! 
 
CONSTANCE TRESCOT 
 
CONSTANCE TRESCOT 
 
 H IKovel 
 
 BY 
 
 S. WEIR MITCHELL, M.D., LL.D. 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 THE CENTURY CO. 
 
 1905 
 
Copyright, 1905, by 
 THE CENTURY Co. 
 
 Published March, 1905 
 
 THE DE VINNE PRESS 
 
CONSTANCE TRESCOT 
 
 4776 4G 
 
CONSTANCE TEESCOT 
 
 R. HOOD will see you in the library, 
 sir." 
 
 George Trescot followed the servant, 
 and when left alone began to wander 
 about a large room which looked out 
 on the north coast of Massachusetts Bay. Why it 
 was called a library might well have puzzled the 
 young man. There were few books except those of 
 reference, but on chair and table were mill and rail 
 way reports, and newspapers in superabundance. 
 
 As the clock struck the hour of noon a woman 
 
 % 
 
 of some twenty-seven years entered the room. Hear 
 ing the door open, Trescot turned from a brief and 
 hopeless effort to comprehend the genealogical tree 
 of the Hood family, which hung on the wall in 
 much splendor of heraldic blazonry. 
 
 Miss Hood came in smiling, as if she had just 
 been amused and was enjoying the remembrance. 
 Her face had what is more often found in plain 
 women than in those to whom nature has been more 
 bountiful great power of expressing both kindli 
 ness and mirth. She was slight, but of admirable 
 
&Ne TS ESCOT 
 
 figure, and possessed the mysterious gift of grace. 
 For the rest, she was unselfish, seriously religious, 
 and perplexed at times by the comic aspect of things, 
 hardly realizing the fact that a ready sense of humor 
 had often been as useful in helping her to endure 
 the lesser trials of existence as the religious faith 
 which she held to with the simple trust of a child. 
 Life presented itself to her in relentless simplicity, 
 and consisted of things right and things wrong, with 
 over-sensitive self-reproach when either seemed too 
 amusing. She was, socially speaking, fearless, and 
 occasionally outspoken to a degree which embar 
 rassed others, but never Susan Hood. 
 
 "Good morning, major," she said. "I am glad 
 to see you. I consider myself neglected of late." 
 
 "I shall be the best of brothers-in-law, Miss 
 Susan." 
 
 "Oh, that is all very well. The future does not 
 always pay the debts of the present. You will be 
 as good as my sister will let you be ; but I am easily 
 satisfied." 
 
 "I ought to be," he said. "And, by the way, I 
 am only Mr. Trescot, not Major. These labels should 
 have gone when the war ended; but I suppose men 
 like titles. I shed mine long ago." 
 
 "You are quite right," she returned, smiling with 
 the aid of a large and expressive mouth and show of 
 rather irregular, very white teeth. "I see that I 
 am just in time to save you a fall from the ge 
 nealogical tree of the Hoods. I incline to think some 
 of the limbs a trifle insecure. My uncle climbs it 
 at least once a week, and believes in its fabulous 
 
CONSTANCE TRESCOT 5 
 
 fruit as he does in nothing else. I told him last 
 night that it was more genial than logical. If he 
 had understood me, I do not know what would have 
 happened." 
 
 Trescot laughed. "Mr. Hood explained it to me 
 last week. I nearly fell asleep on the top branch." 
 
 Did you ? You would never have been forgiven. 
 It is still growing; the mustard-seed was nothing 
 to it." Then the further temptations offered by 
 the comparison presented themselves to her as ir 
 reverent, and she said: 
 
 "By the way, I am sent by my uncle to entertain 
 you, as he is just now engaged. As a matter of 
 fact, he is engaged in settling what he will say to 
 you. He is enjoying it, too. Sit down; you will 
 have to put up with me for as long as he chooses 
 to remain agreeably perplexed." 
 
 "Perplexed?" said the young man, as he seated 
 himself. "What is there to perplex? It seems to 
 me very simple." 
 
 "And to me. You have asked my sister to marry 
 you. She desires to do so. My uncle says he is old, 
 and that he has entitled himself to our society un 
 til he dies. I have told him that if he would kindly 
 set a time for that event we should know what to 
 do, and that he was pretty secure as to me. He did 
 not like it. Nothing is simple to my uncle." 
 
 "I suppose not," said Trescot, laughing. "The 
 asking him seemed to me a mere formal matter. 
 Constance is old enough to know her own mind, and, 
 I fancy, to have her own way. I did not ask of him 
 any favors." 
 
6 CONSTANCE TRESCOT 
 
 "They should not need to be asked; but he will 
 be sure to think you expect him to provide for Con 
 stance, as, in fact, he ought to do." 
 
 "I expect nothing of the kind, nor does Con 
 stance. We are prepared to wait until I can offer 
 her a home. That may be in a year, or even two 
 years. There is no need to discuss it." 
 
 Indeed ! Wait until you know my uncle better. 
 He discusses everything. He would discuss whether 
 two and two make four. He constructs theories, as 
 he calls them, and when it is needful to act does 
 not always abide by them, which, I assure you, is, 
 on the whole, rather fortunate, as I hope you may 
 discover. 
 
 "Well, on this subject, Miss Hood, I have also 
 my theory, and an abiding faith in it." 
 
 She laughed merrily and said : Wait a bit. You 
 have as yet seen only one side of my uncle. He can 
 be, as you know, a pleasant, rather cynical old gen 
 tleman. Now you present yourself to him under 
 a novel aspect, and he will be sure to construct what 
 he calls a theory for himself and you, to fit the oc 
 casion. It will be something like this I may as 
 well prepare you: My theory, sir, is that people 
 never change. These young women have always 
 had all the money they wanted ; therefore, they will 
 always want it. It must be clear to you that we 
 shall need to discuss the matter at length at length, 
 sir. Money in my sir, in my opinion, is develop 
 mental; without money,. etc. He will be delight 
 fully irrelevant. I wish I could overhear the inter 
 view. He really does not care about money; but 
 
CONSTANCE TRESCOT 7 
 
 he likes to talk about it. It may be he will light 
 on something else. You will have to be patient." 
 
 I can be that. But as concerns money, I do not 
 want it or, rather, I want it very much, but not 
 from him. I mean in time to get it myself. Con 
 found it! Pardon me, but really 
 
 "Oh, that is a very mild expletive; if it applies 
 to Uncle Rufus, it is quite unnecessary: he is just 
 now sufficiently confounded. And, after all, if you 
 were an old man like my uncle, would you willingly 
 part with so delightful an inmate as my sister?" 
 
 "No," laughed Trescot; "no, indeed." 
 
 "Well, that is honest. You may be surprised to 
 learn that he would object quite as nftich to part 
 with me as to part with my sister. I am not mali 
 cious enough to ask you to explain that. 
 
 Trescot was relieved from need to reply when, 
 awaiting no answer, she continued : 
 
 "The fact is, he likes me because we disagree 
 radically about everything, from religion to politics, 
 and Constance because they agree about most things, 
 except politics. There they are far apart. His 
 opinions about the war have been to both of us 
 a matter of real unhappiness. Had he lived in the 
 South he would have been bitter against secession. 
 He is always in the opposition, but he despises peo 
 ple who yield." 
 
 "Then he will certainly fall in love with me. 
 Thank you for the hint." 
 
 "Oh, I did not mean it for that, and I suspect it 
 was not needed. After all, it is not that you have 
 no money that troubles my uncle; it is really far 
 
8 CONSTANCE TRESCOT 
 
 more the idea that Constance is ungrateful, and 
 shows great lack of taste in being willing to desert 
 him for you, or for any one. I think I hear his 
 voice. I must go; but when you are through with 
 uncle my sister wants to see you in the garden. 
 If you make yourself very disagreeable you will 
 find that Uncle Rufus will find some ingenious ex 
 cuse for being reasonable. He will think it proper, 
 after he has posed a little as a shrewd man of busi 
 ness, to pose as the good uncle." 
 
 Trescot stood with her in the window recess while 
 they talked, and now, turning, glanced at the 
 shrewd, kind face, with its readiness of humorous 
 comment, and said: "I should like to hear what 
 might be the character of George Trescot you would 
 present to Mr. Hood." 
 
 Would you, indeed?" she returned, looking up. 
 It was a strong face she saw, and more serious just 
 now than the quality of the question suggested. 
 Yet it smiled in pleased fellowship of mirth as she 
 answered, laughing: 
 
 "Ah, there is my uncle! I have half a mind not 
 to tell you." 
 
 "Perhaps I had better not insist. You are sure 
 to be painfully honest, and I may have cause to re 
 gret." 
 
 "But I will. I should say well, I should say 
 Uncle Rufus, I like him. " 
 
 "Thank you. I shall put that with what Sheridan 
 once said to me." 
 
 "What did he say? Do tell me." 
 
 "Oh, he said, That was well done, Major Tres 
 cot; very well done. I blushed like a girl." 
 
CONSTANCE TEESCOT 9 
 
 "What had you done?" 
 
 What had I done ? Ah, he laughed, you must 
 ask Sheridan." 
 
 "But I may never see him." She was curious 
 about large things, rarely about little ones or mere 
 social trivialities. "Of course you will tell me." 
 
 "Perhaps if, some day, on trial, you" prove to be 
 a quite perfect sister-in-law." 
 
 * Am I not good enough now ? I said I liked you. 
 Is n t that a form of goodness? I assure you that 
 there are no better judges of men than old maids 
 and sisters-in-law." 
 
 i Indeed ! But you are only a sort of brevet sister- 
 in-law. And why shall I dare to say are old maids 
 good judges of men?" 
 
 "Oh, they look down from a heaven of neutral 
 ity where there is no giving in marriage. Goodness ! 
 what am I saying?" 
 
 Hearing her uncle s step on the stair, she turned 
 to leave. Trescot saw with approval her trim, neat 
 figure, and said, laughing, "The basis of opinion 
 is not altogether secure." 
 
 "Nonsense!" she exclaimed. "I am already on 
 the family tree, my destiny predetermined, Susan 
 Hood, spinster. But here is Uncle Rufus. If he 
 does not first indulge in vain genealogies I shall 
 be surprised. Good-by! I wonder what St. Paul 
 meant by vain genealogies?" 
 
 As she spoke, a small, very thin man of some 
 seventy years entered, with a too obvious affectation 
 of youthful briskness. 
 
 "I leave Mr. Trescot to your tender mercies, 
 uncle." 
 
10 CONSTANCE TEESCOT 
 
 "Ah, good morning. Fine day. Sit down," said 
 Mr. Hood, as she left them. "Pray, sit down." He 
 began at once, with an air of decision, "I suppose 
 this matter of which my niece has spoken to me 
 appears to you very simple." 
 
 "It did not at one time. It does now. I have 
 asked Miss Constance to be my wife. She has done 
 me the honor to say yes. What else is there?" 
 
 "Everything, sir; everything. I do not propose 
 that my niece shall leave me. She owes to me the 
 affection of a child. I am old and cannot live long. 
 Her sense of duty should forbid her to desert me. 
 If it does not, I must act for her, and prevent what 
 is both criminal and foolish. I must create for her 
 a virtue which she has not." 
 
 "But, Mr. Hood" said Trescot, raising a hand 
 in appeal. 
 
 "No, sir; do not interrupt me. I object to it 
 altogether. You have no money, and she has none. 
 You know nothing of each other nothing. As to 
 waiting a year two years until you can provide 
 for her, it is nonsense. When she mentioned this 
 highly absurd proposition I told her as much. Now, 
 sir, you have my decision, and my niece has already 
 had it." 
 
 "May I ask what was Miss Constance s reply?" 
 
 "She said she meant to marry you if she had to 
 sew for a living. By George! she can t sew on a 
 button. I was quite prepared for her reply. She 
 has the obstinacy of my people. 
 
 "Then, Mr. Hood, you may rest assured that I 
 shall marry her. I can wait." 
 
CONSTANCE TEESCOT 11 
 
 "But I cannot wait. Do you suppose I mean to 
 have a love-sick girl maundering about my house 
 for two years ? No, sir ; you do not know her. From 
 a child she has been obstinate when she wanted any 
 thing ; I should have no peace. 
 
 "I am sorry for you," said Trescot, much 
 amused; "but I can only repeat what I have said 
 already. Unless Miss Constance changes her 
 mind-" 
 
 "She never changes her mind; we never do it 
 is a family trait." 
 
 "I hope not; and in that case I trust you will see 
 this matter in a more favorable light. But in any 
 case, to be frank, I mean to marry her." 
 
 "I suppose, then, there is no help for it," said 
 the elder man, with a curious collapse of resolution. 
 " I am old and feeble which was true. The girl 
 is ungrateful. I rely upon her for everything. 
 Susan is wrapped up in her poor and her parson- 
 she calls him her rector, I believe. I find it incon 
 sistent with my sense of duty to let you go on in 
 blind ignorance. You will discover Constance to 
 be efficient, obstinate; and as I am told by Susan 
 that you are what is called religious, you ought also 
 to know that my niece and I agree in the entire 
 absence of that adjective." 
 
 "That," said Trescot, coldly, "is a matter I pre 
 fer not to discuss. He knew very well by this time 
 that the woman he loved had, unlike himself, no 
 distinct creed. 
 
 "Well, I desire that you should understand her. 
 She is very like me." 
 
12 CONSTANCE TRESCOT 
 
 " Indeed!" he returned, much amused. "Then I 
 shall be sure to end by liking you, Mr. Hood. I 
 presume that I may consider it as settled. 
 
 "No, sir; I may yield, but I will never consent; 
 and I consider it my duty to warn you. I have said 
 as much. This girl, this woman, is a creature of 
 instincts. As a child her temper was terrible ; under 
 my wise rule it has been tamed. She loves and 
 hates with animal fidelity; and once she is set on 
 doing anything, neither saint nor devil can change 
 her." 
 
 "That is rather gratifying," said Trescot, be 
 tween suppressed mirth and annoyance. Certainly 
 this was an extraordinary old man. 
 
 She was an unreasoning Union woman, and I am 
 of opinion that the South was altogether in the 
 right. But neither reason nor respect for me has 
 ever altered what she calls her views." 
 
 "You will pardon me if I say that I am very 
 glad to hear it." 
 
 "Ah, well, well, that is as you please. A pity 
 you agree. It is a theory of mine that difference of 
 opinion is a basis of true happiness in married life ; 
 otherwise it becomes monotonous." 
 
 Trescot sat still, studying the self-pleased face, 
 and amused himself with thought of the mirth 
 with which Susan would have heard her uncle giv 
 ing Constance a character for her new place. He 
 kept a respectful silence as the old man wandered 
 on; but by what paths he reached an expression of 
 opinion as to the constitutional rights of States and 
 cities to secede, Trescot never could remember. At 
 
CONSTANCE TRESCOT 13 
 
 last he was given to understand that the right of 
 States to secede was based on the undoubted right 
 of individuals to secede from States. Here, as the 
 old man s voice rose to political levels of emphasis, 
 it recalled Trescot from the dreaming mood which 
 was taking him somewhere into the fairyland of love. 
 
 He recovered power to listen, but at last, disap 
 pointed by the absence of exhilarating difference 
 of opinion, Mr. Hood said: "We seem to have 
 strayed. I was about to add that my niece and I 
 have always agreed, except as regards one subject; 
 and, I regret to say, as concerns that matter, even 
 the unfortunate closure of the war has in no degree 
 abated her feeling a child, sir, instinctive and, as 
 I observed, obstinate. I think I have already dwelt 
 on that peculiarity." 
 
 "Yes, I so understood you. And now, Mr. Hood, 
 that you have sufficiently warned and informed me, 
 and have decided to consent I beg pardon, yield 
 
 1 i I did nothing of the kind. I sometimes give way, 
 but I never yield. I do not like this marriage. But 
 I do not propose that you shall cause my niece to 
 quarrel with me. She cannot stay here and make 
 me uncomfortable; she cannot marry you and 
 starve; I won t permit it." 
 
 Then may I ask what you propose to do ? " 
 
 "Well, first I desire to state that, although I am 
 said to be a rich man, I do not intend to leave to 
 my nieces more than a very small competence. I 
 have a theory on this subject. It is interesting. At 
 another time I shall be happy to set it before you 
 at length." 
 
14 CONSTANCE TEESCOT 
 
 Trescot rose. "I assure you, sir, that I should 
 have been glad to feel that in case of anything go 
 ing wrong with my power to provide for my wife, 
 such as my death, or what not, she would be at 
 ease. I should be a fool if I told you I do not 
 care what you do with your money; but if you im 
 agine, as you seem to take for granted, that it is 
 influencing me in my relation to Miss Constance, 
 we had better drop the matter of money alto 
 gether. 
 
 "But," said Hood, testily, "I am not going to be 
 bullied into dropping it. I mean to have my own 
 way. 
 
 Trescot was a man not merely good-tempered, but 
 of a certain gay sweetness of disposition which cap 
 tured men and women. He began, however, to be 
 a little impatient, and in reply said : 
 
 "I have been for a half-hour endeavoring, sir, to 
 find out what it is you want. That I am to marry 
 appears to be settled." 
 
 "I suppose so. I know Constance too well to 
 oppose it. I am told by my niece that you can 
 not marry at present. But if you choose to accept 
 the position of my agent in St. Ann, Missouri, 
 I will insure my niece an income for five years 
 say, two thousand dollars. You would be called 
 upon to manage my property, and I should expect 
 that you would eject squatters, bring suits, and 
 otherwise care for my interests." He fell back in 
 his chair with an air of having settled the matter. 
 
 For a moment Trescot was silent, and regarded 
 the feeble, shrunken old man, who sat watching 
 
CONSTANCE TRESCOT 15 
 
 him and pulling nervously at his thin gray side- 
 whiskers. With some sense of the niece being sold 
 to him for a consideration, he returned quietly: 
 
 "No; I do not wish to leave Boston. I am not 
 a land agent, and, to be plain, Mr. Hood, I cannot 
 accept your offer." 
 
 "But you will." 
 
 "No, I think not; I cannot. What you please 
 to give your niece or not to give her must have no 
 relation to any business interests you may choose 
 to confide to me, in the very doubtful case of my 
 considering your offer." 
 
 "You had better talk first to Constance. I think 
 she must know you already, for she declared that 
 you would not accept my offer, and then she made 
 me another." 
 
 "Indeed!" Trescot did not like this any better. 
 
 She says that if I give her two thousand a year, 
 and put my affairs at St. Ann in your hands on a 
 pure business basis, you will, perhaps, think of it." 
 
 Trescot would have much preferred to have had 
 the offer made directly to himself. He said he would 
 speak to Constance about it. It was not a thing to 
 settle without time and thought. 
 
 "But it is settled," said the old man. "You 
 will find that out. Constance usually knows her 
 own mind." 
 
 "But not mine," returned Trescot, rising. He 
 had had by this time as much of the uncle s inde 
 cisions and feeble display of business sharpness as 
 a nearly perfect temper would bear. He had learned 
 that his own tender and respectful love had been 
 
16 CONSTANCE TRESCOT 
 
 met by a passion of affection which had seemed to 
 take as small thought of the future as a bird might 
 do, and yet here was a certain competence in her 
 dealings with her uncle for which he was unpre 
 pared. 
 
 As he went away to meet her he said to himself, 
 "It seems reasonable," but felt again that he should 
 have preferred to be left to arrange matters involv 
 ing business and so complete a change of residence. 
 
L 
 k 
 
 II 
 
 >EORGE TRESCOT was, like Constance, 
 an orphan, and of the same old New 
 England breed as the woman he loved. 
 With slender means, he had made his 
 way in college, unassisted, by aiding 
 duller men as a tutor, and had passed through 
 the law school with unusual distinction. Then the 
 war broke out, and, enlisting in the ranks, he rose 
 rapidly, as death cleared the way, until in the 
 final struggle he was so wounded as partially to dis 
 able his right shoulder, which he commonly eased 
 by carrying his hand caught in his waistcoat. Al 
 though five years had gone by, at times it gave him 
 pain, and he felt this as he passed through the 
 drawing-room and out into the garden. Constance s 
 appearance of being tall struck him as she passed 
 across the path and disappeared behind a row of 
 shrubs which sheltered the garden from the rough 
 sport of the east winds. In reality, admirable sym 
 metry was responsible, for she was not of more than 
 full middle height. 
 
 As he turned to meet her she was joyously flushed, 
 a glad welcome in her eyes. In a moment she was in 
 his arms. "A whole week!" she cried. 
 
 Conscious that the embrace was as much hers as 
 his, he cast an uneasy glance about him, fearful of 
 2 17 
 
18 CONSTANCE TRESCOT 
 
 profane eyes, of which she was, to appearance, 
 heedless. 
 
 The moment was expressive. He loved her with 
 some sense that she was a thing apart from other 
 women. A great respect went with it a delicate, 
 shy tenderness which passed into delicious wonder 
 at the deep passion which he had awakened. 
 They had met first at a dance, where, as he crossed 
 the room, an awkward partner in the waltz had 
 brought her roughly against his wounded shoulder. 
 In extreme pain he had dropped into a chair. She 
 caught sight of his face. "Who is he?" she said. 
 Her partner replied, "He is George Trescot, my old 
 major in the Sixth. I must have hurt his wounded 
 arm. Excuse me a moment." 
 
 "No, take me to him." 
 
 "Trescot," said his friend, "I am sorry; I was 
 awkward. 
 
 "May I, too, apologize?" said she. 
 
 As they spoke, Trescot, pale with pain, looked 
 up and tried to rise. He met a pair of violet eyes 
 and a face of anxious interest he was never to 
 forget. 
 
 "Pardon me," he said; "I shall be all right in 
 a little while. It was worth some pain to know Miss 
 Hood." 
 
 Thank you. That is a great deal to say. 
 
 He asked for a glass of wine, and, as his friend 
 went for it, she sat down beside him. 
 
 1 i I am more sorry, she said, than I can tell you. 
 Were you hurt in the war? I think Mr. Ware 
 said so." 
 
CONSTANCE TRESCOT 19 
 
 "Yes; but pardon me, I cannot talk not now, not 
 just yet. But do not go." 
 
 She had no such intention. She was silent, watch 
 ing his set face, sensitively aware of some eager wish 
 to help him. 
 
 His friend returned. Trescot took the wine and 
 said at last, as they rose, "I am better, but I think 
 I must go." 
 
 She said, My sister and I shall be glad to see 
 you; we are always at home on Monday after 
 noons. 
 
 "Thank you," he returned; "I shall hope to be 
 better company when we meet again." 
 
 There was no indecision about this love-affair. 
 In two weeks they were engaged. She had often 
 said to herself that she would be hard to please, 
 and that only a long acquaintance would justify 
 a woman in giving herself to a man. She asked her 
 self no questions as to the unreasoning passion which 
 made easy for Trescot what so many had found 
 hard. Their mutual attraction had the inevitability 
 of the physical forces. From the moment of their 
 first meeting, Constance Hood was the realization 
 of his dream of the most stately womanhood. The 
 impression he made on her was as sudden. He was 
 not over her own height, slightly made, and, just 
 then, even delicate in appearance. The look of in 
 tellect and power which a few faces show with 
 features of great refinement gave added charm to 
 manners which were gently formal, with some flavor 
 of a more leisurely day when men had time to be 
 courteous. 
 
20 CONSTANCE TEESCOT 
 
 The contrast between his frail look and the stories 
 men told of his fearlessness in the great war had its 
 influence on the woman who had broken into a pas 
 sion of anger and grief when the news of Sumter 
 revealed the power of sentiment to stir her, as it 
 stirred and energized the manhood of a great na 
 tion, presumed by those who thus challenged it to be 
 given over to the ledger and day-book. 
 
 Susan Hood watched with surprise, anxiety, and 
 a little amusement the progress of a love-affair 
 which did not explain itself to one who considered 
 marriage as a matter not to be entered into lightly 
 or unadvisedly, and who had had no personal expe 
 rience to shock her with the discovery of passions in 
 herself or another. To the very humorous, love 
 comes with difficulty. 
 
 Very soon Constance talked to her with strange 
 unreserve. |This abandonment to love, so profound, 
 so abrupt, shocked Susan. A man might thus ex 
 hibit affection, not a woman. Needless to say that 
 it was for a time only the sister who thus saw and 
 heard and wondered, dismayed at a passion as wild 
 as that of Juliet.] 
 
 WHEN Trescot, having left her uncle, found Con 
 stance, the lovers sat down beyond the garden, be 
 fore them the quiet of an unruffled sea and the 
 eastward glow of the setting sun. The woman s 
 hand sought his and held it. Has uncle told you ? 
 she said. 
 
 "Your uncle is an amazing person, but I learned 
 at last that you and he had settled the matter/ 
 
CONSTANCE TEESCOT 21 
 
 She was aware at once that he was not entirely 
 satisfied, and said : 
 
 "Oh, of course, George, it rests with you. If 
 you accept we can be married soon, and if you 
 say no we must wait a year, or even two years. 
 How can I be without you so long? My uncle 
 remains here in the country all the year, as you 
 know; and now that I have disturbed his theory 
 as to what my life was to be, I shall be made to 
 suffer." 
 
 " But we would be near, and I should see you 
 often very often." 
 
 "Yes, I know; but it would be hard oh, harder 
 than you can know; and my uncle is never done 
 with a subject; my life would be made intolerable. 
 And then, after all, we should not be there I 
 mean at St. Ann always; you would succeed, and 
 some day we should come home." She made it all 
 seem clear, definite, and certain. Indeed, it so ap 
 peared to her. 
 
 It seemed much more vague to the young man, 
 but the bribe she offered was too much for him to 
 resist. 
 
 "We should go among a strange and hostile peo 
 ple, Constance I a Northern officer, you with your 
 strong feeling about the South." 
 
 I should learn to hold my tongue, and you would 
 be sure to make friends." 
 
 "Perhaps." He remained silent a moment, and 
 then went on. "I have rarely had doubts as to any 
 future, dear, except as concerned whether I could 
 make you love me. But this future of a life at St. 
 
22 CONSTANCE TEESCOT 
 
 Ann seems to me a very doubtful matter. I am 
 to displace the present agent and 
 
 "But Mr. Averill my uncle calls him, with re 
 spect, major-generalMr. Averill desires to give up 
 the care of uncle s lands. He did not tell you that, 
 I am sure." 
 
 "No, he did not. Of course that somewhat sim 
 plifies the matter. But to act for a man like Mr. 
 Hood may well have its difficulties." 
 
 1 I do not think so. He always backs down before 
 a resolute man, or even an obstinate woman. You 
 will have your own way, and we shall be so happy, 
 George. 
 
 "Of that I am sure, there or anywhere; and yet I 
 am in reason, and above all because I love you, 
 bound to think of the future. I am naturally san 
 guine, Constance. Even in the darkest hours of the 
 war I was that ; but in this matter I am not sanguine, 
 and if you were to ask me why, I could not tell you. 
 I have a feeling and here he paused. 
 
 "A feeling, George?" 
 
 "Yes, like that I had once on South Mountain. I 
 was about to ride on to a hillock for a better view 
 of the enemy s line, when I felt for a moment a 
 curious reluctance. I pulled up my horse, half 
 surprised at myself and then, with a sense of the 
 absurdity of the thing, I rode on. As my horse 
 moved across the space between, a shell exploded on 
 the hillock." 
 
 "Oh, George! But it is n t like that was not 
 that a pure superstition?" 
 
CONSTANCE TEESCOT 23 
 
 "Yes, very absurd, utterly ridiculous in its ap 
 plication here ; I ought not to have said it. 
 
 "It does not in the least trouble me, although, 
 like my uncle, I have my own little thrills about 
 thirteen at table, and all such nonsense. My uncle 
 says" and she stopped. 
 
 "Well, dear?" 
 
 "Oh, he says that a person may reason himself 
 out of religious beliefs, but can never quite get rid 
 of these little half-beliefs." 
 
 "I think," he returned, "that people who are 
 really and thoughtfully religious have least of these 
 remnants of a more ignorant day." 
 
 "And yet, George," she returned, laughingly, 
 "you obeyed an impulse quite without reason; I 
 should hardly call it a superstition." 
 
 "No; you are right. But to go back to what is 
 for you and me a very serious question. I believe 
 now that I may accept your uncle s offer. But I 
 must think it over when those dear eyes are not 
 looking into mine, those lips saying, Come, let us 
 go away and be all of life to each other. Let us 
 drop it now and talk of other things. I have to go 
 back to Boston by the late train. Within a day I 
 shall. write to you and to your uncle. I must talk 
 it over with an older lawyer." 
 
 She was satisfied, and saw, or thought she saw, 
 that he would be of her opinion. She had her own 
 reasons for desiring to have no such delay as he 
 would have tranquilly accepted. He had all through 
 life been denying himself this or that to-day in 
 
24 CONSTANCE TEESCOT 
 
 order that he might be more secure of to-morrow s 
 wants. Such a passion as possessed her with the 
 power of a primal instinct was not yet in him vic 
 torious over all rational considerations. He knew 
 little of women, and nothing of the woman who 
 desires to absorb, so to speak, all of the thoughts 
 and feelings of the one man, and who, as time goes 
 on, becomes jealous of his friends, and even of his 
 work, and, at last, of every hour not given to her. 
 Such women are happily rare, but are now and then 
 to be found. From the hour she first saw him, 
 frail and pallid from suffering, a vast protecting 
 eagerness arose in her mind. As her kinship of pity 
 blossomed into love, the desire to be with him and 
 watch over what seemed to her in her new anxiety 
 a more delicate life than it really was, supplied her 
 with a reason for early marriage. She had never 
 asked herself why she had been so suddenly cap 
 tured; but as time went on she knew that she had 
 drawn a prize in the uncertain lottery of love, and 
 felt that his charm of manner, his distinction, the 
 delicacy and refinement with which he had pleaded 
 for her love, had fully justified her choice. 
 
 After further talk he left her at twilight, and 
 at the last moment, in haste to catch his train. She 
 watched him as he walked swiftly away, noting the 
 arm caught for relieving support in his waistcoat, 
 the upright, soldierly carriage of figure, well built, 
 but lacking flesh. She said : 
 
 "Ah! but I love you well; how well, you do not 
 yet know, George Trescot, but you will you 
 shall." 
 
CONSTANCE TEESCOT 25 
 
 As he turned at the garden gate to look back, she 
 cried, as she ran toward him, "You forgot, George." 
 
 "What?" he said. 
 
 "To kiss me again." 
 
 Late in the afternoon of the next day she received 
 a letter, with which she fled to the rocks above the 
 sea. She tore it open and read: 
 
 "DEAREST CONSTANCE: 
 
 "I wonder how you got that pleasantly prophetic 
 name. You must tell me. 
 
 * Yes, I have made up my mind ; my friend has 
 urgently advised me to accept your uncle s offer. 
 He thinks the position affords chances I ought not 
 to decline, and with your ever dear self thrown in 
 you remember the Scotch song: 
 
 " I 11 gie ye my bonny black hen 
 If ye 11 but advise me to marry 
 The lad I love dearly, Tarn Glenn 
 
 I gladly conclude to say yes. With what joy I am 
 filled, you, I trust, know. I am not very strong as yet, 
 but I come of a vigorous breed, and no tonic has 
 ever helped me like the bounty of love. You have 
 given me yourself how can I ask more? 
 
 "Between us there lies one large gulf of difference 
 and only one. That some day we shall bridge it 
 over, I hope and believe. Meanwhile, we shall trust 
 each other s honesty in this, life s largest matter, 
 and, so trusting, wait with the patience of love 
 
26 CONSTANCE TEESCOT 
 
 "No," she said, looking up, "it is not for me life s 
 largest matter. This human love is for me the 
 larger. His religion, or any faith, is, compared to 
 that, dim, misty, unsatisfying. But love! ah, that 
 is near and sweet and real." 
 
 "Well, well," she mused, as she sat with the let 
 ter in her lap. "He would have me to believe as he 
 believes. Would I wish him to change ? No. He is 
 my religion. That would shock him. To please 
 him I could almost make believe to think as he 
 does. To be separated in anything from him seems 
 terrible. 
 
 She was facing a hard question, made the more 
 difficult by pure ignorance. Since childhood she 
 had been in her uncle s care. He had his own very 
 peculiar views, and the delight in opposition which 
 is fed by self-esteem and accounts in some degree for 
 the ways and opinions of men who in the conduct 
 of life depart radically from the common-sense 
 standards of the world at large. His theories found 
 a fair field in Constance. She was never to be pun 
 ished; reasoning would do everything. How could 
 a child accept a creed? She must be kept with a 
 neutral mind. She had never been allowed to set 
 foot in a church. When she grew up she might 
 choose for herself. It shocked the elder sister, who, 
 until the death of an aunt with whom she lived, 
 saw Constance rarely, as they were separated by 
 a hundred miles. When later she herself was left 
 without a home, she gladly accepted her uncle s in 
 vitation to live with them. 
 
 The new abode was far more luxurious than the 
 
CONSTANCE TEESCOT 27 
 
 one she had lost upon her aunt s death. It was also 
 very different. As time ran on, and she became 
 more familiar with what she felt to be a rather 
 
 singular household, she had an eager desire to help x 
 
 her young sister to escape from what seemed to 
 Susan a bondage of the spirit. She became watch- \ 
 ful and observant of her uncle and Constance, and 
 
 saw, with something like dismay, the completeness J 
 
 of her sister s isolation from all knowledge of that 
 which seemed to her an essential part of the higher 
 life. She was by temperament and sense of duty 
 made unwilling to accept a neutral attitude ; a grow 
 ing affection added a strong motive, and she was res 
 olute not to go on endlessly without protest. Some 
 feeble attempts to approach the subject on which 
 the elder sister felt so deeply were met by Con 
 stance either with indifference or mild amusement, 
 as a thing long since disposed of, or as beneath the 
 consideration of thejargerjeiind. Rather than by 
 persistence risk the loss of a growing affection, 
 Susan ceased to speak of that which she held with 
 such reverent faith, and could only pray that time 
 and circumstances would afford more prosperous op 
 portunities. With her uncle she was still less for 
 tunate, but as he at least rested content with the 
 situation he had created, she felt forced at last to 
 secure for herself an opportunity to make the pro 
 test to which she felt driven by motives which left 
 no escape possible. 
 
 He had soon become accustomed to use her for 
 many of the little tasks which Constance disliked. 
 She was seated with her uncle in his library after 
 
28 CONSTANCE TBESCOT 
 
 breakfast, engaged in cutting the leaves of a report 
 on the census. He was minutely noting in his diary 
 the state of the barometer and such reflections of 
 his own as he considered worth preserving, and as 
 to this he was generous. 
 
 He was not too busy to observe that, true to the 
 habit of the born reader, she was now and then 
 caught by some fact of interest, and ceased using the 
 paper-cutter. 
 
 Ah," she exclaimed, laughing, "the census of 
 this State embraces three millions of women poor 
 Mr. Census. " 
 
 u Yes, yes," he returned, " quite remarkable, 
 an old joke, I believe. But I wish you would finish. 
 I need the book. Constance has been trained to do 
 one thing at a time." The niece thus characterized 
 had declined the task, and gone out to sail. 
 "I shall finish it, sir, in a few minutes." 
 There was again silence, until at last she said: 
 "The method of securing the number of people in 
 the different religious sects seems to me quite ab 
 surdjust listen, Uncle Rufus." 
 
 "I have no interest in it. It ought to be left out. 
 The multitudinous opinions of irrelevant minds are 
 disgraceful to the human intelligence. Negation 
 is the proper attitude. Constance represents it to 
 my satisfaction." 
 
 Susan s chance had come. She laid the book down 
 and said earnestly: You must pardon me if I 
 say that I think you are wrong." 
 
 "Well, I am always ready to hear honest opinions, 
 go on." 
 
CONSTANCE TEESCOT 29 
 
 "Do not you think that to leave a young girl 
 without any sense of relation to God must result 
 in her never acquiring any when grown up?" 
 
 "No, I do not. I have my views. When she is 
 a woman and mature, she will choose." 
 
 "But will she? She will have no interest in the 
 matter. 
 
 Well, what then ? Suppose that she never has. 
 
 Susan was shocked; but after a moment replied: 
 "Well, why not let her choose her morals? Why in 
 sist on her being, as a child, truthful, and charit 
 able ? Why insist on good manners ? Let her choose 
 her morals and her manners when she is what you 
 call mature." 
 
 "Nonsense; you are sophistical, and you are too 
 clever not to know it." 
 
 Susan was well enough aware of the difficulty in 
 defending her statement, but she was too vexed to 
 be logical, and said : 1 1 You have taken away from a 
 young life one of the most imperative motives to be 
 all that a woman ought to be." 
 
 "I think I am a better judge of that than you. 
 I have never missed what you call religion, nor will 
 Constance. I have my views, and I insist that you 
 are not to bother the girl with your superstitions." 
 
 "I am sorry, uncle, but I can make no promise." 
 
 "I suppose not. You are as obstinate in your 
 folly as I am resolute in my common sense." 
 
 "That is fine," murmured Susan, as she returned 
 to her work, making him no reply, and inclined 
 for the time to abandon a useless purpose. Pres 
 ently she laid the book beside him, saying: 
 
30 CONSTANCE TRESCOT 
 
 "Is there anything else?" 
 
 "No, nothing." 
 
 She left him and went out to the company of 
 the flowers and the wholesomeness of a perfect day, 
 troubled that she had made no impression, and ask 
 ing herself if, after all, her argument was sophis 
 tical. 
 
 As she sat looking at the white sail of Constance s 
 cat-boat, rocking over an unquiet sea, she began to 
 sum up her slowly acquired knowledge of the 
 younger woman. 
 
 Yes, she was intelligent, clever, accomplished, as 
 Susan was not; an admirable musician, singularly 
 ignorant of the great literature, but, like her uncle, 
 unusually well informed on the history of her coun 
 try. How she had come to have political opinions 
 the reverse of her uncle s puzzled Susan. It might 
 be that she too loved to be in opposition, but cer 
 tainly she held to her views with such passion as 
 he was incapable of. And surely the girl was beau 
 tiful. As yet Susan could go no further in her in 
 terested analysis. Yes, she had the virtues of her 
 caste, and great capacity for affection. 
 
 The woman concerning whom it was thus needful 
 to digress went back to her letter. 
 
 "We will put this question aside for the time. 
 You will let me try to help you. Your uncle made 
 me understand that his affairs would suffer by de 
 lay, and now that I am clear in mind I see no cause 
 to prevent us from being married whenever you can 
 set a time. No time will be too soon for me. I have 
 

 CONSTANCE TEESCOT 31 
 
 been alone in the world these many years. All that 
 friendship could give in the army and at home I 
 have had, but neither love of mother nor of sister, 
 nor of any other woman has been mine. You have 
 it all the all that might have been others is yours, 
 to-day and always." 
 
 Again she paused, with the thought that to take 
 him away even from his friends gave her a sense 
 of such completeness of possession as filled her with 
 joy. The rest of what he wrote was as delightful. 
 She put the letter in her bosom and felt it move with 
 her breathing; now and again she took it out and 
 kissed it. 
 
Ill 
 
 MONTH had gone by. A savage north 
 east wind was rocking the pines and 
 hurling a thunderous surf on the rock- 
 guarded coast. It was the third of 
 March, the night before the day set 
 for the marriage. Their uncle having as usual gone 
 to bed early, the two sisters sat alone by a bright 
 wood fire in the sitting-room they shared. 
 
 Susan rose and went to the window. "What a wild 
 night!" she said, as the rain, wind driven, crashed 
 against the panes, and the casement rattled. "The 
 gardener said this afternoon a ship had gone ashore 
 on Carlton s Reef. I hope no lives were lost." 
 
 "Yes, Uncle Rufus told me of it, and was gra 
 cious enough to observe that going to sea was like 
 getting married a very uncertain business." 
 
 Susan, as she returned to the fire, remarked: 
 "He has an unequaled capacity for saying un 
 pleasant things, but I really believe that he does 
 not mean to be malicious. The trouble is, he val 
 ues the product of his own mind too highly to be 
 willing to suppress any of it. I might have had 
 the fancy that the ocean and marriage are uncertain. 
 I should not have thought it fit or worth while to 
 say so." 
 
 "I do not see, Susan, how George has stood it for 
 32 
 
CONSTANCE TBESCOT 33 
 
 this last month. What with Uncle Rufus s endless 
 indirectness and perpetual indecision, I cannot 
 wonder that George is puzzled to understand what 
 he wants. I shall be more than glad to have done 
 with it, and get half a continent between us and 
 uncle." 
 
 "You will never be done with it while he lives," 
 returned Susan ; and you may be pretty sure that 
 he will some day appear at St. Ann and still fur 
 ther bother George." 
 
 "Well, George is as obstinate as I ought to say 
 more resolute than Uncle Rufus." 
 
 "George asked me," said Susan, "how uncle had 
 been so fortunate in his affairs. I told him what 
 you of course know, that uncle s fortune was largely 
 inherited, and that as the mills in which most of 
 it was invested are managed by wiser men, and he 
 is almost morbidly cautious, it is easy to see how 
 he became rich. Those lands in and about St. Ann 
 were one of his father s ventures. They have been 
 the source of constant trouble. I suspect that Gen 
 eral Averill could not agree to do as uncle desired, 
 and that when he gave up no one else would accept 
 the agency." 
 
 No sooner had she spoken than she knew that she 
 had been unwise. Constance rose with a quick move 
 ment, and turning to her sister, said: 
 
 "Uncle said nothing like that to me or to George. 
 Do you mean that he is using George because he 
 could get no one else? I shall go and ask him if 
 he has dared to do that." As she spoke she moved 
 quickly to the door. Susan was just in time. 
 
34 CONSTANCE TEESCOT 
 
 "Stop, dear," she said; "I have no authority for 
 what I said." 
 
 "Then you should not have spoken. You make 
 me unhappy and now, to-night of all nights. If 
 your suspicion be correct, it is a thing I will not 
 stand. Let me go. 
 
 "No." Susan set her back to the door. "Listen, 
 dear. Uncle is asleep." 
 
 "I do not care. He must wake up." 
 
 "But you must care; and if I have been foolish 
 or imprudent, it is too late for you to act wildly 
 on a mere fancy of mine. Forget it, dear, and be 
 sure that no matter what may be uncle s little 
 schemes, George Trescot will succeed where others 
 have failed." 
 
 The tall girl, still flushed, angry, and only half 
 convinced, moved away and stood beside the fire, 
 silent for a moment. Then, as Susan took her hand, 
 she said: 
 
 "You are right; but, indeed, if he has put George 
 in a false position I shall never forgive him. I shall 
 not tell George." 
 
 "I should not, dear. Sit down. It is really of 
 no moment, but I was as indiscreetly anxious in 
 George s interest as you can be. Let us drop it. 
 This is our last talk. What a mad storm, Conny!" 
 
 "Yes. Listen to the wind." 
 
 "But you love storms, dear." 
 
 "Yes, but not to-night. Oh, not to-night! 
 
 "I hope you will have sunshine to-morrow." 
 
 "Oh, sister, I do hope so." 
 
 "It does not look like it, Conny; but there is 
 
 i > 
 
CONSTANCE TEESCOT 35 
 
 sunshine enough in George Trescot. No one 
 could help liking him; I am half in love with him 
 myself." 
 
 Constance laughed. "I can t have that^-Xwant 
 hirrTall to myself: *"*" 
 
 "That you will not have," said Susan, quietly. 
 "I am so glad that you concluded to be married 
 in church." 
 
 "He wanted it, and I really did not care." 
 
 "But you will some day, dear. You cannot live 
 with that man year after year and fail to feel the 
 value of the influences which guide and guard his 
 life and, dear, it was not your fault. I think it 
 was cruel, wicked." 
 
 Constance looked up. "Do you think he is really 
 I mean because of that better than I am? Oh, 
 I mean you know what I mean." 
 
 I think you know, dear, said Susan, or ought 
 to know. He has had a life of trial, you one of ease. 
 Both of you are what nature and the chances of life 
 have made you. I think you were unfairly dealt 
 with. Before I came, and ever since, uncle has 
 had his way." 
 
 "Yes, I know; but, truly, Susan, I am neither 
 religious nor non-religious; I am open-minded." 
 
 "Are you, my dear sister? Has not your open- 
 mindedness left you with the door of the mind very 
 hard to open wide? Time will show. You have 
 never yet found yourself; you have simply the con 
 ventional morals and opinions of our own social 
 world. How they will serve you in days of strain 
 and trouble God alone knows." 
 
36 CONSTANCE TRESCOT 
 
 "I think you are severe, Susan. I suppose I shall 
 laugh or cry, and grieve or be merry, like others." 
 
 "You are not like others. You are very unlike 
 others. 
 
 "Am I not? " 
 
 "No; you are too natural." 
 
 "Too natural. Upon my word, Susan, you are 
 quite too enigmatical for my powers of compre 
 hension. 
 
 "Well, dear, we won t talk any more. I did not 
 want to trouble you. And how am I to do without 
 you?" 
 
 1 Oh, you must come to see us after a while, when 
 we are settled." 
 
 "Oh, shall I not? Now to bed, to bed, dear, for 
 a beauty sleep." 
 
 She kissed her, and Constance went away. The 
 elder woman remained long in thought by the fire, 
 reflecting upon her own imprudent frankness. The 
 younger lay awake for a time, wondering a little 
 what Susan meant by calling her too natural. She 
 awoke early to hear the surf and the constant rain, 
 and the wail of the wind among the pines. 
 
 TRESCOT had never been his former vigorous self 
 since he was wounded, and now, a resolute doctor 
 insisting upon a long holiday, five happy weeks went 
 by, much to the betterment of his health and looks. 
 As they got out of the train at St. Ann early in 
 April, on a Saturday afternoon, a gentleman ap 
 proached them, and in the soft Southern tongue 
 said: 
 
CONSTANCE TRESCOT 37 
 
 "Mrs. Trescot, I believe. I am General Averill. 
 Allow me to make you welcome to St. Ann. 
 
 As Trescot gave him his left hand he added in a 
 cordial way: 
 
 "Have you met with an accident? Nothing very 
 bad, I hope." He seemed really distressed. "And 
 in your honeymoon, too." 
 
 "You are very kind," said Trescot. "I am 
 afraid that you are in a way responsible; it was a 
 Confederate bullet." 
 
 "Oh, indeed? It is too late for apologies, but 
 not for regret. So you were a soldier. Well, I am 
 glad of that. It is not the men who fought who 
 are making mischief now. My carriage is here. 
 This way, madam. Here, boy," to an aged black, 
 and he gave some directions concerning their bag 
 gage. 
 
 "But we are going to the hotel," said Trescot. 
 "I wrote and arranged for rooms." 
 
 The general laughed. "You are going to your 
 own house, sir. My wife has been busy there, or she 
 would have met Mrs. Trescot." 
 
 "But we have no house," said Constance. 
 
 "A little surprise, madam as I understand, a 
 wedding-gift from Mr. Hood. Mrs. Averill wrote 
 and wished to be allowed to put it in order. Then 
 Miss Hood came to St. Ann. Your uncle and I are 
 old friends, as you know; and now that I see you, 
 Mrs. Trescot, it is more than a pleasure it is a 
 privilege to have been thus allowed to be of use. 
 Ah! here is the carriage. Permit me." 
 
 Trescot could only express formal thanks, and 
 
38 CONSTANCE TEESCOT 
 
 they chatted as they drove through the old Creole 
 settlement, with its ill-kept gardens and new wooden 
 houses. 
 
 Trescot was much amazed by the uncle s sudden 
 and secret liberality. They had lieen five weeks 
 away from home, and except that Susan had writ 
 ten, soon after they left, that St. Ann would sur 
 prise them, they had been unprepared for what 
 now they heard. 
 
 Unable, for the time, to discuss matters, they 
 drove on for a half-mile through the dust of the 
 main street; and when a little way out of the fast- 
 growing southwestern town the general said, "This 
 is what we call Raeburn s addition." Where the 
 road began to slope to the broad river a too san 
 guine speculator had put up a half-dozen scattered 
 cottages. 
 
 "This is your home, Mrs. Trescot. No, I shall 
 leave you to enjoy it alone. Mrs. Averill has gone 
 away, and hopes you will be pleased. You will 
 find supper ready in an hour." 
 
 They stood a moment on the roadside. A neat 
 old black woman in a gay bandana head-kerchief 
 stood at the open door; the general, hat in hand, 
 kind, genial, courteous, a little profuse in talk. The 
 two young people thanked him, and they were left 
 alone. 
 
 Constance had misgivings as to what she might 
 expect in this new home. She said nothing of the 
 feeling she had that she should have been consulted 
 as to the furniture. But much of what was needed 
 had been chosen by Susan, and some simple but 
 
CONSTANCE TEESCOT 39 
 
 refined taste had presided over the rest. As she 
 looked about her, she cried: "Oh, George, when I 
 heard I was afraid; but it is really so very pretty 
 and so simple; and was it not considerate to leave 
 us alone? And was n t it like Susan just to go 
 away and leave us to ourselves, and Mrs. Averill 
 too?" 
 
 "You do not yet know the best of these Southern 
 people, Constance. It will be both pleasant and 
 desirable that you and I learn to like them. I am 
 sure you will. Imagine the kindness of it, and the 
 trouble !" 
 
 They went from room to room in the little house, 
 looking out on the roses already in bloom, the grass 
 slopes, and the river beyond. At last they found 
 their way into the dining-room, and then into an 
 apartment where were shelves and a businesslike 
 table; but here the cases sent on by Trescot and 
 Constance had been left unopened. Again husband 
 and wife recognized the feeling which had left their 
 personal belongings untouched. 
 
 One of the servants, an old woman once a slave of 
 the Averills, conducted Constance over the kitchen, 
 and up-stairs and down again, and was delighted 
 when, after supper, the cooking was praised. 
 
 Then, as the shadows came, and they sat on the 
 back porch among clustering Cherokee roses, she 
 brought him a match, and as his pipe glowed or 
 darkened they talked of the new life before them; 
 she recognizing with fresh happiness the man s 
 gain in health and vigor ; he, at moments, in thought 
 with certain reasonable fears. Would this distin- 
 
40 CONSTANCE TEESCOT 
 
 guished-looking woman, with her music, her social 
 ties, her unchecked expenditures, her familiar Bos 
 ton circle would she be contented here in this 
 simpler life? Would every one be as kind as Mrs. 
 Averill? He became more and more silent as they 
 sat in the twilight. She, too, had her less distinct 
 doubts, but heretofore they had said little of the 
 life which lay before them. Now she spoke, touch 
 ing his brown hair as he sat on the step below her. 
 She was strangely intuitive as concerned George 
 Trescot. 
 
 "I know what you are thinking of, my dear, dear 
 George. 
 
 "Oh! What, love?" 
 
 "You are wondering whether I shall be satisfied 
 here in this new life amid the people you fought and 
 I hated." 
 
 "I was; but you will not hate them. I never 
 did." 
 
 "And I shall not if they are good to you." 
 
 c Oh, whether or not ; and you won t miss the ease 
 of home, the varied life, your carriage and riding- 
 horse?" 
 
 "I I have you." 
 
 "But you will not have me always as you have 
 had for these happy weeks. 
 
 "But you will be always thinking of me." 
 
 "Even that may not be possible. I sometimes 
 fancy it would have been better 
 
 "No, no; we did wisely, and love is my only 
 answer. 
 
 "Then, once and for all let us put away the 
 past, and accept our new life with thankfulness." 
 
CONSTANCE TBESCOT 41 
 
 "Yes. Ah, letters! Thank you," she said to the 
 maid. "Let us go in, George, and read them." As 
 they sat down, she cried: "Gracious! oh, do listen 
 to this, George. It is from uncle/ 
 
 ) > 
 
 "My DEAR CONSTANCE: 
 
 "Major- General Averill will give you the title- 
 deeds of the house. It will, I hope, make you less 
 discontented, for you will have to economize as you 
 never did here. I trust also that my generosity will 
 be an inducement to that obstinate young man to 
 give the fullest attention to my affairs. 
 
 1 Susan will, no doubt, tell you that she made me 
 give you the house; but her religion is too vague 
 a thing to have taught her accuracy. What she calls 
 faith, I am happy to say I am without; it is too 
 vague for intellectual assimilation. 
 
 "Yours affectionately, 
 
 "RUFUSHOOD." 
 
 "Of which has he none faith or intellectual 
 assimilation?" laughed Trescot. "Upon my word, 
 Constance, what about the blind belief we call love? 
 No one knows everything of any one. The rest we 
 call trust, faith; and without the mystery of the 
 unknowable in man, woman, and God, the half of 
 the charm of life and love were gone." 
 
 She did not answer him directly, but said : Uncle 
 Rufus is plain enough, and I know you, and you 
 me." 
 
 "No, not altogether; what you would do or be in 
 certain contingencies of this changeful life, I do not 
 know. 
 
42 CONSTANCE TEESCOT 
 
 "Am I not simple?" 
 
 "You? No, no," he laughed. "But what does 
 Susan say?" 
 She read: 
 
 "DEAR CONNY: 
 
 "As soon as you were engaged I set to work to 
 make Uncle Rufus behave decently. He is not mean 
 or ungenerous, but you were to be punished for 
 preferring George to him, and to have a narrow 
 income as a reminder of your iniquity. We had 
 it about and about. He enjoyed the row and, as 
 usual, backed down. I made him groan when the 
 bills came in; but he had to pay, and now he tells 
 every one about the pleasure he had in surprising 
 you with the house. I send a few books of refer 
 ence for George the cyclopedia he wanted, and a 
 few other books." 
 
 She said nothing of what further she had done. 
 
 Constance looked up. "But I meant to give you 
 that cyclopedia myself. I told her so." 
 
 She had a childlike disappointment because of 
 having been thus anticipated. He saw and under 
 stood. 
 
 "But I want far more the new biographical dic 
 tionary, and how many other books I dare not tell 
 you. To-morrow we shall see when we unpack the 
 boxes. What else is there in your sister s letter?" 
 
 "Nothing of moment. She wishes to know if the 
 house, our house is n t that delightful needs any 
 other furniture." 
 
CONSTANCE TBESCOT 43 
 
 "I should think not," said Trescot, faintly jeal 
 ous of the liberality which had provided what in 
 time he had hoped to give. He said, however: "I 
 confess, dear, to being very glad that you are to be 
 so pleasantly nested. I feared a little the long stay 
 at an inn or in lodgings, where you would have all 
 manner of unavoidable contacts." 
 
 1 Yes," she said, "that would have been dreadful. 
 To have been able all one s life to choose or avoid, 
 to say At home or not, and then to be obliged 
 to meet, all the time, the chance acquaintances of 
 a boarding-house ! I did not expect to have a house 
 for a year at least." 
 
 George Trescot reflected anew upon the sacrifices 
 she had made, and on how less than little she knew 
 of what she was saved by Susan s persistency and 
 self-sacrifice. 
 
 "We owe Susan a great debt," he said; "and I 
 am as grateful as a man ought to be; but I wish 
 I had been able to do all this for you myself. I have 
 been so anxious that you should be satisfied." 
 
 Constance slipped down on to the step beside him, 
 cast an arm around him, and laid her head on his 
 shoulder. "You need not have been afraid, George. 
 Life can ask nothing of me, large or small, which 
 I would not give or be or do for you." The voice 
 became low and measured as she went on. "I could 
 beg, or do anything. You will see how I shall help 
 you. I shall make all these St. Ann people our 
 friends oh, whether I like them or not; but, 
 George, I am scared sometimes when I think of how 
 all other love has shrunk to nothing, as if it had all 
 
44 CONSTANCE TEESCOT 
 
 gone to make up one great love for you. If any 
 one-man or woman loves you, I shall be jealous; 
 if any .one does not, I shall hate him. Oh, I am a 
 fine fool of love ! I am half jealous of the company 
 you find in your pipe." 
 
 He said, Are you, indeed?" 
 
 "Yes, I am, really. Oh, you may laugh, but I 
 am." 
 
 The stress of passion in her words was broken by 
 this half-humorous reflection, and a little to the 
 man s relief, even if he hardly knew it. The quality 
 of his affection was governed by temperament, and, 
 never reaching the instinctive freedom of her pas 
 sion, was nobler, in that it looked forward to being 
 always the true lover, and also the friend who 
 guides and counsels; for already he saw that both 
 guidance and counsel might be needed. He smiled 
 as he kissed her. 
 
 Well, shall I give up my friend of many camp- 
 fires, of sad days, of long night-rides ? 
 
 "What a pretty defense! No, indeed; I like it 
 because it can comfort and cannot love." 
 
 She rose as she spoke, and standing before him, 
 threw up her hands with a gesture of emphatic 
 abandonment and cried: "Oh, George, I am so 
 happy! Come, let us walk in the garden. Is n t 
 it little? but do look at the roses." 
 
 He went with her, and they talked more quietly 
 of the kindness of the general and his wife; of 
 their own plans, and of his work. To his surprise, 
 she said no word of Susan. At last he said, "It is 
 early, but you must be tired." 
 
CONSTANCE TRESCOT 45 
 
 "Oh, I am never tired; but I have to unpack, and 
 what the colored women can do I have yet to learn. 
 
 "To-morrow will be Sunday, Constance." 
 
 "I am going to church with you. You will have 
 to find the places for me in your prayer-book; but 
 I am going because because you are going." 
 
 * Thank you ! You are very good to me, my love ! 
 Good night." 
 
 She left him, and he lighted his pipe, and for an 
 hour moved about in thought. 
 
IV 
 
 S they went up the slight ascent of 
 West Street toward the Episcopal 
 church, Constance said to her husband : 
 "Since we left home you have gone to 
 church alone. I mean that you shall 
 never do that again. But, George, do you know that 
 this will be the first time I have ever been present 
 at a church service ?" 
 
 "It will interest you," he said, realizing with 
 regret how complete had been the denial of the 
 highest opportunities to the woman he loved. Care 
 ful to show no surprise, he went on to speak of the 
 service, and of how it had been formed and molded, 
 until, arriving at the church, they sat down near 
 to the door. After church they slipped away, un 
 noticed, except casually by General Averill. On the 
 way homeward, Constance was silent for a time, and 
 seeming to her husband thus inclined, he made no 
 effort to disturb her mood. 
 
 Presently, however, she began to speak of the 
 impression this amazing novelty of a great ritual 
 had left with her. The congregation had been large 
 and very devoted. She confessed to interest and 
 something like awe a certain wonder at it, a trained 
 disbelief in its verities. She spoke with care, and he, 
 on his side, listened without criticism. Certainly 
 
 46 
 
CONSTANCE TEESCOT 47 
 
 to her it was so strange that he found it hard to put 
 himself in her attitude of mind, and preferred, with 
 the patience which was part of his character, to do 
 no more than wait for such better chances as time 
 might bring. 
 
 The music she found good and simple. Caught 
 by its charm, her full soprano rose in the hymns he 
 knew so well, and added to the satisfaction he felt 
 when she expressed her surprise at the refined faces 
 she saw about her. He explained that the older 
 settlers had been Virginians, and many of them 
 gentlefolk. She was sure she would like them; and 
 the elderly woman she saw as they came out must 
 be Mrs. Aver ill. She smiled at them as the general 
 raised his hat a handsome couple. There was even 
 a kind of distinction in the old-fashioned gowns and 
 bonnets. 
 
 "I think they were all curious about us," she 
 added. 
 
 "There may be other reasons/ he laughed, "for 
 looking at you, my dear. I sometimes enjoy that 
 privilege myself." 
 
 Sunday passed quietly in their new home, and 
 they fully recognized the thoughtful kindness which 
 left them thus undisturbed. In the afternoon they 
 decided to see the little city and their neighborhood. 
 They were about a half-mile from the court-house 
 green, beyond which, on an upper rise, were a dozen 
 houses, not very well cared for, but set pleasantly 
 among trees and well-tended gardens. On the level 
 land above the river bluff were the straggling houses 
 and shops which, in their fresh shingles and paint, 
 
48 CONSTANCE TRESCOT 
 
 gave evidence here and there of the new material 
 growth which had begun since the war. Below the 
 bluff, on the shore of the great curve of the turbid 
 river, were warehouses, cotton-presses, and rudely 
 built piers where steamers lay. Much of the nearer 
 water-front was occupied, and as they stood Tres- 
 cot pointed out where, at the bend of the river, 
 lay the long stretch of frontage which was in 
 litigation, and was claimed by Mr. Hood. De 
 scending to the water s edge, they found a rough 
 road which passed through low growths and the 
 rude clearings of the squatters who had refused to 
 vacate their lands. Beyond, the road wound along 
 the river bank, and over the land which Trescot 
 had pointed out as valuable on account of the deep 
 water in front of it. 
 
 When on their homeward way they came near to 
 their own house, the path so narrowed in front of 
 an ill-kept garden that Trescot fell behind. A gen 
 tleman in gray clothes, and wearing an undress 
 army-cap with Confederate buttons, moved aside 
 into the road to make room for Mrs. Trescot to pass. 
 He lifted his cap and showed some attentive sur 
 prise as Trescot touched his straw hat and they 
 passed on. 
 
 "By George!" he murmured, "who can that be? 
 What a beautiful woman!" He stared after her 
 well-clad figure, noting the ease and grace of her 
 walk, and then the slighter form of the man. See 
 ing them turn in at their own gate, he said aloud: 
 "That must be old Hood s new agent. He is very 
 young." 
 
CONSTANCE TRESCOT 49 
 
 Meanwhile Mrs. Trescot said: "George, did you 
 notice that gentleman? * 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "He looks like an Indian chief, and very unlike 
 the people I saw to-day. He is handsome, but how 
 dark he is!" 
 
 "Oh, there is some old Creole blood here of 
 French descent, very likely a fine, big man, prob 
 ably a Confederate soldier." 
 
 THE Monday morning of their first week at St. 
 Ann found them after breakfast on the back porch 
 of their new home. The man was gravely happy; 
 the young wife a little excited as they began to con 
 sider what they were to do on this the first morn 
 ing of their new life. Past the little garden, the 
 grassy slopes and green maize-fields were bounded 
 below by a fringe of oaks, beyond which the brown 
 current of the mighty river swept onward in its 
 march to the gulf. The Cherokee rose was all about 
 them in red clusters, the humming-birds were busy 
 on quivering wing, and the warmth and moisture 
 of the Southland April already invited to repose 
 and idleness. 
 
 "It is very pleasant here," said Trescot, "but 
 there will be many things to do, and I suppose one 
 must begin." As he spoke he rose. The tempta 
 tions to linger were very great. But at last he com 
 promised with sense of duty by resolving, as many 
 a man has done, to go as soon as his pipe had gone 
 out. Nevertheless he economically nursed the fail 
 ing pipe. As he lingered Constance asked : 
 
50 CONSTANCE TRESCOT 
 
 What have you to do, George ? I mean at once. 
 
 "Oh, many things. I must see the general and 
 learn all I can of your uncle s affairs. There are un 
 paid rents, mortgages in arrears, taxes, and what 
 not, a sad tangle, I fear. Then, if I am to appear 
 in the courts I must qualify by an examination to 
 practise in this State." 
 
 She was at once eager to know why. 
 
 "I could appear," he returned, "in a United 
 States court, but not before local tribunals. But 
 that is all simple." And, in fact, after a fort 
 night he was enabled thus to qualify for practice at 
 St. Ann. 
 
 When at last the pipe refused to furnish excuses 
 for delay, he left his wife to her new household 
 duties. She found herself amply occupied, and 
 while her husband spent a busy morning with Aver- 
 ill, she went about the house with the two black ser 
 vants, arranging her husband s books, and giving 
 to the rooms that look of having been lived in, which 
 is one of the mysterious accomplishments of certain 
 women. Trescot heard snatches of song as he came 
 in at midday, to meet her eager questions, and to 
 note with satisfaction what she had done to change 
 the house into a home. 
 
 How hard you must have worked ! " he said, see 
 ing all of his many books in order. 
 
 "I did not unpack your law books, George." 
 
 "No, you were right; I must have them with me. 
 I am to have a bit of an office next to the general s. 
 I find that he has come into some property of late, 
 and wants to give up part of his work I mean 
 
CONSTANCE TRESCOT 51 
 
 chiefly your uncle s affairs. There are, I fancy, 
 other reasons. He was somewhat reticent. From 
 what I gathered I fear that your uncle s business is 
 going to be difficult ; and he has been so hard to deal 
 with that people here say it is impossible to settle 
 anything. However, we shall see. I suspect that 
 the general has been indisposed to push matters, and 
 that your uncle has been unyieldingly opposed to 
 any compromises." 
 
 "Very likely," said Constance; "but if the gen 
 eral had been firm uncle would have given way. He 
 always does. But for that he should be here. He 
 is always most obstinate in his letters." 
 
 "That is hardly consoling," said Trescot. "And 
 oh, Constance, I would not hang my sword here. 
 Put it in your room." 
 
 "I should like that," she said, at once under 
 standing him. "I see that you do not wear your 
 Loyal Legion button I suppose we are to forget?" 
 
 "Yes, and forgive, as they, too, will in time. I 
 lost a brother and many friends in the war, but, 
 dear, I learn that our old general lost his two sons, 
 his only children, Constance, his all. They are 
 childless." 
 
