I hope that he may be able to come to see 
 you" 
 
 " Be able ? " Sidney interrupted quickly. " Has 
 he been ill?" 
 
 " Yes ; Alan has been very ill, Miss Lee." 
 
 " But not now ? " she entreated breathlessly, 
 " he is better now ? " 
 
 " For to-day, yes," he answered, " but he will 
 never be well." She did not speak ; Robert could 
 not tell whether she understood him. " He has 
 been so much worse, so much weaker, and we 
 shcJl not have him with us very long. I thought - 
 I thought you ought to know it ? " 
 
SIDNEY 405 
 
 " Yes." Her face was so white that Robert was 
 terrified at what he had done. He tried to say 
 something more of what he still dared to hope, but 
 every word of hope was strung upon a thread of 
 fear, and he dared not offer the comfort of a lie. 
 Sidney was not listening ; when he ended, she said 
 quietly, " There is my father coming ; tell him." 
 
 Robert met the major on the doorstep. He had 
 forgotten that this was the first time that he had 
 seen him since Miss Sally s funeral ; for once he 
 was so unconscious of his own sins that he did not 
 see the questioning displeasure on Mortimer Lee s 
 face. " Alan Crossan is in Mercer," he said, " but 
 he is very ill. I have just told your daughter." 
 Then, without pausing for an answer, he left him. 
 
 Sidney stood in the firelit dusk, waiting. 
 " Father," she said, as he entered, " father, I 
 have something to tell you." 
 
 The major closed the door, and took her in his 
 arms. 
 
XXX. 
 
 TVrra the perfect blossoming of a rose the calyx 
 falls away, and is folded back under its shadowy fra 
 grance. So do the small things of life, necessary in 
 their hour, find their relative value in a great crisis. 
 i% For this cause came I into the world," the soul 
 declares calmly : and knows no hesitation, and, 
 equally, no determination. Its purpose and itself 
 are one. When the environment is forgotten, the 
 supremest individuality is reached. 
 
 Now, staring into the eyes of Death, while Grief 
 beckoned her with extended hand. Sidney Lee s 
 consciousness of fear, and expediency, and obedi 
 ence to her father, was pushed back by this blossom 
 ing of her souL She read her own heart, and saw her 
 love for Alan, not as a thing bursting into existence 
 at the touch of death, but as a tranquil and eternal 
 fact; so much a part of her that not only did it 
 seem that it must always be, but that it always had 
 been, even as the perfect rose has been shut within 
 the seed ! It was not to be accepted nor rejected. 
 It was. Her past was but the calyx of the consum 
 mate flowering of life. 
 
 She was so calm as she told her father her pur 
 pose, so ultimate, that the old man presented no 
 argument and ventured no entreaty. There was 
 nothing to be done or said. 
 
SIDNEY. 407 
 
 Sidney kissed him gently when she ended what 
 she had to say, and then left him. He could not 
 touch her ; he could not speak to her. " It is as 
 though I were dead," he said to himself. This 
 heart, which had answered his as the water answers 
 the wind, could not be reached by his despair. 
 %i This is the pain of the dead," he thought, sitting 
 alone in his library ; " they cannot touch us ! " The 
 dead! What was he thinking of? No, they had 
 neither this nor any other pain. A trembling com 
 fort crept back into his heart ; no one could deprive 
 him of death. In that, at least, was no disappoint 
 ment. But why had he lived so long ? A strange 
 feeling came over him, a realization of his infinite 
 removal from all which had made his life. Surely 
 he had died when Gertrude s lovely eyes closed upon 
 the world ? Here, in the shadows, beside his smoul 
 dering fire, that delicate and marvelous mechanism 
 of a human mind quivered under the jar and shock 
 of pain ; in a dull confusion he seemed to forget 
 Sidney, and the thought came to him that Gertrude 
 was still his. To rest his head upon her bosom 
 ah! the hideous desolation of longing! The slow 
 
 O O 
 
 tears of age burned under his weary eyelids. 
 Scarcely aware of what he was doing, he rose, tak 
 ing the lamp in his unsteady hands, and with a 
 feeble step left the library. He crossed the hall, 
 and stood at the door of the yellow paflor. The 
 house was quite silent ; little Susan had put out the 
 lamp on the staircase au hour ago, and gone up to 
 bed ; the faint glow from the library fire lay like a 
 bridge across the darkness of the hall. He did not 
 
408 SIDNEY. 
 
 hesitate, but the confusion of his thoughts betrayed 
 itself by the slowness with which he turned the knob 
 and entered the parlor. The door stuck a little, 
 and the jar of pushing it open moved with a muffled 
 echo through the darkness ; the room was very cold, 
 and there was the scent of the unused fireplace and 
 the linen covers of the furniture. Mortimer Lee 
 went at once towards its farther end. He put the 
 lamp down upon a small table before the portrait, 
 stopping to move aside a little workbag of green 
 silk, vaguely aware that it was Sarah s. Curiously 
 enough, it reminded him of death, for he had been 
 saying to himself that Gertrude arid he were to 
 gether, and that meant life. 
 
