THE TWO SALOMES 
 
 H IRovcl 
 
 P,Y 
 MARIA LOUISE POOL 
 
 AUTHOR OF 
 
 ROWENY IN BOSTON" "MRS. KEATS BRADFORD 
 " DALLY" ETC., ETC. 
 
 NEW YORK 
 HARPER & BROTHERS PUBLISHERS 
 
 1393
 
 Copyright, 1893, by HARPER & BROTHERS. 
 
 All rights reserved.
 
 TO 
 
 CAROLINE M. BRANSON 
 
 THIS STORY 
 
 Es ZUefctcatefl 
 
 WITH THE LOVE OF 
 
 MARIA LOUISE POOL
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 CHAP. PAGE 
 
 I. A PROPOSAL I 
 
 II. TWO KINDS OF LOVERS 17 
 
 III. ANTINOUS 36 
 
 iv. "SLEEPERS AND BUFFETS" 55 
 
 V. MISS NUNALLY 74 
 
 VI. MR. MAINE " FLAXING ROUND" 94 
 
 VII. AN AMANUENSIS 114 
 
 vin. "MATERIAL" 132 
 
 ix. "FOR LOVE" 153 
 
 X. A LITTLE TENNIS 171 
 
 XI. CONFESSION iSg 
 
 XII. THE MOTHER 2O8 
 
 XIII. AN ENGAGEMENT 227 
 
 XIV. TOUCHING TRUTHFULNESS 247 
 
 XV. "HOW SHOULD YOU THINK OF YOURSELF?" . . 264 
 
 XVI. QUESTIONING 283 
 
 XVII. TIRED 301 
 
 XVIII. "AND NOW THERE IS NOTHING BETWEEN US " . 319 
 
 XIX. "AS FOR ME, I LOVE HIM NOT" 338 
 
 XX. "HE WILL COME BACK?" 358
 
 THE TWO SALOMES 
 
 A PROPOSAL 
 
 "HAVE they found out yet what s the matter of 
 Salome Gerry ?" 
 
 "Yes; I heard Mis West tell what the doctor 
 from Boston said it was." 
 
 This reply was given with an air of some impor 
 tance, and the speaker waited to be questioned still 
 further before divulging what she knew about the ail 
 ments of Salome Gerry. 
 
 "Well," was the somewhat impatient response, 
 "ain t you goin to tell? I s pose tain t no secret. 
 Not that doctors know much of anything ; though tis 
 a relief to have urn take the responsibility off your 
 shoulders when you have sickness in the fam ly. I 
 remember when Elnathan was took with the fever n 
 ague the first time, his mother she was stoppin with 
 us that fall would stick to it that she d doctor him 
 herself. N 1 I remember 
 
 The two other women present here exchanged 
 glances of despairing commiseration, and one of them 
 exclaimed, desperately : 
 
 " We all know t Elnathan s mother was an awful
 
 2 THE TWO SALOMES 
 
 good miss. There wa n t nobody like her. Folks 
 used to come from all over for her if anybody was 
 taken sick." 
 
 Then the third woman hastened to ask again : 
 
 " What d the doctor from Boston say about S lome 
 Gerry, anyway ? She s ben kind of pindlin s long I 
 sh d think her folks d be almost discouraged." 
 
 " I guess they be. N I should think they d feel 
 worse now they know what tis that ails her," with 
 still more importance. 
 
 " I s pose you ll tell when you git ready," now 
 said the thin-faced Mrs. Lamkin, hunching her high 
 shoulders yet higher in her irritation. 
 
 Mrs. Sprague responded that she was just as ready 
 now as she ever should be, and she didn t know as 
 she was keeping anything back. The two other 
 women were aware of a keen apprehension lest Mrs. 
 Sprague should again refer to Elnathan s mother and 
 her capabilities as a nurse. Elnathan was Mrs. 
 Sprague s husband, consequently Elnathan s mother 
 stood in the relation of mother-in-law to Elnathan s 
 wife. And to be mother-in-law to "she that was Em- 
 meline Rusk," was to stand in a position requiring 
 great gifts of tact and amiability. 
 
 " Mis West said the doctor from Boston," now be 
 gan Mrs. Sprague, " told the Gerryses that Salome 
 had incipient thigh-sis." 
 
 "Mercy!" cried Mrs. Lamkin, sharply, "what s 
 thigh-sis ? Is it ketchin ?" 
 
 " Incipient thigh-sis, I said," corrected Mrs. Sprague. 
 And she added, more carelessly, "I m sure I don t 
 know whether it s ketchin or not. But I guess tain t, 
 or the rest of the Gerryses would have had it long ago." 
 
 The third woman, whose name was Scudder, and who
 
 A PROPOSAL 3 
 
 had thick gray hair arranged in long folds on each 
 side of her face, and whose large, protruding eyes 
 were of the same gray as her hair, now said gently 
 that she s posed it must be some new disease. Folks 
 were getting up new diseases real often nowadays. 
 For her part, she thought the old ones were more than 
 anybody could manage. 
 
 Here she chuckled quietly. She drew the folds of 
 her brown " Stella shawl " higher over her ample 
 shoulders, and inquired if the doctor told the Gerryses 
 what to do bout S lome. 
 
 Again Mrs. Sprague quoted Mrs. West as her au 
 thority. Mrs. West had said that S lome s mother was 
 all broke down about it. 
 
 " If twas my girl," went on Mrs. Sprague, with de 
 cision, " I should call it consumption, or something 
 that would be consumption in time. But if anybody d 
 ruther have thigh-sis, why, let em have it." 
 
 "Are they going to do nothing about it?" asked 
 Mrs. Scudder, in her soft way. 
 
 " Mis West said the doctor said medicine wa n t 
 of no count in such cases," continued Mrs. Sprague. 
 " He said the winters here were too severe for her. 
 He advised em to take her to Floridy." 
 
 " Gracious !" said Mrs. Lamkin. " To Floridy ? They 
 can t do it, can they? Her father ain t very fore 
 handed. I don t believe he s got a cent in the bank." 
 
 " Td know, I m sure. Mis West said she under 
 stood they were goin to try to send S lome and her 
 mother some way or other." 
 
 " I want to know," responded Mrs. Lamkin, sitting 
 up very straight in her surprise. " I don t see how 
 they re goin to do it. They ll have to moggiclge their 
 place, won t they?"
 
 4 THE TWO SALOMES 
 
 " If they do moggidge, I for one can t see how 
 they ll ever lift the moggidge. Mr. Gerry never was 
 so scrabblin as he might be. 
 
 " Mebby the church ll help em some," suggested 
 Mrs. Scudder, now taking out the long pin with which 
 she had just fastened her shawl. 
 
 "Well, then, you jest bet the church won t," retorted 
 Mrs. Sprague. " The church s got enough to do with 
 foreign missions, n rasin the minister s salary, n 
 the bell s cracked, too, you know. It sounds awful 
 when they ring it. I m ashamed every Sabbath to 
 have the Baptists, n the folks that don t go to meet- 
 in anywhere, hear our bell. We don t think enough 
 of the Lord s work." 
 
 Mrs. Scudder did not wish to continue the subject 
 of the cracked bell, so she ignored the words referring 
 to it. She asked : 
 
 "If S lome Gerry goes to Floridy what ll become of 
 her beau ?" 
 
 Mrs. Lamkin here gave a little shrill laugh, and in 
 quired, 
 
 "Which beau you mean?" 
 
 " I didn t know she had more n one reg lar beau, 
 and that s Dick Chapin, ain t it ?" 
 
 " Now, I should have said twas Walter Redd," re 
 marked Mrs. Lamkin. 
 
 Then the three women looked at each other and 
 began to laugh. 
 
 It was Mrs. Scudder who ceased laughing first. She 
 found her pocket in the folds of her skirt, and drew 
 her handkerchief from it. She carefully wiped the 
 corners of her mouth. Then she patted the large bow 
 in which the ribbons of her bonnet were tied. For 
 she and Mrs. Sprague were making a " set call " on
 
 A PROPOSAL 5 
 
 Mrs. Lamkin. And in a set call people always wear 
 their Sunday bonnets. 
 
 Mrs. Scudder also had on her best gloves. They 
 were of black kid, worn white on the tops of the rin 
 gers and thumbs. They were also somewhat baggy 
 across the back. But the wearer of them was con 
 scious of being much dressed. And this consciousness 
 surely is among the first effects to be desired from 
 wearing clothes. 
 
 Mrs. Sprague wore a black cape, with square ends 
 in the front and a deep point behind. It was lined 
 with black flannel, and since gimp had come into 
 fashion again for trimming, the narrow folds which 
 had once adorned it had been removed to give place 
 to the gimp. The garment was now considered as 
 specially appropriate for spring and fall wear. 
 
 Mrs. Sprague did not know that Mrs. Lamkin had 
 once told an intimate friend that she thought Emme- 
 line Sprague looked like the Old Harry in that 
 cape. 
 
 It may be called a wise arrangement of the universe 
 that we are usually ignorant of such little remarks 
 made by our friends concerning us. Ignorance is 
 sometimes a great strengthener of friendly feeling. 
 
 After they had all laughed concerning Salome Gerry s 
 beau, the three made an attempt to talk about a new 
 recipe for sweet pickle which Mrs. Lamkin had been 
 making. That lady went into the buttery and came 
 back with two pink sauce plates. Each plate held a 
 teaspoon and some of the sweet pickle. 
 
 The two callers tasted with grave deliberation. 
 
 "It s a grain too clovey, ain t it?" anxiously inquired 
 Mrs. Lamkin, looking from one to the other. 
 
 " I should say," said Mrs. Sprague, " that it was a
 
 G THE TWO SALOMES 
 
 little, just a little, too sharp with vinegar. I guess your 
 vinegar s got ruther strong by this time, ain t it, Mis 
 Lamkin ? What do you think, Mis Scudder ? 
 
 Mrs. Scudder was pressing her lips critically togeth 
 er. She waited a minute before replying. 
 
 "I call it jest exactly right for cloves," she said. 
 "But I guess you used brown sugar, didn t you ? 
 
 Mrs. Lamkin confessed that she had done so. 
 
 " That s it !" triumphantly exclaimed Mrs. Scudder. 
 " I always use granulated. Tain t none too good. But 
 this is first-rate, Mis Lamkin ; I don t find no fault 
 with it." 
 
 As if to emphasize her words, Mrs. Scudder took 
 another and quite liberal taste of the concoction upon 
 the plate which she held between her gloved fingers. 
 She had a sense of being very "dressy," holding the 
 plate in that way. 
 
 " I was goin to send some over to the Gerryses," 
 said Mrs. Lamkin, "they all like it so, and Mis Gerry 
 ain t had no chance to make preserves nor nothin 
 this fall, she s been so worried, she told me. She 
 thought mebby S lome would come over this after 
 noon, n if she did I was goin to have her carry back 
 some of this. But, p raps, bein made with brown 
 sugar, so, Mis Scudder, tain t what one would like to 
 send to a neighbor." 
 
 The speaker looked with a challenging humility at 
 the large face framed in the gray hair. The owner of 
 the face and the hair smiled indulgently. 
 
 " Lor ," said Mrs. Scudder, " you know better than 
 to talk like that. But is S lome able to be out this 
 weather ? There was a white frost last night, even 
 on the uplands." 
 
 "Oh, she ain t so low as that," was the answer.
 
 A PROPOSAL *- 
 
 " She seems to be pretty well a good deal of the time. 
 She goes everywhere. She s real cheerful." 
 
 Mrs. Sprague shook her head when she heard this 
 last remark. 
 
 " It s a bad sign for consumptive folks to be cheer 
 ful," she asserted. " For my part, I d ruther see um 
 blue as indigo." 
 
 Here she happened to glance through the window. 
 She started. 
 
 " Who be they ?" she asked, quickly. 
 
 They all looked eagerly into the road. Coining 
 down the hill, sauntering slowly in the late October 
 sunshine, were two people, a girl and a young man. 
 They were not talking, and they were not walking 
 near each other, nevertheless there was an undefin- 
 able air of intimate acquaintance about them. 
 
 " I declare if that ain t S lome herself !" exclaimed 
 Mrs. Lamkin. " I guess I ll thump on the winder, 
 and ask her to take home some of the sweet pickle. 
 What feller is that with her ?" 
 
 " It s Dick Chapin. He wears a blue suit like 
 that," promptly answered Mrs. Sprague. 
 
 Meanwhile Mrs. Lamkin had " thumped on the 
 winder," and the two in the highway had paused and 
 looked up at the house. The woman beckoned vigor 
 ously. 
 
 The girl said a few words to her companion, then 
 she walked quickly up the path to the door. The 
 young man did not follow her. He lounged against 
 the fence, waiting. 
 
 The next moment the door of the sitting-room 
 opened and Salome Gerry entered. 
 
 The three women looked at her with the most in 
 tense interest. She was not only Salome, the girl
 
 5 THE TWO SALOMES 
 
 whom they had seen grow up among them, she was a 
 person who was said by a doctor from Boston to have 
 incipient phthisis, and who was consequently recom 
 mended to go to Florida. 
 
 Perhaps the girl felt something peculiar in their 
 glances, but she bore the scrutiny with considerable 
 fortitude. 
 
 She had a slight, lithe figure, and a thin, sensitive 
 face a face that looked as if it would flush easily, 
 and one was greatly surprised to know, on acquaint 
 ance, that it did not thus flush. Acquaintance also 
 revealed that, instead of the skin s showing any emo 
 tion, the eyes had a way of suddenly kindling with a 
 quick, rising fire, and then as suddenly becoming calm 
 again. But she was a very calm looking girl now as 
 she stood just within the sitting-room. She smiled at 
 Mrs. Lamkin, who hastened to say : 
 
 " I m real glad I saw you, S lome, for I was jest 
 wondering how I should send some of my sweet pickle 
 to your mother. I know she s awful fond of it when 
 it s made of them Bicknell pears, as mine is. I m 
 going to put some in a pail. Se down a minute, 
 S lome." 
 
 The girl walked towards the nearest chair and 
 placed herself in it. 
 
 " Mother ll be ever so much obliged," she said, 
 cordially. " It s so good of you, Mrs. Lamkin, to think 
 of it." 
 
 Mrs. Lamkin turned at the door and looked at Sa 
 lome, smiling as she did so, and her smile was differ 
 ent from those she had given her " set callers." 
 
 " I guess I sha n t hurt myself with goodness," 
 she responded ; " you needn t worry about that one 
 bit."
 
 A PROPOSAL 9 
 
 Whereupon she disappeared through the door which 
 led into the kitchen. 
 
 The two women remaining continued to gaze at 
 Salome, who made some remark about the frost of 
 the night previous. The two responded to it in an 
 undefined murmur. 
 
 Mrs. Scuclder made a movement as if she were 
 drawing her gloves on still farther. But she kept her 
 gaze on Salome. At last she could be silent no 
 longer. 
 
 " Mis West was tellin Mis Sprague," she said, 
 " that your folks had had a doctor out from Boston 
 to see you, S lome." 
 
 " Yes, mother and father both thought best to have 
 Dr. Bowdoin," answered the girl. 
 
 " Wa n t it dretful expensive ?" inquired Mrs. 
 Sprague, with ill-concealed eagerness. 
 
 " Yes, it was. But they said they shouldn t feel 
 easy if they didn t have him. They said they felt 
 they could have confidence in what he said." 
 
 " Do you know how much he did charge ?" asked 
 Mrs. Sprague, bending forward a little as she spoke. 
 
 " Father didn t tell me," was the reply. 
 
 The girl did not add that Mr. Gerry had purposely 
 refrained from giving this information so that his 
 daughter should not be able to gratify just this kind 
 of curiosity. 
 
 Mrs. Sprague sank back in her chair. She drew 
 the ends of her cape closely about her. 
 
 Salome laughed slightly as she now said : 
 
 " Father told me he was glad his cranberry crop 
 had turned out so well this year, for he didn t feel 
 half so extravagant having Dr. Bowdoin." 
 
 " It must be kind of hard for your father to make
 
 10 THE TWO SALOMES 
 
 both ends meet," now remarked Mrs. Scudder, her 
 purring voice expressing a great appearance of sym 
 pathy. "And you not able to earn anything, S lome." 
 
 The girl dropped her eyes suddenly. There was a 
 perceivable space of time before she replied, still with 
 lowered eyes. 
 
 " It s a great trial to me that I can t earn anything," 
 she said. 
 
 " To be sure," quickly responded Mrs. Sprague, in 
 a hearty voice. " My Lizzie always said she was aw 
 ful sorry for you. She said you was as ambitious as 
 any girl she knew." 
 
 Salome s eyelashes flashed up. She looked at the 
 woman who had spoken thus. She was going to re 
 ply, but Mrs. Scudder asked immediately : 
 
 " Is it true what Mis West said bout your bein 
 ordered to Floridy ?" 
 
 " It s true that the doctor said he thought it would 
 cure me to go there this fall and stay till June," she 
 answered. 
 
 " I don t see how your folks can do it," said Mrs. 
 Scudder. " Be they goin to try?" 
 
 " I think they will." Here Salome moved her hands 
 with a quick, impatient movement in her lap. She 
 pressed a little ring she wore on her slender third 
 finger up over the knuckle, then back again. " Father 
 and mother both said," she began, " that they d 
 rather spend all they had than to have me ill. 
 If they could help me they didn t think anything of 
 the money and then," here she began to speak rap 
 idly and with only a partially subdued eagerness, 
 " and then if I get well I can work and earn money 
 myself, and I could make it all good to them. Not 
 that they d want me to, but I should like to do it."
 
 A PROPOSAL II 
 
 Into Mrs. Scuclder s large light eyes, fixed intently 
 as they were on the girl, there came a moisture that 
 made them for the instant look larger and bluer than 
 usual. In her own mind she was thinking she was 
 a fool to let herself be touched by Lyman Gerry s 
 daughter. It wasn t any worse for Lyman Gerry s 
 daughter to be threatened with consumption, if that 
 was what it was, than for any other girl. And per 
 haps there didn t much ail the child, anyway. She 
 certainly didn t look very sick, only not rugged. 
 
 " Oh, you ll be gettin married," Mrs. Scudder re 
 sponded, as soon as she could speak in her ordinary 
 tone. 
 
 Salome only made a slight dissenting and almost 
 contemptuous gesture with one hand in reply to this 
 remark. 
 
 Mrs. Lamkin now entered with a very shiny three- 
 pint pail in her hand. She would not offer the pail to 
 the girl, lest the movement might be taken as a hint 
 for her to go ; she therefore placed it on the table. 
 
 Do you really think you sh ll go to Floridy?" she 
 asked, with something like awe in her interest. 
 
 "Yes; but it s all uncertain yet. Father said he 
 should know in a day or two. He s got some ar 
 rangements to make." 
 
 The three women sat in profound silence for a few 
 moments. It was impressive to be in the presence of 
 a girl who actually expected to go " down South." 
 
 " You ain t goin alone, I s pose ?" Mrs. Lamkin 
 suggested. 
 
 " Oh no ; mother ll go if I do. We shall have to 
 go as cheaply as we can, you know. We shall have 
 to manage." Here she smiled, as she added: "But 
 we are Yankees, and we ought to be able to manage."
 
 12 THE TWO SALOMES 
 
 " Don t you dread it?" inquired one. 
 
 Salome rose. She moved to the table and took the 
 tin pail. 
 
 " Dread it !" she exclaimed. "No, indeed. I long 
 to go." She turned to her hostess. " I m afraid 
 you ve robbed yourself, Mrs. Lamkin," she said; "this 
 pail is full." 
 
 " No, I ain t. But don t you be in a hurry or are 
 you afraid your beau ll git tired of waiting?" 
 
 " My beau ?" repeated Salome. " Oh, you mean 
 Dick Chapin. No ; he won t get tired. He likes to 
 wait. Mother ll be so glad of this sweet pickle ! 
 Good-bye." 
 
 Salome walked quickly out of the room. 
 
 The three women immediately rose and went to the 
 windows, being careful to stand back a little, so that 
 they would not be seen in case either of the young 
 people outside should glance at the house. But they 
 did not glance that way. 
 
 Dick Chapin raised himself from the gate against 
 which he had been resting. He stepped forward and 
 took the tin pail. 
 
 "Well, what did the Lamkin woman want?" he 
 asked. 
 
 " She wanted to send mother that pickle. But what 
 they wanted most of all was to find out how much Dr. 
 Bowdoin charged for coming here from Boston, and if 
 I m going to Florida." 
 
 Young Chapin gave a disdainful sniff, and he swung 
 the pail in a way dangerous to its contents. 
 
 " They ?" he asked " who s they ? Did the Lam 
 kin have company ?" 
 
 " She had callers with go-to-meeting bonnets on 
 Mrs. Sprague and Mrs. Scudder."
 
 A PROPOSAL 13 
 
 " Mrs. Scudder is an old cat ! Did she purr at you 
 or scratch you ?" 
 
 As the young man put this question he turned and 
 looked solicitously at his companion. 
 
 But Salome did not seem to see the look. She was 
 walking with a serious air, with her gaze fixed direct 
 ly in front of her. 
 
 At last Dick turned away, with a disappointed ex 
 pression growing on his face. 
 
 " You don t seem to know I m with you," he said, 
 sharply. 
 
 " I know you re spilling that sweet pickle," she an 
 swered, making a spring towards the pail and seizing it. 
 
 " Oh, confound the old stuff !" he responded. " You 
 think more of that than you do of me." 
 
 " Mother thinks more of it," Salome answered. 
 She glanced into his eyes as she added, " and it s 
 made of Bicknell pears, too." 
 
 As he met her glance the young fellow flushed up 
 to his hair. He laughed ; he half stopped in his walk 
 and then made a step nearer Salome, who did not 
 pause, but who continued to go straight on. 
 
 " Of course I want your mother to like me," he 
 began. 
 
 " I should think so," interrupted the girl. " You d 
 better. Mother can see right through anybody." 
 
 Dick gave a half groan. " I wish you could see 
 right through me, S lome." 
 
 He waited a little; then he asked, "Don t you want 
 to know why I wish so?" 
 
 Salome shook her head. " No ; I never did have 
 much curiosity." 
 
 " Curiosity ! Oh, S lome, you re awful hard on a 
 fellow !"
 
 14 THE TWO SALOMES 
 
 Salome laughed in the most cheerful manner. Her 
 laugh was interrupted by a slight cough. 
 
 " I don t know why I m hard on you just because I 
 don t want to see through you," she remarked. 
 
 Dick Chapin s rosy, comfortable face was very mel 
 ancholy as he kept it turned towards his companion. 
 
 " Oh, S lome !" he cried, " you are just like ice and 
 iron and stones, and all those horrid things. I can t 
 melt you a bit; I can t stand it I can t! And now 
 you re going down South, and I might just as well go 
 and hang myself first as last." 
 
 " It seems to me I wouldn t hang myself, if I were 
 you," responded Salome, maintaining her cheerful 
 ness. "You might be awful sorry if you did." 
 
 " Well, if I was sorry I shouldn t know it ; there d 
 be that comfort in it," said the young man ; and then 
 he added, with great unction, " the main thing would 
 be to make you sorry, S lome." 
 
 The girl laughed again, but she made no other reply. 
 
 After a long silence, during which the pail of sweet 
 pickle was once more nearly wrecked and once more 
 rescued, Dick Chapin suddenly paused in the middle 
 of the dusty highway. There was so much emphasis 
 in the way he stood still that his companion instantly 
 paused also and turned inquiringly towards him. 
 
 The sunlight fell over the girl and full upon her 
 face, intensifying its lovely, youthful tinge, and sharp 
 ening the delicate outlines. 
 
 "Well?" she said, a little impatiently. 
 
 " I can t stand it !" said Dick Chapin, in a tone 
 which was almost ferocious, and which contrasted 
 comically with his round face. 
 
 Salome shrugged her shoulders slightly in a way 
 she had, which was not in the least a Yankee way.
 
 A PROPOSAL 15 
 
 "I m sorry you can t stand it," she said, "but I 
 don t know what s going to be done about it." 
 
 " I know what s to be done, S lome, and you ve got 
 to do it." 
 
 "Oh?" questioningly from the girl. "Is that so? 
 Why, Dick, I never knew you so mysterious before, 
 nor so interesting." 
 
 " I m glad I m interesting," said Dick, " and I hope 
 I shall grow more and more so ; because you ve got 
 to promise to marry me, S lome." 
 
 On the last sentence Dick s voice sank so as to be 
 almost inaudible. 
 
 He put forth his disengaged hand and grasped the 
 girl s arm. She stood quite still, not attempting to 
 move from his hold. 
 
 She was thinking that it was the first time any man 
 had ever asked to be engaged to her, and that the 
 moment was not thrilling in the least. But perhaps 
 that was because Dick Chapin had a tin pail of sweet 
 pickle in one hand. She wished he had put that pail 
 down ; it made him ridiculous. 
 
 "You ve got to, S lome," he repeated. 
 
 "Oh dear!" she exclaimed, almost involuntarily; 
 " why don t you drop that pail ?" 
 
 Dick s jaw fell at the irrelevancy of this remark, 
 fie knew in an indefinite manner that girls were the 
 strangest things in the world. Just now he felt that 
 it was useless to try to understand any of them, par 
 ticularly Salome Gerry. 
 
 " The pail ?" he gasped ; " why, I thought you were 
 specially careful about this sweet pickle, cause your 
 mother likes it." 
 
 " But it makes you ridiculous," she retorted swiftly. 
 " You ve no idea how you look, standing there pro-
 
 1 6 THE TWO SALOMES 
 
 posing to me with that three -pint bucket of Mrs. 
 Lamkin s, and your face as round and and rosy as 
 if you were asking me the price of apples." 
 
 " Gracious !" gasped Dick. Then he began to ex 
 plain that he could feel just as much as if his face 
 were a yard long, and he thought she was as cruel as 
 she could be; and he hoped she knew what she meant, 
 for he d be dumbed if he knew anything about it. 
 
 At this stage in his remarks Salome made the as 
 sertion that she didn t mean anything. 
 
 " Then I wish you wouldn t happen to choose such 
 kind of words, as long as you don t mean em," he re 
 torted. 
 
 She began to walk rapidly now. 
 
 In a few moments they reached a place where there 
 was a gap in the wall from which a much-worn path 
 led across a field. 
 
 The two turned towards this gap. 
 
 " There s no need of your coming any farther," she 
 said. 
 
 " I don t expect there is," he replied, "but I m com 
 ing all the same ; and I m going to set my pail down 
 on that flat stone by the pine-tree. I can set it down, 
 and I guess you can make my face long enough if you 
 go on this way. When we get to that pine-tree, S lome, 
 I m going to ask you again to marry me. This is one 
 of the things I know my own mind about, and I m go 
 ing to know yours, too."
 
 II 
 
 TWO KINDS OF LOVERS 
 
 FOR the first time in her acquaintance with Dick 
 Chapin, Salome forgot to think that he was not tall 
 enough, and that he looked too much like a girl. 
 She gave him a side glance which was full of curios 
 ity. She walked demurely by his side with her eyes 
 fixed upon the pine-tree as the spot where her com 
 panion was again going to propose to her. It was 
 all very funny, but her face was now set in a some 
 what puritanical expression, which was often visible 
 upon it. 
 
 It had never occurred to her that Dick would want 
 to become engaged to her. Her mind did not go 
 further at present than an engagement. Yes, it cer 
 tainly was funny. 
 
 And here was the pine-tree. 
 
 As Dick leaned forward to set his pail down, the 
 girl said, hastily : 
 
 " I guess we ought to be going right along." 
 
 " And I guess we can stay a minute," he answered, 
 "and p raps I sha n t have another chance." 
 
 He had carefully placed the sweet pickle on a 
 flat stone, and had assured himself that it would not 
 "joggle," as he said, inwardly. Then he stood up 
 quite straight. 
 
 Salome continued to look like a little Puritan, but
 
 1 8 THE TWO SALOMES 
 
 she felt a distressful inclination to laugh and to ask 
 Dick Chapin if he might not better take ether. This 
 idea of taking ether became so prominent in her 
 mind that she was almost afraid she should grow 
 hysterical if the interview continued many minutes 
 longer. But her aspect revealed nothing of this in 
 clination. 
 
 " I want you to be engaged to me." 
 
 Young Chapin spoke in a voice which was rather 
 loud, from his desire to make it impressive. Before 
 he could be answered he went on still more loudly: 
 
 " Now you re going to Florida you ll be seeing lots 
 of fellows, and I want this thing understood before 
 you start. We can be married when you come back, 
 you know ; and we can write to each other. It ll be 
 awful hard on me to have you gone, but we can write. 
 Do you know how long it takes for a letter to go ?" 
 
 Salome had now almost turned her back upon him. 
 
 " No, I don t," she answered. 
 
 "Well," he went on, "I should think we might 
 write once a week, shouldn t you ? 
 
 Notwithstanding the assurance in the words he 
 used the young man s appearance was anything but 
 assured. His hands, shut tightly, hung down by his 
 side ; his eyes were strained, and he bent forward 
 with a piteous air towards the girl, who did not look 
 at him at all now. 
 
 " Don t you think we might write once a week ?" he 
 repeated, not speaking so loudly, and feeling that 
 there was something not very encouraging in Salome s 
 shoulder and back. 
 
 Salome was gradually recovering from that hysteri 
 cal inclination to laugh. 
 
 " I don t see why you want to talk like this," she
 
 TWO KINDS OF LOVERS 19 
 
 said at last, now turning fully towards him. " I m not 
 going to be engaged to you." 
 
 " Why not ?" sharply. 
 
 " Because because it wouldn t be right." 
 
 She spoke hesitatingly, and looked entreatingly at 
 him as if to ask him not to say any more. She was 
 beginning to be extremely uncomfortable. The only 
 clear idea in her mind now was to do what was ex 
 actly right. 
 
 " Yes, twill, too !" he cried, eagerly. " It ll be just 
 right. Say you ll be engaged to me do !" 
 
 " But I sha n t." 
 
 The reply came with what seemed a cruel abrupt 
 ness. 
 
 The young man shrank back a step. 
 
 "Oh, S lome, you can t mean that," he said; "why 
 won t you ?" 
 
 " Why do you want to make me tell ?" she answer 
 ed. " Do you think I like to tell ?" 
 
 She was gazing at him solemnly now. There was 
 no color in her face, save that her lips were so scarlet 
 that the delicate skin seemed too thin to keep the 
 vivid blood within it. 
 
 Dick Chapin again nearly groaned. " How do I 
 know what you like?" he cried out. "But I know 
 awful well what I like and what I want." 
 
 Salome s face grew even more intensely solemn. 
 
 " I wish you d stop talking that way, Dick Chapin," 
 she said, " for I don t love you the least bit in the 
 world. That s why it would be wrong to be engaged 
 to you. You see you ve made me tell you right out." 
 
 It was a moment before Dick spoke. Then he 
 asked, in a whisper, 
 
 " S lome, is that a fact ?"
 
 20 THE TWO SALOMES 
 
 "Yes, it is." 
 
 The young man turned and took up the tin pail. 
 Then he set it down again on the flat stone. His 
 face showed that the idea which had just come to his 
 mind was quite terrible to him. 
 
 " P raps you re going to be engaged to Walter 
 Redd. Oh, you needn t be mad ; and of course you 
 needn t tell if you don t want to. Has he asked 
 you?" 
 
 " No ; he hasn t. I m going home now." 
 
 Salome moved away with decision. Dick caught 
 up the tin pail again. 
 
 " He s sure to ask you," he went on, hurrying to 
 the girl s side. " He s been in love with you ever 
 since he came to the town." 
 
 No answer from the girl save her slight shrug of 
 the shoulders. 
 
 " I don t blame anybody for being in love with 
 you," he said. 
 
 Another shrug, and silence. Salome ran a great 
 risk of falling over the stones of the pasture, she 
 went at such a headlong gait. 
 
 "I shall spill this sweet pickle as sure s I m alive, 
 if you go on like this," at last remarked Dick. 
 
 " You re not obliged to go so fast," was the re 
 sponse, without any pause. 
 
 " I know it, but I m going with you." 
 
 There was nothing more said until the two came 
 out into the road opposite the Gerry house. Then 
 Salome paused and took the pail. 
 
 "I m ever so much obliged to you." 
 
 She spoke so gently that Dick started visibly and 
 looked hopefully at her. But his look instantly sank. 
 
 "You re very welcome," he replied. "Good-bye."
 
 TWO KINDS OF LOVERS 21 
 
 " Good-bye," still with the utmost gentleness. 
 
 He lingered. 
 
 " If you don t mean anything," he said, " I wish 
 you wouldn t speak like that." 
 
 " Like what ?" in astonishment. 
 
 "Why, in that kind of a voice, just as if you just 
 as if" 
 
 Dick Chapin paused, unable to go on. 
 
 " Just as if I what ?" persisted Salome. 
 
 "Just as if you almost loved me. Oh, S lome, if 
 you do like me just a little, you know, we can be en 
 gaged, and when you are really engaged you ll begin 
 to like me better and better. Don t you think so?" 
 
 There was a perceptible hesitation in the girl s 
 manner. She was wondering if that was the way 
 people became engaged, and if then they became 
 more fond of each other. But. it did not seem 
 right. 
 
 She put her hand unconsciously up to her chest. 
 
 " No ; I don t think so," she said, decisively. 
 
 "Then if you don t think so," returned Dick, 
 speaking with more power than he had yet used, "you 
 must not say anything in that kind of a voice, I tell 
 you. I can t stand it I can t stand it." 
 
 She looked at him in a bewildered way. She had 
 not the least idea what he meant. 
 
 Still the young man lingered. Salome wondered 
 how she had had any inclination to laugh. She al 
 most wanted to sob now. 
 
 " I ve got to go over to the Falls next week," he 
 said, " and it s most likely I sh ll have to stay 
 right along. I can have a steady job there. So I 
 sha n t see you again." 
 
 Salome again put her hand up to her chest.
 
 22 THE TWO SALOMES 
 
 " I thought you only just liked me," she said, her 
 eyes now fixed on his face. 
 
 " Liked you !" 
 
 He could not say any more. He gave her one 
 look straight down into her eyes , then he hurried 
 along the road. 
 
 Salome hastened across the broad sweep of fading 
 grass up to the house. As she placed her foot on 
 the step the door opened swiftly, and her mother put 
 out her hand and drew her daughter within the house. 
 
 "Child," she said, anxiously, "the wind is east; it s 
 been east for more than an hour." 
 
 "It s no matter, mother. I haven t felt it at all." 
 
 Salome sat down quickly. Her mother snuffed at 
 the sweet pickle, and said she guessed Salome had 
 been to Mrs. Lamkin s. Then she sat down in a 
 chair which she drew close to her daughter. She 
 took off the girl s hat and brushed back the loose 
 locks which fell over the intent face. Salome looked 
 up at the woman. The strong brown eyes which 
 met her gaze seemed to radiate strength and rest into 
 her palpitating frame. 
 
 She leaned back in the calico covered rocker, keep 
 ing the hard, rough hand in hers. 
 
 " Your father s seen Uncle John," said Mrs. Gerry. 
 
 Salome suddenly sat upright. But she grasped her 
 mother s hand still more closely. 
 
 " Oh, mother !" she exclaimed. 
 
 Then it appeared as if she could say nothing more. 
 
 Mrs. Gerry smoothed the slender fingers that lay in 
 her palm. 
 
 "Uncle John promised that he d lend four hundred 
 dollars," she said, "but he should want a mortgage on 
 the east wood-lot."
 
 TWO KINDS OF LOVERS 23 
 
 " Then we re going, mother ? We are going ?" 
 
 The young voice was so full of intense hope and 
 joy that Mrs. Gerry smiled as she answered : 
 
 " Yes, we re going, and the sooner the better. But 
 Uncle John is a hard man, a hard man." 
 
 Salome was too young, too full of the egotism of 
 youth to care much on what conditions the money 
 was obtained, since it was obtained, and she was go 
 ing to Florida. 
 
 She left her chair. She began to walk about the 
 room. 
 
 She coughed two or three times, but she did not 
 seem to know that she did so. 
 
 " Yes, indeed, the sooner the better !" she exclaimed, 
 her whole face radiant. 
 
 All at once it occurred to her that it was selfish to 
 think only of the mere fact of her going. She stopped 
 in front of her mother; she bent over her, putting a 
 hand on each arm of the chair. 
 
 " Will it be very bad for father, giving that mort 
 gage ?" she asked. " I must be real mean not to 
 think of that the very first thing. But, don t you know, 
 mother, when I get well " here she began walking 
 again, " when I am well I shall get some kind of a po 
 sition, and I shall earn money, and then I shall help 
 father. I ve always wished I could help him some 
 how. Here I am almost twenty-three, and except 
 that year I made chain from the jeweller s I ve never 
 earned anything. I suppose I ought to have kept on 
 making chain." 
 
 " You know it didn t agree with you ; you know 
 how it made your side ache," said Mrs. Gerry. 
 
 But Salome did not hear her. She had paused by 
 the window, and was looking intently out into a large
 
 24 THE TWO SALOMES. 
 
 oak-tree which stood in the yard, its dry leaves rust 
 ling. The red of the setting sun was upon it. 
 
 "To the South !" she cried, suddenly; "why, it s like 
 a dream, isn t it, mother? I know I shall get well." 
 
 " I wish you wouldn t talk like that, Salome," said 
 Mrs. Gerry, sharply. Then she laughed constrainedly 
 as she added, " You know it isn t a good sign to say 
 such things." 
 
 " No matter about signs, you old mother !" cried 
 Salome. She took two or three sliding, waltzing 
 steps across the floor. Her eyes deepened. 
 
 " Tis the clime of the South, tis the land of the sun 
 Can he smile on such deeds as his children have done ? " 
 
 She recited these words in a thin, sweet soprano 
 voice ; then she turned towards the elder woman and 
 asked : 
 
 "What does that mean, anyway, mother? It 
 sounds delightfully wicked, doesn t it ?" 
 
 " Salome, nothing is delightfully wicked," returned 
 Mrs. Gerry, with some anxiety. " Byron was wicked 
 enough, but he was very far from being delightful to 
 himself." 
 
 " But he was delightful to other people, wasn t he ? 
 And that s the thing, you know; to have people love 
 you." 
 
 " No, it s not the thing at all," quickly returned her 
 mother, with asperity. " Don t you get such an idea 
 into your head." 
 
 Salome stood in the middle of the room looking down 
 at her mother. There was a certain expression on her 
 face which made it quite impossible to believe that the 
 same face had ever had anything Puritanical in it.
 
 TWO KINDS OF LOVERS 25 
 
 " The only thing is to be right ; it s the only thing 
 in the world." 
 
 Mrs. Gerry spoke with an almost passionate em 
 phasis. 
 
 Salome came quickly and knelt down by her 
 mother s side, laying her arms across her mother s 
 lap. 
 
 " You ve certainly brought me up right," she said, 
 warmly. 
 
 " Oh, I don t know," answered Mrs. Gerry, again 
 pushing back the hair from the child s forehead ; " I 
 hope so. If I ve lived as I ought, and you have felt 
 my life, why, then you ve been brought up well." 
 
 Mrs. Gerry smiled now in a way that changed her 
 worn face back into what might have been its youth 
 ful look. 
 
 " You ve always been such a good girl, Salome. 
 Sometimes I ve thought you were too conscientious. 
 So I was startled to have you speak sort of sort of 
 carelessly just now. You know there is such a thing 
 as having a morbid conscience. I ve been afraid you 
 had it." 
 
 Salome smiled vividly. She rose to her feet. It 
 seemed impossible now for her to remain any time in 
 one position. 
 
 "I ve had times of thinking so myself," she ex 
 claimed with a laugh ; " thinking I was too good to 
 live, you know, and that I must grow just a little 
 wicked if I wanted to spend much time on this earth. 
 Those old Sunday-school books that Aunt Eudora 
 talks about so much have taught me one thing: if you 
 want to live you mustn t be too good. Now, don t 
 you worry, mother; you know I m only in fun. The 
 thought of really going to Florida has set me wild."
 
 26 THE TWO SALOMES 
 
 Again the girl took two or three waltzing steps over 
 the old carpet. 
 
 She paused in the middle of the floor. 
 
 " We sha n t need any heavy flannels, shall we, 
 mother ?" she asked ; " and my old jacket will do, 
 though you ve always said it wasn t thick enough. 
 And when shall we actually start ?" she asked. 
 
 "I ve set the time for a week from to-day. I m 
 in a hurry to get you off. The frosts are so sharp 
 now" 
 
 Salome clasped her hands 
 
 " Tis the clime of the South, tis the land of the sun, " 
 
 she interrupted ; " oh, I know I shall get well !" 
 
 All day the mother and daughter talked of their 
 journey. They worked about the house, Salome per 
 forming the lighter labor ; and all day they planned 
 and planned, the girl with an almost ominous exu 
 berance of spirits at least, Mrs. Gerry was afraid it 
 was ominous. 
 
 Neither had been much more than a score of miles 
 from home, except that the mother had once been to 
 Portland by boat, and the sea-sickness she had ex 
 perienced made her now afraid to go to Florida by 
 steamer, though that way was the cheapest of all the 
 routes she had studied. What if they should both be 
 sick and she not able to take care of Salome ? 
 
 That was her constant thought if she should not 
 be able to take care of Salome. As for the girl, she 
 did not care which way she went, and she was again 
 planning how she would earn money when she came 
 back. She said she wished she had some vocation ; 
 she didn t know as she could do one thing better
 
 TWO KINDS OF LOVERS 27 
 
 than another. If she could only paint, or sing, or 
 make verses. 
 
 Thus she prattled on as she went here and there 
 about the house. Her cheeks grew flushed at last 
 and her eyes still more bright. 
 
 Mr. Gerry was not to be at home until the next 
 day. He had driven twenty miles to meet " Uncle 
 John " for the final arrangements about the mortgage, 
 and to get the four hundred dollars. 
 
 When at last supper was eaten, the dishes washed, 
 and Salome was lying on the lounge in the sitting- 
 room, there came an imperative knock at the front door. 
 
 " I do hope we sha n t have company to-night," ex 
 claimed Mrs. Gerry. 
 
 She took the lamp and went into the entry. Salome 
 sat up and passed her hands over her hot face. 
 
 The next moment a tall young man followed her 
 mother into the room. He had on a long, rough over 
 coat, and he looked immense in size as he stood there; 
 it seemed as if he were magnified in the light of the 
 lamp which Mrs. Gerry now replaced on the table. 
 
 He held a gray cap in his hand, and this cap he 
 shifted from one hand to the other several times be 
 fore he sat down. 
 
 The chair almost creaked under him, and his coat 
 lay in a long fold on the floor on each side of him. 
 This was Walter Redd. He had a swarthy face, with 
 black eyes and brows. His mouth was small, and 
 there was a slight protruding of the under lip, which 
 gave him the appearance of a person who always had 
 his own way. But perhaps, after all, it was only his 
 great size which produced that impression. We are 
 not yet so enlightened but that bulk of body gives the 
 idea of power.
 
 28 THE TWO SALOMES 
 
 Mrs. Gerry resumed her seat and the stocking she 
 was mending for her husband. She said it was get 
 ting cold, but then one must expect chilly weather 
 the last of October. Then she glanced at the visitor 
 and suggested that he take off his greatcoat ; he d be 
 very uncomfortable if he sat with it on. 
 
 Walter Redd rose and divested himself of a gar 
 ment which must have \ve : ghed a good many 
 pounds. 
 
 When he sat down again he wiped his face with a 
 handkerchief that was yet in its immaculate folds. 
 He remarked that Mr. Earstow had had more than 
 two barrels of cranberries frostbitten because he had 
 been so slack about having them picked. But then 
 Mr. Barstow was slack about everything. 
 
 Possibly one might at first have thought that young 
 Redd was diffident, but he was not in the least, even 
 though he might be awkward. And he was not what 
 we used to call " forward," either. 
 
 Mrs. Gerry, with the blue woollen sock drawn over 
 one hand, and her darning-needle in the other, looked 
 for one questioning instant at the young man as he 
 spoke. Then she glanced at her daughter. 
 
 Salome had moved to the head of the lounge, had 
 pulled the balsam pillow up under one arm, and was 
 leaning heavily upon it. She was not looking at 
 Redd ; her eyes were fixed apparently on her red wool 
 slippers, which showed beyond her skirt. 
 
 " It seems too bad to lose cranberries," now re 
 sponded Mrs. Gerry, when she perceived that Salome 
 was not going to reply. " They bring a good price 
 this year." 
 
 " First-rate price," said Redd. 
 
 He reached forward and put his cap on the table.
 
 TWO KINDS OF LOVERS 29 
 
 His hand showed large and well formed, but rough 
 with out-door work. 
 
 " I ve made over fifty dollars on that little bog I 
 bought of the Curtis heirs." 
 
 " Have you ?" said Mrs. Gerry, cordially ; " why, 
 Walter, that s doing real well." 
 
 " So I thought. I was pleased enough about it." 
 
 Thus far the young man had not looked at Salome 
 save with the instantaneous glance which had told 
 him she was in the room when the two had nodded 
 at each other on his entrance. 
 
 Now his eyes swept deliberately over her, and were 
 only removed when they had reached the red wool 
 slippers. 
 
 At that stage in the gaze his dark face seemed to 
 deepen a very little in color, but it was unmoved 
 otherwise. 
 
 " How s your health now, Salome ?" he asked. 
 
 The girl was very weary of being asked about her 
 health, but she replied, politely, 
 
 "Thank you; I think I m full as well." 
 
 "I think she is better, if anything," said her mother, 
 quickly. 
 
 Salome s face was quietly set in its most ordinary 
 look, a serious, what one might almost call a con 
 scientious, look, and which aided a certain tendency 
 to coldness in her expression which the sensitive 
 features and eyes could not quite contradict. 
 
 "They were telling down to the store this after 
 noon," said Redd, " that you was both going to Florida. 
 Is that true ?" 
 
 The young man was carefully trying to speak cor 
 rectly, and he usually succeeded. 
 
 Each of the women waited for the other to reply, so
 
 30 THE TWO SALOMES 
 
 there was a slight pause before Mrs. Gerry said she 
 supposed it was true. They had had Dr. Bowdoin, 
 and he advised that Salome spend the winter in 
 Florida; he thought she would be completely cured 
 of her weak chest. On the whole, as he seemed so 
 positive, they were going to make a great effort 
 and go. 
 
 " I wish father could afford it," exclaimed Salome, 
 with emphasis. She added that when she came back 
 she should earn money herself, so that things would 
 get even after a while. She asked Redd if he didn t 
 think it would be a good plan for her to begin to learn 
 type-writing while she was in Florida, so that she 
 might go right to work when she returned. She 
 wished she knew just what would be best. 
 
 She lifted the little fir balsam pillow and put her 
 face in it, inhaling strongly its perfume. 
 
 Redd did not look at her. He addressed his reply 
 to her mother. 
 
 " Girls seem to do most anything now," he said. 
 
 Having made this remark, he lasped into complete 
 silence. He sat with apparent calmness, as if not 
 caring how long the silence lasted. He had the ap 
 pearance of having the waiting power well developed. 
 
 When he did speak it was quite to his purpose, and 
 he again addressed Mrs. Gerry. 
 
 " I called here to-night," he said, " because I wanted 
 to see Salome specially. May I see her ?" 
 
 Mrs. Gerry gathered her scissors and her ball of 
 blue mending yarn from the stand. She refrained 
 from looking at her daughter. 
 
 "I ll go right into the kitchen," she responded. 
 " It s warm there." 
 
 She walked out of the room. Walter Redd re-
 
 TWO KINDS OF LOVERS 31 
 
 mained sitting almost immovably in his chair. Salome 
 held her pillow again to her face. She was fighting 
 against a strong impulse to follow her mother into the 
 next room. She was afraid Redd was looking at her. 
 She wanted to make some quick, impatient move 
 ment. But she was almost as motionless as her com 
 panion. Almost for there was a kind of suggestion 
 of movement in her, while he was as without stir as 
 a log. 
 
 Why is it that those who can remain apparently 
 inert have such an advantage over the beings who 
 quiver with evident life ? Why should vis inertia con 
 quer so often in this world ? 
 
 Salome supposed he was going to ask to be engaged 
 to her. She thought it was rather strange that she, 
 who had never before had a proposal in her life, 
 should now have two in one day. 
 
 She wondered what those girls to whom men were 
 constantly proposing did in the circumstances. She 
 wished she knew some one to ask. 
 
 But those whom she knew had received proposals 
 had always said "yes." The matter would be per 
 fectly simple, and she would need no advice if she 
 were always going to say "yes." 
 
 After a while the silence, the perfect stillness be 
 came almost unbearable ; Salome glanced quickly at 
 the man who sat there opposite her. 
 
 She found that he was gazing openly and unswerv 
 ingly at her. She wondered irritably how much longer 
 he would do that, and she could not ask him what he 
 wanted, since he must see her "specially," as he had 
 said. 
 
 She sat upright now, and put her pillow on the 
 lounge with a decided motion. She told herself that
 
 32 THE TWO SALOMES 
 
 she would not endure this much longer. What did 
 Walter Redd mean by coming here and sitting like 
 that ? 
 
 If another moment passed in this way she would 
 open the kitchen door and call her mother. 
 
 Now Walter spoke. 
 
 " I s pose you know what I ve come for, Salome." 
 
 " No, I don t know, either," she answered. 
 
 "Now, don t say that," he rejoined, "because you 
 ain t stupid one bit, and you know I asked your 
 mother to go out, or just the same as asked her, so I 
 could tell you I wanted to marry you. And that I 
 came over just for that. I ve meant to do it for some 
 time, and when I heard them say you were going to 
 Florida I made up my mind I d " 
 
 " Oh, I wish you d stop !" interrupted Salome at 
 this stage in Redd s remarks. Then she said, peni 
 tently, " I beg your pardon, Walter, but I m very 
 tired to-night." 
 
 " Well, I ain t going to tire you. Just tell me you ll 
 marry me and I ll go right home." 
 
 As he said these words the young man leaned for 
 ward a little. 
 
 At the same time Salome shrank back. If she 
 could only say "yes" how easily she could end the 
 interview, she thought. 
 
 " But I can t tell you so," she answered. 
 
 " Of course you ve known all along that I love you. 
 Ain t you known that, Salome ?" 
 
 " No ; I haven t." 
 
 " I s pose I must believe you, but I don t see how 
 you could help knowing that no ; I don t see how you 
 could help knowing that." 
 
 There was a curious weight and strength in the way
 
 TWO KINDS OF LOVERS 33 
 
 the young man spoke. His manner impressed Sa 
 lome in a way that confused and mystified her. She 
 was conscious of trying to gather herself as if for re 
 sistance. At the same time there was something 
 strange and bewildering in her consciousness which 
 pleaded she did not know for what it pleaded. 
 
 She did not think Redd s last remark called for 
 any reply, and she did not attempt to make any. 
 
 Redd still maintained the same position, bending 
 forward towards her. He seemed in no hurry to 
 speak again. 
 
 Salome sat there in front of him. She heard her 
 mother open the kitchen stove and put in wood. She 
 held herself on the lounge by a distinct and painful 
 effort of her will. She felt the veins in her neck 
 begin to beat painfully, and that constriction which 
 was so much of the time across her chest was greater 
 than ever now. 
 
 If Redd should remain many more minutes she 
 could not answer for what she should do. 
 
 " I wish you knew how I love you," he finally said. 
 
 No answer. 
 
 "But I can t tell you," he went on. " I haven t got 
 any words. All there is to me loves you. It s all 
 been so strange since the first of my knowing you. 
 I ain t hardly known myself. Salome, I don t see but 
 what I ve got to have you. I ve got to have you."i 
 
 He sat perfectly still as he spoke these words. His 
 quietness of body contrasted indescribably with the 
 emotion in his voice. 
 
 The girl turned suddenly and bent down to the 
 head of the lounge, hiding her face in the cushion 
 again, and quivering as she did so. 
 
 " I wish you d go," she said, her voice muffled by 
 3
 
 34 THE TWO SALOMES 
 
 her position. " It s dreadful to have you talk like 
 that." 
 
 "It s dreadful for me ; I m sure of that," he an 
 swered. " Do you really want me to go, Salome ?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 Redd rose. He took his overcoat and put it over 
 his arm. 
 
 " Don t you think you could bring yourself to marry 
 me ?" he asked. 
 
 "No," from the lounge. 
 
 " You re sure you know your own mind ? They 
 say girls are awful strange about knowing their own 
 minds." 
 
 " I know mine." 
 
 He stood holding his coat and looking down at her; 
 stood quietly and easily. 
 
 " Then of course I ought to go." 
 
 He did not move. 
 
 " But I don t see how I can give you up. Salome, 
 I ve got to have you. Don t you see, I ve got to have 
 you?" 
 
 The girl did not lift her head, did not move. 
 
 Redd carefully laid his coat down in the chair 
 whence he had just taken it. He stepped over to the 
 lounge and lifted the girl in his arms. It was useless 
 for her to struggle. She did not. She only averted 
 her face against his shoulder and was still. 
 
 " Salome, ain t there any chance that you ve made 
 a mistake ?" 
 
 " No, no." 
 
 He held her for an instant. Then he put her care 
 fully back on the couch. He stood looking down at 
 her. 
 
 " I won t plague you any more now, Salome," he
 
 TWO KINDS OF LOVERS 35 
 
 said, "but I m going to hope you ll change your mind. 
 I don t know anything about women, but everybody 
 says they are quite likely to change their minds. So 
 I sha n t give up. I wouldn t give a cent for my life 
 if I gave up thinking about you." 
 
 He put on his coat, shaking his broad shoulders 
 into it. He took his cap ; he passed it from one 
 hand to the other as he had done when he came in. 
 
 " I m going in a minute. I wanted to say some 
 thing about that fifty dollars I made on that cranberry 
 bog. I sha n t need it ; I m doing first-rate. I know 
 your father s got to reckon pretty close to send you 
 to Florida. You just let me give that money to your 
 mother. It might make things a little easier for you. 
 It ll do me a lot of good if you will ; more n you know. 
 And I sha n t think you under any obligation. You 
 can pay it back when you get to earning, you know, 
 if you want to." 
 
 It was a moment before Salome said : 
 
 " I know how kind you are, Walter ; but we can get 
 along real well without it." 
 
 She sat up now. She put her hands to her cheeks 
 for an instant. Then she looked up in the young 
 man s face. 
 
 He met the glance, then turned with a quicker 
 movement than he had yet made. 
 
 " Well, good-bye," he said.
 
 Ill 
 
 ANTINOUS 
 
 SITTING by the cook-stove, where, like an American 
 mother, she had retreated that a young man might 
 have an opportunity to ask her daughter to marry 
 him, Mrs. Gerry forgot to go on with the mending of 
 her husband s socks. She sat with one stocking on 
 her hand with her ringer through a large hole. But 
 the hand lay idly on her lap. Her eyes were fixed 
 on the blaze of the lamp, and her mouth was shut 
 tightly. 
 
 At last she leaned her head back on the chair, and 
 took a long breath. 
 
 "Salome will do what she thinks is right, anyway," 
 she thought. " She always was such a conscientious 
 little thing, and such a spirited little thing ; only late 
 ly her not being well has kept her down, somehow, 
 and she ain t seemed like herself." 
 
 The sound of steps, and then of a door closing, 
 made her start up quickly. She hurriedly drew off 
 the stocking from her hand and almost flung it on 
 the stand. She stood up. Then she waited, fearing 
 that her daughter might want to be alone ; or perhaps 
 the girl would come to her. 
 
 Several moments passed. There was no sound, 
 and Mrs. Gerry could bear it no longer. She walked 
 to the door and opened it softly. Salome was lying
 
 ANTINOUS 37 
 
 on the lounge as if she were asleep. But her eye 
 lashes directly lifted. She sat up, and gave a short, 
 nervous laugh. The laugh terminated in a cough. 
 
 Mrs. Gerry sat down by the girl. Salome leaned 
 her shoulder against her mother. 
 
 " If you want to learn how much folks think of you, 
 just let them know you re going away," she remarked. 
 
 Mrs. Gerry said nothing. Her face showed her anx 
 iety. 
 
 " First, twas Dick Chapin, and now it s Walter 
 Redd," went on Salome ; "and, oh, mother, it isn t any 
 fun at all to be proposed to. Some of the girls talk 
 as if it were fun, but then they said yes, " returning 
 in her mind to her former thought on this subject. 
 
 " And you didn t say yes ? " 
 
 " Oh no, of course not," in surprise ; " why 
 should I ?" 
 
 " I didn t know how you felt, Salome. I ve won 
 dered a good deal about it, but I didn t want to ask 
 you. And you don t care for either of them ?" 
 
 " No, indeed ; why should I ?" again. " Besides," 
 laughing and coughing, "you know Aunt Endora says 
 a woman never ought to love any man but her hus 
 band, and I haven t got any husband. Mother, I wish 
 we could start for Florida to-morrow." 
 
 Mrs. Gerry wondered if Salome would give any 
 more particulars concerning the incidents of the day ; 
 but she did not. 
 
 And every hour after seemed to be filled with prep 
 arations for their journey, and for the limited house 
 keeping they were arranging for. 
 
 Every neighbor called with profuse offerings of ad 
 vice. Not one of them had ever been in Florida, but 
 all felt competent to give a good deal of instruction.
 
 38 THE TWO SALOMES 
 
 The advice and the instruction, oddly enough, chiefly 
 hinged upon flannels and overshoes rubbers." 
 Everybody was afraid the Gerrys would not take suf 
 ficient of these safeguards against the climate and 
 the storms. 
 
 Mrs. Lamkin even went so far as to make and bring 
 over, as a token of friendship, a pair of red flannel 
 under - vests, made from something which seemed 
 about a quarter of an inch thick. These were for 
 Salome to wear when she was really settled down for 
 the winter. 
 
 During the conversation it transpired that these 
 vests were made from some garments which Mr. 
 Lamkin had been obliged to discard on account of 
 the superlative degree of the power of shrinking in 
 herent in them. 
 
 Mrs. Lamkin explained how she herself had washed 
 these "robins," as she called them. She went into 
 the minutest detail as to this process of washing, and 
 she ended by saying that she never took so much 
 pains with anything in her life, and she didn t see 
 how under the sun they managed to shrink so. 
 
 "But there s one thing about it, Mis Gerry, you 
 can be sure they can t shrink any more. Tain t pos 
 sible. And they ll wear forever." 
 
 Mrs. Gerry took a fold of the stuff between her 
 thumb and forefinger. She expressed a polite hope 
 that Mrs. Lamkin had not robbed herself. 
 
 That lady replied " that she knew they d jest lay 
 n git all moth-eaten, and so she had made them up 
 for S lome, S lome having a weak chest, so." 
 
 Salome sat quite still during this call, her thin, 
 earnest face somewhat averted from the woman who 
 had brought this gift.
 
 ANTINOUS 39 
 
 When Mrs. Lamkin had departed the girl rose, and, 
 lifting one of the made-over robins, she shook it out 
 and dangled it in front of her mother. She did not 
 now smile in the least, but her eyes danced in a 
 sparkling light. 
 
 " Put it down, Salome," said her mother, sharply. 
 " Mrs. Lamkin is really fond of you ; and she means 
 well ; and it must have been a lot of work." 
 
 Salome obeyed. While she was folding the gar 
 ment the door opened again, and Mrs. Scudder 
 came in. 
 
 This lady, when seen without her best bonnet and 
 kid gloves, was not nearly so imposing. Even the 
 folds of gray hair on each side of her face seemed to 
 have diminished in size. But her pale eyes stood out 
 just the same, and her voice was so soft that one al 
 most expected to hear her purr. 
 
 "Mis Sprague said you was really goin to-morrer," 
 she remarked, as she sat down. " Be you ?" 
 
 " Yes, we expect to," answered Mrs. Gerry. 
 
 " Well, I should think you d want to git off now ; 
 you re kind of unsettled, n all tore up in your 
 mind. I ve been makin some fried pies, n I 
 brought some. Mis Sprague said you was goin to 
 take the victuals for your trip in a basket. They say 
 it s dreadful expensive buyin victuals on a journey, 
 n I knew you d got to save money, of course." 
 
 Mrs. Scudder put a good-sized paper bag on the 
 table. It showed some spots of grease, and its odor 
 also revealed that it was the receptacle of the fried 
 pies. 
 
 " They re real nourishing if you can digest urn," 
 she said. " They re mince. I knew consumptive 
 folks could eat most anything. It s the mince-meat
 
 40 THE TWO SALOMES 
 
 I m going to make my Thanksgiving pies of. I guess 
 it s kind of decent. How be ye, S lome ? Do ye 
 perk up any thinkin of your journey ?" 
 
 " I believe I perk up a little, thank you," answered 
 the girl, gravely. 
 
 " I s pose that s excitement," responded Mrs. Scud- 
 der. "I hope you won t git so excited that you ll 
 all cave in when you git there." 
 
 " I hope I sha n t cave in," replied Salome. 
 
 Her mother looked at her anxiously, but the girl s 
 demeanor was irreproachable. 
 
 "Dick Chapin s gone over to the Falls," remarked 
 Mrs. Scudder. " Mrs. West said he was awful down 
 to the heel. I told her I guessed I knew why." 
 
 Mrs. Scudder s eyes roamed over Salome s face, but 
 Salome, though her face might have a feverish color 
 in it, rarely blushed. 
 
 She did not blush now. 
 
 " Do you put lemon-peel in your mince-meat ?" 
 
 Mrs. Gerry asked this question somewhat hastily, 
 and she listened with absorbed attention to the reci 
 tals of the conditions under which Mrs. Scudder 
 thought lemon-peel ought to be put into pie-meat. 
 
 The conversation was kept strictly within pie-meat 
 limits until Mrs. Scudder rose to go. Then she said 
 that she had almost forgotten one of the main things 
 she had come for, and that was to warn the Gerrys 
 to look out for snakes when they got to Floridy. 
 Southern countries were full of snakes, she had un 
 derstood. She suggested the constant wearing of 
 rubber boots. She said Mr. Scudder had several 
 pairs of rubber boots which he had got through with, 
 they having become leaky. But their leaking didn t 
 make any difference in their repelling power as re-
 
 ANTINOUS 41 
 
 garded snakes. Should she send Mr. Scudder over 
 with some of these boots ? They, the Gerry s, could 
 have them as well as not. 
 
 Seeing her mother hesitate in her first helpless 
 amazement, Salome hastened to say that her father 
 had some old rubber boots which they might use, but 
 that they were just as much obliged to Mrs. Scudder. 
 
 And the visitor departed. Salome turned to her 
 mother. She looked intently in her face for an in 
 stant, then she dropped on to the lounge and laughed 
 until the laugh was turned into a cough. 
 
 It was very early the next morning when they 
 started. 
 
 Many of us know how desolate an early start is. 
 Particularly is it so in the fall or winter. 
 
 Unable to sleep, Mrs. Gerry rose at four o clock. 
 She shiveringly dressed by the light of a little kero 
 sene lamp, while Mr. Gerry, by the light of another 
 little lamp, was making a fire in the cook-stove. His 
 face, seen dimly, was set in the most gloomy expres 
 sion. He hurried out to the barn with the milk-pail. 
 By six o clock the horse must be harnessed, and they 
 must start for the station so that the travellers could 
 be in Boston in time for the express to New York. 
 
 Mr. Gerrry was going to do his own work while his 
 wife and daughter were gone ; he could not afford 
 to have a house-keeper. Now r , as he pitched the hay 
 into the mangers, he felt that affairs were too bad to 
 be borne. He could do his own work, or leave it un 
 done ; but to stay there and worry about Salome he 
 really did not know what would become of him. 
 
 He was a little man, with a narrow face and dreamy- 
 looking eyes ; it was a face that showed at the first 
 glance that the owner of it would never be "fore-
 
 42 THE TWO SALOMES 
 
 handed," and it was a face that would win love from 
 a strong nature, and it had won and kept his wife s 
 love through many trying years. 
 
 Very little was said at that morning meal. Mr. 
 Gerry found it difficult to speak. He was continually 
 gazing at Salome. His conversation was mostly con 
 fined to urging the girl to drink more milk, and to say 
 that she d be awful faint travelling if she didn t take 
 all the milk she could. 
 
 And Salome tried to drink the milk, though it was 
 very hard to swallow. She was looking at her father 
 and meeting his eyes, then dropping her own. He 
 heaped his plate with food, took up his knife and fork 
 with an air of ferocious appetite, suddenly put them 
 down, pushed back from the table, and said he must 
 go and harness. 
 
 When the door closed behind him, Salome clasped 
 her hands together with a gesture that was not like 
 the gesture of a Yankee girl. She turned her face 
 towards her mother. 
 
 " Oh, it s awful hard on father !" she exclaimed. 
 " It makes me feel wicked." 
 
 Mrs. Gerry was conscientiously and persistently 
 trying to eat her breakfast that she might keep up 
 her strength. Whatever happened, she knew that she 
 must be strong. 
 
 "I know it s hard on him," she said, "but it s no 
 body s fault. Don t feel wicked." 
 
 In a moment Mrs. Gerry rose from the table. She 
 went into the " L " and stood an instant at the open 
 door. The stars were glittering in a clear, far, un 
 sympathetic sky; but all over the eastern heavens 
 there was coming the faint, blue light of the morn 
 ing:.
 
 ANTINOUS 43 
 
 The cocks were crowing in the yards in the neigh 
 borhood. The air was sharp with frost. 
 
 Mrs. Gerry loved that cold sky, and she liked the 
 indescribable odor of the frost. 
 
 It was heart-breaking to her to leave her home. 
 
 She glanced towards the barn. Through its dingy 
 window she saw the glimmer of a light. She half 
 suppressed a sob that rose to her throat. 
 
 She suddenly lifted the skirt of her gown and flung 
 it over her head and shoulders ; then she ran out 
 across the yard and entered the barn. She ran as 
 lightly as if she were no older than her daughter. 
 Perhaps at that moment she felt no older ; and there 
 was a tinge of red on her face and a glow in her eyes 
 as she hurried over the barn floor which was littered 
 with " swale." 
 
 Mr. Gerry had been pitching away the horse s bed. 
 His lantern was hung on a peg at the end of the stall. 
 Instead of giving light the lantern seemed only to 
 make deep and grotesque shadows. The whole place 
 was full of the strong odor of hay. 
 
 The man stepped out on to the floor. 
 
 "Why, Salome!" he exclaimed. 
 
 He dropped his pitchfork and advanced towards 
 his wife. He put one arm about her. 
 
 " Oh, Lyman," she whispered, "it s so hard to go! 
 And how lonesome you ll be !" 
 
 He did not speak immediately. Then he said, with 
 tremulous cheerfulness : 
 
 " Don t you worry, Salome. I don t expect to be 
 real gay, but I ve made up my mind to weather it 
 somehow. If only the child gets well 
 
 " Yes, yes," interrupted Mrs. Gerry, trying to re 
 sume her usual manner. " But I didn t mean to trive
 
 44 E TWO SALOMES 
 
 way so ; I ve got to have all my strength. I feel 
 sure," with great cheerfulness, " that the child will be 
 ever so much better. I ll run back now. You d bet 
 ter harness right away." 
 
 Mr. Gerry led out the horse. He flung the breast 
 plate and traces over the animal s back. Then he 
 could not see. He leaned against the old meal chest, 
 putting both hands over his face with a feminine 
 gesture. 
 
 The horse reached down to the floor and began 
 nosing about for a wisp of sweet hay, the long leather 
 straps dragging here and there as it did so. Then it 
 got its forefoot on one of the traces, and its head was 
 held because the breast-plate had fallen to its ears. 
 
 Mr. Gerry dashed his hands down. He sprang for 
 ward and struck the horse s leg lightly. He went on 
 harnessing with great haste. 
 
 As he buckled the last strap he exclaimed, aloud, 
 
 " All there is about it is I ve just got to stand it ; 
 and I m willing to stand it, too." 
 
 It was a cold, early daylight when the two women 
 said an apparently calm good-bye to Mr. Gerry on the 
 platform of the little station. The cars were sweeping 
 around the curve just north of them. The instant 
 they stopped the conductor sprang out and said, 
 
 " All aboard !" 
 
 The solitary trunk was swung in the baggage-car. 
 Mrs. Gerry and her daughter hurried up the steps 
 with the hand-satchel and with the large basket of 
 lunch, which they hoped would serve them until they 
 reached Jacksonville. 
 
 Mr. Gerry, on the platform, caught one more glimpse 
 of them through the window of the car ; then the train 
 had glided on inexorably. He stood there alone.
 
 ANTINOUS 45 
 
 The station-master came up to him, meaning to be 
 friendly. 
 
 "Going to bach it, ain t ye, Gerry, now that the 
 women folks are all gone ?" 
 
 Gerry nodded. 
 
 " Tain t no fun to bach it, now, I tell ye. I tried it 
 when my wife s mother was sick. I d rather be 
 whipped than do it agin. Folks goin to be gone all 
 winter ? 
 
 Again Gerry nodded. He began to walk away. 
 This man s voice and words were intolerable to him. 
 
 The station-master kept by his side. He was tell 
 ing himself that he was awful sorry for Gerry, and 
 that he would cheer him up a little. 
 
 " S lome ll come back blight s a button," he said. 
 "Looks pretty bad now, that s a fact, but she ll be all 
 right." 
 
 By this time Gerry had reached the place where his 
 horse was hitched. He unfastened the rope eagerly. 
 He felt as if he could not wait until he could get 
 away from the man. As he put his foot on the wagon- 
 step the other said : 
 
 " Did you see young Redd git aboard the train ?" 
 
