e LETTER T T CHARLES FELTON PIDGIN y \ T^— - ' The Letter H A Novel Br CHARLES FELTON PIDGIN Author of tl Blennerhatutt," lt S^uincy Adamx Sawyer" " Tk* Climax," etc., tte. G. W. DILLINGHAM COMPANY PUBLISHERS NEW YORK Copyright, 1904, by G. W. DILLINGHAM COMPANY Entered at Stationers' Hall The Letur H Itsued ^ Iorus looked towards the place whence the music had appeared to come — just out beyond the shadows of the great twin cedars. The music had ceased now, and there were only the sweet sounds of the wind in the trees and the singing of the birds. The playfulness had gone from the girl's face, and in its place was an expression of exaltation — of ineffable sweetness. " Of my future husband," she half whispered. Lenore paled under the dark olive of her com- plexion. " Who is he, dear — Herman Higby ? " The sweetness lingered on her face, and her voice was soft and low: " No, not Herman Higby. The one of whom I was dreaming I never saw, nor did I ever hear his name " " Then how will you know him when you meet ? " asked Lenore, eagerly. " No fear of that. I should know him among ten thousand." " Lenore grew white to the lips, and her hands trembled. STTe shuddered a little. Through her mind passed the words of the girl's mother — spoken eighteen years before — " I should know him among The Letter H ten thousand." Tears welled in her eyes, and to her lips came a prayer that the girl would never meet the poor unfortunate being whom her frantic mother so longed to destroy. " Auntie," said the girl, " I'm in a confidential mood to-day. I'll tell you all I know about him, if you will listen and won't laugh at me." For answer, Lenore brushed the misty brown hair from the low, broad forehead and kissed her gently : " Does a true mother ever laugh at her daughter's confidences ? " They sat down together on the couch. " Do you know, Auntie," began the girl, " I think I must have met him in some of the past ages of the world. We may have stood together when the Queen of Sheba arrived at King Solomon's gates, and while my hero, it may be, was admiring her beauty and grandeur; I had eyes for none but him — or he may have been Pompeii's king, and I his slave." She stopped, her gaze resting on the scene beyond, and over and over in her mind echoed the plaintive melody of the " Traumerei." Lenore watched the girl narrowly, and the unshed tears made her eyes shine unnaturally. " The curse will work its course," she said sadly, to herself. 84 "The Trawmerei" " And when you think of this unknown hero," her aunt asked, interrupting the girl's musings, " is it with feelings of hatred ? " Dorus looked at her aunt. " Hatred % " she repeated passionately — then, as though she had not heard aright — " Can a woman hate her own soul ? He has grown into my life, he is part of myself. Awake or sleeping, that face comes to me. The lips are motionless, but the eyes seem to say, ' We shall meet ' ; and when we do, be he king or beggar, I shall love him, and — " She stopped short, looked at her aunt and gave a quick, hysterical laugh: " It is all very silly, isn't it, Auntie ? Don't mind me, will you ? " The older woman put her arms around the young girl, and kissed her tenderly. " Young girls are apt to talk nonsense, but they outgrow it, and you must. Dismiss such strange fancies — they can do you no good. They may even do you harm, by leading you to refuse an honest, tangible love such as Herman Higby can give you." Lenore kissed the girl again, and then rose abruptly, and with a puzzled glance at her, left the room. 86 CHAPTEE VII TWO MEN AND A MAID Dejection was apparent in every lineament of Doras Harlington's pretty face. She had curled up in the big sleepy-hollow chair after her little talk with Lenore. She heard the music again, afar off, softened by distance, and like the dream music in a fairy story. How long she sat there she did not know, but as the music grew fainter and fainter, and finally died away altogether, her mood passed. There was a man's step on the door-sill; and then, as though fearing that the pathetic little person curled up in the chair was asleep, there came a whis- per fluttering across the room : " Doras ! " The girl did not move. She knew quite well the great person that was expected, but to be the more tormenting she gave no sign of pleasure or recog- nition. " Who are you," she cried with mock dignity, " unbidden guest, that with so mute a step and bated breath doth steal upon me unawares ? " 86 % Two Men and a Maid The steps were heard advancing across the room until they were close to the back of her chair. But still she did not turn, nor even lift her head. " I am he," the voice went on softly, " whose dearest dream is to see you happy." She laughed, pleased in spite of herself at the implied compliment. " That voice," she said, " recalls a dream of other days — one I thought forgotten." " Dost know me ? " persisted the stranger. " 'Tis he who has been exiled and proscribed so long — Herman, the Count de Higby," she said mock- ingly. Herman leaned down, a wave of tenderness came over his face and he took the two little hands in his. " Look upon my altered mien and say if I am he," he said. The gray eyes that met his were dancing with mischief : " Avaunt ! thou beardless youth, thou art not Herman." Red lips gleaming, du?t-brown hair tumbling car- essingly over white temples, gray eyes laughing — the man looked down at the picture she made in th« big sleepy-hollow chair. 