 Then he turned his dim eyes upon the portrait. 
 
 How long he stood there, his hands clasped 
 behind him, or holding the lamp above his head, 
 that its shifting light might fall upon that young 
 face, he never knew. But the silence ringing in his 
 ears was clamorous with a new desolation : in the 
 arch sweetness of those eyes there was no compre 
 hension of his pain. Who was she, this beautiful 
 young woman ? Not the wife who had lived in his 
 heart all these years, not Gertrude, whom he 
 knew with the passion of sorrow? Mortimer Lee 
 dropped his head upon his breast, without a sound. 
 What was this new despair ? Where was his grief ? 
 Suddenly, for one swift instant, his precious posses 
 sion of pain seemed torn out of his heart, and he felt 
 that he stood alone. That fact of the solitude of the 
 soul is not often revealed to a man, and when it is, 
 it crushes the mind into the numbness of despair. 
 
SIDNEY. 409 
 
 Such a revelation is so overwhelming that, after 
 wards, the soul doubts its reality, and resumes easily 
 the old habit of communion with whatever, in the 
 past, has been most near and real. 
 
 That night Sidney slept as peacefully as a child. 
 Her life, it seemed to her, had been taken out of her 
 hands, and she knew the calm of the fatalist, which 
 is, perhaps, the highest form of faith. 
 
 It was snowing when she looked out into her gar 
 den, the next morning ; the firs in the evergreen 
 hedge were like cowled and muffled figures stealing 
 through the storm ; her window ledge was piled 
 high with feathery white, and the leaded outlines of 
 the fan-lights were traced in twists of down. All 
 the grimy, bustling town faded into misty purity 
 while the snow fell ; here and there from a great 
 chimney a burst of flame, like a ruddy banner, 
 flared out into the driving white, and then subsided 
 into a roll of dark smoke, laced by hurrying flakes. 
 
 " If only it would n t stop ! " Alan Crossan said, 
 sitting at his library window, and looking at the soft 
 depths piling up on the naked branches of the old 
 locust tree; "but it will melt, and then I can t go 
 out for a week." 
 
 " Do you think," Robert asked, " that you will be 
 able to start in a week ? " 
 
 "If I want to," the other replied, with gay sig 
 nificance. " Bob, don t worry about not getting to 
 Rome at once. Let me die in peace at Mercer, and 
 I 11 be your patron saint. Besides, if you are really 
 worried at the delay, I have a History of the 
 
410 SIDNEY. 
 
 Popes you can study. It is by an eminent Protes 
 tant ; it will give you lots of information." 
 
 Robert laughed, but said he really thought Alan 
 ought to make up his mind to start ; a Pennsylvania 
 winter was not the best thing in the world for an 
 invalid. 
 
 Alan looked at him with interest. " You don t 
 take the strictly moral view which you did yester 
 day ? " he observed. 
 
 " Yes, I do ; only I can t see that it makes any 
 difference what view I take." 
 
 " Not the slightest," Alan agreed good-naturedly. 
 
 " I d like to ask you something," Robert began, 
 after a pause. " Do you mean, if you stay, to try 
 to make her love you ? " 
 
 Alan s face grew suddenly grave. " No," he said 
 quietly. 
 
 " But if she sees you, may not that come ? " 
 
 Alan shook his head. " No ; it must not come. 
 I only want her to know that I am in town." 
 
 " She knows that." 
 
 " What ! " exclaimed the doctor. " When ? " 
 
 " I told her, yesterday." 
 
 "Bob," cried the other joyously, "you re a 
 trump ! What did she say ? " 
 
 "Nothing," Robert answered, uncertain whether 
 he should tell Alan the confession of Sidney s silence. 
 (" It will only make it harder for him," he thought.) 
 
 " Nothing? Did you tell her I had been ill? " 
 
 "Yes," Robert admitted, still struggling to see 
 whether he was not really helping Alan to break his 
 word to the major. 
 
SIDNEY. 411 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 " She didn t say anything." 
 
 Alan opened his lips, but seemed to find him 
 self at a loss for words. " Did n t say anything ? " 
 he repeated blankly. " Did n t she say she was 
 sorry ? " 
 
 Robert shook his head. He had made up his 
 mind ; he had done wrong in telling Sidney, at 
 least it should end here. 
 