 He winked as he asked the question. 
 
 " No, I didn t." Gerry was now tucking the blanket 
 about his legs. 
 
 "Jest as the cars had got under way Redd jumped 
 over the fence the other side the track and swung on 
 to the last car. Odd, how he never seems to hurry, 
 but he s a feller that always gits there, I guess." 
 
 Mr. Gerry nodded. His horse started at a brisk 
 pace towards home. 
 
 In the cars there were very few people. It was 
 cold and desolate, the heat not having diffused itself.
 
 46 THE TWO SALOMES 
 
 The men sat with their hats drawn forward over 
 their eyes, the women had a huddled look. 
 
 Notwithstanding Salome s longing to go South, she 
 found the starting so melancholy that she would 
 gladly have gone home and given up the journey. 
 
 So she felt for half an hour. Then the sun was 
 higher. She ceased to think so poignantly of her 
 father s face as he stood there while the train began 
 to move. 
 
 The sun pushed its way through some fleecy clouds 
 and shone out triumphantly in the clear blue of the 
 heavens. 
 
 The girl turned to her mother ; she was going to 
 tell her that this sunshine was a good sign, but she 
 did not speak. There was something in Mrs. Gerry s 
 attitude that hushed the words on the girl s lips, and 
 yet the woman was sitting up erect, with the large 
 lunch-basket on her lap and her face turned straight 
 ahead, her features calm. 
 
 " She is thinking of father," said the girl to herself, 
 and she turned away conscious dimly of a surprised 
 conviction that her father and mother loved each 
 other. 
 
 Hitherto she had never thought about that possi 
 bility. They were very old in her eyes, too old to 
 love much, anyway ; but now a curious light came 
 into her mind. This light made her heart beat more 
 rapidly. With something like shyness she put out 
 her hand and took her mother s hand, pressing it 
 almost with violence for an instant, then dropping 
 it. Her eyes were full of tears as she bent forward 
 and whispered, quickly: 
 
 "Oh, mother, I didn t think how you d hate to 
 leave father ! But we can write to him every day,
 
 ANTINOUS 47 
 
 you know. That ll be something to you and to him, 
 too, won t it ?" 
 
 These swift words breathed so unexpectedly into 
 her ear made Mrs. Gerry s face break from its set 
 look and become trembling and soft. 
 
 She made a movement as if she would lean her 
 head on the young shoulder so close to her. Then 
 she restrained herself and took herself in hand. 
 
 She spoke cheerfully : 
 
 " Of course it ll be something for him and for me. 
 We ll both write to him. You see, Salome, I never 
 left him before since we were married only to go 
 over to Aunt Eudora s." 
 
 Mrs. Gerry smiled courageously at her daughter. 
 She glanced from the window and said she was glad 
 they had such good weather for the beginning of their 
 journey. She was going to take it as a good sign. 
 Then the eyes of mother and daughter met, and the 
 two smiled at each other. After that smile the girl 
 sank back in her seat in content. 
 
 She was starting for Florida. This knowledge 
 made those huckleberry fields have an aspect which 
 they had never had before. She wondered why they 
 looked so strange. It seemed to her that this was the 
 first time she had ever seen them. And the old farm 
 houses. She was already travelling through unknown 
 countries. 
 
 After they had stopped at the first station, Salome 
 felt that it was a very exciting thing to travel. She 
 wondered how those men could sit with their hats 
 over their eyes and never look through the window. 
 And two girls across the aisle were talking inces 
 santly, without apparently knowing they were trav 
 elling.
 
 48 THE TWO SALOMES 
 
 Suddenly those two looked behind them, glanced 
 significantly at each other, and were silent. 
 
 Some one was coming along from the far end of 
 the car. It was young Redd. He nodded at the two 
 girls. Would he sit down in front and talk with 
 them ? 
 
 No ; with that almost ponderous slowness of move 
 ment which was one of his characteristics, Redd let 
 his tall frame down into the seat behind Salome and 
 her mother. 
 
 " Glad you ve got such a nice day," he said, lean 
 ing towards them. 
 
 " Yes," said Mrs. Gerry; " it makes it so much more 
 cheerful." 
 
 She could not help looking curiously at the face 
 behind her. She found it so calm, so impassive, that 
 she could have doubted the reality of his love. And 
 she felt a certain irritation against him that he should 
 look so calm, for calmness so often gives the impres 
 sion of assurance, or of stolidness. 
 
 Redd now settled himself comfortably, putting his 
 arm along the back of his seat. He did not speak again 
 for two hours, not until the train was going through 
 some dingy suburbs preparatory to entering Boston. 
 Then he leaned forward once more. He addressed 
 Mrs. Gerry. He had not yet noticed Salome in the 
 least. 
 
 " Going to New York by the Shore Line ?" 
 
 Yes." 
 
 " I wish you d let me get your tickets and see 
 about your trunks. It s a bother for women," he 
 said. 
 
 When they had entered the station, the noise out 
 side, the people going to and fro, so confused Mrs.
 
 ANTINOUS 49 
 
 Gerry that she was very grateful that Redd happened 
 to be with them. She gladly accepted his offer. 
 She gave him her purse and the check to their one 
 trunk, which Mr. Gerry had tied about with such a 
 profusion of rope. 
 
 Then she sat down, and her head began to ache at 
 the sight of the people walking, always walking. 
 
 But Salome did not sit down. She could not. 
 
 Redd had disappeared. Presently he came, back. 
 He gave Mrs. Gerry two long tickets. He put some 
 bills into her hand. He said he had ventured to get 
 a carriage ; he explained that he was doing first-rate, 
 and he could afford to spend a dollar once in a while. 
 They would go right over to the other station, and 
 the trunk would go with them. So they would make 
 a sure thing of not having the trunk late. 
 
 He took the lunch-bag and the satchel and walked 
 out to the entrance, the two women following. 
 
 He had not once looked at Salome. 
 
 They had not long to wait before the New York 
 train was ready. How the people streamed in ! Mrs. 
 Gerry wondered that she had thought she could know 
 how to travel. She was tormented by a desire to 
 count the people. 
 
 Mr. Redd stood in the aisle of the car where he 
 had conducted them. 
 
 " I ve been looking up the trip," he said. " You 
 know you go over to Jersey City. After that you 
 won t change till you get to Washington. It s easy 
 enough. You can t go wrong." 
 
 " Oh no," responded Mrs. Gerry ; " of course it s 
 easy. We shall be all right." 
 
 She had never felt so bewildered and helpless in 
 her life. She didn t know it would be like this. If 
 4
 
 50 THE TWO SALOMES 
 
 she could only get used to the people and the strange 
 noises. 
 
 " Perhaps you d better take a sleeper right through 
 from New York," remarked Redd. " They say folks 
 don t get so tired, nearly." 
 
 " Oh no ; we expect to get tired, and we can t 
 afford a sleeper anyway. We ve calculated on not 
 having one. I m so much obliged to you, "Walter. 
 But ain t you afraid you ll be taken along ?" anxious 
 ly ; " ain t we going to start ?" 
 
 But Redd did not reply. For the first time he was 
 looking at Salome. He stood solidly in his place, 
 though the people were now crowding hurriedly past 
 him. 
 
 A bell sounded. There was the cry of "All 
 aboard !" outside. The cars gave a lurch. 
 
 The young man, with no appearance, even now, of 
 haste, bent over Salome. 
 
 " Good-bye," he whispered. " I don t give you up. 
 I never shall give you up. Good-bye." 
 
 He strode to the door. The cars were now gliding 
 out of the station. 
 
 Mrs. Gerry watched him breathlessly. How foolish 
 he had been to stay so long. He would get his neck 
 broken. But no. There he was, safely outside the 
 car, and looking up at her with a smile. 
 
 She smiled back at him. And somehow she was 
 aware of a warm feeling in her heart for him, a feel 
 ing which she had not known before. 
 
 She turned and looked at her daughter. Salome s 
 head was bent to her hand. She was pale ; but no 
 paler than was usual with her. As the mother gazed 
 she saw a tremor of eyelid. Then suddenly Salome 
 raised her head and met her mother s gaze.
 
 ANTINOUS 51 
 
 "Do you know that we are on the way South?" 
 asked the girl, joyously. 
 
 And with those words she seemed to fling from her 
 everything but a kind of childish delight in the jour 
 ney and in the object of it. She gazed at everything. 
 She looked with never-ending interest at every person 
 who entered the car ; at the people who swarmed out 
 side in the stations at the larger towns. Her face 
 grew grave as she witnessed partings, or she smiled 
 sympathetically when a friend met a friend. 
 
 Sometimes the young men in checked ulsters and 
 brown derby hats, with russet bags hanging from 
 their shoulders, turned to look a second time at the 
 thin, sensitive face at the car window. 
 
 They thought that girl didn t know much about the 
 world, and she had rather fine eyes ; where was she 
 going, anyway ? 
 
 And one young man, who had devoted some time 
 and attention to the subject, said that the old woman 
 and that girl in the shabby jacket were going to 
 Jacksonville ; he had succeeded in seeing their tickets 
 when the conductor had looked at them. 
 
 At this information the two others who formed a 
 group near the door of the smoker laughed boister 
 ously, and one of them exclaimed, as well as he could 
 with a large cigar gripped between his teeth : 
 
 " You re going to Jacksonville, too, ain t you, 
 Moore ? I tell you," to the other member of the 
 group, " Moore s always in luck." 
 
 Moore scowled at this and drew back slightly. 
 There was some savageness in the tone in which he 
 replied that he didn t suppose he was the only fellow 
 on board the train who was going to Jacksonville. 
 The next moment he announced that he was sick of
 
 52 THE TWO SALOMES 
 
 the smell of tobacco, and he walked with rather an 
 emphatic manner into the next car, where he sat down, 
 drew his hat over his eyes, and appeared to be gazing 
 intently at nothing. 
 
 He was thinking that he had been a confounded 
 idiot when he had told those fellows that he had found 
 out where that girl was going. She seemed a nice 
 little thing. He did not like to remember how those 
 fellows had laughed. He wondered if he had ever 
 laughed like that. It was a coarse, vulgar thing to 
 do ; and it was odd he had never noticed that kind 
 of thing before. 
 
 He shook himself impatiently in his place. He 
 glanced down the car. He could see the straw tur 
 ban with the bunch of black velvet and the blue wing 
 on it. She was sitting in the same place. How tired 
 she must be. He would like to know if she were 
 going to Florida for her health. 
 
 He rose and walked through the car in the most 
 hurried manner, as if on an important errand. He 
 turned neither to the right nor to the left. In ten 
 minutes he returned, moving very leisurely. He 
 looked full at Salome and her mother as he did so. 
 Yes, she was tired. As he sat down again he found 
 himself thinking that she never could bear the jour 
 ney in this car. What had her mother taken her in 
 this car for, he asked himself, angrily. She couldn t 
 endure it. And they were not in New York yet, 
 wouldn t be there for more than two hours. What 
 was her mother thinking about ? 
 
 At this stage in his musing Moore caught himself 
 up with a smile of amusement. 
 
 He drew a magazine from his satchel and settled 
 himself to read.
 
 ANTINOUS 53 
 
 He was one of those young men who have a com 
 plexion like that of a blond woman. Underneath 
 such a skin the blood shows too freely. 
 
 Moore s beard was yellow and forked, being care 
 fully combed in that manner. Evidently he paid great 
 attention to his mustache also, for the ends were drawn 
 out and curled up in that fashion which one sees in 
 the portraits of that mythical D Artagnan. Under 
 neath this mustache, and scarcely hidden by it, 
 Moore s lips showed rather too red and full. His 
 eyes were not blue, but a light, changing hazel, with 
 some tinge of yellow, as if from his beard. 
 
 Altogether, Randolph Moore at this time in his life 
 was one of those young men whom it was a distinct 
 pleasure to meet and to look at. Any elderly person 
 would smile involuntarily at sight of him, and would 
 part from him with regret. He might have posed in 
 any tableau as " Youth," there was so little of the 
 past in his aspect, and so much of the future. His 
 beauty was of that exhilarating kind that goes so well 
 with the general idea of the future, which is always to 
 be indescribably lovely. 
 
 When he had been in college somebody had called 
 him Antinous, and the name had been immediately 
 hailed as the most appropriate thing that could be 
 thought of. It was rather cruel, however, that his 
 set should have degenerated into the fashion of chang- 
 
 o o 
 
 ing that word to "Tinny." But that is what those 
 college boys I beg their pardon those college men 
 did, and never, except on the books of the university 
 and on formal occasions, was he known by any name 
 save Tinny Moore. 
 
 And struggle as he might to overcome the feeling, 
 he was never able to hear that word Tinny without a
 
 54 THE TWO SALOMES 
 
 shrinking, as the "skin shrinks from the burr." But 
 he did succeed in concealing that he shrank. 
 
 He left college with no love in his heart for the men 
 there and for the place where he had been Antinous, 
 and where he had made no mark at all, but had simply 
 been one of the ruck which had barely captured the 
 B. A. for their names. 
 
 Now he Was in his twenty-fifth year, and was a "run 
 ner " for a boot and shoe firm in a suburb of Boston. 
 But he had an uncle, and prospects. 
 
 He had a seat in one of the parlor-cars on the train, 
 but he did not acknowledge to himself why he did not 
 occupy it more. What he did acknowledge was that 
 a fellow saw a great deal more of human nature in a 
 common car. And he had not yet been a travelling 
 salesman long enough to become tired of human 
 nature. 
 
 In a few moments the train began slowing up for a 
 large station. Moore, who had not read a whole page 
 in his magazine, put it back in his satchel. 
 
 He sauntered out to that door which was nearest to 
 the seat occupied by the Gerrys. 
 
 He suddenly made a resolution which he acted upon 
 directly the train came to a full stop. 
 
 He stepped to Mrs. Gerry s side and looked down 
 at her. 
 
 He lifted his hat. 
 
 "We stop here twenty minutes, madam," he said. 
 " W on t you let me bring you a cup of tea or coffee ?"
 
 IV 
 
 "SLEEPERS AND BUFFETS" 
 
 MRS. GERRY started. She had not noticed Moore 
 until he spoke. She was so weary even at this early 
 stage of the journey that she was alarmed lest she 
 should not be able to take care of her daughter. Her 
 head ached blindingly. The luncheon she had eaten 
 from their basket had been tasteless to her. 
 
 She looked up and met the young man s eyes. She 
 smiled with pleasure and gratitude. 
 
 " Yes," she answered, " I shall be glad if you will 
 bring me a cup of coffee/ 
 
 Moore lingered. 
 
 " And the young lady ?" he said. Salome also 
 glanced at him, and she also smiled. 
 
 " I should like a glass of milk," she replied. Moore 
 darted from the car, and they saw him run into the 
 restaurant. 
 
 " What a pretty boy !" exclaimed Mrs. Gerry, with 
 some animation. 
 
 " Yes ; but who cares for a pretty man ?" said the girl. 
 
 " Well, I care for beauty wherever I can find it," 
 was the response, " and I do want some coffee. Get 
 out your purse, Salome, won t you ?" 
 
 Salome had the shabby little purse extracted from 
 the shabby satchel before Moore appeared from the 
 restaurant door.
 
 56 THE TWO SALOMES 
 
 He was followed by a boy bearing a tray on which 
 were two or three dishes besides the coffee and the 
 milk. 
 
 Mrs. Gerry s face clouded over with disapproval ; 
 and by the time Moore had reached her she was look 
 ing decided reproof at him. 
 
 But the young man laughed with a gay disregard of 
 anything she might say to him. And when he laughed 
 one was very likely to laugh with him. 
 
 He took the tray from the boy and gently placed it 
 in Mrs. Gerry s lap. 
 
 " It is fried chicken," he said; "and I made them 
 swear it had been fried within the week. If they have 
 perjured themselves, is that any fault of mine ? Mad 
 am, don t scold me, please. You see my mother never 
 scolded me, and at this age I couldn t. bear it, anyway. 
 And I thought if you would let me eat a bit of bread 
 and a drumstick with you, you would forgive me and 
 would not think it necessary to feel under any obliga 
 tion." 
 
 Mrs. Gerry was more cheered at hearing his care 
 less, hearty young voice than she had been cheered 
 by anything in many weeks. 
 
 She had started from home with the fixed resolve 
 not to speak to any one whom she met. Had she not 
 read how dangerous it was to exchange even common 
 courtesies with strangers on a journey ? Did she not 
 fully know that the ravening lions who go up and 
 down the earth in steam-cars and steamboats always 
 wear the most attractive outside appearance ? 
 
 Yes, she knew all this ; she knew it when she looked 
 up in Moore s face and found it so inspiring in its 
 beauty and its unlimited good-will. And she immedi 
 ately trusted him as if she had known him all his life.
 
 "SLEEPERS AND UUFFETS " 57 
 
 But she would hand him some money, from which 
 he scrupulously selected the price of the coffee and 
 milk he had brought. 
 
 He lounged against the seat in front of them and 
 ate his roll and chicken, and they ate also, with a 
 gayety and relish which to Mrs. Gerry, when she 
 thought of the time afterwards, seemed almost mirac 
 ulous. 
 
 During this impromptu repast the two young men 
 who knew Moore came strolling in, each with a tooth 
 pick in his mouth. Moore impatiently interposed his 
 shoulder between him and them. 
 
 They stared solemnly as they went by. Then they 
 paused and stationed themselves where they could 
 gaze directly into Moore s face. It was in vain that 
 he tried not to see them. He could feel their eyes 
 boring into the back of his head. 
 
 He heard the conductor cry outside. He snatched 
 up the tray and ran quickly towards the eating-house 
 with it. 
 
 One of those young men was on each side of him. 
 
 "Oh my !" cried one. 
 
 " I wish I had your cheek !" cried the other. 
 
 " Give me the tray and you go back to her," said 
 the first. 
 
 " All right," exclaimed Moore, with unexpected ac 
 quiescence." Take it. Til pay the taxes." 
 
 And he thrust the tray at the young man, who 
 mechanically took it, while Moore ran back to the 
 car. 
 
 " Sold !" cried the person who didn t have the tray 
 to the one who did have it. The conductor shouted 
 again. 
 
 The tray was hustled on to the counter ; some
 
 58 THE TWO SALOMES 
 
 money was flung after it, and the checked ulsters 
 caught on to the last car as it glided by the plat 
 form. 
 
 The two young men had lost their toothpicks, and 
 they felt like giving Moore a few stinging slaps on 
 the side of his handsome face. 
 
 Instead of doing that, however, they agreed to stand 
 round within sight of that lucky fellow every minute 
 of the time until they reached New York. It would 
 do him good. 
 
 Moore got very weary of that espionage. He could 
 not look up without meeting those eyes fixed upon 
 him. He wanted to rush out and knock those fellows 
 down and jump on them. He had intended to linger 
 near Mrs. Gerry and speak to her when he had a 
 chance. But in half an hour he gave up that inten 
 tion. He walked sullenly into the parlor- car and 
 sullenly took out his magazine again. But after a 
 time he became really interested, and he forgot about 
 those two women with whom he had lunched. The 
 lamps in the cars were long ago lighted. Outside, 
 as the train sped on, the fiery dots that showed where 
 were houses and street lamps became more and more 
 numerous. Each spark glowed to Mrs. Gerry and her 
 daughter when the car door was opened like some 
 fantastic and evil spirit. For by this time even Sa 
 lome was so weary that she had lost all the cheerful 
 hope with which she had started that morning. Was 
 it only that morning ? Was it not rather weeks ago 
 since she had seen her father standing there in front 
 of the little station ? 
 
 The man with the trunk checks jingling from his 
 hand and with his arm thrust through the handle of a 
 lantern had long since gone through the train shout-
 
 "SLEEPERS AND BUFFETS 59 
 
 ing, " Baggage express ! Transfer to Brooklyn and 
 all parts of the city !" 
 
 From the time when he had appeared the Gerrys 
 had expected momentarily to arrive in New York. 
 They had listened eagerly when any train official had 
 entered. And still, outside, in the intensity of the 
 darkness, the lights increased, and the tall houses be 
 came taller and had now grown into long blocks. 
 
 Mrs. Gerry had shown her check to that man who 
 went rattling his bits of brass. Somebody behind her 
 had given up her check and received another. 
 
 One of the principles on which this woman had 
 started from home was never to relinquish that little 
 metal square. If she let that out of her possession 
 she virtually threw away her trunk. Everybody had 
 told her that. 
 
 She touched the sleeve of the express agent and 
 anxiously showed him her own check, holding on to it 
 tightly, however, lest he might be tempted to snatch 
 it from her. 
 
 He bent clown and looked at it. 
 
 " Oh, you re all right. You ve nothing to do till 
 you get to Jacksonville," he said. You wa n t going 
 to stop in Ne York ?" 
 
 "Oh no." 
 
 He hurried on and slammed the door. 
 
 Just then the train plunged into the tunnel from 
 which it emerges at the station. Salome put her 
 head for a moment on her mother s shoulder. She 
 coughed. 
 
 " How tired you are !" whispered Mrs. Gerry. 
 
 The girl laughed slightly. " And this morning I 
 thought I should never be tired," she said. She drew 
 a long breath and added, " Oh, I wish we could be
 
 60 THE TWO SALOMES 
 
 checked through like our trunk, don t you ? How are 
 we ever going to get over to Jersey City ? Isn t it to 
 Jersey City we have to go ?" 
 
 Mrs. Gerry stiffened her body and her mind. " I 
 guess we shall get over there easy enough," she an 
 swered. " There are plenty of folks to tell us, heaven 
 knows." 
 
 " Yes, but if they shouldn t tell us right," respond 
 ed Salome, despairingly. " You know how much 
 we ve read about what dreadful things they do in 
 New York." 
 
 Mrs. Gerry tried to smile in a reassuring manner. 
 
 She was thinking that she wished she could see 
 that young man again. She could ask him anything, 
 and he would know all about those things of which 
 she was so ignorant. At last she expressed this hope 
 aloud. 
 
 " He ?" returned Salome, with some petulance. " He 
 has forgotten us long ago." 
 
 " Very likely," was the response. 
 
 And at this Salome was so surprised that she im 
 mediately wished to dispute her mother s assent. 
 
 It was true, nevertheless, that Moore had forgotten 
 them. 
 
 But when the train was actually under the roof of 
 the Grand Central, and passengers were gathering up 
 bags and putting on wraps, Moore suddenly remem 
 bered, and he recalled them with a wish to help. 
 
 " They are just like lambs," he said to himself, with 
 a smile of superior knowledge. " They ll think they 
 are going to be devoured." 
 
 He flung his coat over his arm and hastened 
 out. 
 
 He was obliged to go through two cars, and many
 
 "SLEEPERS AND BUFFETS" 61 
 
 of the passengers had already poured out of the train, 
 which had now stopped. 
 
 Moore s tall figure enabled him in a moment to sat 
 isfy himself that the two women had gone. 
 
 He sprang off the step. He felt unreasonably dis 
 appointed. He walked forward among the crowd, 
 conscious of something like a desire to hustle them 
 right and left. Where were those two, anyway ? 
 
 He was going directly on that night. It was only 
 common humanity for him to assist them they would 
 be so awfully frightened. And how tired that girl 
 had looked ! What was there in her face ? She was 
 a real little Puritan, with a leaven of something else 
 in her. How on earth did he happen to forget them ? 
 Well, setting his mouth, he was going to find them. 
 Moore found, at this stage in his thoughts, that he 
 would rather miss almost anything in his life than to 
 miss finding those two fellow-travellers. 
 
 He tried to reassure himself. If they were going 
 straight on, as he was, he should come across them 
 on the train. Then he asked himself if they had a 
 place in a sleeper. Of course they must not spend 
 the long night sitting bolt upright somewhere. It 
 would kill that girl. 
 
 Here he hurried on more impetuously than ever. 
 
 He did not see them, and he went into the ladies 
 waiting-room, carrying a very anxious face. 
 
 Just within the door some one touched his 
 arm. 
 
 He turned with unreasoning eagerness, only to see 
 one of his acquaintances of the journey. 
 
 "You re all right," said the wearer of the ulster, 
 grinning derisively; "she s in here. Ta, ta." 
 
 And the young man grinned still more 1 broadly as
 
 62 THE TWO SALOMES 
 
 he met Moore s ferocious glare. Then he walked out 
 into the street. 
 
 Moore stood a moment, trying to detach one figure 
 from another in the moving groups before him. 
 
 And all the time they might be going down towards 
 the ferry. 
 
 But that confounded fellow was right. There she 
 was. She was half-way down the long room. She 
 seemed to be alone. And she was leaning back in her 
 chair, her face showing very white at this distance. 
 
 Moore started forward precipitately. Then he 
 checked himself, and by the time he came near Sa 
 lome he was strolling with apparent aimlessness, and 
 appeared to see her quite by accident. 
 
 But he came forward briskly, with his hat in his 
 hand, a warm, eager smile on his face. 
 
 " This is good-luck for me," he said ; " now do let 
 me be of service to you. You see, I know all about 
 this route, and I m going to Jacksonville, too. I told 
 you that, didn t I ? We ll take the transfer." 
 
 " Oh, thank you so much !" returned Salome, look 
 ing at him with delighted relief. " If you can only 
 find mother ! She has gone to make some inquiries. 
 You see, we don t know a thing about travelling. It s 
 all so confusing ; and one gets tired, you know. But 
 we thought we were very wise, for we had read ev 
 ery particular about each route South. Oh, there s 
 mother !" 
 
 Salome rose as she caught sight of Mrs. Gerry hur 
 rying towards them. Moore quickly took the Gerry 
 lunch-basket and bag. 
 
 " Reading doesn t tell you much," he remarked, 
 gayly ; " you see, there s nothing like experience. 
 Now you follow me, ladies. Just make believe I m
 
 " SLEEPERS AND BUFFETS " 63 
 
 your courier, to whom you are paying a very high 
 price to conduct you to Florida." 
 
 Mrs. Gerry s face looked pathetically relieved when 
 she saw this young man. The answers to her ques 
 tions had confused her. Those answers seemed to 
 suppose that she already knew things of which she 
 was entirely ignorant ; and then that constant neces 
 sity that she must do everything the cheapest way 
 hampered her. She wanted to have a comfortable 
 carriage for Salome s sake, and thus be carried to that 
 ferry of which every one had spoken. But no ; there 
 was a cheap way to go. 
 
 Now she hastened forward, and said quickly to 
 Moore : " You must not conduct us in any expensive 
 way, for I can t afford it, and I would not allow you 
 to pay. They just told me how we could and I 
 suppose there s the elevated road " 
 
 She pronounced those last words as if she were 
 mentioning some ravening monster that was yet un 
 derstood to be tamed for man s use. Moore nodded. 
 
 " I think we d better take the L road, after all," he 
 said. " It ll save so much time, and it s cheap. You 
 shall pay every cent of your fare, never fear. Here 
 we are. Now don t hurry up these steps." 
 
 He glanced back at Salome. He wanted to offer 
 her his arm. He had never realized before how try 
 ing those long flights of stairs could be. 
 
 The electric lights shone in ghastly whiteness all 
 about them. The outlines of the hurrying figures 
 were accentuated strangely. Human beings seemed 
 to be transformed by that light into a weird combina 
 tion of the human and the goblin ; and surrounding 
 them, like something tangible, was the never-ceasing 
 roar of the city.
 
 64 THE TWO SALOMES 
 
 Salome felt that she was no more Salome Gerry, 
 the girl who had been ordered to Florida, but she was 
 in truth, she did not yet know what she was. And 
 that young man whom she and her mother were fol 
 lowing he was something evolved out of this strange 
 order of things. 
 
 What if he should not lead them to that ferry, but 
 should take them somewhere and rob them ? With 
 this last thought in her mind, as she toiled up the 
 steps, she looked up at Moore. It was at that in 
 stant that he was glancing down at her. He smiled 
 with such helpful kindliness that Salome felt guilty 
 that she had allowed such a shadow about him to pass 
 through her mind. In the recoil from that suspicion, 
 which yet was not a suspicion, she might for the mo 
 ment have trusted him too much. 
 
 But of the two women whom young Moore befriend 
 ed that day, the elder one was by far the more warmly 
 grateful. She had felt the burden and the stress of 
 the journey with an almost prostrating power, and she 
 had borne all the time her anxiety for her daughter, 
 an anxiety which she must conceal. A hundred times 
 she would look furtively at Salome. She saw accu 
 rately the increase of weariness. How would she 
 ever get to Florida ? 
 
 She recalled the gloomy prophecies of those people 
 at home who had insisted that Dr. Bowdoin was wrong, 
 and that the girl ought to stay at home ; that she was 
 not "able to be gadding about." 
 
 It was as if their conductor had a magic power, 
 Mrs. Gerry thought. It was not of the slightest use 
 to try to distrust him. She could hardly discern how 
 much this magic power might be ascribed to a knowl 
 edge of the art of travelling.
 
 "SLEEPERS AND BUFFETS" 65 
 
 Somehow, without any more worrying, the two found 
 themselves across the ferry and aboard the train wait 
 ing in Jersey City, and Mrs. Gerry had kept the sharp 
 est watch that there should be no luxury of transpor 
 tation. She knew precisely what every fare had cost 
 and paid it on the spot ; and Moore was too well bred 
 to resist this wish on her part. 
 
 All the time, however, until he left them on the 
 train, he was trying to construct some plan by which 
 that girl could have at least what rest a place in a 
 sleeper would afford. His own half section had been 
 secured when he had bought his ticket in Boston. 
 
 He went forward into that car now and sat down. 
 He put on his little gray travelling cap mechanically. 
 Then he took it off and returned it to his satchel ; 
 then he wondered where his cap was, and wished that 
 he had brought it along. 
 
 " She ll be so awfully tired by morning," he was 
 thinking. And he asked himself if that girl were go 
 ing South for her health. And then he repeated his 
 mental assertion concerning how tired she would be. 
 
 It was really not to be borne. She couldn t spend 
 the night in one of those seats. And the filthy air 
 there would be in that car by midnight, when the men 
 would have their boots with their feet in them 
 tilted up in the air some way, and their mouths would 
 be open, and of course something must be done about 
 it. Those women did not know how exhausted they 
 she would be by four o clock. 
 
 Moore sat quite still for half an hour with his mind 
 what he called " on the stretch " to think of some plan 
 which would not wound Mrs. Gerry s independence, 
 and yet which would give them half a section in that 
 sleeping-car. 
 5
 
 66 THE TWO SALOMES 
 
 During this process of thought Moore did not once 
 ask himself if his pity would be so keen if that girl 
 had happened to have a square face and heavy mouth, 
 instead of the face and mouth she really did have. 
 And yet the owner of a square face and heavy mouth 
 might be able to suffer a great deal if she were in the 
 grasp of incipient phthisis, and need a great deal of 
 pity also. 
 
 After a while Moore rose. He found himself obliged 
 to leave his seat even more often than is usually the 
 case with travelling young men. 
 
 "There is no use," he had decided; "I shall have 
 to tell a taradiddle or two. But I hope I shall be for 
 given. I m going to do evil that good may come." 
 
 When he appeared beside Mrs. Gerry and Salome 
 he did not look like a person who could do evil even 
 for the sake of good. 
 
 He leaned over Mrs. Gerry. " I thought I d come 
 and let you know that there s a half section in one of 
 those sleepers that s been unexpectedly given up," he 
 said, and thought, " I haven t told a lie yet. I didn t 
 expect to give it up, that s true enough." 
 
 Mrs. Gerry looked questioningly at him. She did 
 not distinctly know what a half section meant. Only 
 it must be a place to sleep. And she could not af 
 ford it. 
 
 " You see," went on Moore, " it s given up, and 
 you and the young lady might just as well have the 
 use of it. It won t cost a cent, and will be there idle." 
 
 " But somebody else might hire it," said Mrs. Gerry. 
 
 " Oh no ; it was engaged, you understand," was the 
 response, with great glibness ; " and since the person 
 who engaged it will not occupy it that s the way 
 they do in these sleepers."
 
 " SLEEPERS AND BUFFETS " 67 
 
 Moore s words ran along with a quite convincing 
 appearance of truth. 
 
 " I happened to think of you and Miss Miss 
 
 11 Gerry," prompted the elder woman. 
 
 " Miss Gerry, and it seemed really too bad that the 
 half section should kind of run to waste, you know, 
 and Miss Gerry could rest; that is, she could come 
 nearer resting than she can here. They don t have 
 any air in sleepers, but what there is is better than 
 there will be in this car. And you know you can put 
 your nose up to the window and think you re breath 
 ing. And then you can press that electric button, and 
 row the porter no end, and wake up all the folks if 
 you can t sleep and want some amusement." 
 
 Moore talked with the utmost ease, for he thought 
 he saw signs of relenting on Mrs. Gerry s face. 
 
 How could she refuse on account of Salome ? 
 
 " Let me take these," Moore said. And again he 
 picked up the basket and the satchel. And again 
 the two followed him. 
 
 Mrs. Gerry was thinking that it was really Provi 
 dential. And since it was not the custom to sell a 
 section whatever a section was to anybody else, 
 after it had been engaged and given up, why it was 
 just a mercy to Salome ; so the mother decided not 
 to question their good-fortune any more. 
 
 But at the door she did restrain their guide long 
 enough to say that she herself could sit up well enough, 
 but if her daughter could have a chance to rest 
 
 " Oh, there s room for you both," was the response. 
 
 Moore stepped across from one car to the other ; 
 then he put down his burdens and reached forward 
 his hands, the train surging and lurching on. 
 
 Mrs. Gerry could not help clinging fast to him ;
 
 68 THE TWO SALOMES 
 
 but he was disappointed that the girl stepped across 
 with something of the lightness of a cat. 
 
 The sleeping-car seemed to the dazed eyes of the 
 two thus entering it like a wonderful palace in which 
 they had no right. The polished woods reflected the 
 lights; the people sitting there were, of course, quite 
 another order of human beings. The beds were not 
 made, but Mrs. Gerry supposed they were to rest on 
 those beautiful seats. And everybody seemed so lan 
 guid and indifferent. 
 
 Salome gave one glance about her, then she looked 
 at no one. 
 
 She was conscious of a swift, strong wish that she 
 might dress like a certain girl she passed and who did 
 not seem to know that any one had come in. 
 
 But Salome saw that girl shoot one eye-gleam at 
 Moore, who was not conscious of it. 
 
 The young man saw his charges seated, then he 
 hurried away to inform the conductor that he had 
 given up his section, and to warn that official not to 
 betray him. 
 
 Presently the porter came with solemn respect and 
 suggested that the ladies might just as well have their 
 bed made if they were tired; ladies often had their beds 
 made as soon as they came. And would they be so 
 good as to sit over there ? 
 
 The intensely respectful black man did not divulge 
 whose silver dollar was now in his pocket, nor who 
 had proposed this course of action to him. 
 
 The former owner of that dollar had considered the 
 advisability of proposing that the proper black man 
 also offer supper to the two women as one of the ar 
 rangements that were included in the engagement of 
 any part of a section in a sleeping-car, but this thought
 
 "SLEEPERS AND BUFFETS" 69 
 
 was discarded as being too broad ; Moore was afraid 
 that, ignorant as she was about travelling, Mrs. Gerry 
 would immediately suspect that it was an impossibility 
 for a railroad company to be so munificent as to "throw 
 in" meals. 
 
 But as the two sat across the aisle and saw the por 
 ter work that mysterious change which culminates in 
 the production of a bed with sheets and blankets, Mrs. 
 Gerry decided that it would be a good time to partake 
 of a lunch from their basket. While they were thus 
 feasting on viands which had dried a great deal within 
 the twelve hours, Moore came in. 
 
 That young man had walked a great deal since he 
 started from Boston. 
 
 He was now again smitten with an almost uncon 
 trollable wish to order the most sumptuous banquet 
 that a " buffet-car " can produce, and have it placed 
 before these two. But he held sternly to the resolve 
 he had just made concerning this matter. 
 
 He said he only came in to say that, being in a 
 sleeping-car, they wouldn t have to change in Wash 
 ington. They need not be uneasy about a change 
 anywhere ; just stay where they were. And he hoped 
 they would rest, and he was sure Miss Gerry would be 
 better in the morning, and and here he seemed to 
 change his mind as to the propriety of saying some 
 thing, and finished with, " Good-night." 
 
 As Salome responded to this parting salutation, and 
 as Moore stood with his cap lifted, Salome saw that 
 beautifully dressed girl look at him again, and she fan 
 cied there was an inquiring scorn in the glance ; and 
 as the young man walked away the scornful eyes were 
 fixed on the country girl, whose own eyes kindled with 
 indignation and flashed out for an instant.
 
 70 THE TWO SALOMES 
 
 What did it mean, anyway ? Was that stranger 
 wondering why a young god should stand solicitously 
 before a shabby little thing like Salome Gerry ? For 
 an instant the shabby little thing stared insolently, 
 then the eyelids dropped and the face quivered slightly. 
 Salome found that her insolent stare had exhausted 
 her. She thought that she hated that girl. As soon 
 as she could she looked at her again with a curiosity 
 she could not quite subdue, and now there occurred 
 what seemed like a miracle to Salome. 
 
 The perfectly dressed young woman smiled with a 
 beautiful, full brilliance, apparently right into Sa 
 lome s eyes, and Salome s eyes dilated as if to receive 
 that smile, and she hated the giver of it no more. 
 And when she was lying upon her bed an hour later, 
 and was gazing with half-awake sense out into the 
 dusk of the night through the window, somehow the 
 feminine face and the masculine face were inextric 
 ably mixed, and she was dreaming of them even while 
 she thought she was fully awake. 
 
 She slept late and soundly, much to her surprise. 
 Her mother, lying patiently by her side, hardly slept 
 at all ; but the mere knowledge that her daughter 
 was resting was so refreshing to her mind that she 
 almost fancied that her body partook of that refresh 
 ment. 
 
 Meanwhile, Moore had ample opportunity to know 
 to the full what a sacrifice he had made, and he was 
 a youth who liked all the luxury he could compass. 
 His presence was so pleasing, his address so attract 
 ive, that he had jumped so his friends said into 
 an excellent position. He had a good salary and an 
 interest in the business for which he travelled, and he 
 spent his money freely. He would argue that money
 
 "SLEEPERS AND BUFFETS 71 
 
 was of no possible use unless you spent it. He said 
 he didn t want any heirs of his to have the chance of 
 handling his money. And if he followed his present 
 mode of life he would probably succeed, as far as re 
 garded his heirs. 
 
 But now he was sitting with his head back on the 
 seat of a common car. It was midnight, and the 
 hours until morning would last a week. And how 
 was it that everybody s boots seemed to smell of stale 
 tallow? And how infernally a man looked asleep 
 with his mouth open. And how could a human being 
 sleep in such a place as this, anyway ? Having asked 
 this last question, Moore s own mouth fell apart and 
 he was asleep himself. 
 
 Salome was alert and eager and hungry in the morn 
 ing. Her mother acknowledged that she had "had 
 her worry for nothing" about the child. 
 
 The girl sat by the window and watched the coun 
 try as it swept on by her. It was a charmed day for 
 her. When at last they had gone through Richmond, 
 though clouds had lowered and here and there a 
 large flake of snow came floating indolently down, she 
 was fancying that the air was different ; it was milder. 
 She was continually turning to her mother with a 
 soft fire in her aspect and saying : " Do you know, 
 mother, we are really going South? Oh, I am just 
 as happy as I thought I should be ! I wish father 
 knew!" 
 
 She sent a postal -card to her father from every 
 stopping place. The porter had offered to do any 
 thing for her, and it was he who posted her notes. 
 She thought sleeping-car porters were the kindest 
 creatures in the world. 
 
 Why should she suspect that another dollar caused
 
 72 THE TWO SALOMES 
 
 this one to hover respectfully and helpfully about the 
 two women through the entire journey ? If this func 
 tionary were shocked at the early hour in which his 
 special charges left their couch, he concealed his sur 
 prise and hurried to turn their bed back into its day 
 time form. 
 
 Salome had furtively assured herself of the place 
 where that girl would pass the night, and after her 
 own struggle to dress herself on her knees, her first 
 glance saw that the curtains hung undisturbed before 
 the resting-place of the unknown. Indeed, the dra 
 peries were motionless all along on each side of the 
 narrow aisle. Their own section was the only one 
 divested of its curtains. 
 
 And now, as the two sat there in that apparent for- 
 lornness which is so peculiar to the inhabitant of a 
 sleeper in the morning that it might almost be called 
 the sleeping-car despair, the black man came along 
 with even an added obsequiousness and asked what 
 they would please to order for breakfast. 
 
 It will be now perceived by the astute reader that 
 young Moore had, in the desperation of his sympathy, 
 reversed his decision concerning supper. 
 
 The early morning wisdom had made him decide 
 that Mrs. Gerry could still further be deceived for 
 her own good. He trusted that he should never at 
 tempt to deceive people save for their own good. 
 
 " What ?" said Mrs. Gerry, somewhat sharply, when 
 the colored gentleman put his question to her. 
 
 He repeated his inquiry. 
 
 " But we ve got our breakfast with us," said Mrs. 
 Gerry. 
 
 " We furnishes anything you pleases to order, 
 gratis."
 
 " SLEEPERS AND BUFFETS 73 
 
 The man made this assertion with such calmness, 
 with such an air of having said the same thing to 
 scores of passengers daily, that he was very deceiv 
 ing. 
 
 " Do you mean that meals go with a sleeping-car ?" 
 asked Mrs. Gerry, thinking of a beefsteak for Salome. 
 
 "On sleepers and buffets, yes, ma am," calmly re 
 sponded the man. 
 
 Mrs. Gerry wavered. Her daughter put her lips to 
 her ear and whispered : 
 
 " Mother, I don t believe it. Don t let him bring 
 anything. You wait." 
 
 Whereupon Mrs. Gerry told the attendant that she 
 wasn t ready yet. 
 
 "All right, ma am; any time." Mrs. Gerry turned 
 upon her companion. 
 
 "Why don t you believe it?" she asked. "And 
 what earthly reason should that negro have for telling 
 us such a thing if it isn t so ?" 
 
 " It isn t reasonable," was the reply. 
 
 "Well, that s a fact," returned Mrs. Gerry; "it 
 doesn t seem reasonable. But I thought if you could 
 have a good steak now, and some milk " 
 
 "Never mind. I m going to find out a few things 
 for myself," said the girl. " Let us eat more of that 
 evaporated chicken from the basket." 
 
 " I shall ask that girl a question that girl who 
 smiled at me last night," Salome was thinking as she 
 put her teeth into the chicken from the basket, and 
 she began to watch for some one to emerge from be 
 hind a certain curtain.
 
 V 
 
 MISS NUNALLY 
 
 "I BEG your pardon." Salome hesitated, but she 
 repeated her question, now speaking in that rapid way 
 which was quite different from her manner of enunci 
 ating at other times. 
 
 " I wanted to know," she said, " if it is the custom 
 to furnish meals in these cars I mean without extra 
 charge. You see," still more quickly, " I never trav 
 elled anywhere before, and the porter said 
 
 Here Salome paused. She was standing by the seat 
 of that "girl who had smiled at her" for this was 
 the way that person was designated in her mind and 
 she was looking down at her with the most undis 
 guised admiration. 
 
 The stranger had at last risen. She had in some 
 way made her morning toilet with such success that 
 from appearances she might have performed this func 
 tion in her own dressing-room. 
 
 The blond hair lay in lovely half -curled locks on 
 her forehead ; her skin was in color and texture like a 
 faintly tinged rose-leaf ; her thick, light eyelashes gave 
 a quite enchanting appearance to her eyes ; a faint, 
 indistinguishable perfume exhaled from her as if it 
 were a part of her personality ; her short upper lip 
 was raised a little now as she threw back her head 
 slightly to look at her interlocutor.
 
 MISS NUNALLY 75 
 
 " Yes," said this girl ; " and what did the porter 
 say ?" 
 
 " He said," answered Salome, " that we furnishes 
 meals on sleepers and buffets to them that wishes. " 
 Here she paused to laugh slightly. Then she added, 
 " I suppose this is a buffet and a sleeping-car, too, 
 isn t it?" 
 
 The blond girl had a little slab fitted in front of 
 her preparatory to having a breakfast placed upon it. 
 She seemed to be travelling entirely alone, and also 
 seemed eminently capable of travelling thus. 
 
 " Yes," she said again. Then she moved nearer the 
 window, made a slight motion with her hand which 
 glittered with rings, and said, "Please sit clown here." 
 Salome obeyed, taking her place with complete self- 
 possession, but with a kind of shyness withal. 
 
 The stranger was carefully pulling out her long 
 gloves, which she would not put on until after her 
 meal. 
 
 " Did the porter tell you that ?" she asked. 
 
 "Certainly." 
 
 " Well, the porter lied." 
 
 " Oh !" 
 
 " Yes. Railroad corporations don t furnish any 
 thing gratis." 
 
 " But, how strange I don t understand " began 
 Salome. 
 
 The other girl laughed, and in her laugh was such 
 a curious and full knowledge of the world that Salome 
 felt like shrinking, and inwardly reproved herself for 
 that feeling. She had a consciousness that that laugh 
 revealed something. Oh, what was it ? 
 
 "Of course you don t understand how should 
 you?" was the response. Then, with a suddenness
 
 7 6 THE TWO SALOMES. 
 
 which still was not abrupt, she asked, " Will you tell 
 me your name ?" 
 
 " Salome Gerry." 
 
 " And mine is Portia Nunally. I suppose you are 
 going South for your health ?" 
 
 " Yes. But what made that porter say such a thing 
 to us ?" 
 
 " Do you really want to know?" 
 
 "Indeed I do." 
 
 Miss Nunally laughed again, and again Salome had 
 the same desire to shrink away ; but this time she 
 was also conscious of some kind of attraction which 
 more than counteracted that other emotion. 
 
 " I will tell you. The porter told you that because 
 he was ordered to do so." 
 
 " Ordered ? Well, but by whom ?" 
 
 "Oh, you must guess that." 
 
 Now Miss Nunally turned and gazed full at the 
 face so near hers. Salome met the gaze with clear, 
 uncomprehending eyes. 
 
 " Well, you are innocent !" 
 
 "I hope so," was the indignant response. 
 
 " But there is a great charm in ignorance and inno 
 cence," replied Miss Nunally, as if she were in some 
 way apologizing for her companion. " If you want me 
 to explain fully, I will tell you that this black man has 
 probably been hired by that beautiful masculine hu 
 man being with the golden beard, who looks as if he 
 had stepped out of some old mythology." 
 
 " Oh f 
 
 Salome did not blush. Her eyes gave one flash ; 
 she pressed her lips together and averted her head, 
 her gaze resting blindly upon the country that stretched 
 barrenly about them.
 
 MISS NUNALLY 77 
 
 Miss Nunally looked with calm contemplation at 
 her. 
 
 The servant now arrived with the tray bearing her 
 breakfast. 
 
 Salome rose. 
 
 " Thank you," she said to the girl ; " but I can 
 hardly believe it. There is no reason why a stranger 
 should do such a thing. That young man has been 
 very kind to us, but there is no reason not the 
 least." 
 
 Miss Nunally poured the milk into her coffee. 
 
 " But don t you know that some young men go 
 about doing good just like that ?" she added. " The 
 capacity for indiscriminate philanthropy inherent in 
 some of these handsome gods is perfectly marvellous." 
 
 By the time this sentence was finished Salome again 
 felt that she hated that girl. 
 
 She went back to her seat. As she sat down she 
 inwardly asserted that what she had just heard could 
 not be possible. 
 
 But in the next moment she told herself that it was 
 true ; and more than that : it was true that that young 
 man had paid for the section in the sleeping-car which 
 she and her mother were occupying. 
 
 She took hold of her mother s arm with a sharp 
 grip. At the same time she bent forward and lifted 
 the lunch-basket. 
 
 " Why, what s the matter, Salome ? 
 
 " Nothing ; only I m going back into that other car." 
 
 The girl rose. Her figure and face were so deter 
 mined that Mrs. Gerry picked up the bag and rose 
 helplessly. But she could not refrain from saying as 
 she did so : 
 
 "But why what?"
 
 78 THE TWO SALOMES 
 
 "Oh, don t talk now," whispered the girl, "but 
 come." 
 
 As she followed her daughter, Mrs. Gerry could not 
 help wondering fearfully if this sudden whim were 
 some phase of Salome s disease ; and the wild hope 
 that there was a doctor on the train went through her 
 mind. 
 
 At first they could not find seats in that common 
 car how odious and how common it seemed now ! 
 but at last they were crowded in with their hand-bag 
 gage. 
 
 Mrs. Gerry anxiously examined her daughter, but 
 she could only see a hint of her profile. 
 
 "I hope you know what you ve done this for," she 
 said. 
 
 Salome shrugged one shoulder. 
 
 oo 
 
 " Yes, I know," she answered. " It is because 
 
 When she had proceeded thus far in the giving of 
 her reason she was struck dumb with a sudden resolu 
 tion that she would not tell her mother what that 
 young man had done. No, she would not tell ; although 
 when she had started to leave the sleeping-car she had 
 thought that she could not wait to talk over the whole 
 affair. But now, no now she must be silent. 
 
 " Well ?" said Mrs. Gerry. 
 
 " It was because I had a whim that I wanted to get 
 out of that sleeper. I couldn t stay there a minute 
 longer. I thought I should choke." 
 
 " I think you ll be much more likely to choke here," 
 said Mrs. Gerry, trying to be resigned to this whim ; 
 " the air is horrible." 
 
 "Do you think so? Why, it s quite delightful." 
 
 Again Mrs. Gerry asked herself if incipient phthisis 
 affected the mind. And she would, if she could do so
 
 MISS NUNALLY 79 
 
 privately, ask the conductor if there were a doctor in 
 any of the cars. 
 
 After a moment of silence Mrs. Gerry remarked 
 that she was afraid that young man would think 
 them very rude. 
 
 " It s of no consequence what he thinks," said 
 Salome. 
 
 Then she recalled the exact intonation of Portia 
 Nunally s laugh, and shivered a little as she did so. 
 
 Mrs. Gerry drew herself up. It would not do to 
 yield in every way just because Salome was not well. 
 
 " I think it s of consequence for us to be polite," 
 she said, with some severity; " and that young man 
 
 Salome shrugged her shoulders again. 
 
 " I m so tired of hearing about that young man," 
 she said. 
 
 " You re not tired of hearing me talk about him," 
 sharply replied Mrs. Gerry, who had a fleeting inclina 
 tion to put her hands on the girl and shake her, " for 
 I ve hardly mentioned him. I 
 
 " Mother," Salome faced round towards her com 
 panion, " I don t know what I shall do if you go right 
 on about him. I here she laughed " I don t 
 know but I shall begin to cough. If I cough you ll 
 be obliged to be silent, for I can t hear what you say. 
 Oh, you dear old thing," putting her head on her 
 mother s shoulder, " can t you let me have a few absurd 
 notions ? What s the use of being a woman if you 
 can t be unreasonable ? Just tell me that, will you ?" 
 
 Mrs. Gerry breathed a long sigh of relief. 
 
 " I must say you are taking full advantage of your 
 being a woman," she remarked. " But it isn t half 
 so comfortable here. I didn t know there was such a 
 difference."
 
 8o THE TWO SALOMES 
 
 After a while, during which Salome had her face 
 steadily turned towards the window, without seeing 
 anything, she began to repent that she had taken this 
 sudden action. But it was not the kind of repentance 
 which leads to reformation. 
 
 Her face gradually took on its most serious ex 
 pression. 
 
 She was going through one of her habitual pro 
 cesses of self-examination, and she was finding herself 
 a very reprehensible creature. She was afraid there 
 was hardly a leaven of good in her. She was quite 
 discouraged about herself. She had not had what 
 she would have called a "good spell " at self-examina 
 tion since she had first known she was going to 
 Florida. 
 
 She was convinced that self-examination was an ex 
 tremely wholesome process, because it wilted one so 
 and was so disagreeable. Sometimes it required a 
 full twenty-four hours for her to recover and regain 
 anything like a comfortable view of herself after one 
 of these " spells." 
 
 But thus far in her life she had found it an absolute 
 necessity to examine her own soul at frequent inter 
 vals, and with a rigidness and relentlessness that 
 would have suggested the probability of her finding 
 some terrible moral canker spot. 
 
 At these times it was as if her identity were under 
 a microscope and she had her eye upon it. She 
 found herself under that magnifying power to be 
 quite a monster of sin, and she was ferocious in her 
 judgment of herself. 
 
 Was it at such times and for hours after such periods 
 that her face had that austere look which was in such 
 marked contradiction to the face itself ?
 
 MISS NUNALLY 8 1 
 
 Mrs. Gerry had had occasion more than once dur 
 ing Salome s childhood to remonstrate with her upon 
 her tendency to a morbid conscientiousness. 
 
 The mother had told her husband that Salome was 
 growing too fast, that she did not sleep enough, that 
 she must be out-of-doors more. The woman, watch 
 ing her child with healthy common-sense as well as 
 with love, decided, as that cynical Frenchman had 
 long ago decided, that the conscience of an extremely 
 healthy human being is usually quiescent, whether 
 that human being be good or bad. But there was no 
 cynicism in this New England woman s decision ; and 
 she would have been inexpressibly shocked had she 
 ever thought to carry out this kind of reasoning still 
 further. 
 
 Prosper Merimee s recipe for the preservation of 
 beauty " a hard heart and a good digestion " is an 
 excellent recipe for the procuring of a certain kind of 
 mental repose ; that is, if a person is willing to de 
 generate into a pagan. 
 
 Randolph Moore had never in his life had an hour 
 of serious self-examination. 
 
 There wasn t a bit of use in any such kind of thing 
 as that. He meant to do about the right thing, and 
 if that wasn t enough, he should like to know what 
 was enough. He wasn t going in for that kind of rot, 
 not he. It took all the vim out of a fellow. Why, a 
 fellow wasn t better than a wet rag if he were con 
 tinually poking about in his spirituality, and fishing 
 up this or that dreadful thing and making no end of 
 a row over it. Why, contradictorily, he knew a man 
 in his class in college who was always up to that sort 
 of thing, digging down into himself and analyzing 
 motives, and that. He was an awfully good fellow, 
 6
 
 82 THE TWO SALOMES 
 
 too, smart as a trap ; he was a minister now. He, 
 Moore, wouldn t like to be one of his congregation ; 
 but there was no milk-sop about that fellow, either- 
 had moral courage, and moral courage was a thing 
 most folks didn t have. It was easy enough to be 
 brave physically, but when 
 
 So Moore used to talk when he was upon the sub 
 ject of that classmate of his and the more impersonal 
 one of self-examination. 
 
 At this moment this young man was in the smoking- 
 car. He did not care much for smoking. He said it 
 was beastly which it isn t, as beasts have no such 
 human proclivities and, besides, tobacco left such a 
 taste in one s mouth. 
 
 Moore had walked a good deal up and down the 
 train, but so far during the day he had kept himself 
 from entering a particular sleeper. He had made a 
 resolve that he would not be hanging about them all 
 the time. He did not find it necessary to explain 
 who it was he meant by "them." And he didn t 
 know but that they might suspect something when 
 the darky offered them breakfast. Perhaps he had 
 gone too far that time. 
 
 He played " railroad whist " with some men, who 
 seemed as if they would go on shuffling and dealing 
 those cards for years, chewing the ends of their big 
 black cigars as they did so, and grunting rather than 
 speaking the few words necessary to be uttered. At 
 last Moore flatly refused to continue. He looked at 
 his watch. He glanced out of the window. There 
 were the Carolina pines, and there were the negroes 
 rolling about the barrels of tar. 
 
 "We are really getting clown a little," he said. 
 
 He strolled outside and stood with his feet well
 
 MISS NUNALLY 83 
 
 planted, and his hands thrust into his pockets, his 
 travelling-cap pulled down over his eyes. 
 
 He inhaled with a keen delight the pine odor ; he 
 was aware of the softening atmosphere ; the fluff of 
 white cloud here and there in the blue heavens told 
 him that he was escaping from the winter. Those 
 shambling negro figures leaning up against those 
 barrels were just the figures for the rest of the scene. 
 
 Then, with a swift, sweet poignancy, a thought of 
 some one came to him. It was the thought of an 
 ascetic and yet flexible face. 
 
 Moore took off his cap. The action was involun 
 tary and almost mechanical. When he replaced it he 
 smiled. Then he turned with the air of a man with a 
 definite purpose, and hurried into that car where he 
 expected to find Salome and her mother. 
 
 Miss Portia Nunally, very much bored with her 
 novel and quite weary of the sight of pine-trees and 
 darkys and tar- barrels, saw him coming, and began 
 to read intensely. Still, she knew the precise instant 
 in which to look up, and she could not help smiling 
 derisively when she saw the young man s disappointed 
 face. 
 
 Yet, though her smile was derisive, there was that 
 in it which drew Moore s glance to her, and in the 
 moment her eyes met his her smile changed inde 
 scribably. But she did not look at him any more at 
 that moment. She returned to her book with a re 
 newal of absorbed interest. 
 
 Moore, after staring again at that empty section as 
 if his stare might materialize the forms of the two 
 who had left that place, turned about and strode out 
 . of the car. 
 
 Miss Nunally dropped her book beside her.
 
 84 THE TWO SALOMES 
 
 " He is certainly a beautiful youth," she was think 
 ing, disdainfully, " and he is in love with the little 
 Puritan girl ; or he is going to be in love with her. 
 There is nothing in the world so uninteresting as the 
 man who is in love but not with you." 
 
 Here Miss Nunally pushed one lock of hair gently 
 back from her right eyebrow ; and in its present posi 
 tion it was evident that this lock of hair was superior 
 as an attraction to what it had been before. But 
 you would not have said that its owner knew this 
 fact. 
 
 Moore s impatience took him very rapidly. The 
 instant he entered the second car his eye darted in 
 tuitively to the seat where the two women sat. The 
 next moment he was standing beside them. 
 
 Mrs. Gerry bowed to him cordially ; Salome grave 
 ly. Salome was still under the dominion of her mood 
 of self-examination. Besides, she knew what this 
 young man had done. 
 
 " I m so sorry," began Moore, eagerly, " but I sup 
 pose you have found me out." 
 
 Mrs. Gerry looked at him with an amused interro 
 gation in her face. Salome, after her demure greet 
 ing, looked out of the window. 
 
 "We are usually sorry when we are found out," said 
 Mrs. Gerry ; " but I don t know what you mean. How 
 have we found you out ?" 
 
 "Oh, don t you know ?" still more eagerly. "I m 
 afraid Miss Gerry knows. She isn t approving of me 
 now, and it kills me not to be approved. If I m not 
 found out I won t confess and repent. But if Mrs. 
 Gerry, do believe my intentions were good. They 
 were, indeed. There wasn t an ulterior motive in me ; 
 that s the simple truth. I do wish you would go back
 
 MISS NUNALLY 85 
 
 into the sleeper. It is really too bad to make me feel 
 such a wretch ; I can t bear it. I saw how weary you 
 ladies were ; and I knew so well how you d feel after 
 sitting up all night that " 
 
 Here Moore paused with his eyes on that averted 
 face by the window. He could not possibly know that 
 at this moment Salome was hearing again Miss Nunal- 
 ly s significant laugh, and that the remembrance hard 
 ened her heart. 
 
 She did not change her position in the least. 
 
 Moore tried not to show his discontent. He made 
 no attempt to finish his sentence. 
 
 He moved slightly to let some one pass. Then he 
 bent down still lower, giving his whole attention ap 
 parently to Mrs. Gerry. 
 
 " Please, please, don t be hard on me !" he ex 
 claimed, in the lowest possible tone. Mrs. Gerry was 
 somewhat bewildered. 
 
 " But I don t know what you mean," she said. 
 Here there was a very slight but impatient motion 
 from the girl who was staring through the window. 
 
 "It was just my kindness of heart, Mrs. Gerry," 
 Moore said, now beginning to be aware of a genuine 
 sense of embarrassment, and consequently feeling 
 angry with that girl. " I wanted to do you a service, 
 and I knew you wouldn t take my chance in the 
 sleeper if you knew it was mine." 
 
 Here Mrs. Gerry drew herself back a little, and 
 Moore stood upright, frowning and twisting his 
 mustache. 
 
 He was thinking that he was entirely mistaken 
 when he had fancied himself interested in that girl. 
 She was nothing but a little cold-blooded prude of a 
 Puritan, and he didn t care in the least what she
 
 86 THE TWO SALOMES 
 
 thought of him, or whether she thought anything or 
 not. And evidently she wasn t going to look at him 
 again. 
 
 " I m very sorry," said Mrs. Gerry, with great dig 
 nity, " but, of course, we cannot deprive you of your 
 rights any further. And and " here she could not 
 help looking up at him with that affectionate admira 
 tion with which middle-aged women were often tempt 
 ed to regard him, " and I am so sorry that you de 
 ceived us." 
 
 Moore met her look with eyes that, unknown to 
 their owner, were melting with wistful deprecation. 
 
 " You can t be half so sorry as I am," he said. 
 " And now you ll be uncomfortable all the rest of the 
 journey, and you won t let me help you ; and, worst of 
 all, you will always distrust me. I don t see how I m 
 going to bear it." 
 
 As he said these last words he looked again at 
 Salome, and she now turned suddenly and looked at 
 him. 
 
 " Miss Gerry," he said, impulsively, " do intercede 
 for me with your mother. I can see that she is going 
 to be severe." 
 
 Salome lowered her eyes. Her countenance did 
 not change from its former expression, and what it 
 was that the lowered lids concealed the young man 
 could not guess. 
 
 " It will be as well for you to plead your own cause," 
 she answered. " But I am sorry you deceived us." 
 She could not help adding : " That black man offered 
 us breakfast, too." 
 
 Moore drew himself up. 
 
 " If you are going to be obdurate " he bowed 
 stiffly and walked away.
 
 MISS NUNALLY 87 
 
 " Really," he was thinking, "if those women choose 
 to take things in that way I ve had enough of them." 
 
 And he went and took a hand again with those 
 bores who had never stopped playing railroad whist. 
 And he trumped his partner s trick so that his partner 
 swore viciously. But Moore had not even noticed 
 what card had been turned for trumps. 
 
 Left by themselves, the two women gazed out at the 
 scenery again. Salome seemed completely absorbed 
 in the interminable flat stretches of country where 
 now and then were lonesome little settlements. 
 
 Occasionally she raised her window and put her 
 face to the opening, inhaling deep breaths of the de 
 licious air as she did so. 
 
 Nearly an hour passed. All at once, without any 
 preliminary remark, Salome turned to her mother and 
 said, with some sharpness, 
 
 " I don t know why you need to have been quite so 
 hard." 
 
 Mrs. Gerry jumped out of a partial doze. 
 
 " Hard !" she exclaimed ; " what are you talking 
 about ? Oh, you mean that young man ? I thought I 
 was very mild with him. He is one of that kind that 
 wins you in spite of yourself. But we ought not to 
 be won by a mere face and manner," sententiously. 
 
 " I don t know as he won anybody," said Salome. 
 "Anyway, I m weary of hearing about him." 
 
 Mrs. Gerry fixed a wondering gaze on her daughter. 
 
 " How tired you are !" she exclaimed. " Can t you 
 lean on me and have a nap ? It does seem as if we 
 never should get there now. I suppose the last half 
 of anything is always the most tedious." 
 
 The girl did as her mother suggested. She rested her 
 slight form within her mother s arm and closed her eyes.
 
 88 THE TWO SALOMES 
 
 And at last, three hours behind time, the train drew 
 slowly into Jacksonville, and Mrs. Gerry and her 
 daughter stepped out of their car so begrimed and so 
 bewildered that the younger woman was almost bereft 
 of all care as to what should become of them. 
 
 They had not seen Moore since his confession. 
 
 Now, as they stood there hesitatingly, and as the 
 people hurried about, and the colored drivers came 
 solicitously among the throng, the young man walked 
 by them and ceremoniously doffed his cap as he 
 did so. 
 
 He was not in a good temper. He said it was the 
 last time he would ever notice a girl with that con 
 founded Puritan face. He didn t know that he cared 
 if she were made ill by the journey. It was nothing 
 to him, anyway. 
 
 He took a seat in a carriage. He told the driver 
 to take him to just what hotel he pleased. 
 
 Where was the girl going ? He didn t believe they 
 could afford to stay in Jacksonville. Well, he should 
 probably never see her again. And he didn t care in 
 the least. 
 
 After a few moments hesitation Salome and her 
 mother went into the waiting-room. 
 
 Mrs. Gerry felt that she had never before known 
 how irritating it is to be poor. It was dreadful to her 
 to have to pay out her money so fast. She wanted to 
 stop over night in this city, but the expense Salome 
 must go on, no matter how weary she was. They 
 could not rest until they reached their journey s end. 
 Somebody up at home had known somebody else who 
 had a cousin who was settled near St. Augustine. 
 
 It was upon this clew, for economy s sake, that Mrs. 
 Gerry had decided upon St. Augustine.
 
 MISS NUNALLY 89 
 
 She would hire a room, a log-house, anything, and 
 she would establish herself and work, no matter how 
 hard, while Salome should benefit by the climate. 
 Florida had a great deal of climate; there was always 
 enough of that. 
 
 Mrs. Gerry had in her pocket the most accurate in 
 structions as to how to find the place not far from St. 
 Augustine. Now, as she inquired of the ticket agent, 
 she almost produced these instructions that she might 
 consult with him about them. 
 
 But something held her back from doing that. 
 
 The train would start in an hour. She turned to 
 inform her daughter of the fact. Salome was sitting 
 by the smouldering fire on the hearth. The girl dared 
 not acknowledge to herself how weary and discour 
 aged she was. 
 
 At the other side of the fire a thin, stooped man 
 sat looking dully at the coals. He had just had an 
 attack of coughing and expectoration which had 
 seemed to shake his frame so that he could scarcely 
 breathe. Now he sat there panting and exhausted. 
 He was alone. A large valise, with a cane resting on 
 top of it, was near him on the floor. 
 
 Salome was gazing at him with an undefined sensa 
 tion of horror and premonition in her heart. Present 
 ly he took a small flask from the pocket of his over 
 coat and drank from it. Salome detected the odor of 
 whiskey, and the odor sickened her. 
 
 The girl wanted to rise and walk outside in the 
 beautiful sunshine, but the sight of that man sitting 
 there so obviously, so horribly, in the grasp of con 
 sumption, held her fast. 
 
 He appeared to revive slightly after his draught of 
 whiskey.
 
 9O THE TWO SALOMES 
 
 He looked uneasily at the clock. What a dreadful 
 thing that he had left his home to come down here 
 hoping but did he hope? Salome shuddered. She 
 wished that she had not seen him. 
 
 Among the people coming and going the girl was 
 now aware of some one, aware without the aid of 
 sight. But she turned that her eyes might assist her. 
 
 Miss Nunally had just walked up to the ticket 
 office. She walked erect, and with something like in 
 solence in her gait. But she waited respectfully until 
 Mrs. Gerry should step aside. 
 
 Salome rose quickly. She approached the ticket 
 window. She was dominated by a quick corning 
 desire to speak to that other girl, and by a fear lest 
 she might lose sight of her. 
 
 She heard her ask for a ticket to St. Augustine, 
 and she was conscious of a sudden relief in the hear 
 ing. 
 
 Miss Nunally moved away with her eyes fixed upon 
 her open purse. But she had seen Salome, and now 
 glanced at her, smiling. 
 
 Salome spoke quickly. 
 
 "Oh, I m so glad you re going to Augustine! 
 Please let us hang on to your skirts. You see, 
 mother and I never went away from home before, 
 and we think the most dreadful things about travel 
 ling. If I were strong I shouldn t mind it. Don t tell 
 me I have been too bold," ending her speech with a 
 shy wistfulness. 
 
 Salome was thinking that it was not in the least 
 like her to have spoken in that way. She wondered 
 that she had done so. She thought it might have 
 been somebody else. And yet she continued to look 
 with that deprecating pleading at the girl near her.
 
 MISS NUNALLY 91 
 
 She could not understand why Miss Nunally should 
 have for her both an attractive and repellent power. 
 At this moment it was the former that was upper 
 most. 
 
 As for the other and more sophisticated girl, she 
 was interested and amused. She had decided that 
 she had never before met any one who impressed her 
 as being shy to a superlative degree, and yet who was 
 perfectly self-possessed, and who never blushed. 
 
 "Perhaps I can make her blush," she thought; and 
 then, with compunction, " but she is ill, and that 
 would be cruel." 
 
 But Miss Nunally s compunctions never lasted long, 
 if they stood in the way of any preference. 
 
 " So far from thinking you are too bold, I am posi 
 tive you never could be bold at all," she answered. 
 " Yes, by all means, hang on to my skirts. I ve been 
 down here half a dozen times. Where are you go 
 ing?; 
 
 Miss Nunally sat down and began to unpin a little 
 veil that had been fastened across her forehead. Even 
 with gloves upon her hands she was successful in the 
 first attempt. She put the pin between her lips and 
 looked up at her companion, who was standing before 
 her. 
 
 "I told you, to St. Augustine." 
 
 " Oh, but you don t expect to camp out in the Plaza 
 there, do you ?" 
 
 Salome put her hands together. It was a gesture 
 she would not have allowed herself if she had not 
 been very tired and, as she would have said, " nervous." 
 She always intended to hold her corporeal self in 
 quiet. 
 