87 The Letter H " But thou art Dorus," he cried, pressing the little hands closely — the tighter because of the flutter in them — " only more beautiful than ever," he added in a low voice. There was open admiration in his face, and he let the hands go reluctantly. " Silly," the girl answered. " Whatever improve- ment there may have been in my personal appear- ance, I can assure you my disposition and temper have not profited thereby." " We won't argue about that," he said, laughing at the memories of past days and years. " I hope we shall not quarrel as we did when we were chil- dren. I know we won't." " Don't be too sure of that, Mr. Higby. I have not forgotten how you once pinched my poor kit- ten's ears until it was black in the face; and, also, with the most heartless cruelty, how you seemed to delight in sticking pins into my doll's eyes." Both laughed heartily at the memory. " Pray excuse my being so bold as to remind you that the kitten in question was a black one, and its face was not susceptible of the marked change you mention," said Herman. " As for the doll's eyes, I considered them useless appendages, and, more- Two Men and a Maid over, a vulgar burlesque on the genuine article, being made of black thread." They laughed again; then the girl spoke with an assumed asperity in her manner: " Your long-postponed explanation and defence do not change the fact that your acts were meant to afflict me. It was I, sir, and not the kitten or doll that drew forth your vindictiveness; and I warn you, sir, that the injury has not been forgotten, and never will be forgiven." The proud poise of her head, the sparkling bril- liancy of her sweet face, the gleam of her eyes and the flash of her little white teeth were irresistible. He looked down at her with an air that bespoke pos- session : " The loving heart takes pleasure in forgiving the injury that a loving hand may have inflicted. Dorus, my child love has become a man's passion. For years I have loved an ideal, only to find the real more beautiful than my imperfect fancies had painted." " Well, I like that! " she cried. "I was afraid I might find you a sensible youth, in which case my little schemes might have gone a-begging." " If I were sensible," the man responded, " I would become a fool for your sake, Dorus, and let 89 The Letter H my good sense and your schemes go a-begging to- gether." " As much as to say that good sense could not be understood by me. Young man," she continued sternly, " have you seen your father since your arrival ? " Herman shrugged his shoulders. " I have not," he said. " My heart led me to you." " Well, now let your filial respect lead you to your father, who is as anxious to see you as " • You are to have me go," Herman finished for her. " Hardly," replied the girl, a bit wearily, " but I told you my disposition had a sharp edge. I am tired; I shall see you again a little later." He clasped her hand, then went slowly out of the room, a puzzled expression in his eyes. Herman gone, Dorus threw herself back into the chair and watched the flickering shadows on the floor. She was not thinking of him. Her moods came and went like the breeze, and the one which had caused her to chatter and play with her child- hood's lover was gone. Her mind was filled again by the insistent, plaintive voice of the violin and the melody of the " Traumerei." She wondered why she 90 Two Men and a Maid had been put into the world, and vaguely she felt a new loneliness — a lack of something. Out of the vagueness of her dreams one face alone stood clear and constant — a face that was dark, and resolute, and tender; eyes that flashed full of meaning into hers. And always the plain- tive pleading of the " Traumerei." The rattle of pans and the voice of Saida mak- ing preparations for the evening aroused in Dorus thoughts of the party to take place that night. Only a brief space before she had been the soul of the affair, now she could not endure the thought of gaiety. Of such contrariness was Dorus made. Her one thought now was to find the original of the face about which centred her hazy dreams. Without seeing, she gazed out of the long French window, through the trees to the placid river. Up through the vista she saw coming a tall, broad-shoul- dered figure — a young man carrying a violin — nearer and nearer he came, straight to the house, as though drawn by some magnetic attraction. An angle of the building hid him at last. She turned, some one was entering at the farther end of the room. She raised her head to look directly into the eyes of Ernesto del Tonjours. Both stood si- 01 The Letter H lent. The gray eyes burning into the black ones, the black ones into the gray. Then, over the girl's face surged the red blood, wave on wave. The man dropped his too ardent gaze. He tightened his lips, and drew his shoulders back straight. " Mademoiselle,' ' he began, with a perceptible ef- fort, " h-how can I serve you ? " Dorus stepped forward impulsively, then stopped short, covered with confusion. Ernesto, too, strode half-way across the room, and then stopped as sud- denly as Dorus had done. The girl was devouring him with her eyes. She pressed her hand on her breast, as though to stop the wild beating of her heart. For a moment, the strange