[Illustration: "There are a hundred men beating the mountain to find you"]

The Wild Olive

A Novel

By the author ofThe Inner Shrine

Illustrated byLucius Hitchcock

New YorkGrosset & DunlapPublishers

Published by Arrangement with Harper & Brothers

Copyright, 1910, by Harper & BrothersAll Rights Reserved

Published May, 1910Printed in the United States of America

Part I

Ford

I

Finding himself in the level wood-road, whose open aisle drew a long, straight streak across the sky, still luminous with the late-lingeringAdirondack twilight, the tall young fugitive, hatless, coatless, andbarefooted, paused a minute for reflection. As he paused, he listened; butall distinctiveness of sound was lost in the play of the wind, up hill anddown dale, through chasm and over crag, in those uncounted leagues offorest. It was only a summer wind, soft and from the south; but its murmurhad the sweep of the eternal breath, while, when it waxed in power, itrose like the swell of some great cosmic organ. Through the pines and inthe underbrush it whispered and crackled and crashed, with a variety ofeffect strangely bewildering to the young man's city-nurtured senses. There were minutes when he felt that not only the four country constableswhom he had escaped were about to burst upon him, but that weird armies ofgnomes were ready to trample him down. 

Out of the confusion of wood-noises, in which his unpractised ear coulddistinguish nothing, he waited for a repetition of the shots which a fewhours ago had been the protest of his guards; but, none coming, he sped onagain. He weighed the danger of running in the open against theopportunities for speed, and decided in favor of the latter. Hitherto, inaccordance with a woodcraft invented to meet the emergency, and entirelyhis own, he had avoided anything in the nature of a road or a pathway, inorder to take advantage of the tracklessness which formed his obviousprotection; but now he judged the moment come for putting actual spacebetween his pursuers and himself. How near, or how far behind him, theymight be he could not guess. If he had covered ground, they would havecovered it too, since they were men born to the mountains, while he hadbeen bred in towns. His hope lay in the possibility that in thiswilderness he might be lost to their ken, as a mote is lost in theair--though he built something on the chance that, in sympathy with thefeeling in his favor pervading the simpler population of the region, theyhad given negative connivance to his escape. These thoughts, far fromstimulating a false confidence, urged him to greater speed. 

And yet, even as he fled, he had a consciousness of abandoningsomething--perhaps of deserting something--which brought a strain ofregret into this minute of desperate excitement. Without having had timeto count the cost or reckon the result, he felt he was giving up thefight. He, or his counsel for him, had contested the ground with all theresourceful ingenuity known to the American legal practitioner. He wastold that, in spite of the seeming finality of what had happened thatmorning, there were still loopholes through which the defence might becarried on. In the space of a few hours Fate had offered him the choicebetween two courses, neither of them fertile in promises of success. Theone was long and tedious, with a possibility of ultimate justification;the other short and speedy, with the accepted imputation of guilt. He hadchosen the latter--instinctively and on the spur of the moment; and whilehe might have repeated at leisure the decision he had made in haste, heknew even now that he was leaving the ways and means of proving hisinnocence behind him. The perception came, not as the result of a processof thought, but as a regretful, scarcely detected sensation. 

He had dashed at first into the broken country, hilly rather thanmountainous, which from the shores of Lake Champlain gradually gathersstrength, as it rolls inland, to toss up the crests of the Adirondacks. Here, burying himself in the woods, he skirted the unkempt farms, whosecottage lights, just beginning to burn, served him as signals to keepfarther off. When forced to cross one of the sterile fields, he crawledlow, blotting himself out among the bowlders. At times a patch of tall, tasselled Indian corn, interlaced with wandering pumpkin vines, gave himcover, till he regained the shelter of the vast Appalachian mother-forestwhich, after climbing Cumberlands, Alleghanies, Catskills, andAdirondacks, here clambers down, in long reaches of ash and maple, juniperand pine, toward the lowlands of the north. 

As far as he had yet been able to formulate a plan of flight, it was toseek his safety among the hills. The necessity of the instant was drivinghim toward the open country and the lake, but he hoped to double soon uponhis tracks, finding his way back to the lumber camps, whose friendlyspiriting from bunk-house to bunk-house would baffle pursuit. Once he hadgained even a few hours' security, he would be able to some extent to pickand choose his way. 

He steered himself by the peak of Graytop, black against the lastcoral-tinted glow of the sunset, as a sailor steers by a star. There wasfurther assurance that he was not losing himself or wandering in a circle, when from some chance outlook he ventured to glance backward and saw thepinnacle of Windy Mountain or the dome of the Pilot straight behind him. There lay the natural retreats of the lynx, the bear, and the outlaw likehimself; and, as he fled farther from them, it was with the same frenziedinstinct to return that the driven stag must feel toward the bed of fernfrom which he has been roused. But, for the minute, there was oneimperative necessity--to go on--to go on anywhere, anyhow, so long as ittook him far enough from the spot where masked men had loosed thehandcuffs from his wrists and stray shots had come ringing after him. Inhis path there were lakelets, which he swam, and streams, which he forded. Over the low hills he scrambled through an undergrowth so dense that eventhe snake or the squirrel might have avoided it, to find some easier way. Now and then, as he dragged himself up the more barren ascents, the loosesoil gave way beneath his steps in miniature avalanches of stone and sand, over which he crept, clinging to tufts of grass or lightly rootedsaplings, to rise at last with hands scratched and feet bleeding. Then, onagain!--frantically, as the hare runs and as the crow flies, withoutswerving--on, with the sole aim of gaining time and covering distance!

He was not a native of the mountains. Though in the two years spent amongthem he had come to acknowledge their charm, it was only as a man learnsto love an alien mistress, whose alternating moods of savagery andsoftness hold him with a spell of which he is half afraid. More than anyone suspected or he could have explained, his reckless life had been therebellion of his man-trained, urban instinct against the domination ofthis supreme earth-force, to which he was of no more value than a fallingleaf or a dissolving cloud. Even now, as he flung himself on the forest'sprotection, it was not with the solace of the son returning to the mother;it was rather as a man might take refuge from a lion in a mammoth cavern, where the darkness only conceals dangers. 

After the struggle with crude nature the smooth, grass-carpetedwagon-track brought him more than a physical sense of comfort. It not onlymade his flight swift and easy, but it had been marked out by man, forman's purposes and to meet man's need. It was the result of a humanintelligence; it led to a human goal. It was possible that it might leadeven him into touch with human sympathies With the thought, he becameconscious all at once that he was famished and fatigued. Up to the presenthe had been as little aware of a body as a spirit on its way between twoworlds. It had ached and sweated and bled; but he had not noticed it. Theelectric fluid could not have seemed more tireless or iron more insensate. But now, when the hardship was somewhat relaxed, he was forced back on theperception that he was faint and hungry His speed slackened; his shoulderssagged; the long second wind, which had lasted so well, began to shorten. For the first time it occurred to him to wonder how long his strengthwould hold out. 

It was then that he noticed a deflection of the wood-road toward thenorth, and down over the brow of the plateau on which for a mile or twoits evenness had been sustained. It was a new sign that it was tendingtoward some habitation. Half an hour ago he would have taken this to meanthat he must dash into the forest again; but half an hour ago he had notbeen hungry. He did not say to himself that he would venture to any man'sdoor and ask for bread. So far as he knew, he would never venture to anyman's door again; nevertheless, he kept on, down-hill, and down-hillnearer and nearer the lake, and farther and farther from the mountain andthe lairs of safety. 

Suddenly, at a turning, when he was not expecting it, the wood-roademerged into a rough clearing. Once more he stopped to reflect and takehis bearings. It had grown so dark that there was little danger in doingso; though, as he peered into the gloom, his nerves were still taut withthe expectation of shot or capture from behind. Straining his eyes, hemade out a few acres that had been cleared for their timber, after whichNature had been allowed to take her own way again, in unruly growths ofsaplings, tangles of wild vines, and clumps of magenta fireweed. 

Without quite knowing why he did so, he crept down the slope, feeling hisway among the stumps, and stooping low, lest his white shirt, wet andclinging limply to his body, might betray him to some keen-eyed marksman. Presently one of the old root-hedges, common to the countryside, barredhis path--a queer, twisted line of long, gray tentacles that had oncesucked sustenance from the soil, but now reached up idly into a barrenelement, where the wild grape was covering their grotesque nakedness withmasses of kindly beauty. Below him he saw lights shining clearly like theplanets, or faintly like the mere star-dust of the sky, while between thetwo degrees of brightness he knew there must lie the bosom of the lake. Hehad come to the little fringe of towns that clings to the borders ofChamplain, here with the Adirondacks behind him, and there with themountains of Vermont, but keeping close to the great, safe waterway, asthough distrusting the ruggedness of both. 

It was a moment at which to renew his alarm in this proximity to humandwellings. Like the tiger that has ventured beyond the edge of the jungle, he must slink back at the sight of fire. He turned himself slowly, lookingup the heights from which he had come down, as they rolled behind him, mysterious and hostile, in the growing darkness. Even the sky, from whichit seemed impossible for the daylight ever to depart, now had an angry redglare in it. 

He took a step or two toward the forest, and paused again, still staringupward. Where was he going? Where _could_ he go? The question presenteditself with an odd pertinence that drew his set, beardless lips into akind of smile. When he had first made his rush outward the one thing thatseemed to him essential was to be free; but now he was forced to askhimself: For what purpose? Of what use was it to be as free as wind if hewas to be as homeless? It was not merely that he was homeless for themoment; that was nothing; the overwhelming reflection was that he, NorrieFord, could never have a home at all--that there was scarcely a spotwithin the borders of civilized mankind where the law would not hunt himout. 

This view of his situation was so apparent and yet so new that it held himstock-still, gazing into space. He was free--but free only to crawl backinto the jungle and lie down in it, like a wild beast. 

"But I'm not a wild beast, " he protested, inwardly. "I'm a man--withhuman rights. By God, I'll never let them go!"

He wheeled round again, toward the lower lands and the lake. The lightsglowed more brightly as the darkness deepened, each lamp shining from somelittle nest, where men and women were busied with the small tasks andinterests that made life. This was liberty! This was what he had a claimupon! All his instincts were civilized, domestic. He would not go back tothe forest, to herd with wild nature, when he had a right to lie downamong his kind. He had slept in the open hundreds of times; but it hadbeen from choice. There had been pleasure then, in waking to the smell ofbalsam and opening his eyes upon the stars. But to do the same thing fromcompulsion, because men had closed up their ranks and ejected him fromtheir midst, was an outrage he would not accept. In the darkness his headwent up, while his eyes burned with a fire more intense than that of anyof the mild beacons from the towns below, as he strode back to the oldroot-hedge and leaped it. 

He felt the imprudence, not to say the uselessness, of the movement, as hemade it; and yet he kept on, finding himself in a field in which cows andhorses were startled from their munching by his footstep. It was anotherdegree nearer to the organized life in which he was entitled to a place. Shielded by a shrubbery of sleeping goldenrod, he stole down the slope, making his way to the lane along which the beasts went out to pasture andcame home. Following the trail, he passed a meadow, a potato-field, and apatch of Indian corn, till the scent of flowers told him he was coming ona garden. A minute later, low, velvety domes of clipped yew rose in theforeground, and he knew himself to be in touch with the civilization thatclung, like a hardy vine, to the coves and promontories of the lake, whileits tendrils withered as soon as they were flung up toward the mountains. Only a few steps more, and, between the yews, he saw the light streamingfrom the open doors and windows of a house. 

It was such a house as, during the two years he had spent up in the hightimber-lands, he had caught sight of only on the rare occasions when hecame within the precincts of a town--a house whose outward aspect, even atnight, suggested something of taste, means, and social position for itsoccupants. Slipping nearer still, he saw curtains fluttering in the breezeof the August evening, and Virginia creeper dropping in heavily massedgarlands from the roof of a columned veranda. A French window was open tothe floor, and within, he could see vaguely, people were seated. 

The scene was simple enough, but to the fugitive it had a kind ofsacredness. It was like a glimpse into the heaven he has lost caught by afallen angel. For the moment he forgot his hunger and weakness, in thisfeast for the heart and eyes. It was with something of the pleasure ofrecognizing long-absent faces that he traced the line of a sofa againstthe wall, and stated to himself that there was a row of prints hangingabove it. There had been no such details as these to note in his cell, noryet in the courtroom which for months had constituted his only change ofoutlook Insensibly to himself, he crept nearer, drawn by the sheer spellof gazing. 