 " The Plaza ?" she repeated. " I did read some-
 
 Q2 THE TWO SALOMES 
 
 thing about that. We ve got to manage, you see, 
 on account of being poor. It s a great deal more 
 hateful to manage when one is travelling than when 
 one is at home ; and it doesn t seem to amount to 
 much, either. We are going to try to hire a room 
 outside the city. There s some one up at home who 
 knew some one who has a cousin here, and we didn t 
 know but it might be cheaper. Since we left the 
 North our whole beings have been absorbed in seeing 
 what was the cheapest way to do things. Why," with 
 a slight grimace, "I ve hardly had a chance to think 
 whether my cough is better." 
 
 And now she coughed, and involuntarily put her 
 hand to her chest. 
 
 Miss Nunally s face changed from its rather cool 
 curiosity to one of soft sympathy. 
 
 " I wish I could do something for you," she said ; 
 " but I don t know anybody outside the city, and only 
 Northern people in it, and I m going to the Ponce." 
 
 This she said as if going to the Ponce precluded 
 the possibility of her usefulness towards persons who 
 were obliged to "manage." 
 
 " Besides," she added, unexpectedly, " I m poor as 
 a mouse myself." 
 
 Salome could not help exclaiming "Oh !" and 
 glancing at Miss Nunally s gown and wrap and hat 
 and gloves. The glance even included the irre 
 proachable leather satchel she had placed in a chair 
 near her. 
 
 " Yes," said the other girl in response to that glance, 
 " I know I m ragged out very well now. In fact, I 
 will have decent clothes anyway mamma knows 
 that well enough." 
 
 Here Miss Nunally laughed. And Salome again
 
 MISS NUNALLY 93 
 
 felt the discordant note, but not so keenly as she had 
 felt it the first time. 
 
 " I couldn t stay at the Ponce without a frock or 
 two, of course. My aunt is there ; it is she who in 
 vites me, and what is more to the purpose, she pays 
 the bills. There s a man there whom she wants me 
 to meet." 
 
 Salome made no reply to this remark. But she 
 was thinking that that last sentence was in some un- 
 explainable way in unison with Miss Nunally s laugh. 
 She sat down by the fire in that chair which had been 
 occupied by the consumptive stranger. Then, recall 
 ing that fact, she rose quickly and began walking up 
 and down near Miss Nunally. Mrs. Gerry was look 
 ing up their trunk, filled with the resolution that she 
 would not relinquish the Jacksonville check until she 
 should hold in her other hand the St. Augustine check. 
 She did not know but that baggage-masters might 
 have a kind of legerdemain at their command by 
 means of which they could spirit away into non-exist 
 ence any piece of baggage not having attached to it a 
 bit of numbered brass. 
 
 Miss Nunally gave her face little dabs with her 
 handkerchief. As Salome drew near her again she said: 
 
 " I rather like to talk to you. If you want any ad 
 vice I can give it to you." 
 
 " About what ?" eagerly. 
 
 " Of course about the only thing in which a girl 
 should be interested a man. In this case that beau 
 tiful creature who gave you his place in the sleeper. 
 I warn you not to think of him ; he is fickle. It is 
 impossible for a handsome man not to be fickle." 
 
 To herself Miss Nunally was saying. "Some time I 
 will ask that girl why she doesn t blush."
 
 VI 
 
 MR. MAINE " FLAXING ROUND " 
 
 MRS. GERRY felt that she could write a large volume 
 about the way folks lived in Florida. And then the 
 volume would not tell half. Powers of human ex 
 pression never could tell half. Shiftless ! 
 
 She wrote home to her husband that the Burgess 
 family, who lived at the foot of Beech Hill, were 
 thrifty in comparison with the people down there. 
 
 This was a strong expression. " Up home " a per 
 son had only to say, "as shiftless as a Burgess," to 
 express all that could be expressed concerning that 
 bugbear of a New England mind. 
 
 And Mrs. Gerry would also have liked to write an 
 other volume about the difficulty in finding the resi 
 dence of Job Maine, for that was the name of the 
 man who had a cousin in Massachusetts who had 
 known some one who knew that the Gerry s were go 
 ing to Florida and " had got to manage." 
 
 Salome had remained in the railroad station at 
 Augustine, while her mother fared forth in quest of 
 knowledge of Job Maine. By this time Salome was 
 in such a state of nervousness and physical fatigue 
 that she was "a trial." But Mrs. Gerry would not 
 acknowledge that fact even in her own mind. 
 
 The elder woman longed to go to a hotel, put her 
 daughter in a comfortable room, and when she was
 
 MR. MAINE "FLAKING ROUND 95 
 
 rested go on. But she thought of that mortgage 
 to Uncle John, and of that solitary man who was in 
 the lonesome farm-house toiling and saving for them. 
 
 So she made Salome lie down on a settee in the 
 station. The girl put her head on her bag, and her 
 mother covered her with her own old blue waterproof. 
 
 As Mrs. Gerry was going out at the open door a 
 woman who had been watching the two and whose 
 eyes were red and swollen, came forward and asked, 
 in a whisper, 
 
 " Consumptive, ain t she ?" 
 
 Mrs. Gerry stepped quickly out before she replied, 
 
 " I don t think she is, really ; but we were afraid 
 she might be." 
 
 The woman followed her. She nodded. 
 
 " Yes ; that s just the way. Perhaps she ll be 
 helped but my boy " 
 
 Here the speaker choked. Mrs. Gerry, with a 
 suffocating pain which was mingled with indignation 
 at this cruel want of consideration, said, tremulously, 
 
 " Oh, I m so sorry," and she gently touched her 
 companion as she spoke. 
 
 The woman now put her shabbily gloved hands 
 over her face. 
 
 " He died yesterday ; I m taking him home. I m 
 all alone." 
 
 In the shock which came to her as she heard these 
 words, Mrs. Gerry felt as if she could not stand. 
 
 But she did stand, straight and strong. 
 
 " If I could only do something !" she exclaimed. 
 
 " I felt as if I must speak to somebody," said the 
 other. 
 
 "Yes, yes," returned Mrs. Gerry, "I know. But 
 don t, don t tell my daughter, will you?"
 
 96 THE TWO SALOMES 
 
 " No, indeed ; of course not." Then, trying to 
 speak cheerfully, " I guess she ll get better ; I most 
 know she will." 
 
 She turned forlornly away. Mrs. Gerry hurried 
 down the street. 
 
 She had already made inquiries of the ticket agent 
 as to the whereabouts of Mr. Job Maine. But the 
 man had shaken his head impatiently " never heard 
 of him." 
 
 Mrs. Gerry explained that she believed Mr. Maine 
 raised "truck." She did not quite know what truck 
 was, and felt that it was absurd in any one to raise it; 
 but that was all she knew of Mr. Maine, that and the 
 fact that he lived not far from Augustine. 
 
 Now, thinking the matter over as she walked along 
 the street, she decided that the post-office would be 
 the place to go of course, Job Maine s address 
 was here ; this would be the nearest town. And as 
 she walked she recalled that the woman who knew 
 the cousin of Mr. Maine had said she would be sure 
 and have that cousin write ; although there was no 
 doubt but that he could be found easily enough. 
 
 It seemed to be perfectly understood by the person 
 acquainted with Job s cousin that Job frequently came 
 to Augustine, presumably with his truck. 
 
 There was one encouraging fact in the talk which 
 Mrs. Gerry had heard about Mr. Maine, and that was 
 that he had come to Florida a great many years ago 
 on account of his health, and he had entirely recov 
 ered from the affliction of the lungs which had threat 
 ened to carry him off. Having recovered he did not 
 come home. It was rumored that he had openly 
 declared that he had had enough of New England, 
 that he never wanted to see another Hake of snow in
 
 MR. MAINE " FLAKING ROUND 97 
 
 his life. And he had married. After his marriage a 
 silence had settled down, broken only by the rumor 
 of truck raising. 
 
 For the hundredth time since her journey began 
 Mrs. Gerry recalled minutely everything she had 
 learned about Mr. Maine, and she was obliged to own 
 that her knowledge was extremely meagre. 
 
 She hurried on, hardly noticing her surroundings. 
 She saw the Barrier Gate, and paused for an instant 
 in her walk, her pulses stirring with the attractive 
 suggestiveness which the first sight of that gate al 
 ways causes. Beyond were the towers of the old fort. 
 And everything was modified by the wonderful sweet 
 ness of the sky and air. 
 
 " How Salome will like this !" softly whispered the 
 woman to herself ; " and she will get well she must 
 get well !" 
 
 Then she recalled the face of that woman who had 
 just said " she was all alone." 
 
 Mrs. Gerry compressed her lips and turned into St. 
 George Street, asking her way to the post-office ; then 
 hurried on, noticing nothing more, only dimly con 
 scious in her preoccupation of a strange loveliness of 
 atmosphere surrounding her. 
 
 It seemed to her that she was thinking of nothing 
 but that figure which was lying on the settee in the 
 railway station ; that she was caring for nothing but 
 to get Salome where she could rest. 
 
 It could hardly be expected that a girl who looked 
 as Miss Nunally looked and who dressed as she 
 dressed would be able to lend a helping hand in a 
 search for Job Maine. 
 
 She had bidden Salome a somewhat airy good-bye; 
 she had said she should be sure and look her up; 
 7
 
 98 THE TWO SALOMES 
 
 then she had entered her aunt s carriage, which was 
 in waiting for her, and Salome had despondently 
 watched the horses trot sedately away. 
 
 At that moment Salome thought she cared only to 
 find a place in which to lie clown ; a place where she 
 could lie for days and days, and not smell car 
 smoke, nor see a boy with books or magazines to sell. 
 
 Her consciousness at this moment was very cir 
 cumscribed. 
 
 Mrs. Gerry had no difficulty in finding the post- 
 office. 
 
 As the mail was in process of distribution she was 
 obliged to wait wearily. She diversified this waiting 
 by selecting different people who came in and asking 
 them if they could tell her where Mr. Job Maine lived. 
 
 No, they had never heard of Mr. Maine. 
 
 The crowd increased ; but at last, when the little 
 windows were opened, she thrust herself forward. 
 She hardly dared to analyze her emotions at this 
 time for fear she would not know whether she were 
 waking, or whether she were engaged in a nightmare 
 pursuit of a myth which she had chosen to name Job 
 Maine. 
 
 The attendant at the window repeated the name. 
 He turned and asked somebody a question. The de 
 cision arrived at was that if Job Maine ever came 
 there it was at such rare intervals that no one remem 
 bered him. 
 
 Taking pity on Mrs. Gerry s worn and harassed 
 face, the clerk examined a pile of letters. There was 
 one for Mr. Job Maine. It was from Massachusetts. 
 Mrs. Gerry felt an immediate conviction that this was 
 the missive that Job s cousin had promised to write 
 concerning the possible arrival of the Gerrys.
 
 MR. MAINE " FLAXING ROUND 99 
 
 She felt hope die within her. There might be a 
 person in St. Augustine who knew of that man, but 
 how could she find that person ? 
 
 In desperation she asked to be directed to a cheap 
 lodging-house. She must go somewhere. Then she 
 went forth to find Mrs. Marks, on Tolamato Street. It 
 was a shabby enough house, and seemed to smell of 
 something she could not define, and which made her 
 want to cry with a sudden rush of home - sickness ; 
 and the rent was five dollars a week. 
 
 It was a man with greasy skin and Hebraic nose, 
 with his feet thrust half-way into carpet slippers, who 
 showed her this room, and who assured her it was one 
 of the best locations in the city, and that she was 
 within five minutes of .everything. 
 
 But to be within five minutes of everything was not 
 the reason for her coming to Florida. She said she 
 would look farther, whereupon the man came down 
 half a dollar on the rent, and when she was out on 
 the street he had taken off another half-dollar, and 
 asserted that he was now giving her the rent, and 
 that he should be ruined. 
 
 She hurried away, now convinced that she should 
 be obliged to stay an indefinite time in the town and 
 spend an indefinite amount of money before she could 
 find Mr. Maine, if she ever found him. 
 
 " If I only knew somebody here," she whispered to 
 herself. 
 
 The glittering carriages rolled by her ; men and 
 women on horseback cantered softly over the sand of 
 the street oh, every one had money enough. Why 
 did she come to a place like this ? And there was 
 her husband at home denying himself that she and 
 Salome might be here.
 
 100 THE TWO SALOMES 
 
 "Thunder! Why in time don t ye git, if ye can 
 git?" 
 
 As a drawling, strident voice called this out directly 
 behind her, Mrs. Gerry sprang aside and pressed up 
 against a building. 
 
 There was no sidewalk, and the queer little high 
 way seemed at that instant full of vehicles. 
 
 Directly behind her was a cart drawn by a mule, 
 or, rather, it was fastened to a mule, which was not 
 drawing anything now, but had stopped apparently 
 from its own volition. This animal wore a few pieces 
 of harness and a few fragments of rope, which seemed 
 to be very insecurely tied upon him, and which con 
 nected him to the cart behind him in a mysterious 
 manner. 
 
 The cart was broken at the side, and the break was 
 mended by the nailing across it of a couple of barrel 
 staves. But one of these staves had pulled away 
 from its nails, and when the mule moved the barrel 
 stave flopped more or less, in accordance with the 
 motion of its propelling power. 
 
 The bottom of the cart was what might be descrip 
 tively called "open work," for there appeared to be 
 more apertures than anything else. But these aper 
 tures were now concealed by some old cotton bags 
 tacked across. These bags were there temporarily, 
 and to enable a few cabbages and sweet-potatoes to 
 remain in the vehicle until they should be sold. 
 
 The driver and owner of this turnout was sitting 
 with great calmness on one front corner of the cart, 
 with his feet braced against a shaft. 
 
 He was long and thin and yellow. He had a beard 
 which was also long, and so thin that it allowed the 
 contour of his chin and cheeks to be plainly seen.
 
 MR. MAINE "FLAKING ROUND 7 IOI 
 
 I have no wish to keep a reader in suspense, and I 
 will state immediately that this person was Job Maine, 
 and that he believed himself to be now engaged in 
 selling truck. 
 
 But Mrs. Gerry did not know that it was Mr. Maine. 
 She believed she was looking at a specimen of a 
 cracker. How could she by any means guess that 
 this was a man New England born and bred ? 
 
 Mr. Maine, however, had not forgotten the appear 
 ance of those people among whom he had grown up. 
 He did not ask his mule to go on immediately. There 
 was always time enough. 
 
 He leaned on his elbow and gazed down at Mrs. 
 Gerry, who was only a few feet from him. 
 
 Perhaps some unaccustomed pulse was awakening 
 in his heart, but this organ was so unused to such 
 pulses that his face had long ago forgotten how to re 
 veal anything of them. 
 
 This face might have been a piece of leather, so far 
 as any expression was concerned. 
 
 And yet the owner of that countenance was cu 
 rious. 
 
 " I ruther guess I c n hold in my mule for a minute 
 or so," remarked Mr. Maine, not glancing at the ani 
 mal, whose whole attitude might have been taken for 
 an illustration of the verb " to droop." 
 
 " I c n most always hold him in," he added, ex 
 planatorily, as if his assertion might be doubted. 
 
 When this gentleman had said " I ruther guess," 
 there had come to Mrs. Gerry a quick feeling, as of 
 recognition, not of the individual in the least, but of 
 the Yankee in a generic sense. Still, of course, this 
 must be a cracker. 
 
 "Jest arrove, I cal clate ?" inquired Mr. Maine.
 
 102 THE TWO SALOMES 
 
 " But the season ain t to its height till after Christ 
 mas. Still, they re droppin in. Consumption ?" 
 
 " I m well," answered Mrs. Gerry, not knowing why 
 she lingered. 
 
 " You don t look consumptive n you don t look 
 like one of them that has money rottin n has come 
 South to git rid of it." 
 
 Mr. Maine apparently had the whole day in which 
 to sit there and converse, and his interest in a Yan 
 kee, dull as was that interest, was something like ex 
 citement to him. He saw great numbers of Northern 
 people every year, but he rarely saw this kind of a 
 Northern person. 
 
 He rolled something that was in his mouth from 
 one side of his face to the other. He passed the 
 back of his hand across his dry, pale lips. 
 
 Mrs. Gerry now made the assertion that she had no 
 money rotting. She made a step forward, and said 
 also that she had no time to spare. 
 
 " Don t rush round so," said Mr. Maine. " There s 
 all the time thur is, ain t they ? Did ye jest come in ?" 
 
 " Yes. And I ve got to find a lodging, a cheap 
 lodging. Is there any such thing here ?" 
 
 The man slowly shook his head. 
 
 " There ain t nothin cheap in Augustine in this 
 season," he replied. " You re barkin up the wrong 
 tree less you want a cabbage. I ll let ye have one 
 er them cheap." 
 
 Mrs. Gerry had never in her life felt such a frantic 
 sense of inability and incompetence. She wanted to 
 wring her hands and cry out. 
 
 But instead of doing that she hardened her figure 
 and her face as she remarked, coldly, that she didn t 
 need a cabbage at present.
 
 MR. MAINE "FLAKING ROUND" 103 
 
 Then she began to walk on. Mr. Maine reached 
 forth one foot and applied it to the rear of his mule. 
 
 The animal shuddered ; but he did nothing else. 
 
 " There ain t no hurry," Mr. Maine called out. " I 
 tell ye you ve got all the time they is. Can t ye be a 
 darned bit congenial with another Yankee ?" 
 
 When she heard that last word Mrs. Gerry stopped 
 instantly. She turned back close to the cart. 
 
 " Stonishing," said Mr. Maine, " how hard they 
 take everything. Seems if they wished life was one 
 everlasting tooth -pullin V they bracin up aginst 
 it." 
 
 " Are you a Yankee ?" the woman asked, quickly, 
 with a strong emphasis on the pronoun. 
 
 " Certain. And I bet you come from Massa 
 chusetts." 
 
 Yes, Job Maine was conscious of a something that 
 seemed like interest. He hardly knew what to make 
 of it. He didn t know as he wanted to be interested. 
 It was quite a good deal of trouble to be interested, 
 and it took considerable out of a man, somehow. 
 
 Mrs. Gerry was not only surprised, she was becom 
 ing excited. 
 
 " Yes," she answered. She went on, rapidly, " I 
 did come from Massachusetts. I ve brought a daugh 
 ter down here. She isn t well. I m trying to find out 
 where Job Maine lives. But I m about discouraged." 
 
 With an involuntary movement, of which he was 
 not conscious, Mr. Maine again reached out his foot 
 and applied it to the mule, who again shuddered, but 
 did not go on. 
 
 The man s leather face underwent some kind of a 
 contortion. 
 
 " Tain t no time for ye to be discouraged," he re-
 
 104 THE TWO SALOMES 
 
 marked. " If you c n only stop your hurry I d like to 
 say sumpthin to ye. But a man can t talk if he s 
 hurried to death. He can t collect himself, some 
 way." 
 
 Mrs. Gerry tried to remain quiet while her com 
 panion should collect himself, but she could not re 
 frain from hoping that the process would not be 
 long. 
 
 She waited for several minutes while Mr. Maine 
 continued to gaze at her. 
 
 " Well ?" she said at last. 
 
 Job was leaning forward, with his elbows on his 
 knees. 
 
 " I do low," he now began, " that you kinder 
 faviour old Lef tant Bourne t I used to see when I 
 was a boy. Yes, I certain sure do see the Bourne 
 look." 
 
 Mrs. Gerry was so weary and so anxious that she 
 feared she might become hysterical. And there was 
 a confusing air of unreality about this interview. 
 
 " Elbridge Bourne was my father," she said. " Who 
 are you ?" 
 
 Mr. Maine bent his head over the side of the cart, 
 opened his mouth, and allowed his huge quid of to 
 bacco to drop into the sand ; at the same moment his 
 hand was thrust into the pocket of his trousers in 
 search of the remnant of unchewed " plug " that he 
 hoped was there. 
 
 " I m Job Maine," he answ-ered. " That s about the 
 size of me, ma am." 
 
 Mrs. Gerry walked up to the house near her and 
 leaned against its wall. 
 
 She felt ill and weak. She had not guessed this. 
 She thought her last hope was removed. She had a
 
 MR. MAINE "FLAXING ROUND" 105 
 
 sickening pity and contempt for that man in the mule- 
 cart. 
 
 But Mr. Maine became what for him misfht be 
 
 O 
 
 called cheerful. 
 
 " I m exactly the possum you re after," he said, 
 " V here I be. N I ain t the feller ter let a ole 
 neighbor slip. You come down onter the Plaza in an 
 hour or two, or some time ter day, n wait n I ll pick 
 ye up n I ll take ye out to where I live. There s 
 two houses on my place. I ll let one of um on the 
 easiest kind of terms. N I ll throw in the climate. 
 There s jest as much climate out there s there is here 
 to the Ponce, exactly. Sometimes I think there s 
 more. N there s the ocean. N ozone. One of these 
 hotel fellers was talkin bout ozone the other day. 
 We ve got that, lots of it. We ve" 
 
 His drawl appeared to be going to continue inter 
 minably. And as his voice droned on Mrs. Gerry 
 made up her mind. 
 
 She would hire his house. Whatever it was, she 
 would hire it. She already began to picture to her 
 self how cosily and cheaply she and her daughter 
 could live. 
 
 " I ll take your house," she said, breaking in upon 
 his words. " Can we ride out with you?" 
 
 " That s what I ve ben sayin ." 
 
 " And when shall we be on the Plaza ? you mean 
 that little park ?" 
 
 Mr. Maine nodded. 
 
 " Some time ter day," he answered. 
 
 " Some time to-day ? But tell me something more 
 definite than that." 
 
 " Can t. Ain t you ruther pertic lar ? I ve got to sell 
 my truck. I ve got ter flax round for the ole oman.
 
 106 THE TWO SALOMES 
 
 You n the gal be there ter day, ye know. Lor , if you 
 ain t there when I bring round I c n wait. If we ain t 
 got all the time they is, I sh d like to know who has 
 got it ? That s what I say." 
 
 He put his foot against his mule again ; and he 
 now repeated this movement until that creature started 
 into a walk and at last disappeared. 
 
 Mrs. Gerry went back quickly to the station. She 
 was elated. She kept saying to herself that if they 
 had a house of their own they should be dependent 
 upon nobody. 
 
 An hour later the two women were sitting on the 
 Plaza. 
 
 With a well-considered disregard of the expense, 
 they had been to a restaurant and partaken of an ex 
 cellent meal. And this meal had had its effect upon 
 body and spirit. 
 
 Salome sat on the little iron bench with her hands 
 folded upon her lap. Her mother was beside her. 
 The girl s face was haggard with fatigue, but as she 
 sat there it seemed to become in a measure trans 
 figured. It was still worn and thin and pale, however. 
 The sunlight fell full upon her; a faint breeze came 
 from inland. In this breeze was a certain penetrating 
 softness that entered into Salome s blood. It was 
 not like anything she had ever known before. It 
 appealed to something in her which, she thought, 
 wakened for the first time to respond to it. 
 
 Even in this first day she was conscious of a mys 
 terious relaxation of nerve and spirit. But she was 
 very weary. She did not want to look at the people 
 who were continually sauntering here and there, and 
 talking and laughing, and not seeming to notice this 
 wonderful air.
 
 MR. MAINE "FLAXING ROUND" 107 
 
 Sometimes a dog would come up in a friendly man 
 ner to the two strangers, nose about them, then trot 
 off again. There were a great many dogs ; sleek, 
 well-kept creatures, who evidently had not come South 
 under any necessity to "manage." 
 
 Often Salome would throw back her head that she 
 might the better inhale a long breath. Often her 
 mother would look at her. Once she asked : 
 
 " Are you resting, dear ?" 
 
 And the girl met her mother s glance, smiled, and 
 responded in an ardent voice, 
 
 " Oh yes, yes." 
 
 So they sat on, mostly in silence. 
 
 After an hour the two rose and walked down to the 
 sea-wall. They looked over at Anastasia Island. 
 They gazed at their left upon the gray fort. 
 
 Salome suddenly put her hand over her eyes, laugh 
 ing slightly as she did so. 
 
 " I don t want to see anything to-day," she said ; 
 " I only want to sit still and let this air and this sun 
 shine have their way with me. Let us go back to the 
 Plaza. How delicious to be where there is a Plaza ! 
 And I like to look at the Spanish inscription on that 
 monument." 
 
 So they sat down again, and the number of people 
 increased as the afternoon wore on ; and more dogs 
 came and welcomed them to the South. The odor 
 from some rose gardens behind tall fences became 
 more and more perceptible. The sky deepened in 
 color. The date-palm in that yard stood out with 
 even a greater distinctness. 
 
 Mrs. Gerry began to be uneasy. She was con 
 tinually looking out upon the streets surrounding the 
 park, hoping to see Job Maine s equipage.
 
 108 THE TWO SALOMES 
 
 It was in vain that she tried to comfort herself by 
 thinking that they had all the time there was. 
 
 Salome did not seem uneasy. When at last the 
 sun was casting longer shadows, the girl pulled a 
 thicker shawl about her shoulders, and continued to 
 wait placidly. Indeed, just then Salome was hardly 
 aware that she was waiting. Afterwards she used to 
 think that some other soul entered her body on that 
 first afternoon when she sat in the Plaza so calmly, 
 not knowing then about this other soul with which 
 she would have to deal. 
 
 Fanciful, was she ? Yes ; but then fancies are some 
 times more true and more powerful than facts which 
 may be accurately demonstrated. 
 
 Mrs. Gerry rose and walked to the railing of the 
 park. She must see Job Maine somewhere. She 
 wished that she knew which way to go in search of 
 him. And when she did see him she must find out 
 what he would charge for rent. It was an oversight 
 unworthy of a Yankee to engage a house without 
 knowing the expense of it. 
 
 And she did not wish Salome to be out in the night 
 air. As she walked restlessly around the park she 
 glanced back at her daughter. The girl was stooping 
 forward to pat the head of an Irish setter who had 
 paused by her side. The slanting sunlight was upon 
 her. The mother suppressed a tremor as she noted 
 the transparent pallor of the face. But it was a happy 
 face, a strangely happy face just now. Mrs. Gerry did 
 not understand. Her own mind was so full of anxie 
 ties. But she was grateful. Suddenly she thought : 
 
 " It is because we have come to Florida. Well, 
 the air is lovely. But I cannot rest until we can get 
 settled."
 
 MR. MAINE " FLAXING ROUND" IOQ 
 
 And again she tried to see Mr. Maine s turnout 
 among the carriages that were coining down King 
 Street, or turning out towards the barracks. Every 
 body was gay ; everybody was happy. 
 
 The military band struck up its inspiring music. 
 A horse bearing a woman on its back, directly oppo 
 site Mrs. Gerry, began to curvet by the side of an 
 open carriage. 
 
 Mrs. Gerry looked with some bitterness at the 
 rider, and to her great surprise the rider bowed. It 
 was Miss Nunally. She turned the horse s head and 
 rode nearer. 
 
 " Beautiful, isn t it ?" exclaimed the girl, joyously. 
 
 She was looking charming, and she knew it. 
 
 " Very beautiful," was the reply. 
 
 " Portia !" called a lady from the carriage. 
 
 Portia waved her hand at her aunt ; but she did 
 not obey until she chose. She never did obey any 
 one until she chose. 
 
 " Where is Miss Gerry ? I hope you re nicely 
 settled. I shall look you up. Good-bye." 
 
 And she cantered off. 
 
 The bitterness upon the face of the woman deepened 
 as she watched. The next moment she became aware 
 that Miss Nunally s horse, in its gayety of spirits, was 
 near colliding with a mule that was coming round 
 from the other side of the old market. 
 
 The driver of the mule was at that particular time 
 engaged in reaching forth his foot and applying it to 
 his steed with no effect. But plainly no effect was 
 expected. 
 
 The animal continued to walk at the slowest pace 
 at which one foot may be placed before another. He 
 seemed to experience a difficulty in lifting his feet
 
 110 THE TWO SALOMES 
 
 from the ground, as if the earth were a strong magnet 
 which held his hoofs down. 
 
 But time accomplishes many things, and time 
 brought Mr. Job Maine at length opposite the woman 
 who was waiting for him. 
 
 When he saw her he immediately stopped his mule 
 and leaned forward to support himself with his elbows 
 on his knees. 
 
 Just at this moment the sun dropped down below 
 the horizon. There was the sound of the sunset gun. 
 The date-palm was magnified against the red sky. 
 The military band began to play in its softest manner, 
 "Non ti scordar di me." 
 
 "Be ye bout ready?" asked Mr. Maine. "I low 
 I m a mighty ways toward bein busted, I ve flaxed 
 round so." 
 
 He reflectively passed the back of his hand over his 
 mouth. Whether for the purpose of cleaning his 
 mouth or his hand it was impossible to say, for both 
 seemed equally in need of some kind of a cleansing 
 process. 
 
 With the going down of the sun Mrs. Gerry s ebb 
 ing spirits had sunk to a very low state. 
 
 "Yes, I m ready," she said, "but our trunk must be 
 taken ; and it s night now ; and I don t know as 
 Salome ought to be out. I don t know what to do," 
 despairingly. 
 
 But Mr. Maine was not in the least despairing. 
 
 " Now I ve ben n got some boards put in the 
 bottom of this thunderin cart, over them holes, I 
 reckon I m goin to have them boards used. You ll 
 git in, that s what you ll do. And the gal where is 
 the gal ? I ain t goin to flax round s I ve ben doin 
 sence I seen you, Mis Gerry, for nothin . Git in.
 
 MR. MAINE " FLAXING ROUND III 
 
 But there ain t no hurry. We ve got all the time 
 they is." 
 
 " But the trunk " 
 
 "A man d think you hadn t no confidence in him," 
 remarked Mr. Maine. " I m reckonin on gittin that 
 trunk right soon." 
 
 "To-night?" 
 
 " Naw ; course not ter night." 
 
 " But what shall we do ?" 
 
 " You ll stay with me n my ole oman. Don t you 
 count on our havin no horspitality into us? And 
 ain t ye ever heard nothin of Southern horspitality? 
 That s what gwine to happen to you now its Southern 
 horspitality." 
 
 Sometimes this gentleman said "goin ," and at 
 other times he said " gwine." 
 
 Mrs. Gerry tried to discover by Mr. Maine s face 
 whether he was now indulging in sarcasm. But she 
 might as well have endeavored to read some human 
 expression upon a well-baked potato. 
 
 " Is the gal fur ?" he now inquired. 
 
 " What ?" 
 
 " Is the gal fur ?" 
 
 Mrs. Gerry turned away. She had resolved to go 
 with him. 
 
 She said that her daughter was sitting right here 
 on the Plaza. She would bring her. She would be 
 gone but a few moments. As she walked away she 
 heard Mr. Maine remarking, as if he were saying the 
 words casually to himself, that they " had all the time 
 they is." 
 
 Presently the two women appeared. Salome had 
 not been informed of any particulars in regard to Mr. 
 Maine. She only knew that her mother had met him
 
 112 THE TWO SALOMES 
 
 in what seemed a Providential way, and that a house 
 had been engaged. To both these strangers a house 
 meant a house, even though it might be an extremely 
 humble structure. They rested upon that thought. 
 
 Salome came serenely on beside her mother. 
 
 When she saw Mr. Maine she involuntarily said 
 " Oh !" below her breath, and paused for an instant in 
 her walk. 
 
 But she came forward as her mother explained to 
 the person in the cart that this was " the gal." She 
 held out her hand. Mr. Maine placed his hand with 
 such looseness on her palm that it directly dropped out. 
 
 He said they might climb in if " they had a mine 
 ter," which they proceeded to do, he sitting in his 
 chosen position on a corner of the cart and watching 
 them, but without any show of interest in the pro 
 ceedings. 
 
 Once he remarked, what was self-evident, that there 
 wa n t no seats, and he added that he had flaxed 
 round and got some boards laid over the thunderin 
 holes. 
 
 It was a work of some difficulty to mount over the 
 edge of the cart, but the feat was accomplished at 
 last. The mule was kicked into a walk, and the 
 equipage started out by the barracks. The band was 
 still playing on the green opposite. 
 
 Carriages were standing there that their occupants 
 might hear the music. Horseback riders were sitting 
 here and there. Out in the Matanzas a few yachts 
 were coming slowly in, their sails beginning to flap as 
 the day breeze died away. 
 
 Beyond the island there was the sound of waves 
 breaking on the long beach. But, more enchanting 
 than all, there was the Florida air, which smelled of
 
 MR. MAINE " FLAXING ROUND" 113 
 
 the sea and of pine-trees and of roses which, in 
 short, came straight from the plains of Paradise. 
 
 Salome did not care if she were sitting on the 
 bottom of that cart. She cared only for one thing, 
 and for that she cared with all her heart : that she 
 was in Florida. 
 
 She grasped her mother s hand. She did not look 
 at all like a Puritan maiden. 
 
 " Tis the clime of the South " she whispered. 
 
 But before she could finish her quotation she hap 
 pened to see a man on horseback lifting his hat to a 
 girl on horseback. 
 
 And the red light from the west showed that the 
 man was that young Moore, and the girl was Miss 
 Nunally.
 
 VII 
 
 AN AMANUENSIS 
 
 "WHAT I really need, you know, is an amanuensis. 
 I always thought I should do better if I dictated." 
 
 Miss Nunally, to whom this remark was addressed, 
 turned from the mirror where she was standing; but 
 she only turned a very little, and still remained where 
 she could obliquely see herself in the glass. 
 
 " Well," she said, "why don t you get one, then ?" 
 
 Miss Nunally s aunt, Mrs. Darrah, leaned back with 
 an impatient movement among the cushions of her 
 divan. 
 
 "Get one?" she repeated. "Portia, you are cer 
 tainly a very trying person. One would think that in 
 your position you would offer to write at my dicta 
 tion." 
 
 The girl faced round rather unexpectedly. 
 
 "What do you mean by my position ?" she asked, 
 with the utmost haughtiness. 
 
 "Mean? why, I mean that you are why," shrink 
 ing a little from wounding her niece, " that you are 
 my guest, and that you ought " 
 
 " You needn t go on, Aunt Florence," interrupted 
 Portia, still more haughtily. " I understand you well 
 enough. You mean that I am a poor wretch, and 
 that I ought to creep and crawl so that I may keep 
 you good-natured."
 
 AN AMANUENSIS 115 
 
 Miss Nunally turned back to the mirror, and care 
 fully selected a red rose from a bowl and held it up 
 to the side of her face. She was trying to demon 
 strate that blond women may successfully wear red 
 roses. Her upper lip lifted in a slight smile as she 
 saw the effect, and she decided that she would wear 
 an enormous bunch of red roses at her belt that night 
 at dinner. Then she smiled again, and her little 
 teeth, which were more than half gold, seemed to 
 have a malicious gleam to them. 
 
 " As for my writing to your dictation," she went on, 
 easily, " you know there isn t a printer in America 
 who could read what I should write. I can t read it 
 myself. I write the English hand." 
 
 She laughed. 
 
 Mrs. Darrah, a small woman with a doll-like face, 
 and hair brushed up in a high roll from her forehead, 
 somewhat nervously arranged the shawl about her 
 shoulders. 
 
 " It s all a notion, your writing that horrid hand," 
 she said. " You know it took you a long time to ac 
 quire it." 
 
 " I know it did. And now I hope you don t think I m 
 going to give it up and write for a printer. Besides, 
 I haven t any vocation towards labor of any kind." 
 
 " You re an awfully trying girl, Portia !" wearily. 
 
 " Oh, I know that," from the person at the mirror. 
 " But you knew all about me before you sent for me 
 to come to Florida." 
 
 " But I have forgotten that you Portia !" with 
 uncontrollable irritation, "won t you stop twiddling 
 those roses and listen to me one moment ?" 
 
 Miss Nunally walked away from the mirror and sat 
 down in front of her aunt.
 
 Il6 THE TWO SALOMES 
 
 "You dear old authoress," she exclaimed, "how am 
 I going to help being what I am ? You know you 
 don t believe that people can change. Don t you re 
 member in your last novel you distinctly say that no 
 one ever repents ? that everybody remains essential 
 ly the same all their lives ?" 
 
 At mention of her last novel Mrs. Darrah s face 
 became more amiable. She loved her novels as some 
 mothers loved their children. If other people did not 
 love them, in the secret recesses of her heart Mrs. 
 Darrah knew that it was for the lack of good taste, 
 and she pitied those people. 
 
 She smiled involuntarily. 
 
 " Yes, I did say so ; but I was following out a cer 
 tain theory. I m not sure I think like that." 
 
 " Oh, but I had quite made up my mind," said Por 
 tia, now coming over to the divan and adjusting one 
 of the cushions, "and I was so glad. It s such a 
 comfortable way to believe. You are just what you 
 are, and you needn t take the trouble to be anything 
 different, and that s the end of it. I agree with your 
 last novel, Aunt Florence. Now, please don t go and 
 upset all that, will you ?" 
 
 Mrs. Darrah looked in a pleased way at the girl, 
 whose air was now anything but irritating. 
 
 " But I m thinking of illustrating the other side of 
 the question," she said. " I 
 
 Portia made a quick movement. 
 
 " Pardon me, Aunt Florence, but do you really want 
 an amanuensis ?" 
 
 " Certainly. I find that my idea " 
 
 " Oh, do pardon me, but I know precisely the per 
 son." 
 , " But couldn t you, Portia? You know I m used
 
 AN AMANUENSIS 117 
 
 to you. A strange presence might interrupt the flow 
 of " 
 
 " But this one wouldn t not a bit. She s just made 
 to order, and she wants to earn money ; and you know, 
 aunt, that I can t be confined to any fixed hours. I 
 should be wretched ; and you know " here Portia 
 unpinned one of the red roses from her corsage and 
 smelled at it daintily " you expect me to be pleasing 
 in the sight of men, so that I may make a good mar 
 riage. I can t work and I can t beg, and I must have 
 money ; and that s why you invited me down here, 
 you dear thing, you, so that I might have my innings, 
 you know." 
 
 " Oh, please don t put anything so broadly as that !" 
 remonstrated Mrs. Darrah. 
 
 " Broadly !" repeated Portia, indignantly. " You 
 know I never put anything broadly in my life." 
 
 " We won t discuss that " from the divan. " Your 
 father and mother want you married. They say they 
 shouldn t rest in their graves if you were not married. 
 They never know exactly what you are going to do 
 only that it will be something that they would wish 
 you wouldn t do. Certainly, Portia Nunally, you are 
 the kind of girl who ought to marry. And Heaven 
 have mercy on your husband !" 
 
 " Amen ! for I wouldn t have any mercy. If you 
 could not deceive men so easily I should have more 
 respect for them. It s hardly any fun setting traps 
 for creatures who fall into them so quickly." 
 
 " I won t dispute with you," responded Mrs. Dar 
 rah. " I don t want to talk about men ; I want to 
 talk about my amanuensis. Where is she ?" 
 
 " Out somewhere beyond the Maria Sanchez. Some 
 where where they raise truck ; somewhere where they
 
 Il8 THE TWO SALOMES 
 
 eat cabbage all the time. She said, the last time I 
 saw her, that if she died in Florida, it would not be 
 phthisis which killed her, but it would be cabbage." 
 
 Mrs. Darrah shuddered. 
 
 "But there isn t any nourishment, to speak of, in 
 that vegetable. I mean to write 
 
 " So I told her about the lack of nourishment, you 
 know and she said she was a living demonstration 
 to the contrary. She does look better." 
 
 " What is her name ?" 
 
 " Salome Gerry." 
 
 " Where do you see her ?" 
 
 " On the Plaza two or three times. She comes in 
 to sit there. Fancy! She says she makes believe she 
 is over in Spain somewhere." 
 
 " Does she know anything ?" 
 
 "Know anything?" Miss Nunally laughed, and 
 then added, "She comes from Massachusetts." 
 
 "Go and bring her to me." 
 
 " This moment ?" 
 
 " Of course. I don t know where the Maria Sauchey 
 is ; but you take William to drive, and 
 
 "No; I will ride ; and I don t want anybody with 
 me. I have an idea where she lives, and I ve been 
 meaning to go." 
 
 Miss Nunally put her finger on the button of the 
 bell ; and when her call was answered, she gave her 
 order with a certain cool dominance which character 
 ized her when speaking to a servant, and which must 
 have induced something besides liking in a servant s 
 heart. 
 
 When she came to her aunt s room in her riding- 
 habit, a few moments later, that lady said : 
 
 " I ve been thinking " pausing.
 
 AN AMANUENSIS IIQ 
 
 " Well ?" 
 
 " If the girl s clothes should smell of cabbage 
 
 " Oh, they won t. If you had seen her you wouldn t 
 say that." 
 
 Miss Nunally stood fitting on her gloves with her 
 whip under her arm. 
 
 "Well, if you are sure," returned Mrs. Darrah; 
 "but it occurred to me that cabbage was something 
 that they used to have at home when we were so 
 poor by the way, why does that vegetable always 
 accompany poverty ? That s an interesting question. 
 Please hand me my note-book from that table. Some 
 time I will write an essay. I can see how it might 
 be made very telling. But you are sure that she 
 won t bring any odor ?" 
 
 " Positive." 
 
 " And she isn t a coarse little thing? You know I 
 can t bear anything coarse near me. I never should 
 have invited you, Portia." 
 
 " I shall leave you to judge whether she is coarse 
 or not," interrupted Portia, in her usual ruthless 
 manner, which was yet smooth, and which possessed 
 the merit of rarely irritating her aunt. 
 
 It was a curious fact that strangers nearly always 
 thought that Miss Nunally was the one possessed of 
 wealth, and that she was hospitable and kind to her 
 aunt Florence, taking her round with her and paying 
 the bills. 
 
 This fact greatly amused Mrs. Darrah. She con 
 fided to some of her friends that she never could 
 have endured her niece if the girl had acted in the 
 least like a poor relation. It tickled Mrs. Darrah s 
 sense of humor greatly to see Portia domineering in 
 that insolent, polite way, and she gave money quite
 
 120 THE TWO SALOMES 
 
 freely that the girl might know, as she said, " the feel 
 of it in her pocket." Not that it remained long in 
 her pocket. For Miss Nunally was generous with 
 that free-handedness that frequently belongs to peo 
 ple who do not know how difficult it is to earn the 
 money they spend or give out. And this pauper, for 
 Portia sometimes indulged in the ridiculous luxury of 
 calling herself a pauper, was, when she chose, a very 
 fascinating woman. But she was not married. And 
 she was nearer thirty than twenty. 
 
 She would sometimes remark, in a confidential 
 manner, that she would say " yes " to the first respect 
 able man with money who should ask her to be his 
 wife, and that not until she was married should she 
 dream of falling in love. 
 
 " Of course," a shocked hearer would respond, 
 "you will love your husband." 
 
 Whereupon Portia would look full in the face of 
 her companion, and smile in an utterly indescribable 
 manner. 
 
 " Really," superciliously, " I didn t know women 
 were in the habit of loving their husbands. But I 
 shall love mine quite distractedly. I shall make him 
 run to heel like a spaniel, and I adore spaniels." 
 
 Altogether Miss Nunally was considered by mothers 
 to be a dangerous kind of person to have wandering 
 loose among their innocent young daughters. Not 
 that they could put their finger on anything. And 
 that, they said, in conclave, was the very worst feature 
 about Mrs. Darrah s niece : you could not put your 
 finger on anything. So, and because she was Mrs. 
 Darrah s niece, she was admitted everywhere. 
 
 But she was too daring ; one never knew when she 
 might do something really to injure her reputation.
 
 AN AMANUENSIS 121 
 
 Men with wives found her too charming. Men en 
 gaged to the nicest girls in the world discovered that 
 there was something in Portia Nunally s smile, and 
 something in her voice it was impossible to tell 
 what it was ; but it was easy enough to decide that it 
 was potent. 
 
 It was, thus far, in vain that Mrs. Darrah warned 
 the girl that if she went on at this rate the men would 
 find out that she was not the kind of woman that 
 would make a good wife. 
 
 At this point Portia would laugh. And Mrs. Dar 
 rah would sink back in her chair and say she was 
 sorry she had asked the girl down to Florida. 
 
 Then Portia would laugh again, and remark that 
 she knew very well that she had come there to get a 
 husband, and that her aunt would not be so cruel as 
 to send her home without one. For then the whole 
 thing would have to be done over again. And women 
 grew old so soon. 
 
 Portia had a light contralto voice, and on these oc 
 casions she would sometimes stand with great cle- 
 mureness before her aunt and sing with ardor the 
 following lines : 
 
 " A husband, Saint Catharine ; 
 
 A handsome one, Saint Catharine ; 
 A rich one, Saint Catharine ; 
 A nice one, Saint Catharine ; 
 And soon, Saint Catharine. " 
 
 Mrs. Darrah would smile, and then groan. 
 
 "But you don t give one the idea that you are 
 well domestic. You know that is what men like, 
 Portia." 
 
 " I certainly never will cook a man s dinner, and I
 
 122 THE TWO SALOMES 
 
 never will mend his stockings if that is what you 
 mean, Aunt Florence." 
 
 "Oh," in despair from the elder woman, "I don t 
 know what I mean !" 
 
 " Write a book about it," was the flippant counsel. 
 " When a person doesn t know exactly what he means, 
 then that person writes a book, and then other per 
 sons don t know what he means, either. But you may 
 label me as warranted domestic if you choose, and 
 I will not deny the statement if you think the hus 
 band will come any sooner." 
 
 It will be seen that there was a degree of frank 
 ness between these two concerning the subject of 
 marriage, and that they were not in the least senti 
 mental. 
 
 And it was this girl who now rode out of St. Au 
 gustine alone on her horse, or rather upon the horse 
 her aunt had provided for her. 
 
 But she first cantered around the little Plaza to 
 make sure that Miss Gerry was not there. 
 
 Then she struck out at a brisk gait down Marine 
 Street. A number of officers were sauntering about 
 by the band-stand. She saw them all, and, more than 
 that, she knew that they all saw her, and that they 
 would be obliged to say that she rode well. 
 
 They did say that. And the oldest among them 
 explained to the others that that girl belonged to the 
 Darrah woman ; that the Darrah woman the one 
 who wrote books, you know had been trying to 
 marry her off for two or three years now, but some 
 how the men were shy when you came right down to 
 hardpan, you know. Awfully fetching girl, though. 
 Could look a man s heart right out of him. 
 
 " Did you tell your wife that, Major ?" asked one.
 
 AN AMANUENSIS 123 
 
 And the Major winked with one puffy eye and said 
 he always told Mrs. Major everything. Whereat the 
 rest laughed. 
 
 And Miss Nunally, \vell past them long before this 
 time and beyond St. Francis Street, was leaving the 
 bit of a city behind her and making for the Maria 
 Sanchez Creek. 
 
 She had never been this way before, and that soli 
 tude that is sorrowful and yet winning, and which 
 seems to belong peculiarly to the South, immediately 
 appealed to her. 
 
 It was low tide, and groups of little bare-legged 
 negro boys were picking up oysters and pounding 
 them open between water- worn stones, greedily swal 
 lowing the morsel, chattering, shrieking, and singing 
 as they did so. 
 
 The waters of the Matanzas glittered beneath a 
 clear sky. This was one of the clays when a north 
 west wind blew and rolled up lines of foam the other 
 side of Anastasia ; when the ships going up or down 
 out there on the ocean were so clearly defined that 
 they seemed sketched against the sky. 
 
 The air was exhilarating without being rasping. 
 The levels stretching away in front of the girl and at 
 her right were brownish green, a deep hue that 
 changed its tints as the wind blew over them. 
 
 As Miss Nunally sat on her horse a group of wild 
 marsh ponies came in sight, galloping up from the 
 banks of the Sebastian River. Miss Nunally s own 
 steed suddenly straightened himself and whinnied 
 shrilly. 
 
 The little ponies paused in their sweeping gallop, 
 and stood with heads erect and manes flowing back. 
 One gave a snort, then another and another, after
 
 124 THE TWO SALOMES 
 
 which they all turned and galloped back to the Se 
 bastian River again. 
 
 " If I were a wild marsh pony," soliloquized Miss 
 Nunally, " I should not be obliged to have so many 
 gloves, and mamma and Aunt Florence would not be 
 trying to find me a suitable husband. And " she 
 looked up with a sudden change of face "I should 
 be under such a sky as this all the time." 
 
 The girl s horse walked on for half an hour through 
 heavy sand and palmetto scrub. It was along this 
 way that Salome Gerry toiled when she came into 
 town to sit on the Plaza or on the water-battery of the 
 old fort. But she maintained that it paid her. Yes; 
 although her shoes were the receptacles of a great 
 deal of sand, and her skirts were festooned with sand- 
 spurs, and red bugs disported themselves upon her. 
 
 It was not far beyond the curves of the shore, 
 where the little river emptied itself silently into the 
 ocean inlet that they call the Matanzas, that Mr. Job 
 Maine resided. It would hardly be correct to say 
 that he lived. He did not live anywhere. He re 
 sided; he stayed. 
 
 And this was where his truck grew; that is, it 
 grew here when it grew anywhere. But if truck is 
 not planted it will not grow, even in Florida. 
 
 There was the long trunk of a pine-tree which Mr. 
 Maine had some years before, in one of the times 
 when he " flaxed round," to quote his own words, 
 burned at the roots so that it fell to the ground. 
 
 Mr. Maine ever since had " aimed " to cut this 
 tree up for firewood. But thus far he had anticipated 
 that it would be considerable trouble to cut it up, and 
 he had not done so ; and he did not always find it 
 quite convenient to plough and put seed into the
 
 AN AMANUENSIS 125 
 
 ground at the proper time. Altogether, things were 
 quite a good deal of trouble to Job Maine. What he 
 really wanted to do was to sit on that pine which he 
 had burnt down and meditatively suck a pipe, or roll 
 tobacco from one side of his mouth to the other. 
 His pigs ran about in the sand. He did not know, or 
 care, what they ate. He only knew that he should 
 eat them when he was ready. And if he had planted 
 kale, he should boil some kale with the pork, or, rather, 
 he should tell his wife to do it. 
 
 Mr. Maine, as he sat on his pine-tree, used to say 
 that it was " turrible hard work to git er livin , spe 
 cially if a man had a wife to support. Women were 
 so xtravagant." 
 
 This gentleman now looked forward to longer 
 periods of sitting on that tree, for he was to be in re 
 ceipt of a regular income of five dollars a month from 
 Mrs. Gerry as rent for the building which she and 
 her daughter occupied. 
 
 It was not worth one dollar a month, but Mrs. Gerry 
 did not know that. She was sure it was the cheapest 
 way she could live. 
 
 And the ozone was thrown in. In fact, Mr. Maine 
 said he should not charge a cent for the climate, any 
 way. 
 
 As the house in which the Gerrys lived was built 
 of logs, and as the interstices between the logs were 
 not filled, the two women felt that they had nearly as 
 much climate when they were in the house as when 
 they were out of it. 
 
 "And as it is air I want," said Salome, cheerily, 
 "why, I cannot complain." 
 
 But everything was bitter as gall to Mrs. Gerry. 
 She hated that wretched, one -roomed hut, with its
 
 126 THE TWO SALOMES 
 
 clay and log chimney, which had great holes in it. 
 There was no window, only the door to let in light. 
 And the door had no hinges, and was to be taken up 
 bodily and set in its place. As this could be done 
 better without the hovel than within it, there was 
 much discussion between the two women as to how 
 they should get in after they had put the door up 
 from the outside. 
 
 Mr. Maine, when consulted, said he aimed to fix 
 that door before his tenants went North. And mean 
 while he professed entire willingness to come any 
 time when the women were inside and put up the 
 door. He said most likely he should be settin on 
 that pine-tree restin , or somewhere near, and if they 
 scritched he should hear them and would set the 
 door right up. And he shouldn t charge anything, 
 either. 
 
 Being interrogated as to the safety from evil people 
 which this door did not provide, Mr. Maine said he 
 supposed two women wouldn t be safe up North, but 
 here in Florida he was of the opinion that they were 
 safer with a door like that than if it had a burglar- 
 proof lock on it. He argued that no man coming 
 along and seeing that door in that condition would 
 think it worth while to take it down. 
 
 "Why, Mis Gerry, don t you see that a feller would 
 say to himself : There ain t nothin behind that thar 
 do , n I sha n t tech it. That s about what a feller 
 d say. N he d go on n break in somewhar whar 
 they was fastened and bolted and chained up. Ain t 
 that reasonable, say ? But I don t say but what I 
 aim to fix up that do fore you go North." 
 
 Mrs. Gerry would reply, sharply, that she did not 
 reason in that way.
 
 AN AMANUENSIS 127 
 
 She had gone to St. Augustine and had bought a bed, 
 a table, and two chairs. These articles, together with 
 a lamp-stove, were now standing in the hut. Every 
 thing else she had managed to bring in their trunk. 
 
 Every time it rained she appealed fiercely to her 
 landlord to do something about stopping the leaks. 
 He said that was another thing he was aiming to do 
 fore she went North. As yet there had been only 
 showers in the two weeks since their establishment in 
 the cabin. 
 
 At first, Mrs. Gerry was in a panic lest Salome 
 should take cold. But she did not. Nothing seemed 
 to hurt her. She was out-of-doors all day. She 
 laughed at inconveniences which made her mother 
 almost frantic with indignation. " People needn t 
 live so," the Yankee woman said a dozen times a 
 day. 
 
 When it did rain they would sit by a fire on the 
 hearth, with the door leaned up in its place. And 
 Mrs. Gerry would say that the only reason the old hut 
 didn t burn clown was because it was raining. That 
 was no kind of a chimney. 
 
 " And what shall we do in a north-east storm ?" 
 
 " Let us wait until the storm comes," recommended 
 Salome. 
 
 Her mother turned and looked at her sharply. She 
 hardly felt that she knew the child. 
 
 "That s no way," she said, with some edge to her 
 voice. 
 
 " What s the use of taking life so hard, mother ? 
 Do you know I sometimes feel as if I wouldn t fight 
 any more ? At home, you know, everybody is fight 
 ing something. They fight their own sins a good 
 deal. I am going to take things easy."
 
 128 THE TWO SALOMES 
 
 " Perhaps you d like to take things as easy as Job 
 Maine ?" 
 
 " I ve found out how delightful it is just to sit in 
 the sunlight," answered the girl, earnestly. " And I m 
 tired of resisting, resisting. That s all life seems to 
 be, in the North. And here it s yielding, yielding. 
 It s a great deal more comfortable. I don t think I 
 understand myself any more, mother," with increas 
 ing earnestness. " I seem to be somebody else. It s 
 just as if there were something in me that I didn t know 
 about, and that coming here had called into life. I 
 have a great deal more physical energy than I had, but 
 I have thought that in some pre-existence I was some 
 thing or other that just loved to live in warm air and 
 sunshine, and that didn t care much for anything else. 
 Or that I am not the kind of girl I thought I was. I 
 don t think so much as to whether a thing is right or 
 wrong any more. And, worse than that, I m glad I 
 don t. It was so very trying to be always asking my 
 self that, you know. I used to feel sometimes as if 
 I was like that story about the sharp blade wearing 
 through the scabbard. You see I m different, some 
 how. Do you think I m going to be very wicked ? 
 But if I am, I don t believe I shall repent one bit." 
 
 Mrs. Gerry, who was tacking up some cotton cloth 
 against the walls, hoping it would keep out wind and 
 rain, got down from her chair that she might the bet 
 ter look at the girl, who was leaning in the doorway 
 and gazing out into the sunshine. 
 
 But, after all, as the woman told herself, it was not 
 so much what Salome said as the tone in which she 
 said it. 
 
 There was something in that voice that frightened 
 Mrs. Gerry. If the voice had not been in such close
 
 AN AMANUENSIS 129 
 
 sympathy with the words why, what had come over 
 the child ? 
 
 " I can explain the mystery," Mrs. Gerry said, with 
 more assurance than she felt. 
 
 Salome turned her glance to her mother. There 
 was so little of anything austere in the young face 
 now, that it was difficult to think there ever had been 
 any such quality there. 
 
 As the mother met the daughter s eyes she repressed 
 an exclamation of anxious surprise. She restrained 
 herself from shrinking back a step. For one painful 
 instant she felt as if it were the glance of a stranger. 
 Then that feeling passed. 
 
 She rarely caressed Salome. But now she sudden 
 ly dropped the hammer she had been using and put 
 her arms about the girl. 
 
 Salome smiled, and responded warmly to the caress. 
 
 "But you have not explained," she said. 
 
 "Oh, that is easy," responded the woman, now 
 holding the other away from her and gazing at her. 
 
 Then she forgot for the moment what she had been 
 going to say. A sense of bewilderment was upon her. 
 Her clear mind seemed to be groping helplessly. 
 
 "Well?" said Salome, still smiling. 
 
 " When you were at home you were ill, more or 
 less, and your body reacted on your mind and made 
 you morbid. You certainly were morbidly conscien 
 tious. It used to worry me that you would think you 
 were so liable to commit so much sin. You were 
 always such a good girl, Salome. You were so anx 
 ious to do right." 
 
 " And I don t care a bit now whether I do right or 
 not." 
 
 "Of course you can t be always thinking of that. 
 9
 
 130 THE TWO SALOMES 
 
 If the attitude of your mind is right you will involun 
 tarily take the right path. We needn t be examining 
 ourselves all the time." 
 
 Mrs. Gerry became more and more earnest in spite 
 of the fact that she was telling herself that the girl 
 had taken a whim it could be but a whim. 
 
 " But I don t think the attitude of my mind is 
 right any more. That s what I m trying to tell you, 
 mother." 
 
 Salome disengaged herself from her mother s arm. 
 She walked about the cabin touching absently this 
 and that. The sunshine, warm and penetrating as 
 sunshine is in Florida in November, came through the 
 doorway and seemed to fill the place. 
 
 Salome came back and stood in the sunlight again. 
 
 "You know," she said, "when we experience re 
 ligion they say we are born again, and are really 
 different." 
 
 "Yes," was the response. 
 
 " Well, that s the way I feel as if I had been born 
 again, only not into any spiritual life, but into the 
 richness, the opulence, of this earthly life. Perhaps, 
 speaking less earnestly, " perhaps I am drunk with 
 this sunlight. I know I feel as I fancy the old pagans 
 must have felt that I will make the most of this life. 
 This we have, this we are sure of while it lasts." 
 
 "Oh, Salome!" exclaimed her mother. "That s 
 only a vagary. You are getting well, and because 
 your bodily strength is so much greater you are 
 having these notions. You are " 
 
 A voice outside interrupted Mrs. Gerry s words. 
 
 " Hello ! Hello the house !" said the voice. 
 
 And at the same time a horse s head came into 
 sight from the other side of the cabin.
 
 AN AMANUENSIS 131 
 
 And presently it was seen that there was a girl 
 upon the horse. 
 
 Salome sprang out from the hut with an eager ex 
 clamation. 
 
 " I came for an amanuensis," said Miss Nunally.
 
 VIII 
 
 "MATERIAL " 
 
 SALOME walked up to the horse and leaned upon 
 its shoulder, hardly greeting the horse s rider in her 
 interest in what that rider had just said. 
 
 "Really?" she asked; "oh, please don t joke about 
 such an important subject as my earning money. But 
 what can you want of an amanuensis ?" 
 
 " I didn t say I wanted one. I said I came for one, 
 and I have. I m going to dismount. Give me your 
 hand. There. Oh, how do you live here ? I have 
 no vocation for roughing it. I was made to be rich ; 
 but I am poor. It s horrible to miss one s destiny, 
 and to be conscious of it." 
 
 Miss Nunally had stepped within the cabin and was 
 looking about her. But there was no insolence in her 
 manner now, and Mrs. Gerry, who had been sure she 
 should heartily dislike this girl of whom her daughter 
 had spoken, was surprised that she should be drawn 
 towards her in some way. 
 
 It was true, however, that when Miss Nunally chose 
 there was a certain delicate, almost admiring defer 
 ence in her manner which few resisted until they 
 came to think the matter over and to decide that they 
 ought to resist. 
 
 Now when Mrs. Gerry looked at the elegant figure 
 sitting upon one of the straight wooden chairs she
 
 " MATERIAL 133 
 
 told herself that this was not at all the kind of girl of 
 whom she approved ; why, then, did she like her ? 
 For Mrs. Gerry was quite decided in her own mind 
 that she should never be drawn to anything of which 
 she did not approve. 
 
 Salome stood in the doorway, her eyes fixed on 
 her guest. 
 
 " But we cannot miss our destiny," she said. " Our 
 destiny will come to us." 
 
 " You think so, do you ? Then if I am destined to 
 marry a rich man, Aunt Florence need not have been 
 to the trouble of having me down here." 
 
 And Miss Nunally gave that short, character-reveal 
 ing laugh from which Salome involuntarily shrank. 
 But now the tone and the laugh seemed to contain a 
 bitter self-mockery. 
 
 " You said you wanted to earn money," she went on, 
 immediately. " Come and write for Mrs. Darrah." 
 
 Salome could hardly believe what she heard. Then 
 her face fell. 
 
 " But I am not a type-writer or a stenographer. Oh, 
 it is too bad ! But I will learn ; yes, I will learn 
 directly." 
 
 She turned with a fiery impulsiveness towards her 
 mother. 
 
 There was a sharp envy in Miss Nunally s heart as 
 she looked at her. She rose quickly. Had she ever 
 been as young, as unsullied as this girl ? 
 
 " I can t wait," she said ; " I must go back immedi 
 ately. Come this afternoon, before my aunt changes 
 her mind. She writes books, and my advice to you 
 is, don t rely upon people who write books." 
 
 "But I will go now." Salome stepped forward. 
 There was a touching enthusiasm and hope in her
 
 134 THE TWO SALOMES 
 
 slightest movement. She was thinking of her father, 
 and that now she could, perhaps, be a help. 
 
 " If there is any danger that she will change her 
 mind, do let me go now." 
 
 " Very well. But you will walk and I shall ride, 
 and thus you will make me feel mean all the way. 
 And I don t enjoy feeling mean. But I will sacrifice 
 myself." 
 
 The two girls started back. Mrs. Gerry warned her 
 daughter not to expect anything. It was wisest never 
 to expect anything in this world. 
 
 When at last they came to Marine Street on their 
 return Miss Nunally, who had been unusally silent, 
 suddenly stopped her horse, which had walked all the 
 way while Salome had plodded on behind, hardly 
 conscious of the deep sand or of anything save the 
 deliciousness of the air and a general and wonderful 
 sense of well-being and elation. 
 
 When Miss Nunally spoke to her she was compos 
 ing the letter to her father which should accompany 
 the first money she would send him. 
 
 She could see the look in her father s eyes when he 
 read what she would write. She was not going to be 
 a useless creature any more. 
 
 She came up beside Miss Nunally and looked in 
 quiringly at her. 
 
 As for Miss Nunally, she gazed so steadily at her 
 companion for a moment that Salome s eyes fell, and 
 she unconsciously moved a step away. She wished 
 to put up her hands before her face, but she restrained 
 herself from doing that. 
 
 " Come ; come here, closer," at last said Miss 
 Nunally. 
 
 Salome s first impulse was to say " No ; no I will
 
 "MATERIAL" 135 
 
 not." But instead of yielding to that impulse she 
 slowly obeyed and came close to Portia, who leaned 
 forward and put her hand on Salome s shoulder, press 
 ing somewhat heavily upon it. 
 
 "What is it?" asked Miss Nunally, in an absorbed 
 manner. 
 
 " I don t understand you," was the reply, given in a 
 somewhat cold voice. 
 
 " What has happened to you ?" 
 
 "Tome? Nothing. Only I m getting well." 
 
 " You are really getting well ?" 
 
 "Yes, certainly. Can you not see it?" 
 
 " Then it must be the reassertion of the body and 
 its predilections and the effect of climate. I don t 
 think people half understand the effect of climate on 
 the moral creature that is supposed to be in each one 
 of us. Of course I don t mind such things ; they 
 don t have any effect on me I m not good, anyway. 
 But you, Miss Gerry, do you mind my telling you that 
 when I saw you on the train a few weeks ago you 
 looked like now you can t possibly guess what you 
 looked like, can you ?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 " Of course not. The idea positively haunted me 
 afterwards. You were precisely a visible New England 
 conscience. It was just as if I had met a conscience, 
 you know a stringent, rigid conscience that brought 
 its owner up in the shortest kind of way, and tor 
 mented no end. Now, wasn t that odd for me, 
 Portia Nunally, to meet a naked conscience, if you 
 will allow me the term ? Wasn t it odd ?" 
 
 " Very," still more coldly from Salome. 
 
 "You need not be offended. I have something 
 more just as strange to tell you. It is more than a
 
 136 THE TWO SALOMES 
 
 week since I saw you ; and when I did meet you last 
 I fancied you were changed. Now I m sure of it. 
 You don t look that way any more. Do forgive me 
 for being so personal." 
 
 "What way?" asked Salome, ignoring the last re 
 mark, but looking very much as if she would not for 
 give. 
 
 " Why, like a conscience, you know. Positively, I 
 would not think now that you had any more of it than 
 I have. And those who know me best say I haven t 
 any that is, not any that stops me from doing any 
 thing I want to do. Are you offended, Miss Gerry ?" 
 with some show of solicitude. 
 
 "Yes, I am." 
 
 Salome did not know why she felt such a strong 
 emotion of terror. Had she not told her mother that 
 very morning that she was glad that she was not now 
 so constantly asking concerning the right and wrong 
 of a thing ? She looked about her as if she would 
 escape from something, she knew not what. Then, 
 with a swift grasp at self-control and reason, she came 
 again near Miss Nunally. She even smiled as she 
 said : 
 
 " It is silly to be so very fanciful. You have been 
 saying absurd things." 
 
 Portia gathered up the bridle that had fallen for 
 ward on the horse s neck. 
 
 " Yes, I know it ; but absurd things are sometimes 
 true things," she answered. " Besides, I am not 
 alone in this fancy about you." 
 
 Salome said nothing. She was fast becoming com 
 posed again. 
 
 " Why don t you ask me who else has had these 
 absurd ideas concerning you ?"
 
 "MATERIAL" 137 
 
 " Well, who has ?" 
 
 " The young man who was so kind to you on the 
 journey down here," said Miss Nunally. 
 
 "Indeed!" 
 
 " Yes," looking at Salome. " He has since confided 
 these fancies to me. Miss Gerry" Portia reached 
 forth and laid her finger lightly on Salome s cheek 
 " Miss Gerry, I have long wanted to ask you a ques 
 tion." 
 
 "Ask it." 
 
 " Will you answer me truly ?" 
 
 " If I answer at all." 
 
 " Of course that; but will you tell me why you never 
 blush ?" 
 
 Having put this interrogation, Miss Nunally dropped 
 all seriousness of demeanor, and she waited for no re 
 ply. But she did not immediately go on ; her horse 
 still remained quiet. 
 
 " My aunt, Mrs. Darrah, requires only one recom 
 mendation as regards you, Miss Gerry, and that is 
 negative. There must be no odor of cabbage about 
 you. I have been your guarantee on that head." 
 
 The two girls laughed. 
 
 In half an hour Salome was sitting in Mrs. Dar- 
 rah s room. That lady was among shawls and pil 
 lows, as usual. 
 
 Salome was trying not to be overcome by the mag 
 nificence of the hotel, and was at the same time feel 
 ing a sort of longing kinship with it. Mrs. Darrah, 
 after the first glance at her visitor, sat upright and 
 looked again at the girl. Salome waited for the other 
 to speak. She had been ushered in by Miss Nunally, 
 who had immediately left them. 
 
 Mrs. Darrah had times of rather priding herself
 
 138 THE TWO SALOMES 
 
 upon her frankness. She now said that her niece 
 had given her reason to believe that the girl she had 
 spoken of was not coarse, and that she, Mrs. Darrah, 
 could not endure anything coarse near her. She ex 
 plained that she had been obliged to endure a great 
 deal when she was young and poor, but now that she 
 was old and rich she did not propose to bear anything 
 disagreeable. 
 
 Salome could think of no suitable reply to make to 
 this statement, so she remained silent. 
 
 "You don t look coarse," now frankly remarked 
 Mrs. Darrah. She followed this up by asking abrupt 
 ly if Miss Gerry had read any of her books. 
 
 "No." 
 
 " I am glad of that. I shall like the judgment of a 
 young, unsullied mind. It is the judgment of such 
 minds that I want. The critics don t think much of 
 me ; but, then, I make things even by not thinking 
 much of them. You remember what D Israeli says of 
 critics, Miss Gerry?" 
 
 " I don t think I have ever known what he said," 
 replied Salome. 
 
 " Really ? Well, he said that they were those who 
 had failed in literature and art. And I agree with 
 D Israeli. We might begin work directly. I believe 
 that I feel the coming on of the divine afflatus. I like 
 to call it that. It pleases me, though it probably is 
 no more a divine afflatus than is that peculiar aura 
 which precedes an attack of epilepsy. I don t cherish 
 any delusions about myself or any one else. I know 
 precisely how my work ranks. Please sit down at that 
 desk : you will find pen and paper there. Yes. Per 
 haps you use a stylo. No ? Choose your pen, please. 
 Dip it in the ink. It annoys me to have a person clip
 
 " MATERIAL 139 
 
 a pen for the first time after I begin to dictate. Are 
 you ready ?" 
 
 Salome had obeyed. She now wheeled round in 
 her chair and explained hurriedly that she could not 
 write shorthand, and, perhaps, after all, she ought not 
 try to fill this position. And she could not help add 
 ing earnestly that if Mrs. Darrah would only have pa 
 tience with her she would immediately begin the study 
 of shorthand. 
 