 "Oh, George! That mother! She was here to 
 day, and such kindness I never could have hoped 
 for. Now I understand her 
 
 " sad eyes 
 Wherein no expectation lies/ 
 
 Who said that, George? I forget. I wondered 
 what gave her that look; I noticed it when I first 
 
52 CONSTANCE TRESCOT 
 
 saw her. I think Susan quoted it once. And, my 
 dear George, she heard me singing in that absurd 
 way in church, and would I join the choir, and they 
 would expect us to use their pew, and there are 
 sewing-circles, and what not. I had to say several 
 noes; I did it sweetly, and said I must think about 
 it. Imagine me in a sewing-circle ! 
 
 "I am sure you said just the right thing. As for 
 the general, he, too, was more than kind. He begged 
 me to be careful about war talk. People were still 
 sensitive. And I ought to be made aware that your 
 uncle, whom no one here has seen, is detested, and 
 supposed to hinder the growth of the town by re 
 fusals to sell or improve. He wants me to see people 
 socially, and it seems there is a little club which he 
 thinks I had better join. I said it would be as well 
 to wait. I do not want any needless expenses even 
 the smallest. " 
 
 "Oh, I shall manage, George. I have talked to 
 Mrs. Averill. We shall have enough. It might be 
 better to join the club." 
 
 "I shall think of it," he said. "But my best 
 club is elsewhere." 
 
 "Yes; but you would see these people there. 
 Only, I shall be jealous of the hours I dp not 
 own. 
 
 "You own all my hours, Constance. And, by the 
 way, talking of jealousy, the dark gentleman you 
 admired yesterday has some Indian and some Creole 
 blood. I guessed well. But his name, I take it, is 
 English Greyhurst. He is the lawyer who has been 
 engaged in the suit to dispossess your uncle of the 
 
CONSTANCE TEESCOT 53 
 
 water-front. I hear, also, that he is pretty deeply 
 and personally interested in lands along the water." 
 
 She determined to know more of this man when 
 she saw the general. She had some vague feeling 
 that here was a man who would be hostile ; and she 
 had not liked the smiling face with the dark, at 
 tentive eyes. 
 
 The next day being Tuesday, while Trescot was 
 again busy with the old general, Constance dressed 
 with care and set out to visit his wife. The sun was 
 warm, and as she walked along the road to the town 
 she was full of plans for a social campaign which 
 should be of use to the man she loved. There was 
 enough to interest in the negro huts and children, 
 the wayside flowers, the straggling town, its bloom 
 ing gardens, and the houses which war and its at 
 tendant poverty had left long uncared for. As she 
 gained the main street, she began to see that she was 
 the object of notice; but to this she was not unac 
 customed, and did not find it unpleasing. Her looks 
 and her power to be agreeable were a part of 
 George s capital. She noted the men on horseback 
 now and then a man in a battle-worn suit of Con 
 federate gray; twice she observed the "C. S." 
 branded on the flanks of mules and felt the near 
 ness of that vast struggle which had left the South 
 wrecked and impoverished. 
 
 A question or two brought her to the general s 
 house. It stood on a rise to the eastward and above 
 the town an ample brick dwelling of more preten 
 sion than those near by. The garden around it on 
 all sides was admirably cared for, but the fence 
 
54 CONSTANCE TRESCOT 
 
 was broken and the gate lay on the ground. The 
 hall door was open, but she looked in vain for a 
 bell, and used the brass knocker without effect. At 
 last she entered, and saw through the back door of 
 the hall the gray head of Mrs. Averill in the garden, 
 moving between tall rows of Osage orange. For a 
 moment some inbred regard for conventional usages 
 stayed the visitor s steps, and then, seeing no other 
 way, she walked through the house and down the 
 garden path. 
 
 Mrs. Averill turned, setting down a basket of 
 roses, and with both hands welcomed her visitor. 
 
 "Come in," she said; "come in out of the sun." 
 
 Her looks approved the proudly carried head, the 
 rich red of the cheeks, the large blue eyes, and that 
 indescribable air of caste and good-breeding which 
 the day before, as they came out of church, had been 
 at once and easily recognized. 
 
 Constance, too, saw that here was an older woman 
 of her own world a woman, as she wrote to Susan, 
 who seemed suited to the old-fashioned garden and 
 its familiar flowers a delicately provincial dame, 
 with an assured way of saying gently very positive 
 things, and with hands and feet thin, delicate, and 
 marvelously small. 
 
 The Southland tongue as Mrs. Averill used it, 
 with its half -lost r s and a certain precision in her 
 choice of words, delighted the critical taste of Con 
 stance. 
 
 As they entered the large parlor, Mrs. Averill 
 said : "Sit down, my dear ; it is very warm. I must 
 find my servants nowadays they are never to be 
 found. You shall have a glass of lemonade." 
 
CONSTANCE TRESCOT 55 
 
 Constance said she should be glad to have it, and 
 was left alone. She looked after her hostess with 
 increasing satisfaction. Mrs. Averill was exquisitely 
 neat, from the little cap, over abundant gray hair, 
 and wide white kerchief to the white gown and the 
 long garden gloves. The room offered an unpleas- 
 ing contrast. The wall-paper was worn and spotted, 
 the seats of the chairs showed signs of wear. Some 
 of them were ofj^olonial respectability, some with 
 the black hair-cloth covers of a day of worse taste. 
 The matting was much mended, and a thin-legged 
 piano, not too free from dust, suggested indifference, 
 or, more probably, the housekeeping troubles of 
 which as yet Constance was happily ignorant. 
 
 On the walls were two or three portraits in the 
 thin manner of the elder Peale, and an admirable 
 Copley of a husband and wife. Over the fireplace 
 hung a pair of crossed swords suspended by broad 
 black ribbons. Below were ill-colored photographs 
 of two young officers in Confederate uniform. 
 "Poor mother!" said Constance. Over all, caught 
 up in folds, hung a torn battle-flag of the rebel 
 States, and below it the flag of a Maine regiment, 
 also tattered and battle-scarred, evidently a cap 
 tured trophy. 
 
 For a moment the young faces of the dead sons 
 troubled her, and then the two flags sent a rush of 
 angry blood to her face a return of the passionate 
 feelings the great war had so often caused her. 
 Here before her was the record of battle and of 
 death, of the pathos and the courage and endurance 
 of a struggle which should have left, and did leave 
 for the best of those who fought and won, only ad- 
 
r 
 
 56 CONSTANCE TBESCOT 
 
 miration, pity, and magnanimity. Constance had 
 little of that greatness of soul which is the noblest 
 factor in the large gospel of forgiveness. The per 
 sonal feeling which entered so largely into her life 
 during the war was supported by an unusually in 
 telligent knowledge of our history, and kept angrily 
 alive by her uncle s attitude when, rejoicing over 
 Confederate victories, he thus kept her irritated and 
 on edge throughout the years of that sad struggle 
 ever glorious for those who won and those who lost. 
 
 Hearing Mrs. Averill s step at the doorway, she 
 turned quickly from the mantel to meet her, com 
 posing her face with the habitual ease of a caste ac 
 customed to hide emotion. The little old lady, so 
 gray, so worn, became of a sudden grave. 
 
 "Sit down here beside me," she said. "You were 
 looking at the flags and the faces of my dead. 
 Of course it troubled you I saw that the flags 
 and the rest. I won t have you excuse yourself; 
 it was natural. One boy fell dead on the flag he 
 had captured ; they sent it home to me. The other, 
 a prisoner, died in the North, after having been 
 cared for as we could not have cared for him in 
 those terrible days. You see, I am explaining to 
 you because we are to be friends; but some day, 
 when you are a mother, you" 
 
 "Please don t," said Constance, taking her thin 
 hand. Both women s eyes were full of tears. 
 
 For a moment they were silent. Then Constance 
 said, "How did you live through it?" 
 
 "God helped me, as some day he may need to help 
 you. It is less hard to forgive a nation than if it 
 
CONSTANCE TRESCOT 57 
 
 had been a man, and John Averill was spared to 
 sorrow with me. Some day I shall see my boys. 
 There, my dear, we must not talk of it any 
 but we are very sore in the South, and the state of 
 things in the Carolinas makes it impossible to for 
 get defeat in the face of continual humiliation." 
 
 "I know," said Constance. "It is shameful, and 
 no one not even you can feel it more than my 
 husband. He tries to put aside the war. He never 
 speaks of it, although his crippled arm is a sad 
 reminder. He will not let me h,ang his sword where 
 it can be seen in She paused, feeling that she 
 had made one of those social slips which even the 
 best-trained do not altogether escape. She went on 
 quickly: "We want to make friends with the peo 
 ple here. You will tell us how. You know it is to 
 be our home." 
 
 "My dear, you will easily make friends; but 
 sometimes you will have to be forbearing and keep 
 silent. It may be hard, but for those who won it 
 should not be." Constance thought of George, and 
 assented. "Mr. Trescot will find it less easy; but 
 his having been in your army will help him with 
 all but the women ; we are unreasonably venomous 
 a few of us, not all." 
 
 "Well, that will save me some jealousies," said 
 Constance, smiling. 
 
 "Ah, here is the lemonade," said her hostess. 
 "I was picking these flowers for you; will you care 
 to carry the basket, or shall I send them? I was 
 about to call again this afternoon. I thought I 
 might help you. It must all be so strange to you." 
 

 58 CONSTANCE TEESCOT 
 
 Constance, thanking her, rose, saying: "You will 
 let me come again ? 
 
 "Oh, often, I hope, often." 
 
 She walked away through the sun and down the 
 dusty street, carrying the roses. The men looked 
 after her erect figure, the women made comments 
 on gown and bonnet. 
 
 She was lost to her surroundings, thinking of the 
 flags and the dead boys, and wondering at the peace 
 of soul which had come to the childless mother. 
 She could not comprehend it, and thought that such 
 a calamity falling on herself would have left her 
 with an undying hatred. Presently, feeling the 
 heat, she was reminded that she had promised not 
 to tempt its consequences through the summer 
 months. The idea of leaving George troubled her, 
 and she quickened her pace in order the sooner to 
 see him. 
 
|HE Trescots by degrees settled into a 
 routine of life which, while it left Con 
 stance alone in the mornings, usually 
 permitted of their being together the 
 rest of the day, and in the evening. 
 A few friends or relatives of the Averills called 
 upon them; but these visits were evidently formal 
 or made to oblige the general s wife, and they were 
 left much alone. 
 
 If Trescot soon felt the social atmosphere to be 
 cold, he excused it, and trusted to time and chance 
 for better things. Except that Constance saw in 
 their reception difficulties for her husband, she had 
 small regret on account of the conditions which re 
 lieved her from being constantly on guard, and 
 made her secure of a larger share of the society she 
 preferred to all other. 
 
 The women she met and tried to find pleasant were 
 chiefly interested in their households, in the difficul 
 ties caused by the emancipation of the slaves, and 
 in the awkward subject of the misgovernment of the 
 South. There were but few subjects which were 
 free from peril, and such intellectual sympathies 
 as Constance possessed awakened little interest 
 among overburdened women whom many forms of 
 
 59 
 
60 CONSTANCE TRESCOT 
 
 disaster had left with too constant thought of the 
 morrow. 
 
 What help and advice Constance required she 
 found in the Averill house, where now and then they 
 ate a meal and were at all times welcome guests. 
 The older woman discovered, to her husband s joy, 
 a novel pleasure in Constance Trescot s music; and 
 it became common for the old general and his wife 
 to appear of an evening, and while the men smoked 
 their pipes on the porch the piano, Susan s wed 
 ding-gift, was opened, and song after song, or the 
 tones of the greater music, soothed and pleased the 
 pale little lady who sat a silent listener, or pleaded 
 for "just one more, my dear." 
 
 Then, too, Susan sent the new books and the 
 magazines, and these were passed on to the Averills, 
 who formed, by degrees, an increasing attachment 
 to the young man and his wife, and became thought 
 fully busy in the difficult task of bringing them into 
 cordial relations with what was best in the town. 
 As far as was possible to a woman like Constance, 
 the regard was returned. She had all her life had 
 a singular incapacity for generous division or shar 
 ing of her affection. Once it had been wholly Su 
 san s. It was now George Trescot s, and this pre 
 disposition was reinforced by a passion deep, jeal 
 ous, and exacting. The man so long lonely sunned 
 himself in the warmth of all that an intelligent and 
 beautiful woman brought to help and glorify his 
 life, with no mind to criticize the quality of the 
 woman s love. 
 
 And so the latter days of April passed, and the 
 
CONSTANCE TRESCOT 61 
 
 warmth of May and June came, while, with the all- 
 sufficient company of books, music, and talk, time 
 moved onward. In the evening he read to her or 
 told her of his work, and she of what she had seen 
 and done. Of the keen sense he had of hostility 
 in the very air of the place he said but little. She 
 was but too anxiously aware of it, and said as little. 
 
 On an evening early in June the general came in, 
 and leaving Constance alone with her open piano, 
 the two men went out on to the porch. 
 
 "I came in, Mr. Trescot, because I want to talk 
 of the squatters. I heard to-day that there may be 
 trouble. I wish my friend Mr. Hood were more rea 
 sonable. 
 
 "He is not, and never will be, and there is nothing 
 to do but to serve the usual notices on them." 
 
 "It has already excited a good deal of feeling. 
 The squatters will resist, or at least two of them 
 will. The fact is that I have been unable to make 
 up my mind in the past to turn out three old sol 
 diers of my own regiment. One of these is a lame 
 man, crippled in the war. Cannot you wait until 
 the suit for the water-front has been tried?" 
 
 "It is low down on the docket, and it will be 
 October before it can come up. But what would 
 be gained by that by waiting?" 
 
 The general was unprepared to reply. He was 
 merely inclined, like most old men, to put off the 
 disagreeable, having that faith in the helpfulness 
 of time which is a part of the business creed of the 
 aged. 
 
 He said at last that he was of opinion that Grey- 
 
62 CONSTANCE TRESCOT 
 
 hurst was stirring them up. The eviction of a lot 
 of old soldiers, one of them eighteen years on the 
 ground, father and son, would further prejudice 
 an already hostile public opinion, and make it the 
 harder to secure a just verdict in regard to the 
 question of title to the lands beyond them on the 
 river. 
 
 What I disliked to do about these men, Mr. Tres- 
 cot," he said, "will be dangerous for you to at 
 tempt. I think it right to tell you that. Their land 
 is not valuable for steamboat landings, and for any 
 other purpose it is useless, because the squatters 
 never can sell it; but they won t give up, and are 
 utterly indifferent to law, and quite well aware that 
 the community is on their side. Best let them alone 
 just now. Wait a little." 
 
 "No, I must go on." 
 
 "It will be at the risk of your life." 
 
 He could have said nothing better fitted to add 
 vigor to Trescot s resolute intention. He replied, 
 laughing: "I presume that we have both been shot 
 at pretty often." 
 
 "But this is different, Trescot." 
 
 "Yes, I know that. But am I to believe, general, 
 that an opponent lawyer deliberately advises an 
 assassination ? 
 
 "Oh, no, I beg you not to misunderstand me; I 
 spoke rather too positively. Greyhurst would never 
 do that ; and, upon my word, he never did anything 
 deliberate in his life. The man is impulsive and 
 quick to resent, and very imprudent in talk. He 
 is in debt, and if he can win this suit he will prob 1 - 
 
. 
 
 CONSTANCE TEESCOT 63 
 
 ably receive a large contingent fee. These men, es 
 pecially that fellow named Coffin, have been to see 
 him, I pointed the man out to you on the street 
 yesterday. Mr. Greyhurst has told them that you 
 surely mean to evict them. I do not think he can 
 have gone further." 
 
 "If he said only that I mean to evict, that is true. 
 I would tell them that myself. Was there anything 
 else?" 
 
 "No; but there are ways of saying things. It 
 was none of his business. They did not consult him 
 as a lawyer, and he was merely making mischief. 
 These mountain-men who are now squatted on the 
 flats come to me like children. They were, some of 
 them, in my company when I first went out, and 
 they look to me for protection. It is a damned dis 
 agreeable business, sir ; and none the easier for John 
 Greyhurst s interference and Mr. Hood s stupid ob 
 stinacy. 
 
 "I presume, general, that you really could not 
 make up your mind to act on Mr. Hood s determina 
 tion to evict." 
 
 "I must confess, Mr. Trescot, that I would not. 
 I think I said as much. The legal right no one 
 can dispute; but I could not come down on these 
 poor devils with the law without being looked 
 upon as an oppressor, and, what is worse just 
 now, as the instrument of a Northern man. Even 
 for me, my dear Trescot, to evict mercilessly 
 men who have lived there five, ten, even eighteen 
 years unmolested even for me, sir, there might be 
 risk." 
 
64 CONSTANCE TEESCOT 
 
 "And for me," queried Trescot, smiling, "much 
 more risk?" 
 
 * That is my belief, sir. I do not think Mr. Hood 
 has ever taken in the situation." 
 
 "No; it is his land. The men must go. For him 
 it is simple, but for me and you there are the 
 human ties to land men have cleared and plowed, 
 the sense of the home, and all manner of associations. 
 Mr. Hood prides himself on being exact in business. 
 Out of it he is generous, even lavish. He has not 
 imagination enough to 15e largely charitable. I 
 never saw a man like him." 
 
 "Then, sir," said the old general, grimly hu 
 morous, "he had better lavish on you a good re 
 volver or a first-class rifle. What I could not or 
 would not do, you will surely risk your life if you 
 try to do. I may as well say to you that my chief 
 reason for giving up Hood s agency was his infer 
 nal obstinacy about these squatters. Did he tell 
 you that I had said so, and that no reputable gen 
 tleman in St. Ann would accept the position?" 
 
 "No, he did not," returned Trescot, somewhat sur 
 prised at this revelation of Mr. Hood s methods. 
 
 "Well, no one here would take it on his terms, 
 and, as I see it, he has placed you in what is a po 
 sition of real danger. Even now, before you have 
 moved legally, these men are sure they will be 
 turned out. They are not men to wait, and the 
 whole town is on their side. Think it over. A very 
 little money would settle the business." 
 
 "You are no doubt right; but what can I do? I 
 must give up the agency or act on Mr. Hood s or- 
 
CONSTANCE TEESCOT 65 
 
 ders. I came here to do so, and I mean to move 
 in the matter. How can I hope to convince him if 
 you failed?" 
 
 The general laid a hand on Treseot s knee, and 
 said very earnestly: 
 
 "Wait until I write to him again. I have known 
 lives lost in this country for far less things, and if 
 you are set on taking legal action I beg that you 
 will go about armed." 
 
 Trescot laughed. "Why, my dear general, I am 
 half crippled, and it would be simply useless. Do 
 you all carry revolvers?" 
 
 "I do not; but if I were bent on following out 
 Mr. Hood s orders I most assuredly should do so, 
 and, too, I should be rather careful how I went out 
 at night." 
 
 Trescot thanked him and said: "You will do no 
 thing with Hood; but could not we do something 
 with these men if you and I saw them together?" 
 
 "It is worth trying. I shall go with you with 
 pleasure. Before I leave let me say a word more 
 about that land suit. It was first brought the year 
 after the big flood in sixty-three. Who suggested 
 to the Baptiste people to dispute Hood s title I do 
 not know. Two lawyers have had it; one died and 
 one threw up the case. Then it came into Grey- 
 hurst s hands, and has hung on. I had too slight 
 evidence in Mr. Hood s favor to want to try it, and 
 Greyhurst evidently took it with the hope of for 
 cing a compromise. I can t think he believes their 
 claim just." 
 
 "Well, I shall urge it, and we can make him come 
 
66 CONSTANCE TRESCOT 
 
 to time. It is very much like a sort of legally dis 
 guised blackmail. What kind of man is he? I 
 ought to know. You said he was impulsive." 
 
 "Yes, it is as well that you should. A rather un 
 usual person. He has had a wild life, but is not 
 uncultivated. He certainly has a high opinion of 
 John Greyhurst, and the most damned insecure 
 temper I ever met with. Halloa! Talk of him an 
 other time. Listen to that!" 
 
 There was a low, mellow roll of murmurous thun 
 der. The general rose. "We are in for one of our 
 big thunder-storms. It will cool the air. Say 
 good-by to Mrs. Trescot. I must hurry. He went 
 away around the house in haste. 
 
 As Trescot stood looking at the darkening sky 
 a blinding splendor of violet light made bright the 
 distant river and the march of dark masses of cloud 
 across the star-lighted sky. "Come out," he called 
 to his wife. "The general has gone, Constance; 
 come out on the porch." 
 
 She rejoiced in a great storm, as she did in any 
 display of the might of nature, such as the wild sea 
 drama of a gale on her own rock-bound coast. She 
 came out at once and they walked into the garden. 
 The herald wind of the coming storm shook the 
 house and brought a cool breath of freshness. 
 
 "How delicious the air is, George, and how mag 
 nificent, how glorious!" 
 
 Swift javelins of light flashed incessant, with 
 crashes of thunder, and soon the sudden downfall 
 of rain drove them to the shelter of the porch. 
 
 "No, I can t go in, George. I never before saw 
 
CONSTANCE TRESCOT 67 
 
 such a storm. I love it. I should like to be once in 
 an earthquake." 
 
 Not I," he returned, laughing. "I saw one in 
 New Mexico. I prefer to face again the worst fire 
 I was ever under. I got out of a window on to a 
 shed, and the house went down behind me." 
 
 Again a vast flare of lightning made every drop 
 of rain in the air a moment s jewel. 
 
 The rain blows in here ; get your rain-cloak, he 
 said. "Wait, I shall get it or better to go in." 
 
 "Oh, no; I must see it. You could not find the 
 cloak." 
 
 She left him where he stood enjoying the storm. 
 As the quick-coming flashes lighted the hill slope he 
 saw a man moving, very slowly as it seemed to him 
 for one storm-caught, some thirty feet beyond the 
 garden fence. He called out, "Halloa! come in 
 here." 
 
 Surprised to receive no reply, he called again. A 
 moment after, amid still more vivid light, Trescot 
 was aware of a flash lower down on the hillside, 
 and of the sound, once familiar, of a rifle-shot. The 
 broken glass of the window just to the left jangled. 
 As the instant lightning flared, Trescot, seeing the 
 man moving down the hill, ran through the garden 
 and out of the gate in hot pursuit, thinking quickly 
 as he caught sight of him at moments, "It was the 
 old-fashioned rifle; he can t reload. By George! 
 he is lame; I shall have him." 
 
 He was not twenty feet away when Trescot s foot 
 caught in a tangle of briers and he fell. He rolled 
 over on his lame shoulder, and in some pain got up 
 
68 CONSTANCE TRESCOT 
 
 to find lie had lost his man in the wood at the foot 
 of the hill. He stood still a moment in the rain, 
 and then walked back up the rise of ground. 
 
 His wife was on the porch. "Where have you 
 been? "What was that, George? I heard glass 
 break." 
 
 Concealment was impossible. "I am all right. A 
 man shot at me; one of those squatters, I suppose. 
 I saw him plainly; he was lame. Come in, dear. I 
 should have had him in a moment if I had not 
 fallen." 
 
 "You are not hurt?" she asked anxiously. 
 
 "No; but come in. The shot went quite wide and 
 broke the glass. Do not mention it to those blacks. 
 It must appear to have been an accident while I 
 was closing the shutters." 
 
 When they were in the lighted room and the house 
 shut up, he saw how pale she was. He put his arm 
 around her. "Constance, love," he said, "this will 
 not occur again." He was by no means sure. "Do 
 not be worried ; I am to see these men with Averill 
 in a day or two. We shall settle with them in some 
 way." 
 
 "But what will you do? and how can I live here 
 with the chance of having you brought home to me 
 dead? Oh, this barbarous country! And I made 
 you come and my uncle, I shall never forgive 
 him." 
 
 At last he persuaded her to go to bed. She passed 
 a restless night, almost without sleep perhaps for 
 the first time in her life of vigorous health. 
 
 When, next day, she insisted on his not leaving 
 
CONSTANCE TRESCOT 69 
 
 her, he said at last: "We shall walk to the Averills , 
 and I shall call for you after I have gone over some 
 of the old French deeds. I shall not be long." Her 
 very visible anxiety troubled him, and the more be 
 cause it was reasonable. She was not easily an 
 swered. 
 
 "But what will you do, George?" she went on. 
 "Can t you arrest him? Something must be done, 
 and without delay. I shall write to uncle." 
 
 "No, you must not do that; it would be of no use. 
 Before he could reply I shall have consulted with 
 the general and done something." He had no clear 
 idea of what he should do, except that he still meant 
 to visit the squatters with Averill. He said as much. 
 
 "But I cannot sit still and wait," she returned. 
 "I simply cannot." 
 
 Such reassurance as he was able to give quite 
 failed to satisfy her. She w r ent slowly up-stairs, step 
 by step, deep in thought, and then, making a sud 
 den decision, dressed herself with unusual care and 
 came down to join him. Although she commonly 
 talked much when with her husband, as they walked 
 on she barely answered him, and finally left him at 
 Mrs. Averill s gate. 
 
 During the night, as Constance lay awake, she had 
 reproached herself again and again for having urged 
 her husband to accept her uncle s offer. What now 
 he would do had not satisfied her. As she walked 
 by his side she kept on perplexing herself about 
 a situation in which, as a woman, she felt herself 
 powerless. After an uneasy half-hour with Mrs. 
 Averill, to whom she said nothing of what had hap- 
 
70 CONSTANCE TKESCOT 
 
 pened, she took her leave, and with a sudden and 
 well-defined resolution in her mind went down the 
 steep road from the bluff, and leaving the busy cot 
 ton-marts and -presses behind her, followed the river 
 bank. The path led through scrubby undergrowth 
 on to rudely cultivated clearings. Here were two 
 well-built log cabins. In front of the nearer one a 
 man well beyond middle age was seated on a stump 
 engaged in oiling the lock of a rifle. As she came 
 upon him he stood up in wonder at the loveliness of 
 the wandering stranger. 
 
 She said: "Will you kindly give me a drink of 
 water, and may I sit down? I am tired." 
 
 "Would you come in, ma am, out of the sun?" 
 
 She followed him, and took the chair he offered, 
 and the tin cup. 
 
 "What good water you have! Thank you." 
 
 As he moved she observed his lameness, and 
 sharply observant, saw about her no evidence of a 
 woman s care. This was the man she sought. 
 
 "Yes, ma am; it s a spring below the bluff." 
 
 "What a handsome bearskin! Did you shoot 
 him?" 
 
 "Yes; last winter, up in the Virginia hills." 
 
 Are you a good shot ? 
 
 "I reckon I am." 
 
 "But you missed my husband last night." 
 
 "Great Scott!" he exclaimed, "who told you 
 that?" 
 
 "He saw you. It is useless to deny it, and the 
 fact is, Mr. what is your name?" 
 
 "I m Tom Coffin, and I just want" 
 
CONSTANCE TRESCOT 71 
 
 "Wait a little. If you had killed him you would 
 have killed your best friend." 
 
 "Well, now, that s pretty good. My friend! 
 T ain t a matter to talk over with women. He s 
 got to let me alone. My father, that s dead, and 
 me, we have been here eighteen years, and now 
 comes your man and says git out." 
 
 "Is the land so good?" 
 
 "No, it is n t; but it s mine, and it s all I have." 
 
 "Suppose my husband were to offer to do one of 
 two things?" 
 
 "Well," he said, "he ain t offered nothing." 
 
 " If he wins our suit about the bounds of the land 
 below you on the river, and would give you a deed 
 for five acres on the bluff, good land, too, would 
 you take it in exchange for what does not belong to 
 you?" 
 
 "I would; but he has n t got it. Mr. Grey hurst 
 says he won t git it." 
 
 Then the man became of a sudden suspicious. 
 
 "Look here, ma am; I ain t used to dealing with 
 ladies. Did Mr. Trescot send you? He need n t 
 have been afraid." 
 
 "Afraid!" she said proudly, rising as she spoke. 
 "George Trescot, my husband, afraid! It was not 
 he who ran last night. Who was it ran from an 
 unarmed man?" 
 
 Then in a moment she was back in a well-played 
 part. 
 
 "Mr. Coffin, I came here just because I am a 
 woman and a young wife. My husband does not 
 know, or I never should have been allowed to come. 
 
72 CONSTANCE TRESCOT 
 
 I want to make sure that you will not kill an un 
 armed, crippled man. I can t stand by and wait to 
 see what will happen. I will not go until you prom 
 ise me that you will agree, if we win, to exchange 
 your clearing for the better land below; or if you 
 will not do that, tell me now what you will take to 
 move if we I mean my uncle does not win his 
 suit." 
 
 Coffin weakened. This gracious woman with her 
 soft voice and eyes full of tears captured the man. 
 
 "Who s going to make sure of the pay?" 
 
 "I shall pay. Come, now, let us be friends. I 
 am really on your side. You can t fight the law. 
 Some day you will have to go and get nothing 
 for all you have done. Come, now, what will you 
 take?" 
 
 "Would you say three hundred, ma am?" 
 
 "No; four hundred," she said quickly. It was 
 the half of her little personal savings. 
 
 "I 11 take it," he said. 
 
 She put out her hand. He took it shyly, as she 
 said: 
 
 "Are you busy all day?" 
 
 "No, I m not." 
 
 "Could you come up in the afternoons and help 
 me in my garden, for three dollars a week ? 
 
 1 I will if your man wants me ; he won t want me. 
 
 "Yes, he will. You should have come at first and 
 talked to him. You are both old soldiers; and, 
 Mr. Coffin, you must be a Northern man -you have 
 a good old New England name." 
 
 "No; my father was. He came from Massachu 
 setts." Then he was silent. 
 
CONSTANCE TKESCOT 73 
 
 She saw that he was still unsatisfied. Ah, my 
 own State. Is there anything else? I want it all 
 clear." 
 
 "Well, it is n t, and I want to know. The fact 
 is, ma am, Mr. Greyhurst told me you folks 
 would n t do anything, but just drive me out. Fa 
 ther and I have been here eighteen years, and my 
 sister has the cabin just below here. Her man s 
 sick, and there s two children, and go was the 
 word, just like we were dogs." 
 
 "If Mr. Greyhurst told you that, he said what 
 was not true. He knew nothing about it, or what 
 Mr. Trescot would do. My husband was coming 
 here with General Averill to-morrow." 
 
 "Was he? he and my old captain?" 
 
 "Yes, and you come like a coward and shoot at 
 an unarmed man, who is ready to help you." 
 
 "O Lord, drop that! I was just fooled by that 
 man Greyhurst. I 11 get even with him. I was 
 thinking me and another man that we d go and 
 see Mr. Trescot. Greyhurst he said it was no good. 
 You can tell your husband, if he s minded not to 
 be hard on us, I can help him about those bounds 
 down below. I won t say no more till we talk 
 me and him." 
 
 Constance, surprised, returned: "I 11 leave you 
 to settle that with him, but don t go and what you 
 call get even with Mr. Greyhurst." She saw mis 
 chief in this. "Keep it all to yourself; do not let 
 him know that you are on our side. Promise me; 
 you know I trust you." 
 
 "I can hold my tongue, ma am. Darn that law 
 yer chap ! 
 
74 CONSTANCE TRESCOT 
 
 "Well," she said, "here is your first week s 
 wages. 
 
 "No; I don t take money I have n t earned." 
 
 "Yes, you must," and she left the notes in his 
 great rough hand. 
 
 Of course Mr. Greyhurst will see you in my gar 
 den." 
 
 "Well, it ain t none of his business. Guess I 11 
 be the fooler this time. When will I come ? I don t 
 half like it." 
 
 "But you will. Come to-day at six. It is too 
 late for work, but I want Mr. Trescot to talk to you." 
 
 "Well, I 11 come. I ve said it, and I 11 come." 
 
 "Good-by." 
 
 Well pleased, she went away across the clearing 
 and up the bluff, determined that her uncle should 
 agree to pay, or that she herself must do so. "I 
 have bought a man and saved a man s life," she said 
 joyously. She was glad, elate, and at ease. 
 
 She had been so long with Coffin that her hus 
 band had gone home. She hurried her steps and 
 entered the house just after him. A great joy was 
 in her heart. She would tell him in this way no, 
 it should be in that way. The adventure delighted 
 her, and the feeling that she had been able to help 
 her husband and make him secure. 
 
 "I missed you," he said, as they sat down in the 
 little library; "what made you so late?" 
 
 "I went for a walk. I went down to the river 
 and then through the woods to where your squatters 
 live." 
 
 "Constance, you must not do that again. God 
 
CONSTANCE TEESCOT 75 
 
 knows what might happen among those lawless men. 
 This fellow Coffin I know him now is one of the 
 worst of them. Promise me, love." 
 
 I can I do. But I saw your lame scoundrel." 
 
 "Saw him! You saw him!" 
 
 "Yes." And she poured out the whole story, while 
 he listened amazed, and not too well pleased. She 
 saw the gravity of his look, the slight frown as she 
 
 finished. 
 
 "Was I wrong, George?" she said anxiously. 
 
 He hesitated and then replied : 
 
 "Yes; this is not a woman s business. You have 
 pledged me without thought to what your uncle 
 will never agree to do ; and the money where is it 
 to come from?" 
 
 "I have it, George, and more than enough, 
 will not, oh, I cannot let this state of things go 
 on. My uncle must give you freedom to act as 
 seems best. It is he who put you in peril. I won t 
 stand it," 
 
 "And still, Constance, this must not occur again. 
 It was thoughtless and unwise. 
 
 "Thoughtless! Oh, George," she cried, with a 
 sudden passion of tears, "it was anything but 
 thoughtless. I scarcely closed my eyes last night. 
 I have been in an agony of apprehension. I could 
 not wait to see what would happen. If I had been 
 a man, and loved you as no man can love oh, 1 
 should have killed him ! Do you think this kind of 
 thing will go on? And I brought you here, I made 
 you come, I bribed you with my love, myself. Now 
 I can sleep, you are safe. I have found an enemy 
 
76 CONSTANCE TEESCOT 
 
 and made him a friend. Oh, this horrible town! 
 Let us go. Let us give up." 
 
 She went on with broken phrases and discon 
 nected words, and was soothed only when, at last, as 
 she lay sobbing on his breast, he said : Try, dear, to 
 control yourself; we must talk this over quietly. 
 Now, wait a little; do not speak." 
 
 By degrees she steadied herself, and at last, wip 
 ing her eyes, said: "There, it is over; but I must 
 finish, and I won t be so weak again. I do think 
 you must see, George, that this was not with me 
 a matter of choice. I had to do it. You are the one 
 thing in life for me. There is no other. Oh, you 
 have your work and your enlarging future, your re 
 ligion. I have you. That is my sole excuse. To 
 morrow I would do it again. That is all. And if I 
 have done what my love made me do, at least you 
 must see that out of it comes some good." 
 
 He had been amazed and annoyed by her abrupt 
 interference, but as she talked he quieted himself, 
 and while in wonder at the abandonment of a pas 
 sion so all-possessing, began to feel that her pledges 
 must be kept to the letter. He said so, to her joy, 
 and added, as he kissed her tears away : " I am sorry 
 you went, but I love you the more for the courage 
 that carried you through." 
 
 She smiled. "Ah, George, it was the courage of 
 selfishness; it was the courage of love. And I am 
 forgiven ? I want you to say it. 
 
 "Hush! We shall never need the word never. 
 And so I am to see that scamp to-day at six. He 
 must be a pretty cool fellow." The humor of it 
 
CONSTANCE TRESCOT 77 
 
 struck him. "Do you expect to be present?" lie 
 asked, laughing. "To be shot at overnight by a 
 man who proposes to attend to your garden the day 
 after is something delightfully unusual." 
 
 There was no laugh in it for Constance. The 
 man was back again in his every-day calm. The 
 woman remained excited, restless, and even ex 
 hausted by the strain of the morning and the talk 
 with her husband. Her mind was still on the 
 matter. 
 
 "You must write to Uncle Rufus and simply 
 say you mean to have your way." 
 
 "I will think it over. Probably I shall do so, 
 but you, in the meantime, must not do what I alone 
 ought to do." 
 
 "No," she returned, somewhat meekly; "I am 
 out of the business now. But, George, don t tell 
 that man he is a scoundrel. He is the captive of 
 my bow and spear." 
 
 "No, I think I shall manage it ; but I hardly think 
 I can apologize for not being hit." 
 
 "Please don t," she said, and went up to her 
 room, glad then, and again after lunch, to lie down 
 and rest with a mind at ease. The rather grim 
 humor of the situation did not strike her as it would 
 have done her sister. 
 
VI 
 
 LITTLE before six Coffin stood hesi- 
 Bating at the gate in front of the house. 
 He, too, had some reasonable sense of 
 embarrassment. As Trescot walked 
 across the front room he saw him, and, 
 understanding, went out at once, and said, Come 
 in; glad to see you." Coffin advanced, with his 
 halting gait, until they met at the door. "No, Mr. 
 Trescot; I don t go in till I Ve said my word. I 
 was told you were a hard man and meant to kick 
 me out. I was bred up in the Tennessee mountains, 
 and I Ve seen men shot for less things than that. 
 I Ve been on that ground, me and father, eighteen 
 years; and I just want to say right here that, be 
 lieving what that cuss told me, I was justified." 
 
 "I see," said Trescot; "but were you not a little 
 hasty?" 
 
 "I don t say I might n t of been, and I m not 
 a man that crawls easy; but I m that damn glad 
 to-day I did n t git you that if I was a prayin 
 cuss I d down on my knees and thank the Lord. 
 That there woman of yours, she s a wonder. Then 
 Trescot understood, and liked it. 
 
 "Mr. Coffin," he said, "I have a Confederate s 
 bullet in my shoulder, and bear no malice. I cer- 
 
 78 
 
CONSTANCE TEESCOT 79 
 
 tainly have none for the many who missed me. I 
 want to say that I stand by my wife s bargain." 
 
 1 Then I 11 come in." 
 
 The two men shook hands and passed into the 
 library. When they were seated, Trescot said : Do 
 you want it now in black and white?" 
 
 "No; if I trust a man, I trust him. I Ve got 
 something to say to you about those lands, and just 
 you listen. You Ve got a good title to the land 
 I m on; we all know that. A little money will 
 clear off the other squatters if I give up and go. I 
 can settle them. I understand from General Averill 
 that it s the big deep-water front below that s the 
 trouble." 
 
 "Yes, that is so. You will do me a great service 
 if you can help us. 
 
 "I can. The bounds were set by blazing trees. 
 My father helped run that line before ever we set 
 tled here. The blazed trees on the west was washed 
 away nigh ten years ago, clean gone down the 
 river. Now, about the ones back on the bluff that 
 mark the bound to eastward 
 
 Trescot broke in: "No one can find the blazed 
 trees where they ought to be. There are no end 
 of big ones, but no blaze on any of them." 
 
 "Well, there s ways of looking. Fact is, those 
 blazes is growed over. Why, it s near on to forty 
 years. The blazes leave a hollow like. The bark 
 grows over and hides them. I can find the trees; 
 they re oaks. Cut them down and saw them up, 
 and you have your blaze plain as day. One is a 
 walnut." 
 
80 CONSTANCE TEESCOT 
 
 "If you can do that when I m ready, Mr. Coffin, 
 you will get a bigger farm than my wife promised; 
 but, meanwhile, you must hold your tongue, and 
 tell no one, and not quarrel with Greyhurst. Did 
 you tell him of this?" 
 
 "No, I did n t. It was n t any concern of mine, 
 and I don t like him none too well. I m your man, 
 sir ; and if you don t mind a poor chap like me say 
 ing it, I m her man, too. I never saw no woman 
 like her." 
 
 "Nor I," said Trescot, pleasantly. "And now 
 she wants you here to-morrow, about four o clock, 
 for her garden work." 
 
 "I 11 come." 
 
 Trescot knew the habits of the place too well to 
 fail to say: 
 
 "Have a little bourbon, Mr. Coffin?" 
 
 "Don t mind if I do." 
 
 "Your health," said Trescot. 
 
 "And yours, too." 
 
 His host laughed. 
 
 "I see," said Coffin, grinning; "I was n t wish 
 ing you much health last night; but if you can 
 afford to lay that to one side, I guess I can. And 
 I don t want you to think I can t shoot better than 
 that. It was the lightning bothered me." 
 
 Much amused at this odd form of vanity, Tres 
 cot made a light reply, laughed, and the woodsman 
 went away, leaving him doubly at ease, and as 
 tonished at the luck which had brought him the 
 evidence so long desired. 
 
 When it became plain to Constance that she had 
 
CONSTANCE TRESCOT 81 
 
 not only turned a foe into a friend, but had also 
 been the means of adding valuably to the proof 
 needed to insure her uncle s title, she was over 
 joyed, and began to make more sure the adhesion 
 of her garden helper. 
 
 She explained to him with patience the work she 
 required, helped with such luxuries as were needed 
 by the brother-in-law who was slowly dying, and 
 soon bound to her a man who had been unlucky, 
 and had at last fallen into a state of despondency 
 and become reckless and vindictive. 
 
 One warm evening early in July, Trescot said to 
 her, "I shall become jealous of the general, Con 
 stance. He says you are capturing all these old 
 rebels. 
 
 She laughed gaily. "Yes, men are easy game, 
 but not their womankind. But I did have my little 
 triumph this afternoon. I walked in quite by chance 
 on their society meeting. It was at Mrs. Averill s 
 something for the orphans of Confederate sol 
 diers. They were pretty cool, and I was all sweet 
 ness At last I got up and apologized for my in 
 trusion, and said I must go. But then the dear 
 old lady asked me if I would not sing for them 
 while they sewed. One or two of them were civil 
 enough to say they would be glad to hear me. I 
 sat down at that queer old piano, and what do you 
 think I did?" 
 
 "Heaven knows!" 
 
 "You could never guess." 
 
 "I admit it as hopeless." 
 
 "I sang Dixie for them. Oh, George, I sang 
 
82 CONSTANCE TRESCOT 
 
 it as they never, never heard it before. They quit 
 sewing and just sat and listened. When I turned 
 half round on the stool some of them were crying. 
 One old lady came and kissed me, and they crowded 
 around the piano thanking me. Then another, a 
 shy little old maid, said, Would you mind playing 
 "My Maryland"? I had to say I did not know 
 it and then, George, I had an inspiration. I 
 turned to the piano, and broke out into that really 
 fine rebel song you like, and I sang oh, I sang 
 it well Stonewall Jackson s Way. That time 
 they really gave up. They clapped and praised me, 
 and were so surprised when I said you liked it. 
 
 "As I finished I saw the old general standing in 
 the doorway. He, too, thanked me with his fine, 
 old-mannered way; and, George, I felt what an 
 awful hypocrite I was." 
 
 "Oh, but you are not. You were not. Think 
 what these people have suffered, and what now have 
 they left, except splendid memories and a song? 
 Think of their deaths, their poverty, the humilia 
 tion of defeat! I have shared that feeling with a 
 well-whipped army. Imagine it for a whole peo 
 ple." 
 
 "I know I know; but they hate us. I have 
 heard enough to know what is said of you here. 
 Coffin told me." 
 
 Oh, hang the fellow ! We are doing better than 
 I ever expected to do. If your uncle had any sense 
 we should have no trouble at all. I wrote to him 
 last night after you went to bed." 
 
 "And you were positive?" 
 
CONSTANCE TRESCOT 83 
 
 "I was; but this is my second letter to the same 
 effect, and the first was unanswered." 
 
 "How like Uncle Rufus! That reminds me I 
 have a letter from Susan. You must hear it. There 
 is a message for you ; I will get it. 
 
 While she was gone he reflected, not altogether 
 pleasantly, upon the strong feeling of dislike with 
 which Constance still regarded the people among 
 whom they had chosen to live. He did not compre 
 hend that it rested very largely on her belief that 
 they were hostile to him. Feeling as he supposed 
 her to feel, he did not quite like that for him or in 
 his interest she should do as she had done. In his 
 own intercourse with the men he met he had been 
 simple and natural; and as most of them had been 
 soldiers, they met on a ground of common self- 
 respect, avoiding political discussions. That some 
 of them, and all who had not fought, were still 
 embittered, he knew too well, and knowing, was 
 careful, kindly, and magnanimous. 
 
 Susan s letter was laughingly discussed as they 
 sat in the library. 
 
 "DEAR CONNY: 
 
 "Come soon and restore decent peace to this 
 household. Imagine my combination of mirth and 
 satisfaction when uncle told me that General Averill 
 had written him he had seen you in church last 
 Sunday and thought you looking well. He was in 
 one of his mild rages. You can imagine a box- 
 turtle angry. I advised him to write to you and 
 complain. He went away declaring he would alter 
 
84 CONSTANCE TRESCOT 
 
 his will. As he has made three wills in a year, 
 this need not alarm you. If there be a disease of 
 indecision, he has it. 
 
 "About George s last letter I really had to fight. 
 There! he said; read that. He wants me to pay 
 squatters to leave ; he thinks the suit about my title 
 ought to be compromised; he talks about the bad 
 feeling in the town because I will not spend money 
 or improve my property. 
 
 "Then, as our old cook says, I just spoke up. I 
 said George was right, and that uncle ought to want 
 to help his unlucky rebel friends who had lost 
 everything. This quite upset him. Rebels ! I pre 
 sume you to mean Confederates. I was advised to 
 study the constitutional history of the United States 
 of America. You know his full phrases. I advised 
 him to read what George Washington wrote about 
 State feeling. I had not the most foggy idea what 
 G. W. wrote, but it stopped him and he went off 
 again on my good brother-in-law. He declared that 
 George s want of tact, and your opinions, and the 
 general s weak ways, and George s despotic manage 
 ment had been responsible for making him, Rufus 
 Hood, unpopular in that strange town of which 
 you write such amusing accounts. He had received 
 the St. Ann Herald with an article on absentee 
 owners. Oh, my dear Conny, he was at his loveliest 
 worst. You were to blame, and if you had not gone 
 to church you would not have lost the little com 
 mon sense you had, and would have conciliated 
 these people. Of course you had been exasperating, 
 and then it was George, George, etc., etc. At last 
 
CONSTANCE TRESCOT 85 
 
 I told him he was like Aunt Nancy, who, as you may 
 recall, fell ill of a plum-cake she had made, and 
 never could settle in her mind whether it was the 
 raisins, the currants, or the citrons. Uncle Rufus 
 has a long-buried fraction of a talent for seeing a 
 joke, and, dear, he really laughed till he looked 
 five years younger, and until he remembered that 
 his mirth was suicidal, and began to go over it all 
 again. At last I said, But you must do something. 
 He said he would think it over and write to George, 
 and perhaps he had better go to St. Ann when you 
 return. He had been misunderstood. Some one 
 named Greyhurst (is n t he one of the claimants?) 
 had written to him about a compromise." 
 
 "What a muddle!" said George. "Confound 
 Greyhurst! Imagine Mr. Hood in an attitude of 
 conciliation ! Well, what else ? 
 
 She read on: 
 
 "I really pity George Trescot. If I were he, I 
 should do what seems best, and take the chance 
 of a back-down, or of my uncle yielding, as he is 
 pretty sure to do. Come soon, Conny; you must 
 need our seaside freshening. The roses say come, 
 and so do I. 
 
 "Yours always, 
 
 " SUSAN HOOD." 
 
 "Constance," said Trescot, "Susan is right; soon 
 or late, I must have my way or give up a hopeless 
 task." 
 
86 CONSTANCE TEESCOT 
 
 "Well, I have always said so; but don t be in a 
 hurry, George. I feel as if now it will be all easy. 
 The squatters you can manage with Coffin s help. 
 You cannot try the land case until October. Then in 
 August, when you go home with me, together we can 
 bring Uncle Rufus to some decent sense of what is 
 needed." 
 
 "I hate to tell you, Constance; but I cannot go 
 East this summer. The general and Mrs. Averill 
 are going to New York on the third of August and 
 will take care of you. He has asked me to remain 
 in charge of his own work, and on the tenth to go 
 to New Orleans about a claim for damaged cotton 
 sent here last year. It is a great compliment and 
 involves the sharing of a large fee if I can settle the 
 matter. I am sorry." 
 
 "Oh, George, how can I leave you?" 
 
 1 1 know, dear ; I hesitated to tell you, but it is 
 really a turning-point in my career. If I win I 
 shall oblige several people of importance and make 
 friends; and, Constance, I am sure that we need 
 them, or that I do. Right or wrong, the way people 
 feel has much to do with the settlement of land 
 cases. Juries are human, and here, I fancy, they 
 are far too readily affected by public opinion. This 
 is why I welcome every chance of making friends." 
 
 "I see; but I don t like it. Could not you join 
 us later?" 
 
 "No. On my return I must give myself up en 
 tirely to the land case. The general will, of course, 
 act as my senior, but he looks to me to collect evi 
 dence. The man who surveyed the land is dead, 
 

 CONSTANCE TBESCOT 87 
 
 and I have to go to Indiana to see his widow and 
 secure her evidence and his books. There is really 
 no more time than I require, and you would not 
 wish me to fail." 
 
 "I see perfectly," she said. "I must go and you 
 must stay. I am feeling this moist heat, and you 
 are, too." 
 
 "No, even my wicked arm is less ill behaved. I 
 really think the heat suits it, and I never was bet 
 ter." 
 
 Her intelligence was convinced, but not her heart. 
 And with some people it requires a good deal of 
 head to keep the heart from revolt. That for every 
 reason it was best for him to remain was the one 
 thing that aided her to submit. Before she finally 
 yielded, the increasing heat of July made excuses 
 difficult, and she began to feel, for the first time in 
 her life, a sense of languor which she had to ac 
 knowledge as a cry of the body for her native air. 
 
 She had made up her mind that the summer plans, 
 which for a time would separate them, were such 
 as to serve her husband s interests. Had they been 
 able to do without what his profession began to 
 bring in, her real desire would have been to cut 
 off his work entirely, and to leave him no relations 
 to life except those of a love which on her side she 
 felt to be boundlessly sufficient. She had been 
 trained to certain habits which passed for duties; 
 but being without any ultimate beliefs by which 
 to test her actions when called upon by the un 
 usual, the instincts of a too natural creature were 
 apt to be seen in what she did or felt. She would 
 
88 CONSTANCE TEESCOT 
 
 possibly have denied even to herself that she had 
 no interests in life which did not consider George 
 Trescot, and would have smiled at the idea that 
 her jealousy of whatever took him from her side 
 might in the end injure the man she loved, and 
 would in time become selfishly exacting. 
 
 As Trescot expected to act only as junior counsel, 
 he had, of course, many consultations with Averill. 
 On one of these occasions the general said to him: 
 "When I leave, you may have occasion to see and 
 talk with Greyhurst. He tells me that he has called 
 on you." 
 
 "Yes, but we were out. I returned his visit, but 
 I have seen very little of him. I suppose we shall 
 try the case in October." 
 
 "Yes, unless he contrives to put it off as he has 
 done before. I think he is doubtful as, in fact, 
 he ought to be. Is he waiting for some offer from 
 us? I think that likely." 
 
 "He will not get it; but he would if I had my 
 way." 
 
 "Well, he will call on you about it. He said as 
 much. Be a little careful. He is like some of the 
 rest of the bar, a trifle indifferent as to the right 
 or the wrong of his client s case; but he did not 
 suggest this suit, and he is a better fellow outside 
 of his profession than in it." 
 
 "Do you think he believes that Mr. Hood does not 
 own that land?" 
 
 "Certainly not; but he is willing to make Mr. 
 Hood pay for what the river did when it ate away 
 the Baptiste water-frontage. It is not a highly 
 
CONSTANCE TEESCOT 89 
 
 moral attitude, and yet there is something to be 
 said for it." 
 
 "Yes, as to that I entirely agree with you," said 
 Trescot. "Considering what we know and he does 
 not, he ought to lose the suit. If Mr. Hood were 
 reasonable, I should like to put all our evidence be 
 fore Grey hurst, and then offer some form of com 
 promise. As it is, we must try it, and take the risk 
 of failure." 
 
 "Yes; but I do not feel quite so secure as you do. 
 Well, that is all. You will take care of our case 
 this summer, while I am away, and you will, of 
 course, write to me if you need advice. And, my 
 dear fellow, be a little careful of our noon sun, and 
 of the evening coolness." 
 
 "Thanks, general. I have every reason to want 
 both health and life." 
 
VII 
 
 RESCOT felt more than was conve 
 nient Constance s too steady call upon 
 his time during the three weeks which 
 passed before she left him. With both 
 will and wish to gratify her, it was not 
 always easy or even possible. The general had be 
 come attached to him, won by his considerate ways 
 and the charm of a kindliness interpreted by man 
 ners which were winning and gracious. He was in 
 dustrious, and possessed of that form of legal in 
 tellect which reaches conclusions with a swiftness 
 due to unusual rapidity of thought, but which to 
 slower minds appears to have the quality of in 
 tuition. The older lawyer, who reasoned slowly, 
 began more and more to admire and to trust him, 
 and spoke of the possibility of a partnership in 
 the near future. 
 
 As the days went by, Trescot, seeing his wife s 
 languor and her increasing sense of disappointment 
 at his absence during the hours of business, gave her 
 all the time he could spare from wearisome study of 
 the old French titles, and the other work in which 
 the general asked his aid, and for which he was 
 fairly paid. 
 
 Whatever absence the daylight hours exacted, the 
 90 
 
CONSTANCE TEESCOT 91 
 
 evening belonged to Constance, and he resisted 
 every increasing temptation to carry home for com 
 pletion the unfinished work of the day, unless it was 
 of a nature to interest her. While to the tired man 
 at evening her music was restful, and to the mind 
 that which change of climate may be to the body, 
 he also enjoyed when with her an ever widening 
 satisfaction in awakening to larger appreciation a 
 nature long shut up within too limited intellectual 
 bounds. Under the thoughtful guidance of a man 
 whom war and a keen sense of responsibility had 
 helped to mature, the mind of the woman was slowly 
 unfolding. On one of these cherished evenings, 
 shortly before her departure, she was perched on the 
 arm of Trescot s chair and sharing the delightful 
 fun of "Milkanwatha," that best of all parodies. 
 They were laughing, merry as two children, when 
 the black maid appeared and said there was a gen 
 tleman in the parlor waiting to see Mr. Trescot. 
 
 "This is too bad, George," said Constance; "can 
 we never be left alone ? 
 
 In fact, they were rarely disturbed in the even 
 ing; but of this he did not remind her, and said 
 merely: "Take to your piano, dear; I shall not be 
 long." She smiled, and he went into the parlor, 
 where he found Greyhurst moving about or pausing 
 to look at the engravings hung on the walls. 
 
 "Good evening," he said, as Trescot welcomed 
 him. "It is pleasant to hear people with a talent 
 for laughter." 
 
 "Oh, you heard us? We laugh a good deal in 
 this house. Sit down. I am glad to see you. Or 
 
92 CONSTANCE TEESCOT 
 
 will you come into the library and see Mrs. Tres- 
 cot?" 
 
 "With pleasure; but first may I ask for a few 
 minutes talk over the business of those lands? The 
 general is soon going away and I thought it well 
 to ask you to consider the matter again. 
 
 "Certainly; if you want to say anything I shall 
 be most ready to hear. We have already discussed 
 it pretty fully. You must, of course, be aware that 
 I am not acting altogether as I should desire to do, 
 but am more or less hampered by the owner s in 
 structions." As he looked at his guest there was 
 something about him which put Trescot suspiciously 
 on guard. He added: "But pray go on," and said 
 to himself, "The man is anxious." 
 
 Grey hurst said : " I want first to say to you once 
 more that the case you propose to try in October you 
 will lose. Even a man like Mr. Hood may be 
 brought to reason. The deeds were lost in the war. 
 There are no records; the office was burned, and 
 you have to fall back on surveys of which there 
 is no evidence except brief memoranda, if even these 
 are to be had." 
 
 Trescot knew well the value of silence. He made 
 no sign of dissent, and, as he meant to try the case, 
 had no idea of enlightening a man who might 
 profit by what Trescot, the general, and Coffin alone 
 knew. 
 
 "There is another consideration. You have not 
 been here long, Mr. Trescot, and perhaps are not 
 fully aware of the dangerous hostility provoked 
 by Mr. Hood s foreclosures, and the cruelty of his 
 
CONSTANCE TRESCOT 93 
 
 intention to drive out those old Confederate soldiers 
 from their homes." 
 
 And still Trescot held his tongue; but, as Grey- 
 hurst seemed to pause for a reply, he said : 
 
 "Well, Mr. Greyhurst, what else?" 
 
 The persistent, entirely courteous listening began 
 to embarrass the older man, who was some ten years 
 the senior of his host. He hesitated a moment, and 
 then, setting his large, dark eyes on Trescot, went 
 on: 
 
 "You will pardon me, I am sure, if I repeat 
 that you are a stranger to our ways and feelings, 
 and that you are a young man put by Mr. Hood in 
 a false position." 
 
 And still the cooler man failed to speak. 
 
 "I have already said to the general that we are 
 open to settle this matter by some equitable divi 
 sion of the lands at the bend. I now come to you, 
 and, sir, I represent the public sentiment of this 
 community. These lands are now useless, and will 
 be till this matter is settled." 
 
 "Mr. Greyhurst," said Trescot, "I am greatly 
 obliged by your friendly visit, and am sorry to be 
 unable to meet you on a common ground. My client 
 refuses to compromise or to surrender any part of 
 his land on deep water at the bend. The courts 
 must decide, and we are instructed to try the case 
 in October." 
 
 "You will be sure to lose it." 
 
 "So much the better for you," laughed Trescot. 
 "If winning be so certain, why seek for a compro 
 mise? The foreclosures are the only remedy for 
 
94 CONSTANCE TRESCOT 
 
 years of unpaid interest or of absolutely illegal 
 possession. As, however, you are naturally in 
 terested in these poor people, I have no hesitation 
 in telling you that some of the mortgages have been 
 amicably arranged, and that time will be given to 
 others. I hope to have no trouble with the squat 
 ters." 
 
 He was indisposed to say more. 
 
 Then your man Hood must all of a sudden have 
 become damned amiable." 
 
 "Pardon me," said Trescot, rising; "Mr. Hood is 
 Mrs. Trescot s uncle. Allow me to close the door." 
 It had been left on a crack, and the piano had just 
 ceased to be heard. "One moment," he added, as 
 Greyhurst, flushing deeply at the implied reproof, 
 was about to reply. "One moment. I have listened 
 to you patiently, although I fail to see what the 
 other cases in my charge have to do with the issue 
 we shall try in the fall. I shall, however, again ad 
 vise my client of your desire to settle our case, and 
 I may say also that if he is willing I shall gladly 
 present to him any offer you may make." 
 
 "Then let him make one." 
 
 "Frankly, Mr. Greyhurst, I do not think he will, 
 nor do I believe that he would accept one. You 
 are an older lawyer than I, and must know that we 
 cannot always make our clients reasonable." 
 
 "Perhaps if he knew the state of feeling here he 
 would understand the gravity of the situation. I 
 am sure that " 
 
 "Excuse me if I interrupt you. Public opinion 
 has nothing to do with the matter ; and, as you spoke 
 
CONSTANCE TEESCOT 95 
 
 a little while ago of what I suppose I may call hos 
 tility to me, I may add that it will in no way af 
 fect the course I shall take." 
 
 Greyhurst moved uneasily as he listened, and 
 then said abruptly: "You will find out when you 
 come before a jury of Southern men." 
 
 "I shall feel sure they will do what is right, and 
 I am glad to say that, personally, I have met with 
 much kindness in St. Ann, nor do I think political 
 feeling will affect your courts or the course of jus 
 tice. Let me add that I have not of late been aware 
 of any personal hostility such as you speak of." 
 
 "Well, you will see," said Greyhurst; "and soon, 
 too." 
 
 "I do not quite understand you." 
 
 "Indeed! You will know better when I tell 
 you that you were blackballed last night at the 
 club." 
 
 Trescot flushed and returned instantly: "I asked 
 the general not to present my name, and if you or 
 any one presumes to suppose that this annoys me, 
 he is much mistaken, and yet more so if he ven 
 tures to believe that it will in any way deter me 
 from doing my duty as a lawyer. I do not see 
 what motive you can possibly have in telling me, 
 unless you really suppose that I am to be moved 
 by fear of His voice rose as he spoke, but his 
 speech was suddenly checked by the entrance of 
 Mrs. Trescot. 
 
 "Mr. Greyhurst, I believe. Do not let me inter 
 rupt you. I came in to get a book. How you men 
 can talk with my piano going I do not understand. 
 
96 CONSTANCE TRESCOT 
 
 When you are through, George, perhaps I may have 
 a little visit." 
 
 Greyhurst cooled instantly. He was in the pres 
 ence of one of the rare women who, for good or 
 ill, attract because of some inexplicable quality of 
 sex. Incapable of analysis, it accounts for divorces 
 and ruined households, even for suicides or mur 
 ders. It may be faithful to a great passion, and be 
 modified by character and education, and even by 
 religion; but it is felt, whether the woman wishes 
 it or not, and she who has it instinctively knows 
 its power. 
 
 As Mrs. Trescot spoke she cast her large blue 
 eyes on the man, and for an instant he was dumb 
 and stood in mute admiration; nor was Trescot 
 sorry for her coming. 
 
 "I think we have finished," he said, but did 
 not urge Greyhurst to accept the invitation his wife 
 had given. 
 
 "I shall hope for the pleasure another time," 
 said Greyhurst. He knew that he should like to 
 see her again, and he had said enough to Trescot 
 to make a sudden return to cordiality difficult. 
 
 You won t forget, Mr. Greyhurst." 
 
 He said something pleasant as he stood facing her 
 a strongly built man of soldierly carriage, dark- 
 skinned, with large, regular features, and the high 
 cheek-bones which told of his remote strain of In 
 dian blood. As he left Trescot at the outer door 
 he turned and said, rather to his host s surprise: 
 "If I have been abrupt or indiscreet I hope you 
 will pardon me. I sometimes say or do things on 
 
CONSTANCE TBESCOT 97 
 
 the impulse of the moment, and then regret them. 
 You will excuse me." 
 
 "Oh, we all do that sort of thing now and then; 
 and as for the club, it is of no moment, although 
 I am sorry you told me. Good-by." 
 
 As he went toward the drawing-room he said to 
 himself: "What a strange man! Was he trying to 
 scare me, or was it a game of bluff? And then 
 his apology ! Confound the fellow ! 
 
 Meanwhile, Greyhurst walked away with as com 
 plete dismissal of the lawsuits and all other earthly 
 interests as if he were Adam in the garden alone 
 with the new-born Eve. He was thinking of the 
 woman. 
 
 It was the effect she was apt to produce on men, 
 young or old. He felt it, even although it recalled 
 to his mind a woman of quite different type. Then 
 he turned to thought of the suit. "Damn my tem 
 per!" he exclaimed. "That confounded Yankee 
 was as cold-blooded as a frog. It has its uses." 
 He felt his defeat. 
 
 "WELL, Constance," said Trescot, as he reentered 
 the library, "how much did you hear of that fel 
 low s agreeable talk?" 
 
 "A good deal of it pretty much all." 
 "I am sorry you heard him. I did not want to 
 be in their club; but it is the civilians, not the sol 
 diers, who are unfriendly, and really it is of no 
 moment. 
 
 "None," she said. "But what did the man mean 
 by it all?" And then she added: "But the things 
 
98 CONSTANCE TRESCOT 
 
 he said oh, George, do you think you are still in 
 any danger here? Since that awful night I cannot 
 get it out of my mind. How am I to go away?" 
 
 He comforted her as best he could, not in the 
 least degree sharing her apprehensions. 
 
 At last she said: "What do you suppose he 
 wanted?" 
 
 I think, dear, it would be hard to say. He did 
 not choose to admit that it had appeared to him 
 to be an attempt to alarm him. He added that the 
 man had been foolish, and yet was not a fool. "I 
 fancy him to be in debt," he said, "and to depend 
 too anxiously on the issue of this suit." 
 
 "I do not like him." 
 
 He laughed. "Would you like any one who did 
 not think George Trescot a legal angel?" 
 
 "I should not," she cried, and kissed him. "He 
 is very handsome, but he made me uncomfortable." 
 
 "Oh, he is quite harmless." 
 
 "So is a poor little dead snake on the road, but 
 I jump when I see it." 
 
 " Go to bed, Mrs. Eve, he said, laughing. 
 
 A moment after she put her charming head 
 through the half-open doorway and cried: "I hate 
 him!" 
 
 "Oh, go to bed, you bad child. You don t hate 
 anybody. 
 
 "But I do," she murmured, as she went up the 
 stair. 
 