Finding a gate leading into the garden, he opened it softly, leaving itso, in order to secure his retreat. From the shelter of one of therounded yew-trees he could make his observations more at ease. Heperceived now that the house stood on a terrace, and turned the gardenfront, its more secluded aspect, in his direction. The high hedges, commonin these lakeside villages, screened it from the road; while the openFrench window threw a shaft of brightness down the yew-tree walk, castingthe rest of the garden into gloom. 

To Norrie Ford, peeping furtively from behind one of the domes of clippedfoliage, there was exasperation in the fact that his new position gave himno glimpse of the people in the room. His hunger to see them became forthe minute more insistent than that for food. They represented that humansociety from which he had waked one morning to find himself cut off, as arock is cut off by seismic convulsion from the mainland of which it hasformed a part. It was in a sort of effort to span the gulf separating himfrom his own past that he peered now into this room, whose inmates wereonly passing the hours between the evening meal and bedtime. That peoplecould sit tranquilly reading books or playing games filled him with a kindof wonder. 

When he considered it safe he slipped along to what he hoped would prove abetter point of view, but, finding it no more advantageous, he darted tostill another. The light lured him as it might lure an insect of thenight, till presently he stood on the very steps of the terrace. He knewthe danger of his situation, but he could not bring himself to turn andsteal away till he had fixed the picture of that cheerful interior firmlyon his memory. The risk was great, but the glimpse of life was worth it. 

With powers of observation quickened by his plight, he noted that thehome was just such a one as that from which he had sprung--one where oldengravings hung on the walls, while books filled the shelves, and papersand periodicals strewed the tables. The furnishings spoke of comfort and amodest dignity. Obliquely in his line of vision he could see two children, seated at a table and poring over a picture-book The boy, a manly urchin, might have been fourteen, the girl a year or two younger. Her curls fellover the hand and arm supporting her cheek, so that Ford could only guessat the blue eyes concealed behind them. Now and then the boy turned a pagebefore she was ready, whereupon followed pretty cries of protestation. Itwas perhaps this mimic quarrel that called forth a remark from some onesitting within the shadow. 

"Evie dear, it's time to go to bed. Billy, I don't believe they let youstay up as late as this at home. "

"Oh yes, they do, " came Billy's answer, given with sturdy assurance. "Ioften stay up till nine. "

"Well, it's half past now; so you'd both better come and say good-night. "

With one foot resting on the turf and the other raised to the first stepof the terrace, as he stood with folded arms, Ford watched the littlescene, in which the children closed their book, pushed back their chairs, and crossed the room to say good-night to the two who were seated in theshadow. The boy came first, with hands thrust into his trousers pockets ina kind of grave nonchalance. The little girl fluttered along behind, butbroke her journey across the room by stepping into the opening of the longwindow and looking out into the night. Ford stood breathless andmotionless, expecting her to see him and cry out. But she turned away anddanced again into the shadow, after which he saw her no more. The silencethat fell within the room told him that the elders were left alone. 

Stealthily, like a thief, Ford crept up the steps and over the turf of theterrace. The rising of the wind at that minute drowned all sound of hismovements, so that he was tempted right on to the veranda, where a coarsematting deadened his tread. He dared not hold himself upright on thisdangerous ground, but, crouching low, he was blotted from sight, while hehimself could see what passed within. He would only, he said, look oncemore into kindly human faces and steal away as he came. 

He could perceive now that the lady who had spoken was an invalidreclining in a long chair, lightly covered with a rug. A fragile, daintylittle creature, her laces, trinkets, and rings revealed her as oneclinging to the elegancies of another phase of life, though Fate had senther to live, and perhaps to die, here on the edge of the wilderness. Hemade the same observation with regard to the man who sat with his back tothe window. He was in informal evening dress--a circumstance that, in thisland of more or less primitive simplicity, spoke of a sense of exile. Hewas slight and middle-aged, and though his face was hidden, Ford receivedthe impression of having seen him already, but from another point of view. His habit of using a magnifying-glass as, with some difficulty, he read anewspaper in the light of a green-shaded lamp, seemed to Ford especiallyfamiliar, though more pressing thoughts kept him from trying to rememberwhere and when he had seen some one do the same thing within the recentpast. 

As he crouched by the window watching them, it came into his mind thatthey were just the sort of people of whom he had least need to be afraid. The sordid tragedy up in the mountains had probably interested themlittle, and in any case they could not as yet have heard of his escape. Ifhe broke in on them and demanded food, they would give it to him as tosome common desperado, and be glad to let him go. If there was any one toinspire terror, it was he, with his height, and youth, and wildness ofaspect. He was thinking out the most natural method of playing some smallcomedy of violence, when suddenly the man threw down the paper with asigh. On the instant the lady spoke, as though she had been awaiting hercue. 

"I don't see why you should feel so about it, " she said, making an effortto control a cough. "You must have foreseen something of this sort whenyou took up the law. "

The answer reached Ford's ears only as a murmur, but he guessed its importfrom the response. 

"True, " she returned, when he had spoken, "to foresee possibilities is onething, and to meet them is another; but the anticipation does something tonerve one for the necessity when it comes. "

Again there was a murmur in which Ford could distinguish nothing, butagain her reply told him what it meant. 

"The right and the wrong, as I understand it, " she went on, "is somethingwith which you have nothing to do. Your part is to administer the law, notto judge of how it works. "

Once more Ford was unable to catch what was said in reply, but once morethe lady's speech enlightened him. 

"That's the worst of it? Possibly; but it's also the best of it; for sinceit relieves you of responsibility it's foolish for you to feel remorse. "

What was the motive of these remarks? Ford found himself possessed of astrange curiosity to know. He pressed as closely as he dared to the opendoor, but for the moment nothing more was said. In the silence thatfollowed he began again to wonder how he could best make his demand forfood, when a sound from behind startled him. It was the sound which, amongall others, caused him the wildest alarm--that of a human footstep. Hisnext movement came from the same blind impulse that sends a hunted fox totake refuge in a church--eager only for the instant's safety. He hadsprung to his feet, cleared the threshold, and leaped into the room, before the reflection came to him that, if he was caught, he must at leastbe caught game. Wheeling round toward the window-door through which he hadentered, he stood defiantly, awaiting his pursuers, and heedless of theastonished eyes fixed upon him. It was not till some seconds had gone by, and he realized that he was not followed, that he glanced about the room. When he did so it was to ignore the woman, in order to concentrate all hisgaze on the little, iron-gray man who, still seated, stared at him, withlips parted. In his own turn, Norrie Ford was dumb and wide-eyed inamazement It was a long minute before either spoke. 

"You?"

"You?"

The monosyllable came simultaneously from each. The little woman got toher feet in alarm. There was inquiry as well as terror in herface--inquiry to which her husband felt prompted to respond. 

"This is the man, " he said, in a voice of forced calmness, "whom--whom--we've been talking about. "

"Not the man--you--?"

"Yes, " he nodded, "the man I--I--sentenced to death--this morning. "

II

"Evie!"

Mrs. Wayne went to the door, but on Ford's assurance that her child hadnothing to fear from him, she paused with her hand on the knob to look incuriosity at this wild young man, whose doom lent him a kind offascination. Again, for a minute, all three were silent in the excess oftheir surprise. Wayne himself sat rigid, gazing up at the new-comer withstrained eyes blurred with partial blindness. Though slightly built anddelicate, he was not physically timid; and as the seconds went by he wasable to form an idea as to what had happened. He himself, in view of thetumultuous sympathy displayed by hunters and lumber-jacks with the man whopassed for their boon companion, had advised Ford's removal from thepretty toy prison of the county-town to the stronger one at Plattsville. It was clear that the prisoner had been helped to escape, either beforethe change had been effected or while it was taking place. There wasnothing surprising in that; the astonishing thing was that the fugitiveshould have found his way to this house above all others. Mrs. Wayneseemed to think so too, for it was she who spoke first, in a tone whichshe tried to make peremptory, in spite of its tremor of fear. 

"What did you come here for?"

Ford looked at her for the first time--in a blankness not without a dullelement of pleasure. It was at least two or three years since he had seenanything so dainty--not, in fact, since his own mother died. At all timeshis mind worked slowly, so that he found nothing to reply till sherepeated her question with a show of increased severity. 

"I came here for protection, " he said then. 

His hesitation and bewildered air imparted assurance to his stillastonished hosts. 

"Isn't it an odd place in which to look for that?" Wayne asked, in anexcitement, he strove to subdue. 

The question was the stimulus Ford needed in order to get his wits intoplay. 

"No, " he replied, slowly; "I've a right to protection from the man whosentenced me to death for a crime of which he knows me innocent. "

Wayne concealed a start by smoothing the newspaper over his crossed knees, but he was unable to keep a shade of thickness out of his voice as heanswered:

"You had a fair trial. You were found guilty. You have had the benefit ofall the resources allowed by the law. You have no right to say I know youto be innocent. "

Wholly spent, Ford dropped into a chair from which one of the children hadrisen. With his arm hanging limply over the back he sat staring haggardlyat the judge, as though finding nothing to say. 

"I have a right to read any man's mind, " he muttered, after a long pause, "when it's as transparent as yours. No one had any doubt as to yourconvictions--after your charge. "

"That has nothing to do with it. If I charged in your favor, it wasbecause I wanted you to have the benefit of every possible plea. Whenthose pleas were found insufficient by a jury of your peers--"

Ford emitted a sound that might have been a laugh, had there been mirth init. 

"A jury of my peers! A lot of thick-headed country tradesmen, prejudicedagainst me from the start because I'd sometimes kicked up a row in theirtown! They weren't my peers any more than they were yours!"

"The law assumes all men to be equal--"

"Just as it assumes all men to be intelligent--only they're not. The lawis a very fine theory. The chief thing to be, said against it is that fivetimes out of ten it leaves human nature out of account. I'm condemned todeath, not because I killed a man, but because you lawyers won't admitthat your theory doesn't work. "

He began to speak more easily, with the energy born of his desperatesituation and his sense of wrong. He sat up straighter; the air ofdejection with which he had sunk to the chair slipped from him; his grayeyes, of the kind called "honest, " shot out glances of protest. The elderman found himself once more struggling against the wave of sympathy whichat times in the court-room had been almost too strong for him. He wasforced to intrench himself mentally within the system he served beforebracing himself to reply. 

"I can't keep you from having your opinion--"

"Nor can I save you from having yours. Look at me, judge!" He was boltupright now, throwing his arms wide with a gesture in which there was moreappeal than indignation "Look at me! I'm a strong, healthy-bodied, healthy-minded fellow of twenty-four; but I'm drenched to the skin, I'mhalf naked, I'm nearly dead with hunger, I'm an outlaw for life--andyou're responsible for it all. "

It was Wayne's turn for protest, and though he winced, he spoke sharply. 

"I had my duty to perform--"

"Good God, man, don't sit there and call that thing your duty! You'resomething more than a wheel in a machine. You were a human being beforeyou were a judge. With your convictions you should have come down from thebench and washed your hands of the whole affair. The very action wouldhave given me a chance--"

"You mustn't speak like that to my husband, " Mrs. Wayne broke in, indignantly, from the doorway. "If you only knew what he has suffered onyour account--"

"Is it anything like what I've suffered on his?"

"I dare say it's worse. He has scarcely slept or eaten since he knew hewould have to pass that dreadful sen--"

"Come! come!" Wayne exclaimed, in the impatient tone of a man who puts anend to a useless discussion. "We can't spend time on this subject anylonger. I'm not on my defence--"

"You _are_ on your defence, " Ford declared, instantly. "Even your wifeputs you there. We're not in a courtroom as we were this morning. Circumstantial evidence means nothing to us in this isolated house, whereyou're no longer the judge, as I'm no longer the prisoner. We're just twonaked human beings, stripped of everything but their inborn rights--and Iclaim mine. "

"Well--what are they?"

"They're simple enough. I claim the right to have something to eat, and togo my way without being molested--or betrayed. You'll admit I'm notasking much. "

"You may have the food, " Mrs. Wayne said, in a tone not withoutcompassion. "I'll go and get it. "

For a minute or two there was no sound but that of her cough, as she speddown a passage. Before speaking, Wayne passed his hand across his brow asthough in an effort to clear his mental vision. 

"No; you don't seem to be asking much. But, as a matter of fact, you'redemanding my pledge to my country. I undertook to administer its laws--"

Ford sprang up. 

"You've done it, " he cried, "and I'm the result! You've administered thelaw right up to its hilt, and your duty as a judge is performed. Surelyyou're free now to think of yourself as a man and to treat me as one. "

"I might do that, and still think you a man dangerous to leave at large. "

"But do you?"