 Mrs. Darrah had now leaned her head back and 
 seemed about to close her eyes ; but she kept her 
 eyelids raised until she had assured Salome that she 
 did not insist upon stenography ; that she should 
 probably dictate very slowly, but the young lady might 
 learn it at her leisure. 
 
 " Are you ready now ?" 
 
 Salome, with an ungovernable sense of the ludicrous 
 upon her, dipped her pen again, and said, " Yes." 
 
 She held her hand suspended for a moment and 
 gazed intently at the blank sheet of paper before her. 
 
 In spite of the fact that Mrs. Darrah was not in the 
 least awe-inspiring, the knowledge that she had writ 
 ten things which had actually been printed impressed 
 the girl a great deal. She could not help wondering 
 as to what were the sensations of a person who had 
 seen her name in print. Such a woman, she fancied, 
 could never again be entirely unhappy. 
 
 With these things in mind she continued to hold 
 the pen over the paper. 
 
 And the silence also continued. 
 
 At last she gave a furtive glance towards the woman 
 in the lounging-chair ; but she withdrew her eyes sud 
 denly, for they encountered Mrs. Darrah s gaze fixed 
 upon her.
 
 140 THE TWO SALOMES 
 
 That lady was gazing at her as if she were some 
 thing which interested her, and which could not be 
 aware of her rather impersonal inspection. 
 
 " I am not accustomed to dictation," said Mrs. Dar- 
 rah ; " besides, I never compose rapidly. Let me see 
 your handwriting, please. Show me what you have 
 written." 
 
 " But I haven t written anything." 
 
 " Oh yes, that is true. I cannot decide how to be 
 gin. This is the first chapter, you know. So much 
 depends upon the first chapter. You see, I have writ 
 ten a novel of philosophy, a novel of passion, and now 
 I am going to begin a novel of sentiment ; and senti 
 ment gives one quite a scope. Don t you think so, 
 Miss Gerry ?" 
 
 Salome did not dare to lay down her pen ; so she 
 dipped it again in the ink. 
 
 " Don t you think so ?" repeated Mrs. Darrah. 
 
 The girl turned towards her companion. 
 
 "I m afraid I don t know what sentiment is," she 
 replied, deprecatingly. 
 
 The woman s face brightened. She sat upright 
 again. 
 
 "Oh, that is delightful! she exclaimed. "Oblige 
 me by handing my note-book the one bound in blue. 
 Thanks. And my stylo. Thanks again. The idea ! 
 a young girl not to know what sentiment is ! But I 
 thought your face was unusual. You are probably an 
 embodiment of sentiment, only you can t define the 
 word. How suggestive ! And with your face ! If I 
 can only work this out ! But, then, no wonder you 
 can t define the word nobody can. It means every 
 thing. It is the atmosphere of life. Without it every 
 thing would be but an arid desert. It is "
 
 "MATERIAL" 141 
 
 Mrs. Darrah had been writing rapidly all the time 
 she had been talking. She now ceased speaking, but 
 continued to write for a moment. 
 
 Then she shut the little book, and pressed the top 
 of her pen thoughtfully against her chin. 
 
 Salome s face was set in the utmost solemnity ; and 
 this solemnity was becoming quite real. Whether this 
 woman were deep or shallow was not, perhaps, abso 
 lutely apparent; but the girl felt that she was sin 
 cere. She made up her mind to ask Miss Nunally for 
 one of her aunt s books. In her ignorance she felt 
 that one of these books would give the key to the writ 
 er s character. She was asking herself whether she 
 should first choose the novel of philosophy or the 
 novel of passion, when Mrs. Darrah broke the silence 
 by saying : 
 
 " You are so suggestive, Miss Gerry. Did any one 
 ever tell you that before ?" 
 
 "Oh, no, no!" 
 
 Salome hardly knew whether to resent this remark 
 or to be amused by it ; but she made no other re 
 sponse. 
 
 She dipped her pen in the ink. She was afraid 
 that Mrs. Darrah might suddenly begin to dictate, 
 and that she would be obliged to put her pen in the 
 inkstand after the first sentence was spoken. 
 
 Mrs. Darrah again leaned back and again closed 
 her eyes. The girl suspected that this was the atti 
 tude in which the authoress would eventually compose ; 
 and by this time Salome was longing to know what the 
 dictation would be. 
 
 But the lady immediately opened her eyes ; those 
 eyes, though small, were very bright, in that kind of 
 way in which a bird s eyes are bright.
 
 142 THE TWO SALOMES 
 
 " I find I am changing my mind about this novel," 
 she explained. " I m not sure that I shall begin it to 
 day. Let us converse for a while. You understand, 
 Miss Gerry, that I shall pay you just the same wheth 
 er you write or not. It is your time, of course, which 
 is valuable. Let us settle the terms. I want you to 
 get here at nine every morning except Wednesday and 
 Saturday. On those days I give myself to society 
 that s what I call it ; but I hate society, really. I want 
 you to stay until after lunch. You will lunch with me 
 in my own rooms here. I don t go down for that 
 meal it worries me. I will pay you ten dollars a 
 week. Does that suit you ?" 
 
 Salome laid her pen down. She was going to clasp 
 her hands, but it occurred to her that that gesture 
 might seem theatrical. 
 
 She turned towards Mrs. Darrah, who could not 
 help murmuring : 
 
 " Certainly you are suggestive. I have never seen 
 a girl like you. And I thought I had seen them all." 
 
 "Will it suit me?" exclaimed the girl. " It is too 
 much. I m afraid I shall not earn it. But I will 
 learn shorthand as soon as possible." 
 
 " Very well. But it is not business-like to say that 
 any sum is too much. Write a few sentences and let 
 me see your handwriting." 
 
 Salome eagerly obeyed. Then she carried the 
 sheet of paper to Mrs. Darrah. The girl wrote an 
 upright, clear hand, with no flourish. 
 
 " I have one accomplishment," she said, shyly, " or, 
 rather, it is almost a gift. I can imitate any hand 
 with very little effort." 
 
 " Ah," indifferently. 
 
 Mrs. Darrah absently put her pen to the paper and
 
 "MATERIAL 143 
 
 wrote one of her favorite quotations. It was that 
 sentence in which St. Augustine says to God : 
 
 " Thou hast counselled a better course than Thou 
 hast permitted." 
 
 Salome s eyes kindled. She bent forward. 
 
 " Who said that ?" she asked, quickly. " That is 
 true. I have felt that ; yes, I have felt that. But I 
 did not know any one else was so wicked as to feel it 
 about God. Who was it, Mrs. Darrah ?" 
 
 " It was St. Augustine," with amused regard upon 
 the girl. 
 
 " And I know that St. Augustine was so good," 
 sighing as she spoke. 
 
 " Yes, certainly. You see you are not alone in 
 your wickedness, Miss Gerry. However wicked you 
 are, or however good you are, you will find that some 
 body else has been just as good and just as wicked. 
 There is no originality left ; sin is no longer orig 
 inal." 
 
 Salome listened. Then she took the sheet of paper 
 to her desk, and in a moment she carried it again to 
 Mrs. Darrah. Under that lady s writing she had 
 placed a copy. 
 
 " In my next attempt you could not tell which was 
 your own," she said. "And I m often tempted to 
 copy hands. It s no good, though. Only it some 
 times amuses me. I often write to father so that he 
 doesn t know whether the letter is from mother or 
 me. Oh," forgetting her resolve to be very proper, 
 " how glad father will be that you let me work for 
 you. But, Mrs. Darrah, really you must see that I 
 earn my money." 
 
 " You are earning it now." 
 
 " Now ? I am only talking now."
 
 144 THE TW O SALOMES 
 
 " Miss Gerry, do you object to being used as ma 
 terial ?" 
 
 Plainly the girl did not understand the question. 
 But Mrs. Darrah would not explain. Instead, she 
 leaned back and closed her eyes again. She wished 
 to shut in an idea that had just come to her. She 
 would have explained that ideas were so rare that 
 one was justified in doing almost anything for the 
 sake of capturing one. 
 
 Salome sat in her chair by the desk. 
 
 She sat in perfect quiet lest she might disturb her 
 employer. She had never, to her knowledge, seen an 
 authoress before, and she hardly knew what to ex 
 pect of one. 
 
 She silently examined the specimen of author-craft 
 before her now. Did they all have such little dried-up 
 faces, with such lines about the mouth and eyes ? 
 And did their eyes have a way of diving into one ? 
 And what was it to be " material ?" 
 
 Could it be possible here Salome started some 
 what ; no, of course it could not be possible that 
 Mrs. Darrah had meant that she wished to make use 
 of her, Salome Gerry, in a novel ? That would be 
 quite ridiculous. 
 
 The silence and the quiet lasted so long that the 
 girl suspected that Mrs. Darrah had gone to sleep, 
 and she was becoming sleepy herself, when the lady, 
 without the slightest warning, opened her eyes as if 
 they had only been closed for an instant, and said, 
 
 "We will begin now, if you please." 
 
 And again Salome put her pen in the ink, and this 
 time the dictation really began. 
 
 To the girl s great surprise she found she was in 
 terested in the words she was writing:. She felt sure
 
 "MATERIAL" 145 
 
 that it was the beginning of a novel, and it must be 
 here in St. Augustine. And she wondered if she were 
 going to care for that man who was described as hav 
 ing a face which seemed to be all profile. 
 
 She hurried on and on. Her pen flew over the pa 
 per. And underneath all her thoughts was the re 
 solve that she Avould begin that very day to study 
 shorthand. All that was said besides the dictation 
 were the words 
 
 " Have you that ?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 Two hours later, Salome, having lunched alone 
 with Mrs. Darrah on viands whose names she did not 
 know, but whose substance she enjoyed, was going 
 along one of the galleries of the hotel preparatory to 
 descending to the main entrance. 
 
 She thought she had never felt so exhilarated and 
 happy in her life. And this building, with its Span 
 ish suggestiveness and rich decorations how she 
 could enjoy a life which gave her such things. She 
 was dimly conscious of something awakening in her 
 which called for these surroundings something more 
 than the mere superficial liking of a girl who for the 
 first time becomes acquainted with the sumptuous in 
 this world. 
 
 Life should not be bare and rigid and austere. 
 Life should be full of color and enjoyment. What 
 was that mysterious and elusive thing called happi 
 ness ? Pleasure, at least, might be attainable. 
 
 She was feeling this rather than thinking it, aware 
 of many hitherto undreamed-of possibilities that 
 might enter into the experience of human beings, 
 when some one touched her softly on the shoul 
 der.
 
 146 THE TWO SALOMES 
 
 It was Portia Nunally, who was now just going 
 down to her lunch. 
 
 "Well," she said, "and what do you think of the 
 authoress ?" 
 
 Salome hesitated. " She has been very kind." 
 
 " That, of course, since you are what you are. 
 But tell me," drawing still nearer, " does she think 
 you are material ?" 
 
 Salome s eyes drooped quickly. 
 
 " She said she thought she could use me," she an 
 swered, in a very low tone. 
 
 Miss Nunally clapped her hands gently. Salome 
 moved a step away and averted her face. 
 
 "I predicted to Mr. Moore just now that she 
 would use you, and what do you think he said ?" 
 
 " I m sure I don t know," indifferently. 
 
 " He said that he thought you must have a dual 
 nature. Now that was a foolish thing to say, since 
 we all have that ; a good and a bad nature. And 
 they fight incessantly if you don t, in the very first 
 place, narcotize the good-nature. Then life is endur 
 able, and you stand a chance of having a good time." 
 
 Salome looked up quickly. 
 
 " That must be so !" she exclaimed, with startling 
 earnestness. 
 
 " Oh yes ; I ve known that for a good many years. 
 If you wish to be comfortable, it is the first lesson to 
 learn. So I told Mr. Moore. He said he didn t be 
 lieve it. He s quite strong on the necessity of a high 
 spiritual life. Fancy ! And he s the man, you know, 
 who told you such lies for your good on the train. 
 Did you know his name is Randolph Moore ?" 
 
 " No." 
 
 " It is."
 
 "MATERIAL 147 
 
 Miss Nunally moved on a few steps with Salome 
 beside her. They descended the stairs together. 
 Then, as they were about to part, Portia turned, and 
 said : 
 
 " When will you tell me why you never blush ? 
 You see you certainly are good material for my aunt. 
 She says that it is not people whom we understand 
 who stimulate us ; it is people who seem contradic 
 tory, and whom we are obliged to study as if they 
 were puzzles. She knows me so well that she has no 
 use in the world for me. Ah, here is Mr. Moore now, 
 and I have promised to present him to you, Miss 
 Gerry." 
 
 The young man came forward with unmistakable 
 eagerness. Salome looked at him with an earnestness 
 which she never thought of trying to conceal. She 
 was thinking of what Miss Nunally had just told her : 
 that this person was " quite strong on the necessity 
 of a high spiritual life." 
 
 She wondered if that were true. Mr. Moore be 
 gan immediately upon a subject which had evidently 
 been occupying his mind. 
 
 " I ve wanted to meet you so much, Miss Gerry, 
 and be introduced properly, you know. Are you go 
 ing ? Do let me walk with you a little way." 
 
 Miss Nunally hurried on down the stairs. She 
 waved her hand at them, and turned into the dining- 
 room. 
 
 The two went on along King Street. 
 
 Although Moore had so much to say, he did not 
 speak until they reached the Plaza. Then he looked 
 at his companion. His face was full of a softened 
 light. 
 
 He was thinking that he had hardly known that he
 
 148 THE TWO SALOMES 
 
 had longed so strongly to see this girl. He. had 
 been occupied with business and pleasure. He had 
 been down to Tampa and up the St. Johns, and now 
 it seemed to him that he had been thinking of Salome 
 Gerry every moment since he had seen her. 
 
 He had come to St. Augustine with a letter to Mrs. 
 Darrah, and that lady had made much of him, as 
 nearly every one did. And Miss Nunally had been 
 uncommonly interesting. Indeed, he had come back 
 now to this little city for the second time because he 
 should see Miss Nunally. He lived up quite fully to 
 the conviction that a man should never avoid an at 
 tractive woman. 
 
 But just at present he was sure that in the last few 
 weeks he had thought of nothing but Salome Gerry. 
 
 "Oh, I hope you have forgiven me !" he exclaimed 
 at last, his voice thrilling on the words. 
 
 " Forgiven you ?" questioned Salome. 
 
 " Yes ; don t you remember ? For deceiving you 
 about the sleeper and all that. I can t forget how 
 you looked when you knew I hadn t been quite 
 quite on the square, you know. But do believe me 
 when I tell you I m truthful. You ve no idea how 
 tired you looked. It seemed to me that I couldn t 
 endure to think of you as sitting up all night in that 
 hideous car. Now, won t you forgive me ?" 
 
 The two had stopped as by a common impulse when 
 they had entered the park. 
 
 Salome said now that she would forgive Mr. Moore ; 
 that it was not a matter of any importance ; and that 
 he had been very kind. 
 
 Then she began to walk towards Marine Street. 
 She was impatient to tell her mother about her engage 
 ment to write for Mrs. Darrah.
 
 "MATERIAL 149 
 
 The young man kept beside her. 
 
 " Don t send me away, then," he urged, keeping step 
 with her. "Let me go with you for a little, and let 
 me call on you. Surely your mother would receive 
 me." 
 
 Salome laughed. She was thinking of the house on 
 Mr. Job Maine s truck farm. 
 
 "But you wouldn t care to have me call, Miss 
 Gerry ?" asked Moore, hardly knowing how to inter 
 pret the girl s laugh, and feeling somehow repulsed 
 by it. 
 
 "No," she answered; "I shouldn t like to have you 
 come." 
 
 Then, seeing the expression of pain which came to 
 the young man s face, she hastened to say : 
 
 "You ve no idea how we are living. It s a wretched 
 place, but being in Florida we are going to put up 
 with it. Anything for the sake of being here, on ac 
 count of my health." 
 
 Moore s face lightened with boyish happiness. 
 
 " And is that all the reason ?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Then I m going to walk out with you now and see 
 your mother. She was kinder to me than you were, 
 Miss Gerry. And how much better you look. You 
 have no idea how glad I am to find you." 
 
 Moore s eyes shone. His whole face was radiant. 
 His glance was constantly seeking his companion s. 
 He was telling himself over and over that this girl 
 was charming charming. 
 
 She did not look precisely as she had done on the 
 train. That was because she seemed now so much 
 stronger in health, he supposed. 
 
 The two talked of a thousand things. Moore had
 
 150 THE TWO SALOMES 
 
 never felt himself so brilliant. Everything he said 
 had an air of cleverness, he thought. He had hardly 
 known before that he was such a clever youth ; that 
 his ideas were so lucid, and that he could express him 
 self so much to the point. 
 
 Not that he really thought of himself at all. He 
 did not think of anything. He was like one floating in 
 some atmosphere which both exhilarated and soothed. 
 
 But he was not in the least surprised. Nothing in 
 the way of good-fortune could surprise Moore. Thus 
 far he had had most things he wanted. 
 
 He did not fail to learn the days when Salome 
 would be with Mrs. Darrah and when she left the 
 hotel. He said business would keep him in the vicin 
 ity a week or two. He wasn t staying at the Ponce ; 
 oh no, poor people didn t go there. He felt quite 
 overwhelmed at venturing even to call there. He 
 laughed much as he talked. This laugh seemed to 
 be a sort of escape for the abounding spirits that 
 bubbled up in him. He felt half drunk with some 
 thing, he knew not what. In his own mind he said it 
 was the climate ; but he must own that the climate 
 had never affected him in this way before. 
 
 So two weeks passed. He had only missed three 
 days in that time when he had not walked out the 
 two miles through the sand and the dwarf palmetto 
 with Salome. 
 
 It was the last day of the second week, when Sa 
 lome, coming into the city in the morning, went to 
 the post-office as usual. She found a letter from her 
 father. It was addressed to her mother, but she al 
 ways opened her father s letters. She opened this one, 
 leaning against the wall of the office as she did so. It 
 was not long. It began abruptly :
 
 "MATERIAL 151 
 
 " I haven t let you know that I couldn t keep up my 
 interest on the mortgage on the farm. I haven t paid 
 it for three years, and now you know I ve borrowed 
 $400 more on the east wood-lot. I could have stag 
 gered along if it hadn t been for Salome s sickness. 
 But I don t begrudge all that has cost. No matter 
 what comes if she gets well. But it s tough. Uncle 
 John is going to foreclose. He says he can t afford 
 not to. We are under his thumb. If I had $800 
 within a week I could weather it for now. The old 
 place 11 be sold. It s belonged to the Gerry s for one 
 hundred and fifty years. I d rather die well, I ain t 
 lucky. Don t wish you hadn t married me, Salome. 
 And don t come home. That would only make things 
 worse. Keep this from the child. She needn t know 
 it till she comes home I was going to say till she 
 comes North again unless some devilish meddler 
 writes it to her. You needn t worry about me. Only 
 let the child get well." 
 
 Salome leaned yet more heavily against the wall. 
 She read the letter a second time. She wished people 
 would not walk in and out of the place as they did. 
 It confused her. And she must think. It was be 
 cause of her. Eight hundred dollars. Within a week. 
 
 She folded the sheet of paper and carefully put it 
 in its envelope. She walked quickly to the Ponce. 
 
 Mrs. Darrah had a headache, but she told the girl 
 to sit down at the desk and wait a half-hour, when 
 she might join her. 
 
 So Salome sat down alone in the sitting-room. 
 
 Mrs. Darrah s note-books and her check-book were 
 lying there with sheets of MS. and blank paper. 
 
 Salome immediately took up the check-book. She 
 turned its leaves swiftly through her fingers.
 
 152 THE TWO SALOMES 
 
 Then, without the least hesitation, she filled in a 
 check for $800, and signed Florence Darrah to it, ap 
 parently in Florence Darrah s own hand. 
 
 She went to the door of the lady s bedroom and 
 said that she would go the post-office, but would re 
 turn directly. 
 
 She stepped back to the desk and wrote a note to 
 her father, saying : 
 
 " It happens that a friend who is rich will loan us 
 this money. So it will be all right, and the farm need 
 not be sold. There ll be no hurry about the pay. But 
 I think I shall be able to attend to that. Dear father, 
 I am getting so well, and I am earning. Don t tell 
 mother this, and I shall not show her your letter. I 
 read it first." 
 
 In five minutes the letter with the check was posted, 
 and Salome sat waiting at the desk. 
 
 She was telling herself that she was very glad she 
 had sent that check.
 
 IX 
 
 " FOR LOVE " 
 
 GEORGE ELIOT somewhere says that it is the habit 
 ual restraint or indulgence of years that determines 
 what one will do in some sudden stress of temptation. 
 And so indeed it is ordinarily. But there are some 
 natures in which there is a lurking power that has 
 slept, but that awakens with an unexpected puissance 
 that seems to make an entirely different person of one 
 whom we have thought we knew perfectly. Some 
 phases of character lie dormant for years. There are 
 those whose consciences are long keyed up to such 
 painful activity, such morbid sensitiveness, that the 
 reaction is inevitable, and sometimes deeply disastrous. 
 For a reaction often brings more or less of reckless 
 ness of mood if not of deed. If highly strung natures 
 reach heights, they sometimes reach depths also of 
 which the commonplace soul has positively no con 
 ception. 
 
 When Salome returned from posting that note and 
 its enclosure to her father, she sat for half an hour 
 in Mrs. Darrah s sitting -room awaiting that lady s 
 pleasure. 
 
 She had forged that name with as complete sudden 
 ness and absence of calculation as she would have 
 snatched her father s hand from burning coals if her 
 father had been powerless to do it for himself.
 
 1 54 THE TWO SALOMES 
 
 And now as the moments went by she was aware 
 only of a thankfulness that she had done so. She 
 was not conscious of any clearness of thought as yet. 
 In fact, she was hardly thinking at all. She was 
 vaguely picturing to herself her father s gratitude and 
 joy when he should receive that letter. 
 
 It had seemed to her that the thing must be done 
 instantly. She had no time to arrange to ask anything 
 of anybody. And, besides, it was not in her nature to 
 ask favors. 
 
 She hardly knew how cold her hands were or how 
 her eyes stung with an unaccustomed heat. She was 
 absently writing meaningless words on a sheet of paper 
 before her. Her mind seemed entirely filled with 
 wondering whether Mrs. Darrah would care to dictate 
 this morning. On several days the whole of the time 
 had been taken up in conversation that is, Mrs. 
 Darrah would lounge among her pillows and ask 
 questions of the girl who sat in front of her. At 
 some of the replies she would seize her note -book 
 with an exclamation of delight and make an entry 
 in it. 
 
 " It is not so much that I must get on with my 
 novel as that I must study you," she once remarked. 
 "You needn t shrink," as Salome made a slight move 
 ment ; "you must be studied. It is the penalty you 
 pay for having that kind of a face." 
 
 " But what kind of a face do you mean ?" asked 
 Salome, with some distress in her tone. She felt a 
 little as if a process of vivisection were going on and 
 that she was the subject. 
 
 "That s just it," replied Mrs. Darrah, with apparent 
 satisfaction. " I can t tell you in the least what kind 
 it is ; it is several kinds of a face. Severe and indul-
 
 "FOR LOVE 155 
 
 gent, reckless and discreet. You see I have no idea 
 how to classify you." 
 
 "Then please don t try to classify me, Mrs. Darrah. 
 I m just a common sort of a girl. I used to have 
 times of rigid self-examination, but I ve given that all 
 up since I got well. I suppose that goes with illness, 
 don t you ?" looking with some eagerness at her com 
 panion, who was watching her intently. 
 
 "You mean," said Mrs. Darrah, "that 
 
 " When the devil was ill, 
 
 The devil a monk would be ; 
 When the devil was well, 
 
 The devil a monk was he. " 
 
 Salome laughed. She began to be aware now that 
 she was greatly excited. 
 
 "Yes, that must be what I mean, though I hate to 
 think so. Now as I look back upon my life I think I 
 was very good. But I didn t think so then. I thought 
 I was a vile, sinful creature. I used to find such 
 wicked thoughts when I groped round in my mind. I 
 did really and truly want to be a high spiritual being, 
 and I was always what they called rather feeble. I 
 wasn t well. Now I am well I don t think at all about 
 being a high spiritual being." 
 
 Salome s eyes deepened as she went on. She was 
 very earnest, for her lips were slightly tremulous, and 
 there was a white light all over her pale face. 
 
 Suddenly she rose from her chair and took a step 
 towards Mrs. Darrah. She pressed the palms of her 
 hands softly together after a manner which she had. 
 
 The small and sparkling eyes of the elder woman 
 were watching her keenly. Mrs. Darrah s pulses quick 
 ened a little as she met the girl s gaze.
 
 156 THE TWO SALOMES 
 
 But as suddenly as she had started Salome turned 
 away. She walked back to the desk and mechanically 
 took up her pen. 
 
 With her face thus averted she said that if Mrs. 
 Darrah did not wish to dictate, perhaps she would let 
 her go home. 
 
 " Certainly," said the lady. " But come here." 
 
 Salome came to Mrs. Darrah s couch. Her hands 
 were taken a moment, then dropped. 
 
 "Ah, I knew they were cold. I should like to be 
 very kind to you, Miss Gerry. I am a lonely woman, 
 and I have a great deal of money. You don t look as 
 if you were mercenary. If I ever get Portia married 
 well, well, run along now. Come to-morrow. And 
 don t work too hard at the shorthand. We do very 
 well as we are, eh ?" 
 
 Salome left the room. She forgot that she had said 
 she must go home. As she went down the stairs she 
 heard Miss Nunally s voice, and then a man s laugh 
 and quick rejoinder. The sounds grated on her. She 
 hurried down across the Plaza and did not stop until 
 she had reached the fort. She sat there on the water 
 battery. She hardly noticed whether others were there 
 or not. 
 
 The air blew softly from the south. The island op 
 posite looked asleep. The small craft in the Matanzas 
 glided silently back and forth almost at the girl s feet. 
 
 " I m "So glad I did it," she whispered at last. 
 " Something had to be done immediately. Miss Nu- 
 nally says that Mrs. Darrah is generous, but that she 
 thinks a great deal of her money. I am very glad I 
 did it. When I tell Mrs. Darrah for of course I shall 
 tell her" 
 
 She did not finish her sentence. The air was so
 
 " FOR LOVE 157 
 
 lovely, the environment was so beautiful and still, so 
 novel to her ; she had been so starved for just such 
 an atmosphere for body and soul that she forgot to 
 try to finish her sentence. To certain kinds of sensi 
 tive natures there is an opiate as well as an invigora- 
 tion in surroundings. 
 
 But at last the girl rose. As she paced slowly along 
 by the fort walls, turning her face more fully to the 
 breeze, she glanced about her as one glances who is 
 thinking of some one. She gained the sea-wall and 
 walked upon it, now moving absently, her eyes cast 
 down. 
 
 But she had seen that some one. Up there, among 
 the saddle-horses standing for hire, was a figure she 
 was not likely to mistake. 
 
 But Moore probably would not see her. This was 
 earlier than she generally left the Ponce, and he would 
 not be looking for her now. 
 
 She went on more and more swiftly. If she passed 
 on beyond the park he would have no more chance to 
 see her, and she would not look ; she would hurry 
 that that moment of uncertainty might the sooner be 
 over. She would walk out alone this morning. 
 
 Now she had almost reached the barracks. No, he 
 had not noticed her. He would presently go up to 
 the hotel and lounge about until the usual time for 
 her to leave Mrs. Darrah. Then would he be disap 
 pointed ? What would he do ? Would he come out 
 to the little log-hut ? Would he ? 
 
 " Ah, Miss Gerry, are you trying to run away from 
 me ?" cried a voice close behind her. 
 
 Moore ranged up by her side, and bent down to give 
 one eager look into her face. 
 
 "Don t oh, don t tell me you were wishing to es-
 
 158 THE TWO SALOMES 
 
 cape me ! But then, if that is the truth, you must tell me 
 so, and I shall have to bear it. But I could bear any 
 thing better than that anything in this world, Miss 
 Gerry. Do you know that ? Tell me, do you know it ?" 
 
 There was an intensity in the young man s voice 
 and face which heretofore he had succeeded in re 
 pressing, in great measure. But suddenly, at sight of 
 Salome now, he had felt it to be a sheer impossibility 
 to repress it any longer. 
 
 He glanced about him impatiently. 
 
 It would be some moments before they were out of 
 the city and in the deep solitude of the palmetto 
 scrub. It seemed to him that the restraint he had 
 kept over himself in the past could not be maintained 
 for another instant. 
 
 "Tell me !" he repeated, imperatively. 
 
 She did not glance at him. She looked out sea 
 ward ; and it was what appeared to her companion a 
 long time before she said : 
 
 " Tell you what ?" 
 
 And still she did not look at him. 
 
 He hardly knew how to answer her, for he had for 
 gotten precisely what he had said. How could he 
 remember what words he had used ? Words were 
 nothing. There was nothing in the world of any 
 importance now save to be with this girl, and to have 
 her turn to him and look as such a face as hers must 
 be able to look. 
 
 Moore quickened his pace. " Do let us walk 
 faster !" he exclaimed. " Let us get away from these 
 streets ! I hate these streets ! 
 
 Salome obeyed. The two hurried on. The man 
 concentrated all his thoughts apparently upon putting 
 the settlement behind them.
 
 "FOR LOVE 159 
 
 Presently they were out in the waste with only the 
 stretch of sand and of water ahead of them, and safely 
 behind the towers of the hotels and the gray walls of 
 the old houses. 
 
 Moore turned impetuously. He put his hand on 
 Salome s arm. 
 
 " Oh, don t go on so fast !" he pleaded. 
 
 She smiled, still without looking at him. 
 
 "You are very hard to please," she responded; and 
 she spoke almost in a flippant tone, as if such a tone 
 might be a kind of defence to her. " You wanted to 
 walk fast, and I hurried. And now 
 
 " Now," interrupted Moore -"now we are away from 
 all those people, I want to keep away from them. I 
 want to be with you, Salome Gerry. I want to be 
 with you all my life. All my life." 
 
 His warm, ardent voice repeated those words as if 
 he could not put sufficient meaning into them. 
 
 There was no reply. Salome was still hurrying as 
 well as she could through the sand. 
 
 The crows, in a large flock, were flying between her 
 and the sun. 
 
 Suddenly she became aware of those birds. She 
 thought it was they who cast a shadow upon her 
 heart. What was it ? Surely they could not do that. 
 
 She gave him a lustrous look, in which there was 
 something of fright. 
 
 " Did you see them ?" she asked. 
 
 " See what ?" 
 
 " The crows. They went right over us." 
 
 At this instant she thought of the check that must 
 have started two hours ago on its journey North to 
 her father. She was very glad she had sent it. She 
 would tell Mrs. Darrah by-and-by. Not because she
 
 l6o THE TWO SALOMES 
 
 was sorry, or repented, but because she did not know 
 exactly when it would be found out that Mrs. Darrah 
 had not herself signed it. It would not be found out 
 directly ; she was quite sure of that. And perhaps it 
 would never be discovered. Anyway, she would have 
 time enough to consult with Mrs. Darrah, and her 
 father would pay his Uncle John. She could arrange 
 somehow. It would not take her two years to pay 
 for it, if there was any disturbance. Of course, she 
 knew vaguely about forgers. But other forgers did 
 not have the incentive which had inspired her to do 
 the deed. Her conscience did not trouble her in the 
 least. But she supposed there would be some arrange 
 ment. She would speak, perhaps to-morrow, to Mrs. 
 Darrah. 
 
 But she wished those crows had not sailed over 
 just then. 
 
 Moore glanced up at the sky. To him the sky 
 seemed to be blessing them. He did not see the 
 crows. They had flown out across the river, and were 
 preparing to settle down on the beach. 
 
 " I did not know you were superstitious," he said, 
 trying to speak calmly. 
 
 A tremor passed through the girl s frame. 
 
 " I did not know it, either. I don t think I am." 
 
 Impelled by the power of his presence, she turned 
 slowly towards Moore and looked at him. 
 
 The two had paused in their walk. They were 
 standing and gazing into each other s eyes. 
 
 All at once a strong vibration shook the young 
 man. He bent towards Salome, but he did not touch 
 her. He had imagined love like this. He had 
 known that a great love like this would some day 
 overwhelm him in unspeakable rapture.
 
 " FOR LOVE" 161 
 
 There was not the slightest egotism in his mind or 
 in his voice as he whispered, in a breathless way : 
 
 " Oh, I know you love me ! I know you love me 
 as I love you !" 
 
 And the girl whispered in return : 
 
 " Yes yes yes." 
 
 He took her hands and put them palms together, 
 and then pressed his own over them, still keeping his 
 eyes on hers. 
 
 Did several moments pass thus ? or only one breath 
 of time ? 
 
 There was a hoarse, multitudinous cry in the air 
 above them. 
 
 It was the crows coming back to the main-land. 
 
 Again Salome trembled. She tried to draw away 
 from the grasp which held her. 
 
 "There they are !" she exclaimed, still in a whisper. 
 
 He smiled happily. 
 
 " But I thought you were not superstitious ?" 
 
 And again she answered : 
 
 " I don t think I am." 
 
 She glanced at the stretch of blue ocean beyond 
 the island. But it was not blue now; there was a 
 haze like a silver veil spreading from it inland. The 
 air was warm and sweet. 
 
 The crows had gone out of sight. 
 
 " We must go on," she said. 
 
 "No matter; since I go with you," was the re 
 sponse. 
 
 The two walked in silence. Moore could not look 
 at anything but the figure by his side. But Salome 
 did not now look at him. She was gazing straight 
 ahead of her. There was a white splendor on her face. 
 
 " Are you happy ?"
 
 1 62 THE TWO SALOMES 
 
 She heard Moore s voice. She stopped walking, 
 turning towards him and clasping her hands. 
 
 Instead of waiting then for her reply Moore said, 
 immediately : 
 
 " Do you know how happy I am ?" 
 
 " You look happy," she answered, in an almost 
 inaudible tone. 
 
 " If I were happier I could not breathe I could 
 not live," he said, with the extravagance of a lover 
 who believes what he says and who knows that no man 
 or woman before him has ever fully known happiness. 
 
 After another short silence Salome said, now speak 
 ing with great rapidity : 
 
 " I have thought of something which makes me 
 wretched." 
 
 "No, no!" he exclaimed. "But tell me what it is. 
 I can drive it away." 
 
 " It is something Miss Nunally said." 
 
 " Miss Nunally ?" he smiled, incredulously. " What 
 was it ?" 
 
 " It was something like this : that you had great 
 ideas of a high spiritual life. Now, have you ?" with 
 intense earnestness. 
 
 " Yes, I hope I have. I mean to have," he an 
 swered. " I do try to live that is, I have times of 
 trying as if I had such an ideal. But, you see, a 
 man is so subject to moods and temptations. But 
 now that you let me love you, Salome, I feel as if, in 
 deed, I might be a far better man as if my striving 
 might amount to something. Oh, you cannot con 
 ceive what you are to me ! You 
 
 "Don t!" she cried, with some sharpness. "You 
 needn t feel that way." 
 
 " Need not ?" in a wondering question.
 
 "FOR LOVE" 163 
 
 11 No, no !" 
 
 " But why ?" 
 
 " Because you see it would not be fair." 
 
 " Not fair?" he asked. 
 
 She appeared to find some difficulty in going on. 
 
 " No. Because I I myself don t care for a high 
 spiritual life." 
 
 "Not care for it?" 
 
 Moore was so perplexed that he could only repeat 
 her words. 
 
 " No. I used to care, above everything. I used 
 to be striving for it all the time. But now I don t 
 think anything at all about it. Now " she hesitated ; 
 then she smiled in a way that made a most fitting 
 accompaniment to her words " now I want to have 
 a good time ; I m tired of being conscientious. Con 
 science doesn t go with this air and sky. As Job 
 Maine says : It s quite a good deal of trouble to be 
 conscientious ; and you are not half as happy, either. 
 Did you ever think the doctrine of the first Epicure 
 ans had some reason in it, Mr. Moore ?" 
 
 When she ceased speaking, now, Salome laughed a 
 perfectly care-free and infectious laugh. 
 
 Moore joined her. He did not in the least believe 
 what she had just been saying. And he did not be 
 lieve that she believed it. And yet why should her 
 face have just that expression, if she were merely 
 talking "for fun," as he would have said. 
 
 As for himself, Moore was extremely well aware 
 that a " high spiritual life " was still a great way from 
 him. But he had told the simple truth when he had 
 said he had seasons of longing for it and striving for 
 it. He could not imagine that any one could delib 
 erately and truthfully say that he did not care for it.
 
 164 THE TWO SALOMES 
 
 It was one of Moore s favorite subjects. He liked to 
 talk about it ; it always made him feel better. To 
 talk earnestly on this topic had somewhat of the effect 
 of having made a notable attempt towards something 
 better. He was not aware that, while words are a 
 great deal cheaper than deeds, they yet bring, often 
 times, more self-complacency than the deeds them 
 selves. 
 
 Moore was not given to the examination of his own 
 soul, as has been stated previously in these chronicles ; 
 but it was a truth that he did have a high standard of 
 manly living. Not that he always lived by that 
 standard, by any means ; who does ? But he could 
 not have dreamed of denying that standard. 
 
 And he thought Salome now was jesting when she 
 said she did not care for these things. Of course she 
 cared. 
 
 The young man was not likely to spend much 
 thought, however, on such subjects just now. He 
 could hardly be said to think upon anything as he 
 walked by the girl s side. 
 
 It was now noon ; one of those noons when Florida, 
 in the fall or early winter, forgets that she is not real 
 ly a tropical country, and takes to herself the heats 
 and the odors of those Caribbee isles which lie not so 
 many miles to the south. 
 
 The air glimmered hotly over the sand. There was 
 very little wind. In some pools of water, that shone 
 in the sun, frogs were piping monotonously. Salome 
 liked the frog cries. It was a sound that told her. day 
 after day and night after night, that there was no real 
 winter in that land where she had come. 
 
 When a mocker flew past her, and, alighting on a 
 tree, sang to her, her heart beat with a kind of suffo-
 
 "FOR LOVE" 165 
 
 eating joy and pride in this world and in mere animal 
 life. 
 
 The mocking-bird clung to the branch of the wild 
 orange, and gave out his sensuous and yet spirit-mov 
 ing song. 
 
 Salome turned to Moore and found his eyes on her 
 absorbedly. That gaze made her stammer slightly at 
 first, but she said, with sufficient clearness, speaking 
 out her thought : 
 
 " We are given mere animal life here ; and it is so 
 lovely so lovely ! Now I don t feel ill I seem to 
 know for the first time that just the breath of our 
 nostrils may be exquisite joy. Don t you think so, 
 Mr. Moore ?" 
 
 "Think so? I don t know. I m not capable of 
 thinking to-day. I m only living." 
 
 " Yes, yes ; that s it. To be only living," she re 
 turned. " I hoped you would understand me. If I 
 say anything like this to mother she has such a 
 grieved, anxious look come over her face that I can 
 not go on. And then I ve been brought up so well " 
 smiling joyously " that she thinks I am changed. 
 And I am I am." 
 
 The girl again stopped in her walk. She stretched 
 out her arms with a gesture of happiness and aban 
 donment to the delight of the atmosphere and the sun 
 light, and the mood that was upon her. 
 
 Moore, gazing at her, wished that her arms had 
 been extended towards him. But something held 
 him back from touching her. 
 
 " Florida has come into my heart," she said, fer 
 vently. 
 
 Her arms dropped to her side, and she began to 
 walk on again.
 
 1 66 THE TWO SALOMES 
 
 Moore took her hand and held it closely, keeping 
 step with her. Many warm words came to his lips to 
 be spoken, but he did not utter them. It was enough 
 to be walking thus with her. Why should he want to 
 speak ? 
 
 Once she turned towards him her pale face, which 
 wore its look of exalted enthusiasm. 
 
 Then he put his quick question again : 
 
 " Are you happy ?" 
 
 " How stupid you are !" she cried, speaking lightly, 
 lest she might reveal too much. 
 
 " But tell me !" he urged. 
 
 " Well, then, if you will have it : I am wretched ; I 
 am miserable." 
 
 " I don t believe it," quickly, and pressing nearer her. 
 
 She smiled at him. 
 
 " Then if you do not credit what I say, you will not 
 believe me when I tell you I am happy." 
 
 " Try me and see." 
 
 Now she laughed. 
 
 " No, no ; I will not risk it. Let us hurry. I must tell 
 my mother. She likes you, Mr. Moore ; you are one 
 whom everybody likes. How strange that must be. 
 And I Mr. Moore, I wish to say something to you." 
 
 The girl stopped again in her walk. She had with 
 drawn her hand from her companion. 
 
 "I am listening," he said, "and I wish to suggest 
 to you that you might call me something besides Mr. 
 Moore." 
 
 She made no reply to this remark. He immediate 
 ly asked : 
 
 " What do you wish to say to me ?" 
 
 He was wondering how he could ever have thought 
 himself interested really in anything else in the world.
 
 "FOR LOVE" 167 
 
 " If you will promise to stand perfectly quiet, and 
 not to come near me 
 
 " Yes, I promise," he said. There was a soft 
 sparkle in her eyes ; and there was a tremble upon 
 her smiling lips. 
 
 She clasped her hands with a movement full of in 
 describable fervor. 
 
 She looked up at him, and then her eyes instantly 
 drooped below his gaze. She was silent. 
 
 " Oh, what is it ?" he asked. 
 
 {i I thought I could say it to you," she answered, 
 after a pause. " But I m afraid I cannot." 
 
 " You must ! You must !" not moving from his 
 position a few feet from her. 
 
 Her eyes were turned downward. She put her 
 clasped hands suddenly up to her heart. 
 
 " I love you so I love you so !" she said. 
 
 "Oh, Salome!" 
 
 Moore made one uncontrollable step forward , at 
 the same time the girl stepped back. 
 
 "Remember your promise," she whispered. "You 
 are not to come near me." 
 
 " Oh, Salome !" he said again ; and he added, pas 
 sionately, under his breath, " My darling ! my love !" 
 
 She made no response. After an instant she began 
 to walk on so rapidly that she had the appearance 
 of running away. Moore kept beside her. He per 
 ceived that she did not wish him to speak, so, though 
 it was very difficult for him, he remained silent. 
 
 After a while they came within sight of Job Maine s 
 estate. There were the two miserable hovels. There 
 was the stretch of sand where Mr. Maine ploughed, 
 and where he raised his truck. There were a few 
 cabbages standing desolately on their stalks and try-
 
 1 68 THE TWO SALOMES 
 
 ing feebly to "head up," and some sweet-potato 
 vines straggled about discouraged. Mr. Maine had 
 been aiming to do some hoeing for more than two 
 weeks, and he was still aiming. 
 
 His figure was visible sitting on the tree trunk. A 
 puff of smoke sometimes passed from his dry, white 
 lips. He saw the two coming along the path. He 
 took the trouble to move a very little, so that he might 
 have a better opportunity to gaze at them. In thus 
 gazing he let the fire in his pipe go out. He sucked 
 strongly at the blackened clay tube for a moment, his 
 thin cheeks hollowing, and his whole face contorted. 
 Then he removed the article from his mouth. 
 
 " Burn !" he said, sullenly and slowly. " I ain t 
 had half my smoke out." 
 
 He looked towards his cabin, thinking to call his 
 wife to bring him a coal from the hearth ; but no one 
 was visible. He put the pipe in his pocket. 
 
 The path, such as it was, wound among the stumps 
 of pine-trees directly by where he sat. 
 
 Mr. Job Maine did not seem to be in a good-humor 
 to-day. In the morning he had asked Mrs. Gerry to 
 advance him another month s rent. As she had al 
 ready paid ahead for two months, she had refused to 
 grant her landlord this favor. 
 
 He was thinking now that he should like to go and 
 tell that Yankee woman to pack up her duds and 
 tramp. Still, Mr. Maine had sense enough to know 
 that she probably would neither pack nor tramp at 
 present ; and it was considerable trouble to tell her. 
 
 He had already brought in a bill of three dollars for 
 the night and clay in which Mrs. Gerry and her daugh 
 ter had remained under Mr. Maine s own roof, receiv 
 ing: what he had at their first meeting called " South-
 
 " FOR LOVE" 169 
 
 ern horspitality." At the end of that time Mrs. Gerry 
 had absolutely driven him forth to Augustine for her 
 trunk. She had said that another twenty-four hours 
 spent with Mr. Maine and his wife would kill her, even 
 if her daughter survived. 
 
 And Mr. Maine had charged one dollar for getting 
 the trunk, and one dollar for allowing Mrs. Gerry to 
 sit in the cart with him while the mule took them by 
 imperceptible degrees into the city and back again. 
 
 The gentleman explained that it was not so much 
 the mere act of driving Mrs. Gerry into town and get 
 ting her trunk that was worth money, as that his time 
 was valuable. It was a day s job, he said ; and that 
 day, he asserted, he had aimed at doing a number of 
 things. He remarked that at this season of the year 
 he was " jes s hurried s he could be ;" whereat Sa 
 lome laughed in as care-free a manner as if she were 
 at a play, and this speaker were one of the actors. 
 
 But Mrs. Gerry was not care -free, and she had a 
 wild wish at the moment to be a man, and to have a 
 stout whip in her hand, and to lay that whip with the 
 utmost violence over this creature s shoulders. 
 
 What she had first thought was a lazy good-nature 
 in Mr. Maine she soon discovered to be only the in 
 ertia that would not rise to active anger or to activity 
 of any kind. 
 
 Mrs. Maine began immediately to tell languidly all 
 she had endured since her marriage. She never spoke 
 on any other subject but this endurance, and the dif 
 ference there was in her present condition and her 
 condition when she was a young girl. 
 
 Salome would look at her with incredulous wonder. 
 In her heart she did not believe that Mrs. Maine had 
 ever been a young girl.
 
 170 THE TWO SALOMES 
 
 The woman would sit at one side of the fireplace 
 for she seemed to want a fire whether the day was hot 
 or cool and tell what luxuries had been hers when 
 she was young " befo thur wall." 
 
 She never failed to assert that her family was one 
 of the "fust fam lies down in Alabawm." 
 
 And, furthermore, she always said that her parents 
 had opposed her marriage, but that she had married 
 "fur love." 
 
 Salome would look at the speaker, and then out to 
 the pine log at the speaker s husband, who had been 
 married "fur love." 
 
 Then the girl would shudder. One day she asked 
 her mother if it were possible that Mrs. Maine could 
 ever have loved, or if Mr. Maine could ever have in 
 spired that sentiment. 
 
 " Because," she said, emphatically, " if that has been 
 possible, it would be a good thing to die before that 
 kind of a disillusionment comes." 
 
 Mrs. Gerry laughed, and replied that she felt posi 
 tive that Mrs. Maine had never belonged to a first 
 family in Alabama or anywhere else ; but as for love, 
 why, that was too mysterious a subject to discuss. 
 
 "There was Caliban," said Salome, meditatively. 
 
 Now, as she was walking along the path with some 
 one quite different from Caliban, the sight of Job 
 Maine on that log gave her a shock. 
 
 She stopped, and laughed somewhat nervously. 
 
 " What is it ?" asked Moore. 
 
 " You see that man ?" 
 
 " Maine ? Yes." 
 
 "Well," laughing again and shuddering also, "his 
 wife has told me a score of times that she married 
 that man fur love. "
 
 X 
 
 A LITTLE TENNIS 
 
 THE man who had been married for love continued 
 to gaze with a stolid persistence at the two young 
 people coming towards him through the thick sand. 
 They came on with comparative lightness, consider 
 ing that the sand pulled at them as if it had been 
 alive and wished to draw them under. 
 
 Job felt a dull envy of them. He had always been 
 phlegmatic, but now, seeing these two, he assumed in 
 his own mind that he should have been "jest as peart 
 n go ahead " if he had not been threatened with con 
 sumption and been obliged to come South, and if he 
 hadn t married such a kind of woman. He knew 
 of plenty of reasons, besides the reason inherent in 
 his own character, why he was what he called an "on- 
 lucky man." 
 
 His pipe having gone out, he had fallen back on 
 his " chaw," which he retained in his mouth even 
 while he smoked. 
 
 He was crouching forward, with his elbows on his 
 knees, in his usual position. 
 
 A black and white hound, which was just terminat 
 ing an often- renewed battle with the fleas which in 
 fested him, rose from the shade of a banana shrub. 
 This banana had once been planted by Mrs. Maine, 
 and it had lived as well as it could in spite of the 
 frosts which nipped it every winter.
 
 172 THE TWO SALOMES 
 
 The dog shook its flapping ears and walked slowly 
 towards the new-comers. 
 
 Salome stooped to pat the animal as it stood 
 patiently beside her. She was glad to see the hound. 
 The abounding, exuberant happiness in her heart 
 made her hand linger with even more than its ordi 
 nary gentleness upon the dog s head. 
 
 "Good-morning, Mr. Maine," said Moore, with some 
 effusion, and to be effusive with the man before him 
 v/as an act of singularly poor judgment. 
 
 " Mornin , responded Job. 
 
 " How s your wife to-day ? inquired the young 
 man, his good-will including everybody. 
 
 "Wall," said Mr. Maine, slowly, "it s her day for 
 them shakes, n she s got urn bad. Sometimes I 
 think them first fam lies in Alabaum has shakes wuss 
 n common folks." 
 
 There was not a hint of a smile on the man s face. 
 
 Moore laughed, and responded that he supposed 
 there were drawbacks even to the joy of belonging to 
 the Alabama first families. 
 
 "You bet," was the response. "Mis Maine," 
 went on Job, "needs whiskey; she needs it bad. If 
 I had half a dollar I should hitch urp n go in n git 
 it fur her. But when a man has a wife fro s port he 
 can t always hev money in his pocket." 
 
 Moore put his hand in his own pocket. His fingers 
 touched a silver dollar. 
 
 He did not believe in the man before him, and he 
 had a sincere contempt for him. But to-day he would 
 have given money to any one. 
 
 He extended the silver piece to Job Maine, who 
 held out his dingy yellow palm for it. 
 
 " I ll borry it," he remarked. "I ain t no objeck of
 
 A LITTLE TENNIS 173 
 
 charity. I m Here he paused as if he could 
 hardly find words to describe himself. He finished 
 by saying, " I m a Massachusetts man." 
 
 Moore laughed again. 
 
 " I wish I could say the same," he said, " but I m 
 only a New-Yorker." 
 
 " Sorry to hear it," said Mr. Maine; "but then you 
 ain t to blame. Tain t fair to blame er feller fur 
 what he can t help." 
 
 He lifted himself slowly from the log. 
 
 " Thar s my ole oman. That s her scritch you 
 hear. I s pose she wants some blamed thing or 
 other." 
 
 "Whiskey, perhaps," said Moore. 
 
 Each member of the group gazed up towards the 
 residence of Mr. Maine. A woman had appeared in 
 the always open doorway, 
 
 " Job ! Job, I say ! There ain t er stick er fire 
 wood hyar ! You go n curt some ! Do it right 
 soon !" 
 
 "Yes, said Mr. Maine, "that s her scritch. Them 
 fust fam lies of Alabaum hev right pow ful scotches. 
 They do that." 
 
 The man turned towards Moore. 
 
 "You ought er take warnin by me, you young 
 feller, n look out bout gittin into thur noose. It s 
 a tumble strain on a man to hev to s port a wife. I 
 should hev had prop ty if I hecln t hed to s port a 
 wife. Women are so thunderin xtravagant." 
 
 " I say, Job, you !" came from the hut. 
 
 "Yes," remarked Mr. Maine, "it s her scritch. I 
 reckon I sh ll hev to be gwine." 
 
 But he made no further movement for some time. 
 
 Moore and his companion walked on. The hound
 
 174 THE TWO SALOMES 
 
 followed them with drooped head and languidly wav 
 ing tail. What with the fleas and the extreme un 
 certainty of his meals, the dog was not as happy as a 
 clog should be. 
 
 Upon occasion he made long trips, lasting several 
 days, into the barrens towards the south. At those 
 times he hunted on his own account and he ate what 
 he caught. He would come back comparatively sleek. 
 But since the arrival of the Gerrys he had remained 
 at home, and he had chosen their cabin as his home. 
 There he shared a great many Indian -meal "fire- 
 cakes " and swallowed many chicken bones. His 
 poor, despondent- looking tail became less and less 
 despondent. Something like animation was now and 
 then visible in his eyes. 
 
 What did he care that his master called him a 
 "durned ole houn that didn t know whur he be 
 longed?" 
 
 This dog now managed to trot on ahead a few 
 yards towards Mrs. Gerry, who was sitting out-of- 
 doors in the shade cast by her cabin. 
 
 Moore hurried forward, his face and eyes glowing. 
 He went straight up to Salome s mother. He bent 
 down on one knee by her side, and put his arm over 
 her shoulders. 
 
 His action was so genuinely spontaneous, so evi 
 dently from his overflowing heart, that it made him 
 more winning to Mrs. Gerry than she had ever known 
 him. Of course she knew what was coming. She 
 flushed and grew pale. 
 
 She glanced at her daughter, but she could not see 
 Salome s face. 
 
 Yielding to the impulse upon her, and to the bright 
 attraction of youth and ardor and truth in the young
 
 A LITTLE TENNIS 175 
 
 man s handsome face, the woman kissed him on each 
 cheek. He had flung off his hat. She passed her 
 hand over the thick light hair which was now closely 
 cropped. 
 
 Tears came into her eyes and fell uppn that hair, 
 glittering keenly for a moment. 
 
 Moore s own eyes were blurred. He thought that 
 he had never before had any sense of what he had 
 missed in not having known his mother. 
 
 " Dear Mrs. Gerry," he whispered, " I cannot tell 
 you how I love her. Do you think I love her enough ? 
 She has all my heart. She shall have all my life. 
 But what can any man s heart or life be in compari 
 son with the happiness of knowing that she 
 
 Moore hardly knew how he had put the sentence 
 together. It seemed lumbering and stupid, and he 
 did not care to finish it. 
 
 He lifted his head and turned to look at Salome. 
 But she had gone within the cabin. She was sitting 
 by the bed with her face pressed into the pillow. 
 
 She wondered why at that moment she should think 
 of Walter Redd, and should for the first time ask 
 herself if he had really suffered. She wondered why, 
 though the reason was plain enough. She heard in 
 distinctly the voices of her mother and her lover out 
 side. She wished that she might go away and be 
 alone for a few moments. She did not wish to see 
 any one not any one. 
 
 She rose ; she shook back the hair impatiently 
 from her face ; with her hat in her hand she went out 
 and walked away in the direction of some pines which 
 Mr. Maine had not yet burned down. 
 
 The place was a rolling rise of land. From its 
 summit one might see the Island of Anastasia, with
 
 176 THE TWO SALOMES 
 
 its light-house, and could catch a sight of the long, 
 glittering line of blue ocean beyond. Everywhere 
 hereabouts one was likely at any time to see that blue 
 stretch of the Atlantic. 
 
 The hound, who had been sitting on his haunches 
 by the group in the shade of the hut, instantly sus 
 pected that Salome had left the place. He rose and 
 solemnly followed her, keeping one pace behind her 
 until she paused on top of the little hill. 
 
 She stood very quietly, looking off seaward. The 
 dog sat clown, and was ready to wait any length of 
 time until it should please his companion to start. 
 
 At the left, two or three miles away, were visible 
 the church spires and the hotel towers of St. Augus 
 tine. But Salome did not see them. She was gazing 
 with vague intentness towards the ocean. The mist 
 which had been gathering there was spreading more 
 and more thickly from the sea inland. 
 
 But through the mist the sun still shone with a sub 
 dued and dreamy luminousness. It was so warm that 
 the mocker which had come and preened himself upon 
 a stiff stalk of golden-rod now stood indolently,with his 
 wings lifted. The frogs, which day and night kept up 
 their pipings, were now voiceless, save that once in 
 a while one would give a shrill, wavering call, and that 
 was the only sound, save the undertone of the waves on 
 the farther side of Anastasia, and the kindred under 
 tone of the air in the tops of the tall Southern pines. 
 
 As Salome stood there, with the hound sitting close 
 behind her, a little flock of mourning doves came run 
 ning along through the rank, coarse grass. The dog 
 turned his head gravely towards them, and they rose 
 and flew away. 
 
 Salome saw the sober, small birds ; she watched
 
 A LITTLE TENNIS 
 
 177 
 
 their flight, but she did not know that she did so. 
 She turned apparently scrutinizing eyes upon every 
 thing about her, but chiefly she kept her gaze on the 
 ocean. Still she was thinking of nothing which her 
 eyes saw. She was really aware of nothing but a pen 
 etrating and piercing happiness. 
 
 But all at once a shadow came across her rapt face. 
 She was wishing that those crows had not flown over 
 her, over her and Randolph Moore. She made a quick 
 and uncontrollable movement forward. The hound 
 rose and stood ready. 
 
 She glanced clown at him. 
 
 "Dear old Jack!" she said. And Jack licked the 
 hand which hung by her side. His yellow-brown eyes 
 were upturned in pathetic question and confidence. 
 
 Salome spoke aloud, but what she said had no ref 
 erence to her lover. 
 
 11 By the day after to-morrow father will have the 
 money." And she added, below her breath, "I m glad 
 I did it. I should not have thought of doing it for 
 myself, but I m glad I did it for father." 
 
 A joyous voice from the direction of the cabin 
 called : 
 
 " Salome ! Salome !" 
 
 She turned to see Moore coming with long strides 
 across the sand, pushing aside the scrub-oak limbs 
 impatiently, his face showing eager and ardent. 
 
 Salome was suddenly beset by an inexplicable in 
 stinct, which imperatively suggested flight. 
 
 But she knew she could not fly ; the sand would 
 make her feet like lead. 
 
 She put out her hands with a quick gesture of 
 denial. The gesture was so decided that Moore 
 paused.
 
 178 THE TWO SALOMES 
 
 "Let me come," he said. 
 
 " No, no ! Go back to Augustine." 
 
 " But when shall I see you ? Don t be cruel to me, 
 Salome." 
 
 She did not answer his last remark. 
 
 " I don t know. To-morrow, perhaps. Go, please ; 
 I want to be alone with Jack," glancing at the dog 
 with a slight smile. 
 
 " Do you mean it ? What a hard-hearted girl you 
 are ! And your mother has been so kind to me." 
 
 " Yes, I mean it. But my mother is always kind." 
 
 Salome moved away from the young man who stood 
 looking at her. He lingered a moment, his eyes upon 
 her receding figure. He was acutely disappointed. 
 He thought, with a sigh, that girls were scarcely like 
 human beings. How could she go away from him thus 
 if she loved him ? He could hardly give up the joy of 
 a few more words with her, of a moment of silence. 
 
 But she was walking resolutely. Then she meant 
 what she said. Girls so often did not mean what they 
 said. He supposed he must obey her. It required a 
 good deal of resolution to enable him to set his face 
 unflinchingly to walk back to Augustine, and it would 
 be so long before the next day. 
 
 But he began his return, and he did not pause until 
 he had reached the Plaza. Here he sat clown. He 
 was still confused with his happiness. It was with 
 difficulty that he could return the greetings of ac 
 quaintances who sometimes sauntered by. He was 
 glad there were not many out now. It was not two 
 hours after noon. Of the people who believed that 
 they constituted society, no one was visible. 
 
 There was a suffocating odor from the sulphur water 
 that bubbled in the old market from the artesian
 
 A LITTLE TENNIS 179 
 
 pipe. There were times when this odor overpowered 
 everything else in the vicinity. But then every one 
 said it was " so healthful," and a great many Northern 
 visitors absorbed immense quantities of that water, 
 that certainly smells and tastes unutterably nasty. 
 There ought to be some compensation for drinking it. 
 Robust health would not be too great a reward for the 
 violation of one s tastes which it is necessary to suffer 
 in swallowing this liquid, which seems to lie under the 
 whole State of Florida, waiting for the boring process 
 to release it. 
 
 After Moore had sat a while, the sight of a man 
 going into the post - office aroused his business in 
 stincts. When he had first come to the town he had 
 come with the intention of selling that retail dealer "a 
 bill of goods." He had not yet succeeded. 
 
 He walked rapidly across the street, revolving 
 what he would say. He thrust every other thought 
 into the background, and by the time he had joined 
 that man the "drummer" was completely to the fore. 
 
 But the girl out there in the barrens had no goods 
 to sell, and nothing with which to occupy her mind, 
 save the remembrance of the young man who had 
 pleaded with her not to send him away. He had 
 called her cruel. She now began to fear that she had 
 been cruel. She thought of him as suffering and dis 
 consolate. She did not think of him as selling "a bill 
 of goods " with eagerness and a dash of shrewd satis 
 faction. He made a memorandum of the articles and 
 the amount, and then, as he strolled off with a satisfied 
 look on his face, he began to think of Salome again, 
 and he began to arrange in his own mind how he 
 could plan his business so that he might stop in Flor 
 ida the longest possible time. He did not like to
 
 180 THE TWO SALOMES 
 
 think of the day when he should be obliged to go 
 North. 
 
 He took out his memorandum-book and studied it, 
 with a view to having entirely to himself that hour on 
 the following day when Salome would leave Mrs. Dar- 
 rah. Having done this, he decided to practise at 
 tennis an hour or two with Miss Nunally. He found, 
 however, that Miss Nunally was already practising 
 tennis with a big man who had a military air and a 
 voice which sounded as if it were quite used to the 
 utterance of big oaths. 
 
 Portia greeted Moore with one of her best smiles as 
 she nodded to him. But she did not ask him to join 
 the game and make an awkward third. 
 
 The young man felt irritated. Miss Nunally was 
 extremely fetching this afternoon. It was a real pleas 
 ure to watch her as she played, she was so agile, so 
 alert, and so graceful. She was one of those women 
 who never do anything which they cannot do grace 
 fully. 
 
 As Moore stood watching the game, thinking every 
 moment he would go away, but not going, he felt more 
 and more aggrieved and injured that that big, bass- 
 voiced Major should be there. That man was too fat 
 to play tennis. It made him puff, and his face was 
 almost purple. And a man like that was absolutely 
 absurd in flannels. How on earth could Miss Nunally 
 look at him when he spoke to her ? Moore declared 
 to himself that it made him sick to see such fat 
 cheeks as the Major had. 
 
 He did not care particularly for Miss Nunally, but 
 she was very jolly, and had a way of understanding a 
 fellow, and she was never stupid. 
 
 If he could not be with Salome he much preferred
 
 A LITTLE TENNIS iSl 
 
 to be with a girl like Miss Nunally rather than with 
 any man. 
 
 At last the game ended. The Major ogled Miss 
 Nunally as he told her it was better to be beaten by 
 her than it was to beat any one else. 
 
 Miss Nunally smiled at him, and replied that she 
 thought he could have the pleasure of being beaten 
 by her for a good many times if he didn t go some 
 where and practise more. 
 
 "Go somewhere?" he said, ogling again; "I want to 
 come here." 
 
 "Jove!" was Moore s thought, as he leaned against 
 a tent - pole. " How can she bear it ? And he s 
 fifty, sure." 
 
 But Miss Nunally seemed so well able to bear it 
 that she smiled again, even more alluringly than be 
 fore. 
 
 " Very well ; come here, then. But you are an 
 awful bore." 
 
 These last words were spoken in such a way that 
 the Major felt complimented. He straightened him 
 self. He put one pudgy hand on his hip. 
 
 " I m bound to come, anyway. I wish I hadn t 
 got to go now. I promised Lucas I d be with him at 
 tiffin. I shall see you again to-night ; so it isn t 
 good-bye." 
 
 He took off his cap, showing his bald head as he 
 did so. He bobbed his head slightly at Moore, who 
 bobbed his still more slightly in return. Then he 
 walked away. 
 
 " What in the name of common-sense does he say 
 tiffin for?" inquired Moore, when the Major was be 
 yond hearing. " Isn t lunch a good enough word ?" 
 
 " Not for the likes of him," answered Portia, with a
 
 1 32 THE TWO SALOMES 
 
 laugh. " I think he was in India for a week or two 
 once and habits cling to one." 
 
 "Jove!" said Moore, this time aloud, curling his 
 lip. 
 
 "You needn t say Jove about Major Root," re 
 turned Miss Nunally. 
 
 " Why not ?" 
 
 " Because I m going to marry him if he will kindly 
 ask me, and I think he will." 
 
 Moore started into an erect attitude. 
 
 " Oh, Jupiter !" he cried. " That is too much, Miss 
 Nunally. You don t mean that. I shall forbid the 
 banns." 
 
 "Oh no, you won t. It will be an eminently suit 
 able marriage. He wants to buy a young wife, and I 
 want to sell myself to a rich husband. You see, upon 
 occasion, I can use very unequivocal words." 
 
 " But but " stammered Moore. 
 
 The two looked full at each other for an instant. 
 
 It was Moore who turned away with a resentful 
 sparkle in his eyes and a flush on his face. 
 
 He had become, in a way, quite intimate with Miss 
 Nunally and her aunt during the past two or three 
 weeks. Moore was the kind of a man in whom 
 women quickly and naturally confide, and they never 
 repented this confidence, for, as yet, he had never 
 taken advantage of any such manner from women. 
 There was a frankness and a simplicity and a com 
 parative purity in this young man s character ; and 
 perhaps I ought to add, so much winning beauty in 
 his face that feminine human nature was almost in 
 variably drawn to him. 
 
 Mrs. Darrah used occasionally to ask her niece : 
 
 " Where is that young fellow whom I like ?"
 
 A LITTLE TENNIS 183 
 
 " Is the world so poor in young fellows that there 
 is only one whom you like ?" Portia would question 
 in return. 
 
 " I have lived a good many years^ and I have seen 
 but few radiant young gods like this Moore," returned 
 Mrs. Darrah. "Why, one may really sun one s self 
 in his presence." 
 
 "I ll tell him so," said Portia. "No doubt he will 
 be gratified." 
 
 " If I could only put him in a book and have him 
 really alive, all the women in the civilized world would 
 buy that book, and I should be, for a week at least, 
 the most prominent author in America. The critics 
 would forget what they have been saying of me. I 
 wish you would hand me my note-book, Portia; not 
 the blue one, the green one ; I put the masculine 
 traits in the green one. Now, why isn t Mr. Moore 
 just as natural a character as those myriads of unin 
 teresting, neutral creatures that swarm in the novels 
 in these days ?" 
 
 Mrs. Darrah paused to write a few lines. Without 
 looking up, she said : 
 
 " I shall not be surprised if you leave a note, some 
 day, Portia, pinned on to your toilet cushion, saying 
 you have found that you cannot endure life save as 
 you can live it with Moore ; that you hope to be 
 forgiven, and so forth ; and would I still let that 
 legacy stand in my will ? I should not blame you 
 overmuch." 
 
 Mrs. Darrah wrote in silence for a moment. 
 
 " I shall certainly put him in. my novel of senti 
 ment," she said, " and I think I could make it inter 
 esting if he should be in love with a girl like my 
 amanuensis. I don t quite know whether I should
 
 184 THE TWO SALOMES 
 
 like to be in love with her myself or not. She is 
 more than one girl." 
 
 " That might give a variety, then," said Portia, who 
 was turning over a pile of laces. "When her husband 
 that is to be gets tired of one of her, he can amuse 
 himself with another of her. Miss Gerry ought to be 
 congratulated." 
 
 Instead of replying, Mrs. Darrah repeated : 
 
 " I shall certainly use him," and continued to write 
 in her note-book. 
 
 It was this conversation with her aunt that for some 
 reason came to Portia s mind now, as she stood in 
 the tent on the tennis-ground with Moore. 
 
 Perhaps something in the young man s face made 
 her recall it. Her own face wore a look of gay reck 
 lessness. She swung her racket back and forth, and 
 smiled as she did so. 
 
 " If Major Root s first wife were living," she re 
 marked, " she could probably tell me how the Major 
 looked when he was young, and not so well, not so 
 fat as he is now. Don t you think he must weigh a 
 great many pounds, Mr. Moore ?" 
 
 " Disgusting !" cried that young man. " Oh, Miss 
 Nunally, are you really going to marry that that " 
 
 " Gallant soldier," finished Portia. " I told you 
 yes, if he asks me." 
 
 As she pronounced the last words she glanced up 
 at Moore, and Moore made an impetuous step tow 
 ards her. 
 
 " If you were my sister now I would shut you up in 
 a dungeon until Major Root had married some one 
 else." 
 
 " But I am not your sister ; and if I were, you 
 would be so eager to have me provided for, that
 
 A LITTLE TENNIS 185 
 
 you would be contriving ways so that the Major and 
 I might meet." 
 
 " Never !" cried Moore, violently. " I respect women 
 too much." 
 
 Portia laughed. 
 
 " It always amuses me when I hear a man say he 
 respects women," she said. 
 
 " Good heavens !" The young man was quite ex- 
 citecl. " Don t you think that I, for one, respect 
 women ?" 
 
 " You ?" The girl gazed at him contemplatively. 
 After a pause she continued : " Yes, I think yo.u do. 
 But you are different. And you are young." 
 
 "I am not precisely an infant," said Moore, dryly. 
 
 Portia walked across the tennis-ground. Then she 
 came back and said, abruptly : 
 
 " Why don t you tell me ? Do you think your face 
 has not revealed it long ago ?" 
 
 Moore suddenly seized the girl s hand. But she 
 withdrew it instantly. 
 
 "I did want to tell you," said he, eagerly. "It 
 seemed to me that I must tell somebody, and I don t 
 care about being confidential with a man. Men are 
 so kind of hard and crude, but oh, Miss Nunally, 
 you can have no idea how happy I am !" 
 