ecstasy that thrilled her excluded a realization of the demands of propriety, and for the time being, she lived alone in a world with neither rules nor conventionality to which she must conform. She had recognized in- stantly that this man was the one whom she had passed on her way into the station the day of her arrival in New York. Now, she knew that his face and the dream-face were identical. The change in garb from the faultlessly attired gentleman in town to the rough, picturesque costume of a traveller she did not notice. The knowledge that he was 92 Two Men and a Maid there, in her father's house, excluded all other thoughts. So she stood, but only for an instant. Saida's lusty voice summoning the two little pickaninnies recalled Dorus to herself, and she quickly cast about for some excuse for holding the musician near her without compromising herself more than she had done. Ernesto, however, seeing and seeming to under- stand her confusion, had started for the French win- dow. A timid voice detained him : "Sir! Sir!" When he had turned completely about and stood facing her again, she went on with restraint and apparent embarrassment: " May I tell you how much I enjoyed your play- ing ? " she said. " I have just come from Paris, where we heard the most beautiful music, but I never heard anything so like a human voice calling to me as when you played just now. You are a professional, of course. Perhaps, if you are stay- ing near by, you will come up and give us some music some evening very soon. I am sorry we can- not have the pleasure to-night, but we are having a large party in honor of my home-coming." 93 The Letter H Ernesto bowed low. His longing to stay, to stay forever in this lovely spot, to talk forever with this charming girl, almost overmastered him ; yet he felt that he must not yield. " I shall only be here to-night," he murmured. " I am obliged to go on in the morning." The girl's eyes sought his, full of passionate en- treaty. " Will you not tell me your name % " she asked softly. " My mother calls me Ernesto," was the answer. There was no more to be said. Dorus stepped forward impulsively and extended her hand: " Will you not say good-bye ? " Ernesto's face might have been hewn of stone, so cold and impassive was it. He looked as he had looked a hundred times, passionless and unrespon- sive, as he was when he faced a large audience. But behind the calm exterior was the memory of the electric thrill that had come at the touch of her sleeve, and he shrank from clasping the little pink hand. If, on a crowded thoroughfare like Forty- second Street, with the commotion and the various distracting disturbances about him, and with no pre- monition of her coming, he had felt such wonderful 94 Two Men and a Maid ecstasy from the simple brushing of sleeve to sleeve, what might it not be now, with every nerve and fibre awake to her presence? He drew back from the outstretched hand. " My hands must not touch yours," he said, as naturally as he could. " I have been picking flow- ers and digging up ferns in the woods, so that mine are too earthy to touch your white ones." Quite overwrought, one hand hanging at his side, the other closed about his violin, none knew the struggle it was to keep his hand from taking the little, frail, confiding one reached out to him. "With a backward tilt of her head and a low cry, the girl sprang forward and laid her hands gently on the lapels of his coat. He made a strong effort to release himself. With white lips, he pushed her back: " Be careful, child." " The risk is mine," was the answer, low, and deep, and steady. With her hands, she touched his face, his arm, his hands. " Oh, destiny," she cried. That I could go with you — and you could play, and I could sing. If I were a poor girl, then I could speak — then I would dare tell you how much — Oh ! Ernesto — go " 95 The Letter H She pushed him away from her, and with the soul of sorrow in her eyes, she watched him go — out into the soft, balmy sunshine. Out between the twin cedars he passed slowly. " Ernesto ! Come back " — it was only a whisper. chapter vrn TRACES OF AN INHERITANCE Dorus slept but ill when her aunt sent her to her room for a nap before dinner, and her first thought on waking was not about the great ball, but about the musician. The reflection of her face in the mirror startled her. There were signs of tears in her eyes, and something in her expression puzzled her. She wondered what force had compelled her to act as she had done; yet she realized that the entire scene would be repeated should the same con- ditions present themselves again. Dorus was much given to analyzing her motives, but this — it was un- precedented, and without explanation. She felt that it was some trick of inheritance, some force generated centuries before. Mentally, she tried to enumerate her ancestors. The Harlingtons, with their long line of American heroes and hero- ines; and far back in England to the Norman rule — centuries of bravery, and honor, and valorous deeds — was it there? And her mother's family — Creoles ! 