"That's my affair. Whatever your opinion of the courts that have judgedyour case, I must accept their verdict. "

"In your official capacity--yes; but not here, as host to the poor dog whocomes under your roof for shelter. My rights are sacred. Even the wildArab--"

He paused abruptly. Over Wayne's shoulder, through the window still opento the terrace, he saw a figure cross the darkness. Could his pursuers bewaiting outside for their chance to spring on him? A perceptible fractionof a second went by before he told himself he must have been mistaken. 

"Even the wild Arab would think them so, " he concluded, his glanceshifting rapidly between the judge and the window open behind him. 

"But I'm not a wild Arab, " Wayne replied. "My first duty is toward mycountry and its organized society. "

"I don't think so. Your first duty is toward the man you know you'vesentenced wrongly. Fate has shown you an unusual mercy in giving you achance to help him. "

"I can be sorry for the sentence and yet feel that I could not have actedotherwise. "

"Then what are you going to do now?"

"What would you expect me to do but hand you back to justice?"

"How?"

There was a suggestion of physical disdain in the tone of the laconicquestion, as well as in the look he fixed on the neat, middle-aged mandoing his best to be cool and collected Wayne glanced over his shouldertoward the telephone on the wall. Norrie Ford understood and spokequickly:

"Yes; you could ring up the police at Greenport, but I could strangle youbefore you crossed the floor. "

"So you could; but would you? If you did, should you be any better off?Should you be as well off as you are now? As it is, there is a possibilityof a miscarriage of justice, of which one day you may get the benefit. There would be no such possibility then. You would be tracked down withinforty-eight hours. "

"Oh, you needn't argue; I've no intention--" Once more he paused. The sameshadow had flitted across the dark space outside, this time with adistinct flutter of a white dress. He could only think it was some onegetting help together; and while he went on to finish his sentence inwords, all his subconscious faculties were at work, seeking an escape fromthe trap in which he was taken. 

"I've no intention of doing violence unless I'm driven to it--"

"But if you are driven to it--?"

"I've a right to defend myself. Organized society, as you call it, has putme where it has no further claim upon me. I must fight against itsingle-handed--and I'll do it. I shall spare neither man nor woman--nor_woman_"--he raised his voice so as to be heard outside--"who stands in myway. "

He threw back his head and looked defiantly out into the night. As if inresponse to this challenge a tall, white figure suddenly emerged from thedarkness and stood plainly before him. 

It was a girl, whose movements were curiously quick and silent, as shebeckoned to him, over the head of the judge, who sat with his back towardher. 

"Then all the more reason why society should protect itself against you, "Wayne began again; but Ford was no longer listening. His attention waswholly fixed on the girl, who continued to beckon noiselessly, flutteringfor an instant close to the threshold of the room, then withdrawingsuddenly to the very edge of the terrace, waving a white scarf in tokenthat he should follow her. She had repeated her action again and again, beckoning with renewed insistence, before he understood and made up hismind. 

"I don't say that I refuse to help you, " Wayne was saying. "My sympathywith you is very sincere. If I can get your sentence commuted--In fact, areprieve is almost certain--"

With a dash as lithe and sudden as that which had brought him in, Ford wasout on the terrace, following the white dress and the waving scarf whichwere already disappearing down the yew-tree walk. The girl's flight overgrass and gravel was like nothing so much as that of a bird skimmingthrough the air. Ford's own steps crunched loudly on the stillness of thenight, so that if any one lay in ambush he knew he could not escape. Hewas prepared to hear shots come ringing from any quarter, but he ran onwith the indifference of a soldier grown used to battle, intent on keepingup with the shadow fleeing before him. 

He followed her through the garden gate he himself had left open, and downthe lane leading to the pasture. At the point where he had entered it fromthe right, she turned to the left, keeping away from the mountains andparallel with the lake. There was no moon, but the night was clear; and nosound but that of the shrill, sustained chorus of insect life. 

Beyond the pasture the lane became nothing but a path, zigzagging up ahillside between patches of Indian corn. The girl sped over it so lightlythat Ford would have found it hard to keep her in sight if from time totime she had not paused and waited. When he came near enough to see theoutlines of her form she flew on again, less like a living woman than amountain wraith. 

From the top of the hill he could see the dull gleam of the lake with itsgirdle of lamp-lit towns. Here the woodland began again; not the main bodyof the forest, but one of its long arms, thrust down over hill and valley, twisting its way in among villages and farm lands. That which had been apath now become a trail, along which the girl flitted with the ease ofhabit and familiarity. 

In the concentration of his effort to keep the moving white spot in viewFord lost count of time. Similarly he had little notion of the distancethey were covering. He guessed that they had been ten or fifteen minuteson the way, and that they might have gone a mile, when, after waiting forhim to come almost near enough to speak to her, she began moving in adirection at an acute angle to that by which they had come. At the sametime he perceived that they were on the side of a low wooded mountain andthat they were beating their way round it. 

All at once they emerged on a tiny clearing--a grassy ledge on the slope. Through the starlight he could see the hillside break away steeply into avaporous gorge, while above him the mountain raised a black dome amid theserried points of the sky-line. The dryad-like creature beckoned himforward with her scarf, until suddenly she stopped with the decisive pauseof one who has reached her goal. Coming up with her, he saw her unlock thedoor of a small cabin, which had hitherto not detached itself from thesurrounding darkness. 

"Go in, " she whispered. "Don't strike a light. There are biscuitssomewhere, in a box. Grope for them. There's a couch in a corner. "

Without allowing him to speak, she forced him gently over the thresholdand closed the door upon him. Standing inside in the darkness, he heardthe grating of her key in the lock, and the rustle of her skirts as shesped away. 

III

From the heavy sleep of fatigue Ford woke with the twittering of birdsthat announces the dawn. His first thought before opening his eyes, thathe was still in his cell, was dispelled by the silky touch of the Sorrentorugs on which he lay. He fingered them again and again in a kind ofwonder, while his still half-slumbering senses struggled for the memory ofwhat had happened, and the realization of where he was. When at last hewas able to reconstruct the events of the preceding night, he raisedhimself on his elbow and peered about him in the dim morning twilight. 

The object he discerned most readily was an easel, giving him the secretof his refuge. On the wooden walls of the cabin, which was fairlyspacious, water-color sketches were pinned at intervals, while on themantelpiece above a bricked fireplace one or two stood framed. Over themantelpiece a pair of snow-shoes were crossed as decorations, betweenwhich hung a view of the city of Quebec. On a lay-figure in a corner wasthrown carelessly the sort of blanket coat worn by Canadians during wintersports. Paints and palettes were arranged on a table by the wall, and on adesk in the middle of the room were writing materials and books. Morebooks stood in a small suspended bookcase. Beside a comfortablereading-chair one or two magazines lay on the floor. His gaze travelledlast to the large apron, or pinafore, on a peg fastened in a doorimmediately beside his couch. The door suggested an inner room, and he gotup promptly to explore it. It proved to be cramped and dark, lighted onlyfrom the larger apartment, which in its turn had but the one high northwindow of the ordinary studio. The small room was little more than a shedor "lean-to", serving the purposes of kitchen and storeroom combined. Thearrangements of the whole cabin showed that some one had built it with aview to passing in seclusion a few days at a time without forsaking thesimpler amenities of civilized life; and it was clear that that "some one"was a woman. What interested Ford chiefly for the moment was the discoveryof a sealed glass jar of water, from which he was able to slake his twentyhours' thirst. 

Returning to the room in which he had slept, he drew back the green silkcurtain covering the north light in order to take his bearings. As he hadguessed on the previous night, the slope on which the cabin was perchedbroke steeply down into a wooded gorge, beyond which the lower hillsrolled in decreasing magnitude to the shore of Champlain, visible fromthis point of view in glimpses, less as an inland sea than like a chain oflakelets. Sunrise over Vermont flooded the waters with tints of rose andsaffron, but made of the Green Mountains a long, gigantic mass ofpurple-black twisting its jagged outline toward the north into the Hog'sBack and the Camel's Hump with a kind of monstrous grace. To the east, inNew York, the Adirondacks, with the sunlight full upon them, shot upjade-colored peaks into the electric blue--the scarred pyramid of Graytopstanding forth dark, detached, and alone, like a battered veteransentinel. 

In an access of conscious hatred of this vast panoramic beauty which hadbecome the background of his tragedy, Ford pulled the curtain into placeagain and turned once more to the interior of the room. It began to seemmore strange to him the more it grew familiar. Why was he here? How longwas he to stay? How was he to get away again? Had this girl caught himlike a rat in a trap, or did she mean well by him? If, as he supposed, shewas Wayne's daughter, she would probably not be slow in carrying out herfather's plan of handing him back to justice--and yet his mind refused toconnect the wraith of the night before with either police work orbetrayal. Her appearance had been so dim and fleeting that he could havefancied her the dryad of a dream, had it not been for his surroundings. 

He began to examine them once more, inspecting the water-colors on thewall one by one, in search of some clew to her personality. The firstsketch was of a nun in a convent garden--the background vaguely French, and yet with a difference. The next was of a trapper, or voyageur, pushinga canoe into the waters of a wild northern lake. The next was a group ofwigwams with squaws and children in the foreground. Then came more nuns;then more voyageurs with their canoes; then more Indians and wigwams Itoccurred to Ford that the nuns might have been painted from life, thevoyageurs and Indians from imagination He turned to the two frameddrawings on the chimney-piece Both represented winter scenes. In the one asturdy voyageur was conveying his wife and small personal belongingsacross the frozen snow on a sled drawn by a team of dogs. In the other awoman, apparently the same woman as in the preceding sketch, had fallen inthe midst of a blinding storm, while a tall man of Europeanaspect--decidedly not the voyageur--was standing beside her with a baby inhis arms. These were clearly fancy pictures, and, so it seemed to Ford, the work of one who was trying to recapture some almost forgotten memory. In any case he was too deeply engrossed by his own situation to dwell onthem further. 

He wheeled round again toward the centre of the room, impatiently castingabout him for something to eat. The tin box, from which he had devouredall the biscuits, lay empty on the floor, but he picked it up and atehungrily the few crumbs sticking in its corners. He ransacked the smalldark room in the hope of finding more, but vainly. As far as he could see, the cabin had never been used for the purpose it was meant to serve, norever occupied for more than a few hours at a time. It had probably beenbuilt in a caprice that had passed with its completion. He guessedsomething from the fact that there was no visible attempt to sketch thescene before the door, though the site had evidently been chosen for itsbeauty. 

He had nothing by which to measure time, but he knew that precious hourswhich he might have utilized for escape were passing. He began to chafe atthe delay. With the impulse of youth to be active, he longed to be out, where he could at least use his feet. His clothes had dried upon him; inspite of his hunger he was refreshed by his night's sleep; he wasconvinced that, once in the open, he could elude capture. He pulled backthe curtain again in order to reconnoitre. It was well to be as familiaras possible with the immediate lay of the land, so as to avail himself ofany advantages it might offer. 

The colors of sunrise had disappeared, and he judged that it must beseven or eight o'clock. Between the rifts of the lower hills the lake wasflashing silver, while where Vermont had been nothing but a mass ofshadow, blue-green mountains were emerging in a triple row, from which thelast veils of vapor were being dragged up into the firmament On the left, the Adirondacks were receding into translucent dimness, in a lilac haze ofheat. 

With an effort to get back the woodcraft suddenly inspired by his firstdash for freedom, he ran his eye over the landscape, noting the pointswith which he was familiar. To the west, in a niche between Graytop andthe double peak of Windy Mountain, he could place the county-town; to thenorth, beyond the pretty headlands and the shining coves, the prison ofPlattsville was waiting to receive him. Farther to the north was Canada;and to the south the great waterway led toward the populous mazes of NewYork. 

With an impatience bordering on nervousness he realized that these generalfacts did not help him. He must avoid the prison and the county-town, ofcourse; while both New York and Canada offered him ultimate chances. Buthis most pressing dangers lurked in the immediate foreground; and there hecould see nothing but an unsuggestive slope of ash and pine. The rapidityof instinct by which last night he had known exactly what to do gave placethis morning to his slower and more characteristic mental processes. 

He was still gazing outward in perplexity, when, through the trees beyondthe grassy ledge, he caught the flicker of something white. He pressedcloser to the pane for a better view, and a few seconds later a girl, whomhe recognized as the nymph of last night, came out of the forest, followed by a fawn-colored collie. She walked smoothly and swiftly, carrying a large basket with her right hand, while with her left shemotioned him away from the window. He stepped back, leaping to the door asshe unlocked it, in order to relieve her of her burden. 

