overs 
 
Rosalynde Banderet flitted to and fro 
 a bright and lissome figure, sweetly 
 suggestive of heliotrope 
 and violet 
 
IFith Drawings by 
 G. Aldcn Fcirson 
 
 Indianapolis: 
 
 The Bowcn -Merrill Company 
 Publishers 
 
Copyright, 1901, J. B, Lippincott Company. 
 Copyright. 2901, The Bo-Men-Merrill Company. 
 
 PRESS OF 
 
 BRAUNWORTH & CO. 
 
 BOOKBINDERS AND PRINTERS 
 
 BROOKLYN, N. V. 
 
M2938Q3 
 
Rosalynde Banderet flitted to and fro, 
 a bright and lissome figure, sweetly 
 suggestive of heliotrope and violet 
 
 Frontispiece 
 
 Breyten saw a girl half kneeling upon 
 the ground 10 
 
 A large house attracted his attention 
 a stately structure surrounded with 
 wide-armed forest trees 30 
 
 Can I ever learn? Can I finally be an 
 artist 4 
 
 Breyten was not prepared for the ap 
 parition of Miss Banderet in the hall 50 
 
The light shone upon the forlorn stair 
 way leading to Rayle s studio 140 
 
 Through the bars of the iron gate 
 shimmers the greenery of a gar 
 den 162 
 
 "And now what?" said Angelie, gaz 
 ing after her cousin 168 
 
 "I am Angelie/ she said, "and you are 
 Mr. Rayle and have made yourself 
 ridiculous" 194 
 
 "Now," he said, "we will give any in 
 truder a cold stare of repulse 221 
 
 <r No," she said from somewhere deep 
 in his arms 246 
 
Upon a broad highway, straight and 
 smooth, between ample farms, where the 
 cheerful activities of spring sent forth a 
 medley of noises very pleasant to hear, a 
 young man rode his bicycle with leisurely 
 strokes. The small case of alligator leath 
 er on the handle-bar looked a trifle worn, 
 as if it had felt hard usage, the rain, sun, 
 and dust of a long journey. From New 
 York City to the mid-region of Indiana is 
 not, indeed, a short wheel-spin ; moreover, 
 the weather had been show r ery almost the 
 whole of the way, making the roads 
 
heavy. Now, however, a perfect morn 
 ing late in April was hanging a splendid 
 sheen of beauty on sky and landscape. 
 
 Frederick Breyten, the rider, despite his 
 many days of steady exercise, looked 
 fresh and cheerful. He was a man of 
 greater weight than long-distance trav 
 eling awheel usually attracts; yet his 
 limbs showed boyish suppleness, while 
 his slightly curved back rippled with 
 a fine play of muscles. Steering with 
 one hand, the other thrust into the 
 pocket of his short coat, he gazed right 
 and left over the greening fields. There 
 was a ruddy underglow in his cheeks, his 
 curly, short hair shot a glint of gold from 
 under the rim of his cap, and his face had 
 a Norwegian suggestion in its fairness, 
 strengthened somewhat by a peculiar yet 
 not uncomely forward thrust of his rather 
 heavy chin, which bore a rimpled yellow 
 
beard, short, fine, and not very thick, run 
 ning thence up to his ears ; and his mus 
 taches but half veiled his mouth. 
 
 He had come out of Indianapolis by the 
 Hawford Road at sunrise; now the city 
 lay ten miles behind him. There was 
 every temptation to fast riding. Straight 
 away, hard as packed gravel could make 
 it, the road reached, white, smooth, level, 
 without dust, a glimmering, narrowing 
 line to where it pitched gently down from 
 a slight, hazy ridge-top into a wooded val 
 ley. But Breyten, albeit not averse now 
 and again to a wild scorch, lagged while 
 his gray eyes fed upon what the landscape 
 had to offer. 
 
 The morning passed. He looked at 
 his watch; it was a quarter past one. 
 The air had a thrill of heat in it, a 
 premature touch of summer. By the 
 wayside, on the slope of a grassy hill 
 3 
 
near a noisy little brook, a spring trickled 
 forth with a chill suggestion in its crystal 
 current. Here he dismounted and ate his 
 simple luncheon, drawn from a corner of 
 the alligator-skin case, where it had been 
 closely associated with two or three little 
 dog-eared books. The meal ended, he 
 stretched himself on the blue-grass under 
 a greening willow. Five minutes later he 
 was sleeping, with an arm curved above 
 his head. 
 
 About five o clock Breyten resumed his 
 journey towards Hawford, going briskly, 
 with a blue violet between his lips. The 
 air, drawing from the southwest, had sud 
 denly touched his face with a dampness 
 meaning rain not far off; and he saw a 
 bluish-black cloud spreading upward un 
 der the westering sun. 
 
April showers had so often sprinkled 
 Brey ten s back lately that the prospect of 
 another chill dash did not give him uneasi 
 ness, nor was there anything especially 
 threatening in the keen spears of flame 
 shot down now and again from the cloud 
 with rattling thunder. 
 
 When the cloud, now tumbling along 
 with a motion like the undertow of a dan 
 gerous surf, had risen about half way to 
 the zenith, Breyten saw a girl on a bicycle 
 whirl with a short swift curve out of a 
 road tributary to his, a hundred yards 
 5 
 
ahead. She flew straight away from him, 
 a beaming embodiment of haste, some 
 thing birdlike in her motions and in the 
 flashes of color from her clothes suggest 
 ing the wing-movements of a frightened 
 oriole. 
 
 Breyten involuntarily quickened his 
 pace as she began to draw away from him. 
 He found that she was going, indeed, at a 
 racing gait, and against a rising wind, 
 while her fluttering skirts, somehow 
 showing her well-turned ankles and little 
 feet, gave forth a twinkle of yellow and 
 brown. The cap she \vore had a black- 
 and-orange feather-tuft lying flat at the 
 left side with demure, effect; not that 
 Breyten could make out just its form and 
 color, but a sense of these came along 
 with the memory of how softly turned, 
 and how like a berry in its rich under- 
 glow, her cheek had looked when she 
 6. 
 
rounded into the road. He smiled so 
 much that he let fall the blue violet from 
 his lips. 
 
 Jerky whiffs of wind smote harder and 
 faster in the rider s glowing face ; the 
 girl s skirts flickered through puffs of 
 road-dust, and by some indirect ray of ex 
 pression from that exquisitely poised 
 form slipping away before him, Breyten 
 knew that the girl was frightened; he 
 could almost see her shrink when the 
 thunder drummed on the hollow floor of 
 heaven. 
 
 He now bent low over his handle-bar, 
 arching his back high, stretching forth his 
 Antinous neck, and driving the pedals so 
 rapidly that the tires purred, spinning 
 the pebbles to right and left. At this mo 
 ment the puffs all combined into a head 
 wind, a gale almost like a hurricane driv 
 ing the level stream of dust into Brey ten s 
 7 
 
eyes, and then the front wheel hit a 
 boulder as large as his head. It seemed 
 to him that he sailed a long way before he 
 struck the ground ; he had many thoughts 
 while spread out bat-like in the gloomy, 
 raging air, and his flight ended in a 
 shock amid a great spangle of starry 
 coruscations. His bicycle climbed along 
 his back to his shoulders, where it settled 
 stiffly upon him, as if conscious of hav 
 ing the right to caress him. 
 
 The surprise was about all there was in 
 the mishap to disturb Breyten s faun-like 
 equanimity; but he groveled ludicrously 
 in the dust for awhile, uttering certain 
 virile exclamations. 
 
 After ten minutes of toilsome headway 
 Breyten found himself in a little valley 
 through which a stream, half brook, half 
 river, ran crookedly, but in a general di 
 rection at right angles with his road. A 
 8 
 
wooden bridge spanned the water. Here 
 he paused, breathing as much dust as air. 
 A roaring came out of the southwest, as if 
 some great, hoarse throat were gasping 
 strenuously. 
 
 Breyten shrugged his shoulders ; then, 
 lifting his bicycle, he made a dash down 
 the stream s bank and went under the 
 bridge, where he groped around for the 
 most eligible place in which he might 
 shelter himself from the shower of tree- 
 boughs, falling noisily. It was almost 
 pitch dark in the hollow of the crib-work 
 wooden abutment, a stuffy nook, just 
 above the water level, with great oaken 
 sills half sunk in the mud, while overhead 
 the floor of the bridge served as roof. 
 
 Hastily disposing of his bicycle, Brey 
 ten felt with his hands for a spot to sit 
 upon. While he fumbled thus there came 
 a blinding white flash down from heaven 
 9 
 
to earth with a crash, as if all things had 
 been ground instantly together into splin- 
 . ters. 
 
 "Oh-o-o!" wailed a tremulous, sweet 
 voice; and at the same time Breyten s 
 hands clutched something soft and warm. 
 "Let go ! Oh-o-o ! Oh-o-o ! continued the 
 voice. 
 
 By the fierce light, which seemed to 
 linger with a wavering, filmy intensity, 
 like the sun itself, Breyten saw a girl, and 
 recognized her as the one who had fled 
 before him. She was sitting, half kneel 
 ing, upon the ground, her face like a 
 saint s at prayer. Her bicycle lay beside 
 her; so much he saw in a twinkling, and 
 the vision registered itself within him, a 
 luminous and fadeless picture. 
 
 He had withdrawn his hand from her 
 soft shoulder ; but when the darkness fol 
 lowed the flash, doubly black by contrast, 
 10 
 

 Breyten saw a girl half k nee ling 
 upon the ground 
 
and he heard her wail piteously, he felt 
 around, trying to touch her again. 
 
 "Don t be frightened/ he said very 
 gently ; "it is safe here. And don t you be 
 afraid of me. I " 
 
 He was interrupted by another flash of 
 indescribable splendor and a detonation 
 that made the ground oscillate. Some 
 thing forced him to his knees, but he 
 sprang up instantly; for a moment he 
 thought the bolt had hit him on the head, 
 while around him in a quivering clasp he 
 felt the girl s arms. It was a frantic em 
 brace, made strenuous by terror. Certain 
 cries, quite unrestrained yet neither loud 
 nor harsh, and altogether feminine, told 
 how poignant was the agony engendering 
 them. 
 
 Breyten stood still, smiling in the dark, 
 half conscious of a fear that even his 
 breathing might break the charm woven 
 ii 
 
around him. A fine thrill sprang through 
 his limbs and body from those quivering 
 arms. It was but a minute how long 
 and delicious ! then she let go and sprang 
 away, rising lightly to her feet. 
 
 "I I beg pardon!" she stammered, 
 with the intonation of a hermit thrush. 
 "Forgive me." 
 
 Breyten laughed. 
 
 "What for?" he demanded. "You have 
 done no crime that I know of. You 
 haven t picked my pocket." 
 
 Heavy silence ensued, so far as any 
 sounds between them might be reckoned 
 against it, and, in fact, the wind was 
 slacking, the thunder receding. Not a 
 drop of rain had fallen. Incredibly soon 
 there was nothing in the heaven over 
 head but trailing shreds of dark gray, the 
 tatters of that cloud which half an hour 
 
 12 
 
before had looked so heavy and so 
 charged with danger. 
 
 By the sudden access of light Breyten 
 saw the girl too plainly for the good of his 
 eyes; he was dazzled by the beam from 
 her fresh and glowing countenance. 
 
 "I was dreadfully frightened," she 
 said; "I always am when it lightens and 
 thunders so. It is foolish, I know; 
 but" 
 
 "It was enough to scare you," Breyten 
 interrupted, "or any person. It s all over 
 now. It has blown around north of here. 
 Let me take your wheel up to the road for 
 you." 
 
 "No, no, thank you; don t, please." 
 But he seemed not to hear her, and went 
 forth carrying her bicycle up the steep 
 bank to the bridge-top, while she fol 
 lowed. It was done so easily and quickly 
 that the tall, comely girl scarcely under- 
 13 
 
stood how she had been mastered ; but she 
 struggled with her wits what time she 
 was mounting the slope. 
 
 "Now wait till I fetch my wheel," he 
 said. 
 
 She clutched the handle-bar of her bi 
 cycle and suddenly looked up into his 
 face. 
 
 "Oh, if you please won t you look for 
 a little red note-book down there ? I must 
 have left it on the ground where we 
 where I" 
 
 "Yes, yes," said Breyten; "all right, 
 I ll find it." 
 
 With three or four bounds he de 
 scended and passed under the bridge. 
 Something like a fairy tune was humming 
 in his ears ; his eyes were so blurred with 
 a rosy vision that he stumbled over his 
 faithful wheel. He looked about for the 
 little red book, until at last he found it, 
 14 
 
and beside it a dainty handkerchief from 
 which, when he picked it up, a hint of 
 heliotrope reached his nostrils. 
 
 Breyten reascended the bluff in such a 
 state of inward transfigurement that when 
 he again stood on the bridge and looked 
 around he felt as if just coming out of a 
 dream. Had he really seen a lovely 
 young woman, brown-haired, brown- 
 eyed, berry-lipped ? What had become of 
 her? Up the road, down the road he 
 turned his dazed, inquiring eye s ; but not 
 even a ribbon-flutter or the twinkle of a 
 wheel broke the dancing play of sunlight 
 now slanting over from the rapidly clear 
 ing west. 
 
 He looked curiously at the red note 
 book and the white handkerchief, a smile 
 on his mouth somehow betraying his 
 sense of having been outgeneraled. If 
 a stalwart man ever looked like an 
 15 
 
abashed and bewildered boy, it was he, 
 standing there flushed to the ear-tips, stu 
 pidly toying with what was left of the 
 sweetest apparition that his eyes had ever 
 seen. 
 
 It was a month in his imagination, but 
 only a minute or two in fact, that he 
 stood idle; then the impulse came to 
 mount and pursue. She was going 
 towards Hawford when he first saw her ; 
 of course, she would be going in that 
 direction .now. 
 
 16 
 
Breyten entered the town from the east 
 in a broad, clean boulevard, not preten 
 tiously kept, but certainly attractive, on 
 either side overlooked by pleasant homes 
 in the midst of trees, under which a blue- 
 grass sward shone intensely green. The 
 way turned at a considerable angle to join 
 a straight, broad street of the town. 
 
 Quite unlike most little cities of the 
 middle west, Hawford had an air of age 
 and permanence ; not so much in the ma 
 terials of the buildings, mostly wooden, 
 as in the general effect made by solid 
 17 
 
architecture and ample grounds shaded by 
 ancient forest trees. Breyten saw no great 
 stir as of pressing traffic ; people were go 
 ing to and fro, but not with anxiety or 
 eagerness. 
 
 After inquiry he found his way to a 
 pleasant little hotel in the thick of the 
 town, where his luggage was awaiting 
 him, as well as a package of letters. The 
 first thing w r as a bath ; his correspondents 
 could hold their breath until he got into 
 comfortable clothes ; for no particular in 
 terest attached to what the mails brought 
 him. No father, mother, brother, or sis 
 ter came within his memory, nor had he 
 any familiar friends or nagging enemies 
 who knew where he was. The letters 
 were from agents managing his estates 
 in different cities. 
 
 What most occupied his mind, vaguely 
 perhaps, but in its every nook, was the girl 
 18 
 
who had escaped so easily at the bridge. 
 She had fastened herself upon his imagin 
 ation like a butterfly on a flower, swing 
 ing across his inner vision, as if tossed by 
 a fresh wind. 
 
 It would be safe to say that Breyten 
 had been touched by more than one girl s 
 beauty before this. He was a Southerner, 
 with all the warmth of the cavaliers in his 
 blood. 
 
 It was a part of his deepest nature to 
 desire, as the Greek poets expressed it, 
 when loveliness came before him; but he 
 had escaped sensuality by reason of high 
 health and a native honesty. As a roving 
 student he had, as it were, gone up and 
 down in the world with a book in his 
 hand and love in his heart. 
 
 While he was waiting for the dinner 
 he had ordered, Breyten walked back and 
 forth in his room. A bay-window looked 
 19 
 
into the street in front, its open sash let 
 ting enter some clatter of vehicles along 
 with a pleasant country freshness. It 
 was growing dark, yet against the sky 
 pinkish clouds were sliding, thin and wav 
 ering, like fading flames pursuing the 
 sun. The wind had gone into the south 
 east. Breyten took note of these weather- 
 signs, for to-morrow he meant to go out 
 and find his girl. His girl? Of course, 
 his girl. It is the way that youth has of 
 appropriating maidenhood ; what a young 
 man discovers, is it not his? Yea, to keep 
 forever or to toss aside, according to his 
 mind. 
 
 Later in the evening, while rummaging 
 for something in the pockets of his cast- 
 off bicycle coat, he ^ound the book and 
 handkerchief left in his possession by the 
 fair strategist at the bridge. It would 
 have been good to see him treat the bit 
 
 20 
 
of hemstitched linen as if its perfume 
 were a charm, as if it were a white flower- 
 petal from an enchanted garden. He held 
 it near his nostrils to sniff it delicately. 
 Then he opened the little red book. 
 
 You could have seen guilty conscience 
 in his boyish expression of -furtiveness 
 while he read her name on the first 
 page, Rosalynde Banderet, certainly 
 musical, suggesting French ancestry. Vin- 
 cennes was not far away, he remem 
 bered; besides, she had a creole dash 
 of tender duskiness in her eyes. A warm 
 glow pursued his blood around the circle 
 of his veins at the thought of her voice. 
 
 Breyten felt the temptation to read the 
 entries in the book from page to page ; it 
 was like seeing ripe berries in a cool place 
 at high noon; they assaulted a primitive 
 appetite. But he could not trespass 
 farther than to catch up the name involun- 
 21 
 
tarily, Rosalynde Banderet, delicious- 
 ly sweet, as if stolen. 
 
 And that night he dreamed, awake and 
 asleep, the preposterous dreams of youth 
 and poetry, with the book and handker 
 chief under his pillow. 
 
 He did not rise early, as was his habit, 
 but slumbered until nine; waking then to 
 see a great patch of sunshine abetting the 
 glare or stare of the gorgeous carpet on 
 the floor. 
 
 From beneath the pillow, after fum 
 bling a moment, he drew his mementos 
 of yesterday, looking at one, then the 
 other, with rather a sheepish gaze, the 
 smile on his mouth almost degenerating 
 to a grin. Plainly he felt a trifle ashamed 
 of himself for some reason; but the feel 
 ing could not conquer his delight when 
 once more he saw the name, Rosalynde 
 Banderet. And what could he do but 
 
 22 
 
kiss an autograph like that? If idleness 
 is the parent of vice, it is also the sire 
 of many harmless virtues begotten ac 
 cidentally. 
 
;fY 
 
 As Breyten was on the point of mount 
 ing from the concrete curbing in front of 
 the hotel, he was accosted by a short but 
 heavy-set young man, who had followed 
 him out from the office to say : "Pardon 
 me, but that is a remarkably attractive 
 wheel of yours. Whose make is it?" 
 
 The voice had good-fellowship in its 
 tone. Breyten felt, before he looked up, 
 that he should see a comely face; but he 
 was not prepared for what met his eyes. 
 The man was handsome, that could not 
 be questioned; yet the magnetism of his 
 24 
 
countenance, which was instantaneous, 
 really seemed not due to any happy ar 
 rangement of features. It was a ray from 
 within, out of the darkness, one might 
 say, for his face was of a dusky olive, 
 while his eyes, hair, brows, and mustache 
 were nut-brown, with a dark-yellowish 
 gloom hovering about them. 
 
 "Yes, it s a good wheel," said Breyten 
 promptly. "I had it made just to my 
 liking. You see, it has the good points 
 of all the best makes. It is a concession in 
 my behalf by several patentees/ 
 
 "You have come to enter the races at 
 our spring meet, I presume." 
 
 Breyten came near demanding the 
 man s right to indulge so violent a pre 
 sumption. He had never heard of the 
 Haw ford spring meet, and certainly he 
 was not a racing man; but there was 
 something in the face before him which 
 25 
 
forbade rebuke with peremptory direct 
 ness. Besides, the man was lame, short of 
 one leg by three inches, the lack filled out 
 with an enormous boot-sole of cork. 
 
 "No; I don t race," said Breyten; "I m 
 only a tourist looking at the country." 
 
 Thus, by mere accident or is there 
 such a thing as accident? came Alfred 
 Rayle into the ken of Frederick Breyten, 
 and both men knew almost immediately 
 that the meeting meant something in the 
 strange scheme of existence. 
 
 Breyten mounted and passed out of 
 town, gradually increasing his speed as 
 the roadsides flaunted their rural verdure 
 and the country freshness began to stimu 
 late him. Not once did it come into his 
 mind that there might be failure at the 
 end of his ride ; nor was he conscious be 
 fore reaching the bridge that he was do 
 ing a very foolish thing. There, however, 
 26 
 
while the glow of expectation was high 
 est, he suddenly saw things change, as it 
 were from poetry to prose. The whole 
 landscape took on a commonplace coun 
 tenance. He dismounted on the spot 
 where he had last seen Rosalynde Ban- 
 deret. Plucking at his mustache, he 
 gazed around with a decidedly stupid 
 stare, not enthusiastic enough to smile at 
 his own folly or to recall himself from a 
 state of indifference. 
 
 Of course the young lady was nowhere 
 in sight ; why should she be ? Had Brey- 
 ten really expected her? After all, his 
 coming back to the bridge meant nothing 
 more than poetical impulses have always 
 meant. 
 
 After three minutes of blank, listless 
 staring around, he pulled himself to 
 gether and laughed. He propped his bi 
 cycle against the rail of the bridge and 
 27 
 
went below, curious to see the spot upon 
 which Rosalynde Banderet had crouched. 
 It was not a romantic place, rather dirty, 
 cobwebbed in the angles, ill-smelling. 
 With his hands in his >pocl<:ets /he sur 
 veyed the ground, until a -dainty shoe- 
 print caught his eye. 
 
 "Rosalynde Banderet/ he thought 
 aloud, "I ll find you yet." 
 
 Then he laughed at himself and 
 pedaled back into Hawford, disappointed 
 in an indefinite way, yet not defeated. He 
 had plenty of time, and the little town ap 
 peared attractive, viewed as a place in 
 which to spend a month or two ; further 
 more, had not the thought of studying 
 the life, or rather experiencing the life, of 
 the middle west often interested him? 
 You see he was already framing a foun 
 dation for the excuse he needed. 
 
 Instead of returning directly to the 
 28 
 
hotel, Breyten made a swing round the 
 residence part of Hawford, taking a leis 
 urely survey, not so much to observe as 
 to think, and most of all to let his imagin 
 ation settle. 
 
 Breyten may have been in just the 
 frame of spirit to be most favorably im 
 pressed with what he saw ; but any tourist 
 would have been delighted with the clean 
 ness, freshness, and repose of the little 
 city embowered in its manifold greeneries 
 and blown upon by the weather of a day 
 supremely golden, balmy, with bees in 
 many a cherry tree, all white with 
 flowers, a paradise of robins in every 
 close. 
 
 One broad street lying east and west, 
 tree-fringed on either side, had been 
 chosen, as the houses showed, by some of 
 Hawford s most substantial citizens. It 
 was, indeed, a double row of attractive 
 29 
 
homes, which were set well back amid 
 their trees, with shrubbery clumps in pro 
 fusion and broad white walks of concrete 
 leading straight from street-gate to stoop. 
 