97 The Letter H There was a shudder and a gasp as Doras realized that she knew not one thing about her mother's family. Her brows contracted somberly, and the gray eyes grew deep and fathomless as she tried to reason why she had never been told more about them. They had kept her mind full of the thoughts of the greatness of one side of her ancestry — was the other sprung from less than common soil ? Were they underlings? — but Lenore was not — and her mother's portrait! Surely there was nothing low or sordid there. What could be the reason for this secrecy? Doras pondered. It seemed years since the first low note of the " Traumerei," with its portentous minor chords -and its plaintive prelude of impending ill, had come softly from beyond the shadow of the twin cedars. The years in Europe were as a dream, consuming in time but the space of the closing of an eye. Op- pressing her with the burden of its reality, only the consciousness that she had made the decision of her life was clear, and that, forever, her soul was linked to that of the musician. Everything else seemed unreal. Even the degradation of being coldly re- pulsed was secondary now. Uppermost was the thought that she had driven him from her. Life Traces of an Inheritance with him near seemed impossible — but infinitely more so was life in which he had no part. He was only a musician, and with this thought came into her memory the words that she had said to Lenore — "we shall meet, and when we do, be he king or beggar, I shall love him." The afternoons were long, and being unable to rest, Dorus walked out into the open, intending to take a short stroll before the evening meal. In the absorption of her thoughts, she wandered a consid- erable distance from the house. When she paused, her mind was suddenly distracted from her painful thoughts by the beautiful vista that opened before her. Trees warm and green with the indescribable warmth and greenness of June, the sky infinite in its blueness, and beyond, through the brown tree trunks and boughs, the grand old Hudson twinkling and glistening in the afternoon sun. Dorus stood in the woodland path, transfixed by the stilly gran- deur that spread before her vision. A creaking of twigs and branches recalled her to herself, and she turned expectantly to the point from which the noise came. As Ernesto broke through, Dorus paled. With proximity to the musician, all the uncontrollable passion of her soul broke loose 99 The Letter H again. Her face became instantly surcharged with, feeling, and her hands caught at her skirts fever- ishly. " Ernesto ! " The name slipped gently from her lips. Del Tonjours questioned her agitation with a look, and extended a handkerchief, a fine and dainty trifle, towards her. " I found it in the path," he said; " it is yours, I think." Dorus hesitated, then stepped towards him with an evident effort to appear unconcerned. " Yes, it is mine," she said nervously. " I must have dropped it. Thank you." Del Tonjours acknowledged her thanks with a slight bow, and moved forward as if to pass on through the woods to the path. Dorus lifted her shoulders with a characteristic motion and called him back imperatively : " Stay, please, I wish to speak with you." As Ernesto turned and regarded her with his serious, dark eyes, she lost control of herself, and with a little cry held her hands out to him. ' " Ernesto ! Ernesto ! " she cried pitifully, " what can you think of me ? " 100 Traces qf an Inheritance What lie thought, Ernesto kept to himself. " You are weeping," was all that he said. " Yes, I am," she cried passionately, " bitter tears of shame and remorse. Tell me, do you think me silly — or base ? " There was no avoiding the issue. " I think you are neither," he said slowly; " you are in grief." " You are not answering me," cried the girl, stamping her foot. " You are a man, you think — you know. From your eyes I can tell you believe me one or the other. I have gone too far to recall my words or explain my actions. I could not if I would. It is past my knowledge, heaven knows. Could the birds tell why they fly southward in the autumn? Do the coral insects know why they build their reefs ? It is instinct, and this, too, is an instinct I cannot explain. Tell me, what did you think of me ? " While Ernesto felt the irresistible attraction that had filled his being at their first meeting and every moment he had been near her since, the explanation of her actions had but one meaning for him — but he looked into the clear gray eyes, with their earnest, eager questioning — and that he could not tell her. " You were, perhaps — amusing yourself," he said hesitatingly. 101 The Letter H Doras looked up, astonished. " At your expense ? " she asked, so ingenuously that del Tonjours was sorry he had not advanced eome other hypothesis. " I do not know," he said, extricating himself as best he could ; " but if you were, it doesn't matter. I don't pretend to understand or find fault with a woman's moods." Both stood silent a moment. Once more Ernesto turned to go. " Stay," cried the girl a second time, a daring look in her eyes. She put out her little hand and laid it on Ernesto's coat sleeve : " I have a favor to ask of you. If you will grant it, it will enable me to prove that I never intended to make fun of you. Will you grant it ? " The frank face, upturned to the musician's, ap- pealed irresistibly to the inborn chivalry of the man. " I dare not promise," he said slowly. " It might not be in my power to do as you wish." Desire made Dorus courageous. She was more earnest than ever. " As you no doubt think," she began, " I have strange moods and fancies. You