 Her weekly letter to Susan went next day. She 
 wrote : 
 
CONSTANCE TRESCOT 99 
 
 "DEAR SUSAN: 
 
 "In two weeks I shall be at Eastwood, but how 
 I am to live there two months with uncle, and with 
 out George, I do not yet see. I am sometimes sur 
 prised to recognize how completely he is all of life 
 to me; and then I am glad. I rejoice in my good 
 looks and my voice because they are for him, and 
 because they help him among these strange people 
 who are still sullen and bitter about the war they 
 brought upon us, and about what it cost them. As 
 if we, too, had not had our share ! George expects 
 me to be very tender of their feelings, and I am 
 indeed I am; but when I see George nursing that 
 crippled arm, and evidently in pain of which I am 
 never to speak, I sometimes But I will say no more 
 to you, my only confessor. When George says that 
 I am to forget and, what I cannot forget, forgive, 
 I can almost do it. Indeed, I go to church because 
 he goes, and sing the hymns you should hear me. 
 If it would make him more happy I could al 
 most pretend to believe what he believes. It can 
 not be only a creed which makes him so tender, so 
 entirely true, so thoughtful, and, above all, what I 
 am not, so magnanimous concerning these people. 
 He brings home no stories of his annoyances, but 
 I have heard and seen more than enough to make 
 me cry at times because I urged him to come to this 
 place. He only says: Why, all this is natural, and 
 must pass away with time. But still I feel that 
 we are in a hostile land. 
 
 "Knowing what he has to endure, I said to him 
 
100 CONSTANCE TEESCOT 
 
 last week that his religion nowhere orders us to 
 forgive the enemies of those we love. You should 
 have seen his face. I got a proper scolding; and 
 oh, I love him to scold me. Can you understand 
 that? 
 
 "Last night we had a visit from a Mr. Greyhurst, 
 who is the lawyer of the people who dispute uncle s 
 land claims. I overheard them talking rather high, 
 and suddenly appeared as peacemaker. The man 
 looked at me and was quiet. It was like a charm; 
 but the way he looked was not quite pleasant. A 
 dark, Spanish-looking person, with overbold eyes, 
 and very handsome, with a strong, uneasy face 
 a curious contrast to the refinement and intellectual 
 beauty of George, who looked slight and almost 
 frail beside this man s massive figure. Sometimes 
 I am anxious when I look at George and know that 
 he has to remain in this heat. When, in your last 
 letter, you said that I had no resource in me or 
 my beliefs against the sorrows of life, I had a sud 
 den and horrible fear lest you might have been 
 thinking of George, and then I felt it was cruel of 
 you, and as if I never could write to you again ; but 
 I ought to have known better. This strained, anxious 
 life is, I suppose, making me morbid, and perhaps 
 something else is having a like effect. 
 
 "George has heard from uncle, who either does 
 not or will not realize the state of affairs here among 
 his dear rebels, who hate him, and no wonder. At 
 first I disliked the idea of his coming to St. Ann; 
 but, on the whole, it may be as well. He can be stiff 
 enough in a letter, but not when he is face to face 
 
CONSTANCE TRESCOT J 101 
 
 with a resolute man. He will learn a little when he 
 comes. 
 
 " Yours always, 
 
 "CONSTANCE. 
 
 "P. S. I have been rather depressed of late, but 
 this is largely because of the prospect of leaving 
 George. In truth, we have been making some friends, 
 and just now the town is lovely with flower-gardens. 
 
 "0."" 
 
VIII 
 
 RS. AVERILL had been absent a week, 
 on a visit to friends in the country, be 
 fore Constance saw her again. 
 
 Constance, standing at the gate, 
 watched her for a moment as she moved 
 among her flowers in the front garden. The old 
 lady, turning, smiled a glad welcome for the face 
 on which the joy of youth and love and perfect 
 health were plain to see. "Ah, for shame!" she 
 cried, looking over the box row, "prying at an old 
 lady alone with her flowers. Come in, my dear; I 
 forgive you. If you knew what I was saying to 
 my flowers you would like it ; I was really thinking 
 of you. There are flowers which always remind me 
 of certain people. Oh, no; I won t tell you what 
 I was thinking." 
 
 Then, said Constance, gaily, I shall be equally 
 cruel and not tell you what delightful things were 
 in my mind." 
 
 "Let us trust that they were complimentary." 
 She was so pretty and so sweetly gracious, with 
 her underlying, pathetic expression of abiding sor 
 row, that Constance felt tempted to say: "What a 
 beautiful old lady you are ! I wonder what I shall 
 be like if I live as long." She limited herself to 
 saying: "Yes, they were as well, as complimentary 
 as you could desire." 
 
 102 
 
CONSTANCE TEESCOT 103 
 
 "Thank you, my dear. That is saying a great 
 deal. I suppose we never outlive our vanity. Come 
 in; it is too hot for you here." 
 
 No, there is shade enough. How is the general ? 
 "Very well, for him. He is never very strong. 
 Just now he is worried because of what your hus 
 band told him of Mr. Greyhurst s visit, and that 
 miserable business of the club. You overheard it, he 
 said. The general blames himself, and, of course, 
 did not mean to say a word about it to Mr. Trescot. 
 He does not think that Mr. Greyhurst did anything 
 to influence the vote." 
 
 "Perhaps not; but I don t like and I don t trust 
 that man." 
 
 "I do not like him either, my dear. But we do 
 hope that neither of you will think that the old offi 
 cers here have any other than good-will to your hus 
 band. Mr. Greyhurst is a very strange man. He 
 was divorced from his wife, who died eighteen 
 months ago. During the war he put her money 
 into Confederate securities. We have all found 
 them rather insecure"; and she smiled. 
 "Yes; so I have heard," said Constance. 
 "At one time he was on General Hill s staff, but 
 he was constantly quarreling, and the general says 
 he was too impulsive and resentful to be a good 
 officer. 
 
 "I wish some one else had the case," said Con 
 stance. 
 
 "Well, my child, no one could quarrel with your 
 husband, and, after all, the general will be the senior 
 counsel. 
 
104 CONSTANCE TBESCOT 
 
 Constance bent over and kissed the little old lady, 
 saying: Thank you; you always comfort me; and 
 then oh!" 
 
 Greyhurst was leaning over the paling fence. 
 "Good evening," he said. "May I come in? 
 What good luck you have with flowers ! I see Mrs. 
 Trescot s every day as I go by. I fancy they grow 
 best for the ladies. I see that you have Coffin work 
 ing for you. He can hardly know much about 
 flowers. 
 
 "Oh, I am teaching him; he wanted work, and 
 I am glad to help him. 
 
 "A lazy, worthless vagabond, Mrs. Trescot, I fear; 
 one of the squatters. I am surprised he would work 
 for Mr. Trescot after the way he talks. These 
 squatters are pretty saucy." 
 
 "He is my gardener, not Mr. Trescot s; and as 
 yet my husband has made no objection." She was 
 quietly amused at Coffin s diplomacy. 
 
 Mrs. Averill, a little puzzled, looked up from the 
 flowers she was pruning. 
 
 "Well," returned Greyhurst, "that is a comfort 
 able view of the situation." 
 
 "It is very useful," said Mrs. Trescot, "in mar 
 ried life for husband and wife to know how to hold 
 their tongues." 
 
 "Quite true, my dear," said Mrs. Averill, still a 
 little in the dark. 
 
 "Therefore, when Coffin abuses my husband I 
 shall say: Are the geraniums doing well? Best in 
 town, ma am. Then I shall say: Coffin, I forgive 
 you. " 
 
CONSTANCE TRESCOT 105 
 
 Greyhurst was not quite up to the light give and 
 take of mere chat, to which Constance was trained. 
 Mrs. Averill saw in it a tactful effort to reduce a 
 serious question to a harmless level. The man felt 
 himself chaffed, and said: "You will find him out." 
 
 * Not in work-hours, she laughed. Punctuality 
 is my one virtue. That I insist on, even in a hus 
 band." 
 
 "Will you not come in?" said Mrs. Averill, not 
 liking the man s ill-repressed look of embarrassed 
 annoyance. 
 
 "No," he said; "I retreat under fire. I must go. 
 Mrs. Trescot is too sharp for a poor old Confederate ; 
 I shall retire before worse comes." 
 
 "That was what we did not do in the war, Mr. 
 Greyhurst," said Mrs. Averill, gaily. 
 
 "I protest," said Constance, "against considering 
 me as an enemy." 
 
 "Oh," he returned, "after all, it is generally the 
 man who retreats. I ask for terms of honorable sur 
 render. 
 
 Mrs. Averill said, smiling, "You may march out 
 with colors flying, and here they are," giving him 
 a rose. 
 
 "And Mrs. Trescot s?" he asked. 
 
 "I never give roses out of other people s gardens, 
 and just now there are none in mine." 
 
 He took off his hat, saying : "I am usually too late, 
 or too early. That is the fate of some of us. May 
 I hope to be more fortunate when your roses ap 
 pear ? 
 
 "Perhaps, if you are very, very good," she cried, 
 
106 CONSTANCE TRESCOT 
 
 relenting, and disposed against her feelings to send 
 him away in a good humor. 
 
 Thank you, he said, not ill pleased ; and setting 
 Mrs. Averill s rose in his buttonhole, left them alone. 
 
 My dear Constance, were you not rather hard on 
 that man?" 
 
 "No; he was insolent, and he meant to be; and I 
 know he lied about Coffin. Tom is a man who might 
 kill you, but he would never work for a man and 
 lie about him. Heaven knows what he said to Mr. 
 Greyhurst. He owes him a grudge." 
 
 "Yes, my dear; but it is worse than no use to 
 make a man like John Greyhurst angry. It is really 
 a poor kind of triumph. You had better have ap 
 peared not to notice what he said." 
 
 "I could not help it. The man is unpleasant to 
 me." 
 
 "Best not to show it. Come in and let us talk 
 over our plans. Do you want to stop in Washing 
 ton on your way North?" 
 
 As Constance walked homeward she acknowledged 
 to herself that she had been unwise, and knew as 
 by instinct that a very little graciousness to this 
 man would have better served her husband. She 
 smiled, as she went down the dusty street, at her 
 certainty that she could bring the man to her feet 
 like a fawning spaniel. She read with natural readi 
 ness the eager eyes of this ungoverned personality. 
 Then she saw in her mind the fine lines of Trescot s 
 face, and thought of the restraint and patience with 
 which he refrained from urging upon her opinions 
 which she felt with intense feeling were their only 
 
CONSTANCE TKESCOT 107 
 
 ground of difference. The manners of a man to 
 his wife are a final test of conduct; and again she 
 smiled, as though at some fresh discovery, and the 
 joy of its tender recognition. 
 
 She was now a well-known figure in the town. 
 Many persons acknowledged her greeting. She went 
 into two or three shops, helped a little child up some 
 steps, and left with every one a pleasing sense of 
 liberal cheerfulness, and of that charm of manner 
 which made her somewhat startling beauty a con 
 tribution to the joys of life. 
 
 As she came out of a shop she met Coffin. 
 
 "Well," she said, "Tom, how is your brother-in- 
 law?" 
 
 "He s failing, ma am." 
 
 "Is there anything you need for him?" 
 
 "Yes, ma am; I was going to ask you something. 
 He says would you come and read out of the Bible 
 to him? We can t any of us read well." 
 
 She hesitated, and then said quickly, "Yes, I will 
 come ; but cannot his wife read ? 
 
 Yes ; but not like you can ; it s you he wants. 
 
 "I will come. Have you seen Mr. Greyhurst 
 lately?" 
 
 "Yes; and I reckon I fooled him well." 
 
 "You abused my husband," she said merrily. 
 
 "Who told you that? I did I did." 
 
 "Mr. Greyhurst." 
 
 "Well, he is a fool. He just swallowed it all like 
 them big catfish grabs a bait. Well, you 11 come 
 soon? He ain t going to live long." 
 
 1 I will come ; I shall be there to-morrow. 
 
108 CONSTANCE TEESCOT 
 
 As Tom left her, she wondered why she had said 
 she would read to the man. In fact, she had no 
 ready excuse for denying so simple a request. 
 
 Not far from her home she was aware of Grey- 
 hurst. He met her and turned back, walking be 
 side her. 
 
 "Mrs. Trescot," he said quietly, "I was rude to 
 you; I desire to ask your pardon." 
 
 "Indeed," she returned sweetly, "we were both, 
 I fear, a little cross." 
 
 Thank you ; that is more than a pardon. Paus 
 ing a moment, he added gravely: "I have had, 
 madam, a rather sad and disappointing life, and I 
 suppose it has soured me. Are you ever sorry for 
 things you do?" 
 
 Constance was less amazed at the odd turn his 
 talk had taken than a man would have been, for 
 men say easily to women things they never could 
 say to those of their own sex. 
 
 "Yes, I am sorry every day," she returned. 
 
 "I was hasty in what I said to Mr. Trescot the 
 other night. I fear that you overheard us, and I 
 wish now to assure you that I did not blackball him 
 at the club." 
 
 I wonder, thought she, if that be true. * Her 
 temper was rising, but she said coldly: "The whole 
 matter is unimportant entirely unimportant." 
 
 "Not to me, madam, not to me; but Mr. Trescot 
 has a way of being" 
 
 "Stop, Mr. Grey hurst," she said; "you forget 
 yourself. We are going to quarrel again. It seems 
 
CONSTANCE TEESCOT 109 
 
 to me that you have an extraordinary gift of say 
 ing disagreeable things." 
 
 That is true. My life is one long story of re 
 grets. I there is no one I should be less willing to 
 annoy than you." 
 
 He turned his dark eyes on her as he spoke, for 
 now they were at her gate, and she had stopped. 
 
 "I am sure of that," she said. 
 
 Very strange to her was this strong man, big and 
 athletic, with ardent eyes and sudden familiarities, 
 and impulsive speech and childlike regrets. 
 
 She gave him her hand, saying good-by, but did 
 not ask him to come in. To her surprise, he bent 
 over it, raised it to his lips and kissed it, and lifting 
 his hat, went on his way. 
 
 "Well," she said, "next to Uncle Rufus, that is 
 the most singular man I ever met. I wonder if he 
 is quite sound in mind." She gave a queer little 
 glance at the hand he had kissed. Among the older 
 gentlemen of Creole descent it was not rare to see 
 this pretty usage. But this man she had not seen 
 -over a half-dozen times, and it was out of doors. 
 She went in, wisely resolving to say nothing, and 
 much inclined to avoid Greyhurst in future. 
 
IX 
 
 HE increasing heat of the latter days 
 of July, the dust, the dried-up garden, 
 and the mosquitos helped the young 
 wife s faltering will, so that she felt 
 physically convinced that a change was 
 imperative. And there was also another and a 
 powerful motive for care of her health. 
 
 She said to her husband next morning at break 
 fast: 
 
 "I have arranged with Mrs. Averill that we leave 
 a week from to-day, on the evening train." 
 
 "I am glad it is settled, Constance. I shall be 
 happier when you are breathing the good salt air." 
 "It had to be, I suppose." 
 "Yes, it had to be." 
 
 She was silent for a moment, and then said : 
 "George, Thomas Wilson has asked me it was 
 Coffin who brought the message if I would go to 
 see him to-day." 
 
 "Well, why not? But I do not like you to be in 
 those clearings alone." 
 "Coffin will be there." 
 
 "That will answer, I suppose. What else is 
 there?" 
 
 "He wants me to read the Bible to him. His 
 wife cannot read, or reads badly. These people are 
 
 110 
 
CONSTANCE TEESCOT 111 
 
 amazingly uneducated. Why cannot lie get a 
 preacher? I was foolish to say yes." 
 
 "Well, dear?" 
 
 Surely, George, you must understand me." 
 
 He saw her difficulty at once, and said, smiling: 
 "You may trust me always to understand you. You 
 know, dear, my own feeling in regard to freedom 
 of belief and, indeed, of unbelief. You know, too, 
 what I desire and never urge. I see your difficulty, 
 but there is no need for you to pretend anything. 
 He will ask no questions. The Bible is a book or, 
 rather, many books. We have read much of it to 
 gether." 
 
 It was true. Without any concealed intention on 
 his part, and purely as noble literature, they had 
 read at times, in their evenings alone, much of the 
 great Hebrew poetry, as they had also read much 
 of the best English prose and verse. 
 
 "Yes, I know," she returned; "but this is so dif 
 ferent, George. What am I to read to a dying man ? 
 I went there once. It was horrible so slovenly and 
 dirty and ill-smelling; and I never before saw a 
 man dying. It was dreadful. It seemed to me so 
 unnatural." 
 
 The thought struck him as singular. "That is," 
 he returned, "only because in the ordinary ways 
 of life to see a death is rare for most people. I 
 have seen thousands die. To me, for four years, 
 death was ever near, a sadly common event. It is 
 what may precede death that I dread, long ill 
 ness, the loss of competence, but not death. I hope 
 that, when I die, my twilight may be brief. 
 
112 CONSTANCE TRESCOT 
 
 "Please don t," she said. "But what am I to 
 read?" 
 
 "Well, then, to settle your mind, dear, read him 
 the fourteenth chapter of John, and take my little 
 Bible with you. I doubt if there be a Bible in the 
 whole settlement." 
 
 "Thank you, George." 
 
 "Shall I go with you? I should be very glad 
 to go." 
 
 "Oh, no, no." She felt that this would have 
 embarrassed her. 
 
 "Remember, the fourteenth of John. It is very 
 beautiful. Have you never read it ? " 
 
 "Never." 
 
 The reply shocked him. In spite of what he knew 
 of her life, it also surprised him. For the moment 
 he had been puzzled by her question; but the chap 
 ter he named was a favorite of his own, and he 
 would, after all, have been unable to name any other 
 more suitable. 
 
 In the afternoon she found Coffin waiting at the 
 foot of the bluff. He walked with her past the busy 
 cotton-presses, and then out of the wood on to the 
 cleared lands with their broken fences and half- 
 burned stumps. Wait for me here, she said, and 
 went on to Wilson s log cabin. The woman and her 
 children were absent. By the dim light within she 
 saw, as she paused at the door, the broken chairs, 
 the open press with soiled gowns, and the lean 
 chickens picking up the crumbs lying about the 
 dirty floor. The air was heavy with the odors of 
 uncared-for illness. As she approached the rude 
 
CONSTANCE TRESCOT 113 
 
 bed, Wilson said, trying to sit up, There s a chair, 
 ma am. Set down. Not that one; it s broke." 
 
 She took the hot, dry hand, and feeling a keen 
 desire to run away, sat down beside him, saying, 
 as she put her basket on the table, "I brought you 
 some soup. I hope you are better." 
 
 No, ma am ; and I never will be no better. The 
 doctor you sent told my wife I could n t hold out 
 long. She s awful troubled about the funeral. We 
 talked it over, and I reckon it won t cost much. I 
 told her so. Tom will make the coffin." 
 
 She was seeing a new aspect of life the crude 
 business of death among the poor. It shocked a 
 woman who, in her abounding health and immense 
 vitality, had little more realization of decay and 
 death than has the normal animal. 
 
 She murmured softly, "Do not worry; we will 
 take care of all that." 
 
 "Thank you," he said; "that s mighty good 
 of you. I can t talk long; it makes me cough." 
 Then, after a brief pause, he said : " I ve been think 
 ing a heap about things. I ain t been a bad man, 
 but I killed a man in Tennessee. You see, he shot 
 Brother Bill a week before. Seems to me it was 
 yes, it was Christmas eve, and snowing. I got him 
 comin out of his barn. Now I want to know. My 
 wife fetched a preacher here. He s a Methody. 
 He said I d got to repent of that man, or I d go to 
 hell. I did n t want him any more. I don t repent. 
 If a man was to kill your man, you would n t forgive 
 him, now would you?" 
 
 "I would not," she replied. 
 
 8 
 
114 CONSTANCE TRESCOT 
 
 "I knowed you would say something like that, 
 and it s a real comfort. The other notion ain t 
 natural. 
 
 The woman sat still in thought, while he coughed 
 until he was exhausted. What would George have 
 said? Why did men confess to her? She had been 
 reinforcing a dying man s undying hatred. And 
 yet, how could she lie ? 
 
 At last he whispered hoarsely : l Sometimes in the 
 night I ain t easy about it. It s a kind of muddle, 
 life is. You don t ever get things cleared up. Did 
 you fetch the Book? I used to like mother to read 
 the stories in it when I was a little chap. When 
 father was dying she read out of it, and now I m 
 going too. Would you read some?" 
 
 She opened the Bible where Trescot had left a 
 marker, and read in tones which gathered pathetic 
 sweetness as she went on near to the end of the chap 
 ter, when he stopped her. Seems to me I remember 
 that, he said ; must have heard it once in church 
 up in the hills. What s that about the Holy Ghost ? 
 That s what bothered me when I was a young fellow. 
 I took religion bad, once; but that about the Holy 
 Ghost used to kind of scare me of nights. What 
 does that mean?" 
 
 Constance paused, searching the page for an an 
 swer. It was a childlike creature who lay gasping 
 under the soiled sheet, and yet it was a man; and 
 she felt that out of her larger life she owed him an 
 answer. But what to say she knew not. 
 
 For a moment she sat still, glad that he was un 
 able to recognize her embarrassment. Then, her eye 
 
CONSTANCE TRESCOT 115 
 
 wandering over the page, she said: " Perhaps this 
 may help you. The Holy Ghost, the Comforter. " 
 
 " There can t be no comfort in what a man can t 
 understand. I don t know as that" 
 
 A cruel spell of coughing stopped him; and the 
 agony of vain effort shook the rickety bed until it 
 creaked sharply. For some reason, this strangely 
 affected her. It seemed an inanimate expression of 
 the extent of discomfort and wretchedness. At 
 last, worn out, he groaned, "My God, that s aw 
 ful!" as he wiped away the blood on his lips and 
 the gray tangle of his beard; and then, with recur 
 rent reflection: "But there s a heap of things a 
 man can t understand." 
 
 She shared his conviction as she sat with her 
 glove on the open page, penciled here and there 
 by a hand she loved. She murmured, "Yes, yes," 
 and read on. " Peace I leave with you; my peace I 
 give unto you: not as the world giveth, give I unto 
 you. " 
 
 "Won t you say that again?" he murmured fee 
 bly. 
 
 The clear tones of a voice often spoken of for its 
 charm repeated the promise. She was close to tears 
 as she continued: 
 
 " Let not your heart be troubled, neither let 
 it be afraid. " 
 
 She was emotionally too much disturbed to go on, 
 and made a brief pause to regain her command of 
 speech, relieved by the strange comments which gave 
 her time. 
 
 "That about being afraid, now, that s curious- 
 
116 CONSTANCE TEESCOT 
 
 like. I ve been troubled pretty often, but I don t 
 know as I ever was afraid." 
 
 She made no reply, but read on, as one may do 
 automatically, with one half-conscious mind on the 
 text, and with one other mind perplexed by thoughts 
 of death and life the sudden sense of the sweet 
 values of mystery in love and friendship and re 
 ligion, of which George had spoken. She read on 
 to the end, not taking in the meaning of the three 
 verses which followed. 
 
 "Is that all, ma am? " 
 
 "Yes; that is all." 
 
 "Thank you." He lay on his back, silent, the 
 sweat on his forehead, his cheeks red, his eyes closed. 
 What were his thoughts ? There on the edge of the 
 grave was this rude, half -civilized man of the woods, 
 without education, with his creed of an eye for an 
 eye, and here the woman of another world, with 
 every gift and every chance that wealth had given, 
 and both alike bewildered over the simple words of 
 a promise which neither could comprehend nor yet 
 know how to use. 
 
 The flies buzzed in and out and settled on the 
 hot face undisturbed, until she began to fan them 
 away. 
 
 "I was n t asleep," he said feebly, opening his 
 eyes: "I was a-thinking." So, too, was she. 
 
 "I was thinking," he repeated, "that maybe you 
 would n t mind saying a prayer. You won t need 
 to kneel down, the floor s that filthy ; it s them 
 chickens, and my wife s wore out." 
 
 The voice was very earnest in its appeal, 
 might get some help." 
 
CONSTANCE TKESCOT 117 
 
 Constance sat up, in her perplexity fanning him 
 more rapidly. She was helpless, stranded, full of 
 pity. Was this a time for deceit? To whom could 
 she pray ? She felt for the man in his hour of doubt 
 and pain, putting forth yearning hands for a sure 
 hold on something. Would such an hour ever come 
 to her? 
 
 He felt vaguely her hesitation, and with the gen 
 tleness of the mountain-man said : " Maybe you ain t 
 used to praying in company." 
 
 "No, no," she said, glad of the frailest pretense; 
 "I am not; and the room is close, I must get 
 outside." It was true. She had the keenest sen 
 sitiveness to evil odors. Her head swam, and say 
 ing, "I wiH come again; I must get into the air," 
 she stood up and emptied her basket of fruit, lemons, 
 and the bottle of soup. "You must need ice. I will 
 send it to-morrow no, to-night. Coffin will bring 
 it." 
 
 He thanked her, and again she had to touch the 
 hot, dry hand, as he pleaded: "This is n t any kind 
 of place for folks like you, ma am; but the angels 
 might be like you I don t ask no better. You will 
 come again, won t you?" 
 
 "I will; certainly I will," she said, and went out. 
 
 "A sad kind of angel you are, Constance Tres- 
 cot," she murmured, as she drank in the fresh 
 pine-scented air. She had a pained sense of incom 
 pleteness, of incompetence, of failure. 
 
 Her uncle s views, which were nourished by the 
 pleasure of being in opposition to his own world, 
 had kept her ignorant of all that Susan knew so 
 well. Constance had felt no need of it for herself 
 
118 CONSTANCE TEESCOT 
 
 or for others. With all her many resources, her edu 
 cation, her acceptance by a man like Trescot on 
 terms of intellectual equality, she had shrunk away 
 defeated, unable to answer helpfully a simple, un 
 educated woodsman. She moved on into the forest, 
 deep in thought, followed by her doglike guardian. 
 Presently, as she went past the cotton-presses, she 
 was aware of coming steps and met Mr. Greyhurst. 
 He turned and went with her. Seeing whence she 
 had come, he said, with some seriousness: "These 
 clearings are rather lonesome places for ladies, Mrs. 
 Trescot; and, now that the blacks are free, not al 
 together safe. You must pardon my frankness. Mr. 
 Trescot may not fully comprehend the risks the 
 North has brought on us." 
 
 It was said kindly, and as she felt he was not 
 without reason, she replied: "You are no doubt 
 right ; but when I come here among these poor people 
 I ask my garden helper, Coffin, to follow me. * 
 
 "So I see, but he is a wild fellow, like the rest, 
 oh, I suppose, trustworthy in a way. I should think 
 you would find these people interesting. They are 
 mostly men who have drifted down from the moun 
 tain country." 
 
 "Yes, I like them. This time I went to take a 
 sick man some luxuries." 
 
 "You are very good. These people and, in fact, 
 most of our people are too poor to be able to help 
 one another. p 
 
 "Oh, these are trifles any one can afford." 
 
 "Perhaps. I called on you again yesterday, but 
 was unlucky. Will you allow me to say one thing?" 
 
CONSTANCE TEESCOT 119 
 
 She laughed. "Being ignorant, I must, I sup 
 pose, be generous. What is it?" 
 
 He went on, with a manner so timid and unas 
 sured as to be in marked contrast with his athletic 
 build and ordinary self-assertive carriage. 
 
 "We have been so long accustomed to regard 
 Mr. Hood as a sort of despotic landlord, stand 
 ing in our way here in St. Ann, that your appear 
 ance as representing him rather startled our good 
 ladies." 
 
 "I trust they were agreeably startled. Are we 
 so surprising?" 
 
 i l Oh, I said you, Mrs. Trescot ; men are never sur 
 prising. 
 
 "Indeed! I have often found them so. I think, 
 however, when my uncle comes in the fall for that 
 tiresome trial, you will find one man who will pass 
 as agreeably surprising. I want him to come be 
 cause we wish him to know St. Ann and all these 
 delightful people. Besides, he is a great friend of 
 the South what at home we called a Copperhead. 
 He could do a great deal to help this town; and, 
 once here on the spot, he may be brought to see 
 that even in business it is often the best policy to 
 be generous." 
 
 "You will pardon me, Mrs. Trescot, if I say that 
 he has hardly been that, or even just." 
 
 "Perhaps not; but we trust that in the end St. 
 Ann will not have to regret our coming or our in 
 fluence with him. In business my uncle loves to be 
 what he calls exact; outside of it he is the prey of 
 everybody who wants help." 
 
120 CONSTANCE TEESCOT 
 
 "That is unusual," he returned; "but, unfortu 
 nately, this is all business." 
 
 "Yes; but, after all, Mr. Greyhurst, it is hard for 
 a man to escape from the tyranny of his own tem 
 perament. My uncle is always in the opposition, 
 and for that reason I think he really enjoys a legal 
 battle." 
 
 " It is often a costly luxury. 
 
 "Yes; but he does not care about that." 
 
 "What you say about the difficulty of escape from 
 the despotism of temperament ah! that is sadly 
 true. No one knows that better than I. I envy Mr. 
 Trescot his entire self-control. I think the bar is 
 scarcely a good education in amiability." 
 
 "If," she laughed, "my husband degenerates in 
 St. Ann I shall run away. I think General Averill 
 is a poor illustration of the influence of the practice 
 of the law." 
 
 Oh, the general ! No one is like Averill. He 
 has the tenderness of a woman. He is impossible 
 as an example." 
 
 "Cannot a man make himself what he really wants 
 to be?" 
 
 He glanced at her with interest, and returned 
 gaily, "Can a woman?" 
 
 "No," she said; "no." 
 
 "Neither can I, Mrs. Trescot, more s the 
 pity." 
 
 He was once more on the point of one of those 
 easy confessions, which, for some occult reason of 
 sex sympathies, men, as I have said, are so apt to 
 confide to the charity of women. Young as she was, 
 
CONSTANCE TEESCOT 121 
 
 she was prepared for it, and not liking the too per 
 sonal turn the talk had taken, she said : 
 
 "You have told me what folks think of us in St. 
 Ann, but you have never asked no one has what 
 we think of St. Ann." 
 
 "Well," he said, "that might be worth while." 
 
 "We like it and the people." 
 
 She was scarcely accurate, to state it in no worse 
 way. 
 
 That is pleasant ; I accept my share. 
 
 "I must leave the partition to you," she said 
 lightly. "What a big river-steamer!" 
 
 "Yes; the Stonewall Jackson, a new boat." 
 
 "How warm it is!" She raised her parasol as 
 they came out on the bluff. "Is it always as warm 
 as this in your July weather ? 
 
 They went on talking of every-day matters. In 
 the main street she said: "I must leave you here; 
 I have to make a call and do some shopping." 
 
 He took it to be a dismissal, and, raising his hat, 
 left her. 
 
 He walked on, absorbed in thought. The woman 
 had a calming influence upon his uncertain temper. 
 Most women so affected him. With men his self- 
 esteem was always on the watch for slights. It made 
 his associates uncomfortably careful. He was at 
 times aware of their reserve, and, without fully un 
 derstanding the cause, resented it. He felt it in 
 his business, and most of all with Trescot, who, al 
 though very desirous of keeping on good terms with 
 him, found it increasingly difficult. That morning, 
 in Averill s office, Greyhurst had returned to the 
 
122 CONSTANCE TRESCOT 
 
 question of an amicable settlement of Hood s claim 
 to own the water-front at the bend. Trescot had 
 once more made the reply that it lay with Mr. Hood, 
 and that he had himself failed to move him. Grey- 
 hurst had lost his temper and made his disbelief 
 so plain that nothing except Averill s very positive 
 interference and indorsement of Trescot s statement 
 had saved an open quarrel. Greyhurst had reluc 
 tantly apologized, and Trescot had been exasperat- 
 ingly good-humored. 
 
 As Greyhurst walked on he said, with returning 
 remembrance of his annoyance : Damn the man ! 
 I was a fool to talk of it, a child, but his cold 
 blooded ways are hard to stand. " As he murmured 
 his condemnation of Trescot, a big black fellow, 
 much in liquor, hustled him. He struck him sav 
 agely and went on. The man gathered himself up, 
 and following him, said meekly: "I did n t go to do 
 it, massa." 
 
 "Oh, go to the devil!" exclaimed Greyhurst. 
 "Get out, or you 11 get a bullet through you!" 
 
 He had made himself angry about one man, and 
 another had suffered. A minute later he was sorry 
 for his brutal haste. His life was full of such re 
 grets ; but this was a minor one, and did not trouble 
 him long. 
 
|Y and by, her errands done, Constance 
 called at her husband s office, and they 
 walked homeward together. 
 
 He told her that he had heard from 
 her uncle. He had once more declined 
 to yield assent to any of Trescot s proposals. The 
 squatters must go. 
 
 Constance laughed. "Wait till I have him here. 
 I know a way." 
 
 "Upon my word, dear, I begin to respect your 
 legal resources; but they are, so far, rather costly. 
 You have provided for Coffin. How much it will 
 require to get the rest to leave we do not know. 
 As for the use of the machinery of the law to turn 
 them out to shift for themselves I will throw up 
 the whole business rather than do that." 
 
 "Indeed, I should, George, if it came to that; 
 but it will not; there will be no occasion." 
 
 "Well, I trust not. I have had a long talk with 
 Greyhurst this morning in AvernTs office. I never 
 knew so peculiar a man. He told me that he, at 
 least, had had no hand in that club business. When 
 I thanked him and said that I had never for a mo 
 ment supposed the Confederate officers had been in 
 it, he said some of them had, and would have told 
 me who they were if I had not said I did not wish 
 
 123 
 
124 CONSTANCE TRESCOT 
 
 to know their names. He laughed, and remarked 
 that it was as well not to know, because I might feel 
 obliged to call them to account. I said in reply that 
 I had no malice about the blackballing, and that in 
 a case of even graver injury I should not feel justi 
 fied in avenging myself by shooting a man, and that 
 a bullet in the shoulder was, in my case, a pretty 
 positive peacemaker. 
 
 "As he made no reply, I went on to say that I 
 had never desired to be a member of the club, and 
 was therefore quite easy in mind. When Averill 
 asked him at what time in October he thought our 
 case would come up, he said he did not know, and 
 that it never ought to come up at all; and when I 
 said that was my desire, but that it would have to 
 go to trial, he quite suddenly lost his temper, and 
 said that I ought to be able to bring about a set 
 tlement. And then there was more of it, and 
 worse. 
 
 "What did you say, George?" 
 
 "Oh, Averill interfered, and I said I should do 
 everything possible ; and indeed ,1 shall. He went 
 away in a curious sullen humor, and, upon my word, 
 he is like some rude, undisciplined boy ; but I think 
 he has brains enough to know that he has a bad case. 
 If he knew all I know, he would give it up, although 
 that is not Averill s opinion." 
 
 "I met him in the woods as I came from Wilson s. 
 He was pretty sharply critical of Uncle Rufus, and 
 was rather intimate in his talk about himself." 
 
 "Was he? I should not have thought him a man 
 to do that." 
 
CONSTANCE TRESCOT 125 
 
 "It surprised me less than it does you, for men 
 have a queer way of opening their minds to women. 
 
 "I am sure you said what was right. How is 
 poor Wilson?" 
 
 "I was wrong to go, George." 
 
 Kealizing what must have happened, and not al 
 together sorry, he said: "What was your trouble, 
 my love? Did you read to him?" 
 
 "Yes; I read to him, and oh, George, he asked 
 me questions." 
 
 "What, dear?" 
 
 She hesitated, and then said: "It was dreadful. 
 He asked me what was the Holy Ghost, what kind 
 of a Ghost. It was awful. How did I know ? How 
 does any one know? Your Bible is a tangle of 
 mysteries. 
 
 "It is answered in the same chapter, Constance." 
 
 "Answered?" 
 
 "Yes; it is the Comforter." 
 
 "I said that." 
 
 "It is also called the Spirit of Truth, Constance. 
 That which is as old as the world, as old as He who 
 made it, the Spirit before which science bends in 
 worship, that on which the world of morals rests. 
 Is n t that simple enough?" 
 
 "Yes," she said doubtfully. 
 
 "Was that all, dear?" 
 
 "Oh, no, no; he asked me to pray for him." 
 
 He looked at her. She was troubled, tearful; he 
 hardly knew what to say, and at last wisely put the 
 question by. "We will talk of that at another time, 
 not now; it is a large question." 
 
126 CONSTANCE TRESCOT 
 
 "I did not do it." 
 
 " No ; you were right. 
 
 "Thank you, George." 
 
 To know that, thinking, believing as he did, he 
 was able to put himself in her position affected her 
 deeply. She was about to go on and say something 
 of the man s confession and his creed of unforgive- 
 ness, but recalling what she too had said in reply, 
 she was silent. 
 
 The next week she went away to her old home 
 with the general and Mrs. Averill. The day after 
 her arrival she wrote to Trescot : 
 
 "DEAR GEORGE: 
 
 "I am sitting on the great rock at sunset, and 
 it seems as though the waves I love are glad of my 
 coming. A mad gale is hurling them on the rocks 
 below me, and far away there is a wild turmoil of 
 waters about Little Misery Islands. The air is 
 sweet and salt, and it wants only the sunshine of the 
 love I miss every hour. 
 
 "I found Susan well and utterly unchanged. 
 Why should she not be? only that I have changed, 
 and am wiser and a larger person than when you 
 first knew me. What your dear love and company 
 have done for me I know full well. The atmo 
 sphere of my old home seems to me other than it 
 was. I think I shall understand Susan better. 
 Once I used to think her narrow. Uncle Rufus is 
 thinner than thin, with a wilted autumnal look, and 
 the same delicate features, and the same meek vio 
 lence in his opinions. I refused to be taken in the 
 
CONSTANCE TRESCOT 127 
 
 toils of an invitation to discuss his Western affairs, 
 but it will have to be soon or late, though I shall 
 not be serious with him until we are in St. Ann. 
 Then he may look out. And now I must go. I 
 hear voices in the garden. 
 
 11 Constantly your constant 
 
 CONSTANCE. 
 
 "Is n t that pretty, sir? 
 
 "P. S. Tell me all the news, big and little. How 
 are Wilson and Coffin and my cat? The Averills 
 were most kind, and will be here very soon for a 
 visit. 
 
 "P. S. I am writing a second P. S., almost in 
 the dark. Far away to right, Marblehead Light is 
 flashing at intervals over the stormy water. There 
 is another, a lesser one, far to the left. I like it bet 
 ter. It is, sir, if you please, constant, like me." 
 
 She wrote daily, and a week later said: 
 
 "I can see that dear, grave face when I tell you 
 that I went to church last Sunday with Susan. I 
 am not going to pretend I went for any reason ex 
 cept because I love you, but that is not reason, for 
 my love is all of me body, soul, and mind. Is that 
 a riddle, sir? I had to tell Susan that I went because 
 it would please you. She put on one of her queer 
 looks, and said it was creditable to my sense of 
 the humorous. I did not like that. I do not think 
 that even you can understand the absolute negation 
 from childhood of all thought about this vast mat 
 ter of religion. Since I came, a little girl, to East- 
 
128 CONSTANCE TEESCOT 
 
 wood, I have been imprisoned within the bounds 
 of my uncle s belief, or unbelief, and only of late 
 years did I slowly apprehend that his attitude was 
 purely due to the joy of standing up against other 
 people s beliefs. But think, dear, what this igno 
 rance, ridicule, and denial did with a childhood like 
 mine. Susan said once you cannot even teach man 
 ners without forms, nor make a child religious and 
 reverent without forms. Is that so? I had a 
 wicked little joy when uncle saw me go out to church 
 with Susan. He said, as if it were a tragedy, And 
 this is the end, and, as Susan says, twinkled away. 
 He does not walk like other people, but only from 
 his knees really an absurd little person, as he ap 
 pears to me now, with a queer way of suddenly 
 saying unexpected things. He told me once, when 
 I was fifteen, that I was a fine animal. I was 
 furious, but I think I know now what he meant. 
 
 The Averills came and were made much of. 
 Since the general was here uncle has spoken of 
 you to our friends with a newly acquired pride, to 
 the vast amusement of Susan. You are to under 
 stand that when, in October, you have the help of a 
 man with some knowledge of business everything 
 will be settled. I said, Better, then, uncle, not to 
 discuss things with an ignorant woman ; and with 
 this he was contented for half a day. 
 
 Whenever it is possible I go out in our cat-boat, 
 and oh, to sail with a mad east wind driving the 
 fog in your face! Do you like that? Nature is 
 never too riotous for me and then these summer 
 evenings by the sea; what a blithe playmate! I 
 
CONSTANCE TEESCOT 129 
 
 used to like best to be alone on the shore or in the 
 woods ; but now, ah ! to have you, and cry, Look at 
 this, George; and see that/ 
 
 "You say I am making you vain. I leave you to 
 imagine how much I love you, how emptied is life 
 without you. My uncle concerns himself with every 
 thing, from the dairy and the butter to my poor 
 little every-day letters to you. Absurd waste of 
 paper, he says; and then, with his inconsequent 
 felicity, What would I do if you were dead? I 
 said: Do? I should kill myself in the hope to find 
 you oh, somewhere ! Do you know, he laughed, and 
 said: Just so, just so. I do not doubt it. Then he 
 went on: Once you had a doll and it fell into the 
 well. You were caught trying to climb down the 
 chain to get it ; and then, when you were punished, 
 you said you would starve until some one got that 
 doll. It was true. At last I scared him so that a 
 man went down and got it. There was not much 
 doll left, but it was my doll. He went on, and I 
 learned more about my obstinate ways, until I fled 
 away, leaving him talking, until, as I presume, he 
 discovered that he was alone. 
 
 "Yesterday we had a dense fog. It rolled in 
 from the sea in gray masses. An east wind drove 
 it landward. I went to the shore and lay on the 
 rocks just above the sea. The fog shut out the 
 islands, and at last was like a gray wall about me. 
 You know how the sea of a bright day seems to 
 explain itself, when from far away the waves rise 
 and gather and grow and break on the shore; but 
 now you could not see twenty feet, and the great 
 
130 CONSTANCE TRESCOT 
 
 rollers came as if out of nowhere and tumbled at 
 my feet. Somewhere out at sea a steamer screamed 
 as if lost. Oh, but I wanted you ! You would have 
 said things of it all I cannot say. I can only see 
 and enjoy and badly describe. 
 
 "C. T." 
 
 A few days before she returned to St. Ann one 
 of his replies to her daily letters ran thus : 
 
 "Yes, the rooms will be in order for your uncle 
 and our welcome Susan. Mrs. Averill has been 
 sending me a lot of things I presume owing to 
 your distrust of my capacity to keep house. I have 
 at least laid in a stock of patience for use when 
 your uncle comes, and have got out and dusted my 
 other unused virtues. I received last week a kind 
 note from Colonel La Grange, with a check for my 
 settlement of the damaged cotton. You may guess 
 how much enough to make it easier to deal with 
 your uncle. 
 
 You ask in your last whom I see, and would like 
 to know what I do all day. You ask if I have made 
 any new friends. I scent the wicked weed jealousy 
 in the garden of love. Fie for shame! More peo 
 ple have been able this year to get away. I see no 
 women except Mrs. Averill, and if you are jealous 
 of any woman it must be of Rosalind or Portia or 
 Lady Macbeth. I have been refreshing myself with 
 the company of these ladies in your absence. Horses 
 are so plenty that I have been able to ride a few 
 
CONSTANCE TEESCOT 131 
 
 times with La Grange, and I begin to think of the 
 joy of some day riding with you. 
 
 Poor Wilson is dead ; and, as you desired, I took 
 care of the funeral. The rest may keep. Every 
 thing goes well, and there are still flowers, oh, in 
 abundance ! I hear that the rector is not well and 
 has given up. A young man named Kent has taken 
 his place. I had some distant relatives named Kent. 
 I never saw them. You may tell Susan that La 
 Grange, who knows Mr. Kent, says he is young and 
 very good-looking. That is all my news. Do take 
 care of yourself." 
 
 "Poor Susan!" thought Constance; "I think she 
 prefers them old. I imagine Susan in a mild clerical 
 flirtation!" 
 
XI 
 
 N the evening of the first of October, 
 Constance found herself, to her great 
 joy, again in her own home. They ar 
 rived late, and Mr. Hood very tired. 
 He appeared, however, at breakfast 
 next morning, having slept unusually well. After 
 an ample meal, during which he found time to com 
 plain of the butter, the eggs, the corn-bread, and 
 his cocoa, he informed Susan that she had better 
 take a rest, and that Constance, at eleven o clock, 
 would go with him to show him the way to Mr. 
 Greyhurst s office and to the general s. At five in 
 the afternoon George would drive him about the 
 country. He desired to see his lands. In the even 
 ing he would be prepared to discuss matters with 
 Trescot. 
 
 The family, thus disposed of, rose in revolt. 
 Trescot had affairs which would keep him busy; 
 there would be a buggy and Coffin to drive Mr. Hood 
 about. It was too far for him to walk, and Con 
 stance would be occupied. Susan declined to be ad 
 vised. She had to unpack. He gave up at once. 
 
 Trescot said : " It would be as well not to call on 
 Mr. Greyhurst. But if you do, may I ask that you 
 
 132 
 
CONSTANCE TEESCOT 133 
 
 will not commit yourself in any way until the gen 
 eral and I have been able to lay before you more 
 fully what has been done. 
 
 "Of course not, Trescot; I have not been a busi 
 ness man all my life without having learned cau 
 tion." He had a brisk little air of assurance. "I 
 hope to make the acquaintance of some of the Con 
 federate officers. I think you said Mr. Greyhurst 
 was one of them. With my views of the late dis 
 astrous war, everything will become easy." 
 
 "I trust, sir," said Trescot, as he was about to 
 go out, "that you may enable me, now that you are 
 here, to act as I have not been as yet authorized 
 to do. Unless you can make up your mind to yield 
 a little, you will find difficulties, as we have done." 
 
 Mr. Hood waved them away. "Difficulties are 
 not for the resolute." 
 
 Constance shook her head at her husband, who, 
 thus advised, quietly gave up ; and the little old 
 man went out on the porch to get his morning ex 
 ercise. He walked up and down, with his hands 
 behind his back, smiling at intervals, and contem 
 plating with satisfaction novel opportunities for 
 the exercise of his adroitness in affairs. Mean 
 while, Susan also disappeared. 
 
 As Constance left him at the door, Trescot said: 
 "There are limitless capacities for mischief in that 
 old man." 
 
 "There are; but he is as timid as a house-fly. 
 The general has already disposed him to yield. He 
 is only making believe to be very bold; and if Mr. 
 Greyhurst represents to him the state of feeling 
 
134 CONSTANCE TRESCOT 
 
 here, he will be pretty well alarmed at the attitude 
 of his Confederate friends." 
 
 "That is very sensible, dear, and no doubt true; 
 but he will say yes to-day, and no to-morrow, and 
 I shall be presumed to have advised him. That is 
 where the mischief will come in. And now I must 
 go." 
 
 Constance was fully resolved to have her own 
 share in these counsels. She saw her husband s un 
 easiness, and was sensible that there was peril in 
 the air, and a general belief that this absentee mil 
 lionaire was standing in the way of progress and 
 threatening men who had been soldiers and for 
 whom the deepest sympathy was felt. She was as 
 clear as George that to relieve the squatters and 
 make easy settlements with the owners of mort 
 gaged lands would leave only the larger matter 
 of the more valuable land-claim on the bend. She 
 cared nothing for what her uncle might make or 
 lose, but she had had one stern illustration of the 
 methods of the rude men who considered them 
 selves wronged, and how the issues were to affect 
 her husband had been from the first her chief 
 anxiety. She had been fortunate in her venture 
 with Coffin, and now again she meant to act, and 
 was the more resolute because she was not quite 
 at ease in regard to Trescot s health. He had felt 
 the summer s heat, and more often than before 
 carried his right arm caught for support in his 
 waistcoat. 
 
 As the day proved cool, Mr. Hood decided to 
 walk. When he stood in front of the one-story 
 
CONSTANCE TRESCOT 135 
 
 wooden office of John Greyhurst, he considered 
 with disapproval the want of fresh paint and 
 the ill-kept window-panes. They gave him a 
 sense of superiority. He was himself as neat as 
 a cat. 
 
 He went up the entry, and in a moment was in 
 the presence of Greyhurst, who knew at a glance 
 that the eager little gentleman in well-fitting gray 
 summer dress must be Mr. Hood. As he rose to wel 
 come him, large, square-shouldered, and powerful, 
 the contrast was striking. 
 
 "Mr. Hood, I am sure." 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 There was a cordial greeting. Greyhurst removed 
 some law books from a chair, and they sat down, 
 Mr. Hood saying: "It gives me great pleasure to 
 see you. You may not be aware that I am one of the 
 many at the North whose sympathies were with the 
 South, and I have long felt that if I could ven 
 ture, at my age, to come to St. Ann, I might" 
 he remembered Trescot s warning "I might clear 
 up some misunderstandings." 
 
 The lawyer was not one of those who, like Tres- 
 cot, could let a man go on to tangle himself in the 
 net of his own garrulity. He said : "Oh, there have 
 been more than enough troubles, sir. You are quite 
 correct, but I should hesitate to call them misunder 
 standings, unless Mr. Trescot has utterly set aside 
 your wishes. He is a bolder man than your former 
 agent, I may say, a rasher man. He has taken 
 measures to turn out some broken-down soldiers 
 from their miserable little clearings. He has given 
 
136 CONSTANCE TBESCOT 
 
 notices of merciless foreclosures. To some of these 
 people it is ruin." 
 
 Hood had not the frankness to say that these 
 had been his own very positive orders, nor that 
 Trescot had insisted on milder measures. He moved 
 uneasily as he returned: 
 
 "I am inclined to-be lenient, but business is busi 
 ness, Mr. Greyhurst." 
 
 "Yes, no doubt; but I think that you ought to be 
 aware that we are a wrecked people ; that people with 
 no money cannot pay; and, worst of all, there is 
 that land-claim at the bend. One of our oldest 
 families is interested, and has the sympathy of 
 our entire community. The failure to settle this 
 is standing in the way of our prosperity and 
 limiting our river facilities. I do not imagine, sir, 
 that you know our hot-blooded people. There is 
 risk, sir, peril, in the course that is .being pur 
 sued." 
 
 "Peril!" said the little old gentleman, sitting up. 
 "I do not understand." He was imposed upon by 
 the emphatic statements of the stalwart, dark-faced 
 man. "I should be glad to be enlightened. Who 
 is in danger?" 
 
 Greyhurst had no desire to go beyond vague gen 
 eralities. 
 
 "Yes, I said there was peril If you lived here 
 you would understand. No Southern community 
 will tamely submit to these measures. A compro 
 mise, with a fair division of the water-front at the 
 bend, would quiet the feeling. The rest would be 
 easy to manage. I have urged this in vain. Mr. 
 
CONSTANCE TRESCOT 137 
 
 Trescot pleads your orders. As a lawyer I assure 
 you your claim will not stand." 
 
 Hood held up the hand of appeal. "I I, sir, will 
 consider the matter. I will talk it over with Mr. 
 Trescot. I will speak to the general." 
 
 He had come hither to talk business, as he called 
 it, and was scared and humiliated. This was not 
 business. He went on: "We would be prepared to 
 go into any reasonable propositions. 
 
 "I have invited them over and over." 
 
 "Dear me! that is bad, very bad." 
 
 "Then you agree to divide the water-front?" 
 
 "Oh, no; I could not say that; I I am accus 
 tomed to discuss such matters. I don t quite know. 
 
 He was getting confused and nervous, and as 
 eager to get away as he had been to come. He rose. 
 "It has been a great pleasure to see you. Ah! my 
 hat, thank you; I must go on to see Averill." 
 
 "I shall have the pleasure to call, and meanwhile 
 you may trust me to do all I can to restrain the 
 feeling here. It is bitter, very bitter in fact, dan 
 gerously bitter. Good morning." 
 
 "Bless me!" said the old gentleman, as he en 
 tered the street, and stood wiping his forehead, 
 "what an abrupt person! I must talk to George 
 Trescot." 
 
 As he moved on he reflected that Greyhurst had 
 no direct connection with the affairs of the squatters, 
 nor with the mortgages. If he intended to alarm 
 him, Rufus Hood, he should learn that it was not 
 easy. The further he got away from the impressive 
 physical bulk and threatening manner of the law- 
 
138 CONSTANCE TRESCOT 
 
 yer, the more he resolved to have his rights. He 
 was, as I have said, close and narrow in business 
 affairs, but outside of them not ungenerous, and 
 very willing to let the left hand know of the bounty 
 of the right. After he had ousted these land rob 
 bers he migKt help them might do something. The 
 idea of thus posing as a benefactor refreshed him. 
 He went on to Averill s. 
 
 He found the general rather doubtful as to the 
 very valuable land at the bend. It was a difficult 
 matter; nor was he much disposed to make that or 
 any of Hood s business appear easy. He said no 
 thing of the new evidence. Mr. Hood would have 
 to yield and not drive men to extremities. He told 
 him that Trescot would set before him in full, as 
 concerned the water-front, the state of the evidence 
 in his favor. It must rest largely on their ability 
 to prove the bounds of a survey made for Mr. 
 Hood s father forty years back. If they failed, 
 then the Baptiste heirs would come in under an 
 old French title. When Hood mentioned what the 
 lawyer had said of violence and public opinion, 
 Averill laughed. "A little bluff. The man is not 
 very sure of his case. After Mr. Trescot talks to 
 you, we will be better able to decide if it be well to 
 compromise. 
 
 l Compromise ! That I will never do. I am not 
 a man to be scared out of my rights. " 
 
 Averill smiled and said: "Be gentle with the 
 squatters and the rest. Their lands are of small 
 value ; the water is shoal near the town ; soon or late 
 all our business has got to go to the bend. I should 
 
CONSTANCE TEESCOT 139 
 
 willingly abandon all your other interests to insure 
 that." 
 
 Mr. Hood went away well pleased. Here was busi 
 ness and to spare. He would be firm, firm. He 
 struck his stick on the broad sidewalk, and went on. 
 In the afternoon Constance took her uncle to 
 drive in a buggy along a bad wood-road to see the 
 ]ands so long in dispute. It gave her the opportu 
 nity she needed. 
 
 In the woods she tied the horse and walked about 
 until her uncle was tired and much bewildered. 
 Then they sat down on a log. He had been tell 
 ing her over and over how determined he was. At 
 last, during a pause in his repetitions, she said : 
 "What do you mean to do about the squatters?" 
 "Turn them out, of course. It is my land." 
 "They are pretty lawless men, Uncle Rufus." 
 "Oh, I have heard all about that from Mr. Grey- 
 hurst. I am not a man to be easily alarmed. The 
 general says it is all talk pure bluff." 
 "Indeed? Were you ever shot at?" 
 " I ! God bless me ! no. What do you mean ? 
 Why should I be shot at?" 
 
 "When George first came here, or soon after, 
 these men were told that you meant to eject them, 
 and that he would act promptly. One of them shot 
 at George; I had just left him; it was at night." 
 
 The neat little old man was at once uneasy, and 
 looked about him, saying: "Good gracious, Con 
 stance ! It must have been an accident. Are you 
 sure? Do they live near here?" 
 
 "The bullet broke a pane of glass. If you are 
 
140 CONSTANCE TEESCOT 
 
 curious, you can see the hole it made in the wall. 
 Now, uncle, this is serious, and not a matter for doubt 
 or delay. You have tied George up so that he is 
 hated, and I do not know what may happen. He 
 has done some things to quiet these men. He has 
 settled certain of the mortgages, and you will have 
 to stand by his acts; but there is still danger. If 
 you had been here, it would have been you they 
 would have shot at. You have been merciless, and it 
 has got to stop. I will not have George killed in 
 order that you may make a few thousand dollars. I 
 will not have it ! " 
 
 1 How violent you are, Constance! You don t 
 suppose there is any any danger now? It was 
 most inconsiderate, most unusual. Of course the 
 man was arrested." 
 
 " Arrested? No; you can t arrest a whole town. 
 I mean that public opinion would be on his side. 
 He got away, and no one knows of it. If you talk 
 of it I will never, never forgive you." 
 
 "I will not," he said. "I never heard of such a 
 thing. It is awful." 
 
 She turned sharply as they sat on the log. You 
 say it is awful. It is you who made what would 
 have been easy full of risk to my husband. It lies 
 with you to put an end to this state of things. If 
 you will not, I shall leave St. Ann with George oh, 
 at once ! Now what do you mean to do ? We have 
 already talked of it of leaving." 
 
 "What do you want me to do?" he returned 
 feebly. 
 
 "Will you agree to let George buy off the squat 
 ters?" 
 
CONSTANCE TEESCOT 141 
 
 "I will talk to him. Women know nothing of 
 business." 
 
 "I do, uncle. George Trescot is my business. This 
 trifling with my husband s life and my happiness 
 must end now and here. You talk of business!" 
 She rose and stood facing him. "1 am in the busi 
 ness of life. Either you do as I say, or I shall make 
 George give up your affairs and go away. You have 
 been entirely regardless of what might happen. 
 George and the general wrote to you over and over; 
 you did not reply or you refused to yield anything. 
 These rebel friends of yours hate you ; and now this 
 attempt at murder comes as a result of your selfish 
 folly." 
 
 "No one mentioned this this remarkable inci 
 dent. I have been left in the most culpable igno 
 rance. I am a perfectly reasonable man. Let Tres 
 cot clear them out, and I will well, I will then see 
 what may be done to help them." 
 
 "Yes; you will see; and with George dead, and 
 you too if you announce your intention and stay 
 here. I will not have it. Will you do as George 
 wants, or will you not?" 
 
 "I will not be bullied. I must think it over." 
 
 "You will do no such thing. This life of sus 
 pense is simply unendurable. Have you no com 
 mon sense no compassion for me, no realization of 
 the danger you have brought upon us ? " She turned 
 from him with a gesture of despair, crying: "You 
 are an impossible person. You have neither common 
 sense nor heart. I have done with you. I hope never 
 to see you again. As she ended, she moved away 
 with quick steps through the darkening wood. 
 
142 CONSTANCE TEESCOT 
 
 "Great heavens!" he cried, as he stood up. 
 "Are you going to leave me here alone?" 
 
 "I am; you can walk home." 
 
 1 Constance ! Constance ! " he cried. 
 
 She turned back. "Well, what is it?" 
 . "I will do it." 
 
 " Yes until you get home. Oh, you and your 
 money ! I want no more of it ; I had rather sew or 
 beg." 
 
 "But I will do it. George may do as he likes." 
 
 "And you will pay? You will let him settle with 
 the squatters?" 
 
 "Yes, yes." 
 
 "And the other things the foreclosures?" 
 
 "Yes, yes." He rose, very shaky. She gave him 
 her arm as he tottered. 
 
 "And about the lands here?" 
 
 "I will never give them up." 
 
 She smiled, and, contented with her victory, said : 
 "I would not if I were you. Here is the buggy." 
 
 He was silent all the way home, nursing his 
 wrath. 
 
 Her husband met them as they entered his library. 
 
 Have you had a pleasant drive, Mr. Hood ? 
 
 "I have not, sir. It has been most disagreeable." 
 
 "My uncle has agreed, George, that whatever 
 terms you may make with the squatters, and about 
 the mortgages, he will abide by them." 
 
 Trescot was surprised. "Oh, thank you," he cried. 
 "It is a great relief, sir, great 1 
 
 "I agreed to it under compulsion," said Hood. 
 "On reflection, I am of opinion" 
 
CONSTANCE TRESCOT 143 
 
 Trescot turned on him. "Did you tell my wife 
 you would do as she has said?" 
 
 "I did; but, upon reconsidering, I 
 
 1 Then, sir, I shall act on your very wise decision ; 
 and it is time I did, and none too soon. I will talk 
 it all over with you to-night or to-morrow." 
 
 "We shall see," said the old man; "I am too 
 weak to discuss matters at present. 
 
 "I have no desire to do so," returned Trescot. 
 
 "Uncle," said Susan, an amused listener, "you 
 had better lie down before dinner; you must be 
 tired." 
 
 "Damn everybody!" said the old man, and disap 
 peared, clutching at Susan s arm. 
 
 "And now, dear," said George, "as you have been 
 acting for me in this business 
 
 "No, no; I was acting for myself." 
 
 "I see, dear; and what did you say to that im 
 probable old man ? 
 
 "I said you had been shot at." 
 
 "Constance!" 
 
 "I did. He thinks he will be killed. I told him 
 that would be a great relief. Oh, I said horrid 
 things. He is half dead already." 
 
 "Do you think you were altogether wise to make 
 him angry?" 
 
 "What do I care? I am a woman in love, at bay. 
 Oh, I used my claws; but he gave way; he always 
 does. To-morrow he will change his mind. 
 
 "Be at ease, dear; I am too relieved to give him a 
 chance to escape. I could not have used any risk 
 I run, or have run, to make your uncle give me a 
 
144 CONSTANCE TEESCOT 
 
 free hand; but I should simply have said, Either 
 I am to do as seems best, or I give up the charge of 
 your affairs." 
 
 "I told him you would." 
 
 Susan entered, laughing. "George," she said, 
 "my uncle wants a time-table of the railroad East. 
 What have you done to him, Conny?" 
 
 George and Constance laughed as she replied, "I 
 frightened him well." 
 
 "He is a bit over-cooked, Conny," said Susan. 
 "Did you tell him he would be scalped? He is in 
 a panic." 
 
 "He won t be to-morrow," returned Constance, 
 still a little cross. 
 
 "He thinks he will not get up for dinner. When 
 ever his feelings are hurt by you or me he decides to 
 make a new will. I shall hear of it to-morrow. I 
 have been very rich, steeped in poverty, and mod 
 erately well off. He tells me all about it every 
 time. It would be very, very funny if there were 
 not too much of it. It is money, money, money. I 
 think there must be devil-saints and their blood- 
 money. It is an obsession with Uncle Rufus. He 
 is now being robbed and ruined by these unlucky 
 squatters, and is talking of giving thousands to 
 endow an asylum for the orphans of dead rebels! 
 It all has its serious side, but I could not help being 
 amused. 
 
 "Amused? There is nothing amusing about it- 
 nothing. Nothing as unreasonable as Uncle Rufus 
 is amusing to me ; and he is always acting, with him 
 self for audience when the play does n t draw. He 
 
fl I 
 
 1 ) 
 CONSTANCE TRESCOT 145 
 
 was horribly scared, Susan. Is he still? I have 
 worse things in store if he should dare to change his 
 mind. This is no matter for laughter. I hope he 
 will go. This is all of my life. It is George Tres- 
 cot. She was becoming more and more excited and 
 angry. 
 
 "I shall do nothing to keep him here/ said Tres 
 cot, laying a hand on her arm. "But be quiet, 
 dear." 
 
 Never before had he seen her swept by such a 
 storm of passionate wrath. 
 
 She drew herself up at his touch, and was in 
 stantly quieted, like some splendid animal tamed 
 and stilled by the touch of a master. 
 
 I did not mean to laugh at you," said Susan, 
 her kindly face, with its great power of expression, 
 becoming suddenly grave; "but you ought by this 
 time to know, Conny dear, that everything has its 
 droll side for me. You take uncle too seriously. 
 You get superbly angry ; I make him appear ridicu 
 lous. Either answers; and, dear, the anger hurts 
 you; the ridicule is effective, and hurts no one. I 
 am altogether on your side. But what about that 
 time-table?" 
 
 "I have none," said Trescot; "and he cannot go 
 until we have set all this matter at rest. After 
 that he cannot go too soon." 
 
 "Very well; he shall stay just as long as you 
 want," said Susan, and left the room. 
 
 Then Constance sat down and burst into tears. 
 
 "What is it, my love?" said Trescot, comforting 
 
 her. 
 10 
 
146 CONSTANCE TEESCOT 
 
 "Oh, everything, George, everything; I did not 
 think any one could be as heartless. I hope they will 
 all go away oh, soon; I want you to myself." 
 
 "I do not think he will stay, and I do not want 
 him; he will only muddle matters. Come out into 
 the garden; we will talk of other things. Let this 
 rest." 
 
 It was his way to avoid needless discussions, and, 
 having settled a thing and reached a decision, to 
 dwell upon it no longer. It was otherwise with 
 Constance. It required a distinct effort, as Susan 
 said, and she knew her sister well, "for Conny to 
 pick the burs off her mind." He, too, was begin 
 ning to observe the persistency with which she dwelt 
 upon unpleasant and, indeed, pleasant ideas. 
 
 The quiet of a windless night, with the unclouded 
 brilliancy of the Southern heavens, was over them 
 as they went into the garden. She slipped her hand 
 into his, and they walked up and down the garden 
 path. After a. little she said. "I behaved like a bad 
 child. You do not scold me, George." 
 
 "I never shall. You have that within which 
 scolds enough at need. 
 
 "I sometimes doubt it." 
 
 "Oh, no; never do that." 
 
 "I envy you your patience, George. I wonder 
 if ever I shall be like you. They say husband and 
 wife do sometimes grow to be alike." 
 
 Or more and more unlike. We are both distinct 
 characters, and both strong natures ; we shall never 
 grow into resemblance." 
 
 She made no immediate reply, but after a little 
 
CONSTANCE TRESCOT 147 
 
 asked inconsequently : "Were you ever afraid, 
 George?" 
 
 "Oh, often; always when going under fire. Why 
 do you ask?" 
 
 "I have been afraid of late; I do not know why. 
 It is like the fear in a dream. Is there such a thing 
 as pure, causeless fear?" 
 
 "Yes," he said; "some insane people have it, or 
 so I have heard." 
 