 Near the end of the street Breyten 
 found himself opposite a large house 
 which attracted his attention on account 
 of its unlikeness to all the others. Not 
 exactly venerable in appearance, it looked 
 older than it really was; a stately struct 
 ure, plain, weatherbeaten, solid, built of 
 brick and painted drab, it stood on a knoll 
 thickly surrounded with wide-armed 
 forest trees. 
 
 Just as he was passing the drab gate of 
 the old place two persons, a man and a 
 girl, went up the walk towards the house. 
 The man was lame and proceeded slowly, 
 leaning on a knotty cane, while his com 
 panion gently kept pace with him. An 
 absurdly unattractive little dog followed 
 30 
 
a large house attracted his attention- 
 a stately structure surrounded with 
 wide-armed forest trees 
 
at the girl s heels, bearing itself as if 
 conscious of a gazing world. 
 
 Breyten knew instantly that Rosalynde 
 Banderet was once more under his eye. 
 
 He recognized the lame man as the one 
 who spoke to him at the hotel, and there 
 was something in the movement and pro 
 portions of the poor fellow s figure that 
 suggested a satyr or some other half- 
 beautiful, half-monstrous plaything of 
 nature. Nor could there be any doubt, 
 after a single glance, as to the influence 
 Miss Banderet was, perhaps uncon 
 sciously, exerting over him. He was 
 looking at her as a child looks at a star. 
 Breyten knew this by the pose of his 
 head and the slight drooping of his body 
 towards her. A stroke, subtly keen, fell 
 upon Breyten s breast at the same time, 
 sending a pang through his heart a pang 
 mixed of joy and its opposite; for there 
 
was a formless, nebulous pathos in the 
 scene. 
 
 He could not linger gazing, and the 
 thought of making the book and handker 
 chief an excuse for entering that quiet 
 close did not come into his mind; so he 
 rode back to the hotel. After all, he had 
 accomplished something, more, indeed, 
 than he had expected; but why this sor 
 rowful faint shadow, this obscure taint in 
 the sunshine of his dream? A thrush in 
 a garden hedge sang of its love with just 
 the same hint of indefinable sadness. 
 
Rayle was attempting the impossible, 
 trying to learn art without a teacher and 
 with no masterpieces from which to ab 
 sorb a sense of technical correctness. If 
 he had genius, his work did not testify to 
 it. Like the penniless provincial the world 
 over, his regard for wealth being a distor 
 tion, he looked upon success as in some 
 way connected with a happy financial con 
 dition. If he had money, the rest would 
 be easy. But he had no money worth 
 naming, six hundred dollars annually 
 from property left in trust for him by an 
 33 
 
uncle being his only income save the little 
 he earned by coloring photographs and 
 doing a portrait once in a while. 
 
 He took Breyten to his studio in the 
 upper story of a rickety building, part 
 of which was occupied by baled hay and 
 other horse-feed. A livery stable was 
 next door, and across the street "Barney 
 Hart s Saloon" was -squeezed hard -be 
 tween a bakery and a meat-shop. 
 
 Breyten followed Rayle up the stair 
 way, which was outside of the building at 
 the edge of an alley, feeling in advance 
 the pathos of what he was going to see. 
 His sense of humor, however, received a 
 shock when he entered the room, which 
 smelt stuffy and looked grimy. There 
 were two rough easels, a chair and a 
 bench, a three-legged stool, some pic 
 tures, nothing else. On one of the 
 easels a large canvas held a landscape in 
 34- 
 
oil, stiffly drawn and crudely colored, 
 hideously uninteresting, yet in a way true 
 to nature, not unlike a photograph daubed 
 over with greens and browns and blues. 
 Breyten looked around, and a great laugh 
 arose in him which he -had trouble to 
 keep from roaring forth. Then involun 
 tarily he turned short and faced Rayle, 
 who had stepped behind him as they en 
 tered. 
 
 For a minute there was an awkward 
 silence, while Rayle s dark eyes seemed 
 to search Breyten s soul to its farthest 
 limit, and while Breyten made a great 
 effort to keep an equilibrium of counte 
 nance. 
 
 At the point of greatest tension in the 
 silence an enormous rat leaped out from 
 a dark corner of the room and scampered 
 noisily across the floor to a hole near 
 another corner: That was the cue. Brey- 
 35 
 
ten let go his hold upon all the laughter 
 that had accumulated. Rayle fairly re 
 coiled before the explosion ; but he caught 
 himself, and laughed rather perfunctorily 
 in response. He gave Breyten the chair, 
 and took the stool for himself. 
 
 "I I beg your pardon/ he stammered, 
 "for bringing you here. I know it s not 
 interesting to you." 
 
 "Why, yes/ 7 said Breyten briskly; "it 
 is interesting; I m glad I came. It is a 
 quiet, comfortable place. We can have a 
 chat. Forgive my laugh ; the rat was so 
 big and so sudden." 
 
 Sitting upon the tripod, Rayle looked 
 peculiarly crumpled and pathetic, notwith 
 standing his fine head and well-set shoul 
 ders. He glanced uneasily at his land 
 scape, then asked Breyten if he took any 
 interest in painting. 
 
 "Not much," was the answer. "I tried 
 36 
 
it awhile, went to Paris to study, daubed 
 some canvas, and was a great failure. 
 You see I m not a genius, and one must 
 have the gift. Nature first, art next." 
 
 A flush mounted into Rayle s cheeks. 
 "Yes, the natural gift is the main thing, 
 they say." He spoke as if under great 
 restraint. "It seems to me, however, that 
 money plays the big part in the game. 
 How can genius find out what it has never 
 seen or felt or heard?" 
 
 "I don t know how, but it does," said 
 Breyten. "It needs no aid." 
 
 "Well, frankly, I don t believe a word 
 of any such stuff," said Rayle with 
 energy. "Give me money, and I ll do the 
 
 rest." 
 
 "Oh, I don t know about the efficacy of 
 
 money in the matter of art," Breyten 
 
 lightly remarked; "but we all need it, 
 
 doubtless, more than we are willing to 
 
 37 
 
acknowledge. I squandered some trying 
 to do what you think of doing. If I had 
 that money back now I could use it to bet 
 ter purpose; but it s gone, and I ve noth 
 ing to show for it." 
 
 His words were meant to deceive, and 
 they did to a degree ; but Rayle knew that 
 Breyten was freer, happier, and richer 
 than himself, and so what he said did not 
 bring comfort. Besides, his leg was pain 
 ing him, and it was torture, yet a torture 
 that he eagerly sought, to look at Brey- 
 ten s genial face, where health, strength, 
 and activity were combined in every ray 
 of expression. 
 
 "I had a selfish purpose in decoying 
 you up here into this hole/ said Rayle 
 after a few moments of silence, with a 
 smile not altogether dismal. "I want you 
 to tell me if I have any real talent for 
 for this business." He waved his hand 
 
 38 
 
to signify that his remark comprehended 
 what the room was dedicated to. "Some 
 how I had made up my mind, before you 
 spoke of having studied art in Paris, that 
 you knew more than I about it. Now I 
 want you to be frank with me." 
 
 Breyten was speechless. Indeed, what 
 could he say? 
 
 "I ll tell you the whole thing," Rayle 
 went on when Breyten did not speak. 
 "It s just this: I have a small estate, 
 held in trust for me, from which I get fifty 
 dollars a month. My lawyer has just dis 
 covered that I can sell the property, al 
 though it was the donor s intention to 
 prevent it. Now, ii I have real talent I 
 want to know it, and I ll sell out and go 
 away to study. That s the long and short 
 of the matter." 
 
 He fidgeted on the stool and a dark 
 glow rose in his face. This way of blush- 
 39 
 
ing gave him a look of shyness not par 
 ticularly becoming, and made him appear 
 less at ease than he really was. 
 
 Breyten looked at him steadily for a 
 moment. "You are just as I was when I 
 got the painter s bee in my bonnet," he 
 said, with his pleasantest smile and in a 
 voice meant to be very light and careless. 
 "It s like love ; it has a way of humming 
 until it distracts a fellow that bee." He 
 was silent for a moment, then added : 
 "How long have you been at this ? How 
 long have you worked at your art?" 
 
 "It isn t art; you know it isn t, and 
 you needn t hesitate," said Rayle prompt 
 ly and frankly enough. "I know as well 
 as you do that it s ridiculous; but I 
 wanted you to see it just as it is. If you 
 should go to speaking favorably of it I 
 could not respect your taste; but can I 
 ever learn ? If I go to where I can get the 
 40 
 
can I ever learn ?Can I finally 
 be an artist 
 
best help, can I finally be an artist ? That s 
 what I want to know." 
 
 There was absolute earnestness in his 
 voice, and Breyten felt something manly 
 and courageous come along with his 
 words. 
 
 "You don t see much here to back my 
 aspirations, do you? I didn t expect you 
 would." Rayle laughed mechanically. 
 
 "You jump to a conclusion," Breyten 
 replied quickly. "I have not yet had 
 time, to examine or to think." While he 
 was speaking, his eyes fell upon Rayle s 
 drawn leg and clumsy shoe, and a thrill of 
 pity shot through his breast. "But," he 
 added, "I should imagine that your work 
 .here would be in your way when 
 you" 
 
 "Yes," Rayle interrupted almost 
 breathlessly. "I should have to begin 
 over again, I know that. But what do 
 41 
 
you think of the outcome? Am I mis 
 taken in myself ? Is there nothing in me ?" 
 
 "Well, how do I know ? I am no mind- 
 reader." They both laughed, Rayle 
 rather doggedly. Breyten went on : 
 "You might have superb genius and I 
 not see it at a glance. What do you hon 
 estly think of yourself when you lie in 
 bed pondering over this subject?" 
 
 "My self-trust never weakens for a 
 moment, save when I read of those men 
 who have overcome poverty, disease, and 
 every other possible hindrance to genius. 
 I doubt myself then; for somehow I can 
 not break through anything ; I have none 
 of the shiftiness of those fellows, and 
 there has never come to me one of those 
 lifting waves of opportunity to hoist me 
 into the current of success." 
 
 "And if one should come if a wind 
 fall of fortune should give you ample 
 42 
 
means do you feel sure that you would 
 be able to make the most of it?" 
 
 "I could at least settle the question and 
 find out. I could measure myself by a 
 true standard, and I tell you that I be 
 lieve in myself; yet" and his voice fal 
 tered as he looked gloomily around the 
 room "you can see that I ve no 
 reason to." 
 
 Breyten rose as if to go ; but he stood a 
 moment looking into Rayle s eyes and 
 smiling. Then in a tone of present dis 
 missal he said : 
 
 "We ll talk this subject over again 
 when you have discovered that my 
 opinions aren t worth a straw. A vaga 
 bond wheelman is not just the safest ad 
 viser in a serious matter. One thing, 
 however, I ll say emphatically. Don t sell 
 your estate; let the trustee continue to 
 hold it. A six-hundred-dollar income is 
 43 
 
better than no income. What I have is 
 safely invested, and I manage to make 
 both ends meet without disturbing the 
 principal. It s the only safe way." 
 
 Rayle had risen from the stool and was 
 fingering his knotty stick. He looked up 
 at Breyten, who towered above him, and 
 said: 
 
 "You might as well be done with me at 
 once. I shall be a great bore as long as 
 you are at the hotel. You see I m desper 
 ately in earnest and absolutely selfish. 
 How long are you to remain in Haw- 
 ford?" 
 
 Suddenly Breyten recollected some 
 thing that had been obscurely worrying 
 him all the morning, and he answered 
 Rayle s question with a mental reference 
 to it. 
 
 "That depends," he said; "my humor 
 is uncertain. And, by the way, I have a 
 44 
 
pleasant yet difficult little duty to per 
 form before I go away from this happy 
 little town. Do you know a young lady 
 by the name of Rosalynde Banderet?" 
 
 A change came into Rayle s dark face. 
 It was as if a light had flashed through 
 it, with a tender illumination trailing be 
 hind it, like the faint shimmering after 
 a meteor in the dusky evening sky. 
 
 "Yes," he said, "I am acquainted with 
 her." 
 
 "Well, I have some things of hers that 
 I am anxious to return to her. Does she 
 live in the large old house on Wabash 
 Street?" 
 
 "What have you that belongs to her?" 
 Rayle demanded. Then, "I beg pardon," 
 he added, "I have no right to ask. Yes, 
 she lives on Wabash Street." 
 
 The two young men looked straight 
 into each other s eyes. Breyten broke 
 45 
 
away first; he did not like something in 
 Rayle s look. Not that it was disagree 
 able or threatening; what he saw was 
 beautiful. It was because it was beautiful 
 that he did not like it. He walked back 
 to the hotel thinking in words to himself : 
 "The poor fellow loves her." 
 
 "i^^^P^ 
 
 p^PJ s~,y : f \ 
 
Breyten all at once found himself timid, 
 uneasy, foolishly hesitating in front of the 
 house on Wabash Street. That is, he was 
 girl-shy, and actually felt like running 
 away. 
 
 He had dismounted from his bicycle in 
 front of the gate, had even learned it 
 against the fence, and was gazing up the 
 walk with an expression of countenance 
 not significant of any settled purpose. In 
 deed, he looked like a big boy suddenly 
 stricken with embarrassment. He stuffed 
 his hands into the pockets of his bicycling 
 47 
 
coat ; with one of them he fumbled the lit 
 tle red book, while he thought of the 
 handkerchief in his cap, and stood by the 
 gate as if half afraid to open it. 
 
 A distinct sense of relief caused his face 
 to resume somewhat its accustomed ex 
 pression when he saw an elderly gentle 
 man come round an angle of the house 
 and, cane in hand, approach him, stepping 
 down the walk with the stiff, jerky gait of 
 rheumatism. He wore a black frock-coat, 
 a silk hat, and dark-gray trousers, all ex 
 tremely neat, yet unmistakably far from 
 new. The dingy black neckerchief under 
 his old-fashioned collar was three inches 
 wide and tied in a tight little knot. His 
 ample, much-wrinkled, and brilliantly 
 polished shoes looked a trifle too heavy 
 for his long, slender legs, which were pe 
 culiarly sharp at the knees. 
 
 Breyten lifted his cap, and the old man 
 
said : "How do you do, sir?" very prompt 
 ly and with pleasant dignity, repeating, 
 after a slight pause, "How do you do?" 
 
 Breyten opened the gate for him, and, 
 stepping aside, held it so while he passed 
 out upon the sidewalk. 
 
 The old man turned a pair of keen steel- 
 gray eyes upon the young fellow, as if to 
 look him through, then, glancing at the 
 bicycle against the fence, said : "It bids 
 fair to be a warm day." After which he 
 stood, evidently not quite sure of his 
 memory, passing his left hand over his 
 forehead. He could not recollect Brey 
 ten, but took it for granted that he was 
 one of the young men about town who 
 might some day vote for him and he did 
 not like to appear forgetful. 
 
 "You were going in. Was it to see 
 me?" He smiled a fine political smile. 
 
 49 
 
"I will go back to the house with you. 
 Come." 
 
 "No," said Breyten. "I am going in to 
 see Miss Rosalynde " 
 
 "Ah," the old man interrupted with a 
 wave of the hand, "she ll be right glad 
 to see you, Mr. 
 
 "Breyten is my name." 
 
 "Mr. Breyten. Yes. You ll find her 
 in, I think. Go in, Mr. Breyten, go in." 
 The genial stereotyped smile deepened on 
 his face as he bowed and passed on down 
 the street. 
 
 Thereupon Breyten burned the bridge 
 behind him. That is to say, he went in 
 and shut the gate, breathing freer. His 
 heart fluttered blithely while he strode 
 towards the house, hearing the robins and 
 catbirds singing in the trees round about. 
 Up the steepish walk under the intertwin 
 ing branches a queer little dog trotted 
 50 
 
Breyten was not prepared for the 
 apparition of Miss Banderet 
 in the hall 
 
ahead of him. It had come out of a 
 shrubbery clump hard by. A blue ribbon 
 around its neck was tied above in a bow 
 with short streamers. 
 
 Mounting six or seven steps to a broad 
 stoop under a hanging balcony, Breyten 
 pounded vigorously, waking echoes with 
 in, at which the grotesque little dog, now 
 wriggling at his feet, barked as if life de 
 pended upon noise. And when a little 
 later the door was gently opened, in 
 scampered the clever brute and joyously 
 leaped upon Miss Rosalynde Banderet s 
 dainty morning gown. 
 
 Breyten was not prepared for the ap 
 parition of Miss Banderet in the hall. 
 He had expected that a servant would 
 open the door. The dog, however, neu 
 tralized surprise with his mad antics. He 
 jumped as high as his young mistress s 
 waistband, and tried to seize certain fluffy 
 
ornaments above it with his teeth. His 
 paws left dusty tracks on the skirt. 
 Mutual recognition flashed meantime be 
 tween the two young people. Breyten, 
 stooping quickly, took hold of the dog s 
 nape and held it up bodily, whining and 
 kicking for a moment, then tossed it out 
 upon the floor of the stoop and closed the 
 door with a brisk shove. 
 
 "Now then, good-morning, Miss Ban- 
 deret," he said, turning towards her in 
 the twilight of the hall and bowing, cap 
 in hand. 
 
 She looked straight past him. The lit 
 tle dog was scratching at the door and 
 querulously begging to be let in. 
 
 "You have hurt Bobby," she said; "he 
 is crying. Let me open the door." 
 
 Breyten pulled the great brass knob, 
 and in popped the atrocious beast, bounc 
 ing and frisking. 
 
 52 
 
"He seems lively enough," remarked 
 Breyten, just as he tore a considerable 
 rent in Miss Banderet s gown. "Shall I 
 fling him out again?" 
 
 "No," she said, rather pathetically re 
 garding the damage. Then she pounced 
 upon Bobby and took him in her arms, 
 where he delightedly nestled, winking his 
 wicked little eyes and protruding his 
 tongue. 
 
 "I met a gentleman at the gate," he 
 quickly said, "your father, I suppose, and 
 he told me to come in, that you were here ; 
 so I thought I might step in and inquire 
 if you lost anything of value under the 
 bridge the other day during the storm." 
 
 She looked up at him very demurely 
 while he was fumbling in his cap for the 
 handkerchief, which, when he had dis 
 engaged it, he held towards her. The dog 
 snatched it, but she took it from him and 
 53 
 
quickly scrutinized it, then laughed. 
 
 "Thank you," she said ; "but it was not 
 worth the trouble." 
 
 "Perhaps this is more valuable," and 
 he produced the little book, which Bobby 
 promptly snapped at in vain. Breyten 
 held it above his reach. 
 
 "It is kind of you. The book is of ac 
 count to me." She took it almost eagerly. 
 "I am glad to get it." 
 
 "Then why did you run away and leave 
 it in my possession?" 
 
 "An explanation would not be inter 
 esting," she said, as if to close the con 
 versation. "You have been very kind." 
 She took a step away from him ; he felt 
 dismissed. He laid a hand upon the door 
 knob and looked up at the stucco rosette 
 on the ceiling, from which depended a 
 curious old chandelier, then again straight 
 into her beautiful eyes. There was in 
 54 
 
his gaze a frank appeal for more generous 
 treatment, but she only looked down and 
 patted Bobby s villainous head with the 
 little red book just recovered. 
 
 Another luminous thought flared across 
 Breyten s mind. So he laughed and said : 
 
 "This is the first time that I was ever in 
 a house where they didn t offer me a 
 chair. Even when they put me in jail in 
 Russia, thinking me an assassin, they 
 bade me be seated." 
 
 There was something irresistibly pleas 
 ing in his voice. His nature charged it 
 with unmistakable honesty. 
 
 Rosalynde Banderet s .cheeks flushed as 
 she looked up to meet his smiling eyes. 
 He was certainly the handsomest man she 
 had ever seen, and there could be no doubt 
 about his gentility and his worthiness: 
 such a man could not be capable of abus- 
 
 55 
 
ing confidence ; and besides, what possible 
 harm could come of treating him kindly? 
 
 "Forgive me," she said, "I was 
 very thoughtless. I " 
 
 "You shall forgive me, rather," he 
 hastened to break in with, "and I will 
 try to make amends for my foolish bold 
 ness. Of course, I m a stranger ; I have 
 no right to overstep a stranger s limita 
 tions. I was staying here for a few 
 days ; I could not go away without bring 
 ing the book and the handkerchief to you ; 
 but it was impossible to come with letters 
 of introduction or give a bond for my 
 good behavior. It s hard on a fellow to 
 be a stranger among strangers. I feel 
 helpless." 
 
 His tone was light to a degree ; but un 
 der it something like deep regret welled 
 up and thrilled Rosalynde strangely, mak- 
 
ing her feel that in some way she was 
 wronging him. She had never been in the 
 presence of a man who was so much a 
 stranger in a wide sense of the word. 
 He impressed her as one who had come 
 from a very far country where men were 
 greatly different from those of her ac 
 quaintance ; but instead of being romantic 
 on that account, he seemed intensely real, 
 concentratedly modern, and unconven 
 tional. She was not thinking this; her 
 mind lay confused and fluttering, so to 
 say, unable to analyze or understand its 
 condition; but the impression was clear 
 enough afterwards, when Breyten had 
 gone away. 
 
 "Ours has been a short and curious ac 
 quaintance," he said. "I presume that 
 it ends here, and I am sorry for it. Good- 
 by, Miss Banderet." He let go the knob, 
 
 57 
 
shifted his cap into his left hand, and 
 held his right towards her. 
 
 Bobby obligingly took it between his 
 acicular teeth with surprising deftness 
 and vigor. It was bleeding when Breyten 
 snatched it away, his grimace telling- 
 how hard it was not to wring Bobby s 
 neck on the spot. Miss Banderet apolo 
 gized ; she even flung the little dog down 
 and made him hasten about scamper 
 ing out of the hall ; then she offered to ex 
 amine Breyten s hurt, and finally ban 
 daged the bleeding hand, which was but 
 scratched, with the handkerchief that he 
 had returned to her. This accomplished, 
 there seemed to be nothing further to say 
 or do, only Breyten thought that they 
 might make another attempt to say 
 good-by. 
 
 When Breyten rode away from the gate 
 
he saw Rayle coming up the sidewalk 
 towards the house. He was hobbling 
 along painfully, leaning on his knotty 
 stick. 
 
 59 
 
Ctvcvp l e r<._5e ve IN 
 
 Rosalynde Banderet was the orphan of 
 a soldier, who, wounded at Gettysburg, 
 had lingered a cripple for twenty years 
 and died, leaving her, his only child, 
 motherless, to be cared for by her grand 
 father, General Lucien Banderet, a dis 
 tinguished politician. These particulars 
 Breyten learned without much exertion. 
 It furthermore came to him that the 
 General was having some trouble about 
 securing the nomination he desired. It 
 seemed that a younger man, reputed to be 
 very rich, was becoming a dangerous an- 
 6c 
 
tagonist. The General s financial condition 
 forbidding what is called fighting fire with 
 fire, his friends were feeling that unless 
 something better than mere oratory could 
 be offered in his behalf there might soon 
 be a stampede in favor of the man with 
 the money, and the situation was the sub 
 ject of hot street talk, which could not 
 be excluded from the smoking-room of 
 the hotel. 
 
 Breyten opened his ears to all this and 
 more. It interested him peculiarly on ac 
 count of Miss Bancleret s indirect con 
 nection with it. He felt that in some way 
 he had a part to perform in the drama 
 which seemed about to open. 
 