"You mustn't do that, " she said, speaking quickly. "You mustn't look outof the window or come to the door. There are a hundred men beating themountain to find you. "

She closed the door and locked it on the inside. While Ford lifted herbasket to the desk in the centre of the room she drew the green curtainhastily, covering the window. Her movements were so rapid that he couldcatch no glimpse of her face, though he had time to note again the curioussilence that marked her acts. The dog emitted a low growl. 

"You must go in here, " she said, decisively, throwing open the door of theinner room. "You mustn't speak or look out unless I tell you. I'll bringyou your breakfast presently. Lie down, Micmac. "

The gesture by which she forced him across the threshold was compellingrather than commanding. Before he realized that he had obeyed her, he wasstanding alone in the darkness, with the sound of a low voice of liquidquality echoing in his ears. Of her face he had got only the hint of darkeyes flashing with an eager, non-Caucasian brightness--eyes that drewtheir fire from a source alien to that of any Aryan race. 

But he brushed that impression away as foolish. Her words had theunmistakable note of cultivation, while a glance at her person showed herto be a lady. He could see, too, that her dress, though simple, wasaccording to the standard of means and fashion. She was no Pocahontas;and yet the thought of Pocahontas came to him. Certainly there was in hertones, as well as in her movements, something akin to this vast aboriginalnature around him, out of which she seemed to spring as the human elementin its beauty. 

He was still thinking of this when the door opened and she came in again, carrying a plate piled high with cold meat and bread-and-butter. 

"I'm sorry it's only this, " she smiled, as she placed it before him; "butI had to take what I could get--and what wouldn't be missed. I'll try todo better in future. "

He noted the matter-of-fact tone in which she uttered the concludingwords, as though they were to have plenty of time together; but for themoment he was too fiercely hungry to speak. For a few seconds she stoodoff, watching him eat, after which she withdrew, with the light swiftnessthat characterized all her motions. 

He had nearly finished his meal when she returned again. 

"I've brought you these, " she said, not without a touch of shyness, against which she struggled by making her tone as commonplace as possible. "I shall bring you more things by degrees. "

On a chair beside that on which he was sitting she laid a pair ofslippers, a pair of socks, a shirt, a collar, and a tie. 

He jumped up hastily, less in surprise than in confusion. 

"I can't take anything of Judge Wayne's--" he began to stammer; but sheinterrupted him. 

"I understand your feelings about that, " she said, simply. "They're notJudge Wayne's; they were my father's. I have plenty more. "

In his relief at finding she was not Wayne's daughter he spoke awkwardly. 

"Your father? Is he--dead?"

"Yes; he's dead. You needn't be afraid to take the things. He would haveliked to help a man--in your position. "

"In my position? Then you know--who I am?"

"Yes; you're Norrie Ford. I saw that as soon as I chanced on the terracelast night. "

"And you're not afraid of me?"

"I am--a little, " she admitted; "but that doesn't matter. "

"You needn't be--" he began to explain, but she checked him again. 

"We mustn't talk now. I must shut the door and leave you in the dark allday. Men will be passing by, and they mustn't hear you. I shall bepainting in the studio, so that they won't suspect anything, if you keepstill. "

Allowing him no opportunity to speak again, she closed the door, leavinghim once more in darkness. Sitting in the constraint she imposed upon him, he could hear her moving in the outer room, where, owing to the lightnessof the wooden partition, it was not difficult to guess what she was doingat any given moment. He knew when she opened the outer door and moved theeasel toward the entrance. He knew when she took down the apron from itspeg and pinned it on. He knew when she drew up a chair and pretended toset to work. In the hour or two of silence that ensued he was sure that, whatever she might be doing with her brush, she was keeping eye and earalert in his defence. 

Who was she? What interest had she in his fate? What power had raised herup to help him? Even yet he had scarcely seen her face; but he hadreceived an impression of intelligence. He was sure she was no more than agirl--certainly not twenty--and yet she acted with the decision ofmaturity. At the same time there was about her that suggestion of a wildorigin--that something not wholly tamed to the dictates of civilizedlife--which persisted in his imagination, even if he could not verify itin fact. 

Twice in the course of the morning he heard voices. Men spoke to herthrough the open doorway, and she replied. Once he distinguished herwords. 

"Oh no, " she called out to some one at a distance. "I'm not afraid. Hewon't do me any harm. I've got Micmac with me. I often stay here all day, but I shall go home early. Thanks, " she added, in response to some furtherhint. "I'd rather not have any one here. I never can paint unless I'mquite alone. "

Her tone was light, and Ford fancied that as she spoke she smiled at thepassers-by who had thought it right to warn her against himself; but when, a few minutes later, she pushed open the door softly, the gravity thatseemed more natural to her had returned. 

"Several parties of men have gone by, " she whispered. "They have nosuspicion. They won't have, if you keep still. They think you have slippedaway from here, and have gone back toward the lumber camps. This is yourlunch, " she continued, hastily, placing more food before him. "It willhave to be your dinner, too. It will be safer for me not to come into thisroom again to-day. You must not go out into the studio till you're sureit's dark. No noise. No light. I've put an extra rug on the couch in caseyou're chilly in the night. "

She spoke breathlessly, in whispers, and, having finished, slipped away. 

"You're awfully good, " he whispered back. "Won't you tell me your name?"

"Hush!" she warned him, as she closed the door. 

He stood still in the darkness, leaving his food untasted, listening tothe soft rustle of her movements beyond the wall. Except that he heard nomore voices, the afternoon passed like the morning. At the end of whatseemed to him interminable hours he knew by acute attention that she hungher apron on its peg, put on her hat, and took up her basket, while Micmacrose and shook himself. Presently she closed the door of the cabin andlocked it on the outside. He fancied he could almost hear her step as shesped over the grass and into the forest. Only then did the tension of hisnerves relax, as, dropping to his chair in the darkness, he began to eat. 

IV

The two or three days that followed were much like the first. Each morningshe came early, bringing him food, and such articles of clothing as shethought he could wear. By degrees she provided him with a complete changeof raiment, and though the fit was tolerable, they laughed together at thetransformation produced in him. It was the first time he had seen hersmile, and even in the obscurity of the inner room where she still kepthim secluded he noted the vividness with which her habitually gravefeatures lighted up. Micmac, too, became friendly, inferring with theinstinct of his race that Ford was an object to be guarded. 

"No one would know you now, " the girl declared, surveying him withsatisfaction. 

"Were these things all your father's?" he asked, with a new attempt topenetrate the mystery of her personality. 

"Yes, " she returned, absently, continuing her inspection of him. "Theywere sent to me, and I kept them. I never knew why I did; but I suppose itwas--for this. "

"He must have been a tall man?" Ford hazarded, again. 

"Yes, he must have been, " she returned, unwarily. Then, feeling that theadmission required some explanation, she added, with a touch ofembarrassment, "I never saw him--not that I can remember. "

"Then he died a long time ago?"

Her reply came reluctantly, after some delay:

"Not so very long--about four years ago now. "

"And yet you hadn't seen him since you were a child?"

"There were reasons. We mustn't talk. Some one may pass and hear us. "

He could see that her hurry in finishing the small tasks she had come into perform for him arose not so much from precaution as from a desire toescape from this particular subject. 

"I suppose you could tell me his name?" he persisted. 

Her hands moved deftly, producing order among the things he had left inconfusion, but she remained silent. It was a silence in which herecognized an element of protest though he ignored it. 

"You could tell me his name?" he asked, again. 

"His name, " she said, at last, "wouldn't convey anything to you. Itwouldn't do you any good to know it. "

"It would gratify my curiosity. I should think you might do as much asthat for me. "

"I'm doing a great deal for you as it is. I don't think you should ask formore. "

Her tone was one of reproach rather than of annoyance, and he was leftwith a sense of having committed an indiscretion. The consciousnessbrought with it the perception that in a measure he was growing used tohis position. He was beginning to take it for granted that this girlshould come and minister to his wants. She herself did it so simply, somuch as a matter of course, that the circumstance lost much of itsstrangeness. Now and then he could detect some confusion in her manner asshe served him, but he could see too that she surmounted it, in view ofthe fact that for him the situation was one of life and death. She wasclearly not indifferent to elementary social usages; she only saw that thecase was one in which they did not obtain. In his long, unoccupied hoursof darkness it distracted his thoughts from his own peril to speculateabout her; and when she appeared his questions were the more blunt becauseof the small opportunity she allowed for asking them. 

"Won't they miss you at home?" he inquired, on the next occasion when sheentered his cell. 

She paused with a look of surprise. 

"At home? Where do you mean?"

"Why--where you live; where your mother lives. "

"My mother died a few months after I was born. "

"Oh! But even so, you live somewhere, don't you?"

"I do; but they don't miss me there, if that's what you want to know. "

"I was only afraid, " he said, apologetically, "that you were giving me toomuch of your time. "

"I've nothing else to do with it. I shall be only too glad if I can helpyou to escape. "

"Why? Why should you care about me?"

"I don't, " she said, simply; "at least, I don't know that I do. "

"Oh, then you're helping me just--on general principles?"

"Quite so. "

"Well, " he smiled, "mayn't I ask why, again?"

"Because I don't like the law. "

"You mean that you don't like the law as a whole?--or--or this law inparticular?"

"I don't like any law. I don't like anything about it. But, " she added, resorting to her usual method of escape, "we mustn't talk any more now. Some men passed here this morning, and they may be coming back. They'vegiven up looking for you; they are convinced you're up in the lumbercamps, but all the same we must be careful still. "

He had no further speech with her that day, and the next she remained atthe cabin little more than an hour. 

"It's just as well for me not to excite curiosity, " she explained to himbefore leaving; "and you needn't be uneasy now. They've stopped the huntaltogether. They say there's not a spot within a radius of ten miles ofGreenport that they haven't searched. It would never occur to any one thatyou could be here. Every one knows me; and so the thought that I could behelping you would be the last in their minds. "

"And have you no remorse at betraying their confidence?"

She shook her head. "Most of them, " she declared, "are very well pleasedto think you've got away; and even if they weren't I should never feelremorse for helping any one to evade the law. "

"You seem to have a great objection to the law. "

"Well, haven't you?"

"Yes; but in my case it's comprehensible. "

"So it is in mine--if you only knew. "

"Perhaps, " he said, looking at her steadily, "this is as good a time asany to assure you that the law has done me wrong. "

He waited for her to say something; but as she stroked Micmac's head insilence, he continued. 

"I never committed the crime of which they found me guilty. "

He waited again for some intimation of her confidence. 

"Their string of circumstantial evidence was plausible enough, I admit. The only weak point about it was that it wasn't true. "

Even through the obscurity of his refuge he could feel the suspension ofexpression in her bearing, and could imagine it bringing a kind of eclipseover her eyes. 

"He was very cruel to you--your uncle?--wasn't he?" she asked, at last. 

"He was very cantankerous; but that wouldn't be a reason for shooting himin his sleep--whatever I may have said when in a rage. "

"I should think it might be. "

He started. If it were not for the necessity of making no noise he wouldhave laughed. 

"Are you so bloodthirsty--?" he began. 

"Oh no, I'm not; but I should think it is what a man would do. My fatherwouldn't have submitted to it. I know he killed one man; and he may havekilled two or three. "

Ford whistled under his breath. 

"So that, " he said, after a pause, "your objection to the lawis--hereditary. "

"My objection to the law is because it is unjust. The world is full ofinjustice, " she added, indignantly, "and the laws men live by create it. "

"And your aim is to defeat them?"

"I can't talk any more now, " she said, reverting to an explanatory tone ofvoice. "I must go. I've arranged everything for you for the day. If youare very quiet you can sit in the studio and read; but you mustn't lookout at the window, or even draw back the curtain. If you hear a stepoutside, you must creep in here and shut the door. And you needn't beimpatient; because I'm going to spend the day working out a plan for yourescape. "

But when she appeared next morning she declined to give details of theplan she had in mind. She preferred to work it out alone, she said, andgive him the outlines only when she had settled them. It chanced to be aday of drenching summer rain, and Ford, with a renewed effort to get someclew to her identity, expressed his surprise that she should have beenallowed to venture out. 

"Oh, no one worries about what I do, " she said, indifferently "I go aboutas I choose. "

"So much the better for me, " he laughed. "That's how you came to bewandering on old Wayne's terrace, just in the nick of time. What stumps meis the promptness with which you thought of stowing me away. "

"It wasn't promptness, exactly. As a matter of fact, I had worked thewhole thing out beforehand. "

His eyebrows went up incredulously. "For me?"

"No, not for you; for anybody. Ever since my guardian allowed me to buildthe studio--last year--I've imagined how easy it would be for some--somehunted person to stay hidden here, almost indefinitely. I've tried tofancy it, when I've had nothing better to do. "

"You don't seem to have had anything better to do very often, " heobserved, glancing about the cabin. 

