THE 
 
 ALBATROSS NOVELS 
 
 By ALBERT ROSS 
 23 Volumes 
 
 May be had wherever books are sold at the price you 
 paid for this volume 
 
 Black Adonis, A 
 Garston Bigamy, The 
 Her Husband's Friend 
 His Foster Sister 
 His Private Character 
 In Stella's Shadow 
 Love at Seventy 
 Love Gone Astray 
 Moulding a Maiden 
 Naked Truth, The 
 New Sensation, A 
 Original Sinner, An 
 Out of Wedlock 
 Speaking of Ellen 
 Stranger Than Fiction 
 Sugar Princess, A 
 That Gay Deceiver 
 Their Marriage Bond 
 Thou Shalt Not 
 Thy Neighbor's Wife 
 Why I'm Single 
 Young Fawcett's Mabel 
 Young Miss Giddy 
 
 G. W. DILLINGHAM CO. 
 Publishers :: :: New York
 
 THE GARSTON BIGAMY, 
 
 BY ALBERT Ross, 
 
 AUTHO& OF 
 
 MOULDING A MAIDEN," "!N STELLA'S SHADOW/ 
 
 "HER HUSBAND'S FRIEND," "His PRIVATE 
 
 CHARACTER," "SPEAKING OF ELLEW," 
 
 "THOU SHALT NOT," ETC. 
 
 "/ had not kissed you then. There an 
 tigers in Asia, I have read> that having 
 tasted human flesh will eat no other 
 food." Page 151. 
 
 NEW YORK: 
 
 COPYRIGHT, 1tl, BY 0. W. DlkLlNQHAM. 
 
 G. W. Dillingham Co., Publish** 
 
 \Allrights reserved.}
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 How the Trouble Began, ... 9 
 
 " Where had he heard that tune f . 19 
 
 Brunette and Blonde, * . . .29 
 
 The Girl with the Ankles, . .40 
 
 " We have made a vow," . . . 54 
 
 " Why, you love them both !" . . 65 
 
 Examining the Summer-House, . . 74 
 
 A Trip up the River, . . . .85 
 
 " You must fight these men," . . 98 
 
 "But that is a serious thing," . .no 
 
 In the Upper Berth, . . . .120 
 
 " Do you love my son ?" 130 
 
 "There are tigers in Asia," . . . 142 
 
 Alma's Cambric Wrapper, . . . 154 
 
 Cutting the Mill-bank, . . . .166 
 
 " It is Edith, of course," . . .178 
 Buying a Son-in-Law, .... 186 
 
 " You do not know my father," . .194 
 
 The Nature of a Girl, . . . .199 
 
 "Considering his temptations," . . ao8 
 
 Cliff Nelson's Protest, . . . .991
 
 VI 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER FAS* 
 
 XXII. Like a Man in Liquor, . . . 229 
 
 XXIII. " It's for Edith," he mused, . . 233 
 
 XXIV. No Sleep for Alma, . . . .243 
 XXV. " What was that sound r . . .250 
 
 XXVI. Nursing His Revenge, . . .257 
 
 XXVII. " I know her character," . . .263 
 
 XXVIII. Gerald in a Fever, . . . .269 
 
 XXIX. "I think I could kill him!" . .281 
 
 XXX. On the Way to London, . . . 290 
 
 XXXI. A Cry for Help, 297 
 
 XXXII. Where Women Risk Death, . . 307 
 
 XXXIII. "God knows that I love you!" . . 316 
 
 XXXIV. An Angel from Heaven, . . .323 
 XXXV. Saved by a Miracle, . . . .330
 
 TO MY READERS. 
 
 The publisher tells me that he has left two pages 
 for my usual preface, and I wonder what it is best to 
 fill them with. For really I have very little to say to 
 you this time, except to renew the assurances of my 
 gratitude for the marvelous success you have made 
 for me, and to express the hope that I have again 
 succeeded in producing something which will meet 
 with your favor. 
 
 Gerald Garston is not a hero. Very few men arc 
 if you come to think of it. It is the women of this 
 world who do the noble things. How many men 
 have you known who would sacrifice their all for a 
 woman ? But such a sacrifice on the woman's part is 
 so common that it hardly evokes comment. 
 
 It is my method to paint things a little as they are, 
 and not altogether as they ought to be. It is one thing 
 to discuss immorality, and quite another to defend 
 it. The principal characters in this story made a 
 grievous error, and they learned it after much suffer- 
 ing. If I have not made that apparent I have surely 
 failed in what I meant to do. 
 
 The carelessness of American marriage laws is 
 notorious. Perhaps in no other civilized country 
 could such an escape as Gerald's be so easily found. 
 That it is possible here no one will attempt to deny, 
 
 (viij
 
 but It win not always be so. Some day your chil- 
 dren will pick up a copy of this book, and ask if laws 
 like these ever actually existed. 
 
 When this volume is published I expect to be in 
 the south of Europe. The laborer is worthy of his 
 hire, and the author must have his rest. But my 
 publisher will admonish me if I idle too long, and my 
 next book may be written where the sweet face of 
 nature smiles across the great inland sea. 
 
 This will explain the reason if my correspondents, 
 who have become so numerous, fail to receive replies 
 to their kind and flattering epistles. 
 
 ALBERT ROM, 
 
 Address t 
 No. 35 West 2 3 d strcd.
 
 THE GARSTON BIGAMY. 
 
 CHAPTER L 
 
 THE TROUBLE BEGAN. 
 
 Nothing but grain as far as the eye could see. 
 
 Nothing but wheat and corn and oats and barley 
 and rye. Colonel Staples, who was showing the 
 country to Mr. Grosschen, agent of the Iowa Invest- 
 ment Company, stopped the handsome pair of 
 horses that he drove in order to allow his guest full 
 time to take in the prospect. The unpracticed eye 
 of the new agent, whose principals were Eastern 
 capitalists, could not tell the wheat from the rye, 
 nor the barley from the oats. He saw merely a fas- 
 cinating succession of waves of green, through which 
 the summer wind rippled like a breeze in the verit- 
 able waves of the ocean. 
 
 The horses were presently started again, and the 
 two men rode up out of the ravine, where a wider 
 range met their vision. There were the steeples of 
 a village over toward the west. There was a mill, 
 evidently used for the grinding of grain, and by its 
 side a reservoir, fed by a stream that meandered 
 through the country to the north of it and furnished
 
 10 THE GAE8TON BZOAMT. 
 
 drinking ground to the cattle on a dozen farms *. 
 fore it turned the wheel that set the heavy machinery 
 in motion. There were clumps of trees here and 
 there upon the mostly open prairie, and small gar- 
 dens, protected by barbed wire fences from the in- 
 cursions of stray animals. There were bits of pas- 
 ture, and glimpses of buildings, and in some places 
 laborers were at work in the fertile fields. 
 
 "It's a fine country/' said Colonel Staples. 
 " There's no richer land in the State, in my opinion. 
 You're safe to let all the money here you can get 
 mortgages for. But there's a farm," he continued, 
 pointing as he spoke, "that neither you nor any 
 other man will ever get an incumbrance on. It's the 
 finest in this region, twelve hundred acres and more, 
 with all the buildings needed, and the most im- 
 proved tools of every kind. It belongs to Alvah 
 Adams, who owns the mill there too, and the best 
 residence within forty miles, and can lend you a few 
 thousand beside if you happen to get short. There's 
 a place ! Look at it ! You don't often see land 
 kept like that in these parts. You wouldn't think, 
 would you, that he came out here twenty-five years 
 ago with only three hundred dollars, and took up 
 his hundred and sixty like any other poor young 
 fellow ? Well, that's what he did, and all he's got 
 since is by hard work, and good farming, and look- 
 ing ahead. Nobody ever left him a penny, or gave 
 him anything he didn't pay for. His father was a 
 poor grubber in New Hampshire, who let him have 
 his "time," as they call it there, when he was nine- 
 teen, and when he died, a little while ago, left less 
 than two thousand dollars as the result of a life 
 of toil. He willed this to Alvah's daughter we all
 
 HOW THE TROUBLE BEGAN. 11 
 
 call him Alvah, so you can't say that any of it has 
 come to him. I tell you, he's a man for the town 
 
 and county to be proud of ! " 
 
 Mr. Grosschen laughed. 
 
 "It's lucky for the Iowa Investment Company 
 that too many of your people don't follow in his 
 footsteps," he answered. 
 
 " Well, if you want one of the other kind, you'll 
 find him on the next farm," said the Colonel, " and 
 p. mighty good specimen, too. John Garston came 
 here the same year that Alvah did, and took up the 
 quarter section adjoining his. They had been boys 
 together in the same town, and when Alvah got a 
 notion that he wanted to go West he told John of 
 his idea. They talked it over, sitting on a stone 
 fence back of Alvah's father's barn, and agreed that 
 both would ask the old folks to give them their 
 " time " till they were twenty-one, so that they could 
 go off somewhere to work and get a little money to 
 start with. It was right there that the trouble be- 
 gan. Alvah's folks seem to have been half decent 
 about it and willing to do something for him. 
 John's were just of the other kind. Alvah came over 
 in the morning to say that he could go, and John 
 had to report that he couldn't. Alvah offered to go 
 in and argue the matter with the old man Garston, 
 but it did no good. He was a tough skinflint, who 
 proposed to get what he could out of his boys now 
 that they were getting big enough to do something. 
 There is a notion down in that part of the country 
 that a father's will is law, and John never thought 
 of running away. He just gave up on the spot and 
 went back to hoeing corn and grubbing roots, but 
 the ugliness in him grew faster than any other crop
 
 he raised. He got so hateful that the old man was 
 
 glad, I guess, when the time came that he could go. 
 I've heard that John never stopped to say good-bye, 
 or to ask the paternal blessing, but threw down his 
 rake it was haying time and started. They 
 couldn't think for an hour or two where he'd gone, 
 till one of his brothers happened to remember that it 
 was his birthday and then it struck the old man 
 Garston all of a sudden that John had asked him 
 once what hour he was born, and that he had told 
 him it was between ten and eleven in the day. John 
 had given him the benefit of the off half hour, as the 
 clock had struck when he started, but he was never 
 seen in that town after that forenoon.** 
 
 Both the narrator of this history and his listener 
 found a good deal of amusement in it, and the 
 Colonel, after pausing to see that Mr. Grosschen 
 was duly interested, continued his narrative. 
 
 '* Some of these facts the people here know, and 
 some, I suppose, have grown with the telling, but 
 sure it is that Alvah went down to Nashua and got 
 work in one of the factories. He saved every cent 
 ke could, and as soon as he was of age, came out 
 here looking for a piece of land to preempt. He 
 wandered around for awhile and then concluded 
 that he couldn't find anything better than this. He 
 filed his papers and took up the quarter section 
 where his residence is now, and then wrote to John 
 to come out just as soon as he could get clear. John 
 answered, saying he should have to quit home with- 
 out a cent in his pocket and that it would be a good 
 while before he could earn enough to pay his fare 
 to Iowa. Alvah thought it a pretty hard case, and 
 s other prospectors were looking this part of the
 
 MAV. IS 
 
 Country over, he wrote again, sending fifty dollars 
 to his friend and urging him to waste no time in 
 getting here. It was a mighty generous thing of 
 him when you remember that it was about a fifth of 
 all he owned, and he needed it to develop his farm 
 about as bad as he could. But he sent it, and John 
 came ; and after looking around a little, he picked 
 out the claim next to Alvah's and with his help put 
 up a shanty on it, according to the government 
 regulations, and began to break ground. One piece 
 of land was just as good as the other, for Alvah of- 
 fered to swap even with him if he thought there was 
 any choice. That's the way they started. 
 
 ** Well, nothing seemed to go right with John. He 
 and Alvah exchanged works, for a spell, but Alvah 
 had enough to buy a yoke of oxen and a plow, and 
 John had to hire his plowing done. John always said 
 it wasn't a fair race, and he got discouraged before 
 he reached the quarter-post. He couldn't see any- 
 thing except that Alvah had got ahead and that he 
 couldn't catch him. It's been the same from that 
 day to this. Alvah has kept forehanded, always 
 having something laid by, and never going into debt, 
 while John has been a little to the wrong side of the 
 ledger all the time. It's seemed to work on his feel- 
 ings. He compares everything of his to Alvah's. 
 Let him have a crop this year bigger than he ever 
 had before and he will look across the fence and tell 
 you Alvah's is bigger. Tell him he's got a hundred 
 and sixty acres of the best land in Iowa, he'll answer 
 that it's mortgaged for all it's worth and that Alvah's 
 got twelve hundred and forty without a cent of in- 
 cumbrance on it. And that isn't the greatest ground 
 of grievance that he's got against Alvah, either."
 
 14 THE GARSTON BIGAMY. 
 
 Mr. Grosschen looked much interested, and in- 
 quired with elevated eyebrows what else there was 
 to annoy this peculiar and unhappy man. 
 
 "It was a woman that finished whatever of com- 
 mon sense he had left in him," said the Colonel, 
 dropping his voice instinctively, though there was 
 no person other than himself and his guest within 
 hearing. " After he had worked away at his land for 
 a year or two, there moved into the neighborhood a 
 widow with a handsome daughter. The widow was 
 of Spanish descent, several generations back, and 
 her daughter inherited the rich dark beauty of that 
 race. The young men hereabouts were all wild over 
 her, but the mother was proud as she was poor, and 
 declared that none of those who aspired to the young 
 lady's hand were good enough to be considered eli- 
 gible. Among those who tried to win her was John 
 Garston. If ever he was sincere in anything it was 
 in his love and admiration for that girl. He forgot 
 his work, neglecting everything on his place for an 
 entire season, so wrapt up was he in this creature, 
 whose mother had sent men flying with ten times 
 his brains and a hundred times his possessions. At 
 last the senora spoke to him with plainness, forbid- 
 ding him to come to the house. The daughter 
 obeyed every word of her mother's without question. 
 He had a stormy scene with both of them. They 
 were so alarmed that they sent, or the mother did, 
 for an officer. John was hardly less than a era// 
 man that day, but he went away quietly at last, and 
 it seemed for awhile as if he had got over his infat- 
 uation. Then came the crowning blow. Within a 
 year it was announced ^at tne senorita was to ma r - 
 ry Alvah Adams J "
 
 BOW THB rROUBLE BEGAN. IS 
 
 " That was hard luck," commented Mr. Grosschen. 
 
 "Somebody told it to John, in the post-office, and 
 he staggered as if he had been stabbed at the he>irt. 
 There was fear that mischief would be done, but 
 nothing happened. He went back to his worlf and 
 was only, to outward appearance, a little mor surly 
 than he used to be. Soon after Alvah's mg/riage 
 John brought home a wife from another towi/. He 
 never ceased to speak to Alvah when they mut, but 
 the conversations were never very long on<s. He 
 hasn't forgiven him, and he won't, but I guess that's 
 all it'll ever amount to. Some people at first' advise<J 
 Alvah to be careful, and to carry a pistol, buf he only 
 laughed at them. More than twenty ye*rs havq 
 passed now, and things have gone on just (he same. 
 Here's his house." 
 
 The horses were brought to a walk as t!/e gentle- 
 men passed the handsome mansion and grounds of 
 the wealthiest man in Jefferson. It is not the habit 
 of the ordinary Western farmer to devcue a great 
 deal of attention to the merely ornamental, and Mr. 
 Adams' place was decidedly unique in *hfs respect 
 among those about it. The house, tasti ly designed, 
 roomy, and surrounded by broad veiandas, stood 
 upon rising ground, five hundred feet from the high- 
 way, and was reached by a winding driveway bor- 
 dered with Lombardy poplars. The spacious lawns 
 on each side were well kept, and were dotted with 
 shrubs and trees that added much to their loveliness. 
 Fine buildings, used as the family stable, carriage 
 house, etc., were visible beyond, but those intended 
 for the working teams, vehicles and tools, as well as 
 for the cattle, were some distance away, shaded from 
 the street by an artificial grove and reached by a
 
 18 w 
 
 road running from another avenue. There was ft 
 conservatory and even several fountains, besides 
 other evidences of thrift and taste, exciting the envy 
 of many of the neighbors, who could not see, as they 
 expressed it, why an Iowa farmer need put on the 
 style of a " Fifth Avenue New Yorker." 
 
 Far away stretched the fields of this prosperous 
 man, the evidences of careful cultivation being fully 
 apparent on every side. Clearly nothing was 
 wasted on this large estate. The fences were in 
 perfect order, and built of materials likely to last 
 for many years. Where a piece of land was low, a 
 carefully constructed ditch had been dug. Where 
 it was so situated that it was in danger of suffering 
 from dryness, irrigating pipes had been laid. Land 
 was so cheap in Iowa when these improvements 
 were first introduced that many of Adams' fellow 
 farmers sneered at them, but he went on his own 
 way, paying no attention to their raillery. He was 
 obliged to keep a large force of men, and car- 
 ried out these improvements in seasons when they 
 had plenty of surplus time on their hands. He cer- 
 tainly had the satisfaction of owning the best kept 
 farm in the State, and one that produced more on 
 the average per acre than any other. And if this 
 were not enough, his comfortable bank account had 
 long ago proved that there was something worth 
 considering in methods that placed one financially in 
 advance of those who criticised him. 
 
 Starting the horses into an easy trot the travellers 
 soon came opposite the farm of John Garston. No 
 information other than that afforded by the eye was 
 needed to tell where the line of Mr. Adams' land 
 ended and that of his neighbor began. On the Gar-
 
 It 
 
 ton place no attempt whatever had been made at 
 ornamentation and hardly any at even ordinary care 
 for appearances. There was the common farm- 
 house, with dilapidated outbuildings. Carts, plows, 
 etc., were scattered about the yards, exposed to the 
 weather. A pile of uncut firewood and a rusty axe 
 Added to the general evidence of shiftlessness. A 
 cow grazed untethered on what might be called by 
 courtesy the front lawn, occasionally varying her 
 meal by breaking the branches from a young apple 
 tree that Garston had planted in one of his moments 
 of extraordinary enterprise. 
 
 " He wouldn't fix that yard if you were to pay 
 him for it," said Colonel Staples. " He likes to 
 brood on the hard luck he has had in comparison 
 with Alvah Adams, and he has done it so long that 
 he really takes delight in making the contrast be- 
 tween the places as great as he can. There's only 
 one thing that comforts him, and that's his son Ger- 
 ald. The boy is a fine young fellow about twenty, 
 now and is nearly through college. But it isn't 
 altogether because John has a son that makes him 
 happy it's a good deal more because Alvah hasn't. 
 Alvah's got a girl, seventeen years old, just the age 
 of my Edith they've been companions ever since 
 they were babies but the desire of his life has been 
 for a boy. John knows this, and I think it's the only 
 thing that keeps him from dying of ugliness. He's 
 said to me many a time, * Alvah would give that 
 mill of his and half his land for a boy like mine, but 
 he can't have one f Rich as he is, I have one thing 
 that no money of his can buy him !' If you are 
 here next month you'll see Gerald, and you'll find 
 bim very different from bis father. Queer how little
 
 18 THE OAKSTON BIGAMY. 
 
 pedigree seems to count in the human race, some- 
 times !" 
 
 A big black dog at the mouth of an unpainted 
 kennel growled savagely at the passers, and seemed 
 regretful that he could not break his chain and get 
 at them, in order to revenge the slighting words in 
 reference to his master. A hen with three half- 
 grown chickens scratched vigorously at what might 
 at some previous time have been a flower-bed. The 
 cow, in her efforts to masticate the branches of the 
 apple tree, stepped upon its slender trunk and 
 crushed it to the earth. A slatternly servant girl 
 came out of the house, and, seeing what the animal 
 had done, took up a clothes pole and belabored her 
 unmercifully, causing the creature to run toward 
 the barn, the milk streaming from her udder as she 
 did so. 
 
 "Any one who would do that to a new milch cow 
 ought to be prosecuted !" exclaimed Colonel Staples, 
 impatiently. 
 
 "I should think young Gerald would find his 
 home little to his liking, if he is the sort of lad you 
 describe," ventured Mr. Grosschen. 
 
 "So he does. But he and his father understand 
 one another. Gerald is to be a lawyer. He will 
 have nothing to do with the farm. His father would 
 not let him dictate, any more than he would me, 
 about anything here. If Gerald made the mistake 
 of opposing him in such matters there would be a 
 break right away." 
 
 They had passed the Garston boundaries and 
 were approaching the house where the Staples fam- 
 ily resided a section dignified by the name of "The 
 Village."
 
 " WHBRE HAD HE HEARD 111 AT TUNBP 19 
 
 " What kind of woman is Mrs. Garston ?" asked 
 the financier. 
 
 " Oh, she died years ago. Perhaps if she had 
 lived things would not be so bad." 
 
 The village of Jefferson* had a hundred houses in 
 it. Colonel Staples owned one of the prettiest of 
 these and it was soon reached. 
 
 " There come the girls, now," said the Colonel, 
 brightly, as he glanced down the road toward the 
 High School 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 "WHERE HAD HE HEARD THAT TUNE?" 
 
 Colonel Staples had not in the least magnified the 
 jealousy of John Garston for Alvah Adams, in the 
 talk which he had with Mr. Grosschen. It would 
 have been difficult for any one to do that, were his 
 statements ever so extravagant. The steady accu- 
 mulation of wealth by his rival, while he could not 
 even hold his own, had laid the foundation of Gars- 
 ton's hatred, and the marriage of Adams to the 
 handsome senorita filled to the brim the cup of his 
 hatred. There was no immediate outbreak between 
 the neighbors, for Adams took care that there should 
 be none, but Garston grew less amiable each year, 
 being wholly unable to conceal the bitterness that 
 was in him. 
 
 This is not the Greene County Jefferson, as the reader wffl 
 readily percehrc. A.R.
 
 10 THX GARSTOX EIGAMY. 
 
 At the time of Alvah's marriage John tried hard t* 
 make himself believe that he did not care. He said 
 to himself that this girl with her extravagant no* 
 tions would ruin her husband by the luxuries which 
 her tastes would demand. She would not long be 
 satisfied with the humble cottage to which he took 
 her, or willing to ride in the old fashioned wagon 
 which had answered for him. 
 
 But this did not give him much comfort, for the 
 wish to wed this girl had been the strongest pas- 
 sion of his life, and he could not live it down, try 
 as he might. And it did not add to his serenity 
 when he discovered, as time went by, that his proph- 
 ecies, even in this respect, did not turn out at all ac- 
 cording to his expectations. 
 
 It is true that the new wife did no work in the 
 kitchen and that one of the first things which Alvah 
 did after his marriage was to purchase a carriage 
 for her, to which he harnessed a pair of his young 
 ponies, that she might have as good a team to drive 
 as any lady in the county. It is true that he hired 
 another servant and seemed to be always bringing 
 home something new in the way of " fancy things," 
 as John contemptuously called all articles of house 
 or personal adornment. Notwithstanding this, how- 
 ever, there were no signs that Adams was approach- 
 ing bankruptcy. His credit was still as good as 
 ever, though he seldom had occasion to test it, and 
 his purse was long enough before the year had ex- 
 pired to take in and add to his quarter section an- 
 other of the same size which adjoined it, and which 
 the owner wished to sell that he might return to the 
 East and take possession of a fortune left him by a 
 relative. Perhaps his success may have been partly
 
 ** WHERE HAT) HE HEARD THAT TUNE f w 81 
 
 due to the fact, that while John sat in his house 
 fuming and fretting over the progress of his neigh- 
 bor, Alvah was up betimes directing his laborers, 
 planning to save in his methods and getting every, 
 thing out of his property that it could be made to 
 produce. 
 
 A cold wave came unexpectedly, and John found 
 six of his calves frozen to death outside of the cow- 
 stable. The door had been left off its hinges and 
 the little animals had wandered out into the lighter 
 atmosphere when the gale blew down the bar. Three 
 promising colts were caught in a drenching storm be- 
 cause he had not ordered his men to drive them in 
 upon the sure signs of its approach. His farming 
 tools rusted in the outer air, as have those of many 
 a Western farmer since the first plowshare tore 
 open the golden heart of that vast territory. He 
 lived from hand to mouth, always a little in arrears 
 always paying the ruinous percentage for accommo- 
 dation which prevailed then in his section. 
 
 And while John was doing this, Alvah went to the 
 opposite extreme. 
 
 " I hope you're not taking wheat in to sell now,** 
 said he to Garston one winter morning, as he met 
 him on the road driving a pung-load of filled bags 
 toward the nearest market. "Why, it's gone up five 
 cents within a week, and it will be twenty cents 
 higher before two months. Take it back, man, and 
 put it back into your bins again. It's like throw 
 ing it away to sell it at the present price." 
 
 John knew as well as Alvah, that in all probability 
 grain would be higher soon, but he had a reason 
 strong enough to keep him from accepting the well 
 meant advice. He bad a note coming due the
 
 22 THE GARSTON BIGAMY. 
 
 day, which must be paid, and the wheat was the 
 only available thing he had to pay it with. It 
 angered him to think of Alvah, standing there with 
 his free advice a man with plenty of cash on hand, 
 and granaries bursting, but he deemed it the part of 
 wisdom to conceal his feelings. So he muttered 
 something about on-ly taking in a little that he had 
 promised in advance, and that no one could ever 
 tell for certain just how the wheat market would go, 
 and drove on. 
 
 That evening he stopped to tell Alvah, with mali- 
 cious satisfaction, that when he got to the market 
 he had found wheat falling in price, and the buyers 
 predicting that it would be down to sixty cents be- 
 fore it was any higher 
 
 " Let it fall," said Alvah, pleasantly. " It's got to 
 rise again, as sure as you are living. These men can 
 manipulate the price all they like, but they can't go 
 on lowering it forever I shall keep mine till it's 
 ninety cents, and perhaps a dollar." 
 
 " One farmer can't buck these big combines," re- 
 plied John. " They might make us keep our grain 
 a year." 
 
 " Well, then, I'll keep mine a year." 
 
 " That will tie up a good deal of capital," said 
 John, warily. He wondered how long Alvah could 
 stand that sort of thing. 
 
 " I can borrow, if necessary," said the other. " But 
 I have an idea better than that, and if this conspir 
 acy against us goes on much longer I shall carry it 
 into effect." 
 
 John did not like to ask what this plan was, and 
 he did not think from the tone which Adams used, 
 that be meant to reveal the secret, so be only said
 
 " WHERE HAD HB HEARD THAT TUKB f" 23 
 
 that he must be going, and started his horses along 
 the road. 
 
 " Poor fellow ! " exclaimed Alvah, as he saw him 
 disappearing. " I fear he will never learn to manage 
 his affairs on business principles." 
 
 Alvah sold his wheat the next June at the dollar 
 he had set as his limit, but he had been doing a good 
 deal of thinking in the meantime. He did not like 
 to be in danger of having to take the price which 
 some combination might designate. There was a 
 little stream which ran through the new purchase 
 which he had made, and one day Garston was 
 astonished to see men at work building a dam, and 
 making a banking around a natural depression as if 
 to create a reservoir. Curiosity led him to go over 
 and see what was being done, and when he arrived 
 Alvah told him frankly that he was going to have a 
 grist-mill there. 
 
 " We have been going on long enough," he said, 
 " selling our wheat and bringing our flour and bran 
 from a distance. I have sent for the necessary 
 machinery and a miller, and shall be grinding wheat 
 within three months. When the farmers can get 
 their grain ground so near at home they will feel less 
 necessity of selling it to those Eastern sharks at any 
 price they choose to pay." 
 
 Garston could not help his face showing a shade 
 of pale green. 
 
 " You are doing this for the benefit of the commu 
 nity, of course," said he, dryly. " Not for your own 
 advantage at all." 
 
 " By no means," laughed Adams. " I am doing it 
 just as I am the rest of my business, in the hope to 
 make money. But it will benefit the neighborhood,
 
 fi THE GAKSTON BIGAMY. 
 
 for all that, and I am glad to have it I wonder no- 
 body thought of it before." 
 
 " Every man hasn't got a stream on his land," 
 growled John. 
 
 "No, that's true. It's queer how things turn out. 
 When I bought this quarter section of Darling we 
 both thought this brook a disadvantage, as it took 
 up so much of the surface, especially in the spring, 
 when it is apt to run over. Now it seems likely to 
 become worth more than I gave for the whole farm. 
 I have another idea, too. I am going to run some 
 pipes across the fields and irrigate the uplands in 
 dry times. There's lots of things I can do with that 
 bit of water," he added, with a smile. 
 
 John went home and gave himself up to his sour 
 reflections. When his wife came to call him to din- 
 ner he refused to eat. He felt that luck was against 
 him, and that all he could ever do to combat it would 
 never place him on terms of equality with Alvah 
 Adams. He was as well off as Smith, Robinson, and 
 Jones, to the south of him, or Parsons and Brown, 
 to the west, but he could compare nothing except 
 with Alvah. So long as Alvah's kine waxed fatter 
 than his there was nothing in life for him. 
 
 Nothing? Yes, there was Gerald. Alvah had no 
 boy, as yet, though that would probably be the next 
 thing. The farmer came out of his retirement at the 
 sound of his baby son crying in the arms of his 
 mother. For no music was to him like that cry. No 
 harp, no lute, no violin in the hands of a practiced 
 player could have given such pleasure to his ears as 
 the wail of the little fellow who bore his name, and 
 was to keep alive his generation. 
 
 He saw the mill builded and noted that the line
 
 " WHEKE HAD HE HEARD THAT TUNE f 25 
 
 of teams which came to it with grist sometimes 
 choked the narrow road. He saw a second set of 
 stones arrive, while a heavier millwheel, a taller 
 dam and a greater reservoir succeeded to the first. 
 He saw the foundations of a mansion laid on the 
 rising ground above the little cottage to which Al- 
 vah had taken his bride. He saw the stately pro- 
 portions rise, till the cupola and the bay-windows 
 and the conservatory looked down on his own humble 
 roof as if in derision of so poor a neighbor. People 
 had come to allude to Adams as a prosperous man. 
 
 When Gerald was four years old, the neighbors 
 met one day, Adams riding with his wife and young 
 child. Garston shrank at the contrast which their 
 equipages presented. But the teams had hardly 
 met and passed when he looked at the handsome 
 boy on the seat beside him and thought of the baby 
 girl that Mrs. Adams had carried in her lap. 
 
 " She would give more to have a boy like that,' 
 he muttered, " than for all he will make out of his 
 farm and mill in the next twelvemonth." 
 
 He had a strange satisfaction in taking the little 
 Gerald by the hand and strolling past the house of 
 Adams at some time of day when he would be likely 
 to meet him. As open-hearted as John was the 
 opposite, Alvah never hesitated to express his regret 
 that no son had made his ad vent in his iransion, and 
 he always praised the lad with which his neighbor 
 had been blessed. 
 
 " A splendid boy !" he used to say. " We have a 
 dear little girl, John, that we love with all our 
 hear^j, but both my wife and myself feel it strongly 
 that we have had no boy. It does not seem right to 
 complain, when God has given us so much to t*
 
 26 THE GAESTON BIGAMT. 
 
 thankful for, but if we only had a son we could ask 
 for nothing more." 
 
 Garston always walked back to his home with a 
 lighter heart after these interviews. There was one 
 thing in which his possessions exceeded those of 
 Adams ! As time went by and no other child glad- 
 dened the Adams household, John grew confident 
 that the disparity would never be removed, and 
 this reflection kept him from utter despondency. 
 
 When Gerald was eight years of age and Alma 
 five John went to see a doctor of the town, who was 
 the attendant at both his own house and that of his 
 neighbor. Mrs. Garston had been ailing for some 
 days, and he asked the physician to call and see her 
 that evening. Then something turned the conver- 
 sation towards the Adamses. 
 
 "It's a pity about Mrs. Adams," said the doctor, 
 reflectively. " Alvah would give anything for a son, 
 but it will never be. She will never have another 
 child. There are reasons which make it impos- 
 sible." 
 
 And he went off into a learned dissertation on the 
 troubles of women, never doubting that John would 
 experience the same sympathy in the case that he 
 himself felt. 
 
 Garston went out into the air and found that he 
 could walk more erect. Alvah Adams would never 
 be the father of a boy ! Whatever happened, his 
 poorer neighbor would always have this advantage. 
 He knew in the depths of his heart that it was con- 
 temptible to let this sentiment take such root there, 
 but it had spread itself so long that there was no 
 way to kill it now. Never a boy in the Adams 
 mansion ! Never, never, never ! ! All the way
 
 "WHEBE HAD HE HEABD THAT TUNE." 27 
 
 ,*ome he repeated those words to himself, and he 
 could not get the music of them out of his mind. 
 Never, never, never a boy ! 
 
 He walked into his house, humming a tune, of 
 which these words were the refrain, but a servant 
 came toward him, with her finger on her lips. She 
 pointed toward an inner room, where he knew his 
 wife lay, and he realized that something had hap- 
 pened. The tune stopped as suddenly as if it had 
 been broken off by a blow, and the man strode has- 
 tily into the apartment beyond. It took but a mo- 
 ment for him to realize that the worst had happened 
 in his absence. 
 
 John Garston cared for this wife, though he had 
 not given her the passionate love which had well 
 nigh swamped his barque in earlier days. He 
 uttered a cry of grief as he saw her lying there, pale 
 and still, and realized that she had spoken to him 
 for the last time in this world. Never, never, would 
 fhe speak to him again. 
 
 " Never, never, never ! " Where had he heard 
 that tune before ? 
 
 He did not think of marrying again, but lived 
 alone with his boy till the latter went away to 
 college. 
 
 After Adams had become accounted a rich man, 
 with his farm and mill, the war of the Rebellion 
 came. Colonel Staples, who was interested in railroad 
 building, had had experience in the militia, and ac- 
 cepted a commission to raise a regiment for service 
 at the front. The first man who wrote his name on 
 the register at the recruiting office was Adams. He 
 had not consulted his wife before taking this step, 
 and she had, naturally, many tears to shed when he
 
 3i THB OAKSTOK BIOAJCT. 
 
 came home to tell her. What could she do witti 
 those large interests she, who had never had the 
 least care of anything outside her own household ? 
 But when he had talked it over with her, she admit- 
 ted that he was only doing his duty, and afterwards 
 developed such a capacity for managing affairs that 
 he was pleasurably astonished. 
 
 The men of his company elected him second 
 lieutenant, and afterwards he was made captain, on 
 account of gallantry officially commended in his 
 colonel's report. He remained till the war closed, 
 taking but two brief furloughs to run home and at- 
 tend to things that required his presence. One of 
 the earliest recollections of Alma was being awakened 
 from sleep one night and clasped in the arms of a 
 strange figure with a great beard and brilliant uni- 
 form. She was inclined to cry, for the assurance 
 that it was her papa conveyed but little information 
 to her infantile mind, but she was given his belt and 
 sword to play with, and soon fell asleep again. 
 Adams used often to say that he did not believe 
 he had a dollar less than if he had shirked his 
 duty and stayed at home from the struggle of 
 arms ; but, he used to add, " If it had taken all I had, 
 compelling me to go further west and start life 
 again on the open prairie, I would have enlisted just 
 the same." 
 
 He asked but one thing of his soldiers and th 
 people of Jefferson when the war closed. 
 
 " Don't call me ' Captain ' any more. I am proud 
 that I bore the title, and grateful to the country fof 
 giving it to me, but now that the war is over, call 
 me Alvah, as you used to.'*
 
 MttTNETTE AHD ELOKDS. 29 
 
 And when they found that he really meant it, this 
 wish was law to his friends and neighbors. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 BRUNETTE AND BLONDE. 
 
 f he two young girls that Colonel Staples had 
 pointed out to Mr. Grosschen were admitted on all 
 sides to be the prettiest in the village of Jefferson. 
 The wide range that feminine good looks can take 
 was well shown in the totally different styles of beau- 
 ty which they presented. Alma was almost en- 
 titled to be called a brunette, and by contrast with 
 Edith she might have been taken to be one. Her 
 hair was a very dark brown. Her eyes were deep 
 brown also, and her skin of a shade more common in 
 the South than in the descendant of the New Hamp- 
 shire race. As often happens, Alma was even more 
 of the Spanish type than her mother, following the 
 law which causes heredity to take leaps and bounds 
 over intervening territory. 
 
 She was one of the most perfect girls in regard to 
 health that could be found, and had never known 
 what it was to be ill since the days of her babyhood. 
 Now, at seventeen, she was of medium height, 
 straight as an arrow, round with the fullness of a per- 
 fect development, possessing a figure like that of a not 
 fully ripened Hebe. It would have delighted the 
 soul of a sculptor to have seen the manner in which 
 she carried herself, and it sent a thrill through the
 
 30 THE GABSTON BIGAMY. 
 
 veins of many a man who had no claims to the 
 sculptor's talents when she appeared in his presence. 
 Perfect strangers, who had met her on her way to 
 school, had paused to watch till she was out of sight, 
 even cnree or four years before the date of which I 
 am writing. They had asked the next person whom 
 ihey met the name of this independent little beauty, 
 wno walked as if she owned the earth and felt able 
 to maintain her possession. And they had gone on 
 with feelings that seemed unaccountable toward one 
 so young, whom it would be folly to think of 
 otherwise than as a child for a long time yet. 
 
 The girl knew that she was considered handsome, 
 almost as soon as she knew anything. It could not 
 escape her ears even when she was toddling about 
 the parlor, and the visitors at her mother's thought 
 it no harm to voice their delight at her infantile 
 prettiness. Being the only child, she might have 
 been spoiled by the constant petting which she re- 
 ceived, but she had inherited a pride of another 
 kind. Having acquired an idea that she was a 
 person entitled to consideration, she early learned 
 that this demanded from her equal consideration to 
 others. 
 
 By comparison with Alma, Edith Staples would 
 have been called a blonde, though she was not of that 
 pronounced type which the Swedes and Germans 
 lead us to think of in connection with that expres- 
 sion. Her hair was light, her eyes blue and her 
 complexion as fair as if the sun of heaven had never 
 touched it with his warm rays. This was not due, 
 however, to any special care on her part, for she was 
 not foolish enough to make a god of her beauty or 
 to avoid the caresses of the great luminary. On th<
 
 BRUNETTE AND BLONDS. 31 
 
 contrary, she had a habit of going out of doors in 
 pleasant weather with her hat hanging by its 
 strings to her arm, and a parasol she cordially de- 
 tested. The tan simply would not stay on her face, 
 and nothing varied the clear paleness of her features 
 but the charming waves of color that came and 
 went at the least provocation, chasing each other on 
 and off like so many crimson-tinted shadows. She 
 was slenderer and slightly taller than her friend, 
 and in all respects cast in a more delicate mould. 
 Strangers in Jefferson varied in their opinions -RS to 
 which of the girls was lovelier, but the villagers 
 never came to any conclusion. Each was perfect in 
 her own way ; and as neither of them gave *he 
 slightest encouragement to any of the young mei* of 
 the place, except Gerald, they were considered as 
 something to be admired from a respectful distance. 
 
 Gerald Garston had known Alma all her life, and 
 Edith from her sixth birthday. It was when he 
 piloted little Alma to the primary school, himself 
 already elevated to the dignity of a grammar scholar, 
 that he first saw the two girls together, they having 
 made each other's acquaintance at recess and formed 
 an instant liking which time had only sufficed to 
 cement and strengthen. He and Alma had to pass 
 Colonel Staples' house going and coming, and from 
 the very first the trio walked that distance together, 
 until they became familiar figures to everybody 
 who lived along the highway. John Garston did 
 not particularly like it to have his boy so " thick " 
 with Alvah Adams' girl, but there was no way in 
 which he could prevent it without seeming more u<a- 
 neighborly than he then desired to appear. 
 
 Year after year, till Gerald passed through th
 
 a THIS OARSTOTT BXOAXT. 
 
 grades of all the schools that Jefferson could afford 
 and had reached his seventeenth birthday, he came 
 and went with the two girls, almost without varia- 
 tion. He was a manly little fellow, and while an 
 occasional schoolmate would try to get up a laugh 
 On him because he had these feminine companions, 
 the majority of the boys stood by Gerald and re- 
 fused to consider it anything amusing. When he 
 was only ten years old a particularly obnoxious 
 youth took to calling names after him, as he started 
 off with the children, designed to irritate both his 
 feelings and theirs. After bearing it for several 
 days without replying, Gerald suddenly left his 
 charges one evening and proceeded to administer 
 the severest kind of correction to the cause of the 
 trouble. He had the young fellow down in the dirt 
 of the road and had made his countenance assume a 
 most unwonted appearance before the girls knew 
 what he was about. Neither of them had ever seen 
 him in a temper before, and at first both were much 
 frightened. The whipped lad was bawling lustily, 
 and Gerald's blows showed no signs of being any- 
 where near their end. Edith's disposition was to 
 run, and she started to do so, but Alma went to 
 where the punishment was in progress and laid her 
 band on Gerald's shoulder. 
 
 Then the boy seemed to realize for the first time 
 what he had been doing. At Alma's touch he rose 
 nd took a step away from the prostrate figure. 
 
 "Do you think you will call names after me 
 again ?" he demanded. 
 
 A smothered negative came from the bruised 
 mouth.
 
 BETTNETTE AOT BLOOTJ1. 83 
 
 "If you ever do," said Gerald, " I will kill you the 
 
 mext time." 
 
 He went back with Alma to where Edith, pale 
 and trembling, awaited them. 
 
 " How could you !" she cried, when they had re- 
 sumed their way. " I never was so frightened." 
 
 "What frightened you?" he asked, a little 
 alarmed. 
 
 " I was afraid he would hurt you." 
 
 Gerald looked back contemptuously, disdaining to 
 consider that suggestion. 
 
 " I didn't think he could hurt you" said Alma, 
 " but I was afraid you would hurt him more than 
 you meant to. He was very aggravating, though." 
 
 "It is terrible to fight," said Edith, with a shud- 
 der. 
 
 Gerald was already ashamed of the degree of tem- 
 per which he had exhibited, and not inclined to say 
 a great deal in his own defense. 
 
 " It is terrible to be called names, too," put in 
 Alma. " I almost felt as if I could whip him myself 
 for what he said to Gerald. If 1 had seen that Har- 
 vey was able to hurt him, I should have gone to 
 help." 
 
 Thus the girls discussed the occurrence until they 
 reached Edith's gate, when Gerald said : 
 
 "Don't let us talk any more about it, Edie. I 
 want to forget it.** 
 
 She readily consented and the boy declined an in- 
 vitation to come in, not thinking that he presented 
 exactly the appearance that fitted him for any one's 
 parlor. He walked on silently with Alma till they 
 reached her house. 
 
 ** I think I ought to thank you," she said to him,
 
 34 THE GARSTON BIGLUCT. 
 
 thoughtfully. " What Harvey said was meant te 
 insult us girls as much as you." 
 
 " I don't want to talk about it, Alma," he repeat- 
 ed. " I want to forget it just as soon as I can." 
 
 That night some one told John Garston that his 
 boy had been fighting with Harvey Holmes. He 
 learned substantially the true particulars of the mat- 
 ter, which convinced him that his son had merely 
 resented an insult in a somewhat savage manner. 
 Not at all displeased with the occurrence, so long 
 as his boy had proved a victor, he concluded not to 
 let the lad know that he had heard anything about 
 it. Some of the village lads complimented Gerald 
 the next day on his prowess, and several men in the 
 town gave utterance to similar words of praise 
 but the only effect was one of annoyance. Gerala 
 was glad when the thing died out of memory, and 
 though he carefully avoided Harvey after that, he 
 took no pride in the victory he had won over him. 
 
 It was natural that Gerald saw rather more of 
 Alma than he did of Edith, as she was the nearest 
 neighbor that he had. He knew in an indefinite 
 way that there was something of ill-feeling on the 
 part of his father toward hers, but it did not inter- 
 fere with his friendship for the little girl, whom he 
 regarded in a sort of paternal fashion, being, when 
 he first began to escort her to school, so much the 
 elder. He was always welcomed cordially at the 
 Adams mansion, both of Alma's parents seeming to 
 entertain a great fondness for him and encouraging 
 his visits in every possible way. Colonel Staples 
 also gave him invitations to come to his house, con- 
 sidering him the sort of boy that one could encour-
 
 BBTTNETTE AND BLONDE. 3$ 
 
 age, even when one had a young daughter who was 
 the apple of his eye. 
 
 While Gerald was not less fond of boyish sports 
 than others of his age, or took a less prominent 
 part in the games of his own sex, he found plenty of 
 time to be with Alma and Edith. His father had 
 no notion of asking him to assist about the farm. 
 He had early concluded that the boy should adopt 
 some other means of getting a livelihood, more in 
 accordance with what is usually called the life of a 
 gentleman. The boy's studies came easy to him, 
 and the rest of his time w?.s practically at his own 
 disposal. The girls were nearly always together, 
 either at one house or the other, and few days 
 passed, either in school or vacation time, that Ger- 
 ald did not see a good deal of them. 
 
 Edith was of a much more sensitive and shrinking 
 disposition than her girl friend. Alma hardly knew 
 the feeling of fear, while it required very little to set 
 the nerves of Edith into a tremor. Alma was ven- 
 turesome, Edith retiring. If the trio were out in the 
 wood, and came to a small stream which they wanted 
 to cross, Alma would boldly walk the narrow log 
 that spanned it, or spring lightly from one of the 
 stepping-stones to the other. Edith, on the contrary, 
 would seek up and down its banks for some more 
 favorable crossing, rejecting for a long time the offer 
 of Gerald to carry her over, accepting it at last only 
 when no other way presented itself, and then with 
 many doubts of the result. When they were safely 
 on the opposite side, she would laugh at her foolish, 
 ness, declaring that she would never be afraid again ; 
 and the next time she would go through identically 
 the same fright and hesitation.
 
 86 THE GAKSTON BIGAMY. 
 
 Once a snake came across their path an ;noffen- 
 tive thing and Edith fainted. Gerald was so much 
 startled at this that he allowed the creature to get 
 away, though he had grasped a piece of wood with 
 the intention of destroying it. When he saw the 
 limp body of Edith sink upon the sward he was more 
 alarmed even than Alma, who ran to the nearest 
 water and brought her straw hat full to throw into 
 the face of the unconscious one. When Edith recov- 
 ered her senses she begged to be taken home, and 
 Gerald took her in his arms and carried her for a 
 long distance. Alma lamented that the snake had 
 not been killed, as she wanted to show it to her 
 father, but Edith declared that she should die at the 
 mere sight of it. And it was some months before 
 She could be induced to go again into the forest or 
 pastures, where such things are likely to be. 
 
 Girls of entirely different natures often make the 
 strongest of friends, and Alma never thought of 
 chiding Edith for what seemed to her silliness, ex- 
 cept in the most gentle way. Gerald saw the differ- 
 ence in their natures, and treated them accordingly. 
 He liked one, as far as he ever thought about it, just 
 as well as he did the other. Both of them liked him, 
 and when absent he often furnished the subject for 
 their conversations. When he graduated at the 
 High School and went away to college both of them 
 found for the first time how great a place he had oc- 
 cupied in their lives. 
 
 They were only fourteen then, and neither had 
 ever dreamed of what is called * ; love." Gerald was 
 the dearest friend that either of them had, outside 
 of their own families, and they missed him severely. 
 It was a happy day when each ran to tell the other
 
 BBUJURTE AWD BLOVDB. 87 
 
 that she had received the first letter from him, for 
 
 he had written to both by exactly the same mail, on 
 the second day after his arrival at the university. 
 They met about half way between their residences, 
 out of breath and with smiles irradiating their faces. 
 
 "I've got a letter !" cried Alma, holding np the 
 envelope in evidence. 
 
 "So'vel!" 
 
 " But mine's from Ge * 
 
 "So'smine!" 
 
 Plumping themselves down under the nearest 
 shade tree the girls read their epistles aloud to each 
 other, hardly able to wait in their eagerness till the 
 words could be enunciated. There could be no se- 
 crets between them, least of all over this matter, in 
 which they had a common joy. 
 
 He told of his room and his room-mate a young 
 man named Clifford Nelson of what they had given 
 him for breakfast, dinner and supper at the " Com- 
 mons," of the personal appearance of the various 
 professors with whom he came in contact. He said 
 that he missed the faces at Jefferson, of his father, 
 of the villagers, and, not least of all, of the little 
 friends whom he had known so long and intimately. 
 Sentences beginning, "You can tell Edith when you 
 meet her," and " Don't forget to say to Alma from 
 me," abounded. 
 
 Having read and reread the epistles and commen- 
 ted upon them to their hearts' content, the girls sep- 
 arated, to go to their own rooms and indite speedy 
 answers, quite as fit to be read to all the world as the 
 ones he had sent to them. 
 
 Colonel Staples smiled when Edith came into the 
 parlor to read Gerald's letter to him, and said he was
 
 88 THE GARSTON 1 BIGAMY. 
 
 glad that the boy was so pleasantly situated. Mr. 
 Adams made a similar observation when Alma hand- 
 ed him what Gerald had sent to her, for his perusal. 
 They thought to themselves that nothing could be 
 better for a young man in college than the true 
 friendship of such girls, who had been sisters to him 
 for so long. The mothers were equally well satisfied 
 and encouraged a continuation of the correspond- 
 ence. They liked Gerald and approved of him in 
 every way. It would encourage a taste for writing 
 in their daughters, and so be of benefit to all con- 
 cerned. 
 
 Gerald told his father, in a letter sent in the same 
 mail with these, that he had written to the girls, and 
 John Garston pondered over the matter a good while, 
 uncertain what to do. He had rather not have had 
 it so, and yet he could give no reason even to his 
 own mind for this feeling. The result of his delib- 
 erations was that he would say nothing about it. 
 He realized that it might be something like making 
 a mountain out of a molehill to forbid his son to con- 
 tinue the letters. He believed that the new connec- 
 tions Gerald would make at the university would be 
 likely to crowd these infantile attachments to one 
 side in short order that they would, in fact, take 
 care of themselves, if left alone. He was gratified, 
 as he frequently had had occasion to be, with the in- 
 genuousness which made Gerald confide everything 
 to him, and he feared to inaugurate a policy which 
 might make him liable to resort to double dealing. 
 
 It was not easy for Mr. Garston to spare the mon- 
 ey necessary to give his son this higher education, 
 but if it had taken his last penny, if it had compelled 
 him to live on bread and water to accomplish it, he
 
 BRUNETTE AND BLONDE. 39 
 
 was determined that Gerald should be "a gentle- 
 man." All the pride he had went into this account. 
 The ill luck that he expected, that he almost courted, 
 seemed to follow all of his farming operations. He 
 had poorer crops than his fellow-towi.smen, though 
 his land was naturally as good as any. He always 
 sold his grain at the minimum price, and paid ruin- 
 ous interest on notes. He had no hope of ever get- 
 ting himself free from these obligations, but if Ger- 
 ald could be made "a gentleman," could be raised 
 above the heads of the Adamses by education and 
 profession, that would compensate for all the rest. 
 
 He had never intimated to his son that money was 
 so scarce with him. The boy had not the least idea 
 that the sum needed to pay the first quarter of his 
 college expenses was borrowed of a Shylock, by a 
 mortgage on what live-stock and machinery was al- 
 ready exempt from similar process, on which interest 
 was to be paid at the rate of four per cent, a month. 
 He went into college with all the bright hopes of 
 youth, provided with a sufficiency of pocket money 
 for his needs, and with only one instruction from his 
 father, to live as well as the rest. 
 
 The first time he came home, to spend the short 
 Christmas vacation, it was hard to tell which of the 
 three families laid the most claim to him. He had 
 to accept invitations to dinner at both the Adams 
 and Staples households, and at each of them Alma 
 and Edith were included in the list of those who sat 
 around the board. John Garston was invited also, 
 but as the requests for his presence came together, he 
 felt obliged to refuse both of them. He would have 
 liked well enough to dine with Colonel Staples' fam- 
 ily, but he had no idea f stepping inside the stately
 
 40 THE G AKSTON BIGAMT. 
 
 home of Alvah Adams. He could not go to one and 
 decline the other without attracting unpleasant no- 
 tice, and so he made an excuse to both of lack of 
 jme, and previous engagements. 
 
 Gerald was pumped dry for accounts of his life in 
 college, though he declared that he had told every- 
 thing in his frequent letters to Edith and Alma. 
 His room-mate, Clifford Nelson, figured in all his ex- 
 periences, and was described as such a likeable chap 
 that Colonel Staples and Mr. Adams both gave him 
 a cordial invitation to bring his friend with him the 
 next time he came. This reminded him that he 
 had a photograph of Clifford in his .pocket, which 
 he produced and passed around the table. The 
 girls were agreed in praise of his appearance and 
 hoped they should soon have the pleasure of seeing 
 him. 
 
 " He's awful nice," said Gerald, " and I shall be 
 glad to bring him, if he will come. I should think 
 he might, in the summer. His folks live in Buffalo, 
 and they are immensely rich." 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 THE GIRL WITH THE ANKLES. 
 
 When the summer vacation arrived Gerald did 
 not come home immediately from college. He went 
 with young Nelson to the country place of the 
 latter's family, on the borders of Lake Erie. Both 
 the father and mother of Clifford were dead, and
 
 THB GIEL WITH THB AKKLB8. 4] 
 
 the establishments which had belonged to them 
 and were now coming to him, were presided over 
 by a maiden aunt for the present. But it was not 
 long before the collegians reached Jefferson, where 
 Nelson was speedily introduced to the young girls 
 of whom he had heard his friend speak, and about 
 whom he had formed so many speculative opinions. 
 Knowing that they were still under sixteen, it had 
 seemed to Clifford very odd that Gerald should 
 find it worth his while to devote so many hours in 
 the month in writing to them. Before he had been 
 in Jefferson a week, however, he learned to take an 
 entirely different view. He admitted to himself 
 that these girls were not at all like the ordinary 
 chits of their age, and that he had never seen two 
 such charming creatures as they turned out to be. 
 
 Clifford was not long in deciding that it was Edith 
 who interested him most, but try as he might he 
 could not discover that there was any difference be- 
 tween them in Gerald's favor. If he walked with 
 one of them to-day, in the excursions about the 
 town and vicinity that the entire party began to 
 make, the other one was his closest companion to- 
 morrow. Stranger if possible than this was the fact 
 that neither of the girls evinced any preference to 
 be by Gerald's side, so long as he made one of the 
 quartette. They used Clifford with great considera- 
 tion, but he was wise enough to comprehend that 
 this was on account of his position. He was Ger- 
 ald's friend, and that entitled him to their regard. 
 
 He could not help wishing that one of them, at 
 least, would care a little more for him on his own 
 account, but perhaps that would come later, if he 
 was circumspect and bided his time. Though only
 
 42 THB GARSTON BIGAMT. 
 
 eighteen, he had a sentimental side, and Edith had 
 made a strong impression upon him. He liked 
 Alma too, very much indeed, and she treated him 
 with a frankness which pleased him. He believed 
 Edith grew the least bit more reserved in his pres- 
 ence, but it might have been due to her instinctive 
 knowledge that he had her most in his thoughts. 
 
 He did not wonder that Gerald liked both of 
 these girls, but he was surprised when he insisted 
 that he could discern absolutely no difference in the 
 state of his feelings toward them. 
 
 " Now, come," Clifford said to him one day, 
 " there must be a difference perhaps a very slight 
 one, but still enough for you to tell which you like 
 best." 
 
 " There isn't," said Gerald, with apparent honesty. 
 " I have known them from babyhood and they are 
 exactly alike to me. But aren't they nice, though? 
 I wouldn't bring every fellow I know here and in- 
 troduce them to him." 
 
 The four were together almost constantly during 
 what was left of the vacation. They took rides into 
 the country, went for pond lilies in the wooded lake 
 that Mr. Adams owned, about a mile from his resi- 
 dence, strolled among the ravines and sat chatting 
 or singing on the verandas of the Staples or Adams 
 mansions, indiscriminately, for hours. 
 
 When the young men were back in college, Clif- 
 ford plucked up courage to write to Edith. He 
 said nothing to Gerald of his intention, and there 
 was nothing in the letter except references to the 
 delightful time he had had in Jefferson, and his 
 hope to come there again when another summer 
 should arrive. Time passed and no answer came,
 
 THE CURL WITH THE ANKLES. 43 
 
 ill one evening, Gerald looked up from a letter he 
 was perusing to say that Edith sent word that she 
 had received his friend's note, and wished him to 
 thank him for his trouble. This convinced Clifford 
 anew that he was on a very different footing in that 
 young lady's mind from Gerald, and that if he was 
 ever to improve it he must do so in some other way 
 than by beginning an unsolicited correspondence. 
 
 Just for amusement, and to make a test, he 
 thought he would try the effect of a letter on Alma. 
 The result was no more flattering to his vanity. All 
 he received was a request to Gerald similar to that 
 contained in the note from Edith. 
 
 With vacation time he was again in Jefferson, and 
 now he determined to leave no stone unturned to 
 make an impression upon Miss Edith. He found 
 her taller and lovelier than ever and quite as cordial 
 to him as she had been the previous year. There 
 was an indefinable feeling, however, which he could 
 not help, that he constituted a sort of fifth wheel to 
 the coach, and that the girls would have been much 
 better satisfied to have had Gerald to themselves. 
 He intimated as much to Gerald one day when they 
 were alone, but his friend laughed at what he 
 called his nonsense, and said four in a party made 
 it much nicer for all concerned. 
 
 "They like you both of them," he added, "I 
 know they think it very pleasant to have you here. 
 You must not be so notional, Cliff." 
 
 " Did Miss did either of them say anything 
 about me ?" 
 
 " They don't say special things," said Gerald. " It 
 isn't their style. They never, for instance, have said
 
 44 TBB GAJWTON BIOAXT. 
 
 they like to have me here, but I think they do, just 
 the same." 
 
 " Oh, you!" exclaimed Nelson. "Of course, they 
 want you. It wouldn't take a telescope to see that." 
 
 "And they want you, too," was the prompt reply. 
 "Don't get any idea in your head that they don't." 
 
 About every day the young men were invited to 
 dinner or supper at one of the girls' houses, and 
 generally they accepted. The parents on both sides 
 learned to like Nelson very much, and everything 
 was done to make him enjoy his stay. He tried to 
 cultivate Colonel Staples especially, with a view to 
 the future, for he really got serious sometimes in his 
 thoughts about Edith. His father had been con- 
 nected with the railroad interest, and it turned out 
 that the Colonel had met him somewhere in other 
 days. All this was very well, but it did not prevent 
 him feeling a twinge as he saw the free and easy 
 manners of Gerald and the bright light that came 
 into Edith's blue eyes as she listened to the most 
 ordinary thing he happened to say. 
 
 The summer passed away, and Clifford's position 
 was very little, if any, improved. He did not 
 wish to make what is called " love " to Edith, 
 but he could not see why she should prefer to 
 share in her small part of Gerald to accept- 
 ing the entire attention of another, which she 
 knew well, he was convinced, that he would 
 be only too glad to give her. When he was 
 back at college again he noticed that letters in the 
 nanawnting of both girls came more frequently, if 
 anything, than before. There could be nothing 
 secret in them, or Gerald would not have left them, 
 AS he did, unlocked in his drawer, where his room-
 
 THE GIRL WITH THB U7K2JML 45 
 
 mate could have perused them at his leisure had he 
 been so disposed. Clifford had no sister, and up to 
 the time he had met Edith Staples he had thought 
 anything in the nature of close friendship with 
 one of the fair sex about the last thing he should 
 be likely to desire. Now his feelings bordered on 
 the envious. 
 
 Gerald had taken a great fancy of late to photo- 
 graphs and engravings, such as adorn the rooms of 
 many other collegians, showing lovely woman in her 
 most bewitching dress and undress, and the walls of 
 the apartment that they occupied in common was 
 now half covered with these products of the camera 
 and the engraver's tool. Clifford used to laugh at 
 the enthusiasm with which he would unveil each new 
 beauty, declaring it superior to any of its predeces- 
 sors, falling into raptures over an arm, a shoulder or 
 a bust. But he regarded it as a mere ebullition on 
 Gerald's part, and something that might as well be 
 allowed to run its course. Clifford had very correct 
 ideas on most matters, and would have talked seri- 
 ously to his friend had he discovered anything which 
 he supposed had a really " bad " tendency, but these 
 pictures were too silly to treat as if they were things 
 of importance. 
 