 Alan fell into gloomy silence. He was hurt. Not 
 a message, not a word ? He would not ask any 
 thing further. He began to torment himself with 
 questions which revealed how, underneath his as 
 surance to her and his sacrifice in going away, had 
 lurked the hope that she loved him. " Perhaps she 
 was angry that I did not say good-by ? Perhaps my 
 note was curt, and she felt that I had ceased to love 
 her ? " Perhaps perhaps Is a lover ever done 
 with that word ? 
 
 The snow whirled and drifted against his window, 
 but to Alan s eyes all the cheerfulness of the storm 
 was gone. Once he asked abruptly, "Did she look 
 well?" And Robert said, "Yes; but older and 
 graver." Alan would not read ; he had not strength 
 enough for his violin; he answeyed Robert s ef 
 forts at conversation by monosyllables. He looked 
 gloomily at the fire, and said to himself that after 
 all, life was a grim sort of thing ; and he wondered 
 whether the mere satiety of living might not bring 
 the desire for death. 
 
 But while he brooded and wondered, turning stu 
 diously away from Robert s troubled face, the door 
 
412 SIDNEY. 
 
 opened, and some one stood in the doorway. Neither 
 of the young men looked up, until Alan, realizing 
 with vague annoyance that some one was standing 
 behind him, turned and saw her. The wind had 
 brought the wild-rose color into Sidney s cheeks, and 
 the snow had caught on the rings of shining hair 
 upon her forehead. She looked like a flower swept 
 in out of the storm. Her long gray cloak dropped 
 from her shoulders, as she unfastened its clasp and 
 came quietly to his side. 
 
 "Alan, I have come," she said. 
 
 Kobert Steele started to his feet with an astounded 
 exclamation, but Alan, a sudden content smoothing 
 the trouble and weariness from his face, as the west 
 wind blows the clouds from the serene and open 
 spaces of the sky, lifted his eyes to hers, without 
 speaking. Sidney took his hand and held it against 
 her bosom, stroking it softly. 
 
 "Mr. Steele," she said, without a tremor or a 
 blush, and looking directly at him, " I have come to 
 marry Alan." She did not wait to see Robert leave 
 the room ; it was nothing to Sidney if the whole 
 world should see her now ; she knelt down beside 
 Alan, and laid her head upon his breast. He heard 
 her whisper one word. Weakened and trembling, 
 he could only rest his cheek against her hair, with a 
 sob upon his lips. 
 
XXXI. 
 
 IT was just a fortnight later that Mrs. Paul re 
 turned from her first visit to Katherine and John, 
 a visit which was an extraordinary experience to 
 her. She had gone full of plans for her beloved 
 Kate s happiness, but they were quietly and quite 
 courteously ignored. Katherine, although never un 
 kind, was quite indifferent to her husband s mother. 
 Life was so interesting to young Mrs. Paul that she 
 no longer diverted herself by trying to charm the 
 bitter and selfish old woman. Mrs. Paul was at first 
 incapable of grasping the situation, but it dawned 
 upon her when Katherine civilly acquiesced in her 
 mother-in-law s tentative statement that perhaps she 
 had better go back to Mercer ? 
 
 " Yes," she said, " perhaps it is best. You would 
 not want to travel in the colder weather." 
 
 Mrs. Paul did not understand her own emotions. 
 She still said to herself, mechanically, that Kate was 
 delightful, and she tried to adjust this speech to her 
 ideaL It was inconceivable that Katherine did not 
 love her ; this willingness to have her go w r as really 
 consideration ; but she felt sore and baffled, and a 
 forlorn dismay began to creep into her mind. 
 
 So, after all, it was a relief to come back to Mer 
 cer. With this new light upon Kate s character, it 
 would be easier to talk about her than to talk to 
 
414 SIDNEY. 
 
 her. She wished that she could have had Sally for 
 half an hour, but Sidney was better than no one. 
 So, just before tea, she bade Scarlett step over to 
 the other house, and say, with Mrs. Paul s love, 
 " Will Miss Lee come in this evening for a little 
 while?" 
 
 " She should come without being sent for," she 
 added severely ; " but Mortimer Lee is so selfish in 
 keeping her with him. He made her neglect me 
 shamefully in the summer, after Sally died." 
 
 She wondered, as she watched the fire shine and 
 flicker, how Mortimer Lee would get along without 
 Sally s stupid goodness. " Of course he will be 
 uncomfortable," she said to herself, and smiled. 
 
 Thus sitting, thinking, Mrs. Paul saw Scarlett 
 crossing the major s garden, and hurrying through 
 the doorway in the garden wall. A moment later 
 there was a sound of voices in the kitchen. This 
 was so unusual and so little in accordance with Mrs. 
 Paul s theories that she frowned, and bent her head 
 as though to listen ; but through the green baize 
 door only a muffled discord reached her. 
 