 "Well, I am not that," she said, laughing. "I 
 suppose it is a result of my long anxiety about you 
 my sense of danger ever since that dreadful 
 night." 
 
 "Well," he returned, "we are, or are going to be, 
 in quiet waters. See how glorious Orion is. 
 
 She was not yet to be turned aside. 
 
 "Oh, I was quite hopeless about these wretched 
 affairs, and you never are; and you are always pa 
 tient with me and every one, even when things seem 
 so utterly hopeless." 
 
 "Ah, Constance: 
 
 " Where hope is none 
 Patience is there a god. 
 
 "How you love to quiet me with a quotation! It 
 is very clever. I never have an answer. Is n t that 
 Jupiter, George?" she said, looking up at the shin 
 ing stars. 
 
 "Yes; I think it is. What a little part of it all 
 we are ; and yet we are. And, like the great rolling 
 worlds overhead, we too are pulled by a hundred 
 
148 CONSTANCE TRESCOT 
 
 exterior forces and, like them, must keep our orbits 
 steadily. 
 
 " Thank you," she said; "I accept the lesson. I 
 will try; you know what is for me the one over 
 ruling force." 
 
 I know, dear ; but there are others. 
 
 "Is not love enough?" 
 
 "Yes; the love that is in and of all earthly love 
 at its best." 
 
 She walked on in silence, and then returned: "I 
 understand you ; but do you think I could ever love 
 you more or better than I do?" 
 
 He hesitated, and then answered: "Will you not 
 love me better as the years go on, and as, with God s 
 help, I shall be better worth the loving, for, indeed, 
 I mean to be?" 
 
 "Oh, yes, yes." 
 
 "Then there will be reasons for love s sweet in 
 crease. 
 
 "I am trapped!" she cried, laughing. "You 
 ought to be ashamed. Good night"; and kissing 
 him, she went away, crying: "It was not fair; I 
 shall be careful how I make admissions." 
 
XII 
 
 I US AN announced next day at break 
 fast that her uncle would remain in his 
 room, and desired to be alone. He 
 wished Constance to know that the 
 toast was burned, and that he had re 
 ceived a shock to a sensitive nervous system. "My 
 dear Conny, he thinks them equally important. He 
 wished me to say to you and I do, dear, for he 
 will ask me I was to say that the least gratitude 
 on your part would have saved him from this dis 
 tressing incident." 
 
 "Toast or nervous shock?" asked Constance. 
 "Don t be cynical, dear," said Susan; "toast, of 
 course. 
 
 Trescot declined any connection with the matter, 
 and went away laughing. 
 
 On the following day Mr. Hood came down to 
 breakfast. He was unusually silent, and refusing 
 to say where he was going, went out alone. He 
 lunched with General Averill, and returned late, 
 having elaborately arranged his ideas for the legal 
 consultation to take place that evening. 
 
 When Constance, mildly penitent as to methods 
 because victorious, asked him to walk in the garden, 
 he said he preferred his own society, and declined 
 
 149 
 
150 CONSTANCE TRESCOT 
 
 the rose she offered, with a well-worn classical quo 
 tation concerning the Greeks and their gifts. 
 
 When Susan reminded him of the need to rest 
 before dinner, he said in a querulous tone that he 
 was never left alone a moment, and he wished 
 Susan would attend to her own affairs. 
 
 "My dear Conny," said Susan on her return, 
 "when Uncle Rufus pinches you or me, it is because 
 some one whom he cannot pinch has been pinching 
 him. I know his subdued look. Something dis 
 agreeable has happened. He will be sure to tell 
 us all about it." 
 
 At dinner he seemed to have recovered his good 
 humor, and was in one of his talkative moods, and 
 soon fulfilled Susan s prediction. Apparently Con 
 stance was forgiven; indeed, his resentments rarely 
 lasted long, and, as Susan said, the sun would have 
 to hurry if it meant to go down upon his wrath. 
 
 "Well, Mr. Hood," said Trescot, "we are waiting 
 to hear what you think of St. Ann. You have been 
 out all day." 
 
 "I find it a remarkable place a most remarkable 
 place." 
 
 "In what way, uncle?" said Constance. 
 
 "Oh, the people the people." 
 
 "But how remarkable?" asked Trescot. "In 
 every way? They are very kindly, some of them 
 cross, and no wonder; but still, among them there 
 are many very pleasant, well-bred gentlefolks. I 
 find a few of the older people really charming, with 
 their flavor of Creole ways. Whom did you meet ? 
 
 "I met that rude animal, Greyhurst. He wanted 
 
CONSTANCE TEESCOT 151 
 
 me to come into his office for another talk. I de 
 clined. He is a brute." 
 
 "But, really, I do not think he means to be ill- 
 mannered or rude," said Trescot. "He certainly 
 is impulsive and short of temper." 
 
 "That is very well, sir; but I conceive myself 
 to be at least able to judge of manners. A 
 brute, sir; a wild beast. I desire to be understood 
 as stating categorically that he is a mannerless 
 cur." 
 
 "That seems definite. I am glad you refused to 
 talk business." 
 
 "I did." 
 
 "Whom else did you see?" asked Susan, begin 
 ning to enjoy herself, with murmured comments to 
 her sister about the spider and the fly. 
 
 "I met at the general s Colonel Dudley, of Gen 
 eral Stonewall Jackson s staff. I found him in 
 teresting. When I expressed myself with regard to 
 my convictions concerning State rights, we had a 
 very agreeable conversation. We went away from 
 Averill s together, and he took me to their club. He 
 was somewhat in doubt as to my argument in re 
 gard to the secession of the individual as justifying 
 thaf of the State." 
 
 "Is n t that fine, Conny?" said Susan, in a whis 
 per. "Why not divorce as an additional argument? 
 Is n t that a form of secession?" 
 
 Longing to pass on Susan s contributions to her 
 husband, Constance asked: "Whom did you meet 
 there?" 
 
 "The accommodations are very remarkable, I be- 
 
152 CONSTANCE TRESCOT 
 
 lieve," said Trescot; "but I have never been inside 
 of the club." 
 
 "The colonel explained to me," replied Hood, 
 "why there were no front steps; they contemplate 
 larger quarters. We went in at the back; in fact, 
 through the kitchen." 
 
 "Well," said Susan, "that is rather novel; but 
 it might be of use when one is going out to dine." 
 
 "There appeared to be but one room, and a kind 
 of bar at one end quite genially provincial." 
 
 "Delightful," whispered Susan. "I am sure he 
 told them so." 
 
 "I hope they made you juleps, uncle," said Con 
 stance. "They are delicious." 
 
 "They did. I was presented to several Confed 
 erate officers. Every one of them had a separate 
 receipt for a mint-julep. The old black fellow 
 seemed to know them all. I tried one I think it 
 was Colonel La Grange s grandfather s receipt. I 
 regretted it; I was a little giddy after it. I drank 
 to the memory of the Confederacy a tribute 
 
 1 1 Tithes of mint, Conny, said Susan. 
 
 "Did you really do that, uncle?" said Constance. 
 
 "I did." 
 
 "Did they like your toast?" asked Trescot, as he 
 caught his wife s expression of mirthful surprise. 
 
 "Like it? Yes, I think so; they did not say so. 
 They appeared to me to be more reserved than I 
 had expected to find them." 
 
 "You must have enjoyed your visit," remarked 
 Susan, on the track of inquiry. 
 
 "Not altogether; one of them a Captain Tracy 
 
CONSTANCE TEESCOT 153 
 
 pointed out the photographs of Jefferson Davis and 
 General Lee, and a bad copy of Peale s Washington. 
 Colonel Dudley asked me on which side I supposed 
 Washington would have been had he lived in the 
 time of our late war. I said he could have been on 
 only one side." 
 
 That seems prob able, said Susan, with complete 
 gravity; "but did they agree with you, uncle?" 
 
 "No; they did not. Colonel La Grange said 
 Washington was a damned Federalist, and would 
 have been with the North. He liked a strong central 
 government. 
 
 That is fine, exclaimed Trescot, I like that. 
 
 "I did not. It was disgusting, sir; and they 
 all laughed. I was shocked. After that I ven 
 tured to sound some of them about the absurd feel 
 ing I understand to exist here in regard to the 
 squatters. 
 
 "I am sorry you did that," said Trescot. 
 
 1 And so was I, said Hood, meekly. They were, 
 I may say, quite unpleasant." 
 
 "But," said Constance, "you told them, I hope, 
 that you meant to buy up these claims." 
 
 I did not ; I have reconsidered the matter. 
 
 "But I have not," said Trescot, decisively, push 
 ing back his chair. "I hear the general." 
 
 "Dear me!" said the old gentleman, "how very 
 hasty everybody is!" 
 
 "I am in no hurry," said Constance; "and Susan 
 was never in a hurry in all her life. Take your 
 wine in peace with us, uncle. George will send for 
 you when he and Mr. Averill are ready." 
 
154 CONSTANCE TEESCOT 
 
 " General Averill," corrected Mr. Hood, cracking 
 a pecan-nut with an emphasizing snap. 
 
 "Major-general, 1 said Susan, with an upward 
 
 lift of her eyebrows, and a touch of her sister s foot. 
 
 "Yes, yes; thank you, my dear. There are so 
 
 many generals here it is quite confusing. One is 
 
 an editor, I understand." 
 
 Constance was thus reminded of her desire that 
 her uncle should see the "St. Ann Herald," and, 
 rising, said: 
 
 "I think, uncle, you may like to see the general- 
 editor s paper. I never fail to read it. Here it is"; 
 and so saying, she laid it on the table and sat down 
 to observe what would be the result of this inno 
 cent effort to instruct and amuse. 
 
 While Susan took up a book and Constance sat 
 expectant, Mr. Hood adjusted his glasses and began 
 to consider the small sheet before him. Some peo 
 ple read the dailies, some run over them as indexes 
 of passing events. Mr. Hood studied them. For 
 ten minutes he was absorbed. Constance watched 
 him as a boy watches the bob of his fishing-line. At 
 last, desiring an appreciative conspirator, she said: 
 "Susan, did you bring me our old receipt-book?" 
 Susan, looking up, caught her eye. "Yes; shall 
 I get it now ? 
 
 "No." Having drawn Susan s attention, a slight 
 facial gesture indicated her desire that Susan should 
 be the appreciative boy on the bank. Susan, in 
 stantly comprehending, began to observe her uncle. 
 Presently, and without looking up, he murmured : 
 "Very remarkable." It was a way he had when 
 
CONSTANCE TBESCOT 155 
 
 thus engaged. "Very satisfactory. The C. and 
 St. A. is thinking of a line to the bend. Hum! I 
 might assist that. Good gracious! That is in 
 teresting. 
 
 He began to read aloud, while Constance and her 
 sister exchanged smiles. His way of announcing 
 what interested him in his paper failed altogether 
 to consider the occupying interests of others. The 
 habit is keenly felt in some family circles as a 
 breakfast nuisance. Cotton has gone up two cents. 
 What s this what s this? We understand that 
 Mr. Hood, the obstructive New England million 
 aire, is now in St. Ann at the residence of his niece. 
 We trust that he will see the necessity of more le 
 nient action in an impoverished community than he 
 or his agent has hitherto shown/ ! 
 
 He laid down the paper, and said: "What does 
 the man mean? I must call on him to-morrow and 
 explain. 
 
 "I think George would prefer to do that him 
 self, uncle. When he announces your generous 
 intentions you will see what a fine apology there 
 will be." 
 
 "Among you all I seem to be very little consid 
 ered. I wish you to understand that I am not a 
 puppet for George Trescot to pull the wires." 
 
 As neither woman replied, he returned to his 
 study of the " St. Ann Herald," and Susan, on a 
 signal from Constance, to a study of his face. 
 
 Presently he looked up again. 
 
 "Good heavens!" 
 
 "What is it?" said Constance. 
 
156 CONSTANCE TBESCOT 
 
 "What a country! what people! It is incred 
 ible, monstrous!" 
 
 "They are very pleasant people, uncle. I wish 
 some of our own were as courteous and as gen 
 tle. We are harder, I fear. Of course there are 
 all kinds, and some most undesirable. But what 
 is it?" 
 
 "Most uncivilized! Listen to this: An unfortu 
 nate rencontre occurred yesterday, on the levee, be 
 tween Mr. James Lawton and Mr. Burpee. We 
 regret to state that the former was wounded it was 
 supposed mortally. Mr. Burpee lost a finger, and 
 a small negro boy was unlucky enough to be shot 
 in the stomach. He is now dead. The affair was 
 the final result of a long quarrel in regard to the 
 title to a lot on the main street. On inquiry we 
 learn that Mr. Lawton is less seriously wounded 
 than had been supposed/ 
 
 Hood looked up from the paper. "Does this kind 
 of thing occur often, Constance?" 
 
 "Oh, now and then," she replied lightly; "one 
 gets used to it. You hear a shot, and then people, as 
 they say, squander." 
 
 "You had better buy a revolver, uncle," said Su 
 san, laughing. 
 
 He stood up, tottering a little. "It does not pre 
 sent itself to me, young women, as a matter for in 
 considerate mirth. You seem to forget that I have 
 property in this town, and that occurrences of this 
 kind may affect its value." He began to walk 
 about the room, the paper in his hand, muttering 
 to himself: "Most astounding! most barbarous!" 
 
CONSTANCE TRESCOT 157 
 
 Both nieces preserved an amused silence. 
 
 "I think you stated that this kind of incident is 
 common, Constance." 
 
 "Rather, uncle." 
 
 It appeared to Susan a definite but not very 
 pleasing method of settling a business difficulty, and 
 as she so expressed herself Trescot appeared and 
 carried Mr. Hood away to the study, where was Gen 
 eral Averill. 
 
 As he disappeared, Constance said: "Of course, 
 dear, you saw that I meant to make it all as bad as 
 I could." 
 
 "You were quite right." 
 
 "In fact, this kind of thing is very dreadful. 
 Mr. Lawton is really a most agreeable and highly 
 educated man, and has been very kind to George; 
 but, oh, Susan, I have lived here in constant ter 
 ror. I do not see how the women stand it. I had 
 already heard of this last horror from George. Mr. 
 Lawton is not badly hurt, but I fancied the news 
 would be morally useful to uncle." 
 
 "Is it so common, Conny ? 
 
 "No; but it has happened twice since we came 
 once in the country, and once on the main street. 
 Two men were killed. This is the third of these 
 agreeable incidents." 
 
 "It seems very dreadful." 
 
 "Yes, it is, it is ; and, dear Susan, I must tell you. 
 I was told not to mention it, but I must. George 
 was shot at by one of these squatters." She told 
 the story, but without naming Coffin. 
 
 "Oh, my poor Conny, why was I not told sooner? 
 
158 CONSTANCE TRESCOT 
 
 You ought not to stay here. You must not stay 
 here." 
 
 "Oh, I do not know. I hope not long, and it 
 is not George s fault. We are regarded, by all but 
 a few old soldiers, as hard and cruel. It is uncle s 
 fault. There is not one thing that could not be set 
 tled easily with a little forbearance." 
 
 "Knowing uncle as I do, I can readily believe 
 you. I think, Conny, you sent him away in an ex 
 cellent frame of mind. He will yield everything and 
 go home. I suppose you told him of this awful 
 thing. It was like him to conceal it." 
 
 "Yes, I told him ; and I wish he would go. I hate 
 him!" 
 
 "Oh, Conny, not that." 
 
 "I do. I hate him!" 
 
 Susan was right. To the amazement of Averill, 
 Hood stood to his bargain with Constance, and 
 agreed to give to the squatters land on the bluff at 
 some distance from the water-line of the bend. He 
 was even willing to pay at need. He authorized 
 George to withdraw the remaining foreclosures and 
 to cancel or lessen the past indebtedness for unpaid 
 interest where that seemed best. When Averill put 
 before him an agreement authorizing George to 
 carry these arrangements into effect, he hesitated; 
 but at last, seeing Averill smile, he signed the paper. 
 
 "It will have an excellent influence on public 
 opinion," said the general. "And what, now, about 
 the case of the water-front at the bend?" 
 
 Trescot waited, watching Mr. Hood. He was sat 
 isfied with what he had won, and not unwilling to 
 
CONSTANCE TRESCOT 159 
 
 try a case as important as that of the ejectment suit 
 brought by the heirs of the Baptiste family. And 
 still he felt that if it were his own land he would 
 have listened to any equitable form of settlement 
 outside of the courts. 
 
 Here at last was a chance for the endless discus 
 sions which Hood enjoyed. His eyelids drew to 
 gether and his face became eager as he said: "I 
 should like to go into that matter fully, fully." 
 
 "Let me state it," said Trescot. "Just forty 
 years ago, in 1830, your father bought land on the 
 bluff from the Baptiste family. They retained the 
 river-front below the bluff, and some of the bluff 
 to eastward of it. Even then the shore had prospec 
 tive value. The river has since then eaten away 
 their beach, their frontage on the bluff, and some 
 hundreds of feet of that which your father bought. 
 You now own, therefore, the valuable river-frontage, 
 if we can prove the sale to your father and define 
 the bounds." 
 
 "That seems simple," said Hood. 
 
 "No," said Averill; "it is not simple." 
 
 "And why not?" 
 
 "When your people were here in the war we 
 burned the cotton. The old town on the bluff took 
 fire and was utterly destroyed; the records were 
 burned. My own house on the bluff went, and with 
 it your deeds. But all this you know as well as 
 I do." 
 
 "Yes; but the taxes." 
 
 "Taxes go for little in land cases, and where are 
 the receipts? I had them once, but they, too, are 
 
160 CONSTANCE TRESCOT 
 
 gone with the deeds. We have with difficulty ac 
 quired the surveyor s books with a description of the 
 lot and a rough map. His wife had luckily kept 
 them, and will prove Hazewell s writing. It is 
 hardly enough, and juries are very uncertain." 
 
 "It is damned rascality," said Hood. "It is a 
 pure swindle blackmail." 
 
 "It may be; but you must not say so least of 
 all to Mr. Greyhurst. He is employed to prosecute 
 the Baptiste claim, and, if he wins, will have a large 
 fee perhaps a handsome share of the frontage. I 
 think him over-eagerone of the men who become 
 identified with their clients. He is very quick-tem 
 pered ; but I do not think him a rascal. One has to 
 be careful here in the use of language, Mr. Hood." 
 
 "Oh, of course certainly." He was at once sub 
 dued, but said : Then you advise me to settle with 
 them, divide, do something?" He got up and 
 walked about. "I don t see my way to it. I won t 
 do it. No one ever doubted my title until the flood 
 made it valuable. I shall think it over. It will re 
 quire further consideration, and I am tired I 
 must beg to be excused. We can take it up again 
 to-morrow. 
 
 "But had you not better hear the rest of the evi 
 dence?" said Averill. Hood at once sat down, as 
 eager as ever. "One word," said Averill. "We 
 are old friends. I ask you as a favor to let us 
 offer to divide the front, and thus settle this busi 
 ness. 
 
 "I will not do it. It is contrary to my sense of 
 justice. I have yielded everything else. I was bul- 
 
CONSTANCE TEESCOT 161 
 
 lied by that man, and insulted in the club. I mean 
 to have this case go to trial. Is that the whole of our 
 case? You said there was more." 
 
 "Yes," said Trescot; "the general has said it is 
 not all, and is aware that we can probably prove the 
 bounds. We shall find the blazed trees, and that, 
 with other evidence, ought to win the case." 
 
 "Then, sir, you meant to conceal this and induce 
 me to settle!" 
 
 Trescot flushed. "No; I meant to tell you; you 
 interrupted us; but even now I beg of you to take 
 the more generous view. I think we shall win; but 
 it will go to another court and result in endless liti 
 gation. 
 
 "I do not care." Trescot s last statement had 
 made him obstinate. "I shall tell Mr. Greyhurst 
 that I will listen to no compromise, or perhaps Tres 
 cot had better inform him of my decision." 
 
 "But," said Averill, "if we win, will you not 
 then consider the unfortunate accident which has 
 cost these people so dear, and arrange the matter?" 
 
 "No, sir, I will not. I mean to teach these peo 
 ple that" 
 
 "What people?" said Averill, coldly. 
 
 "These this town. I mean to have my rights." 
 
 Averill was both indignant and hurt; but see 
 ing that it was vain to reason with him, after 
 an unpleasant talk they gave up. Trescot, who 
 felt that he had done his duty, was not sorry 
 to accept the situation. It was one to tempt a 
 young and able lawyer. Before leaving the house, 
 Averill told him that their case would come up 
 11 
 
162 CONSTANCE TEESCOT 
 
 in a week, which was rather sooner than Trescot 
 desired. 
 
 Before going to bed, Mr. Hood announced that he 
 intended to leave the next day. Constance was not 
 grieved. She, however, urged him to stay; but he 
 replied : 
 
 "No; I never change my mind you know that; 
 and I am not well" which was true. "I want my 
 home comforts, and I wish to escape being con 
 tradicted every minute. " 
 
 He went at noon the next day, taking Susan with 
 him, and assured Constance, as he left, that he had 
 never been more uncomfortable. 
 
 For an hour after leaving St. Ann he talked to 
 Susan, with apparent satisfaction, of the ease with 
 which his presence and capacity in affairs had 
 settled these long-standing difficulties. He was at 
 no pains to relate the various influential motives 
 which had contributed to make him listen to rea 
 son. His decision to abide by the issues of the ap 
 proaching trial presented itself to his mind as likely 
 to afford a useful lesson to a community which he 
 described as lawless. 
 
 He soon made it clear to Susan that his anger at 
 Constance was of longer life than usual. "Most 
 generally women degenerate when they marry. She 
 is degenerating, I think. She was very impertinent 
 to me." 
 
 "What did she do?" 
 
 "Oh, no matter. It is over. I have been treated 
 with great disrespect, Susan. I think I shall make 
 a new will and leave you everything." 
 

 CONSTANCE TEESCOT 163 
 
 "It would save trouble, uncle. I should at once 
 divide with Conny." 
 
 "No, you would not." 
 
 Try me, she laughed. I do not think you can 
 know me." 
 
 "Do I not! You are like your father. It is some 
 times an advantage to have known two or three 
 what I may adequately describe as degenerations. 
 You are like him very like him. He joked his way 
 through life. He joked away an estate as large as 
 mine, and laughed when it was gone." 
 
 "I thought, sir, it was lost by his partner s ras 
 cality." 
 
 "Well, perhaps you know better than I do." 
 
 Susan shifted the talk. "But who is Constance 
 like?" 
 
 "Like? She is like her mother." 
 
 "That does not help me. I never saw my mother 
 to remember her. You have more than once made 
 clear to me that you were not friends, and so you 
 must pardon me if I ask you to be very careful 
 what you say." 
 
 "Good gracious, Susan! I said nothing unpleas 
 ant. I will say nothing of your mother ; but I will 
 say that Constance is a fool, and is very like her. 
 If Constance ever has children, she will be like a 
 tigress with her cubs. There s really a good bit 
 more of the savage animal in women than in men." 
 
 "Is that your own wisdom, Uncle Rufus?" 
 
 He said, at times, things which appeared to imply 
 glimpses of insight into character which were far 
 above his ordinary range of appreciations. 
 
164 CONSTANCE TRESCOT 
 
 "It is; and I wish you would stop talking. I 
 shall try to get a nap." 
 
 Susan made no comment. His statement about 
 her sister was extreme, but was felt by Susan to 
 have in it a certain amount of truth. That in the 
 life of their mother there had been any justifica 
 tion for the more than implied opinion of her, Susan 
 knew to be untrue. She was glad when the talk 
 fell away and he dropped asleep. 
 
XIII 
 
 lost no time. He went with 
 Coffin and fixed on the great trees of 
 the inland boundary, and made other 
 J arrangements. Next he called on 
 Averill to report his success. He 
 found him in bed, and likely to be laid by for several 
 days. Thus deprived of his senior counsel, he 
 should have to rely on himself alone. He felt him 
 self quite equal to the task. 
 
 In the latter part of the day, after Hood s de 
 parture, he busied himself with personal visits to 
 several of the persons on whose properties he had 
 been ordered to foreclose mortgages, and left with 
 some of them, as the agent of Mr. Hood, entire or 
 partial releases from their debts for past interest, 
 and a promise, in regard to others, to give them time 
 and lower rates of interest in the future. 
 
 He had no trouble with the squatters. There were 
 seven in all. He offered them small holdings, in fee 
 simple, on the lands back of the bend, and, in case 
 of failure in the suit, a reasonable compensation in 
 money. In this he was aided by Coffin, and met 
 with no difficulty. 
 
 Thus released, he gave himself up to the case 
 before him, and, to arrange matters with the op- 
 
 165 
 
166 CONSTANCE TRESCOT 
 
 posing counsel, called upon Greyhurst. The law 
 yer was in a very good humor. He knew of Aver- 
 ill s illness, and believed that if the case went at once 
 to trial he would find a feebler antagonist in Trescot. 
 He said: "Sit down. A little bourbon? No? I 
 hope you don t mean to ask for delay on account 
 of Averill s illness. I really could not consent." 
 
 "No; the time is rather short, but I can indeed, 
 I mean to be ready. The court will reach it about 
 the seventh of October, I suppose. " 
 
 "Yes, on the seventh, I am sure. I hear that the 
 general is ill. Shall you have any other counsel?" 
 
 "No; but I do not mean on that account to ask 
 for postponement. I shall try it alone." 
 
 "Do you still feel that all chance of settlement 
 is out of the question?" 
 
 "Yes; I am instructed to try the case." 
 
 "I can only regret it," said Greyhurst. 
 
 "You were so kind at one time as to warn me in 
 regard to the hostility Mr. Hood s measures had 
 caused. I was really very much obliged to you. 
 Now, as it has no bearing on our own case, you will 
 be glad to know that I have settled amicably most 
 of the larger mortgage cases, and also those of the 
 poor fellows who have squatted on Mr. Hood s land. 
 It has been to me and I fancy to them a very 
 agreeable relief." 
 
 Greyhurst was ill pleased. A weapon was lost to 
 him. Trescot s gentle ways, his quiet manner and 
 well-bred consideration, had made for him friends, 
 and his success in arranging the matter of the dam 
 aged cotton had obliged important people. And 
 
CONSTANCE TKESCOT 167 
 
 now this more than liberal treatment of debtors 
 would tell in his favor, and he might find a jury 
 quite too amiably disposed. Greyhurst did not like 
 it. To be annoyed was, with him, sure to result 
 in anger, and that in heedless or irritating speech. 
 He said: 
 
 "You were very wise. The generosity comes at 
 a time when it is politic." 
 
 Trescot laughed. "It would have come long ago 
 had I had my way." 
 
 "You will find few to believe that." 
 
 Trescot rose. "Mr. Greyhurst, we have hardly 
 had one talk over this matter in which you have not 
 said something disagreeable. I do not see why you 
 do so. I have done nothing to entitle you to doubt 
 my word. We are both old soldiers and now about 
 to go into a legal contest. It ought to involve neither 
 bitterness nor any need to be other than courteous. 
 
 It was difficult to resist words conveyed with the 
 manner which made George Trescot so much liked. 
 Anger would have bred anger. The gentleness of 
 the remonstrance checked an irascible man. He 
 said: 
 
 "I spoke hastily, Mr. Trescot." 
 
 "Thank you; I was sure you did." 
 
 Showing none of the annoyance he still felt, he 
 shook hands with Greyhurst as they parted, and 
 went out, feeling how hard it had been not to make 
 such a reply as the words, and still more the manner, 
 of the older lawyer invited. He resolved to be 
 equally cool and patient in the trial. 
 
 It is strangely true that at the moment his oppo- 
 
168 CONSTANCE TRESCOT 
 
 nent was, for the thousandth time, regretting un 
 reasonable anger, and promising himself also for the 
 future a more resolute self-rule. The general once 
 remarked of him that he was half broken, like an 
 ill-trained colt. This was said to Dudley over their 
 cards at the little club just before Averill fell ill. 
 
 "It is that strain of Indian blood," returned 
 Dudley; "but it must be far back. I knew his 
 grandmother a fine old Creole dame. They were 
 friends of my people." 
 
 "I wish," said Averill, "that, if he is your friend, 
 you would teach him to muzzle his temper. He 
 never sees Trescot without saying what would make 
 one of us call him out." 
 
 "I am not his friend," said Dudley. "The man 
 has no friends. He has intimates and acquaintances, 
 but he is too thin-skinned for friendship. It is 
 a pity, too. He is not a bad fellow, and is enough 
 of a gentleman to be sorry after his damned vanity 
 has made him say something disagreeable." 
 
 In the ordered life of a more complex society 
 Greyhurst s readiness to take offense would have 
 caused amusement and been checked in any excessive 
 manifestation. In the wilder West, and in St. 
 Ann, where he had lived since the war, the indi 
 vidualities of men were less conventionally governed. 
 He was felt to be a dangerous man, and as resent 
 ments were here apt to result seriously, he was either 
 avoided or treated cautiously by his old comrades 
 in arms. 
 
 Constance, pleased to be again alone with Tres 
 cot, complained that he was now away from her 
 
CONSTANCE TRESCOT 169 
 
 all day. He made clear that for a week he must 
 be at his office or elsewhere than with her ; but that 
 after the trial he would go away with her for a 
 fortnight to New Orleans. And still, as usual, he 
 kept the evenings for her, bringing his work home 
 where it was incomplete, and making plain to her 
 the evidence in the land case and his line of de 
 fense. 
 
 Flattered by the appeal to her intelligence, and 
 enjoying the novelty of the interest thus awa 
 kened, she followed his explanations with keen 
 delight. When the law business was laid aside, 
 and while she played, the tired man sat still with 
 his pipe, soothed and rested as he watched her 
 face and the house vibrated with the music of the 
 great masters. 
 
 Now she turned from the instrument. "Oh, 
 George, I wish there were no business, and then I 
 could have you all the time/ 
 
 He had heard this before. He thought it sweetly 
 unreasonable. Laughing, he returned: "I should 
 soon cease to be worth having. It is the contrasts 
 of life that make for its joys. I come home tired, 
 and here are love and peace. I go away refreshed, 
 and you are with me always. That ought to satisfy 
 you." 
 
 "It does not. I want you to be at the head of your 
 profession, and I do not want you to be so long and 
 so often away from me. Is n t that silly, George? 
 And I know I know that I shall be more and more 
 jealous as time goes on. I should like to Be compe 
 tent to fill your entire life." 
 
170 CONSTANCE TRESCOT 
 
 "That, dear, is possible in one sense; in another, 
 it never can be." 
 
 "I suppose not. This is Saturday, is n t it?" 
 
 "Yes. How the week has gone by! To-morrow I 
 shall be free all day, and Tuesday will end the strain. 
 I have felt it in my arm as I do when I am tired. 
 
 "I saw that you were saving it, George. Will 
 this trial last two days ? 
 
 "Yes; perhaps three." 
 
 "Cannot I be present?" 
 
 Why not? He anticipated success and was 
 pleased to think she should be there, and that he, 
 alone, was to try the case. "The general will be 
 in court, but not as counsel. You know that I shall 
 call him as a witness, which I could not do were he 
 in the case. He is still far from well." 
 
 Then, as usual, he read to his wife what she liked 
 best, a short tale this time a story of Hawthorne s. 
 She left him with his pipe, saying: "You will not 
 work any more. 
 
 "No; I am fully prepared. Good night." 
 
 The Sundays were delightful to Constance because 
 of their freedom from visitors, and especially be 
 cause there was no law business partly to occupy 
 George s attention. 
 
 In the afternoon of this Sunday he sat on the back 
 porch, watching the sunset as seen across the yel 
 low waters of the great river. Now and then he 
 followed with appreciative joy the tall figure of 
 Constance as she moved to and fro in the garden, 
 gathering the roses which were still abundant in this 
 genial clime. 
 
CONSTANCE TEESCOT 171 
 
 He called to her : Pick me a red rose, Constance. * 
 
 " There is but one," she called back to him. 
 
 "Then I want it." He had a woman s love of 
 flowers; and now, as she returned with her basket 
 full of roses, the white-clad figure with the wide 
 straw hat made for him a picture which he found 
 altogether charming. He went in with her, saying 
 prettinesses of love-speech, and then aided her to 
 arrange the flowers, being himself sensitive con 
 cerning their grouping, and having more refined 
 appreciation of their color- values than had his wife. 
 The great red rose he had desired was set in a long- 
 stemmed glass on his table. 
 
 "This is you," he said, "an ambassador of love. 
 It seems to have the conscious pride of beauty. Oh, 
 you have it, too." 
 
 She flushed with pleasure as she cried: "George, 
 how absurd you are!" Yet she liked it well. His 
 tendency to set his love in delicacies of poetic ex 
 pression pleased her. She could show in many 
 ways the strength and quality of her affection, but 
 she had not his gift of language. Her love was 
 more passionate than his of another, perhaps not 
 of so fine a fiber. 
 
 After their evening meal they sat in the library, 
 with open windows, in the still, warm air. He felt 
 better for the quiet hour, and for the peace of the 
 morning service, where her voice rose that day in 
 the old hymns familiar to his childhood. She went 
 because it pleased him ; she sang because he liked it. 
 
 "The Sunday stillness is very pleasant," she said. 
 "You always look rested on Sunday night." 
 
172 CONSTANCE TEESCOT 
 
 Yes; it is like an oasis in the desert we pause 
 to rest and win refreshment for the march of the 
 morning. It is the one day when it is all evening, 
 and man ceases from labor. That is a bit far 
 fetched, but I so feel it." 
 
 "I understand, George; but for me it is of all 
 days the best because I have you, and people stay 
 away, and there is no business. Is it I or is it the 
 church that is so restful?" 
 
 He smiled: "I do not know, my love, whether 
 women often feel what some men do, that even if 
 the hours of the service did not represent something 
 higher, to be merely taken for a time out of the 
 turmoil and worries of the week-day life, and into 
 a region of higher thoughts, would have its peculiar 
 value. 
 
 She wanted him to say that it was her companion 
 ship which gave the day its restfulness. She would 
 have denied, even to herself, that her husband s re 
 ligion was, strange as it may seem, a subject of jeal 
 ousy. Any approach to discussion of a matter so 
 dear to him embarrassed her, and she made haste to 
 escape, saying: 
 
 Do you really find that long service so restful ? 
 "Yes; and more than that oh, far more." 
 "I wonder if I ever shall. I have not heard from 
 Susan since she wrote about uncle s being so fee 
 ble." 
 
 Entirely aware of her state of mind, he accepted, 
 as usual, her disinclination to dwell longer on what 
 was to him so serious a part of his daily life; and 
 
CONSTANCE TRESCOT 173 
 
 went on to follow her lead, and to talk about their 
 Eastern home and their letters she sitting the while 
 on the arm of his chair, as she liked to do. 
 
 "It is curious, Constance, how one changes. Yes 
 terday I was tired and not as sure of my case as I 
 know I should have been. To-day I feel elate and 
 eager, and yet I am not much subject to moods. 
 It must be purely physical. I was never ill in my 
 life until I was hit." 
 
 Constance said quickly, with a half-repressed 
 laugh: "You must touch wood, George." 
 
 "What a strange old superstition!" he returned, 
 smiling. "I wonder how it grew up where it came 
 from." 
 
 "But touch it touch it!" 
 
 "No!" he cried, laughing; and then, seeing her 
 too earnest look, he tapped on the table. 
 
 "It is all nonsense, of course, but 
 
 "But what?" 
 
 "I do not know. Uncle has a dozen such silli 
 nesses. I never had I never used to have. I think 
 love must nourish superstition." 
 
 "And so now you wish to be superstitious by 
 proxy; and, dear, you have been very quiet to-day. 
 I should call it absent-minded. Where now is your 
 mind absent? Does anything worry you?" 
 
 "Yes. I saw Mrs. Averill after church." 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 "She said she was very sorry that the general 
 was not to take an active part in the case." 
 
 "And so am I. Was that all?" 
 
174 CONSTANCE TRESCOT 
 
 "No; she said he was one of the few people who 
 could keep Mr. Greyhurst in order; and you know, 
 George, that man s reputation." 
 
 "Yes, I know it. The old lady was hardly as con 
 siderate as usual. And so it is this which troubles 
 you. It need not. We are merely two lawyers 
 engaged to try a suit. Of course sharp things are 
 said at times, and the same men meet afterward 
 and laugh over it. I think, too, you know, dear, 
 that I am pretty good-tempered. I can even forgive 
 you for being jealous of my mistress the law." 
 
 "Oh, but I am; and I don t like this man, George. 
 I should hate any one who had been rude to you." 
 
 "Please not to say such things, Constance," he 
 returned, with an appealing hand on her arm. 
 "The man has been ill-mannered, but, after all, 
 there has hardly been material enough even to sug 
 gest forgiveness. Keep that for something larger. 
 Let us drop him and not spoil our Sunday." 
 
 "Pardon me, dear, dear George; I shall never, 
 never be like you. You see I am asking for forgive 
 ness. 
 
 "Hush," he said, putting his hand over her 
 mouth. The word is not in the vocabulary of love. 
 Shall I read to you?" 
 
 "Yes; some short story. I want to be amused. 
 Oh, not the magazines." She rose and settled her 
 self comfortably in an easy-chair as she spoke. 
 
 To her surprise, he took up the Bible. Of late he 
 had read to her parts of its greater poetry, avoiding 
 all that was doctrinal. Much of it was new to her, 
 and the splendor and passion and novelty of the Ian- 
 
CONSTANCE TBESCOT 175 
 
 guage had found echoes of sympathetic answer in 
 the stirred depths of her awakening nature. But 
 now she said quickly: "Not to-night, George; some 
 thing light a short story." 
 
 "Wait a little. Here shall be an old tale, the best 
 short story ever written." 
 
 "What is it?" she questioned, suddenly curious. 
 
 He made no direct reply, but turned to the Book. 
 
 "Once upon a time 
 
 "Oh, I like that. Is that in the Bible?" 
 
 "Once upon a time This is the story of Joseph 
 the Dreamer." 
 
 "Ah! go on, George." She fell back in the chair, 
 luxuriously at ease, and fanning herself as she lis 
 tened, for the night was warm, and the voice she 
 loved admirably modulated. She knew, too, how he 
 would deal with the story. 
 
 When he read to her the Bible tales or the Hebrew 
 ballads, it was in a way quite peculiarly his own, 
 with thoughtful comments, occasional scenic back 
 grounds, and a word now and then of Oriental dress 
 and customs. She closed her eyes, the better to 
 secure visions of what he drew for her. He made 
 her see the parched hillsides of Shechem; the wan 
 dering lad, proud of his colored coat; the brothers 
 Reuben and Judah, sharply characterized; the con 
 templated murder ; the sale of the terrified boy ; the 
 long caravan march of his masters over the desert 
 to Egypt. She felt the sad youth s grief; and then 
 shared his amazement at the pyramids, the turbid 
 Nile, the funeral boats with many oarsmen, the 
 crowded towns, the strange old civilization, and the 
 
176 CONSTANCE TRESCOT 
 
 changeless red sunsets. The gaps in the Scripture 
 narrative were well filled, as she saw, too, the slave- 
 market, and the lad led away to the house of Poti- 
 phar. He made real to her the prison story of the 
 dreams and of the slave-boy s good fortune. Then 
 came the famine and the visit of the brothers, with 
 their terror when, at their evening halt in the des 
 ert, they found in their sacks the money and the 
 drinking-cup. She saw the splendidly clad governor 
 and the returning brothers, heard their plea for 
 the old man, and of his love for the little brother, 
 the child of his age, and then their trembling words 
 concerning that other who was dead. He read of 
 Joseph s emotion, of his easy forgiveness of those 
 who had sent him to captivity, and thus to high 
 fortune. As he read of these simple pastoral peo 
 ple, dazzled by the wonders of the teeming land, 
 pyramids, palace, and temple, and the one high 
 way beside the Nile, and the strange hill-hidden 
 graves, the descriptions became part of the story, 
 and what she heard she seemed to see. He ended 
 with the meeting of the father and the long-lost 
 son. 
 
 1 Thank you," said Constance. "How true you 
 make it seem, how real ! Oh, some day we must go 
 to Egypt." 
 
 "Yes; and everywhere. I seem to see my way 
 clearly. In a year or two we will go home to Boston. 
 I do not deceive myself. Some day there will be 
 nothing in reason which I shall not be able to give 
 you. And you liked the story?" 
 
 "Oh, much very much." 
 
CONSTANCE TRESCOT 177 
 
 He turned over the pages, and then mechanically 
 picked up a glove she had left on his table, and laid 
 it in the Book, saying : We will read this other story 
 next time." 
 
 "What story, George?" 
 
 "Ruth. Of course you know that." 
 
 "Yes, in a way; but I never read it." 
 
 Her ignorance as to certain things never failed 
 to cause him an unpleasing surprise ; but neither by 
 look nor by word did he ever show it. He said : 
 "You will like it, although it is not as skilfully told, 
 as the tale of Joseph, and the scenery is more sim 
 ple." 
 
 "I am sure I shall like it if it has the directness 
 of that story of Joseph. It is that which makes it so 
 striking. 
 
 "You are quite right; but I do not think I ever 
 saw before what it was that gave this story its pecu 
 liar charm. There is none of the modern excess in 
 the analysis of motives. You seem to have seen it 
 as I did not." 
 
 "Thank you," she returned. She liked, above all 
 things, praise, even the mildest, from her husband; 
 and, flushing a little, continued: "I did like the 
 directness of it. The men do this or that, but you 
 are not told that they are good or bad oh, not 
 even when they sell the little brother. I liked an 
 other thing. Is n t there a gleam of humor where 
 Joseph says to Judah, Wot ye not that such a man 
 as I can certainly divine? ; 
 
 He looked up, pleased to tie able to say: "Yes, 
 that is true, but often as I have read it, I never 
 12 
 
178 CONSTANCE TRESCOT 
 
 noticed it. It is very human. Any more such wise 
 comments, dear?" 
 
 "Yes," she replied. "Was it natural for Joseph 
 to forgive his brothers and so easily, too? For my 
 part, I should have made them suffer. I could not 
 have forgotten ; I should have hated them all through 
 those years." 
 
 * Oh, no ; I am sure you would not. 
 
 "But, George, even if he forgave them his own 
 sufferings, how could he pardon them for the poor 
 old father s misery? No; I could never have done 
 that." She rose as she spoke. "I am glad I was 
 not Joseph. You will go to bed early, George, and 
 get a good rest." 
 
 "Yes; good night." 
 
 She kissed him as he sat. As he picked up a 
 book he saw that she had come back. 
 
 "Well, dear?" 
 
 She seemed to him, as she stood bending over him, 
 like some queenly lily gracious, sweet, and stately. 
 He said as much, looking up. 
 
 1 I wanted to kiss you again. That was only cere 
 monial; this is love." 
 
 She threw her arms around him, kissing him pas 
 sionately. "Now, early; don t read long." 
 
 As she turned away, the great red rose she 
 had set on his table of a sudden fell to pieces, the 
 red petals dropping on the table and on the open 
 book he was holding. She raised her hand in a 
 quick gesture, and cried out: "Oh, the rose I gave 
 you!" 
 
 "Well," he said quickly, "what of it, Constance?" 
 
CONSTANCE TRESCOT 179 
 
 "Oh, nothing. It startled me; I suppose I am 
 a little nervous. I never used to be. Good night." 
 
 Sitting with the book in his hand, he gave a mo 
 ment s thought to the little incident. Then with a 
 smile he recalled the fact that once, late at night 
 at Cambridge, when about to go to bed, as he left 
 his table a rose had of a sudden fallen to pieces. 
 He had had a faint sense of unpleasantness in this 
 abrupt ending of a life of beauty, in the unexpected 
 ness of this sudden death. He remembered that it 
 had seemed to him as if an unseen hand had crushed 
 it. He swept the red petals off the open book, and 
 said to himself: "I suppose any one would feel 
 that way. It was natural. I don t wonder it star 
 tled her." Then recalling an intention, he read 
 again a letter from Susan which purposely he had 
 not shown to his wife. 
 
 She wrote: 
 
 "Uncle Rufus is very feeble since his return, and 
 continually talks of the way in which he was re 
 ceived at St. Ann. It was like him to be very much 
 frightened when there, and very bold now that he is 
 away. I think you ought to know that he wrote a 
 very imprudent and quite childish letter to Mr. 
 Greyhurst. He showed it to me with an air of tri 
 umph. He said in it that his age and weakness had 
 alone prevented him from punishing Mr. Greyhurst 
 for the insulting manner in which he had treated 
 him, and that Mr. Greyhurst had thus made a com 
 promise which he had intended (think of that, 
 George !) quite out of the question. I wonder how 
 
180 CONSTANCE TEESCOT 
 
 you have had the patience to stand him, and I do 
 hope that this inconceivable folly will not add to 
 your troubles. 
 
 "Do not tell Constance. She is already quite too 
 needlessly alarmed, and now it is very necessary for 
 her to be free from care." 
 
 "Pretty bad, that," murmured Trescot. After a 
 few moments thought he wrote to Mr. Hood: 
 
 "ST. ANN, 
 
 "Sunday, P.M., October 6. 
 "DEAR MR. HOOD: 
 
 "We shall win, I believe. And now I beg leave 
 to say that it has come to my knowledge that you 
 have again gone by me, your agent, and written to 
 Mr. Greyhurst a most imprudent letter. The gen 
 eral and I think that the poverty of some of the Bap- 
 tiste heirs, a widow and three orphans, with the mis 
 fortune of their loss by natural events of what goes 
 to profit you, ought to induce you to deal chari 
 tably with them and avoid for them and you fur 
 ther litigation. If, after the trial, you still refuse 
 and are of a mind to interfere in your own affairs 
 without regard to your agent, I beg leave to give up 
 the care of your property. You may consider this 
 as final and not open to discussion. 
 
 "Yours respectfully, 
 
 "GEORGE TRESCOT. 
 "RuFUS HOOD, Esq." 
 
 He read the letter with care, and, directing it, 
 left it on his table, where it lay for some days, for 
 gotten during the excitement of the trial. 
 
XIV 
 
 HE crowd in and about the court-room 
 was so great that it was with difficulty 
 Trescot found for Constance a seat at 
 the front. He then entered within the 
 rail, spoke a word or two to the gen 
 eral, shook hands with Greyhurst and others, sat 
 down, and looked about him. 
 
 The room was large and full of people, some of 
 whom he knew, and many, both men and women, of 
 all classes, whom he did not know, from the town 
 and the surrounding country. He arranged his 
 papers and waited. A single case preceded his own. 
 It was soon over, and the crier called the case of 
 Elise Baptiste and others versus Rufus Hood. 
 The judge said: "The case will now proceed." 
 Greyhurst, handsome, soldierly, erect, and clad in 
 Confederate gray, a rose in his coat, stood up and 
 said: "May it please your honor, I appear for the 
 plaintiffs." Trescot stated that he appeared for the 
 defendant, and regretted that circumstances left 
 him alone in the conduct of the case. 
 
 A jury was impaneled. To four jurors Greyhurst 
 objected. Trescot challenged no one, and contented 
 himself with asking each juror if he could decide 
 the case without fear or favor. 
 
 181 
 
182 CONSTANCE TKESCOT 
 
 The jurors were in place and a deepening still 
 ness fell upon an audience full of interest. As 
 Constance, eager and anxious, looked at the slight 
 figure and refined face of her husband, he seemed, 
 as she thought, to be conscious of her anxiety, and, 
 turning, smiled assurance of the confidence he felt. 
 
 Greyhurst opened the case. "May it please your 
 honor and the gentlemen of the jury. It is plain 
 from this great audience that this is a case which 
 excites the interest of every one in this community. 
 It should do so. A writ of ejectment has been 
 served upon Kufus Hood to test his right to lands 
 at the bend of the river. 
 
 "Mr. Hood lays claim to certain I might say un 
 certainacres, a part of the large estate known as 
 the Baptiste tract, and held under an indisputable 
 French title, for which I shall produce the original 
 grant. 
 
 "No one can define the limits of the defendant s 
 claim. The defendant will assert that it began 
 inland somewhere and extended to low water." 
 Where, he asked, did it begin at what points ? He 
 went on to speak of the erosion of the water-front, 
 and of this as the reason why a man already rich 
 was eager to put forward a claim which had no 
 foundation. He was confident that no credible evi 
 dence could be produced to uphold the defendant s 
 pretension. 
 
 The direct evidence of ownership by the Bap- 
 tistes would not keep him long. It would consist 
 merely in the production and proof of the original 
 grant, and of the wills required to prove the present 
 
CONSTANCE TEESCOT 183 
 
 ownership. It was simple. The defendant had no 
 deeds to put in evidence, no proof of undisputed pos 
 session, no real knowledge of such bounding monu 
 ments as could be sworn to. He was very cool and 
 impressive as he spoke, and dwelt at length upon the 
 unfairness of the defendant s claim, characterizing 
 it as an attempt to inflict injury on impoverished 
 and unfortunate people. 
 
 The original French grant was produced and sub 
 mitted to the court and the jury. The wills prov 
 ing title by descent were exhibited, and Trescot, ad 
 mitting their validity, offered no objections. All 
 the evidence for the plaintiffs was before the court, 
 although the details occupied considerable time, and 
 Greyhurst sat down, stating that the plaintiff rested 
 the case. 
 
 Trescot rose, cast a smiling glance at Constance, 
 and went on to state his case. He had declined to 
 question the validity of the grant or the wills. He 
 accepted both for his client. He wished neither 
 to delay nor to obstruct. His business was to prove 
 that forty years ago the holder of the Baptiste grant 
 had sold to James Hood, the father of his client, 
 a certain tract of land, for which a deed had been 
 given. He would deal frankly with the matter. The 
 war and the great cotton fire had destroyed the rec 
 ords and also the deeds and surveys once in pos 
 session of Mr. Hood s former agent, General Averill. 
 Even the tax receipts wer,e gone. He would prove, 
 however, that such a deed had existed, that a sur 
 vey had been made. He would produce the sur 
 veyor s notes, giving the bounds, and prove by his 
 
184 CONSTANCE TKESCOT 
 
 widow his handwriting; and also would produce a 
 plot of the survey appended to the notes. 
 
 This survey set forth that from an oak at one 
 time on the bluff the line ran due east sixty-seven 
 perches, more or less, to a tree, a certain live-oak; 
 thence north one hundred perches to a third tree, 
 a walnut ; and west again sixty-seven perches to an 
 oak on the bluff. A line carried south between the 
 two trees originally on the bluff completed the orig 
 inal bounds of the tract. Observe, he said, that this 
 left the Baptistes in possession of a tract between 
 Mr. Hood s land and the river, partly bluff and 
 partly the shore below. 
 
 He would produce a witness who assisted the sur 
 veyor, and prove that the said surveyor had with 
 him as a guide a deed or paper denning the bounds, 
 and that the witness saw him consult the said paper. 
 He would prove what no doubt opposing counsel 
 would admit, indeed had admitted, the erosion of 
 the bluff. He would prove, past dispute, the present 
 existence of the two trees marking the eastern line of 
 the survey, and thus show that lines drawn due 
 westward from said trees the number of perches 
 stated in the survey would carry his client s claim 
 far out beyond the present low-water mark. 
 
 The great storm and flood of seven years before 
 had carried away the projecting headland, had 
 taken the Baptiste shore, their upland on the bluff, 
 Mr. Hood s front, and his western boundary trees. 
 All of the Baptiste land had gone and a part of 
 Mr. Hood s. He trusted that he had made it entirely 
 clear. 
 
CONSTANCE TRESCOT 185 
 
 Greyhurst at first assumed an attitude of careless 
 inattention, but as Trescot went on he began to 
 listen intently, and to take notes. 
 
 The fact of Averill s being no longer of counsel 
 in the case left Trescot free to use his evidence as 
 he could not otherwise have done. He felt that the 
 affection and respect with which the general was 
 regarded by all men were sure to give great weight 
 to what he would say, and enabled Trescot to do 
 without some other and feebler witnesses. As the 
 general, when called, took his oath, Greyhurst said 
 to Colonel Dudley, who sat beside him: "A fortu 
 nate illness that, and not very lasting." 
 
 "You do not mean, sir, that General Averill 
 
 "Oh, no," said Greyhurst, interrupting him; "of 
 course not." 
 
 Dudley was silent. 
 
 "Were you," asked Trescot, "Mr. Hood s 
 
 agent? " 
 
 "Yes, I was from the year 1852. I am not now. 
 
 "Did you at any time hold for the defendant a 
 deed for land on the bluff at the bend of the river? 
 
 "I did both a deed and the survey, made by 
 one Hazewell." 
 
 After further questions he went on to say that, to 
 the best of his remembrance, this deed described the 
 holding as extending westward to land retained by 
 the Baptistes on the bluff. He had paid taxes on the 
 land, but the receipts and his own books had been 
 burned during his absence in the war. He also bore 
 witness to the erosion of the bend. 
 
 Greyhurst cross-examined him with extreme cour- 
 
186 CONSTANCE TRESCOT 
 
 tesy on his failure to remember accurately the terms 
 of the deed. 
 
 At last he asked, "What taxes have been paid on 
 this land by you since the war?" 
 
 "None; the property was in dispute, and, as the 
 jury knows, taxes may run on unpaid for years 
 without finally affecting the title. That means no 
 thing." 
 
 "Pardon me," said Greyhurst; "but I object to 
 the witness instructing the jury. It is facts, not 
 opinions, we want." 
 
 The general smiled and was dismissed, when 
 Trescot, interposing, said, "Did the Baptistes, at 
 any time since the war, pay taxes?" 
 
 Greyhurst objected, but not in time to prevent the 
 witness from saying, "They did not." 
 
 Mrs. Hazewell, the widow of the surveyor, and 
 now brought from Indiana, produced a book contain 
 ing, with other matters, a statement of the boun 
 daries and area of a survey, made by her husband, 
 of land on the Baptiste property for James Hood 
 in October, 1830. With it was a neat plot of the 
 property, indicating certain trees as monuments at 
 the corners. There was also a memorandum of 
 receipt of payment for the work. She identified the 
 book and swore to the handwriting as that of her 
 husband. So carefully had Trescot guarded his wit 
 nesses that the utmost surprise was created as the 
 case went on. The book and plot were submitted to 
 the jury, and although the witness was sharply cross- 
 examined, her evidence was not shaken. As the 
 young lawyer developed his case, and it was seen 
 
CONSTANCE TRESCOT 187 
 
 how the dates as given by the witnesses coincided, 
 the elder members of the bar began to listen with 
 growing interest, and to exchange glances of sur 
 prise, or whispers of astonishment, that Greyhurst 
 should have ventured to try the case at all. 
 
 Several persons swore to the fact of the great 
 flood, and the amount of erosion of the bluffs ; and 
 a map showing these changes was also put in evi 
 dence. This was not disputed. 
 
 To the evident amazement of Greyhurst, the next 
 witness called was Thomas Coffin. After the usual 
 preliminaries, Trescot asked: 
 
 "What do you know of the survey of this tract 
 on the bluff?" 
 
 * * I helped my father. He was a chain-bearer, and 
 blazed the bounds." 
 
 "How old were you at that time?" 
 
 "Well, it s forty years ago. I am fifty-eight now, 
 come February. I was eighteen years old. That 
 was in October, 1830." 
 
 "How were you employed in the survey?" 
 
 "I helped; I carried the ax." 
 
 "Can you swear to the trees marking the east 
 ward bound? Those which were blazed?" 
 
 "I can." 
 
 "How do you know them?" 
 
 "Saw father blaze them. He made two blazes- 
 one on the west side and one on the east. He always 
 did that. He was a mighty careful man." 
 
 "Did he blaze only with the ax?" 
 
 "No; he burned the blaze, too, with a hot crow 
 bar. I made the fire." 
 
188 CONSTANCE TRESCOT 
 
 Showing him the surveyor s plot, Trescot asked: 
 
 "Do you understand this map?" 
 
 " Yes, sir. " 
 
 "Could you say where on it the trees would be 
 you have spoken of those on the inland side? Look 
 at it carefully ; take your time. 
 
 After a little hesitation, during which the stillness 
 of the crowded room deepened, he replied, pointing : 
 
 "Yes, sir, there and there." 
 
 "Here are two pins; put them in at the places." 
 He did so, and the plot of the survey was submitted 
 to the jury. 
 
 "How do you know the trees are those said to 
 have been blazed?" 
 
 "I cut them down yesterday, both of them, those 
 I showed you me and another man cut them down. 
 Mr. Douglas, he was there. I sawed them through and 
 found the blazes. But before they was felled I knew 
 them by the sinking in of the bark over the blazes. 
 
 "Where are the trees?" 
 
 "The blazed parts that s the sections with the 
 bark off is in a wagon back of the court." 
 
 "I shall ask your honor," said Trescot, "to have 
 them brought in, or, as they are heavy, that the jury 
 shall go out and examine them." 
 
 Greyhurst rose to object that there was no proof 
 of these being the trees in question. Being over 
 ruled, the jury went out, inspected the sections, and 
 returned to their seats. 
 
 With this unlooked-for evidence the interest be 
 came intense, while Constance watched steadily the 
 face of her husband. 
 
CONSTANCE TRESCOT 189 
 
 "That is all," said Trescot to Coffin. 
 
 "One moment," said Greyhurst. "I prefer, if 
 counsel does not object, to cross-examine the wit 
 ness after all the defendant s evidence is con 
 cluded." 
 
 Trescot said, "Although this is unusual, I shall 
 urge no objection." 
 
 Peter Douglas, the county surveyor, was next 
 called. He had been present when the trees were 
 felled and sawed. He had himself driven with the 
 sections to the court-house. He swore that the sur 
 vey shown him gave correctly the distance between 
 the two trees marking the eastern bound, and that 
 lines carried west as required on the survey shown 
 him would now end far out in the river. 
 
 Greyhurst s cross-questioning of the county sur 
 veyor was brief, and served only to make that offi 
 cial angry and to weaken the plaintiffs case. 
 
 As link on link was added to the chain of evidence, 
 murmurs of surprise ran through the audience ; for 
 Greyhurst had talked confidently of the utter weak 
 ness of the defendant s case. 
 
 Trescot bowed to the judge, and then said: "I 
 have done. My vitnesses are in your hands, Mr. 
 Greyhurst. 
 
 Coffin was recalled for cross-examination. Grey 
 hurst, unprepared for the ability with which evi 
 dence had been collected and guarded, was, as usual, 
 annoyed and even angered. 
 
 "Your name is Thomas Coffin?" 
 
 "Yes, that s my name." 
 
 "What s your business?" 
 
190 CONSTANCE TRESCOT 
 
 "I cut and haul wood; been lumbering most all 
 my life." 
 
 "You must have a good memory." 
 
 * I always did have. 
 
 "Then perhaps you remember who paid you to 
 find trees you saw in a big wood when you were 
 a boy." 
 
 Trescot was on his feet in a moment. "I protest, 
 your honor, against the form of the question 
 against a grave insinuation." 
 
 The judge suggested that counsel put the ques 
 tion differently. 
 
 Greyhurst then asked: "How did you happen 
 to inform Mr. Trescot as to these very convenient 
 trees?" 
 
 "Because I wanted to." 
 
 "Did he on this occasion pay you, or make any 
 1 promise of pay, if you would find these much-needed 
 trees?" 
 
 "He did n t make any promise, and he did n t 
 pay me." 
 
 Greyhurst smiled and went on. Did Mr. Trescot 
 send any one to you about these boundaries ? 
 
 "No, he didn t." 
 
 "Now, take care," said Greyhurst, advancing. He 
 towered above the small, lean woodman. "You have 
 sworn to tell the truth and the whole truth. Did 
 not Mrs. Trescot come to your house in the peanut- 
 patch?" 
 
 "She did." 
 
 "What day?" 
 
 "I ain t sure of the day. Guess you know." 
 
CONSTANCE TRESCOT 191 
 
 "I want an answer not insolence. Was it on the 
 sixth of June ? 
 
 "Yes, I reckon it was." 
 
 At this bringing of his wife into the case Trescot 
 was, for the moment, annoyed ; and then, catching a 
 look from Constance, was strangely set at ease. She 
 was evidently undisturbed. In the court-room al 
 most motionless attention told how increasingly deep 
 was the concern with which the audience watched 
 the unexpected developments of the case. 
 
 "Now, take care," said Greyhurst. "What did 
 Mrs. Trescot say to you? I want all of it. What 
 did she say first?" 
 
 "I won t tell you." 
 
 A faint stir in the hall told of astonishment. 
 
 Trescot instantly understood that Coffin was nat 
 urally unwilling to confess that he had shot at him. 
 It was this which stopped him. 
 
 "Pardon me, Mr. Greyhurst," he said. "I think 
 I can assist your cross-examination. I am desirous 
 that the witness conceal nothing." 
 
 "I do not ask your assistance, Mr. Trescot. When 
 I want a junior counsel you shall have your chance. " 
 
 " Very good," returned Trescot, and sat down. 
 
 "Come, now," said Greyhurst, "I want an answer. 
 What did Mrs. Trescot say to you, and what did 
 you say to her?" 
 
 "I reckon you got my answer." 
 
 "Do you know what will happen if you do not 
 reply as you are sworn to do?" 
 
 "I do. I 11 go to jail." 
 
 "Did any one tell you not to answer?" 
 
192 CONSTANCE TRESCOT 
 
 "Yes," and Coffin grinned. 
 
 "Indeed! Who was it?" 
 
 "Thomas Coffin." The audience laughed. 
 
 As Greyhurst turned to address the judge, Tres- 
 cot rose again. "May I ask your honor if the wit 
 ness is bound to state what would tend to criminate 
 him ? I know and comprehend his difficulty. It has 
 no direct connection with the case. If the learned 
 counsel will ask my witness what passed in relation 
 to the boundary trees, and leave Mrs. Trescot out of 
 the matter, he will attain his end, and I shall be 
 grateful." 
 
 He was most unwilling that his wife should be 
 known to have tried to secure him from the anger 
 of Coffin. He knew what these people, or many of 
 them, would think. He was smiling and courteous 
 as he spoke of his wife, and a murmur of approba 
 tion was audible. 
 
 "Perhaps," said Greyhurst, "Mr. Trescot may 
 like to conduct both sides of this case. May it please 
 your honor, I accept this suggestion, and for the 
 present we will leave Mrs. Trescot out of the mat 
 ter. 
 
 "Now, Coffin, what did you say to the lady about 
 the bounds ? 
 
 Coffin s face cleared. "There was n t a word said 
 of those trees or this claim until Mrs. Trescot was 
 going away, and then I told her to tell Mr. Trescot 
 I knew about them trees and I did." 
 
 Greyhurst was disappointed. He said: "Your 
 honor, when I call witnesses in rebuttal I shall deal 
 further with this mystery. That will do, my man." 
 
CONSTANCE TRESCOT 193 
 
 "I am nobody s man but my own. Why don t 
 you ask me what you said to me about Mr. Trescot 
 the week before I told about the trees ?" 
 
 The counsel within the rail smiled; the audience 
 tittered ; and Greyhurst said angrily : You may go, 
 do you hear?" 
 
 Coffin turned to Trescot. "Do you want me any 
 more ? 
 
 "No; certainly not." 
 
 So long as Greyhurst felt his case to be a good 
 one, his very able mind acted well; but in the 
 presence of impending defeat he became irritable, 
 and lost the tranquillity which is needful for quick 
 and perfect use of the mental mechanism. 
 
 He had been surprised by the evidence of Coffin. 
 The secret had been well kept, and now he feared 
 that his case was lost. He stated to the court that 
 he was through with the defendant s witnesses, and 
 at noon the court adjourned to meet at one-and-a-half 
 o clock. 
 
 No trial in years had so interested St. Ann. It 
 was a rich Northern man against poor Southern 
 people who were desperately battling for valuable 
 land. It involved well-known questions of technical 
 interest; erosion of river-frontage, lumber interests, 
 and the value of old blazes as evidence all these 
 were familiarly discussed as the audience came out ; 
 but above all was the excitement caused by Coffin s 
 refusal to speak freely of what Mrs. Trescot had 
 said. 
 
 The lawyers saw which way the case was going, 
 and several of them congratulated Trescot as he 
 
 13 
 
194 CONSTANCE TEESCOT 
 
 joined his wife. They stayed to lunch with the 
 Averills in place of going home. Mrs. Trescot was 
 in high spirits. Her husband s success satisfied 
 her pride. The dramatic character of the trial, and, 
 above all, Coffin s refusal to commit himself, and 
 his pleasure in baffling Greyhurst, interested and 
 amused her, so that altogether the trial was to her 
 both novel and entertaining. 
 
 The general was as well pleased. Trescot had jus 
 tified his opinion both of the young lawyer s legal 
 mind and of his readiness and coolness. He said, 
 turning to Trescot as they smoked alone after the 
 meal: 
 
 "If I know Greyhurst, he will lose his head as he 
 loses his case. He will lose it, too; I kept my eye 
 on the jury ; but what he will do in summing up will 
 be sure to be unpleasant. You will have no oppor 
 tunity to answer, and I am sorry for that. He 
 seems to have the skill of the devil in breeding 
 anger. And I very deeply regret that I am not ac 
 tively in this case." 
 