 He sat in a corner of the little smoking- 
 room, and, though not a smoker himself, 
 enjoyed seeing Rayle puff out the fra 
 grance of a dark Havana that he had given 
 him, while three or four political workers 
 61 
 
at a little distance were cautiously yet 
 violently debating the advisability of the 
 party demanding General Banderet s 
 withdrawal from the race. The men were 
 from Indianapolis, and had been sent to 
 Hawford to inquire into the matter. 
 
 "Well, all I ve got to say, I can say 
 right now," blurted one of them. "A man 
 _whp_, can t raise enough. money to make a 
 decent campaign s got no business stick- 
 jng up his head, for a. nomination. There s 
 too much at stake; we can t afford any 
 nonsense. 
 
 "But is it safe to nominate McCarthy?" 
 
 "He s a hustler and won t mind a little 
 expense." 
 
 . "But his record in the labor troubles, 
 every, miner, every railroader, every union 
 rnaji.in;tbe State has him spotted." 
 
 "Well,.I had a long talk with McCarthy 
 night before last, and he says it s all 
 62 
 
right. Besides, you know devilish well 
 that a little decent work will fetch the 
 labor element all straight as a string for 
 any man that we nominate. Of course, 
 General Banderet is the very man we 
 want, personally; but he s in no financial 
 shape. Why, there s a mortgage on 
 everything he s got; even the house he 
 lives in s got six thousand on it." 
 
 "Got no friends back of him?" 
 
 "Oh, he thinks he will have, he says; 
 but when I pinned him down he couldn t 
 mention any names worth ten thousand 
 in bank." 
 
 "All the old soldiers are behind the 
 General ; he can get them every one, Dem 
 ocrat and Republican. If we pull him off 
 they ll all be mad, and the devil ll be to 
 pay." 
 
 "Well, then, we ll have to spring a dark 
 horse; for there s no use talking, we ve 
 63 
 
got to have money. We can t turn a wheel 
 without it." 
 
 These scraps of the mumbled yet earn 
 est conversation, hotly spiced with pro 
 fanity and slang, drifted brokenly into 
 Breyten s ears. It seemed that Rayle, 
 too, heard some of it; for he presently 
 leaned forward and said, speaking low : 
 
 "As I said to you in my studio, it re 
 quires money to do anything, Mr. Brey- 
 ten, no matter what. Did you hear what 
 those men were saying about the conven 
 tion ? They re wire- workers in State poli 
 tics ; they are here bullying General Ban- 
 deret." 
 
 "A disreputable looking lot," said Brey- 
 ten ; "political blackmailers, I should say, 
 scoundrels." 
 
 His voice was not guarded, and one of 
 the men swung himself round in his chair 
 and gave him a keen look, but said not a 
 64 
 
word. A moment later they all left the 
 room. Breyten never saw them again; 
 but their talk had revealed an inter 
 esting fact to him, and he plied Rayle 
 with questions indirectly pertinent to the 
 main issue the condition of General 
 Lucien Banderet s finances. 
 
 "The old gentleman is, in fact, desper 
 ately involved," said Rayle. "I happen to 
 know the particulars ; but he is very pop 
 ular and will be hard to beat before the 
 people, if he can secure the nomination. 
 There lies all the trouble. The practical 
 politicians want some man nominated 
 who will spend money like water. Of 
 course, if the old General is nominated 
 they will all support him, money or no 
 money. What he needs is five or ten 
 thousand dollars to take him through the 
 convention, and it looks as if he will not 
 be able to raise that amount or any other." 
 65 
 
"I see," said Breyten. "It is very in 
 teresting to me. I have never had any 
 thing to do with politics was never be 
 fore so close to actual political trickery. I 
 feel the novelty ; I have had a fine smack 
 of corruption." 
 
 Rayle laughed, not very jocundly, and 
 tried to be light of manner, saying : "Don t 
 be polluted by what you accidentally 
 touch ; I have kept pretty well out of poli 
 tics myself." He paused a moment, and 
 then added, seriously : "But it would be 
 my greatest delight to help General Ban- 
 deret were I able. I w r ould sacrifice a 
 great deal. He is a noble, a grand old 
 man, superbly endowed and absolutely 
 honest." 
 
 "But, if he is honest, how can he use 
 money in politics?" Breyten demanded 
 with unhesitating bluntness. 
 
 <: He couldn t and wouldn t use it cor- 
 66 
 
ruptingly," said Rayle ; lie s above it, and 
 besides, there s no need. What he wants 
 is money to rent half of the best hotel in 
 Indianapolis for a week, and to bear his 
 expenses through the convention : wine 
 and cigars for his friends, a brass band, 
 and a hundred or so clackers. You see a 
 great deal depends upon show and noise. 
 The General understands the business, if 
 he but had capital. He has never been 
 beaten ; but this time it looks as though he 
 might go under. His enemies have set his 
 creditors to nagging him just at the right 
 time to injure him most." 
 
 "And does it worry him?" Breyten 
 inquired, albeit his thoughts were not 
 with the question; he was recollecting 
 how General Banderet looked when he 
 met him at the gate, and how the little dog 
 behaved, and how Miss Banderet s eyes 
 looked. 
 
"Of course it worries him," said Rayle, 
 "but he doesn t show it. He s got no end 
 of nerve. He will fight to the last." 
 
 "I suppose that defeat in the conven 
 tion, then, will precipitate financial ruin." 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "But would election help the matter in 
 the long run ? Would that probably save 
 him?" 
 
 "Certainly. It would give him credit, 
 and, if necessary, aid. If he carried the 
 party through, it could afford to be 
 liberal." 
 
 Breyten was silent for a while. Pres 
 ently, in a casual tone, he inquired : 
 
 "Has the General any family any one 
 dependent upon him for support?" 
 
 "His granddaughter." 
 
 "Miss Rosalynde?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 A steady, hard, searching look passed 
 68 
 
between the two young men. It was as if 
 by a single thrust of the eyes they meant 
 to pierce each other through and be done. 
 After a moment Breyten said: "It s 
 pathetic; it s a shame." 
 
 He did not hear his own words. He 
 was not present ; he was under the bridge 
 on the Hawford Road, with the lightning 
 ablaze all around, and Rosalynde Ban- 
 deret clasping him tremblingly. 
 
 Rayle arose with difficulty, slowly 
 straightening his lame leg, as far as that 
 was possible, and handling his knotty 
 stick. His cigar had gone out, half burnt ; 
 the stump was tightly pinched between his 
 teeth. From head to foot he looked 
 hopeless. Breyten felt a strange thrill of 
 sympathy creep over him, and at the same 
 time something that was very like hatred 
 blended with the feeling when the almost 
 
 69 
 
startling, manly beauty of Rayle s face 
 flashed upon him with a new light. 
 
 They parted for the night without 
 further discussion of the subject in which 
 they had been so easily and so disturb 
 ingly entangled together. Breyten went 
 to his room with a dim sense of being on 
 the brink of some new and questionable 
 experience, in which, as in a bewildered 
 mist, he should have to feel his way 
 blindly. He did not realize, however, as 
 one coolly reading about it must, the al 
 most absurd attitude he was assuming 
 towards Miss Banderet. 
 
 Before Breyten went to sleep he 
 brooded over General Banderet s Condi 
 tion, over Rayle s fascinating face and 
 distorted leg all in connection with a 
 vision of Rosalynde. And his night-cap 
 resolution was that he would quietly 
 
 70 
 
wheel away from Haw ford on the mor 
 row s morning. 
 
 Was this resolution taken because he 
 had fallen in love with Miss Banderet? 
 No, he knew himself well enough to an 
 ticipate what he might do were he to 
 stay and play with fire; and why should 
 not his good sense prevail and draw him 
 forever away from this possibility of en- 
 tangkment ? - - -. -- 
 
Freedom to do just as he wished doubt 
 less operated against Breyten when morn 
 ing came, and he faced his resolve of the 
 night before. He was up early, feeling the 
 intoxication of pure delight in life. From 
 his wide open windows he saw that Haw- 
 ford was responding through all its 
 groves and gardens to an access of golden 
 weather. 
 
 Suddenly he recollected that he had de 
 termined upon wheeling away from Haw- 
 ford, that he ought to be packing his bags 
 and giving orders about ho\v and where 
 72 
 
they were to be sent to intercept him. He 
 grinned indulgently at himself, as it were, 
 feeling that there was about as much like 
 lihood of an earthquake before breakfast 
 as that he should depart without again 
 seeing Miss Rosalynde Banderet. 
 
 Somehow things did not seem as 
 serious as they had when he went to bed. 
 He felt no limitations, no restrictions. If 
 a young woman charmed a young man, 
 by what law was the latter bound to flee 
 like a felon? 
 
 He had just come from bath, glowing 
 throughout his supple frame. He rang 
 and ordered a simple breakfast brought 
 to his room, ate heartily, sipped his 
 coffee in a reverie as brown as the 
 liquid itself, and then wrote two or three 
 letters, one of which comes within the 
 limits of this history. It was to his con- 
 
 73 
 
fidential agent and attorney in New York. 
 Part of it ran thus : 
 
 "You will please send at once fifteen 
 thousand dollars to the First National 
 Bank of Haw ford, Indiana, to be placed 
 to the credit of General Lucien Bander ct. 
 Do this in such a way that said Banderct 
 can never find out whence the money 
 
 came. I am particular on this point 
 
 / also desire you to send to the same bank, 
 with the same secrecy, five thousand dol 
 lars to be credited to Alfred Rayle. You 
 will write a letter to each of the above- 
 named persons, informing him curtly of 
 the fact that a friend who wishes to be 
 unknown has sent the money. To General 
 Lucien Banderct you will say further that 
 a part of the money is to pay the mort 
 gage on his home in Hawford, the rest 
 is to defray the expenses of his campaign 
 for the office of governor. To Alfred 
 74 
 
Rayle say that he is to use the amount 
 sent him in pursuing art-study in Paris. 
 Be careful that nothing in your letter 
 (which is to bear no signature) can pos 
 sibly suggest a clue to the donor. I trust 
 you to attend to this promptly and 
 cleverly/ 
 
 Breyten smiled a self-approving smile 
 and stroked his mustache when this letter 
 had been sealed and addressed; his face 
 showed that he felt the stimulation fol 
 lowing a disinterested act of kindness. 
 
 And now for a ten-mile morning spin ; 
 he must work off his excess of animal 
 energy, and at the same time have the 
 wide country s ample room in which to 
 waste his accumulation of pleasant, nay 
 joyous, fancies. 
 
 A young man with an annual net in 
 come of two hundred thousand dollars is 
 to be congratulated when he finds five 
 75 
 
thousand a year an ample allowance for 
 all his wants. To some men the surplus 
 one hundred and ninety-five thousand 
 would be a most exhilarating matter of 
 contemplation, especially when the capital 
 affording it was mostly in desirable busi 
 ness buildings and government bonds, 
 giving the least possible trouble to their 
 owner. But Breyten had no feeling one 
 way or another about his continually in 
 creasing wealth; it was a part of him, 
 so that, when he used it, the act was, like 
 breathing or eating or, perhaps, yawn 
 ing, a mere response to some actual or 
 fancied need. Economy could not come 
 up for consideration in his mind ; there 
 \vas no room in his nature for its laws to 
 operate, since neither prodigality nor 
 avarice \vas known to him : he frankly 
 spent what he was moved to spend, a 
 very safe rule in his case, owing to his 
 
perfectly simple habits. What he had 
 just done, however, lay outside the per 
 iphery of his ordinary field of action, and 
 the sense of having swung distinctly be 
 yond this limit stirred in him what time 
 he wheeled westward out of town along 
 a shining white road. 
 
 A sudden impulse to scorch for a mile 
 or two sent him off at a reckless gait, 
 dusting the air behind him, grinding the 
 surface-pebbles under the growling tires. 
 He sped like a shot, ricochetting rapidly 
 yet almost imperceptibly along the road 
 way to some distant and invisible target. 
 
 And Breyten was a missile speeding 
 straight to a target. It was fate. His im 
 mense energy was driving him faster and 
 faster, and unerringly. He forgot that 
 he was in a public highway where other 
 people, every person, indeed, in the whole 
 world, had as much right to move as he ; 
 77 
 
forgot that it was unlawful to go tearing 
 madly in the path of the people s pleas 
 ure and traffic ; forgot, in short, where he 
 was, what he was, and what way he was 
 flying, until presently he hit the target. It 
 was at a turn of the road. 
 
 Breyten was going head down, seeing 
 the roadway not farther than twenty feet 
 before him, the intoxication of rapid mo 
 tion adding to his strenuous expenditure 
 of force. His short, curly hair fluttered 
 and gleamed as the air caught it; the 
 muscles on the back of his neck were 
 taut, standing forth, smooth and large, 
 while the motion of his limbs gave to his 
 body a slight rhythmical sway from side 
 to side. It was at last a speed dangerous 
 to the bicycle s machinery; for the man s 
 weight, at such speed, made the impact 
 of tire upon pebble or insignificant bump 
 in the road a stroke of almost incalculable 
 
 78 
 
power. But in the glow of excitement, 
 feeling the scorcher s delicious madness 
 bubbling in his blood, Breyten thought of 
 nothing, save yet a little increment of 
 speed, until at the turn of the road 
 crash ! 
 
 Now, just before the catastrophe, there 
 was a flash of yellow and brown. It was 
 as if an oriole had come darting down the 
 road to meet him, and Breyten knew in 
 that twinkle of tragic time just what it 
 was. 
 
 They rushed together and the end of it 
 was a realistic accident at which the com 
 munity was called upon to grimace and 
 shudder. The man and the maid were 
 found lying insensible side by side in the 
 road amid the tangled shreds of their 
 bicycles. Breyten had a double fracture 
 of the right leg and a concussion which 
 at first bade fair to kill him without a re- 
 79 
 
turn to consciousness. Miss Rosalyncle 
 Banderet had no bones broken, yet she 
 was, the doctors feared, more dangerously 
 hurt than Breyten : possibly there was a 
 spinal lesion. 
 
 It was a nine-day subject of conversa 
 tion in Hawford, a bit of choice news for 
 the daily papers, and then General Ban- 
 deret s household was left with the main 
 burden to bear ; for in the excitement and 
 confusion following the terrible affair 
 Breyten had been taken along with Miss 
 Banderet to the General s home, and 
 there the doctors said he would have to 
 stay, or die in course of removal. Of 
 course, he stayed, and for a long time. As 
 usual, however, the doctors were wrong 
 in their first hasty conclusion, especially 
 as to Miss Banderet s injuries. Barring a 
 great shock and some painful contusions, 
 neither dangerous nor disfiguring, she es- 
 80 
 
caped whole, and was out of bed within 
 a week. The missile was hurt far worse 
 than the target. Breyten lay for two 
 months, his heart-beats mere pendulum- 
 strokes counting the uncertainties of his 
 fluttering, faltering life. The efficient 
 surgeon attending him exhausted his 
 science and art, made the fight for him 
 with consummate watchfulness and pa 
 tience, and, aided by Breyten s perfect 
 physical soundness and vigor, at last 
 gained the victory. 
 
 Rayle was tireless in his solicitude for 
 Breyten s comfort. Somehow he felt ir 
 resistibly drawn to the handsome young 
 giant, and spent the greater part of his 
 waking hours contributing in one way or 
 another to aid the Banderet household in 
 its unflagging care of his wounds. 
 
 General Banderet, after Rosalynde s 
 prompt recovery, brightened up and cast 
 81 
 
from his mind a secret grudge that he had 
 been holding against Breyten for his reck 
 lessness and its consequence. The old 
 man was naturally generous to a fault ; he 
 liked nothing better than doing a liberal 
 act ; and now that his granddaughter, the 
 core of his heart, was out of danger, he 
 turned all his impulsive sympathy upon 
 the unconscious and pathetically emaci 
 ated young stranger who lay so still, so 
 pale, with his massive frame slowly col 
 lapsing day by day. 
 
 Meantime the remittances arrived from 
 the unknown donor, fifteen thousand to 
 the General, five thousand to Alfred 
 Rayle. The notification from the First 
 National Bank of Hawford was the first 
 hint to the lucky men of their strange 
 stroke of fortune ; but neither knew the 
 other s surprising secret. General Band- 
 eret could not credit his vision when he 
 82 
 
opened the note, so he bustled off to the 
 bank in an ill-suppressed mood of mind 
 bordering on utter demoralization, but he 
 managed to appear reasonably indifferent, 
 as if the whole affair were a matter of 
 course. There was no explanation forth 
 coming, and he demanded none. The 
 credit was duly entered in the little yel 
 low bank-book that he always carried in 
 the inside pocket of his long frock-coat; 
 then he cracked some political jokes with 
 the cashier, who was of the other party, 
 and went out laughing. 
 
 As for Rayle, his surprise came like a 
 blow, leaving him numb and dazed. He 
 could not think nor feel on the subject. 
 For a whole day he carried the bank s curt 
 notification in his pocket and did nothing 
 about it. When he began to recover his 
 reasoning powers, the first impression was 
 that some person had attempted a joke 
 
upon him, and he came near tearing up 
 the note; but after sleeping a night over 
 it he was impatient for the bank to open 
 in the morning so that he could test the 
 matter. What if it were true ! 
 
 "You re in luck," said the cashier pleas 
 antly. "Wish somebody d do something 
 like it for me/ 
 
 "Who who was it?" Rayle demanded, 
 his voice almost betraying his deep inner 
 excitement. 
 
 "You know as much about it as we do," 
 said the cashier rather indifferently. "It s 
 from New York, and no name given." 
 He smiled perfunctorily and turned to 
 another customer. 
 
 On his way back to his room Rayle 
 dropped in at the post-office, where he was 
 handed the anonymous letter from Brey- 
 ten s attorney in New York. This added 
 heavily to the weight of mystery. Gen- 
 84 
 
eral Banderet fared the same, but fancied 
 that his windfall came from a political 
 source; he even suspected a very rich 
 friend of his in New York. But Rayle 
 had no clue. To him the whole thing 
 was like a golden dream, out of which he 
 half expected to be startled at the next 
 moment by some realistic sound or touch. 
 
 A day or two passed before he could 
 break his secret to Rosalynde, whose rapid 
 convalescence was already advanced to 
 the stage of sitting, airily robed, on a win 
 dow-seat in the library, and looking out 
 under the trees at the robins hopping 
 gingerly in the short grass. 
 
 Miss Banderet s prompt acceptance of 
 her lover s good luck as quite a reality, 
 to be made the most of without delay, 
 greatly encouraged Rayle, lifted him out 
 of the fog, so to speak, and sent him in the 
 way of clearly viewing the situation. 
 85 
 
They talked it all over and over, as 
 lovers are wont to talk over every 
 new turn in their prospect, and settled and 
 unsettled the plan of action as often as 
 they talked, until it was finally determined 
 that Rayle must at once set out for Paris 
 and rush his studies with all his might, 
 cram two or three years into one, seize 
 upon the rich core of art and tear it out 
 for his own separate use and benefit, then 
 come back ready for work that should 
 amaze the world. It looked so possible, 
 so probable, so certain, so easy to their 
 simple provincial vision, which could not 
 distinguish the humor and the pathos of 
 the picture nor the stiff seriousness lurk 
 ing in its every line. However, Rayle 
 has his money, he has kissed Rosalynde, 
 and with a high heart is off for Paris. 
 
At the time of Alfred Rayle s depart 
 ure for Paris, Breyten was lying helpless 
 in bed, scarcely conscious, with his leg in 
 a plaster cast. The doctors, however, had 
 decided that he would get well, provided 
 no unexpected trouble should set in; for 
 already the man s amazing strength and 
 vitality were doing wonders, and the 
 wounds showed unmistakable signs of bet 
 terment from day to day. The most diffi 
 cult and dangerous part of the surgeon s 
 task was managing the injury at the back 
 
 87 
 
of Breyten s head, the cause of his semi- 
 comatose condition. 
 
 In June Breyten began to bring himself 
 together, slowly comprehending his con 
 dition, taking cognizance of his surround 
 ings detail by detail, what time a phleg 
 matic male nurse shuffled noiselessly in 
 and out of his large, airy room. He was 
 consolingly aware, as by an indirect beam 
 of consciousness, that he had been having 
 glimpses of Rosalynde Banderet flitting 
 to and fro somewhere within the field of 
 vision, a bright and lissome figure gently 
 rustling, sweetly suggestive of heliotrope 
 and violet ; and as he waxed stronger, his 
 mind clearing apace, there came upon him 
 a great desire to have her at his bedside 
 to look at and talk to. Her voice was 
 somewhere near the foreground of his 
 memory, as if it had just died on the air 
 and \vere still sweetly echoing within him. 
 88 
 
He knew that during his half-conscious 
 state she had hovered near, and that with 
 the first dawn of his recovery she had 
 slipped away. It was delicious knowledge, 
 just suited to his mood as he lay on his 
 back contemplating the stucco rosette in 
 the middle of the ceiling. He heard the old 
 clock on the stair-landing pounding off 
 the seconds, and with the tail of an eye 
 saw the flaccid red-haired nurse sitting 
 by a window reading a book. There was 
 a vast comicality in the fellow s expres 
 sion. 
 
 "Well, now, who upon earth are you?" 
 Breyten demanded, after studying the 
 stolid face and stuffy figure for five min 
 utes. His voice was not as weak as one 
 would have expected it to be, yet it lacked 
 the fulness and the resonant power it 
 once had. "You are deaf and dumb, eh?" 
 
 89 
 
he added, when the nurse, taken by sur 
 prise, failed to speak. 
 
 "Yes, sir um, no, sir. What d you 
 say, sir?" 
 
 Breyten tried to laugh, but his facial 
 muscles acted stiffly and appeared to draw 
 his eyes deeper into his head. He was 
 sadly emaciated. 
 
 "Sh-h, sir," continued the nurse, laying 
 aside the book and lifting a hand with 
 deprecatory emphasis. "You re not to 
 talk now; taint good for ye." 
 
 Breyten reflected a moment in some 
 confusion ; then 
 
 "You put on airs. When were you 
 elected governor of me?" he half-humor- 
 ously, half-petulantly inquired. "Hand 
 me something to throw at your head." 
 
 Just then the surgeon entered, moving 
 to the bedside with catlike swiftness, his 
 bland face beaming surprise and interro- 
 90 
 
gation. He looked at Breyten as if he ex 
 pected something tragic; but his face 
 quickly brightened. 
 
 "Ah, good-morning," he said, laying a 
 hand gently upon his patient s wrist. 
 "You feel pretty well, I see. Don t worry 
 yourself to speak. I m your doctor," 
 this in answer to an inquiring look, "and 
 I don t want you to think or speak much 
 for a while. Your pulse is excellent, you 
 are getting on famously. All that you 
 need is rest. You must be patient," 
 Breyten had scowled atrociously at him; 
 "you must not excite yourself ; you " 
 
 "I want some water cold water, a 
 quart to drink," Breyten hoarsely inter 
 rupted. "I ve a beastly thirst." 
 
 Obedient to the doctor s glance, the nurse 
 shuffled out; but before he returned with 
 the water Breyten had fallen away again 
 into a gentle sleep, from which he did not 
 
wake for two hours. He dreamed of Rosa- 
 lynde. He saw her before him, close, and 
 yet far off, as if through miles of shimmer 
 ing mist. He spoke to her, but without 
 voice, quite unable to make her hear; he 
 tried to touch her, but his hand lay power 
 less; at the same time he heard a dove 
 cooing, and felt a light current of air run 
 ning over him with soothing effect, and he 
 knew that the window beside his bed was 
 open. Then the old clock on the stair- 
 landing struck eleven, and he half opened 
 his eyes. 
 