 Scarlett, in the kitchen, with her black shawl fall 
 ing off one shoulder, her small withered hands ges 
 ticulating and trembling, was at last talking. Her 
 words came fast, but Davids, leaning against the 
 dresser, his arms folded and his feet crossed, ob 
 served her with complacent silence. 
 
 " What has come to you ? " demanded the woman. 
 " I ve been in the house since noon, and you never 
 let on to me. And you, to hold your tongue five 
 hours!" 
 
SIDNEY. 415 
 
 " And how do you like my holdin my tongue ? " 
 inquired Davids. 
 
 " That s neither here nor there. There s some 
 meaning in your head, or you would n t be so close- 
 mouthed. I know you ! " 
 
 Scarlett s face was growing pale again, and her 
 voice was steadier. She turned to take her bonnet 
 off, that she might go to her mistress, but Davids 
 quietly stepped in front of the door, and stood, with 
 his hands behind him rattling the knob, observing 
 her all the while with intense satisfaction. 
 
 " Yes," he said, " I did keep my mouth shut, and 
 I d a kep it shut an hour longer if it had killed 
 me, if I d a bust, just for a lesson to you. You 
 an me s lived in this kitchen pretty near twenty- 
 five years, and from the very first you set out to 
 keep a close mouth, an you ve done it. You ve 
 never give a bit of news that you could help. Well, 
 it come my turn. An I made out I could be as 
 mean as you. I know all, all ; but I ain t got a 
 word to say ! " 
 
 Scarlett looked at him steadily and in silence ; 
 then a slow smile came about her lips. She turned 
 away without a protest, to wait, with folded hands, 
 until he chose to open the door. Her composure 
 made Davids furious. Stammering with anger, he 
 moved unconsciously out into the room. As he did 
 so, the small, gray woman slipped past him, and 
 escaped into the hall. In spite of her self-control, 
 however, she was visibly excited when she opened 
 the drawing-room door. 
 
 " Mrs. Paul" she began, 177 a fluttering breath. 
 
416 SIDNEY. 
 
 " What was that disgraceful noise in the kitchen? " 
 interrupted her mistress sharply. 
 
 "Ma am," cried Scarlett, "she s married ! " 
 
 Mrs. Paul put on her glasses, and looked at the 
 woman as though she thought her suddenly insane. 
 
 " She s married ! " Scarlett declared again. " It s 
 two weeks to - morrow. And and that Billy 
 Davids!" 
 
 " What are you talking about? " said Mrs. Paul. 
 
 Scarlett breathed hard in the effort to compose 
 herself. " Miss Sidney has gone and got married, 
 and us away I " Mrs. Paul stared at her, with 
 parted lips. " Seems he was going to die (he ain t 
 dead yet, though ; them doctors never die), and she 
 said she d have him ; and she went to his house 
 with a minister, t was n t Mr. Brown, Susan 
 said. Yes, Miss Sidney took the preacher to him. 
 The major was n t there, and nobody except Mr. 
 Steele. La, madam, you re faint ? " But Mrs. 
 Paul motioned her to proceed. " She told Susan," 
 said Scarlett, rubbing her hands to express her agi 
 tation, " she told Susan she was going to get mar 
 ried, as as natural as if it was n t anything more 
 than to go and buy a pair of gloves, she was so easy 
 saying it. Did n t seem to be anything to her. 
 Susan says she ain t been home since, and she says 
 the major has n t seen her. He s white mad, Susan 
 says. And and that Davids ! " she ended, her 
 voice breaking as she thought of him. 
 
 " It is Alan Crossan," said Mrs. Paul, in a low 
 voice, as though she spoke to herself. 
 
 " Yes, ma am, it is," Scarlett assented ; " and 
 he s dying." 
 
SIDNEY. 417 
 
 There was silence for a moment, broken only by 
 Scarlett s hurried breathing. 
 
 " Bring my writing-table," commanded Mrs. Paul 
 quietly. The woman brought it, and stood waiting, 
 with excited curiosity on every feature. " You may 
 go," said her mistress, looking up over her glasses ; 
 and then, with the pen between her fingers, she 
 leaned back in her chair and thought. 
 
 44 At last ! " she said, under her breath, " at 
 last ! A righteous retribution." 
 
 44 My dear Major Lee," she wrote rapidly, " I hear 
 with pleasure " No, that was too crude to really 
 wound him. Sympathy would be a more subtile 
 thrust. She tore her letter across, and threw it in 
 the fire. 44 How he must suffer ! " she thought, and 
 her eyes exulted. 44 And to think that I was not at 
 home to see it all." 
 