 "I shall reply beforehand to his summing up, 
 general. I think I know what he will say. It will 
 be a personal attack on Mr. Hood s harshness. I 
 have my answer, as you are aware. For the rest, 
 I am not easily stirred. What he can do in ex 
 amining witnesses in rebuttal I do not know. How 
 can he damage us ? If Coffin were the worst of men, 
 he is so sustained by facts and by the surveyor s evi 
 dence that to prove he never before in his life had 
 told the truth would not help the case." 
 
 "I do not know. This suit means much to Grey- 
 
CONSTANCE TRESCOT 195 
 
 hurst. He will go to all lengths. He is angry. I 
 saw that. He is a proud, over-sensitive man who 
 makes no allowance for the feelings of others, and 
 desires to have his own attentively considered. Now 
 he is hard hit, and, by Jove! do you know, I think 
 he will call Mrs. Trescot." 
 
 "Oh, hardly." 
 
 1 i Yes ; he is puzzled, and thinks there is something 
 he may use in what Coffin concealed. I was not at 
 all surprised when you told me of the attempt to 
 kill you. I had fully warned you. Of course Coffin 
 was not fool enough to answer and confess an at 
 tempt to murder. His feud was over, and Mrs. 
 Trescot had won him, as she does all of us. But 
 what a strange business! I don t wonder the audi 
 ence was curious. Before we return, let me once 
 more prepare you for some such insolence from 
 Greyhurst as will force you into the quarrel he is 
 sure to seek if he fail in his case." 
 
 "I shall try to keep my head. But Mrs. Trescot, 
 general, that may be difficult. She will refuse to 
 betray Coffin." 
 
 "Let us hope Greyhurst will not call her; but 
 in any case he will try to be courteous, indeed, he 
 is sure to be, unless that infernal temper of his gets 
 the better of him. You never can calculate upon 
 what he will do. He is as impulsive as a child, and 
 as dangerous as a wild animal." 
 
 This summary of his antagonist s character, and 
 his own knowledge of his wife s nature, left the 
 young man more than a little uneasy. 
 
 When Greyhurst left the court, he went alone 
 
196 CONSTANCE TRESCOT 
 
 to a tavern near by for his midday meal, and 
 drank just enough to supply him with the self-con 
 fidence which alcohol gives. He was, as a rule, 
 sober. 
 
 So far the Yankee lawyer, as he knew, had made 
 out an impregnable case. The chance for a compro 
 mise had rested on the presumed weakness of the 
 defendant s title. It was now most unlikely that, 
 with a strong case, Hood would consent to that which 
 he had refused when his title appeared to be weak. 
 Greyhurst reflected with more comfort that his 
 power over juries had won for him victories when 
 all seemed lost. In fact, he was more an advocate 
 than a lawyer. He was less well satisfied when he 
 considered what might be his future in case of fail 
 ure. He had debts, and some which were embarrass 
 ing ; but he owned land beyond the bend which was 
 rising in value. He was competent enough to have 
 had more business, but his insecure temper handi 
 capped a man who should otherwise have done far 
 better. Just now, as he sat alone, the explanatory 
 ghosts of past failures possessed the hour, and 
 haunted him as he went moodily back to the court 
 house. 
 
 Trescot, walking on alone with his wife, said to 
 her: "I am sorry, Constance; but Averill thinks 
 you will be called as a witness. Greyhurst is puz 
 zled and thinks there is something which Coffin con 
 cealed, and which is of moment to his case. He 
 is vexed and has the hope that he can show by you 
 that some improper influence was brought to bear 
 on Coffin. It is very absurd ; but I see that he may 
 
CONSTANCE TBESCOT 197 
 
 put you and me in a disagreeable situation. You 
 will be called, I fear." 
 
 "I shall not like that"; and still, she admitted 
 to herself that the thought of a contest with Grey- 
 hurst strangely pleased her. 
 
 It by no means pleased her husband, who walked 
 on in silence, and then at last said: "Try not to 
 make this man angry. Be very quiet and cool." 
 
 "But, George," she continued, "I really cannot 
 betray Coffin s confidence. He never meant me to 
 make public that he wished that he tried to kill 
 you; and he was so simple about it, and so frank! 
 And then, if I speak out and tell the whole story, 
 it will look as if you sent me because you were 
 afraid. Oh, I can t do it !" 
 
 "I hate it. But you will have to speak out." 
 
 "Who on earth can make me?" 
 
 "The judge." 
 
 "What you call contempt of court?" 
 
 "Yes; contempt of court." 
 
 "George, they will never do here as they might 
 do at home. Only do not let that man annoy you. 
 You shall see that I am able to take care of your 
 wife." 
 
 They were late and he had to leave her. He was 
 still troubled. Not so the woman. As she made her 
 way through the crowd she was sorry not to have 
 been able to dress for the occasion. A gentleman, 
 recognizing her, gave up to her a seat on the front 
 bench. 
 
XV 
 
 [HEN silence was proclaimed to the 
 crowded room, Grey hurst rose. 
 
 "I propose, your honor, to call two 
 witnesses in rebuttal as to the utterly 
 worthless character of the witness on 
 whose testimony the defendant s case principally 
 rests. 
 
 Thomas Andrews took the stand and was sworn 
 a fat, brown man, uneasy and embarrassed. Grey- 
 hurst asked the usual formal questions, and then: 
 "Do you know Thomas Coffin?" 
 "I do ; ever since we were boys. 
 "Where did you know him?" 
 "At home in Tennessee, and in the lumber-camps, 
 and here, too." 
 
 "Do you know his character for truth and vera 
 city in the community in which he resides?" 
 "I do." 
 "What is it?" 
 "Bad." 
 
 Would you believe him on his oath ? 
 "No, I would n t." 
 
 "Was Thomas Coffin ever charged with any 
 crime ? 
 
 Trescot rose. "The question, as your honor well 
 198 
 
CONSTANCE TRESCOT 199 
 
 knows, is objectionable; but, in rising to say so, I 
 desire to state that I shall not urge any objection." 
 He sat down. 
 
 Greyhurst repeated his question. 
 
 "Yes; he killed a man. He was arrested, but he 
 got away from the sheriff." 
 
 Meanwhile, Trescot used the moments of this 
 damaging statement to exchange a few words with 
 Coffin. 
 
 "That will do," said Greyhurst. 
 
 "One moment," said Trescot. "I wish to ask a 
 question. Now, Mr. Andrews, do you know why 
 Coffin killed the man?" 
 
 He hesitated. 
 
 "Take your time; but remember that you are on 
 your oath to tell the truth." 
 
 "Well, they said he shot Tom s brother." 
 
 "Did he shoot Tom s brother?" 
 
 "They said so I was n t there." 
 
 "Ah, was that so? Were you ever in the Con 
 federate service?" 
 
 "I was." 
 
 "How long?" 
 
 "About three months." 
 
 "You were wounded, were you not?" 
 
 "Yes, in the leg; I was took prisoner. It was on 
 the skirmish-line. It was in a wood; we were too 
 far out." 
 
 The man began to be uneasy, anxious to explain. 
 
 "Were you not deserting?" 
 
 Greyhurst protested. 
 
 "I withdraw the question," said Trescot, satisfied, 
 
200 CONSTANCE TRESCOT 
 
 for the man s face answered it as he said: "Damn 
 you! no, I was n t." 
 
 "That will do," said Treseot. 
 
 "And now," said Grey hurst, "I must very reluc 
 tantly, as a matter of simple duty, ask Mrs. Treseot 
 to take the stand." 
 
 There was a stir of fresh interest and expectant 
 attention in the crowded room. People spoke to 
 their neighbors, and then there was entire quiet 
 as, in reply to the usual summons, Constance 
 went smiling past her husband. The room was 
 hot and close, and she left her hat on the seat. 
 As she stood in the witness-box erect, a little on 
 guard, slightly flushed a faint murmur which 
 spoke of admiration was heard throughout the 
 room. 
 
 She hesitated a little as she took the Bible and 
 heard the usual formula of the oath. Then she 
 answered, "I do." 
 
 "Your name is Mrs. Treseot?" 
 
 "Yes; Constance Treseot." 
 
 "You live in St. Ann?" 
 
 "I do." 
 
 * You were, I believe, on the sixth of June, at the 
 cabin of Thomas Coffin?" 
 
 "I was." 
 
 "Why did you go there?" 
 
 "An errand of my own." 
 
 "Tell the court what first passed on that occasion 
 between you and Coffin." 
 
 * I asked for a drink of water. I said it was very 
 good water." 
 
CONSTANCE TRESCOT 201 
 
 "Pardon me, madam; but we will omit these 
 trifles. What else was said ? 
 
 "I told Mr. Coffin something, and he told me 
 something, neither of which I am at liberty to state. 
 
 "I ask again, What passed between you on this 
 occasion ? 
 
 "I decline to answer." 
 
 "I insist that you tell the court and jury." 
 
 "I will not. I cannot betray what, trusting my 
 honor and good feeling, Coffin said to me. The 
 latter part of what passed I shall be glad to re 
 late." 
 
 "But," said Greyhurst, "you appear to forget 
 that this is a court of justice ; you have taken an 
 oath; you have no choice, nor, indeed, have I 
 any." 
 
 "I very much regret that I cannot answer," she 
 returned very quietly. 
 
 "I repeat my question." 
 
 She was silent, facing the lawyer, tranquil, firm, 
 faintly smiling at his evident annoyance. 
 
 * I must most reluctantly ask your honor to direct 
 the witness to answer," said Greyhurst. 
 
 The judge said: "I fear, Mrs. Trescot, that you 
 must reply to the question put by counsel." 
 
 "With the utmost respect for the court, I decline 
 to answer. I regret, your honor, that it is impos 
 sible." 
 
 The judge sat up, evidently troubled, as Grey 
 hurst turned to him, saying: 
 
 "The matter is in the hands of the court." 
 
 Trescot watched the unmoved woman, himself a 
 
202 CONSTANCE TRESCOT 
 
 little anxious, but with proud pleasure in the cour 
 age and quiet good-breeding she had shown. 
 
 Then, to the amazement of every one, a voice 
 broke the silence, and Coffin, seated near by, said: 
 
 11 Don t you mind me, Mrs. Trescot; just you tell; 
 I don t care." 
 
 "Thank you." Turning to Greyhurst, she said: 
 "The real chivalry and the good feeling of at least 
 one man for a woman in an awkward situation set 
 me free. Your honor will, I trust, pardon me. I 
 will now answer Mr. Greyhurst." 
 
 The judge bowed. 
 
 "Well," said Greyhurst, flushing and ill pleased, 
 "what passed between you and Coffin?" 
 
 "To explain clearly what passed I must tell the 
 entire story, and I hope I may be allowed to do so. 
 She paused for a moment; Greyhurst moved rest 
 lessly and seemed about to interfere, but dreading 
 the effect of objection at this time, remained silent 
 as she went on: 
 
 "In the midst of a storm on the night of June 
 5th, while I had left our porch for a wrap, a rifle 
 shot broke a pane of glass over my husband s head. 
 The lightning was incessant, and he saw the man 
 who fired. He ran after him, and was so near that 
 he saw him clearly, and also saw that he was lame 
 and ran with difficulty. Then my husband fell, 
 and the man got away ; but he was sure it was Coffin. 
 When my husband came back, he told me all about 
 it, and who the man was. I had heard the shot, of 
 course. 
 
 "I was sure it would happen again. I could not 
 
CONSTANCE TRESCOT 203 
 
 sleep that night. I was most unhappy. I did not 
 tell my husband what I meant to do. I had to do 
 it. I went next day to see the man. I went alone. 
 I said to him bluntly: Why did you try to kill my 
 husband? You see, Mr. Greyhurst, he was cleaning 
 his rifle, and I knew what that meant. He did not 
 try to lie to me, but replied : Because Mr. Greyhurst 
 told me your husband was going to turn me out of 
 my home the whole of us, like dogs. ! 
 
 "It was a lie," said Greyhurst. 
 
 Trescot was up instantly. "You are discourte 
 ous, sir. You asked for the whole truth, and are 
 getting it, and to spare." He sat down; but as 
 Greyhurst turned with a sharp reply on his lips, 
 Mrs. Trescot said quietly: "I did not understand 
 Mr. Greyhurst as asserting me to be untruthful." 
 
 "Certainly not," he returned. 
 
 "Shall I go on?" she asked in her gentlest voice. 
 
 "Yes, if you please." 
 
 "When Coffin said he had been told that he was 
 to have no mercy and be driven out at once, I told 
 him that it was not true." 
 
 "And was it not?" asked Greyhurst. "Can you 
 say that?" 
 
 "I have said it was not. I told him nothing was 
 settled. I then said that I personally would make 
 him an offer, either of land on the bend back of the 
 bluff, if we won the suit, or of money. I said my 
 husband never would consent to drive these poor 
 people out of their homes. They had been soldiers 
 as he had been, and were to be helped, not robbed. 
 
 "One moment / said Greyhurst. "I think you 
 
204 CONSTANCE TRESCOT 
 
 said Mr. Treseot authorized you to make this state 
 ment. 
 
 It was a common and feeble device, which always 
 fails with a good witness. 
 
 "Keep cool," said Averill to Treseot. "I told 
 you he would lose his wits with his case." 
 
 "No," replied Mrs. Treseot; "I did not say so." 
 
 "Well, perhaps not." 
 
 Again Averill laid a restraining touch on Tres 
 eot s arm. 
 
 "At all events," said Greyhurst, bitterly, "it 
 should have been a man s errand. Pray, go on." 
 
 "I meant to undeceive him. I did. I made clear 
 to him that in any case he should be paid to move. 
 I asked him to take care of my garden. I pay him 
 for it. I desired to save my husband s life. A 
 cruel slander had put it in peril. I made a friend 
 of an enemy." 
 
 "By George, that s first-rate!" said a voice in 
 the crowd. Silence was ordered, and there was need 
 of the order. 
 
 Turning to the jury, Greyhurst spoke again in 
 a voice of ill-governed anger: "A woman may be 
 forgiven for the things this lady has said of me. 
 I shall look elsewhere for an explanation. I have 
 for her no answer. She, at least, is irresponsible. 
 May I venture to ask, madam, if, as Mr. Hood s or 
 Mr. Treseot s envoy, you visited the cabin of Coffin 
 at any other time?" 
 
 "No; I did not." 
 
 "But I had the pleasure to meet you." 
 
 "That is true. I had been to see Wilson, one of 
 the squatters." 
 
CONSTANCE TRESCOT 205 
 
 "Coffin s brother-in-law. 7 
 
 "Yes; I meant to say so a dying man in need 
 of luxuries, and even of good food. My husband 
 and I had helped him. 
 
 "You seem to have cultivated the good-will of the 
 family." 
 
 "I have; I neglected to say that, without the least 
 prompting on my part, Coffin told me that he could 
 give Mr. Trescot information in regard to the blazed 
 trees on the corners of Mr. Hood s land." 
 
 "You appear to have made good use of your op 
 portunities, madam," said Greyhurst. 
 
 "I have; and I assure you I enjoyed it; and 
 above all, when, as I was leaving, Coffin said- 
 She paused long enough for Greyhurst to say : 
 
 "You seem to hesitate, madam ; we want the whole 
 of this very remarkable story." 
 
 "Oh, with pleasure. Coffin assured me that he 
 was, as he said, right glad he had n t killed my hus 
 band, and was a good bit ashamed. That was about 
 the shooting. I understood him to mean that he 
 was ashamed to have missed him." This was so 
 wholly in character that court and audience broke 
 into laughter. 
 
 Greyhurst s face flushed, the color deepening on 
 his dark skin. Averill sat watchful and uneasy. 
 She had said too much. 
 
 "That is all, madam. Thank you," said Grey 
 hurst. 
 
 Trescot said simply: "I have a few questions to 
 ask the witness. I regret to be obliged to ask them, 
 but the circumstances demand it." The bar and 
 the audience were delighted. 
 
206 CONSTANCE TRESCOT 
 
 Constance turned to him, much amused. 
 
 "Did your husband know of your intention to 
 intervene between him and Coffin?" 
 
 "No, he did not." 
 
 "Did he express himself in regard to it when he 
 heard of it?" 
 
 "Yes; he objected; he was just a little cross." 
 
 The court smiled, and the crowd laughed. 
 
 "That is all, "said Trescot. 
 
 This closed the evidence. It now became the duty 
 of the defendant to sum up for the defense. The 
 judge said: 
 
 "The evidence has been so brief that the court 
 will sit out the case, unless counsel are so lengthy 
 as to forbid it." 
 
 Trescot rose. "May it please your honor, and 
 you, gentlemen of the jury, I shall be brief. 
 
 * In putting before you in its fullness a connected 
 statement of what you have heard from the wit 
 nesses, it may be wise, and certainly is of interest, to 
 sketch for you the history of this suit. 
 
 "James Hood, my client s father, bought in 1830 
 a tract of land which lay within the vast grant held 
 so long by the Baptiste family. Why he bought it I 
 do not know; it had very little value. The Bap- 
 tistes reserved several hundred feet from Mr. Hood s 
 western line on the bluff, and, of course, the river 
 front, perhaps anticipating its future usefulness. 
 The years go on; no one disputes Mr. Hood s title. 
 Some seven years ago comes the flood, and Mr. Hood 
 finds he has lost land, but has acquired a water 
 front. The riparian rights thus strangely won soon 
 
CONSTANCE TRESCOT 207 
 
 become so very valuable that some one advises the 
 unfortunate people whose land has gone down to the 
 Gulf some one advises them, I say, to see what 
 can be made out of an unlucky situation. Many 
 Western decisions have made it clear beyond dis 
 pute that the man whose land the great river took 
 has no remedy at law, except, perhaps, and your 
 honor will pardon the jest, to sue the Gulf of Mex 
 ico as the receiver of stolen goods. But really this 
 claim of the plaintiffs has its humorous aspects. 
 
 Then this some one I do not know who may 
 have suggested an inquiry into the possibility of 
 disproving my client s title. It is not, as I go on, a 
 very pleasant history. The war had done its sad 
 work almost every evidence of title was lost. The 
 surveyor was long dead, and his people scattered. 
 Apparently no bounds could be proved. Thus en 
 couraged, a suit for ejectment is brought, and very 
 soon the reason for it appears when the plaintiffs 
 seek for a compromise a division of the water 
 front. This case has gone on through the hands of 
 three sets of counsel. If Mr. Hood owns the land on 
 the bluff he now owns the river- front. If he does not 
 he is practically a squatter, and should have that 
 sympathy which the learned counsel for the plain 
 tiffs asks for those who are on land they do not 
 own. 
 
 The court smiled, and there was much laughter. 
 
 "It is only too plain that belief in the presumed 
 weakness of my client s claim suggested the suit to 
 eject, in the hope that fear of total loss would force 
 my client to offer or accept a compromise." 
 
208 CONSTANCE TEESCOT 
 
 Greyhurst rose. "Does the learned counsel mean 
 that I was concerned in advising a suit with this sole 
 purpose in view?" 
 
 "Oh, no," said Trescot. "The case was not of 
 your creation. I do not know who devised that 
 which was clearly what I prefer not to characterize. 
 
 "It is just as well that you should explain, and 
 the explanation comes none too soon," said Grey- 
 hurst. "You may think your explanation satisfac 
 tory. I do not." 
 
 Trescot made no reply. 
 
 "As the case stands, you, gentlemen of the jury, 
 have been led to think, to believe, if that were pos 
 sible, that it is we who are the plaintiffs, we who 
 complain; we, and not an act of nature, who are 
 the oppressors. 
 
 "May I further tax your patience before return 
 ing to the essential facts? So much has been said 
 that is personal, both in and out of the court, that 
 I shall ask leave to say a few words not in immediate 
 relation to the case. I shall be brief. 
 
 "I came hither as the agent and legal adviser of 
 Mr. Hood. I found myself, a Northern soldier, in 
 a community naturally aggrieved and hostile. I 
 have sought honestly to give no offense, and I have 
 been able to induce my client to deal most gener 
 ously with his many debtors, and to make kindly 
 and even liberal provision for the squatters who, 
 long undisturbed, had come to believe they had a 
 right to their holdings. No single debtor of Mr. 
 Hood s will, before long, have the slightest cause 
 for complaint. Some attempt has been made to 
 
CONSTANCE TEESCOT 209 
 
 affect public sentiment by word of mouth, as you 
 have heard, and I regret to say in print also, and 
 this, too, while arrangements were being made to 
 deal justly and even generously. I cannot believe 
 that such efforts have had any influence on this jury. 
 So fully do I so fully did I trust the honor and 
 justice of the men I have learned to like in this city 
 that, as you know, I made no objection to any jury 
 man. My learned friend was less easily pleased." 
 
 As he paused, taking up a paper, Greyhurst rose. 
 
 1 Do I understand your charges to allude in any 
 way to me ? " 
 
 "I do," said Trescot; "and I refer the counsel 
 to Coffin s evidence as to what you said to him. 
 
 * * The man who said so lies, and the man who now 
 says so lies. 
 
 The judge at once called Greyhurst to order, and 
 he sat down, saying: "Well, we shall see." 
 
 Trescot went on, making no allusion to the insult. 
 He stated, with admirable clearness, the conclusions 
 to be drawn from the evidence of the survey and the 
 plan of the river as it had been and as it had come 
 to be. With singular power of lucid statement he 
 dealt with the evidence, admitting the validity of 
 the old French grant as an essential to his own 
 case. He emphasized the fact that no one had 
 doubted his client s title until the erosion of the 
 river-frontage made it valuable. He wound up by 
 an appeal for simple justice, and gathering his 
 papers together, sat down. 
 
 It was now so late that the judge asked Greyhurst 
 how long a time he would require. Upon his saying 
 
 14 
 
210 CONSTANCE TRESCOT 
 
 he could not tell, the court adjourned to meet at 
 ten the next day. 
 
 Greyhurst walked sullenly away from the group 
 of older lawyers who gathered with warm praise 
 about Trescot. Mrs. Trescot having left to attend to 
 some household matters, Averill said to Trescot as 
 they left the court: "That fool called you a liar." 
 
 "Yes, he said that I lied. I presume he meant 
 Coffin also." 
 
 "I think, Trescot, that you will have to ask him 
 what he meant, or invite him to withdraw his 
 words. 
 
 "No, I shall not, general." 
 
 "But, my dear Trescot, your position is really un 
 tenable, or at least it is so here. To accept a charge 
 of lying and to do nothing ! You would lose caste 
 oh, utterly." 
 
 "Then I must risk that. To ask him would mean 
 an acceptance of added insult or a duel. My own 
 beliefs, and I may say the peace-making effect of 
 a rebel bullet, make a duel impossible." He 
 laughed as he added: "I might hit a house with 
 my left hand, but, my dear general, I come from 
 a community where a duel is as absurd as to you, 
 I dare say, such a state of feeling may be. I am 
 much of George Washington s opinion as concerns 
 the matter." 
 
 "I know," said Averill; "but he never lived in 
 St. Ann. Do you go armed?" 
 
 "I? No of course not." 
 
 "You had better." 
 
 Trescot laughed. "My best weapon among people 
 
CONSTANCE TEESCOT 211 
 
 like yours is the fact, well known to Greyhurst and 
 many, that I do not carry arms, and am crippled. 
 Don t worry, general; the man will quiet down, 
 and I shall be careful." 
 
 "You do not know Greyhurst." 
 
 He was touched by the old man s kindness, and, 
 having no malice toward any one, went away elated 
 with the certainty of success. 
 
 When, in the morning, Constance and he talked 
 over the trial, she said: "I do not want to hear or 
 see that man again, George. When will it be over ? 
 
 "Greyhurst must close. Then the judge will sum 
 up; but how long the jury may be out I do not 
 know. I will send you word, as I may be detained." 
 
 "You will not forget me?" 
 
 "Do I ever forget you, Constance?" 
 
 "Never; but I shall be so very uneasy." 
 
XVI 
 
 N the next morning some intervening 
 court business made it late before the 
 case was called for continuance. The 
 crowd was still greater when Grey- 
 hurst, as the plaintiffs counsel, rose to 
 sum up, with some return of his usual self-confidence. 
 "May it please your honor, and you, gentlemen 
 of the jury, I represent here to-day the cause of the 
 widow and orphans of a Confederate soldier. The 
 claimant is rich indeed, far beyond our modest 
 conceptions of wealth. His agent is a young man 
 who served in the war which has left us ruined, 
 oppressed, and insulted. Until just in time for ef 
 fect in this trial, we heard very little of certain 
 much- vaunted generous intentions. Let us hope that 
 they were more honest than Mr. Hood s former pol 
 icy would seem to make credible.. The opposing 
 counsel has seen fit to speak of his personal relation 
 to this case. In his use of witnesses he has made 
 implications in regard to me which justify me in 
 saying that I personally, at least, can afford to smile 
 at slander which represents me as lying, and which 
 leaves the statement for use in the safe hands of a 
 female and a vagabond." 
 
 "My heavens, general!" said Trescot, "I cannot 
 212 
 
CONSTANCE TRESCOT 213 
 
 stand that." He rose at once. "Stop!" he said. 
 "Sir, whatever statements have been made, and 
 you have utterly misrepresented them, I alone am 
 responsible. No gentleman could have said what 
 you have just now permitted yourself to say ! 
 
 Greyhurst laughed: "The shaft has found its 
 mark. I had heard, sir, that in the sense in which 
 Southern gentlemen use the phrase, you did not 
 consider yourself responsible." 
 
 Trescot, still on his feet, said quietly, I have said 
 that I am responsible." 
 
 The general looked from the one man to the other, 
 uneasy and amazed that Trescot had been badgered 
 into assuming at last a position so opposed to his 
 principles. 
 
 Greyhurst returned sharply, "Well, I am relieved 
 to hear it. It was unexpected. And then, as Tres 
 cot resumed his seat, he turned to the jury, saying : 
 "And now for this boasted evidence." 
 
 As he went on, Trescot sat still, conscious of hav 
 ing been goaded by insult to commit himself to what 
 he knew to be wrong. As he sat, he thought a mo 
 ment of Alexander Hamilton, whom he greatly ad 
 mired. Then he said to himself: "When the evil 
 takes shape I will deal with it, and began again to 
 listen to his antagonist. Greyhurst dwelt long on the 
 untrustworthy character of the evidence given by 
 Coffin, on his convincing reasons for offering as 
 sistance to the defendant with utter disregard of the 
 truth. Trescot, again self-controlled, and listening 
 quietly, felt at ease as to his case. His opponent s 
 criticisms left his witnesses testimony uninjured. 
 
214 CONSTANCE TEESCOT 
 
 What doubt was possible was thrown on the absence 
 of deeds, on the slight value of the surveyor s notes 
 so providentially preserved, on the failure to pay 
 taxes. In fact, as an old lawyer whispered to Tres- 
 cot, "he has no case at all, and had better throw it 
 up." He finished with a passionate appeal to the 
 jury to see the equity of the situation where nat 
 ural causes had swept away land and given to the 
 greed of avarice a motive to add one more cause of 
 poverty to the ruin of an old and honored family. 
 
 A murmur of applause in the audience assured 
 him, as he sat down, that he must have equally af 
 fected the jury. 
 
 The court adjourned to meet for the judge s 
 charge in the afternoon. 
 
 The case was of unusual importance, and the 
 charge of the judge to the jury was of great length. 
 He gave the usual caution as to the weight and 
 consideration to be given to the facts as stated, and 
 as to the credibility of witnesses. He charged the 
 jury that if these and the extraordinary discovery 
 and production of the blazes, and the description 
 of the land, were proved to their satisfaction, they 
 must of need find for the defendant. He urged that 
 the unfortunate personalities of the trial be set aside, 
 and that, with no regard to the sectional prejudices 
 which, with as little relation, had been brought for 
 ward, they should decide as true men. 
 
 Besides dealing with the evidence, he had felt 
 obliged to make entirely clear the decisions as to the 
 changes in ownership of riparian rights made by 
 these frequent erosive alterations in the courses of 
 
CONSTANCE TEESCOT 215 
 
 the great Western rivers. The lamps around the 
 walls of the court-room were lighted before the 
 judge had finished, and it was late when he gave 
 the case to the jury and retired to await their 
 
 verdict. 
 
 No one moved. The interest the case excited was 
 such as to keep people in their seats, although the 
 room was hot and the air oppressive. Within the 
 rail, where the lawyers sat, there was equal interest, 
 and a feeling, expressed in undertones, that the 
 words which had passed between counsel must soon 
 or late result seriously. 
 
 During the hour in which men waited to hear the 
 verdict Greyhurst sat still. He had scarce a hope 
 of success, and to fail would be for him a grave 
 calamity. He reflected on this, or considered plans 
 for future litigation, as he sat still; or, seeing the 
 hands of the clock pass the hour, began to believe 
 in a disagreement of the jury. But ever at times 
 his face, which he had never learned to control, 
 changed, as, with his eyes half closed, he frowned 
 and gripped the arms of his chair. He thought 
 of the way in which he had been fooled by Coffin 
 and baffled by this frail-looking young lawyer. He 
 recalled the amused faces of the listening counsel, 
 the exasperating quiet and gentle manners of Tres- 
 cot. Damn him!" Now and again a flash of 
 anger lit his face with passion, as the lightning 
 illuminates for a second the darkness of a stormy 
 night. 
 
 Meanwhile, Trescot, confident and happy, chatted 
 with Averill or others. 
 
216 CONSTANCE TRESCOT 
 
 Time ran on, and it was now late. At the close 
 of an hour the judge, returning to his seat, recalled 
 the jury. It is plain, gentlemen," he said, "that 
 you may require some time to reach a conclusion. 
 I shall remain in my room until eight o clock to hear 
 from you. I shall then leave. If, after that hour, 
 you are of one mind and will return to the clerk of 
 the court a written verdict, he will instruct you that 
 it must be signed by every one of you and sealed. 
 You will then be discharged, and avoid the necessity 
 of being detained here all night." With this the 
 court broke up, and the audience left. 
 
 It will be unnecessary to dwell at length upon 
 the effect which this delay had upon the several 
 persons concerned. Trescot went home confident 
 as to the lawsuit, and intent on concealing the 
 gravity of the personal question he had yet to face. 
 His wife was uneasy, and was also doing her best 
 to hide her anxiety. 
 
 While to them the result of the trial was, for 
 many reasons, a matter of interest, to Greyhurst 
 it meant far more. He went slowly homeward in 
 the dusk, a troubled, anxious, irritated man. He ate 
 his supper hastily and sat down in his library, 
 resolving to rid his mind of the cares of a disap 
 pointing day. He took up a book. His taste in 
 literature was good, and the loneliness his tempera 
 ment fostered had helped to make him a reader. 
 But now the thoughts of the day s passions could 
 not easily be dismissed. He closed a volume of 
 Burke, and sat still ; but whether he reflected on his 
 gathering debts, his political ambitions, or the loss 
 
CONSTANCE TEESCOT 217 
 
 an adverse verdict would mean, he recurred, as was 
 habitual with him, to some human instrument as 
 responsible; and now it was, above all, the Yankee 
 lawyer whose triumph would cost him so dear, and 
 who had insulted him, and, although Greyhurst did 
 not confess it, had preserved that serenity of temper 
 which so exasperates those for whom a slight is 
 an outrage, and a hasty word an insult. He knew 
 full well the mischief-making capacity of his tem 
 per, and at times dreaded the possible results of 
 such consequent outbreaks as others feared, and as 
 had cost him many hours of regretful penitence. 
 He was no master of himself, and now an evil 
 mood possessed the hour. He drank more than was 
 his habit, and at last went to bed, only to pass a 
 restless night and to awaken unrefreshed. 
 
 A great crowd was pouring into or gathering 
 around the court-house next morning. As Greyhurst 
 passed through it, sullen and anxious, he fancied men 
 were smiling at him and his probable defeat. Tres- 
 cot nodded to him coldly as he entered within the 
 bar, but the elder man stared at him with set face, 
 and without returning the salutation. 
 
 A little after ten the jury entered ; the judge took 
 his seat amid profound silence. The clerk an 
 nounced that at half-past nine the night before the 
 jury, having agreed, had all signed a verdict which 
 had then been sealed. The clerk having handed the 
 paper to the foreman, it was opened and read 
 aloud: "We, the undersigned, find a verdict for the 
 defendant." Each juryman was asked, in turn, if 
 this were his verdict, and the jury was discharged. 
 
218 CONSTANCE TEESCOT 
 
 Amid the buzz and stir this announcement made 
 in the court-room, a few pleased, the larger number 
 disappointed, Greyhurst moved toward Trescot, and 
 then, as if otherwise minded, turned aside and gath 
 ered up his papers. No one spoke to him, while 
 Averill and several of the older members of the bar 
 gathered about Trescot. As they discussed some of 
 the points of the case, a young lawyer who had left 
 the court-room returned and said to Trescot: 
 
 "Mrs. Trescot is waiting outside. She asked me 
 to tell you to come to her at once. She desired me 
 to say it was very important. * 
 
 Trescot turned to Averill and said : My wife is 
 outside and has sent for me in haste. I shall be back 
 in a few minutes." 
 
 He hurried out of a side door and found Con 
 stance waiting. 
 
 "I heard it, George. You have won. Oh, I am 
 glad ! Mr. Randolph told me. But come over here 
 in the shade. How pale you are ! 
 
 "Yes; my arm is giving me pain." 
 
 "I am sorry, George. Come over here to that 
 bench under the trees. I have bad news." 
 
 "What is it? A telegram?" 
 
 "Yes; read it. Uncle Rufus is dead. I thought 
 you ought to know of it at once." 
 
 He read: 
 
 "To MRS. GEORGE TRESCOT: 
 
 "Uncle died last night, at eleven o clock, suddenly. 
 Knowing of the trial, and your great anxiety, I add 
 that there is no will. I am sure of this. We are the 
 
CONSTANCE TRESCOT 219 
 
 sole heirs. Let George act as seems best. I shall 
 approve. See letter to follow. 
 
 " SUSAN HOOD." 
 
 That Constance felt the shock of her uncle s sud 
 den death was certain, but far more to her was her 
 husband s interest, and just now even his safety. 
 She had tried not to let him see her anxiety. It 
 was very great, for she had not failed to see the 
 material of a serious quarrel in the scenes of the 
 court-room; and now here was death bringing 
 peace, and power to consider generously the peo 
 ple concerned in the suit, and, above all, release 
 from fear, and freedom to fly to more congenial 
 surroundings. 
 
 He was very grave as he twice read the telegram. 
 Constance sat still. There was much to think about. 
 
 "You are the sole heirs," he said ; "and I suppose, 
 dear, it is a great estate." 
 
 "Yes, yes; but now at once use this, George. 
 Do settle at once. Give them half give them all." 
 
 He smiled at her urgency. He was pleased to be 
 set at liberty to act kindly, but his nature did not 
 admit of the excitement which Constance felt. He 
 said, as they sat in the shade : "Nothing can be done 
 in haste. We must wait for Susan s letter." 
 
 "Yes, yes; I know; but you can at least see the 
 general now at once and ask him to let these poor 
 people know that we intend to be reasonable ; my 
 uncle never was." 
 
 He sat for some minutes talking, and at last said : 
 
 "You are practically Susan s attorney. At all 
 
220 CONSTANCE TEESCOT 
 
 events, she will do as we think best. It is a vast 
 relief." 
 
 He read the telegram again. 
 
 "It is a strange fate, Constance. She says he 
 died at eleven. Had he died before the verdict was 
 signed, that was at half -past nine, it would have 
 been a mistrial and all to go over again. I should 
 not have been sorry to have compromised matters 
 without a trial." 
 
 "But you will do something, George, now. I in 
 sist that you do not delay." 
 
 "Yes, dear, and most gladly." 
 
 "And you won t delay?" 
 
 "I will not. -And now, dear, I must go. I will 
 come back soon ; wait for me here. Rising, he put 
 the telegram in the left-hand pocket of his waist 
 coat, saying: "I shall find Averill at once and ask 
 him to see Greyhurst." Constance sat down on the 
 bench under the trees. 
 
 As he moved away the crowd went by, talking, 
 gesticulating, excited. Trescot, moving on, sought 
 eagerly for Averill among the lawyers and others 
 now coming out of the side exit. When not more 
 than twenty feet away, he observed the general on 
 the top step. At the same moment he saw Greyhurst 
 emerge from the crowd, and knew that he must meet 
 him first. He would show him the telegram, and 
 offer to divide the land. It pleased him, and, forget 
 ful of the insults he had received, and smiling at the 
 kindly thought, he raised his lame hand to take the 
 telegram from his pocket. As he did so he was 
 aware of Greyhurst s leveled revolver. He stood 
 
CONSTANCE TBESCOT 221 
 
 facing his foe, motionless; saw the crowd scatter, 
 heard Constance scream, and heard no more on 
 earth. He fell on his face, clutching the telegram. 
 
 Twenty feet away Greyhurst stood still, pistol 
 in hand. Averill caught him by the shoulder and 
 swung him round. "You scoundrel! to shoot an 
 unarmed, crippled man!" 
 
 "No man shall call me that and live!" 
 
 "You fool! A bullet in me and you swing in 
 ten minutes from one of these trees ! 
 
 "He was drawing on me." 
 
 "He was not. He never went armed, and you 
 knew it." 
 
 Greyhurst made no reply. It was wild, quick talk, 
 and meanwhile a crowd gathered where Constance 
 knelt beside her husband. They turned him over 
 on his back. "Is he dead?" she cried, looking up. 
 "How can he be dead?" The features twitched, the 
 face grew white, and the eyes became set. No one 
 spoke. "Tell me," she cried. "Will no one tell 
 me ? Is he dead ? 
 
 Some one said softly, "He is dead." 
 
 She rose and looked about her, as if in search of 
 something, and then with both hands struck aside 
 the yielding crowd. She walked swiftly to where 
 Greyhurst stood. He fell back a step or two, the 
 pistol in his hand. She said, as if with effort, slowly, 
 word by word: 
 
 "You have murdered an unarmed man. Oh, 
 coward! coward!" 
 
 A crowd gathered quickly, excited, curious, silent, 
 while the woman stood a moment, paling, motionless, 
 
222 CONSTANCE TRESCOT 
 
 unable to say more, her lips moving, her face 
 twitching. 
 
 Greyhurst stared at her. He said nothing, but 
 his face changed. The wild madness of anger was 
 gone. 
 
 "My God!" she cried, and fell at his feet. The 
 man moved a step toward her, and then stood still, 
 horror-stricken. 
 
 She was mercifully insensible, convulsed and 
 quivering as they carried her to the porch of the 
 court-house. 
 
 Averill said: "Go on, Dudley, and tell my wife. 
 Send me a carriage at once." Then he turned to 
 Greyhurst : "If, sir, you feel insulted, I am at your 
 disposal. Gentlemen in my State do not murder 
 unarmed men. I will see your seconds at any time ; 
 but never dare to speak to me again." He waited 
 an answer for a moment, and receiving none, moved 
 away. 
 
 Greyhurst, turning, stared after him. Some one 
 said : How was it, Greyhurst ? What did he do ? " 
 
 Oh, go to ! " he returned ; and dropping the 
 
 pistol into his pocket, he walked slowly away, men 
 silently looking after him. 
 
 He went to a magistrate and gave himself up. 
 After a brief hearing bail was accepted, and he 
 went away to his home, now seeing the woman s 
 face of anguish, and now the smiling triumph of 
 the man he had killed. He tried to think that, 
 according to his Western code, he was justified. He 
 had been told that Trescot never carried arms. He 
 had not believed it at the time, and now fell back 
 
CONSTANCE TRESCOT 223 
 
 on this remembrance. Most men went armed, and 
 certainly Trescot had seemed to him about to draw 
 a pistol; and the man had said he was responsible, 
 which in St. Ann meant that he was prepared to ex 
 pect attack. 
 
 And Averill? He was in no mood for another 
 quarrel. As concerned the legal consequences he 
 was in no wise disturbed, nor, indeed, did they at 
 all occupy him. He had had affrays in wild mining- 
 camps, had himself been wounded, but had never 
 killed a man. Now, being a person with some im 
 agination, and sensitive as to his own moods, he 
 began to reflect on this tremendous fact. He had 
 killed a man. By the time he reached his home he 
 had become uneasy in mind. A certain uncontrol 
 lable rush of thoughts came over him a jostling of 
 self-excuses, a sense of wrong done to himself, of 
 insult, a wish that he had been less hasty. "Oh, 
 my God ; that woman ! " he murmured, as he entered 
 his home. To-morrow he would consider it all ; now 
 he must cease to think, for to think was torment 
 and led to nothing helpful. He went up-stairs, and 
 drank glass after glass of whisky, until he had 
 drugged himself into a state where he ceased to 
 reason, and where memory was dulled, and at last 
 dead. He lay on a lounge all day and through the 
 night, without undressing, sleeping a drunken slum 
 ber. 
 
 At morning, when he awakened, it all came back 
 to him by degrees, and again he recalled the ver 
 dict, and was filled with dull anger. The evening 
 before he had made himself incapable of efficient 
 
224 CONSTANCE TRESCOT 
 
 reasoning. Now one aspect of the affair presented 
 itself, and now another. Bits of the death-scene ap 
 pearedthe woman s wide-open eyes, their color; 
 that her chin-muscles had twitched before she fell; 
 how, as by instinct, he had made a step forward to 
 pick her up, and then did not. Some unseen hand 
 was jangling the wires of puppet memories he a 
 helpless looker-on. 
 
 He had regret rather than anything as positive 
 as remorse, and soon recovered the power to deal 
 with the facts. Seated in his library in sunshine, 
 he was at last able to dismiss the emotional dis 
 turbance which had disquieted him the day before, 
 and to consider the effect of what he had done on his 
 legal and political career and on his social position. 
 His anger still burned, and he lost nothing of his 
 hatred. He was sorry only because of the hasty form 
 his revenge had taken for what he considered in 
 sulting. With a few men like Averill it would in 
 jure him. A duel would have been wiser. Then he 
 thought of the woman in the madness of her grief. 
 She had called him "coward." It stung him like 
 a whip. 
 
 Well, he would outlive it, and as he must live 
 and had interests in and near the town, he must 
 learn to control a temper which he knew had lost 
 him friends, influence, and opportunities. He hoped 
 to be chosen by the county to represent it in the 
 legislature. The death by his hand of an unpopular 
 land agent a Yankee officer would hardly trouble 
 the rough country-folk. 
 
 He rose and walked about among his books. He 
 
CONSTANCE TRESCOT 225 
 
 had lived much alone since his wife had left him; 
 and, as is often the case in small towns, had read 
 as men in larger communities do not. As he rose 
 early, he was apt, after breakfast, to sit down for 
 an hour with a cigar and a book. It was the habit 
 of a lonely man. 
 
 "Now," he said to himself, "I must do just as 
 I usually do." He sat down and took up the vol 
 ume he had been reading a life of John Marshall. 
 It had lost interest. He could not keep his atten 
 tion on the text. His cigar went out. Damn it ! " 
 he exclaimed, "if this goes on Of a sudden the 
 naked fact of having killed came back to him. This 
 was not murder. No one would call it that. Once 
 he had read : 
 
 The devil owns the minutes, 
 God the years." 
 
 This began to say itself over and over in his mind, 
 bringing back again the fatal scene. What had the 
 devil s minute brought? What would the "years 
 of God" bring? 
 
 Time would go on. People would forget. Mrs. 
 Trescot would go away, of course. He would see 
 her stately grace no more. The thought of her called 
 up the face of another woman far away in Sacra 
 mento. What would she say? What would she 
 think? 
 
 "Well," he said, "I had better go out and show 
 myself." He went to his room and took his watch 
 from the table. He had forgotten to wind it. Then 
 
 15 
 
226 CONSTANCE TEESCOT 
 
 he picked up his revolver, glanced at the one empty 
 barrel, hesitated a moment, put it back on the table, 
 and went down to his office. As he passed Trescot s 
 home he looked across at the house and quickened 
 his steps. 
 
 The next day he left St. Ann and remained absent 
 until, as he supposed, the funeral of his victim 
 would be over. 
 
XVII 
 
 |HE days went by, and it was now late 
 in October. Mrs. Averill waited at the 
 foot of the stairs. "Will she live?" 
 she said, as she met Dr. Eskridge, a 
 war-worn old Confederate surgeon. 
 "Yes," he said, "unhappily she will live." He 
 had known and liked Constance. "What she will 
 be or what she will do when this wild hysteria is 
 over, no one can say. Now she knows nothing." 
 
 "I was with her all last night, doctor. At times 
 she lay in a stupor; at others she talked, laughing, 
 about her child, and said, over and over, It must 
 be called George. : 
 
 "Poor lady, that hope is at an end." 
 "Yes; and more s the pity." 
 "I still think that her sister should not see her." 
 "She understands that," said Mrs. Averill. "A 
 most sensible, thoughtful young woman, and so con 
 siderate. My poor husband is distressed beyond mea 
 sure. I did not think there was possible for him any 
 other sorrow on earth except my death, and I am 
 old. But this young man was, in some ways, like 
 my son Harry. I am worried about the general. 
 I wish you would talk to him." 
 
 "I will. In a few weeks perhaps abruptly 
 227 
 
228 CONSTANCE TKESCOT 
 
 Mrs. Trescot will come out of this state, perhaps 
 well, perhaps physically broken in health. Then she 
 must go away and never return." 
 
 "I suppose that will be best. These two young 
 women are both rich, my dear doctor, and can go 
 where they please. Mr. Hood did not mean to leave 
 them much money, but he died without leaving a 
 will, and now they have all. He was a singular 
 man, and really this dreadful affair was caused by 
 his obstinate hardness." 
 
 "I have heard as much," said the doctor. 
 
 "He made a dozen wills, and fortunately burned 
 the last one the day before he died." 
 
 "Well, well," said the doctor, "a will is the only 
 contribution to folly a dead man can make. Ah, 
 good morning, Miss Hood. Your sister is somewhat 
 better; we must have patience." 
 
 "I have it," said Susan. "But come into the 
 garden with me a moment. It seems just now im 
 possible to find a quiet place. He followed her, and 
 as they walked down the path she said: 
 
 "Do you think that if she recovers she will be 
 in mind what she was ; and can you, with your great 
 experience and what you know of her, form any 
 idea of how this calamity will influence her life? 
 She is all I have, and I am so very anxious." 
 
 "I think it likely that she will get well and be 
 sound in mind and body. Unless misfortune wrecks 
 us utterly and we become insane, after a shock like 
 this we remain essentially what we were. New con 
 ditions, accidents, sorrow, may cause people to ap 
 pear for a time alien from themselves. They are 
 
CONSTANCE TEESCOT 229 
 
 rarely so. The novel incident only evolves what 
 might have remained unused, unknown, for a life 
 time. She may surprise you, but it will be with 
 the use of some quality you have never had occasion 
 to see or she to employ. Grief does not, as a rule, 
 alter people radically." 
 
 Susan listened, deeply concerned and thoughtful. 
 "Thank you," she said. "But it does seem as if 
 a thing like this must change one." 
 
 "No. Put yourself in her place. What would 
 you be or become? What would you do?" 
 
 "I should go to the East to Egypt. One seems 
 there so small, so puny. I should try to forgive. 
 Oh, I should try to save my soul alive; but then, 
 doctor, I am an old maid, and cannot imagine what 
 a woman like Constance feels or will feel." 
 
 The doctor considered for a moment the face and 
 figure of the "old maid," and, smiling, looked at his 
 watch. "You old maids are perilous folk. No one 
 else shall abuse you but Miss Susan, and I do not 
 mean to tell you what I think of you. I shall come 
 in to-night." 
 
 She went with him through the house to the door, 
 and there saw Coffin seated on the steps. He 
 haunted the place, questioning the servants, or, with 
 boundless patience won in the loneliness of the 
 woods, waiting until some one came out who could 
 tell him of Mrs. Trescot. 
 
 Susan said: "Come in." 
 
 "No, I won t come in. How is she? Will she die? 
 I could not stand that." 
 
 "No; she will get well. But, Mr. Coffin, I want 
 
230 CONSTANCE TRESCOT 
 
 you to think over what I said to you. You talked 
 wildly of killing that man ; you frightened me. 
 
 "I Ve thought about that. When she s well I 11 
 see; if she wants it, I 11 get him, sure." 
 
 "She never will want that never." 
 
 "I m not that sure, and I ain t made that way, 
 neither. I m going to wait and see. If she just 
 lifts a finger I 11 kill that man." 
 
 "Oh, no, no!" she cried. "It is horrible murder 
 on murder. We are going away as soon as she is 
 well enough. God will help her to forget, and she 
 is young, and time is God s great peacemaker." 
 
 "She is going away! going away! That s awful. 
 Since I was a boy I never had a friend like she was 
 and she s going." His eyes filled and he stood 
 still, the tears rolling down out of the patient eyes 
 over his brown, sun-tanned cheeks. He brushed 
 them away with his sleeve and went out of the gate, 
 saying over and over, "She s going." 
 
 The weeks went by while Constance slowly re 
 covered. At times she sat up of a sudden with di 
 lated pupils, staring, but silent. At other times she 
 babbled of her home, her childhood, of Susan, but 
 never of recent events. 
 
 At last, one morning, after a natural slumber, she 
 sat up and said to Mrs. Averill: 
 
 "Where am I? Tell George I want him at once. 
 I say at once ! 
 
 Susan, hearing her high-pitched cry, ran in. 
 
 "What are you doing here?" asked Constance. 
 "Where is George?" 
 
CONSTANCE TRESCOT 231 
 
 The two women stood by, mute and without re 
 source. 
 
 1 1 Why don t you answer 1 Something happened. 
 
 She fell back, to their relief, again insensible. 
 
 From this time she began to recover, as it were 
 in fragments, her memory of the tragic past. For 
 a while she lost to-day such remembrances as yes 
 terday had brought. A little later, the storm which 
 had left her nervous system shattered passed away, 
 and she began to piece together her recovered recol 
 lections. Susan sat by in wonder, grieving for the 
 pain this revival of memories was plainly writing 
 on the face once so joyous and so fair. Some 
 where she had seen described such a condition of 
 mind, and as, one day, she talked of it to the doctor, 
 she recalled and quoted the lines: 
 
 For again life s scattered fragments, memories of 
 
 joy and woe, 
 Tremulously grew to oneness as a storm-torn lake 
 
 may grow 
 Quiet, winning back its pictures, when the wild 
 
 winds cease to blow ! 
 
 "Yes," he said; "that describes it perfectly." 
 A word or two now and then told that she knew 
 of Trescot s death. For a week she asked no ques 
 tions, but lay still, entirely patient. At last, one 
 day, the doctor, uneasy at her changeless melan 
 choly, said to her: "You are better; do you not feel 
 better?" 
 
232 CONSTANCE TRESCOT 
 
 "Yes, I am better; I should like to get on to the 
 lounge. 
 
 Pleased at any return of will or wish, he said, 
 "Yes, certainly," and with Susan s help lifted her 
 wasted frame and laid her on the lounge. 
 
 She said: "Thank you, and please leave me with 
 Dr. Eskridge." Susan went out. 
 
 "Doctor," said Mrs. Trescot, "I know all about 
 it." 
 
 He was immediately relieved. He had looked for 
 ward with anxiety to the hour of questions. "My 
 poor child ! was all he could say. 
 
 "How long have I been ill?" 
 
 "Nine weeks, Mrs. Trescot." 
 
 Suddenly she asked: "And the child?" 
 
 He took her hand. She read his answer in the 
 kind eyes which had seen so much of disaster and 
 death. 
 
 "I see I know. If anything could make it worse, 
 that does." 
 
 "Do not talk any more," he said, as he rose. 
 
 "Yes, I must. No, you cannot go; I must finish. 
 Was that that man ever tried?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Well? oh, tell me; don t be afraid; I can bear 
 oh, anything, now anything!" 
 
 "He was declared not guilty." 
 
 "How could that be?" 
 
 But now Dr. Eskridge saw signals which made 
 him resolute. He replied: "When you are better 
 you shall hear. I will answer no more questions 
 
CONSTANCE TEESCOT 233 
 
 " One only one. I insist. Will he live here? 
 Does he live here?" 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Thank you. I will ask no more questions. I 
 promise to be good very good." 
 
 The doctor rose, relieved. He said: "In two 
 weeks you must go away, and later it would really 
 he best to go abroad. You are young and will get 
 well and strong." 
 
 She smiled feebly, the large blue eyes unnatural 
 and strange in the worn, thin features they alone 
 unwasted and beautiful. 
 
 " I am young/ Is n t that what is always said, 
 doctor?" 
 
 "Yes; but it is true, and let me add that, how 
 ever impossible it may seem to you, time is very 
 kind to the young at least." 
 
 "I am not young, and time yes, I want its help. 
 I do not wish to die; I want to live." 
 
 "Now, that is better," he said, and went down 
 stairs, telling Susan on the way that her sister knew 
 everything, and was really in a wholesome state 
 of mind and eager to get well. 
 
 Susan shook her head. How could that be? Be 
 ing a woman, she wondered that her sister could 
 wish to live. 
 
 Constance asked no more questions; but, seem 
 ing to put it all aside, set herself to get well. 
 
 Three days before they left she called Susan 
 and the general to her room, insisting that she 
 would not be satisfied until she was at ease about 
 certain matters. She surprised both by the clear- 
 
234 CONSTANCE TRESCOT 
 
 ness and decision with which she stated her 
 wishes. 
 
 " Susan and I, general, are, I am sure, agreed 
 to divide the shore-land at the bend with the Bap- 
 tiste heirs; but, let me ask, will such action bene 
 fit that man?" 
 
 Susan looked up. 
 
 "I do not know. He lost the suit, and, of course, 
 his large contingent fee. I do not see how a sepa 
 rate agreement as between you and Mrs. Baptiste 
 can benefit him, even if his fee had been arranged 
 to be a share of the land." 
 
 "Then," said Constance, "if they agree not to 
 litigate further, and he is none the better for it, 
 we will divide. Does that suit you, Susan?" 
 
 "Yes, I have said so; anything, dear, that you 
 want done I shall want done; and this I especially 
 desire as an act of simple justice. We will give the 
 general a power of attorney to act for us." 
 
 "Then sister and I wish the squatters to have 
 land on the bluff back of the bend to eastward, I 
 mean." 
 
 The general made notes. 
 
 "The land must be good," said Constance; "and 
 we wish to be generous. I should like them all to 
 be helped to buy what they need to clear and till 
 the land." 
 
 "It will be rather costly." 
 
 "Yes," said Susan; "but Constance wishes it, 
 and there is a large amount of accumulated interest 
 in bank. It was my uncle s way." 
 
 "I want Coffin especially cared for," said Con- 
 
CONSTANCE TRESCOT 235 
 
 stance. "I wish him to have the cleared land 
 nearest the bluff; and, general, I want you 
 to pay him five dollars a week to care for my 
 garden. 
 
 Your garden, Conny!" exclaimed Susan. 
 
 "Yes; I mean to shut up the house; but I shall 
 keep it ; I shall never sell it. I want no one to enter 
 the study. Lock it. Has it been disturbed ? 
 
 "No, dear; I locked it and have the key." 
 
 "Then give it to me. The house is mine. I shall 
 keep it as it is." 
 
 "Is not that unwise, sister?" 
 
 "I have made up my mind." 
 
 "Well, dear, it is yours. We will not discuss it." 
 
 The doctor had long since warned her against con 
 tradictions, and against anything which might stir 
 up dangerous emotion. 
 
 "Is that all?" asked the general. 
 
 "Yes," said Susan; "except that we desire to 
 make the most liberal arrangements in regard to the 
 mortgages not yet settled. You cannot be too gen 
 erous. My sister and I know how your people have 
 suffered. 
 
 The old soldier looked up, touched by what she 
 said. "You are giving a sad old man a rare plea 
 sure. Is that all?" 
 
 "No," said Constance. "I have here a letter. 
 Read it, please, when I am gone. If you dislike to 
 do what I ask, it can wait. There is no hurry about 
 it, and I am very sorry to trouble you." 
 
 "You do not trouble me. Ah, my dear children, 
 we shall miss you sadly." 
 
236 CONSTANCE TEESCOT 
 
 "But next summer," said Susan, "you will 
 spend with us at Beverly." 
 
 " Perhaps," he said; "but you had better go 
 abroad. 
 
 Constance had put off seeing Coffin; but on the 
 sixteenth of December, the day before they were 
 to leave, she sent for him. 
 
 He entered, halting in his gait, somewhat bow- 
 legged, a round-shouldered man in much-worn gray, 
 with here and there a lingering Confederate button, 
 a ragged felt hat in his hand. What Susan called 
 the "lost-dog" look was in his eyes. 
 
 What he saw was a tall, wasted woman in black. 
 She was very thin and without a relic of the rosy 
 color which once added so much to her beauty. 
 The large framework of her features showed too 
 prominently in the absence of flesh. Above all, 
 the man was shocked at her complete pallor. He 
 was too unthoughtful to have been prepared for 
 the effects of emotion and consequent illness. Her 
 quiet manner not less amazed him. The women 
 of his own class wept and were natural. This 
 woman had back of her two centuries of Puritan 
 self-restraint, and the controlling reserve of a class 
 accustomed to hide emotion. 
 
 She said, as she gave him her thin, cold hand: 
 "Sit down; but first shut the door. I want to talk 
 to you." 
 
 He sat down on the edge of the chair. 
 
 "How are you?" she asked. 
 
 "Oh, very well, ma am." 
 
 "Can you hold your tongue, Tom? I want to 
 trust you." 
 
CONSTANCE TEESCOT 237 
 
 can." He was a man by long habit wood- 
 dumb, as the old lumbermen say a man of few 
 words. 
 
 "I want you to take care of my garden." 
 
 1 Yes, ma am." 
 
 "You will come every week to the general to get 
 five dollars; you will care for my garden. You 
 are also to have the best land on the bluff. 
 
 "I did n t expect all that. I m right thankful. 
 They do say you re going away. Mrs. Averill 
 says you 11 never come back. Are that so ? " 
 
 "No; they think so; but I am coming back. That 
 is what I want no one to know. Will you keep it 
 to yourself?" 
 
 "I reckon, Mrs. Trescot, you know you can trust 
 me." 
 
 "I am sure I can," she said as she rose. "I am 
 still weak, and I cannot talk to you as I want to 
 do when I come back. If you need anything, Gen 
 eral Averill will see to it I mean anything for 
 the Wilsons." 
 
 "Thank you, ma am." 
 
 She gave him her hand. He took it with some 
 thing like reverence. Then he stood, uneasy, evi 
 dently with something unsaid. 
 
 "Well?" she asked. "Is there anything else, 
 Coffin?" 
 
 "I was thinking you might be wanting some one 
 to kill that there man." He spoke simply, in his 
 drawling mountain dialect, as he might have asked 
 what tree he should fell. 
 
 The thought had been too often in her mind to 
 cause her any shock. She said, No, no. 
 
238 CONSTANCE TEESCOT 
 
 "It would n t be no trouble, ma am. I M as lief 
 do it on my own account as not.* 
 
 "No," she said again; "no. That would not be 
 any comfort to me, Tom. I want that man to suf 
 fer. I want him to suffer every day, every night, 
 till he curses the day he was born. I don t want 
 him to die, Tom; not yet no, not yet." 
 
 He accepted her statement with blind faith in 
 her resources, and with the obedient trust of a faith 
 ful dog, wishing to help and not knowing how. 
 
 "I would n t know how to fetch that about. 
 Now, if you know 
 
 "No, Tom, not yet. I must first get well and 
 strong. Good-by; I shall ask Mrs. Averill to let me 
 hear how you get on, and the Wilson children and 
 the rest. But remember, no one no one must know 
 what I have said to you." 
 
 He went away wondering, sorry not to be able 
 to bring about what she desired, and with dull 
 wonder because of her unwillingness to accept the 
 vengeful service for which he was so ready. 
 
XVIII 
 
 N the afternoon of the next day the sis 
 ters left for the long journey to their 
 home on the Beverly coast of Massa 
 chusetts. The general, who had gone 
 with them to the station, on his return 
 came into the parlor no one called it a drawing- 
 room in St. Ann. Mrs. Averill was seated before 
 the hickory-log fire, her knitting on her lap. She 
 was looking up at the rival flags, the swords, and 
 the poor little photographs. As she heard Averill s 
 step she took up her knitting, smiling sadly at the 
 intrusive remembrance concerning the "ravell d 
 sleave of care" which none can knit. He had a let 
 ter in his hand. 
 
 " Eleanor," he said, "this has been a great shock 
 to me. I could not have imagined it as possible." 
 "No new trouble?" she said quickly. "What is 
 it? Always tell me things first and say what you 
 like afterward. Men always prepare one." She 
 was slightly irritated. 
 
 "Oh, it is of no personal moment. Read that, 
 Eleanor, and tell me what on earth I am to do." 
 She took the letter and read : 
 
 239 
 
240 CONSTANCE TBESCOT 
 
 "My DEAR GENERAL: 
 
 "If what I now ask seems to you too strange, 
 or may in any way annoy you to carry out, let it 
 go; it can wait. 
 
 "I want a simple gray stone put over my hus 
 band s grave, with this inscription : 
 
 " In memory of George Trescot. Aged 29 years. 
 Late Major 6th Massachusetts Volunteers. 
 
 " Murdered on October 9, 1870, in St. Ann/ " 
 
 Mrs. Averill slowly folded the letter, and replaced 
 it in the envelop. "Do you not think, Edward, that 
 she may be a little well, not quite sane? It is too 
 strange, too horrible." 
 
 "No; she is sane enough, Eleanor. But grief 
 plays strange tricks with the most sane." 
 
 "I, at least, cannot imagine a really great sor 
 row associated with ideas of revenge; but, after all, 
 Edward, there is more than revenge here or per 
 haps less. It would, after all, be only an unusual 
 act of justice." 
 
 * But you could never have desired such a thing. 
 
 "I am not sure. No, I could not; but I am not 
 Constance. I do not blame her." 
 
 The general stood by the fire, the letter in his 
 hand. At last he said: "Personally, Eleanor, I 
 could wish this thing done. A man commits a crime 
 like this and justice fails; people forget, and there 
 is not even a record; and at last the man, too, I 
 suppose, forgets." 
 
 "But does he? Do you think that a man like 
 him does at last cease to feel what he must have 
 
CONSTANCE TRESCOT 241 
 
 felt when that dear, beautiful woman fell at his 
 feet? I often think, as I sit here, Edward, just a 
 sad, childless mother, that if the men whose bul 
 lets left us lonely could have seen us or fully known 
 what they had done, they could not have failed to 
 be unhappy." Then she paused and, looking up 
 affectionately at -the kind, brave face of the com 
 rade and lover, added: "But I am glad they can 
 not know." 
 
 "Yes, that is as well, dear. I, too, have helped 
 to create in unseen homes the misery of war, more s 
 the pity. If every man in an army knew and saw 
 whom his shot killed or crippled, and saw, too, 
 all the far-away, never-ending consequences, I think 
 wars would cease." 
 
 "Perhaps, perhaps," she said, as she looked up 
 with full eyes at the crossed swords over the mantel. 
 
 They were silent again for a little while. Then 
 she said: 
 
 "What will you do about this letter this in 
 scription ? 
 
 "I hardly know." 
 
 "You may be sure that the churchwarden will 
 never permit it. You can see him and show him the 
 letter in confidence. He will say no; and you can 
 repeat this to our poor Constance." 
 
 The general, well pleased to be thus counseled, 
 had his interview with the astonished warden, and 
 upon his protesting wrote to Constance to that effect. 
 
 She replied that no one, not even Susan, knew 
 anything of her letter, and that no further steps 
 need be taken. She was sorry to have given trouble. 
 
 16 
 
242 CONSTANCE TEESCOT 
 
 She wrote from time to time, but her letters were 
 rare and never personal. Meanwhile, they had gone 
 to Europe, as the doctor had desired them to do. 
 Susan wrote often. Constance was, apparently, 
 well again, but still thin and without a trace of her 
 lovely coloring. The doctors said it was anemia, 
 but one in Milan insisted that it was not want of 
 blood, but some change in the nervous system. He 
 had seen such cases and said that she would al 
 ways be pale. "I really think," said Susan, "that 
 she is more beautiful than ever, but it is the beauty 
 of living marble; and, dear Mrs. Averill, I had 
 a cherished belief that this awful thing would make 
 my sister turn where alone are peace and rest and 
 the hope that lives when earth has none. I can see 
 no such result. She will not even let me speak of 
 what is so near to me. This alone makes her irri 
 table, and that is new to Constance. People stare 
 at her, and no wonder so pale, so stately, and so 
 sadly indifferent. She reads little, goes to the gal 
 leries, and takes no real interest in anything ex 
 cept that she shows the most eager desire to get 
 well and vigorous. I should have wished to die. 
 She was always, except with George and me, a 
 reserved person, and now I am sure there is some 
 thing constantly on her mind. It is not a mere 
 torturing memory, but something which, when she 
 thinks she is unnoticed, makes her smile in a cold 
 way. I cannot describe it; but it does worry me. 
 Once only she has shown interest, and that was 
 about the miniatures we have had made for you 
 from the photographs of your sons. They are very 
 
CONSTANCE TEESCOT 243 
 
 admirable, and to know what they will be to our 
 dear friends pleased her. She said, How George 
 would have liked them ! and, believe me, this is the 
 only time I have heard his name pass her lips. I 
 can give you no better idea of the effect she produces 
 than to tell you what happened yesterday at the 
 Pitti no, it was at the Bargello. I was seated, 
 looking at the statue of David. My sister was 
 moving about, never looking long at any one of the 
 wonderful things on every side. I heard a man 
 near by say to a younger man: Did you see that 
 woman? Yes, he said; what a colorless face! 
 She is as pale as death. The other said: But 
 what a cold, beautiful face! She must have had a 
 history worth hearing. They strolled away, and I 
 heard no more. I have a dreadful desire to know 
 what has become of that man Greyhurst. Is he 
 still in St. Ann?" 
 