"If you mean that I haven't painted much, that's quite true. I thought Icouldn't do without a studio--till I got one. But when I've come here, I'mafraid it's generally been to--to indulge in day-dreams. "

"Day-dreams of helping prisoners to escape. It wouldn't be every girl'sfancy, but it's not for me to complain of that. "

"My father would have wanted me to do it, " she declared, as if inself-justification. "A woman once helped him to get out of prison. "

"Good for her! Who was she?"

Having asked the question lightly, in a boyish impulse to talk, he wassurprised to see her show signs of embarrassment. 

"She was my mother, " she said, after an interval in which she seemed to bemaking up her mind to give the information. 

In the manifest difficulty she had in speaking, Ford sprang to her aid. 

"That's like the old story of Gilbert à Becket--Thomas à Becket's father, you know. "

The historical reference was received in silence, as she bent over thesmall task she had in hand. 

"He married the woman who helped him out of prison, " Ford went on, for herenlightenment. 

She raised her head and faced him. 

"It wasn't like the story of Gilbert à Becket, " she said, quietly. 

It took some seconds of Ford's slow thinking to puzzle out the meaning ofthis. Even then he might have pondered in vain had it not been for theflush that gradually over-spread her features, and brought what he calledthe wild glint into her eyes. When he understood, he reddened in his ownturn, making matters worse. 

"I beg your pardon, " he stammered. "I never thought--"

"You needn't beg my pardon, " she interrupted, speaking with a catch in herbreath. "I wanted you to know. .. . You've asked me so many questions thatit seemed as if I was ashamed of my father and mother when I didn'tanswer. .. . I'm not ashamed of them. .. . I'd rather you knew. .. . Every onedoes--who knows me. "

Half unconsciously he glanced up at the framed sketches on thechimney-piece. Her eyes followed him, and she spoke instantly:

"You're quite right. I meant that--for them. "

They were standing in the studio, into which she had allowed him to comefrom the stifling darkness of the inner room, on the ground that the rainprotected them against intrusion from outside. During their conversationshe had been placing the easel and arranging the work which formed herpretext for being there, while Micmac, stretched on the floor, with hishead between his paws, kept a half-sleepy eye on both of them. 

"Your father was a Canadian, then?" he ventured to ask, as she seatedherself with a palette in her hand. 

"He was a Virginian. My mother was the wife of a French-Canadian voyageur. I believe she had a strain of Indian blood. The voyageurs and theirfamilies generally have. "

Having recovered her self-possession, she made her statements in thematter-of-fact tone she used to hide embarrassment flicking a little colorinto the sketch before her as she spoke. Ford seated himself at adistance, gazing at her with a kind of fascination. Here, then, was theclew to that something untamed which persisted through all the effects oftraining and education, as a wild flavor will last in a carefullycultivated fruit. His curiosity about her was so intense that, notwithstanding the difficulty with which she stated her facts, itovercame his prompting to spare her. 

"And yet, " he said, after a long pause, in which he seemed to beassimilating the information she had given him--"and yet I don't see howthat explains _you_. "

"I suppose it doesn't--not any more than your situation explains you. "

"My situation explains me perfectly, because I'm the victim of a wrong. "

"Well, so am I--in another way. I'm made to suffer because I'm thedaughter of my parents. "

"That's a rotten shame, " he exclaimed, in boyish sympathy "It isn't yourfault. "

"Of course it isn't, " she smiled, wistfully. "And yet I'd rather sufferwith the parents I have than be happy with any others. "

"I suppose that's natural, " he admitted, doubtfully. 

"I wish I knew more about them, " she went on, continuing to give lighttouches to the work before her, and now and then leaning back to get theeffect. "I never understood why my father was in prison in Canada. "

"Perhaps it was when he killed the man, " Ford suggested. 

"No; that was in Virginia--at least, the first one. His people didn't likeit. That was the reason for his leaving home. He hated a settled life; andso he wandered away into the northwest of Canada. It was in the days whenthey first began to build the railways there--when there were almost nopeople except the trappers and the voyageurs. I was born on the veryshores of Hudson Bay. "

"But you didn't stay there?"

"No. I was only a very little child--not old enough to remember--when myfather sent me down to Quebec, to the Ursuline nuns. He never saw meagain. I lived with them till four years ago. I'm eighteen now. "

"Why didn't he send you to his people? Hadn't he sisters?--or anythinglike that. "

"He tried to, but they wouldn't have anything to do with me. "

It was clearly a relief to her to talk about herself. He guessed that sherarely had an opportunity of opening her heart to any one. Not till thismorning had he seen her in the full light of day; and, though but animmature judge, he fancied her features had settled themselves into linesof reserve and pride from which in happier circumstances they might havebeen free. Her way of twisting her dark hair--which waved over the browsfrom a central parting--into the simplest kind of knot gave her an air ofsedateness beyond her years. But what he noticed in her particularly washer eyes--not so much because they were wild, dark eyes, with the peculiarfleeing expression of startled forest things, as because of the pleading, apologetic look that comes into the eyes of forest things when they standat bay. It was when--for seconds only--the pupils shone with a jet-likeblaze that he caught what he called the non-Aryan effect; but that glowdied out quickly, leaving something of the fugitive appeal which Hawthornesaw in the eyes of Beatrice Cenci. 

"He offered his sisters a great deal of money, " she sighed, "but theywouldn't take me. "

"Oh? So he had money?"

"He was one of the first Americans to make money in the Canadiannorthwest; but that was after my mother died. She died in the snow, on ajourney--like that sketch above the fireplace. I've been told that itchanged my father's life. He had been what they call wild before that--buthe wasn't so any more. He grew very hard-working and serious. He was oneof the pioneers of that country--one of the very first to see itspossibilities. That was how he made his money; and when he died he left itto me. I believe it's a good deal. "

"Didn't you hate being in the convent?" he asked, suddenly "I should. "

"N-no; not exactly. I wasn't unhappy. The Sisters were kind to me. Some ofthem spoiled me. It wasn't until after my father died, and I began torealize--who I was, that I grew restless. I felt I should never be happyuntil I was among people of my own kind. "

"And how did you get there?"

She smiled faintly to herself before answering. 

"I never did. There are no people of my kind. "

Embarrassed by the stress she seemed inclined to lay on this circumstance, he grasped at the first thought that might divert her from it. 

"So you live with a guardian! How do you like that?"

"I should like it well enough if he did--that is, if his wife did. Yousee, " she tried to explain, "she's very sweet and gentle, and all that, but she's devoted to the proprieties of life, and I seem to represent toher--its improprieties. I know it's a trial to her to keep me, and so, ina way, it's a trial to me to stay. "

"Why do you stay, then?"

"For one reason, because I can't help myself. I have to do what the lawtells me. "

"I see. The law again!"

"Yes; the law again. But I've other reasons besides that. "

"Such as--?"

"Well, I'm very fond of their little girl, for one thing. She's thegreatest darling in the world, and the only creature, except my dog, thatloves me. "

"What's her name?"

The question drove her to painting with closer attention to her work. Fordfollowed something of the progress of her thought by watching the justperceptible contraction of her brows into a little frown, and the settingof her lips into a curve of determination. They were handsome lips, mobileand sensitive--lips that might easily have been disdainful had not theinner spirit softened them with a tremor--or it might have been alight--of gentleness. 

"It isn't worth while to tell you that, " she said, after long reflection. "It will be safer for you in the end not to know any of our names at all. "

"Still--if I escape--I should like to know them. "

"If you escape, you may be able to find out. "

"Oh, well, " he said, with assumed indifference, "since you don't want totell me--"

Going on with her painting, she allowed the subject to drop; but to himthe opportunity for conversation was too rare a thing to neglect. Not onlywas his youthful impulse toward social self-expression normally strong, but his pleasure in talking to a lady--a girl--was undeniable. Sometimesin his moments of solitary meditation he said to himself that she was "nothis type of girl"; but the fact that he had been deprived of femininesociety for nearly three years made him ready to fall in love with anyone. If he did not precisely fall in love with this girl, it was onlybecause the situation precluded sentiment; and yet it was pleasant to sitand watch her paint, and even torment her with his questions. 

"So the little girl is one reason for your staying here. What's another?"

She betrayed her own taste for social communion by the readiness withwhich she answered him--

"I don't know that I ought to tell you that; and yet I might as well. It'sjust this: they're not very well off--so I can help. Naturally I likethat. "

"You can help by footing the bills. That's all very fine if you enjoy it, but everybody wouldn't. "

"They would if they were in my position, " she insisted. "When you can helpin any way it gives you a sense of being of use to some one. I'd ratherthat people needed me, even if they didn't want me, than that theyshouldn't need me at all. "

"They need your money, " he declared, with a young man's outspokenness. "That's what. "

"But that's something, isn't it? When you've no place in the world you'reglad enough to get one, even if you have to buy it. My guardian and hiswife mayn't care much to have me, but it's some satisfaction to know thatthey'd get along much worse if I weren't here. "

"So should I, " he laughed. "What I'm to do when I'm turned adrift withoutyou, Heaven only knows. It's curious--the effect imprisonment has on you. It takes away your self-reliance. It gives you a helpless feeling, like ababy. You want to be free--and yet you're almost afraid of the open air. "

He was so much at home with her now that, sitting carelessly astride ofhis chair, with his arms folded on the back, he felt a fraternal elementin their mutual relation. She bent more closely over her work, and spokewithout looking up. 

"Oh, you'll get along all right. You're that sort. "

"That's easy to say. "

"You may find it easy to do. " Her next words, uttered while she continuedto flick color into her sketch, caused him to jump with astonishment. "I'dgo to the Argentine. "

"Why not say the moon?"

"For one reason, because the moon is inaccessible. "

"So is the Argentine--for me. "

"Oh no, it isn't. Other people have reached it. "

"Yes: but they weren't in my fix. "

"Some of them were probably in worse. "

There was a pause, during which she seemed absorbed in her work, whileFord sat meditatively whistling under his breath. 

"What put the Argentine into your head?" he asked, at last. 

"Because I happen to know a good deal about it. Everybody says it's thecountry of new opportunities. I know people who've lived there. The littlegirl I was speaking of just now--whom I'm so fond of--was born there. Herfather is dead since then, and her mother is married again. "

He continued to meditate, emitting the same tuneless, abstracted sound, just above his breath. 

"I know the name of an American firm out there, " she went on. "It'sStephens and Jarrott. It's a very good firm to work for. I've often heardthat. And Mr. Jarrott has helped ever so many--stranded people. "

"I should be just his sort, then. "

His laugh, as he sprang to his feet, seemed to dismiss an impossiblesubject; and yet as he lay on his couch that evening in the lamplessdarkness the name of Stephens and Jarrott obtruded itself into his visionsof this girl, who stood between him and peril because she "disliked thelaw, " He wondered how far it was dislike, and how far jealous pain. Inher eagerness to buy the domestic place she had not inherited she remindedhim of something he had read--or heard--of the wild olive being graftedinto the olive of the orchard. Well, that would come in the natural courseof events. Some fine fellow, worthy to be her mate, would see to it. Hewas not without a pleasant belief that in happier circumstances he himselfmight have had the qualifications for the task. He wondered again what hername was. He ran through the catalogue of the names he himself would havechosen for a heroine--Gladys, Ethel, Mildred Millicent!--none of themseemed to suit her. He tried again. Margaret, Beatrice, Lucy, Joan! Joanpossibly--or he said to himself, in the last inconsequential thoughts ashe fell asleep, it might be--the Wild Olive. 

V

As the days passed, one much like another, and the retreat seemed more andmore secure, it was natural that Ford's thoughts should dwell less on hisown danger and more on the girl who filled his immediate horizon. The carewith which she foresaw his wants, the ingenuity with which she met them, the dignity and simplicity with which she carried herself throughincidents that to a less delicate tact must have been difficult, wouldhave excited his admiration in any case, even if the namelessness whichhelped to make her an impersonal element in the episode had not stirredhis imagination. He was obliged to remind himself often that she was "nothis type of girl, " in order to confine his heart within the limits whichthe situation imposed. 

It worried him, therefore, it even hurt him, that in spite of all theopenings he had given her, she had never offered him a sign of her beliefin his innocence. For this reason he took the first occasion when she wasseated at her easel, with the dog lying at her feet, to lay his casebefore her. 