must not be sur- prised at what I am going to ask you to do. To- 102 Traces of an Inheritance night, — as I told you before — there is to be a party at my father's house. It is to be a welcome home for me, his only daughter, on my return from Eu- rope. I want you to be present — will you come ? " Ernesto started. He was amazed at the daring of the girL The man does not live who is uncon- scious of youth, and vitality, and beauty. Ernesto was no exception. Mysterious as he felt his con- nection with her to be, he dared not have it flaunted in the very eyes of all the people of the countryside. " I must not," he replied. " What would your friends think? You do not even know who I am." " I — I have set my heart on your being there to- night" Her tone was pleading. " I have a plan; if you will follow it implicitly it will be all right, I can assure you. You are an Italian ? " " No. My father — I mean my mother — and I are Mexicans." " I have travelled a great deal in Italy," said Dorus, " and I thought you an Italian. Others will think so if you say your name is Signor Brindelli — now remember," she continued eagerly, " Signor Arturo Brindelli. Now, what is your name ? " " Ernesto," was the answer, a flash of mischief in the man's eyes. 103 The Letter H Both laughed, and the girl shook her finger at him. " Naturally," she declared; but for to-night what is it to be % Can you remember ? " Ernesto took a step back, and lifting his cap, made a sweeping bow: " To please a lady's fancy, Signor Arturo Brin- delli." Doras clapped her hands ecstatically. " Capital," she cried; " you do it just as he did! " " He ? Who ? " asked the man. " Why, the real Signor Brindelli, of course," she laughed back. " Sit down, and I will tell you about him." Close to the spot where they stood was a huge, flat boulder. In one side of it was as perfect a divan as one might find in Nature's workship, hewn out in some past age when the rocks were torn from the bosom of the earth, and smoothed over by the action of the sunshine, and the wind, and the rain, during the years that it had lain still and immovable. Upon it, the afternoon sunshine lay in a gold stream, and looking like a lady in a picture, Doras stood beside it. In the slanting gold that kissed her, her face was framed in an aureole of sunny gleams, and be- 104 Traces of an Inheritance neath the dark lashes her eyes shone with a light that was half winsome, half wild. She placed her white hands on the rock, and with a pretty motion perched herself upon it, making room for the musician by drawing the fluffy ruffles of her skirt close about her. He was only a man, after all, and it would have taken the strength of a god to resist the winsomeneea of the girl's invitation. Ernesto's eyes narrowed, and he gave a quick, articulate sigh as he watched her, but he took his place beside her without a word. To his hot, impulsive Latin blood, the contact with her cool soft gown, the faint, elusive fragrance of violets that seemed to hover near her, the charm of her soft southern voice were maddening. He won- dered vaguely why he did not end it all at once and leave the girl without courtesy or explanation. He wondered what was the power that impelled him on- ward in this mad flirtation; for in his saner moments he felt it to be such. There was something about this strange girl that attracted the man, in spite of his better judgment. He shuddered and wondered if it was not all some passing dream. He could not understand her. He could not understand himself. She was so frail and dainty, educated, rich, beautiful; while he was but 105 The Letter H beginning the struggle for the art which he adored. He realized the infinite distance between them and rebelled. With a wave of passion, came the con- sciousness of the one thing which alone put the uni- verse between them. It was his mother's name and not his father's that he bore. Yet, here he was, sitting close beside this beautiful girl, forced almost to touch her at every movement. Tacitly, but none the less determinedly, he faced the problem of how he was to evade the love of the girl when his whole body and soul revolted at eva- sion. After Ernesto had seated himself beside her, she became quiet. She seemed to have forgotten her reason for asking him to stay. " Is it not beautiful, this homeland ?" she asked irrelevantly. " For your homeland, yes," he spoke slowly; " but I have none." She turned, with quick sympathy. " None ? " she questioned. Then added, " Not none, but all." " It is only so to those who have a home, like you," lie said bitterly. " You say all, but we of the nomads can only say none." 106 Traces of an Inheritance The girl flushed : " It is yours for the asking," and she pointed where the river lay blue and beauti- ful in the calm of the late afternoon. The Mexican's shoulders squared, and again his eyes narrowed. She could not dream how hard it was to refuse the gift. A silence fell upon them. For her, the struggle seemed to be over. Kear to him, she yielded to the magnetism that drew her; and the pain and the sor- row that had torn her with anxiety and fear when he was away she remembered as in a dream. In Ernesto there was a dogged determination to see the game to the finish, but to commit himself in no way. At last the silence was broken. "I was going to tell you about Brindelli," Dorua began.