 " I have bought the most beautiful photograph 
 this afternoon," Gerald would say as soon as he 
 entered the door. "You cannot imagine how lovely 
 it is ! " 
 
 Then, as he proceeded to take off the wrapper, 
 Clifford would respond, coolly : 
 
 " On the contrary, I can tell you all about it. It 
 is Mile. Quelque Chose of the Varieties. She is 
 dressed ridiculously low in the neck and her gowa
 
 46 THE GAKSTON BIOAJTT. 
 
 is looped outrageously high on the side. I have seen 
 its counterpart a hundred times, and they are all as 
 near alike as two peas in a pod." 
 
 "You have never seen this one," Gerald would 
 answer, his face aglow. " Look ! Was there ever 
 such beauty ? Is it not superb ? I did not think 
 such arms could grow on a mortal creature ! What 
 perfection of outline ! What grace of pose ! You 
 must be stone not to admire that magnificent figure ! 
 I believe you are pretending a lack of interest, just 
 to exasperate me." 
 
 "I don't see anything to get interested in," would 
 be the response. " I call it the picture of a bold 
 woman who might have been a laundress a month 
 before some one decked her in that finery. There 
 are just as good arms, I would be willing to wager, 
 among the washerwomen who do up the college 
 linen. Your perfection of outline is all in your 
 vivid imagination. You don't mean seriously to 
 think of placing that execrable thing on the walls 
 of our room ? Why, it would give me the nightmare. 
 Toss it into the rubbish, like a good fellow." 
 
 Then Gerald would assume an air of injury, and, 
 placing the photograph in a good light, would sit 
 down before it and rail upon the flinty heart that 
 could address such remarks to its beautiful face. 
 
 " Forgive me, Mile. Quelque Chose, if that is your 
 divine name, for bringing you into the presence of 
 this unappreciative Philistine. Fix your clear and 
 sparkling eyes upon your admirer, who would give 
 all he possesses for one glance of love from them. 
 Lift those unapproachable arms and twine them but 
 for one instant about the neck of him who will ever 
 afterward be your slave. Open those cherry lips and
 
 THE GIRL WITH THE ANKLES. 4:7 
 
 own that you have for me a little of that devotion 
 that I bring to you. You do not speak ! Methinks 
 at the sound of my voice you turn your lovely orbs 
 away. Your arms, worthy of a Diana or a Hebe, lie 
 motionless at your side. Is it on account of this 
 iconoclastic wretch that you treat me with such cruel 
 disdain ? Say but a word and I will cast him hence, 
 that we may live devoted to each other forever ! " 
 
 As often as this was repeated, varying only in 
 form with each new picture that took the attention 
 of the young man, Clifford could never help laugh- 
 ing at the ludicrousness of it. 
 
 " Tell her, while you are about it," he would say, 
 " that you were quite as enthusiastic over the 
 charms of Mile. Ceci and Mile. Cela, whose counter- 
 feit presentments still adorn your walls ; that you 
 pledged to each of them, representing not less than 
 three or four hundred individuals, the same ever- 
 lasting love and faithfulness that you now offer to 
 her. Tell her that to-morrow, at precisely this 
 hour, you will bring home the likeness of some 
 other peasant girl who has exchanged a doubtful 
 quality of virtue for a place on the Parisian stage, 
 and rave over it with equal fervor. Oh, Gerald, I 
 am getting ashamed of you !" 
 
 Then Gerald would laugh with him, but would 
 protest, for all that, that the picture was a beauty, 
 and that if he were not as blind as a bat and as cal- 
 lous as a block of marble, he would know it. Three 
 days later he would bring home another, declaring 
 that this was more lovely than any that had pre- 
 ceded it, and the farce would be re-enacted with little 
 variation. 
 
 " Is there anything in this shop that you do a<J-
 
 mire?" he asked Clifford once, as they stood to- 
 gether in the art store of the college town. 
 
 " Yes," replied Nelson, " there are several things. 
 These views of the Acropolis, this one of the Colos- 
 seum, this of the " 
 
 " Oh, bah !" broke in Gerald. " I mean of things 
 feminine. What are those horrid old ruins good 
 for ? A man of sense should be above that sort of 
 thing. What I want is for you to tell me candidly 
 whether there is one of these photographs or engrav- 
 ings designed to portray female beauty that you 
 would think worth purchasing." 
 
 Nelson turned to the engravings and looked them 
 ever for several minutes. 
 
 ** Yes," he said, finally., 
 
 "Which ones?" 
 
 "These." 
 
 He indicated two female figures, one a complete 
 nude and the other stripped to the waist. 
 
 " Impossible '" cried Gerald. " You are too much 
 of a prude. Why don t you answer me honestly ?" 
 
 "I mean just what I cay," said Nelson. "I would 
 hang either of these in my room, and I would much 
 prefer them to any oi the French actresses you have 
 covered the walls with/' 
 
 " But," said Gerald^ with an air of bewilderment, 
 " they are not clothed." 
 
 "Not with manufactured garments, it is }rue," 
 replied Nelson, slowly, " but with purity and grace 
 beyond doubt, something that cannot be said of 
 most of yours which I have criticised. Clothes do 
 not, of necessity, give an air of purity to woman. 
 Here is a nude and a half nude, and yet the artists 
 have so idealized their subjects that no evil thought
 
 TBS VIBL WITH THB JHKI.TBJ. 4P 
 
 could arise from the contemplation of the unveiled 
 charms. This one has Innocence written on her 
 forehead. This has Repentance on hers. It does 
 not need a key to tell the story of either. One has 
 never sinned ; the other has been purified by suffer- 
 ing. I will show that I mean what I say by buying 
 both of them, for I am sure I could make no better 
 use of my money." 
 
 Gerald was astounded. He had never heard such 
 words from his friend's lips, and he felt that there 
 was truth in them. The incident opened up to him 
 a new vein of thought. The next time he contem- 
 plated the rows of photographs that he had so much 
 admired they seemed cheap and tawdry. The en- 
 gravings that Nelson had hung by their side, neatly 
 framed, seemed to shame them out of countenance. 
 It was marvelous that a picture of a woman without 
 a vestige of clothing and another with her garments 
 fallen to her hips could make others in the ordinary 
 costumes of the variety stage look half obscene by 
 contrast. He began to have an increased estimate 
 of the mental powers of his friend, and yet he had 
 dwelt too long on his own conceptions to have his 
 views radically changed in a moment. 
 
 The effect of the purchase of the two engravings 
 and of their being placed in proximity to the photo- 
 graphs was to discourage the purchase of any more 
 of the latter specimens, but soon Gerald found him- 
 self growing interested in the living women with 
 whom he came in contact. Instead of bringing 
 home specimens of th* art of the photographer, he 
 took to relating the charms of various girls whom 
 he met, aYid Clifford thought the change not entirely 
 one of improvement. So long as Gerald contented
 
 50 THE GARSTON BIftAMT, 
 
 himself with admiring these creatures at a distance 
 there was, however, Jttle harm to be apprehended. 
 Another thing was noticeable. None of the women 
 of whom he used to bring accounts possessed in her- 
 self more than one or two of the perfections that he 
 thought ought to be expected in a physical para- 
 gon. 
 
 One day he would go wild over a pair of eyes 
 that he had seen Another day it would be a neck, 
 again a waist, again a chin or a hand. He devel- 
 oped a fondness for even the attire which they wore, 
 and fell in love with a bonnet, a sleeve or a skirt, as 
 the case might be. He would become quite exas- 
 perated at Nelson for his unappreciation of these 
 things, and declare him an old fogy who was buried 
 in his books so deep that he could not see anything 
 outside their covers. 
 
 "What do you suppose it was this time?" he 
 cried, with extraordinary enthusiasm, one evening, 
 as he returned from a walk. " I never saw anything 
 so dainty in all my life !" 
 
 " Oh, an ankle, probably,** was the disheartening 
 reply. 
 
 " An ankle ! two of them !" exclaimed Gerald 
 "A tiny boot, white skirts trimmed with lace, and 
 then the ankles, all getting into a carriage at the 
 depot. I would not have let them out of my sight, 
 if there had been any reasonable way to follow 
 them. There was a man with her, of course, but he 
 could have been got rid of, I suppose. Oh, was 
 there ever such confounded luck !" 
 
 Nelson beamed upon him with mild protest. 
 
 " How can you be so silly ? " he asked. "Ankles 
 are all alike, varying only with the height or weight
 
 THE GIBL WITH THE MJKLES. 51 
 
 of the person who owns them. There is absolutely 
 nothing pretty about them, novelists and poets to 
 the contrary notwithstanding. An ankle consists of 
 a certain number of bones, a little cartilage, some 
 cuticle, some " 
 
 " But these ankles were made of no such prosaic 
 material," interrupted Gerald, impatiently. " You 
 should have seen them, Cliff. My head is in a whirl 
 now, and it is over half an hour since they vanished." 
 
 "What a paragon of loveliness you would have, 
 if you would only get all the beautiful limbs, bodies, 
 busts, ankles and the rest into one form. Somehow 
 there always seems to be something lacking when- 
 ever you discover one attribute of perfection. I'll 
 wager that this girl's face was not in proportionately 
 wonderful beauty to those remarkable ankles." 
 
 " I never looked at it," was the reply. " I hadn't 
 time. I was crossing the street at the station when 
 the ankles became visible. The sheen of the skirts and 
 lace smote me across the brain like a ray from a 
 burning glass. The man who accompanied the 
 ankles sprang into the carriage after her, and the 
 driver started away. I do think the girl looked at 
 me, but I am not certain. I care nothing for her 
 face, except that it might serve as a means of iden- 
 tification, and now, unhappily, I have nothing. No ! 
 I never shall see those ankles again ! " 
 
 Nelson left the room, and a moment later there 
 was a knock at the door. On opening it, Gerald 
 found Colonel Staples and Edith at the entrance. 
 
 "It was you that we saw at the station," cried 
 Edith, noting his costume. " I told papa I could not 
 be mistaken. How is it possible that you did not 
 recognize us ? "
 
 Jti THB OARSTON BIOAMT. 
 
 "At the station? Just a little while ag ?- be 
 stammered. 
 
 " Why, yes, the very last train." 
 
 * I was there, but I did not recognize anybody 
 that I knew," he said, feeling as if he was going to 
 faint 
 
 The Colonel shook hands heartily with him and 
 explained that as they had happened to be in the 
 neighborhood, they thought a call would be in order. 
 As Edith was getting into a carriage at the depot 
 she had declared that Gerald had just passed the 
 corner, but he had told her she must be mistaken, 
 for he would have been certain to have seen them. 
 He laughed over the matter, and enjoyed the mortU 
 fication of Gerald, which of course he did not at all 
 understand. Clifford returned at the juncture, 
 and the usual formalities followed. 
 
 " Alma sends her regards," said Edith presently. 
 "Our only regret was that she could not come 
 with us." 
 
 "And how is she?" 
 
 "As well as can be. I think she never looked 
 better. I am growing very proud of her. She weighs 
 how much do you suppose ? a hundred and ten 1 
 I weigh nearly a hundred myself." 
 
 Gerald was regaining his composure. 
 
 " You would be heavier to carry over brooks than 
 you used," he smiled. " Still I think I could manage 
 it. I am very strong since I have taken the gymnas- 
 tics here." 
 
 " Did you know," said Edith, " that Alma and I 
 are going to a seminary in the autumn?" 
 
 ' No ! " 
 
 M But we are. Papa thinks it would be nice, and
 
 THE OIBL WITH THB ANKLES. 53 
 
 Mr. Adams says Alma may go if I do. Of course, 
 one of us couldn't go anywhere without the other. 
 We finish the year at the Jefferson Academy in June, 
 and in September I think we shall go to boarding- 
 school. What do you think of it ? " 
 
 Gerald was thoughtful for a few minutes. 
 
 "I am going to Chicago to study law in an office," 
 he said, "and I know of a young ladies' seminary 
 there that would be just the thing for you. If you 
 decide to go to one, why not take that school ? Then 
 we could all be near together." 
 
 Edith turned to her father with an eager counten- 
 ance, the joy of which was not lost on the observant 
 Nelson. 
 
 " That would be splendid ! " she exclaimed. 
 
 "That would be splendid!" echoed Colonel 
 Staples. 
 
 It was clear that Gerald's opinion went far with 
 both of them. But Clifford had seen enough at 
 Jefferson to know that it went quite as far with Mr. 
 Adams and Alma. 
 
 Colonel Staples took a survey of the walls of the 
 room, during the brief pauses in the conversation. 
 
 "You have quite a collection of pictures here," he 
 remarked dryly to Nelson, and the young man knew 
 by the tone he used that he did not approve of 
 them. Edith realized instinctively that there was 
 something not quite pleasing to him in what he 
 spoke of, and consequently did not carry her gaze 
 to the objects under discussion. There was only a 
 second for Gerald to make up his mind what to do, 
 but it was enough. 
 
 " Most of them are mine, sir," he said. 
 
 * Some are very finely executed," responded thf>
 
 54 THE GARSTON BIGAMT. 
 
 Colonel apologetically, knowing that there had been 
 an objectionable quality in the tone which he had 
 first used, and wishing to efface the unpleasant effect. 
 "These two engravings " he pointed to those of the 
 nude figures "are fit for any parlor in the land." 
 
 " Do you think so ? " asked Gerald, calmly. 
 "Those are Cliff's." 
 
 Colonel Staples got out of it as best he could. He 
 asked Nelson where he had purchased them, and 
 said he should certainly stop at that shop and leave 
 an order for a pair to be sent to his residence. After 
 a little longer the visitors went away. 
 
 " You were very kind," said Clifford, warmly, when 
 he was alone again with his friend. 
 
 "How?" 
 
 "About the pictures." 
 
 " I could not have done less. He didn't like 
 them, though, I could feel that. Confound them ! I 
 have a notion to put them all in the stove ! " 
 
 Nelson did not answer. Gerald broke the silence 
 presently. 
 
 "You remember the girl with the ankles?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 * // was she / " 
 
 Clifford was too petrified to form a reply. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 * WE HAVE MADE A VOW. * 
 
 Gerald was twenty-one when he came back to Jeff- 
 erson with his diploma in his hand and exhibited to
 
 "WE HAVE MADE A VOW.* 5 
 
 his father with much pride the evidence that ne was 
 
 a bachelor of arts. 
 
 With hardly less satisfaction he took out his parch- 
 ment at the residences of the Stapleses and Adamses. 
 The Colonel was pleased to find that he had not 
 merely skimmed the sea of knowledge, but had gone 
 down into the roots of things and laid the foundation 
 for a future that would be of genuine use to him. 
 
 " And now you are going to study law," he said. 
 " What induced you to do that ? " 
 
 " I thought it an honorable profession," replied 
 Gerald, "and one that would be likely to bring a 
 fair share of reward for the labor expended." 
 
 " You can make it an honorable one, as far as you 
 are concerned ; but the majority of lawyers are 
 sharpers. Of course, you will be different," laughed 
 the Colonel. " And you will make a bee-line for 
 the bench." 
 
 " I have hardly thought of that," said Gerald, 
 with a blush. " I expect to have a hard time at the 
 beginning, but I mean to work my way." 
 
 Edith came into the room as they were talking. 
 For a wonder, Alma was not with her, but she al- 
 ready had her bonnet on and was going to Mr. 
 Adams' house as soon as Gerald was ready. They 
 had both been invited there to tea. 
 
 "What do you think of this young man's idea of 
 being a lawyer ?" asked her father, placing an arm 
 around herwaist and drawing her to him. 
 
 " I think he ought to make a good one," she said, 
 gmilingupon the object of the inquiry 
 
 The father toyed with one of the dainty hands, 
 which he had taken in his own. 
 
 " Do you think he would have influence with a
 
 B6 THE GARSTON BIGAMY. 
 
 jury ?" he asked. " If women ever get the right to 
 
 vote, as some of them are trying to, and you ar* 
 drawn on a jury, and Gerald is counsel in a case, d 
 you think he will affect you by his argument ?" 
 
 The girl laughed at the humor of the widely dtawn 
 conceit. 
 
 "I hope the time will never come when women 
 vote in Iowa," she answered, " and I'm sure it would 
 be perfectly dreadful to have to sit on a jury. As for 
 Gerald's plea, I hope I should be influenced by it, if 
 it was on the side of right and justice." 
 
 Colonel Staples laughed aloud. 
 
 " I see you do not understand the law business," 
 said he. "It matters little to a lawyer where the 
 right and justice of a case is. He is there to win a 
 verdict for his client, and that is all he cares about." 
 
 But Gerald interposed. 
 
 " Speaking for myself, sir, I should not take a case 
 unless I believed it in the interest of right." 
 
 Then the Colonel laughed again. 
 
 'You would easily convince yourself of that 
 when a good retainer was placed in your hand. 
 But I am keeping you from your engagement, and 
 we shall have to dismiss the matter for the present." 
 
 He rose as if to leave them, but Edith did not let 
 him go. With one hand still clasped in his, she 
 stood with him before the young man. 
 
 " You would not take the part of the wrong against 
 the right, merely because you were paid for it, would 
 you, Gerald ?" 
 
 4< Pshaw, pet !" exclaimed her father. " You must 
 not take me too seriously. Gerald would be as hon- 
 orable as is possible for one of the profession te be, I 
 have net the slightest doubt."
 
 W WE HAVE MADS A VOW.* If 
 
 She took the young man's sleeve in her clasp and 
 spoke with feeling. 
 
 " Never the part of the wrong against the right, 
 never the side of the strong against the weak ! Tell 
 him, Gerald, that you would never do that, no matter 
 what the inducement." 
 
 " You do not understand," said the Colonel, still 
 trying to make a joke out of the matter, "that the 
 right and the weak have little with which to pay fees 
 to lawyers. If Gerald is to go into this thing with 
 the notion of making a living, he will have to do as 
 the others do." 
 
 She clasped tighter the sleeve that she held, and 
 refused to consider the matter a light one. 
 
 "Tell him, Gerald." 
 
 " She is right," he answered, moved by her ear- 
 nestness. " There must be an honorable way of 
 earning a livelihood at the bar. That way I shall 
 endeavor to follow." 
 
 " Of course you will," said Colonel Staples, heart- 
 ily. "The idea, Edith, of your taking my little 
 joke so seriously ! Come, you must be going, or 
 you will keep Mr. Adams' table waiting." 
 
 As they walked along the road toward the farmer's, 
 Edith said, "You must forgive me, Gerald. I could 
 not bear that any one should intimate, even in, jest, 
 that you could ever do a dishonorable thing. If 
 there is no other way to practice law, I hope you 
 will adopt some other profession while there is yet 
 time." 
 
 He assured her of the rectitude of his intentions, 
 and long before they reached their destination they 
 had changed the subject for one more agreeable. 
 
 Alma was watching on th veranda, and ran to
 
 58 THB OAKSTON BIGAMY. 
 
 meet them. She threw both arms about Edith's 
 neck, as though she had not seen her for a month, 
 though it was scarcely two hours since they had 
 parted, and gave her hand warmly to Gerald. 
 
 The girls were at this period eighteen years of age, 
 and the promise of their earlier days had been amply 
 fulfilled. The one reminded you of a lily, the other 
 of a blush rose nearing maturity. Edith was still the 
 taller and slenderer, Alma the rounder of outline and 
 fuller of chest. Alma had a dark beauty, sensuous 
 and warm. Edith was a trifle more dignified and 
 stately, but without the suspicion of airiness, in the 
 unpleasant sense in which the word is often used. 
 Jefferson debated the question daily, as it had for 
 the past five years, and could never come to a decis- 
 ion which was the lovelier. On one point the entire 
 village was agreed, however, and that was that two 
 finer girls could not be found in the county or State. 
 Neither of them had an enemy and surely neither 
 of them deserved one. 
 
 Naturally enough Mr. Adams began to talk of 
 Gerald's future prospects, when the party were seat- 
 ed at the table, and the subject of the law as a pro- 
 fession was soon again under discussion. 
 
 "I wish you were ready to begin practice now," 
 he said, "for I could give you enough to occupy your 
 time for awhile. This matter of my mill power is 
 causing me some trouble. The people up stream 
 complain because the water overflows upon their 
 land at some seasons of the year. The whole batch 
 of them have joined in a suit against me, and I shall 
 have to defend it. It would have made a good be- 
 ginning for a young attorney to get hold of a case 
 like this, and I arq sorry, both for your sake and nay
 
 "WE HAVE MADE A vow." 50 
 
 own that you have not already been admitted to ttw 
 bar." 
 
 Gerald looked pleased at the compliment implied, 
 but Edith could not help asking the question which 
 was uppermost in her mind. 
 
 "Who has the right of the matter, Mr. Adams?" 
 
 The farmer looked at his questioner with some 
 surprise. 
 
 "Why, I, of course," he answered. 
 
 "Then why do these men seek to annoy you?" 
 
 "They would like to get a few thousand dollars 
 out of me if they could, that's all. You see when I 
 decided that I started my mill I bought up the rights 
 of the abuttors on this stream clear up to its source. 
 For a long distance through the prairie it hasn't 
 much headway, and when I fill the reservoir it some- 
 times makes the water flow over the land for a good 
 distance back. That was to be expected, as anybody 
 could have told them." 
 
 " But did anybody tell them ? " pursued the ques- 
 tioner. 
 
 Mr. Adams grew slightly uneasy. 
 
 " I don't know as anybody did. /didn't, I'm sure. 
 Men are supposed to know some things. When I 
 bought their rights they knew it was for the purpose 
 of securing the water for my mill, and that I should 
 have to build my reservoir accordingly. If there is 
 double the water I need at certain seasons it is very 
 natural to expect that it will overflow." 
 
 Edith would not be dissuaded from her inquiries. 
 
 " And this overflow water injures the land ? " 
 
 " Very likely. But what did I pay for ? I handed 
 over two thousand dollars to those fellows, and for 
 what ? I didn't take a foot of their territery away
 
 00 THE GAB8TOS BIGAMY. 
 
 from them. They can water their cattle in the brook 
 and wash their wagons there, and carry water to 
 their houses to use, as well as they ever could. I 
 paid for the privilege of using the water for a mill, 
 and to keep any one else from locating above me, 
 and I say it's a shame for them to band together and 
 hire a lawyer to compel me to pay for the same thing 
 twice." 
 
 Mrs. Adams and Alma listened with interest, and 
 it was evident that their sympathies were with the 
 speaker. 
 
 a I don't know much about law," said Edith, and 
 she was so taken up with the subject at issue that 
 she quite neglected her meal. " But a case of this 
 kind seems to me one of simple right. Either you 
 have the privilege of stopping up this brook so that 
 it will run upon the premises of your neighbors, or 
 you have not. If you have, they are very wrong to 
 cause you expense, and they will lose their case 
 when it comes to the court. If you have not, you 
 ought to pay them whatever Is just." 
 
 Mr. Adams was astonished to hear this logic 
 evolved from the young brain, and he did not knoMC 
 the reason that had made Edith all at once so pro- 
 found a student of equity. H* might have been 
 angry had these same remarks come from another 
 source, but Edith was to him almost like another 
 daughter, and he wanted to justify Himself in her 
 eyes for the course he had taken. 
 
 " If these fellows had come to me in aiv fair way, 
 Edith, and said that they thought I was exceeding 
 my right in letting the water overflow, I should feel 
 very different about it. But the first thing I heard 
 f the case was a note from Lawyer Cass, of Des
 
 WB HATE MADE A TOW. ft 
 
 Moines, a man I despise, telling me that unless I 
 paid a certain sum in so many days he should enter 
 suit. No one likes to be bulldozed, and I told him 
 to go ahead and sue. I can spend as much money 
 as they can, and I think they will find it out before 
 they are through with me." 
 
 Edith nodded. 
 
 " No doubt you can, Mr. Adams. Would it not be 
 better to find out who is in the right and let that 
 govern the decision now, instead of after a great deal 
 of money has been wasted by both of you in litiga- 
 tion ?" 
 
 Her cheeks shone with an unaccustomed color, 
 for she knew that what she was saying might savor 
 of impertinence. 
 
 " You would not give the lawyers any chance to 
 live at all," he said, smiling for the first time. 
 44 Imagine yourself in that business, and I came to 
 you in this case, what would you do ? " 
 
 44 I would tell you just what I have, and then I 
 would charge you a good round sum for my advice." 
 
 Everybody at the table laughed now, and harmony, 
 which had apparently been threatened for a few 
 moments, was fully restored. Mr. Adams said seri- 
 ously that he did not know but he should carry out 
 the plan suggested, as it certainly had elements of 
 good sense in it, though the parties to the suit had 
 exasperated him somewhat by their method of sum- 
 mary procedure. 
 
 "When you get to practicing, Gerald," he said, 
 jocosely, " you had better offer Edith a position as 
 partner in your concern." 
 
 "I shall be only too glad to do that," said the
 
 62 THE GAKSTON BIGAMY. 
 
 young man, relieved that the dispute had had sc 
 happy an ending. 
 
 "You will have to take me, too, then," put in Alma, 
 with a roguish smile. " Edie and I are never to be 
 separated. We have made a vow to live togethei 
 all our lives, haven't we, Edie, dear ? " 
 
 Gerald laughed at that, and said he should cer- 
 tainly take them both, and Mrs. Adams, who was 
 not much of a talker, interrupted to suggest that the 
 party were neglecting the supper, which was some- 
 thing she could not permit. They then devoted their 
 attention to the edibles, and the remarks that were 
 made took on a lighter tone, until a very pleasant 
 evening had been passed. 
 
 When the hour arrived for separation, Edith re- 
 minded Gerald that he had promised her mother 
 to see her to her door. Alma thereupon declared 
 that it would be too bad for him to return alone, as 
 he must pass her house on his way to his own, and 
 ran to get her hat to accompany them. Edith 
 thanked her warmly for the thought, and the trio 
 went up the road together. 
 
 " I have had a splendid evening," said Edith, when 
 she reached her door. " I hope your father didn't 
 think me saucy for saying so much about the mill- 
 water, but I got more interested in the matter than 
 I could give any reason for. I wish you would put 
 in a word, too, Alma. I cannot bear to think of 
 neighbors going to law when there is any way to 
 prevent it." 
 
 " Oh, papa will do as he likes," said Alma. " And 
 I don't know as I quite agree with you in this case, 
 Edie. They have been very aggravating, and he 
 paid them what everybody said was too much in the
 
 68 
 
 first place. I hate to see men trying to get money 
 out of another just because he has been successful. 
 It would serve them right not to give them a penny, 
 and a lawyer that papa has seen tells him they can 
 never get anything if they fight till doomsday." 
 
 Edith looked worried. 
 
 " I don't pretend to know anything about it," she 
 answered, " but if it were my case, I would settle it 
 the simplest way. Well, good night." 
 
 The girls embraced each other, and Edith's hand 
 was extended to Gerald with her usual heartiness. 
 
 " You'll be over in the morning, of course," called 
 Alma. 
 
 " Yes, and I want you here in the afternoon, you 
 know." 
 
 " All right." 
 
 Gerald and Alma strolled back toward their 
 homes with no greater evidence of affection than 
 when the party numbered three. 
 
 "What do you think of that mill matter?" she 
 asked him suddenly, leaving another subject to come 
 back to this one. 
 
 " There are two sides to it," he answered, vaguely. 
 
 " But which is the best ? Do you entirely agree 
 with Edith?" 
 
 He had unquestionably done so when she was 
 speaking to Mr. Adams. It seemed to him then 
 that there was no other way that ought to be thought 
 of. Now that Alma's tone implied a variance of 
 opinion, he had grave doubts. 
 
 " Ought any one to allow themselves to be im- 
 posed upon?" asked Alma, not giving him time to 
 speak. " Is it the duty of a man who knows he is in 
 the right, to pay out a sum of money for the benefit
 
 ft TBS GAMTOIT BIGAMY. 
 
 of others, just to avoid standing up in a court and 
 
 defending himself against them ?" 
 
 "Not in that view of the matter, certainly," he 
 answered. Then he added, diplomatically, " I am 
 sure your father will consider the case from all 
 sides, and do what he thinks just." 
 
 Alma grew as earnest as fidith had done. 
 
 " It is not exactly that," she said. " He has paid 
 them once, and a good round sum, too, for what 
 was no loss to them whatever. Now they have 
 gone to work and sued him for much more. It 
 was no doings of his they have entered on it of 
 their own accord. It seems to me that he ought, in 
 the interest of others who may be imposed upon in 
 that way, at other times, to teach them that this 
 sort of thing does not pay those who engage in it." 
 
 Gerald admitted that there was something in that. 
 He wondered, at the same time, what answer he 
 would have been able to make had both the girl* 
 been present. 
 
 "Do you imagine I would renounce any right 
 that belonged to me, because some one tried to rob 
 me of it ?" she asked, looking at him with the air 
 of a young princess. Never ! Neither, I believe, 
 will my father, when he comes to think it over." 
 
 They were at her gate, and it occurred to him for 
 the first time what a queenly figure she had become. 
 Her handsome head was beautifully set upon a 
 neck of surpassing loveliness, and her round bosom 
 gave her a pose at once persuasive and command- 
 ing. He had not dreamed in all his life of offering 
 her a more warm salute than a pressure of the 
 hand, but into his brain there came the swift 
 thought that strawberries were to be gathered cm
 
 * WHT, TOT LOY THBM BOTH. 1 * * 
 
 tnose ripe lips, never yet touched by lover. The 
 
 half moon poured its light through the trees upon 
 them. Neither spoke for some moments, but she 
 knew that his eyes had seen something never re- 
 vealed before, and her heart gave a throb quite new 
 to its maiden pulsations. 
 
 *' I shall see you to-morrow," she said, breaking 
 the stillness from very necessity. 
 
 "Yes, sometime. I have promised to devote a 
 little of each day to reading law, so as to put my- 
 self ahead when I get to Chicago. But I will come 
 over afterward." 
 
 They exchanged good nights, and he walked the 
 few steps that took him to his door with the 
 strangest feelings he had ever had. His head was 
 hot and there was a commotion in all his arteries. 
 
 He only exchanged a word with his father, who 
 had sat up to wait for him. He wanted to get to 
 bis own room, where he could be alone. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 "WHY, you LOVE THEM BOTH.** 
 
 Alvah Adams thought a good deal over the sug* 
 gestion that Edith had made in reference to the mill- 
 stream claims, and convinced himself that she had a 
 good deal of right on her side. He was not natur- 
 ally belligerant, and would much rather exchange 
 pleasant words with any person than cross ones. 
 There were only a dozen parties or so to the suit 
 which had been brought against him, and he con-
 
 THE GARSTON BIOAMT. 
 
 eluded to send some one to them individually to 
 ascertain what sum would satisfy each in case he 
 should decide to settle the matter. 
 
 It was not wise for him to go, because they would 
 then have a chance to quote his offers should negoti- 
 ations fail. Some outsider must do the work, and 
 he naturally thought of employing one of the law- 
 yers of the village. But he knew both of these legal 
 luminaries very well and he had not the greatest 
 confidence in them. Of one he doubted the ability 
 and he had fears of the other's integrity. 
 
 It suddenly occurred to him to ask Gerald. The 
 young man was unversed in the ways of business, to 
 be sure, but it was a very simple thing he would have 
 to do. A little tact, a smoothing over of any animosi- 
 ties that had been developed, and an appeal to their 
 common sense was all that was needed, and Gerald 
 could do this as well as an older and more experi- 
 enced person. Besides, it would be a good thing for 
 him, as a prelude to the profession he was about to 
 adopt. Yes, he would offer him the work. 
 
 Gerald was a little startled when the proposition 
 was made to him. He feared that it was beyond his 
 powers to undertake the reconciliation of elements 
 already so far divided. He knew enough of human 
 nature to see that the task was a very different one 
 at the present stage from what it would have been 
 before ill feeling had become so large an ingredient, 
 He would have to meet men who not only felt them- 
 selves entitled to damages for the actual trespass 
 they had sustained, but who had been injured in 
 their pride by words that naturally follow* strained 
 relations. They had doubtless had conferences 
 together in their aggrieved state and had resoV ed
 
 ** WHT, TOTT IXDVE THEM BOTH." 6T 
 
 to do everything in their power to defeat their 
 opponent. 
 
 He said to Mr. Adams, while he was flattered by 
 being selected for this undertaking, he feared he 
 could not enter upon it with sufficient confidence. 
 He thought some older and more experienced 
 person would be better to engage. Mr. Adams 
 replied that he was willing to run all the risks 
 himself, and that he would not hold him at all 
 responsible in the event of failure. 
 
 "You can see these men, at least," said he, "and 
 report to me the mood they are in. It may be that 
 I shall be compelled to go to law, after all. But 
 before anything more is done in that line I want to 
 give them a chance to get out of it. What Edith 
 said the other evening made a great impression upon 
 me. I have never wittingly wronged any person and 
 I do not wish to begin. I would rather suffer a 
 small loss than inflict one. As she says, if I owe 
 them anything, or even if they honestly believe I do, 
 it will make me feel better to pay it than to inaugu- 
 rate hates and jealousies. You are going to be a 
 lawyer, and you will have plenty of similar cases in 
 your time. Here is a good one to begin on. I shall 
 pay you what you think right for your trouble, and 
 it will be worth a good deal to you as a bit of 
 experience beside." 
 
 Gerald answered promptly that he should not 
 think of accepting compensation, in any event. He 
 wanted a day or two, at any rate, to think it over, 
 and to this Mr. Adams agreed. 
 
 During the days that followed Gerald saw Edith 
 and Alma frequently, and with both of them the 
 conversation drifted more than once to the question
 
 68 TBB GARfODN BIOAMT. 
 
 of the damages claimed by the abuttors on the mill- 
 stream. As the girls knew that they could not agree 
 in their opinions upon this subject it was never 
 brought up when they were together, but when he 
 was alone with either it always seemed to come to 
 the surface. He mentioned to Edith in confidence, 
 the first time he met her, that Mr. Adams had invit- 
 ed him to undertake the task of arranging the 
 trouble, and she heard the tidings with the utmost 
 delight. 
 
 " I am so glad ! " she exclaimed. " You will ar- 
 range everything, I am sure, and these old friends 
 will not be converted ,into mortal enemies. Let me 
 congratulate you, Gerald, that your first essay in 
 legal work is in so good a cause ! " 
 
 "I have not promised to undertake it yet," he an- 
 swered, taken aback by the unmerited praise which 
 she showered upon him. " I am a little doubtful 
 whether some one else would not have a better 
 chance of success." 
 
 She looked disappointed but not discouraged. 
 
 " Go about it with a determination to succeed, and 
 that will be half the battle," she replied. "How 
 much pleasanter will be your task to offer these peo- 
 ple an olive-branch than if you had to send them a 
 challenge to war. If you decline this opportunity, 
 girl as I am, I think I shall go to Mr. Adams and 
 volunteer myself." 
 
 Wheo he left her he was almost positive that he 
 should accept the offer. There seemed but one view 
 of his duty. He imagined the men meeting his over- 
 tures with a friendly spirit, and naming ridiculously 
 small sums as the amounts that would satisfy them. 
 His confidence rose to a great height, and had he
 
 "WHY, YOU LOYB THEM BOTR." 
 
 met the mill-owner at that moment he would have 
 embraced his proposition without another word. 
 But an hour later he met Alma. 
 
 " I wonder if father has decided what to do about 
 those men who are suing him," she said. " He will 
 make the mistake of his life if he gives them a sou. 
 Let him once get the reputation of being so easily 
 imposed upon and he will be the prey of all the ad- 
 venturers in the State. There are times when char- 
 ity of this sort for a batch of harpies is misplaced. 
 And the attorney they have engaged, too ! A man 
 without a particle of decency in his dealings ! They 
 ought to be ashamed, every one of them ! " 
 
 The fabric that had been builded by the arguments 
 of Edith tumbled to the earth in a formless heap. 
 
 " I must tell you something, Alma," said he, un- 
 easily. " Your father has asked me to go to these 
 men and attempt a settlement with them." 
 
 " But you are not going," she answered, anxiously 
 
 " If I do not, he will send some one else." 
 
 " That does not excuse you," she replied, with 
 spirit. "If you show him, as you are able to do, how 
 foolish such a proceeding would be, you can change 
 his mind. I think it your duty to do that, before he 
 puts himself in the hands of this crowd who would 
 take him by the throat like a pack of garroters." 
 
 " Why do notyou say something to him ? " he asked 
 nervously. " You would have more influence than 
 any one else." 
 
 " Not in a matter of business. Father thinks a 
 great deal of me, and would do anything I asked 
 where I myself was concerned, but in such a case as 
 this he would pay no more attention to my opinion 
 than if I were an infant in arms. I am in his eye*
 
 70 THE ftABSTON BIOAlfT. 
 
 'only a girl,' but you you are a man ! What you 
 say, he will take at its true value. Try him, Gerald, 
 and if you cannot dissuade him from this suicidal 
 course, at least be able to remind him afterwards 
 that you advised against it." 
 
 He wished with all his heart that he could say to 
 her then and there that he would do as she wished. 
 But what could he tell Edith, who had understood, 
 he was sure, when they parted, that he would give 
 advice quite the opposite, and even undertake the 
 mission in person. 
 
 " I shall have to think about it," was all he was 
 able to say. 
 
 Whenever he met one of them or the other their 
 conflicting arguments on this subject almost distract- 
 ed him. He was not used to having any matter so 
 muddled in his brain. He could decide anything he 
 had ever had to consider up to this time, with 
 the quickness of a flash. It was the high esteem in 
 which he held them both that confused his mind. 
 He could not bear to offend either, and the merits of 
 the case were quite hidden in the affection with 
 which he regarded the fair disputants. If he had 
 cared one jot more for one than the other, that jot 
 would have sufficed. While each of them held iden- 
 tically the same place in his heart there was nothing 
 to do but continue in uncertainty. 
 
 When a week had passed Mr. Adams became im- 
 portunate for his answer, telling him that it would 
 seem a simple matter to say yes or no, and that he 
 wanted to engage some other agent in case he 
 should positively decline. Gerald begged for a few 
 more days to consider it, and though the farmer
 
 11 WHY, YOU LOVE THEM BOTH. 5 * 71 
 
 thought it very strange, he consented with reluc- 
 tance to give him till the following Wednesday. 
 . Monday morning Clifford Nelson came to Jeffer- 
 son unannounced, and went at once to Mr. Garston's. 
 Gerald had been hoping to have his ccmpany during 
 some part of the vacation season, but had not 
 known just when he would arrive. He welcomed 
 him now, not only for the pleasure of seeing him, 
 but because he thought his friend might be able to 
 find some way for him out of his dilemma. As soon 
 as the ordinary topics were discussed sufficiently he 
 threw himself upon his good graces and told him 
 exactly the position in which he stood. 
 
 Clifford was much entertained by the recital. He 
 did not care a rap for the troubles of the farmers 
 whose lands had been overflowed, or the threatened 
 suit which hung over the head of Mr. Adams, but 
 the subject of Gerald and the girls was of the keen- 
 est interest. He cared more and more for Edith, 
 and only waited to make sure that he could do so 
 honorably, to endeavor to make her understand his 
 sentiments. He listened to Gerald's statements, 
 and made up his mind to side with her if the 
 chance fell in his way, and also to let her know that 
 his influence had been cast in that direction. 
 
 " I do not see how you can hesitate, if the case is 
 as you put it," he said, when Gerald had finished 
 his long story. " Mr. Adams has decided to make 
 the attempt to satisfy these people outside of a 
 courthouse, and all you could say would not be 
 likely to alter his intention. Miss Edith thinks he 
 is right in trying to do this, and so do I. Miss 
 Alma, on the other hand, hoids a contrary opinion, 
 but it is in the interest of her own father, and at his
 
 7f THE GAKSTOW BIOAKT. 
 
 request, that you are to undertake the work of pacH 
 fication. It is clearly two-thirds one way, if not 
 more. You must tell him at once that you will 
 accept the work, and lose no time in going about it. 
 If you succeed, you get a large feather in your cap. 
 If you fail, he will remember that it was himself 
 who urged you to the step. As far as Miss Alma is 
 concerned, she cannot long blame you for doing 
 what her father asks." 
 
 Gerald did not seem as thoroughly convinced as 
 his friend evidently thought he should be. 
 
 "You do not know Alma," he replied. "She has 
 a will of her own, and her father thinking the other 
 way has no effect at all on her opinion." 
 
 " Then why do you not refuse, and have done 
 with it ?" asked Clifford. 
 
 " Because Edith has urged me so strongly to 
 accept. I do not think I count Mr. Adams in the 
 matter at all. If the girls were agreed I should 
 know very well what course to pursue." 
 
 Clifford sat for a minute watching the clouded 
 face before him and could not help acknowledging 
 that by all external signs the matter was troubling 
 his friend very much indeed. 
 
 " If it is only a question of pleasing the young 
 ladies," he said, finally, "the solution to your prob- 
 lem is not so difficult. Take the side of the one for 
 whom you care the most." 
 
 He trembled inwardly when he had made this 
 proposition, for he dreaded to hear Gerald say \hat 
 this course would compel him to adopt Edith's 
 proposal. 
 
 ''You do not understand my feelings toward these 
 girls," replied Gerald. " I care just as much for one
 
 WHY, TOT LOVE THEM BOTH." 7t 
 
 of them as the other. There is absolutely not the 
 slightest difference." 
 
 Clifford determined to push the questioning now 
 that the time seemed so opportune. 
 
 " This cannot go on forever, my dear boy," said 
 he. " The time must come when you will have to 
 choose between them." 
 
 Gerald looked at his friend, comprehended his 
 meaning, and turned a fiery red. 
 
 " No, no ! It is nothing of that kind !" he ex 
 claimed. " We are friends only friends that is all, 
 indeed it is !" 
 
 "Have a little sense, Gerald," replied Clifford, 
 earnestly. " You were all children once, but you 
 are so no longer. You are now twenty-one and they 
 are each eighteen. You are a man, and they are 
 women. If you look into that heart of your? you 
 will find that you entertain a deeper passion for one 
 of them, and it is something of which you have no 
 need to be ashamed, either." 
 
 Gerald protested, still with the reddest of counten- 
 ances, that it was not true, that Clifford did not 
 understand his feelings at all, and that nothing lik<* 
 love had ever entered into his sentiments toward 
 either of these girls or from either of them toward 
 him. They were only friends of a very close kind f 
 companions, brother and sister, nothing more, lie 
 assured him. But Clifford would not be convinced 
 
 " Let me put a few tests to you," said he. " Would 
 you like to know that some man had gained Alma 
 Adam's promise to marry him ?" 
 
 The color left Gerald's face. 
 
 " No I " he cried in pain.
 
 T4 THE QABSTON BIGAMY. 
 
 " Or that Edith Staples" 
 
 ' "I beg you say no more /" cried the young 
 man, excitedly. 
 
 Clifford felt his heart chilling. 
 
 " Why, you love them both ! " he ejaculated. 
 "Instead of caring for them merely as friends, you 
 love them both ! " 
 
 Knowing nothing of the sentiment that had devel- 
 oped in Nelson's mind in regard to Edith, Gerald 
 thought only of his own state, so suddenly and vio- 
 lently revealed to him. 
 
 " God help me ! " he said, with shaking voice, 
 "lam afraid I do!" 
 
 The listener could not help being affected by the 
 despair in the tones of the speaker, and there was 
 little in the situation to encourage his own hope. 
 But he strove manfully to do the right thing. 
 
 "Don't be so downhearted," he said, tenderly. 
 
 " It is a good thing that you have discovered this 
 in time. You know that there must be a choice 
 sometime, and you will gain the strength to 
 make it." 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 EXAMINING THE SUMMER-HOUSE. 
 
 It is not easy to permanently depress the heart of 
 a healthy young man of twenty-one. The very force 
 of the feelings which overpowered Gerald made it 
 the easier for him to recover from his despondency. 
 He had found no way out to his dilemma, but he 
 had gained courage to await the issue. It was some-
 
 BXAMININ3 THE SUMMER-HOUSE. 75 
 
 thing to have Clifford there. If his college chum 
 could not invent a way to help him, it would at least 
 show that other heads were no wiser than his own. 
 
 " Confound Adams and his mill .' " he burst out 
 the next day, when they were talking about it. " I 
 don't care a fig for anything in this matter except 
 the disagreeableness of having to disappoint one of 
 the girls. I wonder how they came to take such an 
 interest in the question. It is not at all like them, 
 and there was no reason why they should trouble 
 themselves with a matter that belongs exclusively to 
 men. Of course it was the natural sweetness of her 
 sunny disposition that made Edith protest against 
 anything like a quarrel, but she need not have been 
 so set about it. And Alma, too. She ought to think 
 that her father may have an idea or two of his own 
 worth considering." 
 
 Mr. Adams had sent word that he would like to 
 have Clifford inspect his mill with him, and when 
 he had gone on that errand Gerald walked up the 
 road toward the village and met Alma and Edith 
 coming toward him, with their arms around each 
 other's waists. How bright and happy they both 
 seemed ! How much brighter grew the expression 
 in their faces when they saw that he was near them ! 
 Had he not passed half the night in lamenting ths 
 condition of things it would have made him down- 
 hearted to note this, but he had nerved himself fof 
 something better. 
 
 "We are going to Alma's," said Edith, as soon at 
 he reached them. "Won't you come back with us ? " 
 
 ' I am going to the post-office," he answered, 
 "but I shall be back before long. I wish," he added, 
 " that you would come to some compromise in th
 
 76 THK GAR8TON BIGAMY. 
 
 matter of the mill-stream damages. I should like 
 to please you both. Otherwise" here he drew 
 himself up and tried to assume an air of importance 
 ' I shall have to decide against one of you.'"' 
 
 The girls stood before him, with their hands 
 clasped together, and he thought neither had ever 
 looked so lovely as at that moment. 
 
 "Whichever way you decide," said Edith gently, 
 " be sure not to imperil that neighborly good feel- 
 ing that ought to reign between people who own 
 adjacent estates. Leave no bitterness to work out 
 revenges, no one knows to what extent, when years 
 of real or fancied wrong have passed." 
 
 "And be sure," said Alma, " that you do not 
 assist in the swindling of one of the fairest of men, 
 by those to whom he has already paid more than 
 their just deserts. Do not come to a decision that 
 will prevent others from bringing improvements 
 here, to raise the price of every bushel of grain 
 grown in this section." 
 
 The girls had drawn nearer together as they spoke, 
 and one of them now rested her cheek against that 
 of the other. 
 
 " The thing must be settled somewhere," he said, 
 desperately, " either in court or out of it." 
 
 ' Yes," said Alma. " But I should think more of 
 a man who was robbed by highwaymen after the most 
 desperate resistance than one who handed them his 
 purse at the first bidding." 
 
 " My father gave orders to his servants many years 
 ago," said Edith, " to give a meal to every beggar 
 who asked for it. He said there might be one 
 deserving applicant in a hundred, and that he would
 
 THE SUMMER-IIOUSK. 77 
 
 r refer to feed the ninety-nine to refusing the hun- 
 dredth man." 
 
 Gerald looked from one to the other in despair. 
 
 "All this does not help me any !" he protested, 
 u If two girls like you, who love each other with the 
 devotion of sisters, cannot agree on the matter, how 
 can you wonder that a dozen farmers, with no tie 
 of friendship in particular, have no better success ?" 
 
 " But the case you are trying to decide is merely 
 one of common business. These men do not wish 
 anything of my father but his money. There is 
 nothing concerned but dollars and cents." 
 
 This from Alma, with the clearest of counten- 
 ances. 
 
 " There is a little more than that, it seems to me, 
 Alma, dear," said Edith. " There is a difference of 
 judgment as to whether money is due. Would it 
 not be better to reconcile those differences out of 
 court, if possible ?" 
 
 "What are courts for?" responded the other. 
 " When it gets there a jury of twelve men will hear 
 the evidence, perhaps inspect the premises, and 
 aided by the advice of the judge, will render a de- 
 cision. I do not see how there can be a fairer way. 
 There would be nothing disgraceful in paying an 
 amount so estimated, while there is something very 
 like submitting to blackmail in paying anything 
 now." 
 
 They might have talked till doomsday in this 
 rein and never have been any nearer to reconciling 
 their views. Feeling that this was true, Gerald 
 turned the conversation. 
 
 "Cliff Nelson came last night," said he. ' He k 
 laying at my house."
 
 78 THE GAR8TON BIGAMY. 
 
 Neither seemed to take special interest in this bit 
 of news, in itself, but Edith evidently voiced the 
 double regret when she said : 
 
 " We shall see less than ever of you now, I 
 fear." 
 
 " Than ever ?" he repeated, with a smile. " You 
 see me every day, and you will continue to do so. 
 The only difference will be that I shall sometime 
 bring Cliff with me. I am glad he is here, as we are 
 to study law together and shall be of assistance 
 to each other. I might get him to help me in the 
 mill case," he added, as if the thought had just 
 occurred to him. 
 
 Neither of the girls made any response. They 
 wanted him to decide for himself, and each was 
 confident that he would see the right as she saw it if 
 he only gave it thought enough. They did not 
 fancy having a new element brought in. Which- 
 ever way an umpire might decide it would be 
 against one of them, and neither liked to risk that. 
 
 On his way back from the village Gerald met 
 Clifford, who had just finished his visit to the mill, 
 and as they passed the Adams' gate the girls came 
 down to the road, having espied them from their 
 perch on the veranda. They exchanged greetings 
 with Clifford in a quiet way. Gerald wanted to talk 
 longer with Alma, thinking that if he could get her 
 to surrender a little of her position his task would 
 be easier, and he proposed a walk through the 
 woods. The girls assented and Clifford found him- 
 self where he most wanted to be, by the side of Miss 
 Staples. 
 
 It was a delightful afternoon. The warmth of 
 July was tempered by a westerly breeze and the sun
 
 EXAMINING THE STTKMER- HOUSE, 79 
 
 was shaded by masses of white clouds, which dis- 
 persed the severest of its rays. The paths through 
 the Wood led through pleasant nooks, and across 
 little bridges built since the days when Gerald had 
 carried Edith in his arms over the fords. Mr. 
 Adams was the owner of this piece of ground, and 
 though he had left it open to the common use of 
 the people of Jefferson, he had expended considera- 
 ble money in beautifying it. There was quite a 
 large lake in the interior, where he had built a boat 
 landing, a bath house with a dozen compartments, 
 most of which were free to any one who de- 
 sired to use them, and other appurtenances that 
 increased the value of the water as a means of recrea- 
 tion. Scattered through the wood were a number 
 of arbors, built in the most rustic fashion and en- 
 shrouded by heavy masses of vines. A cottage 
 arranged for the occupancy of himself and family 
 during any part of the heated season, was the most 
 elaborate structure there, and this was surrounded 
 by an enclosure of a half acre or so, shut in by a high 
 board fence, to ensure seclusion. This summer 
 house, which the Adams family had occupied a good 
 deal during the first two or three years after it was 
 erected, was now used only for an occasional night 
 when the mercury took a specially high range. 
 
 Clifford purposely loitered, so as not to keep within 
 too easy sound of the voices of his friend and Alma, 
 and Edith courteously responded to all of the com- 
 monplaces which he thought it the part of good 
 breeding to utter. Presently, however, he branched 
 into the subject that most interested him. 
 
 "Gerald has been telling me about the mill- 
 stream dispute."
 
 80 THE GAKSTON BIGAMY. 
 
 " Ah ?" she replied, waiting for him to proceed. 
 
 " It is a curious case," he went on. " His only 
 difficulty is his dislike to come to any decision that 
 will be disagreeable either to you or Miss Adams." 
 
 She waited a moment and then said that he must, 
 for all that, come to some decision, sooner or later. 
 
 "Yes, so I have told him. And I have said 
 further that I wholly agree with you, Miss Staples, 
 in the view that you have taken." 
 
 He had a notion that she would show gratifica- 
 tion, perhaps overwhelm him with thanks, and he 
 was ready to disclaim any credit for merely advo- 
 cating what he thought right. But to his surprise 
 she did nothing of the kind. If she was pleased 
 there was nothing in her countenance to indicate it. 
 He fancied that he could, on the contrary, detect 
 dissatisfaction with the information he had given 
 her. and he began to wonder if he had committed an 
 error. 
 
 "He asked me my opinion," pursued Clifford, 
 groping blindly in the direction where he supposed 
 there might be light, " and as a friend I could not 
 refuse to give it to him. Now, could I ?" he asked, 
 thinking she ought to say something to guide him 
 before he had gone much farther. 
 
 " Certainly not." 
 
 " He asked me what / should do in a case like 
 this, which he outlined. I said I should try to effect 
 a settlement outside of the courthouse, and if that 
 failed I should, of course, go to a jury and leave it 
 with them ; but I should try the pacification plan 
 first. I hope you do not think I was wrong in 
 giving that advice." 
 
 " By no means."
 
 EXAMINING THE SUMMER-HOUSE. 81 
 
 He thought that she showed an extraordinary 
 lack of enthusiasm, notwithstanding her apparent 
 agreement with him in the course he had pursued. 
 And he determined to see if he could not say some- 
 thing to arouse her from the lethargy into which 
 she had fallen. 
 
 " I cannot say that I succeeded in making Ger- 
 ald's duty clear to him," he said. " He was still 
 uncertain what he should do when we finished our 
 talk. But I gave him another suggestion, which 
 may assist him when he has thought about it suffi- 
 ciently. I told him that where one wanted to 
 please two people the only way was to try and 
 please the one he liked best." 
 
 He was alarmed at his own temerty, when he 
 had uttered the words, but she did not give any 
 sign of attaching any particular stress to them. 
 Gerald was with Alma, some rods in advance, and 
 Clifford knew hat for this moment at least his 
 friend was under the spell of her fascination. 
 
 " What do you think of my proposition ?" he 
 asked, as she did not reply. 
 
 " I can see but one way to decide anything," 
 responded Edith " and that is by the guidance of 
 one's conscience. I think Gerald will decide that 
 way, and whichever course he takes I shall be 
 satisfied." 
 
 He could see that the couple in advance had 
 paused and were waiting for them, and he quick* 
 ened his steps. 
 
 " You have never been into the summer-house, I 
 believe ?" said Gerald to Clifford. " Alma has the 
 keys with her, and we will inspect the place if you 
 wish."
 
 8J THE GARSTON BIGAMT. 
 
 Clifford said he should like it very much and tfie 
 party proceeded to the main gate of tie enclosure, 
 which was fastened by a padlock, a little rusty 
 from exposure to the weather. She tried to turn 
 the key, but it stuck in the lock and Clifford took 
 the task upon himself, with better results. Once 
 inside the grounds he expressed his admiration for 
 everything in no stinted terms. 
 
 There was nothing very elaborate or expensive, 
 either in the summer-house or its adornments, but 
 he had not expected so much comfort and taste as 
 was everywhere displayed. It was a perfect bijou 
 of a place, arranged under the personal supervision 
 of Mrs. Adams, and bore a certain resemblance to 
 the southern type of similar edifices which she had 
 known in her childhood. There was everywhere an 
 air of refreshing coolness, and Clifford thought he 
 had never seen a place more inviting to rest and 
 comfort during the season for which it was designed. 
 The house was quite extensive, having not less than 
 twelve rooms, and the kitchen was placed in the 
 smallest building at a little distance, in which were 
 also quarters for servants. 
 
 "It is delightful!" he exclaimed. "Why is it 
 that you have not already put it to use this year ?" 
 
 " Mamma is not as well as she used to be," ex- 
 plained Alma, "and we have not occupied it much 
 for several seasons. I must send Mary Carson down 
 and have it put in order. We generally have a few 
 lunches here some time in the summer, and father 
 and I have usually slept here some of the warmest 
 nights." 
 
 "I tell you what, Cliff," said Gerald, " this would 
 be just the place for us to come and study in, while
 
 EXAMINING THE SUMMER-HOU8B. 83 
 
 Mr. Adams' family is not using it. I am going to 
 inquire what price he will ask.". 
 j Alma laughed at the word "price." 
 
 " You need not go to father for that," she said. 
 " I will give you the key, as soon as the house is in 
 order, and you can come here all you like. If we 
 happen to want it for a day or two I can let you 
 know." 
 
 " And the expense," put in Clifford, not contented 
 for long unless he could make some allusion to the 
 subject on his mind, " Gerald can deduct from the bill 
 when he has arranged terms with the abuttors on 
 the mill-stream." 
 
 Gerald looked annoyed. Alma and Edith turned 
 to examine one of the windows, where there was a 
 pane of broken glass for which they could not ac- 
 count. Clifford saw that he had "put his foot in it," 
 but he did not know how to extricate it. 
 
 " Let me tell you all my idea of the way to arrange 
 this thing," said he, and the girls assumed an, air of 
 attention. " I will propose to Mr. Adams to go with 
 Gerald and talk with these men sound them, as the 
 saying is. It will do no harm for us to go and see 
 them, in a sort of unofficial way, and report how we 
 find things. If they are tractable, I should say set- 
 tle. If they are bound to fight, then the blame will 
 be on them." 
 
 Gerald looked at the girls to see what reply they 
 had to make to this proposal, which commended it- 
 self to him for two reasons. It seemed to show a 
 way to solve the difficulty, by conceding a little to 
 each side ; and it gave him a companion on his 
 errand, which he very much wanted to have. Nei-
 
 84 THE GAKSTON BIOAMT. 
 
 ther of the girls spoke for a moment, and then it was 
 Edith who broke silence. 
 
 "I think," she said, addressing her remark to Alma, 
 "that we had best leave further discussion of this 
 affair to the gentlemen. You have a strong opinion 
 as to which way is right. I have one equally strong. 
 I am willing to allow them to go on uninfluenced 
 so far as I might have any influence by any further 
 argument of mine." 
 
 Alma assented to the proposition. 
 
 "You know what I think," she said to Gerald, " as 
 well as if I were to repeat it a thousand times. I 
 shall be glad to adopt Edith's idea, and drop the 
 matter from our conversations hereafter." 
 
 Clifford thought they had dropped him along with 
 their discussions, for he did not seem to enter into 
 their considerations at all. His vanity was hurt, for 
 he was accustomed to a good deal of deference in 
 the society which he met at home, being a young 
 gentleman of family and fortune, whom most people 
 of his circle thought it worth while to cultivate. 
 Gerald looked from one of the girls to the other, 
 with the feeling of a man deserted on a lonely island 
 by those whom he has esteemed his friends, and who 
 sees them pulling at the oars which take their boats 
 further and further from him. He saw no feasible 
 way to escape, however, and tried to think that the 
 new aspect of affairs had its advantages. He 
 changed to Edith's side, as the party strolled home- 
 ward, leaving Alma to Clifford from a notion of pro- 
 priety, but none of them managed to get into a very 
 fay mood before parting. 
 
 ** I've got to rely on you now. old boy," said Gr-
 
 A TRIP UP TTf E RITBB. 99 
 
 aid, when they were in their room at his father's. 
 
 '* If you desert me I am ruined." 
 
 "I shall not desert you," replied Clifford. "But 
 we must go about this thing without another days 
 delay. We must have a talk with Mr. Adams early 
 in the morning and start off before noon." 
 
 To Gerald this seemed like hurrying matters, but 
 his friend was inexorable. 
 
 *' If it's to be done, let's get it out of the way," 
 said he. " Time enough has been wasted already/* 
 
 "Alma will be much disappointed," mused Gerald. 
 
 " And Edith proportionately gratified," replied his 
 friend, watching him narrowly. 
 
 " And I wanted so much to please both ! " 
 
 "That has been proved impossible. Now you 
 must choose, as I told you yesterday." 
 
 Gerald looked up oddly. 
 
 " How do you know I want to choose that way P ** 
 he inquired. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 A TRIP UP THE RIVER, 
 
 Clifford led off in the conversation with Mr. Adams 
 the next morning. He led off, also, in securing a 
 horse and wagon with which to make the trip up 
 stream, for it was necessary to follow a country road 
 which led to most of the farmers' houses, and it 
 seemed useless to make so much of a journey o 
 foot Gerald was dispirited when he found that the
 
 86 THE GARSTON BIGAMY. 
 
 die was actually cast, and could think of nothing but 
 the objections that Alma had raised He would 
 have given anything in reason to have got out of the 
 whole matter with credit, and wished heartily that 
 Mr. Adams had never thought of his name in connec- 
 tion with his tangled affairs. 
 