He told her of his overindulged boyhood, as the only child of a wealthyNew York merchant. He outlined his profitless years at the university, where a too free use of money had hindered work. He narrated the disastersthat had left him at the age of two-and-twenty to begin life forhimself--his father's bankruptcy, followed by the death of both hisparents within the year. He had been eager to start in at the foot of theladder and work his way upward, when the proposal was made which provedfatal. 

Old Chris Ford, his great-uncle, known throughout the Adirondack region as"the lumber king, " had offered to take him, train him to the lumberbusiness, and make him his heir. An eccentric, childless widower, commonlybelieved to have broken his wife's heart by sheer bitterness of tongue, old Chris Ford was hated, feared, and flattered by the relatives andtime-servers who hoped ultimately to profit by his favor. Norrie Fordneither flattered nor feared his powerful kinsman, but he hated him withthe best. His own instincts were city born and bred. He was conscious, too, of that aptitude with which the typical New-Yorker is supposed tocome into being--the capacity to make money. He would have preferred tomake it on his own ground and in his own way; and had it not been for thecounsels of those who wished him well, he would have replied to hisgreat-uncle's offer with a courteous "No. " Wiser heads than his pointedout the folly of such a course as that; and so, reluctantly, he entered onhis apprenticeship. 

In the two years that followed he could not see what purpose he servedother than that of a mark for the old man's poisoned wit. He was taughtnothing, and paid nothing, and given nothing to do. He slept under hisgreat-uncle's roof and ate at his table, but the sharp tongue made the bedhard to lie on and the bread difficult to swallow down. Idlenessreawakened the propensity to vicious habits which he thought he hadoutlived, while the rough society of the lumber camps, in which he soughtto relieve the tedium of time, extended him the welcome which Falstaffand his comrades gave Prince Hal. 

The revolt of his self-respect was on the eve of bringing this phase ofhis existence to an end when the low farce turned into tragedy. Old ChrisFord was found dead in his bed--shot in his sleep. On the premises therehad been but three persons, one of whom must have committed thecrime--Norrie Ford, and Jacob and Amalia Gramm. Jacob and Amalia Gramm hadbeen the old man's servants for thirty years. Their faithfulness put thembeyond suspicion. The possibility of their guilt, having been considered, was dismissed with few formalities. The conviction of Norrie Ford becameeasy after that--the more respectable people of the neighborhood beingagreed that from the evidence presented no other deduction could be drawn. The very fact that the old man, by his provocation of the lad, sothoroughly deserved his fate made the manner in which he met with it theclearer. Even Norrie Ford's friends, the hunters and the lumbermen, admitted as much as that, though they were determined that he should neversuffer for so meritorious an act as long as they could give him a fightingchance for freedom. 

The girl listened to Ford's narrative with some degree of interest, thoughit contained nothing new to her. She could not have lived at Greenportduring the period of his trial without being familiar with it all. Butwhen he came to explanations in his own defence she followed listlessly. Though she leaned back in her chair, and courteously stopped painting, while he talked so earnestly, the light in her eyes faded to a lustrelessgleam, like that of the black pearl. His perception that her thoughts werewandering gave him a queer sensation of speaking into a medium in whichhis voice could not carry, cutting short his arguments, and bringing himto his conclusion more hurriedly than he had intended. 

"I wanted you to know I didn't do it, " he finished, in a tone which beggedfor some expression of her belief, "because you've done so much to helpme. "

"Oh, but I should have helped you just the same, whether you had done itor not. "

"But I suppose it makes some difference to you, " he cried, impatiently, "to know that I didn't. "

"I suppose it would, " she admitted, slowly, "if I thought much about it. "

"Well, won't you think?" he pleaded---"just to oblige me. "

"Perhaps I will, when you're gone; but at present I have to give my mindto getting you away. It was to talk about that that I came this morning. "

Had she wanted to slip out of giving an opinion on the subject of hisguilt, she could not have found a better exit. The means of his ultimateescape engrossed him even more than the theme of his innocence. When shespoke again all his faculties were concentrated into one keen point ofattention. 

"I think the time has come for you to--go. "

If her voice trembled on the last word, he did not notice it. The pose ofhis body, the lines of his face, the glint of his gray eyes, were alivewith interrogation. 

"Go?" he asked, just audibly. "When?"

"To-morrow. "

"How?"

"I'll tell you that then. "

"Why can't you tell me now?"

"I could if I was sure you wouldn't raise objections, but I know youwill. "

"Then there are objections to be raised?"

"There are objections to everything. There's no plan of escape that won'texpose you to a good many risks. I'd rather you didn't see them inadvance. "

"But isn't it well to be prepared beforehand?"

"You'll have plenty of time for preparation--after you've started. If thatseems mysterious to you now, you'll know what I mean by it when I cometo-morrow. I shall be here in the afternoon at six. "

With this information Ford was obliged to be content, spending a sleeplessnight and an impatient day, waiting for the time appointed. 

She came punctually. For the first time she was not followed by her dog. The only change in her appearance he could see was a short skirt of roughmaterial instead of her usual linen or muslin. 

"Are we going through the woods?" he asked. 

"Not far. I shall take you by the trail that led to this spot before Ibuilt the cabin and made the path. " As she spoke she surveyed him. "You'lldo, " she smiled at last. "In those flannels, and with your beard, no onewould know you for the Norrie Ford of three weeks ago. "

It was easy for him to ascribe the glow in her eyes and the quiver in hervoice to the excitement of the moment; for he could see that she had thespirit of adventure. Perhaps it was to conceal some embarrassment underhis regard that she spoke again, hurriedly. 

"We've no time to lose. You needn't take anything from here. We'd betterstart. "

He followed her over the threshold, and as she turned to lock the cabinhe had time to throw a glance of farewell over the familiar hills, nowtransmuted into a haze of amethyst under the westering sun. A second laterhe heard her quick "Come on!" as she struck into the barely perceptiblepath that led upward, around the shoulder of the mountain. 

It was a stiff bit of climbing, but she sped along with the dryad-likeease she had displayed on the night when she led him to the cabin. Beneaththe primeval growth of ash and pine there was an underbrush so dense thatno one but a creature gifted with the inherited instinct of the woodscould have found the invisible, sinuous line alone possible to the feet. But it was there, and she traced it--never pausing never speaking, andonly looking back from time to time to assure herself that he was insight, until they reached the top of the dome-shaped hill. 

They came out suddenly on a rocky terrace, beneath which, a mile below, Champlain was spread out in great part of its length, from the dim bluffof Crown Point to the far-away, cloud-like mountains of Canada. 

"You can sit down a minute here, " she said, as he came up. 

They found seats among the low scattered bowlders, but neither spoke. Itwas a moment at which to understand the jewelled imagery of the Seer ofthe Apocalypse. Jasper, jacinth, chalcedony, emerald, chrysoprasus, weresuggested by the still bosom of the lake, towered round bylight-reflecting mountains. The triple tier of the Vermont shore wasbottle-green at its base, indigo in the middle height, while its summitwas a pale undulation of evanescent blue against the jade and topaz of thetwilight. 

"The steamer _Empress of Erin_, " the girl said, with what seemed likeabruptness, "will sail from Montreal on the twenty-eighth, and from Quebecon the twenty-ninth. From Rimouski, at the mouth of the river St. Lawrence, she will sail on the thirtieth, to touch nowhere else till shereaches Ireland. You will take her at Rimouski. "

There was a silence, during which he tried to absorb this startlinginformation. 

"And from here to Rimouski?" he asked, at last. 

"From here to Rimouski, " she replied, with a gesture toward the lake, "your way is there. "

There was another silence, while his eyes travelled the long, rainbow-colored lake, up to the faint line of mountains where it fadedinto a mist of bluish-green and gold. 

"I see the way, " he said then, "but I don't see the means of taking it. "

"You'll find that in good time. In the mean while you'd better take this. "From her jacket she drew a paper, which she passed to him. "That's yourticket. You'll see, " she laughed, apologetically, "that I've taken for youwhat they call a suite, and I've done it for this reason. They're keepinga lookout for you on every tramp ship from New York, on every cattle-shipfrom Boston, and on every grain-ship from Montreal; but they're notlooking for you in the most expensive cabins of the most expensive liners. They know you've no money; and if you get out of the country at all, theyexpect it will be as a stoker or a stow-away They'll never think you'redriving in cabs and staying at the best hotels. "

"But I shan't be, " he said, simply. 

"Oh yes, you will. You'll need money, of course; and I've brought it. You'll need a good deal; so I've brought plenty. "

She drew out a pocketbook and held it toward him. He looked at it, reddening, but made no attempt to take it. 

"I can't--I can't--go as far as that, " he stammered, hoarsely. 

"You mean, " she returned, quickly, "that you hesitate to take money from awoman. I thought you might. But it isn't from a woman; it's from a man. It's from my father. He would have liked to do it. He would have wanted meto do it. They keep putting it in the bank for me--just to spend--but Inever need it. What can I do with money in a place like Greenport? Here, take it, " she urged, thrusting it into his hands. "You know very well itisn't a matter of choice, but of life or death. "

With her own fingers she clasped his upon it, drawing back and coloring ather boldness. For the first time in their weeks of intercourse she saw inhim a touch of emotion The phlegmatism by which he had hitherto concealedhis inward suffering seemed suddenly to desert him. He looked at her withlips quivering, while his eyes filled. His weakness only nerved her to bestronger, sending her for refuge back into the commonplace. 

"They'll expect you at Rimouski, because your luggage will already havegone on board at Montreal. Yes, " she continued, in reply to hisastonishment, "I've forwarded all the trunks and boxes that came to mefrom my father. I told my guardian I was sending them to be stored--and Iam, for you'll store them for me in London when you've done with them. Here are the keys. "

He made no attempt to refuse them, and she hurried on. 

"I sent the trunks for two reasons; first, because there might be thingsin them you could use till you get something better; and then I wanted toprevent suspicion arising from your sailing without luggage. Every littlething of that sort counts. The trunks have 'H. S. ' painted in white letterson them; so that you'll have no difficulty in knowing them at sight. I'veput a name with the same initials on the ticket. You'd better use it tillyou feel it safe to take your own again. "

"What name?" he asked, with eager curiosity, beginning to take the ticketout of its envelope. 

"Never mind now, " she said, quickly. "It's just a name--any name. You canlook at it afterward. We'd better go on. "

She made as though she would move, but he detained her. 

"Wait a minute. So your name begins with S!"

"Like a good many others, " she smiled. 

"Then tell me what it is. Don't let me go away without knowing it. Youcan't think what it means to me. "

"I should think you'd see what it means to me. "

"I don't. What harm can it do you?"

"If you don't see, I'm afraid I can't explain. To be nameless is--- howshall I say it?--a sort of protection to me. In helping you, and takingcare of you, I've done what almost any really nice girl would have shrunkfrom. There are plenty of people who would say is was wrong. And in away--a way I could never make you understand, unless you understandalready--it's a relief to me that you don't know who I am. And even thatisn't everything. "

"Well--what else?"

"When this little episode is over"--her voice trembled, and it was notwithout some blinking of the eyes that she was able to begin again--"whenthis little episode is over, it will be better for us both--for you aswell as for me--to know as little about it as possible. The danger isn'tpast by any means; but it's a kind of danger in which ignorance can bemade to look a good deal like innocence. I shan't know anything about youafter you've gone, and you know nothing whatever about me. "

"That's what I complain of. Suppose I pull the thing off, and make asuccess of myself somewhere else, how should I communicate with youagain?"

"Why should you communicate with me at all?"

"To pay you back your money, for one thing--"

"Oh, that doesn't matter. "

"Perhaps it doesn't from your point of view; but it does from mine. But itwouldn't be my only reason in any case. "

Something in his voice and in his eyes warned her to rise and interrupthim. 

"I'm afraid we haven't time to talk about it now, " she said, hurriedly. "We really must be going on. "

"I'm not going to talk about it now, " he declared, rising in his turn. "Isaid it would be a reason for my wanting to communicate with you again. Ishall want to tell you something then; though perhaps by that time youwon't want to hear it. "

"Hadn't we better wait and see?"

"That's what I shall have to do; but how can I come back to you at all ifI don't know who you are?"

"I shall have to leave that to your ingenuity, " she laughed, with anattempt to treat the matter lightly. "In the mean time we must hurry on. It's absolutely necessary that you should set out by sunset. "

She glided into the invisible trail running down the lakeside slope of themountain, so that he was obliged to follow her. As they had climbed up, so they descended--the girl steadily and silently in advance. The regionwas dotted with farms; but she kept to the shelter of the woodland, andbefore he expected it they found themselves at the water's edge. A canoedrawn up in a cove gave him the first clear hint of her intentions. 