 Rosalynde Banderet was gliding to 
 wards the door that gave into the hall. 
 Half turned from him, her face showed a 
 pretty, clear-cut profile. 
 
 "Don t go away from me ; come back ! 
 come back !" he suddenly called. "I want 
 you." 
 
 She faced him with a quick startled 
 92 
 
movement, and a sweet smile flashed over 
 her face. At the same time she laid her 
 finger on her mouth with a look that com 
 manded silence. The nurse moved around 
 the bed, pretending to straighten the 
 cover, and said, 
 
 "The doctor told you not to talk, sir." 
 
 "And / told you that I ll shy something 
 heavy at your head," Breyten remarked, 
 almost in his natural voice, a ghastly 
 flicker of good-natured impatience in his 
 countenance. "But if you fetch me a 
 drink of cold water we ll call it square." 
 
 Rosalynde had stopped by the door, 
 after a step or two backward, and now she 
 moved aside to let the nurse pass out on 
 his quest in Breyten s behalf; then she 
 again attempted to leave the room, not 
 trusting herself to look towards him. 
 
 "No; you stay, please," he said very 
 
 93 
 
gently. "You won t go away and leave 
 me?" 
 
 "Harper will return in a minute," she 
 replied. 
 
 "Harper ? Who s Harper ?" 
 
 "The man who nurses you who just 
 now went to get you water." 
 
 "That stupid lump! He has red hair, 
 and he s clammy." 
 
 The childish petulance of Breyten s 
 voice affected Miss Banderet strangely; 
 she turned her eyes upon him again to see 
 if his mind might be wandering, but she 
 could not at first be sure. He was fright 
 fully haggard, and his look had a most 
 pathetic appeal in it; moreover, the rav 
 ages of pain had not destroyed the noble 
 beauty of his face; it had but given it an 
 almost unearthly strangeness. Furtively 
 she had watched him during his period 
 of awful danger, with a sense of responsi- 
 94 
 
l)ility for his condition; for she too was 
 riding very fast when the accident hap 
 pened. It was unspeakable relief to her 
 now, seeing in a moment that he was com 
 ing to a more natural expression, and that 
 his eyes gave forth a gentle light when 
 he said : 
 
 "You might be kind to a fellow in such 
 need. Sit on the chair here and what s 
 the matter with me ? My leg 
 
 She moved quickly to his bedside. The 
 nurse came in with the water. 
 
 "What has happened to me?" Breyten 
 inquired after a pause, during which he 
 was weakly fumbling, trying to make out 
 the meaning of the plaster east on his leg. 
 
 "You ve been hurt, sir, and you mustn t 
 talk," said the nurse. 
 
 But he did talk, and finally there was 
 nothing to do short of explaining every 
 thing to him. 
 
 95 
 
In a few days he was eating well and 
 looking much better. Slowly his cheeks 
 filled out and his eyes regained their hap 
 py, steadfast, magnetic light. 
 
 Miss Banderet was kind to him. She 
 chatted with him, saw that the house 
 keeper and servants neglected nothing 
 conducive to his comfort, and, when the 
 doctor at last permitted it, she read to 
 him an hour every day. This hour had 
 its fascination growing upon Breyten rap 
 idly from the first. He looked forward 
 to it with impatience and back at it with 
 tender, reminiscent delight. She had 
 stately little ways, an inscrutable reserve, 
 a glowing country-girl complexion, and 
 an intelligence which was apt to take him 
 unawares. He soon discovered that he 
 had not been mistaken as to her relations 
 with Rayle. Unquestionably they were 
 lovers; almost certainly they were en- 
 
 96 
 
gaged. This was food for uneasy thought 
 while he listened to her sweetly monoto 
 nous reading of "Children of the Abbey" 
 -think of it, "Children of the Abbey" ! 
 which she had come across in the attic. 
 
 One day during the reading a little 
 servant-girl came to the open door with 
 letters from the post-office. Rosalynde 
 pounced eagerly upon her, and, snatching 
 the tray, selected her own mail, then gave 
 Breyten his, and was off to her room, 
 leaving behind her an indescribable, tan 
 talizing impression of flower-like purity 
 quaintly sophisticated with provincial wis 
 dom. He lay for a long time thinking 
 over all that had passed since that day at 
 the bridge, and trying to realize the mean 
 ing of it, for somehow one always feels 
 that there is a meaning in each group 
 of incidents affecting one s life. 
 
 There was, however, a certain drop of 
 97 
 
gall in his cup of reflections. The glimpse 
 of a foreign postage-stamp on one of 
 Rosalynde s letters, and the flush of joy 
 on her cheek when she saw it, told him 
 that the missive was from Rayle. 
 
During the tedious process of what 
 Breyten called "sloughing his shell," 
 which was getting rid of the plaster cast, 
 there was not much that he could do for 
 himself beyond nagging at the nurse, 
 Harper, and counting the seconds be 
 tween times when Rosalynde, a punctual 
 visitor, came in to see him; but when at 
 last the stiff crust was removed from his 
 leg he began forthwith to contemplate get 
 ting out of bed. Here again he surprised 
 the little surgeon, for the fractures were 
 found to be already not only firmly knit, 
 99 
 
but in every way well, so that within less 
 than a week he could use his leg with al 
 most perfect freedom. 
 
 "That/ s your sound constitution, your 
 absolutely pure blood, your vigorous 
 nerve-centers," said the man of science in 
 a warmly appreciative tone. "You ve 
 never abused your fine physique, and in 
 turn it is good to you in your hour of 
 need." 
 
 Breyten decided that he would go back 
 to the hotel, but General Banderet laid his 
 veto upon the proposition. 
 
 "No, sir, you will permit me to be firm," 
 said the fine old man. "I can not let you 
 be hauled away from my house. When 
 ever the doctor says that you can safely 
 walk to the hotel, then you may go, if you 
 must. Meantime, just to please me, you 
 will stay right \vhere you are." 
 
 The nominating convention was close 
 100 
 
at hand, and the General had little leisure. 
 His young opponent showed great re 
 sources and no scruples whatever in using 
 them; he forced the old "war-horse" to 
 such a pitch of speed that there was dan 
 ger of a break. Excitement reached a 
 stage pretty accurately indicated by the 
 newspaper headlines and double-leaded 
 editorials, which somehow made the very 
 types look frantic. Breyten read the 
 blatant literature of the campaign with a 
 growing impression that General Bande- 
 ret was pretty sure to be defeated ; and for 
 the first time in his life he felt a thrill of 
 political partisanship stir his blood. 
 
 "Unless something almost miraculous 
 can be done in your grandfather s favor," 
 he suddenly remarked to Rosalynde one 
 morning, "he s going to be badly defeat 
 ed in the convention." 
 
 She started and gave him a quick look ; 
 101 
 
he saw a faint pallor spread over her 
 cheeks as she said : "Surely not. Why 
 do you think so?" 
 
 "Well, I hardly know. I ve been read 
 ing the pros and cons in the newspapers. 
 Somehow I feel catastrophe in the air." 
 
 He was sorry in a moment for having 
 spoken at all, especially sorry, realizing 
 the brutal frankness of his words; but it 
 was too late to avoid full responsibility, 
 so he went on giving in detail his reasons 
 for fearing that General Banderet was 
 hardly holding his own in the race; but 
 he softened his tone. 
 
 Rosalynde regained her composure in 
 a moment and listened without further 
 show of feeling. In fact, she had been 
 for several days troubled about her grand 
 father s political prospect, and it was more 
 sudden confirmation of her fears than sur 
 prise at Breyten s statement that had 
 1 02 
 
thrown her into momentary confusion. 
 She had heard General Banderet say more 
 than once that defeat would mean his 
 complete and final retirement, which was 
 equivalent to saying : "It will be the end 
 of all my hopes, the crushing of my life s 
 ambition. I shall have no further interest 
 in existence." 
 
 She had a general impression of what 
 a pitiful figure, what a pathetic wreck, is 
 the old and broken-down politician, 
 stranded on the sand, so to speak, and left 
 all alone by his partisan friends, once so 
 numerous, active, and noisy ; but she could 
 not imagine her grandfather descending 
 to that estate ; she dared not think of it 
 would not. 
 
 Yet whatBreyten had said seemed to her 
 
 weighted with authority, because it came 
 
 from him. Somehow he had forced her 
 
 to believe in him at all points, and yet he 
 
 103 
 
had not made any apparent effort to do it, 
 rather the contrary in some particulars; 
 for his whimsical humor and frequent 
 fretfulness on account of his confinement 
 were not especially impressive. 
 
 "I despise politics," she said, "and I 
 can not understand how a man like grand 
 father can be so enthusiastic, so vehement 
 in pursuit of office, when he says himself 
 that there s no pay in it." 
 
 "I imagine that it s not for the salary 
 that he desires election," Breyten replied. 
 "The fascination lies deeper. Ambition 
 is a reckless rider, going at a breakneck 
 gait for the glory of the race and the mad 
 sense of victory when the shouting and 
 applause come on." 
 
 "We gave a practical demonstration of 
 it, I suppose, in our riding the other day," 
 she demurely suggested, "two ambitions 
 
 104 
 
going blindly in opposite directions along 
 the same line." 
 
 "You earned the applause," he said; 
 "but it isn t always that it turns out so 
 well. Mere brute weight usually tri 
 umphs ; at least it is so in politics, and the 
 crowd admires the triumphant scoundrel 
 more than the wrecked gentleman. Force 
 is magnetic." 
 
 "It all seems seems vulgar to me." 
 She hesitated, then added : "But men it 
 is different to them, I suppose." 
 
 "Not to all of them." 
 
 "Not to you?" 
 
 "I have been so much abroad that I 
 have never yet cast a vote, much less en 
 tered into the scramble of politics." 
 
 "Alfred told me" she flushed "Mr. 
 Rayle mentioned your having studied art 
 in Paris." 
 
 "He was wrong; I did not study, I 
 105 
 
played. I have always played. Study is 
 a great bore. When you ve done your 
 utmost and learned something of which 
 you hope to be the one master, you are 
 bumped against by a dozen or so fellows 
 who know it ten times better than you do. 
 What s the use?" 
 
 "If you are a genius, it is different, isn t 
 it?" 
 
 "We don t have geniuses nowadays. If 
 any are born, they die young. They starve 
 early. They can t make a living. The 
 specialists rob them." 
 
 "How do you know?" she demanded, 
 almost too peremptorily. "Why do you 
 say so?" 
 
 "From one end of the world to the 
 other I ve seen them perishing, the poor 
 fellows. In New York, not a cent ; in 
 London, not a penny ; in Paris, not a sou ; 
 in Rome, not a soldo ; but they have stat- 
 106 
 
nes, poems, paintings garrets full of 
 them. They died miserably, and nobody 
 seemed to care a straw." 
 
 She looked at him steadily, intently, 
 while he was speaking. He saw that his 
 words hurt her ; nor was he in doubt why 
 they hurt her. Curiously enough, he felt 
 a stir of pleasure deep within him, he 
 was glad to hurt her in that way. But 
 at the same time a pang of something like 
 remorse cut across his conscience; he 
 ought to have detested himself. 
 
 "But Alfred Mr. Rayle is unfortu 
 nate ; he is crippled, and you advised him 
 She checked herself. "I mean," 
 she went on, "that his case is different; 
 he could not do physical labor." 
 
 Breyten laughed at this absolutely 
 frank disclosure of his real meaning. 
 
 "We won t apply my sweeping state 
 ments to Mr. Rayle," he said. "I don t 
 107 
 
think that he really fancies himself a 
 genius " 
 
 "Yes, he does," she interrupted, "and so 
 do I. He is a genius, and he ll not fail 
 I know he won t." 
 
 "Pluck and dogged persistence are what 
 I hope he has," Breyten said, making an 
 effort to appear impartial. "There s some 
 chance in art, even now, for high sincerity 
 and enormous labor. I found that out 
 while I was playing in a Paris studio. I 
 lacked everything that art demanded of 
 me. I thought I was a genius. Labor 
 did not agree with me, it never does 
 with a man who thinks he s a genius ; 
 therefore I escaped the horrors of an 
 artist s life." 
 
 His lightness of tone scarcely deceived 
 her, yet it gave her a certain relief. He 
 saw her face change. 
 
 "Maybe what you look upon as horrors 
 108 
 
are great delights to others," she ven 
 tured, not very confidently. "You feel 
 about art as I do about politics; but you 
 and I must admit that men have succeeded 
 in both, and that they may again." 
 
 "It s owing to what we take for suc 
 cess," he replied. "I don t call a life 
 long fever, a continuous state of burning 
 discontent, and a death of despair success 
 worth naming. I never knew an artist 
 who wasn t jealous of every other artist, 
 never saw one who wasn t sickly, who 
 wasn t in debt, who wouldn t sacrifice 
 everybody and everything for his am 
 bition. Show me an artist, and I ll show 
 you a thoroughly selfish and unreliable 
 person." 
 
 "You are chaffing," she said. "Be se 
 rious, please." She paused ; although she 
 was smiling, he saw that her heart was 
 shaking the drapery below her throat. "I 
 109 
 
really wish you to be perfectly frank," 
 she presently added, "for I am interested. 
 You can tell me just what I want to 
 know." 
 
 "If I can, I will," he promptly re 
 sponded ; "but I m afraid that I shall not 
 be very comforting if I tell the square 
 truth." 
 
 "Do you think that Mr. Rayle can suc 
 ceed as an artist?" she demanded, with 
 an inimitable blunt sweetness of speech. 
 
 He was wholly unprepared for this in 
 terrogatory, albeit he was not unaware of 
 her impulse and its source. Something 
 in her voice, her look something not be 
 fore felt or seen caught him up breath 
 less, and set him to thinking after the 
 manner of one who is suddenly forced 
 into great peril. It was as if he felt his 
 hold upon something very precious slip 
 ping off by his own carelessness, or rather 
 no 
 
his own weakness of grip. Not that he 
 had been so bold as to think he held her 
 in any way; but he now realized how 
 sweet and withal how heady was the 
 draught of her loveliness, and how pre 
 cious the fine light of her girlish character. 
 What she had done for him during his 
 time of twilight and doubt, while life 
 sank so low in his veins, came to mind 
 with a surge. And he had hurt her, had 
 wilfully stabbed at her pure heart with the 
 subtlest of poison on his assassin knife! 
 He was poet enough to make his figure of 
 thought romantically effective to his own 
 imagination. Moreover, he was honest 
 enough to realize that the situation de 
 manded something of him as liberally un 
 selfish as his words of a moment before 
 had been selfishly mean. 
 
 "I certainly hope Mr. Rayle will suc 
 ceed," he presently said. "Of course, I 
 in 
 
do not know much about him. He im 
 pressed me as a man of fine mind and 
 character, and he s handsome, attractive." 
 
 "But you have no confidence in the out 
 come of his venture; you think he will 
 fail; you may as well say it." 
 
 "And what do you think?" he de 
 manded. 
 
 "I think " She hesitated in her pecu 
 liar way, turning a ring on her finger, her 
 head slightly to one side. "I don t know. 
 He s brave and determined. What is pos 
 sible to do he will accomplish." 
 
 Breyten was thoughtful for some mo 
 ments before he said : 
 
 "You must at least be prepared for fail 
 ure. It s really the most probable thing; 
 but I don t regard it as calamity. He 
 can come back and go at something else. 
 Art is not the whole of life." 
 
 "I think that, too," she said, "but he 
 112 
 
doesn t. To him it is different. It s his 
 lameness, I believe, that makes him so 
 terribly in earnest. I did not want him to 
 
 go." 
 
 "You are going to marry Mr. Rayle?" 
 Breyten was not sure that such a question 
 was in the least proper. His training and 
 experience had not been of a sort to lead 
 him into the refinements of conventional 
 politeness, but he felt a sudden desire to 
 reach a perfect understanding with her, 
 to have from her own lips confirmation 
 of what he already felt could not be 
 doubted. And yet the mere thought sent 
 a chill through his heart. 
 
 "Yes," she answered promptly, as if al 
 most eager to acknowledge it ; "we are to 
 be married when he comes back from 
 Paris. It is no secret; our engagement 
 has been announced. This is why I want 
 ed you to tell me just what you thought 
 
of his chance to win what he went for." 
 
 "He will win, he must win," Breyten 
 said, in a tone that was very sympathetic 
 and encouraging. "In such a case I 
 should win or tear up the whole French 
 metropolis," he added after a pause. 
 "When I was there I had no incentive 
 such as such as you have given him." 
 
 There came a splendid light into her 
 eyes, while her cheeks paled a trifle, and 
 the fluttering of the drapery below her 
 throat was renewed. Her lips were 
 slightly parted, but she was scarcely smil 
 ing. 
 
 "I hope that he is entirely worthy of 
 you/ Breyten continued, his voice almost 
 failing him. "Were I but in his place 
 " He caught himself and broke off the 
 sentence. "If he is worthy of his fortune, 
 he will mould fate to his liking." 
 
 The girl s brown eyes read his heart 
 114 
 
while he was speaking in this half-evasive 
 way, and she felt a strange pang in her 
 own breast ; but there was nothing for her 
 to say to him, nothing to do but remark 
 that her time was up, that she must go and 
 attend to other duties. 
 
 "My time is up, too," he said with a 
 shadowy smile. "I also must go. You 
 have been so good to me. It s choking 
 me to say farewell." He rose and held 
 out his hand. "What a very angel of 
 kindness and comfort you have been to 
 me ! Good-by." 
 
 "But no, you are not going now?" she 
 said, making a move to take his hand, but 
 arresting it at the start. "You you are 
 not well enough." Her voice faltered in 
 her throat. 
 
 "The doctor says I am. And besides, 
 it s time: you know it is. Good-by." He 
 spoke huskily.- 
 
She offered her hand now, and he was 
 sensible enough to take no liberty of 
 pressure or detention. It was, indeed, a 
 curiously abrupt leave-taking. General 
 Banderet was out. 
 
 "I will see him down town, soon, and 
 give him my gratitude and adieux," said 
 Breyten, trying to be airily cheerful. And 
 so he went, not trusting himself to look 
 back until the street-gate clinked be 
 hind him. His heart was pounding at 
 his throat, a sensation he had never before 
 felt, and while he stood for a long minute 
 gazing at the stately old house, he realized 
 how powerless he was to resist something 
 that had laid hold of him. Moreover, he 
 knew just what it was. 
 
 "I love her! I love her!" he panted 
 
 forth, all unconscious of the stage-face he 
 
 was making, or of the almost ludicrous 
 
 melodramatic attitude he assumed as he 
 
 116 
 
clutched the top of the gate and appeared 
 on the point of rending it. 
 
 Then he let go his hold on the gate and 
 turned towards the hotel, shaking off the 
 mood with a smile of returning self-con 
 fidence. He walked without limping, 
 scarcely showing a sign of his recent in 
 juries. 
 
 117 
 
As soon as Breyten was gone, Rosa- 
 Ivnde began to realize that his presence 
 in the house had meant a great deal to her. 
 A lonesome silence seemed to have filled 
 the halls and chambers when she turned 
 from an upper window, whence, through 
 a rift in the foliage, she had seen him walk 
 away, tall and straight, along the tree- 
 shaded pavement. He disappeared after 
 a pace or two, leaving in her brain an im 
 pression not easily cast out. 
 
 A few minutes later, when the morning 
 mail was handed in, there were two let- 
 118 
 
ters from Rayle and his photograph, the 
 latter a tiny, unmounted portrait striking 
 ly lifelike and handsome. Rosalynde 
 turned to these with frank delight; but 
 somehow Paris seemed infinitely distant, 
 as if borne suddenly away to the dimmest 
 of horizons, and the half-smiling face of 
 her lover gave forth no influence save 
 that of remoteness and complete separa 
 tion. The clear, dark eyes looked at her 
 without interest or speculation ; their gaze 
 was a steadfast, luminous indifference. 
 
 She read the letters, however, to better 
 effect, for Rayle s style of writing con 
 veyed an immediate impression of reality, 
 and she quickly warmed to his enthusi 
 astic descriptions of his new experiences 
 and surroundings: He had not yet be 
 gun his studies, but was going up and 
 down Paris, feasting his provincial eyes 
 
upon the fascinating urban wonders open 
 ing at every turn. 
 
 One thing in the letter of latest date 
 struck Rosalynde with the force of a reve 
 lation. It referred to the money which 
 had been so mysteriously sent to Rayle. 
 
 "I have been thinking it over," he 
 wrote, "and I now feel tolerably certain 
 that our friend Breyten is the person who 
 furnished the money. I do not know that 
 he is rich, but he must be, and I remember 
 things that he said to me, things not par 
 ticularly significant at the time, yet almost 
 conclusive to my mind when I consider 
 them in perspective and with the light of 
 all the circumstances to help me. Of 
 course, I may be quite off in my conclu 
 sion, so it will be best not to speak of it. 
 Whoever it was who sent the money, the 
 amount is but a loan ; I am going to pay it 
 back with interest. What a chance it has 
 120 
 
given me ! I feel the inspiration of it in 
 every drop of my blood." 
 
 The suggestion of the paragraph cor 
 responded in some way with Rosalynde s 
 mood, and it added greatly to her ro 
 mantic impression of Breyten s personal 
 ity. She immediately suspected that her 
 grandfather s money had come from the 
 same source that had supplied Rayle. It 
 was like a fairy story; it burst upon her 
 imagination with strange splendor; and 
 at the same time it seemed to confirm and 
 perfect certain hitherto inchoate sus 
 picions which she had been unable to 
 grasp fully or fairly examine. 
 
 Rayle had talked to her so much about 
 the power of money, had pictured to her 
 the almost omnipotent influence of riches 
 with such reckless eloquence, that the bare 
 possibility of Breyten s turning out to be 
 a millionaire in the disguise of a careless 
 
 121 
 
tourist awheel had a dazzling yet some 
 what depressing effect upon her mind. 
 She sat by a window and looked forth, 
 without seeing the trees in the old garden 
 or the robins on the grass. Curiously 
 enough, her lover had passed out of her 
 mind; his letters and photograph lay un 
 noticed in her lap. 
 
 122 
 
General Banderet was beaten. 
 
 At the last moment his young com 
 petitor for the nomination shook a po 
 litical trump card out of his sleeve with ir 
 resistible effect ; the Banderet forces were 
 surprised to such a degree that, within the 
 time at command, they could not rear 
 range themselves to meet the new issue, 
 and all was lost. 
 
 At about three in the afternoon the first 
 
 news of the catastrophe reached Hawford 
 
 by wire from Indianapolis. Breyten had 
 
 arranged to have an early message, but a 
 
 123 
 
clique of local politicians were ahead of 
 him, and the rumor passed along the 
 street before his first dispatch arrived. He 
 heard men telling one another ; some were 
 swearing viciously and some were rejoic 
 ing. His first thought was of Rosalynde, 
 whom he had not seen since leaving the 
 Banderet home. 
 
 Just before he went to Indianapolis to 
 open what he spoke of as his "headquar 
 ters" at a hotel, General Banderet had 
 called upon Breyten, and what he said 
 took the young man somewhat by sur 
 prise. The General was nothing if not 
 warm in his manner, and he professed 
 great embarrassment. 
 