 His companion, on the other hand, had concluded 
 that there might be something of credit to himself 
 in a settlement of the case. Although Edith had 
 rece-ived with such coolness his announcement of his 
 intention to join in it, he knew that he was doing 
 what she wanted done. Every hour that passed 
 found him with a greater affection for the fair girl 
 than the preceding. He saw that his progress in her 
 good graces must be very slow, but he was willing 
 to wait. At present her whole heart appeared to be 
 fixed on Gerald. That young gentleman's, however, 
 seemed to Clifford to be inclined a little stronger 
 toward Alma, and this gave him hope. He had 
 chosen Alma on the day preceding for his walk to 
 the woods, and he had substituted Edith for her on 
 the homeward walk, more apparently from motives 
 of policy than from an inclination to abandon his 
 partner. He talked of nothing this morning but the 
 disagreeable effect this errand would have on Alma, 
 Clifford was quite encouraged at the prospects, take 
 them all in all, as he and Gerald rode out of Jeffer- 
 son. 
 
 Gerald agreed readily to let Clifford do most of 
 the talking, and the young man acquitted himself 
 with distinction at the first house they called at. 
 The owner was a man named Estes, who had suffered 
 the largest injury, if there was any, from the over- 
 flowing of the reservoir and brook. He seemed to
 
 A TRIP UP THE RIVER, 87 
 
 be a good-natured fellow, and readily consented to 
 leave his work and go over the ground with his 
 callers. 
 
 " It's all dry enough now," he said, as they reached 
 the vicinity of the alleged flooding, " but you ought 
 to have seen it in April. I couldn't put in a plow 
 there for a month after I had the rest of the farm 
 finished. All that big piece that is covered with late 
 crops was as wet as a sponge. The banks of the 
 brook are low in spots all along its course, and the 
 jeast rise raises the deuce." 
 
 " How long have you had the place ?" asked Clif- 
 ford. 
 
 " I took it up the same year he did." 
 The " he" referred evidently to Mr. Adams. 
 " Did it never overflow before he built his dam ?" 
 " Well," leaning heavily on one leg. " I wouldn't 
 want to say never ; not every year, as it does now, 
 I'll be bound." 
 
 " It has overflowed each year since then, has it T 
 " Yes, sir, every one, and I've got proof of it." 
 " Excuse me, Mr. Estes," said Clifford, " but why 
 did you not seek damages sooner ?" 
 
 Mr. Estes shifted his weight to the other leg. 
 "The fact is," he answered, "that I wanted to be 
 neighborly and not trouble any one if I could help it. 
 I spoke to Alvah " everybody in Jefferson seemed 
 privileged to call Mr. Adams by his first name 
 "and we had some talk about it. But time has 
 gone on and it has kept doing me harm, and he has 
 made a good deal of money out of the mill, and I 
 think he ought to make it right. That is about all 
 there is to it."
 
 86 TOR GAR8TON BTOAMT, 
 
 Clifford walked around a little, trying to assume 
 an air of wisdom. 
 
 * Do you think there is less profit in the crop you 
 have there on that piece than in the grain beyond 
 it ?" he ventured. 
 
 " Well, I don't know as there is. It takes a good 
 deal more work to raise it than it does corn or wheat, 
 but it brings more in the fall. That ain't the thing, 
 though. I contend that no man has a right to run 
 water over my land without he pays me for the priv- 
 ilege. It ain't for Alvah Adams to say that I must 
 raise this crop or that crop." 
 
 Clifford pretended to side with the farmer in his 
 last statement, thinking that this was the best policy, 
 and inquired off-hand how much he thought would 
 make him " square." 
 
 " I don't know exactly," said Mr. Estes. " I only 
 want what's right." 
 
 a He paid you something for the privilege of using 
 the brook, didn't he ?" 
 
 " He gave me two hundred dollars for a writing 
 that I would never use it myself for power, or do any. 
 thing to its waters except take water for my cattle and 
 the house. If it wasn't for that writing I could put 
 up a mill as well as he, and I don't know as it would 
 hurt his power if I did. His idea was, I suppose, 
 that he didn't want any other mill in the valley, and 
 he came along when I was short of money and 
 bought me out at his own price." 
 
 ** Just as everybody else does in the way of busi- 
 ness," commented Clifford. "Now, Mr. Estes, you 
 are an honest and a sensible man, and you think Mr. 
 Adams owes you something. I wish you would tell 
 me how much your claim is, as I would like to have
 
 A TRIP UP THE RIVER. 
 
 him settle these matters in a friendly way with his 
 old neighbors, if I can." 
 
 Mr. Estes shifted his weight again. 
 
 " I've put in a claim for a thousand," he said. 
 
 "You might just as easily have made it ten," 
 replied Clifford, " the question is, what amount would 
 recompense you ? You don't want, if I understand 
 you correctly, anything but what is right. How 
 much cash in your hand, between now and the first 
 day of August, would satisfy you to execute a quit 
 claim." 
 
 Mr. Estes put his hands as far down into his 
 breeches pockets as they would go. 
 
 "You see, Mr. I believe you didn't tell me your 
 name " 
 
 " Mr. Nelson." 
 
 "You see, Mr. Nelson, we have made an agree- 
 ment, we farmers along the brook, not to settle unless 
 we can all settle together. We put our names to a 
 paper that Lawyer Cass drew up. I'm willing, and 
 I've always been willing, to do the fair thing. Alvah 
 could have settled with me almost any way if he had 
 talked right when I first went to him. He kept say 
 ing that he had paid me once, and that he didn't 
 think I ought to ask any more, and I got tired of it. 
 But now I shall have to abide by the sense of the 
 others. If he's got any proposal to make, we'll get 
 together and hear it, and I won't be the off horse, 
 neither." 
 
 Here was an unexpected obstacle. Clifford had 
 hoped to arrange matters with the complainants, one 
 by one, and now he met a much more formidable 
 opposition. The farmers were to be coached by a 
 lawyer, and no doubt a shrewd one, who would urge
 
 90 THE GARSTON BIGAMY. 
 
 them to get every dollar they could squeeze out of 
 the mill-owner. 
 
 "Mr. Adams doesn't admit that he owes you any- 
 thing," he said, "but for the sake of good feeling and 
 old acquaintance he is willing to make an allowance 
 for the fact that you hold a contrary view. He has 
 no proposition to make, but if he could get reasona- 
 ble or half reasonable figures from you all, he 
 would prefer to draw his checks for a small amount 
 rather than have you spend your money at law. I 
 am going to see the others and talk it over with 
 them, and I hope you will get together and conclude 
 that it is better to come to some agreement in a 
 friendly spirit than to put a lot of your money into 
 the pocket of an outsider." 
 
 Mr. Estes dusted a piece of earth from his coat. 
 
 "You're going to make the same mistake that 
 Alvah did," he replied. " If you go up the road tell- 
 ing the farmers that he don't claim to owe them any- 
 thing, you might as well stay at home. They know 
 that he does owe them something, and their lawyer 
 guarantees that he'll get it out of him if they go to a 
 jury." 
 
 " I am only giving you all a chance to avoid taking 
 that risk," said Clifford, pleasantly. "' A bird in the 
 hand is worth two in the bush,' you know." 
 
 "Well, you go and talk with them, and when you 
 come back, stop here and tell me what they say," 
 said Estes. 
 
 " And may I tell them that you will agree to what- 
 ever the majority decide ?" 
 
 "Yes. I ain't no kicker. But you'll find them 
 fellows howling, now I tell you. They're mad clean 
 through, and that's the truth."
 
 A TRIP UP THE KIVEE. 91 
 
 Clifford walked slowly back to their buggy, with 
 Gerald, who had not uttered a word, and Mr. Estes 
 accompanied them. 
 
 "We shall try to settle this thing, but perhaps it 
 will please these men better if they hear the decision 
 from a court," said Nelson, as he reached the wagon. 
 
 " P'raps," responded Mr. Estes, dryly. 
 
 When they were on their way again Clifford asked 
 Gerald what he thought of the progress they were 
 making. 
 
 " It's a little like that of a crab," said Gerald. " I 
 didn't think the trip would amount to anything. It 
 will give me a chance, though, to say to Edith that 
 we tried." 
 
 " But Miss Alma will think, if the verdict goes 
 badly against her father, that it is partly due to our 
 interference." 
 
 " I know it," said Gerald, sadly. " Isn't it unfor- 
 tunate V 
 
 Nothing that he could say, no form in which he 
 could put the query, could turn Gerald from his 
 closely balanced fondness for the two girls, and Clif- 
 ford heaved a sigh of regret. 
 
 " It is indeed unfortunate," he assented, to hide 
 his feelings. 
 
 " The only thing in all our lives that ever came 
 between us," exclaimed Gerald, " We have gone on 
 as smoothly as that confounded millpond down there, 
 ever since we were little bits of things till now ,!" 
 
 He spoke in such a depressed tone that Clifford 
 was moved to remark that there was nothing very 
 vital in it all. There had been no quarrel either 
 between the young ladies themselves or between 
 either of them and Gerald.
 
 92 THB GABSTOW KOAMT. 
 
 " Quarrel T echoed Gerald, starting at the word. 
 " Quarrel 1 Why, Cliff, I can feel each pulsation of 
 their hearts ! The slightest regret that either of them 
 experiences cuts me like a knife. Our nerves are 
 interwoven. I read their thoughts before they utter 
 them. There can be no quarrel between us that does 
 not end in death. The prepared plate of the camera 
 is not so sensitive to the light as the smallest mole- 
 cule of my brain is to the least variation of theirs." 
 
 Nelson grew very sober. 
 
 " And as I told you, it must come to an end," he 
 said. 
 
 "But how?" cried Gerald, wildly. "I think we 
 are really one, and not three, as we appear to others. 
 " We were born in parts, but we have grown together. 
 A blow to one of us hurts all." 
 
 " Let me, as an outsider, tell you one thing," said 
 Clifford. "I have watched you. While both Miss 
 Adams and Miss Staples feel a great interest in this 
 matter, it does not affect them anything like the way 
 it does you." 
 
 "You do not know," was the instant reply. "They 
 do not confide in you, as I do. Could you read their 
 minds, as I can ; could you feel the depression which 
 they experience, sent with double force back to your 
 own heart, you would know that my agitation is not 
 one bit greater than theirs. It is not this thing in 
 itself that troubles me so, but the dread it gives me 
 of the future. I did not know until you opened my 
 eyes how dear they were to me. I have not been 
 myself since this controversy arose, for it has taught 
 me what suffering I am capable of giving by showing 
 what pain I can be made to feel !" 
 
 Nelson did not know what to say. It was evident
 
 A TRIP UP THE KIVEB. 93 
 
 that his friend felt all that he expressed and more, 
 and he had no wish to add to his discomfort 
 Luckily they arrived in a few moments at the resi- 
 dence of the next abutter upon the brook, which 
 Gerald pointed out. He had come provided with a 
 list of the men to be seen, and he knew where they 
 all lived, having been familiar with the vicinity from 
 childhood. This man, who rejoiced in the surname 
 of Moon, was even less satisfactory to talk with than 
 Mr. Estes. He did not care to discuss the case, which 
 he had left wholly in the hands of "his attorney." 
 He would not even consent that Mr. Nelson should 
 inspect the place where the stream had overflowed, 
 unless " his attorney " was present. He declared that 
 he had been a big fool to sell his rights in the water 
 to Adams for a hundred and fifty dollars, and he 
 should try not to commit a similar error next time. 
 
 " If you want to see Lawyer Cass, you can go to 
 Des Moines," he said. " He's got the whole busi- 
 ness in his hands and no one else could settle with 
 you if they wanted to. Alvah Adams can't pull no 
 wool over the eyes of the people up this way. He's 
 got more money than we have, but we've got jest as 
 good a show in a court of justice as him. A Jeffer- 
 son county jury will say whether he can flood our 
 lands as he likes and refuse to make it right." 
 
 " But he doesn't refuse to make it right," protested 
 Clifford. "I am here for the express purpose of 
 asking you to let him pay whatever he owes you." 
 
 " He can pay it to Lawyer Cass. Let him send 
 word for him to come down here, and that he's got 
 the money ready, and enough for the expenses that 
 he's put us to, and there'll be no trouble." 
 
 Clifford said, with slight sarcasm, that he had ao
 
 94 THE GARSTON BIGAMT. 
 
 doubt that was true, but that the figures named in 
 the suit were not reasonable and that no fair-minded 
 man would ask Mr. Adams to settle on any such 
 terms. Seeing, however, that he had an obstinate 
 customer to deal with, he drove on to the next man 
 whom he found no more tractable. 
 
 Before he had completed his round he learned 
 beyond question that Mr. Adams had disgruntled the 
 whole of them, and that they were, in the language of 
 the country, " spoiling for a fight " with him. Most of 
 them had come to the neighborhood about the same 
 time as he, and none had achieved a tithe of his 
 financial success. This seemed to them a favorable 
 opportunity to " even up " matters a little. They 
 had sold out their rights in the mill-stream at 
 nominal figures, and he had made a small fortune, 
 some of them believed a large one, out of it. Lawyer 
 Cass had convinced them that he could " make him 
 sweat," and they were quite willing to assist an 
 attempt to excite the perspiration. 
 
 A Mr. Crane, one of the last men whom Nelson 
 interviewed, interjected a new phase into the con- 
 troversy by saying to Gerald 
 
 ."How does your father feel about this, Mr. 
 Garston ? If he's ready to settle easy, he's had a 
 great change come over him within a few days." 
 
 'My father?" repeated Gerald, with a look of 
 blank astonishment. 
 
 " Sartin'ly. When we had our last meetin' with 
 Lawyer Cass, he come along and asked if it was too 
 late for him to jine in. He said his land was over- 
 flowed as bad as anybody's, and that he hadn't sold 
 no rights at all in the stream, the way the rest of us 
 had. We was all surprised to know that it run
 
 A TRIP TTP THE EIVE. 0$ 
 
 through his land, but he said it did that it made 
 the boundary of his quarter section for more'n six 
 rods. He said it was right along the edge and 
 p'raps Alvah hadn't thought that little distance 
 counted for anything. 'But it does count/ s^yg 
 your father, 'and I want to go in with the rejt of 
 you on the suit.' Lawyer Cass said that W34 all 
 right, that there was plenty of time to hitc'ii his 
 name on, and it was done then and there. Well, 
 when we got to talkin' you ought to have heered 
 him! I never thought he could speak as f ip as he 
 did ! He was for takin' the thing through all the 
 courts this side o' Tophet, an' enterin' a n appeal 
 arter that, if it didn't go our way. You don't mean 
 to tell me he's backed down so soon? Well, I 
 never !" 
 
 Clifford looked at Gerald and saw that he was 
 paler than he had been before, though he had 
 appeared like a sick man all day, and he took it upon 
 himself to answer Mr. Crane. 
 
 " I am doing this for Mr. Adams," he said, " and 
 Gerald has only come along to point out to me 
 where the parties live. I think the best thing to do 
 is to let it go to court, as you all seem to wish it, but 
 I assure you that it will cost you pretty dear. You 
 understand farming, Mr. Crane, much better than 
 you do law. But have it as you please. It is all 
 the same to me." 
 
 He turned his horse about as he was speaking, and 
 drove back toward Jefferson, leaving a very angry 
 man behind him. 
 
 " You didn't know that about your father ?" said 
 Clifford, interrogatively, as soon as ha had an oppor- 
 tunity.
 
 tD THB G ARSTON BIGAMY* 
 
 * No. It is a terrible surprise. I knew that he and 
 Mr. Adams have not been on the warmest terms for 
 a good while, but I did not think that anything like 
 this could happen. The news is very disagreeable." 
 
 " It must be. What was the origin of the trouble 
 between them ?" 
 
 "I never heard. My father, as you have noticed, 
 is of a secretive nature, and I have never talked with 
 him about his private affairs. I suppose he will 
 think it wrong that I should have undertaken this 
 errand, but I have not spoken a word to anybody, 
 that is one good thing. You must stand by me, 
 Cliff, if he speaks about it. It would have been a bad 
 mess if I had undertaken it alone." 
 
 His friend readily promised to present the best 
 phase of the case to Mr. Garston, should there be 
 any need of it, and they drove to Mr. Adams' house 
 to give an account of their trip. It was late, and as 
 they admitted having had no supper, the mill owner 
 urged them to let his wife " put a plate on, " although 
 his family had finished their meal some time before. 
 
 "Alma is up to Edith's," he said, "but we will do 
 our best to entertain you in her absence." 
 
 Mrs. Adams also came out and joined her entrea- 
 ties to her husband's, but Gerald declined, saying 
 that he must get home as early as possible, for special 
 reasons. 
 
 " Well, if you won't, you won't," smiled Alvah. 
 * How did your journey come out ?" 
 
 "We didn't catch a fish," laughed Clifford. "I 
 thought I would say just that much to-night, and in 
 the morning I will come over and give you full par- 
 ticulars."
 
 A TRIP UP THE BIVER. 9 
 
 44 I'm not much disappointed," was the reply. 
 
 "Couldn't do a thing with them, eh?" 
 
 " No, they are bound to fight." 
 
 "Let them fight, then," said Mr. Adams. I'll 
 give them fight enough. They'll find that it's a 
 game that more than one can play at. I've retained 
 Major Noyes, the smartest lawyer in all Iowa. There 
 isn't one of them damaged a penny, and they know 
 it." 
 
 It was evident that he was waxing angry as he 
 contemplated the case, and fearing that he would 
 say something which Gerald might think reflected 
 on his father, though they both had reason to believe 
 that Adams did not yet know he was in the list of 
 his opponents, Clifford said good-night and drove 
 on to Mr. Garston's. Here the young men alighted, 
 and one of the farm hands was sent to the livery 
 stable with the buggy. 
 
 " Where did you go ?'* asked Mr. Garston, as he 
 greeted them. 
 
 " Up the river," said Gerald, feeling a guilty flush 
 creep over his cheek at the deception of the incom* 
 plete answer. 
 
 " It's a nice drive," said his father, and there the 
 conversation ended. Mr. Garston was not in the 
 habit of having long talks with his son, nor in fact 
 with any one else. 
 
 The young men ate their supper silently and went 
 up stairs. 
 
 " More and more trouble," said Gerald sadly, when 
 they were alone. " If Alma's father and mine get 
 into a regular quarrel, what shall we do?" 
 
 "Become the more attached, as lovers have been 
 since the creation," smiled Clifford. "And then, if
 
 08 THE GAKSTOW BIGAMT. 
 
 worse comes to worst," he added, with an effort, 
 "there is Edith." 
 
 " Don't make a jest of it," said Gerald, a spasm 
 crossing his brow. " It is a serious thing to me." 
 
 " Indeed it's no joke to me, either," thought Clifford 
 as a vision of the girl who had become so dear to 
 him flashed through his mind. 
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 "YOU MUST FIGHT THESE MEN." 
 
 When Alvah Adams found that John Garston had 
 joined in the suit against him, which he learned from 
 a gossiping villager, several days after, he became 
 struck with wonder, and then white with rage. He 
 had known for years that John did not feel cordial 
 to him, but had attributed it to jealousy at his greater 
 success, and had never dreamed that it would break 
 out into open hostilities. He had given John his only 
 chance in life, and he had thrown it away in a manner 
 that entitled him to little sympathy from anybody. 
 During the first years when they had been opening up 
 their land, and when both of them had to rise early 
 and go to bed late, Alvah had lent, a helping hand to 
 his friend in a hundred ways. He had advanced him 
 funds on many occasions, never stooping to accept 
 the interest which was tendered, though he liked 
 money as well as the next one, and could have lent 
 it to others of the townspeople at five per cent, a 
 mouth. Even within a year of the present date ho
 
 **YOTT MTT8T FIGHT THEBB HEN." 99 
 
 had stood between Garston and his importunate 
 creditors, without letting him know whom his bene- 
 factor was. He had done this, not on his account, 
 but to save Gerald the mortification of having to see 
 his home sold under the hammer. But in the exas- 
 perated mood which came with this news of the mill- 
 stream matter, Alvah remembered nothing but the 
 fact that he had tried to help John a thousand times, 
 and that this was the sort of repayment which he had 
 received. 
 
 As he rode home he met Colonel Staples, and ven- 
 tilated his grievance. 
 
 " What do you think of it, after all I have done to 
 help that man ?" he asked, when he had told his 
 story. 
 
 The Colonel had heard of the matter before, as it 
 had been common talk for some days in the. village, 
 and he admitted it, saying that he had supposed Mr, 
 Adams knew about it all the time. 
 
 " They say Crane threw it up to Gerald, that day 
 that he and young Mr. Nelson went up to interview 
 the others," said the Colonel. 
 
 " But what does the fellow mean ?" exclaimed 
 Adams. " I have lugged him on my back, as you 
 might say, ever since we have been here together. I 
 couldn't make a man of sense of him the Lord him- 
 self couldn't do that but I have helped him over the 
 rough places and enabled him to keep his farm when 
 the creditors were determined to take it away. I've 
 got an outlawed note of his now, fifteen years old 
 for five hundred dollars, that he never intends to pay, 
 and that I never expected he would when I lent him 
 the money, I have let him have seed, and tools, and 
 men, and given my word for him at the stores, time
 
 100 THE OAESTON BIQAMT. 
 
 and again. If he thought I owed him anything, why 
 
 couldn't he come and talk it over with me, instead of 
 joining these rascally fellows and putting me to extra 
 expense and annoyance. My patience has about 
 given out. If he persists in this thing, the mort- 
 gagees may sell him out the next time he fails in his 
 interest, for all of me." 
 
 Colonel Staples had never seen Mr. Adams in a 
 temper before, and he was surprised that he could 
 get so angry. 
 
 "Garston doesn't know half of the kindnesses you 
 have done for him," he ventured to remark. " If 
 some one were to go and tell him of them, in a quiet 
 way " 
 
 "I don't want them to," replied Alvah, reddening. 
 "You know last summer, when you told me that they 
 were bound to advertise his place for sale to satisfy 
 their claims, how I sent a third party to him with an 
 offer of a second mortgage, so that he could pay the 
 interest, and that I furnished the money. I didn't 
 want him to know it then, and I don't now. There 
 was no hope of doing any more than staving off his 
 troubles, for he hasn't gumption enough to get out 
 of the net he has twisted around his neck, but I did 
 hope he could get his boy through his schooling and 
 established in business before the stroke came. Now, 
 I don't much care how soon they take the farm. 
 Nobody could expect me to go down into my pocket 
 again for a man who has turned against me in this 
 way." 
 
 The Colonel was plainly uneasy during this 
 tirade. 
 
 "You might go and see him," he suggested. 
 
 M John Garston will be a good deal older before bt
 
 "TOU MUST FIGHT THESE MEN." 101 
 
 finds me hunting him up,' retorted Adams. " The 
 next time it will be more likely that he will hunt me 
 up. His interest will be due in a few weeks now 
 and we'll see who'll advance it this time .'" 
 
 The friends parted and Adams drove toward his 
 home. Just before he reached his premises he saw 
 Garston coming, and imagined that he detected a 
 trace of malice on his face. His inclination was to 
 pretend not to see him, if he could get into his gate 
 soon enough, but this was impossible. Garston 
 reached the turning off point first, and stopped his 
 horse. 
 
 " Is the mill running this morning ?" he asked. 
 " I want to take over some grist." 
 
 "Of course it's running!" retorted Adams, 
 unable to conceal the anger that filled him. " Did 
 you think a lawsuit for damages was going to 
 stop it ?" 
 
 Garston received this snappish answer without 
 moving a muscle of his hard face. 
 
 " You know why it runs, I suppose ?" he said. " It 
 Is because I allow my water to fill the reservoir that 
 turns the wheel." 
 
 Alvah. smiled contemptuously. 
 
 " Your water !" he replied, with sarcasm. 
 
 " Yes, mine. Every drop of it passes my land, and I 
 can cut it off whenever I take the notion. I have let 
 it run there for years in order to be friendly and 
 neighbor-like. But there come times when a man 
 finds it his duty to look out a little for himself." 
 
 Alvah's countenance grew dark. 
 
 "About when do you think you will cut off thit 
 upply ?" he inquired, icily. 
 
 " I shall consult my own fancy about that."
 
 102 THE GARSTON BIGAMT. 
 
 " Anu now long do you think you could hold yeuf 
 land" with a strong accent on the ' your ' after you 
 had done it ?" 
 
 Garston looked at him for an explanation. He 
 evidently did not quite understand his reference. 
 
 "It is as well to be plain," said Auams. "If that 
 stream should be cut in the bank which skirts your 
 farm for a few rods, where would the water go ? 
 Why, it would flood your wheat fields and stand two 
 feet deep in your corn and garden ! Allowing that 
 you had enough spite to sacrifice these, your mort- 
 gagees would hardly be willing to see their security 
 thus lessened. The Iowa Investment Company, who 
 hold the first lien, if not the party who holds the 
 second, would foreclose upon you, as they would 
 have a full right to do. I have heard that you have 
 joined in the suit which Lawyer Cass has brought 
 against me. Go on and make all you can, but don't 
 imagine that you have a fool to deal with." 
 
 Garston heard him quietly. 
 
 The wheat will soon be harvested," he said, " The 
 corn and the garden crops will follow in a few weeks 
 mere. When the crops are out of the ground it will 
 do no harm for a little water to stand on it over the 
 winter. I am not sure but it would benefit it." 
 
 Adams was driven to frenzy by this cool proposi- 
 tion. 
 
 "Whoever owns the farm which you have been 
 pleased to call yours for so long, when winter comes," 
 he said, " will not be likely to entertain your view of 
 what is good for wheat and corn. Third mortgages 
 are not common in Iowa, and I think next time th r 
 auctioneer will have his way."
 
 "YOU MUST SIGHT THESE MEN." 105 
 
 Garston was as cool, outwardly at least, as his 
 companion was furious. 
 
 " It will take time to tell that," he replied. 
 
 Adams started to retort again, but thought better 
 of it, and being in truth a little ashamed of the tem- 
 per he had already shown, allowed Garston to depart 
 without saying anything more to him. He threw the 
 reins to a man who came forward as he reached the 
 house, and retired to a shady corner of the broad 
 veranda, where he could think. He was in a profuse 
 perspiration, partly from the state of the weather and 
 partly from the state of his mind, and as he sat there 
 he fanned himself vigorously with his broad straw 
 hat. 
 
 " I've got to protect myself," was his thought, 
 "before anything else. That, I've heard, is the first 
 law of nature. The interest on the second mortgage 
 which I hold by proxy will be due in a fortnight. If 
 it is not paid I must take measures to foreclose. But 
 it is probable that he will try and pay that interest, 
 as it is such a small amount, and I may have to wait 
 for the first mortgage owners, the Iowa Investment 
 Company. If they sell the place, I shall have to buy 
 it. Then I should own the only part of the brook in 
 dispute, and be free of that danger forever. It's 
 good land, as good naturally as any of mine. I 
 offered to exchange even with him once, when he said 
 he thought it the poorer of the two, and after con- 
 sideration he refused. Yes, I must get possession 
 this time. That threat of his compels me." 
 
 He looked through the vines that thickly clung to 
 the lattice work of the veranda, and saw a young 
 man coming briskly up the walk. It was Gerald. 
 He walked with a springing step, his cheek was ruddy
 
 104 THE GARSTON BIGAMT. 
 
 and his whole appearance indicated happines*. 
 Gerald could not walk toward the spot where he 
 expected to meet Alma without feeling his heart 
 bounding in his breast and every pulse astir. The 
 things which had been troubling him vanished from 
 his brain when he found himself near her door and 
 knew that the next moment he would be in her pres 
 ence. 
 
 As the mill-owner looked at Gerald, a heavy pain 
 struck through him. Every plan that he could make 
 to circumvent the plot of John Garston would give 
 sorrow to the son. Alvah liked Gerald immensely. 
 He had received him into his home for sixteen years 
 with all the warmth that he could offer. He had 
 gladly allowed him the freest intimacy with his dearly 
 beloved daughter, and fel* that their friendship was 
 of an enduring kind. Alvah had never had a word 
 of difference with Alma in his life, and he dreaded 
 doing anything that might cause her to utter a pro- 
 test. If there were open hostilities between the 
 fathers, what effect might it not have on the chil- 
 dren ? He thought how easy it would have been for 
 John to come to him in the old way and say that he 
 was in trouble for money and wanted to be helped 
 out again, and how promptly for Gerald's sake he 
 would have given him the sum needed. It was a very 
 different case now. John held over him a threat to 
 injure his business in the most wanton manner, and 
 for no good whatever to himself. Adams remarked 
 inwardly that he was not a good man to threaten. 
 John would find that out before he was through with 
 him. Then he thought of Gerald again, and grew 
 doubtful. 
 
 Tht sound of music came through the open win
 
 "YOU MUST TIGHT THESE HEN. 10$ 
 
 dows. The young couple were at the piano. Alma's 
 hands were chasing the notes over the keys and their 
 voices blended harmoniously in a song. He could 
 see them dimly through the inner shutters. They 
 acted like attached friends, not like lovers, but he 
 was glad of that. It would be years before Gerald 
 would be in a position to take a bride, and it was 
 much better that they were content to await the 
 approach of that time before passing the bounds of 
 friendship. He knew that they thought themselves 
 unobserved at the present moment, and that there 
 was no bar on their perfect freedom of manner 
 except the natural one of their own choice. Gerald 
 turned the leaves of the printed music, sang his part 
 with her to the end, and then they talked together 
 as he had seen them do a hundred times, as if there 
 were nothing in the world to disturb the full current 
 of their pleasure. After a few minutes they left the 
 room and he heard them on the lawn in the rear of 
 the house. 
 
 What was he to do ? How could he reconcile the 
 protection of his interests with the happiness of this 
 young man, whom he esteemed so highly, and whom 
 he expected one day to call son ? It was no easy 
 problem, and he failed to find an answer that satisfied 
 him. 
 
 Gerald stayed but an hour longer, and Alma came 
 searching for her father, one of the servants having 
 told her that he had been seen to go out upon the 
 veranda. She laughed brightly when she found 
 htm, saying that he could not hide like that from 
 her, and asked how long he had been playing dor- 
 mouse. When he told her that he had been entranced
 
 106 THE GAESTON BIGAMY. 
 
 with the singing that he had heard in the music-room 
 she laughed more brightly yet. 
 
 " But you are sober, papa dear," she said, seeing 
 that he did not share her mood. " I know what it is 
 those horrible mill-stream fellows. You have not 
 been yourself since they began to annoy you. I 
 would rather you shut down the mill to-morrow 
 than to have it make you so much trouble." 
 
 She put her arms tenderly about his neck and he 
 thought that there were some things in life that 
 made it worth living. 
 
 "Perhaps I shall conclude to do it," he said, 
 musingly. 
 
 " What, papa ?" 
 
 " Shut down the mill, my pet." 
 
 " Oh, I don't mean that. You must fight these 
 men, as a matter of principle. If it were only dollars 
 and cents, that would be quite another thing." 
 
 He reached up and took her hands in his, looking 
 at the rings she wore. Some day there would be 
 another there, with a brilliant stone in it ; and some 
 other day long might it be in coming ! still 
 another of plain gold. 
 
 " Supposing, pet," he said, " that there should turn 
 out some morning not to be enough water in the 
 reservoir to run the mill. Supposing the stream 
 should run dry ?" 
 
 " Not much danger of that, I guess," she smiled, 
 * after all the rains we had this spring." 
 
 He felt so secure, with those arms about his neck, 
 that he thought he might as well give her an inkling 
 of the truth. 
 
 " There is a small part of this stream, Alma, that 
 borders the land of another man. The line that
 
 YOU 1CU8T FIGHT THESE MEN." 107 
 
 divides my estate from his runs through the center 
 for several rods. He has a legal right, for all that I 
 can see, to cut through the bank on his side and let 
 off the water. That would effectually stop the mill- 
 wheel." 
 
 "And spoil his farm !" she laughed. "He would 
 not be such a dunce, whoever he is, as to do that. 
 There is no way in which it could benefit him." 
 
 Alma peered over into her father's face for the 
 light that she thought her logic would bring, but 
 she saw that he did not think the matter a simple 
 one, and she left her place at the back of his chair 
 and brought a stool to his knee. 
 
 " Who is this man who has it in his power to make 
 my papa so sober ?" she asked. " I will go and talk 
 with him, and show him how little pleasure it is to 
 cut off one's nose to spite his face." 
 " It is John Garston, Alma." 
 Her smile faded then like a flash. 
 " Gerald's father !" 
 
 " That's it, exactly. If it was plain John Garston, 
 and not ' Gerald's father,' I should not be long in 
 knowing what to do." 
 
 Somehow, though there was a hopeless tone in his 
 voice, she was glad to hear him say this. 
 " You like Gerald, papa, don't you ?" 
 " Yes, Alma. And you ?" 
 "Very, very much." 
 
 Plain, honest, outspoken girl as she had always 
 been, even at a moment when most girls would 
 have thought it a part of maidenly modesty to cast 
 down their eyes and call up a blush, she met hi 
 ga/e unflinchingly. 
 
 "What shall we do about it, pet ?"
 
 108 THE GARSTON filOAMT. 
 
 " Has he really threatened to cut the bank T 
 
 " He has told me that he could. He has insinu- 
 ated it." 
 
 " But with what object ?** 
 
 "That is more than I can tell," answered her 
 father. " John has been growing colder to me every 
 year for a long time. I have never injured him, 
 unless it be in accumulating money faster than he 
 could, and Heaven knows I have never wronged a 
 man out of a penny. He seems to be jealous of my 
 greater success, and there is nothing so unreasoning 
 as jealousy." 
 
 Alma relapsed into deep thought for some moments. 
 When she raised her head again, it was with this 
 query : 
 
 " Is there any way that you could prevent him, if 
 you chose ?" 
 
 " Yes." He was surprised at the way he was con- 
 fiding in her, for he had never before told her any- 
 thing of business matters. " He is heavily in debt. 
 The men whom he owes have long been prevented 
 with difficulty from taking his land. It is probable 
 that they will take it this year, and offer it for sale. 
 I could buy it." 
 
 It was evident that these forms were not very 
 familiar to the girl, for she asked to have them 
 explained more fully. When she understood the 
 legal aspect of the case she said : 
 
 " If you did not buy the farm some one else 
 would?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "What would Mr. Garston, and and Gerald- 
 do, then ? Where would they live ?" 
 
 ** I do not know. I should be glad to let John stay
 
 *1OD MUST FIGHT THESE MEN." 10* 
 
 where he is for the sake of Gerald but I fear he 
 would be too angry and too proud to accept the 
 favor. I should want nothing except to secure the 
 mill-stream from injury. There is a great deal of 
 profit in the mill, my dear, and I should not like to 
 have it stopped." 
 
 Alma thought again for a little while. 
 
 ** It is so contemptible of him to propose it !" she 
 exclaimed, finally. " It is like going into somebody's 
 garden and cutting down their fruit trees. I would 
 not submit to it !" 
 
 "What shall I dor 
 
 " You must stop him I" 
 
 * In what way. See, I am asking your advice.** 
 
 ** In any way. In every way. You must stop him." 
 
 He leaned over her. 
 
 M Even if I have to take the house over his head ?" 
 
 -Yes." 
 
 And Gerald's r 
 
 He had never imagined the quality that was in her, 
 that made her look him straight in the eye and 
 answer " yes " again. 
 
 " You will wait," she added, " till you are sure he 
 intends to carry out his threat, and then you will act. 
 Gerald will not blame you, if he has a right idea of 
 the matter. He is not at all like his father. He 
 could not do a mean thing. He would never claim 
 that you ought to allow any one to inflict a wanton 
 injury on you without retaliating." 
 
 Alvah Adams loved Alma more at that minute than 
 he had ever done, and he had not supposed his love 
 capable of increase. 
 
 " My child," he said, " I care more for you than for 
 the mill more than for fifty mills, more than for all
 
 110 THE GAR6TON BIGAMY. 
 
 my other possessions. I would do anything rather 
 than imperil your happiness. Think weJ of this 
 and tell me your opinion, later." 
 
 He kissed her and she went away slowly. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 " BUT THAT IS A SERIOUS THING." 
 
 Colonel Staples had been thinking a good deal of 
 late about the subject of the pecuniary difficulties of 
 John Garston. He cared no more for that individual, 
 considered alone, than did Alvah Adams, but as the 
 father of one for whom, he entertained the greatest 
 affection, and for whom his daughter felt something 
 that could hardly be described by any thing less than 
 a tenderer name, he thought he ought to do what- 
 ever lay in his power to postpone the unpleasant day 
 when importunate creditors would demand their 
 rights. He had no doubt that after Gerald entered 
 into the practice of his profession he would find a 
 way to relieve his parent of the difficulties which 
 crowded upon him. To allow the avalanche to pre- 
 cipitate itself across his path at the present time 
 would result in no one could tell what annoyances. 
 Upon leaving Mr. Adams that morning when they 
 met in the road and talked the matter over, the 
 Colonel made up his mind that he would offer assist- 
 ance to Garston the first time he met him. 
 
 Garston knew well that his affairs were in a very 
 precarious state. But so they had been for years,
 
 "BUT THAT IS A SERIOUS THIN." Ill 
 
 and yet he had always managed to escape foreclo- 
 sure at the last moment. He had more than once 
 seen the interest day approach until its shadow cast 
 a black cloud over his heart, and yet something had 
 always happened to save him before the fatal blow 
 was delivered. The year previous, three days after 
 the Iowa Investment Company had given him notice 
 that they should push their rights, a stranger giving 
 the name of Bufford had called to ask if he would 
 like to execute a second mortgage, at the ordinary 
 rate of interest a thing unknown in that latitude 
 and the money thus obtained had sufficed to put off 
 his importunate creditors for another year. Now both 
 the interest on the first and second mortgages were 
 coming due, and the principal of the latter as well. 
 He had hoped to save something toward payment, 
 but with Gerald's college expenses and some losses 
 in various directions his plans had gone wrong. He 
 had less than four hundred dollars on hand, with a 
 thousand due on the principal, and half as much as 
 interest, and with everything he owned, from his 
 farm down to the smallest animal or tool upon it, 
 mortgaged to their full value. He had no idea from 
 what source relief could come, but he had a blind 
 confidence that it would come from somewhere. 
 And in this blind confidence he rested when he 
 entered into the suit against Adams and threatened 
 to cut off the mill-water as soon as his crops were 
 out of the ground. 
 
 Of course John had no idea that the stranger 
 named Bufford was really the representative of Mr. 
 Adams, and the money which he advanced on the 
 precarious security of a second mortgage came from 
 Uw solid bank account of his prosperous neighbor.
 
 11) 1KB GAJS3TON BIGAMT. 
 
 Perhaps if he had known it his pride would have 
 been too strong to allow of its acceptance, even though 
 it was the only thing that could save him from total 
 financial ruin. 
 
 The Bufford mortgage gave a power of sale, as 
 did all mortgages at that date in Iowa, within a 
 short time of any defalcation in the payment of 
 interest or principal. With this document in the 
 village bank, Adams waited for the day when it 
 would be available. He had never wanted to make 
 John trouble, and had lent the money with the feel- 
 ing that it was pretty much the same thing as throw- 
 ing it away ; but the sinister expressions in reference 
 to the mill-stream had proved too much for his good 
 nature. 
 
 He was considerable surprised, therefore, to 
 receive word from the agent Bufford one day in 
 August, that the note covering the second mort- 
 gage had been paid in full with interest, and that 
 the amount was awaiting his order. Adams was 
 more than surprised, he was annoyed. He wondered 
 who beside himself had been reckless enough to 
 advance money on that sort of security. He went 
 and told Alma what he had learned, as soon as he 
 could find her. 
 
 "It leaves me entirely at his mercy," he said. "He 
 will do what he threatened now. There is no doubt 
 about it." 
 
 " Simply from ugliness ! " she exclaimed. ** How 
 can any man have such a disposition. Well, it 
 relieves us of the other question, at least. He will 
 have to bear all the moral responsibility." 
 
 "And much it will trouble him !" he answered, 
 grimly. " There is one thing left that I could per-
 
 "BUT THAT u A SBBIOUS -rmso." 113 
 
 haps do. I could see the agent of the Investment 
 Company which has the other mortgage and ascer 
 tain if they wish to sell it. Were it not for Gerald, 
 my course would be plain enough." 
 
 Mr. Adams happened to see Mr. Grosschen shortly 
 afterward, and in response to the question whether 
 the company had any mortgages which they wished 
 to dispose of, received the reply that it was against 
 the policy of the company to sell mortgages. They 
 had an implied contract with their customers that 
 only the usual proceedings would be taken. 
 
 " As long as the interest is kept up," he said, "we 
 let the principal stand. When there is a default we 
 sell at auction, according to law. We never do any- 
 thing t' 
 
 "Supposing," said Mr. Adams, "that you had a 
 mortgagor who should flood his land to spite a 
 neighbor and thus reduce its producing and selling 
 value ?" 
 
 " I can't imagine such a case," was the reply, " but 
 I do not think we should do anything about it so 
 long as the interest was paid. We are not fond of 
 interfering in minor matters with our mortgagors." 
 
 There seemed to be no outlet in this direction, 
 and Adams returned home with a greater puzzle 
 than ever on his mind. 
 
 Colonel Staples, who had known that the Bufford 
 mortgage was really the property of Adams, was 
 troubled over the part he felt obliged to play in the 
 affair, principally because it compelled him to enter 
 into a sort of deception of his old friend. Like Adam* 
 he had not wanted Garston to know from what 
 source his assistance came, and had engaged an out 
 ftider to transact the business. The first time he
 
 114 THE GABSTON BIGAICT. 
 
 met Adams he had a mortal fear that fee would 
 allude to the case, and dreaded lest he should ask 
 him if he knew who this man Davidson was who 
 had taken up the mortgage. The Colonel did not 
 mean to reveal his own part in the transaction, and 
 neither did he like to tell even a white lie to con- 
 ceal it 
 
 But, to his great relief, Alvah never alluded to the 
 matter in any way. Things went on quietly until 
 one day, early in September, when some one in the 
 village asked him if he had heard that Garston was 
 boasting that the Adams mill would shut down 
 before the next snow came. Finding that this 
 statement had really been made by Garston, Colonel 
 Staples thought it his duty to have a talk with him. 
 He had not meant that his kindness to one neighbor 
 should result in the injury of another, and had 
 thought John's talk in the summer mere idle words 
 without any meaning behind them. 
 
 John did not prove very communicative, when tho 
 Colonel approached him. To the statement that 
 "people said " he had threatened to stop the mill, ho 
 answered that people said a good many things. 
 When he was pressed to make an explicit denial h 
 made the retort that he hoped he had a right to do 
 as he liked with his own, and that it was something 
 about which he would not allow any one to dictate. 
 
 "Wouldn't you be willing to sell that part of your 
 farm by which the river runs ?" suggested Colonel 
 Staples. " That would settle the matter once for 
 all." 
 
 " I haven't got any land to sell, and I am not 
 worrying about settling anything," said Garston. 
 " Let those who've got things to worry about do th
 
 115 
 
 fretting. Alvah says I am all mortgaged up and 
 shall be sold out soon. I don't owe anybody any 
 interest that's due, and I shall do as I like. When 
 he's got any thing to say to me let him come and say 
 it and not send third parties." 
 
 The Colonel made haste to assure him that he had 
 come of his own accord, just in the interest of har- 
 mony between neighbors. 
 
 "There can be no harmony between Alvah Adams 
 and me," replied Garston, quietly. "Things have 
 gone too far for that. I don't need any of your 
 counsel, as I have been of age for several years 
 All you could say wouldn't alter anything, and we 
 might as well drop it where it is." 
 
 Colonel Staples wore such a thoughtful face when 
 he reached home that Edith, who ran to meet him, 
 inquired anxiously what was the matter. 
 
 "A little business, darling," he replied, "that I 
 tried to arrange has gone wrong. It is nothing that 
 should trouble you, at least. I wanted to make two 
 old friends who have fallen out happy again, and I 
 failed. That's all." 
 
 " But that is a serious thing !" said Edith, 
 thoughtfully, as she took a chair by his side. " If 
 two friends have fallen out and become two enemies 
 instead, and you could not reconcile them, I do not 
 wonder that you are sober. Tell me all about it, 
 that I may understand it fully. I am very much 
 interested." 
 
 He looked at her for a moment and then con. 
 eluded that he would partly comply with her re- 
 quest. 
 
 " Oh, it is that old matter of the mill-stream." 
 
 " Which Gerald tried to settle ?"
 
 116 IBB eABSTOJr BIGAMY. 
 
 4 
 
 u No, another branch of the same difficulty, whK... 
 Gerald would have much less chance of settling 
 even than the other. His father has threatened to 
 cut the bank of the stream where it borders on his 
 land, and cut off the supply of water which turns 
 Mr. Adams' millwheeL" 
 
 Edith evinced the greatest astonishment at this 
 information. 
 
 " Why should he wish to injure Mr. Adams ?" she 
 asked. 
 
 Her father told her all he thought wise about the 
 matter, but it gave no explanation to the query she 
 had propounded. He did not care to go as far back 
 as the marriage of Alma's mother. 
 
 " I am foolish to tell my Edith this," he said, in 
 conclusion. "There is no reason why her head 
 should be filled with such things." 
 
 " I am glad to know," she answered, " though I 
 am sorry that it has occurred. The worst thing is 
 that it may cause trouble between Gerald and 
 Alma. Not that I imagine it could separate them," 
 she added, quickly, mistaking the slight start that 
 her father gave, " but it will annoy them both to 
 know that there is a serious difficulty between their 
 parents. I can hardly conceive of anything more 
 unpleasant, when people are as intimate as they 
 are." 
 
 Colonel Staples was much disturbed. 
 
 " Do you think, then, that there is such a deep 
 attachment between Gerald and Alma ?" he asked, 
 nervously. 
 
 She looked up as if she could hardly comprehend 
 that she heard aright. 
 
 M Why, of course there is ! Have you not noticed
 
 "BUT THAT 18 A 8BHOUB THING." 117 
 
 !t, ever since they were little childrenever since 
 we were all children together ?" 
 
 "But I thought," he stammered, " tha.tjou cared 
 for him. ' 
 
 Again she surveyed his face with a long stare. 
 
 " And so I do ! We are all the dearest of friends 
 Gerald, Alma and I. If the trouble was between 
 Mr. Garston and you, don't you think I should feel 
 it deeply ? Alma will find it very hard to bear, and 
 whatever hurts her hurts me also." 
 
 " And what hurts Gerald hurts you both ?" 
 
 He had an idea that this thought would arouse 
 her to a sense of the position in which she stood, 
 but it did not She only answered, "Exactly," 
 seeming to think that settled everything. 
 
 "Do you think," he asked, presently, " that Gerald 
 likes Alma more than he does you ?" 
 
 " Oh, no, I am sure he doesn't," she responded, 
 brightly. 
 
 " Or you more than Alma r** 
 
 She wondered at his persistency. 
 
 "Perhaps a little," she said, musingly. "It is 
 Irery nearly alike, I guess. But it may be he 
 Ukes me a little the best." 
 
 The Colonel drew a sigh of relief. 
 
 ** I will tell you something more," he said. " Mr, 
 Garston is, and has for a long time been, in finan- 
 cial straights. He gave security on his farm for 
 money borrowed and the mortgagee was ready to 
 sell it to enforce his claim. I heard of the danger 
 and through a third party so as not to let my name 
 appear I advanced the amount needed." 
 
 Edith sprang up and would have embraced him, 
 but he held her off with his hands.
 
 US THE GARSTON BIGAMY. 
 
 " You think it was from sheer goodness of heart 
 that I did that, but you are mistaken. I only did it 
 for your sake. I did it because it would have in- 
 jured the future of Gerald to have the place sold, 
 and because I thought you cared so much for him 
 that it would pain you." 
 
 Edith still tried to put her arms about him. 
 
 " Why do you refuse to let me show my grati- 
 tude t" she said. " There is no way in which you 
 could have earned it better." 
 
 "Let me tell you first the name of the creditor 
 who held the note which I redeemed. It was Alvah 
 Adams." 
 
 The girl was so lost in wonder that she dropped 
 her arms to her side. 
 
 " Do you mean that he would have taken Gerald's 
 house from over his head ?" 
 
 "To prevent Mr. Garston's destruction of the 
 mill-power yes. It was a case where he would 
 have thought it right. It is a very unhappy affair. 
 Edith, and it is likely to put me into a most un- 
 pleasant situation. Should Mr. Garston attempt to 
 carry out his plan there is but one person in the 
 world who could stop him, and that person is my- 
 self." 
 
 The Colonel waited a moment to collect his 
 thoughts and then proceeded. 
 
 *' If the river is allowed to overflow upon Mr. Gar- 
 ston's land it will inevitably injure it seriously for 
 farming for a long time. Thus it will lessen the 
 value of the security of the mortgage which I hold. 
 I could undoubtedly procure an injunction from the 
 court which would prevent him carrying out his 
 tcheme. But to do this I should have to show him
 
 *WT THAT 18 A SEBIOTTS THING." 11 
 
 that I am the real owner of the mortgage. It would 
 not be strictly honest for my agent to go to the court 
 and say that it was his property at stake. There 
 would be affidavits to subscribe that could only be 
 signed by the real person interested. If I obtain 
 this injunction I can save the power to Mr. Adams* 
 mill ; but at the same time I shall doubtless incur the 
 enmity of Mr. Garston, and that may make a rup- 
 ture between us that will result in trouble for Gerald 
 and you. Now you see, my child, why I came home 
 to day with a cloud on my face." 
 
 Edith did see it, and she sat a long time in silence 
 thinking the matter over. In the case of the farmers 
 who wanted damages she had concluded at once that 
 right was right, and that no question of expediency 
 ought to be allowed to enter into the discussion. 
 Now that she found that Gerald's happiness which 
 meant in a peculiar degree her own was involved, 
 she wanted a little time for consideration. 
 
 "I will go and talk to Mr. Garston," she said, at 
 last. " He need not know that you have told me of 
 your visit to him, and certainly I shall say nothing 
 about the secret you have committed to me. But 
 he has always liked me, from the earliest time I can 
 remember, and never meets me in the street without 
 stopping, whkh for a man of his reserved habits 
 means a good deal. I will go and talk with him 
 about the brook, and perhaps I shall have a better 
 effect than an older and wiser head. Gerald is at 
 Buffalo with Mr. Nelson, so he will not be in the 
 way." 
 
 Colonel Staples did not exactly like this plan, but 
 he saw no real reason why he should refuse to girt 
 bis consent to it.
 
 120 THE GAR8TON BIGAMY. 
 
 At this moment Edith discerned a familiar figure 
 coming up the walk. 
 
 "There is Alma ! " she cried, in a low tone of de- 
 light. " How I wish I could confide this to her It 
 is the only secret I ever had that she could not share." 
 
 "But she must not share this one," he answered, 
 decidedly. " I have told you with the understanding 
 that you will confide in no one." 
 
 Alma came upon the veranda where they were sit- 
 ting, and in their invariable fashion the girls em- 
 braced each other warmly. 
 
 ** I had a letter from Gerald this morning ! " said 
 Edith. 
 
 44 And so did I ! " cried Alma. Then they both 
 laughed heartily. 
 
 Colonel Staples rose and excusing himself, walked 
 into his library and shut the door. 
 
 ** Gerald ought not to keep on writing so often to 
 Alma," he mused. '* But after all, there is plenty of 
 time plenty of time." 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 IK THE UPPER BERTH. 
 
 Gerald was still away on his visit to Clifford Nel- 
 son, when Edith Staples set out on her errand of 
 conciliation to his father. It was a lovely morning, 
 late in August, and lovelier than the morning was 
 Edith, as she tripped along, happy in her youth, 
 happy in the thought of her good intentions, serene 
 with the serenity of one who has no real ache of
 
 J9f TMjt UPPER BT5TJTH. 13l 
 
 heart or worriment of mind. Every perstn whom 
 she met addressed her with a cheery " good-morn- 
 ing," for there was no man, woman or child in all 
 Jefferson that ever failed to give this welcome to one 
 who always received it with a pleased nod and 
 smile in return. Her father might have more of 
 this world's goods than had some of theirs, but 
 neither he nor she ever showed that they considered 
 this a matter to stand between them and courtesy 
 to their neighbors of whatever grade. 
 
 Surly as was John Garston with the world in gen- 
 eral, he also relaxed when he saw her bright face, 
 and he gave her what he now gave to few, his ouf- 
 stretched hand. 
 
 " Good-morning, Miss Edith." 
 
 It was not a very long sentence, but she knew 
 that she was welcome, and this was as much as she 
 had hoped for. 
 
 * I see you have begun your threshing," she said, 
 thinking this as good a way to begin as any. " You 
 have had a good crop this year, if I am any judge." 
 
 " Very fair." 
 
 It was all he said, but from him it was encourag 
 ing. 
 
 " I heard from Gerald a few days ago. He tells 
 me that he will be home again in another week." 
 
 " Yes, he's coming." 
 
 "And then," said Edith, "we shall all be off to- 
 gether. Don't you think it will make quite a 
 vacancy in Jefferson when we all three go at once 
 Alma, Gerald and I ?" 
 
 Whatever he thought about it he did not express 
 in words ; but at the mention of Alma's name his 
 brow darkened a little.
 
 122 THE GAltSTON BIGAMY. 
 
 " You know what friends we have all been since 
 we were little children," pursued Edith, "and it 
 will be very pleasant for us to finish our education 
 so near together as we shall be at Chicago. We are 
 so glad over it that I fear we do not realize how 
 unhappy it will make our parents, especially Alma's 
 and mine, for Gerald has been off already a good 
 deal, and you must have got somewhat used to it 
 I hope nothing will ever happen that will separate 
 us, for we should not know what to do without each 
 other." 
 
 He knew now what had brought her there, and it 
 did not please him. But he liked Edith too well to 
 wish to injure her feelings and so he waited. 
 
 She went back to the crops again, remarking that 
 the corn was looking finely, but she did not make 
 much progress in the direction she sought. At last 
 Mr. Garston brought the matter to a crisis. 
 
 " Let us come to the point, Miss Edith. You did 
 not come here to talk to me about the corn." 
 
 She looked up, rather alarmed to have the fact so 
 plainly stated. 
 
 "You came here to talk about an affair that con- 
 erns two business men. Now, I like you like you 
 better than any girl in Jefferson but I can't talk 
 about that matter with any one." 
 
 " But," she protested, " when you think of Gerald 
 and Alma " 
 
 "I do not think of Gerald and Alma !" he retorted, 
 with tfce least sign of anger. " I hope I shall never 
 have to couple those names in my thoughts. They 
 are names that cannot be joined, in that or any 
 other way. They have been friends as children, but 
 it is time even that ended. My son will not con-
 
 Hf THE UPPBE BERTH. 133 
 
 tlnue an acquaintance with his father s enemy after 
 he understands the situation, which I shall make 
 him do the next time he comes home." 
 
 Edith grew pale at the force of his language, 
 uttered with a vehemence quite foreign to his usual 
 nature as she had known it. 
 
 "You would not separate them," she gasped. 
 " You would not forbid him to see her ! " 
 
 "I would I will," he answered. "He is nearly 
 twenty-two. The fancy of the boy must give way 
 to the common sense of the man. I have hesitated 
 to speak to him about it, believing that he would 
 learn wisdom of his own accord, and believing, 
 beside, that he had fixed his affections elsewhere. 
 But" 
 
 He stopped, for the girl showed extreme agitation, 
 and the word, " Elsewhere ? " came faintly from 
 her lips like an echo of his own. She had feared for 
 the moment she knew not what. It sounded as if 
 Gerald had another love of whom she had never 
 heard. 
 
 "You understand me, Miss Edith," said Garston, 
 resuming. " I have seen the friendship of you three, 
 and I have believed I still believe that it is not 
 toward Alma that Gerald's dearest thoughts have 
 turned. If I have been mistaken," he added, hast- 
 ily, as she essayed to interrupt him, " I shall take 
 action at once. If I am right, nothing that he 
 could do would make me happier. * 
 
 Edith was powerfully affected by these expres- 
 sions, the more so as she was totally unprepared for 
 them. It was extremely grateful to find that this 
 hard man entertained such kindly feelings toward 
 herself, and that he thought her worthy of the son
 
 196 THB 0JLB8TOH BIGAMY. 
 
 whom he loved with the only warm spot in his 
 being. But a sense of disloyalty to Alma overpow- 
 ered these sentiments, and she hastened to reply : 
 
 " I think you are in error, Mr. Garston. If you 
 forbid him to see Alma you will give all of us great 
 grief, for it will sever a bond that has become dearei 
 than you can imagine. You say that you like me. 
 For my sake, then, if for no other reason, give up 
 this plan, and allow things to go on as they are go- 
 ing. If it will influence you any," she added, with 
 a blush, " I am confident that you need have no fear 
 so far as Alma " 
 
 She paused, too much overcome with confusion to 
 finish the sentence. 
 
 " I knew I was not wrong," he said, in a low voice. 
 "It is not necessary that some things should be 
 spoken to have them understood. But it is safer 
 both for him and you that a stop should be put 
 to their intimacy." 
 
 A feeling of guilt came over her that she should 
 seem to share in such a thought as this. 
 
 "Oh, no!" she cried. "Not for mel It is not 
 safer for me. I do not need the protection. Neither 
 does he, sir. And think of the imputation. It would 
 seem as if you believed there was danger, and that 
 would set everybody to talking. Let things be as 
 they are. From your own standpoint it is the best 
 way. Alma and I are like sisters. She and Gerald 
 are no closer. I am certain of it, so long as you force 
 me to say so. And that brings me to what I came 
 here for. Yes, it is about the water in the mill- 
 stream that I want to speak about. Let it flow on 
 unmolested. It is for my own sake I ask it, and if
 
 Cff THE UTPKR BJEATH. 125 
 
 you really care anything for me, you will do as I 
 request." 
 
 Her earnestness was so great that it affected him 
 even while he was forming a reply. 
 
 " You do not know " 
 
 Never mind what your grievances have been. 
 The greater they are, the nobler will be your victory 
 if you pass them by. Dear Mr. Garston, I shall never 
 forget the happiness you will give me by granting 
 this simple favor. We are all going to Chicago to- 
 gether. Gerald will call upon me often, and if Alma 
 and he are forbidden to speak how unpleasant it will 
 be for me. Wait till our year in school is ended, if 
 you can do no more. Promise me," she urged with 
 all her powers of persuasion, " promise me that you 
 will wait a year ! " 
 
 John Garston would have laughed the idea to 
 scorn, an hour before, that any slip of a girl could 
 have had this influence over him. But he found his 
 tenacity giving way before her pleading. 
 
 " If it works harm to you mind, for I can see 
 how it may do so, don't blame me," he said, relent- 
 ing. " I will be plain. I want you and Gerald to 
 spend your lives together. Alma Adams is a girl of 
 great strength of mind, and you will need to be 
 careful that she does not use her powers to supplant 
 you. It is useless to sneer at such a possibility. 
 Such things have been done, and they may be again. 
 If I make you a promise, you must make me another. 
 Do not be coy to Gerald. Give him no cause to 
 doubt the real state of your mind toward him. 
 Many a lover has been chilled by pretended coolness. 
 You are both young, but you are old enough to 
 know your minds. Do not be too anxious to wait until
 
 1S6 tnC GARSTON MQAMY. 
 
 he is settled in his profession. If he speaks, encour- 
 age him, and all will be well. But, even when I con 
 sent to your request that I shall do nothing to sepa- 
 rate him from her, I fear I fear." 
 
 Edith caught both his hands in hers. 
 
 "You need fear nothing. Of course you won't 
 tell Gerald about my coming here, or that you have 
 said any of these things to me. We are very young 
 indeed, I feel I am hardly more than a child. Lei 
 things alone, that is all there is to do. You have 
 made me happier than you can imagine ! " 
 
 With that she ran away, afraid to stay for any- 
 thing more, and went home to tell her father that 
 she had secured at least a temporary delay in the 
 threatened hostilities. She did not tell him what 
 else she had learned, for she could hardly bear eren 
 to think of it herself. Loving Gerald as she had done 
 for so long, knowing as she had known for the past 
 year that there was something more than ordinary 
 affection between them, she had never till now put 
 it into definite form even to her own heart. Mr. 
 Garston had unlocked the secret chamber and en- 
 abled her to gaze upon the hidden treasures that she 
 had hardly dared till then to call by their right 
 name. Very sweet indeed was the sight, but the 
 timorous soul felt something akin to fright at the 
 revelation. And thus it has ever been since romance 
 began to be written, and no doubt long centuries 
 anterior to that day. 
 