It was a pretty little cove, enclosed by two tiny headlands, forming aminiature landlocked bay, hidden from view of the lake beyond. Treesleaned over it and into it, while the canoe rested on a yard-long beach ofsand. 

"I see, " he remarked, after she had allowed him to take his ownobservations. "You want me to go over to Burlington and catch a train toMontreal. "

She shook her head, smiling, as he thought, rather tremulously. 

"I'm afraid I've planned a much longer journey for you. Come and see thepreparations I've made. " They stepped to the side of the canoe, so as tolook down into it. "That, " she pursued, pointing to a small suit-caseforward of the middle thwart, "will enable you to look like an ordinarytraveller after you've landed. And that, " she added, indicating a packagein the stern, "contains nothing more nor less than sandwiches. Those arebottles of mineral water. The small objects are a corkscrew, a glass, arailway timetable a cheap compass, and a cheaper watch. In addition you'llfind a map of the lake, which you can consult tomorrow morning, afteryou've paddled all night through the part with which you're mostfamiliar. "

"Where am I going?" he asked, huskily, avoiding her eyes. The nonchalanceof her tone had not deceived him, and he thought it well not to let theirglances meet. 

"You'll keep to the middle of the lake and go on steadily. You'll haveall Champlain to yourself to-night, and in daylight there's no reason whyyou shouldn't pass for an ordinary sportsman. All the same, you had betterrest by day, and go on again in the evening. You'll find lots of littlesecluded coves where you can pull up the canoe and be quite undisturbed. I'd do that, if I were you. "

He nodded to show that he understood her. 

"When you look at the map, " she went on, "you'll find that I've traced aroute for you, after you get above Plattsville. You'll see that it willtake you past the little French-Canadian village of Deux Etoiles. Youcan't mistake it, because there's a lighthouse, with a revolving light, ona rock, just off the shore. You'll be in Canada then. You'd better timeyourself to go by about nightfall. "

He nodded his agreement with her again, and she continued. 

"About a mile above the lighthouse, and close in by the eastern shore, just where the lake becomes very narrow, there are two little islandslying close together. You'll take them as a landmark, because immediatelyopposite them, on the mainland, there's a stretch of forest running for agood many miles. There you can land finally. You must drag the canoe rightup into the wood, and hide it as well as you can. It's my own canoe, sothat it can lie there till it drops to pieces. Is all that quite clear toyou?"

Once more he nodded, not trusting himself to speak. Again the sight of hisemotion braced her to make her tone more matter-of-fact than ever. 

"Now, then, " she went on, "if you consult the map you'll see that an oldwood-road runs through the forest, and comes out at the station of SaintJean du Clou Noir. There you can get a train to Quebec. .. . The road beginsnearly opposite the two little islands I spoke of. .. . I don't thinkyou'll have any difficulty in finding it. .. . It's about seven miles to thestation. .. . You could walk that easily enough through the night. .. . I'vemarked a very good train on the time-table--a train that stops at SaintJean du Clou Noir at seven thirty-five . .. "

A choking sensation warned her to stop, but she retained the power tosmile. The sun had set, and the slow northern night was beginning to closein. Across the lake the mountains of Vermont were receding into deeppurple uniformity, while over the crimson of the west a veil of filmyblack was falling, as though dropped in mid-flight by the angel of thedark. Here and there through the dead-turquoise green of the sky one coulddetect the pale glimmer of a star. 

"You must go now, " she whispered. He began to move the canoe into thewater. 

"I haven't thanked you, " he began, unsteadily, holding the canoe by thebow, "because you wouldn't let me. As a matter of fact, I don't know howto do it--adequately. But if I live at all, my life will belong to you. That's all I can say. My life will be a thing for you to dispose of. Ifyou ever have need of it--"

"I shan't have, " she said, hastily, "but I'll remember what you say. "

"Thanks; that's all I ask. For the present I can only hope for the chanceof making my promise good. "

She said nothing in reply, and after a minute's silence he entered thecanoe. She steadied it herself to allow him to step in. It was not till hehad done so and had knelt down with the paddle in his hand that, moved bya sudden impulse she leaned to him and kissed him. Then, releasing thelight craft, she allowed it to glide out like a swan on the tiny bay. Inthree strokes of the paddle it had passed between the low, enclosingheadlands and was out of sight. When she summoned up strength to creep toan eminence commanding the lake, it was already little more than a speck, moving rapidly northward, over the opal-tinted waters. 

VI

On finding himself alone, and relatively free, Ford's first sensation wasone of insecurity. Having lived for more than a year under orders andobservation, he had lost for the moment some of his natural confidence inhis own initiative. Though he struck resolutely up the lake he was awareof an inner bewilderment, bordering on physical discomfort, at being hisown master. For the first half-hour he paddled mechanically, hisconsciousness benumbed by the overwhelming strangeness. As far as he wasable to formulate his thought at all he felt himself to be in process of anew birth, into a new phase of existence. In the darkening of the skyabove him and of the lake around there came upon him something of themental obscurity that might mark the passage of a transmigrating soul. After the subdued excitement of the past weeks, and especially of the pasthour, the very regularity of his movements now lulled him into a passivityonly quickened by vague fears. The noiseless leaping forward of the canoebeneath him heightened his sense of breaking with the past and hasteningonward into another life. In that life he would be a new creature, free tobe a law unto himself. 

A new creature! A law unto himself! The ideas were subconscious, and yethe found the words framing themselves on his lips. He repeated themmentally with some satisfaction as a cluster of lights on his left toldhim he was passing Greenport. Other lights, on a hill, above the town andaway from it, were probably those of Judge Wayne's villa. He looked atthem curiously, with an odd sense of detachment, of remoteness, as fromthings belonging to a time with which he had nothing more to do. That wasover and done with. 

It was not until a steamer crossed his bows, not more than a hundred yardsin front of him, that he began to appreciate his safety. Under theprotection of the dark, and in the wide loneliness of the waters, he wasas lost to human sight as a bird in the upper air. The steamer--zigzaggingdown the lake, touching at little ports now on the west bank and now onthe east--had shot out unexpectedly from behind a point, her double row oflights casting a halo in which his canoe must have been visible on thewaves; and yet she had passed by and taken no note of him. For a secondsuch good-fortune had seemed to his nervous imagination beyond the rangeof hope. He stopped paddling he almost stopped breathing, allowing thecanoe to rock gently on the tide. The steamer puffed and pulsated, beatingher way directly athwart his course. The throbbing of her engines seemedscarcely louder than that of his own heart. He could see people moving onthe deck, who in their turn must have been able to see him. And yet theboat went on, ignoring him, in tacit acknowledgment of his right to thelake, of his right to the world. 

His sigh of relief became almost a laugh as he began again to paddleforward. The incident was like a first victory, an assurance of victoriesto come. The sense of insecurity with whith he had started out gave place, minute by minute, to the confidence in himself which was part of hisnormal state of mind. Other small happenings confirmed his self-reliance. Once a pleasure party in a rowboat passed so near him that he could hearthe splash of their oars and the sound of their voices. There wassomething almost miraculous to him in being so close to the commonplace ofhuman fellowship. He had the feeling of pleasant inward recognition thatcomes from hearing one's mother-tongue in a foreign land. He stoppedpaddling again, just to catch meaningless fragments of their talk, untilthey floated away into silence and darkness. He would have been sorry tohave them pass out of ear-shot, were it not for his satisfaction in beingable to go his way unheeded. 

On another occasion he found himself within speaking distance of one ofthe numerous small lakeside hotels. Lights flared from open doors andwindows, while from the veranda, the garden, and the little pier camepeals of laughter, or screams and shouts of young people at rough play. Now and then he could catch the tones of some youth's teasing, and theshrill, pretended irritation of a girl's retort. The noisy cheerfulness ofit all reached his ears with the reminiscent tenderness of music heard inchildhood. It represented the kind of life he himself had loved. Beforethe waking nightmare of his troubles began he had been of the unexactingtype of American lad who counts it a "good time" to sit in summer eveningson "porches" or "stoops" or "piazzas, " joking with "the boys, " flirtingwith "the girls, " and chattering on all subjects from the silly to theserious, from the local to the sublime. He was of the friendly, neighborly, noisy, demonstrative spirit characteristic of his age andclass. He could have entered into this circle of strangers--strangers forthe most part, in all probability, to one another--and in ten minutes'time been one of them. Their screams, their twang, their slang, theirgossip, their jolly banter, and their gay ineptitude would have been tohim like a welcome home. But he was Norrie Ford, known by name andmisfortune to every one of them. The boys and girls on the pier, theelderly women in the rocking-chairs, even the waitresses who, inhigh-heeled shoes and elaborate coiffures, ministered disdainfully to theguests in the bare-floored dining-room, had discussed his life, his trial, his sentence, his escape, and formed their opinions upon him. Were itpossible for them to know now that he was lurking out there in the dark, watching their silhouettes and listening to their voices, there would besuch a hue and cry as the lake had not heard since the Indians sightedChamplain on its banks. 

It was this reflection that first of all stirred the current of his deep, slow resentment. During the fifteen months since his arrest he had beeneither too busy, or too anxious, or too sorely puzzled at finding himselfin so odd a position, to have leisure for positive anger. At the worst oftimes he had never lost the belief that the world, or that portion of theworld which concerned itself with him, would come to recognize the factthat it was making a mistake. He had taken his imprisonment and his trialmore or less as exciting adventures. Even the words of his sentence lostmost of their awfulness in his inner conviction that they were emptysounds. Of the confused happenings on the night of his escape his clearestmemory was that he had been hungry, while he thought of the weeks spent inthe cabin as a "picnic. " Just as good spirits had seldom failed him, sopatience had rarely deserted him. Such ups and downs of emotion as he hadexperienced resulted in the long run in an increase of optimism. In theback of his slow mind he kept the expectation, almost the intention, ofgiving his anger play--some time; but only when his rights should havebeen restored to him. 

But he felt it coming on him now, before he was prepared for it. It wastaking him unawares, and without due cause, roused by the chanceperception that he was cut off from rightful, natural companionship. Nothing as yet had brought home to him the meaning of his situation likethe talk and laughter of these lads and girls, who suddenly became to himwhat Lazarus in Abraham's bosom was to Dives in his torment. 

A few dips of the paddle took him out of sight and sound of the hotel; butthe dull, indignant passion remained in his heart, finding outward vent inthe violence with which he sent the canoe bounding northward beneath thestarlight. For the moment it was a blind, objectless passion, directedagainst nothing and no one in particular. He was not skilled in theanalysis of feeling, or in tracing effect to cause. For an hour or two hiswrath was the rage of the infuriated animal roaring out its pain, regardless of the hand that has inflicted it. Other rowing-parties camewithin hearing distance, but he paid them no attention; lake steamers hovein sight, but he had learned how to avoid them; little towns, dotted atintervals of a few miles apart, lit up the banks with the lights of homes, but their shining domesticity seemed to mock him. The birth of a newcreature was a painful process; and yet, through all his confusedsensations and obscure elemental suffering, he kept the conviction that anew creature was somehow claiming its right to live. 

Peace of mind came to him gradually, as the little towns put out theirlights, and the lake steamers laid up in tiny ports, and therowing-parties went home to bed. In the smooth, dark level of the lake andin the stars there was a soothing quality to which he responded before hewas aware of doing so. The spacious solitude of the summer night broughtwith it a large calmness of outlook, in which his spirit took a measure ofcomfort. There was a certain bodily pleasure, too, in the regular monotonyof paddling, while his mental faculties were kept alert by the necessityof finding points by which to steer, and fixing his attention upon them. So, by degrees, his limited reasoning powers found themselves at work, fumbling, with the helplessness of a man whose strong points are physicalactivity and concentration of purpose, for some light on the wild courseon which he was embarked. 

Perhaps his first reflection that had the nature of a conclusion or adeduction was on the subject of "old Wayne. " Up to the present he hadregarded him with special ill will, owing to the fact that Wayne, whileinclining to a belief of his innocence, had nevertheless lent himself tothe full working of the law. It came to Ford now in the light of adiscovery that, after all, it was not Wayne's fault. Wayne was in the gripof forces that deprived him to a large extent of the power of voluntaryaction. He could scarcely be blamed if he fulfilled the duties he wasappointed to perform The real responsibility was elsewhere. With whom didit lie? For a primitive mind like Ford's the question was not an easy oneto answer. 