 "I could not get up the courage to men 
 tion it while you were at my house," he 
 said; "and then, as you know, I was at 
 home very little during your convales 
 cence. This devilish campaign took all 
 124 
 
of my time. But I feel in honor bound 
 to tell you that when the doctors thought 
 you were going to die, I looked into your 
 papers, and so discovered who you are." 
 He hesitated a moment, as if expecting 
 Breyten to speak, then added : "But I ve 
 kept your secret from everybody. Not a 
 soul but myself knows it. I hope, sir, 
 that you ll not think I did wrong." 
 
 "You did exactly right, General," said 
 Breyten, as soon as he could pull himself 
 together. "I am glad that you were so 
 thoughtful, and I can never repay your 
 disinterested and noble kindness. I have 
 been trying to see you ever since I came 
 away from your house; I wanted to tell 
 you" 
 
 "My dear sir, no it was nothing, less 
 than nothing. My granddaughter s care 
 lessness in running against you was the 
 cause of it all, and the very least that I 
 
could do was the most that I could do, 
 which was poor enough." 
 
 "Miss Banderet did not run against 
 me," Breyten replied with emphasis. "I 
 dashed right over her, and, besides, I was 
 on the wrong side of the road, scorching 
 like a blind idiot. She was not in the 
 least to blame ; she couldn t have got out 
 of my way to save her life." 
 
 "You are generous, and I won t argue 
 the point," the General said suavely; "I 
 only say what she reported. Rosalynde 
 my granddaughter said that you were 
 not in the least to blame. She said that 
 she was riding as fast as she could go and 
 paying no earthly attention to what or 
 who might be coming. But let that go. 
 I m so glad that you re both out of it so 
 well that I don t care whose fault it was." 
 
 "Well, I do care," Breyten insisted. "It 
 is an abominable injustice to lay the 
 126 
 
slightest blame upon Miss Banderet, and 
 it sha n t be done." 
 
 The old man smiled in his most bland 
 and gracious way, the smile had always 
 been his chief political attraction, and long 
 practice had arranged the wrinkles in his 
 face ready to produce it with the least 
 possible effort on his part. 
 
 "I had but a moment before going to 
 my train/ the General said, rising and 
 lifting his great smile with him, "and I 
 ran in to say just a word or two." He 
 extended his hand as Breyten rose also. 
 "I must hurry away. Only four days un 
 til the convention sits; and I have hot, 
 hard work before me. I dread it." 
 
 "I heartily wish you success," said 
 Breyten. "Is there anything that I can 
 possibly do to aid you? If so, command 
 me, General; I am yours for all I am 
 worth." 
 
 127 
 
The young man s transparent sincerity 
 was so different from what General Band- 
 eret s experience with political friends had 
 kept before him that it sent something 
 like a waft of refreshment through him. 
 His smile changed, his eyes softened. He 
 said : "Thank you, sir, thank you. No, 
 it s with the party leaders now, and I 
 think I m all right. From this on the 
 struggle will be along the line of secret 
 combinations with the candidates for 
 the other offices. But I must be off. See 
 you again when I come back." 
 
 On his way to the railway station Gen 
 eral Banderet stepped into the bank to get 
 some money, and was informed that an 
 other credit of ten thousand dollars had 
 been surreptitiously added to his account. 
 He drew a small amount and went his 
 \vay in a fever of delight, for now he felt 
 sure that the money came from the cof- 
 128 
 
fers of an enormously rich presidential 
 candidate, who in his own interest wanted 
 him nominated; and if this were so, it 
 would follow that the deus ex machina, 
 which, according to political custom, had 
 to be let down in the convention s midst 
 to control things at the last moment, must 
 be favorable to the Banderet cause. 
 
 Breyten was not surprised when the ru 
 mor of General Banderet s defeat reached 
 him ; he had expected it ; yet he could not 
 guard against a stroke of unreasonable 
 disappointment, and it irritated him to 
 hear the hotel loungers making their 
 brutal comments. Somehow Rosalynde 
 seemed to him so closely connected with 
 her grandfather s fate that it was as if 
 her name and fame were being bandied 
 by the political rabble. 
 
 What would be the effect upon her? 
 His first impulse was to go forthwith to 
 129 
 
her with a goodly burden of cheer to lavish 
 upon her. Certainly a bright and light- 
 hearted girl of her character would not 
 take a matter of this sort too seriously; 
 and would it not be a proper thing for 
 him to help her turn the optimistic side 
 of the incident firmly outward ? 
 
 Then suddenly his heart sank as he 
 thought of Rayle standing in his way 
 and forbidding every gentle and tender 
 act. The girl s accepted lover had the 
 exclusive right to what he, Breyten, was 
 turning over in his mind as a ravishing 
 anticipation. 
 
 He sat there scarcely aware of the gab 
 bling crowd of excited and beery politi 
 cians; their comments no longer irritated 
 him; he was wrestling with himself. 
 
 It is not in the nature of a bold-hearted 
 young man to doubt his ability to win the 
 girl he loves over all comers. Breyten felt 
 130 
 
sure he could make Rosalynde love him 
 to the utter destruction of every claim 
 that Rayle had upon her. He even 
 fancied that already he had stirred her 
 heart. But could he honorably go a sin 
 gle step farther? Was not complete and 
 unconditional abandonment of the field 
 the imperious demand of duty? Duty! 
 that is a cup of wormwood offered instead 
 of the wine for which our whole being 
 thirsts. He made a wry face at the 
 thought. And then there was a fresh stir, 
 with broken ejaculations and a quick 
 grouping of the men around the desk, 
 where messages were being received. 
 
 "Dead! General Banderet? How s 
 that?" 
 
 "Dropped dead on the platform in the 
 convention hall." 
 
 "The devil you say!" 
 
Breyten was listening with suspended 
 breath. 
 
 "How d it happen?" 
 
 "Read that despatch." 
 
 Men tiptoed to look over one another s 
 shoulders, while some person in the center 
 of the compact group read aloud : 
 
 "INDIANAPOLIS, 3:12 p. M. General 
 Lucien Banderet fell in an apoplectic fit 
 while attempting to move the unanimous 
 endorsement of the nominee. He died 
 before medical aid could avail. Great 
 confusion and excitement." 
 
 "Pore old man, he was hit hard," said 
 a benevolent-looking fellow who wore the 
 opposition badge. "He ortn t to a-run ; he 
 was too old." 
 
 Breyten let fall his paper and sprang to 
 his feet. In the intensity of his feeling it 
 was as if he saw the blow of the terrible 
 news fall upon Rosalynde. 
 132 
 
With a blur of conflicting emotions in 
 his mind, he made some hurried inquiries 
 of the men nearest to him, and then 
 sought the quiet of his room to be alone 
 while he considered what he must do. He 
 could not escape from the shadowy half- 
 impression that in some way he had been 
 instrumental in developing the tragedy 
 which must cast upon a young and inex 
 perienced girl a terrible shock and per 
 haps change her whole life. 
 
 In the course of a few moments he re 
 ceived a telegraphic message confirming 
 what had already been made public, with 
 the additional statement that the General s 
 body would be taken at once to Hawford. 
 
 Breyten could not think; the whole 
 tragedy, grim and dark, was refractory 
 when he tried to consider it. One thing, 
 however, was clear to him; it would be 
 unbearable to see Rosalynde and not be 
 133 
 
able to try to comfort her; and besides, 
 what right had he to go to her in her afflic 
 tion? He walked to and fro with his 
 hands clasped behind him. What was he 
 to do ? He could not retreat, he could not 
 go forward. 
 
 In fact, he did nothing. He even for 
 got his dinner and went to bed late to toss 
 from side to side and argue with himself. 
 Next day he avoided the hotel lobby and 
 did not go out to take the walk which 
 since his recovery had been a daily com 
 fort and source of reinvigoration. What 
 was going on in his mind made him feel 
 the need of absolute isolation and, so to 
 speak, insulation. 
 
 In spite of himself, a sense of guilt hov 
 ered close to every thought, and from this, 
 had he been older, he might have foretold 
 the outcome of his moral ferment. But he 
 
was young, and youth is as obtuse and un 
 certain as it is agile and flexible. 
 
 Over and over he said : "It is a question 
 of privilege." And then he leaped up, 
 shaking his head like a young lion. "Love 
 is free. He wins who can !" he cried. His 
 own voice made him recoil. 
 
 135 
 
After the funeral of Rosalynde s 
 grandfather it was announced in the 
 newspapers that Dr. Roger Banderet, 
 with his wife and daughter, had ar 
 rived from New Orleans and would 
 spend some time at the home of his broth 
 er, the late General Lucien Banderet. The 
 public was further informed that, by the 
 General s will, Miss Rosalynde was made 
 the sole successor to her grandfather s es 
 tate, and that as soon as the proper for 
 malities of a legal settlement were over 
 
she would go with her relatives to live in 
 New Orleans. 
 
 Breyten read this, and felt a sudden 
 fear that should he delay longer Rosa- 
 lynde might be gone away before he could 
 see her, even to say good-by. But could 
 he trust himself to say good-by? Could 
 he say it ? 
 
 The next day he was called to Indian 
 apolis upon business which to most men 
 would have proved very exciting. His 
 lawyer had hastened from New York with 
 papers for him to sign in connection with 
 an estate suddenly falling to him from an 
 eccentric bachelor uncle just dead. 
 
 But additional millions really meant 
 little to him, nor did his uncle s death 
 disturb him, for he had never seen 
 that somewhat disreputable and very mis 
 erly kinsman, nor had he heard the least 
 good of him from any source whatever. 
 
He did not at once try to realize what the 
 doubling of his income stood for in the 
 way of personal influence and material 
 power, and his acceptance of the estate 
 was perfunctory to the last degree. 
 
 From Indianapolis he had to go to Chi 
 cago, then to Milwaukee and Minneapolis, 
 where tedious processes of court transfers 
 of large real estate interests occupied him 
 for several weeks: At times he felt that 
 the play was not w T orth the candle. Why 
 should he waste all this precious time obey 
 ing the beck and call of that sordid god, 
 Business? It were better to lose all the 
 old miser s grimy treasure than to miss 
 one accent of 
 
 But here he always broke off, for there 
 was something in him that recoiled. 
 
 Matters dragged ; the careful and plod 
 ding lawyer insisted upon patience and 
 orderly attention to every detail as it came 
 138 
 
up for consideration; and so September 
 was hanging a new moon in her dusky 
 evening s sky when Breyten once more 
 reached Hawford. By this time he had 
 settled the question as to what he would 
 do, and he meant to do it. Rosalynde and 
 Alfred Rayle were lovers and engaged to 
 be married. To interfere, or try to inter 
 fere, would be wrong. His duty was 
 clear. He would be a man, in short, and 
 face the inevitable with a firm counte 
 nance. All he had to do was very simple ; 
 he would call upon Miss Banderet, he 
 sternly thought of her now as Miss Ban 
 deret, say good-by, and be off about his 
 pleasure. He was in such haste to carry 
 out this simple plan of action that when 
 he reached the hotel he could scarcely be 
 reasonable and wait until eight o clock, 
 which somehow he had learned was the 
 hour for evening calls in Hawford. 
 139 
 
A pile of letters, accumulated during 
 his long absence from the hotel, lay on his 
 table, but he did not open them, or even 
 look them over. They could wait a few 
 hours longer; in the morning would be 
 time enough. 
 
 The streets were empty when he went 
 out; everybody had gone to the opera 
 house to listen to a speech by the candi 
 date for governor. In passing an alley 
 Breyten looked up the forlorn stairway 
 leading to Rayle s studio. The electric 
 light from the saloon opposite shone upon 
 the grimy ladder. It was not a pleasant 
 moment in which to recall Rayle s posi 
 tion as master of fate, and unconsciously 
 Breyten hastened his steps. When he 
 reached the Banderet homestead there was 
 no gleam in the windows. He stood on 
 the threshold in the dark for a while, hear- 
 
 140 
 
the light shone upon the forlorn 
 stairway leading to 
 Rayle^s studio 
 
ing only a screech-owl and a gentle sough 
 ing in the trees. 
 
 He listened, and a queer sense of isola 
 tion and defeat came upon him; then he 
 banged the heavy knocker until growling 
 echoes and clanking responses seemed to 
 return from every room within. The 
 house was untenanted, as the very atmos 
 phere declared, and Breyten felt as empty 
 as if life itself had gone from him on a 
 visit. He crammed his hands deep into 
 his pockets and stood scowling at the sur 
 rounding gloom. There was nothing to 
 do but go back to the hotel and wait un 
 til he could find out whither the Banderets 
 had flown: Then he reflected that it cer 
 tainly was none of his business to be hunt 
 ing on the track of people who cared noth 
 ing for him. So he strode straightway to 
 his rooms with his head high, doughtily 
 smiling to think how strong he was. 
 141 
 
Among the letters on his table lay one 
 from Rayle. He knew it as soon as he 
 spied it, although he never before had 
 seen the man s chirography. It may have 
 been the Paris postmark that conveyed 
 the impression, or it may have been in 
 tuitive grasp of probabilities ; at all events, 
 he tore open the envelope and unfolded 
 the letter with no kindly feeling for the 
 writer, not anticipating anything worth 
 reading, and yet greedily scanning the 
 lines. Somehow the man s name was a 
 burden to Breyten now, the memory of 
 him a shadow in his mind. As for the 
 letter, it surprised him. He read it tw r ice : 
 
 "DEAR MR. BREYTEN : When you re 
 ceive this letter I shall be in the hands of 
 a surgeon specialist who is to make my leg 
 straight. He s a great doctor; maybe 
 you ve heard of him, Dr. Jules de Mont- 
 
 142 
 
ravin. He says that I am to be a perfect 
 physical man in a fezv weeks. He guar 
 antees it. Yon know what this means to 
 me, and to Rosalynde. It means more than 
 art or fame or fortune. I am not letting 
 Rosalynde knozv that I am doing this. 
 She would worry and imagine dire re 
 sults; and, besides, I want to come home 
 and surprise her. 
 
 "Noiv I ve got to tell yon more, which 
 you will keep sacredly secret. I have 
 abandoned art. . / can t see how I 
 ever began zvith it. The masters here 
 showed me quickly that I ve not the least 
 call to painting, not even sign painting. 
 This has made me willing to undergo the 
 terrible ordeal of the hospital If I come 
 out all right I ll go at the law or medicine 
 or ministry or real estate or anything. If 
 I die, it s all over. 
 
 "To be blunt and honest with. you, I 
 143 
 
must tell you that I think you arc the one 
 who gave me my chance in life. If I 
 am wrong, you ll not care; if I am right, 
 words are no evidence of the obligation 
 and thankfulness I feel. Rosalynde writes 
 me often about you; she thinks you a won 
 derful man, and so do I. If I come out of 
 this with perfect limbs. I ll be a wonderful 
 man too. 
 
 "I felt bound to tell you all this, which 
 may not interest you in the least. The 
 thought that probably you furnished the 
 money to pay my way seemed to make 
 it right for me to let you know what I am 
 doing. At all events, you have my secret 
 now, and I implicitly trust you to keep it. 
 
 "I was about to forget one thing, per 
 haps the most important, certainly the 
 most disagreeable, of all. I am writing 
 a lot of letters to Rosalynde, to be dated 
 properly hereafter and sent to her during 
 144 
 
the time that I shall be under torture and 
 unable to write or dictate or do anything 
 but groan or lie in the stupor of drugs. 
 These letters will tell her how well I am 
 doing in my studies, and all that } to keep 
 her happy. As soon as I m over it I shall 
 write the whole truth to her. God bless 
 her and you. 
 
 "Yours sincerely, 
 
 "ALFRED RAYLE." 
 
 The letter was posted on the day of 
 General Banderet s death. Doubtless 
 Rayle had entered hospital before the 
 tragic news reached him, or more prob 
 ably it had not reached him at all, as his 
 doctor would almost certainly forbid 
 anything exciting while an operation so 
 delicate and dangerous was going on. 
 
 To Breyten the time had seemed so 
 long that now, as he looked back to 
 Rayle s last interview with him, he found 
 H5 
 
himself wondering if it might not he that 
 Rayle was dead. Surely some word would 
 have come from him had the surgery been 
 successful. But then while in hospital 
 he could not write; he had said so in his 
 letter, and, besides, it would be to Rosa- 
 lynde that the first news would go. 
 
 There was another letter, however, lying 
 on the table that very moment, which 
 presently Breyten read. It was from the 
 great Parisian specialist. It ran in sub 
 stance thus : 
 
 "Your friend, Mr. Alfred Rayle, who 
 is under treatment with me, begs me to 
 say to you that he is doing very well and 
 will be perfectly cured at the end of two 
 months from this time. He particularly 
 wishes you to tell no one anything about 
 his condition." 
 
 Distance takes the reality out of things 
 by hanging over them a mist of vague r 
 146 
 
ness. Breyten had traveled enough to 
 overcome the illusion, but yet he could not 
 feel the immediate touch of fact from 
 what he had read. He tried to imagine 
 how Rayle would look standing up firmly 
 on two good, straight legs. He even at 
 tempted to measure the rearranged man 
 with himself. They would be different; 
 but he feared that Rayle might be the 
 handsomer, so dark, so magnetic, so finely 
 and massively regular were his features. 
 He crumpled the doctor s letter impa 
 tiently. 
 
 Other surprises awaited him in the yet 
 unopened missives on the table. A small 
 photograph, taken from a portrait of his 
 mother painted by a celebrated artist, fell 
 out of an envelope along with a sheet of 
 dainty note-paper, on which he read : 
 
 "Somehow I must have sent the wrong 
 picture in my other note. Won t you 
 
please return it to me at Old Point Com 
 fort? ROSALYNDE BANDERET." 
 
 After a few moments given freely to 
 dizzy gazing at the signature, as if it had 
 been Rosalynde herself, he nervously fin 
 gered the remaining envelopes for "my 
 other note" until he found it. His heart 
 quivered, or seemed to, and a tender sense 
 of weakness crept through him when he 
 drew forth another little photograph. 
 Then his eyes dilated dreamily ; for there 
 she was, Rosalynde, just as he saw her 
 under the bridge. He almost forgot to 
 read the accompanying note, so long was 
 he absorbed in gazing and remembering. 
 
 "We are leaving for Old Point Com 
 fort. I sazv in the newspapers that you 
 were to be absent some time, so I inclose 
 this photograph, which you told me was 
 of your mother. You left it in a book, 
 and I accidentally found it." 
 148 
 
The date opposite Miss Banderet s sig 
 nature was more than three weeks in the 
 past, and he saw that the other note had 
 been posted at Washington City. But the 
 photograph, although a trifle worn, as if 
 by much carrying about and indifferent 
 handling, was sufficiently vivid to hold 
 Breyten s eyes away from everything else. 
 He looked at it and dreamed over it until 
 far in the night. The round, frank eyes, 
 the sweet, immature mouth, the softly 
 oval cheeks, the lissome form, were those 
 of a girl in her mid-teens, a girl just 
 blooming into what Rosalynde was on the 
 day of their meeting at the bridge. A 
 painter might have made much of Brey 
 ten s unconscious pose. The picture lay 
 flat upon the table almost between his el 
 bows, while, with his hands in his hair, 
 clutching the bright, short locks on either 
 side of his big head, he gazed and smiled 
 149 
 
ancj frowned and chewed his mustache, as 
 though mad and glad and perplexed, but, 
 over all, despairing. 
 
 The last thought before he went to 
 sleep, was that he would have a copy of 
 the photograph before he sent it back. 
 Nor did conscience seem to take cogni 
 zance of his purpose, for early next morn 
 ing he went straightway and accomplished 
 it without a qualm; and for fear some 
 thing might go wrong with the negative, 
 he kept the original until he had his fin 
 ished copy, a remarkably good one, in 
 hand. 
 
 By this time he was ready to write \vhat 
 he regarded as a well-considered and thor 
 oughly disinterested letter to Miss Ban- 
 deret. He was so fastidious about the 
 composition, indeed, that he was more 
 than a week doing it; but when at last it 
 seemed just what it ought to be, he. mailed 
 
it with the tiny picture carefully inclosed ; 
 nor did he find out, until too late, that, 
 by some unaccountable slip, he had sent 
 the copy instead of the original. Some 
 how the discovery touched him accurately 
 upon the spring that loosed the jocund 
 spirit so natural to him, and he laughed in 
 his old boyish, hearty way, holding the 
 picture before him and gazing at it as if it 
 had said or done something extremely 
 mirth-provoking, albeit the sweet, open 
 look of the girl s eyes was bewitchingly 
 serious. 
 
 "It is preposterous!" he presently 
 thought. "It s outrageous! And what 
 will she say? God bless her!" 
 
 He kissed the picture at least twenty 
 times before a wave of soberness checked 
 him, and then he thought of Rayle. 
 
Now this is what Breyten wrote: 
 
 "DEAR Miss BANDERET : Both of your 
 notes were on my table when I returned 
 nearly a month after they were written. 
 I read the second one first; then I was in 
 a great hurry to open the other and when 
 I did open it the inclosure surprised and 
 delighted me. The photograph shows 
 you exactly as you looked that day under 
 the bridge. I see you before me while I 
 zvrite, your eyes gazing past me with a 
 vast, sweet, ravishing indifference. Pre 
 cisely so does this little photograph which 
 152 
 
/ so grudgingly will return to you in this 
 letter. 
 
 "I am of half a mind to keep this for 
 lorn little picture of you. Somehow I 
 feel that possession of its original in my 
 deepest memory has proved my right to 
 hold fast the shadow. As I probably shall 
 never see you again, as I probably ought 
 never to see you again, and knowing that 
 you are not to be troubled with what I 
 may tell you about myself, I am going to 
 say the whole truth. The moment that I 
 saw you at the bridge out yonder you 
 took a deep hold of my heart. I feel that 
 I have loved you passionately every mo 
 ment since we met. But since I found out 
 your engagement to Mr. Rayle I have 
 been trying to reconcile myself to the in 
 evitable. I can not do it; I can only 
 stand upon my honor; I can only say to 
 myself that you are beyond my reach 
 153 
 
that I must not try to reach you. You 
 love Rayle; he is a splendid fellow; he 
 loves you; you two are engaged to be 
 married; that is all. I am outside and 
 must stay there. I see in the eyes of this 
 picture that from the first you were sealed 
 against me; you were reserved for Rayle. 
 It is hard on me; but then what a stroke of 
 high, sweet fortune for Rayle! I go 
 down, he goes up. What a weight it is 
 that bears me dowm, and what a lift of joy 
 is his! I ought not to wish or even dream 
 of shifting my burden to him. 
 
 "In writing all this to you I feel doubt 
 ful and uneasy about my right to do it 
 not my right to love you, for somehow 
 that seems unquestionable and a thing to 
 die by. The trouble is Rayle. The man 
 rushed into my sympathy and regard at 
 our first meeting. He seemed so earnest, 
 so sincere, and so brave under great dis- 
 154 
 
advantage, and it seems to me that you 
 must have given him his courage. 
 
 "When I returned and found that you 
 were gone, my first impulse was to follow 
 you, to keep you in sight, to linger near 
 you. But what right have I, I thought, 
 to go where she is? So I am not going to 
 follow you; I am going as far from you 
 as I can, not to try to forget you, / can 
 never do that, but to be sure that yon 
 shall not suffer on my account. 
 
 "Just now, when I looked from this 
 writing to your picture, the face seemed 
 to smile upon some one far off, past me. 
 And then suddenly I was under the bridge, 
 and the storm was on, and your arms 
 went around me tight, tight, so that I felt 
 a great, sweet joy tingle all through me. 
 I can write this frankly, because I am 
 never to see you again, and because your 
 love for Rayle will prevent everything 
 155 
 
that else might come of such a confession; 
 but it seems unnatural, somehow, that you 
 should have loved any man but me, and I 
 tell you now that I shall never feel differ 
 ently about it, no matter what comes. 
 