 Gerald came back when it lacked but a fortnight 
 of the day on which he was to depart for his law 
 office, and the girls were to go with him to their 
 seminary. His father, faithful to his promise to 
 Edith, said nothing to him whatever about Alma.
 
 lit 
 
 Neither did he utter any further threats against 
 Adams, though he did not withdraw his name from 
 the list of parties to the mill-stream suit That case 
 was originally set down for trial in November, but 
 Mr. Adams' attorney had had it postponed till 
 spring in order that the jury might be able to see 
 the full extent of the overflow. Things remained in 
 statu quo, though it might be merely the calm that 
 precedes the storm the silence that is a precursor 
 of the earthquake. 
 
 Garston repented the promise he had made when 
 he heard, one morning, that several heavy loads, 
 drawn by oxen, had been taken in the night time 
 and lodged in an addition which Alvah had recently 
 built to his mill. It seemed to him like a defiance 
 this preparation to enlarge the capacity of a concern 
 which he Garston had the power to stop at his 
 pleasure. At first he questioned the honor of Edith 
 in the matter, fearing that she had informed Mr. 
 Adams of the agreement which he had made, but he 
 had too much confidence in her to hold this opinion 
 for long. It was more like a decided challenge on 
 the part of the mill-owner for him to do his worst. 
 John had no doubt that the mysterious loads con- 
 tained another set of mill-stones and the necessary 
 machinery for putting them in operation. He was 
 very angry at first, but he grew calmer on reflection. 
 The larger Alvah's investment, the larger would be 
 his loss when the power was destroyed. He could 
 afford to wait, and when the year was ended not 
 even the sweet voice of Edith Staples should per- 
 suade him from his revenge ! 
 
 Both Mr, Adams and Colonel Staples with their 
 wives had visited Chicago, making the journey i
 
 198 THB GAR3TOW BIGJLMY. 
 
 company, to inspect the rooms which their daughters 
 were to occupy, and to talk personally with the prin- 
 cipal of the seminary. They had left word that Ger- 
 ald was to have as free access to the girls as though 
 he were a brother. Each of the fathers, in language 
 strikingly similar, committed his daughter to the 
 care of the young man, who was to see her to her 
 journey's end, and act as a sort of guardian to her 
 while there. 
 
 "I know of no one else to whom I would entrust 
 Edith," said Colonel Staples, with feeling. "You 
 have long seemed to me almost like a son, and I am 
 glad you and she are to be so near each other. 
 Visit her often and make her first separation from 
 her parents as easy to her as you can." 
 
 *' You and Alma seem more like brother and 
 sister than anything else," was the way Mr. Adams 
 put it. " I shall feel quite easy to know that she 
 is where she can call upon you in case of necessity. 
 It is the first time she has ever been from her mother 
 and me, but she will not mind it so much when you 
 are where you can see her every few days." 
 
 Gerald thanked both of them for their confidence, 
 and made some perfunctory remarks to the effect 
 that he hoped their faith in him was deserved. To 
 this they each responded that they had no doubt of 
 that, and the party set off. The girls kissed their 
 parents repeatedly and promised to write very 
 often. The station was crowded in their honor, and 
 the good-byes that rent the air as the train moved 
 would have done credit to a presidential 
 Only one face that might have been ex- 
 pected to be there was missing, that of Gerald's 
 lather, who had no mind to join in a celebration im
 
 nr THE OTPE* KEKTH. HO 
 
 which Alvah Adams would have a share. He had 
 bade farewell to his son at his house on the plea of 
 business engagements. 
 
 On the way to Chicago the trio spent their time 
 much as they ordinarily did when in the company 
 of each other. Their seats in the Pullman faced 
 each othef. Gerald occupied one, and the girls, 
 sitting opposite, passed the hours in conversation 
 with him, never seeming at a loss for enough sub- 
 jects of common interest. 
 
 Answering them when they spoke, and even in- 
 augurating an occasional vein of his own, Gerald's 
 thoughts were most of the time far from the topics 
 discussed. He was trying to find some reason to 
 prefer one of them to the other, as Clifford Nelson 
 had so confidently assured him he must at once 
 begin to do. Alma was the more superb, Edith the 
 fairer and more delicate. Alma cou'd vanquish her 
 rival at repartee, excelling in brilliancy ; Edith 
 could rally her forces and convince by the clear and 
 honest quality of her argument. Which of them 
 would make a man happier as a partner for life ? 
 That, after all, was the great query. 
 
 He looked at the magnificent physique which 
 Alma exhibited, even at her present age, saying to 
 himself that she would never be otherwise than per- 
 fect as a physical being. He marked the rosy hue 
 of her complexion, indicating health and evenness 
 of temperament. Then he looked at Edith's clear 
 blue eyes, the transparent whiteness of her hands and 
 the sweet mobility of her mouth. Could he part with 
 either of them ? No, no ! The time predicted when 
 there would appear a preference had not yet come. 
 
 Me slept in the upper berth that night, with th*
 
 180 TMB GABSTON BIGAMY. 
 
 girls clasped In each other's arms in the one beneath 
 him. An extra crush of travel had prevented his 
 procuring an additional section, as he had meant 
 to do. He lay awake till past midnight, thinking ot 
 the picture that he could not see, and yet which was 
 so near him. 
 
 There was the slenderer form, the more exquisite 
 moulding that belonged to Edith ; and there were tha 
 rounder arms, the fuller figure of Alma. " Which? '' 
 he cried, almost aloud. " Which ? " And there was 
 no answer. 
 
 He might have either of them for life by the ask- 
 ing. Which ? Which? WHICH should it be ! ! 
 
 " I love them both ! " he reflected, pressing his 
 pillow against his feverish head. " How can it end ? 
 how can it end ?" 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 " DO YOU LOVE MY SON ?** 
 
 The girls liked their school. Having Gerald where 
 they could see him nearly every day lessened the 
 unpleasantness of their first absence from home. 
 They were bright scholars and made rapid progress. 
 The young men also did credit to themselves in the 
 office of Thurston & Thurston, the law firm with 
 which they were reading. The three fathers in Jef- 
 ferson heard the news and were well pleased. 
 
 Nothing of special interest worth recording hap- 
 pened to the principal characters in this tale during
 
 "*> YOIT IOTK JIT 90*1" 1SJ 
 
 the winter. Nelson saw nothing to cause him to 
 change the waiting position he had assumed. They 
 all went home for a fortnight at Christmas, and then 
 returned to their studies. 
 
 The second parting of Edith and Alma from their 
 parents did not in the least resemble the first. They 
 loved them as deeply as ever, but there was a good 
 deal to both of them in the fact that they were not 
 to be separated from Gerald. Had he remained at 
 home, or gone in some other direction, there might 
 have been a very different story to tell. 
 
 Late in the spring, or rather early in the summer, 
 the law-suit of " Garston, et al." as the papers were 
 now made to read, against Alvah Adams, was tried 
 in the county court. Neither the mill-owner nor his 
 counsel, Major Noyes, had been idle. They con- 
 fronted the belligerent farmers with expert testi- 
 mony to the effect that the land, occasionally over, 
 flowed by the damning of the brook, had not been 
 lessened but actually increased in value, and that the 
 resulting irrigation enabled the owners to raise 
 certain kinds of crops which brought prices superior 
 to the cereals which they would otherwise have had 
 to grow there. Not content with this, the Major 
 artfully drew out of each contestant the price at 
 which he valued his land per acre, showing subse- 
 quently that the damages claimed were much greater 
 than the entire area covered was worth, and offering 
 to buy every foot of it at a price above the valuation 
 that any fair set of appraisers would put upon it. 
 The result was that the jury, composed though it 
 was mainly of farmers, who would naturally have felt 
 a sympathy for their fellow tillers of the soil, had no 
 choice but to find a verdict for the defendant. And
 
 13S TH 3AK8TOV BIOA1TT. 
 
 the judge, from his place on the bench, took occasion 
 to compliment them for their decision, and to declare 
 that he had never had a case of greater worthless- 
 ness brought before him in the whole course of his 
 administration of justice. 
 
 It may be imagined that John Garston did not 
 find his temper improved by the result of the trial. 
 He stood a silent listener to a conversation which took 
 place among the suitors and their attorney, the 
 redoubtable Lawyer Cass of Des Moines, outside the 
 court house, when the case was ended, and only 
 spoke when Adams passed on his way to his car- 
 riage, which stood with its driver awaiting him. 
 
 " He's running the mill with my water, anyway," 
 he said, " and when I am ready to stop him I shall." 
 
 Alvah Adams disdained to reply directly to this 
 thrust, meant evidently to anger him, but what he 
 had to say he directed at the crowd indiscrimin- 
 ately. 
 
 " It is in no man's power to stop my mill. I am not 
 in the habit of boasting much, but if any person 
 tries it, you'll see that what I say is true." 
 
 Before he could reach his carriage, however, Mr. 
 Crane stepped up to him in a state of intense anger. 
 
 " You can do everything, Alvah Adams, we all 
 know that I" he cried, shaking his clenched hand at 
 him. " You can overflow our lands, and spoil our 
 crops, and when we come to a jury they will decide 
 in your[favor. You have money ! That's your hold ! 
 How much did you pay to get that verdict, eh?" 
 
 If Adams had reflected a moment he would have 
 let this observation pass for the vaporings of a dis- 
 appointed man, but the insinuation stung him to the 
 quick. He prided himself on the stainlessness of his
 
 1CT Mr?" 188 
 
 honor, and had the expenditure of a single cent been 
 sufficient to issure him the verdict he would have 
 spurned the proposal to use it in any unfair influenc- 
 ing of justice. 
 
 "Go along, you old fool !" he retorted, angrily, 
 " If you were not too full of whiskey to know what 
 you are saying I would have you put under arrest 
 and made to eat those words." 
 
 Crane had been drinking, there was no doubt of 
 that, but he had a gray head and some of the 
 audience cried, "Shame !" There was little feeling 
 in Adams' favor there, and a crowd of that sort is not 
 apt to be discriminating in its judgments. 
 
 " Oh, you've got money !" yelled Crane. " You can 
 do anything !" 
 
 Trying hard to control himself, Adams walked 
 nearer to his carriage, the driver of which was 
 becoming uneasy. Seeing him retreating, several of 
 the bystanders took up the refrain, in more or less 
 loud tones, but all of them distinct enough to reach 
 his ears. As he heard them, his rage was kindled 
 anew, and he turned about. 
 
 "Yes, I have got money, honestly earned as any 
 money ever was, and I don't propose to have a set of 
 thieves and blackmailers cheat me out of it, either ! 
 I can buy up every man in this crowd, and have a 
 balance left in the bank afterwards. If any of you 
 are dissatisfied with the verdict come to me to- 
 morrow and I'll take every acre and building you 
 own and give you the cash for it. If you have any- 
 thing to sell, come to me like square men and say 
 so, but don't come like chicken-thieves and try to 
 get what doesn't belong to you !'* 
 
 The effect of this extraordinary speech was t
 
 184 THE GARSTOW BIGAMY. 
 
 silence the party till he could get into his carriage 
 and drive away, when the smothered flame broke 
 forth again. All that could be said against Adams 
 was brought out, and the disappointed litigants and 
 their sympathizers exhausted invective in abuse of 
 this " tyrant," who had grown rich beyond their 
 power to understand, and consequently faster than 
 he had any honest right to do. 
 
 Garston grew white about the lips when Adams 
 launched his epithet at them indiscriminately, but 
 when they turned to him for an explanation of his 
 threat, he only repeated it. 
 
 " He is using my water to run his mill with, and 
 when I get ready to stop him I shall." 
 
 It was the only consolation they could obtain, and 
 unsatisfactory as it was they tried to find comfort in 
 it. Some thought Lawyer Cass ought to be com- 
 pelled to refund part of the money he had got out of 
 them, the sum having aggregated something over a 
 thousand dollars, but others contended that lawyers 
 were not in the habit of doing business that way. 
 Before they got through, being in a vicious temper 
 with everything and everybody, they fell to quar- 
 relling among themselves, and several blows were 
 exchanged. After which the party broke up in con- 
 fusion. 
 
 Within the next month three of the litigants, 
 becoming disgusted with life in that vicinity, availed 
 themselves of Mr. Adams' proposition, sold him their 
 estates and moved away. And soon happiness was 
 restored to his heart and household by the coming 
 home of his daughter for the long summer vacation. 
 
 A year had done much for Alma. Her beauty 
 had ripened rapidly as she approached her twentieth
 
 M OO YOU LOVE MY BON?" 185 
 
 birthday, until it seemed at times fairly dazzling. 
 Her dark eyes had never been so bright, her brown 
 hair so lustrous, or her olive skin so perfect in its 
 purity of blood. She was a little taller, a little 
 rounder, a little more mature, but still hardly more 
 than a large child, who had no notion of assuming 
 the station of full womanhood. As she alighted 
 from the train and flew to meet her father and 
 mother, kissing each with the passionate fervor of 
 her disposition, the villagers who saw the sight found 
 a murmur of admiration passing from one end of the 
 crowd to the other. 
 
 " Isn't she perfectly lovely !" remarked one young 
 swain to his sweetheart, too much affected by the 
 apparition to think what a very inappropriate thing 
 it was to say to her. But the crowd took up the 
 expression and passed it along. " Perfectly lovel y !' 
 was repeated over and over again. 
 
 Alma had seen her parents from the window, and 
 hastily waving her hand to them had rushed to the 
 door and left the car step almost before the train 
 came to a stand. One or two other passengers 
 alighted, and then came Gerald, escorting Edith. 
 As Miss Staples came into view the doubt [of 
 Jefferson as to which was the more lovely of the 
 twain received its usual strain. All eyes turned from 
 Alma to her friend and the expressions of admira- 
 tion broke out afresh. 
 
 Beautiful as a lily, with a complexion such as 
 wealthy belles would gladly spend a fortune to imi- 
 tate ; with sapphire eyes, fair hair, the motion of a 
 swan and the smile of an angel, Edith Staples had 
 her moment of adoration, too. There was a minute 
 f consultation among the party, and then a hasty
 
 18$ TVB OAR8TOIT BIGAMY. 
 
 1 
 
 separation. The closed carriages of the Adams and 
 the Staples families, with their hired drivers the 
 only ones in town drove away with their burdens, 
 and an open buggy, sent by a farm boy, took Gerald 
 to his father's. 
 
 John Garston received his son with few words. 
 His taciturnity was so well known that any thing else 
 would have aroused surprise. He questioned Gerald 
 briefly as to whether he was satisfied with the year 
 he had spent at Chicago, asked about one or two 
 minor matters, and then relapsed into silence. 
 
 " I shall spend most of my vacation here," said 
 Gerald. " Is there any way in which I can help 
 you ?" 
 
 His father was astonished at the question. He 
 had never asked his son for the slightest assistance 
 upon the farm, knowing his disinclination for agri- 
 cultural pursuits, and he could not understand what 
 put this idea into his head. But he contented him- 
 self with a simple negative. After eating his supper, 
 Gerald strolled over to Mr. Adams' house, where both 
 the girls were awaiting him, as they had agreed to do 
 before they parted at the train. 
 
 There was one thing that Mr. Garston wanted more 
 than anything else now, and that was to see Edith, 
 and have another talk with her. He did not know 
 how to arrange it, and over a week passed before he 
 happened to meet her where others were not present. 
 When the opportunity came, and he encountered her 
 on the road from the Adams place to her own home 
 he only stopped to say good-morning and to ask her 
 when she could find time to see him in private. 
 
 " I have something to say to you/' said he. It
 
 "DO YOU LOVE MY SON?" 137 
 
 will not take long, but I do not wish to be inter- 
 rupted." 
 
 " I shall consider any time mine that you appoint," 
 was the prompt answer. 
 
 "The sooner it is over the better," he mused. "I 
 will send Gerald away to-night on an errand, if you 
 will call at the house. Better make it nine o'clock or 
 about that." 
 
 " I will be there," she replied, and they separated. 
 
 Promptly at the time appointed she came, and 
 found him sitting alone on the veranda, awaiting her. 
 He had given Gerald a commission that would take 
 him away for an hour or two, and as he seldom had 
 visitors no one was likely to disturb them. 
 
 " I know you will believe, Miss Edith," he said, 
 coming directly to the point, " that there is no one 
 whom I would rather please than you. Nearly a 
 year ago I was about to arrange a piece of business 
 which I thought necessary, when, in obedience to 
 your request, I postponed it." 
 
 "You mean, I trust, that you abandoned it 
 altogether," she interrupted him to say. 
 
 " I post-poned it," he answered, deliberately, " for 
 a year. The time is nearly expired, and I want no 
 misunderstanding. I have wished many times that 
 I had not made you that promise, but having made 
 it, I kept it. Nothing could induce me to make it 
 again." 
 
 " May I not hope " she began. 
 
 He stopped her with a trace of impatience. 
 
 "That is all there is to that subject, if you please. 
 Now, will you tell me if you and Gerald are as good 
 friends as ever." 
 
 She struggled with herself a moment, for she felt
 
 138 THE GAR8TON BIGAMY. 
 
 that she was defeated, but she thought it best not to 
 cross him. She responded that she and Gerald were 
 on the same pleasant terms that they had always 
 been. 
 
 " But excuse me, you know why I ask it, is there 
 othing more nothing definite between you ?" 
 
 She shook her head, with deepening color. 
 
 " Oh, there is so much time for that ! Why, it 
 WJ1 be years and years before I shall want to think 
 of it." 
 
 " A*ut meanwhile you have no fears of losing 
 him ?" 
 
 She sm^l-ed now. 
 
 " Not trie teast." 
 
 " Nor that Aima Adams " 
 
 " She is and always will be our dearest friend. 
 Unless," she added, impressively, " you are so cruel 
 as to destroy that fn*r.dship." 
 
 He spoke with more earnestness than she had sup- 
 posed him capable of exhibiting. 
 
 " Edith, do you love my son *ery much ?" 
 
 She looked into his eyes, a Vetle startled at his 
 manner. 
 
 " Yes," she said, timidly. 
 
 " You would not like to have zmether take him 
 from you?" 
 
 " No." And from the heavenly blue of her eyes 
 there fell a raindrop on his hand. 
 
 "Then let me warn you not to let him be coo close 
 in this friendship with that handsome girl. He is 
 easily influenced. He has a soul as gentle as your 
 own, and the slightest thing may turn him. It is the 
 height of folly for you to imagine that they can be 
 thrown together at all seasons without something
 
 "DO votr LOVE MY SON?" 139 
 
 more than ordinary attraction. Draw him away from 
 her before you are too late !" 
 
 Edith listened to him with alarm, but not with any 
 fear that his words could come true. She trembled 
 at the thought that he should have formed such an 
 idea. 
 
 " Why, Gerald loves me," she answered in a whis- 
 per. " It is not necessary that he should say so in 
 words or that any promise should be made between 
 us. We have loved each other ever since we were 
 children. He has shown his affection for me in a 
 thousand ways. I know it I feel it ! Alma is our 
 dear friend, whom I could never suspect of unfaith- 
 fulness. She knows our love for each other, though 
 it has never been talked over, and why should it be ? 
 Ah, Mr. Garston, you do her wrong if you entertain 
 the slightest suspicion that she would separate Gerald 
 and me !" 
 
 She was so earnest that he wished he could agree 
 with her, but he was a practical man and he told her 
 that he was fully convinced to the contrary. 
 
 " If you think it unmaidenly to find from his own 
 lips just how he stands," said he, " I shall endeavor 
 to discover it for myself. I could never consent that 
 &. son of mine should link his life with a daughter of 
 Alvah Adams. You think, you say you are sure, that 
 he never would do so. I also must be certain. For 
 I assure you, loving Gerald as I do, and he is the only 
 thing on earth for whom I care much, I would never 
 allow him to speak to me again, never own him as a 
 relation, should he make a marriage of that kind." 
 
 He had spoken at an unusual length for him, and 
 she had the rest of the conversation principally to her- 
 self, most of his replies being in monosyllables. Say
 
 140 THE GARSTON BIGAMT. 
 
 what she might she could not move him from either 
 point on which he had decided. He would do as he 
 pleased about the mill-power and he would have a 
 talk with Gerald, advising him to have less to do 
 with Miss Adams ; in fact, to break off his friendship 
 with the entire Adams family. 
 
 "I won't have him going there !" he said, angrily. 
 * If he is stubborn, he must choose between us. And 
 if you are wise, Miss Edith, you will aid instead of 
 hindering me in that matter." 
 
 She felt the complete uselessness of arguing with 
 him, but she uttered a final protest, declaring that 
 she could not bear to think that a friendship as pure 
 and sweet as they three had enjoyed for nearly fifteen 
 years should be broken up for a mere whim ; and 
 that she should be compelled to do all in her power 
 to prevent Gerald and Alma from sacrificing their 
 old friendship for each other. 
 
 " You will advise my son to disobey my request, is 
 that it ?" he asked. 
 
 " You must remember," she said, " that he is nearly 
 twenty-three " 
 
 " But a boy still a boy who does not know his 
 mind who must be guided as other boys are. It is 
 useless to talk longer with me, Miss Edith. We see 
 things differently." 
 
 Garston rose with a motion which clearly meant 
 farewell, and Edith started to leave. 
 
 *' I will go part of the way with you," he said. 
 
 " No," she interrupted, pleasantly, " I am afraid of 
 nothing. All I ask of you is that you will think it 
 over. Good-night." 
 
 Every word of this conversation had been heard 
 by an unsuspected listener, none other than Gerald
 
 "DO YOU LOVE MY BOX?' 14rl 
 
 himself. He had started on the errand with which 
 his father had entrusted him, and becoming doubt- 
 ful of a portion of the message he was to deliver, 
 had returned by a rear path to ask that it be more 
 fully explained. While searching for his father 
 he had heard Edith's voice, and had paused from 
 sheer wonder that she should be there. The first 
 words that caught his ear were these : " Are you 
 and Gerald as good friends as ever ?" He could not 
 resist waiting one moment to hear her reply, and 
 after that he was in a quandary, for either to advance 
 or retreat might subject him to the suspicion of being 
 the eavesdropper that he was, and he did not wish to 
 appear contemptible to either of them. 
 
 He had heard it all, and when they separated he 
 pursued his journey, fain to let the message take care 
 of itself, as there was no feasible way of bettering it 
 now. As he walked along the road he heard over 
 again what had been said. He had known that his 
 father did not like Alvah Adams, but he had not sup- 
 posed the feud could grow to this proportion. So it 
 was to come to separating him from Alma, was it ? 
 It was true that he was nothing but a boy who did 
 not know his own mind, but he would not willingly 
 submit to dictation like this. Never before had he 
 been made to feel parental restraint, and the first 
 pull of the cord was not pleasant. Separate him 
 from Alma ! Forbid him to see her ! What non- 
 sense ! He could not and would not bear it. 
 
 Then he thought of the loveliness of Edith's con- 
 fession, made without fear or blush. She loved him, 
 and had owned it to the one who was by the ties of 
 nature nearest to him and had the best right to ask 
 her. It was very sweet to know that she cared s
 
 112 THE GARSTON BIGAMT. 
 
 dearly for him, this girl whom he had loved " ever 
 since," as she herself put it, "they were children !" 
 He had never loved her as much as he did at this 
 moment, nor felt more the impossibility of going 
 through life without her counsel and companionship. 
 How noble and generous she was in her references 
 to Alma! Many girls, he well knew, would have 
 sacrificed their friend rather than incur the slightest 
 risk of losing their lover. He was angry with him- 
 self that he was walking in an opposite direction, on 
 an errand of little importance, instead of back to the 
 village by her side, with her arm linked in his. If 
 he were there at this moment she should no longer 
 have to confess that he had never told her definitely 
 of the love he bore her and the hope that lay next 
 his heart. 
 
 And then there came a pain, a sudden twinge, in 
 that heart, so fickle and yet so true. For he knew 
 that however much he loved Edith, Alma was no 
 less dear to him ! 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 "THERE ARE TIGERS IN ASIA." 
 
 There was no corn on the Garston farm that year, 
 nor any of the numerous varieties of " small crops " 
 that ripen late. There was not even a garden 
 planted. Nothing but the winter wheat, that is 
 harvested in the latter part of June, had covered his 
 aeres, The neighbors speculated upon this fact and
 
 "THERE ARE TIGERS IN ASIA." 1*3 
 
 came to various conclusions. Some said, with an air 
 of wisdom, that John wanted his money all at once 
 in order to meet the payment of his interest, and 
 that was why he had raised the kind of grain that 
 matures earliest. Others guessed at the true reason 
 his desire to clear the fields so that he could tap the 
 brook as soon as possible and cut off the supply of 
 water that turned the wheels of Alvah Adams' mill. 
 
 Edith Staples had gone with her father and mother 
 on a month's visit to relations at a distance. She 
 had parted with regret from Gerald, even for this 
 brief time, and he had said many pleasant things to 
 her during the calls that he made after her journey 
 was decided upon. He meant to tell her before she 
 left that she held a place in his heart dearer than that 
 of a mere friend meant to tell her in set phrase 
 but when he approached the subject the words 
 failed to come. Once when he stammered something 
 of what was in his mind, she quite prevented his 
 going any farther by saying that she entirely under- 
 stood him ; that there was no need of his saying any- 
 thing more ; and that she had entire confidence and 
 faith in his truth and honor. 
 
 " Don't neglect Alma while I am gone," she said, 
 at the last, with a little tremor of the voice. " But 
 don't forget Edith, either." 
 
 He assured her that he could never forget her, 
 present or absent, and asked her to write often, 
 which she promised to do. 
 
 Gerald went from the station, where he and Alma 
 had been to see the party off, to the home of the 
 Adamses, somewhat depressed. But the brightness 
 of Alma's spirits soon had their effect upon his own, 
 and he was gayer than ever within an hour. After
 
 144 THK GJJRSTON BIGAMY. 
 
 the early tea, in which he participated with the 
 family, he and Alma strolled down to the grove 
 where the summw-house was located and took a 
 short ride on the little lake there. She was an expert 
 oarswoman and insisted that, as he was her guest, 
 she must do the rowing. Wishing only to make her 
 happy he consented with some reluctance to sit in 
 the stern and allow her to furnish the motive power 
 that impelled the small craft. As she bent forward 
 and put her strength into the work he noticed as he 
 never had before the magnificence of her physique. 
 She wore a dress with sleeves of open work, and the 
 pink flesh showed distinctly as the roundness of her 
 arms stood out in relief. The neck was cut low and 
 the beauty of the throat was apparent. She had 
 worn her long hair in two braids from a sudden 
 fancy, and the loose locks that played about her 
 forehead added piquancy to her expression. But it 
 was not her olive skin, her dark eyes, or her bewitch- 
 ing dress that made her irresistible to him on that 
 evening. It was the clear and shining star of love that 
 had set itself on her brow and beamed through all 
 obstacles into his very soul. 
 
 When they reached the center of the lake, she 
 ceased rowing. He begged to be permitted to take 
 the oars from her, but she was obdurate, saying that 
 she only intended to rest a few minutes there, where 
 all was so still, and then row back to the shore. The 
 night was cloudy and no one walking on the bank 
 could have espied them. He changed his seat to 
 the one by her side. They conversed in low whis- 
 pers, laughing at trifles in a suppressed way, and 
 neither was at ease. The oars had been placed in 
 position on the edge of the boat and nothing pre-
 
 "THERE ASS TIGBM iw AHA." 14ft 
 
 vented Gerald obeying a sudden impulse to take 
 Alma's hand in his. As he touched it all the blood 
 in his body seemed tugging at his brain. 
 
 " Let us not go in !" he said, in a whisper. " Let us 
 never go in again I" 
 
 She leaned toward him, as if intoxicated with his 
 words, and as she did so he put his arms about her. 
 As long as he had known her, this was the first time 
 he had ever done that or anything approaching it. 
 
 The boat drifted but little. There was no 
 appreciable current in the lake, which had an outlet 
 only through a little brook that ran sluggishly 
 toward the Mississippi, wandering five miles at least 
 to every one that a crow's flight would have taken 
 to reach its destination. Gerald felt the yielding 
 form lying close against him and the effect on his 
 unaccustomed senses was most powerful. 
 
 Alma raised her face to his. She had loved him 
 all her life and now must be the beginning of that 
 love's fruition. He felt her breath fanning his lips, 
 but he was afraid to touch that sweet mouth with his 
 own. 
 
 " A moment, my love !" he gasped. 
 
 Astonished, she drew herself a little away. 
 
 " Notnot too far," he articulated. ' In a minuU 
 I shall be myself." 
 
 She put her hand, cool and moist even though she 
 trembled with excitement, upon his head, and was 
 larmed to find the fever that raged there. 
 
 "You are not well !" she exclaimed. 
 
 " Oh, yes !" he answered. " Alma I think I never 
 was well till now." 
 
 She laid her cheek to his and for some time ther*
 
 146 THE AKSTON BIGAMY. 
 
 was no sound but the beating of their hearts, so 
 near together. 
 
 " I shall get used to it, after awhile," were his first 
 words, " but at present you affect me like a strong 
 galvanic battery. Just think, I am nearly twenty- 
 three and yours is the first girl's face that ever 
 touched mine." 
 
 " There was never any one else ?" she responded, 
 shyly. 
 
 "No," he answered. "And there never can be !" 
 
 With such interchanges of sentiment they passed 
 the next ten minutes, and then Alma roused herself. 
 
 "We must go back," she said. " It is dark, and 
 we ought to be on the way." 
 
 " How can you be so prosaic ! ' he exclaimed. " It- 
 is always light where you are." 
 
 Nevertheless he suffered her to take up the oars 
 and with noiseless motions she brought the boat to 
 its landing. He assisted her to tie it to the ring in 
 the platform, and then they took the path toward 
 home. As they passed the summer-house gate he 
 held back. 
 
 " It is still early," he said, in low tones. *' Let 
 us go in for a little while." 
 
 " But there is no one there," was her answer. 
 
 "Surely, that is not necessary." 
 
 The strong sense of her training came to her 
 rescue. 
 
 "No," she replied. "We will go to my house, 
 and sit in a corner of the veranda." 
 
 He wore a look of disappointment as he started to 
 comply. Seeing that he did not seem content she 
 asked the reason. 
 
 " You do not trust me," was his answer.
 
 "THERE ARE TIGERS IN ASIA." 147 
 
 " Because I would rather go home than into the 
 ummer-house ?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 M What has that to do with trusting you ?" she 
 msked, simply. 
 
 For an instant he felt like a cross between an idiot 
 and a villain. He knew that the half formed 
 thought of evil that had forced its way into his mind 
 had been exhibited in all its naked deformity. She 
 had repelled it, not with anger or an assumption of 
 superior virtue, but by a refusal to understand. He 
 feared that she never could forget this moment, and 
 he cursed the folly into which his mad humor had 
 led him. 
 
 " Don't make a serious thing of it, Alma," he said, 
 trying to force a laugh. " I was only trying you. 
 Of course I did not think that you would go in there, 
 at this time of the evening, and if you had consented, 
 I should have refused. Why, it would be preposter- 
 ous ! Not that there would be any real harm, but on 
 account of what it would give people a chance to say. 
 That affair in the boat has turned my head, I really 
 believe. Come, let us talk of something else." 
 
 Alma was quite willing to talk of other things, bat 
 he had not in the least undeceived her. She knew 
 that he had wanted her to stop at the summer-house, 
 and that all the gossip of Mrs. Grundy that might 
 have been in prospective would not have prevented 
 his going had she not objected. But what girl of 
 nineteen can find the sun of her first day's love sky 
 much obscured by such a small cloud as this? 
 Before they had reached her home they were talk- 
 ing brightly of other things. 
 
 Mr. Adams saw them coming, and went to tell his
 
 148 THE GARSTON BIGAMY. 
 
 wife that Alma had returned. He heard their steps 
 on the veranda and discreetly refrained from dis- 
 turbing them. As long as they were together he 
 was quite content. Never doubting that his daughter 
 was the dearest girl on earth to Gerald, he thought 
 it only right to give him every opportunity to be 
 alone with her. It is the American method, and 
 though Mrs. Adams, having had a different training, 
 sometimes uttered a mild protest, she always suc- 
 cumbed to what she considered her husband's 
 superior judgment. 
 
 She had supreme confidence in her daughter, of 
 course. Was there ever a mother who did not 
 believe that her daughter could be trusted under all 
 circumstances? Other women's girls might forget, 
 but hers, never ! And yet, since the world began to 
 revolve on its axis, some of them must have been 
 mistaken. 
 
 It was but little after nine o'clock when they came 
 upon the veranda, but it was much later when they 
 separated. They talked of everything, from the 
 condition of the weather to the journey of Edith 
 Staples. 
 
 " Do you know,'* said Alma, suddenly, " I was 
 almost inclined to be jealous of dear Edie a few 
 weeks ago ? Of course I couldn't really have been 
 so, but somehow you seemed just as attentive to 
 Her as you did to me and, well, it's all right now. 
 I love her dearly, and I wouldn't have anything 
 come between us for the world. She is so sweet, 
 but I don't believe she ever will marry. When I 
 get a home of my own I should be so happy if she 
 would come and live with me." 
 
 The face of Edith came back to him, the sweet,
 
 "THERE ABB TIGERS nr ASIA." H9 
 
 gf ntle, truthful face that had looked up to him when 
 her confidence in his honor had been vouched for. 
 But he was under the influence of a stronger nature, 
 and the twinge that it gave him was only momen- 
 tary. 
 
 " How did you choose me when you have always 
 had her near you ?" was the next thing that startled 
 him. '* I am sure she is much the better looking, 
 and I never can hope to compare with^ her in grace. 
 You are the only man who would have turned to 
 me with such a choice before him." 
 
 * No, I am not," he interrupted. " There is Cliff 
 Nelson." 
 
 She asked him what he meant by that, 
 
 "Why, Cliff has been crazy over you ever since the 
 first day I brought him here. He has taken it for 
 granted that Edith and I would make a match, and 
 that you would favor him when you put me out of 
 your mind." 
 
 " Nonsense ! He never showed it," she said, much 
 pleased, nevertheless. 
 
 **No, it is true. Cliff is too bashful for anything. 
 But he loves you, Alma. He will be all broken up 
 when he hears of this, and I suppose he must hear 
 some time." 
 
 Alma gave a start. 
 
 " Oh, no, he mustn't. That is, I mean, for ever so 
 long. You have three years yet before you ar 
 admitted to the bar, and a good while after that 
 before you can get into a practice. I don't want you to 
 tell any one, and I shall not, either. No," she added, 
 thoughtfully, "not even Edie, nor my father or
 
 150 THE GARSTON BIGAMY. 
 
 They were sitting close together and the influence 
 of her nearness affected him strongly. 
 
 "Do you think," he said, " that I am going to wait 
 years and years for you ? Why, it seems horrible 
 cruelty that I must watch the clock to-night even." 
 He pulled out his watch. " Look at those racing 
 hands ! It is a quarter past ten, and they are doing 
 their best to make it twenty minutes. It will be 
 eleven soon, and then twelve. And when my limit 
 is up, I must go and leave you !" 
 
 His arm was about the back of her chair, and she 
 shrank into its curves very prettily. 
 
 "The folks are ab^d long ago," said she, "and 
 there is no hurry. You can stay as long as you 
 wish." 
 
 "But still I shall have to go," he responded, with a 
 clouded face. " No matter how long I stay, I shall 
 have to go at last. That is what spoils everything." 
 
 She could not help feeling a little of what was in 
 his words. 
 
 "Perhaps," she said, slowly, " we shall not have to 
 wait many years. Perhaps you will get a law prac- 
 tice very soon after your admission that we can live 
 on, in a very quiet way, of course. It will not take 
 much, I think, for a year or two. My father will 
 give me all that I shall want at the start, and he 
 would lend you some money, if you needed it." 
 
 This grated severely on Gerald's sensitiveness. 
 
 " My own father would do that," he replied,quickly. 
 "But I cannot bring myself to think of any thing like 
 years in connection with waiting for you. Months 
 seem too long, even weeks." 
 
 He turned upon her with the force of sudden pas- 
 ion and pressed his lips to hers. For a moment she
 
 "THERE ABB TIGERS IN ASIA." 151 
 
 abandoned herself to the delirium, and then she 
 gently drew herself away from him. 
 
 " Hush 1" she whispered, soothingly. " We must 
 be very wise and sensible. There is nothing to do 
 but wait. In a few weeks you will be back at your 
 studies, and then, with so much to occupy your 
 mind, the time will pass more rapidly." 
 
 "And you," he said, "will be at the Seminary, 
 within a few miles of me, and I shall see you often, 
 as I have been doing. Do you think I can pore 
 over Coke and Chitty with your countenance ever 
 before me ? No. I shall think of you all day, visit 
 you every evening, and lie awake dreaming of you all 
 night." 
 
 This vivid statement of probabilities made Alma 
 laugh softly. 
 
 " I will go to some other school if it will help 
 you any," she said. " There are plenty that are 
 hundreds of miles away. What is there to keep you 
 from getting along as well as you have done during 
 the last year ?" 
 
 He laid his head on her shoulder. 
 
 " It will never be the same again," he answered. 
 
 * / shall never be the same. Nothing will be as it 
 used. I had not kissed you then. There are tigers 
 in Asia, I have read, that having tasted human flesh 
 will eat no other food. Alma, you have made a 
 tiger of me !" 
 
 She bent her head and touched her cheek to hi*, 
 " A terrible fate !" she exclaimed humorously. 
 
 To be eaten alive daily by a ravenous beast I" 
 
 Gerald tasted the lips again, and then sat upright. 
 * I cannot bear it 1" he cried. " There is but one
 
 198 THE GARSTON BIGAMY, 
 
 / 
 
 choice for as, Alma. Either we must be married 
 speedily, or I must not be alone with you !" 
 
 Her heart beat wildly, though her reason was in 
 arms against him. 
 
 a Do not speak like that, I beg you /* she said. " A 
 speedy marriage is out of the question. We are 
 both too young. We must wait. Fix your mind on 
 that fact, and be strong." 
 
 Gerald stood up and stretched his arms above his 
 head. 
 
 "Let me go now, at least," he said, in a whisper. 
 **I shall come to you to-morrow with more sense in 
 my head. To-night I have none absolutely none. 
 If I were to kiss you again, I should bite you. Yes, 
 I am in danger of becoming a tiger indeed." 
 
 She felt the tears rising to her eyes, but with a 
 powerful effort she repressed them. 
 
 " iif you must go, good-night," she said. " You 
 know best. Whatever you have said or may say, 
 whatever you have thought or may think, I love you. 
 No," she stepped backward, as he essayed to clasp 
 her waist, " I think it is not wise to-night. We have 
 been very happy I have, at least. Come in the 
 morning and I will sing for you." 
 
 He had his hat off and was brushing his hair back 
 with his hand. 
 
 " There is one way," he said, " which would make 
 everything right, if you loved me enough to do it. 
 We might have a secret marriage, and later, we could 
 have the public one, just the same, and nobody know 
 the difference. It has been done that way often, and 
 there is no possibility of harm." 
 
 Alma looked the least bit insulted as she heard
 
 "THESE ABB TIGERS IN ASIA." 153 
 
 " What for ?" she asked. " Are you afraid of losing 
 me ? Do you think I can ever change ?" 
 
 " No !" he cried. " But I want you now f* 
 
 She stood there a minute, revolving the proposi- 
 tion in her mind. From the bottom of her soul she 
 pitied him. 
 
 " It could not be," she said, slowly, at last. " It 
 would be wronging my parents, who have a right to 
 know every act of mine of such great importance as 
 that. It would be wronging myself, Gerald ; it 
 would be wronging you. This is a temporary ebul- 
 lition and will pass away. Let me be a help to your 
 life, not a hindrance. Go on with your studies and 
 when the right time comes and I assure you I am 
 as anxious for the day as you we will be united 
 before the world. I could not bear to carry a secret 
 from my father and mother, and whatever the cere- 
 mony by which we were joined, I should feel guilty." 
 
 Like oil on troubled waters were the words of the 
 maiden. The young man's brow cleared and he drew 
 Alma to his side with a tender movement. 
 
 " I am not good enough for you !" he said, his 
 voice choking. " But you shall hear nothing more 
 like this. Be as gentle with me as you can, and time 
 will make it all right with us." 
 
 The tears she had held back flew to her eyes as 
 she gazed after his form, which soon vanished among 
 the trees that bordered the winding avenue.
 
 154 THE GARSTON BIGAMY. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 ALMA'S CAMBRIC WRAPPER. 
 
 All Jefferson was awake to the fact that something 
 was going to happen. It was whispered about the 
 village that John Garston had at last been unable, by 
 any means that he could summon, to pay his inter- 
 est to the Iowa Investment Company, and that his 
 farm would be sold at public auction to the highest 
 bidder as soon as the necessary formalities could be 
 gone through with. The mysterious way in which 
 he had met the difficulties of former years were re- 
 hearsed among the townspeople, and some predicted 
 that the luck of finding some way out of the dilem- 
 ma would again be his. But the greater number 
 said his time had come. They said that a first mort- 
 gage with interest in arrears, a second mortgage of 
 unusual size, and a mortgage on every animal and 
 tool on his place could not be carried forever. The 
 price of wheat was low that year, and even if it had 
 been higher it would not have saved him, for in pur- 
 suance of a custom not uncommon in the West he 
 had pledged the entire crop as it grew to money- 
 lenders, in exchange for "accommodation." No, 
 said the people who knew these things, the Garston 
 farm must go. 
 
 Who would purchase it ? They were not long in 
 deciding that question. Who purchased everything 
 in the way of land that was offered in Jefferson? 
 Why, Alvah Adams, of course, the man whose purse 
 Itemed always fulL The Garston place joined his,
 
 ALMA'S CAMBKIC WRAPPER. 155 
 
 and besides, his possession of it would settle the 
 vexed subject of the mill-power. Once in his hands 
 no one could scare him again with threats to cut off 
 the water from his profitable grist-mill. 
 
 Garston said nothing to any one about his troubles. 
 The notice of intent to foreclose appeared in the 
 county paper. There was but a few weeks lacking 
 of the time when the auctioneer would stand with 
 his hammer on the steps of the house and offer it to 
 whoever chose to buy. This land that he had found 
 in the midst of a wilderness, and had broken to the 
 plow almost literally with his own hands ; this dwell- 
 ing that he had reared, in which his wife had died 
 and his son been born ; these stables and graneries 
 which had held his stock and wheat for more than 
 twenty years, all must be sacrificed to meet the de- 
 mands of creditors who had never even seen them. 
 That subtle thing called interest, which labors day 
 and night, in fair weather and foul, amid the snows 
 of winter and the scorching days of summer, whether 
 crops be large or small, whether the one who owes 
 it be sick or well, had done the business for him. 
 Long years ago he had admitted the monster to his 
 house and it had stubbornly refused to budge, 
 though fed with twice its bulk of bread and meat. 
 It had sapped his strength, his courage and his pow- 
 er to produce even the food which it demanded, and 
 now it purposed strangling him, that it might claim 
 all he had for its own. 
 
 Gerald did not see the notice in the newspaper. 
 He cared little for the county news, and had he read 
 the paper he would have been very unlikely to notice 
 such a thing as an advertisement of foreclosure. But 
 wfcen it had appeared twice, and he had not shown
 
 15$ THE GAKSTON BIGAMT. 
 
 in any way that he knew of it, Mr. Adams thought 
 it his duty to have a talk with him and advance a 
 proposition. 
 
 The shock to the young man when he was made 
 to understand the situation was very great. Until 
 that moment he had not known that his father wai 
 indebted to any man to the value of a penny. Mr. 
 Adams told him the whole truth, in the kindest and 
 most sympathetic manner. Gerald proposed various 
 ways of tiding over the difficulties which clustered 
 about his parent, but he was compelled to tear out 
 the supports from under them, one by one. The 
 first mortgage was equal to sixty per cent, of the 
 value of the property. The second covered very 
 nearly all the rest. Other incumbrances entangled 
 everything else that might have been availed of in 
 the emergency. 
 
 Til tell you the whole truth, painful as it is," 
 said Mr. Adams, " it is best that you should not be 
 deceived in any way." 
 
 "And my father, in the loving kindness of his 
 heart, has kept it all a secret," said Gerald, sadly. 
 " He has sent me to school with money that he could 
 not afford to pay for that purpose. He has labored 
 on alone, when I might have been of some use to him 
 and has borne his burden without telling me of its 
 existence. It will now be for me to do something 
 in return, if indeed I am fit for anything." 
 
 Mr. Adams bowed approvingly, saying that these 
 sentiments did honor to his young friend. 
 
 "There is something more that I must tell you," 
 he added. " For reasons which I cannot feel are 
 any fault of mine I have incurred the enmity of 
 your father."
 
 CAMBRIC STRAPPER. 157 
 
 " Nothing more than arose out of a controversy 
 upon the mill-stream question, I think," Gerald has- 
 tened to interrupt. 
 
 " It is much older and deeper than that," replied 
 Mr. Adams. " It is unnecessary to go into it, for I 
 might not be able to state the case as fairly as one 
 unprejudiced could do it. Whatever the reason, your 
 father hates me cordially. The suit you speak of 
 went against him and his friends, and he has since 
 threatened to cut the bank of the brook where it 
 borders on his land and shut off my power. The 
 result would be to deluge a large part of his own 
 territory, to his injury ; but I think he intends to 
 carry out the scheme. This would of course result 
 in a loss to me financially and in no gain to him. 
 What I want to say to you is this : In the event of 
 the sale of his place, which it seems now can hardly 
 be prevented, this state of affairs will compel me, 
 lor my own protection, to be a bidder." 
 
 The young man heard with wonder. It was all so 
 new to him that he could not comprehend it in all 
 its bearings. He only said, " Yes, sir," and waited 
 for Mr. Adams to proceed. 
 
 " I need not say," said the mill-owner, " that I 
 have the greatest regard for you. I have felt erer 
 since you were big enough to walk over here and 
 take Alma to school as if you were almost a son of 
 my own, and this unhappy disagreement has given 
 me particular uneasiness on your account. I have 
 feared that it would trouble my my daughter- 
 end make annoyance for both of you, which I natur- 
 ally wished to avoid if possible. You you under- 
 stand me?" 
 
 Yes/' said Gerald. I understand."
 
 158 THE GAESTON BIQAMT. 
 
 At the same time he wondered if he did 
 
 "I want to prevent any rupture that will trouble 
 you and Alma," proceeded the elder man. " I want 
 you to feel that you have a friend in me on whom 
 you can call -you can caJ as freely as if there 
 had never been any feeling against me on your 
 father's part. At the same time, as a business man, 
 I wish to protect my mill." 
 
 Gerald said "Certainly," like one in a dream. 
 
 "What I wish to propose," continued Mr. Adams, 
 "is this: I will attend the sale of the farm, and, if 
 possible, become its purchaser. After that I will 
 leave it in your hands to do what you please with, 
 and you can arrange with your father to remain and 
 cultivate the soil as he has always done, if he desires. 
 When you have finished your law studies, and be- 
 come successful, you can redeem the estate, only 
 ceding to me enough to make my ownership in the 
 brook beyond question. 
 
 Mr. Adams leaned back in his chair, for they were 
 sitting in his parlor, with the air of one who wanted 
 to know if anything could be fairer than that. 
 
 "I do not quite see," said Gerald, "how I am to 
 pursue my studies any longer. If my father is 
 penniless, I cannot ask him to labor for me while I 
 continue idle. It will be my place to relinquish my 
 career and do something in return for the sacrifices 
 he has made." 
 
 " A very natural thought," said Mr. Adams, " and 
 one that I am glad to hear you utter. But the best 
 service you can render your father is to continue 
 your studies and get into a position to earn a good 
 deal more than you could ever hope to do in ordi- 
 ary ways. Two or three years of successful law
 
 ALMA'S CAMBRIC WRAPPER. 15fc 
 
 practice and I could aid you a good deal in getting 
 established would bring more than three times as 
 much as if spent in ordinary avocations. In this 
 world it does not do to think of to-day alone. We 
 must keep an eye on the future. If your father 
 should not feel able to furnish you the means to 
 continue your studies, though with the plan I 
 have outlined he ought to have no trouble in so 
 doing, I shall be only too glad to lend you the 
 necessary amount lend you, on your personal note 
 and let you return it at your leisure, when you 
 feel able, in later years." 
 
 Gerald thanked him and said that he would con- 
 sider the matter. He wanted time to think. The 
 truth was, he found the whole recital very disagree- 
 able. It is not pleasant to learn that one's father is 
 bankrupt and that one may have to depend on the 
 bounty of others for the comforts of life, and it is 
 difficult to be thankful in the proper degree to the 
 person who brings us the tidings, no matter how 
 generous or considerate he may appear. Gerald 
 went to find Alma, and after a short talk with her, 
 excused himself on account of work in his study 
 which he felt obliged to do. He walked back to his 
 father's thinking what a dreary world this was, after 
 all. As he turned into the familiar gate, which was 
 to belong to his family but a few days longer, he 
 could have wept outright with vexation. 
 
 John Garston saw that something unusual had 
 happened, as soon as his eyes rested on the clouded 
 face of his son, and suspected that the inevitable 
 knowledge had come to him that knowledge that 
 he had tried more than once to impart and had 
 never found himself quite able to do so.
 
 100 THE OABSTON BWAMT. 
 
 "What's the matter, Gerald ?" he asked, with un- 
 usual solicitude in his tone. " You do not look happy. ' 
 
 Gerald tried to say something, but for a minute 
 he could not articulate a single word. Then he 
 broke out, passionately : 
 
 "Oh, father, why have you kept it from me so 
 long?" 
 
 " Why should I have told you ? Would it have 
 made you any happier?" was the answer. " I want- 
 ed you to get your profession first. There is no 
 money for an honest man in farming. It takes a 
 schemer to amass a fortune out of land such a man 
 as Alvah Adams ! " he added, with flashing eyes. 
 "A lawyer is all right any where. I hoped you would 
 be ready to get your own living before the crash 
 came, but I guess it's on us now." 
 
 He spoke with a quiet resignation that surprised 
 the young man, and made him hope that he would 
 avail himself of the olive branch which he could 
 offer. 
 
 *' What has made you so bitter against Mr. 
 Adams ?" he asked. " He would help us, I am sure, 
 in an emergency like this." 
 
 " Would he?" The resigned air was gone, and 
 an expression of intense hatred took its place. " I 
 hope he'll wait till somebody asks him. I've no 
 doubt he'd like to help me, and so get some hold on 
 you. Gerald," he spoke now with earnestness, "I 
 trust there has been nothing serious between you 
 and Alma ! I would rather see you in your grave 
 than to have you join your blood to his !" 
 
 The young" man oaled before the question, put in 
 the way it was. 
 
 " There is nothing there must be nothing 1 *
 
 ALMA'S CAMBRIC WRAPPER. 161 
 
 ued the aroused father. " Edith Staples Jbves you 
 and you have given her cause to think that your 
 mind is fixed on her. She is worth a thousand 
 Adamses. Her father has always treated me like a 
 gentleman. It would make me happy to see her 
 your wife. But if you should so far forget my 
 wishes as to marry the other one " 
 
 He paused, overcome by the violence of his emo- 
 tions, and then added 
 
 " We should have to be strangers, my boy, from 
 that day." 
 
 There was nothing in the nature of Gerald to 
 withstand an onslaught like this. His love for his 
 father had always been strong, and this morning it 
 had been newly aroused by the light thrown upon 
 the kindness of that parent in bearing his griefs 
 alone, that he might have a calm, untroubled ride 
 on the sea of life. He forgot the words he had so 
 recently exchanged with Alma, forgot for the mo- 
 ment everything but the debt he owed to this, the 
 only relation whom he knew. 
 
 " Nothing shall come between us, father," he said, 
 firmly. 
 
 John Garston caught his son to his breast as 
 though he were only a child. 
 
 " I knew it !" he cried. " I knew I could rely 
 upon you ! You have some of my spirit in you, 
 after all ! And you will not marry against my 
 will ?" 
 
 Gerald's heart grew cold in his bosom, but he 
 answered 
 
 "No." 
 
 "You must leave it to me to arrange in my own 
 way," he added, presently. " I must have lull lib-
 
 163 THE GAJJSTON BXOAMY. 
 
 erty to sec Alma, and part from her as pleasantly as 
 I can. We have been intimate from babyhood, and 
 it will take a little time. Yes it will take a little 
 time." 
 
 Gerald began the task assigned him that very 
 afternoon, by going to make Alma a call. She 
 noted his extreme paleness, but when she com- 
 mented upon it, he said he had a headache. Noth- 
 ing would content her but that he must lie on a 
 sofa in the sitting-room, and let her bind up his 
 head in camphor water. Though he protested at 
 first he found it not unpleasant when she sat by his 
 side and held one of his hands in hers, while with 
 her other hand she smoothed back the hair from his 
 temples, which were really throbbing now. 
 
 Alma was dad that afternoon in a light cambric 
 wrapper, which in its simplicity became her figuro 
 well. Her dark eyes grew luminous from sheer ten- 
 derness, as they shone upon him, and he wondered 
 how he could ever bring himself to say to her what 
 he had promised to do. After a while he changed 
 his head from the pillow to her lap, saying that the 
 former position made the ache worse, and the longer 
 he lay there the harder it seemed to him to take the 
 step he had contemplated. 
 
 "I cannot lie here," he said, finally. "All the 
 blood in me seems to rush to my head. Let me try 
 sitting up a little while ; and won't you give me a 
 brush, so that I can make my hair look like that of 
 a Christian." 
 
 She brought the brush, but insisted on arranging 
 the hair herself, and as she bent over It, he felt her 
 warm and fragrant breath on his cheek. 
 
 " You can do it better this way," he said, drawing
 
 ALJLA/i CAMBRIC WRAPPER. 16S 
 
 her upon his knee. She made no objection to the 
 new position, but went on with her work, stretching 
 her neck to see where the parting ought to be. This 
 brought her fair throat within easy distance of his 
 lips. 
 
 ** If you do that, I can't finish your hair," she said, 
 drawing her dimpled chin down over the place he 
 had caressed. 
 
 " The hair is a secondary matter," he answered. 
 " I would have gone away looking like a Comanche 
 chief, rather than have missed that opportunity." 
 
 She called him a silly fellow, but she did not act 
 as if she thought so, and after finishing the parting 
 she continued to sit there on his knee, putting one 
 hand on his shoulder as a balance. 
 
 " That's a pretty dress you have on," he commen- 
 ted. 
 
 " Is it ? The cost was twelve cents a yard. You 
 see it is not expensive to clothe girls," she responded, 
 demurely. 
 
 "Oh, but they wear so many other things ! " 
 
 " Yes, they do wear some" She hesitated, laugh- 
 ing and blushing. " But the entire outfit can be had 
 for very little money. Mamma has always claimed 
 that extravagance in clothing is almost a sin, and 
 she has brought me up with fixed ideas on the mat- 
 ter of economy." 
 
 "Your husband will owe her thanks," he said, 
 blandly. 
 
 In spite of all he had promised his father, and al- 
 though he fully meant in some way to carry out that 
 promise, he could not bear to give up thinking just 
 a little longer of this beautiful creature as a possible 
 Mrs. Garston. It was delicious merely to hold hw
 
 104 n 
 
 on his knee, and to see the Joving glances that shot 
 at him every time she raised those wonderful eyes to 
 his face. He tried, even with Alma there in his lap, 
 to think of Edith, but he felt there was no compar- 
 ison from a physical point of view. 
 
 And yet it was Edith and not Alma that he must 
 have. Had not his father decreed it, and had he not, 
 in a moment of weakness, accepted the decree ? 
 
 Alma sat on his knee for a quarter of an hour, 
 and then remarking that she weighed a hundred and 
 twenty pounds and knew he must be getting tired, 
 though he was too courteous to tell her so, rose and 
 took a seat on the sofa opposite to him. 
 
 They talked of nothings for some time after that, 
 acting much as lovers usually do. 
 
 " Do you really weigh a hundred and twenty ? " he 
 asked, suddenly. 
 
 " Precisely. I was weighed yesterday in the vil- 
 lage." 
 
 "You have a very small foot for that weight." 
 
 She tried to hide the small foot under her gown, 
 saying it was impertinent for him to notice it, and 
 that it was not remarkably small, anyway. 
 
 " If you like small feet, you should pin your faith 
 on Edith, " she said. " She wears a whole size small- 
 er shoe than I." 
 
 He said he did not think feet that were out of pro- 
 portion made their owner any more beautiful. To 
 this she answered that as Edith weighed only a hun- 
 dred and ten, and was taller than she by several 
 inches, her tiny feet were a great addition to her 
 good looks. 
 
 u It's only because you like me the best," she said, 
 as a summing up. " I feel the same about you. I
 
 ALMA'S CAMBBIO WRAPPER. 165 
 
 would give more for your smallest finger than for 
 the entire body of any other person." 
 
 He laughed, for she had put him into such good 
 humor that the headache had taken wings and flown 
 away. He might not be able to marry this girl, but 
 it was very agreeable indeed to know that she cared 
 for him. He wondered if she would take it much to 
 heart when he had to tell her that the separation was 
 inevitable. She did not seem as if she would cry 
 herself into a consumption. She would understand 
 his position and not blame him for what he could 
 not help. It would be as hard for him as for her, 
 too, and she ought to feel that. 
 
 When should he tell her ? Not yet, at least. Not 
 before Edith came home. He pictured to himself a 
 week without either of them, and it looked like a 
 very dismal prospect. 
 
 Alma saw that he had become thoughtful and she 
 tried to rally him, with only partial success. 
 
 "If any one should try to separate us," he said as 
 they were standing at the door, "what would you 
 do?" 
 
 " Keep my word," was her calm answer. 
 
 "Supposing your parents objected. Supposing 
 they said to you that they would never consent ?" 
 
 Knowing that her father and mother fully 
 approved of her choice, this did not give the girl any 
 uneasiness, and her reply was prompt. 
 
 " I should feel that the matter was one the only 
 one perhaps in the world in which I was justified 
 in disregarding their wishes." 
 
 " But,' he persisted, " if they told you that such a 
 marriage would forever cut you off from them that
 
 166 THE GARSTON BIGAMT. 
 
 they would never afterward recognize you as their 
 child ? " 
 
 She put her round arms about his neck in all her 
 innocent truth and love. 
 
 " I should take you against them all, Gerald, for I 
 should feel that they were abusing the claim of 
 relationship when they tried to make my life 
 unhappy." 
 
 He stooped and kissed her, wondering what there 
 was in him to make so beautiful a being show this 
 devotion. 
 
 Then he went to his home, with his problem 
 farther than ever from solution. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 CUTTING THE MILL-BANK. 
 
 Edith wrote to Gerald twice each week, and he 
 answered her as often. He had been trying to 
 accustom himself to thinking of her as an inevitable 
 partner for life, and the letters constituted a sort of 
 practice in ante-matrimonial confidences. With the 
 contrariness which seems a part of some natures he 
 had begun to like Edith less from the moment when 
 his father had selected her as the girl who must be 
 his wife. He still liked her a great deal, but the 
 parental direction to take her detracted from that 
 fondness which formerly made it impossible to tell 
 any difference between her and Alma. 
 
 There was a difference now, and it was all in f?.vor 
 of the magnetic creature who held his senses in thrall 
 whenever he was in her presence, whose face and
 
 CUTTING THE MILL-BANK. 167 
 
 voice and the touch of whose hand followed him 
 even to his dreams. But he wrote to Edith such 
 letters as he used to write when he first went to 
 school, joined to a few more tender things which he 
 thought the coming conditions warranted. Her 
 letters to him were sweet and tender, without any- 
 thing like passion merely the missives of a pure 
 girl to the one she loves and trusts and in whom she 
 has never thought of having the least doubt. 
 
 Little more was said by Gerald and his father to 
 each other about the impending sale of their home. 
 The violent opposition of Mr. Garston to the 
 Adamses shut out all hopes of rescue that his son 
 had formed in that quarter, and there was no other 
 part of the horizon in which they could discern a ray 
 of light. As far as either of them could see, an even- 
 ing was coming very soon when they would have to 
 find another shelter. Gerald had been so unaccus- 
 tomed to thinking for himself in money matters that 
 he relied upon his father to point out his path when 
 the crash should come. Mr. Garston, foreseeing 
 that all he could raise would not suffice to satisfy 
 the charges due on his property, had provided as 
 well for the immediate future as he could by keep- 
 ing all he received, and thus there was a few 
 hundred dollars ready for immediate necessities. 
 They would have time "to look about" and decide 
 what it was best to try to do. 
 