 Mrs. Averill looked up from the letter she had 
 been reading aloud to her husband. 
 
 "I have never chanced to set eyes on him," she 
 said. "But, then, I rarely leave my home." 
 
 "As you know, dear," returned Averill, "we do 
 not speak. Of course I see him and hear of him. 
 I think he has been made to feel that men are more 
 than ever inclined to avoid him; not so much, I 
 am sorry to say, on account of Trescot s death as 
 because of that terrible evidence of his uncertain 
 temper. At the club I notice that he is not asked 
 to take a hand at cards, although he plays well." 
 
 "That is rather a mild punishment." 
 
 "Yes; but it means something to him; and the 
 
244 CONSTANCE TEESCOT 
 
 social discipline has had its effect on a man who 
 is, or was, amusing, and who liked the society of 
 men. He is a sensitive person and feels it. I hear, 
 too, that he no longer carries a revolver." 
 
 "Indeed! and here, where it is so common!" 
 
 "Yes; Colonel Dudley told me. He has had two 
 or three successful cases of late, and behaved with 
 propriety and good temper." 
 
 "Mrs. Dudley told me that he has been speaking 
 in the county at political meetings." 
 
 "Yes," said Averill, "and admirably well. He 
 wants to go to the legislature. That is all I know, 
 Eleanor. I dislike even to talk about him. So far 
 he is prospering, and that dear fellow is forgotten. 
 This is a strange world, and not altogether satis 
 factory." 
 
 Mrs. Averill was silent for a moment, automati 
 cally plying her knitting-needles. The general stood 
 with a hand on her shoulder. Presently she said: 
 
 "Will you drive me to the churchyard this after 
 noon ? I want to leave some flowers on the grave. 
 
 He replied, "Certainly of course." 
 
 Then she added: "I was wondering how, in the 
 far future, these two lives will end her life and 
 his." 
 
 "Oh, she is young, and he will live on, and the 
 whole thing will be forgotten in time. It is not the 
 only case we have had in St. Ann ; and, as far as I 
 have been able to see, the actors in these tragedies 
 appear to be very little influenced or altered. Grey- 
 hurst is the sole instance I recall in which the man 
 who killed seemed to be personally changed by what 
 
CONSTANCE TRESCOT 245 
 
 he had done. He certainly is changed Dudley 
 says very much changed." 
 
 "But how?" 
 
 "Oh, he is moody and silent; he is less gay; 
 he is more deferential. Suppose we drop him, 
 Eleanor." 
 
 "It is all very sad," she said; and gathering up 
 her knitting, she went out into the garden, where now 
 in the late spring the flowers were welcoming the 
 sun. 
 
PAET II 
 
YEAR had gone by since Trescot s 
 death. St. Ann was prospering and 
 on the way to become a great city. 
 The shops were larger, the cotton- 
 presses more busy, a new railroad was 
 approaching the town. Already the divided water 
 front at the bend was being needed for cotton- 
 storage and to supply landings for freight-boats. 
 
 Greyhurst profited by the general rise in real 
 estate, and was able to sell two or three lots 
 at good prices. His political prospects were also 
 promising, and with increased means and lessening 
 causes of irritability, he began to feel some return of 
 self-confidence and the amiability of a man reas 
 sured as to his future. A fortunate decision in a 
 case against the United States government added 
 local popularity, and it may be said that, except 
 in the opinion of a small class, he had suffered lit 
 tle in the eyes of a community largely made up of 
 not altogether the best elements of the West and 
 South. As he became busier, chiefly with small 
 suits, occupation served to assist the blurring in 
 fluence of time. 
 
 247 
 
248 CONSTANCE TEESCOT 
 
 And yet he had his hours, or at least his minutes, 
 of regret. He was sensitive, as the irritable often 
 are, not merely to slights, but also to memorial re 
 minders. He never willingly walked over the 
 ground where he had seen Trescot fall. He had 
 that day put a rose in his buttonhole. He never 
 did so again. He still excused his act as justified 
 by what Trescot had said, and by the self-belief 
 encouraged in his trial by those who swore they 
 thought Trescot was about to draw and defend 
 himself. He was measurably successful, but never 
 could deal as readily with his remembrance of the 
 agonized face of Constance Trescot. That she had 
 gone, never to be seen by him again, was a vast 
 relief. 
 
 There is, however, a little space of time when 
 the specters of thought or memory possess the scene. 
 In the brief interval between the waking state and 
 sleep, when the will is becoming dormant, and im 
 agination plays us sad tricks, he saw her as she 
 stood before him pronouncing the sentence which 
 he never could forget. Of late this visualized mem 
 ory was becoming less vivid. He felt that also to 
 be a relief. 
 
 On the ninth of October, the anniversary of Tres 
 cot s death, Grey hurst walked up the hill slope 
 from his own house, and past the long-closed home 
 of the man he had killed. He had a startling revival 
 of memory as he saw that the windows were open, 
 but he reflected with satisfaction that it had some 
 new owner. Very naturally he had never spoken of 
 it or its former tenant, and knew nothing in regard 
 
CONSTANCE TEESCOT 249 
 
 to it. He went on, setting his mind upon the busi 
 ness of the day, nor did he venture to ask any one 
 who had taken the house. 
 
 At dusk the day before Constance Trescot and a 
 maid arrived at St. Ann. Unrecognized in her black 
 veil, she had driven to her old home. A letter from 
 her and a despairing note from Susan Hood had 
 prepared the Averills for her coming, so that she 
 found the house in order and her old servants ready. 
 For two days she was, by her own wish, alone, 
 having begged her sister, who utterly disapproved of 
 her return to St. Ann, not to join her for a fort 
 night. 
 
 She found the house, as she had desired to find it, 
 unaltered. She went up-stairs and changed her 
 dress, asking to have tea sent up to her. Later in 
 the evening, when the house had been closed, and 
 the servants had gone to bed, she took a candle 
 and went down to the study. The room, by her 
 wish, had never been opened, and the dust lay thick 
 on everything. For a minute she stood with the 
 candlestick in her hand and looked about her. 
 There were the table and books the Bible with 
 one of her own gloves left in it as a marker at the 
 story of Kuth, which Trescot had meant next to 
 read to her. The dead rose-stem was in the tall 
 glass, the dried petals on the table. The piano was 
 there, and her music; on a chair lay Trescot s spurs 
 and his riding- whip. She sat down, and for the 
 first time in months broke into a passion of tears. 
 That yearning for the dead which few escape came 
 upon her. She threw up her hands with a wild 
 
250 CONSTANCE TEESCOT 
 
 gesture of utter despair. "How am I to bear it?" 
 she cried. "How am I to bear it?" 
 
 At last she lay down on the lounge, and, wiping 
 her eyes, resolutely controlled herself. Once re 
 possessed of power to think, she lay quiet, reflecting. 
 All summer, at times, she had set herself to plan 
 some scheme of punishment for the man who had 
 wrecked her life. She had schemed in vain. She 
 was a woman, and powerless. What could she do? 
 
 The air was warm, the room close. She opened 
 a door and went out and stood in the garden. The 
 damp night air brought to her the fragrance of 
 lingering autumn roses, with the keen memories 
 perfumes so surely recall, and the darkness intensi 
 fied her abiding sense of loneliness. 
 
 She sat down on the steps of the porch, and fed 
 her grief with remembered joy. An immense long 
 ing came over her to see her dead as he was in life, 
 and it seemed to her as though she must have some 
 power to compel this vision. She had greatly de 
 sired to dream of him, and had never done so. At 
 times, as now, she failed to be able to call his face 
 into mental view. The longing seemed to affect 
 her whole strong young body, so that she felt her 
 heart beat in her neck and down to her finger-ends. 
 
 Suddenly she swayed to one side. She sat up, 
 alarmed. A slight, abrupt sense of weakness, of 
 want of control over her muscles, announced that 
 to indulge in the remembrance of hours of passion 
 ate love, or of joyous comradeship, was perilous 
 to such absolute self-command as she well knew 
 she should need. She recalled the old doctor s warn- 
 
CONSTANCE TRESCOT 251 
 
 ing. He had said that to give way to emotion 
 would for a long time to come be likely to bring 
 about a fresh attack of loss of self-command. She 
 set herself sternly to recover calmness of mind, and 
 with it the power to reason. As she rose she felt 
 amazed at this sudden feebleness. Resolving not 
 again to give way to the sweetness and pain of try 
 ing to live back into the too real recollection of the 
 days of a supreme passion, she went in, and, to 
 her surprise, slept a deep and, as she knew next 
 morning, an unrefreshing slumber. "This shall not 
 happen again," she said, as she turned over her 
 letters at breakfast; and, in fact, unsatisfied desire 
 to make her husband s murderer atone in suffering 
 took the place of a more perilous form of mental 
 activity. 
 
 After breakfast she quietly arranged her house 
 hold affairs for the day, and then busied herself 
 in setting the study in order, dusting it, with care 
 to leave all things as they had been. 
 
 At last she sat down at Trescot s table, and, pre 
 occupied, dipped a pen into the dry inkstand. She 
 laid down the pen and went to get her traveling- 
 inkstand. Returning, she stood still a moment, and 
 then turned to her own table, and again sat down. 
 She had the feeling that not where he sat could she 
 plan a course of life so opposed to all he held dear. 
 He would have said, "Forgive; forget. " For a 
 minute, and for the first time, the woman hesitated. 
 She was at the parting of the ways. She looked 
 around her at the memorials of a true and noble 
 life, and forward at the lonely desert of days and 
 
252 CONSTANCE TRESCOT 
 
 years without hope and void of all the joys that 
 belong to youth and love. She did not reason- 
 she simply felt. "No," she said aloud; "I must go 
 my way." From that sad hour she held to one un 
 changing resolve. 
 
 First she must see Coffin, and must know all that 
 was possible of her enemy s life. How could she, 
 a young woman, enter into it with power to ruin 
 and make him suffer? She resolved to be patient. 
 Had it been some lesser injury, she could have 
 made the man love her and then cast him aside to 
 realize the pain of loss. She knew, as by instinct, 
 her power over men. She dismissed the thought in 
 disgust and horror, and, rising, walked about, and 
 at last went into the front parlor, and, to air the 
 long-closed room, threw up a sash. As she moved to 
 the other window she saw herself in a mirror, a tall 
 form in deep mourning-dress, with a face the whiter 
 from contrast with her black gown and mass of 
 dark hair. She threw up the sash and stood still, 
 held motionless as if by some fascination; for, on 
 the farther side of the street, in the brilliant sun 
 shine, she saw John Greyhurst walking slowly to 
 ward the town. He glanced over at the house and 
 saw and knew her. Instantly quickening his pace, 
 he looked away and moved on. 
 
 Noting the suddenly averted head, the abrupt 
 hastening of his steps, she looked after him, and 
 said aloud: "He feels; he is sensitive." A stern 
 joy possessed her, and she turned away satisfied. 
 "Now I know," she said. 
 
 When she went back to the study she saw Tom 
 
CONSTANCE TRESCOT 253 
 
 Coffin on the back porch. She called him: Tom, 
 Tom!" 
 
 "I heard you was here. I was that sure you 
 would come back. Are you going to stay, ma am?" 
 
 "Yes; I do not know how long. I told you I 
 meant to come. Did you keep my secret?" 
 
 "I did." 
 
 "Are you doing well on the bluff?" 
 
 "Why, Mrs. Trescot, I m saving money. Never 
 did that before in all my life, and it s all along of 
 you. Oh, we re right well pleased, all of us." 
 
 It was a long speech for Tom. 
 
 "I am very glad. And now I want something. 
 I want to know all about that man, Tom. How he 
 spends his time. He goes to his office, I suppose, 
 and to that club, and to to the court-house. Does 
 he go to any houses? Does he visit any one any 
 woman ? 
 
 You want me to find out ? That s easy enough. 
 
 "But he must not know he is watched." 
 
 Tom smiled. "All right." He looked at her 
 and wondered what she could mean to do. It 
 seemed simple to him a rifle-shot, and that would 
 end the matter. She had said no. Her desire for 
 some continuity of punishment would have been 
 foreign to his mountain code of vengeance. For 
 men of his kind there was some recognized joy in 
 the crude pleasure of pipe and glass, of the visible 
 results of the hunt, and of the use of ax and plow. 
 The men he knew had no other joys, and to take 
 life was to take away all that was valuable, and 
 competently to deal with a wrong. He left her, puz- 
 
254 CONSTANCE TRESCOT 
 
 zled as to what she meant to do, but, as always, her 
 willing instrument, in small things or in large. 
 
 On the following day the general found her in 
 the parlor. 
 
 "Well, my dear," he said, "we are glad and 
 sorry to see you here again. You are still too pale. 
 Are you well?" 
 
 "Yes; I think I may say that I am as strong as 
 I ever was. Sit down ; I want to talk to you. 
 
 "Certainly, my dear child. There is a good deal 
 of business. The water-front at the bend ought to 
 be improved, and 
 
 Excuse me, general, but those matters may wait. 
 I have other things to speak of, and, to me, far more 
 important things." 
 
 He was surprised and curious. "Now, as always, 
 I am at your disposal." 
 
 "I asked you some time ago to do for me what 
 I was sure you would disapprove of." 
 
 "Yes, on the whole I did disapprove; and when 
 the warden said he would never consent I felt re 
 lieved. Mrs. Averill and I considered it unwise, 
 and only to be explained by the condition in which 
 your illness left you. It would have been an im 
 propriety, to say no more." 
 
 "I do not feel as you do," she returned. "A 
 useful, noble life is ended by a brute s anger. He 
 lives on unpunished. A jury justifies his act; no 
 one remembers. Is there to be no record? Must 
 this man live and go his way just as before? As 
 I live, I do not mean that he shall. If to kill him 
 would satisfy me, and I had been a man, I would 
 
CONSTANCE TRESCOT 255 
 
 have shot him as I should any other wild beast, and 
 not have had a pang of remorse. But something I 
 must do oh, something!" 
 
 She rose and walked up and down the room, the 
 figure of an avenging fate, splendid in her wrath. 
 
 "My dear Constance! let me beg of you" 
 
 "Pardon me, let me finish. I mean to make this 
 man suffer oh, as I have suffered; oh, more, if 
 that be possible ! I have now but one purpose in 
 life, and to it I mean to give my strength, my 
 thought, and, at need, every dollar I have in the 
 world." 
 
 He lifted a hand in appeal: "God knows, dear, 
 that I feel for you ; but what can you do ? " 
 
 He felt in a larger way much as Coffin felt; but 
 this woman s talk of some more refined vengeance 
 struck him as pitiable in its incapacities. 
 
 "What I can do, general, I do not know as yet. 
 I have felt, however, that I wished you beforehand 
 to understand that if I seem strange in what I 
 do, or, as men see things, eccentric, you will not 
 consider me insane. I am fully aware that you will 
 disapprove. I cannot help that. A man dies, 
 and a woman must sit down and cry. I am not so 
 made; I cannot, and I would not if I could." 
 
 This stormy passion troubled him. It was not like 
 any woman he had ever known. There was some 
 thing in it of the deadly instinct of attack of a 
 wounded animal something not modern. Revenge 
 had been in his experience the prerogative of man. 
 He did not know how to answer her, and fell upon 
 petty futilities. People would talk she would 
 
256 CONSTANCE TEESCOT 
 
 surely be thought to be crazy. He hesitated to say 
 that this vain dream of a woman ruining a strong 
 man outside of the possibility of contact or influence 
 was absurd, and might come to seem ridiculous, even 
 with the tragedy behind it. 
 
 He moved her no whit. As he talked she contin 
 ued to walk about uneasily, and at last pausing 
 before him, said: "I know how you, how any man, 
 must feel about what I have said. If there are men 
 fools enough to think lightly of it, I swear to you 
 there will be one man who will not laugh when I am 
 done with him." 
 
 The general began to think that it might very well 
 be. He said: "I should be a poor friend, Con 
 stance, if I did not try to stop you. Think it 
 over. Let Mrs. Averill talk to you, and wait, my 
 dear. Do nothing rash." 
 
 " Certainly, general, I shall do as you say. I am 
 in no hurry, but nothing on earth will move me." 
 
 "I am very, very sorry." 
 
 "I could hardly have imagined that you would 
 agree with me. May I ask you if that man is pros 
 perous, if people have condoned his act?" 
 
 He hesitated. It was unnatural, disagreeable, this 
 curiosity about a man who ought to have passed 
 unmentioned out of her life. 
 
 "You do not want to answer me." 
 
 "Frankly, I do not. He and I do not speak. If 
 ever he did, I should call him out and kill him." 
 
 "Thank you. I shall not urge you further. I 
 can easily learn all I need to learn. Ask my dear 
 Mrs. Averill to come here at four to-day. I have 
 
CONSTANCE TEESCOT 257 
 
 the miniatures for her. I have made myself un 
 pleasant. You will forgive me, I am sure." 
 
 He took her hand as he rose, kissed it in the old- 
 fashioned way, and left her, feeling that he had 
 entirely failed to bring her to reason. 
 
 When he related to Mrs. Averill this amazing in 
 terview, she said: "It is very sad, but it is also 
 absurd. I will make her understand that, as a wo 
 man, I feel with and for her. It will then be easy 
 to make clear how utterly impossible it is for her 
 to do anything. It is really childish." 
 
 The general smiled. "Wait a little/ he said 
 "wait until you hear her talk." 
 
 When Mrs. Averill had kissed the pale cheek and 
 expressed pleasure at seeing her again, Constance 
 gave her the two miniatures. They were admirably 
 done, and the mother s eyes filled as she looked up 
 and thanked the kind thought which had made them 
 hers. 
 
 "And now, dear," she said, "the general has 
 told me of your talk. I am a woman and can enter 
 into your feelings; but, dear, I am a Christian, and 
 must plead with you, by all that George Trescot 
 held dear and true, to put aside these thoughts 
 of revenge. They are wicked ; and even if they 
 were not, it is practically useless for you or me, 
 or any woman, to think of affecting the life of such 
 a man." 
 
 "But I am not a Christian, Mrs. Averill." 
 
 "No; Susan told me that long ago, to my regret, 
 dear. But still you must at least feel 
 
 "Pardon me, my dear Mrs. Averill," she broke 
 
 17 
 
258 CONSTANCE TRESCOT 
 
 in. "I must go my way, and I mean to do so. I 
 may fail; I think I shall not fail. But let me say, 
 dear friend, once for all, just this," and she laid 
 a hand on the knee of the elder woman. I am here 
 for a purpose, but I shall live my life the usual 
 life. I shall see you often, I hope; and while here 
 I shall try to do what good I can to those who are 
 in need or suffering. All pain and all human dis 
 tress appeal to me as they never did before. We will 
 never recur to this subject, and yet, last of all, let 
 me say just only this: if a man killed me, do you 
 think George Trescot, no matter what his creed, 
 would have left him unpunished?" 
 
 "But that is different," said the old lady, feebly. 
 
 "I do not so see it," said Constance. "We won t 
 talk about it any more. Here are some new flower- 
 seeds and a meerschaum pipe for our dear general. 
 
 Mrs. Averill thanked her, and they spoke of 
 other matters Susan, dress, foreign travel, and, at 
 last, of the home for the orphans of Confederate 
 soldiers. She Constance desired to help it. 
 
 After a long chat, the pretty old lady put on her 
 gloves and rose, quite conscious that she had fared no 
 better than her husband. She had been accustomed 
 to act in her quiet, sweet-tempered way as a peace 
 making influence. Her gray, wrinkled, patient face 
 preached silent sermons of gentleness and endur 
 ance. She had lost children, fortune, and all that 
 helps us to bear the inevitable addition of such 
 physical disabilities as the years bring to the old. 
 She still retained a certain pleasure in her power 
 to affect for good the lives of the younger people, 
 
CONSTANCE TRESCOT 259 
 
 whom, now that the general was once more pros 
 perous, she liked to see about her the young and 
 the happy. What she had heard from Constance 
 was both a novel revelation and a shock to her 
 womanly sense of what was proper and reasonable. 
 With larger knowledge and increased opportunities 
 she might be able to turn this young friend aside 
 from a course which seemed to her both wrong and 
 foolish. She, too, had suffered, and had won at last 
 the sad serenity of a sorrow for which this earth 
 has no competent relief, and which looks for an 
 swer to another world than ours. She had nothing 
 in her own nature or experience to explain either 
 the strength or the defects of a woman like Con 
 stance Trescot. That she should want to avenge 
 an injury, and yet earnestly desire to help the poor 
 and the suffering, seemed to Eleanor Averill an in 
 credible attitude of mind. As she walked homeward 
 she consoled herself with the belief that perhaps, 
 after all, Constance would soon come to realize her 
 own incapacity and abandon her purpose. She had 
 learned, as the old learn, to have great faith in time. 
 
II 
 
 iREYHURST, who had reflected not a 
 little on the return of Mrs. Trescot, 
 concluded that her large business in 
 terests alone could have brought her 
 to St. Ann. She was unlikely to re 
 main ; and even if her stay should be long, what did 
 it matter? On the third day after her return he 
 went to his office and began to read his letters. 
 One in a firm, large-charactered woman s hand in 
 terested him. He broke the black seal of the mourn 
 ing-paper. A yellow slip fell out. He read : 
 
 "SIR: 
 
 "The inclosed telegram was in the hand of the 
 man you murdered at the moment he was going 
 toward you to offer, as before he had no power to 
 do, a friendly, and even generous, division of the 
 lands at the bend. His blood is on it, as I trust 
 it may rest on your own soul. 
 
 "CONSTANCE TRESCOT. " 
 
 His first feeling was simply astonishment. For 
 a moment he held the letter in act to tear it up. 
 Then, as if that were impossible, he laid it down 
 and mechanically unfolded the telegram and read 
 
 260 
 
CONSTANCE TBESCOT 261 
 
 it over and over. It was terribly new to him. The 
 general had never spoken to him since the day 
 of his fatal anger. He knew, of course, of the more 
 recent and accepted proffer to Mrs. Baptiste to 
 divide the frontage. He sat stupefied. He saw 
 the brown blood-stains on the paper, and let it fall. 
 The scene came back to him. Yes, the man was 
 smiling he had thought it the smile of triumph. 
 There he was, dead dead! He tore the papers 
 to pieces and cast them into the waste-basket at his 
 side. A brief fury of anger came over him. He 
 rose and walked to and fro. "By heavens, if she 
 were a man!" Then he controlled himself, saying: 
 "After all, what does it matter a woman s re 
 venge ! 
 
 I have said that he was variously sensitive. By 
 degrees he had set aside and carefully rid himself 
 of even the smallest reminder of an hour which he 
 deeply regretted. He had ceased to wear his revol 
 ver; had put it aside and locked it up. He had 
 found that the gray suit he wore during the trial 
 revived a dark memory. He gave it away. And 
 now, the feeble ingenuity of a woman s hatred had 
 brought back in dreadful clearness all that time 
 had mercifully dealt with. 
 
 He went out and forced himself to attend to the 
 business of the day. He stayed late at the club, 
 seeking society, unwilling to face the solitude of 
 his own house. 
 
 As he walked homeward in the darkness he took 
 refuge in that which had somewhat helped him at 
 an earlier period. During his trial men swore to 
 
262 CONSTANCE TEESCOT 
 
 their belief that the younger man was in act to 
 draw his pistol. This, as he thought of it in cold 
 blood, justified his own action as defensive. He 
 clung to this view of the matter; set it before his 
 mind as true, and, with sophistry which was scarcely 
 self-convincing, so manipulated the facts that at 
 last mere repetition of the mental states did as 
 sist him to escape from the self-reproach which 
 fell upon him when Aver ill had struck him with 
 the verdict of a man whom all men honored. The 
 telegram and Mrs. Trescot s letter had forced him 
 again to think it all over. He realized how small 
 had been his victory over the recording power of 
 memory. He had been at the mercy of a slip of 
 paper and, at once, that which chanced a year ago 
 was to him as if it had happened yesterday. At 
 times he felt competent to defend and excuse his 
 action; at others he suffered the anguish of such 
 regret as was inevitable in an imaginative man, who 
 felt keenly the accusation of having taken advantage 
 of a man who carried no arms and was, to some ex 
 tent, incapable of protecting himself. 
 
 By degrees, as the days went by, he comforted 
 himself with the idea that here at least was the end. 
 He had, too, at times an indistinct feeling that there 
 was cruelty in thus tormenting a man who had bit 
 terly repented; and the memory of the beauty and 
 grace of the woman, and his immense admiration of 
 her, barbed and poisoned the shaft which had gone 
 so surely to its mark. 
 
 Meanwhile, Constance took up her life, but with 
 more or less thought of its supreme purpose. She 
 
CONSTANCE TRESCOT 263 
 
 heard from Coffin what were the habits of Grey- 
 hurst s days, and began to plan ways of knowing 
 more of his life. At first all thought of him dis 
 turbed her emotionally; but this she learned to put 
 aside. She was frequently at the general s, but 
 would go nowhere else. He had found for her rid 
 ing-horses, and an old slave for a groom, so that soon 
 her figure in the black riding-habit became familiar 
 in and near the town. In a word, she lived, or 
 seemed to live, the ordinary life of a young widow 
 of more than usual means. 
 
 No one she knew mentioned Greyhurst, and, ex 
 cept the Averills and Coffin, no one suspected that 
 she was doing or thinking otherwise than the two 
 or three sad women in St. Ann who, like herself, 
 were suffering from the cruel consequences of some 
 deadly quarrel. 
 
 Toward the close of her second week at St. Ann, 
 Mrs. Averill asked her to be present at a meeting of 
 women who were interested in their modest home 
 for the orphans of Confederate soldiers, to which 
 Constance had promised help from Susan and her 
 self. Contact with the Averills, and the misery she 
 had seen as the direct or indirect result of war, had 
 lessened her own strong partizan feeling. Disposed 
 by nature to be generous, she was, moreover, eager 
 to make friends and secure allies; and thus, al 
 though rather reluctant to face the many she would 
 meet, she decided at last to accept Mrs. Averill s 
 invitation. It was late in the afternoon when she 
 found herself among some two dozen ladies, old 
 and young. Many of them she had met, and all 
 
264 CONSTANCE TRESCOT 
 
 were either anxious to express their sympathy by 
 a kindly greeting, or were merely curious to see the 
 rich widow who had so strangely elected to return 
 to St. Ann. 
 
 Mrs. Averill explained that the meeting was in 
 formal and designed to assist the male managers 
 of the home. She spoke, for Constance s informa 
 tion, of the good it had done, and of the great diffi 
 culty they had in carrying it on. A lady read the 
 quarterly statement of the treasurer, and the small- 
 ness of the deficit gave Constance a sad sense of 
 their limited resources. Several women offered mod 
 est aid, and then there was the usual silence. 
 Constance whispered to Mrs. Averill, who said: 
 "Certainly, my dear. Ask what questions you 
 please. 
 
 Constance rose. "Mrs. Averill permits me to 
 ask for some little information. May I inquire how 
 many children you have in your home?" 
 
 From this she went on in a businesslike way to 
 put herself in possession of all the facts she re 
 quired to know. 
 
 "I have had," she said, "some acquaintance with 
 an institution like yours, and now may I learn 
 finally how much per head per day it costs you?" 
 
 No one was quite prepared to answer; but Miss 
 Bland, a spinster she had met before, said: "We 
 can say that if we had a thousand dollars a year, 
 with our present subscriptions, it would be enough 
 to support all our home has room for." 
 
 Constance then said: "My sister and I shall be 
 most glad to give, between us, that amount for five 
 
CONSTANCE TEESCOT 265 
 
 years; and probably we may be able then to secure 
 the same sum to you as a permanent income." 
 
 There were exclamations of pleasure and surprise, 
 and warm and grateful words as they turned to 
 thank her. At last, on the suggestion of further 
 business, Mrs. March, a stout, elderly dame, and 
 their chairman, said: "We shall ask the gentlemen, 
 our managers, to offer you formal thanks, Mrs. 
 Trescot, for your generous help. As Southern ladies 
 we thank you, and may I venture to add that every 
 one in St. Ann appreciates the kind and liberal way 
 in which you and Miss Hood have dealt with the 
 squatters and, indeed, with all those with whom you 
 have had to deal." 
 
 Mrs. March drew back her chair and, smoothing 
 out her gown, sat down, well pleased with her lit 
 tle speech. 
 
 "Thank you, Mrs. March," said Constance. "It 
 is quite unnecessary to thank us formally. I have 
 here a blank check ; I will fill it out for the first six 
 months. And your little deficit I shall like to make 
 good as my personal gift." 
 
 Miss Bland, who sat on her right, said: "Oh, 
 thank you; and don t you want to see our printed 
 report?" 
 
 Mrs. Averill shook her head ; but the signal came 
 too late. Constance said: "Yes, certainly, Miss 
 Bland; I am much interested." She glanced at 
 the first page and saw that the managers were all 
 ex-officers of the Confederacy, and that the seventh 
 name was John Greyhurst s. A faint flush rose to 
 cheek and forehead. "Thank you," she said as, 
 
266 CONSTANCE TRESCOT 
 
 with an effort to seem calm, she returned the pam 
 phlet. "I do not want it." 
 
 Oh, keep it," said Miss Bland; "I have another 
 copy. 
 
 "I said, I do not want it, " returned Constance, 
 with emphasis. 
 
 Mrs. Averill frowned, and Mrs. Dudley, seated 
 behind Miss Bland, whispered to her, with vicious 
 satisfaction: "Take care, Eliza! How could you?" 
 
 "I do not see what I have done." 
 
 As Mrs. Trescot rejected the pamphlet she sat 
 up, quite too visibly disturbed to escape the notice 
 of those who were within view of her face. With 
 the persistency of the dull-witted, Miss Bland, an 
 noyed at Mrs. Dudley s reproof, exclaimed: "Oh, 
 do take it!" 
 
 Constance turned toward her, saying so as to 
 be generally heard: "I know, Miss Bland, that it 
 could not have occurred to you that among the 
 names of the managers is that of" and she 
 stopped, controlling herself. 
 
 Mrs. Dudley, leaning over the back of Miss 
 Bland s chair, whispered, "It is Greyhurst! How 
 could you ! 
 
 "Oh, I never thought!" cried Miss Bland, awk 
 wardly apologetic. "I am sorry. I did n t re 
 member. 
 
 * I was sure of that. Do not let it trouble you. 
 Constance s voice broke, and then, recovering, she 
 added, "You have really done me a service." 
 
 "You may be sure, Mrs. Trescot," said Mrs. Dud 
 ley, "that we never thought we " 
 
CONSTANCE TRESCOT 267 
 
 " Excuse me if I interrupt you," returned Mrs. 
 Trescot. "After what I have just learned, I must 
 ask you to consider our gift as entirely in the hands 
 of the visiting ladies, and not at the disposal of the 
 male managers." 
 
 Mrs. Averill said at once: "It shall be as 
 you wish, dear. The gentlemen have been so in 
 active that it did not occur to any of us to think 
 of them. The man referred to was put on the 
 board three years ago, when it was first formed. 
 It should have occurred to us; I ought to have 
 told you." 
 
 There was a moment of silence, when Mrs. March 
 said: "You may rest assured, Mrs. Trescot, that no 
 one here fails to feel with you; and if, under the 
 circumstances, you would rather not give at all, we 
 should all understand it." 
 
 "Thank you," said Constance, proudly; "you are 
 most considerate. But you are welcome to all we 
 can do, and if you find the situation embarrassing, 
 as may be the case, I will write to Colonel Dudley 
 and explain it myself. I see that he is chairman of 
 the board." 
 
 "Oh, no, no," said several women. "By no 
 means; it is quite unnecessary." 
 
 Constance smiled in her cold way, shaking her 
 head as she spoke, and rising. 
 
 "I must go. It is it was a little too much for 
 me. And you are all so good. I must go. Good-by. 
 
 Mrs. Averill went with her to the outer door. 
 "Oh, my dear, I am so sorry and in my house, too; 
 I am so very sorry ! 
 
268 CONSTANCE TEESCOT 
 
 "I am not very sure that I am," said Constance, 
 as she kissed her and went away. 
 
 Mrs. Averill looked after her in puzzled amaze 
 ment, and then returned to the room where her 
 friends were busily discussing this unpleasant in 
 cident. 
 
 " It is just as well ; she had to know soon or late, 
 said Mrs. March. "Of course he will hear of it 
 and I, for one, hope tfeat he will hear of it." 
 
 Others were of her way of thinking, and in a 
 dozen homes that evening the sad story was revived 
 and Constance s generosity praised, and her sad 
 fate pitied anew. 
 
 That evening she wrote to Mrs. March, inclosing a 
 copy of a note sent to Colonel Dudley. She could 
 not leave the ladies in a situation which obliged 
 them to make to the managers an explanation which 
 should properly come from her. 
 
 To the president of the board of the home she 
 wrote : 
 
 COLONEL DUDLEY: 
 "My sister and I are much interested in your excel 
 lent charity, and we shall have the pleasure of aiding 
 it to the extent of one thousand dollars a year for 
 five years. Then, or sooner, we hope to endow it 
 with enough to represent the same income. An 
 accident brought to my knowledge the fact that 
 one of your members is the man who murdered my 
 husband. You will, I am sure, understand why I 
 have felt it to be impossible for me to confide our 
 gladly given help to a board of which he is a mem- 
 
CONSTANCE TEESCOT 269 
 
 ber. I have placed the money, and shall in future 
 place it, in the hands of the visiting committee of 
 ladies, for their use, and theirs alone. My own 
 strong feeling, and my late husband s great regard 
 for you, will, I know, excuse to you my very frank 
 statement. 
 
 A courteous note acknowledging the receipt of 
 her letter was all she heard of it for a week or more. 
 
 Susan Hood had twice put off her journey to St. 
 Ann, having no reason to leave the home she loved 
 except her affection for Constance. She had re 
 luctantly come to the conclusion that marriage and 
 trouble had in some way set up barriers between 
 them. She had been the one strong, and even jeal 
 ous, affection of Constance s younger life, and now 
 sadly felt that it had incomprehensibly lessened, 
 and that her sister seemed to have been incapable of 
 more than one such relation at a time. 
 
 After Trescot s death Constance had begun again 
 to rely on her, and to defer to her opinion on the 
 lesser matters of life. But all through the summer 
 and their many months of travel she had felt that 
 the mind once so open to her was hiding and cher 
 ishing thoughts which she, Susan, was not allowed 
 to share. All her kindly attempts to enter into the 
 confidence of her sister failed, and now, being about 
 to join her, she wrote, in some anxiety and distress : 
 
 DEAR CONNY: 
 
 "Why you so obstinately insisted upon returning 
 to a place which must be full of painful memories 
 
270 CONSTANCE TEESCOT 
 
 I have never yet learned. Even for me it must ever 
 be hateful. But you are all I have in life ; whither 
 you go I shall go. It is my duty, and I shall make it 
 my pleasure. That is all except, dear, that I am 
 sure you are bent on something which you have, 
 so far, concealed, and which I hope to understand. 
 I have respected your reticence, assured that it 
 must have a reasonable basis; but we once lived 
 a frank and undivided life, and your attitude to me 
 all summer has made me most unhappy. Let us 
 be, dear, as we once were. 
 
 "Try to get a good horse for me. Love to the 
 Averills. I shall arrive on November 2, D. V. 
 
 "Yours always, SUSAN. 
 
 "October 25, 1871." 
 
 It was near to the close of the month when Con 
 stance received this letter, and she knew at once 
 that further concealment would be impossible. She 
 was equally well aware that Susan would be 
 shocked and grieved at a course of conduct so op 
 posed to the beliefs which governed her own ac 
 tions. Constance was sorry, but it did not affect 
 her resolve. 
 
 She was always at home to the increasing number 
 of women, young and old, who called upon her. Al 
 though her piano remained closed, she made her 
 house interesting to people who had few chances 
 of intellectual enjoyment, lending books and maga 
 zines, and when alone busying herself with hanging 
 prints and water-colors brought from abroad. In 
 the afternoons she rode in all weathers. 
 
CONSTANCE TEESCOT 271 
 
 So far she had won her way, as she had meant to 
 do, making her rather excessive bounty to the poor 
 and sick the more gracious by the attraction of man 
 ner which made those whom she tactfully obliged 
 partners of the honest joy she felt, especially in help 
 ing the sad and hopelessly stranded women of her 
 own class. 
 
 Her desire to know more of her enemy than 
 Coffin could tell her found at last an ally. Just 
 before Susan s arrival, she had come from a long 
 ride, and met at her door a woman whose face and 
 worn look had interested her for a moment at the 
 meeting in Mrs. Averill s home. Seeing her in 
 her riding-dress, the woman would have gone away, 
 but Constance said: "No, I am quite at leisure. 
 Do come in. You are, I think, the matron of the 
 home. I saw you at the meeting." 
 
 "Yes; I am Miss Althea Le Moine." 
 
 She was dressed in clothes which had evidently 
 been long in use. Her air of furtive apprehension 
 struck Constance. "A provincial lady," was the 
 hostess s conclusion, as they sat down. Constance 
 rang, saying: "I have the habit of indulging my 
 self with a cup of tea after I ride. May I tempt 
 you?" 
 
 The tea was brought, and the toast and cake 
 evidently enjoyed, while they talked of the home 
 and its needs, or Constance turned over her Flor 
 entine photographs, setting at ease a woman whom 
 she felt to be somewhat embarrassed. 
 
 At last Miss Althea said: "I have come to you, 
 Mrs. Trescot, to ask a little help." 
 
272 CONSTANCE TBESCOT 
 
 1 1 Now that is very kind of you, said her hostess. 
 1 Let us talk. What is it?" 
 
 It seemed that she owned a small house left to 
 her by a brother who had fallen at Lookout Moun 
 tain. "He was a Confederate soldier," she added. 
 A mortgage upon it was one of the smaller debts 
 due to Mr. Hood. Perhaps Mrs. Trescot would 
 kindly wait. The interest was in arrears the rent 
 was ill paid; but she hoped 
 
 Constance interrupted her. "I shall have plea 
 sure in speaking of it to General Averill. I think 
 that it has already been considered and, by the 
 way, how much is it?" 
 
 "Five hundred dollars; and really the house is 
 all I have." 
 
 "Make your mind easy; when my sister arrives 
 we will do something to relieve you, and will cer 
 tainly cancel the back interest. Now don t cry. 
 You have given me a pleasure, and if you cry I 
 shall cry, and I hate to cry. Let us talk of some 
 thing else." 
 
 "How can I thank you? I have been so troubled 
 you won t mind my telling you the rest?" 
 
 "I? No, indeed. What is it?" 
 
 "One of my brothers was in the Northern army. 
 He lived in Kentucky. He died some time ago. 
 Last month the ladies found out that he was a 
 Federal officer, and now I am so afraid they will 
 think oh, one of them said I ought not to be 
 kept on." 
 
 "No one will disturb you. You are needlessly 
 alarmed. I will speak to Mrs. March. You may 
 
CONSTANCE TRESCOT 273 
 
 feel entirely at ease. Is there anything else I can 
 do for you?" 
 
 "Oh, no," said Miss Althea, as she rose. "I 
 do think I shall sleep to-night. I wish there was 
 anything I could do to show you how grateful I 
 am." 
 
 "Stop," said Mrs. Trescot. "Sit down. You 
 can help me. But, first, I want to ask you to con 
 sider what I shall say as confidential absolutely 
 confidential." 
 
 "Yes, of course." Miss Althea was curious, and 
 her narrowing life had left her little of interest. 
 
 "I learned lately, as you know, that the man 
 who killed my husband is one of the managers of 
 the home. It embarrassed me. You can under 
 stand that, and why it must keep me from visiting 
 at the home as I should like to do." 
 
 "But he never comes there, Mrs. Trescot. At 
 the visitors meeting yesterday Mrs. Dudley said 
 that the colonel had told him that, as he never at 
 tended their meetings, he ought to resign, and he 
 has done so." 
 
 "Thank you," said Mrs. Trescot. "I have rea 
 sonsvery good reasons for desiring to know more 
 of this man. I have trusted you; and now, when 
 you hear anything of interest about him, I want 
 you to come and tell me." 
 
 Miss Althea, much astonished, promised to be 
 watchful, and went away comforted, but with her 
 curiosity ungratified. 
 
 On the following day Greyhurst recognized in 
 the morning mail the black-edged envelop and the 
 
 18 
 
274 CONSTANCE TKESCOT 
 
 writing of Constance Trescot. He threw it on the 
 table. He had again the feeling that in a variety 
 of ways he had been made to atone for a minute 
 of passionate resentment and the fatal action in 
 which it had resulted. Always what men called 
 thin-skinned, and feeling keenly what would have 
 affected others but little, he had become, of late, 
 less obviously irritable, but even more sensitive. 
 The hint to resign from the board, which a year 
 before he would have angrily resented, humiliated 
 him the more when, hearing later of Mrs. Trescot s 
 gift to the home, he knew at once what hand had 
 struck him. He knew, too, as he sat at his table, 
 that to burn this letter would be the wiser course. 
 He could not. It held him as with a spell, as a 
 serpent charms a bird, both drawing and repelling. 
 He tore it open at last, and an inclosure fell out. 
 For a moment he held it unread; and then, as if 
 compelled, read: 
 
 "Sm: 
 
 "The inclosed is a copy of a letter my husband 
 left on his desk the morning of October 7, 1870. 
 You will see that he meant to sacrifice his position 
 as my uncle s agent if Mr. Hood still refused to 
 deal generously with your clients. My husband s 
 murder and my uncle s death left to my sister and 
 to me the privilege of generous dealing, of which 
 your hand deprived George Trescot. 
 
 "CONSTANCE TRESCOT." 
 
 "Curse the woman !" he cried. "I was a fool to 
 read it." He crumpled Trescot s letter in his hands 
 
CONSTANCE TKESCOT 275 
 
 as he sat, and then smoothed it out and read it again, 
 He never for a moment doubted that it told the 
 truth. He was a man of too easy morals, but capa 
 ble of affection and even of love. A new and over 
 whelming realization of what he had done to this 
 woman swept over him in a storm of self-reproach 
 and pity. 
 
 He sat with his face in his hands, his elbows on 
 the table, the copy of Trescot s letter before him. 
 He lit a match and saw that his hand shook as he 
 held the two papers over it and they slowly burned 
 away. Then, rising, he lighted a cigar and threw 
 himself on a sofa. The cigar went out. He cast 
 it away. How would this end? There must be a 
 limit to the ability of this woman to torture him, 
 and to his own capacity to suffer. After all, he 
 was a man and she but a woman. The matter of 
 his resignation from the board of the home was a 
 trifle, and he was prospering as never before. It 
 was not so easy to deal with the horrible power 
 these letters had to bring back emotions which time 
 had helped to render less poignant. He had a bad 
 memory for faces ; but now, as he lay, he saw again 
 the smiling young fellow approaching with his mes 
 sage of peace and kindness. He might have under 
 stood even then; but long years of unrestraint had 
 combined with the bitterness of defeat to ruin him. 
 He rose and, returning to his table, tried to lose 
 himself in the enforced study of an important case. 
 It was vain. He went out to a stable near by and 
 mounted a horse he had just bought. It proved 
 unruly, and a furious ride brought back the horse 
 
276 CONSTANCE TEESCOT 
 
 tired and the rider relieved, more at ease, and with 
 a renewed sense of mastery. 
 
 His life was too busy to leave him large leisure 
 for painful reflection. He had cases to try, and 
 one which called him away to the capital of the 
 State. He was gone for a week. His political am 
 bitions also claimed a part of his time, as he hoped 
 in a year to be a successful candidate for the legis 
 lature, and would then be absent for long periods. 
 
 Meanwhile, in one and another way, from Coffin 
 and from the gossip Althea Le Moine willingly and 
 in wonder brought to Constance, she knew of Grey- 
 hurst s habits and expectations, and silently brooded 
 over plans of disturbing her prey, not as yet fully 
 realizing her power, nor comprehending how far 
 the sensitive nature of the man was aiding her 
 purpose. 
 
Ill 
 
 1USAN HOOD had been a week at St. 
 Ann before she was able to learn any 
 thing of the design, so steadily held, 
 that had brought Constance back to 
 a place which she, at least, wished 
 never to see again. 
 
 She found the house made pretty and far more 
 comfortable, and a part of the back porch converted 
 into a conservatory. There were riding-horses, 
 the best they had ever had, and, in fact, every sign 
 of intention to make St. Ann a place of long, if 
 not permanent, residence. 
 
 It seemed also to Susan that there was more 
 cordiality in the many women and the few men who 
 dropped in after their easy Southern way. Evidently 
 there was here some change. It had never been 
 her sister s habit or desire to be on terms of cor 
 dial relation to society at large, so that her present 
 absence of reserve, and her rather watchful eager 
 ness to please everybody, for a time puzzled the elder 
 woman. 
 
 No one entered Trescot s library except Con 
 stance. She herself kept it dusted, neat, and un 
 changed. Susan understood why, being Constance, 
 she should spend daily certain hours alone where 
 
 277 
 
278 CONSTANCE TEESCOT 
 
 Trescot had lived with her and his books. "It 
 would not have been my way," said Susan; "but, 
 then, I am commonplace." She thought unwhole 
 some her sister s attitude in the presence of a great 
 calamity, and found, too, something that seemed 
 to her false in the contrasted aspects of Constance s 
 life. Then, as usual with her, she convicted herself 
 of ignorant want of charity, having never been in 
 love; and said she must really rid herself of what 
 she called cynicism as if the cynical are them 
 selves ever conscious of the quality. 
 
 A week after her arrival they were seated alone 
 before the fire, now grateful at close of day in the 
 November weather. 
 
 "Constance," said Susan, "tell the maid not to 
 let in any visitors. I want to talk to you. We are 
 so rarely alone, and this constant effort to be agree 
 able to people you certainly were once far from 
 liking is rather surprising." 
 
 Constance, ignoring a part of her sister s indict 
 ment, said: "My dear, you can t choose here whom 
 you will see. I never refuse to see people. They 
 don t understand it. At St. Ann you are always 
 at home if you are in." 
 
 "You must have changed your ways, Conny." 
 
 "Yes, I have," she returned, with a glance at 
 Susan, who was busily cutting the leaves of a book. 
 
 She was at once aware that it would not long be 
 possible to hide from so acute an observer as Susan 
 what she was doing, and why she had returned to 
 St. Ann. Indeed, she confessed to herself a cer 
 tain prospect of relief in being able to break down 
 
CONSTANCE TEESCOT 279 
 
 the barriers of reserve which she had set up. The 
 old affection, strangely weakened by her marriage 
 and her incapacity to care deeply for more than 
 one person at a time, was returning in full force. 
 When she had confessed that, as Susan said, she had 
 changed, both were silent for a moment, when Susan 
 returned : 
 
 "You have been unlike my Constance all summer. 
 I can understand that grief like yours may take 
 many forms; but while abroad you would see no 
 one, not even the most interesting people ; here you 
 see every one, even that plaintive little shrivel of 
 a woman, Miss Althea. What brought you here, 
 Constance?" 
 
 "I knew that you would ask. It is very simple. 
 A man has murdered my husband and utterly 
 wrecked my life. I tried oh, very hard! to ac 
 cept it as other women accept such things. I could 
 not. I know I shall shock you when I say that 
 for a time I thought of suicide. Then it seemed 
 to me that I must kill him. If I had been a man 
 he would have been dead to-day." 
 
 "Oh, sister! How can you say such things?" 
 
 Taking no notice of the gentle protest, Constance 
 continued : 
 
 "I gave it up because death is no punishment; 
 it merely destroys the power to feel and suffer. I 
 want that man to feel such anguish as he brought 
 into my life, and I want to know that he suffers. 
 I came here resolved to find some way to make him 
 wretched. I know now that he is sensitive. It 
 seems incredible, but he is. And let me say once 
 
280 CONSTANCE TRESCOT 
 
 for all that I shall go my way, and I shall succeed 
 I know I shall succeed in making his life unbear 
 ableoh, such as he has made mine!" 
 
 Susan had thought of many explanations of her 
 sister s return, but certainly not of this. She had 
 ceased using the paper-knife, and, as Constance 
 spoke with increasing passion, closed the book. A 
 look at the stern, set face, so white, so beautiful, 
 made the elder woman sure that here was a side of 
 character which was serious and new to her, and not 
 to be dealt with lightly. Turning to her sister, 
 she exclaimed: "Dear, dear sister, drop this; come 
 away with me. Let us go abroad again." 
 "No." 
 
 "But it is horrible, and what can you do? Think 
 how that dear fellow would have felt. Think what 
 he did feel even in the face of insult; how patiently 
 he bore with the behavior of these people. Oh, 
 Conny!" 
 
 "You may rest assured, Susan, that I have thought 
 of all that; but I am not like you nor, alas! like 
 him. I have no beliefs which teach me to sit down 
 and cry and pretend to forgive. I don t believe that 
 any one ever does forgive a wrong so cruel. I, 
 at least, cannot, and I never will never!" 
 
 "You can do nothing. Your lives are far apart. 
 What can you do? Even if revenge were right, 
 you are helpless." 
 
 It seemed to Susan s common sense past belief. 
 "And, dear," she went on, "suppose the impos 
 sible; suppose you ruin this wretch, make him suf 
 fer, what good will it do?" 
 
CONSTANCE TEESCOT 281 
 
 "It will make me happy as happy as I can ever 
 be." 
 
 " Happy, Constance! Can revenge bring happi 
 ness? Will it not serve only to keep open wounds 
 which ought to close? Does it not keep in your 
 mind thoughts of a bad man, in place of the beauty 
 and nobleness of the man whose death you wish to 
 avenge? To be in thought a murderer to wish 
 to kill that seems to me so dreadful that I ask 
 myself if you can be your own self, or if disease or 
 shock has changed you. Let it all go oh, dear 
 Conny, let it go. Leave it to God to deal with this 
 man. Be sure that in the end he will repay. He 
 has his ways." 
 
 Constance stood up. "His ways yes. Suppose 
 I am the instrument of his justice. Why not ? How 
 do you know? That seems horrible to you; but I 
 can t help it; we have no common ground. I have 
 love, and loss, and hate ; you have never known them. 
 Leave me to do what I think right, for neither 
 man nor woman can turn me nor stop me. I will 
 never willingly speak of this again, and neither 
 must you." 
 
 Puzzled, worried, and hurt, Susan saw that to 
 reason would be vain; that the appeal of affection 
 was thus lightly put aside filled her with slowly 
 gathering anger. 
 
 "I shall do now as you say; but I make no 
 promises. You surely do not expect me to help 
 you." 
 
 I do not. I want you to be the dear, good woman 
 you are. I shall neither ask nor need help." 
 
282 CONSTANCE TEESCOT 
 
 "You certainly will not get it from me; I think 
 it wicked, foolish." 
 
 "Yes, yes," said Constance; "from your point 
 of view, not from mine. But you will not love me 
 the less? I could not bear that. Only, dear, let 
 us never talk of this any more. I am not a child. 
 I am not hysterical or insane. I shall not trouble 
 your life. We will live like other people. Now, 
 that is all." She bent over and kissed the elder 
 sister, who sat staring into the fire, her hands clasped 
 about her knees. Accepting the kiss coldly, Susan 
 looked up, but finding no comfort in the set face of 
 her sister, her own eyes full of tears, for she loved 
 with a deep and changeless love, and wished to be 
 able to respect as well as to love, she rose and said 
 as she stood: "I shall never have a moment s peace; 
 I shall always be thinking of what you may do. You 
 have made me very unhappy." 
 
 "I am sorry," said Constance. t 
 
 Susan left her, saying: "I wish you were more 
 sorry. 
 
 Despite her assertion of certainty, Constance was 
 not secure as to what her future course should be; 
 while Susan, as their life went on in its usual way, 
 regained her belief that Constance would some day 
 acknowledge her schemes to be as absurd as they 
 appeared to her own good sense. 
 
 In the morning, a few days later, Constance was 
 leaving General Averill s house when she saw, for 
 only the second time since her return, the largely 
 built figure of Greyhurst. He came upon her sud 
 denly as she stood at the gate between the high 
 
CONSTANCE TRESCOT 283 
 
 rows of box. His face changed. He half raised 
 his hand in obedience to the habit of salute, dropped 
 it, and went on. 
 
 She turned out of the gate, paused a moment, and 
 followed him. Half-way down the slope to the 
 main street he looked back. He saw twenty feet 
 behind him the tall, black-robed woman. He turned 
 to go up the main street. It was the busy hour 
 near to noon. Both were familiar figures. People 
 looked after them in wonder. Two gentlemen in 
 talk on the board sidewalk lifted their hats as she 
 went by, and, observing Greyhurst in front of her, 
 remarked on it as strange. Did Greyhurst know 
 who was behind him ? Did she recognize the man ? 
 They passed on. At his office he looked back once 
 more. She was very near, and had raised her veil. 
 She met his gaze with steady eyes. He saw the 
 white face with its look of immeasurable pain, and, 
 passing into the house, fell on a chair, limp and wet 
 with the sudden sweat of an emotion akin to ter 
 ror. 
 
 Nor was she less observant. She was aware of 
 the quick change in a face where all expressions 
 revealed themselves with distinctness, and went on 
 her way with her share of a moment of agitation, 
 murmuring: "I must be to him like a ghost. I 
 know now that he suffers and he shall suffer." 
 
 From that time she was more frequently seen in 
 the morning hours on the one busy street of the 
 town. Now and then, as if by chance, she came 
 upon the man she sought, but was careful not to 
 overdo that which would lose force by repetition. 
 
284 CONSTANCE TRESCOT 
 
 Twice she followed him on his homeward way. The 
 last time was at dusk. He became aware of her 
 presence as he left the verge of the town and 
 turned into West Street. She kept her place some 
 few paces behind him. He did not look back, but 
 was terribly conscious of her nearness. He could 
 not have described or analyzed the form of dis 
 tress which knowledge of her presence brought upon 
 him. He longed to look back at her, and was sure 
 that to do so would abruptly freshen the memory 
 of all he desired to forget. Now, for the first time, 
 he felt fear in its purity such fear as the child 
 has when going up-stairs in the dark fear unasso- 
 ciated with a definite object or distinct idea. 
 
 At his own gate he turned and looked back. The 
 tall black figure was but ten steps away. Of a 
 sudden, obeying one of those unreasonable impulses 
 to which he was subject, he went toward her. 
 
 For a moment she was afraid, but did not move. 
 He stopped before her and said: "My God! have 
 you no pity? Cannot you see how I suffer?" 
 
 Suffer ! " she cried. I am glad that you suffer ! 
 Pity? I have for you such pity as you had for 
 him and me ! 
 
 With no more words, she crossed the street, and 
 her dark figure was lost in the deepening gloom. 
 The man looked after her for a moment, and then 
 walked back to his house, and, moving heavily, went 
 up the steps, murmuring, * My God ! my God ! 
 
 Before this he had thought it hardly strange that 
 he met her so often, for every one met almost daily 
 in the one business street. He had felt it keenly. 
 
CONSTANCE TRESCOT 285 
 
 But now he became certain that she had of purpose 
 chosen to meet and follow him. This sudden sense 
 of being causelessly afraid for a little while occu 
 pied his consciousness to the shutting out of other 
 thought. He was a man who had been in battle 
 fearless, and so rash as to be blamed for leading 
 his men into needless peril. What now did he 
 dread? He did not know, and that troubled him. 
 ! These revelations of what lies hidden in the abysses 
 of the mind are, at times, startling evidence of 
 how little we know of the world of self. That it 
 was not physical fear was what disturbed him most. 
 
 When seated in his library, he succeeded in fas 
 tening his attention on the tangled accounts of a 
 bankrupt client s business. He was apt at figures 
 and liked to deal with them. After two hours of 
 hard work he began to consider the situation in 
 which he was placed. To have it continue would 
 be intolerable. He had to be absent for a week, 
 but must return for a day to speak at or near the 
 county town. Then he was to go to California and 
 attend to certain mining interests in which the gov 
 ernor and other political friends were concerned. 
 He would be away at least two months, and, for 
 more than one reason, looked forward with relief 
 to this absence, and with hope as to what it might 
 bring into his life. 
 
 However adroitly Constance managed to make her 
 encounters with Greyhurst seem to be accidental, 
 the fact that she did not avoid him, as most women 
 so situated would have done, excited very natural 
 surprise in the little town. 
 
286 CONSTANCE TRESCOT 
 
 When it became common knowledge that she pur 
 posely followed him, the interest and consequent 
 gossip increased. She had made herself liked, but 
 now even her closest friends felt her actions to be 
 indecorous and inexplicably out of relation to an 
 existence so full of good sense and so notable for 
 well-bred regard for the decencies of life. When 
 Mrs. Averill, greatly distressed by the gossip which 
 soon came to her ears, thought proper to talk of Con 
 stance to Susan Hood, the latter became fully awak 
 ened to the results of her sister s behavior. 
 
 To reason with her would be vain. For a mo 
 ment she thought of the new rector, with whom she 
 had formed friendly relations, but knew, alas! how 
 futile would be that resort. Mrs. Averill, remem 
 bering her former defeat, was indisposed to renew 
 her own efforts, and at last laid the matter before 
 her husband, who had already heard quite too much 
 of it. 
 
 He said: "My dear Eleanor, a lady without a 
 husband usually relies on one of two men her 
 preacher or her doctor. Ask Dr. Eskridge to see 
 her. He ought to be able to influence her, if any 
 one can. He is a gentleman and will see this out 
 rageous conduct in a proper light. As concerns 
 myself, I can do nothing, and whether she annoys 
 that man or not I do not care. But Constance must 
 not be talked about. I had to stop some young 
 fellows at the club last night." 
 
 "Do you think, .Edward, that the man feels it?" 
 
 "Yes; you asked me that before. This, or some 
 thing, is affecting him deeply. Ever since he killed 
 
CONSTANCE TRESCOT 287 
 
 poor Trescot he has been well, softer, less easily 
 put out. But of late he is moody and silent; every 
 one notices it." 
 
 "I wish he would go away, or that she would. 
 However, I will talk to Susan, who is in despair, 
 and I will see the doctor." 
 
 She did both, and, as a consequence, the next 
 morning Dr. Eskridge called on Mrs. Trescot. He 
 led a busy life, and she had seen but little of the 
 cheerful, ruddy, rather stout old man with small 
 bright eyes and alert ways. He had been at one 
 time in charge of the State asylum for the insane, 
 and then, during the war, a surgeon in Pickett s 
 division of the Confederate army. 
 
 While waiting for Mrs. Trescot he looked at the 
 pictures, and then fell with interest upon a maga 
 zine, which he laid down as Constance with both 
 hands made him welcome, reproaching him with 
 neglect of an old patient. 
 
 "If I come I stay too long, and I am a busy old 
 fellow. I was reading in this journal an account 
 of Pickett s charge. I was behind his line and got 
 somehow too near. I have still a memorial in my 
 leg. May I take the journal home?" 
 
 "Of course. My husband was on the hill. How 
 strange it all seems!" 
 
 He looked at the mournful figure and the sad 
 white face, and said to her: 
 
 "You will not mind my saying that I and others 
 of our old army both liked and respected your 
 husband. 
 
 Oh, I know, I know. And he was so sure of the 
 
288 CONSTANCE TRESCOT 
 
 soldiers so patient with the feeling against us! 
 Oh, doctor, why did I bring him here ? He did not 
 want to come. I urged it. I am so unhappy!" 
 
 It was the usual story. We must confess to some 
 one a priest, or, better, to the large, wise charity 
 of the doctor. It was a relief to the woman, who 
 was indisposed to talk of her husband even to Susan, 
 and still less to pour out to any one else her abid 
 ing regret at having allowed her eager love to over 
 rule George Trescot s wish to wait until he could 
 offer her a home in Boston. 
 
 "I was wrong," she said; "and it was I who 
 killed him. But for me, he would be alive now 
 now!" 
 
 "My dear," he said, "we do what seems best 
 to us, and who can predict the far-away results? 
 I tell a man to go to Europe, and the ship goes 
 down at sea. Am I to blame?" 
 
 "Oh, that is different. I was selfish. I did not 
 do what was best. I should have known it was not. 
 I loved as few women love. I could not wait; I 
 wanted him near me always. I should be ashamed 
 to confess how I felt. How did I come to speak 
 of it? I never do." 
 
 He saw that she was wiping her eyes as he re 
 turned : 
 
 "You are in a mood to assume blame. You are 
 wrong. Mr. Trescot was fully advised by older men, 
 his friends, that it was wise to come here. And, after 
 all, I am right, and there is no use in our vain regrets. 
 If we use the errors or mistakes of the past to wreck 
 our present and make us useless what of that?" 
 
CONSTANCE TRESCOT 289 
 
 "Am I useless, doctor?" 
 
 He saw that he was astray, and said: "No; I 
 must be pardoned you are not; but if I am not 
 mistaken, you are doing that which will surely end 
 in ruining your health and making you useless." 
 
 She drew herself up and regarded him with 
 steady eyes. This man understood her and the 
 strain to which she was subjecting herself. That, 
 too, was a relief. 
 
 "I am sure that you know I am right," he urged. 
 "And let me say a few words more. You are ex 
 citing talk and gossip by what you are doing. 
 Your sister and your friends are hurt and troubled 
 and pardon me ashamed." 
 
 "They have asked you to come here and try to 
 make me do as other weak, helpless women have 
 done?" 
 
 "Yes; but I should not so state it." 
 
 "Doctor, you are the one person I can or will 
 talk to freely of this matter. Listen to me. 
 
 "I will." 
 
 "This man murdered my husband. If he had 
 killed your wife, you would have shot him as you 
 would any other wild beast." 
 
 "I would," he said. 
 
 "This accursed town goes through the farce of 
 a trial. He is free. He prospers. Except a few, 
 who cares for the death of a Yankee officer? The 
 man will go to the legislature perhaps, some day, 
 to Congress. At first people are a little shocked. 
 It was pretty bad, they say. Does no one here pun 
 ish a murderer? No one! I, at least, cannot sit 
 
 19 
 
290 CONSTANCE TEESCOT 
 
 down and do nothing. I am still too much of a 
 woman to kill him; and, after all, death does not 
 punish or, if it does, should I ever know? I 
 mean to ruin this man, and I can. These mild 
 women who love in their weak way are shocked. 
 What does that matter to me?" 
 
 "I will tell you how it matters," he said. "I 
 have heard you rave in your illness. I, at least, 
 can understand ; I, at least, cannot altogether blame 
 you. But there are two or three things I want 
 to urge upon you. I do not propose to discuss 
 the right and wrong of this matter; but I entreat 
 you to listen to me as patiently as I have listened 
 to you." 
 
 "I will do so." 
 
 1 You are following Greyhurst at times. No, do 
 not interrupt me; let me have my say. It has ex 
 cited unpleasant talk too unpleasant to repeat. At 
 the club and among the women it is discussed" he 
 hesitated " even laughed at." He knew how bitter 
 was the medicine. "I wish to be frank with you. 
 I know this man. He is by birth and early breed 
 ing a gentleman. I am making no plea for him. 
 Who, indeed, could? I am sure that not only has 
 he not escaped self-torment, but that your follow 
 ing him is probably a severe punishment. But what 
 of yourself?" 
 
 "Of myself, doctor? I have never in this mat 
 ter given myself a thought." 
 
 "No, no; and that is the trouble. You are think 
 ing of one thing, and are regardless of everything 
 else, of every one else of sister, friends, of all who 
 
CONSTANCE TEESCOT 291 
 
 love you. If any woman I did not know and like 
 as I do you were to take so petty a mode of aveng 
 ing a wrong as great as you have suffered, I should 
 not hesitate to say how it looks to me and to those 
 you cannot fail to respect." 
 
 "What do you mean, doctor?" 
 
 "I mean that it is vulgar." 
 
 She colored slightly. "You have certainly the 
 courage of your opinions 
 
 "And, too," he said, "a very great regard for 
 a lady who should be far above the use of such 
 means. 
 
 Nothing he had said or could have said affected 
 her as did this sentence. She saw it all in a minute, 
 and gave way at once. 
 
 "If it be true that he suffers through me, I am 
 glad to have hurt the man. But I see the force of 
 what you say. I shall not do as I have done ; and 
 there are other ways which will neither annoy my 
 friends nor make me seem ridiculous." 
 