 C( Doubtless I am seeming very foolish 
 to you, as you read this; for I think it is 
 quite impossible to make intelligible ex 
 planation of an inward condition like 
 mine, or to give any adequate excuse for 
 what I am compelled to write. My whole 
 future seems uninteresting, not worth liv 
 ing in, and I am without aim. Why 
 should I have met you at the bridge out 
 yonder? Why did you nurse me back to 
 lifef 
 
 "I do not mean to be foolishly senti 
 mental; what good could it do? And be 
 sides, it is not my nature to pule and 
 mope; but what is life worth when a man 
 loses what I have? What would life be 
 
worth to you were you to find that Alfred 
 Rayle loved not you, but another girl? 
 That is a practical question zvhich makes 
 my condition somewhat within your 
 reach. Look at it seriously. What would 
 life be worth to Rayle if he were to dis 
 cover that you were in love with some 
 other man? Imagine the thing in that 
 brutal way. You see that it would be like 
 the end of life. 
 
 "But how shall I end this letter? 
 Something drags at me and tells me that 
 I ought to tear it up and end it so. A 
 weight of doubt about my right to tell 
 you how I feel hinders thought and con 
 fuses my language, so that I do not say 
 just ivhat I wish to. Yet I am somehow 
 quite sure that your dear heart will tell 
 you what I can not. 
 
 "I inclose your picture. I want to keep 
 it, and I do not want to keep it. It is you, 
 157 
 
and it is not you. If gladdens me, and it 
 overwhelms me with despair. I do not 
 know what I am going to do. No need to 
 stay here; for I hear that you are not com 
 ing back any more, and I do not expect 
 you to answer this letter. You can not 
 answer it. What could you say? You 
 are happy and deserve to be happy always, 
 and it can not matter with you if I never 
 again find the old careless, merry life so 
 suddenly snatched from me. But one 
 thing I know : you will never forget 
 
 "FREDERICK BREYTEN." 
 
 After this absurd letter it seemed to 
 Breyten to grow in absurdity as days 
 went by had floated down the stream of 
 the mail going eastward, and after a 
 whole week of unaccountable listlessness, 
 Breyten began to expect an answer. But 
 how could there be an answer? He had 
 
had nothing- to write, and he had written 
 worse than nothing. Rosalynde would 
 be a strange girl were she to take any no 
 tice of such an epistle. Still, there he was 
 for more than a fortnight, lingering at 
 Hawford, and growing excited whenever 
 the postman arrived at the little hotel. 
 
 If he had known that his letter to Miss 
 Banderet was following her from Old 
 Point Comfort to Asheville, thence to 
 Aiken, and on to Savannah, to Atlanta, 
 to Lookout Mountain, and then to Bir 
 mingham, Mobile, and finally New Or 
 leans if he had known of that long, slow 
 chase, he might still have waited. But 
 how could he know? Time bore upon 
 him like an atmosphere strangely stale. 
 He walked out to the Banderet place and 
 took a doleful last look at it, then went 
 straight to New York, where two weeks 
 later he met Rayle, who had just arrived 
 1.59 
 
from Paris; and what a splendid figure 
 he was ! straight as an arrow, admirably 
 proportioned, and of noble presence; a 
 dark, magnetic, powerful-looking man. 
 The distinguished surgeon had done his 
 work to perfection. 
 
 They met in one of the great hotels, 
 coming face to face so suddenly that both 
 stopped short, and, half recoiling, stood 
 for a moment gazing. Breyten turned 
 slightly pale, but Rayle flushed and looked 
 glad, extending his hand presently with 
 a hearty exclamation of greeting. Two 
 handsomer men, opposite and perfect 
 types of masculine beauty, never shook 
 hands in the great city. 
 
 i6o 
 
At a considerable distance from Canal 
 Street, on St. Charles, in New Orleans, 
 the Banderet residence, a stately mansion 
 withdrawn amid its tropical trees behind, 
 a massive brick wall, attracts the eye of 
 every passer who has a taste for the pic 
 turesque. The heavey iron gate has a 
 mighty lock, and through the bars there 
 shimmers, as if drowsily, the greenery of 
 a remarkable garden, across which a 
 straight, broad, white walk leads to a 
 flight of stone steps, rising to a heavy 
 veranda, where vines flourish. 
 161 
 
We must enter this guarded close if we 
 wish to see once more Rosalynde Ban- 
 deret ; for this is the home of Dr. Roger 
 Banderet, a man of great wealth, who will 
 henceforth be Rosalynde s protector and 
 adviser. 
 
 It is a hot day, even for New Orleans, 
 and the afternoon drags slowly. A light 
 breeze pants in the foliage that darkens 
 the veranda and seems to be dying there, 
 while in hammocks swung side by side 
 Rosalynde and her cousin, as she calls 
 her great-uncle s daughter Angelie, are 
 drowsing and chatting by turns, dressed 
 as becomes the weather and the place. 
 Angelie has just the slightest Creole lisp 
 on her tongue, and in figure and face 
 looks more French than Rosalynde, 
 though resembling her in a marked de 
 gree. She is the child of her father s old 
 age, her mother being a young Creole 
 162 
 
through the bars of the iron gate 
 shimmers the greenery of a garden 
 
woman by whom came the doctor s great 
 wealth, the fortune of a second marriage. 
 
 Angelie was busier with her tongue 
 than Rosalynde. Her remarks ranged 
 from beaux to mosquitos, and were in 
 terspersed with snatches of song bewitch- 
 ingly delivered. The divine magic was 
 in her voice, as the ravishing power of 
 beauty was in her face and form. One 
 must have felt at a glance that she was far 
 more wordly-wise than Rosalynde; and 
 certainly her form showed richer outlines, 
 her face greater maturity of development ; 
 yet she was more girl than woman by 
 every sign we usually take for our guess 
 ing. 
 
 "I told papa it was too early to come to 
 New Orleans," she melodiously grumbled, 
 meantime lying almost on her back and 
 picking at a Cuban fan, "but he heard 
 something about the cotton market that 
 
 163 
 
made him deliriously anxious to see -his 
 broker. Heigho, men are such delightful 
 idiots ! Don t you just love em and hate 
 em? Now, for example, there s Freddie 
 Amsley ; he s charming until you mention 
 the exchange or cotton, then off he goes, 
 crazy as can be.". 
 
 Rosalynde knew little enough about 
 how men gambled in the cotton game, but 
 she had vivid memories of her grandfa 
 ther s troubles with the wheat game in 
 Chicago, his winings and his losings, his 
 ups and his downs, the downs gradually 
 but surely gaining on the ups, until there 
 were no ups. She did not respond to An- 
 gelie s prattle, but let her mind reach out 
 after the dear old home .at Hawford. 
 
 "What is your handsome and noble 
 bicyclist s name?" Angelie went on in her 
 inconsequent, skipping way, referring to 
 
 164 
 
a previous conversation about Breyten. 
 "I can t keep it." 
 
 "Breyten," said Rosalynde absently. 
 
 "Well, I should think he might at least 
 write to you and tell you something ro 
 mantic. And he s a poet too-! I m afraid, 
 Rose, my sweet, that you neglected to get 
 your charm woven over him as you ought. 
 Tall, commanding, you say he is, and fair, 
 with golden hair and honest, earnest, elo 
 quent eyes. Ah me ! Somehow no such 
 romantic knights-errant ever come my 
 way. Nobody but men like Freddie Ams- 
 ley young men who talk money instead 
 of romance are fated to cross my orbit. 
 And this Mr. Breyten is a trifle mysteri 
 ous too, you told me, I think. Couldn t 
 you decoy him down here? I dote upon 
 mysteries, especially when they are mag 
 nificently tall and fair and handsome, and, 
 as you say he is, good and high-minded 
 
 165 
 
besides. Where is his home? He is an 
 American, of course. Does he jump at 
 every newspaper he sees and turn to the 
 market quotations? Tell me more about 
 him, Rose. Since he has my photograph, 
 all by your fault, you ought to betray him 
 to me in every possible way." 
 
 "Indeed, Angelie, there s nothing 
 strange or mysterious or particularly ro 
 mantic about Mr. Breyten," said Rosa- 
 lynde. "He is handsome, strikingly hand 
 some, with a certain distinguished air, and 
 he is large in both body and mind, al 
 though you don t notice his height and 
 proportions until he stands near you and 
 you look up. Then he seems to tower 
 above you, and he smiles down at you as if 
 you were such a wee thing and very well 
 worth his kind and tender attention." 
 
 "Adorable!" exclaimed Angelie; "and, 
 of course, your sweet little provincial 
 1 66 
 
heart was so full of one Mr. Alfred Rayle, 
 away in Paris, that there was no room for 
 this young giant, who, as I well know, 
 fell desperately in love with you. Now, 
 honor bright, Rosalynde, didn t Mr. Fred 
 erick Breyten show strong symptoms of 
 passionate regard for you?" 
 
 "He knew of my engagement to Al 
 fred," said Rosalynde, as a maid came out 
 upon the veranda with some letters on a 
 tray, "and he was, of course, not going to 
 be so foolish as to oh, for me? Any for 
 me, Lorette ?" 
 
 "Mais oui, Mam selle," the maid an 
 swered, with a pretty French gesture of 
 affirmation. 
 
 And it was thus that Breyten s perse 
 vering epistle finally reached its goal, 
 after as crooked a course and as many de 
 lays as ever hindered a flight. Rosalynde 
 looked curiously at the much-erased and 
 
often-renewed superscription, and the nu 
 merous postmarks on the envelope. Two 
 letters from Rayle had to wait; There 
 was a flash of carmine in her cheeks, deep 
 ening as she broke the seal. 
 
 "Here s your picture, Angie," she said, 
 unable to hide a breathless eagerness, and 
 holding the photograph out at arm s 
 length, without looking from the letter. 
 
 "Oh, it is from your delightful friend, 
 eh? Fortunate girl!" Angelie took the 
 photograph, but did not look at it. "But 
 you read his letter before you open the 
 two from your accepted lover! Ah, my 
 dearest, there s romance in all this. And 
 what a letter! A whole volume, and 
 how excited you look ! It must be ravish 
 ing." 
 
 Rosalynde flung herself out of the ham 
 mock, and, speaking not a word, went to 
 her room. 
 
 168 
 
And now what f said Angelie, 
 gazing after her cousin 
 
"And now really what?" said Angelie, 
 sitting up and gazing inquiringly after 
 her cousin. But she was left alone and 
 without explanation. "The child loves 
 him, adores him, that s evident." Then 
 she looked at the photograph in her hand. 
 On the card was printed: "Morri 
 sons, Photographers, Hawford, Indiana." 
 Quick as a flash she understood, and was 
 laughing almost hysterically when Mr. 
 Freddie Amsley was announced. 
 
 "Say that I m not in, Lorette, but 
 yes," she slipped lazily from the ham 
 mock to a willow chair, "tell him to come 
 out here. No I ll not " 
 
 She was stopped by the appearance of 
 Mr. Freddie Amsley himself, laughing 
 and apologizing. 
 
 "I know that you are not in," he said, 
 "but, hearing you so hilariously engaged 
 out here, I stepped around. Now don t 
 
 169 
 
scold me; be gentle, for I m not happy." 
 
 "You don t look doleful," she observed 
 indifferently, motioning Lorette to hand 
 him a chair. 
 
 "A cotton-bale fell on my toes," he 
 said, "and it hurt me." 
 
 "You ve been losing?" 
 
 "Yes, a little on January just enough 
 to spoil my temper." 
 
 "So you ve come to vent your ugliness 
 upon me!" 
 
 "Yes," he drawled, sitting down ; "yes, 
 you re always uppermost in my mind, for 
 weal or for woe." 
 
 He was a slender, alert-looking young 
 man with blue eyes, a high, hawk-nose, 
 blond side-whiskers, and short-cropped 
 pale hair, which was parted in the middle. 
 He looked at Angelie with a shrewd, spec 
 ulative gaze. 
 
 "I was jesting," he added. "I have at 
 170 
 
last made my turn. I closed my deal this 
 morning sixty thousand ahead. Now 
 scold me. Gold laughs at anger." 
 
 He posed himself with clever ease, and 
 his countenance beamed with delight, 
 while he waited for her to speak. The 
 maid, Lorette, glided away and was heard 
 a moment later singing a French ditty far 
 back in the house. 
 
 "I cannot confine my scolding to you," 
 said Angelie, looking at the photograph ; 
 "I must include all men. Think of it ! one 
 who had my picture has been impudent 
 enough to return it." 
 
 Give me his name and I ll call him 
 out," said Amsley. "He ought, by all the 
 rules of compassion, to have sent it to me. 
 Who is he?" 
 
 "Not for the world would I tell you ; 
 I cannot let you be killed yet a while. 
 Who would take your place as " 
 171 
 
"As hopeless adorer," he interrupted a 
 trifle bitterly, despite his ready laugh, 
 "and faithful friend." Then with sud 
 den passion he added : "You can t doubt 
 my love, Angelie, and you can t despise it. 
 It is too faithful, too true." 
 
 Angelie held up the photograph, re 
 garding it reflectively. 
 
 "It was a curious little mistake and a 
 ludicrous counter-mistake," she inconse- 
 quently remarked. "My photograph went 
 to him by accident, and by accident, evi 
 dently, he has returned a copy of it." 
 
 Amsley bit his lip ; but he had the gam 
 bler s nerve, and when Angelie looked at 
 him his face was not in the least a mirror 
 of his inward feelings. She had held him 
 of! so long that, hard as it was to bear, 
 he was becoming used to it. She was not 
 a coquette, but she liked Amsley without 
 loving him. He had been good to her, 
 172 
 
and she did not credit his passion; she 
 thought she could see to the bottom of it. 
 At the end of a meaningless and, to him, 
 exasperating conversation, she sent him 
 away, as usual, bewildered and dissatis 
 fied, but not hopeless. He had a sense of 
 humor, and he laughed and swore by 
 turns as he walked down the street. He 
 was thinking what a fool he was a very 
 superior fool, to be sure ; and it occurred 
 to him that he must either let go all hope 
 of Angelie or hit upon some plan of bring 
 ing her speedily to terms. Then he 
 laughed at the thought, for Angelie Ban- 
 deret never accepted terms, she dictated 
 them. 
 
 173 
 
Breyten and Rayle dined together in 
 New York without comforting each other 
 to any great depth, and separated upon 
 perfunctory conditions, not expecting or 
 especially desiring to meet again. Rayle 
 made a feeble effort to force Breyten into 
 discussing the subject of the money he had 
 so mysteriously received, a large part of 
 which he had brought back with him from 
 Paris ; but Breyten so cleverly baffled him 
 that he almost concluded to abandon his 
 suspicion in that regard. Moreover, hav 
 ing discovered by chance that Breyten s 
 174 
 
wealth was practically limitless, he nat 
 urally began to relax his anxiety in the 
 matter, and was willing enough to let the 
 discussion pass. 
 
 Rayle had many inquiries to make 
 about Rosalynde, all of which Breyten 
 answered unsatisfactorily, but yet fully 
 enough in a way. He seemed not inter 
 ested, Rayle thought, and could not read 
 ily understand just what was expected of 
 him in response to a direct question. It 
 seemed plain that he had not been par 
 ticularly impressed by Miss Banderet s 
 charms, and this gratified Rayle while it 
 piqued him. 
 
 At the end of an hour both men felt the 
 need of solitude, or at least of escape from 
 each other. Rayle had managed to find 
 out that Rosalynde was absent from Haw- 
 ford when Breyten left there, and that she 
 
 175 
 
was at Old Point Comfort the last he 
 heard of her. 
 
 "She may have returned to Hawford 
 by this time; probably has/ said Brey- 
 ten. 
 
 This was bordering upon indirect pre 
 varication, albeit he really did not mean 
 it so. 
 
 "She wouldn t stay away long, I should 
 think," Rayle assented reflectively. "Any 
 way, I think I shall go to Hawford first, 
 and if she s not there I ll go where she is." 
 
 He had been saying something about 
 his great desire to surprise Rosalynde 
 with the remarkable change in his phy 
 sique. The surgeon, he remarked, had 
 found his deformity a mere trifle, not in 
 the least difficult to remove. 
 
 Breyten was mightily relieved when the 
 moment for separation came and Rayle 
 announced that he had barely time to 
 
reach his train. They shook hands, said 
 some insincere things meant to be cor 
 dially friendly, shook hands again, and 
 then turned their backs upon each other, 
 Rayle s brain luminous with anticipa 
 tions, Breyten s heart wedged in his 
 throat. 
 
 Breyten sat in his room at the Wal 
 dorf, a man quite out of employment and 
 unable to determine what his next step 
 was to be. Millions of dollars at his com 
 mand, the whole world before him, op 
 portunities unlimited, youth, health, man 
 ly beauty, everything his save the one 
 thing he desired, and that one thing more 
 to him than everything else in the uni 
 verse. He jumped to his feet and shook 
 his fist at the wall in sheer rage when he 
 thought how wonderfully handsome 
 Rayle was. 
 
 177 
 
"And to think I made him over, remod 
 eled him, completed him, all for this !" 
 
 Of course, such a storm soon blew over 
 and left him somewhat relaxed and 
 ashamed. It was not in his nature to be 
 sour or to harbor the devil long ; but now 
 he found himself, even when the calm had 
 fallen upon him, trying to make room for 
 certain questionable considerations. He 
 got out Angelie s photograph and looked 
 at it as if bent upon wresting from it the 
 excuse for some desperate act. He tried 
 to reconcile its serene and unsympathetic 
 gaze with the sweet and immediately 
 friendly look with which Rosalynde al 
 ways met him during his long stay in her 
 home. Over and over, as the days passed 
 by, he had his wrestle with the fiend that 
 tried to cast him over the line of tempta 
 tion ; but he stubbornly held his own, half 
 suspecting that in the end he would sue- 
 
cumb. It was a hard struggle ; yet all the 
 time he was willing to be worsted by de 
 grees. At last he conquered wholly. Far 
 down in some dim corner of his soul cow 
 ered the shadowy, albeit quite distinguish 
 able, consciousness of his intention to go 
 back to Rosalynde, despite Rayle and de 
 spite everything. He knew that his re 
 sistance was a sham, therefore he made it 
 with all his might and with a stubborn 
 ness not in the least natural. 
 
 Indeed, the thing might have gone on 
 a long while had not a little letter, a mere 
 note, come to him from Rosalynde in re 
 ply to his almost forgotten epistle. Noth 
 ing could have surprised him more ex 
 quisitely or more deeply. It was like a 
 flash out of highest heaven. 
 
 He sat with the little sheet of delicate 
 scribbling held firmly before him, and 
 read it over and over, trying, and at cer- 
 179 
 
tain moments almost succeeding, to draw 
 from it just the least hint of something 
 comforting. 
 
 "NEW ORLEANS, LA. 
 "DEAR MR. BREYTEN : It was good of 
 you to return the picture so promptly. It 
 was not mine. That was my reason for 
 desiring its return at once. Your letter 
 reached me here at my uncle s, where I 
 am to spend the winter. I hope that this 
 will not be delayed by numerous r email- 
 ings f as yours was. 
 "Sincerely, 
 
 "ROSALYNDE BANDERET." 
 
 Of course, Breyten could not feel or 
 even suspect the worry of spirit that the 
 writing of this letter had brought to Rosa- 
 lynde. It might have been a sort of com 
 fort to him could he have known how she 
 actually cried and lost a whole night s 
 sleep, trying to invent some form of com- 
 180 
 
position by which she could write freely 
 to him, as a sister to a brother, and yet 
 save herself from every chance of mis 
 construction by him and from her own 
 conscience as well. She wrote a half- 
 score of letters, some of them long, chatty, 
 and bright, others somewhat sympathetic 
 and full of wholesome suggestions, while 
 a number seemed to her, upon reading 
 them over, quite scattering in their nature 
 and almost without connected meaning. 
 Why she finally preferred and sent the one 
 we have just read she probably never 
 could have explained. When it was gone 
 she would have given almost anything to 
 withdraw it. 
 
 Breyten actually at length succeeded in 
 discovering in certain phrases of the let 
 ter what he thought meant a great deal. 
 "She as good as says," he explained to 
 himself, "that if the picture had belonged 
 181 
 
to her she would have let me keep it. And 
 then why should she particularly state 
 that she is to he in New Orleans all win 
 ter, if she did not want me to come? 
 Moreover, the hope that her letter would 
 not be delayed shows that she will expect 
 to hear from me or see me again." 
 
 Such reasoning may have a flimsy ap 
 pearance to you and me, occupying the 
 most judicial of attitudes; but to Breyten, 
 in the confused mood so natural to love- 
 struck and love-baffled youth, it was 
 something to roll up and down in the im 
 agination with implicit confidence that 
 nothing could disjoint its logic. He slept 
 over it one long night, a broken, unrest- 
 ful sleep, and next morning took the train 
 for New Orleans. 
 
 In the meantime Rayle had reached 
 Hawford only to find that Rosalynde 
 would probably not return to the old home 
 182 
 
at all, and off he flew to Old Point Com 
 fort, where with some difficulty he found 
 out whither the Banderets had gone from 
 there. He followed from place to place, 
 on and on, misled here, delayed yonder, 
 as Breyten s letter had been, his impa 
 tience increasing in proportion to the 
 square of every distance traveled, with 
 the added increment of wasted days, de 
 layed trains, and wrong directions taken 
 from careless hotel clerks. And so it hap 
 pened that he finally reached New Or 
 leans in a dusty and forlorn state, but 
 glowing with the enthusiasm of the chase. 
 It was early in the evening when he ar 
 rived, and the streets were thronged with 
 sporting men come to witness a great 
 prize fight. 
 
 133 
 
At the Hotel Royale Breyten took a 
 suite of rooms fairly luxurious in their 
 appointments, and made himself believe 
 that happiness in some as yet invisible 
 form would soon be his. He was three 
 days in advance of Rayle, but he did 
 not know this; in fact, he was too much 
 busied with himself to think about any 
 body else, save Rosalynde. 
 
 Of her he thought almost every mo 
 ment. To-morrow he would call on her ; 
 yes, to-morrow. His heart danced. But 
 184 
 
when to-morrow came, he faltered and 
 dallied from hour to hour, and did not go. 
 
 Two, three days went by. The hotel 
 was overflowing with athletic, self-satis 
 fied-looking men from New 7 York, Bos 
 ton, Chicago, St. Louis, Denver, San 
 Francisco, everywhere. Sporting slang 
 and the terms of pugilistic science filled 
 the air. Every man was betting with an 
 other; everybody was going to see the 
 fight. Breyten, somewhat caught by the 
 prevailing enthusiasm, followed the crowd 
 into a vast rude amphitheater and sat 
 down beside a handsome, dark man. It 
 was Rayle. They looked at each other 
 as if about to fight, so intense and con 
 centrated their gaze. A full , minute 
 passed before either spoke; then Rayle 
 laughed rather uneasily and said : 
 
 "How 7 are you? I scarcely recognized 
 you, not expecting to see you." 
 
 185 
 
They both looked guilty, self-convicted, 
 suspicious. Only for a little while, how 
 ever, for they quickly righted themselves. 
 
 "When did you reach here?" Rayle 
 presently inquired. 
 