 Gerald passed his time as he had hitherto done, 
 visiting Alma, writing to Edith and lying at full 
 length in the hammock under the trees in the 
 orchard. There seemed little use in studying law 
 books when it was so unlikely that he should ever 
 gt back into the office of Thurston & Thurston.
 
 1(58 THE GARSTOIT BIGAMY. 
 
 Things went on in this way till just a week before 
 the auction was announced, when a rumor flew 
 through the town that Garston had begun to carry 
 out his threat of tearing down the bank of the 
 brook, as it passed his land on the way to the 
 reservoir. 
 
 Gerald and Alma had gone on a stroll through 
 the woods on the morning when this news startled 
 the inhabitants of Jefferson. Nearly everybody else 
 in the town heard of it and the road leading to the 
 vicinity was thronged with eager sight-seers within 
 the next hour. Some of the people who came sym- 
 pathized with Adams, some with Garston, some were 
 free in their expressions that both of them were 
 fools, and the great majority cared for nothing what- 
 ever but to see " the fun." It was not a very large 
 job that had to be done to turn the waters of the 
 stream upon Garston's land and let it flow past the 
 artificial reservoir into its natural course. Six good 
 diggers with picks and shovels, who could tear away 
 the bank and use the materials to dam the current 
 on one side could do the work in two or three hours. 
 Garston had this number at work, eagerly assisting 
 them with his own hands, directing the labor at 
 the same time in a low voice, and seeming not to 
 notice the crowd that came to stand and comment. 
 It was the most exciting episode that Jefferson had 
 ever had in its entire history, corresponding to a 
 great railway strike or mill-lockout in a larger 
 centre. 
 
 " He's doing it this time, Alvah," said an old man, 
 who came up to the grist-mill. "You ought to see 
 the dirt fly 1 By twelve o'clock he will have all the
 
 THE HILL-BANS. I6t 
 
 water In the brook run off, and your mill will stand 
 as still as a post." 
 
 " Do you think so, Hewlett ?" was the quiet re- 
 sponse. 
 
 " Think so !" retorted the old man. " Yes, and so 
 would you if you had been over there. I'm sorry, 
 on my word, for the mill is really a blessing to the 
 neighborhood, as I've said all along. Perhaps after 
 the farm is sold you can make arrangements with 
 whoever buys it to fill up the bank again, but it will 
 take a good deal of time. One man can tear it down 
 faster than twenty could build it up. This is a bad 
 time of year for you to be idle, with all the new wheat 
 ready to grind. I heard, too, that you were going to 
 put in another set of machinery, and I intended to 
 bring over a load of grain to-morrow myself." 
 
 Mr. Adams heard the garrulous old man with 
 patience. When he had finished, he said to him : 
 
 " Hewlett, do I usually boast a great deal ?" 
 
 "Why, no, sir, I can't say that you do." 
 
 " Well, then, listen a moment. Do you see that 
 machinery revolving there ?" 
 
 The old man gazed wonderingly in the direction 
 indicated. 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 " Come over at twelve o'clock," said Adams, his 
 voice rising gradually. " Come at one, come at 
 two, come at six to-night ; come to-morrow, come 
 the next day, and you'll find it working just as you 
 see it now. Bring on your grain. /'// grind it. 
 Tell your neighbors to bring theirs. /'// not keep 
 them waiting. 'There's going to be more grain 
 ground in this mill in the next two months than 
 has ever been in three I"
 
 170 THE GARSTON BIGAMT. 
 
 Adams turned and went into the mill, and Hew- 
 lett walked slowly away. 
 
 " The excitement of this thing has turned Alvah's 
 head," he muttered, as he went along. But the 
 strangeness of what he had heard impressed him so 
 strongly that he walked back to where the digging 
 was going on and repeated the prediction to the 
 assembled multitude. 
 
 Garston, who was working like a beaver, heard it, 
 and thought he understood. Alvah had probably 
 sent to the judge of the court, holding a special ses- 
 sion some miles away, to get an injunction issued 
 against him. He whispered to his men, promising 
 them double pay if they would work harder, and 
 taking up his pickaxe he struck into the weakest 
 place in the banking until the sweat rolled from him 
 like rain. 
 
 The excitement in the crowd grew to fever heat, 
 as the story that Hewlett brought circulated and 
 the surmises of this one and that were added to the 
 stock of gossip. It was eleven o'clock when, with a 
 quick blow, Garston tore away the clods that held 
 the surging stream and a second later the released 
 waters, breaking from their confinement like an ava- 
 lanche, poured down upon the lowlands. 
 
 The crowd stood on the higher ground, on the 
 Adams side of the stream, and they saw that the 
 work would have its intended effect in a very short 
 time. Almost no water flowed into the reservoir 
 after that and the amount necessary to turn the 
 large wheel was growing smaller every moment. 
 
 Garston leaned on his pickaxe and wiped the per- 
 spiration from his face. He felt that the time of 
 hie vitry was at hand. He could see the revolving
 
 etmrrra THE MILL-BANK. 1T1 
 
 mill-wheel from where he stood, and could guage 
 with tolerable accuracy the fall of the water in the 
 reservoir. 
 
 In half an hour the wheel began to show signs of 
 weariness. It turned slower slower yet and then 
 stopped. 
 
 The partisans of Garston, which included the vil- 
 lagers who were envious of his rival's prosperity 
 not a small portion of the crowd which had gathered 
 set up a wild shout of glee at this sight, and their 
 chief smiled, with the triumph he could not conceal 
 depicted in his grimy countenance. But the victors 
 had only a moment in which to enjoy their success. 
 One of the party, who was nearer to the mill than 
 the rest, leaned over and placed one hand to his ear, 
 in an attitude of intense attention. Others, who 
 had thought they detected something strange in the 
 air, stopped and listened also. 
 
 There was a whirring, buzzing sound coming from 
 the mill, as if the machinery were still in full opera- 
 tion. A puzzled look overspread the faces of the 
 crowd, and as one man they ran toward the edifice 
 from which the sound proceeded. 
 
 Garston did not follow them. He knew what had 
 happened. His intuition, joined to his apprehen- 
 sion told him what it was that made the whirring 
 noise. 
 
 The mill had never stopped running ! 
 
 Some other power, previously arranged for, had 
 taken the place of the water-wheel ! ! 
 
 What was it ? Steam, of course. The heavy load 
 that had been drawn to the mill in the night, and 
 which he had supposed to be another set of machin- 
 ery for grinding, had been an engine powerful
 
 171 W AMTOff BIOAMT. 
 
 enough to do the work he had been at such pains to 
 stop! 
 
 There Is something in arrested triumph at the 
 moment of apparent victory that may affect stronger 
 minds than that of this Iowa farmer. He went into 
 his house, overcome by the occurrence, and hid him- 
 self from everyone. He had pictured the rage of 
 Adams and the laugh of the multitude at his dis- 
 comfiture. Now the laugh would be heard, to be 
 sure, but it was against himself that it would be 
 turned. 
 
 He had been outwitted by the simplest of 
 methods. Adams had chosen the most cutting way 
 to show the superiority of his mental calibre and the 
 endlessness of his purse. Garston felt that he had 
 been an idiot to think that he could combat such a 
 man, even temporarily. 
 
 Only one thing was needed to make his humilia- 
 tion complete. Adams would come to the auction 
 and buy the roof from over his head. A week from 
 to-day there would be no lower depth of disgrace into 
 which he could sink. 
 
 Gerald and Alma strolled back from their walk 
 in the woods just before one o'clock. They had 
 passed a morning together that had been to Alma 
 as beautiful and clear as the August sky above their 
 heads, and Gerald, notwithstanding the troubles 
 that encircled him, had enjoyed it to the utmost. 
 She had braided his straw hat with twining leaves, 
 interspersed with red berries, and he had gathered 
 a great bunch of wild flowers and pinned it to her 
 corsage. She had sat under a tree and held his 
 head in her lap, and he had stolen kisses from ever/
 
 ITS 
 
 part of her rosy cheeks, cherry lips and rounded 
 throat. The wild passion that had affected him in 
 his first close intimacy with her gave way on this 
 occasion to a contented calm, and there was nothing 
 for which she had to reprove him, even by the mild 
 method of a look. He was to take lunch with her, 
 at her home, but, as she said, when they heard the 
 distant town clock striking the hour of noon, 
 lunch was a meal that one could take at any time. 
 So they had waited nearly an hour more and then 
 strolled back, under the trees, discarding the beaten 
 paths, their arms in schoolgirl fashion about each 
 other's waists. 
 
 Emerging into the travelled roadway they met 
 some young people who told them what had 
 happened. 
 
 "Welt, your father cut the mill-bank at last, this 
 morning," said one to Gerald, " and the big wheel 
 is still." 
 
 Gerald grew pale, while Alma's face flushed with 
 indignation. 
 
 " But your father," went on the gossip to Alma, 
 " was prepared in a quite unexpected way. It seems 
 that he had a steam engine ready. The belting had 
 only to be shifted from one pulley to the other. 
 The mill never stopped a second, not even for the 
 usual noon hour." 
 
 The newsvenders passed on. When he was sure 
 that they were out of hearing Gerald stopped in the 
 middle of the street. 
 
 " Alma, my dear girl, this is going to make trouble 
 for us," he said. 
 
 She answered with a nod, for she was afraid t 
 fnst her voice.
 
 THE GABSTON BIOA1CT. 
 
 "Whatever be the cause, my father is incensed 
 against yours to a fearful extent. He has had bad 
 luck in everything, as perhaps you know. I was not 
 told of it till very lately. His disappointments have 
 warped his mind, I am afraid, and this affair will 
 not make him any milder in his feelings toward your 
 people. I must try and tell you everything, now 
 that I have begun. He has asked really com- 
 manded me to have nothing more to do with you.** 
 
 He paused and found her regarding him with a 
 face that seemed made of stone. 
 
 " Well," she said, " why have you not obeyed 
 him ?" 
 
 " Because I cannot. Because you have been dear 
 to me too long to make it possible. But something 
 must be done to tide over this temporary difficulty. 
 He is absolutely without reason in the matter. If 
 you will help me, we can arrange it all right. Until 
 there is some improvement in his feelings we must 
 not be seen publicly together." 
 
 She sighed deeply. 
 
 " If you love me, Gerald, I will do anything that 
 is reasonable. But tell me first, do you think your 
 father justified in trying to injure mine in the wan- 
 ton way [he attempted this morning, and do you 
 think my father wrong in taking methods to protect 
 himself?" 
 
 He hesitated a moment before he answered her. 
 
 " Let us not try to settle that question," he said, 
 finally. " You love your father ; I love mine. It is 
 not for us to criticise their acts. And remember 
 this, also : My father, a week from to-night, will 
 not have a house to call his own, while yours is a 
 prosperous man with large possessions. I cannot
 
 CUTTING THE MILL-BAN^. 175 
 
 see yet what the end will be. I shall have to give 
 up the law, for one thing, and seek for work in some 
 common business." 
 
 "Oh, no, you must not do that!" she cried, in 
 protest. " You must take money enough not from 
 my father, but from me to finish your term and 
 place yourself in the position to which you have 
 aspired. It is nothing that you should be ashamed 
 of. Your success is as dear to me as to you. I am 
 an only child and my father will do anything I 
 ask." 
 
 Gerald's pride was hurt again. It was ridiculous 
 that a mere girl should have it in her power to offer 
 him the means to live upon ! Something was the 
 matter with a world in which there could be such a 
 reversed state of things. 
 
 "We must pass the first bridge in this emer- 
 gency," he answered, " before we try those which 
 follow. In the meantime, if I am obliged to keep 
 away from your house, or to ask you to meet me 
 secretly, you will not blame me, now that you know 
 the truth. There is a flat stone on the wall near the 
 entrance to your driveway, that is moveable. I will 
 put a letter there when I am able to meet you, and 
 will look for your replies in the same place. And 
 now we must part here, as my father will wonder 
 what is keeping me away." 
 
 Sadly the young girl took the bunch of wild- 
 flowers from her waist and dropped them over a 
 hedge by the roadside. She took the hat from his 
 head and removed the wreath also. 
 
 "They would attract attention," she explained. 
 " Oh, Gerald, how long must we act as if we were 
 doing something disreputable ?"
 
 176 1KB OAJMTOV BIGAMY. 
 
 " Not long," he answered, cheerfully. " But for 
 the present you will readily admit that we have a 
 divided duty." 
 
 No one was in sight, and they were standing 
 where a little clump of trees shielded them from 
 sudden surprise. Gerald took the woeful face be- 
 tween his hands and brought the lips into contact 
 with his own. 
 
 i "Are you sure you love me?" she whispered. 
 " If there is ever to be any doubt of it, I had rather 
 know it now." 
 
 He drew her close to his breast and kissed her 
 again and again. 
 
 *' If you had consented to my proposal for a secret 
 marriage, you would not find such ideas creeping 
 into your head," he replied. 
 
 "How would that have made any difference?" 
 she asked, innocently. " A ceremony of marriage 
 would only hold where the heart went with the 
 words. If you truly love me nothing else is neces- 
 sary." 
 
 " Does it seem so to you ?" said he. " That shows 
 the way a woman reasons. If it would please me 
 very much if I was sure that it would be the wisest 
 and best thing are you certain that you could 
 never consent ? I see before me a very bleak pros- 
 pect. I am to be turned out of the house where I 
 was born, perhaps compelled to labor in the fields 
 like a common workman. There is nothing in my 
 whole horizon that contains a ray of light but you. 
 If you were truly my own if you would become 
 my wife, from whom nothing could part me I 
 would even consent to take the money you have 
 offered, for there would then be no disgrace in it."
 
 in 
 
 As he spoke he drew her to him tighter yet> until 
 she could feel something of the torrent that surged 
 through his veins. 
 
 " Alma, I am no angel, and only your love strong, 
 real, true can keep me right. Why should you in- 
 sist on a technical point when so much is at stake?" 
 
 He had almost hypnotized her with his eyes, his 
 lips and his embrace, but the womanly sense that 
 was in her still held out. 
 
 " It is a thing to think of a good while," she an- 
 swered. " I cannot bear to deceive my parents, who 
 have never refused me anything since I can remem- 
 ber. If it becomes imperative that we should be 
 married without waiting for you to finish your 
 studies, I had rather go directly to them and state 
 the case. Their only aim would be to make me 
 happy. I am almost sure that they would not ob- 
 ject when they understood everything." 
 
 This was not at all what he wanted. It would 
 precipitate a collision with his father and with 
 Edith. He wanted a private union, which could be 
 kept from the knowledge of the world for a long 
 time. This would enable him to dispose of the ob- 
 stacles in his way at his leisure. Gerald did not 
 want a prosaic marriage now, with a wealthy father- 
 in-law doling him out the cash he needed, as though 
 he were ten years of age. He thought there would 
 be something charming, too, in a secret union with 
 such a girl as Alma. 
 
 But the town clock had struck one, and he had to 
 tear himself away for the present, at least. He told 
 her that they would both have to think of this mat- 
 ter at their leisure, when their minds were calm. 
 She was pleased with this tone, and they parted
 
 ITS THE GABSTON BKJAMV. 
 
 with less feeling on her part than she would other* 
 wise have had, that she must maintain a sort of an- 
 tagonism against him, for her own preservation. 
 
 " I will leave you a note later in the day," he said, 
 as she left him. " Don't fail to keep an appoint- 
 ment, if I am able to make one." 
 
 Alma did little that afternoon but watch the wall 
 that bounded the estate on the street side, which 
 she could see plainly from her music-room window. 
 It was nearly six when Gerald passed, and paused, 
 apparently to break off a flower from a vine that 
 clung to the rock. When he was out of sight she 
 tripped nervously to the place and lifted the flat 
 stone. But her heart beat faster than ever and her 
 cheek grew crimson when she read the note : 
 
 " MY DARLING : Meet me at the summer-house in 
 the wood, at eight o'clock. Bring the key. Do not 
 hesitate. Everything depends on your presence 
 there. G." 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 **IT IS EDITH, OF COURSE." 
 
 John Garston had not been the most agreeable 
 man in Jefferson for a number of years. He had 
 been noted for his short answers, his disinclination 
 to take part in any gathering, his way of driving or 
 walking along the road as though he saw no one 
 Hud wanted no one to see him. But from the day
 
 "IT IS EDITH, OP COURSE.* 17W 
 
 when the steam engine began its work his manners 
 were even mor^ surly than before. He acted as if 
 every man whom he met were his personal enemy, 
 never replying to the " good-morning" with which 
 old acquaintances greeted him, and transacting what 
 little business he had to do in an ill-natured 
 pantomine. In this way he lost what sympathy he 
 had had among the villagers and became most 
 cordially detested before the time for the auction 
 arrived. 
 
 Little by little he learned, from bits of conversa- 
 tion that he overheard, how deeply Alvah had laid 
 his plans after he found that his enemy had deter- 
 mined to tap the brook. He had brought to his 
 mill not only a powerful engine, but enough 
 machinery to double its grinding capacity. As the 
 only fuel of the vicinity was wood, and as this was 
 not over plenty, he had bought quietly, through an 
 agent, all the available stock in town, and had made 
 a contract for a large amount to be delivered in the 
 future as wanted. It was much cheaper to run his 
 mill with water, of course, than with steam, but the 
 engine would not prove altogether a loss. There 
 were several months in the year when the old power 
 had been insufficient, and with the increased 
 machinery this time would be increased. And 
 another element in the scheme of the mill-owner 
 was developed the first time a new customer came 
 with a load of wheat for grinding. 
 
 " I shall take out an additional quart for my toil 
 after this," said Adams to him, handing him a rate- 
 card as he spoke. " I have ground at a lower tariff 
 than I ought, having the water-power to rely on, but 
 the price will be increased hereafter. Machinery is
 
 160 THE GARSTON BIGAM*. 
 
 dear, and wood is costly, and I do not see why I 
 
 should bear the loss when the cost of grinding has 
 been enhanced through no fault of mine." 
 
 The man, one of those who shouted when he saw 
 the bank of the brook demolished, looked anything 
 but pleased. 
 
 " I suppose there's no law compelling us to come 
 here," he growled. 
 
 " No. And I should not grind any more for 
 the public except for accommodation. It nets me a 
 little more to buy wheat and grind altogether for my- 
 self." 
 
 This was not long in being spread broadcast. 
 Some who heard it were indignant at Adams, 
 declaring that he was a bloated monopolist, bent on 
 the destruction of his poorer neighbors. But the 
 majority traced the trouble directly to the act of 
 John Garston and heaped their maledictions on him 
 as the cause of this injury to the farming industry 
 of Jefferson County. 
 
 " You know what wheat was worth when Alvah 
 started that mill," said one of them, in a knot that 
 gathered in the evening at the post-office, " and how 
 it went up as soon as he began to grind. We were 
 wholly at the mercy of the buyers, until this mill 
 gave us a double market. You may talk of 
 monopoly till you are tired, but I tell you if there was 
 ever a man of public spirit it is that Alvah Adams. 
 He has taken the smallest tolls of any miller in the 
 State, when he might have had twice as much if 
 there had been anything mean about him !" 
 
 " What do you say to this increase, that's the 
 question ?" put in another. 
 
 "I say it's right. I say the man would be a fool
 
 "IP li EDITH, OF COUBSJC." 181 
 
 if he had done anything else. What do you suppose it 
 cost him to put that engine in ? And what will be 
 his bill for wood in the course of a year ? Do you 
 think he wants that to come out of his own pocket ? 
 Would any of you doit ? No, I'll bet you wouldn't,!' 
 he added, as no one seemed able to satisfactorily 
 answer his numerous conundrums. " If you want 
 to blame any one, blame Garston. If you pay extra 
 tolls, lay it to him. He's your man! He's done it !" 
 
 "'Sh!" called a listener, in a low voice. '* There 
 Ae is now." 
 
 " I don't care !" was the sharp retort, as John 
 antered the shop. " I'd as lief say it to him as to 
 you !" 
 
 Garston had heard it all. Coming to the steps of 
 the store he had stopped to read a bulletin that was 
 nailed outside the door, and the harsh use of his 
 name had come to his ears as plainly as to those of 
 the otheis. He said nothing in response to the 
 affront cast upon him, but looked in his box, took the 
 mail offered him and departed. What did he care 
 whether this man or that in the village approved of 
 what he had done? He had no intention of remain- 
 ing among them after his farm was sold. He found 
 a grain of comfort, even in his hatred of Alvah, in 
 the (reflection that they would all have to pay more 
 than they had ever done to get their wheat turned 
 into flour. 
 
 On the road which led to his home he met the 
 handsome carriage that Adams rode in, with its 
 smart driver, and saw that Adams and his wife 
 occupied the main seat. The dust from the highway 
 rose as they approached, covering him with its chok- 
 ing cloud. He fixed his eyes on the ground, and
 
 1B2 JTHE GAESTON BIGAMY. 
 
 pretended not to see them, but before he could do so 
 he had caught a vision of the frail woman whose love 
 he had coveted and for whom he had thrown a life 
 away, that might with her, he fondly imagined, have 
 been worth something to him. Alvah had her he 
 had lands unincumbered by mortgage seventeen 
 hundred acres and more now a mill whose power 
 no one could interfere with money beside every- 
 thing that he could desire. And the foot passenger, 
 whose form he covered with the dust of his carriage, 
 and who had started in life on precisely the same 
 level as he, had nothing ! 
 
 No ! The dust-covered figure raised himself a 
 little. Alvah did not have everything he wanted. 
 He had never had a son! In that one thing alone 
 the penniless tramper surpassed him. He wanted 
 now to gain the boy that he might make him one of 
 his family that he might put him in the place of a 
 child of his own. John knew from a hundred sources 
 that Adams had set his heart on a marriage between 
 his daughter and Gerald, and he had nothing left 
 now to live for except to disappoint him in that 
 hope. Gerald would obey him. He had promised 
 to break whatever friendship he had with Alma, and 
 he would keep his word. Alvah Adams could sue 
 for his son in vain. His handsome daughter so like 
 what her mother was at her age might fade and 
 pine for the love she craved, as he had pined for the 
 love of hermother, but he would be obdurate. Alvah 
 could have his acres and his cash, but the one thing 
 that his child wanted to make her a happy woman 
 it was in the power of his crushed neighbor to with* 
 bold.
 
 "IT 18 EDITH, OF COTTRSK." 183 
 
 On the morning when the sale of his farm was to 
 take place, Mr. Garston had a brief talk with Gerald. 
 
 "You have heard, of course," he said, "everybody 
 has heard, about my failure to stop his mill." There 
 was no need of anything more than the pronoun to 
 explain who was meant. " I expect that he will buy 
 the farm. He has bought everything that has been 
 offered for sale about here for years. Let him have 
 it. Let him take the ground which I turned over 
 with my breaking plow when he and I were poor 
 together. Let him take this house, where I have 
 lived for so long, and use it as he will for his 
 laborers. I don't care. But don't forget your 
 promise, my boy, about his daughter. Let him not 
 boast at least, that he has beaten me with my own 
 son as his assistant. You have told me what you 
 will do, and I rely upon you implicitly." 
 
 Gerald said "Yes, sir," and that ended the conver- 
 sation. His feelings toward Alma had undergone 
 many changes during the past few days. The meet- 
 ing which he had arranged in the summer-house was 
 not carried out as he had planned, for one thing. 
 Alma oame to the wood at the hour appointed in his 
 note, but it was to tell him that she had purposely 
 neglected to bring the keys to the gate and dwell- 
 ing, as she could conceive of no message that he had 
 to give her which could not be told equally well 
 under the shadow of the trees outside. This threw 
 him into a fit of sulks which he could not wholly con- 
 ceal, and in response to her earnest request to tell 
 what had offended him, he reiterated his former 
 charge of her lack of faith in him. He said it made 
 him miserable to feel that she distrusted him at every 
 point.
 
 184 THE GARSTON BIGAMY. 
 
 " You ought to know that a man has some prid>* 
 said he, in an injured tone. " I asked you to 
 bring the keys. If you loved me as truly as I love 
 you these precautions would not enter your head. 
 You would only say to yourself, * Gerald wishes it, 
 and that is reason enough for me.' If the case were 
 reversed you would not find me quibbling about 
 trifles." 
 
 He hurt her more than he meant to, but she tried 
 to answer him gravely : 
 
 " I can understand that a man may have pride,** 
 she said, " but a woman should also have a little- 
 To go into that summer-house with you at this 
 hour would subject us to the scorn of any person 
 who might discover it. For your sake as well as 
 my own I thought it wise to disregard your request, 
 and if you think it over you will admit that I am 
 right." 
 
 He did not know how to combat this statement, 
 which he knew did her honor, but it was not in his 
 mood to make concessions. 
 
 " What did you want to tell me ?" she asked, see- 
 ing that he still seemed unhappy. 
 
 " I only wanted to talk things over. We can't hold 
 a private conversation here, where any passer-by may 
 hear us. I don't know but my father might take it 
 into his head to stroll this way. There would be an 
 end of everything between him and me if he saw me 
 with you." 
 
 "Is he so severe as that ?" 
 
 "Yes. He has not only forbidden me to speak 
 to you again, but he has been so kind as to tell 
 me just the person on whom my affections should 
 centre."
 
 IT IB EDITH, OF OOUBBE." 18ft 
 
 Then, as she regarded him with an inquiring look 
 he said, half on account of the hateful temper that 
 was on him 
 
 " It is Edith, of course." 
 
 Alma looked thoughtfully at the ground near her 
 feet. 
 
 " He does not even propose to consult her, it 
 seems." 
 
 " Why," he asked, unguardedly, '* do you doubt 
 that she would accept me ?" 
 
 " I cannot tell," she answered, while an expression 
 of pain flitted across her brow. " She has known 
 my sentiments toward you for a long time, though 
 we have never spoken a word on the matter, and it 
 would probably take her by surprise if any one should 
 couple you and her in that way. Somehow I never 
 can think of Edie as a married woman. She seems 
 destined to become one of those dear, lovable old 
 maids that the world cannot get along without." 
 
 This touched his pride again, in a new place. He 
 did not want Alma to think that she was the only girl 
 who had ever fallen in love with him, and yet he did 
 not know exactly how to enlighten her. 
 
 " So you don't think Edith would have had me if I 
 had gone to her instead of you ?" he said. "I wish 
 I were at liberty to tell you something " 
 
 He stopped short, with that air of wisdom which 
 usually accompanies an insinuation of this sort, and 
 an added sadness came to the face of Alma. 
 
 " If she loves you, I am very sorry for her," she 
 said, simply. " I do not see how I could have been 
 so blind as not to notice. But perhaps I was so full 
 of my own love," she added, " that I could see noth. 
 ing else."
 
 186 THE GAKSTON BIGAMY. 
 
 This confession was sufficient balm to his wounded 
 vanity, and he rewarded her for it with a kiss. They 
 remained in the wood an hour or so longer, and then 
 he took her back to the neighborhood of her father's 
 house, and they parted with mutual expressions of 
 endearment 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 BUYING A SON-IN-LAW. 
 
 Never had an auction in or near Jefferson drawn 
 such an audience as assembled when Si Wilmot stood 
 upon a chair under one of the big trees and pro- 
 ceeded to read the power of sale mortgage under 
 which he proposed to dispose of the Garston farm. 
 Not three persons in the entire party had the remot- 
 est intention of putting in a bid, or had the means 
 to do so had they been ever so willing, but this did 
 not prevent them from elbowing each other for good 
 locations near the chair on which Wilmot stood, and 
 standing with wide open mouths drinking in each 
 word of his as though it were heavenly manna. 
 
 No one had any doubt that Alvah Adams would 
 own the farm when the sale was over, and they 
 turned occasionally to watch him as he sat in his 
 carriage a little out of the crowd, looking pale and 
 firm, like a man who means to have what he has set 
 out for. The agent of the Iowa Investment Com- 
 pany was also pointed out, though most of the farm- 
 ers present knew his face only too well. His corpor-
 
 BUYING A SON-IN-LAW. 187 
 
 ation had encumbrances on some of the best pieces 
 of land in that section, and he was noted for his 
 promptness in collecting interest for the Eastern 
 capitalists who were his employers. 
 
 Garston stood with Gerald at the front door of the 
 house, both of them showing the mental strain under 
 which they were laboring. Everybody was relieved 
 when the voice of the auctioneer broke the stillness. 
 
 "Gentlemen," he said, "I am under the painful 
 necessity of offering to the highest bidder here 
 to-day this estate which has long been the abode of 
 one of your esteemed townsmen. I say painful, 
 because no one likes to see a farm wrested from a man 
 who has met with reverses. And I must say also at 
 this time, that it is not the policy of the Iowa Invest- 
 ment Company to dispossess any mortgagor of theirs 
 who is able to pay his interest, even though the time 
 may have passed in which he agreed to pay the 
 principal. The principal represented here has been 
 overdue for the past nine years. It is because of the 
 failure of the mortgagor to pay the interest, gentle- 
 men, that we are obliged to sell this property." 
 
 The agent of the Investment Company whispered 
 to Wilmot to go on with his sale, and to let further 
 praise of his employers go till some other time. 
 
 " The agent of the mortgagees in this case has 
 just informed me that he is willing to start the bid- 
 ding at ,the amount of the mortgage and interest," 
 said Mr. Wilmot, unblushingly, though no one in the 
 assembly had the least doubt of the different import 
 of the whispered directions. " Mr. Grosschen, then 
 offers three thousand one hundred and nine dollars. 
 He does not, however, wish to buy the estate, and 
 will not bid against any one else."
 
 188 THE GARSTOtf BfOAXT. 
 
 While the crowd was trying to admire the magm* 
 nimity of Mr. Grosschen, as thus set forth, a sensa- 
 tion was caused by the arrival of a rapidly driven 
 carriage. It was the private vehicle of Colonel 
 Staples, and that gentleman himself occupied it 
 The horses bore signs of having been put to their 
 best speed, being covered with foam which flew 
 from every part of them as they were suddenly 
 pulled up in the midst of the lawn party. 
 
 The Colonel had an anxious look as he surveyed 
 the auctioneer and sprang unaided to the ground. 
 
 " Has the sale begun ?" he asked those about him. 
 
 " Just one bid," said old Hewlett, as spokesman 
 for the rest. 
 
 The auctioneer began to read the mbrtgage deed, 
 as a matter of form, describing the premises to 
 be sold. As Colonel Staples glanced about the 
 crowd his eye met that of Mr. Adams, sitting upright 
 as a ramrod in his carriage. They nodded with some, 
 thing less than their usual affability. Without exactly 
 knowing why, each suspected that the other had 
 designs not in consonance with his own plans that day. 
 
 The Colonel found what he sought at last. It was 
 Gerald. He attracted the attention of the young 
 man and motioned to him to come a little apart from 
 the others. 
 
 44 1 came here to see if there was anything I could 
 do for you," he said, taking Gerald by the arm. 
 "We only arrived in town an hour ago, and just 
 heard of this sale by accident. Edith was with me 
 when I got the news, and she said, Don't waste a 
 minute, father. Buy the farm, do anything that is 
 necessary to help him.' And here I am, in good 
 time, as it appears."
 
 Btnrnfo A SON-IN-LAW. 189 
 
 Quite overcome with surprise at the generosity of 
 the Colonel, Gerald could hardly answer. 
 
 "Let me ask father," he stammered. "I will 
 return in a moment." 
 
 As quickly as he could convey the information, 
 Gerald told his father why Colonel Staples had come, 
 and a ray of light lit up the features of . the dis- 
 couraged man. 
 
 " I will see him," he whispered. " Stay where you 
 are." 
 
 The crowd was not unobservant of these consulta- 
 tions, and gossip began to circulate the rumor that 
 Colonel Staples had arrived with money to pay up 
 the interest and stop the saie. Alvah Adams heard 
 these surmises passed from mouth to mouth, and his 
 countenance darkened. 
 
 John Garston heard from the Colonel's own lips 
 what he had already said to Gerald and thanked him 
 quietly. 
 
 " There's nothing you can do except to buy it,** 
 said he. "The Investment Company wouldn't stop 
 the sale now even if all the interest was paid, and 
 the "principal on top of that. I've inquired. It's 
 against their policy. When they have advertised a 
 sale it has to come off. It is a good bit of land and 
 you could afford to pay more than their claim." 
 
 " There's a second mortgage of fifteen hundred, 
 too," said Staples. 
 
 " Yes, but the first holds. I expected to see David- 
 son here, to protect his interest." 
 
 * I represent him," said Colonel Staples, not think- 
 ing it a time to go into particulars. " Well, Mr. 
 Garston, I'll buy the place and arrange with you to 
 remain, if you wish. Edith told me to do whatever you
 
 190 THE 6ARSTON BTOAWT. 
 
 desired. You understand, sir, that my daughter's 
 request has brought me here. Do you think there is 
 likely to be much of a contest ?" 
 
 The farmer looked across the lawn to where 
 Adams was. 
 
 " The only one who'll bid against you," he said. 
 " is that man in the carriage. He is here from hate, 
 as you are from good-will. His daughter had her 
 heart set on Gerald, and I have forbidden him to 
 see her. He wants to get the farm, to hold it over 
 our heads. No one but you can prevent him." 
 
 Saying this, Garston abruptly left the Colonel, 
 and returned to the place which he had originally 
 occupied. The auctioneer had finished reading his 
 document and had also given a glowing description 
 of the premises which he was offering. 
 
 "And for this farm, with its buildings, as it now 
 stands," he said in summing up, " I am offered three 
 thousand, one hundred and nine dollars by the agent 
 of the mortgagees. Does any one bid higher ?" 
 
 Colonel Staples stepped forward. 
 
 " Representing a second mortgage of fifteen hun- 
 dred and seventy-five dollars, reckoning interest due, 
 I bid that amount in addition to the sum you name," 
 he said. 
 
 There was a little surprise at this. Wilmot took 
 up a shingle which some one handed him and did 
 his figuring. 
 
 " That makes forty-six hundred and eighty-four 
 dollars that I am offered," he announced. Then, 
 after the manner of auctioneers from time immem- 
 orial, he proceeded to tell his auditors that such a 
 farm never was offered for such a small sum, in any 
 age or country. " Forty-six, eighty-four," he con-
 
 MTTHfO A SON-IK-LAW. Ill 
 
 tinued, consulting the shingle. " Forty-six, eighty- 
 four. Does any one say forty-seven ?" 
 
 Mr. Adams, from his place in the carriage, raised 
 his hand. The crowd was delighted at the motion. 
 It augured a lively contest, and that is what they 
 hoped to see. Colonel Staples came nearer to the 
 auctioneer's chair. Wilmot had barely repeated the 
 bid when the Colonel nodded to him sharply. 
 
 "Forty-seven hundred, forty-eight I'm offered," 
 cried Wilmot. He looked toward Adams. " Forty- 
 nine, sir ?" 
 
 " Five thousand," came the words of the mill, 
 owner. 
 
 It was certainly becoming interesting. Mr. Gars, 
 ton and Gerald looked on with breathless interest- 
 Much to them would depend on the next few 
 moments. 
 
 " Five thousand I'm bid," said the auctioneer. 
 " Do you say " 
 
 " Six," shouted the Colonel, in a clear voice. 
 
 " Seven," came with equal clearness from the car 
 riage where Mr. Adams sat. 
 
 There was a pause. Every judge of real estate in 
 the crowd knew that the actual value of the farm had 
 been exceeded, and that future offerings on the part 
 of these men were actuated by other considerations. 
 The auctioneer began to get warm. The ordinary 
 mortgage sale did not furnish such an episode as 
 this. 
 
 " Seven thousand for this farm," he repeated. 
 " Seven thousand." He looked toward Colonel 
 Staples, who said " Seventy-five." He looked back 
 at Mr. Adams, who said, " Eight thousand," but the 
 words came indistinctly, and some one near the car-
 
 MS THE ftAMTON BIOAMT. 
 
 riage had to repeat them. Fifty dollars an acre for 
 Jefferson farms had hitherto been a thing unheard 
 of, and the buildings on this one were old and dilap- 
 idated. Colonel Staples uttered the single word 
 " nine," and Adams signalled to his driver to leave. 
 
 " Nine thousand !" shouted Wilmot. ' Is there 
 any other bid ? Nine thousand once ; nine thousand 
 twice ; third and last call and sold to Colonel Sta- 
 ples for nine thousand." 
 
 A murmur of derision went through the crowd as 
 it parted to let the steeds that drew the Adams car- 
 riage pass by. The feelings of its occupant were not 
 softened by this demonstration, and before he reached 
 the gate he was in the worst possible mood to meet 
 John Garston, who had hastened there before him. 
 
 " I'm going to stay here in spite of you, you see !" 
 he exclaimed, with a look of triumph on his face. 
 " The farm is mine still ! Tell that to your wife, 
 damn you ! Tell it to your daughter ! Tell Alma 
 that Gerald will marry Edith " 
 
 He could say no more, for Adams, beside himself 
 with rage, sprang from his carriage and struck him 
 full in the forehead with his fist. He wore a heavy 
 seal ring that he did not take into account when 
 delivering the blow, and it cut deeply into the flesh, 
 releasing a stream of blood that coursed down over 
 Garston's eyes, completely blinding him for the 
 moment, 
 
 Gerald had seen that something was going on and 
 came hurrying to the spot just in time to witness this 
 action. Waiting not a second he threw himself upon 
 Adams and bore him violently to the ground. 
 
 The whole affair occupied so little time that those 
 Who saw it had no chance to interfere. But now a
 
 BUYING A SON-IN-LAW. 192 
 
 dozen hands grasped the young man and pulled him 
 from the prostrate form, while others assisted Adams, 
 who was much dazed, to regain his feet. Another 
 party lent handkerchiefs to Garston and bound up 
 his head, and Colonel Staples came up with his car- 
 riage and offered to take him to the nearest phy- 
 sician's, as it was evident that several stitches would 
 have to be taken in his wound. 
 
 "Don't touch him !" cried Garston to Gerald, see- 
 ing that his son was kept with difficulty from again 
 assaulting Adams. " He wanted to get my home 
 away and when that failed he tried to kill me, but 
 let him be ! Only remember ! Remember, when 
 this day is past, that he gave me this blow 1" 
 
 Gerald was forced into the Colonel's carriage, 
 while Adams, in anything but a pleasant frame of 
 mind, was driven home. After Garston's hurt had 
 been attended to, the Colonel persuaded Gerald to 
 go with him for a few moments to his own house, say- 
 ing that there was one there who was very anxious 
 to see him after so long a separation. 
 
 Brief as had been the time since the assault, rumor 
 had already carried it to the Staples mansion. The 
 story had reached there in two forms one of which 
 made it appear that it was Gerald himself who had 
 been injured, and he found Edith in a highly excit- 
 able state. She ran to the carriage to meet him, 
 satisfied herself hastily that he was unhurt, accepted 
 the embrace which the presence of her parents did 
 not prevent him offering her, and then fainted in his 
 arms.
 
 194 THE OAKSTON BlflLUCY. 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 "YOU DO NOT KNOW MY FATHER." 
 
 There were many sad hours for Gerald on the<U./s 
 that followed. He deeply regretted the rash conduct 
 of his father, and was filled with mortification at the 
 way his name had been mixed with Edith's before 
 that thoughtless crowd. But even at the moment 
 when the fair girl lay in his embrace, giving him a 
 clearer insight into the deep love she bore him than 
 he had ever had, his mind was far astray. It was 
 upon that other one, whose parent he had thrown to 
 the earth, and who must now be undergoing the 
 severest pangs as she listened to the story of the 
 altercation. He carried Edith into the parlor and 
 placed her on a sofa, where she soon recovered con- 
 sciousness. And when the rest of the family, seeing 
 that she needed no help, had discreetly retired, he 
 sat by her side, holding her hand and even kissing 
 her pale cheek occasionally, as he recounted, in as 
 mild a manner as the facts would bear, what he 
 thought best of the afternoon occurrence. 
 
 " Poor Alma !" said Edith, when she had heard 
 him through. " It will be very sad for her. I must 
 go and see her in the morning. Do you think the 
 hurt to your father will be a serious one ?" 
 
 " Not to his body," said Gerald, " but to his mind 
 it will be serious indeed. He has cherished an 
 enmity to Mr. Adams for a long time, and this wound 
 will not help him forget it. I will tell you something 
 more, as a secret. He has already expressed in the
 
 *YOU DO HOT KNOW MY FATHER." 195 
 
 strongest terms his wish that I should never speak 
 to Alma again." 
 
 Edith, to whom this news was not wholly unex- 
 pected, responded that she was very sorry, and hoped 
 that he would relent. 
 
 " I do not see how he can carry his spite forgive 
 me if the word seems strong against Mr. Adams to 
 such an extent as to visit it upon Alma. Surely she 
 is not to be held accountable for the differences 
 between him and her father. I shall go to see him 
 and try to talk him out of it." 
 
 Gerald smiled at the idea that she could have any 
 influence with this man, whom he, his only son, could 
 not pretend to affect in the least. 
 
 " You do not know my father, or you would not 
 cherish any such notion as that," he replied. 
 
 The girl blushed as she recollected the former con- 
 versations that she and John Garston had held. 
 
 " I know him quite well," she replied, " and he has 
 always had a liking for me. When he has passed 
 others with only a nod or a word, he has stopped 
 to spend five minutes in talking to me. He knows," 
 to some extent, too, how much I care for you, and 
 that ought to count." 
 
 The young man winced at these words. He 
 remembered again the disagreeable way in which 
 his father had arranged this matter, and it hurt him. 
 He wondered what had passed between him and 
 the Colonel, when they went off together, before the 
 bidding by the latter began. Everybody in Jeffer- 
 son would know that the farm had been bought by 
 Staples solely on account of the understood inten- 
 tions of his daughter and Gerald. It was very 
 aggravating to have things turn out in this way
 
 196 THX QARSTOIf BIOAMT. 
 
 Gerald still had a deep regard for Edith, but he felt 
 that at this time Alma was the one who needed his 
 sympathy, and do what he might he could not get 
 her out of his mind. 
 
 Mrs. Staples came in and asked him, in a way that 
 he could hardly decline, to remain to tea, and Edith 
 managed to get to the table, where she was placed as 
 usual at his side. The Colonel was wise enough to 
 turn the conversation upon matters unconnected with 
 the events of the day, principally the excursion he 
 and his family had been taking. 
 
 " We had a lovely time," said he, " at least Mrs. S. 
 and I did. Edie, I fear, was too anxious to get back 
 to Jefferson, for some reason, to enjoy things to their 
 full extent." 
 
 " On the contrary," replied Edith, " I had a delight- 
 ful trip. Of course it is pleasant to get home again, 
 though I shall have but a little while before school 
 begins. Just think how soon it will be, Gerald, before 
 we shall all be starting again for Chicago." 
 
 Gerald thought this a good opportunity to free him- 
 self of what had been for a long time on his mind. 
 
 " You and Alma will have to do without me here- 
 after, I fear," said he. " It looks as if my law edu- 
 cation was at an end." 
 
 11 How is that ?" asked Colonel Staples, while the 
 others looked at the young man, as if they could not 
 believe their hearing. 
 
 "Why, everybody knows that we are as poor as 
 any church mouse now," was the reply. " It has 
 come upon me all at once, my father having been too 
 kind in keeping his troubles to himself as long as he 
 could, but I am quite reconciled. I shall have to go 
 to work and get my living."
 
 "rov DO NOT meow mr FATHBB." ItT 
 
 Colonel Staples put down a cup of tea that he wa* 
 raising to his lips. 
 
 "What nonsense the boy is talking!" he cried, 
 good-naturedly. " Have you no friends whom you 
 can call upon ? Do you think we are going to see 
 you throw up a career in this way for want of a few 
 paltry dollars of temporary assistance ?" 
 
 The Colonel was not in the habit of thinking of 
 the American Dollar in connection with the word 
 "paltry," and Gerald knew it. He found himself in 
 danger of being surrounded by another set of bar- 
 riers, from which he would have difficulty in escap- 
 ing. Whatever bargain his father had made, he 
 would not so soon, at least, become a party to it, and 
 he answered, with some spirit, that he could not think 
 of being beholden to any one ; that he would rather 
 look his fate in the face, and take the position in life 
 which his reduced circumstances pointed out. 
 
 Edith sat a silent, but most interested listener to 
 this conversation. She heard her father offer to lend 
 Gerald all the money he needed, or to make such 
 arrangements with Mr. Garston, Sr., as would amount 
 to the same thing. Gerald would not yield, how- 
 ever. 
 
 " I am better prepared," he said, finally, " to con- 
 sider your proposal, because I have already had it in 
 similar form from another source." 
 
 Colonel Staples, his wife and Edith stared at their 
 guest. Who could have been so generous ? They 
 gave up the conundrum instantly, and asked him 
 directly if he would impart the name of this would-be 
 benefactor. 
 
 " Oh, I thought you would have guessed it at 
 once," he said with nonchalance. " It was _Mr,
 
 198 THE CHRSTOlf MQAMT. 
 
 Adams, of course. I don't think he would renew it^ 
 after what has occurred to-day," he added, with an 
 attempt to be humorous, " but he made me the offer, 
 in good faith, a fortnight ago. I thought there were 
 reasons why I ought to decline to accept it and I did 
 so." 
 
 " But those reasons do not exist in my case," inter- 
 posed the Colonel, quickly. "You have done your- 
 self honor thus far, as I view it. Now it is quite 
 another thing. I feel toward you as though you 
 were a son of my own, and I cannot bear that you 
 should give up your bright prospects when every- 
 thing can be so easily arranged." 
 
 The speaker then launched into the description of 
 a plan that he had formulated, by which Mr. Garston 
 was to have the farm reconveyed to him, under a 
 mortgage large enough to enable him to pay every 
 dollar of his debts and have enough left for a work- 
 ing capital. Instead of the fifteen and twenty per 
 cent, interest that he had been compelled to pay, only 
 eight percent. the lowest rate ever known then in 
 that section was to be charged. This would enable 
 him to send his son to the law school, and with care 
 he might in time remove all the incumbrances from 
 his estate. 
 
 Gerald heard him but imperfectly. He thought of 
 the ridiculousness of these two capitalists of Jeffer- 
 son bidding for him against each other. He had 
 loved both of the girls all his life, but he thought he 
 should learn to hate them if this sort of thing went 
 on much longer. 
 
 " Let me think of it," he said, as he rose from the 
 table. " I cannot tell to-night what I will do." 
 
 Edith followed him alone to the gate, and he
 
 THB JrATOBB OF A GIEL. 199 
 
 embraced her there in the semi-darkness, as he felt 
 he ought. Beautiful as ever, with new proof of her 
 love in every glance that she gave him, the money 
 that her father was shaking before his eyes came 
 between them. As her mouth touched his, that shy 
 mouth that had seemed too reserved for such things 
 until so lately, he thought the delicate trembling of 
 the lips could never be felt by any other man this 
 side the grave. Such love as hers is apt to come but 
 once and build its nest to endure all storms and sea- 
 sons. 
 
 He went where he could see Alma's home. There 
 was a lowered light in her chamber. He guessed 
 that she had heard the tidings, with what bitter 
 additions he knew not, and that it had prostrated 
 her. Instantly remorse took hold of him. He would 
 have given a year of his life could he have scaled that 
 veranda undiscovered, peeped in at that blind, lifted 
 that window and thrown his arms around her as she 
 lay there, that she might shed her tears against the 
 heart that caused them. 
 
 CHAPTER XIX 
 
 THE NATURE OF A GIRL. 
 
 Alma Adams was as much excited as Edith had 
 been when she heard of the assault. She was 
 naturally of a more self-reliant disposition, and 
 ordinarily would have borne any bad news with
 
 300 THE GARSTON BIGAMY. 
 
 greater equanimity, but this was so terrible that it 
 
 quite upset her. She learned the truth from her 
 father soon after he reached home, for he thought it 
 Wisest to let her gain her information from him than 
 to receive it second hand from others, and possibly 
 in a garbled shape. She was sitting anxiously on 
 the veranda when he drove in at the gate, and as his 
 carriage stopped at the steps she hastened to meet 
 him. 
 
 " Did you buy it ?" she asked, hardly waiting till 
 the coachman was out of hearing. 
 
 Her breath came in short gasps and every linea- 
 ment in her face showed the anxiety with which she 
 uttered the question. 
 
 " No, Alma, I did not," he replied, and she had 
 time to notice that he wore an appearance of extreme 
 nervousness. "The place was sold to Colonel 
 Staples." 
 
 She looked the image of extreme surprise. 
 
 " Was he there ? I did not know he had reached 
 home. What did he want of it ? How much did he 
 pay ? Tell me everything," she said, rapidly. 
 
 "Wait a minute." He seemed to want strength. 
 * I have a very disagreeable story to tell, and I need 
 lime. Get me an easy chair. 1 " 
 
 Alma flew into the music-room, through the lovr 
 window, and returned with the article desired. 
 Then she seated herself by his side, and waited. 
 
 " I don't know where to begin," said her father, 
 clearing his throat of an obstruction that stuck there 
 tenaciously. He put one arm around her and drew 
 her to his side, as if to keep something from hurting 
 her. " I hare bad news, my child bad news -for 
 you."
 
 IKE NATURE OF A GIRL. 201 
 
 Her lips formed the words " For me ?* but she 
 uttered no sound. 
 
 "Alma," said Mr. Adams, with an effort, "you 
 must think no more of Gerald." 
 
 She swayed a little under his arm, but asked him 
 why, in a voice that surprised him by its firmness. 
 
 " He is to marry Edith. John told me so before 
 a crowd of them, in the most insulting manner. 
 Staples bought the farm and them with it. I would 
 not have believed it of him, but I saw it with my 
 own eyes. It was this way :" 
 
 Again he cleared his throat, and she did not 
 move. 
 
 " I had told Gerald that I would buy the place, and 
 after cutting off merely enough to protect the brook 
 I would deed the rest to him, so that his father could 
 remain there if he chose. Just as the sale began 
 Staples drove up. He left his carriage and called 
 Gerald aside. Then Gerald went for his father and 
 he and Staples had a confab. When John left 
 Staples he looked over to me with an expression that 
 said, *I don't need any of your help.' The bidding 
 began. I bid five thousand dollars more than the 
 place was worth and he bid six. I bid seven, and 
 he five hundred more. Then I said eight and he said 
 nine There was no use. He would have paid the 
 last cent he had rather than have allowed me to beat 
 him, and I let it go. He was buying more than a 
 farm he was buying a son-in-law as well and he 
 could afford to pay high !" 
 
 Adams had raised his voice toward the end of his 
 speech, until it could have been heard by any person 
 within two hundred feet. Alma's only action was to 
 put her hand gently upon his lips, as a signal to him
 
 203 THE GARSTOW BIGAMY. 
 
 that he was speaking too loud, having done which 
 she waited for him to proceed. 
 
 "I thought of you, Alma, as the bidding went on. 
 I knew, my girl, that you loved him, but I did not 
 believe that you would think it becoming in me to 
 buy you a husband in the public market, where 
 every spectator could see that he was the real article 
 over which the contest was being waged. There is 
 too much of the Adams blood in you for that. You 
 have the pride that goes with your race on both sides. 
 Staples paid five thousand for the farm and four for 
 Gerald. I thought him too dear at that figure. 
 Tell me, Alma, was x not right ?" 
 
 The daughter inclined her head. Her brain was 
 whirling. Her heart beat like a trip-hammer. She 
 was afraid to make any pronounced demonstration 
 lest she should betray the extent of her emotion. 
 
 "But I have not told you all," her father went on, 
 " though it is really of small moment, except for the 
 disgrace of such an occurrence. When John snarled 
 out the particulars of the bargain, when he threw 
 it at me before their all that his son was to marry 
 Edith, and told me to tell you of it I forgot myself 
 and and struck him. This ring was in the way and 
 cut his forehead." He showed her the jewel, still 
 red from the blood he had drawn. " At that moment 
 Gerald came up and threw me down. Then we 
 were separated and I came home. I was ashamed 
 of the part I had played as soon as I had time to 
 think, but I couldn't help doing it. John was fear- 
 fully exasperating." 
 
 Alma rose feebly, saying that she would go to hei 
 room for a little while, and her father went to tell 
 his wife something of what had occurred.
 
 THE NATURE OF A frlBL. 203 
 
 "Go up and see if there is anything she needs," 
 he said. " You can talk to her better than I car. 
 Tell her to forget him to put him out of her mind 
 and never let him come there again. He and his 
 father have outraged our feelings. She will see that 
 nothing more can ever occur between them and us." 
 
 When she came down, an hour later, the thin, pale 
 face of the invalid wife and mother was turned 
 toward her husband with its usual mildness of 
 expression. 
 
 " I have tried to console her," she said, " but you 
 must not under estimate the shock. She loves him 
 with all the strength of her nature, and she will not 
 get over it in a day. She will require nursing, and 
 perhaps a change of scene. And I cannot say that 
 ^ven those things will cure her." 
 
 Knowing nothing of what had happened, except 
 that her father and Mr. Adams had quarrelled and 
 that Garston and Gerald had been engaged in a 
 personal altercation with the latter, Edith Staples 
 rame to call on Alma the next morning, as she would 
 have done on any other day. She could not see that 
 the difficulties of their parents ought to cause any 
 estrangement between herself and her friend, and 
 supposed that Mr. Adams had had no interest in 
 the sale of the Garston property except to protect 
 the brook, which matter she was sure her father 
 would arrange to his satisfaction. She felt certain 
 that Gerald's love was hers alone and that Alma not 
 only knew it but approved of it. So she came up 
 the walk as brightly as ever, and saluted Mrs. Adams 
 with a kiss, as she had done every time she had 
 met her, since she could remember. 
 
 "We came home yesterday," she said, "and I was
 
 804 IBB QAJWTON BJOAMf. 
 
 too tired to run down last night Where b Alma 9 
 
 It seems an age since I saw her/* 
 
 " She is in her room," was the quiet reply, ** and I 
 think asleep. She is not well. I was up with her 
 
 most of the night." 
 
 Edith wore a look of the deepest regret 
 
 " Why, I had not heard of it," she exclaimed. " I 
 hope it is nothing serious." 
 
 " Nothing but what time will cure," was the calm 
 answer. Mrs. Adams wondered if all of this apparent 
 surprise could be real. " She will have to be still for 
 some days, and see no company, however.** 
 
 " That is too bad. I want to see her so much J 
 Tell her I called, won't you, and let me know the very 
 earliest minute I can go to her room. I promise to 
 be very thoughtful and not excite her." 
 
 An hour later a messenger arrived from the Staples 
 household with a beautiful bouquet of flowers, culled 
 on their grounds and tastefully arranged by Edith's 
 own hands. Alma's quick ear caught the purport of 
 the words which the servant spoke at the door, and a 
 tide of painful thoughts swept over her. Toward 
 evening she surprised her mother by asking what she 
 had done with the flowers that Edith had sent to her, 
 and on being told that she had feared the gift would 
 annoy her, answered gently : 
 
 " How could you think that ? Please have them 
 sent up to me. Let me not lose Edie with the rest. 
 It is not her fault, poor girl !" 
 
 This was taken as an encouraging stgn. The 
 flowers were placed where Alma could reach them 
 easily and many times each hour she inhaled their 
 fragrance. The next morning another bouquet was 
 sent to take their place, and each day after that
 
 THE NATURE OF A QIEL. 205 
 
 another, and with each was a tiny card with some 
 words of endearment and the sender's name. But 
 for more than a week Alma did not leave her 
 chamber. 
 
 On the fifth day Mary Carson, chief among the 
 domestics of the Adamses, came tiptoeing into the 
 sick room, and slipped a note under the sheets of the 
 bed with a very mysterious air. 
 
 " I hope I haven't done wrong to bring it, miss," 
 she said, " without telling your mother, but the 
 young man particularly begged it of me, and said it 
 was most important that I should put it into your 
 own hands." 
 
 Alma glanced at the writing, though she knew 
 instinctively that but one " young man " could have 
 sent her a note with such a request. 
 
 "You did quite right, Mary," she answered all of 
 a tremble. "When you go down tell mamma that I 
 am quite comfortable and shall need nothing at 
 present." 
 
 "Yes, miss." The maid tripped away, much 
 relieved. " I hope there's some way for them to make 
 it up," she said to herself, for she adored her young 
 mistress and divined the cause of her illness. 
 
 When she was gone, Alma broke the seal of the 
 letter, and read what follows : 
 
 " MY POOR CHILD : They tell me that you are ill 
 and I feel that I am in some way the unhappy cause 
 of your trouble, though Heaven knows I would suffer 
 anything rather than that the slightest harm should 
 happen to you. I do not know what they have told 
 you, and that makes it hard for me to defend myself.
 
 206 THE GARSTON BIGAMY. 
 
 But if I had an hour by your side I am sure I could 
 convince you that I am not altogether to blame. 
 
 " When I sprang upon your father I was not 
 responsible for what I did. I came up just in time 
 to see my own father's face covered with blood from 
 the gash in his forehead and I acted without reflec- 
 tion. I hear that he said something to him about 
 Edith and me, which enraged him, and that this 
 caused the blow. Whatever he said was caused by 
 his cumulating anger and ought not to have been 
 taken seriously. For my own part, I am very sorry 
 that anything of the kind occurred. But it is too 
 late to talk about that now. 
 
 " What I want most to tell you, my angel girl, is 
 this : I love you more at this moment than I ever 
 did. I want you to know that I have but one hope 
 in life, and that is your promise that I shall one day 
 call you my own. This you have vowed to me and I 
 shall hold you to your word. 
 
 "These miserable quarrels over money matters 
 must not keep us apart, my love. I feel strong to 
 wait, now. Only send me word, I beg, that you still 
 care for me. 
 
 " Yours while life remains, 
 
 " GERALD." 
 
 Girl nature is the same the world over. Faith in 
 the one they love may be shaken until it seems as if 
 not a shred could remain, and then, at the touch of 
 the enchanter's wand, it is rehabilitated in all its full- 
 ness, in all its strength. Alma had been trying to 
 accustom herself to the thought that everything was 
 over between her and her lover. She had grown 
 faint and dizzy in contemplating a future in which
 
 THE NATURE OP A GIRL. 207 
 
 he had no part. She had said to herself that she 
 must be brave, and bear up, and remember her pride, 
 as her father had told her. But now, as she read the 
 letter, she forgot it all. She remembered only the 
 dear eyes that had looked into hers, the arms that 
 had encircled her, the lips that had been pressed to 
 her lips. She read, she comprehended, she believed ! 
 
 A burst of tears was the first effect of the news. 
 Her overcharged nerves gave way before the unex- 
 pected change in the state of affairs. Then there 
 succeeded to this an extreme calm, a peacefulness 
 the like of which she could not recall in her experi- 
 ence. She wiped the tears from her eyes, bathed her 
 face with a lotion that lay near her, and rang the bell 
 for Mary. 
 
 " Brush my hair, if you please," she said, as the girl 
 made her appearance. " I think I can sit up. I am 
 much better." 
 
 The maid, who had been under a shade of doubt 
 as to the possible effect of the smuggled note, showed 
 her gratification. 
 
 "You must have had new medicine to make you so 
 much stronger, Miss Alma," she said. 
 
 "Yes." Alma's face grew lighter as she spoke. 
 " I have had new medicine, Mary, and I owe it all to 
 you. Believe me, I shall not soon forget it." 
 
 When Mrs. Adams came up, she was gratified to 
 see the marked improvement in the appearance of 
 her daughter, and after a short talk she was per- 
 suaded to go for a ride, an exercise she had not taken 
 since Alma became ill. The pliant Mary then 
 brought a tablet and other writing materials, and 
 Alma was left alone while she composed an answer 
 to Gerald's epistle. It was written in the warmest
 
 208 THJ? GAKSTON BIGAMY. 
 
 tone, and was much longer than the one she had 
 received. 
 
 "I do not see how I could have doubted you, even 
 under such provocation," was the burden of it. 
 " Whatever happens, I shall never do so again. You 
 may trust Mary to bring me your letters, as she is to 
 be relied upon implicitly. Leave them as you used 
 under the stone on the wall, and look for my answers 
 in the same spot.'* 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 "CONSIDERING HIS TEMPTATIONS." 
 