 She had forgotten Katherine and her own mortifi 
 cation. Such grievances were superficial when 
 placed beside this old reality, which was as enduring 
 as a cruel rock that had been hidden, but not 
 destroyed, by a shining tide. It was as though 
 Katherine had never existed. Again she tried to 
 write, but it was impossible. "I must know first 
 how it happened," she said to herself, striking her 
 hand sharply on the table. u Of course he is not 
 angry with Sidney ; Susan is a fool ; but how much 
 did he know about it? How does he feel towards 
 Alan ? How " Endless questions came into her 
 mind, but all bore upon Major Lee s discomfiture; 
 in her exultation she had forgotten Sidney, save as 
 the means by which her father s wickedness was 
 
418 SIDNEY. 
 
 baffled, and it was with almost a start of surprise 
 that she remembered that the girl herself could best 
 give the information she desired. 
 
 " How stupid ! " she said, frowning. " I should 
 have sent for her at once ! " But, to lose no further 
 time, she wrote a note, veiling her triumph with 
 only the faintest pretense of sympathy and congrat 
 ulation together, and bidding Sidney come at once 
 to see her. " Scarlett will see you home," she 
 added in a postscript, " if, as I suppose, your hus 
 band is unable to come with yon." It was charac 
 teristic that, upon the receipt of Sidney s brief mes 
 sage that she did not wish to leave Alan and would 
 not come, Mrs. Paul had nothing but anger and 
 injured feelings. " I never saw so selfish a girl," 
 she said bitterly. 
 
 That evening was intolerably long and empty. A 
 curious feeling of being left out began to intrude 
 upon her anger. She said to herself, " Why has no 
 one told me this ? Why did no one write to me ? 
 The world is mad ! " Her chagrin had in it a sort 
 of terror, which she refused to face, preferring, 
 instead, to dwell upon Mortimer Lee s pain. She 
 scarcely slept that night, and as the gray Sunday 
 morning widened into the reluctant day she was 
 impatient to execute some of the plans which had 
 occurred to her. First, she sent for Robert Steele ; 
 but his response to her peremptory summons was a 
 curt note, begging to be excused. Scarlett stood 
 watching her as she read it, and saw her lift her 
 head with the air of one who refuses to be rebuffed ; 
 but her voice trembled when she spoke. " Order 
 
SIDNEY. 419 
 
 the carriage at twelve," she said. She had made up 
 her mind ; she would go directly to Mortimer Lee. 
 Of course he would be at home, and alone. He did 
 not go to see Sidney, he had not a friend in the 
 world, save herself. and, wicked atheist that he 
 was, there was no hope that he might be in church. 
 
 " It is very raw and cold," Scarlett observed. 
 
 " I said twelve," Mrs. Paul answered. 
 
 " Very well," said Scarlett. She had done her 
 duty by the protest ; it was nothing to her if her 
 mistress chose to get sick. 
 
 But when twelve o clock came Mrs. Paul s angry 
 mortification insisted upon words, and, while Scar 
 lett was dressing her, she found fault with a thou 
 sand things for the mere relief of speaking. 
 
 " Why can t you fasten my cloak without fum 
 bling about so?" she demanded. "You never try 
 to do anything well, Scarlett ; you are like all the 
 rest of the world, and have no gratitude in you ! " 
 The woman, who had dropped on her knees to 
 fasten Mrs. Paul s fur-lined slippers, made no reply. 
 "There is no such thing as gratitude," continued 
 the other ; " there is not a soul I can depend upon." 
 
 Scarlett rose, her small, lean hands clasped in 
 ~front of her, and her passionless eyes fixed upon 
 Mrs. Paul s face. " I am not surprised that you 
 should think so, madam." 
 
 " What do you mean ? " returned Mrs. Paul con 
 temptuously. 
 
 This simple question was Scarlett s opportunity ; 
 it was the small and sputtering match which may 
 yet fire a powder magazine. She stepped back a 
 
420 SIDNEY. 
 
 little, swallowed once or twice, and looked steadily 
 at a spot upon the wall, above Mrs. Paul s head. 
 She had always meant to tell her mistress her opin 
 ion of her ; as well now as any time. So, calmly, 
 rocking slightly back and forth upon her heels, she 
 said monotonously, " Because, madam, you are un 
 kind, even when you do a kindness. You are un 
 just and you are bad-tempered. Mr. John could n t 
 stand it, and he knew it would n t be for edification 
 to bring his wife here to live. We get our deserv- 
 ings in this life, and you ve got what you ve earned, 
 when you find that nobody cares for you. That is 
 my opinion, madam." 
 
 Mrs. Paul lifted her glasses and observed the 
 woman in silence for a moment, during which Scar 
 lett changed color, but did not cease swaying back 
 and forth upon her heels, and regarding the wall 
 with a tranquil stare. 
 
 " Is the carriage ready ? " said Mrs. Paul. 
 
 " Yes, madam ; " and without another word they 
 went downstairs. 
 