 "Thank you," he said, well pleased. "But that 
 is not all. You speak of other ways. Take care. 
 The steady thinking on anything that involves emo 
 tion is full of peril to a woman like you ; in fact, 
 to any one, man or woman." 
 
 * I know that. It is true, and I am guarding my 
 self with care. I have taught myself to deal coldly 
 with this matter. I keep myself busy. I ride; I 
 read ; I draw ; I go among your poor. I have had my 
 lesson. 
 
 "But what do you mean to do?" 
 
 "Now there, my dear doctor, I must stop. I do 
 
292 CONSTANCE TBESCOT 
 
 not know. I mean to ruin this man, to drive him 
 to despair." 
 
 As she spoke the doctor considered her resolute 
 face. He had an insecure belief that she would 
 in some way compass her ends. She would collect 
 this debt of vengeance, with usury thereto. How 
 she would do it he could not imagine. He expressed 
 his doubts, and even more than he felt, in the hope 
 of inducing her to give up altogether her use of 
 means full of danger to her mental health. She 
 turned on him at last with her reply: 
 
 You say that I am powerless and that I shall 
 not only harm myself, but hurt all who love me, 
 and yet do this man no real injury. I want one 
 friend who will credit me with not being a fool, 
 and what I say is for you alone." 
 
 "That, of course, Mrs. Trescot." 
 
 She then told him what she had done with the tele 
 gram and the letter. 
 
 "I cannot blame you," he said, as she finished a 
 perfectly calm statement. "I do not blame you. 
 I shall say no more. I had far rather you left 
 vengeance to Him who soon or late is sure to pun 
 ish as man cannot. I see that I, at least, am un 
 able to convince you. But take care; you are on a 
 dark and dangerous way. I shall say no more to 
 Mrs. Averill than that you will occasion no further 
 talk by what you do. 
 
 "Yes," she said, rising; "thank you, my good doc 
 tor. I shall be glad to have you put an end to this 
 gossip. Good-by." 
 
 He went out to his gig, saying to himself as he 
 
CONSTANCE TRESCOT 293 
 
 drove away: "The man is doomed. If she persists 
 he will do something God knows what. He will 
 be unable to bear it. These sensitive people never 
 can stand still and wait. They are always nettled 
 into doing something." He began to consider, as 
 he drove into the country, whether he had ever seen 
 any one like Constance Trescot. He at last smiled 
 with the satisfied nod of a man who has found what 
 he was looking for. There was something feline in 
 her delicate ways, her grace of movement, her neat 
 ness, the preservation of primitive passions and in 
 stincts, her satisfaction in the chase and in tor 
 turing. "Let us add," said the old doctor, "the 
 human intelligence, and we have her. Get up, Bob ! 
 It is as near as we shall ever get." 
 
 Two days later the doctor received a note : 
 
 "MY DEAR DOCTOR: 
 
 Yesterday, as Susan wanted to hear a real stump- 
 speech, Colonel Dudley rode with us to Ekron; and 
 there, on the edge of the woods, he got us a standing- 
 place (every one was very kind) close to the speak 
 ers. I soon had enough of the sectional eloquence ; 
 but Susan, who was taken with the humor of it, 
 would not go. I had been told that that man was not 
 to be present. When he got on the stump, not ten 
 feet from us, for a moment he spoke to the people 
 behind him. Colonel Dudley said to me : Come 
 away; I did not expect this. Susan said: I must 
 go. I said : No ; I will not go ; I will not be driven 
 away. As I refused he turned and saw me. I can 
 not describe to you with what satisfaction I saw 
 
294 CONSTANCE TEESCOT 
 
 what before I had only guessed. I cannot describe 
 how his face changed. His voice broke for a mo 
 ment, and then he went on. He was embarrassed. 
 That might well be; but there was more. He got 
 confused and then was clear again. Some one said 
 he was drunk. Although he tried not to look at me, 
 the speech was evidently a failure, and the crowd 
 surprised. As he stepped down I said: Now we 
 will go. 
 
 "I write because I was seen by many who will 
 think that I went purposely or should have left at 
 once. I wish you, who will hear of it, to know that 
 I did not break my promise. 
 
 " Believe me, with grateful remembrance, 
 " CONSTANCE TRESCOT." 
 
 "But she stayed, for all that," said the doctor. 
 "How will it end?" 
 
 Others were as curious; and over the cocktails 
 and juleps at the club on the evening of the stump- 
 speaking, the ex-Confederates and others discussed 
 this novel vendetta. As the doctor entered with 
 Colonel Dudley, a young fellow was describing the 
 scene and the evident effect upon Greyhurst. An 
 other, a little older, said: "I saw her follow him 
 down the street. How the deuce could she want to 
 come back here? It must be awful." 
 
 "Yes; for him." 
 
 Said Dudley : * You boys had better drop that. I 
 took this lady to the meeting. No one knew that Mr. 
 Greyhurst was to speak. And let me, as an old fel 
 low, remind you that we do not discuss ladies here. 
 
CONSTANCE TRESCOT 295 
 
 "Oh, but, colonel, this was such an amazing 
 thing." 
 
 "Would make a good article," said the editor, as 
 they sat down. 
 
 "But never will, sir," remarked the doctor, 
 sharply, over the shrubbery of his julep. 
 
 "Of course not," said the editor. 
 
 The young fellows apologized, and the colonel 
 began to chat with the doctor. 
 
 A few minutes later Greyhurst entered the smoke- 
 filled room. Without speaking to any one else, he 
 went over to where Dudley sat. "Will you do me 
 the favor to speak to me a few minutes? Not out 
 side," he added a little louder, as men looked 
 around. The old Confederate rose, saying, "Of 
 course; but let no one take away my julep." 
 
 "Not outside," Greyhurst repeated. "Up-stairs, 
 colonel. 
 
 Dudley followed him to the room above, where 
 were two candles, some chairs, a poker-table, and 
 mildewed walls. 
 
 "Let us sit down," said Greyhurst. "I shall not 
 keep you long." 
 
 "Very good; it is chilly here. What is it?" 
 
 Greyhurst said: "You will, I know, pardon me 
 if I am w r rong ; but you as much as told me I must 
 leave the board of the orphan home. I have since 
 learned, or inferred, that Mrs. Trescot was behind 
 the matter." 
 
 "Yes, in a way; indirectly. In fact, I have no 
 reason to conceal from you that she declined to 
 leave in the hands of the managers the money she 
 
296 CONSTANCE TRESCOT 
 
 gave, because you were on the board. I thought her 
 justified, but of course I could not bring a lady s 
 name into the matter when I talked to you. Dud 
 ley was not a man to excuse his actions. He expected 
 an angry answer. To his surprise, Greyhurst said 
 quietly : 
 
 "Yes, she was justified. May I ask if, when you 
 rode out with her to the meeting this afternoon, you 
 were aware that I was to speak?" 
 
 "I was not. Is that all?" asked the colonel, as he 
 stood up. 
 
 "Yes, that is all," said Greyhurst, in tones both 
 sad and gentle; "and, sir, I trust that you will ac 
 cept my excuses for such unusual questions." 
 
 "It is all right," said the colonel. Then, seeing 
 that Greyhurst still lingered, standing, with one 
 thumb on the table, something struck him in this 
 large, square-shouldered man with the dark eyes. 
 Either curiosity or faintly felt pity, or both, made 
 him say : 
 
 Is there anything else I can do for you ? 
 "Yes; if I may keep you a few minutes." 
 "Pray, go on." 
 
 "I am in a situation, Colonel Dudley, which is 
 very unusual. I was unfortunate a year ago most 
 unfortunate; and since Mrs. Trescot has returned 
 to St. Ann I fear that my presence, our accidental 
 encounters, our well, I find it difficult to avoid 
 her. I put it as a man must do about a lady. It 
 has become unendurable." He did not wish to com 
 plain that he was haunted by this living ghost. He 
 looked steadily at the old colonel, and added: "I 
 
CONSTANCE TRESCOT 297 
 
 hope I make myself understood?" He was unwill 
 ing to say that she followed him. 
 
 "I suppose," said Dudley, coldly, "that I must 
 admit that you do. It is plain enough as you put 
 it unusual, too, as you state; but let me add that 
 I do not propose to discuss with you this lady s 
 course. 
 
 Greyhurst said promptly: "I did not expect you 
 to do that. I wish to ask advice of an older man as 
 to what, as a gentleman, I should do." 
 
 "I can t give it, Mr. Greyhurst. There are rea 
 sons why even to be asked is disagreeable to me. I 
 allowed you to question me in regard to my presence 
 with Mrs. Trescot at that meeting. I answered you 
 frankly. But I did not like it, sir ; I did not like 
 it. If I had declined to reply we should have quar 
 reled. I think this talk had better end before my 
 temper gives out or yours." 
 
 Greyhurst had been looking down as they talked, 
 seeming to weigh his words. Now, with something 
 like a wan smile on his dark face, he said quickly, 
 as he looked up: "No man, Colonel Dudley, can 
 ever quarrel with me again, or make me quarrel." 
 Dudley s face cleared as he said at once, in his 
 frank, pleasant way: "I misunderstood. You must 
 pardon me. I am free to say to you that, little as I 
 like or approve this lady s course, you, sir, can do 
 nothing. I did not mean to advise, but now I have 
 done so, and I have only this to add. None of us 
 who know Mrs. Trescot are likely to stop her. I 
 saw her at the meeting. If ever a woman hated a 
 man, she hates you. Whether she is justified in her 
 
298 CONSTANCE TRESCOT 
 
 course or not, you know best. You have made me 
 speak out, and I have had to express myself in a 
 way, sir, which is not agreeable to me and cannot 
 be pleasant to you." 
 
 I have said that she is justified, said Greyhurst, 
 slowly. "I have had no day since since I killed 
 that man which has not been full of regret. I do 
 not hesitate to say so to you. But a man must live. 
 I cannot go away ; I have not the means. What can 
 Idol" 
 
 Do ? Damn it ! you can do nothing. 
 
 1 Thank you ; that is my own unhappy conclusion. 
 At all events, I shall be released for a time. I go 
 to California next week, and shall be gone a month, 
 or even two. You know, it is about Dexter s mines." 
 
 He said next, with a certain timidity: " Would 
 you do me the great favor to allow me to refer to 
 you some business matters while I am absent?" 
 
 Dudley hesitated, and then replied shortly : Yes ; 
 tell them to come to me." 
 
 11 Thank you," said Greyhurst. 
 
 Upon this, they went down-stairs in silence. As 
 Greyhurst turned to go out, the old colonel, for the 
 first time, put out his hand, saying: "I am sorry 
 for you, Greyhurst, both for the past and for the 
 present. Good night." 
 
 The lawyer made no reply, and the colonel went 
 back to his euchre and the julep and the doctor. 
 
 I was afraid, said the old army comrade, that 
 there might be something unpleasant." 
 
 "No; but I had to speak my mind. He was as 
 sweet-tempered as well, as you are, doctor." 
 
CONSTANCE TEESCOT 299 
 
 "Then he is changed. In fact, since he killed 
 Trescot he is strangely patient. Every one notices 
 it." 
 
 "Damn him!" said Dudley. "I don t think he 
 would even kill a fly now. Your deal, doctor." 
 
 The game went on to the end, and the colonel, 
 who had won, said, laughing : * You are not in your 
 usual form, Eskridge." 
 
 No ; my mind was elsewhere. I was thinking of 
 Greyhurst, and what a mess he has made of his life. 
 I do not believe the man has a friend in the world ; 
 and I suppose he quarrels with John Greyhurst as 
 often as with others. Many of us are not our own 
 friends. I doubt a little if he is even his own ac 
 quaintance. 
 
 Dudley laughed. "You have a queer way of put 
 ting things." 
 
 The doctor was in his speculative vein. He went 
 on. 
 
 "It was simple murder, that good fellow s death. 
 I wonder how a man feels after he has done a thing 
 like that. If he is educated and imaginative, and 
 has power to feel, it must set him apart, as it were, 
 in a kind of awful loneliness a sort of solitary 
 imprisonment in himself." 
 
 "Oh, I don t suppose men take it that way, Esk 
 ridge." 
 
 "Some; not all. Of course there are Brutes who 
 have no power to suffer for what they do." 
 
 "And you think this man does suffer?" 
 
 "I do. I am sure of it." 
 
 "And so am I. Another julep, doctor?" 
 
300 CONSTANCE TRESCOT 
 
 "No; I must go. I have one dying man to see, 
 and there is another soul about to fill up the ranks. 
 You see, I live on the skirmish-line of life." 
 
 "What the deuce do you mean?" 
 
 "Oh, I leave you to digest my remark." He went 
 out, laughing. 
 
IV 
 
 the days went by, Greyhurst, some 
 what relieved by the prospect of a long 
 absence, arranged his affairs, and pre 
 pared himself for his journey to Cali 
 fornia. Constance Trescot, well aware 
 of his plans, was deep in thought of the man who 
 was, for a time, to be out of her reach. Her in 
 creasing abstraction, her lessening interest in books, 
 and she had never been an eager reader, her still 
 silent piano, all alike contributed to increase the 
 anxiety in which the elder sister lived. In fact, 
 Constance had exhausted her resources ; but now an 
 accident came to her aid, and, doing for her that 
 which she never would have done, inflicted on her 
 enemy a torture beyond the dream of malice, and 
 far-reaching in its consequences. 
 
 An errand of charity to one of the families now 
 residing on the bluff had occupied her afternoon. 
 It was dusk and the shadows were deepening as 
 Constance walked slowly along a wood path which 
 led into the road on which she lived. As she came out 
 of the forest in the dusk she quickened her steps, 
 and, deep in thought, moved on, until of a sudden 
 she became aware of being on the same side of the 
 way and in front of the house in which Greyhurst 
 
 301 
 
302 CONSTANCE TEESCOT 
 
 resided. She stopped short, recalling that just 
 here she and her husband had first met him. As 
 she turned quickly to cross the street, she stumbled 
 on the rough sidewalk, recovered her balance, and 
 crossed over to her own side of the way. At her 
 garden gate she suddenly missed a little velvet bag 
 which usually hung from her belt. Instantly she 
 remembered that it held, besides her cards, a small 
 morocco case in which was a photograph of her hus 
 band in his major s uniform. Realizing the fact 
 that she had stumbled and might then have lost it, 
 and much troubled, she was about to return and 
 look for it, when she saw Grey hurst, who had just 
 come out of his garden. As she hesitated, he picked 
 up something which she knew must be her bag. 
 She had a moment of indecision. To seek him, or 
 to send for it, she felt to be impossible. She had 
 a larger copy, a duplicate of the photograph. What 
 effect would this picture of the man he had killed 
 have on the murderer? With a singular smile on 
 her face, she turned and went into her own house. 
 She had a wild desire to see that meeting of the 
 slayer and the slain. 
 
 Without the least idea of the ownership of the 
 bag, Greyhurst carelessly laid it on the table of his 
 library. He then lighted a lamp, and, mildly curi 
 ous, began to look at the contents of the bag. He 
 came first on the small case, and drew out the pho 
 tograph. As he turned it over he saw the face of 
 George Trescot. 
 
 The suddenness of this pictured revival of a face 
 he had of late seen with less painful clearness gave 
 to it the terrible power of an apparition. He let 
 
CONSTANCE TRESCOT 303 
 
 it fall. The face lay uppermost. He made a great 
 effort, and seizing it, threw it from him. 
 
 "My God!" he said, "I shall end by killing that 
 woman ! 
 
 For a moment he entertained the idea that she 
 had meant him to find it. Then, as he saw the 
 cards and some memoranda, he knew that she must 
 have accidentally dropped the bag ; and still, the hor 
 ror of the thing was increased for him rather than 
 lessened by his certainty that he was the victim of 
 a chance loss. Was everything against him? 
 
 He picked up the photograph, and, resolute not 
 to yield to what he felt was weakness, he set it be 
 fore him, and with his head in his hands stared at 
 the strong, well-bred, kindly face. It was too much 
 for him. The tears began to gather, and as they 
 rolled down his face he slowly replaced the portrait 
 in the case, laid it in the bag, and closed the clasp. 
 The test of endurance had been beyond his powers, 
 and had produced on his nervous system an effect 
 such as could never have been anticipated. 
 
 "My God!" he cried, as he fell back in his chair, 
 "am I not punished enough!" 
 
 As he spoke, he looked up and saw, as if some 
 ten feet away and a little to the left, the face of 
 the man he had killed. For a moment he was 
 simply astonished. It was larger than life and 
 smiling, and not like the photograph. He rubbed 
 his eyes, closed and opened them, and moved about. 
 The phantom kept its place; and at last he ob 
 served that if he looked down he lost it. He was, 
 as I have said, intelligent, and recognized in this 
 vision the effect of long strain and sudden shock. 
 
304 CONSTANCE TRESCOT 
 
 And still it meant even to his knowledge something 
 sinister, but about which it was possible to reason. 
 It affected him at the moment less than had done 
 the letters or telegram, or the presence of the woman 
 who had sent them. His fear was not so much of 
 what was as of what might follow. What did it 
 mean? Was he about to be ill? He resolved to see 
 Dr. Eskridge and to talk to him frankly. He awak 
 ened the next day still seeing the face, at times dimly, 
 at others clearly. Its persistency troubled him. 
 Was it a symptom of some impending mental dis 
 aster? Had his head been clear of late his mem 
 ory unimpaired? When the mind of the sensitive 
 becomes critical concerning the health of its own pro 
 cesses, there is peril in the way. He found himself 
 caught in machinery not readily arrested by the 
 will which set it in motion. He had always been 
 in vigorous health and had rarely had occasion to 
 consult a physician. He had, however, lacked power 
 to dismiss unpleasant thoughts, and now the terror 
 of decay of reason haunted him unceasingly. And it 
 was a woman who had brought this fear upon him, a 
 woman against whom he was absolutely defenseless. 
 
 Early in the morning he gave the bag to a maid 
 and asked her, much to her amazement, to leave it 
 at Mrs. Trescot s. When it was laid on the break 
 fast table beside Constance, her sister asked a ques 
 tion in regard to it. Constance replied: "I lost 
 it yesterday. I suppose that some one, finding my 
 cards, has returned it." 
 
 "You are fortunate, dear." 
 
 "Yes, am I not?" 
 
HE town of St. Ann was prospering. 
 There were more horses hitched about 
 the gnawed posts in front of the gro 
 cery-shops; more men in well-worn 
 gray coming in from the country to 
 buy or sell. In a word, there was more money. 
 There was also, as a consequence, less anxiety, and 
 more time, or, rather, more leisure ; and the Christ 
 mas season was less sad as the years went on. 
 
 Miss Susan Hood had thrown herself with energy 
 and good humor into the church work, and had re 
 organized the Sunday-schools. The orphan home had 
 also her care, and as she had money and a bountiful 
 sense of the humorous aspects of life, she found 
 ready occasion for the varied forms of generosity of 
 which she was capable, and constant mild amuse 
 ment in what she saw and heard. As concerned 
 Constance she was still uneasy, and the mpre so be 
 cause she was sure that her sister had by no means 
 given up her designs against Greyhurst, The fact 
 that Constance sedulously concealed whatever she 
 was doing still further added to her discomfort, and, 
 except Mrs. Averill, there was no one to whom she 
 felt free to talk. She resolved once more to reopen 
 the subject with Constance. 
 20 305 
 
306 CONSTANCE TRESCOT 
 
 On this special morning Miss Althea had been long 
 closeted with Mrs. Trescot, and when she had gone 
 Constance took up her garden gloves, flower-basket, 
 and scissors, and, putting on a long white apron, 
 went out into the little conservatory. Here she 
 found Coffin, who, under her instructions, was with 
 much labor of mind slowly learning how to care for 
 flowers. His old, weather-worn face was more eager 
 than usual. 
 
 He said: "That man is going away; I thought to 
 come and tell you." 
 
 "Are you sure? I heard that he was. Don t 
 speak so loud." 
 
 Tom s voice had the volume needed for great 
 wood spaces. 
 
 "Yes, I m sure. His old black woman she says 
 so. It 11 be for a month or two. 
 
 "Indeed! So long!" She stood before the lame 
 little woodman, taller by a head. For him there was 
 the sense of a commanding presence, remembrance of 
 kindness with flavor of comprehending friendliness, 
 and yet such sense of aloofness as the statue of a god 
 dess may have had for some Greek hewer of wood. 
 She stood still in thought; at last he asked: 
 
 Was you worried over that vermin ? Her ven 
 geance had brought her into singular partnerships. 
 
 "No; not while he is here." 
 
 "Thought you would have liked him clean out 
 of sight." 
 
 "No ; I mean to ruin him. If he goes away I can 
 not." 
 
 What she had done or desired to do he did not 
 
CONSTANCE TEESCOT 307 
 
 know; nor, had he known, would her slow methods 
 have appealed to his coarser conception of what he 
 called "evenin up" things. 
 
 He said: "It might be best to do what I said. 
 I d do it. You see, ma am, it s sure, and it don t 
 give no trouble." 
 
 Greyhurst s life hung on the issue of a minute of 
 indecision. A wild anger came upon her at the 
 thought of his escaping. A little flush grew on 
 the pale cheek, and then faded. 
 
 "No," she said. "I can wait." 
 
 "Well," returned Coffin, "it is n t my notion of 
 things. I d just kill him and get done with him." 
 
 "No; you must not do that." 
 
 "It 11 be as you say. Bout these rose-bugs, 
 they re mighty troublesome, ma am." 
 
 He dismissed the matter lightly. He was a man 
 of the Tennessee border, where women do not value 
 a man who cannot shoot straight a land of long- 
 nourished hatreds, where men kill but do not steal, 
 where the vendetta is medieval in the simplicity of 
 its one demand. He could not comprehend the feel 
 ing which stayed his hand, but, nevertheless, he was 
 entirely the vassal of her will. 
 
 She answered one or two questions about the flow 
 ers with some directions, and sent him away with 
 roses for Mrs. March. 
 
 While her sister was thus engaged, Susan had 
 been in the parlor in earnest talk with the new rec 
 tor of the church at St. Ann. Very soon after her 
 arrival she had added to her church work some care 
 of the freed slaves, and, happy in the relief of new 
 
308 CONSTANCE TKESCOT 
 
 duties, had brought inspiriting good sense and 
 money to aid the many forms of usefulness in which 
 Mr. Kent was interested. 
 
 The rector had been talking of George Trescot. 
 
 "You must have met him," said Susan. 
 
 "No; we exchanged visits, but he was much of 
 the time absent since I came; and for a few weeks 
 I was myself in the East." 
 
 "I am sorry you never met." 
 
 "And I. I think I mentioned that we were re 
 lateddistant cousins. Perhaps, if Mrs. Trescot 
 knew that, she might be willing to see me. I very 
 much want to help you and her. And there is so 
 much wild talk 
 
 "Yes, I know; but my sister has opinions which 
 I neither share nor like oh, excuse me, I fear I 
 must cut short our talk. I see that her gardener 
 is going, and I have to see her before she goes out. 
 
 He rose, saying: "I shall try again. I hope to 
 have better luck." 
 
 "I shall see you to-morrow at the library. The 
 books I ordered should be here to-day." 
 
 "One moment, Miss Hood. May I be pardoned 
 if I ask why Mrs. Trescot never comes to church?" 
 
 "That is a long story, and a sad one. Some day 
 we will talk about it, not now." 
 
 "You will not forget the flowers for Sunday?" 
 
 "Of course not." 
 
 After he left her, Susan went out into the little 
 conservatory. 
 
 Said Constance: "Has your rector, or director, 
 gone ? What can you find to talk about ? He makes 
 
CONSTANCE TRESCOT 309 
 
 rather long visits. I must admit that he rides well 
 for a preacher. I saw him pass yesterday. He 
 looks to be about twenty-one/ 
 
 "He is not young," said Susan, shortly. 
 
 "Oh, preachers never are young. He is rather 
 good-looking. 
 
 "Yes, rather. I wish you would see him when he 
 calls. You see every one else." 
 
 "Oh, some day, if you really want me to see him." 
 
 "I should like it, Conny." 
 
 Susan was indisposed to discuss the rector, or to 
 insist too much on his being received; but why, she 
 would have been unable, or, more likely, unwilling, 
 to say. She changed the subject. 
 
 "You had your two beauties, Conny. You think 
 I talk long with Mr. Kent. How you find talk for 
 an hour with that depressing Althea I cannot ima 
 gine. Her head wabbles about as if she were a 
 feeble chicken, and her nose did you ever notice 
 her nose?" 
 
 "No," said Constance. "She is a very good wo 
 man, and very unfortunate. I do not see why you 
 make fun of her." 
 
 " I ? The fun is ready made ; and really, Conny, 
 I can pity, and could, at need, help her, with 
 out enjoying her society. What do you talk 
 about?" 
 
 "Oh, many things." 
 
 Susan had overheard portions of Althea s gossip. 
 "I think I could guess. Is it never to end?" 
 
 Constance, who had been moving about the room, 
 turned on her. 
 
310 CONSTANCE TRESCOT 
 
 "I thought, Susan, we had agreed to dismiss that 
 subject. 
 
 "No; or, if we did, I cannot go on in this way. 
 I did not lightly bring this matter up. Oh, Conny, 
 if you only would 
 
 "I would do anything else for you. But for the 
 present you may be at ease. He is going away 
 to be gone, perhaps, for two months." 
 
 "I am very glad." 
 
 "And I am not. Oh, there is the lunch-bell." 
 
 She was already deeply engaged in a new scheme, 
 and feared to face any more of Susan s questions. 
 To plan possible or impossible means of wound 
 ing her enemy gave her the only satisfaction her 
 narrowing life afforded. To talk of him was pain 
 ful, or at least Susan was not the neutral-minded 
 confessor who would see in her course the least 
 shadow of human excuse. 
 
 After lunch she went into Trescot s study. The 
 feeling which rigidly guarded the room from any 
 presence but that of Constance seemed to Susan 
 morbid. Nevertheless, she had respected her sister s 
 wish. Constance entered and sat down. "When 
 there she had at times that sense of the nearness 
 of the dead which many have known and known 
 with intense longing for the "sound of a voice that 
 is still." 
 
 She had long since brought his sword from her 
 chamber and placed it on his table. She picked it 
 up and dusted it, and laid it down. The room 
 was full of him. She walked about, thinking of her 
 dead, and then, with another thrill of anguish, of 
 
CONSTANCE TEESCOT 311 
 
 the lost child. "And you would have had me for 
 give!" she cried. "Oh, George, George, how can 
 I! You are dead; I shall see you no more. My 
 baby is dead and I am dead, too oh, dead to love, 
 to joy! And it gets worse and not better." 
 
 She sat down and rocked back and forward, 
 clasping her head. "Perhaps to die were better." 
 Her face twitched around the mouth, her jaw stif 
 fened, and she recalled again the doctor s warning. 
 Even the luxury of self-abandonment to lonely 
 grief was not for her. She controlled herself, but 
 not readily. The passions are near neighbors. And 
 with the thought of Greyhurst, her anger rose to 
 stormy force. "And he did it!" she cried, "and 
 lives, and is to have years of ease, and at last for- 
 getfulness. Never, never, if I can help it and no 
 one shall stop me ; and, if all else fail, I have always 
 that that!" She was thinking of the temptation 
 Coffin had crudely set before her. 
 
 She grew agitated, looking about her. "Not 
 here ; I must not think of it here. Would he forgive 
 me ? He would know I had to go my way. 
 
 She went out of the room and met her sister, who, 
 seeing her agitation, said: "My dear Conny, what is 
 the matter?" 
 
 "Nothing is the matter. I wish you would let me 
 alone. 
 
 "Oh, Conny, what have I done?" 
 
 She was hurt; but was far too wise to say 
 more, for of late her sister had become irritable. 
 As she turned aside, repressing the sharp answer 
 she felt inclined to make, Constance said: "Where is 
 
312 CONSTANCE TRESCOT 
 
 the paper? I have not seen it to-day. You always 
 take it." It was her habit to run over it daily. 
 
 "I will get it," said Susan. "Wait, dear; I know 
 where it is." 
 
 When she returned Constance took the little sheet. 
 Presumably she found what she sought. 
 
 "The land sale we mentioned some time ago in 
 cludes a long stretch of shore to the south of the 
 Hood estate. It was, we understand, bought by Mr. 
 Greyhurst; but whether for himself or others is 
 not known. The water at this place on the river 
 front is shallow; but if, as we hear, the deep- 
 water front between it and the Hoods has also 
 been acquired from the Baptistes, it would give Mr. 
 Greyhurst s frontage all it needs, and add much 
 to its value." 
 
 For a little while Constance sat thinking. Then 
 she rose, dressed herself for the street, and went out. 
 She had more than enough to think about. Al- 
 thea had heard that Mr. Greyhurst was bent on 
 other business than mines. They did say that there 
 was a lady in Sacramento who had refused to 
 marry him while his divorced wife lived. But now, 
 that lady being dead a year or more, it might be that 
 she would reconsider her refusal. No; Althea did 
 not know her name. She was said to be rich. 
 
 At first Constance thought it an unlikely bit of 
 gossip; but if it were true her foe might escape. 
 She had fed the flame of her anger with the fuel of 
 grief, and, as was usual with her, this surrender 
 to passionate sorrow left her set and resolute. She 
 must know more, And so Althea was petted and 
 
CONSTANCE TRESCOT 313 
 
 flattered, and bidden to listen and report all she 
 heard. Meanwhile there was this other matter. 
 
 She had told Susan that she would not ride, and 
 now walked away into the town, passing Greyhurst 
 on the main street. He had again the sense of being 
 haunted as the tall black figure went by, almost 
 touching him. Well, he would soon be far away 
 from it all. The face of Trescot went with him 
 still, misty and delicate. 
 
 Mrs. Trescot soon found what she sought, and 
 reading on the sign, "Paul Marcel, Land Agent, 
 Second Story," went up-stairs and, knocking, was 
 bidden to enter. 
 
 "I am Mrs. Trescot," she said, throwing back 
 her veil. 
 
 Marcel s daughter had spoken of her, but he him 
 self knew her only by sight. She accepted a chair 
 and began at once : 
 
 "You will be so kind, Mr. Marcel, as to consider 
 my business confidential, or at least for the present. 
 
 "Certainly, madame." He was an old man, brisk 
 and alert, with hair cut short and upstanding in 
 a way that gave an aggressive expression to a not 
 unkindly, clean-shaven face. His accent was dis 
 tinctly that of the old Creole French. 
 
 "How can I oblige you?" he said. 
 
 She unrolled a small plan of the river-front. 
 
 "Here," she said, "Mr. Marcel, are our lands. 
 You may be aware that we gave Mrs. Baptiste the 
 half of our river- frontage nearest to the city." 
 
 "It was more than generous," he said. "The 
 land should be improved." 
 
314 CONSTANCE TRESCOT 
 
 "Yes; that will come. Our own land lies next, 
 you observe. W T e have I do not now recall how 
 many feet. It is ample ; but we would be better off 
 if we owned the next lots to the south of us I 
 think there is about four hundred feet." 
 
 "I see," he said. "It has the deepest water on 
 the entire frontage very desirable. It belongs to 
 a niece of Madame Baptiste. I have heard some 
 thing about it lately. It can be bought no doubt 
 it can be bought. The land beyond it is of very 
 little value because of the shallowness of the 
 water." 
 
 "But with this," she asked quickly, "it would 
 become valuable?" 
 
 "Yes, very, of course. I fancy it to have been 
 acquired with a view to subsequent purchase of 
 Mademoiselle Baptiste s water-front. The sale may 
 have been already made; I think not." 
 
 "I should like to know as soon as possible." 
 
 "If madame will wait a minute ten minutes, to 
 be more accurate? The agent of the Baptistes is 
 near by." 
 
 Madame would wait. He went out. She got up 
 and moved about, impatient. 
 
 When he came back he said: "I have learned 
 that, as I supposed, it is for sale. An offer has been 
 made for it." Then he hesitated, and said very 
 courteously: "I think Madame Trescot should be 
 made to know who is the person who is bidding." 
 
 "I do know," she returned coldly. "It is a pure 
 matter of business." 
 
 "Eh ~bien! It is a matter of business. He offers 
 
CONSTANCE TRESCOT 315 
 
 twelve thousand; they ask fifteen. I could not ad 
 vise that. It is too much." 
 
 "Buy it/ she said; "and, if you please, without 
 delay now at once." 
 
 "But, madame, it is inordinate. May I ask is it 
 for the Hood estate? You will pardon me if I say 
 that in that case you should consult General Aver- 
 ill." 
 
 "It is for me, personally." 
 
 "Ah! that is so; and is madame resolved?" 
 
 "She is," said Constance, smiling. 
 
 "It can be bought," he said, and went out. In a 
 few moments he was back again. "It is an affair 
 finished; but I have saved you eight hundred dol 
 lars." 
 
 " Then it is secure ? There can be no mistake ? It 
 is my property?" 
 
 Her anxiety struck him as singular ; but he made 
 haste to reassure her. "Yes, it is yours. I will see 
 to the titles; but I know them as my hand. In a 
 few days I shall ask for madame s check." 
 
 * Thank you ; but there must be no mistake. 
 
 "There can be none. I have it in writing, here 
 in my hand." 
 
 She thanked him and went out. 
 
 "DiaUe!" he said. "Quelle femme!" 
 
 On his way to the doctor s that evening, Grey- 
 hurst called at the house of the agent of Mademoi 
 selle Baptiste. He said: "Monsieur Pierre, I leave 
 to-morrow, to be gone about two months. Before I go 
 I should like to settle about those water-lots. I 
 left you an offer; you refused it. What will 
 
316 CONSTANCE TRESCOT 
 
 you take? I must leave part of the payment on 
 mortgage ? 
 
 The agent like M. Marcel, of Creole descent was 
 by no means friendly to Greyhurst ; but he was also 
 very much afraid of him. 
 
 "C est dommage, monsieur. I too deeply regret. 
 I was about to write." 
 
 11 What do you regret ? Can you Frenchmen never 
 speak out and say what you mean ! 
 
 But I was sorry, Monsieur Greyhurst, for to dis 
 appoint you. Paul Marcel was here to-day, and 
 the land is sold." 
 
 "Sold!" 
 
 Yes ; I have consult mademoiselle, who live near 
 by, as you know, and she say take it. I could only 
 advise to do the same. The offer was large, and it 
 was yes or no." 
 
 "This seems to me very strange; I should have 
 been told." 
 
 "Yes, I say so. Marcel he say, We offer twelve 
 thousand. I say, No. He say, How much? I 
 say, Fifteen thousand. He offer fourteen thousand. 
 I say we split. Then he say, Fourteen thousand two 
 hundred ; and mademoiselle, who was there, she say 
 very quick, I take it. Mais, mon Dieu! monsieur, 
 what could I do? It is sold." 
 
 Pierre was surprised and relieved that Greyhurst 
 showed no anger. In fact, he was restraining him 
 self with a great effort. He said : Offer to take it 
 off Marcel s hands. I will give him fifteen thou 
 sand. It is worth that to me; but any one else is 
 a fool to take it at your price." 
 
CONSTANCE TRESCOT 317 
 
 "They will not sell. It is to hold." 
 
 "Who bought it?" 
 
 Pierre was maliciously enjoying the situation, and 
 was made less timid by Greyhurst s unusually quiet 
 manner. 
 
 "It was bought for a lady." He was tormenting 
 his big mouse, and liked the game. 
 
 " A lady! Why the mischief can t you an 
 swer? What lady?" 
 
 "It was Madame Trescot." 
 
 t i Damnation ! You two cursed Frenchmen have 
 sold me between you ! 
 
 "Mais, monsieur, what could be done? You set 
 a limit." 
 
 Greyhurst made no reply, but turned and went 
 out, leaving the old Creole still apologetic, gesticu 
 lating, and by no means ill pleased. As he passed 
 into the street, he pulled down his hat and walked 
 on, looking downward because of the vision of the 
 smiling, silvery face. 
 
 "Always that devil of a woman!" he said. 
 "When will it end?" Suppressed anger divided his 
 mind with the fear of some sudden bodily disaster 
 such as the phantom seemed to threaten. He must 
 live, must be well. There was his child, far away at 
 school, and the one cherished hope the little woman 
 in Sacramento. He put aside the business of the 
 land. It was ruinous, and he began too fully to re 
 alize what money may do to aid a revengeful pur 
 pose. Forgetting for a moment, he looked up. The 
 face was there, in the bustling street as elsewhere. 
 He walked faster, speaking to no one, his head bent 
 
318 CONSTANCE TBESCOT 
 
 down. He lost the face as he stood on Dr. Eskridge s 
 step and, looking at his watch, rang the bell. He 
 had written asking the doctor to receive him at this 
 hour. 
 
 The doctor had never had any liking for the man 
 for whom he was now waiting, and his feeling had 
 been much intensified by the fatal consequences of 
 Greyhurst s ungoverned temper. He had, however, 
 a fund of pitiful charity, kept full by sad personal 
 experiences and by the physician s vast explanatory 
 knowledge of the lives of men and women, which 
 accepts heredity, education, and environment as 
 matters not to be left out of the consideration of 
 disease or of the motives of men s actions. 
 
 He was reflecting upon what had made Greyhurst 
 what he was, when the man who thus occupied his 
 thoughts entered the room. As they had met of late, 
 on the street or elsewhere, he had casually noticed 
 the slight loss of soldierly carriage, and the ab 
 sence of a certain defiant challenge in his expression. 
 Now, as they sat down, he cast on Greyhurst a quick 
 look of observant attention, and saw that the large 
 frame had lost flesh. He began to be curious as to 
 the object of this visit; but, as the lawyer had in 
 the past consulted him in regard to minor matters 
 of health, he knew him to be free from grave organic 
 maladies, and was quite unprepared for the abrupt 
 statement with which he began. 
 
 "Doctor," he said as he sat down, "I am going 
 away to-morrow, and I want to ask you a question. 
 I have of late been troubled not all the time, I 
 ought to say by an occasional sensation of quite 
 
CONSTANCE TEESCOT 319 
 
 causeless fear well, something like the terror a 
 timid child has when alone in the dark." 
 
 "Indeed!" said the doctor. "Is that all, or is 
 there anything else?" 
 
 "No; that is not all. I have also been annoyed 
 by seeing a face in the air, a little to the left. It 
 is lost when I look down. It appears as if made of 
 gossamer, and I see things through it. Does it or 
 the other trouble represent any probability of mental 
 failure?" 
 
 He was sweating as he spoke, and iwiped his fore 
 head repeatedly. 
 
 The doctor toyed with a paper-cutter, a habit he 
 had when intensely interested. 
 
 "You are well otherwise?" 
 
 "Yes. I have lost appetite and flesh, but otherwise 
 I am as usual. I should add that I still have at 
 times that inexplicable fear ; the vision is nearly al 
 ways present. I cannot get rid of it." 
 
 "Indeed! No headaches?" 
 
 "No, never; a slight vertigo now and then. I 
 never drank to excess, and less now than ever. I 
 smoke too much; but, you see, I have been worried 
 about business matters and about other things." 
 
 "As you look up, now, do you see the face?" 
 
 "I do." 
 
 "Is this phantasm that of a face you have ever 
 seen ? 
 
 The question was natural and innocent, the reply 
 startling. 
 
 "My God! doctor. It is the face of the man I 
 killed!" 
 
320 CONSTANCE TBESCOT 
 
 "I beg pardon, Mr. Greyhurst. I am sorry sorry 
 I asked, and very sorry for you. I could not have 
 dreamed of this. I am sorry." 
 
 "I am glad one man is sorry. I am in a hell of 
 sorrow. 
 
 "That can t be helped, I fear." 
 "No, I suppose not; but I have got to live and 
 there is Mathilde, my child. Does this mean any 
 thing serious that is what I want to know this 
 specter that fear? I can stand it if it does not 
 imply the nearness of some mental failure." 
 
 "Before I answer, may I venture to ask if this 
 spectral illusion came only at times and then more 
 and more often, and was there any immediate cause ? 
 Do not reply if to do so annoys you." 
 
 Greyhurst read in the grave and kindly face, so 
 keen and attentive, sympathy which included in 
 its charity alike the weaknesses and the crimes of 
 men. He, too, like others, felt the human craving 
 to escape by confession from the loneliness of re 
 membered sin. For a moment he reflected, and then 
 said: "I may as well tell you all." 
 
 "Not unless it will help me to help you." He dis 
 trusted his own increasing curiosity, and was there 
 fore careful as to how far he should invite confi 
 dences. 
 
 "Yes, you may help me. God knows, I need ad 
 vicecounsel." 
 
 "But first," said Eskridge, "let me say that the 
 face you see will fade away in time, unless the cause 
 which occasioned it is repeated." 
 
 "Of that I cannot be sure. I may as well tell you 
 all." 
 
CONSTANCE TEESCOT 321 
 
 "Very well. That may be better." 
 
 "I came by mere chance upon a photograph of 
 Mr. Trescot. I came on it abruptly, unprepared ; and 
 then as I looked up I saw the face that face not 
 at all that of the photograph, but the same man, 
 only smiling." 
 
 The doctor had heard in his long life many strange 
 things, but this was the strangest. He repressed his 
 astonishment and said quietly: "Is that all?" 
 
 "No; and I want to tell you the rest all of it- 
 all. I have been, since my unchecked, spoiled boy 
 hood, a passionate man. It wrecked my married 
 life, and did me evil service during the war, and 
 later in my career at the bar. My Western life 
 made it worse that was before the war. The Hood 
 lawsuit found me embarrassed as to money matters. 
 I lost it, and I knew I ought to have lost it. Things 
 Dassed in the trial which well, no matter. I was 
 insulted; I was told by by Trescot that he was 
 responsible you know what that means with us. I 
 shot that man. I did think he was drawing his pis 
 tol, if I thought at all. He wiped his forehead. I 
 did not think. I was sorry for my haste. Since then 
 I have more and more bitterly regretted. But it was 
 done and I must live. I went on hoping that, with 
 time, I should suffer less. Then Mrs. Trescot came 
 back ; and from the time of her return I have been 
 in hell no demon could be more ingeniously cruel 
 than that woman." 
 
 He went on to relate all that she had done, includ 
 ing the ruining purchase of the land on the river. 
 Both men were silent for a moment, and then Grey- 
 hurst added: 
 
 21 
 
322 CONSTANCE TRESCOT 
 
 "I can do nothing. Regret remorse, if you like 
 is the only thing a man can give. I know what 
 I have done; but I must live." 
 
 "Yes, yes," said the doctor, reflectively. "Could 
 you not go away and live elsewhere?" 
 
 "No, I cannot. I have my girl at school in Cin 
 cinnati, as you know. I am, or I was, better off ; but 
 this land business seriously embarrasses me, and I 
 must take care of the child. All my interests are 
 here ; I cannot go away ; I fear for what that woman 
 may do. At first it troubled me, but I said to my 
 self that she could do no more; now I am honestly 
 afraid. I credit her intelligence, doctor, with ter 
 rible capacity to hurt me. Can I bear this strain? 
 Am I now breaking under it ? I have reason to hope 
 that I may marry again. The lady lives in Sacra 
 mento. I hope to be able to explain to her I" 
 He hesitated. 
 
 "Indeed !" exclaimed the doctor. "But you mean 
 to tell her? She will have heard, of course. You 
 will do well to be frank." 
 
 "Yes, of course. She knows what my life has 
 been. She, at least, is a woman. This other is a 
 devil." 
 
 The doctor became yet more grave. "Whatever 
 she is, you may count on her unending hatred. If 
 you marry, and I hope you may, you will not 
 must not live here." 
 
 "No; not if I marry. And let me say that Miss 
 Wilson shall know in the frankest way just what 
 you know. Our acquaintance began through my 
 carrying her wounded brother out of a heavy fire 
 
CONSTANCE TRESCOT 323 
 
 at Antietam. He died, and I got a ball in the 
 side. I was able to write to her at Mobile of 
 his death, at a time when I was pretty near it 
 myself. You may trust me as a gentleman that 
 she shall know all. I believe that she will feel 
 for me." 
 
 The doctor rose. Would he could he be really 
 frank to her? He had a good deal of doubt as to 
 Grey hurst s power to confess the actual facts as 
 others saw them. 
 
 "I must go now. This phantom will fade. It is 
 really of no great moment, and is no indication of 
 failure in mind or body. But stay away as long 
 as you can ; better if you were never to return to St. 
 Ann." 
 
 Greyhurst left him with a great sense of relief, 
 and, walking homeward, observed that he had lost 
 the smiling face of George Trescot. 
 
 Returning in an hour, the doctor sat down with 
 his pipe and his thoughts. Both the personages in 
 this sad drama had told him their stories. The 
 mixture of good and evil in these two lives struck 
 him. Both were without that steadying faith which 
 had been his from childhood. Greyhurst was sim 
 ply unreligious by habit. Constance had no religion, 
 and, as Susan had told him, declared herself simply 
 indifferent. Motives such as might otherwise have 
 helped them were absent. The contrasts of Grey- 
 hurst s life interested him his unchecked boyhood, 
 his pafeionate nature, his intelligence, his impulsive 
 ness, his sensitiveness, the incidentally told act of 
 self-exposing courage. He felt how vain it was to 
 
324 CONSTANCE TRESCOT 
 
 judge of human actions without the largest know 
 ledge. 
 
 Then he reflected upon the calm, steadily pursued 
 revenge of the woman, with its dreadful inventive 
 ness, its implacable hatred. 
 
 He knocked the ashes out of his pipe as he won 
 dered what manner of woman might she be whom 
 Greyhurst desired to marry. The man had been 
 scourged by vain regret. His repentance had so 
 modified and gentled his life that all men saw it. 
 If the woman loved him, and he could live elsewhere 
 than in St. Ann, it might be the final solution of 
 serious questions; but there was one incalculable 
 factor in this tangle of human passions the strong 
 personality of Constance Trescot. He lighted his 
 candle and went up to bed, more than a little piti 
 ful for the woman who suffered, and for the man 
 who had caused her to suffer. 
 
VI 
 
 ; HEN Constance quietly related to Su 
 san what she had done about the land, 
 the elder sister was as near to reason 
 able wrath as it was possible for her 
 to be. They were at breakfast when 
 this revelation was unintentionally drawn out, not 
 altogether to Constance s satisfaction. 
 
 Susan had said: "I want, Conny, to put a new 
 roof on the church, and I thought you would like to 
 buy the land northwest of the churchyard. They 
 talk of stables there." 
 
 The church roof does not interest me ; the other 
 does, Susan. But I cannot buy anything now. I 
 have found use for all my spare income." 
 Susan looked up. "And for what?" 
 "You may as well know it from me, sister. Some 
 one will be sure to tell you, and I suppose this 
 wretched little town will feed its gossip with this 
 for a month of orphan sewing-circles." 
 "What have you been doing now, Conny?" 
 "I have paid an extravagant price for the strip of 
 frontage next to ours. Mr. Greyhurst owns the lots 
 beyond it. His land is valueless without the addi 
 tion of the deep-water front between us. He was in 
 treaty for the Baptiste strip, and I bought it. I 
 said I meant to ruin him. I had to tell you. I do 
 
 325 
 
326 CONSTANCE TKESCOT 
 
 not like to talk of it. But I will not be lectured. 
 It is perfectly useless. What I feel you can never 
 feel. I am glad to be alone in what I do, and I am 
 not yet done with him." 
 
 She spoke with increasing passion, more and more 
 rapidly, sitting forward erect, as poor Susan, aston 
 ished, let fall her egg-spoon and fell back in her 
 chair. 
 
 "I have seen all along that I make you unhappy. 
 As compared to the personal justice I am dealing 
 out where other justice failed, I hardly care. But 
 neither affection nor opinion shall come between 
 me and that man. I think you set the doctor to 
 warning me. He did. What was health of mind 
 or body compared to this? I suppose it will be the 
 preacher next. But I advise you not to try that. 
 Let us say no more, or we shall quarrel. 
 
 "You say, dearest sister, let us say no more. It 
 is you who furnished both text and sermon. I have 
 said next to nothing. I asked nothing. It was you, 
 and you alone, who began it." 
 
 The plain, good-natured face was tearful as she 
 went on: "We can never quarrel. That is impos 
 sible. But I think you both unkind to me and un 
 just, as I have never reopened this most painful 
 subject. I do not say that I never meant to. You 
 spoke of the rector, and of what I might ask him 
 to do ; and lest you should again misunderstand me, 
 I may as well say now" and she calmed herself a 
 little as she spoke "that Mr. Kent intends to call 
 on you again. I wish you to know that. I did not 
 ask him to do so. I have never dreamed of asking 
 
CONSTANCE TRESCOT 327 
 
 him to interfere. I have never thought of doing so. 
 I do not mean to imply that he has never spoken 
 of what you have been doing. Everybody talks of it. 
 I think Mrs. Dudley may have spoken to him of 
 your strange conduct, and he has mentioned some 
 things to me which I had never heard of, and which I 
 trust may not be true. But, dear Conny, you are 
 the talk of the town." 
 
 "I do not care." 
 
 "That is the worst of it." She paused, and then 
 added: "But I will say no more. I have done, and 
 when you say that not even affection for me would 
 check you, it is time I ceased to speak." 
 
 Constance studied the pained face a moment, and 
 then returned: "Yes, we had better stop here; and 
 as to your rector, I apologize. I did not imagine 
 you cared. I have no fancy for clergymen; but 
 if you want me to see him, I will." 
 
 "Oh, I don t care whether you see him or not." 
 Susan s temper was failing her at last. 
 
 "Susan," said Constance, "that is n t like you. 
 I don t want to hurt you. If I have said too much, 
 forgive me." 
 
 "Oh, Conny! You have done so much that it is 
 hard to forgive where I so constantly disapprove." 
 
 "Yes, that may be. I can t help it. As for Mr. 
 Kent, I know you wish me to see him. I will, I will. 
 I presume," she added lightly, "that he will not 
 undertake my reformation." 
 
 "He is a gentleman, and my friend." Susan 
 flushed a little as she stood up. "I must go to my 
 Bible-class. I almost forgot it. Good-by." 
 
328 CONSTANCE TEESCOT 
 
 Constance sat still. She was pleased to do some 
 thing that would be agreeable to Susan. She would 
 see Mr. Kent. He had come to St. Ann to relieve 
 a clerical friend who had fallen ill, and upon the 
 rector resigning had accepted his parish. She knew 
 no more than this ; but was it possible that Susan- 
 No; it was absurd. Susan would never leave her, 
 and had often laughed at what she called these 
 "Sunday-school unions." She had, however, no 
 ticed Susan s slight embarrassment and her unusu 
 ally quick show of resentment when Constance had 
 spoken of Kent. Yes; she was perfectly sure that 
 Susan would never marry, and that they would 
 never be parted. And still the thought left her 
 a little uneasy. 
 
 Greyhurst had been away for a week; but the 
 news about the land purchase lent fresh zest to the 
 gossip which so greatly annoyed the Averills. Colo 
 nel Dudley had been confidential to Mrs. Dudley 
 concerning Greyhurst s affairs, and she in turn to 
 others, some of whom were of opinion that Con 
 stance s mind had given way a decision not easily 
 accepted by those who met her in her own home 
 and knew of her care of the poor, and of the in 
 telligent interest with which she talked of books 
 and the politics of the day. She was living a double 
 life. 
 
 It was now past Christmas, and clear and cold, 
 when, one morning, Susan set out to visit Mrs. Av- 
 erill, her sole confidante. The old lady had again 
 felt it a duty to express herself so freely that Con 
 stance, resentful of interference, now visited the 
 
CONSTANCE TEESCOT 329 
 
 Averills but rarely. She had also had an unpleasant 
 interview with the general in regard to her purchase 
 of land. 
 
 Susan found neither help nor comfort from her 
 friend, and only the relief of being able to cry like 
 a child with the sad companionship of the tears 
 of an older woman. 
 
 Coming out of the house with red eyes, and very 
 conscious of an emotional breakdown, she saw the 
 rector, Mr. Kent, coming up the street from the 
 town. He moved slowly, and seemed to Susan to 
 be deep in study of the broken boards of the side 
 walk. 
 
 Susan was of no mind to meet him just now. 
 Their intimacy had reached the stage which permits 
 of sympathetic curiosity, ,and she was aware that 
 her eyes were red. She waited to let him go by ; but 
 turning in at Averill s gate, his face lighted up as 
 the woman descended the steps and they met. 
 
 He saw that she had been crying, but merely said : 
 
 "A fine frosty day, Miss Susan; a pleasant re 
 minder of New England." 
 
 Yes, I like it; and, indeed, I wish I were there." 
 
 "Shall I find you at home this afternoon?" 
 
 "No; we ride to-day." 
 
 "But it is dark early. Perhaps late, on your re 
 turn?" 
 
 "Very well, then, late; and, by the way, my sis 
 ter will see you." 
 
 "I am glad of that at six, then." 
 
 He turned to go, hesitated, and said: "You are 
 troubled, I fear. I can easily guess why, and I can- 
 
330 CONSTANCE TBESCOT 
 
 not wonder at it. I wish it were in my power to help 
 you." 
 
 "No one can do that." 
 
 "It is needless to hide from you, Miss Susan, 
 what every one knows. That miserable man has gone 
 away. Will not that put an end to your sister s 
 strange conduct?" 
 
 "It might with any one else. It will not with 
 her. From her childhood it has been like this. You 
 are very kind, but it is like the possession one reads 
 of no one can help her or me. But I must go 
 good-by. 
 
 He had seen much of her in the parish work and 
 elsewhere, and now, as often before, noted with 
 pleasure the two gifts she had in common with Con 
 stancethe charm of grace in movement, and, with 
 less height, a faultless figure. He quite forgot his 
 intention to call on Mrs. Averill, and remained for 
 a moment looking after Susan Hood. 
 
 Dr. Eskridge, on the farther side of the street, 
 benevolently regarded this interview and its results, 
 when Kent, seeing himself observed, crossed over, 
 guiltily conscious, like a boy caught in an apple- 
 orchard, but as yet regretfully innocent of the joy 
 of transferred property. 
 
 "If you are going my way," said the doctor, "I 
 will walk with you ; but you must remember the an 
 tiquity of nfy legs, and not travel at your usual rate. 
 A fellow must begin to be old somewhere. I am as 
 well pleased that it is not in the head. You have 
 been in the mountains, I hear. Get any deer?" 
 
 "Yes, three; and I had some queer experiences. 
 
CONSTANCE TRESCOT 331 
 
 It is like nothing I ever saw elsewhere. I camped 
 in the snow with a mild-looking little man who is 
 said to have killed three men. He explained to me, 
 in a casual way, that he preferred to avoid a certain 
 settlement because a man lived there whose father 
 he had shot." 
 
 "I suppose," said Eskridge, that it was one of 
 those well-preserved vendettas." 
 
 "Yes; just that. He remarked that it would n t 
 matter if he were alone; but he did n t want to get 
 me into trouble. We were lying by the camp-fire 
 at night, and he went on to tell me of his quarrel, 
 much as you might of any of the commonplaces of 
 life." 
 
 "Did you take his morals in hand?" said the doc 
 tor, with a questioning look at the strong face of the 
 younger man, for whom he had both respect and 
 friendly regard. 
 
 "No, not then. I did not see my way. Later 
 in the evening he asked me what I did for a living. 
 I said I was a preacher, an Episcopal clergyman. 
 This appeared to interest him. He said there were 
 none of that kind in the hills only Methodists. 
 Upon this I asked if they preached against killing 
 one another. He said yes; but when a man shot 
 one of your people, what could you do? I could 
 only reply that Christ taught us to forgive injuries. 
 He was silent for a moment, and then said: It 
 would n t work in the mountains, because, next 
 thing, the fellow would kill you to get clear of your 
 killing him ; and where, then, would the forgiveness 
 come in? " 
 
332 CONSTANCE TEESCOT 
 
 The doctor laughed. "I should have been puz 
 zled to reply, or at least so as to be of any real use. 
 What did you say?" 
 
 "What could I say? The very basis of the morals 
 of forgiveness was wanting. I tried to clear the 
 ground a little. He listened, and when at last I 
 quoted, Vengeance is mine; I will repay, saith the 
 Lord, he said he had knowed that tried by fel 
 lows that were afraid, and had n t ever seen that 
 it worked." 
 
 It must be a strange life, said Eskridge. But, 
 Kent, here we have in this little town a woman 
 who is no better than your friend. A stranger 
 story could hardly be. Doctors, soon or late, hear 
 everything; and I perhaps know more of it than 
 any one else. I have long meant to talk to you 
 about it. Both these sisters must be suffering. 
 May I ask if you have any influence with Mrs. 
 Trescot?" 
 
 "None at all, doctor. She has, I fear, like these 
 men, nothing to which I can appeal." 
 
 "And Miss Susan?" 
 
 "She has failed altogether failed." 
 
 The doctor reflected with approval on the inti 
 macy with Susan which enabled Kent to answer 
 as he had done. 
 
 "Well, the man has gone away. I hear from more 
 than one source that he is engaged to a Miss Jean- 
 ette Wilson. We used at one time to see her here, 
 a very sweet, intelligent, pretty girl, with a great 
 deal of money. If it be true, this may end a fool 
 ish and wicked business and enable Greyhurst to 
 
CONSTANCE TRESCOT 333 
 
 live elsewhere, as I am assured he would very gladly 
 do." 
 
 "It is almost too good to be true. Do you think, 
 doctor, that he has ever sincerely repented of that 
 awful murder? I hear men say so." 
 
 "Repented, Kent? No! Not in your sense. I 
 am sure that he is punished by regret and the most 
 honest self-reproach. I know that he suffers. Mrs. 
 Trescot has punished him with such ingenuity of 
 revenge as almost makes one pity the man. This last 
 land business has terribly embarrassed him in regard 
 to money. But the course she has taken has inflicted 
 suffering of various kinds on innocent people, 
 and, above all, on her sister to me the finer nature 
 of the two." 
 
 "Yes, her sister," repeated Kent, softly. "Per 
 haps, when Mrs. Trescot learns of this other wo 
 man, she will give up." 
 
 "I hardly think so. Le (Liable d une idee is a very 
 persistent fiend, and very mischievous." 
 
 "Yes; the devil of one idea," said Kent. 
 
 While the two men were thus discussing her, 
 Constance, liking the cold air and the brilliant sun 
 shine, was seated on the back porch. She was re 
 flecting with her too habitual intensity upon what 
 she had done. There were minutes when she was 
 made vaguely uneasy by the gradual failure of her 
 interest in books and flowers, and by her difficulty 
 in setting aside schemes which she knew to be ut 
 terly vain. Moreover, the satisfaction she promised 
 herself in creating misery and adding ruin was not 
 such as she had expected. How much Greyhurst 
 
334 CONSTANCE TRESCOT 
 
 had suffered she had not fully known until, in his 
 few and only words to her, he had let her see that 
 she had inflicted lasting pain. How would it end? 
 The man had gone, and she was at the limit of her 
 resources. 
 
 When she thought of this, and of Susan, and of 
 the pain she had given the Averills, to whom she 
 owed so much kindness in those darkest hours, she 
 said: Why not stop here?" It was, save once be 
 fore, almost literally her first moment of doubt or 
 indecision ; but then, as if a giant fate were shutting 
 out all other paths, her obsession rose again dom-- 
 inant, and deprived her of liberty to reflect or to 
 marshal the forces of reason. She stood up, and 
 felt, as she did so, some sense of inertness, some 
 lack of her usual strength of body. 
 
 She rode with Susan in the afternoon, as they 
 had agreed to do, and, returning, went up to change 
 her dress. 
 
 Susan was still at the door and giving the black 
 maid some household directions when Mr. Kent came 
 up the garden path from the street. He knew that 
 his visit was welcome. The plain, sweet face, with 
 its humorous lines, made that distinct enough. In 
 fact, he was the one person whose presence insured 
 her happy talk and freedom from the thought of 
 what dreadful surprise Constance might have in 
 store with which to trouble her life. 
 
 She thanked him for the venison he had sent, and 
 they fell into talk of his mountain journey, the 
 scenery of the hills, and the books constantly sup 
 plied from the East. 
 
CONSTANCE TEESCOT 335 
 
 At last he said: Does your sister read much?" 
 
 "No; not of late. In fact, my sister never was a 
 great reader; and now she is too uneasy, too rest 
 less-minded, to sit down to a book." 
 
 "That seems a pity. Books are sometimes such 
 blessed apostles. But to get good out of them, or 
 help or consolation, does require a certain tempera 
 ment and the habit of books. After all, readers, 
 like poets, are born, not made." 
 
 "Yes, the habit of books; she never had that. Do 
 you know Lord Macaulay s verses about this thing 
 the comforting of books?" 
 
 "No, I do not." 
 
 "I have a poor memory for quotations. I envy 
 the people who possess a remembered library of 
 poetry. There is one of the verses which I sup 
 pose I am able to recall, because I liked it more than 
 the rest. He is telling of the gift of love of litera 
 ture which the fairy godmother gave him at birth. 
 
 " Fortune that lays in sport the mighty low, 
 
 Age that to penance turns the joys of youth, 
 Shall leave untouched the gifts which I bestow, 
 The sense of beauty and the thirst for truth. 
 
 "I like that, and I shall be glad to see the whole 
 poem." 
 
 "I will send you the book to-morrow. I must 
 confess that, of late, not even books are capable of 
 distracting my mind. My sister is evidently fail 
 ing in health. She is becoming more and more 
 silent, and she is gradually losing interest in the 
 
336 CONSTANCE TRESCOT 
 
 charitable work she did so well; in fact, I" here 
 she paused, feeling, with the defensive instincts of 
 a woman, that these advances in the direction of per 
 sonal statements were somewhat perilous. 
 
 With some realization of her state of mind, he said 
 quickly: "Yes, I can imagine how trying it must 
 all be to you. If I can be of any use, I am sure you 
 must know how entirely I am at your service; and 
 if to talk of this trouble hurts and does not help, 
 let us drop it." 
 
 The look of anxious kindness on the man s face 
 as he leaned toward her, the sense that here was the 
 sympathy of a strong and comprehending manhood, 
 in some way, of a sudden, weakened her habitual 
 self-control. 
 
 Repressed here and troubled there, missing the old 
 affection, the demand for love and attention, of 
 Constance s former days, Susan s gentle spirit, to 
 which love meant so much, to her dismay, gave way, 
 and she began to show in tears the too visible signals 
 of distress. 
 
 "Oh, Susan," he said, "I am so sorry for you! 
 I know, of course. I know what is hurting you. I 
 wish I could tell you how much it all means to me." 
 
 "Yes, yes," she said, "I know" wiping her eyes; 
 "you are you have been both good and helpful. 
 But it goes on and on, and I am afraid. I live in 
 constant fear of what to-morrow may bring." 
 
 "Let me have the right to end it all the right 
 to speak for you as you cannot." 
 
 "No, no." She shook her head and sat tapping her 
 skirt mechanically with her riding- whip. 
 
CONSTANCE TRESCOT 337 
 
 He took her hand. "This must not go on." 
 
 "Hush," she said. "Here comes Constance." 
 
 As they stood up, she raised his hand to her lips. 
 
 He bent over and kissed her forehead. 
 
 "You must not," she said shyly. 
 
 "But I did," he replied; and, as they drew apart, 
 Susan, flushed, tearful, and not unhappy, said 
 quickly: "I must go oh, do let me go!" and leav 
 ing him, passed in haste through the back parlor and 
 up-stairs. 
 
 At another or an earlier day, the unusual speed 
 of Susan s exit, and Kent s slightly embarrassed 
 look, would not have escaped notice from Constance, 
 who now entered from the hall. The younger sis 
 ter was, however, freed from suspicion by the too 
 constant ideas which occupied her mind. She said 
 graciously: "I am very glad to see you, Mr. Kent; 
 and how delicious your venison was ! 
 
 At times she had seen him in the street, and twice 
 at the Averills ; but, except for a moment, never 
 in her home or elsewhere. Something in his gen 
 eral bearing disturbed her ; was it because he looked 
 like some one? He had very little of the conven 
 tional clergyman in dress or manner, and Constance 
 knew in a minute or two that she was talking to a 
 man of her own class, and accustomed to the ways 
 and habits of a larger world than she had found 
 at St. Ann. 
 
 "I must say to you, Mrs. Trescot, how much plea 
 sure it gives me to see you. I am kept pretty busy 
 among these unlucky freedmen, who are like chil 
 dren, and I have had very little time for social 
 
 22 
 
338 CONSTANCE TEESCOT 
 
 visits." She recognized and liked the tact which 
 thus set her free from need to explain why she had 
 not seen more of him. She found herself saying 
 with cordiality that she hoped he would find time 
 in the future, and that, as he rode often, he would 
 be able to join them a pleasure which Susan had 
 refused him, believing that Constance would be 
 ill pleased. 
 
 "I should like nothing better," he said; "I came 
 near to taking that liberty last Tuesday ; but I had 
 to hurry home." 
 
 I saw you ahead of us," she returned, "and 
 told my sister that you had the cavalry seat, and 
 that you must have seen service. Susan did not 
 appear to know, and I was rather curious." 
 
 "Oh, Miss Susan," he said to himself, "you did 
 not know!" There was little about his life which 
 that lady did not know. 
 