 The arrangements between Colonel Staples and 
 John Garston did not wait for any decision of Ger- 
 ald's. The morning after the sale the farmer met 
 the Colonel by appointment at the office of a village 
 lawyer and they were not long in coming to an 
 understanding. The Colonel paid the amount due 
 the Iowa Investment Company and advanced enough 
 beside to clear every debt owed on the personal prop- 
 erty. He confessed that the second mortgage was 
 his own, so that that required no other attention. 
 When all was disposed of he agreed to have a deed 
 of the premises conveyed to Garston under a mort- 
 gage of sixty-five hundred dollars, which would put 
 John in possession of quite a little sum of ready cash 
 with which to tide over the winter and send Gerald 
 back to Chicago to the office of Thurston & Thurston. 
 The generous nature of these proposals made quib-
 
 "CONSIDERING On TBlttTATIOWg. W 90$ 
 
 bling impossible, and the papers were made out oil 
 the spot, signed, sealed and sent to the county clerk's 
 office to be recorded. 
 
 44 1 offered last night to advance Gerald money 
 enough to take him through," said the Colonel," but 
 he had a touch of pride that stood in the way. It 
 will be all right, now, coming directly from you. I 
 would not have him give up his career for any 
 thing." 
 
 " I thank you,** was the answer, as Mr. Garston 
 stood in front of the office mirror to arrange the 
 bandage on his head. " I hope I shall be able to 
 make it right to you some day. I am not one of 
 those who forget a kindness nor an injury either,** 
 he added, significantly. 
 
 " Oh, let that drop," said Colonel Staples, pleas- 
 antly. " Adams and you have fought long enough. 
 It was an ugly blow that he gave you yesterday, but 
 he couldn't have thought of the ring. I'll wager he 
 was sorry enough for it the next minute." 
 
 Garston put on his hat and left the glass. 
 
 " It's not the first blow he's given me, nor the 
 worst one," he muttered. 
 
 " Well, let it pass. You've got your farm again, 
 and if you do well you can clear it in a few years. 
 Stick to wheat-raising, John, and let old sores rest. 
 And, by the way, I'd fix that brook up if I were you. 
 The water will spoil twenty acres or so of good 
 land. I meant to have spoken to you about it before 
 the papers were signed." 
 
 " Did you ?" The tone was almost impertinent, 
 considering what had passed. " I wouldn't have taken 
 it under such conditions no, not if it had been my
 
 flO THE GARSTON BIGAMT. 
 
 only chance. Fix up the brook ! For him t \ shauW 
 say not !" 
 
 The Colonel did not think it wise to press the 
 matter, for he thought he could get this concession 
 later. 
 
 ** You'll send Gerald back to his law books, 
 though ?" he said, interrogatively, 
 
 "Yes, if he wants to go. But I wish that Adams 
 girl wasn't going to be so near him. I don't like the 
 idea of their being off where they can see each other. 
 He's promised to break off all connection with her, 
 but young folks are uncertain." 
 
 The Colonel was a trifle flustered. 
 
 " You don't think he cares anything for her any- 
 thing special ?" said he. 
 
 " No, not in one sense. But they've been with 
 each other since they were children, and she is 
 strong-minded. Gerald is a good boy, but he is 
 influenced easier than I wish he was. I'll be plain 
 with you, Colonel. If I had as much money as you 
 have if I was in good circumstances, I mean I 
 should propose to him to get married at once, instead 
 of waiting three or four years. He hasn't anything, 
 nor I either, but it would have settled things, if it 
 could have been done." 
 
 Colonel Staples reddened as he understood the 
 insinuation, but he rallied immediately. 
 
 " I've only one thing in the world to live for 
 besides my wife," he said, " and that is Edith. If 
 I've tried to put away a few dollars it's been in the 
 hope that they would help her to ease and comfort 
 when I could no longer provide for her. Her mind 
 is all set on Gerald,! have seen that for a long time, 
 and approving, as I have, of the young man, I've
 
 "OONSIDEEIN& HIS TEMPTATIONS/ 211 
 
 been glad of It. I can't hope to keep my daughter 
 always, and I don't know any one I'd rather her 
 choice would have fallen upon. You've been plain 
 With me, and I'll be the same with you. If they're 
 of a mind to marry this year, I'll give them every 
 help that I can. Then they can go back to Chicago 
 with nothing to worry either of us. Still, I must say 
 that I haven't any real fear of Alma. Why, he's 
 been attached to Edith as long as he's known her." 
 
 On the third day after this, one of those days when 
 Alma was ill in bed, and before she had received 
 Gerald's passionate letter, Colonel Staples met 
 Adams as he was driving out on a road near the vil- 
 lage, and pulled up his horse to speak with him. It 
 was impossible to help seeing that the mill-owner 
 wore an air of reserve and did not seem over cordial 
 in his demeanor but he could not let that keep him 
 from saying what he wanted. 
 
 " I've asked John to fix up the bank of that brook 
 again," said the Colonel, "and I think he'll come 
 around to it in time, though he's a little cantanker- 
 ous now." 
 
 " You didn't take pains to put it in your paper, 
 when you sold him back the land, it seems," said 
 Adams, sarcastically. 
 
 ' No, I forgot it till it was too late. But I spoke 
 to him afterward, and I'll go at him again. He's 
 only spoiling a lot of good land, and he ought, as I 
 told him, to let by-gones be by-gones after this." 
 
 Mr. Adams poked a fly from the rump of his horse 
 with his whip. 
 
 " Don't put yourself out," said he, with exasperating 
 slowness. " I've just bought the farm above me
 
 SIS IBB QAKSTON BIGAMY. 
 
 belonging to Mr. Estes. I shall cut a channel te 
 rods long or so and run the brook-water around. 
 There won't be any to bother him nor you in a fort- 
 night more. I could have got along with the steam 
 alone, and I shall mainly now, but the water would 
 be handy in case of a break-down The quart a 
 bushel extra which I charge makes it about even." 
 
 There was a smoothness in his manner of deliv- 
 ery that belied the sarcasm of his words, and the 
 Colonel did not know just how to reply. 
 
 " I hope you don't feel anything against me, Alvah, 
 because I bid on the farm " he said, presently. "It 
 was a public sale I haven't made anything out of 
 it. I only wanted to help John, as an old friend." 
 
 Adams lifted his eyes and surveyed the speaker. 
 
 "You'll get what you bargained for, of course," he 
 answered. "John wouldn't go back on his word 
 after you've helped him out of the hole ?" 
 
 " I don't know what you mean.'* 
 
 "Don't you? I thought maybe you did ! Why, 
 you're welcome to the boy ! I've forbidden Alma to 
 ever see him again, so we'll not stand in your way. 
 Your money has bought him. He's yours. I 
 wouldn't give my girl to him if he came on his knees 
 and begged it ! When I get a son-in-law, Colonel, i 
 shan't take him from under the hammer of an auc- 
 tioneer! 
 
 With this he hit the horse with the whip and 
 drove away. Staples was too angry for a few 
 moments to follow him, or there might have been 
 another assault to record. When he could command 
 himself he only said, " It's hit him harder than I sup- 
 posed," and went home to talk it over with Edith. 
 First, however, he consulted her mother, and that
 
 "CONSIDERING HIS TEMPTATIONS." 813 
 
 wise woman, knowing her daughter much better than 
 ne did, advised procrastination. She said Edith was 
 so high-minded that she would resent anything that 
 looked like showing distrust or fear of her lover, and 
 that the present was no time to push anything. 
 
 " If Mr. Adams is as angry as you think," she 
 said, " it is probable that he will refuse to let Alma 
 go back to school with Edith. That would simplify 
 things. It is terrible to think that they must suffer 
 from this business, when they have been like sisters 
 so long. Don't cut their friendship any shorter 
 than is necessary, and, if you can, let some one 
 besides you take the first step." 
 
 So Edith, in blissful ignorance of the extent of the 
 storm that was raging, plucked her bouquet each 
 morning for Alma, who was delighted with its 
 fragrance as well as with the kindness of the heart 
 that sent it to her. On the seventh day, hearing 
 that Alma was out of bed, she brought the flowers in 
 person. To her great joy she was permitted to see 
 her friend in her room, where she sat arrayed in 
 white, and looking, as young and pretty invalids who 
 have hopeful minds always do, very charming 
 indeed. 
 
 " Alma, my darling !" 
 
 " Dear, dear Edie !" 
 
 How Edith had worried about her ; how she had 
 missed her society, without which Jefferson did not 
 seem at all like itself ; how happy she had been to 
 learn each day that Alma was better, and how glad 
 she was that she was now evidently on the road to 
 complete recovery was told with all the earnestness 
 that characterizes such protestations, when the one 
 who gives them is nearing twenty years of age. Alma
 
 214 THIS OAKSTON BTGAMT. 
 
 responded in terms hardly less warm, and then both 
 launched into the liveliest conversation, in which 
 everything in Jefferson and vicinity bore a con- 
 spicuous part, except the one person who had until 
 that day formed the main object of all their discus- 
 sions. Neither mentioned nor in any way alluded 
 to the name of Gerald Garston, which was certainly 
 rather strange. 
 
 An hour like this, and then Edith departed, saying 
 that she feared to stay longer lest she should tax the 
 wasted energies of her friend, and that she should 
 expect her at her house as soon as she could ride 
 out. 
 
 Hope and Love are two wonderful physicians. It 
 was but a few days after this that the invalid told 
 her mother she wanted to go down into the grove 
 and rest by herself in the summer-house. She would 
 need only Mary Carson to keep her company there, 
 and she did not wish, on any account, to be dis- 
 turbed, as she felt the need of absolute quiet. Mrs 
 Adams consented immediately to the plan, and 
 Mary joyfully prepared to accompany her. 
 
 " If I should be out late, don't mind, mamma," 
 aid Alma, as she was starting. " I will send Mary 
 up for a lunch if I get hungry. I feel that the air 
 of the woods is what I want. The air of the woods 
 and perfect isolation." 
 
 Alma wondered how she could look her mother in 
 the face and talk to her like this. In all her life she 
 had never till this day deceived her in anything. 
 She must be a very bad girl, she reflected, when such 
 a falsehood gave her no compunctions. But the 
 letter from Gerald that Mary had found under the
 
 215 
 
 stone that morning had begged her to arrange some 
 place where he could see her some spot where 
 neither of the objecting parents could trace them. 
 She could think of none but the summer-house, and 
 she felt that, with Mary to accompany her, there 
 would be no great impropriety in meeting him within 
 its walls. Besides, there would be a poetic repara- 
 tion for the doubt in him that she had expressed 
 when he asked her the other time to meet him there. 
 His letters received of late had been so tender, so 
 passionately idyllic, that she would have felt little 
 uneasiness even had Mary not been available. And 
 with that discreet young person upon the premises- 
 she need not be too near, either what more could 
 Mrs. Grundy ask ? 
 
 Mary's intentions in the matter were of the most 
 honorable kind, though her part may seem open to 
 criticism. She adored her young mistress, and had 
 shared in common with others of the household the 
 belief that she and Gerald " were just made for each 
 other." When Alma was prostrated by the news 
 that her father brought, the servants knew what was 
 the trouble almost as soon as she, and all called it 
 " a shame," and said it was a dreadful pity that so 
 nice a couple should be torn apart because their 
 elders were silly enough to indulge in a quarrel over 
 a piece of land or a mill-brook. Mary was of a 
 romantic mood. She had read many tales in which 
 the fair heroine experienced the severest tribulations 
 before she became the wife of the hero, and had 
 there learned that no method, however uncommon, 
 is deemed improper that has for its object the uniting 
 of young and faithful hearts. Gerald had offered to 
 pay her for carrying his messages, but she would
 
 816 THE GARSTON BIGAMY. 
 
 take nothing. She only desired to serve in what she 
 fully believed to be a righteous cause. 
 
 It was about four o'clock in the afternoon when 
 Alma and Mary reached the summer-house, and it 
 was but a few minutes later that Gerald opened 
 the unlocked gate of the enclosure, as had been 
 arranged in accordance with Alma's letter. Mary 
 had discreetly retired to another part of the grounds, 
 and Alma came alone to meet him. If either had 
 had doubts of the other at any time, all was dispelled 
 by the first glance. His arms were opened, and like 
 a dove to its nest she flew into their embrace. 
 
 " My darling! my poor little pet!" he exclaimed. 
 a How tired and pale they have made you with their 
 Senseless stories ! Come into the house and let me 
 tell you over and over again that nothing can ever 
 separate us that the more they try to wean me from 
 you the stronger is my love !" 
 
 They went in together. Too happy at first to 
 answer him in words, she lay contentedly against his 
 breast, that haven to which she had so long wanted 
 to fly. 
 
 " And to think that you have met me here, of your 
 own accord !'* he cried. " Could anything else in 
 the world have given me equal delight ?" 
 
 ** I brought Mary," she whispered. 
 
 "For the sake of appearances only. You would 
 not have been afraid of me alone ?" 
 
 She shook her head and allowed him to taste the 
 honey on her lips without a pretence of diffidence. 
 
 " How long can you remain F he asked. 
 
 " As long as you wish."
 
 "CONSIDERING HIS TEMPTATIONS.'* 217 
 
 "Until eight or nine, if you desire. But you will 
 tire of my company before that hour." 
 
 " Shall I ?" 
 
 He looked and acted as if that was a contingency 
 not likely to arise. When they could command 
 themselves a little better they exchanged mutual 
 confidences in relation to the state of affairs at home 
 She told him that her father had become very bitter 
 against him, thinking it was all his fault that Mr. 
 Garston had insulted him at the auction, and for 
 the first time in his life had refused to listen to a 
 word of defence from her. She frankly related 
 what he had said about Colonel Staples buying a 
 son-in-law at public vendue, for Mr. Adams had not 
 scrupled to tell her the conversation he had had 
 with that gentleman. Gerald reddened, and replied 
 that his father had said he would never own him as 
 a son if he spoke to her again. He was obliged, he 
 said, to creep away like a thief under false pre- 
 tences, in order to be there now. 
 
 " But all this has only made my love the stronger,** 
 he added, seeing the thick cloud that overspread her 
 face. " If anything had been needed to cement my 
 heart to yours and nothing was this action on his 
 part would have done it." 
 
 " There is so much said about Edie," she com- 
 mented. " Can it be that it has no foundation what- 
 ever in any act of yours ?" 
 
 It was a direct question and he knew it must have 
 a. direct answer. 
 
 ** You know my relations with her," he said. 
 They have been those of a friend merely. I know 
 she likes me, and perhaps, if you were not in 
 existence, something might have come about between
 
 218 THE GAR8TON BIGAMY, 
 
 us, in time. The Colonel is altogether too officious 
 in arranging things for me. I am old enough to 
 make my own choice in a matter of such importance. 
 I do not like to say anything against him, after he 
 has done my father such a service, but he has made 
 me feel contemptible. You see how it is, Alma. I 
 have to go to his house, and I have to see Edith, for 
 she is always there, and that makes people talk. 
 And then I have to see you in this surreptitious way, 
 because of those confounded quarrels !" 
 
 Alma looked up at him searchingly, for she still 
 lay in his arms. 
 
 " Do you think she loves you, Gerald ? Or rather, 
 does she ? For if she does, you know it very well." 
 
 He hesitated for some seconds. 
 
 " She likes me, at least," he said, at last. " I don't 
 want to appear egotistical. She likes me, and she 
 would be glad to please her father. But what does 
 it matter, Alma ?" 
 
 The girl was gazing thoughtfully on the floor. 
 
 "Matter? It matters a great deal. If she loves 
 you she will have to suffer. I know what it is to 
 think you are going to belong to another. I hope 
 she does not love you enough to go through what I 
 did a week ago." 
 
 He embraced her more tenderly yet, and reminded 
 her gently that all her fears might have been saved 
 by the secret marriage which he had begged her to 
 tnake. 
 
 " Yes, that would have disposed ot one set of 
 fears," she answered, "and perhaps given me 
 another and a harder set to bear, in its place. I 
 want to walk up to the altar with you, Gerald, before 
 everybody If my parents continue as obdurate as
 
 * CONSIDERING HIS TEMrTATIONS." 219 
 
 they now are, I may have to choose between them 
 and you, but I want to do it openly and not like one 
 who seeks the darkness to accomplish that for which 
 he fears the daylight. We will meet here till we 
 can do better, but let us hope that something will 
 soon interfere in our behalf." 
 
 He reminded her that it would be but a short 
 time now before he should have to return to his law 
 office and she to her seminary, in Chicago. 
 
 " That is the hardest thing I have to tell you," she 
 said, with an effort. " I am not to go back there. 
 They are thinking of another school nearer here, but 
 at any rate I cannot return to the old one. They 
 do not want me to be near you nor near Edith 
 either," she added, lowering her voice. " I never 
 knew them so set in anything before. Mamma does 
 not say much but I can see that she agrees with him." 
 
 Gerald was quite upset by this piece of informa* 
 tion. 
 
 " I hardly care whether I go or not, then," he 
 answered, with a crestfallen look. " I have borne 
 the trouble at the house because I thought that in a 
 few weeks you and I would be where we could see 
 each other with no difficulties in the way. If this 
 keeps on, Alma, I shall give up my studies. They 
 will drive me to it." 
 
 " Oh, no !" she exclaimed, not displeased, neverthe- 
 less, to receive this evidence of the regret that he 
 felt at her information. " You must persevere in 
 your profession, whatever happens. I should hate to 
 think that I had done anything to retard your suc- 
 cess in life. Edith will be there," she added, with a 
 trace of mischievous meaning, " so you will not be 
 wholly lonesome."
 
 S20 TUB GARSTTOff BI0AXY. 
 
 " Don't, Alma. That hurts me," he protested. 
 
 "It should not," she replied, gently. " She and ! 
 are the dearest friends. I know I could trust hef 
 with you. I know I could trust you anywhere. 
 Only, don't be very careful, Gerald don't do any- 
 thing to make her think you care for her. It it 
 would be cruel." 
 
 He said " Hush !" in a whisper, and then carried 
 her to a sofa near by and placed her upon it. She 
 was a good weight for him to bear, but what lover 
 ever realized the meaning of avoirdupois when his 
 beloved one was the object. 
 
 "You are the sick one to-day ; the last time it was 
 I," he said, laughing. " Now it is my turn to play 
 the nurse." 
 
 44 All the medicine I need is to have you by me," 
 she murmured. 
 
 44 It was all I needed, too, if I had been so candid 
 as to own it," he smiled. 
 
 They talked about the school affair, and could not 
 reconcile themselves to it, but it was agreed that 
 wherever she was sent he would find his way thither 
 as often as circumstances would permit, and that each 
 would write daily. For the present they were to 
 meet every other day in the summer-house at the 
 same hour. 
 
 Mary brought a lunch at seven and they tasted it 
 together, but neither was hungry for material food. 
 Alma grew more and more charming as she regained 
 her spirits, and they built a splendid future out of 
 the very limited materials at hand in the course of 
 the evening. Not once did the fair girl refuse or 
 even question his right to all the kisses he wanted,
 
 CUFF NELSON'S PROTEST. 22\ 
 
 which were numerous. And when he reflected after- 
 ward Gerald thought he had behaved very well 
 indeed, considering his temptations. 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 CUFF NELSON'S PROTEST. 
 
 Alvah Adams had never tried to influenc* ni 
 daughter in anything until there came up this mat- 
 ter of Gerald. She had been as free to follow her 
 inclination in everything as though she were of full 
 age, and he had always congratulated himself that 
 there was nothing in which they seemed likely to 
 differ. In this case, however, he had determined to 
 use all of his efforts to put a stop to the intimacy of 
 the young couple, believing that their further friend- 
 ship could only result in subsequent pain and mortifi- 
 cation to Alma. What might have happened had the 
 girl set herself in opposition to his wishes, in an 
 open way, it is difficult to say. He would have /ound 
 it hard to use severe measures, and she might have 
 been the victor. But as time passed on and she 
 appeared to recover rapidly from the shock which 
 he had been compelled to give her, Mr. Adams con- 
 gratulated himself that he had pursued the right 
 course, and that the love of the young man had not 
 been so deeply grounded in his child's heart as he 
 bad feared. 
 
 In the course of a fortnight she went about her 
 duties with very nearly the appearance of the former
 
 222 THE GABSTOJN BIG AM T. 
 
 time. She wore a subdued air that was new to her, 
 but there was nothing to show that she suffered from 
 grief. It was clear to her father, and to her mothet 
 as well, that the ill effects were passing rapid sy 
 away. 
 
 Mrs. Adams had long been in delicate health, and 
 it happened at this season that she was taken with a 
 sudden failing, which alarmed her husband seriously. 
 The physician who attended her recommended a 
 trip to the seashore, and Adams se. about arranging 
 to carry out his recommendations. Alma's school 
 term would have begun soon, but the girl settled 
 that matter by saying that she had had enough of 
 study for the present. She would much rather, she 
 said, remain and attend to the household affairs, 
 which would enable her mother to prolong her visit 
 East as much as she wished. Her parents came 
 to the conclusion that it would be best to allow her 
 to make her choice. She had already a fair educa- 
 tion, and if she was content to remain at home, it 
 was undoubtedly better that she should do so. 
 
 Gerald had been giving some uneasiness to his 
 father of late by the condition of his health. He had 
 become paler than usual, and his appetite was vari- 
 able. He appeared to care for nothing, but would 
 lie for hours at a time in a hammock, with his eyes 
 fixed on vacancy, sometimes having to be called sev- 
 eral times before he heard the person who accosted 
 him. Garston ascribed this state of affairs to his 
 son's fondness for Alma, but assured himself that it 
 would soon pass off, and that he would be all the 
 better when the reaction came. He heard from the 
 Colonel that Gerald- made his appearance regularly 
 at his residence and often remained to supper, spend-
 
 CUFF NELSON'S PEOTMT. 2*3 
 
 ing the evening in the sole company of Edith. The 
 Colonel had also noticed that Gerald did not seem 
 in his usual health, but ascribed it to physical 
 causes. 
 
 "It is nothing lasting," he said. "A wedding 
 journey would cure him. Young men are often 
 struck that way." 
 
 "I wish he would take the wedding journey," 
 replied John, with a clouded brow. " I have talked 
 with him, and he says he cannot think of marrying 
 until he can support his wife and himself. He is 
 proud and stubborn, too, in his quiet way. The 
 only method is to let him alone till he comes to his 
 senses." 
 
 "It is nearly the time he has set to return to 
 Chicago, is it not ?" asked the Colonel. 
 
 "Yes, but the firm he is reading with are willing 
 to give him all the vacation he needs. I don't want 
 him to hurry. When does Edith go ?" 
 
 " She concluded not to go at all," was the reply. 
 ** She says it would be lonesome there without Alma, 
 and I have let her do as she pleased. She'll keep 
 on with her music at home and have a French 
 teacher come to the house." 
 
 Cliff Nelson came to Jefferson for a short visit and 
 was more shocked at the condition in which he 
 found Gerald than any of the rest, not having seen 
 him since they parted in the early summer, when 
 the bloom of health and the flush of happiness was on 
 his cheek. 
 
 " Look here, old boy," was his first greeting, " you 
 are looking like the devil ! " 
 
 " I'm not quite as well as I have been," Gerald 
 admitted, "but it will be all right in a little tims."
 
 Jm TOM 6 ARSTOW BIOAMT. 
 
 * All right r echoed Cliff. "All wrong, you mean J 
 Why, there'll be a funeral at your house in another 
 month if you don't mend. What is it? Something 
 about our two friends, eh ? I suspected as much. 
 Tell me. Have you found which of them it is ?" 
 
 Gerald looked at the handsome face of his com- 
 panion and groaned. 
 
 " There is no change, Cliff," he answered. " They 
 make me the happiest and the most miserable fellow 
 in the world, as they used. It has steadily grown 
 worse to bear, and I have had no one to confide in. 
 It does me good to see you, for you at least under- 
 stand my trouble." 
 
 Little by little Nelson got out of him the situation 
 of affairs, as they drove to Mr. Garston's house, and 
 when they were comfortably seated on the veranda 
 they continued the conversation for a longtime. 
 
 " The fathers of both of them became unbearable," 
 said Gerald. "They could not conceal their abso* 
 lute certainty that I was in each case destined for 
 the position of their son-in-law. They came with 
 offers of financial assistance, both to myself and 
 father, till it seemed as if I could stand it no longer. 
 I had rather have become a tramp and begged my 
 dinners on the road than have endured it another 
 month. Finally Staples came to the auction, as I 
 have told you, and bought the place, saving us from 
 being turned into the street ; and that gave him, as 
 he considered, a first mortgage, not only on the farm, 
 but on me. Adams thereupon got angry and ceased 
 to bow when we met, so I was relieved of that nui- 
 sance, at least, but the assurance of the other one 
 has been doubled to make up for it. Between thew 
 they were killing me. Now the ^r-ssure of the on
 
 OLCTT mUKnr's FBOTZST. 92ft 
 
 remaining Is about as great as their combined weight 
 
 yas before." 
 
 Nelson heard this with gravity. 
 
 41 1 did not know that your father was in any trou- 
 )/e of this sort," he said. " If I had I should have 
 offered to aid you myself. I could have done it just 
 as well as not." 
 
 "That would, if possible, have been worse than 
 the present muddle," said Gerald. " Turn which 
 way I could there was nothing but obligation to 
 some one, or what is popularly called ruin. I delib- 
 erately chose the latter, as far as I was concerned. 
 I never asked the Colonel to come over and buy the 
 place, nor did any one else. He heard of the auction 
 and drove there of his own notion." 
 
 " It was very noble of him, I think," mused Clif- 
 ford, soberly. " Though, considering you in the light 
 of a future son-in-law, it was a perfectly natural 
 thing." 
 
 "But he has no business to consider me as any- 
 Jhing of the kind ! " Gerald broke out, hotly. 
 
 Nelson caught eagerly at the straw of comfort. 
 
 " Then you no longer consider yourself a probable 
 candidate for the hand of the fair Miss Edith?" 
 
 Gerald drew a breath of despair. . 
 
 "I don't know. If they would all let me alone for 
 twenty-four hours I might tell what I intend and 
 what I don't." 
 
 " It is a simple question, after all," said Nelson, 
 gravely. "Do you love her?" 
 
 "No doubt of it." 
 
 " Then that releases Alma," replied the other, witk 
 a strange look. 
 
 " Does it ? I don't see it that way. Alma likes me
 
 826 THI GAKSTOS BIOAMT. 
 
 1 like her. It is not so easy as you think to part 
 us." 
 
 Nelson rose and began to pace the room. 
 
 " See here, Gerald," he said, presently. " I think a 
 great deal of you, but this thing is getting where 
 there must be something done to bring you to rea- 
 son. After what you have told me it is clear that 
 you are going to marry Miss Staples. All the logic 
 of events points in that direction. It forms a solu- 
 tion of all your troubles. That being the case it is 
 nothing less than wicked for you to lead Miss Adams 
 to think otherwise. If she cares for you it is all the 
 more reason why she should know the truth as early 
 as possible." 
 
 " Know -what truth ? " exclaimed Gerald. " That I 
 can hardly live out of her sight? That is the only 
 truth in connection with her that I am fully persuad- 
 ed of. Oh, Cliff, I thought you would do something 
 to aid me, and you only make it worse and worse ! " 
 
 His companion grew dark about the eyes. He 
 was a good-natured fellow, but he was on the point 
 of an explosion at that moment. 
 
 " What is the matter with me, Cliff ?" cried Gerald, 
 wildly, rising and pressing his hands to his temples. 
 " Here are these two girls, either of them fit consort 
 for an angel. Both have a fondness for me which is 
 as unaccountable as it is undeniable. And what 
 does such love such undeserved affection do to 
 me? Beautiful, pure and good as they are, they 
 have already made me a fool, and they will yet make 
 me a villain ! " 
 
 The anger that had been rising in Nelson's brain 
 turned to sympathy as he saw the earnestness of his 
 friend
 
 227 
 
 "You are insane ! " he answered. " No man in his 
 senses would talk like this." 
 
 " I know it," said Gerald. " I am insane in one 
 way and yet no body of physicians would order me 
 placed in confinement. I am bad enough, and yet I 
 have been trying for the past month to give up one 
 cf these girls trying as man never tried before. I 
 have met her three or four times a week, against the 
 wishes of her father and the commands of mine 
 met her surreptitiously, passed hours with her 
 and every moment the thought has been uppermost* 
 'Can I give her up?' The more I have put that 
 question to myself the less able have I been to an- 
 swer it. Then I have gone to see the other one, 
 whom I can meet with the full approval of all our 
 friends, and have asked myself the same thing con. 
 cerning her, with the same result." 
 
 " You you have met Miss Adams alone ?" stam- 
 mered Nelson, with an aspect of sternness. 
 
 " Not exactly. A trusted maid of hers has always 
 been within call." 
 
 " Of all the uncertain things which girls trust 
 with their secrets," said Clifford, earnestly, "a maid 
 is the worst. To-day she may be the soul of devo- 
 tion to-morrow something happens to make her 
 reveal all that she knows and insinuate more. Ger- 
 ald, you are my friend, but this must stop. I put it 
 plainly. It must stop." 
 
 It is not pleasant to be dictated to by a self-con 
 ftituted oracle, and Gerald felt his pride aroused. 
 
 " You are very plain, I must say," he replied, 
 coldly. 
 
 " I ,am," said Nelson. " I will be plainer yet that 
 there be no possibility of a misunderstanding I
 
 t28 THE GAROTON BIOAMT. 
 
 esteem Miss Adams too highly to permit you to go o? 
 injuring her as you are doing." 
 
 Gerald listened with increasing astonishment. 
 
 "Injure her ! Injure Alma !" he repeated. 
 
 "Yes. Every time you meet her unknown to her 
 parents, with only her maid to protect her good 
 name, you injure her. And this is not the way to 
 break with her, as you profess to think. The only 
 way to do that is to write her a frank, honest letter, 
 saying that your engagement to another makes it 
 proper that you should cease attentions which might 
 be misconstrued. This is the advice I give you. 
 Follow it or not, as you will. Now, another thing. 
 I cannot longer stay here as your guest. I shall go 
 at once to the village hotel and remain there while 
 I am in Jefferson." 
 
 Gerald started up and caught his friend by the 
 sleeve. 
 
 "Come, Cliff, that is going too far," he exclaimed. 
 "I have done nothing against you. You act as 
 though we had had a quarrel. You talk about my 
 being insane I think it is you who are best open to 
 that charge." 
 
 " No," said Nelson. " I have no quarrel with you, 
 but there is danger of one, and if it comes it is 
 better that I am not under your roof when the blow 
 falls. You are playing double with these girls. I 
 have no right to sit an idle spectator of your amuse- 
 ment. I shall go to the hotel. We have not fallen 
 out and if we ever do it will be from no fault of 
 mine. But one thing is certain, there must be a 
 change in your conduct, and that right speedily. 
 Gerald," he continued, assuming the tone of a 
 pleading friend, " it is for your own sake, as wall u
 
 LJ1TB A HAN IN IJQTJOK. 229 
 
 mine, as well as theirs, that I say this. You are old 
 
 enough to understand that Results flow from 
 Causes." 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 LIKE A MAN IN LIQUOR. 
 
 Gerald did not try longer to dissuade his friend 
 from the step he had resolved upon. In the first 
 place he felt that it would be useless, and in the 
 second he was not sure that it would not be better 
 for him that such a jealous spy upon his every 
 movement was further away. So Nelson went to 
 the hotel and Gerald thought for a long time of 
 what he had said to him. Could he give Alma up ? 
 He did not share his friend's idea about the letter he 
 ought to write. That seemed brutal, considering all 
 that had passed. Neither had he any fear of the 
 faithfulness of Mary Carson. There had been tat- 
 tling servants in the history of love, but she was not 
 of that mould. The summer-house was secluded. 
 No one walked in the wood at night who would be 
 likely to see him enter or leave it. As for Alma, it 
 was her father's property, and she had a right to go 
 and come when she pleased, without question. He 
 did not mean to do her reputation harm, certainly 
 not Had he not told her that she was the only 
 woman in the world for whom he cared ? 
 
 And yet, he had said no less to Edith ! 
 
 What a tangled web he had been wearing, and
 
 230 THE GARSTON BIGAMY. 
 
 how hopeless seemed the task of unwinding its 
 meshes from the limbs which it enfolded ! 
 
 The more he thought of it, however, the surer he 
 became that he ought to make a brave effort to give 
 Alma up. And as a preliminary to that end he 
 Wrote a note and left it under the flat stone, asking 
 her to meet him that evening, instead of the next, as 
 had been arranged. 
 
 Alma received the note with joy, when Mary 
 brought it to her. Her parents had that day de- 
 parted for the East, and she had been afflicted with 
 lonesomeness ever since the train had steamed out 
 of the depot with them on board. She met Gerald 
 at the hour appointed, with more than her usual 
 tenderness, and as he touched her ripe lips he knew 
 that all the courage with which he had thought him- 
 self endowed had taken to itself wings and flown 
 away. 
 
 She talked to him first of the departure of her 
 parents, who were not expected to come back for a 
 month or more. Then she expressed the hope that 
 he would not feel obliged to go to Chicago until 
 near the time they would return, as she could now 
 meet him with the utmost freedom. Edith came to 
 see her occasionally, but there was not the old cor- 
 diality, after all. 
 
 And Gerald told her that he was not going just 
 yet, at any rate. He mentioned that Cliff Nelson 
 had come to town and was staying at the hotel, say- 
 ing that it was better to have him there than at his 
 house, where he would know his every movement, 
 and possibly become suspicious. He said that his 
 father had also become quite a Cerberus, and that 
 ha had pretended to retire to his room at eight, MI
 
 UXB A MA* Iff LIQUO*. 931 
 
 account of Indisposition. Without this deception he 
 should find it hard to get these evenings to himself. 
 
 "You ought to see Cliff," he said. " He is hand- 
 somer than ever. You know he was always fond of 
 you, Alma, and I don't think he has given up hope 
 yet/' 
 
 She blushed and replied that he must not talk 
 nonsense. 
 
 a Mr. Nelson never said a word to me except the 
 ordinary courtesies," she added. "I think you are 
 too much inclined to draw on your imagination." 
 
 Gerald liked to see the roses come into her cheeks, 
 which were still a little affected by the paleness that 
 had come to her at the time of her illness. 
 
 41 Oh," he said, " Cliff is a thorough gentleman. 
 There isn't a mean streak in him. If you were my 
 sister, there isn't a man on earth that I would so 
 soon give you to. But, as it is, I don't see how I can 
 oblige him." 
 
 This made her laugh, and the conversation took 
 on a lighter tone. She told him, among other things, 
 that they were entirely alone in the summer-house 
 that evening. Mary had wanted very much to go to a 
 friend's, where she should remain till eleven o'clock, 
 and Alma had given her permission. After all, it 
 was just the same. Nobody would know she was 
 absent, and nobody would guess, at any rate 
 that Gerald was there. 
 
 Oh, yes, it was quite the same. 
 
 They told each other this several times, but one of 
 them knew different. From the moment that they 
 heard that Mary had gone and that there was no 
 one on the premises, but himself and Alma, there 
 Was a tornado in the heart of Gerald Garston. He
 
 31 THE GARSTOtf BIGAMT. 
 
 could not sit still. He walked about the rooms, look- 
 ing at the pictures and furnishings. When he talked 
 his utterance was not as distinct as usual. 
 
 M My head aches," he said, in answer to hei anx- 
 ious queries. 
 
 She made him lie down, and brought camphor, 
 with which she bathed it. The ache did not disap- 
 pear, however. He could not stay there, but got up 
 and walked again. She accompanied him, growing 
 paler as she saw his agitation. She was alarmed, 
 but did not know what to say, and thus the strange 
 actions went on for an hour or more, until she was 
 nearly exhausted with her emotions. 
 
 " Alma, darling," he said, suddenly, stopping and 
 facing her, "would it not have been better ;f you 
 had married me when I asked you ? Tell me, from 
 your heart, do you not wish at this moment that I 
 were your husband ?" 
 
 "If if ," she began. M If you insist upon it as 
 necessary to your happiness, I will marry you to- 
 morrow.'* 
 
 She thought this would extort a cry of pleasure 
 from him, but it did not. 
 
 " To-morrow /" he exclaimed, in so loud a voice 
 that she feared lest it should pass the walls of the 
 building and the limits of the enclosure. *' To* 
 morrow I There is no to-morrow ! There is nothing 
 in this world but to-day ! To-morrow is a milHon 
 centuries off! How can you talk to me of 
 to-morrow I " 
 
 The tears came into her eyes, in spite of all that 
 she could do to repress them, but he saw them not 
 
 He was blind. 
 
 "Almat"
 
 -ITS FOB EDITH!" HE MUSED. 233 
 
 She started to go nearer to him, but he moved 
 
 backward as she approached. 
 
 " Are you afraid to remain here alone till Mary 
 Comes ? I think I shall have to leave you. 1 ' 
 
 The tears that had gathered fell in a shower. 
 
 He did not see them. 
 
 " No," she answered. " I am not afraid." 
 
 "Good-night, then." 
 
 He 1 walked to the door like a man who has been 
 drinking liquor, and opened it. Then he rolled out 
 of the gate, and went through the wood, seeking not 
 for travelled ways. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIIL 
 
 * IT'S FOR EDITH ! " HE MUSED. 
 
 There was something very noble in the position 
 which young Nelson occupied. Ever since he had 
 krown Edith he had admired her, and now that ad- 
 miration had grown into the deepest love. He had 
 no Msters, and she was the only girl for whom he had 
 ever felt a strong attachment. Toward Alma he 
 had a feeling that he could not put into words, that 
 made him assume a sort of guardianship over her 
 when she seemed menaced by danger. But that 
 was not love. Edith was the one who had his heart 
 in thralL Yet there had been little to give him hope 
 that he would ever have the opportunity to tell her 
 of his sentiments. 
 
 So long as there was anything between her and
 
 S34 THE GARSTOST BIGAMT. 
 
 Gerald, he was barred out by the commonest rules 
 of honor. And more than that, he had observed her 
 too closely not to know that, while Gerald was in 
 the way, the suit of no other man on earth would 
 have the least effect upon her. 
 
 There was no reason why he should not call upon 
 her indeed she would have thought it strange if he 
 had not, knowing that he was in town and he took 
 an early opportunity of visiting the Staples man- 
 sion. She received him kindly, but he saw at a 
 glance that there was trouble in her face. He 
 guessed the truth that Gerald was not as regular 
 in his calls as she thought he should be. One of 
 the first things brought out in their conversation 
 was the fact that he was living at the hotel, which 
 he ascribed to greater convenience. She asked him, 
 with an effort, if he had seen Gerald, and he said 
 that he had, once or twice, but not for long inter- 
 views. 
 
 "And you have called on Alma, of course ?" she 
 said. 
 
 " No. I mean to do so soon, however." 
 
 " I know she will be glad to see you," said Edith. 
 M I have sometimes thought," she added, archly, " that 
 she had an especially warm side for you." 
 
 He wondered how she could be so blind. 
 
 "You are surely mistaken," he answered. Then 
 he continued, unable to resist the inclination, " I 
 suspect, on the contrary, that she has a decided 
 preference for another ? " 
 
 She regarded him vacantly. 
 
 "Another? No, there can be none. We are so 
 intimate that if there were she would have told
 
 FOB EDITH!" HE inrsB. 29* 
 
 How thoroughly both of these girls believed in 
 their hold on Gerald. 
 
 44 It matters not," said Clifford, more soberly than 
 he was wont to speak. " I have set my affections 
 elsewhere." 
 
 The natural curiosity of the feminine mind over- 
 powered Edith. 
 
 ** Ah !" she said. " Is it a secret, or can you give 
 me her name ? " 
 
 "I cannot, now. There may be a time when I 
 can," said he, with great deliberation. " But I assure 
 you that it will be either her or no one." 
 
 "You imply that there is doubt of your happi- 
 ness," said Edith, sweetly. " I hope sincerely that 
 the difficulties, whatever they are, will be removed. 
 You deserve one of the best girls in the world." 
 
 He took up her hand and kissed it with the rever- 
 ence of a devotee. 
 
 " You would aid me, if you could ?" he asked. 
 
 "You may be sure of that," she answered, 
 warmly. 
 
 He was afraid he should say too much, and he 
 soon after took his departure. 
 
 From Edith's house he went to that of Alma. It 
 was not yet late, and he wanted to have a talk with 
 her too. The servant who answered his ring told 
 him that her young mistress had gone out to spend 
 the evening, and she did not know at what hour she 
 would return. Not liking to go to his hotel so 
 early, Nelson took a long stroll up the road, ending 
 by going into *.e woods and lying down under a 
 tall tree, to dream alone. He had lain there perhaps 
 an hour when he heard a quick step approaching;
 
 100 rax QABOTOW Biouwr. 
 
 and saw Gerald walking at a strange and reckless 
 gait through the underbrush. 
 
 So peculiar was his friend's action, that Nelson's 
 first thought was that he saw a somnambulist. Ger- 
 fild turned aside for the larger trees and bushes, but 
 over the smaller ones he stalked like a wild animal, 
 who had no idea of roads or clear spaces. Nelson 
 started to his feet and called his name three times 
 before he received any intimation that his words 
 had reached the ears for which they were intended. 
 Then Gerald stopped like one startled, looked 
 around and replied, in a hoarse voice : 
 
 -Who's there?" 
 
 "It is I." 
 
 Nelson stepped out of his concealment and saw 
 that the face of his friend was ghastly. His eyes 
 were streaked with red, and his entire appearance 
 was the reverse of natural. 
 
 " Where did you come from ? " asked Gerald, sus- 
 piciously. 
 
 44 1 have been lying here under this tree for an 
 hour or more." 
 
 Gerald's eyes cleared a little as he spoke next 
 
 " You are a friend of mine, aren't you ?" 
 
 " I hope lam." 
 ; Have you a pistol ?" 
 
 There was such a calm, cold-blooded tone in this 
 Inquiry that Nelson shuddered. 
 
 "I have not What could I do with one?" he 
 teplied. 
 
 "You could do me a favor. You could place m 
 against that tree and shoot me dead." 
 
 Clifford was thoroughly shocked. 
 
 * What has happened ? " he asked. " Let me walk
 
 FOB BDITH!" HE MTOBD. 33T 
 
 home with you. You want to get to bed and rest 
 You need medicine." 
 
 The soothing voice had a certain effect, and Gerald 
 suffered himself to be led in the direction indicated. 
 But he had no notion of telling this man what ailed 
 him. 
 
 " How came you out here ? " he asked. " It is a 
 good way from the hotel." 
 
 " I took the liberty of calling upon your affianced," 
 replied Nelson, soberly. " We talked of nothing but 
 you, however, so you need have no jealousy." 
 
 Gerald stared at him a moment before he compre- 
 hended. 
 
 "Do you mean Edith ? M 
 
 M I said * your affianced.' Whom else could I have 
 meant ? Have you several of them ? " 
 
 A shiver passed over the form of the other man. 
 
 "I don't know whether I have one," he said. 
 "There was never a formal engagement between 
 Edith and me. If there were I should feel it my 
 duty to ask a release ; for to night, if never before, I 
 know I cannot marry her." 
 
 Nelson felt greatly agitated by this statement. He 
 knew not what to think. 
 
 " When you have rested, you will be able to talk 
 more coherently," he said. " She fully understands 
 that you and she are engaged. And let me tell you 
 that you trifle with the heart of a superior girl when 
 you play at fast and loose with Miss Staples." 
 
 Gerald admitted by a nod that he had no desire 
 to controvert this statement. 
 
 "I am not insane, as you seem, perhaps not unrea- 
 sonably, to think," he answered. " I may have been 
 for a moment out of my mind, but now I am quite
 
 233 THE QJLRSTON BIGAMT. 
 
 sober and sensible. For three years I have been try. 
 ing to ascertain which of these girls I most cared for. 
 At last I have discovered. There is one of them 
 without whom life would be a miserable blank to 
 me. And Cliff, it is not Edith." 
 
 Nelson stopped stock-still in the road. He had 
 anticipated he knew not what, but never this. 
 
 "You mean," he said, "that you love Miss Adams v 
 _fterall?" 
 
 " Beyond a doubt. It is clear to me now as the 
 sun at noon. As soon as I can I shall try to commu- 
 nicate to Edith the fact that there can be nothing 
 more between us." 
 
 Clifford did not mean to introduce himself into 
 the matter if he could help it, and he thought it his 
 duty to say something more. 
 
 " It will be a blow to her," he said. " She is a gin 
 I might almost say woman of strong affections. 
 They are all centred on you. There has been noth. 
 ing to prepare her for this." 
 
 "Don't, Cliff!" he exclaimed. "It is not an easy 
 thing, and you have no right to make it harder. 
 While, as I tell you, my eyes have been opened at last 
 to where my love really lies, I have a regard for 
 Edith which surpasses that which other men feel for 
 their favorite sisters. I would do anything in the 
 world to spare her pain. She is very, very dear to 
 me. The knowledge that I must cause her suffering 
 is terrible to me, but how can I escape ? Would that 
 our friendly relations could have gone on forever ! 
 But since custom compels me to discard the one 
 when I take the other, it must be she who is left. 
 Edith I like as well as ever but Alma ! There ig
 
 M n*8 FOR EDITH I" HB MUSED. 239 
 
 o language to express my adoration my complete 
 worship of that girl ! " 
 
 Nelson heard him wonderingly. 
 
 "The Colonel will be much disappointed," mused 
 he. 
 
 " By God," cried Gerald, " whatever they do, they 
 shall not buy and sell me ! There is enough of man- 
 liness left in me for that, at any rate ! I shall have 
 to give up everything for Alma, and I am willing to 
 do it. My father will never forgive me if I marry the 
 daughter of the man he considers his worst enemy, 
 and no one can reason with him. Adams will make 
 an awful row, perhaps disinherit his child, and re- 
 fuse to speak to her again. Staples will feel hurt, 
 Edith will call me a heartless wretch, when I have 
 only tried to save her from the worst fate imagina- 
 ble, and you the last one left will cast me over. 
 Everything will have to go, and only Alma will be 
 Jeft me. Only Alma ! I would rather live with her 
 on a desert island than with any other girl in the 
 midst of friends and plenty !" 
 
 Nelson felt that Gerald was fully in earnest, but 
 it was all so strange. 
 
 "How did this knowledge come so suddenly ?" he 
 asked. " It was but yesterday that you could not 
 come to any decision between them, and that you 
 leaned, if at all, to the other side." 
 
 Gerald paused, and turned his face toward the 
 moon, which shone upon and illumined it. 
 
 " It came to me as the Truth came to Saul on the 
 road to Damascus ! I have been with her to- 
 night !" 
 
 " /ou left early," said Clifford, cynically. " Your 
 at the moment when I accosted you,
 
 Mf TBB OABffKW BKAMY. 
 
 were not of the kind one ought to expect in a happy 
 lover." 
 
 Gerald had for the time forgotten the events 
 which sent him roving wildly through the wood, 
 and at the recollection of them his countenance grew 
 sober. 
 
 "That that was something else," he stammered. 
 
 They were near his father's gate now, and he 
 walked slowly. As he had professed to have a head- 
 ache and had retired early, he did not desire that 
 his parent should see him re-enter the house, if by 
 any chance he were yet awake. 
 
 " When you have had a night's rest, and tell me 
 this again, I shall know how thoroughly to believe 
 you," said Nelson, as he turned to leave. " There 
 is something unsettled about your mind to-night 
 which leaves me a little in doubt." 
 
 "Oh, you may believe it all now," responded Ger- 
 ald. " I shall marry Alma. I must. I am not good 
 enough for her understand that, Cliff. It is a mir- 
 acle that she loves me, but I believe she does, if ever 
 woman loved man. As to Edith that's the hard 
 thing. I don't know how I shall manage that. It 
 will give me sad hours as well as her." He waited, 
 but could think of nothing more to say on tha* 
 point. " I wanted to learn which of them it was, 
 and until I did learn, what could I do but wait? 
 Don't be hard on me in your thoughts, old boy. 
 My road is a straight one now, and I should be a 
 villain not to follow it." 
 
 Nelson was thinking of something else at that 
 moment. 
 
 "Tell me before I leave you," said he, "why if
 
 FOB EDITH!" HB KTOED. 241 
 
 was that you asked m to place you against a tree 
 and shoot you." 
 
 Gerald tried to laugh away the ugly incident. 
 
 " Perhaps I was a little crazy," he said. " I can= 
 not tell you what caused my aberation, but it was 
 nothing serious nothing that is going to be so now. 
 I am glad you did not take me at my word." 
 
 Gerald walked slowly up to his father's door. It 
 was now half-past ten o'clock, and he was much sur- 
 prised to see his parent sitting at that, to him, 
 unheard of hour, on the veranda. 
 
 "So you did not go to bed ?" said his father, in a 
 tone in which no special meaning could be discerned. 
 
 "Yes, I did, but the room was close, and I went 
 out to stroll. I think it has done me good." 
 
 "Whom where you talking with just now ?" 
 
 "Cliff Nelson. I ran across him accidentally." 
 
 Garston looked at his son and thought how well 
 he bore the scrutiny. 
 
 ' I want to talk to you a few minutes, Gerald," he 
 said. " Have you considered that matter of marry- 
 ing before you go back to Chicago ?" 
 
 The young man paled at the question, though he 
 had been white enough before. 
 
 " I have," he answered, " and as I told you, I do not 
 see the object of haste." 
 
 "It ought to be something to you that I wish it,'* 
 said the father. 
 
 "It is. I have tried to agree with you, but I can- 
 not. I entreat you not to press me further. You 
 surely wish me to be happy, and this matter I must 
 settle for myself." 
 
 Without the least discourtesy, but as i f the con*
 
 242 THE GAKSTON BIGAMY. 
 
 versatlon naturally ended at this point, Gerald 
 bowed a polite good night and entered the house. 
 
 The next morning Garston met Colonel Staples, 
 who told him that Gerald had not been to see Edith 
 for three days and that she was in some anxiety in 
 consequence, though she was doing her best to con- 
 ceal it. The Colonel also said that business would 
 compel him to take a trip to Europe within a short 
 time, and that, as he should be absent some months, 
 he would like to have this other matter settled 
 before his departure. 
 
 Garston rubbed his hands craftly. 
 
 " You ought to take the young couple along," he 
 said. " If it is managed right, you can do so. Edith 
 is through with her school, and Gerald is not feel- 
 ing well enough to resume his studies at present. 
 Say nothing to anyone till I tell you the time is 
 right. Then spring it upon them suddenly, and you 
 will have them for fellow passengers. After that, all 
 will go easily." 
 
 "That would be delightful," said the Colonel, 
 with beaming countenance. 
 
 " Can you start at short notice ?" asked John. 
 
 :< At an hour's, for such a purpose." 
 
 'Trust me, then, and be quiet till I speak." 
 
 There was such an exhibition of low cunning in 
 Garston's face that the Colonel, by nature a man of 
 the highest honor, felt a sense of shame of having 
 become his partner in so underhanded a business. 
 But he had a daughter whose happiness depended 
 on the arrangement he was trying to make, and for 
 her sake he sank his sentiments. 
 
 " It's for Edith," he mused, as he went his way.
 
 NO SLEEP F0 ALMA. 243 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 NO SLEEP FOR ALMA. 
 
 No sleep came to Alma's eyes on that terrible 
 night when her lover left her at the summer-house. 
 She had been too frightened to try to stop him when 
 he proposed going, and yet she felt a vague alarm at 
 what might happen to him after he had gone. She 
 knew he was of a peculiar disposition, and in his 
 excited state many things were conceivable. 
 
 Mary Carson returned at the time agreed and 
 found her young mistress with the traces of tears on 
 her cheeks, though she had tried her best to remove 
 them. The maid did not dare inquire the cause of 
 the trouble, but in her own mind attributed it to 
 nothing more serious than a lovers' quarrel, which 
 she supposed inevitable in all cases of true love and 
 without permanent effect. On the following morn- 
 ing, when Alma did not rise from her bed, Mary 
 grew more uneasy, and began to wish she had had 
 no part in an affair which seemed destined to bring 
 more sorrow than happiness to the one she loved 
 so well. But, at noon, she brought Alma a note 
 found in the wall, and saw that this magic force 
 had still power to work a miracle. Half an hour 
 after receiving the letter, Alma was dressed and 
 about the house, singing softly to herself, and 
 apparently more joyous than ever. 
 
 The letter was written in Gerald's most tender 
 and repentant strain. It plead for forgiveness.
 
 244 THE OARSTON BIGAMY. 
 
 deplored the condition into which he had allowed 
 himself to drift on the previous evening, and 
 declared that nothing of the kind should ever mar 
 their future. He told her that he had never 
 realized until now how dearly he loved her, and 
 that his every effort hereafter should be to make 
 himself worthy of the only woman for whom he cou" i 
 ever care. 
 
 To do Gerald justice, he meant every word of 
 this when he wrote it. He had passed a miserable 
 night, and awoke with his conscience gnawing. He 
 dreamed of nothing but seeing Alma again, and con- 
 vincing her that he was a better man than his actions 
 had led her to think. He was not without fear that 
 she would take his conduct seriously, and the dread 
 that she might refuse to meet him again without the 
 sanction of her parents troubled him exceedingly. 
 
 "lean hardly endure the moments until you tell 
 me I am forgiven," he wrote. " If you are at the 
 summer-house this evening, I shall know that I am 
 to live. If you are not, I shall take it as my death- 
 blow, and in the morning I shall leave Jefferson, 
 never to set foot in it again," 
 
 Alma told Mary that she should spend tne evening 
 at the summer-house, and the kind-hearted girl 
 rejoiced to see in the eyes of her mistress the familiar 
 smile of happiness which had momentarily disap- 
 peared. It was Mary's habit to take a book with her, 
 as the hours which she spent in the dining-room at 
 the cottage were dull and stupid, unless she had 
 something in the way of entertainment. The young 
 couple in the parlor, with their imaginable billing 
 and cooing, only made the position of the quasi- 
 chaperonc all the more lonely, for Mary was a sus
 
 WO SLEEP FOB ALMA. 245 
 
 girl, and had known what It was to have an 
 adorer of her own. She usually read the book as 
 long as she could keep awake,and then relapsed into 
 slumber until the voice of her mistress was heard 
 telling her that it was time for them to go home. 
 On this occasion she took the novel she had brought 
 and found herself absorbed in the woes of its heroine, 
 while Alma watched and waited anxiously for the 
 Step of the one she loved. 
 
 Gerald, who was expected at eight o'clock, did not 
 arrive till nearly an hour later. Alma grew impa- 
 tient, fearing everything that her active brain could 
 conceive of. When he came at last, she flew to him 
 without a moment's delay. 
 
 " Oh, I feared something had happened to keep 
 you away !" she cried, in a low voice. ** What was 
 the matter ?" 
 
 "I could not escape the watchful eyes of my 
 father," he answered, with a trace of bitterness. " I 
 pretended illness again, and went to my room, but 
 he sat up later than usual, and I could not pass 
 the veranda. Is it not an outrage that I should be 
 Compelled to endure this sort of thing ?" 
 
 "You must endure it a little longer,"* she said, 
 nestling close to his breast. " I am a sharer with you 
 in the deception, for I meet you against all the com- 
 mands of my father. At first it made me feel very 
 wicked, but I am becoming hardened. There will 
 come a time when we shall look back on these meet- 
 ings and be glad that we dared to have them." 
 
 They had entered so noiselessly that Mary Carson 
 bad not heard Gerald's step, and the future conver- 
 sation was carried on in such low tones that it reached 
 no other ears than their own.
 
 246 THE GATCSTON BIGAMY. 
 
 " The first thing I want is your forgiveness " he 
 began, but she stopped him. 
 
 " Say nothing about it, Gerald. Your note quite 
 sufficiently explains all." 
 
 " But I must have made you suffer horribly. li- 
 my own feelings were any criterion, you must have 
 had an awful night. I do not know what was the 
 matter with me. I was quite out of my head, and 
 really knew nothing after I left you until I met Cliff 
 Nelson, half a mile from here." 
 
 She started, alarmed at the statement. 
 
 " He did not suspect " 
 
 " No, but he wondered what had happened to affect 
 me so. Just to plague him I have pretended that I 
 did not know which I loved best you or Edie but 
 when we met last night I told him the truth. I said 
 there was but one little girl in the world for me and 
 that was you. I didn't mean to be quite so con- 
 fidential, but I was afraid he would be calling on you 
 and proposing, and I didn't like to take any risks." 
 
 It pleased her to hear him talk like this, for it 
 showed that he rejoiced in the possession of her love t 
 and was not willing that any other man should 
 have an opportunity even to ask for it. Gerald was 
 very dear to her that night, all the dearer for the 
 little episode of the evening preceding. 
 
 " Mary is with you this time, of course ?" he said, 
 presently. 
 
 She assented, and indicated the dining-room as the 
 present location of the person inquired for. 
 
 "You won't let her go again ?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 She shook her head decidedly. 
 
 " She will not be likely to come in, though ?"
 
 NO SLEEP FOR ALMA. 247 
 
 "Not unless called." 
 
 Gerald laughed. 
 
 "I don't think you'll need to call her," he said. 
 "She has great faith in us. I really believe she 
 thinks it a sort of Christian duty to help us to these 
 meetings." 
 
 Alma agreed with a smile. 
 
 " If she thought it wrong she would not do it, I am 
 sure. She is the most devoted girl." 
 
 Gerald drew the figure which he had been encir- 
 cling with his arm closer to his breast. 
 
 " We will have her with us when when we are 
 married." 
 
 "Oh, to be sure." 
 
 He drank in the sweet breath for a moment. Then 
 he found his brain growing unsteady again. 
 
 " When was it," he asked, " that you first thought 
 you loved me ?" 
 
 "I don't know. I can't remember. But since we 
 have met here my love has grown to be a very differ- 
 ent thing from what it was before." 
 
 He asked her to explain, but she could not. 
 
 "I feel now," she said, "as if I could not live were 
 we to be parted." 
 
 "Why, that," he said, " is like thelove of a wife to 
 her husband." 
 
 "Yes. If we were already married, you could not 
 be dearer than you are." 
 
 He drew a long breath. 
 
 " Oh, I wish we were ! It is such a little thing- 
 that ceremony and yet it means so much ! A few 
 words from a clergyman, and we could tell Miss 
 Mary there to give up her post of watcher. I am so 
 tired of waiting for you !"
 
 248 THE GABSTON BIGAMY. 
 
 She placed an arm affectionately about his neck. 
 
 " Why, you have me already." 
 
 "No," he answered, with tightening lips, " I do not 
 have you. We are here at a risk to our reputations. 
 We come in and creep out like burglars. You told 
 me yesterday that you would agree to a secret mar- 
 riage, if I insisted upon it. Alma, I think I must 
 insist." 
 
 She had hoped that he would forget her rash 
 promise, for she dreaded above all things taking a 
 step of that kind, which seemed cruel to her parents, 
 who had always granted her every favor she fcad 
 asked them. 
 
 " Let us talk it over sensibly," she said. " Of what 
 use would it be ?" 
 
 " It could stop idle tongues if it were discovered 
 that we have met here," he replied, quickly. " Is 
 that nothing to consider?" 
 
 "I could prove that Mary had always been with 
 us," said the girl, with a blush. 
 
 There was a covert sneer in the smile with which 
 he met this. 
 
 " She is your servant, and herself only a young 
 woman. It would amount to nothing. Are you 
 Tying to avoid carrying out your own proposal ? 
 You told me frankly that you would do it if I 
 insisted." 
 
 She knew that this was true ; and yet she wanted 
 to find some avenue of escape that should be, at the 
 same time, satisfactory to him. 
 
 " Listen to me, Gerald," she said, after a pause. 
 *' My father and mother are to return in three or 
 four weeks. I will make you this promise and keep 
 it faithfully. When they arrive I will go to them
 
 NO SLEEP FOB ALMA. 249 
 
 openly and tell them that I love you that I have 
 promised to be your wife, and that I want their 
 blessing. I will pray them to grant it, begging it if 
 necessary on my knees, and I think they will give 
 their consent. If they do not if they say it shall 
 not be, no matter with what threats they couple the 
 decision, I will marry you as soon after as you 
 wish. But it must be before the world, Gerald. It 
 must be before the world ! It would kill me to 
 have it said that I " . 
 
 The tears had risen to her eyes. He soothed her 
 gently and kissed away the briny drops. In spite of 
 all she could not help sobbing on his shoulder, and 
 he began to feel a good deal like a villain. 
 
 A coil of her rich, dark hair fell upon her neck. He 
 begged her not to put it up again just then, and 
 soon his fingers were slowly unbraiding it as he 
 talked to her. The tresses which he unbound were 
 of unusual luxuriance and he made a veil of them 
 which hid both their faces, as his cheek lay against 
 hers. She ceased to sob and they found contentment 
 in silence. 
 