 In nearly sixty years of brilliant selfishness, Mrs. 
 Paul had had no friend who would do for her this 
 simple office of telling her the truth, and it had to 
 come at last from the lips of a servant. When the 
 carriage door closed and she was alone, Mrs. Paul s 
 face was white. 
 
 Little Susan caught a glimpse of the heavy car 
 riage just before it left the lane and came rumbling 
 into the courtyard, and, realizing that her master 
 was to have a caller, she was so grateful that she 
 
SIDNEY. 421 
 
 was moved to tears when she opened the door for 
 Mrs. Paul. " Anything," thought Susan, " to get 
 him like folks." 
 
 The sight of the old man sitting in his library, 
 his white head sunk upon his breast, his sad eyes 
 watching the vacant moments drag themselves away, 
 was very distressing to Susan. She wiped her eyes 
 frequently as she looked at him, or as she stood be 
 hind his chair in the dining-room; for the major 
 was as careful as ever of the details of life, and 
 went through the form of dining as ceremoniously 
 as though he had his old household about him. He 
 even tried to eat, because he feared that the young 
 woman might be distressed if he did not. With the 
 instinct of a gentle heart he felt little Susan s un- 
 happiness concerning him. Indeed, the girl had 
 told her mother that she was that sorry for him that 
 she did n t know but what she must go to a more 
 cheerful place. Susan went each day to inquire for 
 " Miss Sidney s husband," and, unasked, announced 
 his condition to the major at tea. She could not 
 tell, she confided to Scarlett, whether he listened or 
 not, but she was n t one to be turned from her duty 
 by that. It was natural that she should say he was 
 angry. His silence, even during Mr. Steele s daily 
 call (Susan knew that he was silent then, she was so 
 interested herself, she said) ; the fact that he made 
 no inquiries concerning his daughter, that he never 
 went to her house, that he did not even write to her, 
 that he had not seen her since that morning when 
 she had left him to marry Alan, what could it 
 mean but anger ? To be sure, the expression upon 
 
422 SIDNEY. 
 
 his face was not exactly anger, Susan thought; it 
 puzzled her because she could not classify it ; it was 
 so pitiful that sometimes she could not bear to look 
 at him. 
 
 Mortimer Lee had grown suddenly and awfully 
 old, in these weeks since Sidney s marriage ; the 
 shock of her grief had shaken the very foundations 
 of his life. That strange confusion which befogged 
 his senses the night he went to look at Gertrude s 
 picture lingered still in his thoughts. His daugh 
 ter s grief seemed to be his own, not hers. He lived 
 over again the old despair of more than twenty years 
 ago, and then, with a start, realized that Sidney was 
 waiting for pain which had not reached her yet. 
 Kobert told him once, hesitatingly, how calm and 
 even glad Sidney was. The old man made no 
 reply. Sorrow had not come yet; a false excite 
 ment upheld her, the exhilaration of present joy 
 blinded her ; the terror would but be the greater 
 when it came. It was for that he waited ; then he 
 would go to her. As for seeing her before that mo 
 ment when she should need him, it never occurred 
 to him. This rending of the bone and marrow, this 
 parting of two souls, was not for his eyes. Sitting 
 here in his library, alone, night after night, without 
 even the friendly companionship of his books, it 
 seemed as though, with exceeding pity, his very soul 
 wept. 
 
 And so the days passed. Alan, his hand held in 
 his wife s, was going out into the Unknown. Sid 
 ney went step by step beside him, straining her eyes 
 into the darkness of the future, shuddering lest at 
 
SIDNEY. 423 
 
 any moment her feet should touch the first wave of 
 that dark stream upon which she must let him ven 
 ture forth alone, and yet walking with a lofty seren 
 ity and peace which astounded the dying man. His 
 own mystery of death was not half so great to Alan 
 as was Sidney s mystery of life. He watched her 
 with a sort of awe. Every instant was appreciation, 
 every moment a jewel, which the divine caress of 
 consciousness held in this light and in that, that 110 
 gleam of its beauty might be lost. Her lovely joy 
 was set in grief, but there was no terror in it. They 
 talked much of her assurance, but it seemed to Alan 
 only words. 
 
 " God is enough for pain," she had told him. 
 " Love is possible and beautiful, even though its 
 flower is grief, because it grows from the heart of 
 the Purpose of the universe, because it is folded 
 about by God." 
 
 " Don t you understand me, Alan ? " she said 
 once, wistfully. He put his thin white hand under 
 her chin, and looked down into her tranquil eyes. 
 
 "It does not seem probable that I do," he an 
 swered, smiling. " I do not very often understand 
 myself but I am glad." 
 