 He replied: "Yes, I was born in North Carolina; 
 but I was educated at a seminary in the North, and 
 had a parish in Portland when the war broke out. 
 I thought the North right and I served as a chap 
 lain in the Eighth Maine. I came here on a holi 
 day to relieve a sick friend, and when he gave up 
 I accepted the parish. At first I had trouble, but 
 now I get on well enough. It is impossible not 
 to like these people. When once they accept you 
 there is no limit to their kindness; and as I was a 
 Southern man who had been in the Northern army, 
 I was surprised to find how soon I was made to feel 
 at home." 
 
 Again the smile, and something in his face taxed 
 
CONSTANCE TRESCOT 339 
 
 her memory. She said: "They were most kind to 
 me in my great trouble most kind. I shall never 
 forget it." 
 
 "Mrs. Trescot," he said, "as you have spoken of 
 that sad calamity, may I venture to say that I am 
 a distant cousin of George Trescot? My grand 
 father went from Massachusetts to Carolina." 
 
 Then Constance understood. There was some 
 occasional reminder in Kent of her husband s face. 
 She said, with something of her old interest: 
 There is a likeness ; it is very, very pleasant to me. 
 I wonder that Susan never spoke of it." Susan 
 had her own reasons for saying very little to her 
 sister. "But Susan is so wrapped up in her poor, 
 and your Bible-class, and the freedmen, that very 
 little else interests her," which was not Reginald 
 Kent s opinion. 
 
 Then the talk fell upon the stormy politics of the 
 day, and the last novel of Thackeray, which she had 
 not read. As he talked and he talked well he 
 felt, rather than saw, that he soon failed to interest 
 Mrs. Trescot. 
 
 As he rose, Constance said: "You will come 
 again?" 
 
 "Yes," he said; "it will give me great pleasure." 
 She watched him as he went, and said to herself : 
 "Well, for a clergyman, that is an unusual man." 
 He had said not a word of her absence from 
 church nor, in fact, anything to remind her that 
 he was a clergyman. That he rode well, could 
 rough it with the mountain-men, hunt on snow- 
 shoes all were to Constance s liking; but, above all, 
 
340 CONSTANCE TRESCOT 
 
 that he had been in the army of the North pleased 
 her. She spoke pleasantly of him that evening at 
 dinner, for they kept to their late Northern hours. 
 She thought him a gentleman and interesting. Su 
 san was of like opinion, but was discreetly careful, as 
 was advisable with Constance, for a variety of rea 
 sons. 
 
 She said to Susan : * He told me of his distant re 
 lationship to George." 
 
 Indeed ! said the sister, surprised, for of Tres- 
 cot Constance rarely spoke. 
 
 "Yes; did you not observe the resemblance, Su 
 san? It is slight." 
 
 "Now that you mention it, I do," returned the 
 sister, mildly disingenuous, and looking down at 
 her plate. "I am glad you liked him." 
 
 "Do you? Oh, of course you do. You like all 
 clergymen. 
 
 "Yes, more or less." 
 
 The man of whom they talked was pleased with 
 his visit. He had made himself agreeable, as he 
 had meant to do, and now went on his way, whistling 
 softly in unclerical fashion. He was wise enough 
 not to call soon again on Mrs. Trescot. There were 
 other chances of seeing Susan Hood, and as her sis 
 ter now rode more rarely, he found added oppor 
 tunities of being alone with the woman he loved. 
 
 The month of January passed, and the first two 
 weeks of February. Greyhurst was still absent, and 
 Constance was moodily brooding over the sudden 
 termination of her means of carrying out her pur 
 pose. It had become so despotic in its rule as to 
 
CONSTANCE TRESCOT 341 
 
 make all else secondary in value, and, as is the case 
 with the domination of a fixed idea, to impair, in 
 time, the competence of will and of reason. Thought 
 is then emotionally disturbed, and, soon or late, mere 
 indecision and indefinite craving replace resolute 
 and well-considered plans of action. Constance was 
 near the verge of such a condition, but still far 
 enough away to feel alarmed at her lessened effi 
 ciency. She was irritable, spent more time alone, 
 rode less frequently, and became indifferent as re 
 garded her charities all of which the watchful, 
 worried sister saw with the alarm of undiminished 
 affection. The pale face was thinner, the set look, 
 as she stood at times listless and unoccupied, more 
 intense. Meanwhile gossip ceased, or, for lack of 
 novel occasion, became uninteresting; and, because 
 of heavy rain, the river was rising and causing alarm 
 and excitement. There was something more serious 
 to occupy attention than Mrs. Trescot s strange 
 ways. 
 
 Miss Althea Le Moine still called on Constance; 
 but, her visits being no longer helpful, Constance sat 
 still while she talked feebly about the home and the 
 floods, dimly conscious that her useful patroness 
 was losing interest. 
 
VII 
 
 ATE in February occurred the monthly 
 meeting of the women who managed 
 the home for orphans. 
 
 After the session, Althea was called 
 in to answer questions and receive di 
 rections. The business having been concluded, the 
 ladies lingered. 
 
 Mrs. Dudley said: "I hear that the river is fall 
 ing. It dropped five inches last night." 
 
 11 Indeed!" returned Miss Bland. "That is good 
 news. But, dear me, what a dull winter it has been ! 
 I was driving yesterday when I met Susan Hood, 
 on horseback, with Mr. Kent. I cannot imagine 
 what he sees in that homely old maid. They can t 
 talk Sunday-school all the time." 
 
 "She is anything but homely," said Mrs. Averill, 
 who loved Susan and disliked gossip. "Plain, if 
 you like, but surely not homely; and any one must 
 admit that she has a perfect figure." 
 
 * Oh, that s her gowns, remarked Miss Marcel. 
 
 Mrs. Averill smiled as she regarded Miss Marcel s 
 gaunt outlines, but was too kindly to do more than 
 whisper to her neighbor, Mrs. March, who smiled 
 in answer as Mrs. Dudley remarked aloud: "She is 
 not too much of an old maid either for fine gowns or 
 for a clerical flirtation. 
 
 342 
 
CONSTANCE TRESCOT 343 
 
 "Oh, that would be too absurd!" exclaimed Miss 
 Bland, who had of late developed a novel interest 
 in altar decorations and Sunday-schools. 
 
 "He is certainly very handsome," said Mrs. 
 Averill, a little annoyed and more than a little 
 amused. 
 
 Mrs. March laughed. "My dear Eliza," this 
 was to Miss Bland, "Miss Hood may be plain, but 
 her fortune is also plain; and, really, clergymen do 
 seem to capture the rich girls in a remarkable way. 
 
 "Do not you think," said Mrs. Averill, in her 
 most quiet manner "do not you think that we are 
 gossiping just a little more than is advisable?" 
 
 "You are quite right," said Mrs. March; "I 
 agree with you, Eleanor. But I do love a good talk 
 about our neighbors; and, after all, we have not 
 been very vicious." 
 
 Mrs. Dudley, eager for an opportunity, remarked : 
 "Well, we shall see. But have you heard the latest 
 news ? 
 
 "Oh, what is it?" said Miss Marcel. 
 
 "Colonel Dudley consented to take charge of Mr. 
 Grey hurst s affairs while he was away but that 
 is not all." 
 
 "Was he not terribly broken up by that extraor 
 dinary land purchase?" asked Mrs. March. 
 
 "Oh, awfully." 
 
 "It has always seemed to me," said Miss Bland, 
 "that Constance Trescot s conduct was most un 
 womanly. 
 
 "And unchristian, I should say," added Miss 
 Marcel, tartly. 
 
344 CONSTANCE TEESCOT 
 
 "I am sure that you will pardon me," said Mrs. 
 Averill, rising, if I remind you that you are speak 
 ing of a woman to whom our home is deeply in 
 debted, and also that she is my friend." 
 
 "I know," said Miss Bland. "But, really, Mrs. 
 Averill-" 
 
 "No matter, my dear," returned the old lady. 
 "Let us drop it. I am sure you must agree with me 
 when you come to think about it." 
 
 "But I really must tell you my news," said Mrs. 
 Dudley, as they stood, about to leave. "Mr. Grey- 
 hurst is engaged to be married." 
 
 Even Mrs. Averill stopped, surprised into interest. 
 
 "Who is it?" asked two or three in a breath. 
 
 "I am sorry for her, whoever she may be," said 
 Mrs. Averill. "Can she know the man?" 
 
 "She is a Miss Jeanette Wilson. I think you 
 know her, Mrs. Averill. They were Mobile people. 
 She is very well off, and 
 
 "Oh, I remember her," broke in Miss Marcel. 
 "She was here, staying in the country, just after 
 the war a little woman, a blonde. You met her, 
 Eliza," she added, turning to Miss Bland. 
 
 "Yes, a very quiet girl. I thought her mighty 
 dull. Well, that is news ! 
 
 Miss Marcel went out with Miss Bland, talking 
 volubly as to what that terrible Mrs. Trescot would 
 think of it. 
 
 Mrs. Averill walked homeward with Mrs. March. 
 For a few moments both were busy with their own 
 reflections concerning what they had just heard. At 
 last Mrs. March said : 
 
CONSTANCE TEESCOT 345 
 
 "Eleanor, I wonder if it is really true? You 
 know the quality of Jane Dudley s gossip. I have 
 had reason to remember it." 
 
 "I should be glad if it were true, for well, for 
 Constance Trescot s sake. It would put an end to 
 this unnatural vendetta." 
 
 "Is it unnatural, Eleanor? Unusual, I grant you 
 that; but only too natural. Think of the other 
 woman ! I shall want more certain information be 
 fore I believe it. You must recall the girl." 
 
 "I do, of course. She was here just after the 
 war; a very pretty blonde, with very gentle ways. 
 She must be by this time about twenty-five." 
 
 "Old enough to know better." 
 
 "Yes; but ah, well, it is vain to discuss love- 
 affairs; no one ever knows the why and the where 
 foreleast of all the people most concerned." 
 
 "Yes; I suppose one must admit that. I shall 
 be glad on account of Constance, and sorry for the 
 girl." 
 
 "Her father was on the general s staff, and I be 
 lieve it is at least true that since his death the girl 
 has had money left her." 
 
 "A strange business," said Mrs. March. "Good- 
 
 by." 
 
 Althea, who had listened eagerly, was delighted 
 to have, at last, something of moment to say to Mrs. 
 Trescot. She was entirely without moral sense of 
 the right or wrong of Mrs. Trescot s ways, but dis 
 tinctly aware of that lady s useful relation to Al 
 thea Le Moine. 
 
 Mrs. Dudley sat down with those who remained, 
 
346 CONSTANCE TEESCOT 
 
 profusely ready to discuss this matter, and to pour 
 out all she knew, with surmises in regard to what 
 she did not know. 
 
 When, late in the afternoon, Althea found Mrs. 
 Trescot alone on the back porch, that lady rose to 
 greet her, saying rather wearily: 
 
 "Ah, Miss Althea, sit down. Were you at the 
 meeting ? 
 
 "No; I am not allowed to be present, as I think 
 would be fitting. I was called in afterward, and I 
 am glad I was, because I know you will be in 
 terested. 
 
 Constance thought it unlikely, but said languidly : 
 "Have the orphans got over the mumps, or refused 
 hash?" 
 
 "It is much more important, Mrs. Trescot," re 
 plied Althea, with a clear conviction that the news 
 would reflectively add to her own value. 
 
 "Well, what is it?" 
 
 "It is really surprising most surprising." 
 
 "Well, go on. What is it?" 
 
 "You will be interested." 
 
 "Good heavens!" said Constance, irritably. 
 "Will you have the goodness to say what you 
 mean ? 
 
 "Oh!" exclaimed Althea, with a little start, "I 
 beg pardon, Mrs. Trescot." 
 
 "Well, will you never go on?" 
 
 "Mr. Greyhurst is going to marry Miss Jeanette 
 Wilson. She is a blonde. She lives in San Fran 
 ciscono, I mean Sacramento. She is rich. She 
 is very small. I thought you would wish to know. 
 
CONSTANCE TEESCOT 347 
 
 She lives with an old aunt, Miss Ruth Wilson. 
 Is n t it horrid?" 
 
 As Miss Althea delivered herself of this news, 
 in her usual inconsecutive manner, Constance sat- 
 up, and, grasping the arms of her chair, listened. 
 Her languor was gone. 
 
 "Now be careful, Miss Althea," she said. "Is 
 this true ? Is there any doubt about it ? " 
 
 Althea repeated her tale with slight variations. 
 "Yes, Colonel Dudley has had a letter. It was an 
 old affair. Miss Wilson had once been in St. Ann, 
 or near it; but Miss Wilson is very strict in her 
 views, and would not listen to him while Mrs. Grey- 
 hurst was alive. You know she was divorced." 
 
 Mrs. Trescot rose. " I am sorry that I cannot ask 
 you to stay. I am not very well." In fact, she was 
 greatly agitated, and was eager to be alone. 
 
 "Yes; it is quite upsetting," said Althea. "One 
 never knows what will happen." 
 
 "Thank you for coming, and oblige me by saying 
 nothing to any one of your having told me. Pray 
 pardon my abruptness." 
 
 "Certainly. You do look upset." 
 
 "Yes; I am not quite myself to-day. Come soon 
 again, or if you hear more let me know at once." 
 
 Althea had made mischief. She was morally as 
 innocent as the slow-match between the engineer s 
 hand and the gunpowder in the mine. 
 
 Constance returned to the porch and walked 
 slowly to and fro. 
 
 Greyhurst had left St. Ann a half-ruined man, 
 and, she was sure, an unhappy man. She had 
 
348 CONSTANCE TRESCOT 
 
 had in mind a dozen schemes to be worked out on 
 his return some utterly vain, some grave enough. 
 She had heard that his house was mortgaged, and 
 the interest in arrears. What if she bought the 
 mortgage? She had been, however, lavishly waste 
 ful, and to do that she must trench on her capital. 
 Now he was about to escape, and, with a new hope 
 in life, to find love, and the power of flight, or the 
 means of resistance money would give. 
 
 As usual, and more and more of late, too intense 
 thought brought on emotion. To sit still and see this 
 murderer unpunished and perhaps happy, able to 
 live on and forget, would, she felt, be unendurable. 
 Oh, rather should he die! and she laughed a laugh 
 that startled her as though it were a ghost of mirth. 
 She walked faster up and down the porch, thinking 
 of what she could do, until of a sudden, realizing 
 the completeness of her defeat, she stood still, star 
 ing at the distant river. Suddenly, as she sat down, 
 she saw with vividness the man with the revolver, 
 the little haze of smoke rising as he stood, the dead 
 man, the dearly loved face, the crowd. She caught 
 her head in her hands, clutching it in the agony of a 
 hysterical vision which reproduced the anguish of 
 life s darkest hour. Her hair fell about her, over 
 the black dress. She staggered to her feet, and, 
 swaying, dropped on the floor. 
 
 An hour later, Susan, glowing and happy, came 
 home from a ride with Reginald Kent. She gathered 
 her skirts and went in, asking for Constance. Not 
 finding her in the house, she went out to the porch, 
 and saw Constance lying, with clenched hands, 
 
CONSTANCE TRESCOT 349 
 
 rigid and motionless. She understood at once that 
 it was a return of the former trouble, and, being a 
 woman of sense and resource, knew what was to be 
 done. 
 
 When Dr. Eskridge arrived, he found Constance 
 on a lounge in the parlor, already better and asking 
 what was the matter. Had she fainted? There 
 were slight returns of rigidity and forgetfulness, 
 but before morning she was herself. A few days of 
 rest would be needed. She assented willingly, re 
 lieved that Susan asked no questions. 
 
 In a day or two she recognized that she had been 
 strangely eased by this riotous outbreak of emotion, 
 but felt as if bruised in every inch of her strong 
 body. 
 
 "And now, Miss Susan," said the doctor, after 
 his second visit, as they went down-stairs, "what 
 caused this trouble?" 
 
 "Wait a little, doctor. She has the hearing of an 
 animal." 
 
 He was silent until they had entered the parlor 
 and she had closed the door. 
 
 "Now," she said, "we can talk unheard. Con 
 stance hears everything. You asked what caused it. 
 I do not know. Nothing unusual happened. Miss 
 Althea Le Moine was here, but she comes very often 
 to see Constance a furtive, childish, dried-up wo 
 man, one of the helpless wrecks of the war. Con 
 stance is good to her, I fancy." 
 
 The doctor asked questions concerning Mrs. Tres- 
 cot, few of which Susan was able to answer. Sorry 
 for both sisters, he went away in doubt, as he had 
 
350 CONSTANCE TEESCOT 
 
 gone so often from among the griefs and perplex 
 ities of many in his long life of honest service. 
 
 When, in the afternoon, Mrs. Averill called, Susan 
 heard of the gossip at the home, and began to sus 
 pect that it was Miss Le Moine s visit which had 
 been the cause of Constance s attack. She disliked 
 to question Miss Le Moine, and felt herself power 
 less. It was unadvisa.ble to reopen the subject with 
 her sister. She would learn nothing. Kent was as 
 little able to advise her. 
 
 Meanwhile the days went by and Constance was 
 up and about the house. She was evidently better, 
 and submitted to every order with patience, longing 
 to regain her full strength and decide upon what she 
 should do. 
 
 At the close of a fortnight, she mailed the follow 
 ing letter to Miss Jeanette Wilson, in the care of 
 Miss Ruth Wilson, Sacramento, California: 
 
 "ST. ANN, WEST STREET, March 12, 1872. 
 "DEAR Miss WILSON: 
 
 "I have learned of late that you are engaged to 
 be married to Mr. Greyhurst of St. Ann. If it be 
 not true, I simply offer my apologies for this letter. 
 If, on the other hand, it be true, I should be want 
 ing in my sense of duty if I failed to do what prob 
 ably no one else will do. Believe me, I have no 
 motive except that, as a woman who has greatly 
 suffered by this man s act, I cannot leave another 
 woman ignorant. 
 
 "Mr. Greyhurst s first marriage resulted in a 
 divorce caused by his ill-temper. On the ninth of 
 
CONSTANCE TRESCOT 351 
 
 October, 1870, he murdered my husband, shooting 
 down in cold blood an unarmed man, partly crippled, 
 and who, at the moment, was going forward to meet 
 him with a message of peace and an offer to settle 
 generously the case Mr. Greyhurst had just lost. 
 
 If, for your misfortune, you doubt my statement, 
 General Averill will, I am sure, indorse all I have 
 said. Probably Mr. Greyhurst has told you his own 
 story. Whether you can trust it or not you must 
 decide. His only excuse can be that what he did 
 was an act of sudden anger, the fatal result of a 
 life without moral law and without religion. 
 
 "I leave you to imagine what prospect of happi 
 ness a union with such a man may offer. I trust, 
 at least, to hear that you have received this letter. 
 To write it has cost me dear, and has renewed for me 
 a scene I saw and can never forget. 
 "Very truly yours, 
 
 "CONSTANCE TRESCOT. 
 
 "Miss JEANETTE WILSON." 
 
 Having shot her arrow, Constance waited with the 
 patience of a hunting animal. The letter thus sent 
 was not such as she could have written in her earlier 
 months of desire for retributive punishment. Cer 
 tainly her motives in writing it were untruly stated, 
 and she had once been truthful. The cunning it 
 displayed was a sad illustration of the failure of 
 a character which, in the presence of one consuming 
 purpose, had ceased to be influenced by anything 
 else. 
 
 What pain she was to inflict on this unseen wo- 
 
352 CONSTANCE TRESCOT 
 
 man gave her no concern. Of Susan s opinion she 
 did think at times; but Susan would never know of 
 this letter, nor, at this time, would it in the least 
 degree have affected her own course of action. Her 
 power of self -trial and self-condemnation was lost. 
 If she had any doubts she put them aside, and, as 
 usual with her, was set at ease for the time by a 
 decisive act. 
 
 Meanwhile, her letter crossed the continent and 
 passed the train in which Greyhurst returned to St. 
 Ann. He lingered a day to see Colonel Dudley, and 
 then went East to meet certain bankers in New York, 
 whom he hoped to interest in the mines, and who 
 were to advance money to open and develop them. 
 His fee was to be a share in the property, and he 
 looked forward with confidence to such a favorable 
 result of his negotiations as would in some degree 
 release him from his increasing embarrassments. 
 
 He felt that he had been terribly punished for 
 an act of rashness and passion ; but now, with gain 
 of health and freedom from material reminders of 
 guilt, he began to feel a return of belief in a more 
 happy future. Time has for crime, as well as for 
 grief, its alleviating helpfulness, and even the sharp 
 est remorse may be dulled as the years go by. 
 
 He honestly loved the woman, who had long re 
 fused to consider his suit. "When again he saw her 
 in Sacramento, she was shocked and pitiful as she 
 observed how greatly he was altered. She had heard 
 of the death of Trescot, and he was wise enough to 
 face the matter. He told her of his own life, of his 
 boyhood, of the temptations and rude existence in 
 
CONSTANCE TRESCOT 353 
 
 the mining-camps of the West. He described, with 
 every sign of regret, his sudden meeting with Tres- 
 cot, and told of his belief that he was about to use 
 a weapon, and of how the man who had insulted him 
 came forward with a smile of triumph, and then of 
 his own quick anger, and of the fatal consequence. 
 He was profoundly moved, and she hardly less so. 
 
 She was, and had long been, on the border-line 
 of that complete abandonment to love which, once 
 it is passed, excuses all things, and has cost women 
 so much unhappiness. Being, however, a person of 
 great good sense, of ready decision, and possessed 
 of that quick apprehension which is so mysterious 
 to the male mind, his statement checked her. Some 
 thing in it and she acknowledged the feeling with 
 pain did not ring true. She refused finally to 
 commit herself ; he must wait. ^ She gave no distinct 
 reason, except that she was not sure of herself ; and 
 he went away, not altogether dissatisfied. She had 
 been so tender, so sorry not to be able to say yes ; 
 so full of what, in fact, was yearning pity afraid 
 to trust itself to speech. 
 
 When he had gone she would have had him back. 
 Had he returned, she would have had no more to 
 say than she had already said. She approved her 
 own decision, but knew it to be insecure; and, 
 fully comprehending the gravity of the question, 
 felt that, for her sake and his, she ought not to 
 leave him long without a definite answer. But how 
 could she become more reasonably sure of what this 
 man was? How could she be certain that he had 
 told her the facts as they had appeared to less par- 
 
 23 
 
354 CONSTANCE TRESCOT 
 
 tial witnesses? She was a woman in her twenty- 
 fifth year, and more than usually mature. Her re 
 ligious convictions were positive, her beliefs distinct. 
 It was not possible for her to fail to consider so 
 grave a matter apart from the views which had been 
 influential in a life not free from trials. She knew 
 that her lover was, by habit, indifferent to what she 
 regarded as of the utmost moment. She smiled 
 sadly as she thought of St. Paul s advice, and felt 
 that under ordinary circumstances she would have 
 been free to yield, trusting with affectionate hope 
 to what influence time and love might have. But 
 this other matter made her pause ; no, that must be 
 seen by her as others saw it those in whose hearts 
 there was no constant advocate willing or wishing 
 to believe John Greyhurst innocent and the sad vic 
 tim of circumstances. 
 
 Resolute at last to put an end to her doubt, and 
 accustomed for years to independence of action, she 
 decided to go to St. Ann, and, in Greyhurst s ab 
 sence, to see the Averills, whom she had known as 
 a girl, and who had been friends of her dead fa 
 ther. She cherished a tender hope that here would 
 be the friends who would incline to think the best 
 possible of Greyhurst. She justified that night the 
 Eastern proverb, "In the Inn of Decision men sleep 
 well, and awakened self-assured that she was right. 
 She wrote to her cousins at Trois lies, on the river 
 below St. Ann, that she would make them a short 
 visit. 
 
 The night before her departure she received Mrs. 
 Trescot s letter. Her future darkened as she ran 
 
CONSTANCE TRESCOT 355 
 
 over the pages. She had never before realized that 
 which, when thus told by an agonized eye-witness, 
 dismissed for her at once the merciful vagueness of 
 a thing unseen. Once more considering the letter, 
 she read between the lines, as she had read between 
 the words her lover had used. It was natural that 
 an unfortunate woman should overstate the guilt 
 of the man who had cost her so dear. Again she 
 doubted, again wondered where the truth lay, and 
 found new distress in the thought of the young wife 
 alone with her grief. Had Greyhurst ever thought, 
 after that day of death, of the woman alone with the 
 sorrow he had created? He had never mentioned 
 her. 
 
VIII 
 
 I ATE in the morning Miss Wilson ar 
 rived at her cousin s home at Trois 
 lies, and, anxiously intent on her pur 
 pose, took the afternoon ferry-boat to 
 St. Ann. 
 
 She had been in the town just after the war, and 
 when it was half in ruins. When about to ask the 
 way to General Averill s she met Mrs. Dudley. 
 "Why, this must be Jeanette Wilson," said that 
 lady. So glad to see you ! How well you look, and 
 how young !" It was true. The blonde little woman 
 still kept the childlike look which is the peculiar 
 privilege of her type. 
 
 "Thank you, Mrs. Dudley. May I ask you to tell 
 me where the Averills live ? 
 
 "Up on the hill. And so you are engaged to be 
 married to Mr. Greyhurst." 
 "No. I am not." 
 
 "Bless me, my dear! I could not have misunder 
 stood my husband." 
 
 "I fear that you have done so. Mr. Greyhurst, I 
 am quite sure, never could have said that." 
 
 Mrs. Dudley would have been shocked had any 
 one accused her of intention to deceive, but she was 
 
 356 
 
CONSTANCE TRESCOT 357 
 
 so habitually inaccurate as to have obtained for her 
 self the credit of want of veracity. Like most in 
 accurate persons, she was exceedingly positive. 
 
 When, therefore, Miss Wilson denied her engage 
 ment, Mrs. Dudley returned: "Oh, that is always 
 the way with young women. I suppose it amounts to 
 the same thing." 
 
 "Hardly; and I must ask that you do me the 
 favor to contradict any rumor to that effect. I am 
 not engaged." 
 
 "Certainly; of course," said Mrs. Dudley, not at 
 all convinced. "What stay do you make in St. 
 Ann?" 
 
 "Only a day or two." 
 
 "Indeed!" 
 
 "Yes, that is all." Then she paused, and re 
 solved of a sudden, and not very wisely, to take Mrs. 
 Dudley into her confidence. 
 
 "Would you mind my asking you to tell me 
 something ? 
 
 "Certainly not. What is it?" She was at once 
 eager and curious. "Come in, my dear. It is only 
 a step to our house. Ah, here we are." When they 
 were seated she said promptly: 
 
 "And now, my dear, what can I do for you?" 
 
 "You can help me, I hope. Mr. Greyhurst is, I 
 believe, a friend of Colonel Dudley." 
 
 "My husband has charge of his affairs while he 
 is absent, but I could hardly say they were friends. 
 You see, Miss Wilson, in St. Ann they and she 
 checked herself. 
 
 "They what?" returned Miss Wilson, too greatly 
 
358 CONSTANCE TEESCOT 
 
 concerned to accept Mrs. Dudley s prudent arrest 
 of speech. 
 
 "Oh, nothing; it is of no moment." 
 
 "Mrs. Dudley, Mr. Greyhurst had a very serious 
 trouble more than a year ago. I have urgent rea 
 sons to know all about it. May I ask you frankly 
 to tell me the whole story?" 
 
 For once, Mrs. Dudley was cautious. What she 
 might say would possibly go back to Greyhurst, and 
 as he had never quite lost the evil reputation of 
 being quarrelsome, the colonel might, as had once 
 happened, be asked to answer for his wife s words. 
 
 She replied: "Oh, that is an old story, and we 
 never talk about such things, Miss Wilson. 
 
 "I know, I know; but oh, Mrs. Dudley, I am in 
 great trouble. I hoped that, as an older woman, and 
 without my saying more, you would help me. I 
 should consider whatever you told me as absolutely 
 confidential." 
 
 Mrs. Dudley had no firm trust in the possibility 
 of any woman preserving under temptation the vir 
 tue of entire silence. Moreover, she was becoming 
 alarmed at a situation too perilous to permit of the 
 luxury of gossip. She said therefore: "Help you, 
 my dear? Indeed, I would if I could; but really I 
 cannot. 
 
 "I fear, Mrs. Dudley, that when you say you do 
 not like to tell me, it means that you will not tell me. 
 If that is so, I" 
 
 Mrs. Dudley, interrupting, said, "Oh, yes, if you 
 like to put it that way." To pour out the whole 
 sad story was her dear desire. 
 
CONSTANCE TEESCOT 359 
 
 " Thank you," said Miss Wilson, seeing how vain 
 was her quest. "Thank you. I am at least your 
 debtor for being frank with me. I think I under 
 stand." 
 
 Mrs. Dudley was not so clear, and said awk 
 wardly : Oh, yes, of course. I thought you would. 
 What a lovely gown!" 
 
 Poor Miss Wilson, sad as was her case, came near 
 to smiling. 
 
 It was a crude method of dismissing the subject, 
 but it answered the purpose; and seeing that she 
 had failed, and urging her hostess no further, the 
 younger woman accepted the change of conversa 
 tional base. She skilfully put aside some rather in 
 trusive questions, and finally went away unsatisfied, 
 and leaving Mrs. Dudley eagerly desirous to know 
 more. 
 
 Jeanette was fortunate in finding Mrs. Averill at 
 home, and was grateful for the cordial welcome she 
 received, as that lady at once remembered her, and 
 that her visitor s father had served during the war 
 on the general s brigade staff. 
 
 Seeing the miniatures of the dead sons on the 
 table, Jeanette admired them, and asked how Mrs. 
 Averill came to be so fortunate as to possess them. 
 Mrs. Averill, suddenly recalling the fact that Miss 
 Wilson was said to be engaged to Greyhurst, hoped 
 that she would be content with the answer that they 
 were done in Italy, the kind gift of friends. Un 
 luckily, Miss Wilson turned over the one she held, 
 and saw on the back, "From Susan Hood and Con 
 stance Trescot." 
 
360 CONSTANCE TRESCOT 
 
 She laid it down and, looking up, said: "Mrs. 
 Trescot is a friend of yours ? 
 
 "Yes, she is my friend; and her sister, too." 
 
 Miss Wilson, somewhat embarrassed, said: "I 
 never knew them. They came to St. Ann long after 
 my last visit" ; and after a brief pause added : "And 
 and he was killed I mean Mr. Trescot." 
 
 Mrs. Averill saw her disturbed face. Leaning for 
 ward, she took her hand and said in her low, sweet 
 voice: "Let us talk of something else, my dear. 
 That is a matter too sad to discuss. He, too, was 
 our friend." 
 
 "Oh, no, no; I came to talk of of this: but it is 
 hard. You won t mind, will you ? You see, I must ; 
 I have to." 
 
 Mrs. Averill knew too well what was in the 
 younger woman s mind. 
 
 "Don t be worried, my dear. What is it? What 
 can I do for you?" 
 
 "I do not know. I am in trouble. Mrs. Dudley 
 tells me that I am said to be engaged to Mr. Grey- 
 hurst, and I am not ; I may never be. Oh, dear Mrs. 
 Averill, I am in deep waters. I care for him, oh, 
 very much, but we are not engaged. I have had 
 in my life much sorrow, and I cannot now think of 
 marrying him without knowing all of that awful 
 story. I came here to know. He has given me his 
 own account of it ; but it is natural he should make 
 the best of it ; and, oh, won t you, dear Mrs. Averill 
 won t you help me? Won t you tell me all about 
 what you and General Averill think should guide 
 me? I have no one to turn to no one. I want 
 
CONSTANCE TRESCOT 361 
 
 some one who knows to tell me plainly all about 
 it." 
 
 Mrs. Averill knew that all social relations be 
 tween Greyhurst and her husband had ceased from 
 the time of Trescot s death. However much she 
 pitied the young woman who thus appealed to her, 
 she was reasonably unwilling to be frank. She hesi 
 tated just long enough for Miss Wilson to note the 
 tardiness of reply and to feel what it implied. Mrs. 
 Averill usually spoke with ease and readiness; now 
 she said slowly, with care as to her words: 
 
 "I am very sorry, but I cannot I do not feel 
 quite free to answer you. The general does not now 
 know Mr. Greyhurst. They do not speak. In fact, 
 I would rather not discuss this subject. I think the 
 general will also be unwilling." 
 
 It is a little to be feared that she knew with what 
 entire unreserve her husband would have told all he 
 knew and what he thought of Greyhurst. 
 
 "I see, I understand," said the blonde little lady. 
 "You must pardon me." The unusual caution of 
 one older woman, and the obvious indisposition of 
 a far different one, told her almost as much of what 
 she wished and yet feared to know as if they had 
 been rashly outspoken. 
 
 Mrs. Averill said: "There is, my dear, nothing to 
 pardon. I am honestly sorry to be unable to help 
 you, and I think that you must see why I cannot." 
 
 "Yes. Thank you. I will not trouble you any 
 further; but, somehow, I must know. Will you be 
 so kind as to read this letter?" 
 
 She opened the envelop and laid Mrs. Tres- 
 
362 CONSTANCE TEE8COT 
 
 cot s letter on Mrs. Averill s lap, who said inno 
 cently : 
 
 "Of course, my dear; what is it?" She put on 
 her glasses, recognized the handwriting at once, and 
 with surprise and pain read the letter. She was 
 shocked and sorry. "That is very terrible, my dear 
 child ; how could she have done it or done it as she 
 has?" 
 
 If what she says be true, Mrs. Averill, and I were 
 in her place, I should have done it. I will ask but 
 one more question a harmless one. Was Mr. Tres- 
 cot a man to to provoke or grossly insult another?" 
 
 "No, no; he was not." 
 
 "What kind of man was he?" 
 
 "He was all that a man ought to be a gentle 
 man to the core, and in no way to blame ; and now, 
 Miss Wilson, you must not ask me any more ques 
 tions. I do not feel free to reply. I wish I could 
 help you, but I cannot; nor can I tell you who will 
 be willing to do so. I beg that you will not embar 
 rass my husband by asking him." 
 
 "I will not. You have been most kind to me, 
 and I thank you ; but some one must help me. May 
 I come again? I promise not to speak of this 
 this subject." 
 
 The old lady rose. "You will always be welcome 
 always. And I do trust that God may guide you 
 in the right way." 
 
 She went with her to the hall door, saying : * The 
 general will be glad to hear of you, and I know he 
 will like to talk with you about your father." 
 
 Mrs. Averill went back to her knitting, and re- 
 
CONSTANCE TRESCOT 363 
 
 fleeted with womanly compassion upon the strength 
 and maturity of the character which could thus reso 
 lutely determine the fullness of love impossible with 
 out complete trust and entire respect. 
 
 Miss Wilson was, in fact, just what Mrs. Averill 
 supposed her to be. She had longed to say to the girl, 
 "Do not marry that man." Even on her door-step, 
 as they parted, she had felt that she had not done her 
 duty to a soul in deep distress. 
 
 Miss Wilson paused a moment in thought outside 
 of the gate, and then returning, found Mrs. Averill 
 in the parlor and asked her where she could find 
 Mr. Kent. Mrs. Averill replied, "At the church, 
 my dear," and gave her the needed directions, add 
 ing that he would probably be in the vestry-room, 
 which he used as a study, or possibly in the library- 
 room of the parish Sunday-school. Could she desire 
 to ask his advice? That might be the case. He 
 would, she thought, be prudent. 
 
 The clergyman had occurred to the young woman 
 as for her a natural and final resort. Her friends 
 had written of him in their letters as a man of high 
 character and much liked. Where else could she go ? 
 At all events, she would tell her story and ask his aid. 
 
 When she rang at the library door, it was opened 
 by Miss Hood, who had been busy with a case of 
 new books she had just received. She went with her 
 to the vestry, saying, as Kent opened the door, 
 "Here is a lady to see you, Mr. Kent." 
 
 As he made her welcome and she sat down, she 
 was for a moment disappointed, having, for no rea 
 son, expected to see a man of full middle age. The 
 
364 CONSTANCE TRESCOT 
 
 pleasant, smiling face, and something, she knew not 
 what, in his eyes, reassured her. When she apolo 
 gized for troubling him, and he said, No, I am not 
 busy; I am much at your service," she felt at once 
 that here, at least, she would find a sympathetic 
 hearing, and making no further excuses, said sim- 
 
 "I am a woman, Mr. Kent, in great perplexity. 
 I am Jeanette Wilson. I may add that I am an 
 Episcopalian. For some time I was in more than 
 doubt as to whether I ought to rnarry a gentleman. 
 It is about him I wish to speak. While his wife 
 lived you know, he had been divorced I could not 
 even consider the matter. Now that she has died, 
 he has again asked me to share his life." 
 
 Kent listened with interested attention. She was 
 young, pretty, and evidently under the influence of 
 deep emotion. After a moment of pause she added: 
 "And now again I hesitate." 
 "May I, without indiscretion, ask his name, or 
 can I advise or aid your decision without that?" 
 
 "You may know him. He is Mr. John Grey- 
 hurst" 
 
 Kent was more than surprised. 
 "Yes; I met him once in Colonel Dudley s office. 
 I can hardly say I know him, in any fuller personal 
 sense. But, pray, go on, and be sure that I shall 
 be most glad to give you any help in my power." 
 "I was sure you would. I am in the utmost per 
 plexity. I know much of his life. He has told me 
 of the the death of Mr. Trescot. I want to be 
 lieve his account of it; but oh, Mr. Kent, at the 
 
CONSTANCE TRESCOT 365 
 
 best it is terrible, and I fear to trust his statement. 
 If lie has not been entirely truthful, I must know 
 it. With so much at stake, it is it must be nat 
 ural for a man to find excuses for so awful a sin. 
 I want to help him to a better life. I want to be 
 able to marry him. Before I let myself go, and 
 I could, I am resolved to learn from some one the 
 whole truth. If he had repented in your sense and 
 mine, I should believe him; he has not. He regrets 
 and has suffered, that is sure; but oh, Mr. Kent, 
 that is so little so very little. I have been to two 
 women to ask to know more of Mr. Greyhurst, to 
 hear the whole story of this dreadful thing. I have 
 come from Sacramento to learn, and now no one will 
 tell me. If they are afraid of him, that is bad ; but 
 at all events I must know. I do not want advice ; I 
 want only full knowledge; then I shall decide for 
 myself." 
 
 "Is this all, Miss Wilson?" 
 
 "No; while I was still in doubt, after Mr. Grey- 
 hurst left California, I received a letter from Mrs. 
 Trescot. I can put myself in her place, different as 
 our views must be. I might, God help me ! have done 
 the same. Have the kindness to read it, sir. If she 
 tells the exact truth, he has not told all of it, and 
 it had been more wise to have wholly trusted a wo 
 man s love and pity." 
 
 That was Kent s opinion as he considered the 
 childlike sweetness of the face below the blonde hair. 
 Without a word he took the letter. He frowned, 
 annoyed and displeased, as he read ; and folding the 
 sheet, returned it. 
 
366 CONSTANCE TRESCOT 
 
 "You are right," he said gravely. "As a clergy 
 man, and also as a man, you have a right to all I 
 know. 
 
 " If , " she said, it will make trouble for you with 
 Mr. Greyhurst " 
 
 He interrupted her with, "That is no part of the 
 matter. I shall write to him and tell him what I 
 shall now say ; and I may say to you that I know the 
 whole of this sad story, although at the time it 
 happened I was not in St. Ann. 
 
 "Is it necessary that you do this I mean tell 
 him?" 
 
 "Yes, for me it is. Mr. Greyhurst was angry at 
 the loss of his case. There were some sharp pas 
 sages between Trescot and himself, such as occur in 
 trials. Of these I know least. As I have said, I was 
 not in St. Ann at that time. I believe that he said 
 things of Mr. Trescot and to his wife, whom he 
 called as a witness things no man should have said. 
 I do not wish to overstate the matter. Mr. Grey 
 hurst was said to be in debt. This suit was of great 
 moment to him, and I suppose that the verdict was 
 a serious disappointment. When he came out of the 
 court, Mrs. Trescot was near by, waiting for her 
 husband. 
 
 "Oh, sir, did he see her?" asked Miss Wilson, 
 anxiously. 
 
 "I do not know. He saw Mr. Trescot coming to 
 meet him, and, without warning, killed him." 
 
 "But he was drawing a pistol," she said quickly. 
 
 "No; he never so much as owned a pistol. His 
 right arm was crippled from a wound, as was gen- 
 
CONSTANCE TRESCOT 367 
 
 erally known because he usually rested it caught in 
 his waistcoat. As he approached he was smiling. 
 You see, he was pleased to be able to be generous." 
 
 My God ! " she exclaimed. Go on ; tell me all ! " 
 
 Yes; he had just received a telegram authoriz 
 ing him to divide the land in dispute, in order to 
 treat more liberally Mr. Greyhurst s clients. He 
 raised his lame arm to take out the telegram from 
 his pocket, and was, as is known, advancing to 
 make the offer. He had it in his hand when Mr. 
 Greyhurst fired." 
 
 "Is that all?" she said faintly. 
 
 1 No; on his desk was found a letter to Mr. Hood, 
 stating that he would give up the agency unless Mr. 
 Hood, the owner, would, after the trial, consent 
 to a compromise as an act of equitable justice to 
 people who had no legal claim. Mr. Hood s sudden 
 death enabled Miss Hood, the sister of Mrs. Trescot, 
 to give Mr. Trescot full authority to settle the mat 
 ter. Mrs. Trescot called him out of the court to give 
 him the telegram, and to beg him at once to offer 
 Mr. Greyhurst the adjustment they desired. That 
 is all. I have been long, but it seemed to me that 
 you had a right to know the whole. I believe that 
 I have stated it correctly." 
 
 "Then," she said, as her head drooped, "it was 
 murder, and without shadow of excuse." She fell 
 back, appalled at her verdict, murmuring again, "It 
 was murder, and without excuse." 
 
 "Yes, as I see it, it was murder; whether pre 
 meditated, or the sudden outcome of anger and dis 
 appointment, God alone knows." 
 
368 CONSTANCE TRESCOT 
 
 "One word more, Mr. Kent. There had been ill 
 feeling between them? Sharp words had passed. 
 You said so. Mr. Greyhurst believed himself to 
 have been insulted." 
 
 "Yes, I have so heard." 
 
 "What kind of man was Mr. Trescot? You see," 
 she said, eager to find excuses, "I want to know all 
 both sides." 
 
 "I never saw him; but as to that there was but 
 one opinion. He was a sweet-tempered, kindly, and 
 most honorable gentleman, a servant of your Mas 
 ter and mine." 
 
 "That is enough, and too much. God pity him 
 and me!" 
 
 She rose as she spoke, and standing with bowed 
 head, looking down, added: "I cannot thank you 
 too much. You have done me the greatest service 
 a man could render a woman. I think that you 
 ought to know that I shall never marry John Grey- 
 hurst. I meant to ask your advice, but now I do not 
 need it. The way of my duty is plain. Good-by." 
 
 She let fall her veil and went out, passing Miss 
 Hood, who was still busy with her books. 
 
 "I shall be jealous, Reginald, if you are so long 
 closeted with pretty women." 
 
 "Don t begin quite so soon," he said, "or the sup 
 ply of jealousy may not equal the demand. Come 
 and walk with me; I have had a rather grim half- 
 hour." 
 
 She looked up at him, curious, but asked no ques 
 tions. 
 
IX 
 
 jRS. TRESCOT received no acknow- 
 5 ledgment of the receipt of her letter, 
 nor had the unhappy woman to whom 
 it was sent any intention of answering 
 it. She desired never again to hear 
 of the writer. 
 
 Making such excuses as were possible to her as 
 tonished friends, Miss Wilson took the train to the 
 North on the day after her visit to Mr. Kent, and 
 thence returned to Sacramento. She was wise 
 enough to avoid a meeting with Greyhurst. 
 
 From Chicago she wrote to Mr. Kent a note of 
 renewed thankfulness, and earnestly asked that he 
 would not feel it necessary to mention to Mr. Grey- 
 hurst what he, Mr. Kent, had told her. * I am most 
 grateful to you," she wrote, "for the courage of 
 what you did for me, a stranger; but I cannot rest 
 easy under the idea that, in his anger and disap 
 pointment, a man as passionate may again do some 
 thing as rash as that which has parted us forever. 
 It will be altogether unnecessary for you to speak 
 of what you said to me, because Mrs. Trescot s let 
 ter will suffice to explain to him the reasons for my 
 decision. It is an unfeeling letter, but it will so 
 24 369 
 
370 CONSTANCE TRESCOT 
 
 justify my decision as to relieve you from need to 
 speak. " 
 
 Her request had no effect on Kent s intention. 
 He had taken on himself a grave responsibility, and 
 meant to abide by it. He had neither fear of un 
 pleasant consequences nor belief that they would 
 occur. The thought that Mrs. Trescot s letter would 
 reach Greyhurst made him far more uneasy. He re 
 solved to speak to the lawyer on his return, which 
 took place two days later. 
 
 Greyhurst had found difficulty in satisfying the 
 bankers on whom he relied. The money-market was 
 unsettled, and men were indisposed to go into even 
 the most promising ventures. He was advised to 
 wait, to return in a month. He left New York a 
 much disappointed man, and went home to meet 
 conditions which he knew must result in ruin. 
 
 Thinking sadly of his affairs, and with some re 
 lieving hope in regard to Jeanette Wilson, whom he 
 very honestly loved and sincerely respected, he left 
 the station at St. Ann. The phantom face had been 
 seen of late but rarely, and had lost distinctness. 
 
 On his way he called to see Colonel Dudley. His 
 wife was in the hall. "Glad to see you back/ she 
 said. "My husband is out." 
 
 Tell the colonel that I was detained in New York. 
 I will call to-night." 
 
 "You have just missed Miss Wilson." 
 
 "Miss Wilson! Has she been in St. Ann?" 
 
 "Yes; but she stayed only two or three days. 
 She has gone." 
 
 "Did you see her, Mrs. Dudley?" 
 
CONSTANCE TEESCOT 371 
 
 "Oh, yes; she was looking very pretty and very 
 well. We had a little talk. I hope I may soon 
 be able to congratulate you." 
 
 If she desired to make him speak of Miss Jean- 
 ette, she was mistaken. 
 
 "You may not," he returned abruptly. 
 
 He knew Mrs. Dudley well and disliked her. 
 Something in her face and manner, and what she 
 had mentioned, made him uncomfortable. He said 
 good-by and went on to his office. He unlocked 
 it and went in. His clerk had left a number of 
 letters on his table. None of them were very re 
 assuring. The people from whom he had bought the 
 river-frontage, in his hope of adding the strip Mrs. 
 Trescot had taken from him, were urgent for pay 
 ment of interest upon a mortgage left on the prop 
 erty. There were other claims as pressing: notice 
 of a note gone to protest, two unpaid bills for the 
 schooling of his daughter. He tossed the papers 
 aside, and, turning over his other letters in eager 
 haste, fell upon one in a hand he knew and loved. 
 He tore it open and read: 
 
 "DEAR SIR: 
 
 "After seeing you I spent some of the most mis 
 erable hours a not too happy life has brought me. 
 I was wretched because I felt that you might not 
 have been able to be entirely truthful. I had to 
 learn more than I could expect you to tell. My 
 whole life was at stake. Where I love I must also 
 respect, and I was in an agony of doubt. I could 
 not stand it. I went to St. Ann, and there gathered 
 
372 CONSTANCE TRESCOT 
 
 from various sources all that men knew of that one 
 sad matter of which you talked to me. I heard too 
 much for my own happiness. I thought it all over 
 with such grief as it pains me to remember; and, 
 with every desire to be just, I have prayed to be 
 rightly guided, and now I must tell you that I can 
 never marry you. 
 
 "I shall give no further explanations. The let 
 ter I inclose, hard and cruel as it is, would have 
 been enough. I will never see you again, and this is 
 final. What this decision costs me you can never 
 know. May God guide and guard you! Forgive 
 me the pain this letter will inflict on you. It cannot 
 be greater than what it costs me. 
 11 Yours truly, 
 
 "JEANETTE WILSON. 
 
 "JOHN GREYHURST, Esq." 
 
 He turned with sudden anger to the inclosed let 
 ter from Mrs. Trescot. He read that also. He let 
 it fall and lay back in his chair. As he read, the 
 remembrance of the young man walking toward him, 
 with the smile of what he had taken to be triumph, 
 came back to him. He looked up and saw once more 
 the silvery phantom, for some weeks absent at times 
 or indistinct. It, too, was smiling. He took up 
 Jeanette Wilson s letter and read it and re-read it. 
 When at last he laid it down the paper was wet 
 from his sweating hands. He knew her too well to 
 have the slightest hope. She herself could never 
 have had any conception of the passion with which 
 he loved her, nor could she have fully appreciated 
 what to him would be this ending of his hopes for 
 
CONSTANCE TRESCOT 373 
 
 a life that would atone for the past and satisfy her 
 ideals. And this was that woman s work! He 
 cursed her with oaths too dreadful to repeat. She 
 had brought him to the verge of ruin, had tortured 
 him into impossibility of forgetfulness, and now 
 she had taken away from him the one real love of 
 his unhappy life. 
 
 He rose, seeing the face as before. "My God!" 
 he cried, staring at the phantom, "George Trescot, 
 you ought to thank me!" As he stood up he stag 
 gered with a return of the old vertigo, and seized 
 a chair back until it passed away. It did not now 
 alarm him. He caught up his traveling-cap, and 
 as he passed out left the door open. In the street 
 he was recognized by two or three men. One said, 
 "He has been drinking." He went on his way, 
 turning down West Street toward his house, which, 
 in his absence, had been closed. Walking rapidly, 
 he went past the church at the corner, and crossed 
 to the south side of the street. Kent had just come 
 out of his study and stood still, enjoying the splen 
 dor of scarlet above the setting sun, and the strange 
 colors cast on the yellow waters of the mighty river 
 below. It was unusual, and, becoming more and 
 more intense, was changing from moment to mo 
 ment. 
 
 Kent wondered if Susan Hood were feeling the 
 mysterious awe which for him vast masses of red 
 created. No other color so affected him. He wished 
 her to share with him the solemn beauty of the 
 fading day, and while hastening to find her at her 
 home, he saw Greyhurst in front of him. 
 
 Glad of an early chance to free his mind, he 
 
374 CONSTANCE TRESCOT 
 
 quickened his pace and overtook him. He said, as 
 he joined him: 
 
 "Good evening, Mr. Greyhurst." 
 
 Without turning his head, the man beside him 
 said, "Good evening," and leaving him, abruptly 
 crossed the street. 
 
 Kent was surprised, and said to himself, "He 
 must have heard, but how could he have heard?" 
 
 With increase of interest he saw Greyhurst stop, 
 look over at Mrs. Trescot s, and pass on. Still more 
 amazed, he, too, went by the house and, pausing, 
 observed Greyhurst go up his own steps and, as it 
 seemed, try the door. Apparently finding himself 
 unable to enter, he went around the house, through 
 the garden, and was lost to view. Kent thought 
 it all rather odd ; but, like the man on the main street, 
 concluded that Greyhurst must have been drinking, 
 and turned back to seek. Susan Hood. 
 
 The March day in this warm clime was already 
 rich with the young buds of spring. He picked an 
 opening rose, and, ringing the bell, stood at the 
 door, left open for the cooler air of evening to sweep 
 through the hall. He saw how the vast flood of 
 scarlet to westward was slowly darkening to orange. 
 
 The maid said Miss Susan had just come in and 
 was up-stairs. Mrs. Trescot was in the parlor. He 
 hesitated a moment and then went in. 
 
 Mrs. Trescot was seated at the western window in 
 a listless attitude, her hands in her lap. She turned 
 as he -entered saying, "What a glory of color!" 
 
 "Yes," she said; "but I do not like it. I dislike 
 red. I always did, even when a child." 
 
CONSTANCE TRESCOT 375 
 
 "Well," he said, smiling, "Nature is generously 
 respectful; she is shifting her scenery." 
 
 "And then," she said, "it will be night, and I 
 do not love darkness. I should like to live in endless 
 daylight." 
 
 He thought singular both her moody manner and 
 the feeling she expressed. 
 
 "The Northland would suit you for half the 
 year, but not me. I hope Miss Hood did not miss 
 the sunset." 
 
 "I do not know." 
 
 For a moment there was silence, the woman 
 gazing at the slowly darkening pall above the dy 
 ing day, the man resolute to fulfil a long-held 
 purpose. 
 
 "I do not know whether you can understand the 
 great pleasure you gave me the other day when you 
 said I have some likeness to my cousin. It has been 
 noticed by others, but for you to see it meant much 
 to me. If in all ways I could be like him I should 
 be well satisfied with myself." 
 
 "You are like him," she said, turning toward 
 him. "It pleased me, and I wondered that I had 
 not seen it before. It is in manner more than in 
 face." 
 
 He returned earnestly : "May not that give me the 
 privilege of taking with you a liberty greater than 
 our brief acquaintance justifies?" 
 
 "Oh, yes, if you want to." She would have said 
 no in some form if there had not been something 
 sadly familiar in the grave gentleness of Kent s 
 approach; something which forbade her to deny; 
 
376 CONSTANCE TRESCOT 
 
 him. She was deeply moved as, in the lessening 
 light, she heard him say: 
 
 "I want to speak to you as a man, not as a clergy 
 man. 
 
 Go on, " she returned faintly. 
 
 11 Thank you. You cannot know you cannot 
 have known the pain you have given to Miss Susan 
 and to the many whom you have helped in St. Ann. 
 May I not ask you to think how it will end. I 
 should feel glad, for you and others, that it should 
 end." 
 
 "Yes, it must end. I fear that now it is at an 
 end." 
 
 Her voice lost its languor. She ceased to regard 
 either the sunset or the man, and sat up, a little 
 excited, looking straight in front of her. 
 
 " If , " she continued, * * it had not been at an end, I 
 do not think I should have been willing to listen to 
 you. I have allowed no one to interfere with my 
 actions not even my sister ; but now I do not care. I 
 have made that man suffer. I have taken from him 
 the power to forget. I have ruined him financially, 
 and I believe yes, I am sure that I have taken 
 from him the love of a woman ; and now you ask me 
 how it will end ! If you had talked to me about my 
 soul, and of the sin of punishing a murderer, I 
 should have laughed at you. You did not. You 
 have done what you think a duty. You have talked 
 as George would have done, and so I answer that I 
 know nothing more I can do. If there were any 
 thing I could do to injure or to punish, I should do 
 it eagerly. There is nothing." 
 
CONSTANCE TEESCOT 377 
 
 "And," he said, "are you satisfied?" 
 
 "No, I am not. If I could fill his days with grief 
 like mine, oh, to his latest hour, if I could make 
 his nights, like mine, one long anguish of yearning 
 and unrest, I should be satisfied. 
 
 He touched the thin, white hand which lay on her 
 knee. He made no other reply. The malady was 
 past his helping. She turned and looked at him 
 steadily. A certain tender sweetness in his silent 
 failure to respond, some fresh recognition of re 
 semblance, disturbed her as she said : 
 
 "For good or ill, I suppose it is at an end." 
 
 Then, as he heard a heavy footfall behind him, 
 she was on her feet. John Greyhurst was standing 
 in the doorway. Tall, broad-shouldered, pale, and 
 with eyes deeply congested, he came quickly to the 
 middle of the room and stood still as Mrs. Trescot 
 leaped to her feet and faced him. 
 
 Kent laid a hand on his arm. "This," he said, 
 "is the last house you should dare to enter." 
 
 "What do you want?" said Mrs. Trescot, faintly; 
 and then, in sudden anger, "Out of this, murderer- 
 go!" 
 
 He shook off Kent s arm and said in unnaturally 
 measured tones: 
 
 "No ; this is my hour, not yours. For these many 
 months you have driven me to despair. You have 
 taken from me, at last, all that was left to me 
 a woman s love. I am here to end it to settle my 
 debt." 
 
 As he spoke, and his hand dropped to his pocket, 
 Kent instantly threw himself before him. The 
 
378 CONSTANCE TRESCOT 
 
 woman stood still, glad of the swift coming of 
 death. 
 
 With his left arm Greyhurst threw Kent violently 
 from him across the room, and as the young man 
 fell, stunned for the moment, he covered her with 
 his revolver. She stood motionless. 
 
 " Thank you," she said; "I am glad glad to 
 die!" 
 
 He laughed. "You fool!" he cried, and turning 
 the pistol to his temple, fired. His arm dropped in 
 jerks. For a moment he stood, staring, and then fell 
 as a tree falls, shaking the room with his bulk. 
 
 The woman staggered back, caught behind her 
 with both hands the edge of a table, and stared at 
 the man at her feet dead. 
 
 As the servants ran in and out again, screaming, 
 Kent was on his feet. He knelt beside Greyhurst, 
 and then looked up as Susan ran in and stood still, 
 terrified. 
 
 "Is he dead?" asked Constance. 
 
 "Yes, he is dead." 
 
 "Then he is gone, and I am alive. Will you have 
 it taken away quick, quick out of my house?" 
 
 Kent caught her as she staggered to the door, 
 swaying and crying, "Take him away, take him 
 away, out of this house anywhere!" She pushed 
 Kent aside, passed into the study, and, as Susan 
 followed her, fell on to a lounge. The house filled 
 with a crowd of neighbors. Susan, always most quiet 
 when others lost their heads, shut the door. Kent, 
 having said a word of explanation to those in the 
 parlors, reentered the study. 
 
CONSTANCE TRESCOT 379 
 
 Constance was breathing fast, her eyes wide open. 
 Leaving a. scared maid beside her, Kent led Susan 
 into the hall, and in as few words as possible told 
 her what had happened. 
 
 "And this is the end," she said. "How terrible! 
 My poor Conny! Did he mean to kill her, Regi 
 nald?" 
 
 "I thought so for a moment; I do not know. I 
 struck my head as he threw me, and what followed 
 I did not fully see. I will go for Dr. Eskridge and 
 send for General Averill. Shall you mind my leav 
 ing you alone with her?" 
 
 "Oh, no; I think there is no danger. She seems 
 conscious. I will get her up to bed. Come back 
 soon. 
 
 As he went out he cast his eyes on the sword upon 
 the table, the Bible with its marking glove, the dead 
 flower-petals, the sacredly guarded room. "I won 
 der," he thought, as he hurried up the street, "what 
 this woman would have been had George Trescot 
 lived." 
 
 As he hastened to find the doctor he sought to 
 recall just what had happened. Surely the man 
 meant to kill Constance Trescot and then himself. 
 She most plainly was glad to die. Yes, she had said 
 so; on which he had turned the pistol on himself, 
 saying, "You fool!" What did he mean? Did he 
 not want to kill her because she wished to die? 
 "Ah, poor lady!" he said. "Perhaps George Tres 
 cot was fortunate and my poor Susan!" 
 
[ONTRARY to what the doctor and Su 
 san expected, Constance came out of 
 her dazed state in a few hours. She 
 asked quickly if they had taken it 
 away. When assured as to this, she 
 seemed at ease and put no other questions. Although 
 her mind was clear, she spoke little, and was ap 
 parently indifferent to everything. She asked, how 
 ever, after a few days to be taken to her Beverly 
 home. Kent made all the needed arrangements and 
 went with them. This seemed to excite no surprise 
 in the mind of Constance; she accepted everything 
 in an apathetic way, and when Kent was leaving 
 them at the end of their journey, said good-by list 
 lessly and with no word of thanks. For a month or 
 more she lost flesh and vigor daily, so that Susan 
 thought that she would surely find the relief of 
 death. 
 
 In August she began to recover her strength, but 
 not her looks. She had lived many years in one, 
 and, except for the still lovely eyes, had little left 
 of her former beauty. The framework of her face 
 was on a scale which needed the fullness of health, 
 and this she had lost forever. 
 As she slowly regained her strength she turned 
 380 
 
CONSTANCE TRESCOT 381 
 
 anew to Susan for the only society she cared to have, 
 and by degrees taxed more and more heavily the 
 time and attention of the self-sacrificing sister. She 
 began at last to read, or liked better to be read to ; 
 but never returned to her music, and never spoke of 
 the Averills, or of Kent, nor, indeed, of any one 
 in St. Ann. Neither did she ever mention George 
 Trescot. So long as she had been actively employed 
 in thinking of means of ruining Greyhurst, she had 
 asked of Susan no more attention and care than was 
 easy and pleasant to give. When once her pursuit 
 had ended, and one dominating idea had ceased to 
 occupy her mind, she began to enlarge the boundaries 
 of those despotic claims which the feeble or suffering 
 sometimes make upon the unselfish. It is probable 
 that Constance was not fully aware of this avarice of 
 affection which caused her to accept or grasp and 
 use the service of the sister, and to overesteem the 
 love she herself gave in return. At first Susan 
 looked upon it all as evidence of a revival of Con 
 stance s former affection. She was unwilling to 
 be alone, she desired no occupation, and would not 
 ride or walk far. What she liked best was to sit 
 in silence with Susan reading aloud to her in the 
 garden, or to drive for hours in the carriage. To 
 escape from her company was so difficult that Susan 
 found only those hours her own in which Constance 
 slept. At times she wondered whether or not this 
 jealous absorption of a life would not soon or late 
 have been applied to George Trescot. 
 
 As the warm summer days came and went, Su 
 san was made to feel more and more plainly that she 
 
382 CONSTANCE TKESCOT 
 
 was becoming the slave of exactions which had in 
 them something morbid. To her alarm, she began 
 also to suspect that incessant care of a depressed 
 and too dependent woman might prove to be a 
 dangerous tax on health, and recognized at last with 
 some alarm that she herself was consciously losing 
 vigor. 
 
 When making vain efforts to assert her indepen 
 dence she was met by unlooked-for difficulties. In 
 her uncle s house, as the elder sister, Susan had 
 exerted more or less authority ; but now she had the 
 feeling that Constance was, as indeed she looked, 
 the older sister. By degrees Susan also learned that 
 Constance relied on her misfortunes and her long 
 illness to insure to her an excess of sympathetic af 
 fection and unremitting service. The discoveries 
 thus made troubled the less selfish sister, and her 
 good sense made plain to her that to permit limit 
 less use of this form of devotion was to commit 
 suicide of health and to sacrifice more than herself. 
 There was one escape possible, and of this she knew 
 that at some time she should have to speak, for her 
 health and all that was once hers alone she felt 
 were no longer to be risked without unfairness to one 
 more dear to her than Constance. Over and over, 
 when approaching this subject, her courage failed 
 her. 
 
 When she chanced to mention, even in the most 
 casual way, the man whom she had promised to 
 marry, Constance said at once: "You must know, 
 Susan, you ought to know, that I have no desire 
 to hear of him, or of any one in St. Ann. I think 
 
CONSTANCE TEESCOT 383 
 
 you show small consideration for my feelings/ 
 Although aware that her sister and Kent corre 
 sponded, and that letters came and went daily, she 
 took no more interest in it than she did in whatever 
 was outside of her own immediate and limited life. 
 It was to Susan an almost inconceivable condition, 
 and she was well aware that not only must it come 
 to an end, but that to hear of her decision would be 
 to Constance a painful awakening. 
 
 At last, when, in September, Constance seemed 
 still better, Susan knew that she must speak out, 
 and frankly. Constance furnished the opportunity. 
 They were seated at evening in the garden above a 
 quiet sea. Constance said: "I have been thinking, 
 Susan, about the winter and what would be best for 
 me. The doctor talks about Algiers. How would 
 that do? It is time I made my plans. I do not 
 suppose you care where we go, so long as we are to 
 gether. 
 
 For a moment Susan made no reply; then she 
 said: "Let us put that aside for a moment. I have 
 long wanted to talk to you, Conny, about another 
 matter, but you have never been willing to listen. 
 While you were so weak I felt that you must not 
 be troubled by what I knew you must some day 
 know. I am engaged to Reginald Kent, and we are 
 to be married late in October. You must have 
 known, Conny, that it would be." 
 
 Constance heard her with an appearance of in 
 difference. 
 
 Oh, I saw there was something ; but you cannot 
 really mean to leave me. You are all I have, all 
 
384 CONSTANCE TRESCOT 
 
 I care for. It is simply out of the question. You 
 must see that your duty lies with me." 
 
 "Yes, dear, I see that; and we hope that you will 
 live with us. Reginald is to have a parish near 
 Boston." 
 
 "I will never consent to it. Must I always be 
 sacrificed ? 
 
 "If you mean that you will not consent to my 
 marriage, you have no right to say that; if you 
 mean not to live with us, I shall be sorry. I do 
 not think that you should have spoken as you have 
 done. You have had from me all that I could give, 
 and, dear, you do not know how much you claim, 
 nor do you seem to see that even with my sound 
 health I am not fit to be and do what you expect of 
 me in fact, that it is I who am sacrificed." 
 
 "Then you think I am selfish?" 
 
 "I think, dear, that in your sorrow and weakness 
 you need more than I can give." 
 
 "And you intend to marry that man and leave 
 me?" 
 
 "I mean to marry Reginald Kent." 
 
 "Then I shall find a companion and go abroad," 
 she said; and, rising, went away into the house. 
 
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