 Mary had forgotten to fill the lamp on the table 
 and at this juncture it went out. There was light 
 enough, however, from the windows, through which 
 the moonlight shone, and they could see each other 
 distinctly. 
 
 " The sky must be full of stars to-night," said 
 Alma, at last, after neither had spoken for a long time. 
 
 "I see but two," he answered, gazing full into her 
 eyes. "I see nothing, know nothing but you. 1 
 think the world has receded, and left us two alone."
 
 250 THE GARSTON BIGAMY. 
 
 There are tragedies of the sea, tragedies of the 
 land, tragedies of the air. A steamer goes down 
 with a thousand souls on board. A railway train 
 dashes from a bridge, and the spreading fire com- 
 pletes the deadly work. An aeronaut with his party 
 of pleasure seekers dares the dizzy height and from 
 the ether all come tumbling. There are tragedies 
 of the noiseless dagger, the quick report of the 
 ready revolver, the pangs of the purposely adminis- 
 tered poison. Cupidity and Revenge slay their 
 multitudes, but Love uncontrolled wrecks more lives 
 than they. Decked out in pleasing attire, coming 
 velvet-shod, it works its havoc ere Suspicion thinks 
 to wake the sentinel. 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 " WHAT WAS THAT SOUND ?" 
 
 It was bright daylight when Mary Carson started 
 from her armchair in the dining-room, and realized 
 how long she had slept. In another second sha 
 opened the doors that led to the parlor, and dis- 
 covered Alma sleeping soundly upon the sofa there. 
 The long hair of her mistress was unbound and 
 floated about her like a cloud, while on her cheeks 
 were the tell-tale traces of tears. 
 
 " O dear ! dear !" groaned Mary to herself. 
 " Must they always end like this ? Nothing but 
 another quarrel could have made her cry." 
 
 She stooped down and awoke Alma as gently as
 
 "WHAT WAS THAT SOUND ?" 251 
 
 she could. The girl gazed at her with a fixed expres- 
 sion when first she opened her eyes, as if she were 
 uncertain whether what she saw was real or some- 
 thing in a dream. 
 
 " It is morning," said Mary, apologetically ; " I have 
 been asleep. I did not hear Mr. Gerald when he 
 came or went." 
 
 Alma roused herself slowly, sat up and allowed the 
 maid to arrange her hair. 
 
 "What time did he come?" asked Mary, feeling 
 the oppression of the silence. " It must have been 
 very late." 
 
 A shiver ran over the frame of her mistress. 
 
 " He did not come at all," she replied, in a forced 
 tone. 
 
 " Not come ? After his note ! And that is why 
 you have been weeping ! My poor girl ! But you 
 do wrong to weep. It could have been no fault of 
 his, I am sure of that. He loves you, if ever a man 
 loved. I shall be so glad when the time comes for 
 you to be married, and all this unhappy business is 
 over!!" 
 
 Again the shiver ran over Alma's frame, but she 
 repressed it as well as she could,and began to put on 
 her hat. 
 
 " I can trust you, Mary, can I not ?" she asked, 
 Studiously avoiding her eyes. " I have something 
 important to tell you a very great secret." 
 
 Mary caught one of her mistress' hands and kissed 
 it warmly. 
 
 " I would die for you !" she exclaimed. 
 
 "I shall want I shall need your help," con- 
 tinued Alma, with a frigid reserve quite foreign to 
 her usual manner of intercourse. " I "
 
 252 THE GABSTON BIGAMY. 
 
 She staggered and would have fallen had not Mary 
 extended her arms and caught her. But she imme- 
 diately rallied and stood upright again. 
 
 " I am going to be married," she continued* 
 slowly. " It is to be a secret affair, for my father- 
 and " she hesitated long " my mother would 
 object. But when they know of it they will for- 
 give me and him. You understand. We are to be 
 married quietly, and it is not to be known to any 
 one but you and the the person who performs the 
 ceremony." 
 
 Mary clasped her hands in supplication. 
 
 " Oh, Miss Alma, is it wise ?" she cried. " It is not 
 my place to advise you, but have you thought of 
 everything ?" 
 
 Alma choked down a rising in her throat at this 
 evidence of devotion. 
 
 " It is to be," she said. " I will let you know when 
 to-morrow. He Gerald will bring a justice here 
 no, no ! not here !" she exclaimed, suddenly, look- 
 ing about the room. " Not here ! That was a mis- 
 take. But we will meet him somewhere and you 
 will go as a witness. Do not ask me to explain. 
 There is danger that they will try to part us if they 
 know it, and when this ceremony is performed- 
 they can do nothing. He will be mine, then mine 
 forever !" 
 
 There was no surprise at the Adams mansion when 
 Alma returned just at breakfast time and said that 
 she and Mary had stayed all night at the summer 
 house. The weather was unusually warm for the sea- 
 son and it was much cooler by the lake. Alma found 
 letters from her parents that had just been brought 
 from the post-office, and she read them with flutter-
 
 "WHAT WAS THAT BOUND?" 253 
 
 ing heart. Had ever a girl such parents as she, and 
 had ever one so basely deceived them ? She thought 
 of the sweet, gentle face of her mother, who was 
 reported no better, and felt hardly fit to call her by 
 that dear name. What would she say if she knew ? 
 
 She had gone so far now that she could not recede. 
 The sooner she had a right to the name of wife the 
 better. To wait till her father returned was out of 
 the question. She heartily wished she had accepted 
 Gerald's proposal to have the secret marriage a week 
 ago. Probably no one would ever learn of her indis- 
 cretion; but, whatever happened, she would have the 
 companionship the love, long as life lasted of the 
 man she adored. 
 
 She had no thought of blaming him. What girl 
 ever blames her lover while he remains true ? There 
 might be a great deal of trouble in store for her pos- 
 sibly the loss of parents, friends, the home where she 
 had always lived but there would always be Gerald ! 
 Twelve hours must elapse before she could meet him 
 again ! How could she wait so long ? 
 
 As evening approached she grew more and more 
 impatient. She was more anxious now than ever 
 Gerald had been to have the ceremony of marriage 
 take place, and he had promised to fix the day and 
 hour when he came again. As soon as she had eaten 
 a scanty supper she went to the summer-house with 
 Mary, though she had no reason to expect her lover 
 for two hours yet. She was exceedingly nervous, 
 trembling in every joint, and starting at the least 
 sound. 
 
 She declined Mary's offer to sit with her till he 
 came, saying she would much rather be alone. 
 When she heard his step she sprang to meet him and
 
 954 THE GAK8TON BIGAMY. 
 
 clung about his neck as a drowning person clings to 
 a spar. 
 
 "Gerald!" 
 
 " My wife !" 
 
 There was something in that tender word that 
 made her relax her hold and cover her eyes with her 
 hands. 
 
 " Don't call me that yet !" she said. " I feel so 
 wicked !" 
 
 He kissed her mouth, her neck, her hair, and when 
 he had disengaged her hands he kissed them, too, and 
 then the eyes he had uncovered. 
 
 " So you are not my wife ?" he said, brightly. 
 "Yes, before God, you are !" 
 
 "And when is the ceremony to be?" she asked, 
 casting down her glance. 
 
 " The ceremony ? Are you, then, in such a hurry 
 for that form ?" 
 
 She put her hands on each side of his head and 
 drew his face close to hers with a spasmodic move- 
 ment. 
 
 " Oh, Gerald, you will not delay it now?" 
 
 He laughed good-humoredly, for her intensity 
 pleased him. 
 
 " Not an instant longer than is necessary," he 
 responded. " I have spent half the day trying to 
 find a fellow who does such things Justice Moseley, 
 whose home is over in Linton. They told me he was 
 at one place and another, and I kept up the chase 
 until it got so late that I feared keeping you waiting. 
 But I have left word that I shall see him to-morrow, 
 and no doubt I can arrange to have him meet us 
 here the next day."
 
 "WHAT WA8 THAT SOUND ?" 995 
 
 She heard him with the deepest interest, and at the 
 final words, shook her head. 
 
 " Not here, Gerald. I cannot have it here. Any- 
 where else you please, but not here." 
 
 He understood. 
 
 " I shall have to think of some other place, then," 
 he said. " We cannot be seen in public together, 
 for that would attract attention. I will ask Moseley 
 what he has to suggest. He is all right he'll keep 
 it as still as the grave, and nobody'll be the wiser. 
 Have you said anything to Mary ?" 
 
 She told him that she had, and that the maid had 
 agreed to be a witness. She told him also that she 
 had fallen asleep on the sofa and had not been 
 awakened till daybreak, at which he expressed 
 regret. 
 
 " And I ran away at one o'clock !" he said, rue- 
 fully. "Ah, well ! It can't last much longer !" 
 
 He seemed to be in great good humor and had an 
 abandon that was new to him. Alma thought he 
 was not as grave as he ought to be, but she did not 
 tell him so. He was now all that she was sure of in 
 the world, and she did not like to annoy him by too 
 much criticism. It was midnight when he left, and 
 she went to tell Mary that she had concluded to 
 remain at the cottage again instead of going home. 
 
 " Gerald has been making arrangements for the 
 marriage," she said. " He thinks it can be arranged 
 to-morrow or the next day." 
 
 There was so much of exultation in her voice that 
 Mary did not like to say anything to discourage her. 
 A happy mood was better, she thought, than a tear- 
 ful one. She wondered, at the same time, if ther 
 were any possible doubt of the full validity of a ju-
 
 ffMJ TME 6ARSTOJT BIGAMT. 
 
 tice's marriage, and determined to take a good look 
 at the papers when the ceremony should occur. Still, 
 the more she thought of it, her fears seemed foolish. 
 Gerald had loved Alma ever since he was a child. 
 Why should he wish to deceive her ? It was a fan 
 tastic conception, and Mary resolved to banish it 
 from her mind, or at least not to mention it to her 
 confiding young mistress. 
 
 The next evening, when he came, he told Alma 
 that he had not seen the justice, but that on the 
 succeeding day he should surely meet him. He 
 seemed as happy as she at the prospect, and they 
 tried to plan out their future. She had money enough 
 of her own to support them for a year or two, if both 
 their fathers remained obdurate, and after that Ger- 
 ald would be earning something at his profession. 
 
 " When I am twenty-one there is nearly two thous- 
 and dollars beside for me," she said, " from a sum 
 my grandfather left me. We shall want almost 
 nothing till then. I think I could live on your smiles 
 and ask no other food." 
 
 " And I on the honey of your lips," he exclaimed. 
 "My wife! no don't tell me not to say it! My 
 wife, my darling wife !" 
 
 The tears that stood in her eyes now were happy 
 ones. 
 
 " It is too wonderful to last !" she whispered, softly. 
 " Life cannot be a succession of days like this F 
 
 " It will furnish us many far brighter ones !" he 
 answered. 
 
 Ai that moment both of them started, and each 
 read the same thought in the eyes of the othtr. 
 
 " Wha t was that sound ?"
 
 HIS larrmmx. 957 
 
 CHAPTER XXVL 
 
 NURSING HIS REVENG1. 
 
 I* was the fifth day since Gerald had bee seen at 
 
 the Staples mansion. Edith knew that he was in 
 town, and his unaccountable absence gave her the 
 deepest distress. She knew that he was given to 
 odd ways, but there seemed no reason for his con- 
 duct in this instance. The colonel asked each even- 
 ing, or each morning, if he happened to be from the 
 house, " Has Gerald been here, yet ?" and when the 
 silent negative greeted him his face grew dark and 
 he felt duplicated in his own mind all the suffering 
 that his daughter experienced. 
 
 The colonel did not mean to say much to Edith, if 
 he could help it, until something definite had been 
 arranged. But she anticipated him one evening, 
 and compelled him to enter on the dreaded subject 
 sooner than he had intended. 
 
 u I want to talk with you, father," she said, coming 
 to his side in his library, where he was trying to read 
 a newspaper. " You know there is something 
 wrong about Gerald. It troubles me and that makes 
 it trouble you. Now don't interrupt me, please, for 
 a minute I care a great deal for him, but he cannot 
 treat me in this way much longer. He is at his 
 father's. He comes and goes in the village. Every- 
 body sees him. I have sufficient love to bear almost 
 anything but neglect. It is five days since he has 
 galled. I shall wait two days more that will give
 
 258 THE GARSTON BIGAMT. 
 
 him a week and then I shall write, saying that 1 
 release him from all the promises he has made." 
 
 The father heard her with great distress. 
 
 " Wait a little longer, Edie," said he. " Gerald is 
 not well. He is passing through a period that 
 neither his father nor I can understand, but he loves 
 you, and you must do nothing to prevent his return 
 to a normal state. Let it go a few days longer, and 
 he will come back to you, and very sorry, I am sure, 
 for the neglect he has shown." 
 
 She did not seem in the least convinced. 
 
 " I cannot share your opinion, father. And there 
 is another thing. I want to go with you to Europe. 
 I could not stay here, where people are already 
 gossiping. You, yourself, say that I am not looking 
 well. A voyage would do me good. Dear father, if 
 nothing comes to re-unite us, let me go with you." 
 
 The colonel hesitated, but finally said that if Edith 
 would consent to do nothing until the time came for 
 his departure which would give Gerald what he 
 was obliged to admit was ample time to change his 
 course he would take her. It was his hope that 
 Garston would have his arrangements made by that 
 time, and that Gerald would be one of the party. 
 On the whole it was as well that Edith had spoken. 
 It could give her something to take up her mind, 
 and if everything did break between her and Gerald 
 the foreign journey would certainly be best. He 
 knew that the girl felt severely the blow that she 
 had received. 
 
 A week passed, and nothing was seen of Gerald 
 at the colonel's. During the day he usually remained 
 at home. He never arose to breakfast now, and 
 ** indisposition was given as a reason why he should
 
 HUESING HIS EKTBNGE. 859 
 
 not be disturbed until he chose to show himself, 
 which was generally near the hour of noon. Every 
 night he retired as soon as his supper was eaten, but 
 a light was always seen burning in his room, and it 
 was understood that he read a good deal, on account 
 of inability to sleep. 
 
 It was from no fault of Gerald's that this entire 
 week passed without his marriage taking place. He 
 had tried, honestly enough, to find Moseley, but 
 fate seemed against him. The justice was called 
 away to another part of the State on the very day 
 when Gerald left word that he wished to see him, 
 and not thinking that the young man had anything 
 of great importance to communicate he had gone on 
 his journey, leaving word that he should be back in 
 three or four days. As frequently happens the three 
 or four days lengthened out to six or seven, and 
 Alma had many sad hours in consequence. She felt 
 each day that her position was growing more unbear- 
 able. She bitterly repented that she had not con- 
 sented to the union when Gerald first proposed it. 
 But each evening, when he came, he assured her 
 that the affair would certainly take place on the 
 morrow. And, clasped in his arms, close to the heart 
 she now loved with all the passionate fervor of her 
 nature, she forgot, at least for the hour, what a narrow 
 gulf separated her from the yawning chasm at her* 
 feet 
 
 The perfect confidence that Mary Carson had in 
 her young mistress and her lover lulled the suspicions 
 that might otherwise have arisen. Alma told her that 
 it was useless for her to sit up longer than her usual 
 home hour, now that they were to sleep always at 
 the cottage, and that she herself would show Gerald
 
 260 TEX GABSTON BIGAMY. 
 
 out and lock the gate and door behind him. Mary 
 did not know that the time the young man left grew 
 later and later, until at last he hardly escaped from 
 the wood before the sun rose over the eastern hills. 
 Even had she seen him go at that hour she would 
 never have dreamed that anything wrong had 
 happened. She might have thought it indiscreet 
 not to avail himself of the cover of darkness, but 
 nothing more. Much must be allowed to the fervor 
 of the young couple whose wedding day unknown 
 though it might be to the world was so near at hand. 
 
 John Garston, though he passed each night out of 
 doors, did not spend his mornings in sleep. The 
 near approach of his revenge was rest enough for 
 him. A nap in his chair after dinner brightened his 
 eyelids again. Night after night he lay concealed 
 within twenty feet of the gateway which led to the 
 cottage, and heard the whispered confidences 
 between his son and his enemy's daughter at parting 
 confidences damning to their reputations or at least 
 to hers, for John thought that in such matters men 
 have no reputations to lose. Damning was what he 
 heard to that handsome girl, so like her mother in 
 feature, so like her father in haughtiness, but soon 
 to be broken like a reed by the man they had so long 
 despised. 
 
 It was no small part of his joy that the boy they 
 had not scrupled to take to their bosoms, so much 
 better, in their opinion, than his sire, should be the 
 instrument to bring shame and dishonor on their 
 house! The man with a deep-seated hate forgets 
 everything but his revenge. He forgets what was 
 the original cause of his hatred, what mitigating cir- 
 cumstances have since arisen everything but that
 
 HIS KETKHOB. 991 
 
 be hat an account to settle, and that it has grown 
 heavier by long delay. 
 
 The night that Gerald and Alma were startled bj 
 that unexpected sound, he had climbed into a large 
 tree that overlooked the enclosure where the house 
 stood, and from a secure position in the branches had 
 beheld through the uncurtained window of the par- 
 lor the love-making within. It was a strange freak of 
 the brain that the very sight he hoped for should 
 cause him such indignation. But the thought, that 
 his son his Gerald still loved this girl so blindly 
 sapped the strength in his limbs and for the instant 
 he lost his hold. Before a second had passed, how- 
 ever, he had slipped noiselessly from the tree to the 
 ground and concealed himself further away. 
 
 The young people listened, with alarm depicted on 
 both their faces, but soon came to the conclusion 
 that the wind was responsible for the sound and 
 gave it no further thought. They had become 
 accustomed to each other's presence and the idea of 
 interruption by mischievous outsiders never occurred 
 to them. 
 
 At last Gerald was abls to tell Alma that he had 
 seen Moseley, and that the justice would tell him the 
 next day where he could meet the couple and 
 " unite " them without danger of detection. This 
 pleased the girl so much that she redoubled her ten- 
 derness, and Gerald thought she had never been so 
 sweet and charming as on that evening. 
 
 " But does it not have to be recorded ?" she 
 asked. 
 
 " Yes, according to law, but Moseley will take his 
 time about it. Oh, you need not fear. He knows 
 what is wanted and they will get
 
 962 THE OAR8TON BIGAMY. 
 
 from him. In a month or two more, after you have 
 arranged things with your father, he may tell the 
 whole county for all we care. People would only 
 laugh and say it was a young couple's adventure. 
 There is considered nothing culpable in a match of 
 that sort, now-a-days." 
 
 She drank in his words as though they were the 
 water of life. 
 
 " And is such a marriage just as good just as 
 honorable as one in a church?" she asked. "I 
 want to be made yours as strong as the law can 
 make me." 
 
 "Do you?" he answered, laughing merrily. 
 " That is the way all women talk before the cere- 
 mony. At the divorce court they tell a different 
 story." 
 
 She would not join in this mood of his. 
 
 "I want to be yours till death," she said, soberly. 
 " I want to know that when I am laid in the earth 
 your body will be beside me." 
 
 "What a grisly idea !" he cried, in mock affright. 
 " It is enough for me now that I am to be beside you 
 while you are living." 
 
 She nestled closer to him. 
 
 41 1 am afraid that you will respect me less, some 
 day, because " 
 
 "Hush ! I should be a wretch to think of such a 
 thing, when if there is any blame it is all my own. 
 But it can never be. The proof of your love which I 
 have had will only make you dearer." 
 
 He believed it I Men always believe those things 
 when they say them. It is not you alone, sweet 
 girls, it is themselves they deceive. What madness 
 fills your brains that you listen to them ?
 
 263 
 
 On the last night that Gerald spent with Alma 
 they were longer even than usual in their parting at 
 the gate, and they had become so confident of their 
 isolation that their voices were not as low as they had 
 once been. The concealed spy heard the assurance 
 of his son that the morrow should surely see them 
 united, though the marriage was to be kept for the 
 present a secret. He knew now that the time for 
 action had come. When the lovers had at last torn 
 themselves from each other's embrace, and the key 
 had been turned in the lock, Garston emerged from 
 his hiding-place and followed rapidly in the foot- 
 steps of Gerald. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVIL 
 
 "l KNOW HER CHARACTER.** 
 
 The young man was so absorbed in contemplation 
 as he threaded the wooded path, that he heard noth. 
 ing of his pursuer until they were close together. 
 When the step behind him smote on his ears he 
 turned quickly to see whose it was, thinking to 
 shape his conduct accordingly. The stern face of 
 his father was something, however, for which he 
 had made no preparation, and his eyes fell before 
 it as he stopped to allow of his approach. 
 
 '* You are out early," was Garston's first greeting. 
 
 " Yes. I did not sleep well and I thought a walk 
 would do me good." 
 
 The reply was delivered in a tremulous voice, that
 
 JW THE GAKSTON BIGAMY. 
 
 would not have been lost on even a less interested 
 listener. 
 
 "And she?" said Garston, in a meaning tone, peer* 
 ing into the countenance of his son. " Did she also 
 'sleep badly?'" 
 
 How much did he know ? How much did he only 
 guess ? Like lightning these thoughts flashed 
 through Gerald's brain. 
 
 "Whom do you mean, sir ?" he asked. 
 
 " Don't play innocence with me !" cried Garston, 
 angrily. " I am in no mood to bear it ! You cannot 
 make me doubt the evidence of my eyes and ears. I 
 know where you have been night after night, when 
 you have pretended to be in your room. A fine piece 
 of work, is it not ? You are proud of it, I have no 
 doubt !" 
 
 The manhood that lay at the bottom of the son's 
 nature, though often obscured by grosser qualities, 
 came to the surface. 
 
 " I told you long ago," he said, his voice grown 
 firmer, "that I loved her. If I have visited her sur- 
 reptitiously it is because you made it impossible for 
 me to see her in any other way. I tell you again 
 that nothing you can do or say will make me change 
 my purpose to marry her." 
 
 Garston advanced as if to assault his son, but 
 refrained. 
 
 " Insane boy," he exclaimed, in a tone of fury, " do 
 you know what you are talking about ? Marry her / 
 Is that the kind of girl you would select for a wife ? 
 Do you want to marry a girl who is totally wanting 
 in a sense of what is decent, who " 
 
 Gerald was the one, this time, to threaten.
 
 *I KNOW HER CHARACTER.** 265 
 
 " Stop !*' he cried warningly. " Say another word 
 against her and I shall forget you are my father !" 
 
 "Strike me !" replied the elder man. "It would 
 be in keeping with the rest of your conduct. Put 
 another scar on my forehead to match the one he 
 put there !" He removed his hat to show it, and 
 Gerald looked at the dark red mark with a feeling of 
 pain. " I am only your father. I have sacrificed my 
 life for yours these twenty years, but that is nothing. 
 Strike me, because I dare tell you that the girl is 
 unfit for you. Strike me, I say ! I assure you I know 
 everything. You forgot, in your infatuation, even 
 to draw the curtains of your room. Yes," for he saw 
 the terrible effect this statement was making, " the 
 fence is high and the boards are close, but the trees 
 outside are higher ! You can tell me nothing." 
 
 The horror of this revelation was so great that 
 Gerald succumbed under it. He sank at his father's 
 feet and covered his face with his hands. The 
 ground seemed reeling from under him. Was this 
 a man or a devil that he had been accustomed to 
 revere ? 
 
 Garston looked down on the prostrate figure, try- 
 ing to measure his words to the best advantage. 
 
 '* I could have forgiven you the folly of a tem- 
 porary passion," he said. " I know the temptations 
 of youth and that any man is liable to yield to 
 illicit love. Disgraceful it certainly is, but not 
 unpardonable. It is only when you talk of uniting 
 my blood, which though that of a poor man is yet 
 honorable, with that of a girl who has forgotten 
 virtue '* 
 
 The sentence was not finished. The writhing
 
 266 1HE GABSTON BIQAMT. 
 
 figure on the ground sprang like a panther to hi* 
 feet. 
 
 " Before Heaven," he cried, " another word like 
 that and I will murder you ! There is no claim that 
 you have on me which permits you to slander the 
 loveliest girl on earth, whose only fault, if it be one, 
 is that she has loved too well such an undeserving 
 man as I ! You say I have done wrong. If it be so, 
 there is only one way that I can right it, and that is, 
 to take her to my bosom before the world. And 
 that I will do to-day, God permitting !" 
 
 This expression roused again the slumbering anger 
 of the father. For a moment he had felt a sort of 
 sympathy with his son, whose impetuous fury had 
 proved how deeply he had been wounded. But now 
 he hardened his heart again, and seizing Gerald in a 
 vice-like grip, he held him at arm's length as easily 
 as if he had been a child. 
 
 " Never shall you marry that creature !" he 
 exclaimed. " Sooner will I take you to the lake 
 there and drown you with my own hands ! Decide !" 
 he vociferated, overcome with rage. " Either give 
 her up or meet a dog's death !" 
 
 As he spoke he actually dragged Gerald toward 
 the brink of the lake, which was but a few feet away, 
 and the young man knew that he had one to deal 
 with who was for the moment nothing less than a 
 maniac. He did not want to die, and he thought it 
 best to temporize, if it were not too late, with this 
 terrible being who had that murderous clutch on his 
 throat. 
 
 " Let me speak !" he stammered, tugging at the 
 hands that held him. "Are you mad enough to 
 carry out this fearful threat because we differ on a
 
 "I KNOW HER CHARACTER." 267 
 
 which is, after all, f more importance to me 
 than to any one else ?" 
 
 14 1 tell you again she shall not be your wife !" cried 
 Garston, white with emotion. " It is impossible 1 
 Think, boy ! The mother of your children must be 
 above reproach ! It were a thousand times better 
 that you perished in the waters here than that you 
 married such * 
 
 The mute appeal in his son's eyes stopped him this 
 time. 
 
 "Her maid has always been with us," faltered 
 Gerald. 
 
 Garston smiled sardonically. 
 
 "It will not answer to say that to me," he said. 
 u I tell you I am not going by guess work. I love 
 you with all my soul, but I would rather see your 
 corpse brought to my gate than to have you marry 
 the daughter of Alvah Adams after what I know !" 
 
 Gerald's teeth chattered. 
 
 "Ah!" he cried. " You are a cruel man ! Your 
 hatred has led you to this a hatred that you had no 
 right to form in the first place, and that has grown 
 until even the lifelong happiness of your only son 
 must be sacrificed to it." 
 
 " No," was the reply. " Your happiness lies with 
 Edith Staples, a girl against whom no man can bring 
 a word of accusation. Come home and think about 
 it. _When you are calm, you will admit that I am 
 right and that this passion that has brought you 
 to so ignoble a pass is only temporary. Gerald," 
 tie continued, his voice growing gentler, " I love you. 
 If I have seemed rough it was because of my anger 
 at your continued opposition to what is surely for
 
 908 1MB GAESTON EIGAHT. 
 
 your best good. Come home with me, and let MS 
 
 talk it over." 
 
 The two men vanished through the woods, walk- 
 ing slowly and talking as they went, and a third man 
 came out of the thick clump of trees just above them, 
 looking as if he had received a blow. It was Clifford 
 Nelson, who had started out for an early walk, with 
 no definite object in view, and had come suddenly 
 within hearing of the angry voices. He had heard 
 Garston's threat to drown his son, and had been 
 ready at first to interfere if necessary to prevent that 
 catastrophe. Then, as he caught further bits of the 
 heated conversation, which showed him that Gerald 
 had been visiting Alma at the summer-house under 
 circumstances more or less open to suspicion, he felt 
 almost willing to offer his aid to the murderous sire 
 in case he was unable to carry out his purpose single- 
 handed. 
 
 " His father has taken him away, and judging by 
 the terror of his face he will mould him to his will," 
 mused Nelson, as he walked back to the hotel. " He 
 is a cur and a coward. But," and his face grew 
 darker, "if talk comes of this, God help him !"
 
 BALD IN A ram. 369 
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 GERALD IN A FEVER. 
 
 Gerald was in such a highly nervous conditiofl 
 when he reached home that he was obliged to refuse 
 breakfast and retired at once to his chamber, in the 
 hope that sleep would give him temporary relief. 
 His father had said such things in the way of argu- 
 ment that he hardly knew how to answer them, even 
 to his own mind. He felt a certain guilt, and he 
 was obliged to admit that a good deal of his con- 
 duct was not praiseworthy. Whatever his parent's 
 mistakes, whatever his errors of judgment, he had 
 surely been a thoughtful father to him. Never had 
 he tried to balk him in anything until this case 
 arose. 
 
 After going into his room he threw himself on the 
 bed, where through his awakened mind ran the 
 long list of kindly things that his father had done. 
 The education which he had provided when the 
 mortgagees stood at his elbow and he had to deny 
 himself every luxury that his son might have it all ! 
 The way in which his trouble had been hid, lest it 
 should annoy him, recurred to Gerald, as well as a 
 hundred other instances of similar thoughtfulness. 
 And in payment for this he had that morning 
 addressed his father like a young hoodlum from the 
 purlieus of South street ! Gerald wondered that the 
 roof over his head did not fall and crush him for an 
 ungrateful scamp. 
 
 Still this father of his had driven him frantic for
 
 S70 THE GARSTON BIGAMY. 
 
 the moment by what he said of Alma words so 
 totally uncalled for that patience fell before them. 
 Gerald reflected that the suddenness of the assault 
 Upon his feelings mitigated his action, for it gave him 
 no time to think. Poor Alma ! It wou]d break her 
 heart if she dreamed of it. He thought of hef 
 awhile and of the sweet tokens of her love which she 
 had given him. He tried to repent of his wrong, 
 but it was only on account of being detected that he 
 was truly sorry. It is the " getting found out " that 
 constitutes a violation of the latest and most impor* 
 tant commandment. 
 
 The thoughts of Gerald kept returning to his father. 
 Did he not owe him something in return for his 
 years of kindness ? Was there no way to reconcile 
 his duty to others with that which it was the right of 
 this friend to demand ? It must be hard to bring a 
 child to the age of manhood and find him stubbornly 
 refusing to listen to advice meant for his best good. 
 
 There was Edith, too. A gentle feeling crept over 
 him as her vision came across his mind. Beautiful 
 as a lily, loving him with a tenderness none the less 
 evident because partly hidden by a naturally 
 reserved demeanor, it was no wonder that she had 
 made an impression on the iron mind of his father. 
 Gerald thought of the handsome way in which the 
 Colonel and Mrs. Staples had always treated him, of 
 the sweet hours he had passed with Edith. He had 
 given her cause to think that she was the one des- 
 tined to be his for life, and now he proposed to 
 desert her ruthlessly. Contemptible as it was it had 
 a double meanness after he had allowed her father 
 to save his in his direst distress under an implied 
 expectation. Ought he not to sacrifice everything
 
 EBALD IN A FBTEB. 271 
 
 / keep this obligation? Could he justify himself 
 even for love's sake in deserving the contempt of 
 honest men, after what had happened ? 
 
 Then there came into his mind ^ike the hazy 
 beginning of a great fog that is to envelop every- 
 thing in sight, the awful thought that his father 
 had placed there, respecting the obligation of a 
 woman who weds to be in all things above reproach. 
 He had repelled it when it was uttered, and had felt 
 arrayed against it all the forces of his being. But 
 now it came back to him, and would not be driven out 
 of his memory. A wife ! A mother by-and-by, of 
 his children ! Was there anything in the insinuation 
 that she who had permitted herself to yield once to 
 illicit love might again find herself in some new 
 field unable to withstand temptation ? 
 
 No, it was outrageous ! Alma had only surren- 
 dered when her great love had swept her into the vor- 
 tex of the stream, and to the man whose wife she 
 expected soon to be. Such a woman could never 
 become the prey of adventurers the deceiver of a 
 husband whom she had learned to adore. It was a 
 shameful calumny. The sweet, pure, gentle Alma, 
 filled with the deepest affection, her very innocence 
 to blame for her indiscretion ! He tried to banish 
 the thought, but it clung to him as poison ivy clings 
 to a wall. His mind would go elsewhere for the 
 moment, but it kept coming back to this. 
 
 " Damnation !" he cried. " How can a thing so 
 baseless torture me so ?" 
 
 His father came to see him at noon, and heard 
 that he had not yet slept. Taking him by the hand 
 he found that he was in a fever, and begged him to 
 undress and compose himself to rest. Gerald replied
 
 27S THE ABSTON BIGAMY. 
 
 that be was well enough, and only wanted to be left 
 alone. He declined to see a physician, stating that 
 he was merely exhausted from his mental troubles 
 and should be all right in a day or two. Garston 
 knew that unless something was done a serious case 
 of illness would follow, and finally induced him to 
 take a quieting draught. He feared it would not have 
 the intended effect, as Gerald's nerves were in such 
 an excited condition, but in twenty minutes he was 
 in so deep a slumber that his father undressed him 
 and placed him in his bed without arousing him. 
 
 44 I couldn't have had him going over there again 
 to-day," muttered John to himself, as he looked at 
 the quiet form. "He won't be likely to awake for 
 five or six hours, and if he does I'll tell the house- 
 keeper to give him a little more of it. While he is 
 still, I'll drive over to see Moseleyand put him off the 
 track." 
 
 Mr. Moseley was surprised to see Mr. Garston 
 alight at his door, but he understood everything, or 
 thought he did, when John stated the case to him. 
 
 " Gerald's concluded to do the thing straight," said 
 John. " I found out what he was up to, and as long 
 as there's no help for it I gave in. He didn't want to 
 come himself, and as I was driving over this way I 
 said I'd let you know. Here's ten dollars for the 
 trouble you've had." 
 
 Moseley's face, which had grown rather disheart- 
 ened, brightened as he took the money. 
 
 44 It's mum, you know," said Garston, with bis 
 finger on his lips. 
 
 * Oh, sartin'ly. I've done too much of this bus!- 
 ness to blab," smiled Moseley, with a signifies"* 
 Vook. ** Nobody won't hear nothin' from me."
 
 BRALD IN A F 
 
 When Garston reached home he found that Gerald 
 had not regained consciousness, but that he had 
 talked almost constantly in his sleep and had made 
 havoc with the bed clothes, requiring constant atten- 
 tion. Several times he had tried to leave the bed, 
 and had been prevented with difficulty. The case 
 seemed serious enough to warrant the calling of a 
 medical man, and a messenger was dispatched for 
 one. 
 
 Dr. Pease was one of those country practitioners 
 who use a good deal more of common sense and con- 
 siderably less drugs than some of their professional 
 brethren. He shook his head when he smelled the 
 opiate which Garston had given, saying it would 
 have been better if he had been called in the first 
 place, as such treatment would only retard the young 
 man's recovery. John smiled grimly to himself, 
 thinking that the doctor did not understand quite as 
 much about the case as he might. It was essential 
 above all things to keep Gerald in the house for a 
 day or two. 
 
 ' What has caused this ?" asked Dr. Pease, when 
 he and John were alone with the patient. " I find 
 him in a good deal of mental excitement." 
 
 " I suppose it's due to a love affair, if you want to 
 know," was the answer. " I guess a little rest L and 
 quiet will bring him around all right, doctor.** 
 
 Dr. Pease glared at this presumptuous man, who 
 thus presumed to tell him his business. Iff 
 "guessed," indeed! 
 
 "Why, he's got a high fever," he replied. "His 
 temperature is many degrees above what it should 
 be. His pulse goes like a race horse. He'll have a 
 month's sickness out of this, if you're not careful"
 
 274 THE GARSTON BIGAMY. 
 
 A month ! John was revolving it over in his mind 
 
 Well, he could stand a month and win. Perhaps a 
 month in bed would settle everything. 
 
 The doctor wrote out a prescription and also a list 
 of directions, which he said must be closely followed. 
 Then, promising to call again in the course of the 
 evening, he took his departure. 
 
 A month ! That would dispose of Alma. Her 
 father would be home in a few days, and some 
 method could be adopted to let him into enough of 
 his daughter's secret to put him on his guard. Some 
 day, when Gerald was safely married to Edith, and 
 had gone far away, Garston meant to let Adams 
 know the rest. He wanted to do this some time 
 when the tidings would strike him like a sledge- 
 hammer. But now the most that he hoped for was 
 to obtain a complete separation between the young 
 people. He did not mean that they should ever 
 meet, if he could help it, He laughed at the thought 
 that the doctor had supposed him a fool when he 
 administered the opiate. There were some things 
 that even college-educated men did not knew ! If 
 he could keep that boy in bed a month, or even a 
 fortnight, he would play a winning card ! 
 
 And yet this father, in the midst of his plot, loved 
 that son of his ! In anything else he would have laid 
 down his life to save him. His hatred had so choked 
 his judgment that he really believed he was doing 
 what would in the end bring to Gerald the greatest 
 happiness. 
 
 It was late the next morning before the sick young 
 man opened his eyes. When he did it was only to call 
 in a feeble voice for a drink of water, and on receiv- 
 ing it he at once fell asleep again. At noon, the next
 
 IN A FKVER. 27$ 
 
 time he showed consciousness, he partook of a slight 
 refreshment, as he had eaten nothing for nearly two 
 days. Then he dozed again, and when he next knew 
 what was going on though it was only in a vague, 
 uncertain way he saw Colonel Staples and his father 
 In the room. 
 
 " You are better, my dear boy ?" said the Colonel, 
 coming to his bedside. 
 
 " Do not agitate him," said Mr. Garston, warn- 
 ingly. 
 
 " I have no intention of doing so," replied the 
 other. 
 
 Gerald had forgotten most things. The events of 
 the preceding fortnight were not in his mind at all. 
 
 " Shall I tell Edith that you are better ?" asked the 
 Colonel. " She is very anxious for some favorable 
 word from you." 
 
 " I did not know till now," said Gerald, feebly, 
 " that I had been ill. But I am certainly better much 
 better." 
 
 " Edie will be so glad ** 
 
 Gerald threw off the clothes from his arms. 
 
 " Tell her that I will be down to see her to-night, 1 * 
 said he. 
 
 " Not to-night," said his father, replacing the 
 coverings, to Gerald's intense discomfort. " But soon. 
 Tell her, Colonel, that he will be down soon. And,'* 
 he added, cautiously, " if he has to remain in for 
 several days more, she can come here with you." 
 
 This struck Gerald as strange. He had not got 
 used to thinking of himself as an invalid, and he 
 could not imagine Edith in that room under the cir- 
 cumstances. But as he did not like to exert himself 
 with too much thought, he left it to his father to do
 
 S78 TBB OAESTON BIGAMT. 
 
 as it pleased him. Before the visitor had departed 
 he was again in slumber, or at least a stupor that 
 passed for it. 
 
 Edith was orerwhelmed with grief when she heard 
 from her father that Gerald was sick in bed, and 
 that the doctor laid it to troubles of the mind, of 
 which she feared that she had been in some way the 
 cause. Her love had endured through all, though 
 her pride had been sorely tested by his apparent 
 neglect, but now she was ready to ascribe everything 
 to the disease which was gradually stealing over him, 
 and to forgive more readily than she had been to 
 criticise. When the Colonel came home and told her 
 that Gerald had sent a message that he hoped soon 
 to see her there, her heart gave a great bound from 
 joy. All was to come out right, after all. The 
 clouds that had gathered over her head were only 
 the fleeting banks of mist that come with September, 
 and they would be gone in a few days, never to 
 return ! 
 
 Meanwhile, let the reader conceive the situation of 
 Alma Adams or rather, let him attempt to conceive 
 It, for it is one of those things that nothing short of 
 experience can convey to the mind. She had lived 
 for two weeks on the presence of her lover, and on 
 his promise that at the very earliest possible instant 
 the law in the person of its servant, Squire Moseley 
 should spread its curtain over the relations which 
 they had sustained. On the last evening that Gerald 
 passed with her he had designated the morrow as the 
 day when the legal steps which she awaited so 
 anxiously should be taken. He was to come early
 
 MI 
 
 in the evening and tell her where she and hei maid 
 
 should meet the justice. 
 
 She went to the summer-house and waited. Etghi 
 o'clock. It was perhaps too early to expect him, but 
 r he stood near the gate, ready to open it at the sound 
 of his step. Nine o'clock. He must nave some seriou* 
 reason for delaying till that hour. Ten. He had 
 never been so late. Her cheek paled until she was 
 as white as he, lying at that moment in his bed at 
 home. Eleven t TWELVE! ONE! 
 
 Mary Garson had retired and knew nothing ot the 
 weary vigil. Alma had no one to sympathize with 
 her, and she wanted none, tor her secret was one that 
 could not be confided to mortals. With more 
 unction than she had ever used in her life she knelt 
 on the cold ground and lifted up her heart to God. 
 
 " O Thou who pitiest them that are in trouble, do 
 not altogether desert me ! I have been frail ; I have 
 been wicked. Punish me, if Thou wilt, but not this 
 way ! Send him to me, O God, before I quite lose 
 hope ! Send him to me, and my every act through 
 life shall be in expiation of the grievous fault into 
 which my wild love drove me !'* 
 
 But the Deity does not always answer prayers !ike 
 this in the way the petitioner desires. We are told 
 that Jove laughs at lovers' perjuries. From the 
 broad vault of heaven there comes no response to the 
 agonized aspirations of the deserted maidens who day 
 after day send up the same refrain. A thousand 
 prayers will not prevent your arm from burning, 
 pretty one, if you hold it in the flame. 
 
 Alma went in at last and fell exhausted on the 
 sofa, where Mary found her in the morning, She 
 gave monosyllabic replies to the few questions that
 
 278 THE GARSTOU BIGAMY. 
 
 the maid put to her, and declined to leave tht 
 summer-house at all that day. Who could tell but 
 he might come at some ether hour, and what if he 
 should come and find her absent ? Her meals were 
 brought to her and she sat there and waited, of 
 course vainly. When it was evening again she felt 
 sure he would come then. Her spirits rose as the 
 sun went down. Eight o'clock again. Nine I 
 JElevem There was nothing to sustain her any 
 longer, and she gave vent to her grief in copious 
 tears. 
 
 Then, as if she had not enough to bear her down, 
 a new trouble came. A letter was brought to the 
 cottage by one of the house servants, bearing the 
 postmark New York, and in it was most startling 
 news. Her mother had suddenly grown worse, and 
 the Eastern physicians had advised that she be taken 
 back at once to her home in Jefferson. Mr. Adams 
 had got as far as New York with her, when she sank 
 rapidly and further journeying was out of the ques- 
 tion. He had taken her to a hotel, where it had 
 become only too evident that her days were 
 numbered. 
 
 " I cannot deceive you, my poor child," wrote her 
 father, and the paper was damp with the tears that 
 bad fallen upon it. " If you would see your mothef 
 alive you must take the earliest train. Even then it 
 may be too late. Prepare for the worst." 
 
 That strength that sometimes accompanies despair 
 enabled Alma to read this letter to Mary Carson and 
 to make preparations for their departure with some 
 show of courage. There is something in knowing 
 that fate has done its deadliest. Gerald had deserted 
 her and now her mother was to be taken.
 
 GERALD IX A FETBR. 879 
 
 uttd calmly, the people at the house thought she pre- 
 pared for a hasty journey, and took the train for the 
 East. 
 
 Her mother had been dead two days when she 
 reached there, and her broken-down father leaned 
 upon her as the only comfort left to him. It was an 
 additional weight on her young shoulders to realize 
 how little comfort she ever could be to him again 
 to him or any one. That knowledge which brings a 
 happy light to the face of the wedded wife had come 
 to her now but it was to blast and sting. She 
 knew that she should have to go far away from this 
 kind father left with no one else to lean on and 
 hide her shame as best she might from the prying 
 eyes of the heartless world. 
 
 She might have gone to Gerald with an officer of 
 the law, or with a revolver, as she had somewhere 
 read of a deserted woman's doing, and demanded 
 justice. But she had no thought of anything like 
 that. It was not justice she wanted, but love. If he 
 had been willing to renounce her so coldly she 
 could never follow him for a mere technical justifi- 
 cation. He was safe from her wrath, and as for her 
 scorn, how could it affect so brazen a heart as his ? 
 
 The body of her mother was put for the present 
 in the tomb, as Alma begged her father not to return 
 yet to his home. She said it would seem desolate 
 there, now that the dear voice would never be heard 
 again within its walls, and he yielded to the send- 
 ment. One day Mary Carson, who had returned to 
 Jefferson to take charge of things, sent Alma, enclosed 
 in one of hers^ a letter from Gerald. Mr. Adams 
 opened it by the purest mistake, for he would not 
 have stooped to touch his child's correspondence
 
 fit HI OAESTON BIGAMY, 
 
 intentionally, and was startled to find that it enclosed 
 a brief note from the young man with whom he had 
 supposed her acquaintance ended. Feeling justified 
 now in seeing what he had to say, he read it 
 through : 
 
 " My darling," ran the letter, * after many days of 
 illness I am permitted to go out again, though I am 
 Still very weak. My first trip was to the cottage 
 where I hoped to find you, but it was locked and wore 
 a deserted appearance. I shall send this by a trusty 
 messenger to Mary, knowing that she will see that it 
 gets to you. Tell me that I still have your love and 
 that you will meet me as soon as I am able to see 
 you. My father watches me closely, under pretence 
 that the doctor orders me to be kept free of excite- 
 ment, and I shall have to elude him as best I can. I 
 am too tired to write more, but I shall see you soon 
 and then all will be well. 
 
 Yours till death, 
 
 " GERALD." 
 
 Mr. Adams put the letter into his pocket. He had 
 no idea of giving it to Alma. He was sorry to learn 
 that Gerald still pretended to claim his daughter, 
 but there was nothing in the note to show that she 
 encouraged him. It was much wiser to keep it from 
 her very much wiser. 
 
 " Father," she said to him, soon after, " I do not 
 want to go home again for a very long time. It 
 teems as if I could not bear it there. I am not well. 
 I want to take a long journey somewhere, and see if 
 it does not help me." 
 
 "How would you like to cross the ocean?" he
 
 "x TBime I OOTTLB MIA mm f* 281 
 
 asked, looking at her tenderly. " I heard yesterday 
 of a lady who wanted one more to complete a party 
 that she is to chaperone." 
 
 ** I should like it," she answered, eagerly. a Yes, 
 that is it I want to go faraway." 
 
 CHAPTER XXIX 
 
 " I THINK I COULD KILL HIM ! " 
 
 When Mary Carson started for home, leaving 
 the Adamses in New York, Alma gave her this part- 
 ing injunction : " Write me nothing about matters in 
 Jefferson outside of our own family affairs." Mary 
 did not think this enough to warrant her in suppress- 
 ing or returning the letter which Gerald sent, and 
 the contents of which she had no means of knowing. 
 She was aware that something had occurred between 
 him and her young mistress, but Alma had refused 
 positively to discuss the causes that had led to their 
 separation. The whole truth, or any part of it 
 even, she never suspected. It was common gossip 
 in Jefferson when she reached there, and she heard it 
 from the other servants, that Gerald had been very 
 ill, and that Colonel Staples' carriage, with Edith 
 as one of its occupants, had been driven each day 
 to the Garston farm. Nothing less than an under- 
 stood engagement could explain this, though the 
 Stapleses were reticent and gave no satisfaction to 
 those who tried to " pump " them on the subject
 
 882 TMX GARSTON JSIOAMT. 
 
 Mary was greatly grieved at the turn affairs had 
 taken, as she knew that Alma had suffered intense 
 distress about it. She had never ceased to think 
 that they were a couple that nature had designed 
 for each other, but if men were so fickle before mar- 
 riage, perhaps it was best. Mary thought on this 
 so seriously that she turned an unusually cold 
 fihoulder upon a thriving young mechanic of the 
 village who had been more or less encouraged in 
 his suit for her own hand. At which the young 
 man in question waxed melancholy, and began to 
 contemplate the various methods of suicide. 
 
 Clifford Nelson, at the Jefferson House, was al3o 
 in anything but a happy frame of mind. His love 
 for Gerald had given way to a pronounced sense of 
 injury, and even the reports of the precarious con- 
 dition of the young man found in him but little if 
 any regret. 
 
 The fortune that he had inherited made it easy 
 for him to do without the profession that he had in- 
 tended to follow, and he wrote to the Chicago firm 
 with whom he had been studying that he could not 
 tell when, if at all, they would see him again in their 
 office. He said he was not feeling as well as he 
 should like, and wanted a rest. As this tallied very 
 closely with a letter they had received from Mr. 
 Garston, describing Gerald's case, the lawyers be- 
 gan to wonder what there could be in the atmos- 
 phere in Jefferson that had such a precisely similar 
 effect on the two young gentlemen. And they spec- 
 ulated shrewdly among themselves whether the 
 handsome young ladies, with whom they had some- 
 times met their students, had anything to do with 
 tke matter.
 
 "l THINK I COTTLB KILL HIM I** 283 
 
 Nelson stayed in Jefferson until he could no longer 
 doubt that the engagement of Gerald and Edith 
 was a fixed fact. The Jefferson County Eagle, with 
 the enterprise for which that paper was famous, an- 
 nounced it under the head of " Society Notes." 
 The hotel boarders discussed it at dinner. The 
 crowd at the post-office made it the theme cf their 
 evening's gossip, and those who disliked Adams 
 always a respectably large minority did not at- 
 tempt to conceal their pleasure. Colonel Staples 
 walked or rode through the town with a wise air, 
 and Edith's face was wreathed in smiles in place of 
 the troubled look that had been seen there so fre- 
 quently a few weeks before. People took courage 
 to ask her how Gerald was, now that all could see 
 the openness with which she visited him, and she 
 told them without hesitation that he was getting 
 better rapidly and would soon be out again. Some 
 of the more courageous asked if she had heard any- 
 thing recently from Alma, and, with something of 
 the sad look returning, she announced that she had 
 received but one letter, a brief answer to her condo- 
 lences. 
 
 "She must be sadly hurt, poor girl," she said, 
 softly, to one lady whom she thought an especial 
 friend. " She was very fond of her mother, as she 
 deserved to be, and I fear it will be long before she 
 recovers from the shock. She does not mean to 
 come home at present. Her father wants her to 
 travel and divert her mind." 
 
 Armed with this definite news the lady in ques- 
 tion began to make herself a person of consequence 
 by disseminating it right and left in the village, and 
 before night it reached the ears of Clifford Nelson.
 
 2S4 TBX AB8TOW 
 
 He did not wish to meet Gerald when he became 
 able to be about again, for he feared that his pa- 
 tience would give way at sight of him that he should 
 forget that it was an invalid with whom he had to 
 deal. He packed his trunk, took the train for Buf- 
 falo, and after passing a few days there, made a 
 sudden decision to cross the Atlantic and see if he 
 could not find, somewhere on the other side, relief 
 from the distress that he was experiencing. 
 
 Nelson had no notion of dying of unrequited love. 
 He was much too healthy a young man to entertain 
 any such idea as that. But he had suffered a good 
 deal of late, and he did not feel like studying. He 
 wanted a complete change of scene, and having the 
 means to obtain it, and nothing to prevent, he saw 
 no reason [why he should hesitate to follow his in-< 
 clination. 
 
 He had not been long in London when, one morn- 
 ing, happening to glance over the list of American 
 arrivals, he found the name of "Miss Alma Adams" 
 in that of a party headed by " Mrs. Gustave Lenoir." 
 At first he thought the similarity in name a mere 
 coincidence, but as there was a possibility that it wag 
 the Alma of his acquaintance, he went to the address 
 given. He sent his card to Mrs. Lenoir, and ex- 
 plained the object of his visit. From her he learned 
 that he had not come in vain, and a few minutes 
 later Miss Adams made her appearance. 
 
 Alma was more than pleased to see him. She had 
 been suffering from a severe attack of homesickness, 
 that trouble which often comes during the first days 
 that one spends on foreign soil, and it was comfort- 
 ing to meet any one whom she had ever seen in dear 
 America. More than this she had the greatest respect
 
 "l THIN* I COULD KILL HUCl" 88* 
 
 for Clifford, and even in her unhappy condition ot 
 mind she had no reason to avoid him. Their first 
 conversation was upon the voyage they had both 
 taken, and upon the sights they had thus far seen. 
 
 " I trust you left your father well," he ventured , 
 finally. 
 
 "Yes, except for his great depression of spirits. 
 You," she indicated her garments to explain what 
 she did not like to put into speech, "you have 
 heard " 
 
 He bowed with an air of grave sympathy. 
 
 "Do you intend to remain in Europe long?** 
 
 "I have no settled plan." 
 
 She reddened as she said it, for it seemed as if he 
 could read her thoughts. 
 
 "Although I have joined Mrs. Lenoir's party, I do 
 not mean to remain with it beyond a a certain 
 time." 
 
 "Then you will return this winter, perhaps?** 
 
 " No, that is not certain." 
 
 She seemed so confused that he hastened to relieve 
 her, by saying that he supposed her plans were like 
 those of other travellers dependant on circum- 
 stances. He asked, however, that he might have the 
 privilege of calling upon her occasionally while she 
 remained in London, and of escorting her to some 
 cf the places of interest. He was very courteous 
 about it, and she readily responded that she should 
 be glad to have him do so. 
 
 "You have been through a great deal of unhappi- 
 ness," he said, "and your best way now is to vary 
 your life all you can. I, too, have received a blow, 
 harder perhaps than you think. Although you mu$t 
 have known that I cared very much for her I kept
 
 886 THE GARSTOJN 
 
 my sentiments closely hidden, and I believe thelt 
 real depth was never suspected by you any more 
 than by Miss Staples. When I read in the Eagle 
 that she that they were soon to be married " 
 
 He stopped, alarmed. Alma had sunk back in h 
 chair as if every particle of strength had left hei 
 He sprang up, saying that he would ring hnmed* 
 ately for assistance. 
 
 "No," she replied, in so faint a voice that he could 
 hardly hear her. " It is nothing, I am quite recov- 
 ered." 
 
 " I regret," said he, " that I alluded at all to a sub- 
 ject which could not fail to be painful. In thinking 
 of my own sorrow I did not take other things suffi- 
 ciently into account. But surely, I have brought you 
 no news ? " 
 
 She struggled with her emotions for a moment 
 before she answered. 
 
 " He is to marry Edith, you say ?" 
 
 " I cannot doubt it. Not only the Eagle, but com- 
 mon report says so. When I came away he was ill, 
 and she visited at his house daily, You loved her," 
 he added, gently. 
 
 She looked up at him mournfully. 
 
 "Loved 'her? Loved Edie? I love her still. I shall 
 write to her, sending my " how ghastly she grew 
 "my congratulations. But I did not know, Mr. Nel- 
 son, that you cared for her. No, I never guessed 
 that." 
 
 "Did you not? Then I succeeded in what I tried 
 to do. So long as there was the least possibility 
 that Gerald wanted to win her, I knew it would J 
 useless to speak." 
 
 She contracted her brows in puzzled pain.
 
 I COULD KILL HIM!" 38T 
 
 **But it must have been something very recent,* 
 *he said. " You had no fear of his rivalry when- 
 when we were at school, and after we came home." 
 
 He wondered what he ought to say to her. 
 
 " Gerald knew you both so long before I did that 
 I seemed to find no place ready for me. That made 
 me keep silence." 
 
 He looked at Alma for a moment, and then hi 
 wrongs overcame him. 
 
 " Oh, it is a wicked shame !" he cried. " Hardly 
 six weeks ago I met him in the wood one night and 
 he told me, with every appearance of earnestness, 
 that he cared for but one woman in the world, and 
 4iat was -you ! " 
 
 Her breath came in short gasps, tuid her counten- 
 ance brightened. 
 
 " Yes yes !" she exclaimed. 
 
 " It is his father who has influenced him," continued 
 Nelson. " She loves him, too. They have sur- 
 rounded him with their toils." 
 
 She leaned toward him, confidentially. 
 
 " I must tell you something, Mr. Nelson, that you 
 may understand the cruelty of my position. We 
 were engaged as honestly engaged as any couple 
 could be. Why, I had even, in response to his re- 
 peated importunities, consented that we should have 
 a secret marriage, lest our parents should interfere 
 and tear us apart. He had spoken to a justice of 
 the peace named Moseley, who lives in Lin wood, and 
 on the very next day after I last saw Gerald we 
 were to be united. He left me as happy and appar- 
 ently as true as you could imagine, and from that 
 day X have never had a letter from him, nor any 
 woix\ whatever l"
 
 $88 THS GAW5TOBT 1UOAJTT. 
 
 "London is net agreeing with Mis Adams/* he 
 aid to Mrs. Lenoir, some days later. " How much 
 longer do you intend to remain here with your 
 party ?" 
 
 "That is undecided," she answered. "We expect 
 to go to the Riviera in Jo uiry, but I do not know 
 how much earlier we shall leave London. I think 
 her only trouble is that she has overdone. If you 
 will be content, Mr. Nelson, to spend your afternoons 
 at the hotel instead of in cabs and galleries, you 
 will find her much better soon, I am sure." 
 
 He blushed at the imputation that he could thus 
 easily control her movements. 
 
 " I hope you are right," he said, " and that all she 
 wants is rest. I shall certainly encourage her to 
 take it to the fullest extent. But I am afraid that 
 she needs the fair skies of the South of France, and 
 that the London fogs are ruining her naturally happy 
 disposition." 
 
 Mrs. Lenoir looked at him archly. She had re- 
 cently received word by mail to encourage him in 
 every way. 
 
 He went back to Alma and found her so white 
 that he was intensely alarmed. 
 
 " This town is destroying you !" he exclaimed. 
 
 "It is only a temporary affair," replied Alma, 
 though the pain in her face did not bear ou: the 
 Statement. " I shall be better soon." 
 
 " What is the matter?" he asked, kindly. " Tell 
 me." 
 
 She started at the unexpected question. 
 
 "He is here, in London with her,'' she articulated, 
 slowly, her eyes growing stony as she spoke. " I saw 
 the names in the Register. He will marry her. I
 
 M l THESTK i OOULD KILL sotT 9B9 
 
 expect it. Dear, dear Edie ! I can not even throw 
 my poor arms about her neck and breathe the wish 
 I have God knows I have it ! that she will be hap- 
 py. I dare not trust myself to see her. It is useless 
 to deny it to you. I love him at this moment as 
 much as I ever did ! Could I ask a great favor of 
 you one which I can ask of no one else one that I 
 would not think of asking did I not believe in the 
 nobleness and unselfishness of your nature?" 
 
 He trembled with apprehension, but he said she 
 could ask him what she wished and he would pledge 
 himself in advance to do it. 
 
 * You say I am ill," she went on, after a pause. 
 **It is true. There is no need of calling a physician, 
 for I am not possessed of any malady that he could 
 cure. In a week from to-day I shall be better or I 
 hall be dead. Yes, I dreamed of it last night it 
 will be one or the other. Now what I ask of you- 
 and I know how much it is to ask is this. If I do 
 die, go to Gerald." The sobs came again and nearly 
 choked her utterance. "Go to him and tell him 
 where I lie, in in my casket. Ask him to come 
 to me just for a minute. It will be no wrong to 
 her I shall be dead. And no matter what you 
 may think don't blame him don't do anything to 
 take away the chance of happiness that he will have 
 With her." 
 
 She left the room abruptly, unable to say another 
 word, and he sought Mrs. Lenoir with a gloomy 
 countenance. 
 
 44 Miss Adams is hysterical to-night," he said. * Sin 
 needs extra care. You must not leave her alone." 
 
 " I think I could kill him ! " he added mentally, as 
 fee went down the steps of the house into the at feet.
 
 THE GAKSTON BIGhUCT. 
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 ON THE WAV TO LONDON. 
 
 The visits of Edith Staples to the bedside of Ger- 
 ald Garston added to the confusion of mind into 
 which he had been thrown by the extraordinary 
 events of the previous few days. Weak from the ill- 
 ness which had been coming on for some time, more 
 or less under the influence of the opiate which his 
 father persisted in giving him in minute quantities, 
 notwithstanding the warning of Dr. Pease, and con- 
 scious that he had not treated Edith well, Gerald 
 accepted her ministrations, with few words beyond 
 those of thankfulness. Whenever he had strength 
 enough to form consecutive impressions his mind 
 turned to Alma, who must, he thought, be anxious 
 about him, and to whom he would gladly, had there 
 been any feasible way, have sent some message tes- 
 tifying the still unchanged character of his affection. 
 One day it even occurred to him to ask Edith to 
 carry this word to her, and then it came upon him 
 like a tornado that he had the double task of reliev- 
 ing the distress of Alma and soothing the injured 
 feelings of his new nurse. He saw that he was in 
 danger of doing something foolish if he attempted 
 anything in his feeble condition, and he desisted 
 from forming plans, preferring to wait until he could 
 be about and decide with the full use of unhan 
 pered intelligence. 
 