 " Can I not ?" smiling sympathetically. 
 
 " And when you talked in that dreadful way about 
 marrying old Root, why, really, it was very hard to 
 bear. If you wait you may see some one whom you 
 will love, and then " 
 
 " Oh, as to that, I ve been in love two or three 
 times," she interrupted. 
 
 " Really ?" 
 
 " I thought so. It is so difficult to tell when you
 
 1 86 THE TWO SALOMES 
 
 have the genuine article, you know, Mr. Moore, that 
 I think I am very sensible when I make up my mind 
 to do without it entirely. Then I shall have no dis 
 illusion to suffer. If Major Root gives me some dia 
 monds, and makes a good settlement, I know exactly 
 what I ve got. But you 
 
 The girl s eyes were caught for an instant in those 
 of her companion. 
 
 "You make me so sorry so sorry, Miss Nunally." 
 
 Moore spoke out from his heart, and his voice was 
 unsteady from the excess of his sympathy. 
 
 "I am not bidding for your pity," she answered, 
 quickly. "Of course she loves you." 
 
 " Not of course," withdrawing a little as he replied, 
 " I can hardly believe in such a 
 
 " Such a miracle, perhaps you would say," supple 
 mented Portia. " I can t stay here any longer now. 
 It is very fatiguing to play tennis with Major Root, 
 and I must have a long rest before dinner. Do you 
 want to see my aunt ? I think she is composing 
 one never knows accurately when she is going to 
 compose but she seems always ready to see you." 
 
 " No ; I will take a boat and go across to the 
 North Beach. Since I can t see you, I will see no 
 one." 
 
 "Oh, thanks ! I will tell Miss Gerry," laughing. 
 
 " I didn t mean it that way." 
 
 "I know that. Good-bye !" 
 
 Moore had gone but a few steps when he heard 
 Miss Nunally s voice pronouncing his name. He 
 went back to her. She held out her hand. With 
 frank interest, she said : 
 
 " Mr. Moore, I wish you every happiness." 
 
 She did not wait for any response. She walked
 
 A LITTLE TENNIS iSj 
 
 into the hotel. The young man stood watching her 
 until she had disappeared among the shining-leaved 
 shrubs. 
 
 Then he retraced his steps along the path. He 
 shook his head as he said that it would be a good 
 thing if somebody would shoot that heavy Major. 
 Women were very strange. A man might think they 
 were all refinement and delicacy, when, presto ! they 
 were the most indelicate and unrefined creatures in 
 God s world. He did not understand it. 
 
 But there was one woman whom evil of any kind 
 could not approach ; one feminine nature which could 
 not contemplate anything that was really sin. 
 
 With this thought in his mind, Moore went to the 
 wharf and stepped into a boat, rowing rather indo 
 lently out across the river. 
 
 That night he was summoned up to Jacksonville 
 on business. He found it peculiarly hard to go. 
 Even the prospect of selling an unusually large " bill 
 of goods " did not reconcile him. He had no time in 
 which to see Salome. He left a note in the post- 
 office for her. He promised himself to be back the 
 next clay. 
 
 Meanwhile, the next day Salome did not appear at 
 Mrs. Darrah s. But at the usual time a rather prim 
 and exceedingly neat middle-aged woman was ushered 
 into the presence of the authoress, who sat waiting 
 rather impatiently, her ideas being brilliant and flow 
 ing this morning. 
 
 " Oh," said Mrs. Darrah, without any preface, " you 
 are her mother." 
 
 "Yes. I came to explain that I didn t wish her to 
 come to-day. She seems to have a cold. I thought 
 she was almost well."
 
 1 88 THE TWO SALOMES 
 
 Mrs. Gerry paused. 
 
 " Don t be worried about that," responded Mrs. 
 Darrah, briskly, " she ll get strong. By spring she ll 
 be all right." 
 
 " Do you really think so ?" with an uncontrollable 
 quaver in her voice. 
 
 " I m sure of it. She isn t ill ; only delicate. Sit 
 down. I m greatly interested in your daughter, Mrs. 
 Gerry." 
 
 The worn face lightened. It did not surprise Mrs. 
 Gerry in the least that any one should be greatly in 
 terested in Salome. 
 
 But she would not stop. She had left the girl 
 lying wrapped in shawls out-of-doors. This cold, 
 however, was not like the same thing in the North. 
 In two days Salome seemed as well as ever. She 
 went back on the third day to Mrs. Darrah. She 
 found a letter from Moore, saying he had gone to 
 Tampa, and bewailing his fate. 
 
 "Come here and let me kiss you," said Mrs. Darrah, 
 when Salome entered. " If you had not come to-day, 
 I was going to send Portia out there beyond the 
 Maria Sanchez." 
 
 The speaker drew the girl down and kissed her 
 cheek. 
 
 " Let us talk a little first," she said. 
 
 " I have something to tell you," Salome responded.
 
 XI 
 
 CONFESSION 
 
 THE girl had placed herself in her chair by the desk. 
 She had taken off her broad hat and turned her face 
 fully towards her employer, who was looking at her 
 with a mild interrogation in her glance. 
 
 "But I ought not to take up your time," said Sa 
 lome, hesitatingly. " Perhaps I will wait until the 
 dictation is over." 
 
 "Oh no," was the return; "I said we would talk 
 a little first. You are looking very well this morning, 
 Miss Gerry. You seem not to have a care in the 
 world." 
 
 Salome smiled happily. 
 
 " That s what my mother said when I left her, and 
 it seemed to be such a comfort to her." 
 
 " I should think so, indeed. And you are really 
 getting well ?" 
 
 "Thank you, yes. I am well; my cough is gone. 
 I am just living now, for the first time." 
 
 Mrs. Darrah contemplated her companion in sym 
 pathetic silence. 
 
 "It is not life at all the life of an invalid," went 
 on Salome, speaking with unusual freedom. " I don t 
 see how I endured it up home. It was always that I 
 must not do this, for it might overtax me ; I must not 
 do the other thing, for fear that oh dear! And I
 
 190 THE TWO SALOMES 
 
 was always wondering if my cough would be better at 
 night, or would the early morning air be too bracing ? 
 And I must eat things that would make blood. And 
 my view of the world was so narrow, and I was so 
 given to self-examination. Oh, I was a miserable, 
 narrow little thing ! But that girl is buried somewhere 
 up in New England, where she lived. Do you think 
 she will ever come to life again, Mrs. Darrah ?" 
 
 Instead of replying, Mrs. Darrah remarked : 
 
 " You interest me so much ! And I thought I knew 
 all the girls and young men long ago." 
 
 Salome went on in the same tone she had been 
 using, and with much the same expression of face. 
 
 "But t mustn t talk about myself so much. I m 
 sure to be a bore if I do that ; because, as Miss Nu- 
 nally says, then other people can t talk about them 
 selves. She says that s what everybody wants to do. 
 I was going to tell you that I put your name to one 
 of your blank checks in your check-book a few days 
 ago." 
 
 Salome gazed calmly but with undisguised interest 
 at her employer. 
 
 Mrs. Darrah suddenly left her cushions and sat up 
 right. Then she sank back upon them and responded : 
 
 " I suppose you wanted to see how well you could 
 do it. Let me look at it." 
 
 " But I have sent it to my father. He needed the 
 money." 
 
 " What ?" 
 
 Mrs. Darrah sat upright again. 
 
 " He needed the money," repeated Salome. 
 
 Mrs. Darrah gazed a moment in silence ; then she 
 said : 
 
 " Hand me my note-book, please the blue one."
 
 CONFESSION 191 
 
 But Mrs. Darrah did not immediately write in the 
 book ; she held it in her hand while she gazed at the 
 girl, who returned her gaze in a shy but self-possessed 
 manner. 
 
 "Does your mother know? at length asked the 
 woman. 
 
 " Oh no !" 
 
 " Why didn t you tell her ?" 
 
 " Because I knew she would be unhappy about it. 
 She would think I had done wrong." 
 
 Here Mrs. Uarrah fell to writing rapidly a few lines. 
 
 Presently she looked up. " And what do you think 
 about it yourself ? she asked. 
 
 "Well," reflectively, "intellectually I know it is 
 wrong, but somehow I don t have any feeling about it." 
 
 " Oh, you don t have any feeling about it ?" 
 
 Mrs. Darrah wrote again. Her keen, small eyes 
 were like sparks of light now. 
 
 " Does your father know ?" 
 
 Salome rose impulsively. Her eyes flashed, but she 
 resumed her seat directly. 
 
 "No do you think I should let him know? I had 
 to to prevaricate. I wrote that a rich friend would 
 lend the sum. And you know I was sure you would 
 let me work out the amount." 
 
 " Oh, you were sure of that ?" 
 
 " Yes. And there was no time. You had a head 
 ache that morning. I thought I would talk with you 
 about it. I can work out the amount; and father, nor 
 mother either, need never know anything concerning 
 the affair." 
 
 " May I ask what the sum is ?" 
 
 As she put this question Mrs. Darrah had in her 
 mind fifty or a hundred dollars.
 
 I Q2 THE TWO SALOMES 
 
 " Eight hundred dollars," was the answer. 
 
 " Good heavens !" Mrs. Darrah s face darkened 
 somewhat. As Portia had once explained, this wom 
 an, while she was generous, was yet fond of her 
 money. 
 
 " It was a mortgage on the farm," calmly went on 
 Salome, " and father would have kept up the interest, 
 only I ve been such an expense to him. I felt as if I 
 were responsible, you see. And I will work it out. 
 I m perfectly willing to work it out I ve meant to do 
 that. I shall be able to use shorthand in a month or 
 two, and I do hope, Mrs. Darrah, I can be very use 
 ful to you. I m sure I can be." 
 
 An enthusiasm began to shine in the girl s face. 
 
 Mrs. Darrah made an effort to retain the calmness 
 which had threatened to leave her ; but she could not 
 yet lean back on her cushions. 
 
 " Have you an idea how long it will take you to pay 
 me at your present salary ?" she inquired. 
 
 "Oh yes," cheerfully; "I ve reckoned it precisely." 
 
 " You have ?" Mrs. Darrah spoke rather helplessly. 
 
 " Certainly." 
 
 " But I may not want you all the time. Do you 
 think I write every week in the year ? And perhaps 
 I shall decide not to have you work for me." 
 
 " If you do that I can still work somewhere," with 
 gay courage came the answer. 
 
 Mrs. Darrah now gave up trying to be calm. She 
 had never been so surprised in her life. She began 
 walking about the room. 
 
 " I suppose you know what you are, Miss Gerry ?" 
 she said, after a moment, stopping before the girl. 
 
 " What I am ?" inquiringly. 
 
 " Yes ; that you are a forger neither more nor less."
 
 CONFESSION 193 
 
 Salome was silent for a space. She lowered her 
 eyes. 
 
 " Yes," she said, raising her glance as she spoke ; 
 " I suppose that is the name of it. lJut it was for 
 father, and I was sure you would allow me to make 
 up the sum to you." 
 
 " But the sin of it !" 
 
 " Yes," repeated Salome, " of course, there is the 
 sin of it. I knew that, as I said, intellectually ; but I 
 did not care, in my heart, for that. You had plenty 
 of money. I was sure you would not suffer until I 
 could pay you." 
 
 Mrs. Uarrah paused by her couch, where she had 
 dropped her note-book. She snatched it up and wrote 
 in it, as if she must in some way relieve her excite 
 ment. 
 
 She turned to the girl. " But your conscience ? 
 Where is your conscience, Miss Gerry ?" 
 
 " That is what I ask myself," was the reply. " I 
 think I must have left it in New England." 
 
 " You used to have one ?" 
 
 " Oh yes ; and it was a very good one, too, for it 
 was continually troubling me." 
 
 Mrs. Darrah now threw her note-book on the couch, 
 apparently that she might clasp her hands. 
 
 " Oh, if I could only work this out !" she exclaimed. 
 " I would astound the critics." 
 
 Salome looked at her companion wonderingly. 
 
 " Do you mean anything about me ?" she asked. 
 
 " I mean everything about you," was the answer. 
 
 The girl seemed puzzled. She remained silent, 
 watching her employer as she moved about the room. 
 After a while Mrs. Darrah paused in front of Salome. 
 
 " Have you anything more to say ?" she asked. 
 13
 
 TQ4 THE TWO SALOMES 
 
 " I don t know that I have. Yes ; I suppose I 
 ought to tell you that I am sorry." 
 
 " Not unless you are sorry," said the elder woman, 
 who now returned to her couch, and who arranged the 
 cushions there with a great appearance of interest. 
 But she kept up her watch of the girl. 
 
 Salome began to speak slowly, but soon was enun 
 ciating rapidly, as was her habit, as if the words came 
 too fast to be spoken. 
 
 " You remember," she said, " that I said or did I 
 only think it ? that, intellectually, I knew it was 
 wrong. I know that just as well as you can tell me. 
 But then, suddenly, I knew how my father was suffer 
 ing, and I knew he never could pay the money him 
 self ; and there was your check-book ; and I could 
 write your name, and you were rich ; I had not the 
 least feeling that held me back, and I haven t now, 
 and I don t think I ever shall have." 
 
 "The sin of it doesn t trouble you?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 " Even Portia wouldn t have done that," remarked 
 Mrs. Darrah, suddenly. 
 
 Salome made no reply. She was absorbedly en 
 gaged in considering herself as a third person, and in 
 trying to decide what she should think of that third 
 person. But she gave up the attempt without having 
 come to any decision. 
 
 " And Portia would do some strange things for 
 money and what money brings," went on Mrs. Darrah, 
 following out her thought. "For instance, she would 
 legally sell herself to a man whom she dislikes. But, 
 then, she is not peculiar in that." 
 
 Salome, hearing this, could not restrain a gesture 
 of disgust.
 
 CONFESSION 
 
 95 
 
 Mrs. Darrah was watching her. She again wrote 
 in her note-book, the blue one, which contained the 
 hints concerning feminine nature. 
 
 " I see you still retain the fine Daphnean instinct, " 
 she said. " But who can tell how soon you may drop 
 that ?" 
 
 " Oh, Mrs. Darrah !" cried Salome, with keenest re 
 monstrance ; and now she blushed, which was a rare 
 occurrence for her. As she felt the blood rush to her 
 face she thought of Miss Nunally s question, " Why 
 do you never blush?" and the blood came up more 
 hotly than ever as she recalled those words. 
 
 " I hope you will allow me to pay that money," said 
 the girl, after a pause. " It is much more reasonable 
 that I should work and earn money now than that 
 father should have to do it. I am young. And, some 
 how, father never could get money together like some 
 men. I shall be so glad to help him. You will be 
 sure to see that father nor mother never finds this 
 out, won t you, Mrs. Darrah ?" 
 
 This question was put with a confiding earnestness 
 that acted like a sudden clutch upon Mrs. Darrah s 
 well-worn heart. 
 
 She did not reply immediately. When she did 
 speak, it was to put another question. 
 
 " Have you reflected that an act of this kind, that 
 any crime, makes falsehood necessary ?" 
 
 " No that is, I had not thought much about it." 
 
 " Do you care whether you lie or not, Miss 
 Gerry ?" 
 
 " How can I say ? Of course I know it was a lie to 
 put your name to that check." 
 
 " Certainly." 
 
 " Well, I don t care about that ; only I care intense-
 
 196 THE TWO SALOMES 
 
 ly that father and mother should not know it. They 
 would feel so much, you see." 
 
 "Naturally." 
 
 By this time Mrs. Darrah had made her decision 
 concerning the money. She was very wealthy ; still, 
 even wealthy people do not enjoy having a sum stolen 
 from them. But in this woman the author in search 
 of material was very strong, and she was vitally inter 
 ested as to how this would " turn out." She felt that 
 it was better than any novel she had ever read; far 
 better than any she should ever write. Would this 
 prove only one instance of curious moral aberration, 
 or was it the first in the process of moral deterio 
 ration? And all this talk of the girl about her con 
 science ? Of course, her conscience had never been a 
 healthy one. It must have been deeply unhealthy, as 
 were the consciences of some invalids, particularly if 
 they were women who had been brought up with an 
 eye specially to the conscience. 
 
 And what had there been in the history of Salome s 
 immediate ancestors ? And what prenatal influences ? 
 Was Mrs. Darrah about to come upon something that 
 should explain what she called the different faces of 
 the girl ? 
 
 With these thoughts in her mind Mrs. Darrah now 
 spoke : 
 
 " I should like to see your mother." 
 
 Salome became very pale. But she said, steadily, 
 
 " You do not mean to tell her ? 
 
 " No." 
 
 "What shall be the arrangement?" 
 
 " This : I shall allow you to borrow that money. 
 But your mother must know why you seem to receive 
 no salary from me. Tell her the whole story, except
 
 CONFESSION 197 
 
 that you used my name. Show her your father s let 
 ter, for, of course, you have not shown it to her. Tell 
 her I lend you the sum, and you repay me as you can. 
 I will see that the check is not disputed." 
 
 " Oh, how good you are !" cried the girl. 
 
 " Very," was the satirical response. " Don t be 
 grateful." 
 
 " But I feel so grateful, Mrs. Darrah." 
 
 " I suppose so. Now, I want to see your mother. 
 We will not write to-day. Go out there where you 
 live ask your mother to call upon me this afternoon 
 about five. I will send a carriage for her if she 
 cannot walk." 
 
 " She will gladly walk," was the reply. "And I 
 will tell her what you said about the money ?" 
 
 " Yes. Now, good-bye until to-morrow at nine." 
 
 Salome left the room. As she emerged from the 
 hotel she stopped by one of the fountains. A rush of 
 sweet air came from a garden of roses. 
 
 The girl lifted her head and inhaled the perfume. 
 She stood by the fountain and smiled to herself. 
 
 The woman whom she had just left remained on 
 her couch a moment. Then she rose and pressed the 
 button of the bell. She requested the servant to ask 
 Miss Nunally to come to her. 
 
 When she had clone so she said to herself that she 
 felt as if she should go wild if she stayed there alone 
 and thought another moment. 
 
 Portia came in, not in the most perfect good-nature. 
 
 " Do you want anything particularly, Aunt Flor 
 ence ?" she inquired. " I was reading one of your 
 novels." 
 
 " Novels are very insignificant things when com 
 pared to real life," was the rather startling response.
 
 198 THE TWO SALOMES 
 
 "Not your novels, aunt, dear," replied Portia, 
 " and, besides, I was just getting sleepy, and I must 
 restore myself somehow if I am to see Major Root 
 this evening." 
 
 " You are always talking about yourself, Portia," 
 fretfully. 
 
 " No ; but sometimes I do like to speak of a subject 
 of real interest to me. What s the matter, anyway ? 
 And where is Salome Gerry ? You actually look ex 
 cited, Aunt Florence." 
 
 "Do 1? I m thinking about a new novel." 
 
 Portia yawned. 
 
 " I have almost made up my mind not to go on with 
 the novel of sentiment, but to begin one about " 
 
 Portia yawned again. 
 
 "I wish you d stop doing that, Portia. It is very 
 annoying when I am talking. Did you see Miss Ger 
 ry when she left ?" 
 
 " No. Why ?" 
 
 " I was going to ask how she looked." 
 
 " Why, how should she look ?" in surprise. 
 
 "That s what I don t know in the least. That s 
 what I should like to find out," said Mrs. Darrah. 
 
 Portia now showed some interest. 
 
 " Aunt, it is too much for you to write novels. 
 Can t you stop it ?" 
 
 " Stop it ! with material thrust into my hand ?" 
 
 " I know it is asking a great deal ; but you certain 
 ly do give me the idea this morning that novel-writ 
 ing is too much for you." 
 
 Portia gave a scrutinizing gaze about the room. 
 In spite of her yawning, and the sound of her words 
 as they are set down on paper, she did not have the 
 appearance of being impolite, and she rarely did have
 
 CONFESSION 199 
 
 that appearance. She possessed the power, in re 
 markable degree, of being insolent under the garb of 
 politeness. Not that her aunt cared whether she were 
 insolent or not. There was a certain aroma of per 
 sonal presence about Portia Nunally that made one 
 forgive a vast deal in her which would have been un 
 forgivable in another. And when Portia chose to be 
 deferential and winning, when she felt like letting 
 her eyes dwell on you in a way her eyes had, then 
 you could hardly be blamed if you lost your head a 
 little. 
 
 When you came fully to understand that she was 
 conscious of this way her eyes had, then possibly 
 you began to regain your head a little ; but there 
 had been cases when it required a long time 
 for this last desirable consummation to be reached. 
 Men and women alike were her victims. The way 
 she put it, however, was that she was the victim of 
 men and women alike. " On the whole, though," she 
 said once when in a mood of confession, " I like 
 women better. Women know things. You can ab 
 solutely rely upon scores of women to know instantly 
 why you talk one way only for the reason that you 
 feel the opposite. There s a great comfort in that. 
 And then the extreme surprise that comes to a well- 
 regulated, properly brought up young woman when she 
 finds that she is in love with another woman me, for 
 instance. Of course, if she doesn t know it isn t really 
 love, and often she doesn t, there will be plenty to 
 tell her. Sometimes it requires quite a good deal of ar 
 gument to convince her that if she were in love with a 
 man it would be the real thing. For, don t you see, 
 between men and women love for an hour is invari 
 ably love forever ; but in all other cases it is an ephem-
 
 200 THE TWO SALOMES 
 
 eral, spurious, abnormal article. 1 Here Portia s eyes 
 would dilate, and she would laugh in a way that 
 might possibly make her hearer shiver slightly. Or 
 she would not laugh, but would lean towards you 
 and smile right into your eyes, in such a manner that 
 you felt imperatively moved to find out what kind of a 
 girl she was. 
 
 But when a woman is nearly thirty, when she has 
 eyes with a dash of green in them, with thick light 
 lashes, when she is a yellow blonde with very scarlet 
 lips why, then, it is next to impossible for a man or 
 woman to find out, unscathed, what sort of a person 
 she is. One unfortunate result of a study of charac 
 ter under these circumstances is that presently you do 
 not care in the least whether you are scathed or un 
 scathed ; and you are never precisely the same after 
 such a process of education. 
 
 This girl was superlatively sensitive and intuitive. 
 It was not necessary to be that in such a degree for 
 her to perceive that something unusual had happened 
 in this room. The longer she sat there the more 
 interested she became, and the less she felt like 
 yawning. 
 
 She moved uneasily. She noted Mrs. Darrah s 
 rather set face. 
 
 " I feel my hair beginning to rise on my head," she 
 remarked, at last. " I am almost sure there is a spook 
 in this room somewhere." 
 
 " Don t be silly," said her aunt. 
 
 Portia was silent a moment. Then she started in a 
 dramatic manner she had. 
 
 " There is something materializing in Miss Ger 
 ry s chair !" she exclaimed. " Really, Aunt Florence, 
 if you don t tell me why you sent for me, I may go
 
 CONFESSION 201 
 
 into a state of self-imposed hypnotism in spite of 
 myself." 
 
 " I sent for you, Portia, because I have had such a 
 shock that I wanted to divert my mind," was the 
 answer ; " and sometimes you can be very diverting." 
 
 "Oh, thank you. Did Miss Gerry give you mate 
 rial in a very unexpected manner, or did she have 
 hemorrhage of the lungs ?" 
 
 Portia glanced about her as if she might see some 
 token of that hemorrhage. 
 
 " Portia," said Mrs. Darrah, with solemnity, " what 
 is your idea of conscience ?" 
 
 The girl sat upright with a quick movement. 
 
 " Aunt Florence," she answered, " I haven t an idea 
 of conscience." 
 
 She asked, almost immediately, "Have you got into 
 trouble with Miss Gerry s conscience ?" 
 
 " Don t ask irrelevant questions," was the response. 
 " I suppose, Portia, you have an idea that some things 
 you would do, and some things you would not do ?" 
 
 " Certainly ; when you put it in that way, aunt, I 
 find you quite lucid, and I can answer you," replied 
 the girl; "but, first, don t you want your note-book 
 the blue one ?" 
 
 " No, I don t." 
 
 " It is rather irritating that I am never material to 
 you, aunt." 
 
 "I ve known you too long. Now, what would you 
 do and what wouldn t you do ?" 
 
 Portia considered ; at last she answered : 
 
 " The things I would do are so very many that I 
 can t begin to tell. But there are a few things I would 
 not do." 
 
 " Well, what are they ?" with interest.
 
 2O2 THE TWO SALOMES 
 
 "The first that occurs to me is that I would not, 
 for the world, wear my hair in that abominable Greek 
 way which that Stacy girl thinks so fine. And I 
 wouldn t have those ugly gathers in the skirt of my 
 frock not though they were ten times the fashion. 
 If you will give me half an hour in which to collect 
 my thoughts, ma tante, I will tell you more things 
 that I would not do." 
 
 Portia s face was full of mischief ; but it was full of 
 interest also. 
 
 Mrs. Darrah was now gazing coldly and concentrat- 
 edly at her niece, but she was thinking of the face of 
 the other girl who had so lately left her. 
 
 You would steal from a wife her husband s love ?" 
 she questioned. 
 
 "Yes," promptly; "but that kind which could be 
 stolen would not be very precious and it would be 
 quite fun to steal hers," 
 
 " You would steal her purse or her necklace, or 
 forge her name ?" 
 
 " Oh, dear, no, indeed !" Portia did not try to 
 conceal her amazement. Then she endeavored to 
 smile as she once more offered to get the blue note 
 book. She said it seemed to her that it was surely a 
 fitting time for the blue note -book. Then she 
 shrugged her shoulders and remarked that there were 
 occasions when she could wish that she were not the 
 niece of an authoress. After this she inquired if 
 Aunt Florence were rehearsing a plot, or trying on a 
 chapter, and could she assist her in any other way ? 
 Should she put on her new evening dress and pose ? 
 
 "The amount of it all is," exclaimed Mrs. Darrah, 
 without noticing the girl s words, " that we do not in 
 the least know what we are, nor what we would do."
 
 CONFESSION 203 
 
 " Now I agree with you ; now you speak truth," 
 responded Portia ; and she could not help adding, 
 " won t you write a novel about that, Aunt Flor 
 ence ?" 
 
 "I wish you would go away," said Mrs. Darrah; 
 " I want to think." 
 
 Without speaking again Portia obeyed. She strolled 
 out into the court, and she also stood by a fountain 
 amid the luxuriance of Southern shrubbery, as Sa 
 lome had done a half-hour before. But Portia s face 
 was not as care-free as Salome s face had been. 
 There were some lines on it now which, in spite of 
 the great beauty and fairness of its skin, made the 
 girl look more than her years. 
 
 Presently she walked into that portion of the 
 grounds which Miss Gerry would be likely to pass 
 through. She had a wish to meet Miss Gerry and to 
 ask her a few questions. 
 
 But she did not find her ; Salome had not lingered 
 long. She had walked out through the sand in a 
 state of calm and content. She was in haste to see 
 her mother and to explain, as Mrs. Darrah had sug 
 gested. 
 
 It was time now to hear from her father. He 
 would be sure to write as soon as he had received her 
 letter. By to-morrow morning, when the Northern 
 mail came in, she would hear. 
 
 Though she was in haste, yet the girl did not hurry. 
 It was not easy to hurry. She was even sometimes 
 tempted to linger, but she kept on, the air coming 
 balmily to her lips and to her lungs, which expanded 
 now with an unconsidered ease. She had been as 
 ready to forget that she had ever been ill, as we all 
 are ready to do that when health comes back to us.
 
 204 THE TWO SALOMES 
 
 She saw her mother sitting sewing in the doorway 
 with the hound lying at her feet. The door was not 
 yet hung, but was leaning against the wall of the hut. 
 The long leaves of the banana swayed gently near 
 the pine log upon which Mr. Maine was not at this 
 moment resting. 
 
 The hound, hearing the slight sounds of her foot 
 steps in the sand, lifted his head. His face bright 
 ened, and he rose with the solemn deliberation that 
 is characteristic of a hound who is no longer young. 
 He paced slowly towards the girl, who came forward 
 with that lightness which is a part of youth. 
 
 The mother, looking at her, was immediately aware 
 of a joyousness of aspect which differed from the 
 happy expression which had belonged to her daughter 
 for a few weeks now. 
 
 Mrs. Gerry smiled in response to the warm, eager 
 smile on the young face. 
 
 "Well? 1 she said. 
 
 Salome came and took the work from her mother s 
 hands. Then she sat down on her mother s lap and 
 clasped her arms about her neck. She was smiling 
 all the time. 
 
 " Now, at last, I am of some importance," she said. 
 
 " Not until now, then ?" was the questioning re 
 sponse. 
 
 " Of course you and father have loved me, and so 
 I have been of importance that way," replied Sa 
 lome ; " and I have been rather an important burden, 
 haven t I ?" 
 
 "Yes," drawing the slight form closer, "you have." 
 
 " But now I have arranged to help pay off the 
 mortgage. I did not allow you to see father s last 
 letter ; I didn t think it was best. There it is. He
 
 CONFESSION 205 
 
 was in trouble. Mrs. Darrah has lent the money. 
 Father must have it by this time. That horrid Uncle 
 John will get it all right ; and I m going to pay it. 
 You see, I m working. Work is a great thing. But 
 I won t bother you ; read the letter in peace." For 
 Mrs. Gerry had seized the envelope eagerly. 
 
 " Lyman in trouble !" she said, in a whisper. 
 
 Her eyes ran over the lines. Her hand trembled 
 a little, but she steadied it. 
 
 When at last she looked up she could not see her 
 daughter, who still sat on her lap, save in a misty and 
 magnified fashion. 
 
 " It s a great deal better to owe Mrs. Darrah than 
 to owe Uncle John, isn t it ? quickly asked Salome. 
 
 " Yes ; that is, I can t tell. I must think," was the 
 answer. 
 
 " Oh yes, it is. And it gives me such a chance." 
 
 Mrs. Gerry wiped her eyes. Then she fixed them 
 on the girl. 
 
 " This letter is more than a week old. And Lyman 
 had to have the money directly," she said. " When 
 did you arrange this ?" 
 
 " Oh, immediately ! Almost the moment I read it." 
 
 Mrs. Gerry, even in her surprise and anxiety, could 
 not restrain an expression of something like admi 
 ration. 
 
 "I did not know you were such a business woman," 
 she said. 
 
 " But something had to be done. And did you 
 think I would not be a business woman, or something 
 worse, so that I might help father ? You see it has 
 all come out right, hasn t it ? We would rather owe 
 Mrs. Darrah than Uncle John ; and it won t seem so 
 very long before I can pay it off."
 
 206 THE TWO SALOMES 
 
 Salome s face was radiant. She flung herself again 
 upon her mother s neck. 
 
 " Now don t say a single prudent thing to me. 
 Just be glad it is arranged. I am responsible for this. 
 It s the first really responsible thing I ever did, isn t 
 it ? I don t think you quite realize that I am grown 
 up, and that I am an individual." 
 
 " I think I shall realize it after this. I must go and 
 see Mrs. Darrah." 
 
 "Yes, but not now," as Mrs. Gerry made a move 
 ment to rise. " You are to go at five this afternoon. 
 She sent for you." 
 
 And at precisely five Mrs. Gerry was shown into 
 Mrs. Darrah s sitting-room. She found that lady 
 alone, and she was greeted by the following remark : 
 
 " Sit down, please. I am going to ask you a great 
 many questions. I am laying out a new novel." 
 
 This was so very much different from what she had 
 expected to hear that Mrs. Gerry was not able to say 
 anything at first in response. She sat down in silence. 
 
 " Yes," said Mrs. Darrah, " I am planning a new 
 novel. I shall drop my story of sentiment for the 
 present, or I may possibly work the two together." 
 
 "And what is the new one to be?" 
 
 Mrs. Gerry found it an effort to put this question. 
 Could it be possible that she had been sent for to 
 listen to this kind of talk? 
 
 She did not quite know what to decide concerning 
 the woman before her. But she knew that she her 
 self must say a few things. She began instantly : 
 
 " My daughter says you have been so kind as to 
 
 " Yes, certainly. I ve lent her eight hundred dol 
 lars," interrupted Mrs. Darrah ; " she will work it out 
 or part of it."
 
 CONFESSION 207 
 
 " My husband and I will give our note for the 
 amount," said Mrs. Gerry, with firmness, " and we will 
 have the mortgage transferred to you. Then, in any 
 event, you will not lose. It will be a great relief to 
 us. I must say that my daughter should not have 
 done this without consulting with her parents." 
 
 " Done what ?" with a sharp look. 
 
 " Borrowed this money. I will attend to the mort 
 gage." 
 
 "Very well, as you please. I have not the slightest 
 doubt of your honesty." 
 
 " Thank you," stiffly. 
 
 " But I want to ask you some questions, Mrs. Gerry. 
 Let us call it part of the bargain, if you please, that I 
 ask you some questions. Shall we ?" 
 
 " I see no objections ; though I can t imagine what 
 you will want to know. And, of course, I must use 
 my own judgment about answering." 
 
 " Of course," was the response ; " and I can see 
 your judgment is excellent. But I am the most 
 harmless creature in the world, Mrs. Gerry. Still, I 
 have my hobbies. Let me get my note-books. I 
 may need both the green and the blue one. I am 
 immensely interested in your daughter. I want to 
 make some inquiries about your father and mother, 
 and about your husband s father and mother. I may 
 even go so far back as another generation. Now, 
 please don t think me demented, will you ? No, you 
 won t. Thank you so much for that. Were Miss 
 (Jerry s parents and grandparents and great -grand 
 parents all New England people ? That s a very 
 general question to begin with, isn t it ?"
 
 XII 
 
 THE MOTHER 
 
 WHEN Mrs. Gerry heard these interrogations she 
 did not reply immediately, and her face changed in 
 describably. She glanced at her companion, and met 
 Mrs. Darrah s eyes fixed upon her. Had those eyes 
 been merely probing and inquisitive she could have 
 braced herself coldly, and have put on an armor 
 which might have essentially aided her in this inter 
 view. But unexpectedly she encountered an expres 
 sion of sympathy and gentleness, and the mother s 
 whole attitude changed from that of defence to some 
 thing quite different. As for Mrs. Darrah, she could 
 not explain to herself why this woman s strong, con 
 trolled face should so modify what she might have 
 called her professional curiosity into something hu 
 man, something which had little to do with the novel 
 which was forming itself in her mind, though she still 
 felt indefinitely that she might probably come upon 
 some rather rich " material :" 
 
 As the silence continued, Mrs. Darrah said, in a 
 voice not much above a murmur: 
 
 " I am always so deeply interested in grandparents. 
 Once in a while a person runs upon such strange 
 things in grandparents." 
 
 Mrs. Gerry did not speak. That she was thinking 
 deeply and painfully was apparent. When she had
 
 THE MOTHER 209 
 
 met that look of sympathy from her hostess the New 
 England woman felt it a distinct relief to cease from 
 holding herself in such a stiff mental attitude. 
 
 It seemed to her that she was aware of a reaction 
 from the alertness and the care that she had con 
 stantly exercised since she had left her home with 
 her daughter. And, curiously, at the same time also 
 she was conscious that she feared the approach of 
 some new and as yet entirely unformed care. She 
 was not in the least given to vagaries or supersti 
 tions, however. She could have smiled at herself that 
 Mrs. Darrah s sympathy should so quickly seem to 
 weaken her. 
 
 She sat upright in her chair, in strong contrast to 
 the lounging figure opposite her. 
 
 " Before I reply to you, Mrs. Darrah," she said, " I 
 want you to tell me what has suggested such ques 
 tions to you." 
 
 " Why, your daughter, of course ; who else ?" was 
 the prompt response. " Don t you know that she is 
 not a usual kind of a girl ?" 
 
 Mrs. Gerry could not help an uneasy movement. 
 
 " I see that you don t like that," went on Mrs. 
 Darrah. " Like all upright, conventional natures, you 
 distrust the unusual/ 
 
 " Yes, I do !" emphatically. 
 
 "And yet," reflectively, "it is to the being out of 
 the ordinary that the world owes its greatest debts." 
 
 No response to this remark. Mrs. Darrah opened 
 one of her note-books, saying, as she did so, 
 
 " But we are straying from the subject of grand 
 parents." 
 
 " They were not all New England people," said 
 Mrs. Gerry, with abrupt precision. "There was one
 
 210 THE TWO SALOMES 
 
 exception. That was my grandfather, my mother s 
 father. Of the rest there is absolutely nothing to 
 say, for they were the common country folks in one 
 of our villages up home." 
 
 Mrs. Gerry pressed her hands together quietly but 
 closely upon her lap. 
 
 Mrs. Darrah took a position removed from her 
 cushions. Her eyes sparkled with interest. But 
 there was a marked expression of kindness upon her 
 face. 
 
 " Please don t think me hard and disagreeable," 
 she said ; " but you can t imagine how interesting this 
 is. I quite reckoned upon the unusual one in your 
 daughter s ancestry. Miss Gerry is so contradic 
 tory." 
 
 Mrs. Gerry s hands griped each other more closely 
 than before. 
 
 " Have you noticed it, too ?" she asked. " Then it 
 certainly must be true. I have continually told my 
 self that it was my fancy. What do you think it is, 
 Mrs. Darrah ? Perhaps it will be a relief to talk to 
 you. Has Salome said anything very strange ? Oh, 
 tell me what is in your mind ! The child has such a 
 such an expression sometimes comes to her face. 
 I can t describe it." 
 
 "Try to describe it," said Mrs. Darrah, eagerly. 
 
 A sombre kind of smile passed over Mrs. Gerry s 
 lips as she met her companion s glance. But she felt 
 that it was safe to go on. The genuineness in the 
 writer s character had decidedly risen to the surface 
 to meet the same quality in this woman. Besides, it 
 was not until this moment that Mrs. Gerry had what 
 she would have called a "realizing sense " of the 
 strain and the anxiety in every way which had been
 
 THE MOTHER 211 
 
 upon her since she had left her home. Almost the 
 only human beings with whom she could speak, save 
 Salome, were Job Maine and his wife. And she did 
 not write of any anxieties to her husband. She had 
 never put any burdens on him which she could bear 
 alone. Though she had not really spoken it in words 
 to herself, yet none the less she had all her married 
 life acted upon the knowledge that she must bear 
 trials by herself all that she could ; that she was bet 
 ter fitted to bear trials than Lyman was. And now as 
 she sat in this richly appointed room, and was dimly 
 conscious of the approach of a trouble in some 
 strange new guise, with a thrill of faithful and pro 
 tecting love she thought : 
 
 " I must keep it from Lyman ; I must bear it my 
 self." 
 
 " Tell me about it," repeated Mrs. Darrah. " I 
 know I make novels, and I like to get odd facts ; but, 
 Mrs. Gerry, I do believe it will do you good to talk 
 freely with me." 
 
 " I believe it will," said Mrs. Gerry. 
 
 She drew a long breath. She was thinking that 
 she had not known she was so tired. And then she 
 had a vivid sensation of thankfulness that her 
 daughter was better. Whatever happened, Salome 
 was better. At this she grew more cheerful. 
 
 " It s all done with long ago," she said, " and it s 
 only because you have been kind that I m willing to 
 tell you. My mother s father was not an American ; 
 he was what we used to call an outlandish man. 
 He was born in Martinique, but his parents were 
 Spanish. I saw him only a few times ; he died when 
 I was a child. I remember well his large eyes and 
 his curious, dark skin. My mother was the only
 
 212 THE TWO SALOMES 
 
 child, and she did not resemble him in the least 
 everybody said so she was clear Ware, like her 
 mother. She was a real Puritan girl. Salome used 
 to look just like her grandmother, and she had that 
 kind of a conscience that is always fretting and won 
 dering, and making the owner of it afraid that he or 
 she doesn t do just right. That was my mother. 
 Salome has her features now. But somehow she 
 doesn t look like her any more. I don t quite under 
 stand it. But then, perhaps, Mrs. Darrah, it is not 
 necessary that we should understand everything." 
 
 Mrs. Gerry paused. She smiled rather sorrowfully 
 and wistfully. She was wondering if this woman, 
 who must be wise, since she wrote books which were 
 printed, could not say something to help her. 
 
 When Salome had had what the doctors called in 
 cipient phthisis, her mother had not felt nearly so 
 helpless as she did now when there seemed to be 
 nothing the matter with the girl, and she was happy. 
 
 "Whether it be necessary or not, we can t under 
 stand everything," responded Mrs. Darrah, quickly. 
 " But we can try. What kind of a person was this 
 Martinique gentleman ?" 
 
 " I don t think he was a gentleman at all," was the 
 answer ; " at least, he was not what I call a gentle 
 man. I think of him now as I thought of him as I 
 used to see him when I was a little thing. I loved 
 him with a kind of ardent fondness, though he was a 
 withered old man ; that is, he seemed very old to 
 me. I could have believed he was a hundred any 
 age. I used to plead to sit on his knee. I would 
 stare into his eyes, which were so soft and so dark. 
 They were as different from any eyes I knew any 
 thing about as if they were not human eyes. He was
 
 THE MOTHER 213 
 
 only an animal. But no " Mrs. Gerry paused here 
 so long that she apparently forgot that she had been 
 talking, and .that some one was listening. But Mrs. 
 Darrah was patient. She sat with a note-book in her 
 lap and a pencil in her hand. But she had at this 
 moment no thought of writing. 
 
 The warm air blew in through the open windows 
 and stirred the drapery of the room. Somewhere in 
 the court a woman was singing something of which 
 only the piercing high note was audible. More and 
 more Mrs. Gerry felt that it was a relief to her to 
 speak. It often happens that to a stranger one may 
 unseal what to one s kin would remain forever closed. 
 
 " How strange children are !" she now suddenly 
 exclaimed. " I remember one day the minister called. 
 I was a small thing in a long tire to cover my new 
 pink calico frock. I was picking over blackberries, 
 and was sitting on a stool in the kitchen with a dish 
 on each side of me, one for the good berries and one 
 for the poor. It was hot, so hot that the perspiration 
 kept gathering on my face, and I kept putting up the 
 back of my hand to wipe it off. We were going to 
 have bread and milk for supper, for mother said she 
 would not make a fire for fear there would be a 
 thunder tempest. There were thunder-heads rolling 
 up all the time in the west. 
 
 "Grandfather was lying on the grass. He was per 
 fectly happy. He said it was an awful climate, and 
 it was only on such days as these that he thought it 
 was warm enough. He would lie in the sun for hours 
 and hours. If I came near him he would fondle me. 
 I used to know even then that he did not always tell 
 the truth. I had discovered that about him. I hardly 
 knew what to think of it. You know, Mrs. Darrah,
 
 214 THE TWO SALOMES 
 
 that to the old-fashioned, average child such as I was, 
 to tell the bald truth was as necessary to life as it 
 was to breathe." , 
 
 Mrs. Gerry looked at her companion, who nodded 
 quickly. 
 
 " My mother was like an incarnation of truth," 
 went on Mrs. Gerry. " I told you she was a real Ware. 
 And she was conscientious to a painful degree. But 
 she loved her father, I really think, better than any 
 thing else in the world. And he was so lovable 
 so lovable. Everybody, everything loved him, Mrs. 
 Darrah. But you couldn t trust him ; he had no 
 principle ; he wasn t upright. And he was so kind ; 
 his heart was so gentle ; he had such a way with him ; 
 and he loved so, Mrs. Darrah " here Mrs. Gerry 
 suddenly left her chair and stood upright. But she 
 made no gesture. Her eyes burned in her controlled 
 face. " How do you account for such things ?" 
 
 " My dear Mrs. Gerry," was the response, " we 
 don t account for them." 
 
 "But we ought we ought," replied the other. 
 " You know it isn t right to love a man or woman of 
 that kind." 
 
 " They talk about loving the sinner but hating the 
 sin," remarked Mrs. Darrah, with an incredulous smile. 
 
 "I know that. But we can t do it. We can t do 
 it. The minister spoke about that on that afternoon. 
 He spoke in the most general way, as ministers often 
 do. But he liked my grandfather ; I really think he 
 loved him. I know he broke down and cried, and 
 couldn t go on with his remarks when he tried to at 
 tend grandfather s funeral." 
 
 Here Mrs. Gerry ceased speaking and resumed her 
 seat.
 
 THE MOTHER 215 
 
 Mrs. Darrah quoted in a half whisper those lines : 
 
 " There s many a purer and many a better, 
 But more loved, oh, how few, love ! " 
 
 " It is really astonishing and depressing that we 
 should be able to explain so little," she went on. " It 
 isn t goodness ; in short, we have no more idea now 
 what makes a person inspire so much love than they 
 had in pre-Adamite days, when I imagine they never 
 asked, and never cared. I wish we did not ask and 
 did not care since there is no answer absolutely no 
 answer." 
 
 The woman spoke with an intensity of emphasis 
 that showed that she was thinking of something in 
 her own past. 
 
 After a moment she glanced at Mrs. Gerry, who 
 was sitting with one hand over her eyes. 
 
 " I suppose your grandmother loved that man ?" 
 she said. 
 
 Mrs. Gerry looked up. 
 
 "Yes, yes. You can imagine. And, Mrs. Uarrah, 
 it must be a horrible, horrible thing to love what we 
 don t approve. But she loved him from the first. 
 We never knew how he happened to stray into our 
 village. It was hay-making time. They were short 
 of hands. This fellow came walking along one hot 
 day with a violin under his arm. He said he would 
 like to work. They took him, just for the hay-mak 
 ing. I don t think he would have stayed any longer, 
 only he saw her, you know. She was a fair, prim 
 little thing, with blue eyes and ash -colored hair. 
 They say he was wild with love for her. And she ? 
 No one could reason with her in the least from the
 
 2l6 THE TWO SALOMES 
 
 very first. She had a will. She said she should run 
 away and marry him if they opposed her. They knew 
 she would do it ; so they gave up opposition. And 
 he won upon them all, too. But how could they ap 
 prove of him ? And they never knew anything about 
 him what he was, or where he came from only 
 what he told ; and he did not always tell precisely the 
 same stories. And how he would play on the fiddle ! 
 Strange tunes that made your heart beat and melt, 
 and that took your breath away from you." 
 
 Mrs. Gerry paused again. She spoke in a kind of 
 spasmodic way as the memories came to her. 
 
 " Oh, how you interest me !" murmured Mrs. 
 Darrah. 
 
 But Mrs. Gerry did not appear to hear her. Her 
 mind was in the past. 
 
 " How did it come out ?" inquired Mrs. Darrah. 
 
 " Come out ? Oh, she married him. But how was 
 she going to live with a love so at odds with her 
 nature and her upbringing ? She could not stop lov 
 ing him, and she could not approve of him. When 
 my mother was born she gave up the fight and died 
 and she died in her husband s arms. And she died 
 telling him that no woman ever loved a man as she 
 loved him." 
 
 " But he lived he lived," said Mrs. Darrah, bitterly. 
 " Yes ; life wasn t over for him." 
 
 " They thought it was over for a long time. But, 
 as you say, he lived. And he loved his little daughter 
 in a way that made some of the people wonder. He 
 was still a young man. You .might have thought he 
 would have grown to have other interests. But he 
 never looked at another woman. He came to be one 
 of the regular objects of the village, he and his child,
 
 THE MOTHER 217 
 
 for he always had her with him. She grew up just 
 like her mother. She never told a lie, or prevari 
 cated. But she knew that he did both ; he couldn t 
 be trusted. I m sure he would have stolen, or forged, 
 or embezzled, only he was indolent ; he embarked in 
 no schemes, and his wife s father let him and his child 
 live with his family. All summer he basked out-of- 
 doors. He said we didn t know how to live. It was 
 life to let the sun soak through and through you, and 
 not to care so about right and wrong. Things would 
 take care of themselves. 
 
 " How many times I have heard him say, with his 
 sweet smile : Things will take care of themselves. 
 I didn t know what he meant then. I know well 
 enough now." 
 
 Mrs. Gerry came to another pause. 
 
 She turned to the woman opposite her. The reti 
 cent, solitary mother seemed impelled to speak out. 
 
 " Can you imagine how I have watched my daugh 
 ter ? she exclaimed. " And, more than that, how I 
 have tried to conceal that I watched her ? Not even 
 my husband has ever suspected that I did so, and I 
 would hardly acknowledge it to myself. 
 
 " But she was always such a good child ! I thought 
 she was too conscientious. I almost distrusted that 
 part of her as morbid. She was morbid. She was 
 never a strong child. She seems well now, really 
 well. You can have no idea how I used to watch 
 her. When I grew older I understood what the min 
 ister said that hot clay to my mother. He said some 
 thing about heredity. I wondered what that word 
 meant. And he hoped that only the gentle traits 
 would be transmitted. My mother almost groaned as 
 she replied that she hoped so ; that it would kill
 
 2l8 THE TWO SALOMES 
 
 her, it would kill my father, if any child of his should 
 inherit there I lost what she said. I know well 
 enough now what it was. And I know that I did 
 not inherit. 
 
 " Sometimes, in the midst of that sickly kind of 
 regard for conscience, Salome would say a word or 
 two that would make a shudder go over me. That 
 word or two made me fear that her conscience was 
 morbidly, not healthily, alive. But she is such a good 
 girl ! and she has such a tender heart! And she is so 
 well now and so happy ! 
 
 " Mrs. Darrah, I insist upon your telling me why you 
 wanted to ask me these questions about grandpar 
 ents." Here the speaker smiled slightly. " What has 
 the child been saying ?" 
 
 Mrs. Gerry s face was set in a determination to be 
 answered. 
 
 Mrs. Darrah took up a note-book and began turning 
 its leaves. The simply bred countrywoman would be 
 no match for the woman of the world in any demand 
 like that. 
 
 " Well," replied the other, easily, " she hasn t said 
 much. A few things about the folly of being in a 
 state of resistance all the time things which my 
 niece might have proclaimed a dozen times and I 
 should hardly have listened. But you are aware that 
 Miss Gerry is a different person from my niece. She 
 is excessively interesting, as all contradictory natures 
 are. And her face really, if I were a young man I 
 should be in love with her ; and, being in love, I 
 should be driven into a score of desperate moods every 
 twenty-four hours, because her face would tell me 
 good heavens ! what wouldn t her face tell me ?" 
 
 Mrs. Darrah ended in a voice of undisguised en-
 
 THE MOTHER 2 19 
 
 thusi asm. But the mother s features grew almost 
 rigid. 
 
 " Is that the way she affects you ?" she asked. 
 
 " That is the way she affects me," was the answer. 
 
 " And I have always distrusted everything that was 
 not easily read," responded the other. " I distrust 
 such things now." And silently Mrs. Gerry cried out : 
 " Oh, what is best for my child ?" 
 
 Perhaps Mrs. Darrah had never been more deeply 
 moved to pity than by this woman, who would never 
 have asked for pity from any one; this woman who 
 had always been the one upon whom people leaned, 
 who helped people. 
 
 If the mother knew what her daughter had done 
 worse than that, if the mother knew the serenity of 
 her daughter s mind concerning what she had done ; 
 these were the words which were going through Mrs. 
 Darrah s consciousness as she looked up at the figure 
 before her. 
 
 The trained observation of the author took in every 
 detail of that figure, which, in its unadorned outline, 
 was like a visible symbol of absolute, transparent in 
 tegrity. 
 
 " She would grieve to death," was Mrs. Darrah s 
 conclusion; and in her thought she added: " If it were 
 twenty times the sum I would shield the child." 
 
 Aloud she said, in answer to the mother s remark : 
 
 "There s where we make a mistake in distrusting 
 what we don t understand. If people couldn t under 
 stand us, we would not wish to be condemned, per 
 haps, by reason of their stupidity." 
 
 Mrs. Gerry looked relieved. 
 
 "That is true ; that is Christian," she said. 
 
 " Certainly it is," lightly ; " and now it strikes me
 
 220 THE TWO SALOMES 
 
 that we are two old wiseacres who are doubting the 
 ways of Providence. Let us talk of something cheerful 
 love, for instance. That beautiful youth whom they 
 called Antinous he has been discriminating enough 
 to fall in love with your daughter instead of with my 
 niece. Tell me about it. It is quite appropriate. Of 
 course she loves him ?" 
 
 "Yes." As Mrs. Gerry replied her face lightened, 
 as faces were likely to do when their owners thought 
 of young Moore. 
 
 " Now that is pleasant to think of ; therefore let us 
 think of it." 
 
 But Mrs. Gerry made no response. She could not 
 keep her mind upon Moore. 
 
 She turned and picked up the black straw bonnet 
 with its black ribbon bow upon it. She held it 
 thoughtfully in her hands a moment, her worn, anx 
 ious face softening. She looked up. Then she ad 
 vanced and held out her hand, which Mrs. Darrah 
 took and cordially retained. 
 
 " It s curious how I have talked to you," Mrs. 
 Gerry said, after a short silence, during which the two 
 women gazed at each other. " I don t think I ve 
 talked so to anybody else in the world. Any of my 
 folks would have been frightened. They d have thought 
 Salome was why, some kind of a criminal, I suppose. 
 But you you haven t been shocked. You have done 
 me a great deal of good." 
 
 There came a very lovely light into the woman s 
 eyes as she went on : 
 
 " I didn t know before how how good it might be 
 to speak out so. I never do speak out. It isn t my 
 way. I can t seem to do it. But it does relieve one, 
 doesn t it ? if it is to the right person."
 
 THE MOTHER 221 
 
 There was a naivete in the woman s voice and man 
 ner which appealed to her hostess, and made her 
 grasp the hard, brown hand still more closely as she 
 rose from among her cushions. 
 
 " You self-contained creatures," she said, " always 
 take life in such a hard way. You lock things up in 
 your own souls. Now my advice to you is : never have 
 a thing locked up in your own soul. Tell everything. 
 Talk of everything. You have no idea what an airy, 
 light, care-free kind of a sensation will be yours. It s 
 like letting breeze and sunlight into a close room. Try 
 it, you close, reticent, Yankee woman." 
 
 Mrs. Gerry smiled. 
 
 " I have tried it, and I am better already," she 
 said. 
 
 " And don t worry because your daughter is a mixed 
 creature a Yankee and a heat - loving Creole, and 
 what not. She must live out her life, as we must live 
 ours. If ours goes in a straight line well, how much 
 thanks to us for that ?" 
 
 " But I want Salome to be good !" cried her mother, 
 out of a full heart. 
 
 " And happy," supplemented the other. 
 
 " And happy," repeated Mrs. Gerry. " And now I 
 must go. How strangely I .have talked to you," she 
 repeated. " Good-bye." 
 
 "Good-bye, and be sure you don t try to understand 
 everything." 
 
 " I shall be sure I can t understand, anyway, try or 
 not." And Mrs. Gerry walked away from the hotel, be 
 ginning her journey back to the truck farm without 
 even glancing out across the water, or at the old fort, 
 or up at the sky, which was now bending at its very 
 loveliest over the old city.
 
 222 THE TWO SALOMES 
 
 She trudged along, her parasol held at exactly the 
 right angle, her face straight forward, and gradually 
 growing red with the heat. 
 
 Half-way through the palmetto she saw some one 
 sitting at the root of a pine with head thrown back, 
 hat off, and rings of hair blowing about her forehead. 
 It was Salome. She did not rise as she saw her 
 mother; she smiled and waved her hand. And when 
 her mother had come still nearer, she reached forward 
 and grasped a fold of her skirt, saying : 
 
 " Sit down here with me. You look so tired, and I 
 am so rested ; come. There, that is right. Now you 
 are obeying me as you ought. Put your head on my 
 shoulder for a moment. You are always resting me 
 some way; now let us turn about." 
 
 Yielding to the gently compelling gesture, Mrs. 
 Gerry leaned her head on the girl s shoulder, and the 
 girl looked down at her with a smile that was so in 
 tensely happy that it almost alarmed the woman who 
 saw it, for she felt that, as she would have phrased it, 
 "it was not natural to be so happy as that." 
 
 "I thought it was time for you," said Salome, speak 
 ing in a kind of murmur. " I ve been sitting here a 
 long time ; not that it seemed long, you know. I m 
 not sure that I should ever want to leave here. Don t 
 you think, mother, that there is any kind of animal 
 that lives entirely on Southern air and Southern sun 
 shine ?" 
 
 " I never heard of such a creature," was the reply. 
 
 " But there must be, don t you think ?" went on the 
 girl. "And that s what I should be if the talk about 
 reincarnation were true and I could have my choice. 
 When I die I should like to come back as some live 
 thing that could always be in tropical sunlight ; could
 
 THE MOTHER 223 
 
 always hear the hot wind in the tops of trees and the 
 warm ocean coming against heated sands." 
 
 Salome s eyes met her mother s as she ceased speak 
 ing. Mrs. Gerry had raised her head. She was star 
 tled and terrified at the look of languor and of fire in 
 the child s glance. And then she asked herself why 
 she should be terrified ? Was it abnormal that the 
 young, susceptible nature should be so moved by its 
 environment, by the flow of renewed life ? 
 
 Solome threw her arm over her mother s neck. 
 
 " Don t look so frightened," she said ; " I don t be 
 lieve in reincarnation. I m perfectly orthodox, I sup 
 pose. But really, mother, shouldn t you think a tiger, 
 for instance, burning bright, would be very happy ?" 
 
 " No, I shouldn t !" with great decision. 
 
 Salome laughed gently. She kissed her mother s 
 cheek. 
 
 " Oh, what a Northern woman you are !" she ex 
 claimed. And then, after a pause, "But I shall never 
 be a Northern woman again." 
 
 " What do you mean ?" sharply. 
 
 " I mean that I would not live North ; I couldn t," 
 shuddering. " Do you think I would go back there 
 after having been under such a sky as this ? Look up 
 into the heavens, mother. Oh, life is worth living here. 
 Only I m afraid I shall love life too well. Do you 
 think I shall ? Tell me, do you think I shall ?" 
 
 " It is natural and proper to love life," Mrs. Gerry 
 replied, somewhat primly. She felt that her child was 
 getting away from her in some way. She wanted to 
 reach out frantically after her, but she could not. 
 
 "Natural and proper!" repeated the girl. "I begin 
 to think that I am unnatural and improper. But I 
 can t be really wrong, since you are my mother," with
 
 224 TIIE Two SALOMES 
 
 another caress. "Only, you see, I can t even imagine 
 that I could live North again. I did not live there ; 
 I hated it." 
 
 " But in the summer," began Mrs. Gerry " think 
 how it would be here in the summer." 
 
 " Yes ; I have thought," replied the girl. " It 
 would be hot hot. It would be delightful. And I 
 suppose I should never cough again. I should always 
 be as well as I am now. I was never well before in 
 my life. I was only a little more comfortable, or 
 not quite so comfortable. You and father will have 
 to move down here. Father might have an orange 
 grove on the Indian River, or he might learn of Mr. 
 Maine how to raise truck." 
 
 Salome laughed again at this last thought, and her 
 mother smiled faintly. 
 
 "And what about Mr. Moore?" asked the elder 
 woman. " Have you told him ?" 
 
 " Not yet. But I shall tell him. He must arrange 
 some way. I ve been thinking that we must all live 
 on the Gulf coast. They say it is cold here some 
 times, after Christmas. And I will never, never en 
 dure the cold again. It is like death to be cold." 
 
 Salome was now leaning back against the tree. 
 The two did not speak for a long time. Mrs. Gerry was 
 trying to rest, and at the same time she was trying to 
 cast out of her mind the formless fears which invaded 
 it. She was continually telling herself that she need 
 not be anxious about the fancies of an imaginative 
 girl. But the fact which griped her hard and relent 
 lessly was the fact that she herself had never been in 
 the least as Salome was now. She had never had 
 that nature ; she could not understand it ; she had to 
 own, with a sick feeling which was worst of all, that
 
 THE MOTHER 225 
 
 she was repelled by it. However sympathetic we 
 may be, what we have not felt, what we cannot feel, 
 remains forever beyond the pale of our sympathy; 
 beyond our judgment. And then love becomes a 
 torture. It was a torture at this moment to Mrs. 
 Gerry. She could not understand ; but her love for 
 her child was so keen and so strong that it seemed 
 to her that God would not be so cruel as not to give 
 her understanding of her daughter s heart. She felt 
 as if she were thrust out, not by Salome s will, but by 
 a bitter and inexorable something for which no one 
 was responsible. 
 
 These events, these combinations for which no one 
 is responsible, how unbearable they seem sometimes ! 
 
 After a few moments Mrs. Gerry began to tell how 
 kind Mrs. Darrah had been, and how relieved they 
 would all be that Uncle John could be paid. 
 
 Salome, with her head against the tree, watched her 
 mother with interest. She was thinking all the time 
 of the check she had signed, and she was telling her 
 self that she was perfectly positive that it was wrong 
 for her to have done that. Yes, she knew it was 
 wrong ; but she wondered why she did not feel that it 
 was an evil thing to do. She had no feeling whatever 
 in that direction. But she knew. She knew how the 
 wind blew over the snow-banks at home in midwinter ; 
 but she did not feel it, and she meant never again to 
 feel it. What was the use ?" 
 
 An impulse to explain to her mother came to her. 
 It was difficult to think that Mrs. Gerry could feel 
 differently from what she herself felt. 
 
 "Of course I shall tell her some time," she thought. 
 " But I will wait. She will be grieved ; and why 
 should I grieve her ? But how lovely everything has 
 15
 
 226 THE TWO SALOMES 
 
 come out ! If I had waited I might not have been in 
 time with that money. I wonder what Portia would 
 say to what I have done ? Portia is not so particular 
 about her conscience as mother is, or as mother used 
 to teach me to be. I must tell Portia." 
 
 The day was already ended when the two women 
 left their place by the tree. The sun had gone down 
 in a red sky ; the flat stretch of country lay in a warm 
 calm under the rapidly growing moonlight. The 
 birds were flying in the long, blue spaces towards the 
 west. The frogs were croaking. 
 
 The two walked on hand in hand. 
 
 "There is only one thing about living here," Salome 
 was saying " one thing which is not so pleasant, I 
 mean." 
 
 She swung her mothers hand back and forth as 
 she spoke. She was smiling, but her eyes were 
 slightly anxious. 
 
 "Two things, I should say," responded Mrs. Gerry, 
 who had now fully resumed her cheerfulness ; " and 
 they are Mr. Job Maine and Mrs. Job Maine." 
 
 " But they are one," was the retort, " don t you 
 know. And she married him for love. I don t mean 
 them ; I mean the crows, mother." 
 
 Mrs. Gerry turned and looked full in the girl s face. 
 
 " The crows ?" 
 
 " Yes ; they will sometimes fly over my head, and 
 between me and the lovely blue sky. I wish they 
 wouldn t."
 
 XIII 
 
 AN ENGAGEMENT 
 
 MRS. GERRY was conscious of a very helpless feel 
 ing when she heard her daughter make that remark 
 about the crows. She replied that she supposed that 
 the crows must fly somewhere. 
 
 " Oh yes, mother," said Salome, earnestly ; " but 
 not between me and the sunlight, and when I am 
 with " she hesitated ; then she went on, "when I am 
 with Randolph Moore." 
 
 Having said this, Salome lapsed into silence. 
 
 The wind seemed to be rising from the east. The 
 waves began to pound on the farther side of Anastasia. 
 The light from the large moon made the sand glisten 
 sharply. The stiff spikes of a Spanish bayonet-tree 
 shone with a hostile aspect. But the air was sweet 
 with an intoxicating mingling of odors. 
 
 Mrs. Gerry was becoming more and more de 
 pressed. 
 
 Suddenly from the direction of the truck farm 
 which they were now approaching they heard the 
 drawling, nasal tones of their landlord : 
 
 " I ve ben aimin to hang that thur do for some 
 weeks now," Mr. Maine said, " but I m so kinder 
 crowded with work, n my wife she s continually 
 needin wood cut, or sumpthin . A man can t com- 
 plish nothin , if he has er wife. Women ain t no
 
 228 THE TWO SALOMES 
 
 consideration. Course, you c n hang them do 1 if you 
 want er. I sha n t put nothin in thur way of yer 
 hangin them do 1 . I ain t thur man to put nothin in 
 no other man s way, I ain t." 
 
 " All right," responded a clear, energetic voice. 
 "Then I ll do it. I ve been aiming to hang it, too. 
 Only I never could think of the confounded screws 
 and things. But I ve got them this time. Come, 
 Maine, hold up the door, can t you, while I measure 
 about these hinges ?" 
 
 The two women had paused involuntarily at sound 
 of that voice, for both recognized it as belonging to 
 Moore. 
 
 Salome s grasp tightened on her mother s hand. 
 Into the girl s eyes there sprang a new light 
 
 " It is Mr. Moore," said Mrs. Gerry s calm tones. 
 " So he has come back." 
 
 The elder woman walked forward, but Salome 
 lingered for a moment under the banana shrub. She 
 saw Moore drop his tools and turn eagerly. She saw 
 that, while he greeted her mother, his glance sprang 
 to her. 
 
 She came forward demurely now, and held out her 
 hand. 
 
 She said she hoped he had had a successful trip. 
 Had he sold many goods ? 
 
 Moore held her hand. She repeated her question 
 about the goods. 
 
 " I don t know," he answered. "I believe so ; that 
 is, I forget. I m sure I don t care." 
 
 Salome tried to withdraw her hand, but could not. 
 
 " Not care ?" she exclaimed ; " aren t you afraid 
 that those people who employ you will turn you off ?" 
 
 "No ; I am only afraid that you are not sufficiently
 
 AN ENGAGEMENT 229 
 
 glad to see me. I have been gone for months 
 years." 
 
 " You have been gone five days and about three- 
 quarters of a day." 
 
 "Then the time lias seemed as short as that to 
 you ?" in a melancholy tone. 
 
 " Time has literally flown with me." 
 
 " Salome !" 
 
 " Mr. Moore !" 
 
 " Oh, how inconsiderate you are !" 
 
 " Inconsiderate because time has flown ? Would 
 you have had it drag? Would you have had me suffer 
 hanging my head and weeping because you were 
 travelling about and enjoying yourself ? Tell me 
 that !" 
 
 The girl laughed gently. Her eyes shone humidly. 
 She was afraid ; her happiness made her tremble and 
 draw aloof. 
 
 " I don t want you to suffer," said Moore, gazing at 
 her wistfully. He thought he had not half known 
 how attractive she was to him ; and that moonlight 
 or was it the moonlight ? 
 
 The black and white hound came from within the 
 hut and stood by the two, looking up and wagging 
 his tail. 
 
 Salome bent down to stroke his head. But Moore 
 did not notice the animal ; he did not know the dog 
 had come. 
 
 " Thank you for not wanting me to suffer," was the 
 somewhat airy response. 
 
 The young man stood in silence. He was puzzled 
 and grieved. But he would not relinquish the girl s 
 hand. 
 
 He had lived their meeting over and over, and his
 
 230 THE TWO SALOMES 
 
 imagination had not once made it in the least like 
 this. 
 
 He drew his companion away among the pine-trees, 
 Jack following with his head hanging. 
 
 Moore thought he would try a more matter-of-fact 
 kind of conversation. He put Salome s hand through 
 his arm. He endeavored not to look at her for a 
 moment, but he found his eyes constantly returning to 
 her face. 
 
 He was telling himself that he loved her a thou 
 sandfold more than when he had seen her last. 
 
 But he began bravely on his matter-of-fact topic. 
 
 " I had a disagreeable kind of a piece of work down 
 in Tampa," he said. " There s a fellow there who 
 has been using our firm s name. He has done it twice. 
 But the last time was once too many. Our Mr. Don 
 aldson wired me to act my own judgment said he 
 wouldn t overlook it again, even though the man had 
 a wife who would be likely to die of shame. He 
 couldn t help that. I had to do the whole thing. It 
 was of no use to deny so the wretch confessed. He 
 cried and sobbed. I should have let him off, but I 
 knew Donaldson too well to do that." 
 
 " Do you mean that the man had forged ? asked 
 the girl. 
 
 "Yes. He was in an awfully tight place. But of 
 course he is a scamp." 
 
 " A scamp ?" 
 
 " Yes, certainly. It s no good to be weak about 
 those things. But I tell you I don t want to be the 
 one to get an officer to nab a poor wretch again, and 
 I won t, either. I felt as if I were a criminal myself. 
 It was heart-breaking, and then his wife no, I swear 
 I ll never be mixed up in such an affair again ! You
 
 AN ENGAGEMENT 231 
 
 see, I m too soft. I can t see people suffer and I 
 thought of you, Salome. But I m thinking of you al 
 ways. I thought of how your kind heart would grieve 
 for that woman and for the man, too ; and I hated 
 myself and yet I was doing right. Why do you 
 sometimes hate yourself when you are doing right ?" 
 
 Salome did not answer. She had clasped her other 
 hand over her companion s arm, and was now really 
 leaning upon him. 
 
 Moore looked down at her. He forgot what he had 
 been talking about. Why should he remember, when 
 at last she glanced up at him ? 
 
 But she did not let the subject drop. 
 
 " You said he forged ? she asked. She hung upon 
 his arm. 
 
 " Yes ; but don t let us talk about him any more. 
 You see, I was driven to saying something because 
 because you didn t seem glad to see me." 
 
 " Not glad to see you ? 
 
 She touched her cheek for an instant against the 
 sleeve of his coat. But when he bent eagerly over 
 her she withdrew a little and said : 
 
 " But I want to talk more about that man." 
 
 " What man ?" 
 
 " Why, the forger. I suppose it is a crime ?" 
 
 "Well, I should think so! And a particularly 
 mean, underhanded crime, too to use another per 
 son s name." 
 
 " Yes, I suppose it is," said the girl ; " but somehow 
 it doesn t shock me as it ought. But, of course, I 
 know I know." 
 