 "Three or four clays ago," said Brey- 
 ten. "And you?" 
 
 "Oh, I ve just got here. Came in on 
 the early evening train from Mobile." 
 
 Just then the gladiators strutted to the 
 ring-center and shook hands; the great 
 fight was about to begin. Breyten fixed 
 his eyes upon the brawny figures now 
 dancing and sparring with a certain colos 
 sal grace and ease of movement, Rayle 
 fidgeted in his seat and said, 
 
 "Hav-e you seen Rosalynde?" 
 
 "What did you say?" Breyten demand 
 ed, without turning his face. 
 
 "Have you seen Rosalynde?" 
 
 "No," almost gruffly. 
 186 
 
An exchange of blows in the ring 
 brought from the crowd a wild roar of 
 cheers. Breyten felt like hitting Rayle 
 straight from the shoulder for speaking 
 that dear name in such a place. He felt 
 as if Rosalyndc herself were aware of 
 his own participation in the brutal affair 
 going on down yonder in the little in- 
 closure. 
 
 "Then you don t know whether she s 
 here or not?" Rayle went on. 
 
 "No." 
 
 Breyten got up from his seat and 
 stalked out of the amphitheater, his face 
 quite pale. He paid no attention to a big, 
 red-faced fellow beside the aisle when, in 
 a tone of good-natured jeering, he called : 
 "Hey, there ! I say, mister, does them 
 bloody jabs onsettle yer stomach?" 
 
 Rayle made a motion as if to follow 
 Breyten, but arrested it at once and re- 
 
mained in his seat until the fight ended 
 with what a flashily dressed man near him 
 called a "right-hand swing on the jaw" ; 
 then he went back to his hotel, feeling 
 that he had received poor recompense for 
 a considerable loss of self-respect. 
 
 He felt his soul hang its head for 
 shame, and he could not account for the 
 fact that he had gone to a prize fight in 
 stead of making his way immediately to 
 Rosalynde. 
 
 Early next morning Rayle was awake 
 and thinking of Breyten. An impression 
 very unpleasant to realize was taking 
 shape in his mind. "What was Breyten 
 here for? Why had he behaved so 
 strangely last night? Somehow Rosa 
 lynde came into the problem, and a pang 
 shot along with the thought of how fool 
 ishly he had acted in not confiding to her 
 everything connected with his experience 
 1 88 
 
at the hospital in Paris. He now saw 
 that in his haste to rush home and sur 
 prise Rosalynde he had so disarranged 
 their correspondence that it might have 
 appeared to her that he was neglecting 
 her. And her wanderings, moreover, had 
 doubtless added to the difficulty, for all 
 his letters had been directed to her at 
 Haw ford. She might not now be in New 
 Orleans. 
 
 He had no mind to delay, however, 
 and at the earliest permissible moment 
 for a call he went to Dr. Banderet s man 
 sion and asked to see Miss Banderet. The 
 servant admitted him and went away with 
 his card, while he stood in the twilight 
 gloom of the ample drawing-room with 
 black crow-foot furniture carelessly 
 ranged around, and dusky pictures peer 
 ing at him from the walls. It made him 
 think of art and his abandoned ambi- 
 189 
 
tion, and then he wondered what Rosa- 
 lynde would say to the course he had pur 
 sued. And what would she think of the 
 wonderful betterment of his personal ap 
 pearance ? 
 
 Suddenly it occurred to him that possi 
 bly, after all, she might not care for a 
 changed and physically rectified Alfred 
 Rayle. She had loved the cripple, she had 
 promised to be the wife of a maimed art 
 ist; but would she love and wed the 
 straight man who had repudiated the 
 painter s dream and acknowledged him 
 self no genius? Strange that he had not 
 thought of this before ! It now seemed 
 an immensely formidable question. 
 
 After all, the straightening of his leg 
 had not made him strong enough to stand 
 firmly, for he was trembling violently 
 from head to foot. Then he heard a 
 light, quick step approaching the door. 
 190 
 
There was a magic in the delicate pat- 
 pat-pat upon the deep-piled carpet. His 
 heart gave a leap ; a warm glow ran along 
 his veins. In that second he forgot the 
 false note lately sounded in the song of his 
 life. For, lightly tripping through the 
 doorway, came a tall, lissome form, the 
 radiant face smiling out of the twilight 
 gloom of the place. He sprang to her 
 and caught her firmly in his arms. 
 
 "Rosalynde ! Rosalynde !" he cried in 
 a voice softly vibrant with intense feeling. 
 
 He kissed her many times before she 
 could find breath to say 
 
 "Please don t I m not Rosalynde let 
 me go sir, will you !" 
 
 It was Angelie; but he could not un 
 derstand ; he thought Rosalynde was but 
 playing and pretending; so he kissed her 
 again and again, holding her fast. He 
 was too much borne away on the mo- 
 191 
 
ment s impulse to notice the French tim 
 bre in her voice, nor did he stop to reflect 
 that Rosalynde could not possibly fight so 
 atrociously and cruelly. 
 
 "This is outrageous, sir!" she said, her 
 voice quivering. "Leave the house this 
 minute!" She stamped her foot with en 
 ergy, and pointed towards the door with 
 her gleaming hand. 
 
 Rayle s head swam, but he made a 
 great effort to understand the situation. 
 There may have been a vague impression 
 in his mind that he had made some sort of 
 ugly mistake. 
 
 "Rosalynde," he said, "what what " 
 
 "Oh, but no, I am not Rosalynde," An- 
 gelie interrupted. "You know that I am 
 not. Can t you see?" 
 
 He was, indeed, trying hard to see, and 
 the more he tried the plainer he saw Rosa 
 lynde before him. How beautiful she was, 
 192 
 
too ! His memory and imagination doubt 
 less played him unfair tricks, for the light 
 was not strong enough to bring out her 
 features distinctly. He stood mute while 
 she went and drew the curtain of a win 
 dow and flung open the blind. Her face 
 was glowing when she turned towards 
 him again, and the radiance made its 
 beauty shimmer indescribably. 
 
 She gave him a look evidently not 
 meant to be friendly, a look which 
 changed almost instantly, and then a pal 
 lor superseded the blush in her cheeks. 
 
 Rayle, not yet rid of the impression 
 that it was Rosalynde he saw, gazed at 
 her askance and abashed, his mind in a 
 whirl. 
 
 The French in Angelie s blood leaped 
 .quickly to her aid at that moment. She 
 laughed and held out her hand. 
 
 "I am Angelie," she said, "Rosa- 
 193 
 
lynde s cousin. You are Mr. Rayle, and 
 you ve made yourself ridiculous; but I 
 forgive you. A man never fails to be dis 
 agreeable just when he means to be en 
 tertaining." 
 
 She laughed again when he took her 
 hand and bent a mystified pair of dark 
 eyes upon her. 
 
 "You came to see Rosalynde, but she is 
 away with my father on Bayou Teche. 
 I understand it all now. It was rather 
 sudden, however, and quite unexpected." 
 She was speaking rapidly and with a 
 charming air of reconciliation. "If you 
 are sure that you have yourself well un 
 der control/ she added, "you may sit 
 down. Rosalynde has told me about you. 
 She will return next week." 
 
 Rayle began to look stupidly enlight 
 ened, and was smiling rather drily. 
 
 194 
 
- / am Angelie, she said, and yon 
 are Mr. Rayle and have made Wl^l 
 
 yourself ridiculous" 
 
 , 
 
y ride s 
 
 "When did you arrive in New Or 
 leans ?" said Angelie. 
 
 "Yesterday evening." 
 
 "Why didn t you let Rosalynde know 
 that you were coming ? She went away 
 this morning, not more than an hour ago. 
 It s too bad." 
 
 "Where did you say she is gone?" 
 
 "Oh, it s indefinite. Father took her 
 with him into the Teche country. He has 
 a roving business trip of some sort." 
 
 "I couldn t overtake them, then?" 
 
 "Most likely not," she said, and some 
 thing in her voice searched his heart; it 
 was like a haunting bird-note in dreamy 
 weather. "It would be a tiresome and 
 hopeless chase." 
 
 "It will be tiresome to wait," he said. 
 
 "You have waited many months; you 
 can wait a week longer." 
 
 He looked at her sitting there by the 
 195 
 
open window, while the light through 
 flickering orange foliage played upon her 
 sweet face and softly rounded form, and 
 something in him stirred tenderly, send 
 ing along his veins a glow of delight. 
 
 When he arose to go, Angelie s eyes 
 measured his handsome figure ; then, with 
 a pretty, reminiscent start, she suddenly 
 said : 
 
 "But Rosalynde said that you were 
 lame. You are not, are you?" 
 
 "I was, but I am not," he said, looking 
 at himself. "My trouble was as nothing 
 in the hands of a good surgeon." 
 
 "How delightful !" she exclaimed, with 
 her hands clasped before her. "I am glad 
 for you." 
 
 "You will come every day," she added. 
 "It may shorten your period of waiting if 
 I prattle to you." 
 
 He was moving towards the door when 
 
 196 
 
the strains of a violin exquisitely played 
 came from a remote part of the house, and 
 he involuntarily paused. 
 
 "It is mamma," Angelie said, coming 
 near him. "She is a wonderful artiste: 
 nobody can play as she does. When you 
 come again she shall play for you. Why 
 not this evening ? You ll be lonely. Will 
 you ?" 
 
 Rayle said that he would, and as he 
 walked back to the hotel, somehow he felt 
 that lately the tune of his life had been 
 breaking upon false notes. 
 
 197 
 
In the morning following his peep at 
 the prize fight Breyten was up early with 
 the purpose well in mind to call upon 
 Rosalynde. Not another delay was to be 
 thought of. Assuring himself of this, he 
 cast off a load of trouble with somewhat 
 his old-time ease ; but in the reading-room 
 of the hotel he picked up a morning paper, 
 yet damp from the press, and almost the 
 first paragraph was quite in the line of his 
 thoughts. It stated that Dr. Banderet, 
 accompanied by his niece, Miss Rosalynde, 
 of Indiana, had gone to Bayou Teche for 
 198 
 
a week. A week! A year would not 
 have been more unsatisfactory. He read 
 the paragraph over two or three times, 
 then crumpled the paper, flung it on a 
 table, and went to the clerk s desk to in 
 quire how he could go to Bayou Teche 
 by the shortest and quickest route. 
 
 He would have but two hours and ten 
 minutes to wait for a train, a fast flyer, 
 going to "the Teche/ as the clerk called 
 it. He would reach New Iberia, a quaint 
 old town in that region, sometime in the 
 afternoon. The Teche was a long bayou 
 with plenty of steamboats on it. Many 
 tourists flocked there and had no end of a 
 good time, the clerk volunteered to ex 
 plain. 
 
 Breyten broke off from him to look 
 
 for a railway guide and snatch a hasty 
 
 breakfast. The excitement of pursuit 
 
 was already tingling through him. He 
 
 199 
 
made his few necessary preparations with 
 nervous haste, his fine face all aglow. 
 He looked like a big boy making frantic 
 efforts to get ready for a holiday, and he 
 was at the station half an hour before time 
 for the train to leave. 
 
 An excursion to Texas, in the interests 
 of an agricultural emigration company, 
 had attracted a rather motley throng, in 
 the midst of which Breyten stalked about 
 restlessly until his train drew up ; then, 
 after being jostled and delayed at the 
 door, he went into the rearmost parlor- 
 car. The first face he saw struck him 
 \vith such surprise that he came near cry 
 ing out. 
 
 Rosalynde was looking out of a win 
 dow, and did not see Breyten as he passed, 
 though he hesitated a moment by the arm 
 of her seat. Dr. Banderet, coming up 
 just then, politely elbowed him away and 
 200 
 
sat down beside his grand-niece, with a 
 gold-headed cane between his knees. 
 
 Breyten s seat was some distance far 
 ther back. He flung himself into it with 
 the limp look of a very tired man. He 
 could not see Rosalynde s face, but a curve 
 of her cheek showed under her simple 
 traveling-hat, and the dusky gleam of her 
 hair was just as it used to be when she sat 
 reading to him in the old home in Haw- 
 ford. 
 
 The train soon freed itself from the 
 hindrances of the city and leaped forth 
 into the strange moss-hung forests and 
 over the plashy swamps and marshes. 
 
 After a while Dr. Banderet went to the 
 smoking-apartment, leaving Rosalynde 
 alone in her seat. Breyten gave himself 
 no time for a change of purpose, but 
 rather precipitately carried it out. Rosa 
 lynde looked up and saw him bending 
 
 201 
 
over her. She started; her face flushed, 
 then turned pale. She had been thinking 
 of him when his voice startled her. He 
 was speaking when she lifted her eyes to 
 him. 
 
 "Rdsalynde," he said, with a fine, at 
 tractive smile, "didn t you know that you 
 couldn t get away from me ? Here I am." 
 
 "You surprised me," she said, making 
 room for him by removing Dr. Banderet s 
 cane from where he had left it leaning 
 against the seat beside her; "but I am 
 glad to see you. \Yhere are you going?" 
 
 "\Yherever you go," he answered 
 gravely. "You shall never get out of my 
 sight again if I can prevent it never." 
 
 Suddenly all his great masculine force 
 had returned to him : he felt that he could 
 spin the world like a top. He was a sav 
 age, ready to seize the beautiful, half- 
 shrinking maiden and rush away with her 
 202 
 
to his lair in some impregnable cave. He 
 must have given her a powerful shock, for 
 at the side of her throat the ivory-white 
 skin was palpitating to the current from 
 her heart. They sat for a space in silence. 
 Presently he said : 
 
 "Rosalynde, it s useless to hesitate or 
 deny. I love you and you love me; you 
 know it and I know it, and no power can 
 change it or hinder it." 
 
 He spoke in a subdued voice, but every 
 word struck her ear with an electrical 
 power, and it seemed to her that the 
 sounds, so thrilling to her, would surely 
 startle all the people in the car. Under 
 the beautiful pallor of her cheeks a fine 
 peach-petal flush was barely visible; her 
 lips were like gerardias. As for him, he 
 was indifferent to what the people in the 
 car saw, heard, or thought. She under- 
 
 203 
 
stood this and felt the need of coolness 
 and tact. 
 
 "Don t, please," she said at first in a 
 frightened half -whisper. Then with a 
 great effort she laughed and added : "But 
 tell me where you ve been and what 
 you ve seen." 
 
 "I ve been nowhere, have seen nothing, 
 and have thought only of you all the 
 time." 
 
 "But a person who goes nowhere and 
 sees nothing must be very stupid and un 
 interesting," she said, with a poor little 
 breaking voice, which she was trying to 
 make ring out freely and lightly in proof 
 of a jocund mood. 
 
 "It s no use, Rosalynde," he said ; "you 
 feel it and might as well acknowledge it. 
 Love is master." 
 
 Suddenly she bridled breathlessly. "You 
 
 204 
 
shall not say this to me," she exclaimed. 
 "I will not listen. You forget; you 
 
 Dr. Banderet appeared to claim his 
 seat, or rather to stand mute with a bland 
 interrogative expression on his aristo 
 cratic face. Rosalynde did the first thing 
 she thought of, the moment being a cru 
 cial one. She introduced Frederick Brey- 
 ten to her great-uncle. Breyten arose, 
 and the two men, bobbing and staggering 
 to the car s motion, shook hands. 
 
 "Keep the seat, sir, keep the seat," Dr. 
 Banderet insisted. "I will sit facing you, 
 here. I like riding backward for a 
 change." 
 
 The arrangement comforted Rosalynde, 
 and she enjoyed hearing Breyten, in an 
 swer to inquiries from her uncle, tell a 
 good deal about the Breytens of Virginia, 
 an historic family well known to Dr. 
 Banderet. 
 
 205 
 
Dr. Banderet was a voluble talker, with 
 much that was interesting to talk about, 
 and he gave Breyten little opportunity to 
 speak to Rosalynde. 
 
 "I am very glad that you have no defi 
 nite plan for seeing the Teche region," 
 he went on to say. "I shall claim the 
 pleasure of showing it to you. You will 
 go with us ? I have a little business, but 
 my niece and you will doubtless be able 
 to entertain each other, being old 
 friends." 
 
 Breyten was delighted, but Rosalynde 
 looked frightened and seemed on the 
 point of raising strenuous objection, al 
 though, in fact, her tongue was refrac 
 tory; she could not have spoken a word 
 had life depended upon it. 
 
 The train swept on, and as the miles 
 slipped behind, it seemed to Rosalynde 
 
 206 
 
that she was leaving forever all that had 
 once been life to her and flying into some 
 unknown region enmisted with doubt and 
 haunted by a formless, tender dread. 
 
 207 
 
It would be interesting to observe 
 Rayle s proceedings during the time it 
 turned out to be twelve days instead of a 
 week that Dr. Banderet and Rosalynde 
 were absent. 
 
 He called upon Angelie every day, and 
 found her a most bewitching young 
 woman, who held up before him a kaleido 
 scope of dazzling fascinations. 
 
 He recognized her extreme difference 
 
 from Rosalynde at the very moments 
 
 when he was most impressed with the 
 
 twin-like resemblance between them. Per- 
 
 208 
 
haps this confused him, or was it the 
 weather ? For never had his eyes looked 
 through such soft splendor of sunlight by 
 day and moonlight by night. 
 
 Of course he got acquainted with Mr. 
 Freddie Amsley very well acquainted in 
 deed almost at once. Amsley sniffed 
 game in this sturdy, frank, confiding 
 youth from Indiana, who seemed to have 
 money, and introduced him to some good 
 fellows at his club. Rayle found his new 
 friends delightful and prosperous young 
 men, who lived at a pace that made him 
 dizzy ; they fascinated him so that his im 
 agination clothed them as princes of 
 finance, and before he could adjust his 
 judgment to surroundings so engaging, 
 they had deftly, and with jocund show of 
 splendid good-fellowship, relieved him 
 of every cent of his money. Then he 
 realized that Freddie Amsley was no an- 
 209 
 
gel of good fortune, but rather a sleek 
 little demon, swift and sure in his work. 
 
 What help was there for him ? He sat 
 down quite limp in his room at the hotel 
 and looked aghast into the depths of his 
 despair. Fortunately, he had paid his bill 
 for a fortnight in advance, a mere acci 
 dent growing out of making change. But 
 what was before him? He had nothing 
 to depend upon save the pittance of in 
 come from his estate in Haw ford. 
 
 With the thought of how his weakness 
 and folly would affect Rosalynde came to 
 Rayle s mind the temptation to seek Brey- 
 ten and ask him for advice, if not for help 
 in a more solid form. He slept, or rather 
 tumbled all night in bed, over the sugges 
 tion, and during the following forenoon 
 went to the Hotel Royale, only to find that 
 Breyten had gone west eight days ago. 
 The obliging day-clerk further informed 
 210 
 
him that the gentleman would "be back 
 in a few days." 
 
 "Where has he gone?" Rayle demand 
 ed, a sudden suspicion opening darkly in 
 his brain. 
 
 The clerk thought a moment, then 
 shook his head. 
 
 "I m not sure; he didn t leave any or 
 ders about his mail. Seems to me, 
 though, that he inquired about the Teche. 
 Yes, I know he did; seemed to be in a 
 hurry; left on the morning train." 
 
 Rayle pressed his teeth together and 
 stood thinking. His first impulse was to 
 follow in Breyten s tracks, but upon re 
 flection his penniless condition forbade the 
 venture. He went out and walked aim 
 lessly for a while, then returned to his ho 
 tel and shut himself in his room. Pres 
 ently he recollected that he had promised 
 
 211 
 
to dine with Mrs. Banderet and her 
 daughter. 
 
 Here our record must rely upon the 
 meager facts in the following letter writ 
 ten by Angelie to Rosalynde, who re 
 ceived it at New Iberia after her return 
 there from a memorable voyage on the 
 beautiful waters of Bayou Teche : 
 
 "DEAREST ROSE: / hope this letter 
 will not fail to reach you; and oh, I m so 
 glad that I did not feel in the humor to 
 go ivith you and papa, for I ve been hav 
 ing such exciting experiences. How shall 
 I tell you? It s like a novel. The very 
 handsomest and most interesting young 
 man that I ever saiv has been coming to 
 see me every day since your departure. 
 He s dark and has features so nobly cut 
 and so finely intelligent that it s a delight 
 to look at him. He s a charming talker 
 too; has just returned from Paris, where 
 
 212 
 
he had no end of adventures. But, dear, 
 he has no more actual knowledge of the 
 zvorld than a boy of fifteen, though his 
 opinion of himself is pretty extensive, as 
 is the case zvith all men, you know. Still, 
 that makes him delightful, his want of 
 worldly wisdom, I mean, and he is so 
 entertaining and so western; he s from 
 Indiana too! He knczv Uncle Lucien, 
 and is acquainted zvith Mr. Frederick 
 Breyten! Mamma and I have laid our 
 selves out to be agreeable to him, as much 
 on your friend s account as anything else, 
 for he is now zvaiting for Mr. Breyten to 
 return; seems to be rather impatient to see 
 him. I really think there is something 
 mysterious about his coming here, some 
 thing romantic rather, and I am so inter 
 ested. Pie has great, big, dark, soft eyes, 
 a poet s eyes, and such a voice! He 
 sings to mamma s accompaniments with 
 213 
 
perfectly divine richness and power, in a 
 heavy tenor that I never heard the equal 
 of anywhere. Freddie has called. I ll 
 finish this after I ve sent him away. 
 
 "Freddie stayed but a little while, and 
 he was disagreeable; he said some things 
 about my new friend that made me angry, 
 and I sent him off straightway. It was 
 something that happened at the club, and 
 he spoke of my friend as a chump, what 
 ever that is. I am beginning to suspect 
 Fred Amsley of doing downright mean 
 things. He even hinted that my friend 
 is lacking in good common sense, and in 
 timated tJiat he had shown himself a very 
 easy victim to his own foolish egotism. 
 I did not quite understand, but Fred s 
 manner was disagreeable, and we parted 
 angry, at least I w*as. Another caller; 
 it s my new friend. 
 
 "Oh, but now I have something to tell 
 214 
 
you! My handsome friend from Indiana 
 has just gone, after the strangest inter 
 view I ever had with any person in all 
 my life. I m all nervous, and I do not 
 know how to tell you what I have been 
 experiencing. It is so unusual, so ro 
 mantic, so pathetic, and so, / almost said 
 funny, but it isn t that. Pie has lost every 
 cent of his money and doesn t know what 
 to do. It was Fred Arnsley that caused 
 it: he was the little villain. My sus 
 picions were correct : he cunningly led my 
 friend into a gambling scheme of some 
 sort, and he was robbed. I will never 
 speak to Fred Amsley again. I didn t 
 know that he was a gambler. 
 
 "But I will tell you everything when 
 you come home. It s quite impossible to 
 put the whole thing in a little letter. 
 Mamma and I have been talking it over. 
 We feel that it is our duty to do some- 
 215 
 
thing, but what? Isn t it picturesque? 
 Think of me with a penniless and despair 
 ing stranger on my hands, and he as hand 
 some as Apollo and as interesting as a 
 hero in a novel! 
 
 "A thousand kisses from your devoted 
 cousin ANGELIE." 
 