 It was on the second day that he was able to wa'.i? 
 out of doors, that he took his way to the summer
 
 Off TOT WAT TO LOTH**. 901 
 
 house, In the hope to find Alma where he had left 
 her. His father knew well that this would probably 
 be his move, and knowing that the cottage was 
 locked he did not try to stop him in this useless 
 journey. Gerald crept weakly through the path in 
 the wood, and tried the gate, which was securely 
 fastened. He went to the nearest point at which the 
 house approached the fence and called "Alma" in a 
 low tone. Then, when nothing but the echo of his 
 own voice answered him, he turned wearily away, 
 and started for his home, reaching there greatly 
 fatigued in body and discouraged in mind. The ex- 
 ertion compelled him to remain in-doors for several 
 days. As soon as he could bear the strain he obtained 
 writing utensils and indited the letter which Mary 
 Carson afterwards sent to Alma, and which her 
 father intercepted. It was easy to get this to the post- 
 office, for the farm hands had no orders in relation 
 to his correspondence, and his father did not know 
 or suspect what he was doing. But when a week 
 passed and no reply was received, Gerald began to 
 experience the greatest uneasiness. Dr. Pease de- 
 clared that something must be done to calm his mind 
 or he would fall into a brain fever, with possibly 
 dangerous results. 
 
 " He needs a change of scene," said the physician. 
 " As soon as he is able to travel he ought to be taken 
 away from here.** 
 
 The Jefferson County Eagle contained a long 
 article upon the death of Mrs. Adams, reciting in the 
 true country manner the virtues and high character 
 of the deceased. The paper containing this, which 
 at the same time stated that Miss Alma had gone 
 to he East and would remain there some time, was
 
 placed purposely where it could not help aelng semi 
 by Gerald. He was much shocked by the news, but 
 experienced a sort of comfort in it, as it explained 
 to a certain extent the absence of any reply to his 
 letter. He had no doubt that as soon as the first 
 flush of her grief was over, Alma would write, and 
 he tried to content himself to wait But the courage 
 which he acquired was not to be of long duration, 
 for in a subsequent number of the same journal he 
 found an item stating that she had gone abroad to 
 finish her education, and would not return, probably^ 
 for a number of years. 
 
 The paragraph giving this information was partly 
 the result of ingenious surmise on the part of the 
 reporter of the Eagle, but its effect on Gerald was 
 most pronounced. At first it paralyzed him, and 
 then it aroused his fury. He cocad see nothing but 
 that Alma had deserted him when he was help- 
 less from illness, without even the formality of a 
 written or spoken word. " Gone abroad to remain 
 for years !" Was ever anything so thoroughly heart- 
 less ? Could this be the Almahe had known ? Had 
 his brain, reeling under the effect of illness, played 
 him a trick ? Were all those sweet memories mere 
 illusions of a distempered imagination ? 
 
 He tried to think. Had she not lain in his arms, 
 with her lips to his, and her hair wound around his 
 eyes that he might not see the blushes that dyed her 
 cheek a deeper color than carmine ? Had her form, 
 pulsating with youth, never been clasped to his 
 heart? Had she never whispered responses to hi 
 glowing declarations, and had they never sworn to 
 each other that life itself should be too short U 
 prove their constancy ?
 
 0V THB WAT TO LONDON. 893 
 
 When was this ? A month ago by the calendar. 
 A century, by the suffering that the separation had 
 given him. 
 
 Could he be mistaken ? Was it not true that she 
 had urged that he hasten the day when she might 
 vow her life to him ? Had he never arranged with 
 Moseley to come and satisfy the demands of custom ? 
 It was all as clear to him as the sun shining there in 
 the sky. He had agreed with the official to meet 
 him and he had told Alma that the day was set. 
 What then ? Why yes he had met his father in 
 the wood, and after that came unconsciousness. 
 Alma had waited for him and the justice, and when 
 he did not arrive she had shown the slenderness of 
 her love by suspecting him of untruth. The death 
 of her mother had taken her to New York, and after- 
 ward, hearing nothing from him taking it for 
 granted that he had deserted her she had conclud- 
 ed to go abroad. 
 
 What a specimen of the fickleness of woman ! 
 There could have been nothing like the passion 
 which animated him in her breast or she would never 
 have jumped at conclusions in such a reckless man- 
 ner. Thus the bitter reflections surged through his 
 brain, for hours after he read this paragraph, and he 
 saw no ray of comfort anywhere on the horizon. 
 
 When one has nothing to do but think, and think, 
 and think, one's mind is apt to lead him astray. 
 When one is rising from a sick bed one's brain is 
 easily persuaded of whatever appears on the surface 
 of things. Gerald passed through agonies of regret 
 for the girl he had lost, agonies of remorse for the 
 wrong he had done her, and agonies of vindictive 
 rage for the cold way in which she had taken her-
 
 994 THK G ARSTOT* BIGAMT. 
 
 self out of his reach. His self-love, his conscience, 
 his desire for her presence, dominated him one after 
 the other, each taking its turn, until he did not 
 know what he thought or what he wanted. 
 
 Out of the chaos only one thing loomed clear on 
 his vision. Alma had gone and Edith remained. 
 
 Gentle Edith ! Sweet, tender, patient Edith 3 
 Not a word of love had passed between them during 
 these days when she had come to cheer his loneli- 
 ness, bringing that one ray of light into his life, now 
 tied to such narrow limits. What could he do to 
 reward such sweet devotion ? Ought he to permit 
 it to go on ? He had no strength to solve this prob- 
 lem. It pleased his father to have her there, and 
 the bright smile on her countenance as she entered 
 his room showed that it gave her pleasure to come 
 
 Alma had gone and Edith remained. He could 
 remember when he had told Cliff Nelson that he did 
 not know which one of them he loved best. He 
 looked back now on his mad infatuation with Alma, 
 when he had dared everything to be by her side. 
 Had he chosen Edith his path would have been as 
 smooth as a sea of summer. Why had his fancy en- 
 veloped the other with all glories, till he could see 
 nothing in this girl, who had loved and still loved 
 him with a flame that no wind of circumstance could 
 lessen ? 
 
 Then he went back again in memory to those 
 evenings in the summer-house. What right had 
 Alma to lift him to heaven and then drop him into 
 the depths of hell ! He wanted to see her once 
 more and discover what had wrought this awful 
 change. But the thought of being again in her 
 presence threw him into another fr.-er. He did not
 
 OK THB WAY TO LOOTXWf. 205 
 
 know whether he should smother her with Wses 
 willing or unwilling or drive a knife into that now 
 false heart, that had beaten responsive to his 
 through the fair breast that intoxicated him. 
 
 Colonel Staples and Mr. Garston were mucft 
 pleased when, upon approaching the subject deli- 
 cately to him, they found that he was quite willing 
 to take a journey to the Old World. Garston said 
 he should go, too, as he had always wanted to see 
 Europe and the season of winter was the only 
 one he could well spare for that purpose. Edith 
 was to accompany her father, and Gerald under- 
 stood that this was decided upon wholly without 
 reference to himself. On the whole he was glad 
 she was going. He dreamed that it would be pos- 
 sible, in those quiet days that they would pass on 
 the sea, to have tbe honest talk with her that he had 
 meant to have for months past. For there was no 
 moment during this time that Gerald viewed Edith 
 as a possibility in marriage. That might have been 
 once, but now their paths had diverged. It was too 
 late to change things. He had been too far on the 
 other road ever to return. 
 
 The voyage was uneventful. Day after day Ger- 
 ald sat with Edith on the deck, where their fathers 
 left them to themselves with undisguised approba- 
 tion. Gerald acquired physical strength, but the 
 courage that he hoped for to tell Edith that he had 
 loved and lost and never could love again to teli 
 her this in the delicate way that he felt was her due 
 did not come to him. There was something dis- 
 honorable in allowing her to go on under the belief 
 that things were different, but try as he might he 
 was unable to set her right.
 
 994 THB GABSTON BIGA1CT. 
 
 John Garston had many talks with flic Colonel, 
 the burden ol which was that all that was needed 
 was a little time. 
 
 "The boy has been very sick, you know," he said. 
 u He will recover rapidly over here. They will be 
 thrown constantly together, and only one result can 
 follow." 
 
 " Do you think he has entirely gotten over his 
 feelings toward Alma?" asked the Colonel, 
 nervously. 
 
 "Entirely. Have no fear. You will return to 
 America with a wedding party." 
 
 " Alma is in Europe somewhere, you know.** 
 
 ** Yes, with a chaperone who will take good care 
 that she does not get out of her sight. I know 
 Adams. He never sent her here without full instruc- 
 tions to meet every case. He has been as fearful 
 that there should be anything between them, since 
 that day of the auction, as he was anxious for it 
 before." 
 
 When a man is desirous of being convinced it does 
 not take much to convince him, and the worthy 
 Colonel found his fears for his daughter's happiness 
 giving way to rose-colored expectations, as he noted 
 the confidence of his companion. 
 
 They leit the steamer at Queenstown, took the 
 usual short run through Ireland, crossed to Scot- 
 land, where they spent a fortnight, and then, by 
 easy stages, stopping at many places of interest, 
 came to tno world's metropolis.
 
 A CRY FOB HKUP. 1 
 
 CHAPTER XXXL 
 
 A CRY FOR HELP. 
 
 Gerald had not been twenty-four hours in London 
 before he began to realize that he was practically 
 under guardianship. He occupied the peculiar 
 position of being in a foreign land with hardly a 
 dollar in his pocket and with watchful eyes follow- 
 ing his every movement. It was no part of the 
 purpose of his father that he should be able to take 
 journeys of his own in any direction that he might 
 fancy, and his purse had been carefully restricted 
 with that end in view. Under the pretence that 
 funds had not arrived, John Garston gave his son 
 only the smallest sums, and Gerald's pride prevented 
 him from asking the only other person in the party 
 to whom he could have applied Edith's father for 
 anything. 
 
 London meant to the young man more than all 
 else the place where Alma had undoubtedly been 
 perhaps where she still was and the fever that 
 had smouldered in his veins grew hotter as time 
 passed on. They might surround him with all the 
 barriers they pleased, but he resolved that it should 
 avail them nothing. If he could not find the one 
 he loved, at least they should not make him wed 
 another. He had never really recovered from his 
 illness. Mr. Garston continued to supply him with 
 opiates disguised in his medicine. Generally he 
 wore an appearance of extreme melancholy. Edith 
 was much troubled by this, and appealed to her
 
 298 THE GAR8TON BIGAMT. 
 
 father to know if something could not be suggested 
 to turn the current of his thoughts. 
 
 M I never saw Gerald so unhappy," she said. 
 " Sometimes I feel as if he did not care for me. I 
 would rather die than,marry him if I thought that. 
 The voyage does not seem to have done him much 
 good thus far." 
 
 The colonel was all this time in a quandary. He 
 had given out to the reporter of the Eagle that his 
 daughter and Gerald were engaged, and that they 
 would probably return from Europe man and wife. 
 All Jefferson expected this, and if it did not occur 
 there would be a suspicion that Edith had been jilted. 
 Garston was constantly at his elbow, ready to meet 
 any doubt, and the Colonel was more than willing 
 to be convinced. 
 
 " Don't be in haste, and all will be well," said 
 Garston, repeatedly. " All he wants is a little more 
 time." 
 
 It takes something more than common espionage to 
 control the every movement of a young man of 
 twenty-three, even under the disadvantageous con- 
 ditions of a case like the one in question. Gerald 
 found by a newspaper that he picked up at the hotel 
 that Clifford Nelson was at the Victoria. Little as 
 he had cause to hope for help from him, it was a 
 straw worth catching at in his helpless dilemma, and 
 he smuggled a note to the address, stating his posi- 
 tion, and begging Cliff, for the sake of old times, to 
 come to his rescue. 
 
 " I am still suffering from the effects of the long 
 illness I have had," he wrote, " and though they give 
 me medicine constantly it does me no good. I feel 
 that it is too late for me to hope to regain the lov
 
 A CRT FOE HELP. 299 
 
 of Alma, and I shall try to reconcile myself to its 
 loss ; but this steady pressure toward another alli- 
 ance is wearing me out. I fear that some day I shall 
 yield, and then there will be a future of misery for 
 both myself and Edith. I have not a dollar that I 
 can call my own. If I had enough to take me back to 
 America I would fly from this danger, and once there 
 I would take care that they never got me again into 
 their power. You hate me for the vacillation of 
 which I was guilty, but you can afford to be magnan- 
 imous, now that I have lost the only thing I care for. 
 If I have done wrong and Heaven knows how dearly 
 I regret my conduct my punishment is already 
 severe enough. If you can send me twenty pounds, 
 which I will repay as soon as I can earn it, you may 
 save two people from a lifetime of unhappiness." 
 
 The messenger who took this note reported that 
 Mr. Nelson had left the Victoria and gone to live at 
 some other hotel, and that the clerks would forward 
 the letter to his new address as soon as they could 
 ascertain it. There was something very dispiriting 
 in this report, for it might mean that Clifford had 
 left the city, and in Gerald's mood he naturally 
 looked at the darkest side of everything. A week 
 went by and nothing was heard from his former 
 friend. He thought it more than probable that the 
 note had reached him, and that his contempt for the 
 sender had induced him to meet his request by a dead 
 silence. If he had done so, Gerald felt that he could 
 not blame him. It would not be easy for Cliff to 
 despise him more than he despised himself. He was 
 plunged into the greatest despondency, and in this 
 state of mind his father found him, when he Came to 
 have a final talk upon the situation.
 
 100 THB OAJCSTON BJ3AMY. 
 
 M It is time that I spoke to you plainly," he srnfc*, 
 
 with that hard, cold ring to his voice that his son 
 had of late learned to know so well " You have 
 now been in England nearly a month. What excuse 
 can you find for longer postponing your marriage ? I 
 know what you will say that you do not love Edith. 
 It is enough that she loves you, and that you have 
 given her every reason to think she is to be your 
 wife. There is no honorable way now in which you 
 can escape making good the understanding you have 
 had with her. She is a beautiful girl. The marriage 
 will make me happy and relieve us all. Try to think 
 of this as your duty, and it will seem easier." 
 
 Gerald was too disheartened to answer for some 
 minutes. There was no avenue open to him in any 
 direction, except the one his father pointed out. 
 Perhaps, he sadly thought, they were all right and 
 he was wrong. Alma had turned her back upon him 
 deliberately. The only friend he had thought it 
 possible could aid him had either gone from London 
 or had disdained to answer his letter imploring 
 assistance. If he could not hope for happiness him- 
 self, here was at least a way in which he could impart 
 it to others. 
 
 " Let me think of it till to-morrow," he said, at last. 
 
 " Settle it to-day ; it is much better," was the 
 reply. " Say that I may arrange for the marriage- 
 it will be an entirely private affair and that will 
 relieve me of the constant fear that I may be placed 
 in the position of a falsifier to a gentleman and 
 his daughter who have been the soul of kindness to 
 both of us. Tell me that you will go to Edith and 
 ask her to name the earliest hour when you may
 
 A CRY FOB HELP. 801 
 
 carry out the promises that you made months and 
 months ago." 
 
 The young man wavered, and then consented to 
 all that his father had asked. It repaid him to some 
 degree when his parent grasped him by the hand 
 with a cordiality the like of which he had never 
 known him to show, and thanked him warmly. 
 
 Having made up his mind, Gerald felt an elation 
 for which he was not prepared. He had been for so 
 many weeks in a state of uncertainty that it 
 relieved him to have his course decided, even 
 though it was not the one on which he had fixed 
 his mind. He went to Edith, who was in her own 
 apartments, and surprised her by an affectionate 
 embrace, as she opened the door to him. In quite 
 his old manner, tempered only by such soberness as 
 the occasion might well demand, he told her that he 
 hoped she would be ready for the ceremony that 
 was to unite them, as soon as the preliminaries 
 could be arranged. 
 
 There were few preparations necessary. The plan 
 was to send out for some non-conformist clergyman, 
 and take the vows quietly. She had no costumes to 
 procure and no list of friends to invite. All this 
 was talked over, and before he left her the day 
 was set for the following Thursday. He returned 
 to his father, who anxiously awaited him, and 
 reported what he had done, and John Garston went 
 at once to Colonel Staples and communicated the 
 information. 
 
 The reader who is inclined, very properly, to 
 feproach the parents of these young people for their 
 conduct should reflect that similar means have been 
 used in all ages of the world to accomplish similar
 
 802 THE OAE8TON BIGAMY. 
 
 ends, and that the intended happiness of ihe ones to 
 be married has been in most cases the reason alleged. 
 Garston had his revenge against Adams to satisfy, 
 but the Colonel thought of nothing but the future of 
 his daughter. The fact that she loved Gerald was 
 enough for him. Once united there would be, he 
 fully believed, no inharmony between them. To 
 Edith's doubts he always replied that Gerald's illness 
 was responsible for everything that was strange in 
 his manner, and that she might be sure that all the 
 clouds that lowered above them would disappear in 
 the fair sunshine of their wedded life. 
 
 Until the morning of his marriage day arrived, 
 Gerald did not give up hope of hearing from Clifford. 
 That was the only chance that now remained to him. 
 He looked in his box with eagerness, rising before 
 the others to make sure that he got whatever was 
 sent to him, but nothing came. Feeling that no 
 other course was now open, he put on the best face 
 he could. 
 
 As he entered the presence of the clergyman a 
 chill came over him, and he feared lest the others 
 should hear the chattering of his teeth. When it 
 was his turn to answer the questions put to him he 
 showed much awkwardness. But it was finally 
 accomplished. He had sworn before high Heaven 
 to take this woman for life, for death, in sickness and 
 health, and to keep himself unto her till death should 
 them part ! 
 
 " May I kiss the bride ?" 
 
 It was John Garston who asked it, and Edith 
 looked up, pale and trembling, for she had noticed 
 with pain that her husband, in his aberration, had
 
 A CRT FOB HELP. 308 
 
 neglected to take that first kiss, usually so eagerly 
 sought by the newly-wedded groom. 
 
 "After Gerald," she whispered, and in spite of all 
 she could do, the tears came to her blue eyes. 
 
 Gerald heard her like one in a dream. He kissed 
 her, and when both his father and hers had followed 
 Suit, the clergyman left them. 
 
 Garston had planned a little wedding breakfast, 
 but the condition of his son decided him against hav- 
 ing it served. He talked it over with Colonel Staples 
 and they concluded that the best thing was to send 
 the bridal couple at once to another hotel, where 
 rooms had been engaged for them. He handed 
 Gerald a purse with more than the twenty pounds 
 he had so craved now, alas ! too late to be of use 
 and with a few words that bade him be of better 
 courage, said good-by to him until the next day. 
 Edith clung with something like fear to her father 
 ere they separated, and he had all he could do to 
 restrain his feelings. 
 
 Gerald had hardly entered the carriage which 
 was to take his bride and himself to their temporary 
 abode before he had resolved, as well as he was cap- 
 able of resolving upon anything, that he would 
 never consummate this union. The touch of the 
 purse that he had in his pocket had aroused all the 
 old dread of this marriage, and awakened a determin- 
 ation to escape. It would be cruel to desert this fair 
 girl at such a time, but would it be any less so 
 months hence ? He knew that the separation would 
 have to come, sooner or later. He realized how 
 villainously he had acted, but he thought the best 
 way now was to act up to his convictions, no matter 
 at what cost He liked Edith, as he had always done,
 
 804 THB 
 
 but Alma alone had taught him to feel what tort 
 
 was. He had done a wicked act in standing up 
 and uttering those lies, but he would carry it no far 
 ther. 
 
 Unconsciously, with the tenderest feelings in his 
 mind for his bride, he placed his arms about her as 
 they rode through the crowded streets, and she, 
 knowing nothing of what passed through his mind, 
 nestled gratefully against his bosom. But before 
 they reached their new hotel he had decided upon 
 the course he would follow. They were shown to 
 their suite, comprising a little parlor, bedroom and 
 bathroom, beautifully furnished, and here for the first 
 time they found themselves wholly alone. 
 
 It was not a pleasant situation for him. He did 
 not mean to arouse her suspicions, and neither did 
 he intend to stultify himself by indulging in those 
 extra attentions which the logic of events might 
 have seemed to demand. The first thing he did 
 was to order breakfast, for neither of them had eaten 
 anything except the smallest lunch that morning. 
 When the waiter said, " You'll 'ave it hup 'ere, sir, 
 hof course ?" he replied with due hauteur, " Certainly 
 not. Serve it in the breakfast room, and notify me 
 when it is ready." He meant to be absolutely alone 
 with his wife gods ! how that word sounded ! as 
 little as he could. 
 
 After they had eaten breakfast, which filled in the 
 time remaining till nearly noon, he proposed that 
 they ;ake a long ride into the country, and Edith 
 acceded, as she felt in duty bound to do. He selected 
 Hampton Court, though it was not the season when 
 many visitors go thither, because it would take a long 
 time to go and return, and he must dispose of the
 
 afternoon In some way. They talked of the scenes 
 
 through which they passed, and examined the paint* 
 ings in the galleries when they arrived, and no person 
 who saw them imagined that they were wedded that 
 day. It grew rather dark before they reached home, 
 and he found his arm encircling her again. He liked 
 her, and he felt a sympathy for her, and after all it 
 could not do much harm. 
 
 At the hotel dinner was ready, and both ate with 
 fair appetites. He lingered as long over the walnuts 
 and wine AS he could find excuse for, and then went 
 slowly with her to the parlor they occupied. 
 
 " I shall have to leave you for an hour or two/* he 
 said, immediately. "There is a little business that 
 I have to attend to. It may keep me out quite late. 
 You had best not sit up. If you mind being 
 alone" 
 
 " Oh, no. Not at all," she replied. 
 
 He stooped and kissed her, and she met his lips 
 shyly. He would have avoided it if he could, but it 
 seemed necessary. Then he went out into the streets, 
 and inquired of the first policeman he met the 
 nearest way to the offices of the American steamers. 
 Miraculously, the man knew enough of the locality 
 to answer the question, for one of the offices was 
 very near the place where they stood. Gerald 
 accepted the directions given and started to walk 
 to it. 
 
 His plan was to take the first boat, of whatever 
 line, that sailed for the western shores. Before leav- 
 ing London he intended to write a full statement of 
 what he was about to do to Colonel Staples and his 
 father. He proposed to tell them that under no con- 
 ccivable circumstances would he ever return to Edith,
 
 306 TOE GAR8TOU BIGAMY. 
 
 and that he hoped they would all forget him as soon 
 as possible. He meant to tell them his regret that 
 he had not had strength of mind to refuse the union, 
 and that his only reason for his present course was 
 that he did not love his wife as he felt a husband 
 ought. He meant to ask them to make the blow as 
 light to her as they could, and to assure her that he 
 felt the shame of what he felt compelled to do. 
 
 When he reached the steamship office he learned 
 that there was no boat going before Saturday. This 
 was something on which he had not counted. It 
 seemed to indicate that he would have to postpone 
 his departure until the next day, and he wondered 
 what he could do in the meantime. If he went back 
 to Edith, what excuse could he. make to her for seek- 
 ing another apartment ? Illness ? That was not 
 sufficient to part a wife and her husband. Her place 
 would be by his side, and she would demand it. 
 Bitterly he regretted that he had not done what he 
 ought at the start, instead of getting into this 
 muddle. What had become of the common sense 
 that he had once? Surely there had been a day 
 when he was not such a coward. 
 
 Should he not go direct to Edith and tell her the 
 truth ? No, anything but that. He could not meet 
 her affrighted eyes, her horror-stricken face ! But 
 he must do something. What? What? WHAT? 
 
 He went into a hotel and wrote the letter he had 
 decided upon. He walked after that through un- 
 familiar streets, with the fearful question unanswered, 
 till the clock struck ten. Then he saw a carriage 
 standing in front of a handsome residence, and a 
 man being forced down the steps, and heard a cry for 
 help.
 
 WHERE WOMItf RISK DEATH. 207 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIL 
 
 WHERE WOMEN RISK DEATH, 
 
 Seeking to find some relief from his own depression, 
 AS well as from the constant strain which his meetings 
 with Alma now put upon him, Clifford Nelson 
 engaged the services of a guide and spent consider- 
 able time inspecting the parts of London into which 
 the ordinary traveler is not supposed to penetrate. 
 It is said that no one person knows the whole of that 
 vast Babel, but this man came as near it as any one 
 could. He was a veritable encyclopaedia of every- 
 thing within ten miles of St. Paul's Cathedral, hav- 
 ing made it a business to show strangers about ever 
 since he was a very young man, as had his father 
 before him. 
 
 "There's a house the business of which you would 
 not be likely to suspect from the appearance of the 
 exterior," he said, one day, as they passed a hand- 
 some residence within a stone's throw of Pall Mall. 
 44 Few of those who live in the neighborhood imagine 
 what goes on within those quiet portals." 
 
 Then he whispered the secret to Nelson, who 
 opened his eyes with astonishment, and inquired 
 why the police permitted such places to exist so 
 openly. 
 
 rt They regard them as necessities," responded the 
 guide. " It is considered better that something of 
 this kind should be allowed than that respectable 
 families should find their names dragged in the mud. 
 I could, though of course I would not, give you th
 
 SOS IBB GARSTOIC BIO AVT. 
 
 names of some ladies of the peerage who hare been 
 here. Here comes a carriage. If we walk slowly 
 we may see something." 
 
 A veiled lady alighted, who gave directions to her 
 driver to return in an hour, and then silently vanished 
 into the residence. 
 
 " A little more careful than most of them," com- 
 mented the guide. " She is wise enough to muffle 
 her face." 
 
 Nelson was a good deal shocked. 
 
 " But does not death sometimes ensue P he asked. 
 
 " Y-e-s," was the slow answer. " They take the 
 risk of that. I should be willing to guarantee that 
 bodies are carried out of the rear exit once a month, 
 at least. A certain proportion of the cases are fatal. 
 But, bless you ! this is London. It's a big city, and 
 they say that three hundred people go to the ceme- 
 teries daily on the average." 
 
 Nelson shuddered, and instinctively quickened his 
 pace. He wanted to get away from the vicinity. It 
 seemed to him the wickedest thing he had yet 
 encountered. He wondered if the lady who had just 
 disappeared within those doors would be added to 
 that horrible list of those who never came out alive. 
 He thought of that coachman waiting in vain, hour 
 after hour, until a messenger came down the steps to 
 say that he might go ; and he tried to think what 
 report he would make to his master. Cruel, heart- 
 less London ! In nothing had it seemed so terrible 
 as in this murderous den, with its fair and shining 
 front exposed to the smiling crowds who passed hour 
 by hour, never thinking of the villainy within. 
 
 He did not know that every large city of his own 
 America had just such places, and that fortunes art
 
 reaped by the " doctors " who ply this trade. He 
 had never conned the adroitly worded advertise- 
 ments, published every day by great newspapers, 
 which in their " literary " departments hold up their 
 hands at books like " Thou Shalt Not," and In 
 Stella's Shadow." He had never inspected the books 
 in the counting rooms of these journals, showing 
 sometimes as high as a hundred dollars a day* 
 thirty thousand dollars a year received from thes 
 advertisements, making the virtuous gentlemen who 
 own the papers sharers in a business which could 
 hardly exist without their aid. He was an innocent 
 young man, was Clifford Nelson, and he thought 
 London wickeder than New York, or Philadelphia, 
 or Boston. He was a very innocent young man, or 
 he would have known that take them by propor- 
 tionate population the capital of Great Britain is in 
 some respects lagging at the rear of the fearful 
 column. 
 
 Nelson could not get the house out of his mind, and 
 he found himself several evenings later loitering in 
 its vicinity, as one loiters where men have been gull. 
 lotined or where suicides have dashed their brains 
 out on the pavement. He marked the elegance of 
 most of the carriages that came and went, and the 
 aristocratic bearing of the ladies who were the patrons 
 of the institutions. Occasionally a common cab was 
 of the Ust, but it was conspicuous for its ordinary 
 appearance, and its driver usually drove off as soon 
 as his fare had left h>m, knowing that she could 
 easily engage another from the stream that constantly 
 crowded the thoroughfare. 
 
 As he was about to turn away, Nelson saw a veiled 
 fgur leave a carriage at the door and proceed up the
 
 810 TH* GABSTOR BtOAXT. 
 
 teps, that at once riveted his attention. He could 
 not tell for a moment what it was that startled him, 
 but he began to tremble violently and the perspira- 
 tion started in heavy drops on his forehead. There 
 was something about the walk of the lady, something 
 about her figure that was strangely familiar. He felt 
 assured that he had seen her before, but he could 
 not at first tell anything more definite. It must be 
 merely a fancy. He did not know personally ten 
 women in England, and how could he recognize this 
 one, out of all the throng that filled the vast city ? 
 The lady disappeared at the portal, and the door 
 closed behind her. 
 
 The young man on the sidewalk felt as if he was 
 being asphyxiated. He could hardly breathe. He 
 was sure, the longer he thought of it, that he knew 
 the lady, and he had an awful sense of guilt that he 
 permitted her to enter the place without at least 
 uttering a word of warning. But how could he have 
 the temerity to do that when he did not even know 
 her name? The veil over her face concealed her 
 identity. The carriage that brought her had gone 
 its way. There was no one to ask, and the lady her- 
 self was out of his reach. It must be imagination. 
 He started to walk away, trying to make himself 
 believe that he had allowed his senses to wander. 
 
 And then it came upon him like a thunderbolt ! 
 
 No ! It was too ridiculous ! It could not be Alma, 
 and all the resemblances in the world did not make 
 it more likely ! He thought he would go to her 
 hotel to make sure she was there, and thus dismiss 
 the foolish phantasy. But if it were! If by any 
 combination of satanic power she was the woma*
 
 WHERE WOMEN BISK DEATH. $11 
 
 who went up those steps, the time he would lose in 
 searching for her might be fatal. 
 
 How could it be Alma ? and yet, when did any two 
 women seem so much alike ? What could send that 
 country girl, from the farming district of Iowa, into 
 such a den as this ? If it was, she must be there 
 under a misapprehension. She could not know the 
 character of the house that his guide had described. 
 
 Then he thought of the night when he met Gerald 
 stalking through the wood, and he asked him to take 
 his life. He recalled what he heard at the meeting 
 between him and his angry father. It came back to 
 him, much quicker than it takes to tell it, that Alma 
 had said she did not intend to remain long with Mrs. 
 Lenoir's party, and had hesitated when he asked her 
 what she intended to do next. 
 
 It might be Alma ! There was one chance in a 
 thousand that the resemblance was real. It was his 
 duty to risk everything to ascertain ! 
 
 Calming himself with a prodigious effort, Nelson 
 walked up the steps and entered the house, the door 
 being freely opened to him. To the guardian of the 
 portal he said he wished to speak to the lady who last 
 entered. His manner was not calculated to arouse 
 suspicion, and a little bell called a young woman 
 who was directed to show the gentleman to Room 10 
 It was evident that he was supposed to belong to the 
 lady for whom he had inquired, and that there was con. 
 sidered nothing extraordinary in his presence there. 
 
 " Tell her that she will have to wait some minutes," 
 said the woman, with a foreign inflexion, as she 
 indicated the room. " They are very busy 
 to-night."
 
 313 rax GABS-TOW BIGAMY. 
 
 He handed the woman a sovereign, for which she 
 
 thanked him and withdrew. 
 
 How could he open that door? If he were 
 wrong, his gentlemanly instincts made him dread 
 meeting with a lady who would have good cause to 
 think him a spy and an interloper. But if he were 
 right ! Ah ! It would be much harder to tell what 
 to do, then ! 
 
 His trembling hand was on the door and in 
 another second he was in the room. 
 
 Alma it was none other stood at a mirror, with 
 her veil removed, trying to eradicate the look of 
 apprehension from her face. When she heard the 
 door open, she turned, supposing it to be an attend- 
 ant. It is not easy to describe her trepidation when 
 she saw Nelson. She took one step toward him and 
 then sank upon the nearest sofa. 
 
 ** You must not faint !" he exclaimed, with start- 
 ling vividness. " You must take leave of this house, 
 and not an instant is to be lost !" 
 
 She had not fainted, and she did not mean to. 
 There was a great deal-of force in her when she was 
 aroused, and for weeks she had been preparing her 
 mind for this ordeal. 
 
 "Take your hand off!" she said, for he had 
 grasped her by the arm. 
 
 "Nonsense!" he replied, excitedly. "You wiU 
 leave here at once, and with me. There are other 
 ways of committing suicide than to put yourself in 
 the hands of the wretches who own this house.'* 
 
 * You cannot frighten me by talking of death," 
 he answered, coldly. "It is welcome, in any form 
 it chooses to assume."
 
 WHERE WOMEN BISK DEATH. 81* 
 
 He was astounded at the audacity of her words 
 and the determination of her manner. 
 
 " If you covet death," he said, " at least die where 
 it will not also bring disgrace." 
 
 "Disgrace!" She laughed recklessly. "You 
 know I am here, and you know why, or you can 
 guess. Is there any disgrace that can equal that ? 
 Besides, they will give me a chance to redeem my 
 name. It is only a chance, but it may succeed. 
 What can you offer better?" 
 
 He talked to her with all the force that he could 
 muster for the next five minutes, and nothing that 
 he said had the least effect on the determined girU 
 He told her he would find Gerald. He said he would 
 furnish her all the money she needed, if there 
 was any want of funds, to go as far away as she 
 pleased, until her trouble was over, but he insisted 
 that she must not imperil her life. She had an 
 answer ready for every point that he made. She was 
 there, and she would not go. 
 
 ** You can tell my father what you please," she 
 said. " You can put it in the newspapers, if you 
 wish. I know you will do nothing of the kind. It 
 will not avail if you argue till doomsday." 
 
 One of the attendants of the place knocked at the 
 door, and then entered. He looked surprised to see 
 Nelson there. 
 
 u We have concluded," said Clifford, in a firm voice, 
 that we will leave here." 
 
 " The lady is related to you?" said the man 
 interrogatively. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 Then Alma found her voice.
 
 314 THS GAR8TON 1 BIGAMT. 
 
 "It is not true P she exclaimed indignantly. J He 
 has no right to dictate what I shall do." 
 
 The man looked from one to the other and 
 shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 " You must settle it between you," said he. 
 
 " We are going," said Nelson, taking Alma by the 
 arm again. 
 
 The hands of the attendant were raised deprecat- 
 ingly. 
 
 " You ought to know that this is no place for 
 quarrels," he said. " If your husband wishes you to 
 go, it is his affair. Give me twenty-five pounds, and 
 retire quietly." 
 
 " Twenty-five devils !" retorted Nelson. 
 
 He had not half the sum mentioned with him. 
 
 Alma was trying vainly all this time to release 
 Clifford's grasp, which hurt her severely, but he held 
 her as in a vise. 
 
 "There is ten pounds," cried Clifford, throwing 
 down his purse. " It is all I have here, and you must 
 wait for the rest till I can send it. Make way. We 
 have wasted time enough." 
 
 He started to drag Alma from the room, but the 
 attendant barred the way. Enraged beyond endur- 
 ance Nelson struck the man a blow that floored him. 
 Then, taking the girl as if she were a bundle of 
 straw he started for the outer door. But here he 
 had the door-opener to deal with, and the delay 
 allowed the man who had been knocked down to 
 arouse several of the other attendants, who came 
 running to the spot where Clifford was trying to 
 escape with the unwilling girl. 
 
 Seeing that it was becoming a serious matter, 
 Kelson released his hold on Alma, and struck out
 
 WOMEN BISK DEATB. S15 
 
 right and left. He managed to get the door open in 
 the me'tee, and to get outside of it, but some of the 
 servants who had been hit by his fists did not mean 
 to let him off so easily. They followed him, and the 
 battle was renewed on the steps. Being three to one 
 they would soon have had him hors du combat, had 
 not aid come from an unexpected quarter. A pass- 
 er-by, seeing that three men had one down and were 
 belaboring him without mercy, sprang into the fight 
 and turned the tide of battle. 
 
 *' What do you want to do kill him ?" he asked, 
 assisting the prostrate figure to rise- 
 By this time others of the household had joined 
 the party, and seeing their friends worsted by the 
 new-comer, they set upon him like a parcel of wolves. 
 He had not time to put up his hands when a well- 
 directed blow sent him to earth. His head 
 struck the curbstone, aud he was immediately 
 unconscious. 
 
 A tardy policeman finally elbowed his way through 
 the crowd. The assailants had previously scattered 
 with celerity. He bent over the figure on the side- 
 walk. 
 
 Alma came from the residence, being pushed out 
 with no gentle motion. The managers had received 
 from her the balance of the sum they demanded, but 
 had declined to have anything more to do with a 
 person who brought such discord into their house. 
 She tried her best to evade Nelson, but he had her 
 by the arm again, and she did not like to make a 
 scene in the street. 
 
 " Here is some one," he said, harshly, " whom you 
 may wish to see." 
 Gerald's face was turned toward the sky, and witi
 
 316 THB GABS-TOST BXOUfT. 
 
 the blood that trickled from the wound it 
 sufficiently deathlike. Alma gave a smothered cry 
 and threw herself upon the ground by his side. 
 Womanlike, she forgot her injuries in Ihe presence 
 of her beloved. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII. 
 
 *GOD KNOWS THAT I LOVE YOU P* 
 
 Do you know him ?" asked the officer. 
 
 " Yes, sir," said Clifford. " If you will call a, car* 
 riage I will take him to my hotel, and procure the 
 best attendance." 
 
 The officer demurred, and after some delay the 
 matter was arranged by taking the injured man into 
 the nearest physician's office, that an examination 
 might be had. With the consent of the doctor 
 Gerald was afterwards conveyed in an ambulance 
 to Nelson's apartments, where everything was done 
 for him that skill could suggest. It was a strange 
 revolution that had come so suddenly to one so long 
 filled with bitterness, and who now, finding Gerald 
 hurt in his defence, treated him as if he were a 
 brother. 
 
 Alma was crushed by the occurrence. She accom- 
 panied the party to the hotel, for she could not bear 
 that Gerald should be taken out of her sight. She 
 explained to Nelson, between her sobs, that she had 
 that day left Mrs. Lenoir, who had started for the 
 Riviera, and who had been instructed by Mr. Adam*
 
 "QD XlTOWt THAT f LOT! TOW. JIT 
 
 to allow his daughter ''to remain in London If she 
 
 preferred. She had not told Nelson of her intention, 
 as she hoped to escape him, and believed the easiest 
 way was to let him think she had gone south with 
 the rest of them. As she had taken rooms at a new 
 hotel there was no need of her hastening there, and 
 she wanted to help nurse Gerald back to conscious- 
 ness and health. 
 
 Nelson did a good deal of thinking during the 
 rest of that night, for he did not close his eyes in 
 sleep. The doctor assured him that Gerald had 
 received no hurt that would be lasting. But the 
 position in which he had found Alma, and the strange 
 bringing of her and her lover together opened up a 
 problem that required a great deal of study. He 
 knew that Gerald was in the city with his father, 
 with Colonel Staples and with Edith. He did not 
 know that the marriage had already taken place, or 
 all his acts might have been different. He endeav- 
 ored to consider the matter apart from his own 
 interests, for he loved Edith with all his heart, and 
 could not bear to think that she was to become 
 Gerald's wife. He tried to put himself aside, and 
 consider only the duty of Gerald toward this girl 
 who now bent over his pillow in agony, and whom 
 he had driven to the edge of crime, perhaps of death. 
 It was clearly Gerald's greatest obligation to right 
 the wrong he had done. Alma loved him, and 
 unless he had greatly changed he cared more than 
 a little for her. When he knew what had happened 
 he would see his duty. Thus thought Clifford, and 
 the long night wore away. 
 
 In the morning Gerald knew his friends, though 
 he was very weak. They told him in a few word*
 
 818 THB OABSTON BIQAMT. 
 
 how they had found him hurt in the street, and had 
 
 brought him there. He was much surprised to see 
 Alma and Clifford together. By noon he felt strong 
 enough to ask the questions that rose to" his mind, 
 and when he was alone with Clifford, Alma having 
 retired to take the rest she needed, he began his 
 : nquiries. 
 
 "I can't talk much," he said, "but tell me one 
 thing. Is she your wife ?" 
 
 Clifford stared at him blankly. 
 
 "She? Who?" he asked. 
 
 " Alma." 
 
 "Why, what an idea! Certainly not. Such a 
 thing was never thought of. We happened to meet 
 accidentally, just before we saw you." 
 
 " Upon your word ?" he said. 
 
 " Upon my honor." 
 
 " But you have always loved her." 
 
 " Never," said Clifford. " That was your mis- 
 take." 
 
 The questioner was satisfied, though he could not 
 understand the last denial. 
 
 " Have you notified my my father of my condi- 
 tion ?" 
 
 " No, but I shall do so, as soon as you tell me 
 where he can be found." 
 
 " I would rather you did not. I would like to hide 
 here for awhile away from all of them." 
 
 " Away from Edith, too ?" asked Clifford, soberly. 
 
 * From her most of all. I have no right to ask a 
 favor of you, but I do ask this. I beg it. I have 
 written to them that they will not see me again. 
 Keep me where none of them can find me till I am 
 well enough to travel."
 
 "OD KNOWS THAT I LOTE YOU.* 31 > 
 
 ft was a very peculiar request, but Nelson wa 
 quite willing to grant it. An arrangement was made 
 at once with the hotel to provide an extra suite of 
 rooms, and Gerald was assured that he was more than 
 welcome to stay as long as he pleased. 
 
 Nelson talked with Alma when she awoke, and 
 then he left the hotel with a very sober countenance. 
 He went to the office of the trans-Atlantic cable, and 
 sent a long dispatch. He was uneasy as a fish out of 
 water until the next day, when a brief answer came. 
 The answer contained but one word, " Yes," but it 
 was sufficient, and Nelson could not remember any 
 time in his life when he had felt so happy. 
 
 Gerald recovered rapidly under the kind care of 
 his friend now his friend again, surely his old 
 sweetheart, and the able physician who had been 
 summoned. He was alone a good deal with Alma, 
 and it surprised her that he said so little about the 
 past or the future. But she had taken Nelson's 
 advice and waited with patience till he should be 
 quite well again, as he assured her something was 
 certainly going to happen. 
 
 Eleven days after the dispatch from America had 
 been received an envelope of large dimensions was 
 delivered at the hotel, addressed to "Mr. Clifford 
 Nelson." That individual opened it and uttered a 
 cry of joy as he inspected its contents. He lost no 
 time in going to see Gerald, who was up and dressed 
 and occupied at the moment in reading a newspaper. 
 
 "I am going to talk to you more solemnly than I 
 ever did in my life," was his greeting. " Are you 
 prepared to listen ?" 
 
 A silent affirmative was the answer he received.
 
 899 THE 6ABSTON BIGA1CY. 
 
 Gerald was somewhat alarmed by the words and 
 
 manner of his host. 
 
 " I have known you for five years," said Nelson. 
 " I have loved you, hated you, despised you, in turn. 
 To-day, when I reflect what I have to tell, I pity 
 you." 
 
 There was no reply, but the still figure was in rapt 
 attention. 
 
 " You used to tell me that you could not tell which 
 of two beautiful girls you cared for most. One night 
 I met you coming from one of them in a state 
 approaching insanity. When your mind cleared, you 
 told me that you had decided between these girls 
 and that nothing could ever change your love from 
 the one to whom you had given it Alma Adams. 
 Afterwards you left her left her without a word of 
 farewell. Since then rumor and the public prints 
 have announced that you were to marry the other 
 one. I do not know, out of all this conglomeration, 
 which of them you now believe dearest to you, but 1 
 do know that there is a reason, and one that could 
 not well be stronger, why you should select the one 
 you told me you loved that night, in the wood at 
 Jefferson." 
 
 Gerald uttered a stifled cry of anguish. 
 
 " I cannot spare you, for I do not know how to put 
 iy story into delicate phrase. What I came to tell 
 you is, Alma Adams will be the unwedded mother 
 of your child unless * 
 
 The tortured man had sprung to his feet. 
 
 "My God !" he groaned. He staggered a moment 
 and then cried : " You have come too late !" 
 
 " No," said Clifford, calmly. " It is never too late 
 to repair a wrong. To save you and her I have com-
 
 "GOD KNOW! THAT I LOTH YOU P S21 
 
 mittcd a misdemeanor that could make me liable to 
 imprisonmenl if il is ever discovered in Iowa. I 
 have bribed Justice Moseley lo send me a cerlificale 
 lhat he married you and Alma nearly four monlhs 
 ago. Here is Ihe documenl." He look out Ihe 
 paper as he spoke. "For the sake of the honor of a 
 lovely girl I have made myself a criminal. She does 
 not know yet. It remains for you to tell her, if you 
 wish to profit by it." 
 
 Gerald heard the concluding statement eagerly. 
 
 " It has been recorded ?" he exclaimed. " As tar 
 as the record goes, I am the husband of Alma ?*' 
 
 " Precisely." 
 
 He fell on his knees and kissed the coat of his 
 friend, with the air of a devotee before the shrine of 
 his saint. 
 
 " Send her here," he said, brokenly. 
 
 Clifford gladly withdrew, and in a few moments 
 Alma entered the room where Gerald was. 
 
 " Did you wish to see me ?" she asked, surprised at 
 the nervousness of his manner. 
 
 " Yes," he answered, huskily. " Read this." 
 
 He handed her the certificate of marriage and she 
 read it through. Then she looked up, with amaze- 
 ment written on every feature. 
 
 "Gerald, what does it mean ?" 
 
 Then he told her, gently as he could, what Nelson 
 had done, and asked her if she would accept him. 
 
 " I am your husband," he said, " according to the 
 laws of our State." 
 
 "But is it enough ?" she asked, half frighlened. 
 
 "We have only lo live up lo il," he answered. 
 
 She shook her head. 
 
 * God knows lhal I love you I" she said. " I hare
 
 822 THE GAR8TON BIOAMT. 
 
 been wicked once, let me not make the mistake 
 again !" 
 
 He put his arms about her. 
 
 " There is another to be thought of, my darling." 
 
 ** You know /" 
 
 She hid her face in her hands. 
 
 " I cannot tell what to say," she'added, after a long 
 pause. 
 
 a l will not ask you to say anything now. The 
 record will save your reputation, and we can never 
 thank Cliff enough for it. I told you long ago that 
 you were mine in the sight of Heaven, and so you 
 are to-day. But I will wait till you are satisfied." 
 
 Just then a waiter came to the door and handed 
 him a card. He saw the name on it as men see things 
 in dreams. 
 
 ** You must go now for a little while, Alma," he 
 said. " I have a visitor waiting on important busi- 
 ness." 
 
 He kissed her good-bye, and showed her to the 
 exit of the hotel that was least frequented. Then 
 he went back and told the waiter to show the lady 
 up. 
 
 It was a queer name that he found on the card a 
 name he had never heard before " Mrs. Gerald 
 Garston." 
 
 When the door opened again Edith was at th 
 threshold*
 
 AN ANGEL FROM JIEAYEW. 323 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV. 
 
 AN ANGEL FROM HEAVEN. 
 
 Gerald was so overcome at the sight of his wife 
 that for almost a minute he forgot to ask her to take 
 a seat. She was hardly less confused, for his man- 
 ner disconcerted her. Presently he came to himself, 
 however, and handed her a chair. Each hoped the 
 other would speak first, but it was Edith who did so. 
 
 " I have not come here to reproach you," she said, 
 in a voice that trembled in spite of all her effort. 
 " Neither my father nor yours know that I have found 
 you. It is too much to say that I have not suffered, 
 but I have no intention of complaining. I feared 
 that harm had happened to you, and that, in your 
 desperate mood, you might do something desperate. 
 I heard of the accident that brought you to this 
 house in fact, it was through the doctor that 
 attended you that the news came, very strangely, to 
 me. I learn that you are now recovered and that I 
 need have no fear on that score. And all I want is 
 to say good-bye, and to tell you that my earnest 
 prayers will always be offered for your happiness." 
 
 If she had come with a knife or a revolver he could 
 have met her better. He bowed his head in humil- 
 iation, and she proceeded, her voice growing stronger. 
 
 " I ought to have known I was blind that I did 
 not see how distasteful it was to you to unite your 
 life with mine. I was over-persuaded by my father, 
 who ascribed natural causes to your strange moods. 
 On the morning of our marriage I told him that I
 
 Sfi THE GAR8TON BIGAMY. 
 
 felt it ought to be postponed until you were in a dif- 
 ferent state, but he said so much that I reluctantly 
 consented to go on with the ceremony. All that day 
 1 noted your aberration, and when you went out of 
 my room at night I really did not expect you to 
 return. I sat waiting till after midnight, and then 
 sent a messenger for father. He came, and was 
 much shocked by what I told him. His heart was 
 set on seeing me happy, and he thought there was a 
 disgrace in this desertion that I could never recover 
 from. We talked together till morning, and then 
 your letter was received, settling our doubts. Your 
 father was in a great rage when he heard of it. He 
 declared that you should be brought back and com- 
 pelled to carry out your vows. J told him there was 
 one person who could effectually stop that. I said I 
 only wanted to tell you how free you were to go and 
 come in any part of the world, as far as I was con- 
 cerned. I knew you had not taken such a course 
 except under a pressure you could not resist. What 
 that pressure was I could only guess, but I think I 
 guessed rightly. I believed it the love of another 
 of Alma Adams." 
 
 He tried to speak then, but she would not let him 
 yet. 
 
 "If it was the reason, Gerald, I am glad. Yes, 
 from the bottom of my heart, I shall rejoice if the 
 outcome of this matter is the happiness of two people 
 whom I care for as I do you and Alma. And I have 
 news that I know you will be glad to hear. You and 
 I are still single !" 
 
 " Still single !" he gasped. 
 
 " Yes. It has been discovered that the clergyman 
 who professed to marry us had lost his standing in hit
 
 AN ANGEL FBOM HEAVEN. 336 
 
 denomination, and had no right to perform the cere- 
 mony." 
 
 It seemed impossible that he could have heard her 
 aright, and yet there she was, before him, as real as 
 she had been in those dear old days when he had car- 
 ried her across brooks and walked with her under 
 the shade trees on the road to the school-house in 
 Jefferson. She spoke with the same gentle accents 
 as if he had never done her that grievous wrong, and 
 introduced into her young life an element that must 
 always cause her pain. 
 
 "Edie," he said, and the tender diminutive seemed 
 more appropriate than ever, " I will not say I am 
 sorry to hear this. But you know that all the apolo- 
 gies I could make in a lifetime would not excuse 
 what I have done. And you are not aware, either, of 
 the extent of the wrong I intended to commit." 
 
 She started slightly, and looked anxiously at him 
 for an explanation. 
 
 " Never did God send two such girls as you and 
 Alma to this sinful earth," he went on. "During all 
 my childhood, during the early days of my manhood 
 if indeed I have ever been worthy to be called a 
 man I loved you both with such intensity that I 
 could discover no difference between you. I could 
 not bear to contemplate the day when I should have 
 to give either of you up. Out of that long struggle 
 I emerged with my eyes partly opened. I found 
 that it was forgive me, Edie that it was Alma." 
 
 She smiled for him to proceed, saying only, " I 
 know it, Gerald." 
 
 " It was Alma that I could not live without/' he 
 continued, finishing the sentence. " Why, then, did 
 I not say so openly and honestly? Because my
 
 |S26 THE GAKSTON BIGAMY. 
 
 father's affairs the aid he had received from the 
 Colonel were known to me. Then Mr. Adams did 
 all in his power to keep Alma and me apart. I had 
 my illness, and you came to nurse me. Alma's 
 mother's death took her away, and letters which I 
 wrote her were never answered. I have since 
 learned that she did not receive them, and they were 
 doubtless intercepted. Discouraged, I came to 
 England with you to see if I could regain my strength. 
 The way my father aided me in that is shown in an 
 analysis that I have recently had made of the con- 
 tents of this vial." 
 
 He took out the vial as he spoke, and held it up 
 before her astonished eyes. 
 
 "This was the medicine he gave me, three times a 
 day. The chemist says it is compounded of poisons 
 calculated to undermine the judgment and to make 
 him who takes it subject to easy influence. While 
 I supposed it was intended to build up my system, it 
 was really making of me a more craven creature 
 than nature designed, which God knows was unnec- 
 essary. I knew as well as I knew I breathed that 
 I had no right to marry you while my love was still 
 Alma's, but I was in no condition to resist the strong 
 mind that had determined to bend me to its will. 
 He had told me long ago that he would rather see 
 me in my grave than the husband of the girl whose 
 father he hated. I am not trying to find an excuse 
 for what I have done, but only to let you see that 
 there is, after all, a slight palliation." 
 
 She leaned toward him with unmistakable sym- 
 pathy. 
 
 " I am very sorry for what you have suffered," she
 
 AN ANGEL FROM HEAVEN. 327 
 
 said, sweetly. "You told me there was something 
 more. I am quite prepared." 
 
 He hesitated, but was reassured by her manner. 
 
 "Don't despise me any more than you can help," 
 said he. " I had no right to marry you, for another 
 reason. I I was married already." 
 
 She repeated the word "Already," and looked 
 dazed. 
 
 Yes." 
 
 He handed her Moseley's certificate, and she grew 
 radiant. 
 
 " Are you certain that your father will consent to 
 let everything drop quietly ?" he asked. 
 
 *' Certain ? I can swear it !" 
 
 " Then I am saved !" 
 
 They talked together for the next half hour, and 
 his gratitude increased momentarily. 
 
 " How can I ever thank you for your goodness ?" 
 he cried. 
 
 " I do not wish thanks. Something makes me feel 
 as if it were I who ought to thank you." 
 
 " How can that be ?" 
 
 '* I have learned that I did not love you as I thought 
 I did. I liked you so well as the friend of my child- 
 hood and youth that I mistook the sentiment for that 
 of love. Had we lived together as husband and wife 
 a few months, I fear the knowledge would have come 
 to me when it was too late to retrace our steps- 
 Alma told me once, many years ago, that she thought 
 I would make a very nice old maid. I have come 
 to the conclusion that she was right." 
 
 She had arisen, and he took her by the hand in an 
 ecstacy of delight. 
 
 " If I can feel, in the midst of my own happiness,"
 
 898 THE OARSTOTf BIGAMY* 
 
 he said, * that it has] not been purchased at the cost 
 of yours^ there will be nothing left for me to desire." 
 
 " You may feel it," said Edith, " for I am convinced 
 that it is true. Now, before I go, can you not send 
 for Alma, that I may assure her also how much I 
 desire that you both should be happy?" 
 
 He went to a table and took up a pen, but stopped 
 before he had begun to write. 
 
 " You are sure you will say nothing to cause her 
 distress ?" he asked. " She has suffered enough, poor 
 child, already." 
 
 " Trust me." 
 
 He looked into the calm blue eyes, and went on 
 with his writing. Sealing the note in an envelope he 
 rang for a messenger and despatched it. 
 
 When Alma came he met her in another apartment 
 and revealed to her the situation. She begged for 
 some time that he would not ask her to see Edith, 
 but finally consented, and the two girls came into 
 each other's presence. An hour later Gerald found 
 them with their arms about each other's necks, as he 
 had seen them a thousand times in the old, contented 
 days. 
 
 " We understand everything," said Edith, with her 
 finger on her lips, " and there is nothing more to 
 say." 
 
 As he looked at them thus, the feeling of the 
 past came back foi an instant. He wanted both of 
 them, and dreaded the opening of the door that was 
 to send one away. But he looked again at Alma, 
 and knew she was the only one whose loss he could 
 not bear. 
 
 44 1 have been telling your wife," said Edith, and 
 she saw that both of them shrank as if she had
 
 AS AJTGEL lHOlf HEAVE*. 829 
 
 struck them, " that you ought not to think of return- 
 ing to the United States for another year. If you 
 dislike to waste the time you should have devoted 
 to study, it is easy to send for a box of law books 
 and read at your leisure. There are pleasant and 
 inexpensive places on the shores of the Mediterranean 
 where you can finish the winter, and there are vil- 
 lages to the north where you can pass the heated 
 term that follows." 
 
 " And shall we ever see you ?" he asked, for it 
 seemed like parting from a guardian angel. 
 
 "Perhaps," she answered, cheerfully. "It will 
 depend on how well you behave. Alma is to writa 
 to me often, giving a minute account of your con 
 duct." 
 
 She left them at that, going alone to her carriage, 
 saying that she preferred it. When she had been 
 away an hour or so, Cliff Nelson came and was told 
 of what had happened. 
 
 " And you let her go, without telling me she was 
 here !" he exclaimed, excitedly. "Well, if I ever da 
 anything tor you again '"
 
 330 THE GARSTON BIGAMY. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXV. 
 
 SAVED BY A MIRACLE. 
 
 The concluding chapter of a novel is like the post- 
 script of a school-girl's letter there are so many 
 things to say that one is almost sure to forget the 
 most important of them. 
 
 Ten years have passed since "The Garston 
 Bigamy" occurred, and the secret has been well 
 kept. Outside of those intimately concerned, only 
 you and I, my dear reader, have ever learned of it, 
 and we are too honorable to divulge what we know. 
 
 John Garston will not reveal it, either. He was 
 so affected when he heard that Gerald had really 
 married Alvah Adams' daughter that he fell into a 
 fever in London, and died there. His son came to 
 his bed-side, but he dismissed him with curses, and 
 so ended his life. If a parent's blessing be necessary 
 for success on this earth, Gerald will meet with losses, 
 by-and-by. At present he seems to be doing very 
 well indeed, pecuniarily and otherwise. 
 
 He never went back to Jefferson. When he had 
 finished a year in Europe he went with his wife and 
 child, it would not do to forget the little fellow to 
 New York, and completed his law studies there, 
 after which he entered a pushing firm and achieved 
 success in the profession. He told Edith, when she 
 came, a long time after, to visit them, that he had 
 always tried to give his talents to the side of right, 
 but feared he had sometimes made a mistake. He 
 lives in a residence of his own on Seventy-second
 
 SAVED BY A MIRACLE. 331 
 
 Street ; it is unnecessary to mention the number. 
 And three children who look like him climb into 
 the pony-wagon at his door with their nurse and 
 mother, on pleasant afternoons, and take a ride in 
 the park. 
 
 When Edith came to see them, she did not come 
 alone. " There !" I hear you exclaim. " I knew 
 that was the way it would turn out !" Well, of 
 course you did. But I must tell the truth, for all that. 
 Clifford Nelson has become but then, you have fol- 
 lowed his career as well as I. Prominent at the 
 bar, leader of his party in the Assembly of his State, 
 and then member of Congress at thirty-two. Every- 
 body knows that, but everybody does not know that 
 he once bribed a justice of the peace to issue a false 
 marriage certificate. We know it, but then, it was 
 one of those wrong things which do so much good 
 that a man ought not to be blamed too severely for 
 them. Alma and Gerald made it right with their 
 consciences by taking the solemn vows before a 
 Protestant minister in an Italian village, and the 
 Iowa record certainly saved the reputation of a girl 
 who, though she did love unwisely, has made one 
 of the best of wives. 
 
 There are two old men of Jefferson who are 
 attached friends, rarely spending an evening when 
 they are there except in each other's company. 
 People remember when there was a temporary cold- 
 ness between them, but that passed away a decade 
 since. Both of them go away quite often to see 
 their married daughters, and there are no residents 
 more highly respected in all the country-side. 
 
 Thus we dispose of our principal characters. 
 Happiness seems to reign among them. And yet,
 
 882 THE OARSTON BIOAXY. 
 
 O young and foolish reader, do you think that pun* 
 ishment has not followed, step by step, each infrac- 
 tion of the moral law of which any of them have 
 been guilty ? Do you believe that an hour passes 
 when Alma Garston does not wish from the bottom 
 of her heart that one page in her life could be blot- 
 ted out ? She has not quite the courage that she 
 would have had to look all the world in the face, 
 and there are times when her sweet cheek reddens 
 because some lady in her presence raises her voice 
 to denounce a hapless wanderer from the fold. 
 
 " I was saved by a miracle," she whispers to 
 herself. " But for Clifford's bravery and Edith's 
 sacrifice I might have been even as those despised 
 ones." 
 
 Tm EWD.
 
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