 Moore stopped in their slow walk. He looked sur 
 prised. 
 
 " Why on earth should we talk about forgers when
 
 232 THE TWO SALOMES 
 
 we haven t seen each other for for months ?" he 
 asked. 
 
 " For five and three-quarter days," was the reply ; 
 and she smiled at him. \Yhile she still smiled she 
 continued, " But I have a special interest in forgers." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 "You will be extremely shocked if I tell you." 
 
 Moore s surprise increased. " What a curious girl 
 you are." 
 
 " Yes, I think I must be." She gazed up at him 
 now with a deep seriousness. " Still," she went on, 
 " you think you you think you care for me ?" 
 
 "Think? I am sure. It seems to me there is 
 nothing else I care for in the world." 
 
 He spoke with impetuous quickness. 
 
 " Oh yes, there is something else," lightly, though 
 with the serious look still in her eyes. 
 
 " What is that ? But you are mistaken, Salome," 
 earnestly. 
 
 " Am I ? But don t you care to sell a large bill of 
 goods ? Isn t that \\hat you call it ?" 
 
 Moore laughed joyfully. He pressed his hand over 
 her clasped hands on his arm. 
 
 "Who told you that ?" he asked. " I believe I am 
 a tolerably good drummer-boy. That s why I get a 
 good salary. That s why I shall be able to take care 
 of you, Salome ; why, I am able now ; we might be 
 married directly. I will ask your mother. Let us ask 
 her now; there is not the slightest use in waiting." 
 
 He spoke hurriedly. He had that fear so common 
 to lovers that something dreadful would immediately 
 happen to separate him from the woman he loved. 
 
 " How foolish you are !" exclaimed the girl, in re 
 sponse. "Do you think I am going to be hustled
 
 AN ENGAGEMENT 233 
 
 from one hand to another like well, like a bill of 
 goods ? No, indeed. I can t be married for a long 
 time to come." 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 "There are a thousand reasons." 
 
 " Give me one of them." 
 
 " I m going to be Mrs. Darrah s amanuensis for a 
 number of years. I m learning shorthand and type 
 writing ; I intend to be very useful to her." 
 
 Moore looked about him in the moonlight as if 
 hopelessly trying to find some answer to Salome s 
 words. But he found none. 
 
 "About how many years, if I may ask, do you 
 expect to work for Mrs. Darrah ?" 
 
 He put this inquiry with a great appearance of 
 calmness. 
 
 " I haven t quite decided. Several," was the reply. 
 
 " Have you signed a contract have you sold your 
 self, as they used to sell themselves to Satan ?" with 
 an increase of vehemence. 
 
 " Who used to sell themselves to Satan, Mr. Moore? 
 And Mrs. Darrah is very far from being like Satan." 
 
 " If she keeps you from me she is worse than 
 Satan," said Moore, with more sharpness in his tone 
 than the girl had ever heard before. He made an un 
 controllable gesture of anger as he continued, " But 
 what can you expect of an authoress? Women have 
 no business to 
 
 "Don t say ridiculous things, Mr. Moore," inter 
 rupted Salome ; " I would write books myself if I 
 could." 
 
 " But you can t thank fortune !" 
 
 " I m not so sure of that. Sometimes I feel as if I 
 could," was the reply.
 
 234 THE TWO SALOMES 
 
 Moore tried to regain his temper. He could hardly 
 tell why he felt so deeply irritated. 
 
 " You know what Alphonse Karr says ?" he re 
 marked, with some lightness. 
 
 " No ; I don t know what any one says least of all 
 Alphonse Karr." 
 
 " He says that a woman who writes a book is guilty 
 of two crimes : she increases the number of books 
 and decreases the number of women." 
 
 " Then I hate Alphonse Karr!" 
 
 After this from Salome there was silence. The 
 two continued to walk on between the trees where 
 the moonlight fell in broad patches on the wiry 
 grass. 
 
 The hound paced on behind them. 
 
 Salome had now withdrawn her hand from her 
 companion s arm. She looked removed from him. 
 
 Moore s nature was too essentially sweet for him 
 to remain long in anger. But this meeting was so 
 different from what he had anticipated. He could 
 hardly tell why he felt so heart-sore. 
 
 How coolly Salome had spoken of remaining a 
 number of years with Mrs. Darrah ! Of course she 
 did not care for him at all as he cared for her. He 
 did not suppose that women knew much about how 
 to love. Women were so cold, and and mysterious. 
 
 At this point in his thoughts Moore took the girl s 
 hand and kissed it with the utmost gentleness. 
 
 " I suppose I ve been wrong some way," he said. 
 "Men are so stupid that is, we are called stupid." 
 
 " But you don t feel stupid ?" asked Salome. 
 
 " Don t let s speak in that way any more. Salome, 
 you don t know how I love you," with kindling eyes, 
 "and I thought, I hoped Dearest, do you think
 
 AN ENGAGEMENT 235 
 
 you do care for me so that in time you will care a 
 great deal ?" 
 
 Salome drew back. She pressed her hands together 
 while she looked at her lover. 
 
 " Don t you know how that will end ?" she asked. 
 " Don t you know ? It will end in my loving you 
 infinitely more than you love me. I have read 
 that and now I am sure of it. Yes, now I am sure 
 of it." 
 
 " That is impossible ! Impossible !" cried Moore. 
 " I want to tell you that I" 
 
 Salome drew away with a decided movement. 
 
 " You know I told you I wanted to talk more about 
 that forger," she said. 
 
 Moore stared. His face fell. He had poignant 
 sense of being baffled. He almost felt that he was 
 being trifled with. But when he saw the girl s face 
 he was more puzzled than ever. 
 
 The young man made a great effort and took him 
 self in hand. 
 
 "Well," he responded, " I am ready to listen to all 
 you have to say about the forger." 
 
 Salome now came a little nearer. 
 
 "Did he feel very badly?" she asked, with great 
 interest. 
 
 "Yes; he did." 
 
 Moore was deciding in his own mind that he was 
 entirely helpless in her hands. And he was remem 
 bering with a kind of despairing thrill that moment 
 some days ago when she had voluntarily told him 
 that she loved him. It seemed to him that he had 
 thought of nothing but her words, her tone, and her 
 face when she had spoken thus. 
 
 And now here she was insisting upon talking of
 
 236 THE TWO SALOMES 
 
 that miserable incident. He was very sorry he had 
 mentioned that man. 
 
 " I suppose," said the girl, " that was because some 
 body was going to suffer for what he had done his 
 wife, for instance." 
 
 " Perhaps," was the answer, " and perhaps he was 
 repenting." 
 
 " Oh, do you think so ? It wasn t so very bad ; I 
 suppose your firm are able to bear the loss without 
 much inconvenience ?" 
 
 This time Moore stared harder than ever. 
 
 " It will not inconvenience us very much," he 
 answered. 
 
 " Then why do you make such a fuss over it ?" in 
 quired Salome. 
 
 " I didn t know I had made a fuss." Moore hoped 
 that he should not become any more confused than 
 he was now. Of course she was playing upon him. 
 It was all very strange. 
 
 "You said that it was a mean, underhanded kind 
 of a crime," now remarked the girl. 
 
 "So it is." 
 
 " I must say that I have a great sympathy for that 
 man," said Salome. 
 
 Moore caught eagerly at this. 
 
 " That is because you have such a kind heart !" he 
 exclaimed. 
 
 " No, it isn t that," she said. 
 
 " Isn t that ?" 
 
 " No. But I shall shock you if I tell you why." 
 
 " Don t mind about shocking me," he replied, with 
 a hint of bitterness, " but tell me." 
 
 She came nearer to him, she put her hand on his 
 breast.
 
 AN ENGAGEMENT 237 
 
 " Well, it is this," she said : " it is because I don t 
 care about right and wrong." 
 
 His arm had gone round her quickly when she had 
 approached him. 
 
 She leaned against him with a movement full of 
 tenderness and trust. 
 
 "No ; I don t," she went on. " Now, are you sure 
 you care for me ?" 
 
 Before he could give the ardent answer which rose 
 to his lips, she continued : 
 
 " You remember I told you that I didn t care for 
 the higher spiritual life either." 
 
 " Salome " he began, but she would not let him 
 go on. 
 
 " I know what it will be when you get away from 
 me ; you will begin to think of what I have told you 
 and it s the truth and you will wonder about me, 
 and ask yourself if you ought to love me ; and, by- 
 and-by, sometimes, when you ask yourself this ques 
 tion, you will answer : I almost wish I had loved 
 some one else ; perhaps some one else would have 
 made me happier. That s what you will think. No, 
 no, don t interrupt me ! And if you should come 
 to that conclusion after we are married do you 
 know what a dreadful thing that would be ? I 
 could not bear that. I certainly could not bear 
 that." 
 
 As she ceased speaking Salome laid her head on 
 Moore s shoulder. She sobbed. But she controlled 
 herself immediately and was perfectly quiet, while her 
 companion held her closely and poured out tenderly 
 emphatic assurances, the words coming from a full 
 and sincere heart. 
 
 At last Salome lifted her face and spoke. But her
 
 238 THE TWO SALOMES 
 
 words did not seem to have any reference to what 
 Moore had just been saying. 
 
 " I have been thinking that I don t seem to have 
 any conscience. If I m not going to have enough to 
 make me good I would rather not have any. It 
 wouldn t be agreeable to have just enough conscience 
 to torment one, but not enough to keep one right." 
 
 Moore held the girl at arm s-length for an instant. 
 His face was radiant with happiness. Of course 
 these were the vagaries of a too sensitive spirit. 
 
 " I m not afraid," he said, with the sublime confi 
 dence of youth and love. " I can face any destiny 
 except the destiny which takes you from me." 
 
 " Do you really feel sure of that ? she whispered. 
 
 " Yes , absolutely sure." 
 
 " And I need not worry any more about it ?" 
 
 " No, no. Why, Salome, I don t understand you. 
 You are morbid." 
 
 There was that in Moore s tone and face which 
 could not fail to co mfort the girl. 
 
 " No, I am not morbid now," she responded. " I 
 used to be, up North, before I was really alive. But 
 now " 
 
 She bent her head to his shoulder again. 
 
 " Now ?" he repeated, bending over her. 
 
 She pressed her face still closer against him. 
 
 " Now," she answered, in a mufiled voice, " I am 
 trying to endure your presence, Mr. Moore." 
 
 " I am glad you are beginning so early," he said, 
 " for you will be obliged to endure my presence for 
 years and years as long as we both live." 
 
 " I hope so," from his shoulder. 
 
 Then Salome suddenly raised her face and quickly 
 passed her hand across her eyes.
 
 AN ENGAGEMENT 239 
 
 " What discipline it will be !" she exclaimed. "And 
 I am afraid I have been a little a very little senti 
 mental, Mr. Moore." 
 
 " You certainly have, Miss Gerry." 
 
 "I take it all back." 
 
 " No ; you shall not take a word back," firmly. 
 
 " I didn t know you were such a tyrant, 1 standing 
 away from him. 
 
 " I am. It is well for you to learn that fact early. 
 Oh," with a quick break in his voice, " how happy I 
 
 am 
 
 Salome was a few paces from him, her hands hang 
 ing by her side. She stood in a space of moonlight. 
 Was it that light which made her have at that mo 
 ment a certain intangible appearance as if she were 
 more spirit than flesh ? 
 
 "And you don t care to talk about the forger any 
 more ?" Moore inquired. 
 
 " I never want to think of him again," with a swift 
 gesture of her left hand. " But," she added, as if un 
 der a strong impulse," I don t blame him. Perhaps 
 
 Moore waited in silence. He was not now think 
 ing of the forger, though he had mentioned him 
 again. 
 
 " Perhaps," went on Salome, " it was a kind of re 
 action some way, and he may have done it for some 
 one he loved. No ; I don t blame him in the least. 
 Are they going to put him in prison, Mr. Moore ?" 
 
 " I suppose so. But are we going to keep right on 
 conversing on this topic ? 
 
 " Oh no. Let us walk down to the Sebastian ; or, 
 rather, let us go back, and you may finish hanging 
 our door, and then you will be making yourself useful, 
 while we may enjoy the pleasures of conversation."
 
 240 THE TWO SALOMES 
 
 " But I would rather go to the Sebastian. Even 
 that stream will be beautiful in this moonlight, and 
 we may enjoy being romantic." 
 
 " No ; we have had that kind of thing sufficient for 
 to-night. Think how this light will serve for putting 
 on those hinges." 
 
 " Hear her talk of that kind of thing ! Of hinges !" 
 cried Moore, looking round him as if for an audience. 
 
 His spirits were so high that if he had been in the 
 least superstitious he would have felt some fear min 
 gled with his exaltation. 
 
 " Don t speak disrespectfully of the very light of 
 life, Salome, even in jest. But I will make a bargain 
 with you. I will go back and hang that door if you 
 will take my arm as we walk; and if you will not 
 hurry me, and if you will allow me to be as we will 
 say as romantic as I please; and if you will not 
 snub me, no matter what I say." 
 
 Salome looked at him with a great appearance of 
 admiration. 
 
 " I don t wonder they took you into the firm almost 
 immediately, she said ; " for you do know how to 
 make a bargain. Give me your arm and let us start. 
 I aim to have that door hung this evening." 
 
 Later, when Moore had left the little log-hut and 
 was walking slowly towards Augustine, into his raptur 
 ous mood there came one question, or rather one re 
 mark : 
 
 " How oddly she talked about that poor wretch of 
 a forger !" 
 
 But the thought left him immediately. It did not 
 return until late in the night or, rather, early in the 
 morning when he wakened suddenly in his room at 
 the San Marco.
 
 A.\ ENGAGEMENT 24! 
 
 Almost before his senses had fully thrown off sleep 
 his mind formed these words : 
 
 " How strangely she looked when she talked about 
 that poor fellow down in Tampa !" 
 
 And again the thought left him immediately and he 
 slept again, thinking of other words she had spoken. 
 
 He had not gone directly to his hotel. He was 
 convinced that he should not sleep at all. Why 
 should he sleep when his waking was so happy ? 
 
 He strolled slowly into the town. The clocks 
 struck ten. For " society " the evening had but just 
 begun . 
 
 He heard the sound of band music, of waltzes, 
 from the Ponce. That building was brilliant. He 
 stopped in front of it; then he sauntered into the 
 grounds. A few people were walking here and there. 
 The plashing of water, the peculiar rustle of the thick 
 leaves of orange-trees, the odors from the cape jas 
 mines, the low laugh of women Moore paused with 
 his hands thrust into the pockets of his morning-coat. 
 This was no place for him among these people in 
 evening- dress. But still he lingered, taking in the 
 beauty of his surroundings with a keen delight. 
 Everything that was beautiful was now a thousand 
 times more beautiful to him for did he not love ? 
 
 Presently from an avenue there came two figures. 
 Moore soon knew them to be Major Root, resplen 
 dent in a vast, stiff expanse of shirt-bosom whereon 
 a diamond glittered, and on his arm a slender figure 
 holding itself with a peculiar air of grace and inde 
 pendence. Of course the latter was Portia Nunally. 
 
 Moore had hardly decided as to the identity of 
 the two when the woman paused and withdrew her 
 hand from its support. She said something rapidly. 
 
 I ft
 
 242 THE TWO SALOMES 
 
 The man seemed to demur, but his companion insist 
 ed. He took her hand, kissed it with an elaborate 
 air, and then walked away. 
 
 Miss Nunally now came quickly forward in a man 
 ner that showed that she had previously seen and 
 recognized Moore. She did not pause until she was 
 close to him. 
 
 "Congratulate me," she said. Her face was flush 
 ed ; her eyes sparkled. But there was a certain con 
 striction across her brows which a woman would have 
 noticed. 
 
 Moore drew himself up. " No ; I swear I won t 
 congratulate you," he said, roughly. 
 
 " Then congratulate Major Root, if you think that 
 would be more appropriate." 
 
 " No," repeated Moore ; and he added : " I feel 
 more like strangling him." 
 
 Portia advanced still nearer. She extended her 
 much - ringed hand and put a finger on Moore s 
 sleeve. 
 
 " Don t strangle him till the wedding-day," she said, 
 with so much expression that the young man involun 
 tarily stepped back. 
 
 The girl also moved away quickly. Then, in that 
 mocking but somehow seductive little contralto of 
 hers, she sung in a half-voice : 
 
 She has kilted her skirts of green satin, 
 She has kilted them up to her knee ; 
 And she s afF with Lord Ronald McDonald, 
 His bride and his darling to be. " 
 
 "Only for green satin read white surah, and for 
 Ronald McDonald read Major Micah Root. With 
 these slight alterations I think the song must have
 
 AN ENGAGEMENT 243 
 
 been composed for me. What do you say, Mr. 
 Moore ?" 
 
 "You know very well what I think of of this 
 cursed kind of a bargain. It isn t safe for me to say 
 anything about it ; oaths are the only words that I 
 want to use." 
 
 " And oaths are not fit to be spoken before a 
 refined woman like me, Mr. Moore," responded 
 Portia. 
 
 She was standing very quietly. Her white dress 
 and her jewels gleamed. She was opening and shut 
 ting her fan, and gazing over it at her companion. 
 There was something in her eyes which appealed 
 very strongly to the young man. 
 
 " You call me a refined woman, don t you, Mr. 
 Moore ? she asked. 
 
 He was obliged to rouse himself somewhat that he 
 might reply. 
 
 " I had that impression. You seemed to me to be 
 exquisitely refined and fastidious." 
 
 " Yes ; odd, isn t it, that people generally think that 
 of me ? I had such a fancy about myself. But, you 
 see, I m not. I am coarse and vulgar. I am going to 
 marry Major Root. It makes me ill to look at him. 
 How red his face is ! How heavily his under lip 
 hangs ! But I m going to be his wife. There are 
 three other girls whom I know here in Augustine who 
 would have jumped if he had beckoned to them. But 
 I ve won him. I shall marry him just as soon as he 
 says ; only hanging back enough to be womanly, you 
 know ! And I have to beg for your congratulations, 
 Mr. Moore !" 
 
 Moore did not attempt any reply. He stood gazing 
 at the girl, a deep frown on his face.
 
 244 THE TWO SALOMES 
 
 She drew up the light scarf that had fallen from her 
 shoulders. 
 
 " He just asked me," she went on ; " I knew lie 
 would do it to-night. I hesitated, and was properly 
 surprised, and I let him plead a little. Then I said 
 yes. But after I had said that word I felt that I could 
 not possibly endure him in my presence for another 
 instant. I saw you here, Mr. Moore. I sent him 
 away. I shall not see him again until to-morrow. 
 Then he will call on my Aunt Florence. My Aunt 
 Florence will feel like thanking him for taking me off 
 her hands. Everybody will envy me, and say how 
 well that Darrah woman s niece has done, after all. 
 The three other girls who wanted to marry Major 
 Micah Root will be green. And I, why I shall 
 
 " Be aff with Lord Ronald McDonald, 
 His bride and his darling to be ! " 
 
 Moore sprang forward a step. He grasped Portia s 
 hand which held the fan. The fragile thing fell 
 broken to the ground. 
 
 " It is atrocious !" he cried, "savagely. " I I won t 
 allow it ! No decent man should allow such a thing. 
 A man should remember that a woman is to be loved 
 to be respected above all things, to be respected. 
 You don t know how vile a thing a male human being 
 may be and still be received. You don t know what 
 an animal that Root is. I ve heard him say things 
 that that oh, I can t tell you ! I ll go out and kill 
 him. Somebody s got to kill him !" 
 
 Miss Nunally was looking intently at the young 
 man s face. She was standing very near him. That 
 constriction across her forehead deepened.
 
 AN ENGAGEMENT 245 
 
 " Please remember, Mr. Moore, that I ve led him 
 on. I ve intended to make him propose to me. And, 
 in a way, I have enjoyed it on account of those other 
 girls who will be green with envy, you know. But 
 here Portia suddenly spread out her hands as if 
 thrusting something away ; her voice broke into a 
 hoarse and not easily distinguishable murmur "how 
 am I going to endure my life ? What is to become 
 of me ? 
 
 Before Moore could in any way gather himself for 
 a reply the girl had turned away with a slight laugh 
 and the remark : 
 
 " You did not guess that I had such melodramatic 
 possibilities in me, did you ? Well, I at least have 
 the merit of not indulging them often. Will you take 
 me back to the ball-room, Mr. Moore ?" 
 
 The young man offered his arm. The two walked 
 on in silence. 
 
 Soon they came among groups of people. Some of 
 them glanced rather superciliously at Moore. 
 
 At last, near the veranda, he paused. 
 
 " You see, I am not fit to come among these fine 
 birds," he said. " I will say good-night now. I sup 
 pose it is useless to remonstrate with you ? 
 
 " Quite." 
 
 Miss Nunally hesitated after she had spoken that 
 word. Her manner was such that her companion 
 could not immediately leave, as he had intended 
 doing. 
 
 "Let us go to that shrubbery, she said; " I have 
 something to ask you." 
 
 They walked to the shrubbery, which was odorous 
 with clusters of yellow flowers. 
 
 Portia absently plucked a few of these.
 
 246 THE TWO SALOMES 
 
 "Perfumes are very strange," she said; "they ap 
 peal both to the sense and the spirit." 
 
 She extended the flowers to Moore. He took them. 
 
 " Only in these days there is no longer any spirit ; 
 it is all sense all material. I wanted to ask you if 
 you are sure of being happy with Miss Gerry ?" 
 
 " Sure? Oh yes ! I wish the future were as bright 
 to you, Miss Nunally." 
 
 There was a deep and tender earnestness in the 
 young man s voice and his face. 
 
 Portia looked up at him. 
 
 " I knew you felt so," she returned. " I hope you 
 will not be disappointed. I dread telling Miss Gerry 
 about my engagement. She is not the kind of a girl 
 who could do such a thing." 
 
 " No ! No !" With some violence. 
 
 " Well, good-night, Mr. Moore. Stay " she looked 
 at him again ; " you may give those flowers to Miss 
 Gerry with my with my sincerest good wishes." 
 
 She walked away. Her white dress gleamed in and 
 out among the trees, then was gone.
 
 XIV 
 
 TOUCHING TRUTHFULNESS 
 
 WHEN Moore had left the log-house where he had 
 hung the door, Salome had stood outside in the moon 
 light for a long time, with the hound sitting near her. 
 She could hardly be said to be thinking of her lover. 
 She was merely not thinking at all. The Florida 
 night was all about her. The monotonous level was 
 never monotonous to her least of all, now. She liked 
 to hear the movements of unseen birds in the trees. 
 She liked to take in, with all its inexpressible, serious 
 beauty, the very spirit of this bewitching land, this 
 land which had healed her body. 
 
 Mrs. Gerry sat in the doorway. She could hardly 
 restrain herself from telling her daughter that she 
 must not stay out in the night air. Uut she remem 
 bered that the night air no longer harmed the girl. 
 Nothing harmed her. There was not an hour that had 
 passed since her coming here that had not been full 
 of healing and beneficence to Salome. For the first 
 time she was in a climate so thoroughly congenial 
 that merely to live was a blessing. She was well. 
 She had thrown off the alarming symptoms with that 
 rapidity of which youth is sometimes capable when 
 influences are accurately adjusted. 
 
 Now her mother could not remove her gaze from 
 that slight figure that was alert with life and with
 
 248 THE TWO SALOMES 
 
 that happy prescience which in itself is an elixir. 
 But Mrs. Gerry did not like Florida. If she had 
 been given to expressing herself with great strength 
 she would have said that she hated it. Everything, 
 in her eyes, was wrong ; for was not everything differ 
 ent from New England ? And to be compelled daily 
 to see such people as Job Maine and his wife that 
 experience alone would have made her miserable. 
 And these were almost the only people she saw. She 
 had to buy chickens of them at exorbitant rates. If 
 Mr. Maine did an errand for her he charged her well 
 for it. Of late Salome had insisted upon bringing 
 out parcels from Augustine when she returned from 
 her work with Mrs. Darrah. And it was only of late 
 that Mrs. Gerry had really decided that Salome was 
 amply able to do this. It was so strange not to be 
 continually shielding the child and taking care of her. 
 At first the mother would demur, and the girl would 
 say : " But you know, mother, I haven t incipient 
 phthisis any more," and she gayly did as she pleased. 
 
 Now, as Mrs. Gerry, with relaxed mind and body, 
 sat in the hard, straight chair in the entrance to their 
 hut, Salome suddenly left her musings by moonlight 
 and walked straight up to her mother. She leaned 
 against her in silence for a moment. After a while 
 she asked : 
 
 " Do I look like any of my relations, mother ?" 
 
 Mrs. Gerry was accustomed to abrupt remarks from 
 her daughter, so she only smiled slightly as she an 
 swered " You always used to look like my mother, 
 and at times like her father. Now you grow every 
 day to have his expression. You are so mixed , but 
 then we are all that way." 
 
 " Like her father ? He would be my great-grand-
 
 TOUCHING TRUTHFULNESS 249 
 
 father then, wouldn t he ? What kind of a man was 
 he ? You never talk about him." 
 
 " Perhaps I haven t. But then one doesn t give 
 much talk to grandfathers ; and I have had other 
 things to think about you, for instance." 
 
 Mrs. Gerry was instinctively bracing herself. She 
 hardly knew why. Salome was liable to take up a 
 whim and follow it. And she had always been per 
 tinacious in the most unexpected directions. 
 
 "Yes, I know I ve been a great anxiety to you. 
 ]kit what kind of a man was your mother s father ?" 
 repeated Salome. 
 
 Still she was not thinking very strongly, even then, 
 of what she was saying. While she had been stand 
 ing out there in the moonlight it had occurred quite 
 powerfully to her that she was not at all what she 
 would have called a New England girl. Such girls 
 were proper and narrow and rigidly upright ; they 
 never had an " accidental thought " whose "possible 
 pulses were not immediately stifled. They were, 
 above all things, "reliable." They were reliable be 
 cause they could not help being so. 
 
 This was the way Salome Gerry inwardly described 
 the typical Yankee girl. If she did not choose her 
 adjectives correctly she none the less thought that she 
 so chose them. And she would have described her 
 self before she left home in those words. Particularly 
 would she have warned herself against the possible 
 pulses of those accidental thoughts. It was the irreg 
 ular things which must be avoided. It was the irreg 
 ular, exceptional things which had such astonishing 
 power; and astonishing power, in the creed of the 
 common-place, must of course make for evil until it 
 should be labelled and arranged. Anything which
 
 250 THE TWO SALOMES 
 
 had been labelled and arranged, however, could no 
 longer be considered abnormal or exceptional. 
 
 As Salome stood leaning by her mother s chair 
 these thoughts went confusedly through her mind. 
 She was often confused in these days. Everything 
 outside was so different, and all her inward life was 
 still more different, if that were possible. 
 
 There were brief snatches of time when Salome 
 would feel an acute wonder as to why she felt no re 
 pentance for the crime she had committed. It was a 
 crime. There could be no doubt of that. And 
 Moore had spoken very severely of such a crime. 
 Though, perhaps, that man down in Tampa had done 
 it for his wife. It was rather curious that Salome 
 came to assert to herself that the man in Tampa had 
 done this deed for his wife. 
 
 Now she recalled her somewhat wandering thoughts, 
 and asked once more what kind of a man her great 
 grandfather had been. 
 
 This time Mrs. Gerry replied, promptly, 
 
 " Everybody loved him." 
 
 The girl fixed her eyes on her mother s face. 
 
 " But was he good ?" she inquired. 
 
 " He was not what we call conscientious," was the 
 answer. 
 
 Mrs. Gerry made a quick resolve. She took Sa 
 lome s hands and gently drew the girl into her arms. 
 
 " He was not a Northern man. He was born down 
 here in the West Indies. He was well I know 
 what you are thinking. You are like him in many 
 ways ; but I did not know it. I only suspected it be 
 fore we came South. Now I know you belong in the 
 South ; it is in your blood this feeling you have 
 since you came here.
 
 TOUCHING TRUTHFULNESS 251 
 
 Salome did not seem particularly impressed with 
 this information. She lay with her head quietly on 
 her mother s shoulder and her arm around her moth 
 er s neck. Her eyes were intently fixed upon the ba 
 nana leaves which were slowly waving back and forth 
 in the soft wind. 
 
 At last she said : 
 
 " Miss Nunally and I were talking about heredity 
 the other day. She thinks that if we really believe 
 in that we need not feel to blame about anything." 
 
 Mrs. Gerry s arm tightened around her burden. 
 She wished to exclaim sharply, but she did not. She 
 said, with calm emphasis : 
 
 " She is wrong. She is -utterly wrong. Such a be 
 lief would undermine all desire to be good all prin 
 ciple." 
 
 "What is principle?" inquired the girl. 
 
 " Salome !" 
 
 Salome pressed her lips softly to her mother s 
 cheek before she said : 
 
 "Of course I know. Am I not your daughter, you 
 principled creature, you? And didn t I go to Sun 
 day-school when the weather was good and you 
 thought I should not take cold ? The other day 
 now listen to me, and don t be shocked I told a 
 lie." 
 
 " Salome !" 
 
 An expression of intense pain crossed Mrs. Ger 
 ry s face. But she said no more then. The girl 
 went on. 
 
 "It was about that venison, mother. I knew you 
 had set your heart on it for me. I told you what T 
 did because I thought it would make your mind 
 easier. And it was of no earthly good to tell you
 
 252 THE TWO SALOMES 
 
 that you could not have it at all. You would soon 
 make arrangements for something else. And it was 
 that poor boy s fault, and I hated to have you blame 
 him." 
 
 Again the girl gently kissed her mother s cheek. 
 And her mother said nothing. 
 
 " When I was at home and half ill, you know," con 
 tinued Salome, " I never said the least thing that 
 wasn t true. I m almost sure I did not. But I did 
 not really care anything about the truth for its own 
 sake, mother. Somehow it seems as if people ought 
 to care involuntarily for the truth s sake, just as they 
 would care for a friend, because they can t help it. I 
 never cared that way. Walter Redd cares that way. 
 I was ill and afraid I was going to die, and full of no 
 tions, and I did not dare not to be truthful. And I 
 made a great talk about my conscience. I was just 
 awfully good, wasn t I, mother ? But I was afraid ; I 
 was afraid of death, and of God. Now I m not afraid 
 of death at all ; it seems so very far off that I can t 
 be afraid of it. And God well, He doesn t seem ter 
 rible to me any more. And when things look as if 
 they would be easier and more comfortable all round 
 if I didn t tell the exact truth, why I m not afraid any 
 more, you see." 
 
 Salome lifted her head and looked into her com 
 panion s face. Then she uttered an exclamation of 
 pain. 
 
 " Oh, mother, do you feel so badly as that ? Is it 
 so very dreadful ? Do you give me up ? I wanted 
 to tell you !" 
 
 Mrs. Gerry s arms clasped the girl with painful 
 closeness. 
 
 " Give you up !" she said, sharply. " Oh no ! no !
 
 TOUCHING TRUTHFULNESS 253 
 
 Nothing could make me do that, child. I love you, 
 and I am your mother." 
 
 But Mrs. Gerry could not keep the agony out of 
 her face. She bent her forehead to her daughter s 
 shoulder for a moment 
 
 She felt Salome s hand tenderly smoothing her hair. 
 
 Truth was the foundation of everything. That was 
 the dominant thought in the woman s mind. There 
 could be nothing without truth. What were all the 
 graces, all the amiability in the world without that 
 one attribute ? What would Salome do ? When 
 should she believe Salome ? 
 
 Do you wonder that the woman should suffer thus ? 
 This woman, to whom simple uprightness, absolute in 
 tegrity were as the breath of her nostrils, and to whom 
 they were as natural as that breath ? The person of 
 merely acquired virtues receives no such shock from 
 any dereliction. 
 
 Mrs. Gerry was born with uprightness in her soul, 
 and she had nourished that gift all her life. 
 
 She had a feeling that her daughter was wondering 
 that she should be so much moved. Salome had ex 
 pected her mother to be grieved and displeased, but 
 she had hardly anticipated anything like this. 
 
 The girl put a hand each side of her mother s face, 
 and lifted it so that she could look into it. 
 
 Mrs. Gerry thus gazed into the clear, loving 
 sweetness of the girl s eyes. The knife-like question, 
 " How much is she really responsible ?" flashed 
 through the woman s mind. But she had always held 
 that people were responsible, directly so. Responsi 
 ble or not, a person must meet the consequences of 
 his thoughts and his deeds. 
 
 Mrs. Gerry tried to regain her self-control. She
 
 254 THE TWO SALOMES 
 
 tried to speak in her usual calm manner when she 
 said : 
 
 " Salome, when you tell me anything, must I ask 
 myself whether it is true or not ? To know that you 
 have said it ought to be just the same as knowing it 
 is the truth." 
 
 "Yes," said Salome, still looking into her mother s 
 eyes. 
 
 " Why do you say yes ?"- questioned Mrs. Gerry. 
 
 " I say it because I know one ought to tell the 
 truth, since that is what you have taught me." 
 
 " But don t you know it for yourself if no one had 
 taught you ?" 
 
 Salome shook her head. " I can t tell about that," 
 she answered. " I suppose I know it ; but I m not 
 quite certain, somehow. I think my moral vision 
 must be kind of blurred, don t you, mother ? But 
 please, please don t feel so badly ! and let us talk of 
 something else the night, for instance. And let us 
 imagine how cold and snowy it is at home where fa 
 ther is." 
 
 Mrs. Gerry knew perfectly well that it would do no 
 good for her to pursue the subject further now. Per 
 haps it might never do any good. She had an intol 
 erable sense of helplessness. 
 
 " It was time several days ago to hear from your 
 father," she said. " I have been trying not to be anx 
 ious. We have not heard since you sent that money 
 to him." 
 
 The two talked a few moments about paying Uncle 
 John, and about affairs at home. Then Salome said 
 good-night, and laid herself down on the bed. She 
 was soon asleep. But the mother, though she took 
 her place beside the girl, did not sleep. She lay
 
 TOUCHING TRUTHFULNESS 255 
 
 watching the moonlight through the interstices be 
 tween the logs, and thinking, thinking. 
 
 The fragrant air from the ocean and from the pines 
 blew into the room. 
 
 Mrs. Gerry was very quiet. But she did not close 
 her eyes. When the mocking-birds gave out their 
 first fiutings to the new day she heard them. 
 
 It was quite early on that day, even before Salome 
 was ready to go into the town to her daily appoint 
 ment, that a figure appeared in the path that led to 
 Augustine. 
 
 Salome was washing the breakfast dishes in rather 
 a desultory fashion, stopping every now and then to 
 stroll for a moment out-of-doors. It was upon one 
 of these strolls, with a tin dish in her hand, that she 
 saw this figure. She recognized it, and hurried out to 
 meet Miss Nunally. 
 
 " What has happened ? And why are you not on 
 horseback? asked Salome. 
 
 " Nothing has happened. And I am not on horse 
 back because I prefer to be on my feet," was the an 
 swer. " And I thought we might walk back to 
 gether. 
 
 " So \ve will. I3ut you must have risen at an un 
 conscionable hour for you." 
 
 " I did. I have been rehearsing all night one of 
 Lady Macbeth s speeches, and consequently I did not 
 sleep." 
 
 Salome thought Miss Nunally looked haggard. 
 
 " Why did you choose one of Lady Macbeth s 
 speeches," she inquired, "when there are so many 
 other people who have said more agreeable things ? 
 
 " Because it was so appropriate," was the answer. 
 
 " Don t you think you are very odd this morning?"
 
 256 THE TWO SALOMES 
 
 asked Salome, with some concern. " And do you 
 mind telling me what speech it was ? 
 
 " Yes, I am odd, and I don t mind telling you. It 
 is Out, damned spot ! Isn t that deliciously tragic ? 
 You see, there isn t any blood on my hand. But 
 Major Root kissed it last night, which is worse than 
 blood. 
 
 Salome gazed at the new-comer while she continued 
 to pass the towel round and round the tin dish. 
 
 Mrs. Gerry now came from the hut, and in the 
 greetings that passed Portia resumed her usual ex 
 pression, which seemed to be a mingling of pride and 
 courtesy. 
 
 When the two girls were on their way to the town, 
 both under Salome s large umbrella, they kept silent 
 for so long a time that it seemed as if Miss Nunally 
 had, after all, nothing to say. It was Salome who 
 broke this silence. 
 
 " Is Major Root a big man with a red face and a 
 loose-looking mouth ?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " I ve seen him in the Ponce grounds with you, and 
 I ve wondered 
 
 A pause. 
 
 " Well," Portia turned quickly, " what have you 
 wondered ?" 
 
 " Why, how you could endure to have him near 
 you ; and how you could smile at him as you did. If 
 you should smile at me that way, Miss Nunally, I 
 should certainly kiss your hand unless you forbade 
 me." 
 
 "You shouldn t wait until I forbade you." 
 
 The two paused as if the interest of their conver 
 sation, mild as it looks when written down, was still
 
 TOUCHING TRUTHFULNESS 257 
 
 so great that they could not continue their walk. 
 Portia was looking with winning eyes at her compan 
 ion, who had always held for her something quite out 
 of the ordinary. She had once confided to her Aunt 
 Florence that if she had not come down to Augustine 
 for the express purpose of getting a husband, and if 
 all her family would not be so disappointed if she did 
 not get one, she should have liked, above all things, to 
 study that amanuensis. 
 
 "Let the child alone!" Mrs. Darrah had said, per 
 emptorily. " You would bewitch her." 
 
 Portia opened her eyes at this. 
 
 "You credit me with " she began; but Mrs. Dar 
 rah ruthlessly interrupted her. 
 
 " You know you bewitch people, Portia," she said. 
 " You are one of those things they used to call sirens ; 
 and you really ought to be chained to a rock some 
 where." 
 
 Here Portia lifted her tipper lip in that way which 
 showed the tips of her teeth a way which was not a 
 smile. 
 
 "It will be quite sufficient if I am chained to a hus 
 band, I think," she answered ; and Mrs. Darrah had 
 replied, with a laugh, that she fancied it would also be 
 quite sufficient for the husband. 
 
 Now, as she stood with Salome, this little conversa 
 tion returned to her. 
 
 Salome s face was still pale, but it had not now the 
 pallor of ill-health ; it was of that peculiar hue which 
 denotes extreme sensitiveness, and the dilating and 
 contracting pupils of the eyes conveyed the same im 
 pression. She looked, however, more able to bear 
 this continual play of feeling across her consciousness. 
 She had not now the aspect of an invalid.
 
 2^8 THE TWO SALOMES 
 
 " I wanted to tell you something," said Miss Nu 
 nally, at last, " but you are so very frank about that 
 big man with the red face and the loose-looking mouth 
 that you make it almost impossible." 
 
 Salome let her umbrella suddenly swing over her 
 back and drop onto the sand. She seized her com 
 panion by the wrist. 
 
 " You are not going to marry that man !" she cried. 
 
 " Yes, I am." 
 
 " But but " 
 
 Salome found a difficulty in going on. She turned 
 away, picked up her umbrella, and stood a little apart 
 with it over her head. Her shining, distressed eyes 
 were fixed upon Portia. She was thinking of Moore, 
 and of how she loved him. Could it be possible that 
 any woman, least of all the woman before her, could 
 love Major Root ? Salome was ignorant of many 
 things. She could never quite bring herself to believe 
 that a woman could decide to marry a man whom she 
 did not love. She was a very simple-minded girl, not 
 withstanding the complexity of her character. 
 
 " But what ?" coolly asked Miss Nunally. 
 
 There was, however, a flush on the speaker s face, 
 and that same aspect of the brows which had been 
 apparent the evening before. 
 
 " I was going to ask," said Salome, with some stiff 
 ness, "if you love Major Root. But it is not necessary 
 to ask that. If you think of marrying him, of course 
 you love him." 
 
 Miss Nunally made no attempt at a response for 
 some moments. 
 
 She stepped within the shade of Salome s umbrella 
 and put her arm about Salome s waist. Her face was 
 so grave, so troubled, that it hardly seemed to be
 
 TOUCHING TRUTHFULNESS 259 
 
 her face. The diablery which was often so pro 
 nounced and so charming was all gone. She almost 
 looked old. And it is not years merely which age 
 women. Portia Nunally had lived five years in one 
 all her life. She had never economized in sensation, 
 emotion. She was a spendthrift in every way. That 
 old motto, "Dum vivimus, vivamus," had always been 
 hers, Put her rose-leaf skin was not injured, nor the 
 lustre of her eyes dimmed. She possessed that rare 
 gift of the gods which enables one to sleep like an in 
 fant the moment one s head is placed on the pillow. 
 
 If cares vexed and wearied her, she could throw 
 herself on her bed and fall into that calm and beauti 
 ful repose which is represented as coming only to the 
 people with burdenless consciences. She had come 
 to reckon with a dangerous assurance upon this power 
 of recuperation. She had hardly yet learned that the 
 body, even though long suffering, never forgets its re 
 venges. And the preceding night she had not slept 
 as well as usual. 
 
 " I told Mr. Moore last evening," she now began 
 abruptly, " that I dreaded telling you of my engage 
 ment ; that you were not the kind of girl to to 
 It is surprising that it should be so difficult to finish 
 some sentences, Miss Gerry. And, then, it is not in 
 the least necessary that I tell you I am going to marry 
 Major Root. And yet 1 have had for some hours a 
 morbid desire to tell you with my own lips, and re 
 ceive your congratulations !" 
 
 Portia smiled as she ceased speaking. 
 
 Salome withdrew herself from Miss Nunally s arm 
 with an involuntary movement of which she seemed 
 unconscious ; but she immediately placed herself 
 again close beside her as she said :
 
 260 THE TWO SALOMES 
 
 " I can t conceive that a woman can do such a 
 thing. But, then, perhaps I can do things which 
 would be impossible to you." 
 
 Something in the girl s manner made Portia forget 
 her own affairs for an instant. 
 
 " What things, for instance ?" she inquired, quickly. 
 
 Salome hesitated. 
 
 " I do not always tell the exact truth," answered 
 Salome. 
 
 Portia gazed at her. 
 
 " With your face, too !" she exclaimed. " But then 
 I don t always tell the exact truth, either." 
 
 " I mean," said the other, " that I don t have that 
 regard for truth that I ought to have, and what is far 
 worse, I don t suffer because of it." 
 
 "Oh!" 
 
 Portia s eyes sparkled with delight. She said she 
 wished she had a blue note-book such as Aunt Flor 
 ence used. Then, seeing Salome s annoyed expres 
 sion, she begged her pardon. 
 
 Salome did not know why she had such a strong 
 impulse to tell Miss Nunally about that forged check. 
 To her mind it was not nearly so bad as Portia s en 
 gagement to Major Root. When she had begun to 
 speak just now she had fully intended to tell of that. 
 She did not know what kept her from speaking those 
 words. It must be, she thought, because she feared 
 that her mother would not like to have her do so. 
 Her mother did not know ; but her ideas were very 
 strict. 
 
 " I knew you would not approve of my engage 
 ment," now remarked Miss Nunally. " I don t know 
 why I should care so greatly whether you approve or 
 not. I don t intend to care the least in the world
 
 TOUCHING TRUTHFULNESS 261 
 
 what any one thinks. Most persons will say I m a 
 very lucky girl. I m getting a trifle passe, you know. 
 People have begun to ask, What ! isn t that Nunally 
 girl married yet ? " 
 
 "Why should you marry at all?" innocently ques 
 tioned Salome. " Surely a woman need not think 
 that she must marry." 
 
 " It is astonishing how many things you don t 
 know !" cried Portia. 
 
 "Yes, that is true," was the modest reply. 
 
 Miss Xunally took her companion s hand and held 
 it closely. 
 
 " I suppose you think you are in love," she re 
 marked. 
 
 " I know I am." 
 
 " You have not a shadow of doubt ?" 
 
 " Not a shadow." 
 
 Portia flung rather than dropped the hand. 
 
 " Mr. Moore hasn t a doubt, either," she said. 
 " But, for all that, Salome Gerry, you two may be 
 deadly tired of each other before two years are gone." 
 
 Salome clasped hard the handle of her umbrella. 
 
 " You make me feel as those crows did when they 
 flew over us the other day;" and she shrank slightly 
 as she spoke. 
 
 " How was that ?" 
 
 " Oh, horribly !" 
 
 Having said this, Salome gathered herself to go on. 
 
 " Of course, a marriage for what seems to be love 
 may turn out badly; but any other kind of a marriage 
 must surely turn out so is so from the beginning. 
 Miss Nunally, do please tell Major Root that you 
 have changed your mind!" 
 
 Portia seemed to set her teeth together.
 
 262 THE TWO SALOMES 
 
 " There s only one thing in all this world that could 
 make me tell him so," she answered. 
 
 " What is that ?" quickly. 
 
 "Oh, I shall not reveal that. Do you know," tak 
 ing Salome s hand again, " it is quite on the cards 
 that I should hate you?" 
 
 " No ! no !" cried Salome. " Tell me why !" 
 
 " But I don t hate you. I can t seem to do that. 
 You have such a face ; such a lovely spirit. Yes, it 
 must be your lovely spirit." 
 
 Salome thought of the check she had sent to her 
 father. She remembered that she had not a strict re 
 gard for the truth, and, having remembered these 
 things, she wondered somewhat painfully what it was 
 that this girl could mean by speaking of her " lovely 
 spirit." And she also asked herself how people could 
 be so very much mistaken in her. There was Ran 
 dolph Moore with a quickening of the pulses as 
 that name came to her mind she was quite sure he 
 believed that she had a lovely spirit. It seemed 
 quite impossible to understand herself. Only, she 
 was afraid she was not like what people thought her 
 to be. So she supposed she was deceiving every one 
 all the time. 
 
 In the confusion of mind which accompanied these 
 thoughts she turned to Portia as if that girl might be 
 able to help her in some way. She found that Miss 
 Nunally was watching her with the utmost interest. 
 She could not resist an increasing confusion, which 
 showed itself in her eyes and in the curves of her lips. 
 She wished to say something, but she could not 
 speak. A feeling of resentment towards this emotion 
 was growing within her. Apparently nothing had 
 happened to cause this.
 
 TOUCHING TRUTHFULNESS 263 
 
 As the two stood there Mr. Job Maine, his mule, 
 and his cart came slowly along from the direction 
 of Augustine. He had been into the town ; he had 
 made what his wife called a "soon start" in the 
 morning, and he was now on his way back. 
 
 Although it was not yet nine o clock he had had a 
 little whiskey, and this whiskey had made him very 
 amiable. lie informed Salome that he had brought 
 a letter from Massachusetts for her mother, and he 
 added the information that Massachusetts was a 
 mighty good State. Then he gave his mule that suc 
 cession of kicks which resulted, at last, in the ani 
 mal s moving forward. 
 
 This incident appeared to change the current of 
 conversation between the two girls. They now walk 
 ed on quickly, Salome having come to a sense that 
 it was lime she hurried to her appointment. And 
 they talked only in the most indifferent way. 
 
 It was hardly more than an hour later, and while 
 Mrs. Darrah was in the full tide of successful dicta 
 tion in the novel of sentiment, that the door of the 
 room opened unceremoniously, but very quietly, and 
 Mrs. (Jerry appeared. 
 
 Her face was pale and set. She was dressed in her 
 best black wool dress and her black bonnet. She 
 held a bag in her hand. 
 
 Salome glanced at her. Then she dropped her pen 
 and ran to her side. She seized her mother s disen 
 gaged hand and held it tight. 
 
 " Mother!" she cried, " what has happened?"
 
 XV 
 
 "HOW SHOULD YOU THINK OF YOURSELF?" 
 
 MRS. GERRY looked at her daughter with an agony 
 of anxiety in her face. But it was an anxiety to which 
 she must not yet yield ; which she felt it wrong even 
 to express in the slightest degree. 
 
 She summoned all her strength to her aid. She 
 spoke with a courage which she could not feel. 
 
 " I had news this morning that your father is sick," 
 she said, " and I thought it best to go home." 
 
 Salome stood as quietly as her mother. But she 
 clung painfully to the hand she had grasped. 
 
 " You take the next train North ?" she asked, un 
 consciously speaking in a whisper, as if her father 
 were present and she might disturb him. Before her 
 mother could do more than bend her head in assent 
 Salome added, eagerly : 
 
 " I needn t get ready. I can go just as I am. And 
 I can help take care of father." 
 
 " No," said Mrs. Gerry. Then she looked over at 
 Mrs. Darrah, who was watching the two with surprise 
 in her face. But Mrs. Gerry had no time to hesitate. 
 She walked straight to that lady, who was lounging 
 among her cushions. 
 
 " I have a great favor to ask of you," she said. 
 
 "Yes?" was the interrogative response. "Won t 
 you sit down ?"
 
 "HOW .SHOULD YOU THINK OF YOURSELF? 265 
 
 "Oh no! My husband is ill; I must go to him. 
 I can t let Salome go. It is winter up there ; she 
 would lose all she has gained. Oh, Mrs. Darrah, how 
 shall I leave her ? I know no one but those two 
 miserable creatures out there where we have been 
 living. She can t stay there. I haven t time to get her 
 a place to live in, and we have so little money. But 
 she must stay in Florida, and I must leave in half an 
 hour. Would you help her about a boarding-place ? 
 Would you have a little oversight in regard to her, 
 Mrs. Darrah ?" 
 
 Mrs. Gerry paused. She had been going to say, 
 " It is dreadful for me to leave her," but she was 
 afraid that would sound weak. And she must not 
 only be strong now, she must also seem strong. 
 
 Salome stood gazing at her mother. 
 
 "Don t be uneasy," said Mrs. Darrah, with the ease 
 which plenty of money sometimes gives. " She can 
 stay here with me. There s not the least reason why 
 she should not. And if I feel like dictating in the 
 afternoon, why, here she will be." 
 
 " But the expense " began Mrs. Gerry. 
 
 " It is no matter about that. It will be all right." 
 
 " I can t thank you enough ; I shall have time to 
 arrange later," began Mrs. Gerry. She glanced at the 
 clock. She turned to her daughter, the tense expres 
 sion deepening upon her face. 
 
 Without speaking Salome ran across the room, 
 snatched up her hat, and was again by her mother s 
 side. 
 
 The two went out, holding each other s hands. 
 After a moment Mrs. Darrah passed her handkerchief 
 across her eyes. 
 
 The two sped along the narrow streets towards the
 
 266 THE TWO SALOMES 
 
 railway station. As they went on Salome panted 
 forth the question, " What is the matter with him?" 
 
 "Typhoid fever, your Uncle Lemuel wrote." 
 
 Then nothing more was said until they came in 
 sight of the station. They had still ten minutes. But 
 not until the ticket was bought did they speak again. 
 
 Then Salome threw her arms over her mother and 
 demanded rather than asked, 
 
 " Mother, let me go with you !" 
 
 "No, no. Remember, it is winter. 1 
 
 " You will not let me go ?" 
 
 " No ! It is for your good to stay." 
 
 " My good ! Oh, what of that ? 
 
 " Salome ! Do you know how dear you are to me ? 
 And, Salome " 
 
 Mrs. Gerry led the girl out upon the platform. For 
 an instant she held her as we poor human beings 
 hold that which is unutterably precious, and from 
 which we must part. 
 
 "Salome, will you tell the truth always always? 
 Salome, you must !" 
 
 "Yes, mother" clinging to her "yes." 
 
 The train bell rang like the signal of an inexorable 
 fate. 
 
 Mrs. Gerry stepped into a car. She was borne off 
 with her white face turned towards the white face of 
 the girl standing on the platform. 
 
 Salome stood there for several moments. She was 
 dimly aware that there were people chatting near her 
 and sauntering about people who had come down to 
 see friends off. She even heard the stamping of 
 horses on the other side of the station and the jangle 
 of the harness they wore. She wondered afterwards 
 how she could have noticed such things.
 
 HOW SHOULD YOU THINK OF YOURSELF?" 267 
 
 Presently some one left a group of ladies and 
 gentlemen, and came quickly to Salome s side. It 
 was Portia. She passed her hand through the girl s 
 arm with a touch that was so sympathetic that Salome 
 turned towards her with a choked exclamation. But 
 she drew herself up instantly. 
 
 " I am very foolish, she said, brokenly. 
 
 " But what is it ? I have just come here to meet 
 the Jacksonville train," returned Portia. 
 
 Salome stood up straight. She brought her face 
 immediately under control. 
 
 " Do present me, Miss Nunally ; you know you 
 promised to present me to Miss Gerry," said a voice 
 behind Portia, who turned with an abruptness that 
 had something almost savage in it. 
 
 " Go away, Major Root," she said, imperiously, 
 " and drive back alone, for I shall walk with Miss 
 Gerry." 
 
 The Major stood in annoyed indecision for a little 
 time. But he had confided to some brother officers 
 that one reason why the Nunally was so dashed at 
 tractive was that she never toadied to a fellow. She 
 was as dashed independent as if she had a million 
 dollars to her name ; and be dashed if he didn t like 
 that kind of thing ; it was so dashed different from 
 the rest of the girls. He said "gals" when in con 
 versation with those brother officers. 
 
 Now he walked away with that small strut which is 
 often apparent in a man who is not very tall, yet who 
 is conscious of being an army officer. 
 
 But by the time he had mounted his dog-cart and 
 v:as driving away, he thought he was very angry. He 
 had been going to do that Miss Gerry an honor by 
 being presented to her. And there was something
 
 268 THE TWO SALOMES 
 
 interesting about her. Perhaps the Nunally didn t 
 want him to know too many " other gals." He 
 chuckled slightly at this thought, and this chuckle 
 helped to restore him to a better humor. Portia 
 wouldn t tell him to go away when she was his wife. 
 He chuckled again at this idea. He glanced back. 
 There the two were coming along the road arm in 
 arm. They were talking earnestly ; or, rather, Portia 
 was talking. It was all make believe, of course, this 
 appearance of interest. Women really disliked each 
 other. Of course, it was dashed natural that they 
 should dislike each other and it was still more 
 dashed natural that they should pretend to care. 
 And the Major chuckled again. 
 
 ])ehind him Miss Nunally had just shrugged her 
 shoulders, looking towards his broad back, and had 
 said that she wished old Root would drive on out of 
 sight. She was likely to see enough of him in the 
 years to come, but now another shrug finished the 
 sentence. She turned to her companion, who was 
 by this time perfectly composed, apparently. She 
 spoke in her sweetest manner, and Portia s sweetest 
 manner was seldom resisted. She assured Salome 
 that a journey North was nothing ; that Mrs. Gerry 
 would soon send a telegram. And Portia felt sure 
 that it would be good news that would come. 
 
 " Why not look forward to good news ? she said. 
 " And meanwhile we must find a home for you in 
 town. You can t stay there in that place my aunt 
 calls so definitely beyond the Maria Sanchez. " 
 
 " Oh," said Salome, " Mrs. Darrah has been so 
 kind. I am to stay with her." 
 
 " At the Ponce ?" 
 
 Miss Nunallv halted as she asked this.
 
 "HOW SHOULD YOU THINK OF YOURSELF?" 269 
 
 " Yes. But I hope it will only be for a week or 
 two. Mother will write to me what to do. And she 
 will come back, I suppose, if father 
 
 She stopped abruptly, unable to go on. She felt 
 that she could not endure the suspense of the next 
 few days. No, she simply could not endure it. But 
 hour after hour must go on, and she must live through 
 those hours as best she could. 
 
 "Don t worry," said Portia, gently. "Don t let us 
 run to meet the future, whatever it is to be. And you 
 are to be at the Ponce ? 
 
 She seemed to dwell in a peculiar manner upon 
 this fact. 
 
 " I shall be a little graybird among all the fine 
 feathers," was the response. " But I shall not be 
 seen. I don t care for all the gayety there ; and it 
 cannot be for long." 
 
 " No, repeated Portia, " it cannot be for long. 
 But are you going to shut yourself up and brood over 
 the bad news ?" 
 
 " I can t help brooding over it," was the reply. 
 " And then it would seem disloyal, some way, if I 
 were able to forget it. 
 
 " You mean you think your father and mother 
 would be happier if they knew you were miserable ?" 
 said Portia. 
 
 Salome smiled. She was greatly comforted by her 
 companion s presence. She had never seen Portia in 
 precisely this mood before. She knew that Miss Nu- 
 nally was many-sided, but the exquisite tenderness 
 of her face and manner now were something she had 
 not previously experienced. She could not help feel 
 ing it keenly even in the midst of her anxiety. 
 
 When they reached the old coquina gate Miss Nu-
 
 270 THE TWO SALOMES 
 
 nally paused and held Salome back. A group of 
 horseback riders was just trotting briskly into the 
 city from that long stretch of road where later the 
 sweetness of the yellow jasmine would be filling the 
 air everywhere. 
 
 Now every rider wore a small knot of violets, 
 which had been picked among the thickets of jas 
 mine and glossy leaved greenery which rioted in rich 
 life beyond the city. 
 
 At sight of Miss Nunally the hats of the young 
 men came off, and their somewhat jaded faces showed 
 the interest her presence was almost sure to waken. 
 Some of them turned to look again at that girl who 
 stood quietly beside Portia, gazing with melancholy, 
 absent glance at the cavalcade. 
 
 One or two were able to lell the others that she was 
 the little type-writer, or something of that sort, whom 
 the Darrah woman employed, don t you know. They 
 had seen her going swiftly along some gallery or bal 
 cony of the Ponce de Leon. If she were only dressed 
 like the Nunally, don t you see she would be well, 
 it was really impossible to tell exactly what she would 
 be. As it was, she was kind of an interesting little 
 thing, eh ? 
 
 Then they had all trotted and cantered by and were 
 talking of the engagement, suspected, but not yet an 
 nounced, of Major Root and Miss Nunally. The 
 men didn t know how that filly would behave in har 
 ness, and the women wondered that a man like the 
 Major should think of marrying again. 
 
 The girls remained standing. Salome appeared to 
 have forgotten that there was any reason why she 
 should go on. Portia was studying her with undis 
 guised interest, and she was pitying her also, with a
 
 "HOW SHOULD YOU THINK OF YOURSELF?" 271 
 
 kind of pity that would not have angered the receiver 
 of it. 
 
 " Do not let us go to the hotel now," she said, at 
 last. " Let us take a boat. It is soothing to be on 
 the water. One begins to feel better without know 
 ing why." 
 
 Salome followed the guidance of the other. They 
 went down to the wharves. Portia chose a trim row- 
 boat, and ordered about the owner of it as she ordered 
 every one whose business at the moment was to 
 serve her. 
 
 The man was about to step into the craft when he 
 was told that he was not wanted. 
 
 " But you, lady, can t manage a bo t yourself ?" 
 
 " Can I not ? was the response. " But we are go 
 ing without you. Come," extending both hands to 
 Salome. 
 
 The boat went slowly out among the yachts that 
 swung at anchor all along the coast of the town. 
 
 Portia rowed well, as she did everything. She took 
 off her gloves and pulled her hat forward over her 
 eyes. Occasionally she would look at the girl who 
 sat almost motionless in front of her. She saw the 
 strained expression give way somewhat. 
 
 Half-way over towards the island Salome started 
 forward. 
 
 "I had forgotten Mrs. Darrah!" she exclaimed. 
 "She was dictating when mother came. And she has 
 been so kind. I must go back." 
 
 " But you cannot swim, and I am going to the 
 North Beach," returned Portia. 
 
 " She has been so kind," repeated Salome, leaning 
 forward. " You don t know how kind she has been 
 about the "
 
 272 THE TWO SALOMES 
 
 She paused just as she was about to utter the word 
 " check." It seemed to her that it was not she her 
 self who refrained from speaking that word. She her 
 self would have been willing to pronounce it. She 
 did not know what it was which held her back. 
 
 She felt a strong desire to tell Miss Nunally about 
 that check. It was just possible that Miss Nunally 
 would understand and would not be so shocked. She 
 had not told any one save Mrs. Darrah, because she 
 was quite sure everybody would be so shocked. 
 And she remembered very well what Moore had said 
 about forgery. She supposed that was the general 
 feeling. Of course, it was wrong ; but then there 
 were a great many things wrong about which there 
 was no such feeling as that. 
 
 "Yes, yes," said Portia, calmly. " I know my aunt 
 has been kind. She has done a great deal for me. 
 But she will forgive you ; and I will explain that it 
 was my fault. It puts one in such a generous attitude 
 to say it was my fault. Do let me have the pleas 
 ure of putting myself in that light. Just give your 
 self up to the influence of this air and water. Was 
 there ever anything more beautiful ? Let us drift 
 away out into the Gulf Stream and be carried down 
 to those islands of the blest." 
 
 A quick light came over Salome s face. She 
 pressed her hands together. 
 
 " To the West Indies ?" she asked, eagerly. 
 
 " Yes," smiling. 
 
 " Yes, yes ; let us go !" went on Salome, still more 
 eagerly. " If we only might sail right down there ! 
 But no " the light dying out and leaving her more 
 pallid than before. " Of course we cannot go. How 
 foolish I am !"
 
 "HOW SHOULD YOU THINK OF YOURSELF?" 273 
 
 Portia, who had spoken in jest, was for the moment 
 alarmed. 
 
 "You are certainly a very strange Yankee girl," she 
 said, after a silence. 
 
 " I am not a Yankee girl at all," Salome answered, 
 with some pride. 
 
 Portia was alarmed again. 
 
 " Surely," she began ; then she stopped. She drew 
 in her oars quickly and reached forward to her com 
 panion, taking both her hands in a firm clasp. 
 
 The boat rocked gently. The sands of Anastasia 
 Beach glittered before them. Behind them, quaint, 
 shabby, sumptuous St. Augustine lay in the brilliant 
 sunshine. 
 
 " Miss Gerry Salome !" exclaimed Miss Xunally. 
 Then she tried to speak in her ordinary tone : 
 " What are you, then ?" she asked. 
 
 Salome gazed about her. An expression of exalt 
 ed passion came to her face. 
 
 "I am Southern Southern to the core of my 
 heart !" she exclaimed. " I hope I shall never see 
 New England again. I was dead dead there. You 
 don t believe me. I have kept myself calm, as if I 
 were cold. I hate coldness. 1 am West Indian. 
 The sun oh, Miss Nunally, do you know what it 
 is to love the sun and warmth and richness, and to 
 hate clouds and cold and meagreness ? And to have 
 to be self-controlled and calm all the time ? And 
 to keep thinking whether a thing is right or not?" 
 
 Here the girl paused to glance attentively at Portia, 
 who was still holding her hands and looking at her 
 with the alarm she could not quite subdue. 
 
 " You think I have suddenly gone insane, Miss Nu 
 nally," she said, " but I haven t. I m perfectly sane. 
 18
 
 274 THE TWO SALOMES 
 
 Only a little " she laughed " just a very little drunk 
 with being in Florida, and, really, I am a West Indian. 
 That accounts, doesn t it ?" She now spoke with the 
 greatest rapidity. " I only knew just a short time ago 
 that my mother s grandfather was born here on one 
 of these islands. You see nobody has inherited from 
 him but me. I am sure of that sure of that. All the 
 fire and ardor in his blood have come to me to me. 
 It skipped those between me and him. Oh, he would 
 have understood me. He would not have wondered 
 at me. And when those surges of glorious feeling which 
 go over my soul when they come, if I could have told 
 him he would not have looked as you do now, 
 Miss Nunally ; he would have understood. And he 
 was never obliged to be cold and self-constrained be 
 cause he was born in Massachusetts and brought up 
 to think that that ice was the only respectable thing 
 in the world." 
 
 Salome nearly stammered in her hurry to speak. 
 
 She came to a pause now. Her face was shining, 
 with no color in it save in the lips. It was so re 
 splendent that the girl opposite, who was staring fix 
 edly at her, felt a quick start of pulses in vague but 
 powerful sympathy. 
 
 " But but " began Portia, hurriedly. Then she 
 gave her laugh. It echoed softly about them. 
 
 " I am not precisely the person to preach," she con 
 tinued, " but self-control is certainly something to 
 strive for. We are very little save animals if we have 
 not that virtue. We want a mask ready to put on, to 
 keep on most of the time. A heart on one s sleeve 
 
 "Pshaw!" interrupted Salome. "You don t know 
 what I mean. Oh, do pardon me ; I did not intend 
 to be disrespectful. I don t think I want to say any
 
 "HOW SHOULD YOU THINK OF YOURSELF?" 275 
 
 more. Are we going to the North Beach ? You know 
 we cannot get into the Gulf Stream unless we go out 
 side. And we can t go outside in this boat. We are 
 always hampered, are we not ?" 
 
 Miss Nunally did not reply. She felt that her own 
 shallow disregard of the conventions was very shallow 
 indeed when compared with the underlying something 
 in her companion s character. She was deeply inter 
 ested. She took up the oars and rowed for some time 
 in silence. She was thinking that this girl had only 
 been veneered by her Northern birth and upbringing, 
 and that the superficial covering was revealing what 
 was underneath. 
 
 Salome was now sitting in an attitude of perfect 
 calm. Only upon her face there still remained the 
 glow, fading somewhat, of a few moments since. 
 
 " I have almost a mind to tell you something," now 
 remarked Salome. 
 
 " I am listening," was the response. 
 
 " Are you easily shocked ?" asked Salome. 
 
 " I could almost say that it is impossible to shock 
 me," answered Miss Nunally. 
 
 Salome was wondering why she felt so impelled to 
 tell about that check to which she had put Mrs. 
 Darrah s name. 
 
 " I thought, since you are going to marry Major 
 Root, that of course you would not be shocked by 
 by trifles," said Salome. " But that is a rude speech, 
 isn t it?" 
 
 "Rather, I should say." Portia had colored with 
 anger. " But go on. We may be shocked by very 
 different things." 
 
 " Yes ; that is true. Now, I cannot imagine a wom 
 an doing as you intend to do. While, perhaps, you
 
 276 
 
 cannot imagine doing what I am going to tell you. 
 And perhaps you will know whether I ought to in 
 form Mr. Moore." 
 
 " I can advise you on that subject directly. Make 
 no confessions to him. Men never confess anything. 
 They don t think it worth while, and why should we ? 
 I suppose you have loved somebody else are still 
 engaged to him. Nothing is more common." 
 
 " No, no. It is about a well, it is about 
 
 "Boat ahoy!" 
 
 As this call came from the direction of the town, 
 Miss Nunally uttered an impatient exclamation. The 
 two looked back. They both felt that it was they who 
 had been hailed, although there w r ere many other 
 craft on the river. 
 
 There was a small sailboat coming directly towards 
 them. The sail caught the wind and was distended 
 stiffly. In the bows there stood a man with his hat 
 off. He was waving that hat towards them. The light 
 struck his white forehead, his tanned face, and yellow 
 beard. 
 
 " Boat ahoy !" he shouted again. " Where are you 
 bound?" 
 
 Salome did not speak. But she had instantly recog 
 nized Moore. 
 
 "What shall I say to him?" asked Miss Nunally, 
 quickly. 
 
 "Anything you please." 
 
 " He will ask to take us into his boat," said Miss 
 Nunally. " You know such an arrangement will make 
 our trip a very different thing. But if you want him, 
 Miss Gerry " 
 
 " Where are you bound ?" now shouted Moore again. 
 He was bearing down rapidly upon them.
 
 "HOW SHOULD YOU THINK OF YOURSELF? 277 
 
 " No, no," said Salome. "Answer what you please." 
 
 " For the North Beach." Miss Nunally had again 
 drawn in her oars. She put a hand on each side of 
 her mouth as she called back. 
 
 " So am I," said Moore. Portia looked at her com 
 panion as she said, interrogatively, 
 
 " We can t forbid him the North Beach, I suppose ? v 
 
 Salome shook her head. "No; but tell him we 
 want to go by ourselves." 
 
 Portia resumed her oars. " You may give him that 
 terrible information," she said. " He may cast him 
 self into the sea and drown himself. I m not going 
 to be responsible." 
 
 Salome now turned, and for the first time really 
 looked at the occupant of the sailboat, which was 
 skimming along with the somewhat leisurely but sure 
 motion of a water-fowl. 
 
 Moore bent forward as she turned ; he iking up his 
 hat again. He was now so near that she could see 
 the expression of his face. Seeing him thus she re 
 called his frequent use of the word " cruel " in regard 
 to her. She knew that she was never cruel, and she 
 knew also that he did not really think that she was. 
 
 It was very difficult, however, at this moment to say 
 as she did : 
 
 " We want to go to the North Peach by our 
 selves. 
 
 She saw the cloud come over the young man s coun 
 tenance. Put he would not yield before Miss Nu 
 nally to that sentimental mood. 
 
 "Won t the prayers the tears of a poor wretch 
 move you ?" 
 
 "Not in the least," with gay decision. 
 
 "Very well." The sailboat was now alongside.
 
 278 THE TWO SALOMES 
 
 " I shall take my revenge by hanging round and pick 
 ing you two out of the water after you have capsized 
 this mere eggshell, as you surely will do." 
 
 " We give you full permission to save us from a 
 watery grave." 
 
 Miss Nunally glanced in some surprise at Salome, 
 who, it seemed, was at times quite capable of not 
 wearing her heart on her sleeve. 
 
 " And when you are saved, how bitterly you will 
 wish you had been kind to me now." 
 
 Moore avoided looking at Salome as he spoke. He 
 was holding the gunwale of the row-boat, and his eyes 
 were turned everywhere but in her direction. But in 
 reality he saw nothing save that figure, with its pale 
 face looking towards him with what seemed to him a 
 very reprehensible self-possession. He almost wished 
 that he might have the chance of saving her from 
 drowning. If he did, she would, perhaps, have that 
 expression which he so well remembered. He thought 
 it a distinct wrong to him that she was able to be so 
 thoroughly calm. He quite forgot for the time that 
 he was giving nearly his whole attention to the effort 
 towards being calm and conventional himself. But 
 when were lovers reasonable ? 
 
 He still held the gunwale. He knew that Miss 
 Nunally was gazing at him with a smile on her face. 
 He knew very well that he ought not to remain a 
 moment longer. And still he did not go. 
 
 This meant, then, not only that he could not go 
 with Salome now, but that he should miss walking 
 out to the truck farm with her. This thought made 
 him frown, and it also made him say to himself that 
 she cared very little about seeing him. Every mo 
 ment since he left her he had been looking forward to
 
 "HOW SHOULD YOU THINK OF YOURSELF?" 279 
 
 that walk. And now how coolly she had made it im 
 possible ! 
 
 His bright face clouded perceptibly. If she did 
 not care, he would also try not to care. Certainly 
 she was indifferent. Did she not look so ? And 
 why need she have deliberately come out on the 
 river with Miss Nunally ? There was really no 
 reason. 
 
 Having in about three minutes time wrought him 
 self into an acute state of indignant anguish, Moore 
 now relinquished his hold upon the row-boat. He 
 raised his hat with frigid ceremony, and his boat slid 
 off over the ruffled surface of the water. 
 
 Salome carefully refrained from glancing towards 
 that boat. Hut Miss Nunally looked at it, and at its 
 occupant, who did not turn his head from its straight 
 forward position. 
 
 " What curious animals lovers are !" she exclaimed, 
 as she began to row. 
 
 There was no reply to this remark. Presently she 
 continued : 
 
 " Mr. Moore wanted to pitch me over into the water, 
 and then have it out with you because you had been 
 guilty of not knowing that he also would be boating 
 this morning." 
 
 Still no response. 
 
 " Perhaps you want to pitch me over the boat s side, 
 Miss Gerry ?" 
 
 " No." 
 
 " It is not too late to call Mr. Moore back. If you 
 quite grovel in your apology to him he may forgive you 
 for not knowing that you might have spent this time 
 with him. Shall I call him ?" 
 
 " No."
 
 2&0 THE TWO SALOMES 
 
 Silence, during which Miss Nunally rowed with great 
 vigor. 
 
 " May I give you a piece of advice, Miss Gerry ? 
 she asked. 
 
 " I should be glad if you would." 
 
 "Well, then, it is this : if there is anything that you 
 think you ought to tell Mr. Moore, don t tell him." 
 
 Salome s face changed to a look of intense interest, 
 and was there also a hint of relief in it ? 
 
 "Oh, why do you think so ?" she asked. 
 
 " I think so on general principles. And particularly 
 about him. He is intolerant in regard to women, I 
 am sure. He thinks he respects women. Now, be 
 ware of the man who thinks he respects women that 
 is, if you have to sue for his forgiveness." 
 
 Salome did not change her position, but she seemed 
 to become rigid as she sat there. Her mind was in a 
 pitiable state of confusion. 
 
 " Do you feel sure about this ?" she asked. 
 
 " I am sure that is the way I should do." 
 
 Salome had a feeling that Miss Nunally and she 
 might view things very differently. But then it was 
 not probable that Miss Nunally had committed a 
 crime. That word " crime " always had a strange effect 
 upon Salome s consciousness. She both defied it 
 and shrank from it. And she did not feel at all like 
 a criminal. She wondered if all criminals had this 
 absence of any conviction of sin. She was glad 
 her father had the money, doubly glad now that he 
 was ill. All the feeling she had was that she hated 
 to have people shocked when they knew what she had 
 done. And yet something, she had not the least idea 
 what it was, but something, was often urging her to 
 tell.
 
 "HOW SHOULD YOU THINK OF YOURSELF?" 281 
 
 There were brief periods when she was almost afraid 
 that she was not entirely rid of that conscience which 
 had so goaded and tormented her when she was an 
 invalid at home. But these periods were very brief, 
 and were becoming more and more rare. 
 
 Salome felt moments of acute curiosity as to what 
 Miss Nunally would think did she know of the forgery. 
 This curiosity gained in morbid strength as the two 
 girls strolled over the wide, solitary expanse of the 
 North Beach. 
 
 They had tied their boat to the little wharf on the 
 Matanzas side, and walked across to the ocean shore. 
 It had taken them a long time to come across the 
 water, and Portia was weary. She was annoyed, 
 too. That scene with Moore, short as it had been, 
 had irritated her, and her annoyance did not lessen. 
 But Salome felt her spirits rising ; only they were held 
 clown by the always present thought of her mother 
 travelling on towards the North. She was never out- 
 of-doors long in this climate and among these sur 
 roundings without growing to think of herself as some 
 thing like a soulless barbarian, whose only life was this 
 life beautiful, full of enchantment. If only those 
 whom she loved would not be ill. If only she might 
 not love too well. She was beginning to have a sus 
 picion that it might be better not to love anything. 
 In that case she could disport herself in this sunshine 
 without any of that vague but intensely delightful un 
 rest which now so often oppressed her. But love 
 could she really give that up ? 
 
 She stood with her hands full of those shining shells 
 and pebbles which people cannot help gathering when 
 they walk on these Florida beaches. Her hat was 
 pushed back ; her hair was flying about her face.
 
 282 THE TWO SALOMES 
 
 Miss Nunally, walking towards her, told herself 
 that really Salome Gerry had the pose at this moment 
 of some kind of a sublimated human being. Were 
 there ever eyes so full of heaven and of earth also? 
 
 " If I loved that woman," thought Miss Nunally, 
 smiling quietly as she quoted, " I should love but her, 
 and her forever." 
 
 Salome heard the approaching footsteps. But she 
 did not turn her head. She continued to gaze out sea 
 ward. The ocean, at its lowest ebb, was faintly sliding 
 up the shore. 
 
 " I wanted to ask you something/ said Salome. 
 
 " Well ?" said Miss Nunally. 
 
 " If you had committed a forgery, how should you 
 think of yourself ?"
 
 XVI 
 
 QUESTIONING 
 
 PORTIA did not reply directly. The question put 
 to her had something of the suddenness and the force 
 of a blow. As soon as she could speak she said : 
 
 " If I had done that, and if I were engaged to 
 marry Randolph Moore, I should take great precau 
 tions lest he should know of it." 
 
 Salome could not imagine why these words should 
 make her immediately think more seriously than ever 
 that she would tell Moore. 
 
 She dropped the shells and the pebbles she had been 
 gathering. She thought that Miss Nunally had never 
 before said anything which really repelled her. 
 
 " Let us go up there and sit clown on that piece of 
 driftwood," she proposed, after an interval of silence. 
 " I am tired." 
 
 As the two walked slowly through the heavy sand, 
 Salome asked when was the very earliest that her 
 mother could reach home. 
 
 After a little calculation Portia replied. She spoke 
 somewhat coldly. She had a suspicion that her com 
 panion was trying to play upon her credulity. 
 
 The two sat down on the old timber. 
 
 " I really did do it," said Salome, after another si 
 lence. She was sure that Miss Nunally had not 
 believed her, and she was now fully resolved to try
 
 284 THE TWO SALOMES 
 
 the effect of a confession on this girl who, Salome be 
 lieved, was going to do a far worse thing than she 
 had done. 
 
 The kind of sin to which we have no inclination, 
 which does not hold for us the least temptation, is 
 the kind of sin which shocks us greatly. 
 
 Miss Nunally was leaning forward on one elbow, 
 her face turned so that she might gaze fully at the 
 girl beside her. At last she laughed, and said : 
 
 "I don t believe it." Then she laughed again, and 
 continued, " When you go back to the hotel, look in 
 a mirror and tell me if you believe it yourself." 
 
 " I don t know anything about that," responded 
 Salome, "but it is true." 
 
 " Good heavens !" cried Portia. She lifted her 
 head and looked about her. She turned to Salome, 
 and said, kindly, 
 
 " I m afraid you are worrying too much about your 
 father s illness." 
 
 " And so am not quite right in my mind. Is that 
 what you mean ?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Then you are entirely mistaken," with great dig 
 nity. " I m perfectly right in my mind. And I have 
 forged." 
 
 Miss Nunally s effort to be calm and judicial was 
 evident. 
 
 " Perhaps," she said, "if you give me particulars I 
 shall be able to understand. Particulars are some 
 times very convincing when a broad, general state 
 ment has no effect." 
 
 "Yes," promptly answered Salome, "I see that. 
 It was Mrs. Darrah s name I put on a check for 
 my father. He needed money immediately. It was
 
 QUESTIONING 285 
 
 for eight hundred dollars. I m going to pay it 
 back." 
 
 Portia was still trying to be calm, and not " let her 
 feelings run away with her." 
 
 " Now do you believe me ?" asked Salome. 
 
 " Yes ; I believe you. I wish you hadn t told me." 
 
 " Why do you wish that? 
 
 " Because I don t like to be so confused as I am 
 now." 
 
 " Confused ? Oh, I suppose you did not expect me 
 to be a forger ? 
 
 " No, I didn t. Really, Miss Gerry, you make my 
 head go round so that I can t think." 
 
 " I will not speak for a few minutes ; then your 
 head may stop going round," was the reply. 
 
 In the silence that followed, the two figures sat 
 almost motionless, with faces turned towards the 
 ocean. 
 
 It was Salome who spoke first. 
 
 " It was for father," she said. " But I don t mean 
 that for an excuse. I m not excusing myself." 
 
 " Does my aunt know ?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " How did she discover it ?" 
 
 " Why," in surprise, " I told her !" 
 
 Portia leaned her head on her hand again. 
 
 " Your character is just as puzzling as your face," 
 she said. " I suppose, after you had done this thing, 
 what you call your conscience stepped in and made 
 you confess it." 
 
 " I don t know," said Salome. 
 
 " Do you know why you tell me ?" was the next in 
 quiry. 
 
 Salome hesitated.
 
 286 THE TWO SALOMES 
 
 " I wanted to know how it would strike you," she 
 at last answered. 
 
 " Well, how does it strike me ?" 
 
 " Oh, you are greatly shocked and repelled." 
 
 Salome gave this reply in tones so sorrowful that 
 Miss Nunally s face softened perceptibly. But she 
 did not give way to this feeling in words. 
 
 " May I ask why you did not request Aunt Flor 
 ence to lend you the money ?" 
 
 " It was so sudden, you know. And I had heard 
 you say she thought a good deal of her money. And 
 father must have it directly. And there was her 
 check-book, and I could imitate her hand. And, 
 really, it did not seem so dreadful." 
 
 " There was nothing in you that held you back ?" 
 
 " No ; there didn t seem to be. Something sprang 
 right up in me that said, Do it, just as if it had been 
 waiting, you see, to spring up when the right time 
 came. I suppose I ought to have shrunk; but I didn t." 
 
 " But where was yourj5nscience ?" 
 
 " Oh, I don t know," with some weariness. 
 
 Portia was looking with the keenest interest at her 
 companion. 
 
 " Then it wasn t what as children we would have 
 called a real, truly conscience, after all, that you used 
 to have ?" she inquired. 
 
 "I don t know," Salome said, again. "I suppose it 
 was only my bringing up ; and bringing up sometimes 
 drops away from one. Mine has, I think." 
 
 " And it is now that you are the real Salome 
 Gerry ?" 
 
 " I believe so ; I m almost sure of it." 
 
 " Don t tell Mr. Moore," Portia said, sharply. 
 " Don t try any of these effects on him."
 
 QUESTIONING 287 
 
 Salome said nothing. When they were in the boat 
 and Portia was rowing steadily back, Salome asked 
 the question which had been in her mind all the time. 
 
 " Miss Nunally, could you have done it ?" 
 
 "No!" 
 
 Salome shrank a little. It was some moments be 
 fore she said : 
 
 " And yet" 
 
 " And yet " Portia took up the words" I am going 
 to marry Major Root. It seems to me I wrong my 
 self most of all. But you, when you forged 
 
 Salome interrupted in her turn : 
 
 " When we sin it is always ourselves we wrong most 
 of all, isn t it ?" 
 
 Miss Nunally made a false stroke with one oar and 
 the boat veered almost into another craft. When she 
 was going on steadily again she said that it was of no 
 use talking ; one might talk forever and come right 
 back to the same place again. There were some 
 things one felt. 
 
 Salome leaned forward timidly. There was a 
 quiver on her mouth as she asked : 
 
 " Now I have told you that, do you feel repelled by 
 me ?" 
 
 Portia held her oars poised in the air. The two 
 girls gazed at each other. Portia s face softened still 
 more. 
 
 " I ought to feel repelled," she said. 
 
 " But do you ?" persisted the other. 
 
 Miss Nunally s eyes suddenly filled. She could 
 not see the face before her, with its piercing pathos of 
 expression. She drew in an oar and held out her 
 hand, grasping tightly the hand given in response. 
 
 " No ; you don t repel me in the least," she replied,
 
 288 THE TWO SALOMES 
 
 with strong emphasis. " More than that, I cannot 
 imagine being repelled by you, whatever you had 
 done." 
 
 Salome s look grew brighter. She would not re 
 lease the hand she held. But immediately a cloud 
 came over her. 
 
 " Still, that may be a mere matter of personal pres 
 ence or influence," she said. " That has nothing to 
 do with morals, after all." 
 
 " No, indeed," was the response ; " not anything to 
 do with morals." 
 
 Salome let go her companion s hand. Her whole 
 figure seemed to droop for a moment. 
 
 " I cannot understand things," she exclaimed at 
 last. " I try to reason. When I recall the old teach 
 ing I received, I try to repent. But I don t repent in 
 the least." 
 
 "But don t you feel sorry that you did that ?" asked 
 Miss Nunally. 
 
 " No ; I only feel sorry if those I love are going to 
 be grieved when they know it." 
 
 " Then don t tell them. I judge that my aunt has 
 condoned the offence. It all rests with you whether 
 it be known or not." 
 
 "Yes," said Salome ; " it all rests with me." 
 
 After this nothing more was said on the subject. 
 Indeed, hardly anything was said on any subject. 
 The two girls landed at the wharf and walked up to 
 the Ponce de Leon. Salome went directly to Mrs. 
 Darrah, feeling that she had been very remiss. But 
 that lady was not disposed towards reproof of any 
 kind. She had been dozing among her cushions, but 
 she thought she had been thinking over her novel. 
 This thought gave her a sense of having been attend-
 
 QUESTIONING 289 
 
 ing to duty, and consequently made her good-natured. 
 Besides, she never saw Salome without an awakening 
 of keenest interest in her as a specimen of the human 
 race. As a specimen, Mrs. Darrah often told herself, 
 Miss Gerry exceeded anything she had ever had occa 
 sion to study. The elder woman was always thinking of 
 the forgery, and trying to see some indications in the 
 girl s face or manner that she had done such a thing. 
 
 While she thus furtively watched her, the authoress 
 made a great many notes in that book devoted to 
 feminine traits. But when she looked over those 
 notes she found them particularly inane and pointless. 
 Once she dashed her pen through a page of them, 
 thinking, as she did so, that she had never before 
 found words so inefficient. 
 
 " And yet," she said, aloud, " there is the girl with 
 that baffling face that yet seems as clear as a lake, 
 and here am I with nothing to do but to study her. 
 I wonder what Portia thinks of her. Portia is a sharp 
 kind of a girl. I will ask her." 
 
 And she did ask her niece that very night, after 
 Salome had gone to bed in the room provided for her 
 near Mrs. Darrah. 
 
 " I suppose you feel acquainted with Miss Gerry, 
 don t you ?" was the inquiry. 
 
 " Are you asking that question for the sake of ma 
 terial, Aunt Florence, 5 was Miss Nunally s response, 
 " or just in a human kind of way ? 5 
 
 Mrs. Darrah flushed with anger. 
 
 " We will call it a human kind of way," she an 
 swered. "What do you think of Miss Gerry?" 
 
 Mrs. Darrah thought there was some agitation in 
 her niece s manner. The girl rose and walked to 
 the desk; she began lifting some leaves of inanu-
 
 290 THE TWO SALOMES 
 
 script which Salome had written. The clear hand 
 writing flashed up at her somehow like a glance from 
 Salome herself. She stepped away ; but still her eyes 
 remained on that writing, and it influenced her some 
 thing as the presence of the writer influenced her. 
 
 " I could be very fond of her," she said, at last. 
 
 " So could I," returned Mrs. Darrah, quickly. 
 " But that isn t of any consequence." 
 
 " Pardon me, Aunt Florence," said Portia, with her 
 touch of insolence, " but it is of the greatest conse 
 quence to me whether I can be fond of any one or 
 not. For instance, think of the difference it would 
 make if I could be fond of Major Root. 
 
 " Pshaw ! That isn t necessary. You will be fond 
 of the diamonds he gives you." 
 
 " Yes ; and so, perhaps, I shall spare his life for 
 a time." 
 
 Portia turned again and walked about the room. 
 It seemed impossible for her to keep quiet. 
 
 " What do you think of Miss Gerry ?" persisted 
 Mrs. Darrah. 
 
 Miss Nunally paused with her hands clasped be 
 hind her. She did not smile in the least as she re 
 plied : 
 
 " Think of Miss Gerry? I think a thousand things ; 
 and five hundred of those things contradict the other 
 five hundred." 
 
 Mrs. Darrah sat upright, as she did when particu 
 larly interested. 
 
 " That is exactly as it is with me !" she cried. 
 " How strange ! But, Portia, I m sure I know the 
 secret of it all." 
 
 " Do you ? Then I wish you would tell me ; for I 
 don t know it," was the response.
 
 QUESTIONING 29 1 
 
 " It is this do hand me that blue note-book. Are 
 you listening ?" 
 
 " I am certainly listening ; don t put me off like 
 one of your continued stories." 
 
 Mrs. Darrah did not notice this remark. She held 
 her pencil poised over her book. 
 
 " Miss Gerry is a New F,ngland girl." 
 
 Portia nodded impatiently. 
 
 " She was brought up by a typical New England 
 woman." 
 
 Another impatient nod. 
 
 " But," said Mrs. Darrah, with great impressiveness, 
 " Miss Gerry had a great-grandfather who was any 
 thing but a New England man." 
 
 Portia began walking again. 
 
 That is very convenient," she said. "When I do 
 anything evil I shall ascribe the tendency to some 
 grandparent ; but when I do anything good, which 
 rarely happens to me, I will say the deed comes from 
 my own individual self. I suppose we have individual 
 selves, Aunt Florence, as well as inherited proclivi 
 ties, haven t we ?" 
 
 ; I don t know," replied Mrs. Darrah, blankly. 
 
 " Then write a book about it," said Portia, flippant 
 ly repeating the advice she liked to give her aunt. 
 She turned towards the door. She paused with her 
 face averted. There was a decided look of pain on 
 that face, but her tone was still flippant as she said : 
 
 " I could sometimes wish most earnestly that I had 
 had a great-grandfather; and that people would re 
 member him when they judge me. Good-night, Aunt 
 Florence." 
 
 Mrs. Darrah gazed at the drapery that had fallen 
 over the door by which her niece had left her.
 
 \ 
 
 THE TWO SALOMES 
 
 She was thinking that it would be a great deal 
 better if Portia did care a little for Major Root, since 
 she was going to marry him. But she concluded her 
 thought by saying to herself : 
 
 " It is her own choice, however." And then she 
 added, " It was Miss Gerry s choice to forge." 
 
 And by this time she had fully decided not to make 
 any entry in her note-book. When the mind travels 
 in a "vicious circle" the mind is not in a condition 
 to make clear notes upon a topic. 
 
 Meanwhile the subject of this conversation was ly 
 ing with enforced stillness upon her bed. 
 
 She had been sure that she could not sleep, but she 
 knew that she must assume the position for sleep. 
 She held herself almost rigid until the noises in 
 the hotel had gradually subsided, and she could hear 
 distinctly the swelling of the tide on the outside of 
 the island opposite the city. 
 
 When she had been awake in the cabin where she 
 had been living, she had always listened for the 
 sound of the tide. She liked to hear it. In the 
 midst of her happiness it had made her still hap 
 pier. Now she wondered that, in her wretchedness, 
 this roar of the waves should make her still more 
 wretched. 
 
 Her thoughts followed her mother through every 
 mile of the desolate journey. Her thoughts leaped 
 constantly to the end of that journey; to the dreary 
 farm-house where her father was lying ill ; or perhaps 
 he was lying dead. Dead ! That word came to her 
 incesantly, until at last it was like the toll of a bell in 
 her ears. She felt that she could not wait and live 
 until she could hear. But she must live. 
 
 When her mother had left her, Salome had longed
 
 QUESTIONING 293 
 
 for the presence of Moore as for something that 
 should partially assuage the agony she felt at parting, 
 and at parting for such a cause. 
 
 She had never been separated from her mother a 
 week in her life. Constant familiarity and intercourse 
 had knit their love into something stronger even than 
 such love usually is. It was not merely a parting ; 
 Salome felt that it was a rending. She stretched out 
 her arms in the darkness. 
 
 " I cannot bear it !" she whispered. 
 
 Oh, happy is that human being who has never yet 
 had occasion to cry, " I cannot bear it !" 
 
 But we bear things. Somehow we bear them ; 
 though that endurance leaves us forever after with a 
 mark upon us. 
 
 So Salome lay there. She thought many thoughts, 
 but she seemed to herself to be thinking only of her 
 father and mother. She remembered how her moth 
 er had told her to be truthful. The girl prayed fervidly 
 that it might be given to her to speak the truth. Un 
 consciously she used the old phraseology that she had 
 heard in the pulpit at home : " that it might be given 
 to her." She believed that the prayer brought her 
 spirit yet nearer her mother. 
 
 It was very dark. But under the door of the room 
 leading into Mrs. Darrah s chamber there was a faint 
 bar of light. 
 
 Once the girl heard a swift dash of rain on the lit 
 tle balcony outside of her window. The sound made 
 her want to get up and go out and stand in that bal 
 cony so that the rain might fall upon her. The win 
 dow was widely open, and it let in the sweetness 
 of the Florida night. Salome heard a bird nestle 
 among the leaves of a magnolia that now and then,
 
 294 THE TWO SALOMES 
 
 in the breeze, touched the sash. She heard the bird s 
 indistinct murmur, as if it were dreaming of its day 
 light song. 
 
 Being young and well, Salome, after midnight, fell 
 asleep. But she slept lightly, and did not when she 
 wakened think she had slept at all. 
 
 The door under which there had been a bar of 
 light was now open, and a soft brilliance filled her 
 room. 
 
 Mrs. Darrah was standing in her wrapper near the 
 girl s bed. 
 
 " I could not sleep, she said, gently, " and I was 
 sure you were awake and suffering." 
 
 Salome sat up quickly. She pushed her hair back 
 from her face. She could not help holding out her 
 hands, which were instantly taken. 
 
 " You are so kind," murmured Salome. She tried 
 not to sob ; and the effort seemed to hurt her more 
 than the sob itself would have done. 
 
 Looking at the figure sitting there in its white 
 gown, being aware of the struggle Salome was making 
 that she might be calm, Mrs. Darrah for the next 
 few moments entirely forgot that she was an author 
 ess with an inexhaustible craving for " material." 
 She was only a woman whose kind heart was deeply 
 touched. Still it could not be expected that she 
 should become unconscious of the absorbing curiosity 
 which this girl roused in her. 
 
 " You are worrying, you are grieving," she said. 
 
 As she spoke she sat down on the bedside. " If 
 we could only attain to a philosophy whereby our in 
 tensity of feeling might come only upon joyous occa 
 sions." She spoke as if to herself. Salome did not 
 attempt a reply. She sat there, trembling both from
 
 QUESTIONING 295 
 
 chilliness and from excitement. She was glad Mrs. 
 Darrah had come in. The voice and the touch of a 
 sympathetic human being were much to her just now. 
 She wanted to speak, to give words to the dreadful 
 anxiety upon her ; but she remained silent. It did 
 not appear to her that she had any right to afflict this 
 woman who was so kind to her. 
 
 Finally, however, she asked, in a whisper : 
 
 " Mrs. Darrah, do you think 1 can bear it?" 
 
 " Certainly you can. When you are older you will 
 be astonished at the number of things you have borne, 
 and that you can still be happy." 
 
 " Is that true ?" piteously. " Dut you know my 
 mother will be suffering, and f not near to comfort 
 her. I can always comfort my mother." 
 
 The last sentence was broken by a heavy sob. 
 Salome withdrew her hands and pressed them upon 
 her chest as she used to do when her breath came 
 painfully from another cause. 
 
 " And if I should never see my father again ! " 
 
 Here the agony in the young face showed so plain 
 ly, even in that light, that Mrs. Darrah said, with 
 some sternness : 
 
 " ft is wicked of you to yield like this. You will 
 presently be wrought almost into an irresponsible 
 state." 
 
 Salome made a great effort. She even smiled as 
 she said : 
 
 " Mother says we are always responsible, and that 
 we can bear anything; and that really God loves us, 
 only it doesn t always seem as if He did. My moth 
 er is so strong, Mrs. Darrah." 
 
 Salome turned towards her pillow and put her head 
 down upon it.
 
 296 THE TWO SALOMES 
 
 " I beg your pardon," she went on in a moment, 
 " but I have been lying awake, and I got all worked 
 up, as they say at home. I am going to behave bet 
 ter now." 
 
 " That s right. Let me give you something to quiet 
 you. You can t hear from home for two days at 
 least ; and you must rest." 
 
 But Salome would have no sleeping draught. She 
 had something of her mother s horror of opiates. She 
 thanked Mrs. Darrow fervently. That lady bent down 
 and kissed the girl s cheek, and then she walked out 
 of the room. 
 
 An hour later, being wakeful and uneasy, she soft 
 ly stepped back to that bed. The girl lying upon it 
 was sleeping. 
 
 The next day Portia came for Salome to go driving 
 with her, but Mrs. Darrah announced that she intend 
 ed to dictate a great deal. 
 
 " Work is the best thing for Miss Gerry now," she 
 said. 
 
 Salome looked gratefully at her employer. Miss 
 Nunally went her ways, and Salome sat at the desk 
 hour after hour while Mrs. Darrah dictated in the 
 most copious manner. 
 
 The amanuensis was not in a condition to take in 
 the meaning of the words she wrote, or she would 
 have known there was very little meaning in them, and 
 she would have suspected that her companion was 
 only spinning sentences to keep her busy. 
 
 At last Mrs. Darrah looked at her watch. She 
 suddenly remembered that her niece had once told 
 her that Mr. Moore was in the habit of walking home 
 with Miss Gerry after her work. 
 
 But since Miss Gerry did not now go out beyond
 
 QUESTIONING 297 
 
 the Maria Sanchez at this point in her thoughts 
 Mrs. Uarrah asked abruptly : 
 
 " Do you expect to see that young man to-day ?" 
 
 " You mean Mr. Moore ?" 
 
 "Certainly. There is no other young man in the 
 world, is there ?" smiling slightly. 
 
 " Perhaps he is waiting for me," was the reply. 
 " He doesn t know that my mother has gone." 
 
 "Does not?" in surprise. "Well, go to the post- 
 office for me. He is no doubt lurking somewhere. 
 Tell him to call here after this. Now go." 
 
 But Moore was not lurking anywhere near. 
 
 Salome walked swiftly to the post - office. She 
 would not acknowledge to herself how her heart sank 
 as she went on. And she would not look either to 
 the right or left. 
 
 She was surprised to find a note from Moore, telling 
 her that business had called him to Palatka again; 
 that he might be gone a few days. The note was 
 rather cold ; only a last sentence contained a passion 
 ate regret that he must go without seeing her. And 
 he knew nothing of her father s illness. 
 
 Salome hurried on to the Plaza and sat clown upon 
 one of the benches, holding this note in her clasped 
 hands. Her heart was so heavy that she could hard 
 ly think. She was duly thankful that she was, in a 
 way, stupefied. She did not want to think. 
 
 She did not know when she should see Moore. A 
 few days he might be gone. A few days sounded 
 like a few years. And she needed him so. That 
 strong, robust cheerfulness of his ; that protect 
 ing and sustaining tenderness and he was to be 
 gone a few days. Everything might happen in that 
 time.
 
 298 THE TWO SALOMES 
 
 Yes, she was truly grateful that she was partially 
 stupefied. 
 
 She saw vaguely the people passing in front of her. 
 She heard vaguely their voices. 
 
 She began to make an accurate calculation of the 
 
 O 
 
 number of hours that surely must pass before she 
 could receive that telegram from her mother. 
 
 Still absorbed in this calculation, she walked back 
 to the hotel and to her own room. 
 
 It seemed to her that she kept up this study all the 
 next day when she wrote almost incessantly for Mrs. 
 Darrah. 
 
 At last the telegram arrived. Salome was sur 
 prised at her own strength when it was put in her 
 hand, and she opened the envelope. 
 
 " Better than I expected. Will write." 
 
 Those were the words she read. She turned with 
 a little cry towards Portia, who had brought the mes 
 sage, and who was standing watchfully near. Salome 
 thrust the paper towards Miss Nunally, and then ran 
 to her ow-n room. 
 
 When at last she came back her face had such an 
 expression of thankfulness and hope that Portia 
 could not bear it, and walked away. 
 
 " Why should we all suffer with that girl in this 
 way, and rejoice too ?" impatiently asked Miss Nu 
 nally of herself. " There is no reason in it. And 
 she no better than she should be. No ; there is no 
 reason in it." 
 
 Mrs. Gerry s promised letter came at the earliest 
 possible moment. It was concise. It said that Mr. 
 Gerry did not seem dangerously ill, and that Salome 
 need not worry. It bade the girl find a cheap but 
 comfortable lodging, for they could not accept so much
 
 QUESTIONING 299 
 
 from Mrs. Darrah. Mr. Gerry might need his wife s 
 care for some weeks, and it would not do for Salome 
 to remain at the Ponce de Leon. Still, Mrs. Gerry 
 might be able to return in a couple of weeks. It was 
 too soon yet for her to be able to judge. She was 
 glad that she had not allowed her daughter to come 
 home with her. It was very cold ; it was sleighing. 
 There was so much snow that the roads had been 
 broken out. ! 
 
 Salome shivered as she read ; but she laughed also. 
 She was sure now that her father would soon be bet 
 ter, and her mother would come back to her, perhaps 
 in two weeks. Even when Mrs. Darrah tried to re 
 mind her that often typhoid fever was of long dura 
 tion, Salome could not be depressed. She said she 
 felt almost certain that her mother would be with her 
 in two weeks ; and when she had this feeling about 
 anything it was nearly sure to come to pass. 
 
 In two days Salome had another letter ; this time 
 it was only a note. It prayed the child to take care 
 of herself, and it commanded her not to worry. 
 
 Salome read this in her room at the back of a house 
 on Bravo Street , for she had lost no time in leaving 
 the I once de Leon, as her mother had directed. 
 
 This room was small, and the one window looked 
 on nothing in particular. But nothing mattered so 
 long as her mother was away. 
 
 The girl read this note so many times that the 
 words lost all meaning. , But they had left a deep gloom 
 upon her. She did not know why they had done so. 
 
 She put on her hat and hurried out-of-doors. 
 When she was in trouble or when she was in joy, Sa 
 lome wanted to be under the sky. She could not 
 bear a roof above her.
 
 300 
 
 THE TWO SALOMES 
 
 She walked quickly among the little highways until 
 Artillery Street had led her to George Street. Then, 
 without any intention, she sped along in the direction 
 of the railway station. 
 
 Moore had not returned. He had written every 
 day, however, and she had replied briefly. But she 
 had told him nothing of her loneliness or anxiety. It 
 seemed to her it would be like pleading for her to 
 do so. 
 
 As she walked, the thought of her lover came to her 
 with a sudden sharpness of longing. She heard the 
 train from Jacksonville coming in. She was now 
 within a few rods of the station. What if he were 
 upon that train ? 
 
 She hesitated an instant. Then she hastened for 
 ward. She was on the platform as the train slowed 
 up. She stood back a little now, fully expecting to 
 see Moore alight. She was already aware of the ex 
 pression that would come to his face when he saw her. 
 Yet she shrank a little, asking herself if she were 
 bold. Would he think she was bold ? 
 
 He had written that he might come at any time 
 now. 
 
 It was not Moore whom Salome saw stepping from 
 the car nearest her. It was Walter Redd who put 
 foot on the platform. He held a satchel, which the 
 girl, with a thrill, recognized as her mother s satchel. 
 She saw him turn and help a woman behind him. 
 Then she saw that the woman^was her mother, pale, 
 worn, exhausted. 
 
 In an instant the girl had glided among the people. 
 She reached her mother and took her arm, pressing it 
 to her side.
 
 XVII 
 
 TIRED 
 
 FOR the first moment Mrs. Gerry seemed unable to 
 look at her daughter or to speak. 
 
 Instead, she turned towards Walter Redd and asked, 
 in a high, hard voice : 
 
 " Haven t you the check for the trunk, Walter ? 
 
 The young man nodded. He walked away imme 
 diately. He had made no attempt towards any kind 
 of a greeting to Salome. 
 
 The two women stood on the platform, the girl still 
 having her mother s arm. People hustled by them. 
 Two or three glanced at them with keen, sympathetic 
 eyes. At last Salome whispered : 
 
 " Mother !" 
 
 Mrs. Gerry s tense figure became more rigid. 
 
 Her daughter clung more closely to her. 
 
 After another silence, the girl said : 
 
 " Let us go to my room." 
 
 The two walked quickly away. But they had not 
 gone far when Mrs. Gerry stopped. She must still 
 have the care of things. 
 
 " Where is your room ? We must tell Walter. He 
 will want to see us after a while, and the trunk must 
 be sent, too. I will tell him. Is it Bravo Street ? 
 And the number ? 
 
 Salome thought her mother looked ready to fall to
 
 302 THE TWO SALOMES 
 
 the ground. Only the girl knew that she would not 
 fail ; that she would never fall while she lived. 
 
 "I will tell him," Salome said. 
 
 She ran back to where Redd stood at the end of the 
 station. She held out her hand to him. His swarthy 
 face flushed as he took the hand. 
 
 " I wanted to tell you where we are, and where you 
 may send the trunk," she said, hurriedly. She hesi 
 tated. Then she added, tremulously : " I know you 
 have been so kind." 
 
 "No, no ! he returned, with some roughness. 
 
 She hastened back to the figure which stood pa 
 tiently awaiting her. 
 
 When the two women were in the chamber on Bravo 
 Street, Salome turned the key in the door as if it were 
 necessary to do so to keep out intruders. 
 
 She led her mother to a chair. She took off the 
 dusty black bonnet and black mantle. But she could 
 not keep her hands from trembling as she did so. 
 Mrs. Gerry did not tremble. She watched her daugh 
 ter intently. 
 
 Salome knelt down on the floor and put her arms 
 about her mothers s waist. 
 
 " Mother !" she said. 
 
 Mrs. Gerry looked down at the young face. 
 
 " Yes," she said, " it is true. Lyman is dead ! 
 
 She did not say " your father." She was thinking 
 of the man who had been her lover and her husband. 
 At that moment she was not so much a mother as a 
 widow. 
 
 Salome shuddered. She had known as soon as she 
 saw her mother on the steps of the car. But to hear 
 those words, " He is dead !" That is driving the knife 
 into the wound. And this, too, must be borne.
 
 TIRED 303 
 
 The girl did not speak. She pressed her arms yet 
 closer about the form they held. In that first instant 
 she wondered why people sobbed and wept when they 
 knew of the death of one beloved. 
 
 Then in another moment she had fallen to weeping 
 in the most violent manner, clinging to her mother all 
 the time, and asking, convulsively : 
 
 " Shall I never see him again ? Shall I never see 
 him again ? 
 
 At first Mrs. Gerry said nothing. But soon she re 
 peated the word " Hush ! hush ! in the tone she had 
 used when her daughter was a child. 
 
 She bent over the slender form and enfolded it 
 strongly. After a little the girl sobbed less tumult- 
 uously, and still later she raised her head and looked 
 into her mother s face. She gently put the palm of 
 her hand against one thin white cheek of the elder 
 face. 
 
 Oh," she said, " how weak I am! And to think 
 what you must have borne !" 
 
 Mrs. Gerry pressed her lips together. There were 
 no tears in her eyes. The sweet strength of those 
 eyes shone full upon her daughter. 
 
 "And I told Mrs. Darrah," began Salome here 
 she stopped as if she could not speak again ; but 
 presently she went on " and I told Mrs. Darrah that 
 I could always comfort my mother. Oh, if I could 
 only comfort you !" 
 
 Mrs. Gerry s controlled countenance suddenly be 
 came suffused with red. Her mouth yielded ; her 
 eyes overflowed. In a voice that was strangely like 
 her daughter s she exclaimed : 
 
 " Oh, you do comfort me ! You do comfort me ! 
 It is our little girl, Lyman ! Our little girl !"
 
 304 THE TWO SALOMES 
 
 Her head dropped to Salome s shoulder. For the 
 first time since she had started North she gave way 
 to the suffering in her heart. 
 
 And as the young arms held her, as the young voice 
 murmured brokenly to her, she was comforted greatly. 
 
 Later the two sat close together talking in half 
 tones, with long pauses, until the sad story was told. 
 
 Mrs. Gerry did not dwell upon its details. She 
 could not do that now. 
 
 Mr. Gerry had made his will. His debts would al 
 most, if not quite, cover his property, but his widow 
 did not speak of that. She knew that her husband had 
 left all to her, so that she might settle affairs with no 
 hinderance. He had advised her to sell everything, 
 and then she would "know where she stood." That 
 was her judgment also. Lyman had never known ex 
 actly where he stood. 
 
 Holding his wife s hand, in those few moments 
 when he could talk, he had confessed that he wasn t 
 one of the kind that could get property together. He 
 wasn t thrifty. He didn t know why. He said he had 
 never cared as he cared now. He wished he could 
 leave his wife and child " well off." And he had al 
 ways worked hard, too. He didn t understand it. 
 
 And his wife had upheld and sustained him in his 
 dying, as she had done so many years in his living. 
 He had sent his love to his little girl. Still holding 
 that helping hand, still leaning upon it, he had gone 
 into the other world. 
 
 " I cannot tell you how kind Walter Redd has been 
 all the time," said Mrs. Gerry, now speaking in her 
 usual calm way. " I can t think what I should have 
 done without him. He is one to lean upon. And I 
 am to leave the selling of the farm and the wood-lots
 
 TIRED 305 
 
 to him. He will attend to everything. And in the 
 best way, too. He is shrewd and honest, and he in 
 sisted upon coming South with me now. I could have 
 come alone very well. But he was a great help. He 
 would have a sleeping-car, too. And I slept each 
 night. It seems strange, but I slept." 
 
 " Is he going to stay long ?" Salome put the ques 
 tion with but little interest. Yet she listened for the 
 reply. 
 
 " A few weeks. He said he meant to come down 
 this winter anyway. He says if he gets back in time 
 for the spring work it will be all right. He w f ants to 
 look round. Yes, he was a great help. Be as kind 
 as you can to him, Salome. He is a good friend." 
 
 " Oh yes, I am sure of that," was the response. 
 "Does he" hesitatingly "does he know about 
 Mr. Moore ?" 
 
 " I told him on the journey. He isn t a man to ap 
 pear sentimental, you know. You need not fear that 
 from him." 
 
 Mrs. Gerry s words seemed strictly true. When 
 Walter Redd called a few moments in the evening, he 
 was so solidly cordial and matter-of-fact in his ap 
 pearance that his presence produced a decidedly com 
 fortable effect upon the two women. It was like an 
 assurance that the foundations of the earth still re 
 mained. 
 
 And he did not stay until they were tired of him. 
 When he had gone, Mrs. Gerry repeated earnestly 
 what she had said before : 
 
 "Walter Redd has been such a help." 
 
 As Salome heard her she was conscious of a de 
 cided feeling of rebellion that it was Walter instead of 
 Moore who had been such a help. Then she reproved
 
 306 THE TWO SALOMES 
 
 herself for such an emotion. But she did not quite 
 subdue it. 
 
 When the two were left alone, Mrs. Gerry turned 
 suddenly to her daughter. She looked at her more 
 closely than she had yet done. Then she said : 
 
 " After all, it is only a very little while I have been 
 gone. But some way you look as if it were a long 
 time." 
 
 " Yes, yes. Mother, you forget how I have suffered 
 thinking of you and and father !" 
 
 " Yes, you must have suffered," kissing Salome s 
 cheek repeatedly. " And you have not slept ?" 
 
 "No, I have not slept." 
 
 Mrs. Gerry waited a little before she asked : 
 
 " Have you anything to tell me ?" 
 
 " To tell you ?" in surprise. " No ; what should I 
 have to tell ? Mrs. Darrah has been so kind ; and 
 she has kept me at work closely. I was so glad of 
 that." 
 
 " And how is Mr. Moore ?" 
 
 " I have missed him so much," replied Salome, 
 quickly. " Just as I needed him you see, mother, I 
 really did need him in my trouble he had to go 
 down to Palatka and along the river there. And he 
 doesn t even know you went North." 
 
 " Oh, he doesn t know ?" 
 
 " I thought I wouldn t tell him," went on the girl, 
 somewhat eagerly, "for I knew he would want to 
 leave everything and come back. It seemed weak to 
 tell him. And I am trying to be strong." 
 
 Salome s voice nearly failed her as she made this 
 announcement. She looked at her mother for ap 
 proval. 
 
 " That s right," responded Mrs. Gerry. " It never
 
 TIRED 307 
 
 hurts us to try to be strong. But I am sorry Mr. 
 Moore happened to be gone. I was thinking all the 
 time I was away from you that he would help you." 
 
 Salome hung about her mother. 
 
 " You like him, don t you ?" she asked. 
 
 " Like him ?" Mrs. Gerry smiled sadly, and yet 
 with a kind of cheerfulness. " More than that ; I love 
 him. How could I help it ?" 
 
 Salome flung herself at her companion, grasping 
 her impulsively. 
 
 "Oh, how lovely that is of you!" she cried, her 
 eyes shining through tears ; " but of course you 
 couldn t help it, since he is what he is. But what 
 shall I do if I go on loving him more and more ? 
 Tell me, mother; that is what frightens me -to love 
 him so much. Don t you think it would be a great 
 deal safer and more reasonable to have a moderate 
 sort of an affection ? 
 
 " First, then," replied Mrs. Gerry, " make yourself 
 over into a safe and moderate kind of a girl." 
 
 " But how can I ?" 
 
 "Perhaps it can be done. A good many things 
 can be done. There was a man who was able to 
 stand on a pillar for a good many years." 
 
 " I remember him. But what did it amount to ?" 
 
 Mrs. Gerry gazed at her child with an inscrutable 
 smile. She was thinking that if Salome could see 
 her own face she would never ask such questions 
 concerning herself. 
 
 " It amounted to proving that a man may stand on 
 a pillar day after day and week after week and year 
 after year." 
 
 Salome felt that she did not quite understand. 
 But she dropped the subject.
 
 308 THE TWO SALOMES 
 
 That night the girl really slept for the first time 
 since her mother had left her. She had no cause to 
 worry now. She knew the certainty. 
 
 When she woke, her mother was not beside her. 
 She rose and went to the window. The sunshine 
 was streaming into the back yards of the houses op 
 posite. By craning her neck a great deal she could 
 almost see that famous leaning date-palm which 
 grows near one of the oldest houses. AYherever she 
 was, Salome always wished that she could see that 
 tree. She felt that the sight of a date-palm assured 
 her beyond a doubt that she was far away from any 
 place where snow could come. In New England 
 there were no palms standing against blue skies. 
 
 As she stood there she began to cry, softly and 
 copiously, as the young do often weep when they feel 
 grief, but when happiness stands side by side with 
 grief. 
 
 Her mother opened the door. 
 
 "I wouldn t wake you," she said, "but it is nine 
 o clock, and you should be at Mrs. Darrah s. While 
 you are there I will go out to our hut on the truck 
 farm." 
 
 When the girl was ready the two walked towards 
 the Ponce de Leon. They met Walter Redd, who 
 had taken a room near. But he did not try to detain 
 them. He looked heavy and sombre to the girl, who 
 was thinking of a face quite different. And suddenly 
 that face appeared. 
 
 Hurrying around a corner, eager, his eyes instantly 
 finding the two women, stepping with easy, alert 
 strength, aglow with happiness, Moore hastened to 
 them. 
 
 He was just from the station. He had heard
 
 TIRED 309 
 
 nothing. He was ready to reproach Salome for what 
 he inwardly called her " stingy notes." 
 
 But while he grasped Mrs. Gerry s hand his face 
 changed. A warm sympathy and solicitude took the 
 place of every other expression. Another person 
 might have felt sympathy as keenly, but another per 
 son might not have been able to show it with such 
 winning sincerity. He shook hands with Salome ; 
 but he turned again immediately to her mother. 
 
 What is it ?" he asked, in that tone which is hard 
 ly above a whisper, and which sometimes expresses so 
 much. " Something has happened to you. Salome, 
 haven t I a right to know when you are troubled ?" 
 
 But the girl could not speak. It was the mother 
 who must find strength for a reply. In half a dozen 
 words she made answer. 
 
 Moore was gazing fixedly at Mrs. Gerry as she 
 spoke. He seemed to divine directly how much 
 deeper was her wound than any that had come to her 
 daughter. 
 
 With an involuntary movement, of which he was 
 quite unconscious, he took the woman s hand and 
 drew it closely within his arm, walking on with her 
 silently, not looking at any one. 
 
 When the three had reached the hotel he asked if 
 he might wait for them. He said he was sure Mrs. 
 Darrah would not dictate this morning. Would they 
 let him stay with them that morning? Would they 
 please not send him away? 
 
 Mrs. Gerry smiled as she nodded yes to his re 
 quests. Again she wondered why it should be so 
 easy to smile at this young man. The smile helped 
 her. The very sight of him helped her. There was 
 a glow in her heavy heart as she walked up the stairs
 
 310 THE TWO SALOMES 
 
 by her daughter s side. She was feeling so exqui 
 sitely thankful that Salome s future promised so well. 
 Nothing mattered to herself now. She had lived her 
 life. But for the child for her everything lovely 
 might happen. The elder woman told herself that 
 she must henceforth look at the world and at life 
 through her daughter s eyes. Indeed, there was no 
 other way. To her now life and the world meant 
 merely what happened to Salome. She continued to 
 think of Moore as she entered the hotel and left him. 
 She had no doubt about the essential sweetness and 
 honesty of his nature ; and she was not one who 
 judged by externals. She had not seen the young man 
 very much, but she had watched his face and listened 
 to his tones with that keenness which belongs to some 
 women when they know a chlid s happiness depends 
 upon a certain face and voice. A hundred times she 
 had thanked God that Moore was what he was. She 
 was sure his faults were not vital faults, nor ruinous 
 faults. It was better than as if Salome had loved 
 Redd. Redd would have been faithful ; he would 
 have taken good care of the child, but he would never 
 have understood her. 
 
 As she reached this point in her thoughts, Mrs. 
 Gerry felt a quick start as of alarm. 
 
 Understood the child ! Who could understand her? 
 " The elements were so mixed " in her that she 
 seemed sometimes a human puzzle, impossible to 
 solve. But why solve everything? Mrs. Gerry s 
 mind ran on with that lightning rapidity which is oc 
 casionally one of the clearest processes of which the 
 mind is capable. And all this as she was walking by 
 the girl s side along the space that separated the en 
 trance from Mrs. Darrah s room.
 
 TIRED 311 
 
 This morning Mrs. Darrah was entirely merged in 
 the authoress ; and the authoress had been reading 
 over her last chapter before she had left her bed. It 
 was not the chapter she had just dictated ; she knew 
 that was nothing ; but the one previous ; and, until 
 this morning, she had not known that this also was 
 nothing. 
 
 When, in the ardor of inspiration, an authoress be 
 lieves she is quite firing the world, and when she 
 finds later that what she thought were burning words 
 are only the deadest kind of cinders, then that author 
 ess is not in a good-humor. Do not go into her den 
 at such a time. 
 
 Mrs. Gerry, however, knew nothing of some things 
 that were liable to happen to authoresses. So she 
 entered with that reserved self-possession that was 
 characteristic of her. 
 
 Salome took off her hat as if she were going to 
 stay to write ; then feeling the atmosphere, she held 
 her hat uncertainly, waiting. 
 
 Mrs. Darrah nodded at the two. She forgot for 
 the moment for what purpose Mrs. Gerry had been 
 North, or that she had been North at all. 
 
 I wish you would both sit down," she said, 
 brusquely. " I want to read you something. I ve 
 been reading it to myself ; now I want to try it on 
 somebody else. I want somebody else to writhe and 
 twist under it. Now listen to this." 
 
 The two had seated themselves. Mrs. Darrah put 
 on her eye-glasses. She glanced over them at Sa 
 lome as she said : 
 
 " Listen, will you ? This stuff doesn t belong in a 
 novel of sentiment at all. It belongs somewhere else. 
 I shall have to start another novel just to get this in."
 
 312 THE TWO SALOMES 
 
 There was no answer to this remark. Mrs. Darrah 
 smiled in a whimsical way as she began reading. 
 
 After a few paragraphs she looked at Salome 
 again. 
 
 " Did I really dictate that to you ?" she asked. 
 
 "You must have done so," was the reply. 
 
 " Pshaw ! Why don t you say it is your own, that 
 I never could have composed such trash ?" 
 
 Salome hesitated. In her own mind she knew that 
 she would have been willing to say that if she had 
 only thought of it. But her mother would not ap 
 prove. What was the harm in speaking things which 
 made life a little smoother, or which opened a way in 
 an easier manner ? 
 
 But she immediately dropped these questionings in 
 her impatience at this interview. If she were not to 
 work she could hardly force herself to stay in the 
 room. Was not Moore waiting for her ? In spite of 
 her resolve not to betray any feeling, she could not 
 restrain a movement which made her mother look 
 at her in reproof. Her mother had always at her 
 command a calm, if somewhat cold, politeness. Her 
 mother sat there now as quietly as if she never had 
 an emotion as if she were able to listen indefinitely 
 to the reading of that stuff which did not belong in 
 a novel of sentiment. 
 
 " What do you think of that ?" suddenly asked Mrs. 
 Darrah, looking up sharply. She caught Salome s 
 look of weariness and dislike. Now an author that 
 is, a woman author, for it is to be supposed that men 
 authors are different does not relish the perception 
 that she is boring some one with reading her own 
 composition, even though she has first announced that 
 the composition is trash. Of course she has a right
 
 TIRED 313 
 
 to call it trash. But she does not expect to be be 
 lieved. She knows very well that it is better than any 
 one else would be likely to write. 
 
 " But I see what you think of it !" she exclaimed, in 
 a voice of such annoyance that Salome, in the utmost 
 confusion, tried to answer and could not. 
 
 Mrs. Darrah had not slept well the night before. 
 Portia, who had been summoned at an earlier hour, 
 had, after a five minutes tarry, utterly refused to re 
 main. She told her aunt that she knew that she had 
 given her a great many gowns, and that board at the 
 Ponce was rather high ; still she was not going to stay 
 in the room just for her aunt to fling knives at her. 
 
 " I don t suppose you are out of temper," said Miss 
 Nunally, with that peculiar curl of the upper lip, " but 
 this is one of the times when the world is not equal 
 to the demands of your fine organism. " 
 
 " Don t quote George Eliot to me !" returned Mrs. 
 Darrah, furiously. 
 
 And here Portia had walked out of the room with 
 her head in the air 
 
 But the Gerrys could not walk out of the room in 
 that way. They must remain, and Salome felt that 
 she was extremely guilty. She might, at least, have 
 pretended an interest. She began to stammer some 
 thing, she hardly knew what. 
 
 " Don t try to explain," said Mrs. Darrah, frigidly, 
 " and don t pretend that you were interested. I 
 shouldn t believe you. You know very well why I 
 might take the liberty sometimes of doubting you. I 
 wish you would press that bell. My coffee was only 
 hot water this morning. I need toning up in 
 short" 
 
 Mere, as Salome walked across the room to touch
 
 314 THE TWO SALOMES 
 
 the button of the bell, Mrs. Darrah seemed to see 
 Mrs. Gerry for the first time, and to rouse to a con 
 sciousness of something besides her manuscript and 
 her ill-humor. 
 
 " Oh, dear !" she said, still crossly, " I didn t notice 
 you; I m sure I beg your pardon, Mrs. Gerry." And 
 then the kind impulses of her heart began to come 
 uppermost. She rose and went to Mrs. Gerry. She 
 held out her hand. " Do forgive me," she said again. 
 " I had forgotten ; I am inexcusable. You have come 
 back and the worst has happened. Oh, what a brute 
 you must think me !" 
 
 Mrs. Gerry made some concise response. She was 
 thinking of nothing save the few words this woman 
 had just dropped in her irritation words addressed to 
 Salome : " You know very well why I might take the 
 liberty sometimes of doubting you. Had Salome been 
 saying something which was not strictly, accurately 
 true ? Was Salome forming that habit ? But the girl 
 had said " yes ; when her mother had strenuously in 
 sisted on the simple truth always. She had said " yes, 
 but perhaps all the time she had not meant yes. 
 
 Mrs. Gerry felt like reaching out her hands in the 
 darkness. She must clutch at something. But she 
 simply stood there and gazed at her hostess, saying 
 nothing after she had signified her acceptance of the 
 apology. Still it did seem to her as if she could not 
 remain in the room. She really cared nothing for Mrs. 
 Darrah s ill-temper ; she did not think of it. Plainly 
 that lady had discovered that Salome was not truthful. 
 Salome was not truthful ! 
 
 A film came over the mother s eyes. She could 
 for the moment see nothing. But she still stood there 
 with her face turned towards Mrs. Darrah.
 
 TIRED 315 
 
 The latter said gently that she would not keep 
 Miss Gerry ; that she should not work this morning. 
 
 Then the two left the room. For once the girl 
 was so absorbed that she did not notice her mother s 
 face or manner; and, indeed, there was little to no 
 tice. Mrs. Gerry was only very calm and quiet as 
 they went down the steps. 
 
 Moore came quickly forward and joined them. 
 But there was a noticeable shrinking on the part of 
 the elder woman. She summoned her voice, and said, 
 bravely : 
 
 " Go on to the truck farm, you two young people. 
 It is better for Salome there; she can be out-of- 
 doors more. I will go back to Bravo Street and give 
 up that room." 
 
 The two intense young faces turned simultaneously 
 towards Mrs. Gerry in a gratitude that was unmistak 
 able. But the girl made an attempt to remonstrate ; 
 she tried to say that she also would go to Bravo Street ; 
 that they would all go out to the truck farm together. 
 
 But her mother only shook her head and smiled. 
 She hurried them away. She stood in front of the 
 hotel and saw them walk off. She noted that they 
 were looking persistently ahead with an air meant to 
 indicate that they were never going to glance at eacli 
 other 
 
 When they were out of sight Mrs. Gerry went de 
 liberately and, as she would have said, did her 
 errands. " She paid for the room her daughter had 
 occupied for a few days. She ordered her trunk sent 
 out to the farm. She left word for Walter Redd to 
 be directed to that farm. 
 
 Having done this, she stood for many minutes 
 opposite the barracks, with her face turned towards
 
 316 THE TWO SALOMES 
 
 the sea. She had started to walk out to the log- 
 cabin, where she now expected to live for an in 
 definite time. She had been planning how to make 
 the cabin more comfortable. She and Salome would 
 live there now until the girl should marry, probably. 
 They need not think of going North. Taste and life 
 long prejudices made Mrs. Gerry contemplate life in 
 the South as a kind of martyrdom certainly the life 
 that poverty obliged her to live here. But she could 
 live it ; it mattered very little. The only way to en 
 dure things was the way into which she had been 
 born and to which she had always schooled herself 
 the way which looked at this earthly pilgrimage as 
 merely a probationary state. What mattered it if she 
 passed it in Job Maine s hut or up in thrifty New 
 England ? It would pass. It would pass. 
 
 The spare, erect woman, in her homely clothes, 
 stood gazing out upon the glittering water. The 
 ardent sunlight beat down upon her, but she did not 
 feel it. She was thinking of the grave at home, the 
 grave which had been covered with snow the day she 
 left. 
 
 "Give my love to my little girl." 
 
 Lyman s hollow voice was in her ears. She was 
 continually hearing him tell her to give his love to his 
 little girl. 
 
 Mrs. Gerry stood perfectly still. She did not even 
 clasp her hands under the black shawl she wore. 
 The stress of feeling upon her did not manifest itself 
 by any movement of her body. 
 
 While she had been taking care of her husband, in 
 the intensity of that time, it was natural that every 
 thing else should have been somewhat in the back 
 ground. She had never forgotten Salome ; but the
 
 TIRED 
 
 317 
 
 thought of the girl and of her peculiarities had be 
 come faint by comparison with the dreadful present. 
 Now it did not seem to the woman that it was simply 
 because of what Mrs. Darrah had just said ; it was 
 only a thorough awakening to a knowledge of what 
 her daughter really was. 
 
 Mrs. Gerry turned at this stage of her thought and 
 walked quickly, not out of the city, but towards the 
 old fort. She could not yet go in the direction which 
 would bring the possibility of meeting Moore and 
 Salome. And she felt as if she must sit down some 
 where ; and she must be by herself. Thus far it had 
 not seemed to her that she was tired. The neighbors 
 had all agreed that " Mis Gerry was real tough ; she 
 had held out wonderful." 
 
 And she had held out wonderfully. But now, like 
 an overwhelming wave, with the real belief that 
 Salome was not " reliable," the mother was conscious 
 that she was weary, deathly weary. She dared not 
 look forward to the battle of the years. 
 
 She sat down on the water-battery where Salome 
 so often sat. But, unlike Salome, the elder woman 
 was conscious of no soothing or relaxing influences 
 from her surroundings. She sat bent forward, with 
 her hands clasped over her drawn-up knees. It was 
 an attitude she had never assumed before a sort of 
 aboriginal attitude which, in one like Mrs. Gerry, was 
 more eloquent than anything she could have done. 
 
 She had never been one who had given up to idle 
 musings or reveries. Now her thoughts went on one 
 after the other, like troops marching in a clear light. 
 They denied and turned and deployed, distinct in the 
 white light. But they seemed to mean nothing. 
 They were only marching. And the light was so
 
 318 THE TWO SALOMES 
 
 clear on them. She wished the light had been less 
 clear. She was mistaken. They did mean something. 
 Mrs. Gerry moved uneasily. They meant something 
 about Salome s lying. That was the dreadful part of 
 it. There was something which Mrs. Gerry could not 
 understand, though she tried her utmost. 
 
 Then her good sense came to her aid and told her 
 that she was so tired ; she had had such a strain upon 
 her that she was now feeling the consequences. She 
 must rest. 
 
 She made a slight motion as if she would rise. But 
 she did not rise. Then a fleeting question came 
 through her mind. She asked herself how it would 
 seem if some one should take care of her. She had 
 never been taken care of in her life. She had always 
 been the stronger. She had been glad to be able to 
 have the care. 
 
 She bent forward still more as she clasped her 
 knees. She wished Salome had the right idea about 
 truth. 
 
 There were footsteps approaching rapidly ; not the 
 footsteps of saunterers, but of one with a purpose. 
 They paused close to her, and a hand was held out. 
 She looked up into Moore s happy eyes. 
 
 "We have been waiting for you in the palmetto 
 scrub," he said, " until at last we were anxious. Come, 
 now." 
 
 Mrs. Gerry took his hand, which folded round her 
 tired fingers. She tried to smile. 
 
 " You remembered me ?" she asked. 
 
 And when she had said such words she knew that 
 she must be more tired than ever before in her life, 
 or surely she would not have been so weak as to 
 speak like that.
 
 XVIII 
 
 "AND NOW THERE is NOTHING BETWEEN us" 
 
 MOORE stood for a moment silently beside Mrs. 
 Gerry. He had helped her to her feet, and now had 
 her hand drawn through his arm. 
 
 " I should think we did remember you," he said at 
 last. "We would not go any farther than the scrub. We 
 waited for you there. Salome was continually saying 
 we ought not to have left you. Finally she declared 
 we must come back and find you and here I am." 
 
 " But where is the child ? Mrs. Gerry was again 
 reproving herself that she should be so weakly grateful 
 for this attention. She found it difficult to refrain 
 from tears. She held herself stiff that she might not 
 lean on Moore s arm as she listened to the young 
 man s reply. 
 
 " We met Miss Nunally by the old market. She 
 wanted to say something to Salome. Just then we 
 saw you, and I came right on. Shall we sit clown 
 here a while, Mrs. Gerry ?" 
 
 Though she appeared so well able to stand, Moore 
 had a sense that the woman on his arm was ready to 
 drop. 
 
 " Oh no ; I have been sitting here and resting," 
 was the reply. " We will go." 
 
 She faced about with her prim, concise movement, 
 her hand still within Moore s arm.
 
 320 THE TWO SALOMES 
 
 He turned also. Then, with an inarticulate ex 
 clamation, he bent over her, literally lifting her in his 
 arms. She had strength to say : 
 
 " I can walk well enough," before she lost power to 
 say anything. 
 
 While the young man knelt there on the stones of 
 the battery supporting his burden, he saw Salome 
 hurrying towards him. It was she who insisted that 
 her mother should be taken to the cabin. She said 
 she knew her mother would be more contented there 
 than in any hotel or lodging-house in the city. 
 
 So the three were driven out in a carriage. Job 
 Maine, at sight of that carriage with its two horses, 
 began to consider whether he could not charge 
 something in the way of a toll for its passage over 
 his land. It took a great deal of tobacco to enable 
 him to carry on this process of thought, and it was 
 also such a work of time that the carriage had gone 
 back to the city, its driver taking a message to a 
 physician, before Mr. Maine had come to any con 
 clusion. 
 
 Mrs. Gerry had recovered consciousness almost 
 immediately. She had protested against having a 
 carriage. She said she could walk perfectly well. It 
 was a ridiculous extravagance in Moore, and she her 
 self could not afford it. 
 
 Moore laughed in that infectious way of his. He 
 said he was a rising young business man, and that 
 Mrs. Gerry had no idea of the amount of money he 
 made. 
 
 But Salome did not laugh. She sat by her mother 
 with her arm about her, watching her face with dilat 
 ed, anxious eyes. It did occur to the girl that she 
 ought not to let her anxiety display itself with such
 
 "AND NOW THERE is NOTHING BETWEEN us" 321 
 
 emphasis, and she tried to conceal it, without the 
 least success. 
 
 She was continually glancing at Moore and saying, 
 in an eager, explanatory way : 
 
 " You know she is very tired. It is only because 
 she is so very tired." 
 
 And Moore would answer that he knew that very 
 well. When she had rested a day or two things 
 would be all right again. 
 
 Then Salome would ask, piteously : 
 
 " You are sure of that ? You are sure of that ? 
 
 And Moore would declare that he was as sure as 
 of his own existence. 
 
 Mrs. Gerry was really obliged to lean back on the 
 cushioned seat. And she could only try to smile in 
 reassurance at her daughter. 
 
 She laid herself down on the bed in the cabin. 
 She said she would lie for an hour or two and rest. 
 
 Mrs. Job Maine, who had not walked a quarter of a 
 mile for years, and who had often announced that 
 she had never been used to walking when she resided 
 with that first family of Alabama, of which she was 
 an adorning member this lady was now so moved 
 by curiosity that she traversed on foot the distance 
 between her hut and the hut occupied by the Gerrys. 
 
 She arrived in a panting state, and sank down im 
 mediately in a chair by the door. She had not known 
 why these two women had been away for a time, and 
 she did not know why they had come back. Her 
 husband had wondered if he could not charge more 
 for the cabin if his tenants allowed it to be empty, 
 lie said a house "kinder run down when it was left 
 empty." 
 
 Mrs. Maine sat in her chair while these thoughts
 
 322 THE TWO SALOMES 
 
 went dully through her mind, and while she watched 
 the three people before her. 
 
 Moore had made a fire in the fireplace under the 
 impression that a fire must be necessary. He was 
 still crouching there and coaxing the slow blaze with 
 bits of fat pine. 
 
 Salome had found the bottle of whiskey which had 
 been brought South for her use. She had brought 
 some, weakened with water, and was now sitting on 
 the side of the bed watching her mother as she 
 sipped the liquid. 
 
 Mrs. Maine sniffed audibly. The odor of whiskey 
 had power to bring a faint hint of an expression to 
 her flat, straw-colored face. 
 
 She shuffled her bare feet on the floor. 
 " I thought I d curm over n inquire how yo 1 was," 
 she said, "though it s my day fur thur shakes, n I m 
 jist drained er whiskey, I be. Job thought las night 
 he was gwine ter have thur shakes, n her swallered 
 thur whiskey every durned drap lie swallered." 
 
 The woman sighed so heavily and so ostentatiously 
 that Mrs Gerry said, in a whisper, to her daughter : 
 
 "Give her a cup of whiskey." 
 
 The girl obeyed. But she did not try to conceal 
 the disgust the woman excited in her. She turned 
 away her head that she might not see the liquor swal 
 lowed. But she heard it as it went rapidly down the 
 woman s throat. 
 
 Mrs. Maine did not find it convenient to leave. 
 Having come and having seated herself, she felt that 
 she was rather more comfortable than if she were at 
 home. She drew out a snuff-stick, which. bein<r half 
 
 o 
 
 chewed, was now in an ideal state for chewing. She 
 moistened it in her mouth, and then skilfully inserted
 
 "AND NOW THERE IS NOTHING BETWEEN US " 323 
 
 it in a little paper bag of snuff, which never was 
 allowed to leave her person. With a grunt of satis 
 faction she now put the prepared stick back in her 
 mouth. 
 
 " I mout s well be right hyar, if you should need a 
 oman s help," she said, glancing at Salome. 
 
 Moore now stood up in front of the fire. He was 
 staring at Mrs. Maine. There was a laugh in his 
 eyes but a frown on his brow. Mrs. Gerry s strict 
 sense of hospitality made it impossible for her to ask 
 the woman to go, and, weak as she was and overcome 
 by all she had recently suffered, she was conscious of 
 an hysterical and growing sense of the ludicrousncss 
 of this visit. 
 
 She turned her head on the pillow. She could shut 
 out the sight of the guest, but she could not shut out 
 the sound of the enjoyment of that snuff-stick, and 
 the sound made her ill. 
 
 Moore suddenly started forward from his position 
 by the chimney. He offered his arm to Mrs. Maine, 
 and begged her to show him that big pine her hus 
 band had mentioned. 
 
 Before she had time to consider she had taken 
 Moore s arm, and he had pulled her up from her 
 chair and walked her out-of-doors. With a laugh 
 that was half a sob Salome put her head down on the 
 pillow by her mother. 
 
 Half an hour later, when Moore had left Mrs. 
 Maine safely in her own cabin with a gratuitous half 
 a dollar for future whiskey, he came back and looked 
 in at the open door. He came softly, and took off 
 his hat as he glanced. 
 
 Salome was lying beside Mrs. Gerry. The girl s 
 arm was thrown protectively over her companion.
 
 324 THE TWO SALOMES 
 
 They were perfectly quiet. Evidently they were 
 asleep. 
 
 The young man turned away. He had noted how 
 thin and white Mrs. Gerry s face was. 
 
 With his hat still in his hand he walked to that 
 fallen pine-tree near the banana where Job Maine so 
 frequently reposed in the midst of the toils of life. 
 He sat down and gazed steadfastly before him. His 
 face was good to look at as he sat there. He was 
 thinking how, henceforward, he would take care of 
 those two women. He was feeling grateful that Sa 
 lome had such a mother. He reverenced that unbend 
 ing integrity, that rigid adherence under all circum 
 stances to the bald truth. He had felt that from Mrs. 
 Gerry from the first. Indeed, the person must be 
 very dull who had no sense of this part of the wom 
 an s character. 
 
 From her Moore s thoughts turned to Salome. 
 The girl was infinitely more charming to him because 
 she puzzled him somewhat. Her " two kinds of faces," 
 as Miss Nunally had once said, would hold his inter 
 est vivid for years to come, he believed. Two kinds ? 
 She had a dozen. How could custom ever make dull 
 "her infinite variety?" 
 
 To Moore it seemed a special gift of Providence 
 that he should love a girl whose nature was so com 
 plex. He told himself that Salome inherited perfect 
 integrity from her mother, and from somebody else a 
 richness of life which made her more enchanting than 
 anything he could have dreamed. Yes, he was cer 
 tainly a very fortunate young man. 
 
 He resolved fervently to be worthy of this good- 
 fortune ; to live more and more up to that higher life 
 which was always beckoning him. Of late it had
 
 "AND NOW THERE is NOTHING BETWEEN us" 325 
 
 seemed quite easy to keep the higher life well in view. 
 Love was a great elevator and purifier. 
 
 He had forgotten at this moment what Salome had 
 said about not caring for truth and for the higher life. 
 Her words had not made much impression upon him. 
 He had considered them piquant and unlike what 
 other girls would have said. Other girls would have 
 made a great pretence of love for all exalted states of 
 being. 
 
 So Moore mused happily while he waited for the 
 arrival of the doctor from Augustine, or for some 
 sign from the cabin. 
 
 As he sat there the black and white hound Jack, 
 who had been thrown into despair by the absence of 
 Mrs. Gerry and her daughter, came despondently 
 loping from a distance among the pines. 
 
 The dog was returning from a three days trip into 
 the barrens. lie looked weary and depressed. He had 
 not seen Moore when he sat down on his haunches 
 and gave himself up for a few moments to a battle 
 with fleas. Then he stretched up his neck and howled 
 long and dolefully. He evidently believed his new 
 friends had gone forever, and he was in clespair. r 
 
 At the second howl Moore sprang to his feet. 
 There is hardly a more desolate and depressing sound 
 than a dog s howl. 
 
 " Is that Jack ? asked a quick voice from the hut. 
 It was Salome. Her face was whiter than usual and 
 her voice almost sharp. She had always been inclined 
 to superstition, but of late the weakness had grown 
 upon her, as the practical, good-sense vein had seemed 
 to retreat in her. 
 
 Moore whistled. The dog came eagerly forward ; 
 but he did not notice Moore in the least. He sprang
 
 326 THE TWO SALOMES 
 
 upon Salome, and began that process of devouring 
 which is so pathetic in its intensity of emotion. He 
 had fully concluded that he should never see this friend 
 again ; and here she was, miraculously returned. 
 
 Salome withdrew with him from the hut lest his 
 demonstrations might waken her mother, who was still 
 sleeping heavily. 
 
 Moore instantly joined her. She looked at him re 
 proachfully. 
 
 "Why did you let him howl ?" she asked. Her voice 
 trembled as she put the question. 
 
 " But I couldn t help it. Besides, it is nothing for a 
 dog to howl," was the reply. 
 
 " If you had only cared you might have prevented 
 it," insisted Salome, whose face was deeply clouded, 
 and who was not in the least inclined to be reasonable. 
 
 Moore smiled with a gentle, but still a masculine, 
 superiority. His spirits were too high for him to be 
 affected by any such trifle as the howling of a dog. 
 
 " You needn t laugh," said the girl, and turned from 
 him, with her hand on the dog s head. 
 
 Moore protested that he had never felt less like 
 laughing in his life ; but that Salome was really foolish 
 if she thought a second time of Jack s howling. It 
 was the fleas. 
 
 " The fleas !" exclaimed Salome ; and then she asked 
 her companion if he thought men could know any more 
 if they tried. But before he could answer she inquired 
 if he remembered those crows. 
 
 Moore looked bewildered. " Those crows ? he re 
 peated. 
 
 Then Salome s aspect changed instantly. She went 
 to Moore and put her hand through his arm. She 
 looked up at him.
 
 "AND NOW THERE is NOTHING BETWEEN us" 327 
 
 Oh, 1 she breathed, " I am so thankful that men 
 are not as silly as women !" 
 
 Having said this, she would not linger a moment. 
 She hurried back to the hut, to find her mother still 
 sleeping. 
 
 When at last the doctor came he found Mrs. Gerry 
 awake and sitting propped up in bed. She said that 
 she could just as well get up; but still she did not 
 get up. 
 
 The decision the physician gave was that the 
 woman was nearly worn out ; that she must lie there 
 where she was and be taken care of. He brusquely 
 ordered her to stop thinking, and when she remon 
 strated he said she could make her mind a blank if 
 she chose, and her mind must be a blank before she 
 gained much strength. He remarked that one wom 
 an could not carry the universe, even with the best 
 intentions. 
 
 Moore went back to the city with him to get his 
 prescription filled. 
 
 And so began those days which, sad as they were, 
 were yet brightened for Salome by Moore s tender and 
 untiring devotion. 
 
 The girl seemed to be nothing now but her mother s 
 nurse. She watched and waited, and would not sleep. 
 
 It was as if she could not give herself enough that 
 her mother might recover. It was in vain that Mrs. 
 Gerry would say again and again : 
 
 " Salome, you must spare yourself. You won t hold 
 out." 
 
 Salome would only smile and say nothing ; or she 
 would exclaim passionately that surely God would 
 give her strength now. 
 
 Her mother was too weak to contend or to com-
 
 328 THE TWO SALOMES 
 
 mand. She lay there and submitted for the first time 
 since her childhood to being cared for. 
 
 The days passed with strange quickness ; and all 
 the days seemed alike to the girl, who sat by the bed 
 or who sometimes placed her chair outside the door, 
 always keeping within reach of her mother s voice. 
 
 Mrs. Gerry felt her child s tenderness and care with 
 a poignancy that was painful at first. But when she 
 would ask Salome what the doctor said about his 
 patient she never knew whether Salome told her the 
 truth or not. 
 
 Sometimes Mrs. Gerry would open her eyes to find 
 her daughter looking at her fixedly, as if there were a 
 weight on her mind. Mrs. Gerry would think she 
 would ask what it was, but she was too weak to do it. 
 
 The woman s thoughts partook something of the 
 weakness of her body. She was dimly thankful that 
 she could not suffer acutely. It was a dulness that 
 brought at last certain healing with it. 
 
 But when the healing began Mrs. Gerry seemed to 
 her daughter more ill than ever. 
 
 Walter Redd made two solemn, brief calls at the 
 cabin before he departed on a journey of exploration 
 through the State. He said he was going to find out 
 if there was any more money to be made in orange 
 groves than in apple orchards. He talked ponderously 
 on this subject with Salome, and he never looked at her 
 while he spoke. He did not seem inclined to speak of 
 anything but orange raising. He went to the bed and 
 shook hands with Mrs. Gerry. He told her he knew 
 she was pretty sick, but he believed she would come 
 out all right. 
 
 It was after that that Mrs. Gerry appeared to grow 
 more ill ; at least, Salome thought so.
 
 "AND NOW THERE is NOTHING BETWEEN us 329 
 
 It was one night, two weeks from her seizure. It 
 was a densely dark time, and a violent south wind 
 was blowing. The trees and shrubs thrashed about ; 
 the banana leaves were torn to ribbons. 
 
 The frogs piped shrilly. 
 
 Salome hardly knew whether it was the night which 
 made her so uneasy. She usually liked a south wind. 
 
 Mrs. Gerry had been sleeping fitfully, but when 
 Salome came back from one of her visits to the open 
 door she saw her mother s eyes fixed upon her. 
 
 " Child," exclaimed Mrs. Gerry, anxiously, " you 
 must sleep more !" 
 
 "Oh, I ve been sleeping all the time," came the 
 answer, directly. 
 
 Mrs. Gerry s eyes closed again. She was sure that 
 Salome had not slept. She tried to tell herself that 
 this was an amiable falsehood. And she knew that 
 it was only one of many which the girl had told her 
 of late. As she lay there she almost believed that a 
 lie came as readily as the truth to Salome s lips a 
 plausible, agreeable lie. 
 
 Then the woman tried to ask herself if a lie were 
 any worse than covetousness. Was it worse to break 
 one commandment than another ? But she was too 
 weak and weary to argue any point now. She only 
 groaned. And to groan was a luxury that she would 
 not think of permitting herself if she were ordinarily 
 strong. 
 
 Salome sprang to the side of the bed with her rapid 
 and yet gentle motion. She knelt down with her arm 
 under her mother s neck. 
 
 The lamplight fell on the girl s face, and showed it 
 with an uncontrollable terror upon it. 
 
 " I have been thinking," she said, in a voice barely
 
 33 THE TWO SALOMES 
 
 audible " I have been thinking one thing ever since 
 you ve been ill." 
 
 " Hush !" said Mrs. Gerry, in her old way of trying 
 to soothe her child. 
 
 " No ; I can t hush. I can t keep silent any longer. 
 For if you should die 
 
 Here the voice ceased entirely. 
 
 Evidently Salome was fighting quietly with herself. 
 
 Mrs. Gerry tried to rally, and to say some calm, 
 reasonable words to her daughter. But the words 
 would not come. She was too weak. She lay there 
 motionless, her heart beating painfully. 
 
 Finally she whispered, " Raise my head a little 
 higher." 
 
 The girl eagerly obeyed her. 
 
 In the silence that now followed, the sound of the 
 wind grew louder. The cabin rocked. It was sultry. 
 Jack, the hound, lying across the open doorway, rose 
 and sat uneasily on his haunches, yawning audibly. 
 
 " Salome," said Mrs. Gerry, who had at last gained 
 a little strength, " does the doctor say I am going to 
 die now ?" 
 
 " He said he thought you would get over this," was 
 the answer. 
 
 " Is that the truth ?" 
 
 These words were spoken with painful emphasis. 
 
 " Yes, mother." 
 
 Another silence, which at last was broken by the 
 girl. 
 
 " But I can t bear this any longer, mother. What 
 should I do if you should die ? and then you would, 
 perhaps, know everything. I am not talking about 
 my grief ; I am talking about something else now. 
 Do you think the dead know everything ?"
 
 "AND NOW THERE is NOTHING BETWEEN us" 331 
 
 " Salome, why are you saying this ?" 
 
 Mrs. Gerry s heart beat still more painfully. 
 
 " Oh, I must say it !" went on the girl. " I have 
 been trying to speak all the time. But it seemed 
 cruel to distress you. It is cruel." 
 
 Mrs. Gerry could not speak. She was motionless. 
 She was only faintly conscious of a curiosity concern 
 ing what the child had to say. Her one absorbing 
 but fruitless wish was to help the child, and help her 
 as she had always done. 
 
 " If you should die," began Salome again, " and 
 should then find that I had not told you, perhaps you 
 would blame me even more than you will now, and 
 then I could not comfort you. I could not put my 
 arms about you and tell you I am not really wicked 
 at heart not at heart ; at least, I don t feel so. But 
 it may be that nobody really feels wicked. Oh, 
 mother 
 
 Salome s heavy, persistent voice paused for an in 
 stant. 
 
 Keenest emotion had now penetrated through all 
 the stupor in which prostration had enveloped Mrs. 
 Gerry. 
 
 She raised her head that she might look more fully 
 at her daughter. 
 
 When her head sank back again she exclaimed, in 
 a strong tone : 
 
 " Salome, what have you done ? Tell the truth !" 
 
 " Yes, I will tell the truth now, certainly," was the 
 reply. "But you need never have known. Only, if 
 it did happen that you knew, and that I was separated 
 from you because I was alive and you were dead 
 
 " Salome !" sharply. 
 
 "About the check, mother," said the girl, quickly.
 
 332 THE TWO SALOMES 
 
 " What check ?" in the same thin, high voice. Mrs. 
 Gerry had never associated any event with a check. 
 
 " The eight hundred dollars," said Salome ; " the 
 money for father. It was sent by a check, you know." 
 
 " You mean the sum Mrs. Darrah loaned ?" 
 
 " Yes ; only she did not loan it at first." 
 
 No response from Mrs. Gerry. But she felt herself 
 growing stronger to meet this something that was 
 coming. If it might be a strength that would stay 
 with her ! 
 
 " At first," said Salome, visibly bracing herself, " it 
 was I who sent the check. I I put Mrs. Darrah s 
 name to it and sent it directly, because I knew my 
 father must have it. I knew he could not wait. It 
 did not seem much to do." 
 
 Still no response from the woman lying there. 
 
 " Did you hear ?" whispered Salome. 
 
 A slight movement seemed to signify assent. 
 
 Salome remained quiet as long as she could. 
 
 " Mother !" shrilly, and after she could not bear the 
 silence another instant. 
 
 " Yes, child." 
 
 " Mother, don t you love me any more ?" 
 
 The agony in the young tone pierced the woman s 
 soul. 
 
 Mrs. Gerry s voice might have been mistaken for 
 that of her daughter as she said : 
 
 " Love you ! I love you more than ever, if that 
 were possible. But 
 
 Here the voice failed utterly. 
 
 " But what? You shall tell me, mother. But what?" 
 
 And now Mrs. Gerry s strength began to flag. It 
 had only come under the whip of intense excitement. 
 If it had not flagged, if she had been herself, she
 
 " AND NOW THERE IS NOTHING BETWEEN US " 333 
 
 would not have obeyed this demand, imperative 
 though it was. She would have realized too keenly 
 how her reply might wound. 
 
 Salome was now standing over the bed. The im 
 pulse which had been urging her for many days to 
 speak was still strong upon her. She was glad she 
 had spoken. It was done now. There was no secret 
 between her and her mother. 
 
 " Why did you say but in that way ?" she re 
 peated, with the fierceness of unrestrained anxiety. 
 " You still love me ?" 
 
 " Yes, yes. But, Salome, don t you think I want to 
 respect you also ? 
 
 " Oh !" 
 
 When she had uttered this exclamation the girl 
 wavered as she stood there. Then she suddenly knelt 
 do\vn by the bed and pressed her face among the 
 clothes. 
 
 As for Mrs. Gerry, she had borne all she could 
 bear at that moment. She shut her eyes and dimly 
 thanked herself that she could not feel anything more. 
 She did not faint, but her mind lapsed into a state as 
 limp and strengthless as her body. 
 
 She knew that her daughter was giving her a stim 
 ulating medicine, and she tried to make some re 
 sponse. But she could only feebly swallow the liquid 
 and then sink back on the pillow. 
 
 In the hour which followed she hardly knew that 
 Salome was all the time kneeling close to her. The 
 girl was perfectly quiet. She often raised her head 
 and looked at her mother. There was nothing for 
 her to do. She must wait now for the shock to have 
 spent itself. 
 
 In the midst of the girl s anguish there was a faint
 
 334 THE TWO SALOMES 
 
 fire of resentment that the knowledge of that forgery 
 should have such an effect. She asked herself if it 
 would not have been better if she had heeded Portia 
 Nunally s advice and kept this secret. Why should 
 she tell ? But no. She would not keep anything 
 from her mother. Her mother must know the very 
 worst of her in every way. And that forgery was of 
 course the worst. 
 
 The night wore on slowly. Towards morning the 
 wind subsided, and it began to rain in heavy dashes, 
 as it sometimes rained in the summer at home. Sa 
 lome was obliged to shut the door. The hound 
 begged so to remain inside that she let him stay. 
 
 She put on more wood and sat by the fire, feeling 
 very thankful that the dog had stopped with her. She 
 could look at him and think that it would not make 
 the slightest difference to him if she had been guilty 
 of a thousand crimes. It was very uncomfortable that 
 she should have this desire to tell what she had done 
 she did not understand. Of course it was natural 
 that she should wish to tell her mother. But this 
 strange desire to know what people would think. If 
 some one would only take the affair calmly, as she 
 herself was moved to take it. She tried to consider 
 herself wicked. As she sat there with the hound in 
 those hours before the dawn she quite longed to have 
 what she would have called a realizing sense of her 
 sin. 
 
 The dawn was very long in coming. In all the 
 nights when she had taken care of her mother the 
 morning had never lagged so. 
 
 But she was glad that no one was with her. Moore 
 had tried to persuade her to allow him to get a nurse. 
 She had refused with something like anger. She
 
 "AND NOW THERE is NOTHING BETWEEN us" 335 
 
 said that she should do everything for her mother. 
 She was able. She appealed to the doctor. He 
 looked at her for an instant, and then gave a decided 
 assent. 
 
 Privately he informed Moore that it would hurt the 
 girl much more to take the care from her than to let 
 her have it. Only keep watch of her ; if she showed 
 any signs of breaking down, why, then it would be 
 time enough to get help. 
 
 Salome, however, showed no signs of breaking 
 down. 
 
 She was pathetically thankful that she could do 
 this. 
 
 Moore came out from the city every day. And al 
 most as often Miss Nun ally came, and sometimes the 
 two walked back together. Often also she insisted 
 upon sitting a while with Mrs. Gerry while Salome 
 strolled among the pines with her lover. She would 
 always keep within sight and hearing, however. She 
 was something of a trial to Moore in these days, for 
 she appeared absent and absorbed. It was easy to 
 forgive her that, since her mother s illness explained 
 this mood. It was only at rare intervals that she was 
 what Moore called " like herself." But those intervals 
 atoned for all, and Moore called himself quite a god. 
 He explained this opinion of himself to himself by 
 saying that since this girl loved him he must be 
 a god. 
 
 Miss Nunally, as the two walked leisurely back to 
 St. Augustine, used to look at him with questioning 
 and amused eyes. She was very agreeable in those 
 walks. Major Root was never mentioned, and might 
 not have been in existence ; although a diamond of 
 his buying flashed upon Miss Nunally s hand.
 
 336 THE TWO SALOMES 
 
 If she wore no glove, Portia had a way of turning 
 that stone inward so that only the hoop of gold was 
 visible. 
 
 Her aunt noticed that her niece was in excellent 
 spirits ; and in her own mind she remarked that Portia 
 was just the kind of girl to be made happy by " that 
 sort of thing," meaning an engagement to a rich man 
 and the authoress added that women were little bet 
 ter than mere animals, after all ; it gave them no un 
 easiness to sell themselves. She was glad Portia was 
 in good spirits, but she could not help despising her a 
 little on account of that fact. One was never quite 
 sure about Portia, anyway. Mrs. Darrah felt that she 
 should not be entirely easy until the girl was Major 
 Root s wife. And then she meant to forget her. She 
 did not think that Major Root was in a position to be 
 congratulated. But that was his business. Mean 
 while Mrs. Darrah was obliged to proceed with the 
 novel of sentiment without an amanuensis, and Salome 
 was now doing nothing to help pay the debt she had 
 contracted, or, rather, that which her employer had al 
 lowed to be considered as a debt. 
 
 The clay following that night when Salome had made 
 her confession to her mother was one of those sweet 
 and perfect days which often come to Florida. 
 
 Before daybreak the girl had placed herself softly 
 beside her mother on the bed. She had put out her 
 hand and touched her mother s hand. The fingers 
 had closed feebly on her palm. Then Salome had 
 breathed a deep sigh, and had gone to sleep. When 
 she wakened the sun was shining in between the 
 logs. 
 
 The girl knew it was late. She sprang up quickly. 
 She had not slept so soundly since her mother was ill.
 
 "AND NOW THERE is NOTHING BETWEEN us" 337 
 
 "It is because I told her," she said to herself ; "and 
 now there is nothing between us." 
 
 She went joyfully about the work of preparing her 
 mother s breakfast. 
 
 As she did so a clear voice called her from the path 
 among the pines.
 
 XIX 
 
 "AS FOR ME, I LOVE HIM NOT" 
 
 IT was Moore s voice that called. Salome, stand 
 ing by the kerosene lamp-stove, watching the heating 
 of some broth, heard it. She did not move, save that 
 her hand trembled slightly as she took the spoon 
 from the liquid. 
 
 " Salome," said Mrs. Gerry from the bed. 
 
 She turned quickly. It was the first time her 
 mother had spoken since she had said that she wished 
 to respect her daughter. Mrs. Gerry s intent gaze 
 was on the girl. She beckoned feebly. 
 
 In an instant Salome was bending over her. 
 
 " Wasn t that Mr. Moore ?" she whispered. 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 "Was that true that you told me ? 
 
 " It was true." 
 
 " You are sure I didn t dream it," with an anguished 
 wistfulness that was hard for the girl to hear and see. 
 
 " I told you," she answered, bearing up bravely. 
 
 Does Mr. Moore know ?" 
 
 " Oh no, no !" 
 
 Salome knew what was coming now. 
 
 " You must tell him." 
 
 Salome held up her head as she answered : 
 
 "Very well." 
 
 " Do you mean that you will tell him ? Remember,
 
 "AS FOR ME, I LOVE HIM NOT " 339 
 
 it will not be fair to let him marry you to let him 
 think you are very different from what you really are." 
 
 As they talked the young man s voice could be 
 heard outside. He was speaking with Mr. Maine. 
 
 u I understand," said Salome, still with her head 
 flung up. " But what am I, really ?" 
 
 Mrs. Gerry could not answer. She moved her head 
 wearily from side to side on the pillow. 
 
 " Is the broth ready ?" she asked. 
 
 Salome brought the broth and gave it with the 
 utmost tenderness, as she did everything for her 
 charge. 
 
 Still there was some bitterness in her eyes, and her 
 lips were pressed together. That fire of resentment 
 that she should be considered so wicked was still 
 smouldering in her consciousness. 
 
 Yes, certainly, Moore ought to know what a wretch 
 he wished to marry. It had all the time been in the 
 bottom of her mind that she would tell him. Still, 
 with a closer compression of the lips, Miss Nunally 
 was probably right when she advised silence. Of 
 course it was great folly that one, after committing 
 a crime, should wish to proclaim it. Such a thing 
 should be kept securely locked. Somehow it seemed 
 to Salome that she ought to be able to find some one 
 who would not be shocked ; some one who, on being 
 informed of this deed, should smile and remark that 
 it was not worth being troubled about. For that was 
 the way the girl regarded what she had clone. 
 
 The hot drink stimulated Mrs. Gerry. When she 
 had drunk it she held out her arms to the girl, smil 
 ing hopefully at her. The mother could not bear to 
 see her child suffering. 
 
 " We have each other, you know," said the elder,
 
 340 THE TWO SALOMES 
 
 with something of her old courage. " And I am sure 
 I am better." 
 
 Salome kept her head down beside her mother. 
 
 " You don t respect me," she said, her voice muffled 
 by the pillow. 
 
 Mrs. Gerry winced. She did not reply. 
 
 Moore now appeared in the open doorway. The 
 sight of him had always been something like a tonic 
 to Mrs. Gerry, but she could not look at him now. 
 His voice was cheery and hopeful as he made his 
 usual inquiries. But by the time he had finished 
 speaking his mood had changed. He stepped quickly 
 to the bedside. He raised Salome until she rested 
 on his arm, but he looked only at Mrs. Gerry as he 
 asked : 
 
 " Has anything happened ? Are you worse ? 
 
 " I am better," was the reply. 
 
 Then Mrs. Gerry acted upon a sudden impulse. 
 She did not quite trust Salome s resolution ; and she 
 was not even sure that the girl had made a resolution. 
 
 " Salome has something to tell you," she said. 
 
 The girl withdrew herself from Moore and stood 
 apart. 
 
 The young man was actualy alarmed. 
 
 "It is something about that big, black -looking 
 fellow who came down with Mrs. Gerry," was what 
 he thought. 
 
 He had known, by intuition rather than by per 
 ception, that Redd loved Salome. Was she entangled 
 with that man ? Moore braced himself as if against 
 an onslaught of physical pain. He thrust his hands 
 into his pockets and shut them there. 
 
 Salome went to the foot of the bed and grasped the 
 cross-piece.
 
 "AS FOR ME, I LOVE HIM NOT" 341 
 
 She was thinking that if her mother heard her, she 
 would believe. And already Salome had experienced 
 a little of that emotion which comes when one s word 
 is not fully taken. It is probable that even a hardened 
 liar wishes to be believed when speaking the truth. 
 
 Moore looked at her. The sight of her face was 
 like the cut of a knife to him. His whole nature rose 
 up to protect her. 
 
 He took a step towards her. A slight gesture from 
 her kept him from advancing. 
 
 Never mind," he said, hurriedly. " Don t tell me 
 anything." 
 
 Salome hesitated. She glanced at her mother. 
 But her mother s eyes did not release they upheld 
 and stimulated her. 
 
 " I tell you it is not of the least consequence," cried 
 Moore, unable to prevent himself from reiterating his 
 assurance. " Let us wait. Any other time will do. 
 Why should you suffer so, Salome ?" 
 
 His voice had a remonstrating tenderness that was 
 very harrowing for the girl to hear. 
 
 A rush of feeling came over her. \Yhy reveal any 
 thing? Was not the idea absurd ? Why try to be so 
 ridiculously honorable ? 
 
 And yet 
 
 She turned more fully towards Moore. No; she 
 would not retreat. There was something in her that 
 would now have made her go forward, even without 
 her mother s influence. 
 
 She kept her eyes on Moore s face. It seemed an 
 impossible thing to do, but it was still more impossible 
 not to watch for every expression that should come to 
 that countenance. If he tried to deceive her by his 
 words, she knew that he could not deceive her with
 
 342 THE TWO SALOMES 
 
 his face. He would want to be kind. She was sure 
 of that. 
 
 She clung to the cross-piece at the foot of the bed. 
 
 " You know I always told you I didn t care about 
 right and wrong," she began. 
 
 Moore nodded. He was too bewildered. There 
 must be something really the matter, however. He 
 could feel something dreadful in the air. 
 
 Salome s voice went on now quickly. And she 
 never once took her eyes from his face. 
 
 She told her story in the fewest possible words. 
 
 She saw everything that came into the man s 
 countenance. When she had said the last word she 
 walked up to Moore and caught sharp hold of his 
 arm, still looking at him. But she did not speak. 
 She laughed lightly. 
 
 She went to the door, while he gazed at her. 
 
 She stopped in the doorway a moment. As she 
 stood there the hound came and placed himself be 
 side her, licking her hand. She did not notice him. 
 She noticed nothing but the man s face. 
 
 Presently she laughed again. As Mrs. Gerry heard 
 the desolation in that laugh she started up quickly 
 and tried to leave the bed. But she fell back. 
 
 "You are like my mother, Mr. Moore," said the 
 girl. " You cannot respect me." 
 
 And now she walked away. 
 
 Moore seemed to need that she should go in order 
 that he might be roused. 
 
 He sprang out from the door with a movement that 
 brought him swiftly to the girl s side. He took both 
 her hands, drawing her back into the cabin with him. 
 
 " I see you are sorry for me," she said, in the same 
 strained tone she had been using:.
 
 "AS FOR ME, I LOVE HIM NOT 343 
 
 "Sorry for you !" he cried. "Good God! Don t 
 you see that I love you ?" 
 
 There was a very passion of love and pity in his 
 face. But Salome would not allow him to draw her 
 near to him. 
 
 She removed herself from his hold and sat down 
 quickly. 
 
 "You are like my mother," she repeated, with a 
 painstaking accuracy, as if she feared that she should 
 miss a word. " You cannot respect me." 
 
 Moore stood still. He had a frantic sense of help 
 lessness. And into his tumultuous distress there came 
 a remembrance of what this girl had said to him more 
 than once of how he would perhaps some time say to 
 himself that he wished that he had loved some one else. 
 
 He could not think clearly. The overmastering 
 impulse upon him was that he must take Salome in 
 his arms ; that he must be more gentle, more tender 
 than he had ever been. 
 
 He was gazing at her with eager entreaty. 
 
 He did not know that Mrs. Gerry had not ceased 
 to look at him since Salome began to speak. 
 
 He stepped to the girl s side and put his hand on 
 the back of her chair, bending over her. 
 
 She rose immediately. 
 
 " I want to be out-of-doors," she said. " I want to 
 be under the sky." 
 
 He moved away and let her go. 
 
 He sat down in the chair she had left and covered 
 his face with his hands. 
 
 He was not thinking anything about whether he re 
 spected her or not. His whole consciousness was full 
 of tenderness and of longing to help. He wondered 
 why she would not let him come near her.
 
 344 THE TWO SALOMES 
 
 Then, like the uncoiling of a snake, came the ques 
 tion : Did he respect her ? 
 
 He started up in the unbearable agony of that in 
 quiry. 
 
 " Mr. Moore," said Mrs. Gerry s voice from the bed, 
 " will you go away now ?" 
 
 Moore went mechanically to the bed. He stood 
 there, hesitating an instant in a bewildered manner. 
 But it was not in a mechanical way that he stooped 
 and kissed Mrs. Gerry s cheek. 
 
 " I shall come back," he said ; " I shall come back 
 in an hour or two. Perhaps we have dreamed 
 this." 
 
 He tried to smile as he spoke. Then he walked 
 quickly away. He saw standing by the banana-tree 
 the figure of Salome, with the hound just at her hand. 
 
 She saw him, but she made no sign. 
 
 As Moore walked on he recalled some of the re 
 marks he had made when talking about that man in 
 Tampa who had forged his friend s signature. 
 
 At this memory Moore shook himself fiercely as if 
 he might awaken. 
 
 But he could not awaken. He went on thinking 
 steadily of that man. He would, no doubt, be sen 
 tenced for a term of years. Yes, for a term of years. 
 What kind of a nature was it which could do such a 
 thing ? 
 
 Moore s mind floundered on among horrible ques 
 tions, his love making each question a separate, sting 
 ing wound. 
 
 He had seen people suffer in his life. He had im 
 agined, as the hitherto unhurt will imagine, that he 
 knew what suffering was. But this hour told him that 
 he had not known.
 
 "AS FOR ME, I LOVE HIM NOT 345 
 
 And most of all, he thought, was the sense of con 
 fusion, of groping in the dark. 
 
 Salome must be very different from what he had 
 believed her to be very different ; or she could never, 
 under any stress, have forged a name. How was he 
 to adjust himself to this new Salome who had within 
 her the capability of doing a mean crime ? He must 
 not shirk the words : a mean crime. Didn t she have 
 any moral sense ? Had she really meant all she had 
 told him about not caring ? 
 
 Moore stumbled on through the sand. How cu 
 riously she had talked about that man in Tampa ! 
 And he had believed all the time that she spoke so 
 because of her kind heart. 
 
 The young man paused when he was at some dis 
 tance from the cabin. He threw back his shoulders, 
 inhaling a deep breath. He could not yet rid himself 
 of the idea that this was something which would pres 
 ently vanish. It is so difficult for us to believe that a 
 terrible trouble may come to us. To others it may 
 come naturally, but not to us. 
 
 Having stood for a moment with that vague air that 
 is so often indicative of suffering, Moore began to 
 walk on again. 
 
 His whole mind was now engaged in an attempt at 
 a readjustment of his ideas concerning Salome. He 
 felt that his heart was the same. The complexity of 
 the girl s character had given a keen zest to his ac 
 quaintance with her always. He had known that he 
 did not understand her. It was going to be one of 
 the delights of his life to learn to understand her. But 
 that talk of hers which was piquant, which had a flavor 
 so unlike that of any other woman whom he had 
 known, was this possibility in her one of the causes of
 
 346 THE TWO SALOMES 
 
 such words ? And her face ? The enchanting, un- 
 guessable possibilities of her face ? No, no ; it could 
 not be. 
 
 To be able to do what she confessed, that must re 
 quire a kind of person quite different from the person 
 whom he loved. 
 
 But he loved her. Oh yes, he loved her. He 
 turned and looked back at the cabin. He saw her 
 still standing by the banana, with the hound by her 
 side. It required all his self-restraint to enable him 
 to remain away from her. He was, however, quite 
 sure that she did not wish him to return now. 
 
 She had looked at him so strangely. Could she 
 possibly doubt his love ? He had never loved her 
 so strongly as now. And now there was an almost 
 intolerable element of pity, a pity which seemed, in 
 deed, to be made up of tenderness. 
 
 He was not thinking these things, apparently; he 
 was feeling them. 
 
 And all at once it was simply impossible for him 
 to resist the desire to hasten back to her. But he 
 had not gone a dozen steps before she turned and 
 glanced towards him. She waved him back with her 
 hand. 
 
 Still he went on. He was telling himself that noth 
 ing should keep him from her now. 
 
 Just at that moment Miss Nun ally came walking 
 along the cart- path from the city. She was but a 
 short distance away. He paused in his walk, staring 
 rather than glancing at her. 
 
 She also paused instantly. A flash of something 
 passed over her face. 
 
 " Mrs. Gerry " she began. Moore made one fruit 
 less attempt to speak before he was able to say :
 
 "AS FOR ME, I LOVE HIM NOT" 347 
 
 " She is no worse." 
 
 " Oh !" whispered Portia, in thankfulness. 
 
 Then she came nearer. 
 
 "You know about it, then ?" she said. 
 
 Moore, groping for some foothold, turned towards 
 her eagerly. 
 
 " Yes," he answered. 
 
 There was so much sympathy and kindness on 
 Miss Nunally s face that the young man extended 
 his hand, moved by that spontaneous wish for con 
 tact with a kindly human being which is so natural 
 to us. 
 
 The girl put her hand in his, but instantly with 
 drew it. 
 
 " Did she tell you ?" she asked. 
 
 And again Moore said "yes." 
 
 Miss Nunally stood silent. But there was a dis 
 tinctly felt consolation to Moore in the presence of 
 one who was so plainly en rapport with him. 
 
 It has been said of him that he was one who asked 
 and found help from feminine nature. It was not like 
 him to suffer or enjoy in silence and alone. 
 
 " She was wrong," at last said Miss Nunally. 
 
 She had closed her sunshade, and was leaning some 
 what heavily upon it. The light was falling full upon 
 her face. 
 
 " Don t say she was wrong !" he exclaimed, harshly. 
 
 " I mean wrong to tell you," went on Miss Nunally. 
 " But it was noble of her." 
 
 "Yes, yes ; so it was," was the response, with some 
 eagerness. "Oh, Miss Nunally, I don t understand." 
 
 Portia half turned away. She appeared to grow 
 pale as she said, with a touch of impatience : 
 
 " There are so many things we cannot understand.
 
 348 THE TWO SALOMES 
 
 I think it a mistake for us to try to understand as 
 we do." 
 
 " But it is impossible not to try when one s whole 
 happiness is at stake," answered Moore, quickly. 
 " You don t know what this is to me. You cannot 
 imagine. You 
 
 "Yes, talk to me like that," interrupted Miss Xu- 
 nally, angrily. " Assume that I know nothing, since 
 it pleases you to do so. At least, I know one thing, 
 Mr. Moore." 
 
 For an instant Moore s eyes were turned with a per 
 sonal interest upon his companion. 
 
 " What do you mean ?" he asked. 
 
 " I mean that I am not as good as Miss Gerry." 
 
 "You? But you have not you have not 
 Here the young man found that he could not 
 go on. 
 
 " I have not committed a forger) ," said Portia. " I 
 meant that I would not have risked telling you. I 
 told her not to do so. No ; I would not have risked 
 so much as that. Good-bye, Mr. Moore." 
 
 Miss Nunally walked back along the path by which 
 she had come. She hesitated, as if she would go to 
 Salome ; but she went on. 
 
 Moore gazed after her, not seeing her in the least. 
 He did not think of the words she had just spoken. 
 But he thought of them later, when they flashed over 
 his mind with that sudden illuminating power which 
 lightning has. 
 
 Now he walked towards Salome with an air which 
 showed plainly that he would not obey any command 
 to leave her. 
 
 She shrank away a step, without looking at him. 
 She had an appearance of standing at bay, like some
 
 "AS FOR ME, I LOVE HIM NOT 349 
 
 weak animal which, by stress of despair, finally turns 
 and takes a last position. 
 
 Moore thought that nothing she could have done 
 could so touch him. But he had no opportunity to 
 speak. Before he could choose among the words 
 that came tumultuously to him, Salome said : 
 
 " I am sure my mother needs me." 
 
 Having said this, she hurried into the cabin, and 
 Moore could not follow her. 
 
 His first impulse was to go back to Augustine. He 
 could see now, at some distance among the pines, the 
 figure of Miss Nunally. No, he would not go. He 
 could not speak to any one ; and he felt, after all, 
 that he could not leave Salome. 
 
 He sat down on that log so much frequented by 
 Mr. Maine, and presently that gentleman came slouch 
 ing along from his residence. 
 
 This was a presence utterly unendurable. Moore 
 sprang up and darted off into the woods. Mr. Maine 
 cursed lazily as he seated himself. He had intended, 
 when he saw the young man, to borrow fifty cents of 
 him. He had already borrowed that amount a great 
 many times, but that fact was no reason why he should 
 not continue to borrow indefinitely. 
 
 Mrs. Gerry had been lying in entire quiet since she 
 had been left alone. To have the body absolutely 
 still sometimes makes one able to believe the agree 
 able falsehood that one is calm. 
 
 But Mrs. Gerry never meant to believe a false 
 hood, and she knew that she was not calm, though 
 her form might have been a symbol for repose 
 when her daughter stepped within the room and 
 looked at her. 
 
 Mrs. Gerry opened her eyes ; but she closed them
 
 350 THE TWO SALOMES 
 
 immediately, unable for the moment to bear the sight 
 of the girl s face. 
 
 Directly, however, she said : " It was right to tell 
 him." 
 
 Salome said nothing. 
 
 Mrs. Gerry moved. 
 
 " Do you not think it was right to tell him ?" she 
 asked. 
 
 " Very likely," was the answer. 
 
 " Then that was the thing to do," from Mrs. Gerry, 
 with an air of finality. She must adhere to that de 
 cision, whatever came of it. It was impossible for her 
 to do otherwise. Life, or death, or happiness, or mis 
 ery were of no consequence to her compared with the 
 things which that decision stood for in her mind. 
 
 As she lay there looking at the girl she felt how ea 
 sily she could give up life and happiness for her. But 
 it was not a question of giving up ; it was something 
 far less simple. 
 
 " Do you not think so ?" repeated Mrs. Gerry. 
 
 She must persist in this question. 
 
 Salome had an expression of deadly weariness in 
 her eyes. 
 
 " Oh," said Salome, " you know I don t care about 
 such things." 
 
 " What things ?" fearfully. 
 
 " Oh, right and wrong. I try to care, because you 
 have taught me. But that isn t really caring. Please 
 don t let us talk any more about it. I m so tired ! 
 and I want to keep my strength. I want to take care 
 of you, mother." 
 
 As she finished speaking Salome bent over her 
 mother, her face suddenly filling with intense and ten 
 der affection.
 
 "AS FOR ME, I LOVE HIM NOT" 351 
 
 "Lie down here beside me/ Mrs. Gerry said. 
 
 The girl obeyed her. She placed herself by her 
 mother and took her in her arms. She also bepame 
 perfectly quiet, but her eyes were widely open all the 
 time. 
 
 Half an hour later Salome rose to get some medi 
 cine. When she had given it she said : 
 
 " There was something in me that would finally have 
 made me tell him." 
 
 "I m glad of that," returned Mrs. Gerry. 
 
 " Are you ? I am sorry." 
 
 " Oh, Salome !" 
 
 "Yes, I am sorry. It is that something which will 
 take away all my happiness from me all my happi 
 ness." 
 
 She sat down on the bed and looked fixedly but 
 blankly at the face on the pillow. 
 
 " Dear child !" 
 
 Again there was in the woman s voice a cadence 
 that made it like her daughter s. 
 
 " Yes ; and I think I have a right to be happy." 
 
 " But Mr. Moore loves you," said Mrs. Gerry, long 
 ing to comfort the girl. 
 
 There was no reply to this remark. 
 
 In a moment Salome rose and busied herself about 
 some household duty. 
 
 When, a little later, Moore came to the door, she 
 told him, with gentle decision that was quite infuriat 
 ing to him, that she could not see him again that day. 
 
 And he was obliged to abide by that decision. He 
 did allow himself to say that it seemed to him that 
 she was torturing him unnecessarily, and that she ap 
 peared to forget that he loved her. " Didn t she care 
 for his love ?"
 
 352 
 
 THE TWO SALOMES 
 
 She looked up at him. 
 
 " Yes," she said, " I care for your love." 
 
 And with that Moore had to leave her. 
 
 This time he could not saunter back to the Ponce 
 de Leon, as he had done formerly. He could not go 
 where he would see any one. To make it nearly sure 
 that he should be alone, he hurried to cross the river 
 to that beach which is so broad and long and silent, 
 save for the wave sounds, that it but accentuates 
 loneliness. 
 
 But Portia Nunally did not go to any beach. She 
 went directly to her room and sat down there. When 
 her aunt sent for her, she returned word that she 
 would visit Mrs. Darrah by-and-by. 
 
 When she did rise from her seat, however, she 
 dressed for a drive with Major Root, and was punc 
 tual to the moment when he had said he would call. 
 
 Two hours later, when the two returned, the Ma 
 jor was so purple in the face that he was almost 
 black. 
 
 He climbed down from his dog-cart and held up his 
 pudgy hand to assist his companion, who availed her 
 self demurely of that assistance. 
 
 She was very far from being black in the face ; she 
 was quite radiant. She turned to the Major and 
 thanked him very sweetly for the pleasure he had 
 given her by taking her to drive. 
 
 The Major took off his hat and glowered. Miss 
 Nunally smiled at him, and then she walked up the 
 entrance to the hotel. 
 
 At the top of the steps she turned to look at the 
 gallant soldier, who had climbed back into his dog 
 cart. At that moment the gallant soldier was lifting 
 his whip for a vicious cut at his horse.
 
 "AS FOR ME, I LOVE HIM NOT " 353 
 
 Miss Nunally was still smiling. She shrugged her 
 shoulders as the horse made a leap forward. 
 
 "That man will certainly have apoplexy," she said 
 to herself. 
 
 She went directly to Mrs. Darrah s room. 
 
 " You sent for me, Aunt Florence," she said. 
 
 "Yes; but that was hours ago. I don t want you 
 now," was the response. 
 
 " That makes no difference ; I will stay a few mo 
 ments. I have such a light heart, my dear relative !" 
 
 Portia sat down opposite the divan and began to 
 remove her gloves. 
 
 " Have you, indeed ?" asked Mrs. Darrah. " I hope 
 Major Root has a light heart also." 
 
 Portia laughed. 
 
 " Oh, I don t know about that. But I do know that 
 at this moment he has an atrociously bad temper." 
 
 " Because of you, of course," said Mrs. Darrah. 
 
 " You say that as if people were often having bad 
 tempers because of me." 
 
 Mrs. Darrah did not reply. She had a book in her 
 hand, and she evidently wished that her niece would 
 leave her. 
 
 But her niece was not going immediately. 
 
 " Why don t you ask me why I have such a light 
 heart, aunt ?" the girl inquired. 
 
 " Well," said Mrs. Darrah, " why have you such a 
 light heart?" 
 
 " Because I have got rid of Major Root," was the 
 answer. 
 
 " For to-day ?" 
 
 " Yes ; and for all time." 
 
 "What?" 
 
 " Don t be so shocked. I haven t killed him ; he is
 
 354 
 
 THE TWO SALOMES 
 
 alive ; that is, he is alive if he hasn t died of apo 
 plexy. But he is no longer mine. Think of it ! He 
 is no longer mine !" 
 
 The girl s eyes sparkled. 
 
 " Portia !" cried Mrs. Darrah. She shut her book 
 with a movement that was too forcible to be lady 
 like. 
 
 " Aunt Florence !" was the response. 
 
 " Do you know what you are doing ?" sternly. 
 
 " Certainly. I am taking off my gloves. And, by- 
 the-way, this is the last pair of that last half-dozen 
 you gave me. Really, I am hard on gloves." 
 
 " Do you know," went on Mrs. Darrah, sitting se 
 verely straight, her face becoming harsh "have you 
 any idea what you are doing, I say ? You are throw 
 ing away one of the best chances in Augustine this 
 season. And you haven t a cent of money ; and you 
 are getting old " 
 
 " Oh, thank you, aunt, dear." 
 
 "Yes; you are getting old," remorsely repeated 
 Mrs. Darrah, "and every year your opportunities will 
 lessen. And an affair like this, and other affairs 
 you have had they all injure your reputation. And 
 and good heavens ! what are you thinking about, 
 Portia Nunally ?" 
 
 " I am thinking about Micah Root, and that I was 
 a coarse, vulgar little wretch ever to have thought 
 I could marry him." 
 
 This answer was given with such a calm assurance 
 of former sin and present repentance that Mrs. Dar 
 rah felt helpless and speechless for the moment. 
 
 Here was her niece on her hands again. She was 
 no nearer marriage, apparently, than before her en 
 gagement to Major Root. What was to be done ?
 
 "AS FOR ME, I LOVE HIM NOT" 355 
 
 " Can t you write a note to him ?" asked Mrs. Dar- 
 rah, rather weakly. 
 
 " A note to whom ?" was the candid counter inqui 
 ry, given in Portia s most amiable manner. 
 
 Mrs. Darrah felt her wrath rising with great rapid 
 ity. 
 
 " To Major Root, of course," she said. 
 
 "Oh, to him ?" lightly, " telling him, I suppose, that 
 I found, after all, that I could not endure the idea of 
 life without him, and would he please take me back ? 
 Is that what you mean, Aunt Florence ?" 
 
 " Yes ; anything, so that he takes you back." 
 
 Miss Nunally rose and walked about the room with 
 her hands clasped behind her. She was so white that 
 the vivid scarlet of her lips seemed brighter in hue 
 than ever. She looked excitedly happy also. 
 
 After a moment she paused in front of her aunt. 
 
 " I won t be taken back," she said ; " not if the Ma 
 jor crept on his knees from the barracks, and had 
 apoplexy at my very feet ; and all for love." Here the 
 girl laughed. " Why, for the last half hour I have 
 quite respected myself ; and I find it a delicious sen 
 sation. Major Root s ring and his little gifts are all 
 in my room in a package, directed to him. I tied 
 the package before I went to drive with him. It was 
 great fun tying that package. Look at my hand "- 
 she extended the slender, sensitive left hand "it is 
 free ; it is not polluted any longer. Oh !" with a 
 grimace of disgust, " how ill it has made me to think 
 of myself !" 
 
 Mrs. Darrah sat silent. After looking at her for 
 an instant, Portia asked : 
 
 " Why don t you congratulate me ?" 
 
 Instead of replying, Mrs. Darrah put this question :
 
 356 THE TWO SALOMES 
 
 " How are you going to be supported ?" 
 
 " Perhaps my parents can give me bread." 
 
 Possibly. But the gowns and the gloves? You 
 know you are the most extravagant creature in the 
 world." 
 
 Portia glanced down at her irreproachable attire. 
 
 "Yes, I know," she answered. "I certainly am 
 not going to wear ugly frocks. Somebody must clothe 
 me." 
 
 "And you can t work." 
 
 " Impossible ! But don t you think the conversa 
 tion is drifting into a disagreeable channel ?" asked 
 Portia. 
 
 " Yes, quite disagreeable," was the response ; " and 
 I insist on your writing a note to Major Root." 
 
 Portia stood haughtily erect. 
 
 " You know very well, aunt," she said, " that people 
 do not insist with me." 
 
 " But you are mad. The season is more than half 
 over, and if you don t settle this season I really will 
 do nothing more for you." 
 
 Portia drew near her aunt. She put one knee on a 
 footstool close to Mrs. Darrah, and leaned against 
 her. 
 
 " Now," she said, " you are not going to be a wick 
 ed, hard-hearted woman, are you ?" 
 
 " Yes ; I am." 
 
 Miss Nunally smiled. It was a curious fact that 
 though the elder woman knew she was being cajoled, 
 and knew it perfectly well, she did not resent the 
 fact. More than that, there was something about her 
 niece s personality that made her rather enjoy having 
 her near her in that way, and looking at her with the 
 saucy, attractive face.
 
 "AS FOR ME, I LOVE HIM NOT" 357 
 
 " If, after all, Aunt Florence, I am an old maid a 
 poor, wrinkled old maid who has missed the one des 
 tiny for which a woman is fitted will you not give me, 
 now and then, money enough so I needn t dress like 
 a fright ? Only think ! Wouldn t you try to soften 
 the fate of a woman who is denied the privilege of be 
 ing the wife of some man, and of sitting in that sweet, 
 safe corner by the household fire, behind the heads of 
 children, and and mending his stockings ? \Yhen 
 you see me growing old, and without any man s stock 
 ings to mend, won t you do something for me ?" 
 
 Portia rose suddenly, and began prancing about the 
 room and singing in a sentimental voice : 
 
 " I have written the letter 
 Which \\ill tell him he is free." 
 
 At this point she paused in her prancing and her 
 song to say : 
 
 " No\v, you see, one of those other girls who wanted 
 Major Root may have him ; and joy go with her. 
 As for me, I love him not." 
 
 " Portia," said Mrs. Darrah, smiling a little. 
 
 " Ma am ?" said Portia, promptly. 
 
 " Hand me my blue note-book. At last you have 
 given me a scrap of material." 
 
 " Dear aunt, remarked the girl as she brought the 
 book, " I am glad to have furnished you material, 
 even though in furnishing it I have lost a husband." 
 
 She went out at the door. ]}ut she returned im 
 mediately to say "Adieu," with the exaggerated tone 
 and accent of an actress who comes back to the stage 
 to bid farewell again to her lover, who has waited in 
 position near the right centre for that farewell.
 
 XX 
 
 " HE WILL COME BACK ?" 
 
 MRS. GERRY began to mend. Her improvement 
 appeared to be more a matter of will than of anything 
 else. She must get well. Her daughter needed her. 
 It would have been impossible for the mother to die 
 then. And she remembered that she had always been 
 told that she had the Ware constitution. It was now 
 that the Ware constitution asserted itself. 
 
 The period of absolute physical rest had enabled 
 her to regain her grasp on strength. In a week she 
 could sit propped up in the bed. Moore was lavish 
 in his kindness. Strengthening delicacies, flowers, 
 everything the young man could think of which could 
 help the invalid or amuse her, he brought out to the 
 hut. And in all this week he had had no word alone 
 with Salome. She told him that she did not wish to 
 leave her mother for a moment. Her mother might 
 want something. 
 
 The girl shrank from her lover with a terror that 
 she could not conceal. And when she believed that 
 she was not observed she watched his face with an 
 intentness that was piteous. 
 
 And her mother watched her ; and as she watched, 
 Mrs. Gerry prayed with a kind of imperious agony 
 that she might have strength, and yet more strength. 
 For she would need it all. she was sure.
 
 "HE WILL COME HACK.?" 359 
 
 The two women talked no more about the forgery 
 during that week. But they talked a great deal in an 
 impersonal, extremely cheerful manner. 
 
 And Mrs. Gerry gained every day. In the begin 
 ning of the second week she was able to " be about 
 the house," as she would have said; but mostly she 
 sat wrapped up in a blanket in the sunshine at the 
 door. And Salome sat by her, sometimes reading to 
 her, but oftener silent, looking out among the pine- 
 trees. 
 
 It was here that Moore found them for several 
 days. He also would sit down. He took his place on 
 the other side of Mrs. Gerry. He would make several 
 brave attempts at talk ; then he would subside into 
 silence. In this silence he tried not to look at Salome ; 
 but it always ended in his fixing his eyes beseeching 
 ly on her, and appearing to forget that he and she 
 were not alone together. 
 
 One day, in the last of the week, while the three sat 
 there in the sunshine, they saw a tall man making his 
 way slowly to them. 
 
 Salome knew directly that it was Walter Redd, and 
 presently Mrs. Gerry exclaimed : 
 
 "Why, it s Walter!" 
 
 Redd came and shook hands with them all in his 
 somewhat ponderous fashion. He said he wouldn t 
 sit down ; he couldn t stop ; but he had just come 
 from his trip through Florida, and he wanted to know 
 how Mrs. Gerry was. He was glad enough to find 
 she was better ; he had been sure she would pull 
 through. 
 
 As he talked on about orange groves, and land and 
 investments, he often gave a long, questioning gaze 
 into Moore s face.
 
 360 THE TWO SALOMES 
 
 Moore began to resent this gaze, though there 
 seemed to be nothing hostile in it. But Moore was 
 by this time in a frame of mind when he felt himself 
 hardly responsible for anything he might do. He had 
 been suffering for many days. He had slept little. 
 There were times when he was desperate with the 
 uncertainty, and with the thronging, terrible thoughts 
 upon him. 
 
 Salome was as evasive, as unsatisfactory, as if she 
 were a sprite, and not flesh and blood at all. 
 
 In those days Moore felt himself growing old. He 
 could hardly recognize himself. He gave up his busi 
 ness entirely. He could think of nothing but that 
 girl, and what she had told him. His heart longed 
 for her and turned towards her with an entirely un 
 governable impulse. But his judgment Moore reso 
 lutely thrust his judgment into the background, and 
 it was only now and then that it loomed up too 
 prominently, like a spectre that would some day assert 
 itself. 
 
 His naturally chivalric feeling towards all women 
 was now concentrated into an unspeakable tender 
 ness towards one woman whom he wished to defend 
 and protect, even against herself. What mattered it 
 about his judgment ? 
 
 And Salome held herself austerely aloof. Every 
 morning and every night he asked himself how long 
 she would be like that. He would have tried to break 
 impetuously through this guard if there had not been 
 a certain beseeching phase in the girl s attitude. It 
 was as if she asked that he should be her ally in 
 whatever she wished to do. 
 
 Now when Redd said he must go back to the city, 
 he turned towards Moore and asked if he would go
 
 "HE WILL COME HACK? 361 
 
 then ; Redd added that he particularly wished to see 
 him. 
 
 Moore rose in a kind of sullen acquiescence ; and 
 to be anything like sullen showed how keenly he had 
 been suffering. 
 
 He turned towards Salome, but she only bowed 
 gravely to him, as if to intimate that he might better go. 
 
 As the two young men walked away Mrs. Gerry 
 took the girl s hand between her own hot, dry palms. 
 
 " Salome," she said, anxiously, " what are you 
 doing ?" 
 
 Salome endeavored to draw herself up. 
 
 " I ?" she asked ; " I am doing nothing." 
 
 " But you don t let Mr. Moore have a chance." 
 
 Salome shivered. Then she rose and stood with 
 her back to her mother. 
 
 " I don t know how I can bear to see him alone," 
 she said. 
 
 "But he wants a talk with you ; an explanation." 
 
 "There can be no explanation," was the response. 
 
 " You cannot tell that. It is unfair not to let him 
 see you." 
 
 "Unfair?" Salome wheeled about. "Then I will 
 see him. But I know it all now." 
 
 " lie loves you, Salome." 
 
 The mother s voice, however, was very sad as it 
 pronounced those words. 
 
 The girl stood silent an instant before she was able 
 to say : 
 
 " Yes, I think he does love me. And you love me, 
 mother, but you do not respect me." 
 
 Notwithstanding all her self-command, Mrs. Gerry, 
 as she heard and saw her child at this moment, gave 
 an audible <rroan.
 
 362 THE TWO SALOMES 
 
 She leaned her head back and shut her eyes. 
 
 Salome drew yet nearer. 
 
 " Mother," she said, " you never lie ; you never pre 
 varicate. Answer me this : Do you respect me ?" 
 
 Mrs. Gerry s lips grew stiff, but at last they obeyed 
 her. 
 
 " Salome, I know you are not base. I am your 
 mother, and I know you are not base." 
 
 The woman suddenly extended her arms, and with 
 a swift access of strength she drew the girl into 
 them. 
 
 Mrs. Gerry began to sob, and she could not at first 
 check those sobs. Now at last she felt as if her 
 heart would break because of Salome s unhappiness, 
 and more because of the girl s lack of genuine recti 
 tude. 
 
 In that brief time, while she feebly held the young 
 head against her breast, a process of reasoning flashed 
 through her mind. In these days she was always 
 reasoning about the girl in the hope that she might 
 arrive at some solid justification of Salome s actions. 
 Was there not a moral diathesis as there was said to 
 be a physical diathesis, and how accountable was one 
 who here the woman s thoughts grew incoherent. 
 What justification was there for falsehood ? What 
 could one build upon a shifting foundation ? 
 
 "You do not answer me," said Salome. She with 
 drew herself from her mother s embrace. " It is 
 enough that you have hesitated." 
 
 She knelt by her mother s knees and put her face 
 in her mother s lap. She appeared weak and pros 
 trated. 
 
 With her face still in that position, she said : 
 
 " I can endure from you, because you are my
 
 U HK WILL COME BACK?" 363 
 
 mother, what I couldn t endure from a lover. But it 
 is hard from you." 
 
 Mrs. Gerry gasped in an agony of silence. 
 
 The vision of her child s future passed now plainly 
 before her eyes. She was asking if Salome had that 
 power of self-sacrifice which is so spontaneous, so 
 almost involuntary, in some feminine natures. 
 
 And Mrs. (Jerry could not say anything, for in her 
 secret soul she sympathized with her daughter in this. 
 First and foremost, Mrs. Gerry felt that she must be 
 respected. But if she were not worthy of respect, she 
 must do without love. She knew that this was what 
 was in Salome s mind. But would it endure in Sa 
 lome s mind ? And she could say nothing. But this 
 phase of character Salome had not inherited from 
 that ancestor whose traits were so impressed upon 
 her; this phase was a tincture of New England 
 blood. 
 
 The two young men who had left the cabin to 
 gether walked on for some distance without speaking. 
 Moore had no wish to speak. He strode on with his 
 head bent, brooding upon the one subject, and he 
 almost forgot that he had a companion until Redd 
 spoke. 
 
 " Maybe," said Redd, "you ll say I ve no right, but 
 I guess I ll venture to take the right, anyway." 
 
 He stopped in his walk in such a way that Moore 
 was compelled to stop also. 
 
 " Well, go ahead," said Moore, impatiently. 
 
 His thoughts were a torture to him, but he was 
 indignant if any one intruded upon him and pre 
 vented that constant dwelling of his mind upon the 
 one theme. 
 
 Redd was very slow, and he did not speak immecli-
 
 364 THE TWO SALOMES 
 
 ately. Moore kicked at a palmetto stump with some 
 viciousness as he stood and waited. 
 
 But nothing was likely to hurry Redd. When he 
 was quite ready to speak he squared round upon 
 Moore, taking in as he did so the bright attractive 
 ness of Moore s aspect. That aspect was cloudy 
 enough now, but Redd perceived, with a smouldering 
 anger, how bright and winning it was natural for 
 Moore to be. And as he took this in he had a crush 
 ing sense of the difference there was between them. 
 
 " I understand," he said, " that you are going to 
 marry Salome." 
 
 " That is my intention," was the answer. 
 
 " I haven t got anything to say about that," re 
 turned Redd, heavily, " but I want to look into things a 
 little. I ain t going home till she looks different from 
 what she does now that is, I don t think I shall." 
 
 "I don t know what right you have " began Moore, 
 hotly. 
 
 He found that his temper was like tinder in these 
 days. 
 
 " It ain t worth while for you to get mad," now re 
 marked Redd. " I don t know as I care particularly 
 whether I have what you call any right or not. But I 
 love Salome Gerry." 
 
 " I was sure of it !" interjected Moore, savagely. 
 
 " All right, be sure of it," was the response. " It 
 doesn t harm her to have me love her ; and she never 
 pretended to love me any. She loves you. Now, 
 what I want to know is : are you up to anything 
 that is making her wretched ? Tell me that." 
 
 Redd s eyes burned deeply as he spoke. But he 
 stood with perfect quiet, his figure looking large in 
 the sunlight.
 
 "HE WILL COME BACK?" 365 
 
 Moore plunged his hands into his pockets. His 
 face was crimson. He lowered himself to a subter 
 fuge. 
 
 " You seem to forget that she is grieving for her 
 father," he said. 
 
 He could no longer dispute Redd s right. And he 
 was obliged to acknowledge that this somewhat un 
 couth man from the country had a power of presence 
 and personality. 
 
 "It ain t that," said Redd; "you know it ain t 
 that I mean. It s something about you. Something 
 is wrong." 
 
 " Yes," exclaimed Moore, with some violence," some 
 thing is wrong ; but it s nothing I ve done. I am 
 waiting and hoping to have a word with her. Can t 
 you see I m so wretched myself that I m almost ready 
 to put a bullet into my head ?" 
 
 Moore, in spite of himself, was so conscious of the 
 genuineness of the man before him that he spoke 
 differently from what he had intended. 
 
 " You give me your word that it ain t any fault of 
 yours ?" 
 
 Redd looked at Moore with unswerving, stern gaze. 
 
 " I give you my word," said Moore. Then he 
 laughed. " You see, I let you catechise me. But I 
 should like to know what you would do about it, 
 anyway?" 
 
 A dark flush came into Redd s face. 
 
 "It s no matter," he said at last, "what I d do. 
 l!ut I d make this world an uncommon bad place for 
 anybody that did her any harm. Ikit I believe you. 
 A fellow s got to believe you, somehow. I m glad of 
 it, since she cares for you. It must be a solemn thing 
 to be loved as Salome loves you."
 
 366 THE TWO SALOMES 
 
 Redd turned away. After an instant of silence 
 Moore came closer to him. He held out his hand. 
 
 " Will you shake hands with me, Redd ? he asked. 
 
 The two men clasped hands. 
 
 Then they walked on towards the city. 
 
 But Moore could not stay in Augustine. He tried 
 boating as a panacea which sometimes had power. 
 To-day, however, he could not endure to stay on the 
 river, and in half an hour he was at the wharf and 
 had thrown his oars down with relief. 
 
 As he stood there a party came down to go out in 
 a yacht. He saw Miss Nunally among the group. 
 She looked towards him and smiled. He suddenly 
 walked up to her. She knew, and she was a woman 
 with exquisite perceptions. Women understood ; and 
 they were so sympathetic. It would be a great relief 
 to him, Moore thought, if he might spend the next 
 hour with Miss Nunally. Perhaps he could then 
 endure the time until he could go out to that cabin 
 again. 
 
 There was very little of the stoic about Moore. 
 He craved sympathy almost as a woman might crave 
 it. 
 
 "Are you going with all these people?" he asked, 
 abruptly. 
 
 " I was going," was the answer. 
 
 "Then do a deed of charity and come with me. 
 Please come with me. I shall be a miserable com 
 panion, though ; I warn you of that." 
 
 Moore was conscious of a decided feeling of grati 
 tude when Miss Nunally turned to her friends and 
 explained that she was asked to do a deed of charity, 
 and that a deed of charity was something that brought 
 its own reward.
 
 "HE WILL COME BACK?" 367 
 
 The next moment Moore had handed her into the 
 boat he had just left. He pushed off into the river, 
 while Portia waved her handkerchief at the yachting 
 party. 
 
 "This is so kind of you," Moore said, when they 
 were well away. 
 
 " It is not so difficult to be kind to you, Mr. 
 Moore, 1 was the response. 
 
 Miss Nunally met his rather absent gaze with a 
 look of simple well-wishing which had a faint com 
 forting power upon the young man. 
 
 Moore endeavored to rouse himself. He must not 
 be merely a lump of flesh in this girl s presence. 
 
 " Why do you try to talk ? asked Portia, kindly. 
 " It is not necessary. You look as if you were suffer 
 ing, Mr. Moore. Let us be silent. Row wherever 
 you please ; it is always a pleasure for me to be on 
 the water." 
 
 For a long time Moore simply obeyed her. He 
 was soothed by her mere presence and by the knowl 
 edge that she understood. He need not tell her ; 
 she understood. 
 
 The lines in his forehead grew less deep. His 
 whole attitude relaxed. He was not thinking of Miss 
 Nunally at all. She knew this fact perfectly. She 
 did not look at him, but she saw the change in him. 
 
 She sat leaning against the side of the boat, her 
 parasol over her head, her face calm, a faint glow 
 in her eyes, the white roses in her corsage moving 
 gently in the wind and exhaling their fragrance 
 lavishly. 
 
 At last Moore glanced at his companion with eyes 
 that were a little less strained. Then Miss Nunally 
 spoke.
 
 368 THE TWO SALOMES 
 
 " Does she know how you suffer ?" she asked. 
 
 The young man threw up his head as if a deep 
 breath might have a restorative power. He looked 
 wistfully at Portia. 
 
 "I don t know," he said, slowly, resting upon his 
 oars. " She is very unhappy. But I don t know much 
 about women ; they are so strange. I think Salome 
 has some strange idea in her head. I can t tell what 
 it is. I have a suspicion, though." 
 
 Moore now drew in his oars and leaned his arms 
 on his knees. He was gazing steadily just beyond 
 the girl in front of him. 
 
 " And what are your suspicions ?" she inquired. 
 
 "That she will want to break our engagement," 
 was the reply. 
 
 Portia suddenly lowered her eyes. She put her 
 handkerchief to her lips. But she responded di 
 rectly : 
 
 " Not because she does not love you ?" she said. 
 
 "No," he said, slowly; "it is not conceited in me 
 to think she loves me. But women are so different 
 from men. Sometimes I think they don t know how 
 to love." 
 
 No answer to this remark. Moore still continued 
 to gaze beyond Miss Nunally ; and Miss Nunally, who 
 was not accustomed to having men gaze beyond her, 
 still continued to bear this attitude of her companion 
 with apparent calm. 
 
 " Do you believe that women know how to love ?" 
 questioned Moore. 
 
 But he did not wait for any reply. He went on im 
 mediately : 
 
 " I have suffered more within the last few days 
 than I can ever suffer again. My mind is one hor-
 
 "HE WILL COME BACK?" 369 
 
 rible chaos. There is only one thing I clearly know 
 only one thing." 
 
 " And that is " as the speaker hesitated. 
 
 " That I love her. No matter what she has done, 
 I love her." 
 
 Miss Nunally bent down as if to pick up something 
 from the bottom of the boat. 
 
 " Have you assured her of that? she inquired, in a 
 clear voice. 
 
 " I have had no opportunity. You know how ill 
 her mother has been." 
 
 Moore took his oars and began to row again. 
 
 After a time Miss Nunally said : 
 
 " Perhaps we might better go back to the wharf." 
 
 Without answering, Moore turned and began to row 
 towards the city. As they drew near he looked at her 
 with a glance which for the first time really saw her. 
 
 " How tired you are !" he exclaimed. " I can t for 
 give myself for having bored you so." 
 
 " You haven t bored me," she answered. 
 
 " Truly, haven t I ? You are so good, Miss Nu 
 nally. And you have helped me so much. You have 
 helped me so by just letting me be with you, don t 
 you know. And you know all about it. Miss Nu 
 nally," with vibrating earnestness, " I wish you were 
 going to be happy. But you never will be happy if 
 you marry that man. And you don t even pretend to 
 love him, do you ?" 
 
 " Oh no ; I don t even pretend to love him," now 
 meeting her companion s eyes. "And I am not going 
 to marry him, Mr. Moore." 
 
 " Ah !" with a start of interest. 
 
 Moore again pulled in his oars. He held out his 
 hand. As she put hers within it she said : 
 24
 
 370 THE TWO SALOMES 
 
 " I couldn t do it, after all. And I could not for 
 get what you said, Mr. Moore, about such things. 
 Now you will congratulate me, won t you ?" 
 
 She did not allow her hand to remain an instant 
 in his. 
 
 " Indeed yes, I congratulate you," impressively. 
 
 Then Moore began to row, and his face clouded 
 over deeply again. 
 
 When the two parted on the Plaza the young man 
 thanked the girl again for her kindness, his eyes 
 dwelling on her with a half absent but wholly wretched 
 expression. And she said nothing. 
 
 In an hour he was out at the cabin again, going 
 this time with a well-defined resolution not to leave 
 until he had had an interview with Salome. 
 
 He was somewhat surprised to see her coming to 
 meet him. She left her mother sitting at the door of 
 the cabin. She glanced back at that figure which 
 now did not lean back in its chair any more. With 
 the first strength she had Mrs. Gerry ceased "to loll." 
 She sat now upright and watched her daughter as she 
 went towards Moore. Salome had said nothing, and 
 her mother had given no advice. She felt that this 
 was a matter solely between these two, and that she 
 could not advise. 
 
 She noted the subdued eagerness with which Moore 
 greeted the girl. She saw them walk away among 
 the trees, with Jack following sedately a few feet be 
 hind them. 
 
 Then, after a while, the woman went and laid her 
 self on the bed. But she had been there but a few 
 moments, she thought, when the hound came in his 
 sober way in at the door. Mrs. Gerry rose hurriedly. 
 She looked out among the pines and saw Salome
 
 "HE WILL COME RACK?" 371 
 
 coming alone. Jack went back to her and ranged 
 himself behind her. 
 
 Salome came straight on until she reached the 
 house. Her mother hastened to meet her. 
 
 "Well?" she said, her heart sinking. 
 
 " He has gone," said Salome. But she had hardly 
 spoken when Moore came rapidly towards them. He 
 went directly to Mrs. Gerry, taking both her hands. 
 She had never seen him look like this in the least. 
 
 " I m going," he began. He stopped suddenly. 
 Then he began again. "I m going, because she in 
 sists upon it. She says she knows she is right. She 
 says she knows herself so well that she knows she is 
 right. Well " he again found himself unable to go 
 on. But he waited until he could say, " I can t prove 
 that she is wrong. But I love her. She cannot make 
 me promise not to come back. Good-bye." 
 
 When he had gone, Salome, still standing by her 
 mother, said, with an appearance of calmness : 
 
 " I want to say what I have to say now ; for I 
 can t go on talking about it. I knew he couldn t 
 respect me fully ; and he couldn t tell me he could. 
 He said he was bewildered, confused. He said he 
 was sure of one thing : that he loved me and wanted 
 me for his wife." A pause. Presently the girl s voice 
 went on again : " In his place I should have lied and 
 asserted that I felt respect, that what I had done did 
 not really stain me, and so on. But he could not. 
 And I told him I had tendencies which I could not 
 control, and which were not I think 1 said were not 
 honest, and that they would make him unhappy. I 
 told him but it makes no difference. He has gone. 
 Mother !" with a sudden sharp intonation " he has 
 irone !"
 
 372 THE TWO SALOMES 
 
 " But he will come back ?" said Mrs. Gerry. 
 
 " Will he ? But how can I change ? How can I 
 be a different woman ?" 
 
 Salome looked at her mother with a tremor of 
 passionate inquiry. 
 
 But the tremor subsided instantly. She was too 
 spent with what she had just suffered to feel intensely 
 now. Before Mrs. Gerry could think of any reply, 
 Salome said, with a kind of dull abruptness : 
 
 " Miss Nunally loves him." 
 
 " How do you know ?" quickly. 
 
 " I don t know it ; but I believe it." 
 
 There was nothing to respond to this. 
 
 The two stood there together at the door of the 
 cabin. They stood in the full light of the sun. 
 
 Salome turned towards the woman beside her. 
 
 " It is you and I, mother," she said. 
 
 "Yes," said Mrs. Gerry, "you and I, with God to 
 help us." 
 
 She stood erect. She put her arm about her daugh 
 ter, who also stood erect, with a difference. 
 
 Above them some black spots came moving on 
 from towards St. Augustine. Salome saw these mov 
 ing things. She became yet paler. 
 
 " Mother," she said, " there are the crows. They 
 fly between me and the sun. But it is no matter." 
 
 THE END
 
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 he mingles. Christian Union, N. Y. 
 
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