 Perhaps he was too weak to take her wider view ; 
 perhaps the exceeding simplicity of dying brought 
 back the older thoughts, his mother s teachings of 
 so long ago, and he rested in them with great con 
 tent ; but he was glad for Sidney. Once he asked 
 her, with a pause here and there between his words, 
 of her hope for the future. 
 
 " I cannot grasp your willingness not to know. 
 You do not expect to see me again ? " 
 
424 SIDNEY. 
 
 " If it is best," she answered, her voice quivering 
 into calmness ; " but it will be best, either way. 
 There is no death, never any death ! It is all 
 life ; we came from it, and we go back into it again. 
 Oh, Alan, we both belong to life ; it is in it that we 
 are really and truly one." 
 
 Afterwards, when he had been lying silently for a 
 long time, he looked up at her, with a smile flicker 
 ing in his eyes. " But I shall not be I ? " he said, 
 with pitiful gentleness. 
 
 " God is," she answered. " Oh, I cannot let go 
 of that one moment." 
 
 Their two lives shut out the rest of the world. 
 They saw Robert Steele come and go with the same 
 indifference to a necessity with which they saw light 
 and darkness. Appreciation of moments may turn 
 a day into a year, and these months together held 
 the experiences of a lifetime. Sidney s conscious 
 ness of the pervading God took no definite shape, 
 although she felt that she could not have lived with 
 out such consciousness. As a star opens its bosom 
 to the sun that it may fill itself with light for the 
 coining darkness, Sidney absorbed the present. It 
 was at this time that she prayed, dumbly, not for 
 Alan s life, not for strength to bear her coming sor 
 row, but for more, and more, and more God ! There 
 were no words in this outcry of her soul to Him 
 who gave words, and needeth not that any should 
 tell Him. Deep was calling unto deep, existence 
 was itself a prayer. 
 
 She told Alan all this, as he could listen to it ; 
 and once he said to her, " Yes, yes, I know, and I 
 
SIDNEY. 425 
 
 am glad. Only remember will you, Sidney ? 
 that I am sure of the rest, of the future ? I am 
 sure of it. I have come back to the old familiar 
 things, Christ and heaven (that means having you 
 again ! ) ; they are easier to think about than this ab 
 straction, and I believe they are just what you have 
 found, by another name. No, I don t reason ; I 
 trust. It is your attitude, only I go a step further 
 than you." And then, later, " Sometimes it seems 
 to me, do you know, that for me to go on ahead is 
 just to teach you to take that step. And you won t 
 forget that I am sure ? " 
 
 Sidney s thought of her father in these beautiful 
 days was only that " he understood." Major Lee 
 knew that she felt this ; it would have been profane 
 had either of them insisted upon it by words. Thus 
 they waited : Sidney for a deeper glory, her father 
 for the inevitable night. 
 
 That Sunday when Mrs. Paul s carriage came 
 across the creaking snow in the courtyard, the major 
 had been brooding over this strange pause in his 
 life, realizing with pathetic patience that even when 
 it ended, when Alan died and his daughter came 
 back to him again, life could not be as it had been. 
 His dim eyes burned as this cruel thought struck 
 upon his heart ; the insolence of time is like a blow 
 in the face from an unseen enemy. 
 
 " There is no help for it," he was saying to him 
 self. He was so absorbed that he did not under 
 stand Susan s summons to the parlor, or hear the 
 name she gave, so the girl had to speak again, plead- 
 
426 SIDNEY. 
 
 ingly : " She s in the parlor, sir, waitin . I put a 
 match to the fire, but it s cold in there." 
 
 " She ? " said the old man vaguely. " Where ? " 
 and then brushed past her in tremulous haste. Sid 
 ney had come. But why had she waited ; was 
 Alan 
 
 The shock of seeing Mrs. Paul, shivering in her 
 furs, upon the yellow satin sofa was almost a phys 
 ical pain. He had no words. But Mrs. Paul sup 
 plied them ; her voice was full of fine anxiety. 
 
 " My dear Major Lee, pray what is this about 
 Sidney? I was so shocked, so concerned. Such a 
 tragedy for the poor girl !, Pray tell me how you 
 could have permitted such a thing ? " 
 
 He did not answer, but seemed to look beyond 
 her, as though he were unconscious of her presence. 
 The change in his face since she had seen him last 
 awed but could not silence her. 
 
 " She has grieved you, I know," she began to say, 
 " but her disobedience will bring its own punish 
 ment ; you can only pity and forgive her. And the 
 selfishness of the young man but tell me ? " 
 
 " Not here, not here," interposed Mortimer 
 Lee, still gazing above her, at the further end of the 
 room. 
 