 The reader will understand that An- 
 gelie had a double reason for not men 
 tioning Rayle s name in her letter. In 
 the first place, he had told her that he 
 wished to surprise Rosalynde, and then 
 she liked the spice of mystery that she was 
 able to throw into her account ; it gratified 
 her taste for romance. Moreover, she 
 vaguely felt that in some \vay it was better 
 to let Rayle explain, if he wished, the cir 
 cumstances by which he had been in 
 fluenced, although she really did not 
 clearly comprehend her own motive in the 
 matter. Rayle fascinated her more than 
 216 
 
she realized, and her sympathy took deep 
 hold in considering his unfortunate folly 
 and the heartless conduct of Amsley. 
 
 Angelie was peculiarly wrought upon 
 by a consideration of Rayle s trouble. It 
 seemed to her monstrous that a man so 
 very handsome, so charming as a talker, 
 so gifted as a singer, and withal so evi 
 dently free from the real vices of man 
 hood, should have fallen into a vulgar 
 error inducing such keen and humiliating 
 distress. From what Rayle had told her 
 she imagined that Breyten was his only 
 hope ; and the thought of Breyten brought 
 to mind the great probability, almost cer 
 tainty, that he had gone in pursuit of 
 Rosalynde. Then she smiled and won 
 dered if Rosalynde would be glad to see 
 him. She felt some sort of comfort in 
 the suggestion that Breyten might be able 
 to win her away from Rayle, being a bold 
 217 
 
and audacious lover, evidently not to be 
 set aside with a mere wave of the hand. 
 It was a romantic subject for her imagina 
 tion to play with, at all events. 
 
 2218 
 
Cl>&<p I e r J7\vei\ty 
 
 Bayou Teche doubtless has had many a 
 romance upon its slow, languid water, and 
 in the picturesque houses that peep forth 
 from the groves and gardens along its 
 banks, but the flower of them all the 
 poem of them all, it would be better to say 
 was that which Breyten and Rosalynde 
 made for themselves while on board a little 
 steamboat, a lazy but tireless craft run 
 ning far up the great lagoon and touch 
 ing with its enterprising nose every land 
 ing on either shore. 
 
 Dr. Banderet, having lived most of his 
 219 
 
life in the South, had the Southerner s 
 quick sense of what is due to a gentleman 
 who falls in the way of one s hospitality 
 or seems a good target for one s generosi 
 ties of any sort. He knew Breyten s 
 family, had known his father, and now, 
 well impressed with the young man him 
 self, he set no limit to kindness and court 
 esy. His business at New Iberia had to 
 be postponed for a few days, and as time 
 was heavy he bethought him of the voy 
 age up the Teche it would be a revela 
 tion to Rosalynde, and perhaps not unat 
 tractive to Breyten. So it was arranged ; 
 a little steamer came just at the nick of 
 time ; to reach it was no great trouble. 
 
 The old doctor was in high spirits; 
 Breyten had charmed him; for Breyten 
 was a good listener, the doctor an enthu 
 siastic raconteur, and what more was 
 needed ? 
 
 220 
 
The only drawback was that Brey ten s 
 mind wandered from the entertainment 
 so generously expended upon him to 
 Rosalynde, sitting by the vessel s rail a lit 
 tle distance farther forward. He wanted 
 to join her ; as yet he had not been able to 
 converse with her alone, and his heart was 
 impatient, his ears longed for her voice, 
 his eyes could not be kept from gazing at 
 her profile while she looked away over 
 the smooth water. 
 
 Breyten, after the most diligent impa 
 tience, finally worked himself clear of Dr. 
 Banderet s control, and turned his chair 
 so as to face Rosalynde. 
 
 "Now," he said, with the air of one who 
 dares fate, "we will give any intruder a 
 cold stare of repulse. I am in no humor 
 for interruptions." 
 
 "It is a beautiful panorama," she said, 
 "a sort of dream-shadow and dream-sheen 
 221 
 
vision. I was here once before, long, 
 long ago, when I was a little child. It is 
 just the same, so far as I can see, not a 
 trace of change. I remember those long- 
 necked, slow-winged birds." She pointed 
 towards some herons, laboring through 
 the drowsy air. "I have dreamed of these 
 dusky shore-groves and those \vide fields 
 of cane yonder hundreds of times. They 
 made a great impression upon my childish 
 mind, and I have always desired to come 
 and see them again." 
 
 "But you never dreamed that I was to 
 be with you, did you ?" 
 
 "No," she said with a little laugh. 
 
 "Well, I was to be, and here I am. 
 You do not seem surprised ; you do not 
 object." 
 
 "Why should I?" 
 
 "You shouldn t; it s in accord with di 
 vinely ordered destiny." 
 222 
 
" Now," he said, " ze/ will give any 
 intruder a cold stare of repulse" 
 
"How do you know that?" 
 
 "How do I know that I am here, and 
 that you are here? Do you believe that 
 two people like you and me are mere play 
 things of chance? Or do you imagine 
 that God crossed the lines of our lives that 
 He might tantalize us? What are we 
 here for ? Why did I find you under the 
 bridge when the storm made day like mid 
 night?" 
 
 "I don t know," she faltered ; then ad 
 ded with a firmer tone: "People have to 
 meet. The highways are for all." 
 
 "True; but our meeting opened a new 
 life to both of us; you know it. Look 
 back beyond that meeting. Is life back 
 there what it is on this side? We have 
 blended souls, we have enlarged each 
 other s vision, broadened each other s ca 
 pacity to enjoy, to comprehend, to aspire. 
 I did not know life until you opened its 
 223 
 
gate; before that I was but a joy-dreamer, 
 with the Greek poets for my cup-fillers 
 and physical nature for my guide. Now 
 I feel something better, purer, stronger. 
 I love, and I feel the imperious right to 
 be loved." 
 
 Rosalynde had been struggling with a 
 sense of duty during this impassioned 
 speech, which she felt overwhelming her 
 and lifting tears towards her eyes. She 
 knew that she must cast off with a firm 
 hand what, in spite of all she could do, 
 seemed \o fill a thousand dry and thirsty 
 wells of her soul. 
 
 It was impossible for her not to realize 
 what she was called upon to consider. 
 There was something in the situation de- 
 liciously challenging, a something which, 
 forbidden by her betrothal to Rayle, yet 
 demanded the tenderest and most consid 
 erate treatment. The facts she could not 
 224 
 
deny that they were facts tumbled upon 
 her attention by Breyten just now were 
 not new to her; she had revolved them 
 innumerable times since they parted at 
 Hawford. Not that she gave them the 
 meaning that he insisted upon. She gave 
 them no meaning; they simply haunted 
 her with a strange composite effect at once 
 infinitely saddening and indescribably 
 sweet. 
 
 "What are you thinking?" Breyten 
 gently demanded, after a rather long 
 pause, during which a beautiful landscape 
 had opened on one bank of the bayou. 
 
 "How pastoral and peaceful ! I remem 
 ber that house." She indicated a vener 
 able mansion under enormous live-oak 
 trees. 
 
 The boat, as if attracted by the cool 
 shade, the wide verandas, and the idyllic 
 
 225 
 
agricultural scene in the rear, turned its 
 prow towards the landing at the place. 
 
 "I should love to live there, a long, un 
 eventful, dreamy life," Rosalynde added. 
 "What could be more reposeful, more like 
 what poets describe when they want to 
 make you discontented with your lot?" 
 
 "I ll buy it for you, if you ll live there 
 with me," he said, with the eagerness of 
 a boy who begs for something that has 
 been denied him. "I ll buy anything, 
 everything you want, a palace. You 
 have but to ask." 
 
 Her face paled : she turned upon him 
 eyes full of earnest beseeching. 
 
 "Do not talk like that, I beg of you," 
 she said, gently but firmly. "You for- 
 get." 
 
 "No, I do not forget ; I remember clear 
 ly," he insisted; "but what of it? Rosa 
 lynde" 
 
 226 
 
She stopped him with a gesture and an 
 air of absolute command. It was a reve 
 lation of that in her character which there 
 tofore had been veiled from him. 
 
 "I am Alfred Rayle s promised wife," 
 she said. "There is nothing to add to the 
 simple statement. You know it as well 
 as I." 
 
 In that moment, at those words, his 
 heart sank, but he fought hard and held 
 his head high. Defeat seemed impossi 
 ble. He must not force fate ; time and the 
 weight of events might yet win for him 
 all that now seemed impossible, for there 
 was no doubting the immovable, albeit 
 hauntingly gentle and inscrutable, expres 
 sion in her face. And yet he felt a deep, 
 heart-pervading intimation from her eyes 
 and from the undertones of her voice that 
 she was repressing and trying to smother 
 what she really had let kindle in her soul 
 227 
 
for him. But she had put him to the 
 crucial test. 
 
 "If you really love Alfred Rayle and do 
 not love me, that is the end," he said. 
 "I followed you here not to try to change 
 your love, but to prove it. My love for 
 you could not let me believe that you did 
 not love me. I can not realize it now; 
 but if it is so, if you love Rayle and not 
 me, it is my load, and I must carry it." 
 
 His face shone white through the 
 bronze : there was a look in his splendid 
 eyes that tortured every string of her 
 heart. 
 
 He rose and stood for a moment in si 
 lence. Far away somewhere a boat-horn 
 sounded a long, plaintive strain. 
 
 "I see that I have done wrong," he said. 
 "Forgive me ; lay it to my ignorance. I 
 never loved before; it has conquered me 
 wholly." 
 
 228 
 
She sat silent, and he added in a tone 
 that labored with a tremendous reserve 
 of feeling : 
 
 "If this is the end, there is no more 
 life for me; but I will not annoy you. I 
 " He passed his hand over his fore 
 head and looked bewildered. Then, ral 
 lying, he tried to smile in his old joyous 
 way, and said : "I believe I am not well 
 a trifle dizzy. It s nothing; it will 
 pass." But he dropped rather heavily 
 into his chair, as a very tired man might 
 have done. But he mastered himself be 
 fore Rosalynde could fairly understand, 
 and now he had to assume a cheerful 
 mood, for Dr. Banderet came to join them 
 and had thought of another excellent 
 story. 
 
 The voyage on the Teche lasted two 
 days without further incident worth re 
 cording. Rosalynde and Breyten con- 
 229 
 
versed brokenly, meeting and separating 
 capriciously ; Dr. Banderet gradually com 
 pleted his cycle of stories and cheerfully 
 set out on the second round. At last it 
 was all over, and the little party again 
 set foot in the hotel at New Iberia. 
 Next morning Dr. Banderet s business 
 claimed him, and Rosalynde was whisked 
 away by a matronly friend, whose home 
 on the outskirts of the town looked old 
 enough and quaint enough to date back 
 to the davs of French supremacy. 
 
 Breyten lingered and waited. Why 
 did he linger ? What was he waiting for ? 
 There was no reason ; there was no expec 
 tation. Still, he lingered and waited, a 
 mere lounger at the hotel. 
 
 When Dr. Banderet s affairs were at 
 
 last arranged to his liking, he brought 
 
 Rosalynde back to the hotel, and the three 
 
 dined together upon delicious French 
 
 230 
 
dishes and notably excellent French 
 wines. Of course, some stories by the 
 doctor added pleasantness to the occa 
 sion. 
 
 Next morning, while they were making 
 ready to take the return train to New Or 
 leans, Angelie s letter arrived. Dr. Band- 
 eret was out attending to some final de 
 tails, and Breyten came into the little par 
 lor just as Rosalynde made an end of 
 reading her cousin s romantic prattle. 
 Her face was lit with excitement when she 
 looked up at him. 
 
 "You did not tell me that Alfred that 
 Mr. Rayle was in New Orleans," she said 
 with reproachful, almost bitter, emphasis. 
 
 "You have a letter?" he inquired, mean 
 ing one from Rayle. 
 
 "Yes," she said. 
 
 "Then he has told you, and I am not 
 bound to keep his secret longer. I could 
 231 
 
not tell you, because he made me promise 
 not to. I have felt the wrong of it, but I 
 had promised him. Forgive me. I am 
 sorry." . 
 
 She stood a moment, hesitating; then 
 she handed Breyten the letter. 
 
 "Read it," she said, "and tell me what 
 it means." 
 
 While his glance ran over the clear, ele 
 gant, yet girlish writing, Rosalynde 
 watched him in a state of breathless sus 
 pense. She knew and she did not know 
 what the worst meaning of Angelie s tan 
 talizing obscurity might be, and a great 
 sense of impending disaster bore upon 
 her. 
 
 "Humph !" muttered Breyten, more to 
 himself than to her. "\Yhat a fool ! How 
 absurd !" Then he handed the letter back 
 to her. 
 
 A wave of his old impulsive generosity 
 232 
 
swept through him. He looked into her 
 troubled eyes, and with a cheerful smile 
 said : "It s nothing serious. I ll straighten 
 it all out. Don t worry in the least about 
 it." 
 
 He sat down at a table and drew forth 
 pen and a little writing pad. 
 
 "I know what to do," he added, and 
 laughed. 
 
 What he wrote was a telegraphic mes 
 sage in cipher to his agent in New York. 
 
 "Send by wire to Alfred Rayle order 
 for five thousand dollars through New 
 Orleans National Bank. Utmost de 
 spatch. Absolute secrecy. Notify Rayle 
 at . - Hotel" 
 
 He went out and sent away the mes 
 sage, returning in ten minutes. She was 
 waiting for him, but she appeared not in 
 the least reassured. A new trouble had 
 been added to her eyes during his absence, 
 233 
 
for she had been rapidly thinking over 
 many things in the past and coupling 
 them with what had just transpired. She 
 advanced a step to meet him and said : 
 "What have you been doing ? You have 
 
 sent him money. It is all wrong. You 
 
 
 
 "Wait/ he gently interrupted; "do not 
 make a hasty judgment; it is never safe. 
 It will be time to make up your mind 
 when everything is clear to your vision 
 after all excitement has passed." 
 
 He looked to her just as when he stood 
 on the bridge that first day, smiling at 
 her in the light that followed the storm. 
 Somehow his words and his manner tem 
 pered her distress. She felt imperiously 
 compelled to rely upon him. He seemed 
 able to do anything great that he desired 
 to do. 
 
 Dr. Banderet came in with a bustling 
 234 
 
air. They would have to make haste or 
 lose the train. 
 
 "Good-by, then," said Breyten, offering 
 Rosalynde his hand. "I am going on to 
 Mexico. Our voyage was an experience 
 that I shall never forget. I say good-by 
 with a pang." 
 
 She gave him her hand. 
 
 "Why, my dear sir," exclaimed Dr. 
 Banderet, "my dear sir, this is sudden; 
 we had counted upon your returning with 
 us." 
 
 "Yes, it is rather sudden, a sort of sur 
 prise to myself; but I am a creature of 
 whims. I have thought of Mexico for 
 a long while, and now that I seem near 
 its border, the impulse comes upon me to 
 go. But you will miss your train through 
 being kind to me. Good-by, Miss Band 
 eret; good-by, doctor." 
 
 "You \von t be always in Mexico," said 
 235 
 
Dr. Banderet, already hurrying Rosa- 
 lynde away, and speaking cordially back 
 over his shoulder. "You ll be in New 
 Orleans on your return trip. Come right 
 to my house." 
 
 When Rosalynde turned at the door 
 and gave Breyten a quick glance, he 
 thought he saw tears shining in her eyes. 
 
 236 
 
- i&*z X " > 
 
 
 P* 
 
 (9i\e 
 
 Breyten went to Mexico and wandered 
 somewhat perfunctorily for a space of five 
 or six months in a mood not conducive to 
 perfect comfort. 
 
 He kept Angelie s photograph, he 
 could not separate it from his dream of 
 Rosalynde, and one seeing him gazing 
 upon it would have suspected him of pray 
 ing to it ; but sentimental as all this may 
 seem, he lost no sleep, kept a great appe 
 tite, flourished physically, and read the 
 home newspapers whenever he could get 
 hold of them. 
 
 2 37. 
 
He was on the point of embarking at 
 Vera Cruz for Havre when the item of 
 news for which he seemed to have been 
 long looking fell under his eyes. It was 
 in a New Orleans Sunday paper, just five 
 weeks old: 
 
 "Mr. Alfred Rayle and his wife have 
 gone to Haw ford, Indiana, for a month s 
 visit." 
 
 Breyten read the item over and over, 
 but somehow he could not realize its fact. 
 Presently he flung down the paper with 
 an impatient gesture, and laughed as one 
 does who is proof against the little annoy 
 ances that printed matter occasionally 
 swarms with. 
 
 "I ve looked for it diligently enough, 
 expected it confidently enough, and pre 
 pared myself for it carefully enough," he 
 reflected, "so that it means nothing ab- 
 
 238 
 
solutely nothing to me, now that I ve 
 found it." 
 
 Breyten went bowling across the seas 
 to France., There he made persistent ef 
 forts to regain his lost way of life. First 
 he tried interesting himself in books, art, 
 the theaters, and the streets of Paris ; then 
 he ran up to Switzerland and gave 
 his muscles free play among the gla 
 ciers. It was but mechanical exercise, 
 not recreation; the old idyllic joy would 
 not return. He began to wonder how he 
 had ever cared so much for what now 
 seemed idle and empty, a mere vagrant s 
 mood, of which a man ought to be 
 ashamed. But what was worth while, 
 then ? 
 
 He lingered here and yonder on his 
 
 slow way. He spent the winter in the 
 
 Riviera, dreaming of the Teche, knowing 
 
 all the time that sooner or later he was go- 
 
 239 
 
ing back to Haw ford on a bicycle by way 
 of the bridge where he had first met Rosa- 
 lynde. And promptly, early in May, he 
 was there, but the old wooden span had 
 been torn away to give place to a patent 
 one of iron. 
 
 It was growing dusk when he reached 
 the hotel at Haw ford. 
 
 "Hello!" said the smiling, fat clerk, in 
 stantly recognizing him, "glad to see you, 
 Mr. Breyten. You can have the same 
 rooms. You are looking fine. Been 
 growing, haven t you ?" 
 
 Breyten generalized vaguely and gen 
 ially in response to this unexpected 
 warmth. He would have liked to ask in 
 numerable questions, all tending to one 
 object Rosalynde. For, in spite of what 
 he knew to the contrary, he could think 
 of her only as living yonder in the old 
 gray home among the trees. Presently 
 240 
 
he would go up there and see her; she 
 would be walking in the broad way be 
 tween the gate and the house, and an ab 
 surd little dog with a ribbon around its 
 neck would be trotting along ahead of 
 her. 
 
 "When you got jammed up so on your 
 bicycle that time, I never expected that 
 I d see you flying around again. You re 
 entirely well of it?" 
 
 "Yes, thank you, quite well." 
 
 "The young lady came out mighty 
 lucky." 
 
 "And how is she?" Breyten could not 
 control his desire. The question was 
 asked automatically. 
 
 "Don t know ; well, I guess. The fam 
 ily have just come up from New Orleans ; 
 going to spend the summer here. I 
 haven t seen any of em yet." 
 
 Breyten turned abruptly and followed 
 241 
 
the servant, who led the way to his room. 
 He walked briskly and appeared to be 
 alert, self-contented, happy; but he felt 
 heavy and listless ; he could not think 
 clearly, and every fiber of his body seemed 
 strained to the point of lesion. 
 
 He dined heartily, for his heavy exer 
 cise awheel had given him a sharp appe 
 tite, though he was not tired. At eight of 
 the Hawford Court House steeple clock 
 he went out into the moonlight night. 
 
 He reflected : "I shall go for a look at 
 the house where I lay so long. And it 
 seems but yesterday, yet like a century 
 too, since she read to me and I gazed at 
 her through half-closed eyes. Just a look 
 at the old house, and then : 
 
 In front of the Banderet horpestead 
 Breyten stood up firmly, straight and tall, 
 while a figure moved down the walk 
 
 242 
 
towards him; a gray, slender, graceful 
 form, leading a little child. 
 
 One glance assured him ; it was Rosa- 
 lynde. Suddenly he felt perfectly master 
 of himself. There was but one thing to 
 do, and he was glad and eager to do it. 
 Of course, he had no time to reason it out 
 with himself, but the gist of it was: 
 "Here she comes. It is Mrs. Rayle now, 
 a happy little wife. Clearly all that I ve 
 got to do is to shake hands with her, be 
 glad to see her, be invited in, talk with 
 Rayle, and go away." 
 
 When Breyten opened the gate the fig 
 ure was less than ten paces distant, and at 
 the click of the latch it stopped quite still. 
 With quick steps he approached and held 
 out his hand. 
 
 "Do you forgive a friend, Mrs. Rayle, 
 the liberty of taking you unawares?" His 
 voice was not so steady, after all. 
 243 
 
"Mr. Breyten !" 
 
 "Mrs. Rayle." 
 
 "You are mistaken. Mrs. Rayle is 
 away; but I am glad to see you." 
 
 She took his hand : he stood looking 
 hard at her. Surely it was Rosalynde, 
 pale, radiant, glad, gazing up into his 
 questioning eyes. 
 
 The little child, daughter of a neighbor, 
 slipped aside and ran away. 
 
 Breyten put on a great spurt of shrewd 
 ness ; the flash of comprehensive retrospect 
 that comes to a drowning man was giving 
 him full explanation of his mistake. He 
 recollected that the photograph was of 
 Rosalynde s cousin, Miss Angelie Bande- 
 ret. To be sure. 
 
 He laughed and said : 
 
 The moonlight deceived me ; I thought 
 you were Rosalynde Mrs. Rayle." 
 
 244 
 
"Come into the house with me, where 
 the light is better," she said. 
 
 "You are Miss Angelie Banderet?" 
 
 "No, I am Rosalynde." 
 
 He stopped as if frozen. 
 
 "Then then," he stammered, "then 
 you are Mrs. Rayle." 
 
 "No. I am Rosalynde Banderet." 
 There was a decided accent of disap 
 proval, as well as denial, in her voice. "I 
 do not like the humor of what you say." 
 She made a gesture of disappointment, 
 and stood as if waiting for him to make 
 amends. 
 
 "Rosalynde Rosalynde what are you 
 saying to me ? What do you mean ?" 
 
 Something behind his faltering words 
 indicated whole volumes of inexpressible 
 suspense, doubt, hope, trembling expecta 
 tion. 
 
 "I do not understand you," she said, 
 245 
 
visibly quivering from head to foot, for 
 she was beginning to suspect the truth. 
 He did not comprehend that it was An- 
 gelie who became Mrs. Rayle. 
 
 As for him, he caught the truth at that 
 moment, as if it had been revealed by a 
 divine light. He saw a flash of electrical 
 splendor, like that away back yonder un 
 der the old bridge on the day he first saw 
 her. 
 
 "You did not marry Rayle," he cried 
 in a low, glad voice. "Rosalynde ! Rosa- 
 lynde! You did not did you?" 
 
 "No," she said, from somewhere deep 
 in his arms. It was like the cry of a bird 
 reveling in foliage so densely rich that 
 the luxury was well-nigh overpowering. 
 
 "No," he repeated after her; "no, no!" 
 
 The spring wind was merry in the 
 young leaves overhead. From the house 
 a violin s notes trembled forth, deliciously 
 246 
 
" No," she said from somewhere 
 deep in his arms 
 
tender and sweet ; it was Mrs. Banderet 
 playing the doctor s favorite lyric. Then 
 a small object came ambling down the 
 walk and frisked and barked as if its 
 whole life depended upon noise and mo 
 tion; but it received not the slightest re 
 gard; its mistress did not even see it or 
 hear it. 
 
 We can go no further. Marriage is 
 not the end of love, but it is the true end 
 cf a love-story; and this is only a love- 
 story. 
 
 a 
 
*e 
 
 ***** 
 
THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY