Lauriel The Love Letters of an American Girl WOf. * * Hove ^Letters of an Hmerican (5itl EDITED BY A, H. With a Portrait Frontispiece in Photogravure Boston X. C. page & Company Copyright, BY L. C. PAGE & COMPANY (INCORPORATED) All rights reserved Colonial tfrrss Electrotyped and Printed by C. H. Slmonds & Co Boston, Mass., U. S. A. TO Sfoeetfjearte MAY THEY BECOME OUR WIVES TO ur IHfteg MAY THEY REMAIN OUR SWEETHEARTS ij r>-f r Editor's Note GIRLS, like flowers, are unconscious flirts. And, like the flowers, they may be innocent in their desire to please. Were it not for the madness for gauds, the fashion of low-cut dresses and the whirl for social recognition, each a desperate necessity of rivalry, our women would not be moulting their illusions with their youth. But frequently, from out of the throng of soarers, a young creature separates herself. For a little while she stands alone. She is at the parting of the ways. Social intoxication the daily necessity for pleasure the calculating scramble the hollow life and the ex- periences which precede ceaseless ennui these cunningly allure on the one side. On the other, there beckon a simple and sober life, high-minded E D I TO R'S NOTE friends, whom one naturally welds to one's heart, a home that is a home, and not a hotel, and days, each one of which is too short to hold its own happiness. Laura Livingstone chose the real. It cannot be taken away from her. She is the type of womanhood that makes men noble, and may make them great. She is unconscious of her nobility. But the man she loves has " drunk the milk of Paradise." vi Lauriel The Love Letters of an American Girl ORANGE, N. J., April 20, 1899. MY DEAR MR. STRONG : I am the room-mate of your sister at least I was. This is my only excuse for writing to a stranger. I am doing this because Ethel has asked me to. Ethel, you know, is enthusiastically clannish, and has what seems to me a perfectly un- reasonable adoration of her brother. She wrote me that you had just arrived in New York, and needed a home dinner. Five years' absence from God's country, in the mines of South Africa, is a long time to exist without plain North American cooking. We dine to-morrow at half-past six by the grace L A U R I E L of a red-haired girl three months out from the banks of Killarney. It will be a typical suburban meal. You are not such a stranger to me, Mr. Strong, as you may imagine. I have borne with resignation four years of Ethel's ravings about her wonderful brother. I have lived with his picture in my room. I have learned to detest him and it most heartily. If you can take the taste of that girl's saccharine adulation out of my mouth, it will be worth in itself a trip to the Oranges. Papa, as you may not know, is a very uncertain quantity. He lives in his laboratory all day, and most of the night. Nevertheless, as Ethel always wound him around her little finger, he heartily joins with me in the invitation which Aunt Niobe says is entirely in- formal. If you board the five-thirty train I will cast aside my pride and prejudice and meet you at the station. L AU R I E L You will take your life in your hands, as I shall drive you home (D. V.) in Papa's experimental automobile. It is an electric runaway, and is expected to make our fortunes. It will be the only automobile at the station, as no others dare to be in its vicinity. But as I shall not be the only lady present, I will wear a rose pink in my button- hole, which, you understand, is be- cause you are Ethel's brother. Very sincerely yours, LAURA L. LIVINGSTONE. P. S. The runaway is painted crimson with Papa's monogram in rose. L A U R I E L ORANGE, N. J. April 26, 1899. MY DEAR MR. STRONG: I suppose I must thank you for the chocolates, although I do not feel at all compli- mented to be placed in that class of girls that can be appeased by candy. I do not know whether to be glad or sorry that Papa took a fancy to you. " Such a level-headed, solid man ; it is such a pleasure to talk to him," he said, and Aunt Niobe dropped a silent tear of assent, and nodded. So Papa said, " Let's have him up here for a week if it doesn't bore him too much," and I laughed. Can you imagine why ? So you are to come, if you will, next Saturday, on the same train, and will be met by the same girl in the same runaway. Only I am going to ask you not to be so phlegmatic next time. When I nearly ran over that baby- 4 L A U R I E L carnage you didn't even lift an eyelash. Such self-control is not natural. Ethel would not like to have you " put on " before me. Now, one little word in private, or, as we used to say in college, on the " D. Q." Papa is at heart a worshipper of Mammon. So is Aunt Niobe. They don't realise it. He plans and dreams about being rich. Poor Papa! He looks upon me as a sort of a queen in the cocoon. He does appreciate manly effort, and respects honourable poverty the kind we have here. And he likes you. I am so glad that you are not rich, other- wise they would grovel, and I should hate you. Poor Papa ! He does not realise that a girl of twenty-two, who can play golf, and swim, and steer a boat, and run an automobile, must therefore, by reason of a more or less free and motherless 5 L A U R I E L life, care little whether her dress is a dream, her hair a poem, or her suitor a prince. And yet and yet, I have at times a frightful hankering after fleshpots and jewels. It's in the blood, I suppose. Ah, me! Come, and don't be so didactic this time, and bring your golf clubs, if you have any. The Orange County Club has its opening on the 3oth. Very sincerely yours, LAURA L. LIVINGSTONE. P. S. I have just written Ethel that you are presentable, but not absorbing. L A U R I E L ORANGE, N. J., Tuesday, the ninth of May. DEAR MR. STRONG : A wonderful thing has happened since you left yes- terday at least, Papa says so, and Aunt Niobe has gone to the milliners, she is so excited. She finds the only cure for nerves to try on a new bonnet. Her nerves come high at certain sea- sons of the year. But I don't take a bit of stock in it. I have lived through such panics of success ever since I was old enough to play cat's-cradle. Papa says that he has completed his great invention. You remember how uneasy and sarcastic he was. When he has an idea, his tongue is apt to be like a stream of sulphuric acid. Sunday night, as we have reason not to forget, it was like a cataract of vitriol. Ah, these men of genius ! What grade of origi- nality must they possess in order to 7 L A U RI E L have their eccentricities forgiven them ? Dear Papa ! He is so lovely when he does not invent. And when he de- vises, he is almost insupportable. But we are used to it, and don't mind. Only strangers are not apt to understand. You were very patient, and I appreciate it for Ethel's sake. From now on, I do not mean to consider you a stranger, if you please. Because now I come to think of it, I don't think I should talk about sulphuric acid to a stranger. Now, sir, Papa says (and this is a terrible secret) that he has finished the new storage battery that he has been working on for two years. He hit upon the last combination that unlocks the secret yesterday. His storage battery is done. " This great invention solves aerial navigation ; by it vessels will cross the Atlantic in four days, and auto- mobiles," which is more to the point, " will be able to go three hundred miles 8 L A U R I E L without recharging." I don't under- stand it very much ; but it is an en- tirely new principle. He stores his electricity on a substance something like skeins of silk, so that he accumu- lates enormous power on inconceivable lightness. He says that this discovery is a revolution,, it will make him many times a millionaire. Poor Papa ! I am sure I do not know whether I wish his dreams to come true or not. After all this preliminary scribble, the reason of my letter is as follows : Papa wants you to come right out. I think he wants to make you a business propo- sition. Of course you will do what you please in the matter, but I hope that you will not entertain anything that will bring you two into close business relations. This is Tuesday. Come to-morrow by the same train, if possible. Tele- phone, if you cannot, and please don't 9 L A U R I E L bring me anything. I am not that kind of a girl unless it be a single pink. Very truly, LAURA L. LIVINGSTONE. P. S. Papa is like strained honey. He is crazy to talk the whole matter over with you. So unless you want to have me sacrificed in a vat of hydro- chloric, you had better not miss that train. 10 L A U R I E L ORANGE, N. J., May the twenty-first. MY DEAR MR. STRONG: It did not need your letter to tell me of the ar- rangement that you have made with my father. I heard about it soon enough. I am sorry that I ever invited you out in the first place. I know the con- ditions under which you are going into this quasi-partnership. That this will be most profitable to Papa, I do not doubt. A marketable idea is but the signal for jackasses to scramble to the feast. After each new invention Papa has come out with nothing left but sinews set for another struggle. No matter how caustic his comments on human flesh-eaters, his heart is still buoyant. To him, at this crisis of his life, an honest, keen business man is a Golconda. I know quite well that he looks upon you from that standpoint. L A U R I E L But how about yourself ? You have been in our family, and I can speak frankly. Papa, as you know, is gener- ous, but peculiar. Irascible through the natural gradations that come from in- dulgence in sarcasm ; jealous beyond reason of anything or anybody that interests or concerns myself a wor- shipper of wealth insatiable in his am- bitions for me to become a great social power he will use any honourable means to accomplish his aims. He does not realise my nature at all. To him you are an interesting ladder. I very much fear me that when he has climbed I dare not finish the simile. What will be your gain ? You have your life's work. Mines call to be opened. Men like you, expert and honourable, are scarce at any price. Why do you step aside? Your de- cision, made against my judgment, will certainly have no effect upon myself. L AU R I E L I leave for Boston to-morrow, to visit my cousin, Mrs. Rand. I shall prob- ably not see you again for some time. Aunt Niobe will keep me informed how the invention takes. I know that Papa's affairs will be in safe hands with you. Do I write too seriously ? if so, for- give me. A girl can't snicker all the time. Good-bye. Very truly, LAURA L. LIVINGSTONE. P. S. I hope you don't think me disloyal to Papa to say the things I have. I know they are all safe with you. Besides, I could not stand by and see you sacrificed without a warning how could I ? Not that he thinks he is sacrificing you dear Papa ! If he did I wouldn't tell of him I don't think I would if he ruined you. But when people we love dearly make such errors T 3 L A U R I E L of judgment as to affect other people even when we don't love other people I think it is right for us to speak, don't you ? I hope you think so, though my sentence is as crooked as a half-intoxi- cated bee in a clover-field, and I don't just see my way out of it and on the whole, I won't try. L A U R I E L EN ROUTE TO BOSTON, Monday, May 22. MY DEAR MR. STRONG : I do not know whether to be pleased or per- plexed by your presence at the station. It certainly was nice of you to come, and your Russian violets are making out a very strong case in your favour. But you shouldn't have asked me to become a regular correspondent. That was a terrible mistake in tactics. Do I look like one ? Why should I write to you regularly, or, as for that matter, to any one ? It would bore me to death. It is sufficient that you are Ethel's brother. You had better stand on that. It is the only firm footing you have got ; on that account, if for no other, I shall treat you with the consideration due the relationship, and your age and dignity. If I calculate aright, you are thirty-eight, and I am twenty-two. You 15 L A U R I E L have seen the world ; you are experi- enced and have a seriousness and grav- ity (you notice how I am working up to it). None of these qualities are pos- sessed by me. You are dark and I am fair. We are at opposite poles. No, sir; I will not correspond with you regularly. However, if you have anything of importance to write that Aunt Niobe might overlook and Papa forget to mention, I cannot refuse to read, but I shall never forget that you refused to take my advice. Do you often travel on this ten o'clock limited ? I presume not, as you have just returned. As you know, it is a five-hour service and two trains start simultaneously at each terminal. At twelve-thirty precisely the two trains pass. Seldom is there over a minute's variation. To me it is always an as- tonishing illustration of railroad ac- 16 L A U R I E L curacy. As I write, the two have just whirred by on time. Starting at dif- ferent termini, we, too, have passed each other at the appointed hour, and must now whirl on, each to a different goal. For Ethel's sake, I wish you happiness and success, and may you arrive on time. This seems a little like the paternal valedictory of a college president; somehow or other I can't trifle with you. As this will probably be my last letter, let me end by say- ing: fulfil my father's ambition if you can. If his invention is worth anything, get for him all there is in it. You have chosen this digression for a time then make it a great success. By the way, sir, I do not for a moment believe in your very lame and silly explanation as to why you disregarded my advice. You must never talk so again. If you succeed, and I dread success, for it will mean a bondage for me, I 17 L A U R I E L hope you will see to it that you make enough in commission, or whatever you call it, to salve the bitterness that will inevitably be yours through victory. I am afraid you will not be able to read this scrawl, it is so wriggly. Again good-bye, LAURA L. LIVINGSTONE. 18 L A U R I E L BOSTON, MASS. MY DEAR MR. STRONG : I was just sitting down to write you when your letter was handed to me. Aunt Niobe told me the whole story. She is not noted for her accuracy, but is famous for her enthusiasm. The sum she mentioned is calculated, so my little cousin George (a fascinat- ing, precocious boy of twelve) would say, to make Rockefeller look like thirty cents. Your conservative figure lets me breathe again. So you have sold Papa's storage battery rights to an Eng- lish syndicate for five millions, and that includes only the rights in the British Empire, and you intimate that the end is not yet. I am now one of the richest heiresses in the country, am I ? I suppose that I shall be grateful to you for all that you have done for Papa. L A U R I E L But I can't rejoice a bit as I ought to. I suppose my wings will learn to fly later. But now I feel weighted and unhappy. Frankly, I am sorry you ever came. But I don't blame you one bit. I blame myself. Please, I beg you, don't make Papa any richer. This is quite enough. Poor Aunt Niobe ! The news will be more than she can bear. She will go up on it, like a per- son on an aeroplane, and keep flopping about in the air, and tumbling down every little while and then up again ! I expect her in a day or two. These may be the last free and happy hours that I shall ever know. Don't you pity me? Already Mrs. Rand's maid has caught the poison of the gold. It's " Miss, can't I do that ? " and " Miss, hadn't you better wear this ? " But the boy is all right. George broke out at breakfast, " She's the richest girl in Boston, is she ? She don't look it, does 20 L A U R I E L she, Papa? I bet you she don't get stuck up she's like me, she is. She ain't like Mum." When Aunt Niobe comes we shall decide on taking a house for the sum- mer. I shall send for Ethel the first thing, and give the dear girl a good time. She must be tired to death teaching. Very sincerely, L. L. L. June the Sixteenth. 21 L A U R I E L BOSTON, MASS., June 23d. DEAR MR. STRONG: Aunt Niobe has just arrived with the news of your quarrel with Papa. How could you ? I feel responsible for every bit of it. Aunt Niobe's story makes it out very bad, but she is very much excited over it and talked until one o'clock last night. Then she took one of her powders they are salmon-coloured powders and is now asleep. Let me hear at once how it all happened. Papa never writes anything, and I want to know all. I am devoured with trouble and curiosity. You must have lost your temper terribly. I have written to Ethel to come, as we have taken the last house on Eastern Point. You can address your letters there. I shall not say " I told you so." I have had a col- lege education, and am above such a 22 L A U RI E L petty revenge. Only I am so sorry that it happened as it did ; I knew it was bound to come sometime. It is far better now than later. In great haste, L. L. L. L A U R I E L EASTERN POINT, MASS., June 3oth. MY DEAR MR. STRONG : I do not see how I can blame you in this most unfortunate affair. I will whisper to you, and tell it not to the yellow press that I am glad the explosion came when it did. It was a choice between bondage and freedom. I know dear Papa so well. He has suffered fright- fully, and is not responsible at times for his language. It was a sharp touch of indigestion, and you happened to be one of the few men he has known who will not take and forgive. Yet I am sure, although you could not take, you have forgiven have you not ? But I do blame you most heartily for your pride in refusing compensation for what you have done. And besides, you put him into the hands of an " honest corporation lawyer " I think 2.4 L A U R I E L that is what you called it if there is such a thing, who will protect his inter- ests ? You ought at least, sir, to have charged for mileage between Orange and New York. But I suppose you are a man, and that accounts for it. / should have sent in a bill for chocolates and sodas as indispensable if not indi- gestible extras. So you think of going way out West to Arizona. I suppose Tucson is miny and hot. I am sure you will feel much freer and happier. Really, I like you much better away from Papa than too near him. It makes me feel so sober and responsible. It took the gimp right out of me, when it came to writing letters. Did you not notice how stilted and stupid I have been ? Let me tell you where we are. It is at the tip of the Point. Imagine the sea right under your window, and the 25 L A CJ R I E L infinite stretch beyond. Oh, the odour of the kelp and ozone ! Every wave dashing its heart out on the granite rocks sprays freshness and freedom over my soul. The buoys of the lob- ster pots not fifty feet away already bob good morning, and the old fishermen in their dories nod a kindly recognition when I wave my handkerchief at them. Last night I crept into a little red crev- ice just above the water. Each wave, creeping higher, covered me with great salt, sticky drops. Pretty soon a large roller espied me, and, making a des- perate plunge, wet me through and through. It was delicious. Oh, the madness in the beckoning of the sea! Who can withstand its call ? When its dank arms surrounded me engulfed me I could only gasp. The queer thing about it was that I wanted to capitulate to that wave. But I recov- ered from my folly in time to escape 26 L A U R I E L the next one that had a fateful eye upon me. My moment of homage was past. I was myself again, and I would not have capitulated to the whole Atlantic Ocean. When Aunt Niobe caught me a few minutes later trying to sneak in, she gave a cry of horror, summoned a foolish maid, and insisted upon hot drinks. No, thanks to you, I am now too precious to be allowed to be natural or happy. I appeased Aunt Niobe by solemnly assuring her that salt water, straight from the ocean, was Nature's own wash for the complexion, and, indeed, it didn't hurt it. To-morrow my " runaway " comes. Papa has fixed it up with a new bat- tery. It is warranted to go three hundred miles without recharging. I wonder whether I shall be smashed to hash ? The roads are horrid. I should think that the approach to such a beautiful spot ought to have been 27 L A U R I E L made perfect long ago. But the cod- ocracy of this place doesn't agree with me. You will be so pleased to know that the Newburys of Boston, who have the next place, have a beautiful seventy- footer. Arthur Newbury is a thor- oughbred sport of about twenty-five. He has blond, curly hair, pink, healthy, sunburned complexion, a picturesque moustache, and one of those square, long, disproportioned chins that be- token great firmness or degenerate weakness. He is charmingly cultivated in golf, polo, and yachting. I like him immensely, because he has invited me to take a spin down to the Shoals. He suggests that I take him land yachting in exchange. Ethel comes next Tuesday. This is a terribly long, stupid letter. It is a feeble attempt to atone for your recent sensational experience. Let me know 28 L A U R I E L when you go out West. I know that you will discover the biggest gold mine in the country. I shall want to tell Ethel all about it. Very sincerely, LAURA L. LIVINGSTONE. P. S. Aunt Niobe says that on the whole you behaved very well. She thinks that you have not had enough experience in dealing with the very wealthy to acquire tact. Aunt Niobe is very amusing, now that she is arrivee. P. P. S. I am afraid you might misunderstand. Men are so stupid. I was simply quoting Aunt Niobe. I know you have the nicest kind of tact if you will only promise not to send me any more flowers. You can't afford it. Now, who hasn't any tact? Besides, if tact means "touch," in the slangy 29 L A U R I E L sense, I am glad you are one of the very few that haven't " touched " papa. Good-bye, here comes young Newbury to take me out sailing, bless him ! L A U R I E L TELEGRAM EASTERN POINT, July 3. MR. ROYAL STRONG, University Club, New York: Ethel arrived to-day. Won't you come up and spend the Fourth with us, and see Ethel before you go West ? Papa will not be able to come. LAURA L. LIVINGSTONE. L A U R I E L Sunday, July 9. DEAR MR. STRONG : I do not think that you had any right whatever to send me such a letter. I would not have written so soon, or even at all, if I did not want to tell you so immedi- ately. Arthur Newbury is a perfect gentleman. There ! He does not make eyes at me, and I am not encouraging him. How dare you insinuate that he or I would do such things? Really, you presume, sir, overmuch on being Ethel's brother, or perhaps, because you have been of service to Papa, you think that you can dictate to me, as to what friends I may have, and as to how they and I shall behave. Oh, I feel so much better to have said my say. Now, I proceed to forgive you be- cause you have lived in the wilds of 32 L A U R I E L South Africa so long, and have for- gotten the usages of polite society, in which we learn to conceal our thoughts rather than to express them. Does not this false standard account for the decadence of oratory and real conver- sation ? Then I'll forgive you for Ethel's sake she thinks so much of you, poor girl ! I quite pity her for her infatua- tion. And finally, I'll forgive you be- cause you are big and honest, and yourself. Now, having forgiven you three times, Mr. Strong, I hope it will never occur again. We did have a good sail, and Mr. Newbury was very nice to you. You ought to appreciate that. He has inquired for you since, and says you were a " darned good fellow although so confoundedly quiet." Doesn't that hot coal burn the bald spot on the top of your head ? If it doesn't, you must 33 L A U R I E L have washed it in alum, or thatched it with asbestos. How you did frown when I invited Mr. Newbury to join us in that last morning ride in the run-away! I can- not understand your dislike to him. He is so pleasant and genial. He fits in so easily. I had, of course, to make up a little for the beautiful sails. Didn't we have a fine run down to the station at Manchester? I think it is almost as exhilarating as yachting. Still, I'll admit you don't have to go through miles of impossible Gloucester roads when you start out in a boat. On the way back, after we had said good-bye to you, Ethel and Mr. Newbury matched to see who should ride with me going home. He said it wouldn't look nice to see two girls sitting together on the front seat of an auto. Who do you sup- pose won ? Guess ! I have refused to go out sailing this 34 L A U R I E L afternoon. I suppose I am foolish, but Sunday ought to be a day of rest, and I have been going so all the week. We are dining at the Newburys to-night. Don't be cross. I hope you will get the appointment to inspect the mine for the English syndicate. I'll give you a " recom- mend " if you want me to. Let us know how it turns out, and when you start. Very truly yours, LAURA L. LIVINGSTONE. P. S. As Ethel is writing to you in the next room, I did not tell her that I have picked my little bone with you. I send greetings to you through her. 35 L AU R I E L July 17. MY DEAR MR. STRONG : You bewail the heat of the city, and crave a breath of fresh sea air, do you ? As I know from experience that Chicago is insup- portable when the wind blows from the south in July, I am directing this to the Auditorium, hoping that it may serve as a breeze to your gasps and a check to your swears. Eastern Point is beautiful. As they say of Bar Harbor, " it combines so much." I can see the sun rise over the ocean, and watch it set over the bay. Where else in New England is that possible ? I have never been on intimate terms with the sea before, and my rapture is engrossing and deep. It seems as if almost nothing else were worth while, and I recall snatches of Homer's and Virgil's rhymes of the 36 L A U R I E L deep about the only thing that I car- ried away from my college life. How stuffy and narrow it seems now! It gave me friends, and taught me how to learn. Perhaps it is enough for a girl. But let me tell you now about the harbor and the downs. Does it bore you ? I love them so ! I like to talk about them to you. You are long-suf- fering, and beneath your graven exte- rior I am sure there is a little sympathy for a poor, motherless million-heiress. Indeed, I have little or no enjoyment excepting playing truant from Aunt Niobe, putting on my short skirt, and striding over the downs and rocks. You know I am pretty tall, and Ethel and I can cross a lot of territory in a short time. And when I am not sailing, or walking, or bathing, it is clothes, clothes^ and being made presentable, and hav- ing your hair just right. Father has 37 L A U R I E L insisted upon my having a special maid, who combines hair-dressing, manicur- ing, and French. She certainly is, if you are not shocked, a " peach." What is this terrible race that Papa and Aunt Niobe have entered me for? For what am I expected to run ? What win? I am dieted and groomed until I could shriek. And Ethel sits by and howls. I suspect that I am only let loose on the downs to keep my roses in bloom. Oh, the Cape Ann roses! I wish that my cheeks could match their deli- cate tints, and I, by some mysterious process of enfleurage, could absorb their scent. Like all things too exquisite to battle, their petals fall so easily. The house is kept full of these beautiful roses, wild, because single-petalled, I presume, and in the morning the floors are covered with pink, as if fairy bridesmaids had floated through 38 L A U R I E L and had dropped their hats in their flight. I was brought up on fairies, not the kind you read of in Hans Andersen and " Water Babies," but real kobolds of the rocks and pixies of the wood. They were my own fairies, and would come when I called. They never frightened me, for they were my own creation, and did not grow beyond my control. I never outlived their reality, and I still see people in the roses, and forms in the groves and rocks just as other per- sons do in the clouds. Yesterday, I saw an old, old man at a distance. I know he beckoned to me. He was at the top of the oldest, tallest rosebush on the Cape, just near the house. So I reached up and scratched my fingers and picked him. He wanted to say something, and I put him to my lips and kissed him because he seemed so lonely and so old. Not knowing what 39 L AU R I E L else to do, and knowing he wanted companionship of his own seeking, I took him to Mother Ann. Right by the lighthouse is the strong profile of an old woman, cut by the master surf in the red granite ledge. Half reclining, the old lady looks out to sea with eternal vigilance and pa- tience. What does she seek ? For whom is her vigil? The spume and the wrack have been her mates tears have dropped from her eyes in storm and wreck. Who can say that granite orbs do not see ! Long before the lighthouse came to bear her company, she guarded this desolate tongue in grim silence. So I took the old man over, and placed him in the old lady's flinty mouth. When I looked back, I thought Mother Ann's stern profile had softened a little at this sacrificef and I know the old Man Rose curled lovingly toward the 40 L A U R I E L old lady's beetling nose that she might scent again the spring she had not known for ten thousand centuries. Am I foolish ? Papa would say that I was fey. I am sitting on the piazza I almost said on the horizon for however vast the distance, our horizon, I suppose, is the limit of our own view. As you remember, we call it the "deck." The breeze is cool as a siphon. I lazily watch and write. My scribble is as desultory as my observation. Out at the mouth of the harbour a fleet of little yachts, like butterflies, are escort- ing a big schooner. The water looks like blue plush brushed the wrong way, and fades away in colour by the shore to pale watered silk. We are going to be very busy this week. The N. Y. Yacht Squadron is coming in, and, as Mr. Newbury is a member, I expect to meet yachtsmen 41 L A U R I E L by the tide. We shall give a dance. Don't you wish you could come ? Sometime I'll tell you about the wharves that reek with female artists and smell of the lost souls of dead fish, provided you tell me all about your own surroundings, your mines, and your prospects. I wish you would recommend a book that would teach me all about miner- alogy. If Ethel were here and knew that I was writing, she would send all sorts of messages. Of course, I can't make them up. We go to Newport in September. The Newburys have invited Aunt Niobe and me down on the yacht. Sincerely, LAURA L. LIVINGSTONE. L A U R I E L July 26. MY DEAR MR. STRONG: We had a tremendous excitement yesterday. Mr. Newbury took us out fishing, and Ethel has asked me to tell you all about it. She is not much hurt. Her right arm is twisted, and Arthur Newbury is read- ing aloud to her. You see we started out in the Ariel. There were five or six of us in the party. We all made up a pool to be divided as prizes for the one who cap- tured the first, the largest, and the smallest fish. For half an hour not a fish peeped. Finally, I felt an awful tug at my line, and began to pull in. They tried to help me, but I wouldn't let them. Aunt Niobe wasn't with us, as she has mal de mer, so I didn't think of my hands. " I'll bet you it's a catfish," cried Mr. 43 L A U RI E L Newbury, dancing about, giving oceans of advice. " I never heard of a woman catching a cat," Ethel answered, valiantly. " I'll go you a half a dozen gloves to a necktie made by yourself," Arthur Newbury shrieked, bending over the side. " I'll go you," said Ethel, quickly. " Laura has come out for cod, and she knows enough to catch one, or some- thing better." By this time I was all used up, and Arthur grabbed the line. I don't suppose he knew what he was doing. "The gaff!" he yelled. "Two of them ! " By this time a large white body appeared, and then gave a plunge and darted down, the cord cutting the poor boy's hands as it disappeared. "What is it?" he gasped. 44 L A U R I E L " It's a halibut," said the skipper, " an' the first one caught off these rocks, I'll bet, for five years. Let me handle him." The owner of the Ariel was only too glad to give up the line, for his hands were bleeding. I seemed to have es- caped just in time. It took just two to land that fish on deck. Just as it came over, it gave poor Ethel an awful clip with its tail right on the arm. That is the reason Ethel cannot write. Would you believe it, that fish weighed one hundred and eighty-five pounds, and the skipper said it would bring twelve cents a pound at the wharf? and I hooked it all myself. It has since turned out to be the biggest fish caught off Gloucester for years and years, and I am posing as a heroine, and am thinking of going on exhibition with my catch at ten cents a 45 L A U R I E L view. Arthur Newbury is serious about it. He says he will be manager he will get the whole Point and most of the hotel people to go, and give the proceeds to the Fishermen's Bethel. As it was, I have sent over the whole purse which I took, as there was no more fishing that day. The fish was so big, it reminded me of the French translation of that part of Cooper's stories where it said the hero tied his horse to a locust. The Frenchman literally translated locust into cicada and gravely added a foot- note, lest the reader should be sur- prised, which explained that in America locusts grew to such enormous size that almost every family had a tame one for use as a hitching-post. So that is why Ethel is laid up, and I have to write. You ask me whether my money weighs on me. I can only answer in the words of Michael Angelo, 4 6 LA URIEL true to-day as when he lived and loved and carved and wrote, " Men are worth more than money." As always, L. L. L. 47 L A U R I E L July 30, 1899. MY DEAR SIR : Ethel is a little rogue, and if she does not behave better I shall put her in my " runaway " and turn on the power and let her go. I have just had " Pegasus " painted in small gold letters on the rear panel. I don't see why a land-yacht should not have a name as well as a sea-yacht do you ? How do you like the name ? But Ethel should not have told you about my birthday. The little gold nugget had a long way to travel from the mines of South Africa to the throat of a girl who is very grateful, and who thanks the giver as prettily as she can. Now I don't want you to plume your- self and puff yourself with pride, but I am pleased to have met you. You are so full of purpose and vital energy., 4 8 L A U R I E L You Do with a big, big D while we dream. I was brought up so curi- ously. Papa was always at something, and always in a cloud. You could only see his feet, but his head was lost in the fog. I never supposed he really accomplished anything, until, at last, the dream came true. Perhaps a dream isn't so useless, after all, if it translates a tithe of its fancies into deeds. Christ and Alexander died at the same age. Has the world ever entertained greater dreamers or greater doers ? I do not think that we change after thirteen. While my mother was pas- sionately aristocratic, to her hard work was another phase of religion. Perhaps the best heredity is poverty and blue blood. She had both, and I never saw her make a bed or sew but that she did it with a dignity and zest that made labour seem the most honourable thing in the world, and the one most worth 49 L A U R I E L doing. She never was idle until she died, when I was thirteen. I want something to do. Oh, the dead monotony of having a good time all the time ! Seriousness and work are subjects to be ashamed of and tabooed when you speak to a rich girl. I am generally the gayest of the gay, and then there are times when I could more easily die than chat. The petty talk, the gossip, the long details of finery, the planning of triumphs, and the dis- appointment because a dress or an appearance did not cause sufficient sensation these vapid nothings weary one to death. At times I am afraid I shall make a very poor heiress. Summer men are such idiots ! or haven't the leisure class anything in their brains ? We are very gay here now and very busy doing nothing. The har- bor is full of yachts, and the Point is full of cottagers, but the men I happen 5 L A U R I E L to meet have little to say or to suggest or to stimulate me. Is it because I am a rich girl and therefore beneath common sense and energy and intellect ? or is it because they have exchanged values so long that they mistake nothing for some- thing ? I suspect that it is a blend of the two. Now, what shall I do ? Autoing, sailing, dancing, flirting are not all life should give a girl, I am sure. I can't let poor Aunt Niobe suspect this fault in me. You know what I mean by fault. Do you remember when we sat by the little canon and watched the waves boom in, you told me that the vein of black rock was called a " fault," and was trap forced up by heat through the granite, and that this was more easily acted upon by the waves ? This eagerness not to waste my life in com- petition with the rich and in dazzling the poor, is the trap into which I have 5 1 L A U R I E L fallen. Is it a fault to be cultivated or not? There is a progressive euchre party to-night. Mr. Newbury has ordered the prizes from Boston. Aunt Niobe and the French maid are fluttering like jib topsails in a breeze. Now, sir, if you do not suggest some- thing useful for me to do, I shall never forgive you for carrying through the English syndicate. I am afraid Papa is getting too rich to be safe. Have you read in the papers about the new Stor- age Trust Company of America ? It is to use Papa's new invention, and he will get several times more than his last " rake-off " and have ever so much stock besides. He is now building a large experimenting and machine-shop in Newark, and will not be here at all. He wrote a brief letter saying that he was doing it all for me, and what my mother missed I am to have. I am to 52 L A U R I E L limit myself in nothing, and to let no one outshine me. Oh, poor Papa! I know he will be terribly disappointed. I don't want to shine. I don't feel like a sun at all. If Aunt Niobe were not so crazy about pushing me I don't know what I might do. As it is, I wonder at her persistent compulsion. Can you suggest an antidote ? This is a stupid, gropy letter. Per- haps you will understand it better than I do. Always truly yours, L. L. L. 53 L A U R I E L Sunday, Aug. 6. MY DEAR MR. STRONG: Of course a girl is a contradiction. Isn't that her privilege? The limitations of her life don't give her many. You ask me which is my true self. The laughing, superficial heiress, court- ing admiration and indignant when it is expressed, the lover of sports and the killer of time ; or the other girl ? Am I artificial or real? Am I pewter plated with gold ? or twenty-four carat fine from centre to circumference ? It is a fair question for a friend to ask but how difficult to answer! Is it not impossible to answer ? I should never have thought of asking that question of you. My intuition is too sure. You are not brilliant and you do nothing for effect. The coruscations of conversa- tion, those fireworks of the shallow 54 L A U R I E L mind that glitter and excite our ap- plause, always fall into the water with a swish and are gone. Blackness fol- lows the more intense. How short the moment of green and scarlet light ! But the white light on Ten Pound Island is there, every night, and guides steadily. No one holds his breath and cries " Ah ! " when he sees it, yet how many mariners has that silent light blessed ! You you are as true as steel and as strong. People depend on you. They would trust their lives to your word. Yet you will never be rich; you are too modest and honest. At the same time, you are self-reliant and mas- terful. Am I right ? Last night a visitor read " Omar Khay- yam." There were perhaps a dozen people to listen. They say he is a mem- ber of the Omar Khayyam Club of Bos- ton. His voice was like a silver flute. His tone was exquisitely modulated, and 55 L A U R I EL his expression and enunciation perfect. Indeed, it was evident that he was read- ing his religion aloud. It is rare that one hears the New Testament or the Psalms read so sympathetically. This man would stop, and let each word sink into the soul like dew. We were all hypnotised, and I heard receptively, like one entranced. We were on the piazza, all dark but a Japanese lan- tern over the interpreter. The dreamy expanse of the sea, the marvellous mel- ody of the poem, and the rhythmic pulse of the softly descending tide, completed the illusion. When he finished we could not speak. Not one of us but at that magic moment thought Omar the prophet of the world, and would gladly have been swallowed up in a Nirvana of roses and wine and blind fate. Life seemed suddenly to be satis- fied and rounded by the fulfilment of 56 L A U R I E L " A Book of Verses underneath the Bough, A Jug of Wine, a Loaf of Bread and Thou Beside me singing in the Wilderness, Oh, Wilderness were Paradise enow ! " This morning I got up early before breakfast, and, taking Omar and my Bible, scudded to my favourite rocks. The sun had risen hot, the dew was heavy, and the sea motionless. There, for the first time, with unillusioned mind and with an empty stomach, I read Fitzgerald's translation aloud. I had always mooned and dreamed over it before, by snatches and moods. This time I went at it like a problem in astronomy. Ah, the pagan ode to nothingness ! It is like a wonderful, empty ruby cup. You pour and pour, and nothing but the red flash of the pigeon blood replies to you. That is enough to satisfy most aesthetic na- tures, perhaps. What an intellectual bauble that dead philosophy is ! How 57 L A U R I E L mesmeric in its metre, plausible in its appeal, and empty in its comfort! Is life but an unexplained day in an un- known tent? And is the flower that blows for ever dead ? Omar is the apostle of dreamland and of the lotus- minded. To lull the senses with wine and the mind with beauty is the old, old trick that rarely fails to allure and win. I was reminded that Omar and St. Paul were both makers of tents as well as teachers of philosophy. If the thir- teenth and fifteenth chapters of Corin- thians, along with the ninety-first Psalm, were bound with Omar Khayyam, there would be fewer pagans among our Chris- tians, and fewer decadents among our modern poets. It is so easy to go any- where but to the highest source of truth for our inspiration ! Anything, and any excuse, any intellectual intoxication rather than the Christian Bible! How 58 L A U R I E L fascinating Omar is ! And most people would rather be engulfed in a mael- strom of roses than suffer a little with- out wine. I am not a church-member, and I never professed to be exactly what is called a Christian. But I had a teacher once who was one. Sometimes she spoke with me, and once she asked me into her room, and we knelt by her little straight, white, narrow bed, and she prayed, I find I think of that very often. Good-bye. I have written a terribly long letter, and am tired to death, and have just time to join the rest in bath- ing. Perhaps you disagree with me. Don't answer this, if you do, but tell me all about your new mine instead. In haste, L. L. L. 59 L A U R I E L Aug. it. MY DEAR MR. STRONG : I wonder who it is that said that " sausages are capable of exciting the deepest emo- tions." We had a hors d'oeuvre for dinner that Mr. Newbury called " Little dog on toast," not a very elegant ex- pression, but full of feeling. It was certainly the most extraordinary dish our cook has yet devised. It afforded every wag an' opportunity for a bon mot. Ethel carried off the palm by saying that our bite was worse than his bark. How every one howled ! I don't know what makes me feel so frivolous to-night. The piazza and rocks still exude gaiety. It must be an excess of ozone in the air, or perhaps it is the advent of the Grand Duke Constantine. The duke is a very charming and cor- rect young man. His brother is a real 60 L A U R I E L king, and he is on board a titled Eng- lishman's yacht that is lying in the harbor. They say the Englishman is fortune hunting, and the duke is his touchstone to forfend a fatal mistake. I can't see how they happened in here where there is no quarry except of granite. Aunt Niobe made me put on my pearls that have just come from Tiffany's, and a new fluffy dress. The duke said that I looked more like a princess born of the blood than any one he had ever seen in Europe. He won- dered how I could be an American, and even now, I presume, he is specu- lating where I hide my Indian blood. Evidently my blonde hair rattled him. But wasn't he nice to say what he did? Do you know, sir, that your last letter was very, very glum ? Is it dys- pepsia ? or the darkness of the drifts, or the solitude that clouds your mind ? 61 L A U R I E L I don't know whether to be sorry for you or to be displeased at your audacity. After much serious thought, and hav- ing questioned all the rocks and some of the waves, I have decided to grant your request. You may call me Laura if you wish once in a great while ; not too often ; but I shall not return the compliment. You are too old and dignified for me to say " Royal." When I speak to Mr. Newbury I sometimes say " Arthur," because everybody else says Arthur. He is one of the people who are usually called by their first name. You know there are such per- sons. He doesn't mind it, but takes it as a matter of course. Ethel does the same occasionally, and she lets him say Ethel. I suppose it is the freedom of the out-of-door life that relaxes our man- ners, but he hasn't presumed to address me with such familiarity yet. I wouldn't 62 L A U R I E L allow it for an instant. He is such a boy! But for Ethel's sake you may call me what you please. I will accept the offer of your friendship, formally, as the request came to me, and grant mine in the same spirit of cameraderie. What dreamers we girls are ! Women are not less so, I imagine, although their experience is broader. Because a woman is changeable, complex, untranslatable, and illusive, that is no reason why she may not be fitted for the noblest friend- ship. When Heine said, " I will not affirm that women have no character ; rather they have a new one every day," he meant that the very want of prosaic consistency invests a woman's friend- ship with a new charm every day, and so makes it necessary for one to strive continually to fulfil her illusions, and satisfy her. For I do not see how the friendship of a man with a woman can 63 L A U R I E L ever be anything but active, just as the friendship between man and man is generally passive. Two men part for ten years, and take up the relation in the same place where it left off. There is neither retrogression nor advance. That is not possible between woman and woman. Why should the cordial relations between those of the same sex be called " friendship," and as soon as friendship touches man and woman it is called Platonic love ? I hate that term. It is responsible for more dis- appointments and marriages than any other phrase in the English tongue. Let ours be a friendship pure and simple. Let it command trust and pos- sess beauty, if it can. Madame Reca- mier had beautiful friendships, many of them ; call it Ballanche, call it Chateau- briand, one was her chief of friends. Theodore Parker and Frances Power Cobbe were friends of a high caste. 64 L A U RI EL You see friendship is a possibility. You see I have been reading Alger's " Friendships of Women " and am primed with the subject. I could quote the most beautiful things in the world. As long as our new friendship is a quotation from Petrarch and Laura I shall be satisfied. And do not think that I demand the literary or poetic matrix to our new pact. Fidelity, hon- our, affection, and truth are common denominators that add the blacksmith to the village belle as well as the phi- losopher to the princess. Emotions are not exclusively the possession of writers, although these seem to appropriate them with an arrogance that is sometimes nauseating. So the friendship which makes you thank God every day that it exists, that you depend on, and that death seems only to enhance, is what I confess to have craved since I was a girl in short skirts. Nobody has ever 65 L A U R I E L realised what mature longings little girls have ; not even poets, who know so much, understand girls. Now, I am glad to have you for my friend. You will be my only real man friend, and you must be strong and wise and patient, and not scold me for my moods and tenses. It is very late. I wonder if it is the quiet, lending itself to untrammelled fancy, I might almost say uninterrupted illusion, that has made me write what I have. I was always a little afraid of you, and seemed to have known you all my life. When you were near I was silenced by your gravity, and thought you would look upon me as a silly schoolgirl if I laughed. Now we are on the same plane, and I feel natural and happy. I have been thinking it over, and believe this is true : Friendship is that which is within a man's power, and love 66 L A U R I E L that in whose power a man is. Let us keep the distinction and so avoid failure in this beautiful experiment. By the magic which seems to compel me, I sign myself, Faithfully your friend, LAURA. 67 L A U R I E L Aug. 15. MY DEAR FRIEND : What a solvent friendship is! This does not sound as if it might be original with Aristotle, but it is with me. You say you like my letters. I wonder that you do not find them trite and schoolgirly. And I have been out of college only two years. What can a girl know of life? She can only dream and scribble the J thoughts that chase each other like fireflies in the dark. You urge me to read, and be thought- ful, and become an angel to the poor. But how can I read when I haven't a moment to myself? How can I be thoughtful when everybody is laugh- ing? How can I be serious, when everybody else is frivolous ? You don't want me to be a death's head at the ball, and how can I be an angel to 68 L A U R I E L the lower classes ? Wings do not come on Worth dresses ; they are not a la mode. And as for the lower classes, you remind me of a parody on Watts I once read : " Whene'er I take my walks abroad How many poor I see ! And as I never speaks to them They never speaks to me." You can do all these high-minded things; they are natural to you. Then you want me to simplify. Oh, dear, dear! your advice is most excellent, most grave and reverend sir. But how ? Now there is a luncheon at the Country Club to-morrow. We are to sail over to Manchester after the mail is in. It is queer, but I never am out when the mail is due. Then we sail back (on the Englishman's yacht), and have supper on board, and a dance here in the evening. I shall be simply a 69 L A U R I E L wreck. How simplify a wreck into a serious, reading angel ? You have no idea what a pace Aunt Niobe sets me, and we are talking of Newport for the Horse Show in September, and Europe in October. Papa says I am to tour the world. Heavens ! Now, my friend, read me this riddle. Which is I ? The " Princess," as you are pleased to call me, on the continual go, gay as the gayest ? or the girl who tries to write you true letters out of her heart, and who is glad to have a big, strong friend that is like a moun- tain of iron to be depended upon ? You are a sort of haven for my soul, even if you are the only harbor of refuge in dry Arizona. You don't mind my mixing metaphors, do you, as long as there is a period between. You are a great way off ; yet I don't know but that I like you at a distance better than near to. But it is pretty far. 70 L A U R I E L No, I do not admire the average rich young man. Perhaps, frivolous and vapid as they appear, they are as simple at heart as I am. But I judge them by their fruits mostly olives and cherries, in the bottom of small glasses filled with mixed drinks. The Grand Duke Constantine is different. He has a purpose in life. He is a strong young man, about twenty-seven, charming and natural. He always has something to talk about, and doesn't treat a woman as if she were a music-box. He is modest never speaks about his posi- tion, and when he is forced to say things about himself, they are reason- able and manly things. I think he feels the need of making a name for himself. Younger brothers of royalty haven't much of a career except in the army or navy. Duke Constantine is now a captain in the navy, and hopes to be admiral when he is forty. L A U R I E L It is disgraceful the way the girls tag about him. But the men just treat him like one of themselves. I do like men, and I like the duke. Aunt Niobe is making a goose of herself over him, and I am afraid I shall have to give up my good times. But I think I do see life with a little clearer focus lately. You put into the frail test-tube a few drops of pride and ambition, and flattery and insincerity, shake it up and how muddy it looks ! Then pour in a strong, fine friendship ! Presto ! the dregs disappear, and life becomes suddenly clarified. Thank you, my friend, you are doing much for me without knowing it. Good-bye, I am going to try to be an angel day after to-morrow, and will tell you about the experiment. Shall I en- close a feather? The duke is waiting for a walk. There is one place I shall not take him to. 72 L A U R I E L You say I am Concentrated Sunshine, and call me " Incarnated Helium ! " Isn't that a terrible strain for a compliment ? I can almost hear your medulla creak. Have you lost your senses as well as your chemistry? Is not helium the most inert element in the world, as it has absolutely no affinity ? At least to you, sir, I have proved that there is no helium in my veins. Try again, my friend. I am afraid you stumbled that time against one who ages ago stood second in chemistry. Your friend, LAURA. L A U R I E L Aug. 1 8. MY DEAR FRIEND : I am afraid you are jealous. A woman's heart may be flattered by jealousy ; but does not the presence of the demon necessitate an eviction from the Paradise which friend- ship creates ? I am afraid I lack many of the attributes supposed to be essen- tial to women. One of them is curi- osity. I do not care what your past life has been. You must have had many friendships possibly some affairs of the heart and numberless minor ex- periences. These have each put their imprint upon you, and have made you. Take away any of those impressions, and perhaps your friendship with me would have been an impossibility. Is it not strangfe that each successive feel- ing, each sensation, each enthusiasm, and each disappointment are but pre- 74 L A U RI E L paring one for for a nobler friendship, I mean ? And I do not think that a friendship, such as ours, ought to be or should become all-absorbing. The greatest mistake a woman makes is when she expects to occupy a man's whole time and attention. Wives often fall into that fatal error. Friends should not. I should not be surprised if I were hundred-faceted, with each facet reflect- ing and absorbing its own ray of light. You do not yet understand how many- sided, yes, how many-natured a woman is. She gives one thing to one, another to another. In this she is the very es- sence of sincerity, as long as she doesn't confuse gifts. If she does, she becomes a coquette, and there is no help for her. Perhaps the crown ot the jewel that facet which lets the light deepest into my heart, and reflects the largest 75 L A U R I E L gleam from my nature belongs to you. Can you not be satisfied ? What smiles or attention or nonsense or joy I give to others, I do not take away from my grim and Royal friend, who is working alone, and needs all the brightness in life that he can get. Because I have accorded to you what I give to no other person, your friend- ship is exalted, and you are in a certain way consecrated. Do you understand ? The flowers that I lay upon your altar have breathed their perfume on no other life. Does that gratify you. most de- manding sir? But I must have my other facets free. The world is so beautiful, and 1 enjoy it so much. I cannot be hampered. I am young. You see I will not be ruled, even by my metaphors, against which I am rebel again. Arthur Newbury and the duke are so different. You come to the end of the 76 L A U R I E L former's horizon in a week. It ends in a golf stick or a two-spot. But the duke has no limits. He is of boundless inter- est. He has been everywhere. He knows every one. He has studied everything, and his ideals are fine and manly. He is no Philistine, or decadent, or sport. Papa came up yesterday. We did not expect him. The two are charmed with each other, and the duke is to visit him and his laboratory. He knows all about electricity, and is to go over Papa's invention. Papa was at his best, and very courteous. I know you will be interested in all this. It is a curious coincidence, but since the duke has come upon the scene here the Presi- dent has made a diplomatic shift and my uncle (Mamma's brother), Cornelius Van Reuter, of New York, has just been appointed minister to Illeria. I may spend the next winter there 77 L A U R I E L who knows? Just think of an Ameri- can girl getting an inside glimpse of real court life. Won't it be exciting? Just like one of the impossible novels that every one reads and no one be- lieves. Aunt Niobe is crazy to go, and Papa says I can do what I want to, as long as I am properly chaperoned and don't give myself away to a bankrupt nobleman. Do you know, I am begin- ning to suspect that there is a class of insects called Fortuna Hunteriensis. That Englishman is becoming a little insupportable, and I shall not step foot on his yacht again. You see I can take care of myself. The duke is very nice about it. He has saved me from annoy- ing attentions. Write me about yourself and your mine. I want a letter before we go to Newport. Toujours votre amie, LAURA. 78 L A U R I E L Sunday, Aug. 20. MY DEAR FRIEND: What you say is perfectly impossible. Really, with your imagination you ought to give up mining, and take to answering ques- tions of etiquette in the " Bud's Home Journal." And your suspicions are as facile as your fancy. Do you really think that the Earl of Wolfborough steamed into Gloucester Harbor with special and particular designs upon me ? Can you conceive of the duke's being on a level with a common English titled fortune-hunter? Why do you not de- prive me of Arthur Newbury for the same reason ? And why, sir, do you not resign your own claims to my friend- ship on some one else's suspicion for a like cause ? Must my life henceforth be passed in questioning the motives of each unmarried man who is presented ? 79 L A U R I E L You would not have me believe that I am fair prey to every one ? There must be some who surround me with unloaded gun, and without hook and line. I shall pin my faith in Ethel, and, if you will allow me, without undue criticism, in her brother, although he has succeeded in making me very un- happy and distrustful. But it is a curious fact that the next day after the Earl of Wolfborough presumed. to to say a few disagreeable words to me - the duke and he had a falling out. At any rate, the duke accepted "Arthur Newbury's invitation to stay with him, while the Englishman sailed for New- port. Arthur Newbury told Ethel that the earl's creditors had supplied him with the yacht, and money enough to run it lavishly for three months, and sent him over here for an American heiress. Isn't it horrible ? This traffic in blood, and gold for coronets and position ! 80 L A U R I E L You ought to see the man ! Did I describe him to you ? There is no doubt he has a real castle in pawn, and a patent of nobility dating back to some early Henry, which is in check. He has narrow and padded shoulders, and is below the average height. His fore- head rises to a bald peak, and his eye is held in place by a monocle, which is never taken off except when he goes in sea-bathing; then it is shifted to the other eye. He dives with it in full bloom. His dress is properly creased and correctly plaided ; his manners dig- nified, and his speech slow and senten- tious. His only originality consists, as Arthur Newbury says, in losing money at poker without comment. In this, his composure is almost American. My few decisive remarks did not flaster him. They only added fuel to his equanimity. He had heard that all American girls were eager for a title, 81 L A U R I E L and could not imagine that his irre- proachable position could be scorned. Evidently I was not a typical Ameri- can girl, and he apologised for mistak- ing me for a member of the aristocracy which he would be sure to find in New- port. With high-bred nonchalance he whistled for his gig and departed to his yacht. In the meanwhile, Arthur Newbury and the duke, Ethel and I, will form a comfortable quartette until we go to Newport, although I shrink from the trip, and if it were not for Aunt Niobe and Papa I should be happy to stay where we are until October. I was going to write you this time about my angelic experiment. But I'll tell you all about it in my next letter. We'four are going over to town in the runaway in a few minutes, and possibly beyond to the Country Club. The world is very beautiful. There are nice, 82 L A U R I E L true people in it, and I feel very happy. Don't wait until you make your fortune before telling me all about your life and surroundings. You write too much about me and too little about yourself. As always, LAURA. L A U R I E L Aug. 24. DEAR FRIEND : Oh, I want to tell you so much about my attempt to be an angel. It was all due to you, as in- deed most of my few unselfish actions are. Since you have come into my life, and we have made our little compact, the pleasures I used to dream about do not seem quite as important as they did. After my trips to the Fishermen's Bethel, they seem even less so. But I must try to answer your perplexity first. You say my disquisition on friend- ship, especially that part of it which dealt with the facts conspiring to make each one's character the lovable or un- lovable thing it is, shows an experience that you little thought I had ; as if only an older woman could have written it. But an older woman didn't write it 84 L A U R I E L and what has age to do with the matter, anyway? A woman, I imagine, is al- ways a girl in heart and feeling, even if she isn't in texture, and I know that a girl is always a woman in instinct and intuition even if she hasn't what is called experience. But experience is not always necessary for theory, and sometimes not even for wisdom. Is not the knowledge of the world inborn in a great poet or writer so that he does not have to enervate his mind with ex- periences, or dissipate it with varied observation ? So the knowledge of some of the elemental conditions of life is a girl's by divine intuition ; she may be able to express it, although in doing so she may expose herself to the surprise of even her best friend. Shall I check my thought with modesty, and not express my feeling ? My dear friend, you do not know what it is to be an only son. If you 85 L A U R I E L did, you would understand, in smaller part, the solitude of a motherless, broth- erless, and sisterless girl. When other children are playing, she is thinking. Always a companion of those much older than herself, especially when she is held too precious to go to school like other children, she is a critic at ten, and a philosopher at fifteen. Most children are dissipated by too much study or too much play. They do not think. They only feel or obey blindly. Their intuition is blunted just when it is most needed. Even now, like a dog, I can divine the true from the false person at a glance. My moral antennas are as responsive as the cilia of an amoeba. Does it bore you to hear me dissect my process of thought ? or does it sound conceited ? or both ? That is the reason that I seem to you experienced when I have only theorised, and thought, and thought, and thought. 86 L A U R I E L Now, here is another pet theory of mine whose premises I see violated on every side. Perhaps, if you agree with me, it may help to clear away some of the driftwood upon the beach of friend- ship, I mean, the question of happi- ness. Is not that the highest problem, how to make other people happy ? It is the only thing that makes friendship worth while. If you make people happy your way, you are a tyrant, and most people are. Substitute your individuality, and force your way. This is the common map of action. Is not nine-tenths of so-called love incarnated selfishness? Now if you want to make a person really happy, do it in his way, not yours. This discovery is as old as Christ, I imagine, yet when I made it, I felt as if I had discovered a great continent in the sea of life. I was so happy when I found it hinted at in the " Duchess of 87 L A U R I E L Langeais," where Balzac in speaking of France calls her as " capricious as a woman," who must " be made happy or unhappy in her own way." Let this be another foundation to our new experi- ment! Am I too didactic or prosy? And are you not glad you made me think ? Always your friend, LAURA. P. S. I haven't explained how I tried to be an angel. It's just as well, because I did not succeed very handsomely. I went over to a place here where some people who are much better than I am work hard to help fishermen who, per- haps, may not be so very much worse. It is a different place from any I was ever in before. They don't dance there they sing hymns ; and they don't flirt they pray; and they don't go yacht- ing they go haddocking. They make L A U R I E L sober men of drunkards, and happy men of desperate ones, and they don't think it necessary to have a good time always, as we do. They quite perplex me. At first, I thought I would offer my ser- vices, for it made me feel ashamed to see all that unselfishness and all that religion cooped up in that little place, and I not " in it " anywhere. But I didn't. Do you want to know why? I was afraid to. I don't think I am a serious enough girl yet. I was afraid I shouldn't stay put. So I gave them a check, instead of myself. Mean wasn't it? L A U R I E L Aug. 27. MY DEAR FRIEND : Does it not seem to you that my letters come to you too frequently, and that you are a little exacting? You are so strange in your expressions. I cannot imagine myself a " comfort," and as for being a " blessing," such a possibility surpasses even my wildest imagination. What can a middle-aged man find of interest in a very young lady like me ? If you had written these things from New York they would have annoyed me, and I might even have questioned your sincerity. But, coming from Arizona and loneliness, I can try to understand, and will easily forgive. Perhaps it might be wise for us to be a little more impersonal in our correspond- ence, for instance : As I write and it is just eleven in 90 L AU R I E L the morning a thunder-storm is com- ing up with great rapidity and fierce- ness. Such storms are unusual here before afternoon. The advance cavalry of clouds is now hovering over Mag- nolia. They are ominous and threaten- ing. What magnificent war - horses these white scuds are ! They prance and curvet and chase and charge ! Only a little space behind is the ragged, insistent line of black infantry, and, further behind, the spitting artil- lery. Will the attack be directed on Ipswich Bay, as so frequently happens ? or will it project itself with full force on Gloucester Harbor? Now the coasters and fishermen are lowering their sails opposite Magnolia, and out at sea. Some of the larger vessels near by have still time to run into the inner harbor, while the smaller sloops are fluttering like barn swallows before a gale. Even now the on-charg- 91 L A U R I E L ing cloud of cavalry are coursing over my head, and the black infantry spreads and threatens irresistibly. The harbor is windless. The sun shines brilliantly. Far off toward Half Way Rock there is a white foam on the water. With the marine glasses, standing by the open window, I can see a three-master under bare poles careen to the squall which has just struck her. Now she is engulfed in the bursting of the clouds. The storm is frightful over there, and seems to be gathering force. I never saw clouds so black, so fearful. How I wish you were here ! I am not frightened, but I should like to greet the fury of it with my friend near. You are so strong and imperturbable. The harbor has now taken on a feline expression, such as I never saw before. It seems crouching for a spring. The infantry is now above us. Still not a breath of air. How long will this sus- 92 L A U R I E L pense last ? If it seems insupportable to me here, sheltered, what is it to those in the boats ? They are busy on Ar- thur Newbury's yacht, putting out an extra anchor. There is a rowboat right in the middle of the harbor. Two girls are in it. They are strain- ing for the shore. . . . There ! The storm has broken ! A white wave of foam is rushing over the water toward us with frightful rapidity. Aunt Niobe is locked in her room with her smelling-salts. Ethel is at the Newbury's. I cannot stand it another minute, shut in ! I am going out. The gale has struck the house. Good-bye. 3 P.M. The duke is a hero. He exercises a strange fascination over me. He re- minds me a little of you, although he is so much younger. I wonder if that is why I like him so. He was 93 L A U R I E L superb. I suppose you want to hear all about it. It was a fearful squall, the worst they have had here for years. I could hardly breast my way to the beach. It was like piercing a waterfall advancing toward you at fifty miles an hour. It seems that the duke had seen the two girls from the house and hurried down. He took the little pilot-boat's dory lying at her hauling line, and put out alone. What a splendid thing it is to be a man ! I could only stand on the shore and wait. That is the eternal and ex- asperating woman of it. Conventions and legislations and orations could not have relieved me of the burden of my limitations. There ! Oh, it was ages ! The little boat with the girls could not now be seen through the rain. I knew it could not survive, and it was only a question of muscle and minutes. It seemed as if the duke 94 L A U R I E L had found rents in the gale through which to propel the dory. It did not seem possible that human force could gain an inch in that hell. Then the dory passed out of sight. I confess, I did the only thing possible for a woman to do ; I began to pray. Of course the duke saved them. Otherwise there would be no letter to write. He headed them off, drifting helplessly toward a net where they would have been inevitably drowned. Just as he reached them, their boat filled. Somehow or other he hauled one after the other in. In doing so he lost an oar and drifted before the squall, steering as well as he could toward the beach. On the white lips of the breakers the dory shot into view. The lightning showed the man standing in the stern. It was melodrama with the lights turned on and off. I scrambled over rocks and moss, plunging and re- 95 L AU R I EL covering, with the spray smiting me like a flail. They brought up, fortunately enough, in a little sandy cove. I did not know it at the time, but it seems that I rushed out into the water, waist deep, and helped the duke right the dory before it upset. We picked the girls out poor little ignorant drowned rats ! and they are now sleeping off their whiskey and salt water. Ah, but the duke was superb! He was like a son of Neptune ! What a pity he is the brother of a king ! It is a great waste of good material. He cannot be appreciated in Illeria. He is too American for that. Papa met me in the vestibule, white with anxiety. He had suffered after he had found out that I had gone. Dear, dear Papa! I never saw such trans- formation of expression as when he took me in his arms ! I had no idea he loved me so much. He is so changed. 96 L A U R I E L Prosperity has taken all irascibility away from him. You ought to have seen the way he shook the cluke's hand. It was too touching. Before our hero went, he begged me not to let the poor girls know who saved them. They are to think it was done by some obscure fish- erman. It does not seem to me that such nobility is natural to those of princely blood. This has been excitement enough for one day, and I wished to share it with you, dear friend, LAURA L. L. 97 L A U R I E L The last day of August. MY DEAR FRIEND: How little we know the epoch-making moments of our lives ! How trite to write, and still how true ! I seem to have lived months since I wrote to you last. The photo- graph of your poor little boarding-house looks up at me from thfc. desk. How glaring and desolate ! How bleak ! I cannot imagine your living in such a place, fit only for scorpions and Gila monsters if there are any in Arizona. I do admire your tenacity immensely. Your devotion to duty, when the ther- mometer is 115 in the shade, is sub- lime. You know what your duty is. Is not that in itself the debt half paid ? Aunt Niobe is talking duty to me all of the time. I cannot explain it to you. I am a little dazed. But Papa says nothing. He knows his daughter can- 98 L A U RI E L not disappoint him. I lean upon you as a strong, strong friend, and yet you cannot understand. Did I tell you that Arthur Newbury's yacht dragged ashore on the rocks in that awful squall ? It will be hauled up repairing for at least ten days. So he has taken the opportunity to make a long-delayed visit. Ethel is a little lonely. Papa insisted upon the duke's coming here in the meanwhile. I did not want him to come, but how could I refuse in the face of Aunt Niobe's in- sistence, and Papa's hospitality ? So here he is installed, and he accepts his plain quarters as if he had never seen the inside of a palace. I am afraid I wrote too enthusiastic- ally about him in my last long screed. I was still in the thrill of the excite- ment, and melting in the glamour that any heroic action casts over a man. How easily are women moved by the 99 L A U R I EL daring of strength ! What may seem perfectly natural and easy to another brave man, or athlete, becomes godlike to us. That is the way the brute foot- ball hero hypnotises the daintiest of college girls. And there isn't a woman in the world who is not at heart a mon- archist. Her knee is always ready to bend, whether her king is of American or foreign choosing. And so the cal- cium light that illuminates the personal- ity of a prince may have unconsciously blinded me, and I may have exaggerated the value of the deed (which any real man would have attempted), partly be- cause of its success, and mostly because done by the brother of a king. I de- spise my unrepublican mind for placing him in a niche apart, but I couldn't help it. I have often thought of the delight of living in the middle ages, when as- trologers fantastically attributed to each 100 L A U R I E L human being a guiding, mastering star. You ate, drank, slept, while fate took you by the hand, and, under the leading of your star, drew you to happiness or misery. The heavens and their con- stellations undertook all responsibility for you, from your cradle to your coffin, and you had little moral obligation for the space between. Would that some such happy star might lead me now. I do not know whether I am hurried up an ascent or down a precipice. I am breathless. Whichever way I am urged, my whole soul revolts from play- ing all my life the contemptible part of a woman of society. You surely, my dear friend, understand me in this ; you who have expanded my ideals, just as proper breathing expands the chest. In your last letter you urge me to live above the earth, in that crystal ether where the sun shines undeflected by dust, and unglinted by any impurity. 101 L A U R I E L You do not understand how easy it is to parachute gently to the ground through all the pernicious usages of society and custom, without breaking the bones of the decalogue. I have sat straight in my chair, looking neither to the right nor to the left, while women who are held as ladies, respectable and respected, have made my ears tingle with their talk. Drink and dress, scramble and gossip ! Ugh ! If ever I marry, it will be with the stipulation of Goethe's mother that "no gossip is to be repeated." And if this is becoming the reproach of our American society, what must the condition be among the petty intrigues of foreign courts ! We may go to Newport any day now. Father has promised to be there during the races. He has rented a house for a month at some foolish price, and is determined to put me on exhibition. Ah me ! I hope the dear 102 L A U R I E L man will not be disappointed. Aunt Niobe has me fitted every half-hour for a dress. It is just like golf a tournament (torment) every fifteen min- utes. How do you like me best a sunburst of glory, or a simple Cape Ann rose, as you once so prettily called me ? Never mind, I'll dazzle you yet, you placid man. Answer me this riddle, How shall I spell duty? As always, LAURA L. L. 103 L A U R I E L Sept. ist, 1899. DEAR FRIEND : Papa and our guest left for Newport yesterday in the run- away. They expect to make the " record " from Boston, and we follow to-morrow or next day. As I shall not have a moment again to myself, I am hurrying this off to you. Ethel and Aunt Niobe are wild at the prospect. I am saying good-bye to my dear rose- bush, the cleft in the rock where I have sat alone so many times undiscovered except by the fellow-feeling sea, and dear old Mother Ann. We have had gay times here, but there has always been an undercurrent of simplicity and freedom. This will be my first launch- ing into society, and as my mother's cousins are the Van Peters, I shall be in the swim as soon as I enter the Casino. Nevertheless, Papa's senseless 104 LA URIEL wealth is the real Aladdin's lamp. I will let you know my first impressions. They will probably amuse you. I dread what I know is before me. The roses are late here this year, and I kiss each one good-bye. I feel that during the next few weeks the verdict will be ren- dered on my future, and I quake for the judgment. Will it be guilty or not guilty imprisonment or pardon ? I seem to be slipping even from you. Good-bye. LAURA. Address " Aqua Marine, Newport, R. I." 105 L A U R I E L " AQUA MARINE," NEWPORT. Sunday P.M., Sept. 10. MY DEAR FRIEND : At last New- port! Longed-for, dreaded Newport! Insolent, presumptuous, and jilting though she may be, she is buoyant and full of the joy of life. The house, or, rather, the castle that papa rented, is one of those inappropriate mon- strosities liable to be found at this re- sort. It is a cross between a Rhine chateau and a county prison. To make it even tolerable would require fifty acres of park and the moon hid- den behind the clouds. As it is, it occupies barely a half an acre, and its lack of privacy is as glaring as its design. " Aqua Marine " was built by a Western millionaire who determined to force his wife and daughters into the most exclusive circles. Fortunately 1 06 L A U R I E L for them the hope failed, and they occupied the " cottage," that would make even a Viking laugh, for only one short season. It is to be pre- sumed that they are now lording it at Narragansett, or ruling at Coney Island. And yet what can I say? Here we are occupying this bogus castle with precisely the same motives and under like ambitions. Is this kettle more polished than their pot ? Of course we went to the hop at the Casino Saturday night. It was my debut, so to speak, although girls as old as I am have had years of experi- ence, and are now decidedly blase. Taken as a spectacle, I had almost added pure and simple, the scene was picturesque in the extreme. Im- agine galleries gay with lanterns and ladies, and moonlit lawns silent with a velvet-footed throng entranced by the lilt of the Hungarian music. As al- 107 L A U R I E L ways, the bracing air of the sea seems to add the fibre and the tone that the touch of society takes away. I wonder if that is the secret why New- port has always kept her equilibrium through so many changes. Yes, I danced and danced until I could neither stand nor breathe. The men ! For the most part pasty mani- kins, or experienced boys, who trip the two-step with monotonous exact- ness, and guide their partners with skill and a bored face. Indeed, my first impression was that the limit of the manliness about me was in the dexter- ity with which men walked without ruining dresses, and the alertness with which they accepted any new figures in the cotillon. The youth who led the German I must tell you about. I have already heard in these few days a hundred stories about him. He seems to be 1 08 L A U R I E L the hero of the "smart" set. What a travesty on the word smart! It is in reality deadly dull, as you can see by the wearied face of every woman in it, and as stupid as a thousand owls. Slang takes the place of originality, and intoxication, as far as I can see, of real pleasure. Conversation is a reci- tation of risque stories, and repar- tee a medley of impertinence. What can you expect where cards take the place of culture, and ignorance of everything but a girl's dowry and a man's bank account is held to be a sure passport into the Yacht Club ? This Tom Covert is the son of a maker of lawn-mowers of small fortune. He came from that town I forget the name where it is always raining when you pass by in the cars. Like all ambitious young men, he landed in New York before the down was off his face, and began to look for a place that 109 L A U R I E L would yield him unfettered time with a generous income. Being accomplished in dancing and impertinence, a large firm of importance, seeing success writ- ten on his unabashed cheek, made him a special agent, and turned him loose with ample introductions among the four hundred. In less than a year he had achieved a national reputation by persuading a rich and beautiful lady to drive a vegetable cart from door to door. This horse-play seemed to the jaded minds of the fast set so de- cidedly original, that the young man was immediately promoted to a new position, such as he may be said to have created for himself, a combina- tion of mentor, private secretary, and ring-master for fashionable ladies. It was at that time that he made the famous remark that it was just as easy to love a woman with ten millions as ten thousand, and easier to marry her. no L A U R I E L In order to assure his grip on the monkey-puzzle trunk of fortune he be- came the self-assumed critic of every woman's dress, and his decisions are held to be final if not fatal. Only last summer he crowned his brilliant achievements by stationing himself in front of the Casino with a lady, an Ital- ian hand-organ of large calibre, and a monkey. The lady twirled the tambou- rine and danced. This was considered such a stupendous test of greatness that his engagement with a beautiful heiress was immediately announced. At this time nothing can withstand his audacity. When men are play- ing golf, yachting, or breaking their necks at polo, he is the great expert on cat's-cradle and the wording of in- vitations. It was after supper that my turn to be distinguished by his august notice came. Forgetting that I was not yet under the in L A U R I E L Newport curb, he began to pursue the same tactics with me that have rendered him a dreaded necessity to the ladies about us. Accustomed to conquer through impertinence, he began, with the drawling, affected voice that always characterises the favourite of women : " Ah, Miss Livingstone, I am de- lighted to meet so beautiful an addi- tion to our set, don't you know." He stopped, took a step back, and surveyed me from aigrette to shoes with cool crit- icism. " Very effective unusual sim- plicity white muslin and pearls. If the neck were cut a trifle lower, and you added a line of ermine down the front it would be perfect." By this time there was quite a crowd about us. Aunt Niobe was on one side, and as it happened, the duke on the other; about us the ladies smiled approval at the great man's dictum, while the men tried to hide amusement 112 L A U R I E L behind serious moustaches. The spirit of rebellion rose to my throat at what I considered an unwarrantable insult. " Duke," I said, " have you ten dollars about you ? " He laughed, and instantly thrust some bills into my fingers. " Thank you, Mr. Covert," I said, " please take this." Before he knew what he was doing, his hand had closed over the bills. " I thought," I continued, in my softest voice, " that your business was in wine, but as it seems to be shifted to dress- making, I will settle now for your pro- fessional advice, as I do .not care to have any outstanding bills. As I am not accustomed to talk with tradespeople at social functions, I bid you good evening." Too stunned to remember that the bills were yet in his hand, the arbiter of fashion stood as if smitten by lightning. L A U R I E L About him the ladies paled at the un- paralleled audacity. But my back was already turned, and I did not see the retreat. Papa came up, and thanking the duke for his protection, insisted upon reimbursing him later. Aunt Niobe was in despair because I had cut the bridge to social success from, under my own feet. But she perked up a little when a procession of men insisted upon being presented. The Duke whispered something to me later. I did not catch the words, and simply nodded. What a life ! What a struggle ! How little it all means ! Papa had a long talk with me about my future. I can- not tell you what he said. I am so tired already, and wish myself back in Orange. But Ethel is in a whirlwind of de- light. At least, she is thoroughly happy. She can choose her fortune 114 L A U R I E L for herself, and I begin to suspect what the choice will be Your true friend, LAURA. P. S. Those ten dollars were returned to me by mail in a blank sheet of note- paper. "5 L A U R I E L Sept. 1 8. MY DEAR MR. STRONG : I cannot understand why your last letter had so much about your faith in me. As if it were impossible for me to disappoint you? Faith is indeed friendship's creed, and without it life would be as bitter as a draught from a cup of quassia. I am grateful that you do not give me advice, but that you appeal entirely to that trust in myself that which is the final safeguard to any woman in the supreme moment of decision. Do you think I am for an instant tempted by the life around me ? I wonder if it is generations of noble fore- mothers which enables me to perceive a precipitous heart of granite beneath graciously dimpling smiles, and a nature masked by a compliment on my dexter- ity in running Papa's new motor car- 116 L A U R I E L riage. Women adore new sensations. We like to snatch off masks, we revel in the process of gratifying curiosity, even though we know that the wood will be of less value than the veneer. This is why I enjoy myself every mo- ment, though I despise the play. Can a sacrifice be made at an ex- pense of our ideals ? I think not. Or at the cost of our faith in ourselves ? Per- haps so. But not, I hope, at the cost of our friend's faith in us. A friend should intuitively know the difficulties and problems that assail the woman in the compact. He should divine the reasons of her indecision, even though he may not agree with their necessity. My friend, I cannot tell now what the future may bring-forth, but if it should happen that circumstances deny to us the free expression of the joy of the camaraderie that has been ours only for a little while, remember that the privi- 117 L A U R I E L lege of being your friend will always be the lamp that guided my feet across the threshold of girlhood into the mansion of womanhood. A beautiful surprise was given me yesterday. The Order of Emanuel was conferred upon me by the King of Illeria, and formally presented by the duke. I wish you could see it spark- ling at my throat. The duke is wait- ing for me below to take me to the golf club (or rather I him), and Aunt Niobe is a little pestiferous. So I must hurry. Good-bye, and don't forget me. LAURA. 118 L A U R I E L Sept. 27. MR. ROYAL STRONG, My dear Sir: It seems to me that no theories of friendship, no matter how broad, could bound your letter of cau- tion and advice just received. I am so angry at Ethel for what she evidently wrote you, that I have not dared to see her this morning, lest I forget the host- ess in my indignation. She will not be with us long to inform you of my purposes. Papa has engaged state- rooms on the Victoria Regina, and we sail a week from next Saturday. This has been a sudden move, but I have finally consented to the arrangement. There is nothing else to be done. Oh, my friend ! How could you think such an unworthy, cruel thing of me? How could you say it? Is thy friend not a lady ? Do you think I would sell 119 L AU RI E L myself for all the gold in creation or kingdoms of the world ? I am proud of being Duke Constantine's friend. He is a man, understanding a woman's moods, sympathetic, and, I believe, ten- der. Why should I not marry him ? Must a woman always premise marriage with overwhelming love? And is not respect a firm foundation for a life's partnership ? Besides, many considerations for a girl's choice of a husband must come into play. If she consult her heart always, which at best may be an erring monitor, she might possibly plunge her family into great disappointment and misery. Besides again, Laura has not yet promised to marry any one, and all this hue and cry is therefore in vain. I need your strength, not your advice. A mountain has its shoulders ever ready for a poor, tired, distracted head. It 120 L A U R I E L points silently to the stars, even if the feet are too weary to climb. Even as I write, the mood of savage resentment has fled, and in its place I can hear the notes of a beautiful re- quiem. For whom is the stately dirge ? Requiem for what? Friendship? Whatever it may be, it is a symphony to Loss, and I, my friend, am the loser, and the orchestra plays for me alone. You have taught me many things and the first of these is " Sim- plify ! " This I shall proceed shortly to do. Good-bye again, LAURA. 121 L A U R I E L TELEGRAM October 2, 1899. To MR. ROYAL STRONG, Tucson, Arizona. Telegram received. Do not come. I could not bear it. May be too late. LAURA L. LIVINGSTONE. 122 L AU R I E L On board the Victoria Regina, Sunday, Oct. 8. You MAN YOU ! How did you dare ? And yet, if you had not come just as and when you did, it would not have been you. I am still dazed. I can dream of nothing else. I look up every moment expecting you to enter. It would not surprise me. I feel that you could easily overtake the Regina and do anything. I, who fancied I had a will, was yours to command. It was terrible. It was wonderful. You were so calm, so sure, so in- sistent. And you were so reasonable and so wise. Did I know my own heart? No. In the name of woman- hood, could I commit the sacrilege of giving my hand without my whole heart, simply for the sake of gratify- ing a vulgar family ambition ? A thou- 123 L A U R I E L sand times no ! And yet, you man you ! you opened my eyes. How easy it is to be confused and to be dazed to blind ourselves. I thought I was doing a noble thing. I do like the duke immensely, and was more flattered than I knew by his love for me, which I believe is disinterested. I had forgotten that my duty to myself was greater than that to my father or my aunt. Just before you came my conscience made him the whole of my horizon. But the minute you stepped into the room my errant guide gave me the truer order, and the veil slipped from my eyes. You were so big and strong and masterful and sure. I am so sorry the duke did not see you. He would have met a man after his own heart. It was so swiftly said and done, and you were gone. Only two hours ! Why did I promise you to engage myself to 124 L A U R I E L no one for the next six months ? Do you want to save me from the vulgar fate of so many American heiresses ? or did you want me to know myself? And I gave you my promise as meek as a lamb, while the distinguished gen- tleman was playing billiards with Papa, expecting to claim me as his own in half an hour. Truly you arrived on time. Why didn't you ask me to give up my European trip ? You might have just as well. I would have promised you almost anything, you cyclone of life ! I shall never forgive you for not seeing me off on the boat. Any other man would. You are so different, and apart. You trust me so utterly that I am beginning to retrust myself. He was very manly about it. He did not rave or protest. " When may I speak again ? " he asked, pleasantly, con- cealing his suffering. Was it his heart 125 L A U R I E L or pride, or both, that controlled him so ? He stood where you did. How you overtowered him ! He never looked so small before. I was sorry for him, and glad you came. " In six months," I said, taking his hand, "but perhaps better not at all." That fatal " perhaps ! " Ah, we women have little or no decision when it comes to men. We let them down too easily with a "perhaps" or "I don't think I had better," or " I am afraid not," when a plain " no " would simplify the future. They cling to the false hope that the soft heart gives, and the citadel is stormed through irresolution and weak- ness. He brightened at my " perhaps " and we are very good friends. You will forgive me, but it takes time to learn, and I am so young. You know Aunt Niobe. She has not been out of her stateroom, and I 126 L AU R I E L have only poked my head in to bid her good morning and good night. She is now an early Christian martyr. I dare not imagine how many handkerchiefs and pink pills she has used up since you came, and the lines of her face are streaks of reproach. Her future is blasted, and life is henceforth one ama- ranthine gloom. I am the culprit, and she does not let me forget it, either. So you will have to be very good to me to make up for all the misery you have caused. Ah, but you have been a good friend a royal friend. You have made me clear-eyed. I am never so happy as standing, clinging to the davits of the great bow anchor, facing ahead. How I feared the future only a few hours ago ! Now it seems clear and kind. I have seen men throw their heads up and back, like horses rejoicing in their strength. I never understood such mas- 127 L A U R I E L tery of freedom before. The cry for more horizon is as insistent as the wail for more light; the one is born from the heart the other from the intellect, is it not ? Papa is fine. " Give the girl her head," he said to Aunt Niobe, " and do not cross her." So Papa and the duke stalk the deck, smoking like fun- nels, while I open my mouth and inhale freedom great draughts. Europe and Illeria are so near. Why not sail this way for ever ! Adieu ! You are one of two who really know me, Don't scowl ! I am the other ; at least, I think I am. Your intuition worries me not a little. Is it the science of friendship developed to the highest art by practice ? Or is it because I am transparent to your Roentgen eyes ? Others haven't found me so. I do not dare to have dark corners, because I know you 128 L A U R I E L would penetrate them with your search- light. I wish you were on board some- times. Always the same, LAURA. 129 L A U R I E L LEGATION OF THE UNITED STATES, TANIA, ILLERIA, Oct. 17. You DEAR OLD FRIEND : How im- penetrable the surface of a woman's heart ! We had not been in the Grand Hotel in Naples for two hours be- fore a steamer bound for Tania was announced to sail almost immediately. Like Naples, our flight beggars descrip- tion. We sped like fugitives from jus- tice while in reality it was I who was hurrying from disappointment to hope. My impatience to reach this molecular capital of a duodecimo kingdom caused a revulsion of feeling in our little party. Aunt Niobe smiled and put her hand- kerchief in her pocket. Papa cast upon me the calm look of a strategic general, while the grand duke, who has rather too chivalrously avoided me, paid me the attention of a brother restored to L A U R I E L favour. Could you, my friend, guess the reason of my haste ? Somehow I feel at home in the kingdom of the enemy. My letter, via Ostend, awaited me on the dressing-table in my beautiful room. You are never disappointing, and that is saying much of any man. You know just how and when to do. You come nearer than any man I have ever known to Carlyle's definition of a king, as " the man who can." I wonder if it is a blessing or a curse to have a photo- graphic mind, for I remember every word you wrote, and some I am trying to forget. You must make it easy for me to throw my whole heart into the beautiful life that opens before me. I shall be so happy here. I know I shall, and I want you to help me to be so, and I will tell you all about it. Do you know, this country seems almost an impertinence. It is a re- spectable golf course. It is a piece of L A U R I E L jewelry. Illeria is the setting, and Tania the gem. Arizona could wear the thing in her watch-chain and not feel the weight of it. A few mountains and defiles, a furlong or two of vine- yards, and a mile or so of sea-coast, a wonderful sapphire sky, that is all. Add to this innumerable ruins falling beneath the desecrating and iconoclas- tic pick of the archaeologist, and a peo- ple that neither knows its own ancestors nor has produced its own ruler such is the eighteenth kingdom in the world. It ought to be transported bodily and made a permanent feature of the Buffalo Fair. Any wide-awake firm of con- tractors could do it in six months. My uncle, Mr. Cornelius Van Reuter, the minister, and Aunt Lucy, his wife, are hospitable in the extreme, and lovely to me. My wardrobe is already the especial care of Aunt Lucy, who pre- sages from it countless triumphs. 132 L AU R I EL There is an American as well as French school of archaeology here, which, with different legations, make up the majority of the foreign element. We are going to be here nearly six months, and Papa leaves for Egypt in a few days. I shall be the only young lady in our official circle, and with the favour of the king, whom I have not yet seen, shall have a brilliant winter. Do not fear for me, dear friend. I did not discover Sirius until you pointed the great sun out. The Dog Star will watch for me faithfully. Will not this gorgeous and perhaps unique experience show me life in its true proportions ? I would rather live in a bark tepee on a beautiful plain with the man I love, than fritter my soul away in dazzling the lower classes. To have learned that value, is sufficient reward for your friendship, sir. There ! Does that ad- mission satisfy your vanity ? L A U R I E L Do not be afraid to send me admoni- tion. I hate that word " advice." For I shall be frivolous, and I shall be happy. Already, everybody is so good to me, and invitations are falling like leaves in autumn. The king has given uncle a special invitation to bring me to a strictly family luncheon to-morrow, when I am to be presented to the queen. Shall I tell you about it, or will your tense democratic spirit revolt from such foolish confidences of royal favour, and will you rebuke me for my vanity? Sometimes I wish you were gayer, but then I should pay no attention to you at all. No, I like you best just as you are, strong, fearless, and ex- pedient. Write as often as you can to your friend. She is far away from home, and wishes she could see the red face of Washington. It would be worth more than two cents to her now. It L A U R I E L must carry an American blessing and a whisper of God's own country. I am lonely, but very happy. Always your friend, LAURA L. L. 135 L A U R I K L Oct. 22. DEAR ROYAL: I suppose I might as well, since you ask it with so much vigour. Don't you think you are a little strenuous at times ? I don't know whether I like it or not, but you are so far away, and in such a dreary place, and working so hard, and are so lonely, that if such a little thing will please you it is yours. Somehow I have always held myself aloof, even in my college days, from the familiarity that the in- discriminate use of the first name implies. I have allowed no man such a privilege as to call me Laura before. So, as far as the name goes, it is all yours, and you may call me that if you please. One day Arthur Newbury called me " Laura." But he never did it again. Oh, yes, the gentleman did apologise, 136 L A U R I E L but he flaunted " Ethel " at me to pay for it. From that moment the atmos- phere changed. Perhaps your sister may soon be in a position to accept congratulations. I wish she were here. She would be far more popular than I ever dream of being. She is such naive and good company. So it is a privilege not lightly be- stowed. You may coin me into " Lau- riel" and I will call you "Royal," if you wish. Frankly, I could not choose a better title for my friend. The two windows of my room are south and west. I see the Liliputian city with its whitewashed buildings and its market-place, and, beyond, the sea and the range of hills, the nearest of which is called Olympus, and has crowning its peak the white vertebras of a pagan temple. As the Jews in the captivity in Babylon turned often to the west to pray toward Jerusalem, L A U R I E L so this homesick girl turns to the hills for blessing. I have set up my writing-desk in this western window, and watch the sun glorify the columns of the Temple of Venus until at setting it kindles a fire within, as if upon an altar to a Burning Heart. So you see at the south I watch the mail steamers in, and at the west I release my thoughts. Ah, my friend, you little know a girl's heart. Her vague fancies and phos- phorescent dreams are stimulated by colour and poetry and symphonies and form. Her heart is continually crav- ing. It is empty and must feed. If she has no star outside her own hori- zon, no friendship, no love, she taps her own veins and drinks her heart's blood in a suicide of vanity. The fervid quest for admiration, the madness to outshine, to be the centre of a hundred men, to wear the most '38 L A U R I E L glittering baubles, and to queen it in her microscopic circle, this may be the starving of an unnourished heart. I have been here a little more than a week, and I am not so happy as I thought I was going to be. I do not know what is the matter. I ought to be the happiest, proudest girl in the world. The attention the king and queen and royal family paid to me is enough to turn any girl's head. It was so genuine and human. The artillery officers are getting up a ball in hon- our of " La -Belle Americaine " (There ! aren't you proud of your friend ?) and the crown prince has chosen me as partner in the next golf tournament. Somehow I don't feel as inflated as I might, although I assure you I am very happy. Shall I describe to you my palace lunch ? How can I, sitting beside the picture of your little shack? I wonder L A U RI E L if you know where I would choose to lunch this day, if the fairy godmother granted me the wish ? Not at the pal- ace, although it was beautiful. Your description of the wonderful mine, with its depth and blackness, its horror and its treasure, left me trembling for your safety. Let this lunch be my exchange of light for your darkness, and may it relieve the monotony of your landlady's board. I wore a black dress trimmed with rose, with only my nugget at the throat, and a bracelet of pearls. We arrived at one, promptly, and were asked up-stairs through an innumerable suite of rooms until we came to the queen's private apartments. The crown prince's oldest boy and the king's youngest son came out to meet us. Prince George is a handsome, fine boy of twenty, a lieu- tenant in the army. He speaks Eng- lish Very well, and we took to each other 140 L A U RI E L immediately. But before we could ex- change ten words, the queen came to the door. She is beautiful. She is dark and tender and Russian, while the king is fair and cool and Scandinavian. The queen kissed me on the cheek, and, after a few words of greeting, begged the privilege of calling me by my first name. How could I refuse her gra- cious kindness ? Taking my arm, she began showing me the curios with which the room was decorated. Then the king came, and we had a talk to- gether. Pretty soon I noticed a hush in the general conversation. We turned. Did I intercept a glance from queen to king ? It was the grand duke. Salut- ing the king first, he came straight to me and stooped and kissed my hand, welcoming me to Illeria. It was the first time I had seen him since our ar- rival, and in uniform. He was as hand- some as he was audacious. I could not 141 L A U RI E L help smiling heartily. The queen laughed at the duke's enthusiasm. Don't be angry, he took me by sur- prise and I could not help it. At table, I was placed between the king and the duke. The king asked me how I liked my decoration, which I had pinned to my waist, and as he helped me to butter and radishes, told me I re- minded him of the " Gibson Girl." In the middle of the lunch George left to go to his drill. I was ever so sorry, as I could be quite natural with him. The truth of it is, they were just like any other " folks," and it was a delightful experience. After lunch, the queen showed me over her boudoir, and then we went to the balcony, where every one seemed to have a camera in hand. The passion to be " taken " seems to be a royal one. The king could refuse an audience to any one but a photographer. He prob- 142 L A U R I E L ably has his pictures taken at least five times a day. This would be an unex- aggerated average. I do not think they do it so much to perpetuate their differ- ent moods to admiring historians as to stiffen themselves in their own estima- tion. Kings are but puppets of their people at best. To pose is to impose ; it is to stand straight and to be ever ready for an effect. They took me with the king and the queen and the grand duke, with uncle and aunt, alone and in groups. Then I took them sep- arately and collectively. It was a pho- tographic orgy, and its egotism could only be satisfactorily explained by roy- alty, I suppose. I could not imagine you, my friend, standing for your pic- ture like a king or an actor. To some men this easy vanity would be impossible. You are one of those so inherently modest as to be some- times most aggravating. I remember 143 L A U R I E L when I used to board at a little cheap summer hotel on Long Island, how each guest tried to impress the others with his or her importance at home, with one's intimacy with great people, and one's acquaintance with all the la- test books and gossip. To be outdone in this barren contest was to be without position, and to cry vainly for a second help of dessert. How ignorant, how unimportant I was made to feel by the women, although the men did not all seem to share the opinion. Well, it is the same here with those who are nour- ished by the court. Every man is en- deavouring to out-scintillate the others ; every woman to out-dress her rival. A new bon-mot, or a fresh conundrum is a royal passport, and he of natural wit outranks the diplomatic dean. Speech must out-glitter decorations, as smoke- less persiflage is accepted from any smooth bore. 144 L A U R I E L If I had not known you, I should be ready to engulf myself in the maelstrom of wit and pleasure. As it is, I feel fifty years old, and should not regret sitting out a two-step alone, or being omitted from a court ball. You have set me in the first row of the balcony, rather than permitted me to act upon the stage. For which I thank my mentor humbly. Every one is so kind, so very kind, and I ought to be so happy. I wonder what it is ? I love this room and hate to leave it. The west is before me. But the sun seems to set so far, so far away that it must be rising somewhere near you. As always, LAURIEL. 145 L A U R I E L Nov. i. MY DEAR FRIEND ROYAL : It has been impossible to write before. Every moment has been taken up. Frivolity has claimed me for her own, and gaiety seems to have become my god. Al- though it is not as serious as that, it has been pretty bad. What a contrast between our lives! You are digging for gold, and I am " frivolling " the hours away having a good time. You are working below, and I dancing on the top crust. You are, oh, so serious ! And my letters to you seem almost the whole of my solemnity. You made me ashamed of myself, and yet I cannot help it what else could I do ? And I won the handicap golf prize given by the crown prince. I will tell you about it, for there occurred while I played something you must explain. 146 L A U R I E L Lady Castleton, the wife of the Eng- lish minister, was my partner. She was handicapped thirty and I only eighteen. It is a short, rough course, a luck course, with brassie work only in two holes. The fourth hole is the short one, only ninety-two yards a bogie 3. Just before I approached the third hole, Duke Constantine, looking very sporty in a red coat trimmed with green velvet, came up. " What do you want most in the world, Miss Livingstone ? " he began, abruptly. " To win the next hole in two," I answered, addressing the ball. " Well," said he, with great deliberation, "if your supreme wish is to make that hole in two, you will do it. What a person desires supremely he gets." With that he turned and left me feeling strange and uncomfortable. Lady Castleton halved the second 147 L A U R I E L hole with me. I should have won easily. Something seemed to elate me be- yond words. Can you understand the sudden feeling of being able overcom- ing one who generally is not? Of course you can't, you who are able all of the time. I drove within two feet of the hole, and easily putted in in two. It seemed the most natural thing in the world to do. I was the only person unastonished. I won the beautiful prize, a silver tea-set, by one stroke over twenty competitors. The duke startled me, but I frightened myself when I came to think of the incidents in the quiet of my own room. Is it a riddle or a warning? What is the answer? and to whom does it apply? Is what the duke said to me true ? If so, I don't know whether to like it or not. I am uneasy, and come to you for interpretation. 148 L A U R I E L It is far past midnight. The west is black and desolate. A few electric arcs show the place of a city. The har- bor lights gleam fitfully and quizzically. I feel as if Mona Lisa were smiling down at me with inscrutable irony. I wish that golf-prize, so gracefully be- stowed by the hands of the crown prin- cess herself, had made me happier. Good night. LAURIEL. 149 L A U R I E L Sunday, Nov. 5. MY DEAR ROYAL : I should be dis- appointed if a mail came in with no letter from you. Of course I should. Nor courts nor gaiety can make up to an American girl for the separation from her home friends when she is in exile. She craves their memory and their attention. She feels defrauded if she is not the focus of their thoughts. She loves to be missed, and told so. Then, too, distance is the magic glass. The sky seems never so blue, nor the air so crystalline, as at home. And the Bay of Tania? The natives don't think so much about it, but the foreigners and tourists are wild. They rave and foam. Why ? Not because a great sea-fight had centuries ago been fought here and lost and won. Not because Pericles built temples on its L A U R I E L shore which Phidias decorated. Not a bit of it! Simply because historians wrote of the battles, poets sang them, and because archaeologists have res- urrected towns of wondrous beauty. Why, it does not compare to Glouces- ter Bay God bless her ! nor the shore of Eastern Point. Yet only a limited class of artists rave about our home ports, our home seas and moun- tains and slopes and defiles and gorges. We have history, but where is our He- rodotus or Zenophon ? Poetry but where is our Horace and where our Virgil? America had as great men as Europe before Columbus was born. Where is our Plutarch ? . We haven't begun to recreate the Mayas, the Incas, the Montezumas, and the Mound- builders. Were the)* not patriotic ? And was not their civilisation one of the marvels of the world ? Had they no Sappho and no Phidias? L AU R I E L You and your last letter have made me so proud of our unknown history, that I almost forget my Dutch and English descent. Five hundred years from now the tourists of Europe and Asia will invade the United States, not for its game, or mountain climbing, or its vastness, but because of its histori- cal interest. Unlike most girls, but like Ruskin's ideal in " Sesame and Lilies," I was turned loose as soon as I could read, to browse in Prescott, Motley, Ban- croft, and Parkman, and Fiske. Such writers will be the saviours of our na- tional pride. When you wrote, " Do not be ashamed to know your own country first," and " Do not be carried away by Illeria. Its only interest lies in its discovered- past," you opened my eyes, dear friend, as you always do, and you led me back to my childhood, when I used to curl upon the sofa and L AU R I E L dream of the red men's ancestors and of mighty Americans. Having eased my mind by this school- girl essay, I suppose I must answer your questions. First: I am very happy, at least as happy as I can be. I am never allowed to be alone, and when I do lock the door the whole of Illeria and all that dwell therein is locked out. For here, you know, I am on American soil, under the dear old stars and stripes, and no foreigner can invade my thoughts or snatch the mask from my face. The mask falls of its own accord, and my thoughts, many of them, fly to you. You ask me to be honest with you. You surely do not want me to tell you all my thoughts. What I choose to impart, you will protect. How do I like Constantine now? Honestly, not as well as I did in the States (you see how Continentally we L A U R I E L can express ourselves), but I ought to like him better. If " love with cutting grows," I can never love him at this rate. We are thrown together morn- ing, noon, and night. It is an open secret that the king would permit his younger brother to marry an American girl with a great fortune. Americans are just now popular in European courts, their money more so. His chivalrous air of possession wearies me, while the congratulatory looks, of the colony are at times insupportable. I begin to understand why women are driven to desperate sacrifice, simply for protection. At present, the duke is insanely jeal- ous of Prince George. While Con- stantine is dwarfed by his surroundings (Illeria does not agree with his com- plexion), young George is enlarged. He is a dear, and is making desperate love. He is naive, inexperienced, and charm- L A U RI E L ing. His English accent is delicious. His equerry brings me notes and flowers every day now, and we have met on the golf ground and in the palace garden by chance. The youngest son of the king has little future. He can become a marshal, marry some rich princess or duchess, and live quietly ever after. He is gay and interesting and unspoiled. I wish I knew what the future would bring forth. I dread my father's titanic silence and awful trust in me more than I do Aunt Niobe's dreadful insistence. I live in an atmosphere of coercion and sug- gestion that may break the bars down before I know it. There! I have told you the whole truth, at the risk of be- ing thought conceited or unmaidenly. Last night I cried myself to sleep. And this morning at golf, Ahmed Bey, the Turkish minister, perhaps the wittiest man in Tania, attributed my high colour 55 L AU R I E L to his " approaching." I replied that it was impossible for him to put out. He then asked me the following ques- tion : " Mees Livingstone was eet Lokeenvar or Sai-ent Paul who ran off with the fair Eileen ? " I wish the magicians of Illeria would spread a charmed carpet and run off with me. Oh, how I wish it at times ! Then you ask me, do I miss you? Must I answer ? I do miss you. Some- times I miss you dreadfully. But then, I don't really know if it is you I miss. Maybe it is only the dear, simple old home I miss. Or maybe it is the uttered sympathy the camaraderie I miss. Maybe it is Ethel. I miss her terribly. Or maybe, again, it is the schmerz for the downs and rocks of Eastern Point. Or maybe I am hungry. I can't tell. All I know is that I feel hollow, and nourishment, like vaccina- 156 L A U R I E L tion, doesn't seem to take easily. I guess it's the water, that's all. It is late so very late. Mine is the only private light in the city. I must smuggle the time to you. I will do for once what you asked me. It is only because I feel lonely to-night. I kiss my hand to the west before I say good-night. LAURIEL. 157 L A U R I E L TANIA, Nov. 16. MY VERY DEAR FRIEND : The sky is as gray as the breast of the whippoor- will. It is soft and sympathetic, and is in harmony with my mood to-day. I have been told that brunettes are more dual in their natures than blondes that we of fair Saxon blood are more lymphatic and passionless. It is true. I am not given to paroxysms of temper, nor do I sputter like ALtna. Perhaps it is the desire to be complaisant, or perhaps it is to evade wrinkles and save the complexion, or perhaps it is the hope, which is in every girl's heart, to appear inscrutable. They say the simplest woman can read the deepest of her sex by a look, and that the wisest of men are foiled by the most superfi- cial of women. This cannot be nature's original plan. People went to Bar- 158 L A U R I E L num's expecting to be fooled ; and they were not disappointed. Men approach women expecting to be mystified, and they are ; we, by the grace of the privi- leges of our sex, helping on the comedy of errors. Aunt Niobe does not under- stand. Papa, who returns in a couple of weeks, does not. How could he, when I flaunt my aigrette as high as possible, when in my heart of hearts I would melt upon his shoulder, and wish for nothing better than to be his little girl ? And people call me " proud," and " haughty," and " cold," and " unap- proachable." It is simply the lattice barred. It must be. Ah, how I miss my mother! But you you are different. You are my comrade, the only comrade I have ever had. I want you to under- stand me. You must do so. No mat- ter what the future brings forth, you must understand. '59 L A U R I E L You ask me again how the game goes on. It is no longer a game. It is almost a maelstrom. I am swept along. The torrent only increases as I look ahead. I ought to be the happiest girl in the world. Pleasure of every variety, enough to satisfy the most exigeante, lies at my feet. According to the books, I ought to live in a dream of ecstasy. Fortune and atten- tion crown me. Instead, I float upon my reveries. They wander like the tide, and carry me as far. What do I dream ? I do not know. Whither do my thoughts wander? I cannot tell. Monsieur Jules Clercy, the sec- retary of the French Legation, was leading me through the intricate mazes of a figure in the German last night. " What are you looking at ? " he said, with a hurt accent. "You are so far away. Are you looking for the prince or the duke ? " 160 L A U R I E L With the sure dexterity of his race, he had guided an entranced girl for ten minutes. I forgave his impertinence for his ability. The French weary me. They know so well how, without guess- ing what to do. Frankly, my friend, I don't like my position. Even now we are " tired, my heart and I." I don't mean that I am bored. The country is so beauti- ful. The experience is so unique. I am interested every moment. But the burden of the future crushes. Do you remember the German story of the room whose walls grew narrower every day, until finally the victim was de- stroyed? The ceiling drops imper- ceptibly, but surely. The horizon is closing about me. I know I am ner- vous and morbid. I dread Papa's return above all other things. He is so changed since his stupen- dous success. He used to lose his 161 L A U R I E L temper and his case. Now he is kind enough too kind. But his will has become steel in proportion as his self- control is subject to his pride. He has at present a stupendous plan to grant to Illeria exclusively his storage pat- ents, thus building up for this baby kingdom an irresistible fleet. This will allow Illeria to snap her fingers at Turkey and Russia, and will guarantee a long life of freedom and internal pros- perity. It begins to dawn upon me that when ambition vaults its natural barriers, it is merely a polite name for murder. It frequently becomes filia- cide, if I may coin the crime. Six weeks from next Sunday, the last night of the year, the crown prin- cess is to give a great masked ball. Just to induct you for a moment into the crowned circles, so easily opened to a member of a diplomatic family, I enclose an invitation directed to you 162 L A U R I E L personally. This is by the kindness of Prince George. It will be a gorgeous affair, and preparations on the most extensive scale are being made. What shall I wear? What disguise would you assume if you were I ? I cannot explain to you how I feel about that night. I have the strangest impres- sion. It is as if a live wire hung over one. I almost wish my friend were to be there to protect me. I am all, ALL alone. I wave my good-night to the dear West. LAURIEL. 163 L A U R I E L November 26. MY DEAR FRIEND ROYAL : Your letter has just been read and lies open before me, its leaves fluttering in the window-wind. I do not know whether to be sorry or glad for you. I am glad you are to leave Tucson. It is so terri- bly far away. I am sure you have done the best possible by the mine. One cannot make gold out of quartz, and a gentleman does not sell quartz for gold. I am more than sorry that you did not realise what you hoped. But you are worth infinitely more than all the gold you could dig, and I am proud of your honesty, and believe in your ability, and I don't care a whit whether you are the poorest man in the world. Indeed, I should like you better if you were. What errants you miners are ! You wander east, and you wander west. 164 L A U R I E L What would you do if you married and settled down ? Would you settle in a Pullman, or an Atlantic liner, or upon a blast of dynamite ? You rush so readily and uproot so easily. I suppose it will be Mexico next, or possibly Borneo. You make me dizzy with your vagrancy, you unchangeable man. Let me tell you a true story as it came to me from Quaker lips a few days ago. She was a beautiful lady in gray a grandmother and we were telling about the possibilities of American pov- erty, the only hopeful poverty in the world, and of the gaucheries of American parvenues, the most impossible bores in existence. She said that years ago an Irish labourer in Lancaster, Pa., by means of constant work and extraordi- nary thrift and management became a contractor. This seems to be the Irish- man's natural road to wealth. He then '65 L A U R I E L wooed and married a beautiful young girl above him in station, and quite an heiress, for those times. They had two daughters who inherited their mother's great beauty and refinement ; thus, nat- urally, they received much attention. Their many suitors simmered down to two young men who proved to be fa- voured ones. These came often to the house and courted the girls regularly. The father, after the manner of his uneducated and forceful kind, was an autocrat in his own home. "Who are your visitors?" he in- quired ; " I see them here every day. Is it business they mean ? " " One is a lawyer ; the other a theo- logical student," was the demure reply. " What income have they ? " gruffly. " We do not know," quaking. " Have they sufficient to support a wife ? " The old man took a surly puff at his pipe. 166 L A U R I E L " We have had no occasion to ask," replied the daughters, bridling. " Then I insist on your rinding that out," snorted the autocrat, while his wife shivered. " I've worked hard to get my fortune, and I don't intend to spend it supporting poor sons-in-law. Find out if they can support a family, or my orders is send them away at the next visit." The girls cried and obeyed. The suitors were sent away, and the sisters never married ; neither did the young men. But the lawyer, James Buchanan, grew to be the President of the United States,and the young theological student was Rev. Dr. Wm. Augustus Muhlen- berg, who was one of the saints of the earth, and wrote " I would not live alway." I don't suppose this could happen outside of the United States do you? How my heart aches for those poor 167 L A U R I E L girls, although they are years in their early graves. I suppose thousands of girls have been blasted by the lightning of their father's autocratic ambition. That is what I call " filiacide." And those girls were faithful and true and loving whether they married their father's fatal choice, or died single of a broken heart. I begin to suspect that many an international marriage has been consummated through the bride's heart's blood. Oh, how I pity her, how I pity her! At least you can cast a sealed bottle with tidings of yourself into some leap- ing river. I am sure it will drift with its precious freight straight into the harbor of Tania. God bless and guide you in your new decisions. I shall watch for them breathlessly. Always faithfully, LAURIEL. 1 68 L A U R I K L December 17. IT has been a long time, dear friend of mine, since I wrote you last. Your cable with your new address found me in my room, where I have been for ten days. I am so glad you are in New York, the aorta of the world. Now I can look south upon the bay with a new interest. You are by the same gray ocean, and can feel the passion of the tide. It is good to have that bond be- tween us, is it not? Distance always seems less by water than by land. You look along the blue sun-flecked horizon and say, " Friend-ho ! " Nothing seems impossible by the sea. Since I have had this little fever, I have been the creature of the tides. You can never know what that means, you big, imperious man ! At night I start with a sense of suffocation. The 169 L A U R I E L tide has simply reached its depth, and vitality has flown with hope. The breath comes hard and the cheeks burn, and life has become less worth struggling for. What supersensitive- ness this foolish fever induces! But I understand for the first time how the recessional tide carries the dying far out upon the bosom of the unknown sea, and they never return. And then ! and then ! There is a sudden shock of physical zest. The tide has turned. What a mystery ! It has become processional, bringing with its invincible movement surging joy and hope, and the fierce longing for life. On blessed Eastern Point I could tell by the sound of the lapping on the rocks when the ocean turned in its unknown bed. But now I tell by the refluence of strength. This is an un- natural state of mind for a modern athletic girl to be in, and you must 170 L A U R I E L scold me into sense. But I can't help it. This native fever is recurrent like the tide, and almost as irresistible. But I have a good doctor, and it is yielding slowly. Aunt Niobe has to be followed with a mop. Her blonde doll is stuffed with sawdust. Papa is an imperious sentinel, and I am not allowed to read or write or move. -This is my first note from the room. I feel as excited and virtuous as a Spanish smuggler. Can you read the pencil scrawl ? But I must get well for the fancy- dress ball. Daily flowers from Con- stantine and little George remind me of the court I wish I might never see again. I have told many fibs to many people about my costume. The duke thinks I am going in the court dress of Antoinette, while Prince George is looking for a German peasant girl with her hair braided down her back. I think I have thoroughly mystified them 171 L A U R I E L all. I shall tell you, for of course you will not be there, that I shall be a flip- pant Dresden-china shepherdess with a long, hooked staff ; my hat will be fur- belowed with blue ribbon, and a broad blue ribbon on my staff. I shall wear for- get-me-nots, and be masked in white silk. We are planning to leave right after the ball, so I must hurry up and get well. Don't you wish you were going to be present ? You might be a shep- herd with a peaked hat, a horn, and a yodel/ Wouldn't it be fun? I am a little tired now, and must stop. The maid will post this in time for the steamer, and may it greet you a little rested after your exhausting Tuc- son experience. Do not worry about your friend. She is simply storing up a little energy. She may need it later. As always faithfully, L. P. S. Do read Sidney Lanier's " Marshes of Glynn." 172 L A U R I EL Dec. 24. ROYAL STRONG, University Club, New York: Cable received. Why leave me three weeks without address ? Is that kind ? And at this season ? At least, Merry Christmas to you. L. L. L. L A U R I E L THE AMERICAN LEGATION, TANIA. AH, you wonderful, you royal man ! What shall I say? You have left me stunned with happiness and dazed with joy. My heart beats so that I can hardly breathe it is so marvellous! And then I grow cold with fear lest it is all a beautiful dream, and I must soon awake to my old self. Ah, Royal, my Royal, tell me, tell me again and again is it true ? The star ruby trembles and gleams mysteriously and lovingly. It reassures my doubts until the tears blind me as I write. And the letter it lies hidden on my heart ; but its words burn and burn until my soul seems branded by your mark. Is it not all true ? You will never let me awake again ? Promise me that, on the knees of your love. I could not call 174 L A U R I E L you " dearest " unless that new word had flown from your letter, and had nestled in my heart. It has taken such complete possession of me, I can think of nothing else. It rings like bells in my ears. So I can say "dear- est " without shame for the first time, for you have taken me, and I am yours. I begin now to understand the full meaning of the term "born again." I am as far away from my old self as light is from darkness. Indeed, you have uncovered my eyes, and I can see. You have flooded me with radi- ancy. You have given me an under- standing heart. It was you you royal sweetheart, whom I loved, and I didn't know it. Then you came not a minute too soon not an instant too late you came ! As I saw you, my soul became illuminated. Every- thing was plain life the future it was all you. I should have died if L A U R I E L you had not taken me as you did. Oh, my love, my love ! You ask me to tell you the story of the victory. Shall I begin at the in- credible night? You did not under- stand that for two hours I had danced incognita. Then Aunt Niobe broke her word to me. She told the equerry of Prince George and Lieutenant Ste- phanotis of Duke Constantine's ship in the same breath. They had been hunt- ing wildly for me all the evening. They had passed me a hundred times, with- out my giving a sign. I knew the quarry could not be hidden long. I was in a fever of anguish, and began to understand the feelings of a hunted fox. Now let me confess on my knees my sin against my own heart and your dear self. I had been so ill and weak. No one knew what was the matter with your Lauriel nor did she. I suppose ,76 L A U R I E L it was you, and she never recognised the symptoms. In the depth of my weakness and loneliness and despair, Papa made me promise to make a de- cision on the night of the ball. And well, in a delirium, I consented. Noth- ing more was said, and no names were mentioned, but I knew what he meant, and he knew I did. At a few minutes to one I stood for a moment amid the crush alone in that great golden ballroom. Before me, in the doorway, I saw the duke enter, seeking me with eager, unchained eyes. I knew it was me whom he sought. In the mirror, at the same moment, I saw Prince George bend forward, his boyish face eager, confi- dent, and exacting. His glance had just singled me out. The two men arrived at my side at the same instant. You you know the rest how you strode in like a god claimed me 177 L A U R I E L before the world, like a king, and car- ried me away. Then I knew myself, and I would have followed you to the end of time through danger, and poverty, and death through everything. You knew that you Man of Men ! And in the garden ! It was so miracu- lous so beautiful! How could I yield too quickly, when I knew that through all eternity your arms would be my haven, and your lips my home? Oh, those delicious hours and you did it you did it my king! A little after three you brought me to poor, blind Aunt Niobe, and the ring scorched while you sought out my father. Then the prince came. " Before the dance, your Highness," I said, with a deep curtsey, " I want you to offer me felicitations on my engagement." 178 L A U R I E L " It cannot be ! " he said. " It cannot be. I will crush him ! " Indeed, he looked quite manly and able. " Oh, yes," I said, lightly, " I am so happy that it is true, and even your Highness could not crush him. He is an American, and very large? " An American ? Impossible ! " " Why impossible, prince ? Do you think there are no American girls of spirit left who can refuse titles in order to marry the men they love ? Is our wealth so debasing ? Or did you despise us so much ? " Then the boy became himself, and I began to like him immensely. " Your pardon, mademoiselle," he said, frankly. " I congratulate you upon your spirit; but I congratulate him upon winning a true princess." Wasn't that nice of him ? Then he ended, with a little sorrowful gulp, " I hoped, Miss Livingstone, that your heart might have 179 L A U RI E L been won over to Illeria." Then he whispered, " You Americans you are unconquerable, when you preserve your independence. Will you honour me with this quadrille ? " While we danced the measure in stately dignity Duke Constantine watched and scowled while I was with you, dear love, plead- ing with an obdurate Papa. "Will you tell the duke?" I whis- pered to Prince George, at the last bow. " With pleasure," he answered, with a boyish laugh. And I guess it was the only thing that really afforded him undiluted satisfaction on the night of the great court ball. Then you left as mysteriously as you came. If your letter had not been handed me to-day I should have suffo- cated with anxiety. I have seen no one of the family since you left. You say that Papa's verdict is that we are not to see each other for three months, and 180 L A U R I E L then we can do as we please. What a strange condition ! Somehow it fills me with alarm. But you need not mind. I am well now, and am very strong, and we have each other. But how shall we bear the terrible separation ? You must write every day, even if it is mailed only once a week. And you must direct it to Aunt Lucy, who isn't a Kingophile, and who loves me dearly. Not that I think Papa or Aunt Niobe would dare*, but, in military language, " our line of com- munication must be kept protected and open." Oh, I wish Ethel were here ! I am so terribly lonely. You must be patient with me. My heart has cut loose from everybody and everything, and you are now the whole of my life. You will try not to be too far away. I could not bear it. * Good-bye, dear love. This cruel 181 L A U R I E L time is such a torture, and each second seems a heart's eternity. I will begin my diary to-morrow. Always your LAURIEL. Tuesday, the Second of January, 1900. i8a L A U R I E L Wednesday. MY DEAR LOVE: This is the third day since my Rex came. My heart is still in a tumult. It beats with wonder and exaltation, and then with weariness and widowhood. My hours are so full with the memory of you, and so lonely without the reality of your dear pres- ence ! Now I comprehend how Pain is the sister of Joy perhaps the rela- tionship is nearer, for my suffering is borne by and because of my great hap- piness. The loneliness the ignorance of the future the fear lest it is all too beautiful to last, these are new forms of anguish impossible except through love. And the greater mystery is that I suffer gladly, almost eagerly, because it is for joy. I am afraid you have taken a very intense girl whose very life will be her 183 ' L AU R I EL very love. So deal tenderly and kindly with her. You have unfolded the woman of me, and made me choose a woman's ambition, to be loved as I know you love me. That is enough to live for. I have everything to hope. I have nothing to regret. But Papa doesn't think so. He is very polite about it, and Aunt Niobe exhibits a discretion that is truly alarm- ing. But Aunt Lucy gave me a sympa- thetic wink at dinner to-day. I know that I have been the subject of a family council, and she, bless her dear heart, is on my side. " Laura," said Papa, after dinner, " would you care if I smoked my cigar with you ? " So Laura demurely said " no " while her heart beat " yes," and was led like a lamb to the balcony, and the glass doors were carefully closed behind. Beyond the roof of the tallest white 184 L A U R I E L^ house, over the square where the band plays every evening at nine, the blue bay spread like a sea of iris. The motionless water became my anodyne. The calm of the sea was fused with the strength your love has wrought within me. Your ring, with its six-pointed star, looked up from its deep, warm heart. How did you know I had always dreamed of a star ruby ? " Laura," said Papa, quietly, his voice making me think of those days when I used to fling myself on his neck in a passion of tears just after my mother died. I could have done so then, had you not come. " Laura, my daughter, I thought I was building a fortress. Shall it be a house of cards ? " Then he went on to tell me of Illeria, its struggle for freedom, his ambition to make it an impregnable kingdom, and to bring it up to its pristine state '85 L A U R I E L of grandeur, so that it may be the Mecca of liberty and art and beauty to the nations of Europe and of Asia, and how I was the pivot to those plans. Wheat must grow on barren plains; factories must spring up on the banks of rivers. His was a dream of in- dustry, a vision of a prosperous, un- conquerable people who wish to be converted from laziness to thrift and from carelessness to patriotism. My marriage to the duke, or better, to the prince, would, with his wealth, bring this all about and more. " It is only alliance with money that can make this possible. It is the greatest privilege and opportunity ever offered an Amer- ican girl. Will you retard Illeria and the state on her borders a hun- dred years by your selfishness ? " These are a few of his arguments, presented without passion, from a bitterly disap- pointed heart. In other words, my 1 86 L AU R I E L father has become a denationalised American. I wonder if every man is born with the insanity to rule, as every woman is born with the sanity to be ruled. The greater his wealth, the vaster the empire he craves ; the greater her wealth, the more absolute master she desires. Such is the chasm that sep- arates my father and me for the first time. " But I love him, Papa," was all the argument I could think of. " Do you mean to disobey me ? " " I love him," was all I could say. " You had better go to your room, and we shall see." So here I am here we are, my ring and I. Somehow or other it seems like a stage. That brief talk was like the ringing up of the curtain. Is the act a tragedy, or a melodrama ? But the ac- tress must not shall not fail. I wonder 187 LA U R I E L how the first woman felt who ever acted on the stage. Pepys says he saw her in 1660. What praise did she encounter? What applause ? What hisses ? And did she fail ? You have stood by me, dearest, like a rock. You cannot fail me. Good-night, your own LAURIEL. 1 88 L A U R I E L Thursday. DEAREST HEART: Two commands have come to me to-day. The first from my king. This I do not wholly understand. I would ask questions. The woman in me wants the reason explained. But my love dictates trust- ful obedience. My letters shall be sent to the address in town as you instruct. Do you realise that my ignorance of your whereabouts adds a mystery that I no longer see the necessity of? But you know best. It is not so hard for a woman to surrender her heart as her judgment. Teach me the finer faith of love. The second command comes from the chamberlain of Papa's king. I am bidden to dine with the king and queen to-morrow. This I cannot refuse. In- deed, the crowned invitation has been 189 L A U R I E L accepted, and it has proceeded so far as the discussion of gowns. What shall I wear? For it is you only I shall care to please. You can little understand how a girl feels. I know it will be meant as a night of temptation. I shall be carried to a high pinnacle, and a gorgeous spec- tacle will be spread before me. How little they dream that kings no longer allure, and position no longer tempts. It will, indeed, be a performance, five hours of vaudeville, and one hour of charade. When a girl is on the heights, and above the clouds, the sub-peaks of society or opportunity seem as insignifi- cant as a Punch and Judy show. Aunt Niobe calls me Quixotic, senti- mental, and out of my senses. She says every girl has to go through the experience of thinking she loves an older man in order to find her equilib- rium. I suppose there is a variety of 190 L AU R I EL girl who sighs for sensations, and who plays tag with her finer sensibilities. I have talked with many a singed cat on hotel piazzas, and wondered afterward if there were any nobility or beauty in the world. These iconoclasts of character that pull others to the level they occupy can only become what they are through the craving for sensations, and the giv- ing themselves up to experiences. They teach that a woman must have had sev- eral " affairs " in order to know how to love. How they cheat themselves and their proselytes ! They are of a race of women who love with their heads and distrust with their hearts, poor, half-minded creatures, with the bored and anxious faces of a hunter who regrets that she is not the hunted. Now, it seems to me, dear love, that if a woman concentrates herself, her energies, her nature, upon the one love of her life, that when that love comes, 191 L A U R I E L she enters upon her normal existence for the first time ; just as a woman be- loved is the only woman completely organised. 1 feel so sane, so normal, and you have made me complete. I cannot tell you how this new con- dition, which this great love of ours has wrought, purifies my judgment, and opens my eyes. I used to be in differ- ent moods with different men. From now on, this change of feeling will be impossible, because I am always with you, and all my moods are yours. Can you understand ? Do you see ? I notice that much of my liberty has been taken away. The family is clos- ing about me. How I miss Ethel ! You must send me a picture immediately. I want to consecrate my room. I am so lonely ! The clock ticks more softly than usual, and I shiver. Where are you, my own ? Toujours a vous, LAURIEL. 192 L AU RI E L Friday. MY REX : I no longer say " I live," I say " I love," for my love has become my life, engulfing all the energies of my being. You have brought so much to me ! I feel you -invisible beside me all of the time, but I cannot see you. I can picture your form, the contour of your face, your black beard, and your chestnut eyes, and your mouth, but I cannot put them together. They refuse to composite. This troubles me. Why cannot I con- jure you as you are to my fancy! Is my love too small to comprehend you ? or my imagination too weak to appre- hend ? I must take a lesson in mental photography, or be miserable at this exasperating failure to cheer my lone- liness by your picture, which should flash unbidden from the retina of my soul. L A URI EL Aunt Niobe is watching me, and any presence but yours is a desecration. I am lonely but I shall never again be alone. The time was when I used to flee solitude as I would an adroit enemy. We did not understand each other. But now I crave it above all other companionship. I am so busy thinking of you. What are you doing this minute? What are you saying? What thinking? This desire of soli- tude is indeed the test of love. And shall the time come (is it wise that it should come ?) when we shall fill up the moats and level the walls that separate one heart one life from the other? They say God looks down, and nothing in the heart is hid. But we have to look over, and only after an invitation. These intuitive people, who always read you through and through, are as tiresome as they are complacent. I 194 L A U R I EL have been told that nothing is so sure as the intuitions of a pure and loving woman. I do not think this can be true. Have I such blessed insight ? You are blurred even as your face is blurred you are so far away. This incompleteness of vision and of com- prehension fills me with great love as well as with deep despair. My heart gropes. I wish I knew where you are I dread the night so. Even now Aunt Niobe tears us apart. Read " tears " with my eyes, and you will see tears. They blind me with delicious pain, for all the world is shut out but you and LAURIEL. '95 L A U R I E L Saturday morning. Five o'clock. DEAR LOVE : Were it not for you, I should not have awakened. It is very early, and very still ; a beautiful hour. Some good angel bade me banish the God of Sleep and summon my king. You came with triumph, and you took me captive. You have enchained me with my love for you, and released me with your love for me. When I think of you my whole nature is enriched with warmth and tenderness. I never imagined such a thing could be. I know such a love has never existed. It calms even as it agitates. Can I not tell you this, for I am yours? I was cold and you have warmed me. I was desolate and you have comforted me. And so I feel as if I could never look into another's face 196 L A U R I EL until I look into yours; nor have an- other's eye desecrate me until yours bless. Even the sun profanes my cheek after your kisses. My soul cries for solitude. It is a recluse for love of you. Come quickly ! Do you not see that I tremble as I write, and weep as I sign myself, For ever yours, LAURIEL. 197 L A U R I E L Sunday the fifth day from your advent. AH, MY REX : The dinner at the palace is over, and you were not there. You are not the man to dance attend- ance on royalty, with jewelled orders and girlish ribbons dangling on your breast and wreathed about your shoul- ders. I glory in you. In the great state dining-room you would have been as living ozone to decadent parasites. Give any American girl six peeps into any foreign court life, and she will begin to appreciate her American man if she has a single star of liberty left in her heart, as I have a star of bondage on my finger. But I won't rhapsodise patriotism any more. I should end by wanting to hug the whole nation, with even Godkin and Atkinson thrown in. Are you a little jealous ? I hope so. 198 L AU R I EL I wore my blue crepe de chene. I don't suppose this conveys any idea to your mind, but Aunt Niobe kissed me, and said I looked " sweet and girlish." As we were ushered into the large re- ception-room at the palace the incon- gruity of my ambition and position made me want to give a wild shriek of laughter, or burst out crying. But the severe dignity of le marechal de la cour checked the madness of my heart, and we obediently sat where we were told to. There were four dames d'honneur of the queen, who tried to make us feel at home, and there hovered about us many men whose figures were adorned with the inevitable orders. I have sent mine to Ethel. You know I can- not wear it now. Count Toka'i, the Austrian attache, presented me to the aide-de-camp of the Grand Duke Sergius of Russia. How I hate those 199 L A U R I E L insolent Russians who disrobe you with their eyes ! All at once there was a flutter. The four dames d'honneur lined up like a rush line on the left of the door leading to the grand salon, while we three American ladies lined up, a rival team, on the right, the men stationing them- selves on either side. The doors then opened with solemnity, the orchestra played the national hymn, and the marechal entered, superb in powder and staff of office. Behind him came the king and queen, with all the rest of the royal family. The king shook hands with us in turn as we curtesied ; also the queen. The rest of the family walked in and were curtesied to with- out shaking hands. Then the R. F. passed on through the rush lines into the magnificent dining-room, followed by the ladies and the men. I was delighted to find myself at the 200 L A U R I E L end of the table, with Prince George on my left, and the Austrian attache on my right. George, as you know, is not " out " yet, and so could sit where he pleased. He is a simple, handsome boy, like an American boy, with a stun- ning complexion, and direct, honest blue eyes. He is not too intelligent, but sincere and eager to acquire. He and I are still great friends. He is my strong ally. We laughed and giggled, and he poked fun at the people at table, much to my pretended horror, calling one of the king's aides-de-camp a frog, and another an owl. Suddenly he whis- pered, " Beware of the water ! " Then he rattled on more madly than before. Was it his natural mood, or was he overwrought? It occurs to me that most brave men have much of the " Punchinello " in them. Of course you remember the song. But what did he mean? Was it a 201 L A U R I E L boyish tease ? I am not nervous or afraid. Are you safe ? Tell me that you are, and where ? I am a very little girl with you, although the grand duke says that I am regal in my hauteur. He was my shadow until we went home, and then he insisted upon going out to the carriage. Yet he was respectful, very gracious, and like his old self lots of fun. I could not find fault, and some- how his faultless conduct lifted a little of the burden of blind apprehension which the prince's words dropped on my heart. Oh, for a simple, simple life ! A little white cottage with vine-trellised win- dows (I suppose all girls dream of vines) blessed by the shade of ancestral elms a little garden redolent with acacias and roses, and verbenas and heliotrope a little view of the horizon, with sunset between hills, or over mo- tionless water a little income, suf- 202 L A U R I E L ficient for health, and warmth, and stimulus, and a mighty love that passeth all understanding, and that lasteth when eternity is counted as only a flash of time ! I shall write after this in the morn- ing. I shall arise early with the sun, when the air is pure of dust and uncon- taminated by humans. I know then that I can talk to you more clearly. For then I shall not rhapsodise over my great treasure, and the love I have for you. The heart has events that I do not dare to chronicle. My pen is tipped with fire from an altar no longer dedicated to an Unknown God. And yet, if I read my matin prayer at vespers should I not re- gret so cold a letter? Tell me, dear love, when shall I write, for I would neither blush because of my frankness, nor regret the withholding of what is yours. You have a luxurious power 203 L A U R I E L over me, and you are lord of my will. I shall not cry myself to sleep until you reassure me that you love me. LAURIEL. L A U R I E L Monday Morning. ON second thoughts, my Rex, I will write a scrap now, though it is only two hours from noon. I feel that I am cheating time and distance, for when the words are written, my heart fancies that they receive the blessing of your eyes at once. But alas ! I cannot dupe myself. You are not here, and I refuse to be comforted. Far on the horizon of the Bay of Tania I see a blotch of smoke. What happy carrier does it presage ? My heart beats an impatient tattoo. If the steamer were freighted with a letter from you, I know it could never lag so slowly to its anchorage. Oh, the pain, the pain of love ! Sometimes I feel as if I could not bear it. What can you men know of the suffering of a 205 L AU R I E L woman's heart when she has invested all there is of her in her love? By noon I may touch your letter with my lips. LAURIEL. 206 L A U R I E L Monday, Midnight. AH, my own ! It was only a " Tramp," ugly, unpainted, old thing, and I should have known it ; for never by any possibility of miracle does the mail get in ahead of time. It was one of those delusions of hope that are beginning to tease my soul. This neu- ralgia of longing sets every nerve on edge, so that I start at a sound, and am startled by fancies. Can any lover fully understand the perturbation of mind that follows this gnawing nostalgia of the heart? If any one can, you do. I know you will be patient, my king. We had another golf tournament this afternoon. Of course I was urged, but did not play. I was too tired, and had to hold myself up for a dinner at the English minister's, which Papa wished 207 L A U R I E L me to attend. I am now worn out, but very happy, propped up in my easy chair; for I am at last alone with you. You little know what that means. Shall I tell you one thing it means to your Lauriel ? That I have no more enjoyment in what are called fashion- able duties and triumphs. You are a master-woodsman, and blazed a new path through my life. Standards that once seemed true and necessary have dissolved into nothingness. They have disappeared. What once gave me hap- piness, or perhaps pleasure, now fills me with wonder that I used to be so silly. Why should I spend a half an hour talking nonsense with a man, when I might have that time with you ? What is his admiration, but conceit trying to cross the threshold of pride, and to pass into the heart of a girl pre- sumably modest ? Some one has called flirtation the water-colour of love, which 208 L A U R I E L is washed out by the first flood of real feeling. Ah, dearest one, your eloquence courted me, although you said but little. But what you said, and what you wrote, and what you looked, all meant the one thing I cared more for than anything else, Truth. Did not Socrates say somewhere that the only true eloquence was truth-speaking? You are the most eloquent man I ever knew, and the most irresistible. When I contrast you and the falseness around me the rivalry, the intrigue, the jealousies and the hollowness and weariness I glory that the truest man I ever knew has chosen me. Why, it seems to me, dear, that all lives around me are forgeries, but yours and mine. You have given me a love which has become my religion as well as my life. And and I am afraid that my whole end of life, now, is to see you again. 209 L AU R I E L Ah, my dear Rex, you are a man, and too busy to have your imagination tormented by leisure. I must be busy, too, and cut down my thoughts of you ; otherwise I shall be utterly swallowed up in an abyss of reverie. Yet it would be a sweet headlong plunge to take. I think I will try it. Good night. May I dream of your coming to YOUR LAURIEL? 3X0 L A U R I E L Tuesday. MY DARLING : I send this to the address you gave me to-day. I am in a whirlwind of indignation. The Grand Duke Constantine was placed at my right at the end of the table, with the Turkish minister at my left. Constan- tine was the only member of the royal family present, and devoted his whole time to me, in spite of all I could do or say. I must say he is a perfect gen- tleman in manner. But his eyes frightened me. The talk drifted to hypnotism, and he made the remark that strength of will had nothing to do in protecting the subject from being influenced by the operator. He then told a story of a French girl who was hypnotised by Doctor Charcot to the extent that she forgot her love for her fiance and married another man, think- 211 L AU R I E L ing that she loved him. Doctor Char- cot has never allowed her to recover from this imposed idea. She is per- fectly happy in the delusion, but the lover shot himself in despair on being jilted. The duke was not sure (I am bound to say) whether it was really Doctor Charcot or some other operator who did the thing. What a horrible story! and what a horrible possibility ! Can such mon- strous influence be allowed ? Is there no law forbidding such moral vivisec- tion? If hypnotic suggestion can cut out the love of a life as you cut out an eye, who is there that is safe ? After dinner, a few sample hypnotic experiments were performed by the grand duke, who, it seems, has spent many of his leisure hours in a profound study of this terrible science. A young swell attache proved a most excellent subject. I was not amused, I was suffo- 212 LA URIEL cated, and, excusing myself, begged Aunt Niobe to take me home. The grand duke made but one valuable statement. He said he could prevent seasickness just by a few passes of the hand on the sufferer's brow. He ac- counted for that by the fact that the suffering is primarily mental rather than physical. When Papa came home and found me up for I could not sleep he told me flatly, for the first time, that I miist marry the grand duke ; that he had given his word, and that no refusal would be taken. I dare not tell you what he said and what he threatened. I felt like a modern girl transported to a mediaeval tower. I am afraid you will marry, if at all, a very poor girl as poor as any red- skirted peasant maid and as helpless. Would you love me just the same? But don't leave me! LAURIEL. 213 L A U R I E L MY DEAREST HEART: Your letter has just come. It comforted me like protecting arms. I feel like shouting the first line of the first Book of Vir- gil. Can you guess who would be the object of this classical quotation ? It is so good, so good to know that you are not far away! I never thought of Corinth. Why, we can get letters to each other in twenty-four hours. Think of that! This luxury of nearness is balsam to every nerve in my body. Perfect love may cast out all fear, but it doesn't prevent an involuntary shrink- ing of the heart. You mustn't be worried about me. I have a slight recurrence of fever, but this is counteracted by a very ram- pageous spirit of rebellion. I will obey you and not drink any more water. I 214 L A U R I EL will shun water as I would a funeral procession. Command me again, dear- est one. Obedience is the newly ac- quired legal fibre of a loving woman, and she wants to exercise it. Just give me a chance, and see me bow my head in subjection to your royal commands. I was getting nervous, and your pre- cious words have made me myself again. Three months are a long while to wait, but we will do it bravely. You ask me how matters stand. I will tell you exactly. But answer me this ques- tion first. I have given so fully that I must be assured and reassured. I know you love me, dear, but how much ? Is it the passion that deflects a man's life ? or the love that orders it ? Do not be angry at my question. In the current of your love for me do all the aims of your life run ? That that alone is the test of true love. For you are a part of every plan, the horizon of 215 L AU R I E L every hope, the prophecy of the past, and the fulfilment of my future. You are my all in all, and if you should fail, I could not believe in the goodness of God. Goethe says somewhere that " every moment is of infinite worth ; for it is the representation of a whole eternity." I grudge every moment of thought spent away from you. For, if I cannot speak to you and see you, I can be with you, and feel you invisibly beside me. If I am interrupted in this happiness, I feel as if a part of my eter- nity with you had been trifled away. You active man can you feel like that ? Now I am happier, and will tell you how matters stand. I could not write this but to you. I wonder if poor Papa is beside himself. His ambition to be the godfather to this land of tombs and sour wine is filling his head with delu- sions, That he has given his word to 216 L A U RI E L Grand Duke Constantine that I shall be his wife is evident from day to day. The flowers that are brought to me anonymously every morning are from Constantine. They are sent to the hos- pital immediately upon arrival. Papa treats our engagement as a farce, a curtain raiser before the real play, and my love as a necessary but disagreeable incident to the expansion of feminine experience. " Why should an Ameri- can girl," he says, " with your oppor- tunity, throw herself away on a poor, unknown American man ? " This is inconceivable to him, now that he is in Illeria. Call a plain, simple, commonplace man king; give him a marechal de la cour, and a few aides-de-camp ; call the lady attendants of his wife dames d'honneur, and the house he lives in a palace ; give him an unearned income wrung from the peasant, who is taxed 217 L A U R I E L for everything he has except fresh air and dirt, and nine-tenths of our rich Americans are awed by the stateliness, and flustered by the gilt which they never would have noticed had not the invitation, the chair, and the plate been stamped by a crown. I, too, was ready to fall down and worship, and you saved me from the false god. It is so plau- sible, so brilliant this doublet of roy- alty. But Papa is on his knees. That tells the whole story of his threats and insistence. But I am very strong and very sure. I have in my heart what cannot be daunted or cajoled. If only the fever, with its suffocating hallucinations, will keep away! Each night will bring me strength, and each morning hope each hour earnest of nearness to you. Do not be impatient to see me. Am I heartless to write thus ? For your promise to Papa must stand like a 218 L A U R I E L black rock. It is impossible that such love as ours can either be circum- vented or fail. If God did, I am sure nature would not allow such an ava- lanche to overwhelm our trust in her beneficence. You must have heard of Ethel's engagement to Arthur Newbury long before this. I sent her a package of love and little remembrances which I hope will not be held up at the custom- house. There ought to be a tax on every Yankee father who allows his daughter to marry a foreigner above the grade of a gentleman, say two hundred per cent, ad valor em. Will you obey my formula? Put a letter every day into the post-office and see Lauriel smile ? Your own sweetheart, L. Friday, the twelfth of January, 1900. 219 L A U R I E L DEAREST REX: My thoughts, like homing birds, are continually flying to you. If the windows are closed, they are stifled by the imprisonment, and beat for freedom on the panes. Except in the stormiest rain, my sashes are never down. Can you understand the utter and almost hopeless loneliness of a heart shut in ? So I throw the win- dow wide, and stand and breathe your name, and wonder why you do not appear at my call my wireless sum- mons is so real. Every word in your short letter is treasurable. Words never seemed to me such sentient, stirring things. I had to put my hand up, lest the page should embrace me. Ah, your love is wine, and your words are fire. I looked for more, but when I came to the end I shrank, afraid of you. It was all said. 220 L A U RI E L The blood hasn't left my cheek yet. You are indeed a lover, but you must not write me so madly. You know I am yours, yours as I never dreamed of being to any man. Nevertheless, you have the right of conquest to love me as you will. This is strange and beautiful. You make me tremble with a delicious joy. You imprison me with your power of loving. The conscious- ness of your love is transmuting the silly, vain, arrogant, and demanding girl into a nobler womanhood, I think. You are my Master of Dreams. You have enchanted me ! Do my protestations weary you ? Oh, my dear love, to say all you are to me would be more than any one can believe, or ever understand. I do not make out Papa and Aunt Niobe. Papa is busy at something. I think he is installing a new motor in one of the torpedo-boats for an 221 L AU R I E L experiment. He expects to have it ready in a few days. The royal fam- ily are much more interested in what he is doing than I am. He is always aiming at a revolution of something. This afternoon Aunt Lucy drove me to see some excavations that are carried on by the French School of Archae- ology, under Monsieur Constans. The director thinks he has discovered the site of an ancient temple. Here we could see nothing but ditches and a few patches of covered pavement. I wonder how soon these archaeolo- gists will be bold enough to reconstruct a temple four thousand years old out of a broken column, a shattered pave- ment, a fragment of bas-relief, and an intaglio, just as paleontologists make up a prehistoric reptile out of a bird- track, a shin-bone, and a single tooth. How the gods and the old priests must chuckle at the insolence of our 222 L A U R I E L creations and the labelling in our mu- seums ! This digging seemed to my untrained mind like a monstrous dese- cration. This madness to dismember tombs and uncover buried temples, to pry into forgotten palaces and disturb the all-protecting dust of centuries, is it not one of the mockeries of our age? Is nothing sacred from our colossal irreverence ? We, too, when we are dead, shall want to sleep untouched and when our homes and our churches collapse to their foundations, and the grit of centuries obliterates them, we shall pray that they may be undiscov- ered by foreign vandals who would jump our quiet claim under the excuse of scientific research. But one thing these schools of archae- ology cannot do with their students and their picks, they cannot destroy love. Nor can they discover it buried 223 L A U R I E L beneath the soil. Nor can they label it, and put it on a shelf and exhibit it to curious eyes. Is not such love as ours the only thing in the world proof against the iconoclasts, of whom there is one born every hour in each century ? It cannot be entombed, or buried, or lost; it lives for ever. Do you mind my talking to you as the thoughts flow? For every word I utter, everything I do, has its spring in the love that has possessed me. They found a little tomb on the side of the hill, not far from the palace of the crown prince, last year. Before an open door a beautiful young girl is carved, sitting with head bent forward, peering through as if looking into the other world, searching for some one dear. The inscription under this beau- tiful bas-relief reads : " Zoe died because Philo did not return? I heard of it only a little while ago, and yesterday I 224 L A U RI EL made a pilgrimage to the shrine, alone. As I looked at the exquisite picture of grief, and read the simple elegy of a broken heart, I sat down and cried like a child. I thought how she loved him, and how he died in the wars. I thought of her, faithful and broken-hearted, en- shrined in her sorrow. Then I won- dered what she said to him, and he to her, upon the day she died. And then I thought of the desecration. I felt as if she had been uncovered by rude workmen, her eternal love the subject of jest and of exhibition. I wanted to put my arm about Zoe's tomb, and bury it for ever from the curious world. Poor, poor Zoe ! But her love is like ours, I think, independent of disap- pointment, and the master of time is it not oh, my lover ? LAURIEL. Sunday, the fourteenth. 225 L A U R I E L Monday. MY LOVE: Only a moment for a talk with you before I go to bed. Each day is now incomplete to me unless we have exchanged lives. How differently I write to you from the way I should write even to the dearest woman in the world. I should tell her all about whom I met, what they said, between whom I sat at table, and I should give the whole menu. Then I should fill a page or two with what I wore, and with the other ladies' gowns, and if royalty were present I should embalm their foolish words like violets in sugar, the sweetest morsel for the feminine gossip. But I cannot write like this to you, as I did to Ethel, for instance. Let me quote a single page, just as I wrote to her, dear girl ! and tell me if you want more. I am describing a dance on a 226 L A U R I E L Russian man-of-war. Didn't I tell you about it? Probably not. " About three o'clock the R. F. came, and all the men wore Russian uniforms but Prince George, who wore his cadet uniform. Soon after we danced the first quadrille, and I danced with Duke Constantine " (I must have told you about this), " with the queen, crown prince and princess, and several other important ones. I wore my black gown and black velvet hat, and could see admiring glances as I danced like mad around the deck. My dress was not torn at all, and some of the dresses were torn in shreds. I was dancing with the captain of the ship, when the king, who was standing alone, stopped me, and began talking to me. In the course of the conversation he spoke about George, who was standing oppo- site us. I said I was surprised to see George here this afternoon, for he told 227 L A U R I E L me at Lady Castleton's that he would not go to balls. He is almost twenty- one, and won't be a lieutenant before spring. So he has to study hard, and goes out but little, and as permitted. 'Your Majesty,' I asked, 'won't you let him come to the legation after the tournament Saturday ? ' ' For what ? ' the king demanded. ' My aunt is ask- ing all that play to come in for a cup of tea. It will be absolutely informal. I pray you to let him come.' " The king gave me a sharp glance, and replied, ' Yes, he may come.' Soon after that I joined Aunt Niobe and Aunt Lucy, and beckoned to George, who hurried over. He was perfectly delighted when we told him the king had given him permission. ' I never could have gone, otherwise,' he said, joyously." There ! My royal master ! Do you want such letters ? As I copy, it seems 228 L A U R I EL to have been written by another girl. These are no longer events, but just incidents chronicled to amuse Ethel. Who finds it worth while to part the gilded veil ? When you once enter within, it is just like other places and other people no more, and no less. But we girls like these foamy cascades of detail. They satisfy a woman and confound a man. But Prince George is a dear, and I am afraid that I have not written you enough about him and the pleasant cameraderie that exists between us. He is my devoted follower, and, like a knight of old, only wishes he could fight dragons for my blond sake. I must tell you, as this is a gossipy letter, that I am invited on the trial trip of the torpedo-boat. It will take place in two or three weeks, and will be wildly exhilarating. Of course I shall go. Papa rather urges me not to. But I want to breathe the swift-rushing 229 L A U R I E L * air. How I miss my "runaway!" A hurricane could not choke me. It would simply make me feel perfect. This sounds a little girlish. If you loved the water as I do, you would understand the regenerating power of salt spray and gale combined. I only wish you were going. That that would be perfect, indeed. You do not know, dearest heart, how I long to share every pleasure with you. Indeed, you have come to seem not so much yourself, as the merging of all things that are or ever were in my life. You are the interpreter of the world to me. The wiles, the mysteries that used to puzzle me, are through your dear eyes as plain to me as flaring advertisements. I wear your silver chain around my neck. It came only this morning, with your letter. I am glad the beads are not gold. Their simplicity enraptures me. Every bead I touch tells me of a 230 LA URIEL new joy you have bestowed upon me. I shall repeat these every night love's breviary. I want to tell the whole round world of my pride in you, beloved. I ought to be a thousandfold more wom- anly, so that I might give each moiety of what I am to you. I am yours, and you are my all in all. I touch my lips to your name. LAURIEL. 231 L A U R I E L Thursday, the Eighteenth. BELOVED : Fiction is indeed only the lacquer of life. Lives, especially those of the humdrum variety, so easily lose their brilliancy, that they need to be polished up with a fictitious varnish, or crimes are committed for very ennui. I send you " The Cap and Bells." It is the kind of a novel that grows nec- tarines in conservatories, and vivisects the heart's emotions without adminis- tering anaesthetics. It is surprisingly clean, and in passages, though not as a whole, powerful. I have heard it said of books like this : " You can polish strength, but you cannot strengthen polish." It is a product of the decadent school that is Philistine toward the noble, and incredulous of that love which seeks no devious by-paths for its expression, and which purifies even as 232 L A U R I E L it blesses. I have marked certain pas- sages for future discussion. Do you fully realise, my heart, that I do not have a new thought but that I plot to share it with you ? Oh, I am sick of the modern heresy ! Let them deny God it can't hurt him. He is too great for a flippant understanding. But how dare they deny Love ? A woman may forswear her religion it generally is only ecclesiastical ; how can she forswear her life? My beautiful pagan Zoe, peering all these centuries through the mysterious door, waiting waiting for the never-returning. lips, outshames the whole of us. What is our society coming to, when jilting is the fashion, and insincerity has become an art ? I do not think, dearest, that my love for you makes me prudish or priggish ; it renders me the more jealous for my sex. Just as fashions sift from Paris to our 233 L A U R I E L richest society leaders, down the social scale gradually, until in two or three years' time they are acclaimed in pro- vincial county seats, so, unfortunately, the manners of the rich are copied until, with one scandal in high life, you have a thousand county jilts who read the papers and wish to be in fashion. I am troubled, dear. If I am. unchar- itable, rebuke me. But it seems as if a pure love, that ought to be the binding of two people, and the cement of the nation, is too often made ridiculous by the caustic pen of the popular author, and has become the butt of the poet and the wit. The love that makes hearts pastoral is becoming the excep- tion, and the clutch for diamonds, the " pull " for position, and the lie for leadership this is the rule. Ah, my dear, dear love ! I cling to you as I do to God. Hold me strongly. Such love as ours must have its mis- 234 L A U R I E L sion. Define for me its limits. Am I too serious ? Do I love too deeply ? I know too much reading deadens the elasticity of my thoughts. Does too much loving bound my horizon ? I kiss my hand to Corinth. Good night. LAURIEL. L A U R I EL Saturday Morning. MY BELOVED REX : I read your let- ter through tears. It so lately came from you. I thought I knew you, but each word brings me a new man. I do not know whether to be afraid of you, or to love more eagerly. I look upon you as my superior in every way. You are older more experienced so strong in self-possession and unassaila- ble in your dignity. Ah, my heart ! You do not know how much a woman craves a sure, sure refuge arms that can never rebuff, regret, or betray. So it happens, as it did with one of my class- mates, that a girl, tired with admiration and distrusting the instincts of her own heart, chooses the man she has known from her earliest girlhood, an old play- mate-lover, who has always guarded her from snakes and teasing, and she 236 L A U R I E L marries him, and lives contented for ever after. So I began to love you because you were the most trustworthy man I knew; but now I love you be- cause you are You. Why, you royal creature ! You are as eager as a boy of twenty, and your letters are the heart- beats of my life. The intensity of your feeling crushes me. I have been told that emeralds pounded and ground emit the delicate odour of violets ; and violets, when macerated, yield their delicate per- fume. Would that you could take me in your mighty arms and love me for I am yours, and I know you would be kind to me. Each day brings its peculiar longing. To-day it is a longing for you to share my golf and tea this afternoon. You see I am writing in the morning. I could not wait until night I am so eager. The American minister to Persia came yesterday, and is our guest 237 L AU R I E L for a day or so. He has a superb tenor voice. Last night he played and sang Schubert's divine serenade, " Komm, Begliiche Mich." Every note pierced me until I thought I should die of longing. The need of the heart when it loves ! When do I not need you ? But there are times when it is stimu- lated by music or by the vastness of the sea, or by the eternity of night, until it is almost impossible to bear the pain. So I have awaked to you this morn- ing as I always do but a little more nearly than ever before. As lovers we seem to be side-tracked for a time, but my heart runs express to you. I am going to play in a foursome with a young man from Boston, who is at the American School. He knows Arthur Newbury and many other friends of ours. He is the kind who L A U R I E L makes the " smashing " drives and " screaming " brassies you read about in the sporting papers. He is very young, only twenty-three, and won the golf championship of Harvard last year. He always plays with a pipe in his mouth, which he puffs savagely as he puts. We expect to win the tourna- ment, although we only get a handicap of six. I shall play exactly as if you were offering the prize, instead of the crown princess. Prince George has asked permission to take snap-shots of me while I play, and Constantine and Lady Castleton are going to be our opponents on the two rounds. Do not worry your mind about him ; he is most respectful, and though he looks at me pretty steadily, he speaks but little. Only I wish people would not throw us so much together. It would be easier for him. How little he knows that when he is saying foolish things to 239 L A U RI E L me I am repeating your name secretly. And when I am in a crowd of butter- flies and beetles, my consolation is that I retire to you. And when a look of happiness breaks from my control, how easily they mistake the radiance that is the reflection of constancy for the smile of volatility. What a beautiful thing is this dual life ! I do not think I give the impres- sion of a love-sick girl. Indeed, but two or three know of our engagement. It was Papa's wish, you know. I smile and chatter while my heart breaks for you. I golf and dance, while my star ruby and I hold conversations. I dress and dine while I am starving for your dear face. And yet I glory in the ex- clusive knowledge of this love of ours. For to love you is to find new treasures in every other relation of life. I dare not tell you all I feel, lest I seem extrav- agant ; for in the least, as well as in the 240 L A U R greatest event, you are beside me, and often outrun me. So, we shall be together while I play, and at the tea, and I shall pass a cup for you, put in a lump of sugar and a slice of lemon, and drink the toast: " May the daughter of fortune never discover us." Prince George will be there, and we shall have a nice chat. He is a dear boy, and I love him like an elder sister. Papa is ailing. We are afraid he is going to have a touch of fever. He is overwrought, poor man, and over- worked. Sometimes my conscience whips me because of my happiness. Tell me, dear heart, am I right to diso- bey my father? I cannot bear to see him miserable because I am happy. The grand duke is going to give Papa treatment if he does not get well in a few days. Constantine has the power 241 L A U R I E L in him of doing much good. In many respects he is a noble man, perhaps the best of the Illerian lot, with the excep- tion of the king and queen and George. But he frightens me with his undaunted persistency. " Why, Miss Livingstone," said he the other day, " I understand that in some parts of your country a young lady may be engaged to several gentlemen at once, and that when she is engaged, it is the signal for men who never thought of being lovers to spring up and court her, each one hoping to become the favoured suitor." " But that is only in the South, your Highness," I answered. " In the North, when a girl is engaged, the other gentle- men do not pursue her." " How very stupid it must be," he said ; then, " Are you not a Southerner ? " " Neither in birth nor in habit," I answered with great hauteur. " Can you not understand," I added, "that 242 L A U R I E L when a woman gives her whole heart she has nothing left which can be appealed to ? " " But if she changes her heart ? " " An American girl, your Highness, does not do that, lightly." With that I curtsied and turned; but I could feel his black eyes following me. They did not hurt. For your love is my armour. If I were not myself proof against their easy skirmishes, you would save me. What different moods greet different men ! You melt me, while the duke crystallises. Aunt Niobe is calling at the door, which I have locked when I am closest to you. Until the world is shut out to-night L. 243 L A U R I E L Eleven at night. I am sure, my royal lover, that it would be proper for you to see me in my pink silk dream-robe trimmed with ermine. My hair is braided down my back, and it pulls at me as I sit upon it. I am cool and com'fy, and with you. What happiness not to see a living soul until my eyes feasted on you again ! That would be almost the same as dwelling with you altogether. I feel my nature weakened by the social de- mands made upon me, and alloyed by the contact with women and men of low longings. So my daily letter to you is an act of purification, and I could not sleep without being thus hallowed by your love any more than I could without bathing my face. Aunt Niobe has just left me. She accused me of being romantic, and of 244 L A U R I E L throwing myself away upon an older man, who cannot appreciate my " deli- cate temperament." For once she had the taste not to speak of "poverty flaunting itself in the face of wealth." Oh, these self-seeking, frigid souls, who cannot conceive of the emotion that the happiness of loving engenders in the heart ! How can she understand that whatever is most delicate in my temperament has been educated by love? She urges me toward that un- known and 'untasted sensation which an unnatural society produces, and that a pervert craves. What false feelings are these, compared with the inspira- tions that come when the soul is intent upon a fixed star ! How many a night I have looked out of the window upon a star, praying that I might be uplifted toward it, out of the petty whirl that engulfs so many of the best of us ! Then you came, you 245 L A U R I E L plucked the star of my dreams and kissed it on my finger, and my eyes are fixed upon its ruby heart, and always will be, until death. For you have taken to your life a girl who only lives by the heart, and her heart is yours. LAURIEL. 246 L A U R I E L Sunday. MY DEAREST HEART: We are so upset! The whole house is in a flut- ter. Your fiancee has been rushing to and fro, with dishevelled hair, trying to calm Aunt Niobe and encourage Papa. It happens that uncle is away, and Aunt Lucy, who believes in mus- tard plasters, and anything that " draws," is in her element of motherly kindness and sympathy. Papa has been very ill. He was taken sick at six this morning, and steadily grew worse until noon. The doctor could do nothing. They say it is a phase of the native fever. He was quite out of his head a part of the time, and talked very strangely. To make a long story short, he begged me to send for Duke Con- stantine, which I finally did or, 247 L A U R I E L rather, Aunt Niobe sent a note to him by messenger. It is now five, and Papa is sleeping quietly, and the worst is over. Aunt Niobe said that the duke put him to sleep with passes over his head, and that he adjured the fever to leave, as you would an evil spirit. I was not allowed to be present, and Aunt Niobe is sometimes hysterical. At any rate, Papa is better, and we are all trying to rest. It was good of the duke to come, and we shall never forget his kindness to Papa, although we do not quite un- derstand his therapeutics. I suppose you might as well put hypnotism and Christian Science in a bottle, shake them up, and then administer the con- coction with a prayerful conscience. At least, it would be warranted not to kill. So here I am in my room, writing, and a little shaken by the day's events. 248 L A U R I E L If it were not you, I should be trying to sleep. As if I could rest without blaz- ing my way to you each day ! Just before I took up the pen, my head had fallen back on the easy chair, and I almost dozed I was so tired. Memories of my childhood swept over me like swallows in autumn flight. I did not know it then, but it was you I sought when I used to roam in the woods where elves mocked my vain search ; when I knelt beside the meadow brook trying to follow the cresses to their birthplace, for there fairies were surely feeding upon them ; when I searched the fields for the earliest vio- lets, and then spread them on a little mound, fancying it the burial-place of an unknown loved one, who had died fighting ogres to rescue his sweetheart. And there was an old oak, with a won- derful decayed trunk, where I could hide. There I used to build a house, 249 L A U R I E L all portioned off with broken glass, and there I used to go every day and live with my lover, and no one ever found it out. But best, and really-truly-est of all, by the moss-grown stone wall, was the secret post-office. The boy I loved with all my heart never found my let- ters. I never saw him until last spring, and he never knew what was written to him, for I used to answer them myself. I used to call him " Earl." I thought it a beautiful name, and used to repeat it as an incantation to protect me from all evil, and all the time it was Rex, I was stupid blind, that was all. For you were then as you are now, king of my day-dreams, and royal commander of the Islands of the Blessed where my soul nightly departs for sweet dis- course and benediction. A reverent awe creeps into my love; it summons tears that are not far off. I tried yesterday to pick up a novel. 250 L A U R I E L I dropped it in disgust. What is so flat as a love story when one loves ! These great masters of love literature no longer seem so wonderful as they did. They paint happiness, but I feel it. Balzac wrote what I am. He is no longer my master. He is only groping after the great secret which God has given you and me to possess. It is one thing to read a drama, but it requires a dreadful energy to live a drama and appear a spectator. I try so hard to be calm and unapproachable and dignified. The smiles come easily, for happily the grooves run that way in my face. And I love to please ; fortu- nately I inherit from my mother the ease and joy in doing it. But what used to come naturally are often tragic efforts now, and sometimes merely comic attempts. I seem to be looking on, or acting from afar off almost as far as Corinth. You know what my real 25 1 L A U R I E L life is you to whom I give my most precious hours. Forgive my writing. It becomes illegible only because I am writing to the person I love. My eager- ness to touch your life hastens my hand beyond control. Yours constantly, LAURIEL. 252 L A U R I E L MY ROYAL : I met to-day one of those angelic monstrosities that make the heart sick. She was so beautiful, this English demon, and so perfectly gowned! With a glance she measures a man. Is he worth exertion ? or is he fair prey? The eyes, drooping a la Merode, shoot invitations. Since she has had a maid and a coiffure, her heart has ceased to beat. It has not turned to stone, but has been diluted to vanity, that inordinate and starving vanity which demands a new sensation and a new man every day. Her intoxication is to inspire him with love. It is thus she invokes within her own nature a ghost, a shade of the love she can never feel. With this she sports until, tired of the game, she fixes it with a surprised stare, and consigns it to its peculiar Hades. With sugges- 253 L AU RI E L tion, invitation, and carefully rehearsed glances, this hypocrite of love prepares her victim for the final stab, which no surgeon can ever entirely heal. Ah, my dear love, you must have met such vampires. Do not tell me about it. I have always felt that you must have had some experience which has made you the strong and guiding man you are. I would rather a woman were bad, and were honest about it, than one of these subtle courtesans of the intellect whose sole aim in life is to convert a good man into a devil. This woman proceeded, on introduc- tion, to tell me of her wonderful collec- tion of the photographs of famous men who had flirted with her. She had often travelled from one country to another simply to conquer a man of whom she had heard. Such flirtation is only the quest of the heart's mirage. 254 LA URIEL She is now visiting with her cousin Lady Castleton, for a few weeks after a most exciting campaign. " Did he propose ? " " You delicious innocent ! " was the answer. " Why, there were eight of them. I must show you my proposal book sometime. What pleasure should I have if they didn't propose ? " " I don't suppose you have ever been engaged, then ? " The lady of triumphs eyed me with irony. Her eyes are cold as liquid air. Their whole expression of warmth and passion is only simulated by the raising and lowering of the lids. Her voice sounds like the dropping of pebbles in a well. " My dear child," she murmured, and she is over thirty, if she is a day, al- though she confesses to twenty-four, "the only fun in life is in engaging without being engaged." 255 L A U R I E L Ah, but dearest, this all seems so unworthy of our great love to speak of this creature in the same breath with it. Her very presence suffocates, her words poison, and her looks degrade ; while this love of ours invigorates, sus- tains, and ennobles. " I am not happy," said my little flirt, " unless I am surrounded and playing one off against another." I suppose she thought she was instructing a neo- phyte in the old, old maze. I did not tell her that I find my greatest happi- ness in the night hours, when the house is quiet, an^ solitude is my only guest, and when the clock ticks a sympathetic accompaniment to my most inward thoughts. What a hindrance to expression is the art of writing ! I cannot explain how I feel, but I could tell you all in a single look. For, the longer I am alone with you, the higher becomes my 256 L AU RI E L ideal of true happiness. When I want to give myself a fete, I lie down on the sofa and close my eyes and absorb my fancy in the silly things I will say when we meet. Papa is much better and we have had another serious talk. I must yield, or he will disinherit me. That is the plain truth of it. He is not unkind, he is simply resolved. To become nurse of a nation is his imperious passion. It will not require much effort for you to imagine the stand your girl took. Ah, this only makes me cling the closer. All I want is liberty on a high moun- tain or in the broad bosom of the sea with you. How beautiful is life! I am tryirtg to drink the cup of joy, for my heart beats strongly, and all the riches in the world are less than one hour of love and you. Ah, you know that I would rather have one happy day than be empress of the world. 257 L A U R I E L It was not hard, dearest, for me to stand with you, but it was bitterly hard to stand against dear, dear Papa. The scene has left me weak and very tired. How strange to feel so invincible of courage, and so feeble of body! It makes me feel differently toward those who sin. Do you understand ? I am a tired little girl to-night. I shall reso- lutely shut out all my happy thoughts and go to sleep hemstitching a handker- chief. Sheep never go over a wall for me ; a collie always breaks them up. But can I help being a dreamer and weaving my garland of dreams ? What- ever I may see in that unknown coun- try that is beautiful shall speak to me with your dear voice. Am I the " Lady of your Thoughts ? " Tell LAURIEL. Tuesday, the 23d. 258 L A U R I E L Wednesday. MY ROYAL HEART : You blame me for not answering your letters in fuller detail. When they come I devour them at a glance. Then I breathe, for there is always a clutching at the heart and a suffocation at the mere sight of your hand. Then I study it, and when I know it by heart, I put it in a little drawer and turn the key and it is mine ! Ah, dearest heart, you cannot know how little I estimate the historical value of daily events. What do I care now what I eat, what I wear, and what people say ! The king may smile ; so do I. He speaks, as if through a long-dis- tance telephone ; I am at the end with you. These other people are but living pictures in a moving gallery ; but through this human veil I see you and only you. Is this unmaidenly to 2 S9 L A U R I E L say? Why should I not tell you every- thing that I feel ? As it is, I do not confide in you a hundredth part. You remember the three mysteries that perplexed the oldest ancients that ever lived, the flight of a bird, the course of a ship, and the way of a man. You, my noble love, have solved the most difficult of these in a way that leaves nothing to be desired. The man- liness that dares and has the " strength of ten because the heart is pure," will always win the maid of its desire. I could no more have escaped your love than the dove could have failed to rest upon the one branch which the descend- ing flood uncovered to its exhausted flight. You must not be troubled that I am not well to-day. Never has my love beat stronger, or clung closer. You say that I am the only one in the world. How much more are you to me you 260 L A U R I E L who are strong and able to protect. Perhaps I may need your power, my Royal, sooner than I suspect. The heart's longing is never intermittent, but the fear is, and to-day it has a pseudo-dominion over me which makes me laugh, for I am yours. Ah, friend of my soul, my love seeks nothing but love in return. Everything is blotted from my heart, from my senses, from my thoughts, but the image of you, and my faith in your love for me. Rather than lose that, I would be smitten by a meteor. I cannot tell how it has all come about. I do not really dare to ask, though I often love to think of it. I suppose that each woman has enshrined in the most secret corner of her heart the mysterious idol of her reveries. It is always of one type, no matter how much she may be diverted from it. It is always the same man ; unconsciously 261 L A U RI E L she seeks for the hero of her dreams, and with every man she meets, her heart cries out, " Is it he ? " Often her inconstancy is real constancy. In her search she may make mistakes. She generally does. An honest girl's flirta- tions are her trials. Her enthusiasm is her hope. Her tragedy begins when she stifles the ideal, and accepts the false reality. I am afraid that most women do this. But when heart goes to heart, and mate recognises mate, then earth holds close to her warm bosom no greater happiness. Thus you came, and I knew you. There can never be any other in the world for me from this time forth. Let me say this again. It is my daily litany I sing. Good night. There is no news, ex- cept that to-day, as every day, I have found a new way of loving you. LAURIEL. 262 L AU R I E L P. S. Now that this love has come to me, I cannot live as other women do. The tongue that distils acid, the mouth that chatters fashion, the heart that seeks diversion, these know no love. I cannot now live as if you did not exist. For the largest heart is not wide enough for a real love. Ah, this love is so heavenly ! It comprehends the high, and excludes the low. I cannot imagine a love without regeneration. It assures a clear heart and a crystal life. Tell me, does it not ? L. P. P. S. Did I tell you that I met the Count Von Schenkendorf the other f day. He is said to be a Goethe in his imperious fascination over women. I looked at him and burned incense to you. 263 L A U R I E L Sunday, the fourth of February. MY DEAR, DEAR ROYAL : I cannot imagine where the time has flown. It is some days since I have written, and your anxiety is just. Many things have happened. I suppose you will want to know that I am feeling much better. The fever has abated, but it has left me not at all myself. I cannot account for the condition I am in. I seem to be walking in a dream, and am continually questioning the past and fearful of the future. Were it not for your dear letters, letters that frighten even as they reassure, I should feel as if I had dragged my moorings. I sup- pose it is just a phase of the fever. The truth of it is, I simply have been unable to write. I tried and tried : and could not do it. I had nothing to say. Nevertheless, I have been unut- 264 L AU R I E L terably comforted by the red light that always burns like a lamp above a shrine. The night that you came I took a tape, placed it in a bath of olive oil, and sur- rounded it with a red, red globe of cut glass. I hung it at the foot of my bed. I have thought of it as your heart, and then as mine, both constant and un- quenched. Then I have looked at your ring. The star gleams so mysteriously under its polished surface. I have won- dered how God got the star into the red stone. Its origin perplexes me. Can't you tell me ? You know everything. Then I have been thinking of you. I am afraid I have been a very selfish girl. I have been absorbed only in my own happiness, and now it is something else that I fear. Questions that may be easy for my heart to answer, I have taken for granted are as easily disposed of by you. But you are so much older, and cannot have the enthusiasm of a 265 L A U R I E L girl of twenty-three, who is made up of nine parts power to love, and the other part longing for love. Have I not de- manded too much ? perhaps given too easily ? I have suddenly realised that you are making a great sacrifice in mar- rying a girl without a cent of money who can bring you only a large heart and an undisciplined life. My practj- cal ignorance would exasperate you at every turn. It is true I could make a presentable hostess on a large income ; but can I make a satisfactory wife on a moderate one ? I confess that I am tormented with doubts. I do not know whether they come from my conscience or my intellect. But let me divert you from so gloomy a subject as my anxiety, to our little trip. I was quite ill, and Papa put his foot down, as papas will, even out of story-books, and arranged for a two days' trip on the water. The torpedo- 266 L AU R I EL boat, fitted with Papa's new motor, was finished long before expectation, and put at his disposal. Duke Constan- tine took command to make observa- tions and tests for the government. They planned to run a hundred miles or so, to the islands, spend the night there, and return the next day. The sea was choppy, and the boat pitched frightfully. It is about two hundred feet long and only thirty-two feet broad. You can imagine the result. I was terribly seasick. It was a new experience, and I could have died. Papa was very kind, and suggested that the grand duke see whether hypno- tism would not abate the suffering. Naturally I indignantly refused. The duke was very kind, and did not insist. He kept away, instinctively knowing, I suppose, that a man is hateful to a woman in that condition. Then I be- came worse. I suppose it was the 267 L A U R I E L malaria and mal-de-mer combined. At last, too weak to refuse any more, I consented. Papa fixed me in a chair in the stuffy cabin ; and Constantine made his ridiculous passes over my head. I was too ill to see him, and kept my eyes closed. Pretty soon I fell asleep, and when I woke up I felt de- cidedly relieved. Constantine was just leaving, and Papa looked out for me like a mother. I have never known him kinder or^more thoughtful. He is a dear. As soon as I was able to get up on deck, I felt better than I had for days. The fever was gone, the sea- sickness gone, and I was in a fine condition. Isn't that a wonderful power, to be able to relieve suffering like that? I never dreamed it possible. Then Papa and the duke together explained the torpedo-boat in all its parts. It was even more exciting than automobiling. What magic has the 268 L AU R I EL power of flight, whether on sea or land ! There we flew at the rate of thirty-five knots an hour. Think of that ! The whole boat was one cataract of spray. The conning-tower was the only livable place on deck, and /steered. Then we came back. It seemed as if a new world had opened up. To be able to go on such splendid boats to cut the water like an express train to have the exhilaration and the sense of power I really began to envy Con- stantine, for the first time. Ah, what a life is that of the sailor in command ! Wouldn't you have enjoyed it ? But, I am ashamed to say it, I did not have time to think even of you, after I be- came well. I had no idea there was so much in hypnotism. I must look into it some more. The duke has been in once or twice, and made some experi- ments that are certainly fascinating, but I don't suppose they would interest 269 L A U R I E L you, who are so tremendously prac- tical. There isn't much more news. Papa plans to take us to Paris shortly. He is to interest the French government in one of his inventions, and President Loubet has promised him an audience. We may not go alone, but I -can't tell you yet just who will make up the party. The queen gives a little luncheon to me day after to-morrow. There will only be the R. F. and no others present except uncle and aunt and Papa. I expect a lively time with George. I haven't seen much of him lately. I sup- pose either he or I have been too busy. To-morrow afternoon I play in one of those inevitable tournaments, and have for the first time consented that the duke shall be my partner. Indeed, he has done so much for me that I had not the heart to refuse him again. You ask me the name of my perfume. 270 L AU R I E L That is a secret I shall never divulge even to my husband, unless I adore him to death. Write me as soon as you can. I must stop here and try on a foolish dress. Very affectionately, LAURIEL. 271 L AU R I E L TELEGRAM Feb. 8. To ROYAL STRONG, Corinth, Greece: Do not pay attention to letter of Sunday. I was not myself. Await letter written to-day. L. 272 L A U R I E L February the eighth. OH my love, my own ! What have I done ! Of what treason of the heart have I been guilty ? What loss of faith in myself do I not deserve ? I have betrayed you and myself. I have noth- ing left but your inexhaustible well of love upon which I can draw for free- dom. Do you know, my Rex, that I am writing upon my knees, just as my soul is bowed and pleading before the throne of your tenderness for pardon ? I must tell you, and, believe me, I do so with no idea of excusing myself, but only with horror at my own weakness and unworthiness. It is over a week now that I have lived in a trance. This morning I was trying to open my eyes. They did not seem to respond to my will. I tried again and again in vain. Then I lay back and wondered. What 273 L A U R I E L did this strange state mean ? It seemed as if some mysterious, great exertion had been expended upon the will rather than upon the muscles. I tried to cry out; I could not utter a sound. I tried to move. I could not stir. It then occurred to me that I was either very ill or The other terrible possibility yes, it must be so. I was in a hypnotic trance, and help- less, under the power of some one else. Instantly, rigid as I was, the whole terrible situation swept before my mind. The duke's cure of seasickness his experiments, in which I had been his principal without realising it the peculiar and inexplicable change of mental horizon which then seemed to demand no explanation, and was per- fectly natural the foggy state of mind in which my body groped and over and above all, the fact that you inta- glio of my heart had become sud- denly dim to my thoughts. 274 L A U R I E L It was unbelievable. It was horrible. Helpless as I felt, I knew that the hour of struggle must come with the flash of enlightenment. But how? Desper- ately I began to repeat your dear name a name that is henceforth my talis- man. And as I said " Royal " and my heart said " Rex," and my soul echoed " King," somehow the tension of my muscles relaxed, and pretty soon, with- out effort, as easily as a girl looks up into her lover's face, I opened my eyes and I opened my whole nature, and looked up to you. You were there, and you took me in your arms and saved me. Oh, the indignity, the mortification of it! Am I a weak fool to be the sport of a charlatan who waves his hands and makes a few passes over my head ? How you must despise me ! but in your moments of highest indig- nation not so deeply as I despise my- 275 L AU R I E L self. To think that I could have so easily fallen into so impious a plot against my soul ! That my father could have abetted this dishonour I cannot believe, and that the brother of the king should have descended to such imposi- tion, I cannot understand ! But that I, your promised wife, I who adore you with every fibre of my being, who cling to you as to God, could fail for the pettiest part of a second in my alle- giance to and dependence upon you, that, that will always be the dark mys- tery of my life. Ah, my own, can you believe ? Will you forgive ? But what shall I do ? I am locked in here alone. Aunt Niobe ? I cannot trust her love. Her ambition smothers it. Papa ? He can never be the same to me again. As for the Grand Duke Constantine, it is the last time I shall ever allow my eyes to meet his. I shall never speak to him again, nor will I 276 L AU KIEL ever soil paper with his name. I can think of nobody but Aunt Lucy. She may help me, I do not know. If you should write to her but again I can- not tell. I may enclose a line from her to you, but she may refuse. Only one thing I do know, and that is, I must leave here. I dare not stay. Help me ! I am in peril. Save me ! You are my star, and I turn to you with a faith that would create a pardon- ing heart within you if it were not already there. My love, my love, the time has come for you to save me, and it will need the strength by which you won me. If you love me, if you want me, you must come and come quickly. Now I am a self- condemned prisoner. For freedom's sake I have shut myself in, and I prom- ise you I shall see no one, excepting Aunt Lucy, until you come. Dare you take the responsibility? It is a great 277 L A U R I E L step. It will be a final one. Does your heart falter? Ah, my love is so great that it would rather condemn me to eternal solitude than accept you with the slightest doubt in your soul, or with an infinitesimal reluctance in your heart For what I give, you, my Royal, take. You take a love shorn of its conceits, but stronger for its atone- ment you take a girl who brings nothing but a heart's devotion you take her away from kindred into a new world, and into an unknown land you take a poor girl, Royal. And she she could die for you, but she trembles to be yours, wholly yours, for you are all she has in the world. You have said, dearest, how often ? that whenever I was ready to be your wife, you needed only a word, a sign Love, will you take me now ? Come quickly ! And let me know the moment you arrive. How can it be arranged ? 178 L A U R I E L I leave everything to you. What you command, I shall do what you will, I shall wish. Ah, but how I hate this secrecy this scurrying this mantle thrown upon our love. I would blazen it before the world. When I think of you, I suffocate with pride. I cannot believe my good fortune to have for a husband the noblest man I ever knew. What queen ever received such a gift? I want to cry your name out in the streets. I want every one that looks upon my face to read "Royal" upon my forehead. I wish it were branded there. How proud I should be. But in his present frame of mind, I cannot tell what Papa might do. I now understand his tenderness of the last few days. The spell was working. Oh, what sacrifice can wash that in- dignity away ? But he is a very angry man. I do 279 L A U R I E L not want to escape like a discovered burglar. I wish to walk out quietly some sunny morning very soon go to the little American church, and be married. Then we will cast one shadow, instead of two, my love and so defy the world. There is a steamer sailing next Tuesday. Can we catch that, and leave this accursed country, and go home? Home! There are four words in the language that move the harshest nature, and control the most fickle. Home ! Love! Husband! Wife! There is the whole wide world to me and to every true woman and true man, I believe. These comprehend all, and without are the unhappy prisoners of solitude and self. I never dreamed that life could be so wonderful. You asked me once if I could be satisfied with the perfect quiet of a life beloved. A thousand times yes ! For such temperamental 280 L A U R I E L constancy as ours can never allow monotony to enter, and destroy the Eden that we shall build. Tears blind me as I write. They flow from a heart wounded with con- trition, and to be healed by an eternity of love. They flow with the longing for rest, and with the hope of being comforted. They flow with awe of quick approaching happiness. They flow because the minutes are so slow and empty without you. They flow because I am a woman, and have sur- rendered my life into the keeping of a man, and have no mother on whose bosom I can weep. Come, my love, my luxury of the heart, lord of my life, come to LAURIEL. P. S. Do not telegraph, but come, and send word on your arrival. 381 L A U R I E L Sunday the eleventh. MY ROYAL HEART : " He has come ! He has come ! " So runs the reveille of my soul. You cannot imagine what celestial happiness your presence brings. Your letter, breathing your loyalty and longing, bathes me with peace. You are here. I can almost see you walking on the Plaza. I can almost hear your voice, and feel your protecting arms. Ah, my Rex, you have forgiven me. You even understand, and make ex- planations, and forge excuses. That you love me and will care for me is all I hope for. I have no home but your arms; no future but your tender- ness ; no eternity but your love. Dear! What you will, I wish. What you command, I do. Arrange it as you please. Plan it as you can. In 282 L A U R I E L any way you choose, at any hour you name, I am yours. I am supposed to be ill in my room, and have refused an invitation to a royal lunch for that reason. I cannot leave these four walls until I leave them for ever and for you. I send this by Aunt Lucy's maid. Dear Aunt Lucy! She will stand by us. May the God of a motherless girl bless her for it, for ever and ever. The hour has come for me, when my faith in the man I love supremely ar- rives at its final test. I do not find it necessary to summon strength for my faith. The store seems inexhaustible. For, were it not for your delicate chivalry, as well as your conquering manliness, I could never call you hus- band. Be it now as you will and when you will I am yours. LAURIEL. Answer by the maid. 283 L A U R I E L Evening of the same day. MY love, my love, your answer has come. What strength you have ! How wise you are! Day after to-morrow I shall be born again into a new world. How fluffy and insignificant seems the one I am leaving ! How beautiful death would be if, like marriage, it took the body as well as the soul away from its earthly habitation ! I do not know whether a revolution is unconsciously taking place within me, but I feel calm, and it seems perfectly natural for me to be preparing my things to be with you. Ay, Joy, where is thy sting! Only that Papa is not with me. Why did he not plot for my happiness rather than for his ambi- tion ? My great joy could have so easily included him, and all those who 284 L AU RI E L wish me happiness in their way, not in thine and mine. A thousand meanings spring where none were yesterday, now that the decision is made. There is a drawer full of ribbons and furbelows. What shall I choose for you ? Do you re- member the dress I wore that day on the rocks at Eastern Point? That I shall take if not another one; and the pink ribbons I wore when I was a Dresden shepherdess at the masked ball that night when you first kissed me. Ah, the sacredness of sharing the whole world of life with the man you love ! Does my note breathe a " be- witching perfume ? " You shall know its simple secret soon. I am so glad you have decided on the little American church. I do not care before how many or how few whether as a princess or as a beggar-maid but 285 L A U R I E L I do want to be married in church. You knew that, did you not, you intuitive man? I look for a good-morning note sent by my royal lover to LAURIEL. 286 L A U R I EL Monday. MY DARLING : As the Day of Life approaches it seems to me, at moments, almost like the Day of Death so solemn and so sacred is its counte- nance, and so utterly does it put an end to all my past, and so blessedly does it make the beginning to all my future. It is as if I read the last page in a long volume and shut the book ; and took up another, and sat hesitating and trem- bling before the first chapter. No, no! I do not hesitate, Love, I do not hesitate, but I tremble oh, I cannot help it! If I did not know how noble you are, if I did not trust you more than I trust myself, and love you as no other man could be loved by any woman I should be afraid. For it is a plunge in the dark that we take, Royal, over the edge of fate. Other 287 L A U R I E L girls marry in sunlight, and flowers, and on Wilton carpets, and with their mother's tears upon their faces, and their father takes them on his strong arm and "gives them away" to him who is lord of their lives. You and I must trust the precipice, and dare the dark. If we find ourselves in some sunny meadow, smiling and safe, and if people forgive us and love us still - that will be well. But, if we leap into a midnight sea, and must swim for our lives and our love and our happiness and if nobody is kind to us, nobody in the world we shall be together. What do I care ? I care for nothing if I am with you. I want nothing but to be yours. There is no life for me without you. Anything that life brings me through you or because of you I am ready for. Dear ! Have you ever thought that perhaps we may not always have quite 288 L AU R I E L an easy life ? That we may have some troubles that will be hard to bear ? I have never experienced hardship, but I am not afraid of it. I am only afraid lest my inexperience should make it harder for you when it comes to us. Teach me, you who are wiser and braver than I ! I will learn from you so gladly, so gently Ah, what can I say? for the tears splash on my paper, and my face is wet. I cannot see the words I write. ... I love you. I wish I were a thousand fold the girl I am. . . . for I love you. I wish I could bring you peace and ease and delight, and all the glories and roses of this world for I do love you. Instead, I bring you new cares, burdens, trials a penniless, troubled, homeless girl who has nothing for you but her love and herself, and is altogether glad to be YOUR LAURIEL. 289 L A U R I E L Monday evening. I have just time to send this to you. I hope that it will be the last letter that I shall write you for a long, long while. The little baggage that I can get out of the house will be at the wharf to-night in charge of uncle's dragoman. Aunt Lucy will go to the church with me to- morrow. We shall walk out quietly, and be at the church at five minutes be- fore ten ; Aunt Niobe has been " going on " so much she does not yet suspect the upheaval. Would that I could con- fide in Papa, but he is conspiring what, I do not know, with that other. It will be a thunderbolt, but he has cut me off if I do not accept his will. I have taken the poor man at his word. We will try not to render anger for anger for we gain all that he loses. I am very tired, and waiting. In 290 L A U R I E L fifteen hours we shall belong to each other for ever. The star in my ruby flashes expectantly. I blush to look at it. I do not seem to find it possible to write. My heart is too full. It brims over with silence. May this be the last time I sign myself, Your LAURA L. LIVINGSTONE. 291 L A U R I E L February 13, 1901. MY PRECIOUS HUSBAND: It seems ages since you have left me, yet only a few hours have dragged their heavy weight since we clung and parted. If I had been left alone I could not have borne the cruel solitude. The trees seem to hang motionless in the dead atmosphere ; the birds do not sing. I am bereaved, and nature herself seems to be a mourner with me. But now, thou soul of my soul, I am not un- happy, although I am cut in twain. For our child is sleeping quietly at my side, as I pour my heart out to his father. What a horrible thing is this busi- ness that separates husband and wife on the anniversary of their first wed- ding-day ! And it is our first real sepa- ration at that. This vortex of struggle 292 L AU R I E L for life itself is so terrible, and yet so sweet. Tell me again, my heart, if I have been a helpful wife to you, and that the joy is master of the burdens? A wife cannot hear such protestations too often. You took me in your arms for the last time this morning, and made me the beautiful wedding-gift of being a bride another year. Your exquisite tenderness touched my heart so that I could not speak. But happy tears flow as I write. For now that you are away, I can see more clearly, and tell you better, all that my husband has been to me. Ah, dearest, we have poured our love at each other's feet, and the incense of our sacred happiness must have arisen to the throne of God. It has filled me with a great reverence. A love that has borne this holy fruit at my side can never die. Who dares say that the soul is not immortal ? If love 2 93 L A U R I E L is everlasting, life must be not less so. In all this blessed year, not a word, not a look of anger or of reproach, and you know that your little girl has merited both many a time. And you have been so tender, and yet so firm. For you are my lord and king, and my life and the fulness thereof is dedicated to you. Night after night I have lain awake, too happy to sleep and morning after morning I have pretended sleep for the joy of being awakened by your tender kiss. Then you made me your comrade and your confidante, and I began to like you even as I loved you. What perfect companionship has been ours ! moving here and there over the West ! What glorious sport in surmounting each difficulty as it arose together. You are mine, and I love you. Then then, my husband, the prom- ise came, and you prepared this dear 294 L A U R I E L little home, and here we are. You did not leave me, and God gave us a son, and in the giving took nothing away from us, not even the mother's strength, which so many poor mothers lose in their joy. Your son Royal the Sec- ond (how do you like the reading of it ? Is it not beautiful and strange ?) looks so much like his father that I could love him to death. Even now he moves his little baby fingers and calls for me. Can you spare me a few moments to my happiness ? Afternoon. Royal, Royal, my husband, how can I be away from you so long! And I must tell you, such a wonderful thing has happened. And oh, if you were only here, I should be so happy that it seems to me I could hardly bear it and live. The baby had been asleep on my bed but a few minutes, and I was just 2 9S L A U R I E L starting to finish this to you, when the door-bell rang. " A gentleman wishes to see Mrs. Strong," said the maid. " He has come in a carriage, ma'am." So I fixed myself a little, for I had my hair braided down my back as you like it, and I kissed our little Rex and hurried down. Out of the corner of the room rose, stately, with silk hat and cane in hand Who do you think ? Guess ! Papa ! Dear, dear Papa, whom we have not seen or heard from since we fled like runaway lovers from Tania. I couldn't help it, I just did it. I ran and flung my arms around his neck and kissed him until he well he did and so did I. After we had composed ourselves a little, I drew him to the window, and there saw a lady sitting out in the only carriage that the town boasts. She was taking a pill and I could see 296 L A U R I E L that it was a salmon-coloured pill. But I asked as if I did not know, "Who is that, Papa?" " Tell me one thing," said Papa, very soberly. " Where is Mr. Strong ? " So I told him you had just started on an important trip to Chicago to meet a syndicate. " It is our first separation," I said, " our very first." He put his hands on my shoulders. His face worked. " Is he good to you ? " he asked, solemnly. " He is the noblest, he is the best husband in the world, and I am the happiest woman in North America." " And don't you mind this ? " With a sweep of his hand he indicated as delicately as he could, the plainness of our home, and the simplicity of my gown. I think I drew myself up just a little. " I love it, Papa," I said, " I love it 297 L A U R I E L all. I wouldn't change it for the world!" " I think," said Papa, " I'll ask Niobe to step in." So Aunt Niobe came in, and we kissed and cried, while Papa watched us, crumpling up his handkerchief in an embarrassed way. Then I said, " Don't you want to see the baby ? You mustn't wake him, he has just had his dinner and has gone to sleep." So they came up to our room. Aunt Niobe kneeled and kissed the baby's cheek. But Papa looked down at his grandson with twitching lips. Aunt Niobe kept saying, " What a beautiful baby ! " I never liked Aunt Niobe so much before. She is growing just like other people. They are going to stay to-night and perhaps until you come back, if you hurry up. Poor Papa is much changed and he says he wants us to live some- 298 L A U R I E L where else. But no other place will be the home that this dear little house is, where our baby was born. Yes, Papa has forgiven us, bless him for it, like a father in a play only quietly, and naturally, and not like fathers in plays, and before he goes to bed he will say that his daughter was wiser than he, because she followed the lord of her heart wherever love led the way. There is no other wisdom in the word than that. Papa and Aunt Niobe are talking down-stairs. I must hurry this for the evening mail. I will take it to the office myself, and Papa will walk with me while Aunt Niobe watches the baby. If you were here, it would be a won- derful anniversary. The warm sun charges life with glory, and makes me breathe deep and rejoice. I do not know what the next year will 299 L A U R I E L bring. If it shall bring fortune it may be good, but it cannot bring greater happiness than you have bestowed upon me. More joy would be too much. I would rather live in a hovel and work my fingers to the bone than have money taint such a heaven of happiness as ours. For I have known riches and experi- enced love, and have found that the first is poverty, and the last is wealth, and that there is nothing on earth worth having but a love like ours. I kiss you, oh, my husband, a thou- sand times. My lips are cold, my arms are empty, and the night is long.. Ah, but you have left yourself behind, and as I press your son to my bosom, I clasp you, and I am happy and content. The hour that brings you close to my loving heart will be the happiest hour I have ever known. Your adoring wife, LAURIEL. 300 L A U R I E L P. S. I enclose a flower for you to put in your pocket. Of course I have kissed it. Do you think, sir, I shall tell you how many times ? Every moment I look for a tele- gram for YOUR WIFE. THE END. 301 NEW FICTION Captain Ravenshaw BY ROBERT NEILSON STEPHENS AUTHOR OF "PHILIP WINWOOD," "AN ENEMY TO THE KING," ETC., ETC. Beautifully illustrated I2mo, cloth, $1.50 Jit Not since the absorbing adventures of D'Artagnan have we had anything so good in the blended vein of romance and comedy. Mr. Stephens in his latest novel has given us a tale to gratify the taste of his most ardent admirers. The background of Elizabethan London, with its narrow streets and dark houses, gives excellent scope for deeds of enterprise and of worth. The beggar student, the rich goldsmith, the roisterer and the rake, the fop and the maid, are all here : foremost among them, Captain Ravenshaw himself, soldier of fortune and adventurer, who, after escapades of binding interest, finally wins a way to fame and to matrimony. The rescue of a maid from the designs of an unscrupulous father and rakish lord forms the principal and underlying theme, around which incidents group themselves with sufficient rapidity to hold one's attention spellbound. "Captain Ravenshaw" is sure to find favor with the public, for in incident, plot, and design the author has sustained, if he has not advanced, the excellence of workmanship which distinguishes his earlier romances. SEND FOR CIRCULARS, CATALOGUES, ETC. NEW FICTION She Stands Alone BEING THE STORY OF PILATE*S WIFE BY MARK ASHTON AUTHOR OF " THE NANA*S TALISMAN," " HAGGITH SHY," ETC. I2mo, cloth decorative, gilt top, with 12 full-page plates, Few novels of the present day can stand comparison with this remarkable book, which must be ranked in modern literature dealing with the early Christian era as only second to "Ben Hur. " Its power, its beauty, and above all its deep earnestness of purpose and won- derful life and vitality, mark it at once as a masterpiece. Mr. Ashton has succeeded in avoiding the faults which have been common in practically all the recent novels based on the religio-historical theme vulgarity and sensationalism. "She Stands Alone," while rapid in movement and intensely dramatic in plot, is pure and noble in every incident. The reader will be charmed by its dignity and power, as well as by its dramatic inci- dents and vivid portrayals of those wonderful early Christians whose faith and self-sacrifice have been the theme of countless writers throughout the ages. SEND FOR CIRCULARS, CATALOGUES, ETC. NEW FICTION The Washingtonians BY PAULINE BRADFORD MACKIE AUTHOR OF