 She turned, following his eyes, to meet those of 
 the portrait, beautiful, disdainful, and, as she 
 thought with sudden fury, triumphant. Standing at 
 the feet of this dead woman, she saw the source of 
 all her bitterness, her selfishness, her cruelty, saw 
 it with futile rage at her own helplessness in the 
 hand of Fate. She had been robbed by this young 
 
SIDNEY. 427 
 
 creature, and she had tried to hide the desolation of 
 her heart by worldliness and selfishness. Her loss 
 had turned to evil everything which was good ; and 
 then, as though that were not cruel enough, An 
 nette had been taken away. Her own son did not 
 love her ; Katherine cared nothing for her ; Sidney 
 had forgotten her ; her very servant despised hei\ 
 She looked again at Mortimer Lee, still staring at the 
 picture. " Yes, not here," she repeated, " not here ! " 
 (It was strange to see how simple the primal pas 
 sion of humanity made these two souls.) She mo 
 tioned him to give her his arm. " I came," she said, 
 "I came, but I will go away ; yes, I will go 
 away I " Her voice broke. 
 
 Without a word, the major led her to her carriage. 
 He bowed, and stood, the cold wind blowing his 
 white hair about, watching the carriage circle around 
 the snow-covered lawn, and disappear down the lane. 
 Then he went back, and stood before the portrait. 
 
 " It was the only thing I ever kept from you, Ger 
 trude," he said feebly ; " but she has come and 
 shown it to you herself. You would not have had 
 me tell you such a thing ? But she has told you " 
 
 After the shock of that interview the confusion of 
 Mortimer Lee s thoughts passed away. His pro 
 found dismay settled into a certain tranquillity of 
 waiting. He was gathering up his strength to meet 
 Sidney s need of it, when the day should come. 
 
 And so the winter failed, and fainted into the 
 hesitating spring. Robert Steele came every even 
 ing to tell him of Alan ; they never spoke of Sid 
 ney. But one day in March he did not come, and a 
 
428 SIDNEY. 
 
 strange excitement grew in Mortimer Lee s face. 
 " It is near," he said to himself. It was ; very near. 
 He did not go to the bank the next morning ; he 
 must be at home to know when Sidney needed him. 
 
 All that morning he sat in his library in tense ex 
 pectancy. In the early afternoon came a note from 
 Robert Steele. "Not yet, not yet," the old man 
 said ; longing for the blow to fall, that his own work 
 of tenderness might begin. The windy March sky 
 lifted and lightened towards sunset, and all along 
 behind the hills the clear and lucent air, yellow as a 
 topaz, faded up into pale violet under the torn 
 fringes of the clouds. Mortimer Lee stood, with his 
 hands behind him, looking out at the peace of the 
 coming night ; but he turned at the sound of the 
 opening door, and Sidney came swiftly to his arms. 
 
 The room had darkened in the fading light, but 
 he could see the change in her face ; not age, but 
 living, had marked it. That ecstasy shone in her 
 eyes which is the realization of the Infinite, and may 
 be called either joy or grief, as both are one in it. 
 
 " I have come to tell you," he heard her say, " it 
 is over, my life. But I am glad to have lived. 
 Oh, I am glad ! " 
 
 "Alan? " 
 
 " Yes ; yet I am a happy woman. Father, I 
 wanted you to know that I was happy ! It is joy, 
 father ! " 
 
 He held her fast in his trembling arms, and his 
 tears fell upon her head. But Sidney s eyes were 
 clear. She raised her face, and it was she who was 
 the comforter. " It is worth while," she said ten- 
 
SIDNEY. 429 
 
 derly. His grief moved her as her own had not ; 
 a flood of tears, as natural and unrestrained as a 
 child s, shook her from head to foot. " He is dead, 
 but he has lived. He is mine, always. Oh, it is 
 worth while, it is worth while ; the past is ours, 
 and aU is God!" 
 
 Then they went back again together to Alan s 
 side. 
 
 Sidney s life afterwards was as though into a dead 
 body had come a living soul. 
 
 The old circumstances remained, the old possibil 
 ities, but the spirit which animated them was a new 
 spirit. She and her father drew closer and closer 
 together, the old love greater for the new love. 
 She was strangely calm and content ; entering 
 deeper into that Refuge which had revealed itself 
 to her, and losing her life daily in the lives of 
 others ; yet never limiting her peace by denning it, 
 nor daring to imprison it within a creed. 
 
 Mrs. Paul called her an infidel. 
 
 Robert Steele, feeling vaguely that Sidney, reli 
 gious, without a religion, drew her strength from the 
 same source as did he, absorbed in the wonderful 
 ritual of the most detailed religion in the world, yet 
 prayed for her salvation with the anguished fear of 
 the consistent Christian who hears his Lord denied. 
 
 The major only waited. 
 
 " It cannot last," he said to himself sadly ; " it is 
 unreal. And when it breaks down even I cannot 
 help her ! " Oh, the cruelty of love ! " 
 
 And still he waited. 
 
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