For a time he was inclined to call to account the lawyers who had pleadedfor the State. Had it not been for their arguments he would have beenacquitted. With an ingenuity he had never supposed to exist they hadanalyzed his career--especially the two years of it spent with UncleChris--and showed how it led up to the crime as to an inevitableconsequence. They seemed familiar with everything he had ever done, whilethey were able to prove beyond cavil that certain of his acts wereinspired by sinister motives which he himself knew to have sprung fromdissipation at the worst. It was astonishing how plausible their storywas; and he admitted that if anybody else had been accused, he himselfwould probably have been convinced by it. Certainly, then, the lawyersmust have been to blame--that is, unless they were only carrying out whatothers had hired them to do. 

That qualifying phrase started a new train of thought. Mechanically, dipby dip, swaying gently with each stroke as to a kind of rhythm, he drovethe canoe onward, while he pondered it. It was easy to meditate out here, on the wide, empty lake, for no sound broke the midnight stillness but thesoft swish of the paddle and the skimming of the broad keel along thewater. It was not by any orderly system of analysis, or synthesis, orsyllogism, that Ford, as the hours went by, came at last to his finalconclusion; and yet he reached it with conviction. By a process ofelimination he absolved judge, jury, legal profession, and local publicfrom the greater condemnation. Each had contributed to the error that madehim an outlaw, but no one contributor was the whole of the great forceresponsible. That force, which had set its component parts to work, andplied them till the worst they could do was done, was the body which theycalled Organized Society. To Ford, Organized Society was a new expression. He could not remember ever to have heard it till it was used in court. There it had been on everybody's lips. Far more than old Chris Fordhimself it was made to figure as the injured party. Though there waslittle sympathy for the victim in his own person, Organized Society seemedto have received in his death a blow that called for the utmost avenging. Organized Society was plaintiff in the case, as well as police, jury, judge, and public. The single human creature who could not apparently gainfooting within its fold was Norrie Ford himself. Organized Society hadcast him out. 

He had been told that before, and yet the actual fact had never come hometo him till now. In prison, in court, in the cabin in the woods, there hadalways been some human hand within reach of his own, some human tie, eventhough it was a chain. However ignoble, there had been a place for him. But out here on the great vacant lake there was an isolation that gavereality to his expulsion. The last man left on earth would not feel moreutterly alone. 

For the first time since the night of his escape there came back to himthat vague feeling of deserting something he might have defended, thatalmost physical sensation of regret at not having stood his ground andfought till he fell. He began to understand now what it meant. Dip, splash, dip, splash, his paddle stirred the dimly shining water, breakinginto tiny whirlpools the tremulous reflection of the stars. Not for aninstant did he relax his stroke, though the regret took more definitiveshape behind him. Convicted and sentenced, he was still part of the lifeof men, just as a man whom others are trying to hurl from a tower is _on_the tower till he has fallen. He himself had not fallen; he had jumpedoff, while there was still a chance of keeping his foothold. 

It required an hour or two of outward rhythmic movement and confusedinward feeling to get him ready for his next mental step. He had jumpedoff the tower; true; but he was alive and well, with no bones broken. Whatshould he do now? Should he try to tear the tower down? The attempt wouldnot be so very ludicrous, seeing he should only have to jointhose--socialists, anarchists, faddists--already at the work. But headmired the tower, and preferred to see is stand. If he did anything atall, it would be to try to creep back into it. 

The reflection gave still another turn to his thoughts. He was passingBurlington by this time--the electric lamps throwing broad bands of lightalong the deserted, up-hill streets, between the sleeping houses. It wasthe first city he had seen since leaving New York to begin his uselesscareer in the mountains. The sight moved him with an odd curiosity, notfree from a homesick longing for normal, simple ways of life. He kept thecanoe at a standstill, looking hungrily up the empty thoroughfares, as apoor ghost may gaze at familiar scenes while those it has loved aredreaming. By-and-by the city seemed to stir in its sleep. Along thewaterside he could hear the clatter of some belated or too early wayfarer;a weird, intermittent creaking told him that the milk-cart of provincialtowns was on its beat; from a distant freight-train came the long, melancholy wail that locomotives give at night; and then drowsily, butwith the promptness of one conscientious in his duty, a cock crew. Fordknew that somewhere, unseen as yet by him, the dawn was coming, and--againlike a wandering ghost--sped on. 

But he had been looking on the tower which the children of men hadbuilded, and had recognized his desire to clamber up into it again. He wasnot without the perception that a more fiery temperament than hisown--perhaps a nobler one--would have cursed the race that had done himwrong, and sought to injure it or shun it. Misty recollections ofproud-hearted men who had taken this stand came back to him. 

"I suppose I ought to do the same, " he muttered to himself humbly; "butwhat would be the use when I couldn't keep it up?"

Understanding himself thus well, his purpose became clearer. Like the antor the beaver that has seen its fabric destroyed, he must set patiently towork to reconstruct it. He suspected a poor-spirited element in this sortof courage; but his instinct forced him within his limitations. By dint ofkeeping there and toiling there he felt sure of his ability to get back tothe top of the tower in such a way that no one would think he lacked theright to be on it. 

But he himself would know it. He shrank from that fact with the repugnanceof an honest nature for what is not straightforward; but the matter waspast helping. He should be obliged to play the impostor everywhere andwith every one. He would mingle with men, shake their hands, share theirfriendships, eat their bread, and accept their favors--and deceive themunder their very noses. Life would become one long trick, one daily featof skill. Any possible success he could win would lack stability, wouldlack reality, because there would be neither truth nor fact behind it. 

From the argument that he was innocent he got little comfort. He hadforfeited his right to make use of that fact any longer. Had he stayedwhere he was he could have shouted it out till they gagged him in thedeath-chair. Now he must be dumb on the subject forevermore. In hisdisappearance there was an acceptation of guilt which he must remainpowerless to explain away. 

Many minutes of dull pain passed in dwelling on that point. He could workneither back from it nor forward. His mind could only dwell on it with anaching admission of its justice, while he searched the sky for the dawn. 

In spite of the crowing of the cock he saw no sign of it--unless it wasthat the mountains on the New York shore detached themselves moredistinctly from the sky of which they had seemed to form a part. On theVermont side there was nothing but a heaped-up darkness, night piled onnight, till the eye reached the upper heavens and the stars. 

He paddled on, steadily, rhythmically, having no sense of hunger orfatigue, while he groped for the clew that was to guide him when hestepped on land. He felt the need of a moral programme, of some pillar ofcloud and fire that would show him a way he should be justified in taking. He expressed it to himself by a kind of aspiration which he keptrepeating, sometimes half aloud:

"O Lord, O Holy One! I want to be a man!"

Suddenly he struck the water with so violent a dash that the canoe swervedand headed landward. 

"By God!" he muttered, under his breath, "I've got it. .. . It isn't myfault. .. . It's theirs. .. . They've put me in this fix. .. . They've broughtthis dodging, and shifting, and squirming upon me. .. . The subterfuge isn'tmine; it's theirs. .. . They've taken the responsibility from me. .. . Whenthey strip me of rights they strip me of duties. .. . They've forced mewhere right and wrong don't exist for me any more. .. . They've pitched meout of their Organized Society, and I've had to go. .. . Now I'm free . .. And I shall profit by my freedom. "

In the excitement of these discoveries he smote the waters again. Heremembered having said something of the sort on the night of his interviewwith Wayne; but he had not till now grasped its significance. It was theemancipation of his conscience. Whatever difficulties he might encounterfrom outside, he should be hampered by no scruples from within. He hadbeen relieved of them; they had been taken from him. Since none had a dutytoward him, he had no duty toward any. If it suited his purposes to jugglewith men, the blame must rest upon themselves. He could but do his bestwith the maimed existence they had left to him. Self-respect would entailobservance of the common laws of truth and honesty, but beyond this heneed never allow consideration for another to come before considerationfor himself. He was absolved from the necessity in advance. In the regionin which he should pass his inner life there would be no occupant buthimself. From the world where men and women had ties of love and pity andmutual regard they had cast him out, forcing him into a spiritual limbowhere none of these things obtained. It was only lawful that he shouldmake use of such advantages as his lot allowed him. 

There was exaltation in the way in which he grasped this creed as his ruleof life; and looking up suddenly, he saw the dawn. It had taken himunawares, stealing like a gray mist of light over the tops of the Vermonthills, lifting their ridges faintly out of night, like the ghosts of somany Titans. Among the Adirondacks one high peak caught the first glimmerof advancing day, while all the lower range remained a gigantic silhouettebeneath the perceptibly paling stars. Over Canada the veil was still down, but he fancied he could detect a thinner texture to the darkness. 

Then, as he passed a wooded headland, came a sleepy twitter, from somelittle pink and yellow bill barely withdrawn from its enfolding wing--tobe followed by another, and another, and another, till both shores wereaquiver with that plaintive chirrup, half threnody for the flyingdarkness, half welcome to the sun, like the praise of a choir of childrenroused to sing midnight matins, but still dreaming. Ford's dip was softernow, as though he feared to disturb that vibrant drowsiness; but when, later, capes and coves began to define themselves through the graygloaming, and, later still, a shimmer of saffron appeared above theeastern summits, he knew it was time to think of a refuge from thedaylight. 

The saffron became fire; the fire lit up a heaven of chrysoprase and rose. Where the lake had been as a metal mirror for the stars, it rippled anddimpled and gleamed with the tints of mother-of-pearl. He knew the sunmust be on the farther slope of the Green Mountains, because the face theyturned toward him was dense in shadow, like the unilluminated portion ofthe moon. On the western shore the Adirondacks were rising out of the bathof night as dewy fresh as if they had been just created. 

But the sun was actually in the sky when he perceived that he no longerhad the lake to himself. From a village nestling in some hidden cove arowboat pulled out into the open--a fisherman after the morning's catch. It was easy enough for Ford to keep at a prudent distance; but thecompanionship caused him an uneasiness that was not dispelled before thefirst morning steamer came pounding from the northward. He fixed hisattention then on a tiny islet some two or three miles ahead. There weretrees on it, and probably ferns and grass. Reaching it, he found himselfin a portion of the lake forest-banked and little frequented. Pastures andfields of ripening grain on the most distant slopes of Vermont gave thenearest token of life. All about him there was solitude andstillness--with the glorious, bracing beauty of the newly risen day. 

Landing with stiffened limbs, he drew up the canoe on a bit of sandybeach, over which sturdy old bushes, elder and birch, battered by thenorth winds, leaned in friendly, concealing protection. He himself wouldbe able to lie down here, among the tall ferns and the stuntedblueberry-scrub, as secluded and secure as ever he had been in prison. 

Being hungry and thirsty, he ate and drank, consulting his map the whileand fixing approximately his whereabouts. He looked at his little watchand wound it up, and fingered the pages of the railway guide he foundbeside it. 

The acts brought up the image of the girl who had furnished him with theseuseful accessories to flight. For lack of another name he called her theWild Olive--remembering her yearning, not wholly unlike his own, to begrafted back into the good olive-tree of Organized Society. With someshame he perceived that he had scarcely thought of her through the night. It was astounding to recollect that not twelve hours ago she had kissedhim and sent him on his journey. To him the gulf between then and now wasso wide and blank that it might have been twelve weeks, or twelve months, or twelve years. It had been the night of the birth of a new creature, ofthe transmigration of a soul; it had no measurement in time, and threw allthat preceded it into the mists of prenatal ages. 

These thoughts passed through his mind as he made a pillow for himselfwith his white flannel jacket, and twisted the ferns above it into ashelter from the flies. Having done this, he stood still and pondered. 

"Have I really become a new creature?" he asked himself. 

There was much in the outward conditions to encourage the fancy, while hisinner consciousness found it easy to be credulous. Nothing was left ofNorrie Ford but the mere flesh and bones--the least stable part ofpersonality. Norrie Ford was gone--not dead, but gone--blasted, annihilated stamped out of existence, by the act of Organized Society. Inits place the night of transition had called up some one else. 

"But who? . .. Who am I? . .. What am I?"

Above all, a name seemed required to give him entity. It was a repetitionof his feeling about the Wild Olive--the girl in the cabin in the woods. Suddenly he remembered that, if he had found a name for her, she had alsofound one for him--and that it was written on the steamer ticket in hispocket. He drew it out, and read:

"Herbert Strange. "

He repeated it at first in dull surprise, and then with disapproval. Itwas not the kind of name he would have chosen. It was odd, noticeable--aname people would remember He would have preferred something commonplacesuch as might be found for a column or two in any city directory. She hadprobably got it from a novel--or made it up. Girls did such things. It wasa pity, but there was no help for it now. As Herbert Strange he must go onboard the steamer, and so he should be called until--

But he was too tired to fix a date for the resumption of his own name orthe taking of another. Flinging himself on his couch of moss and trailingground-spruce, with the ferns closing over him, and the pines over them, he was soon asleep. 

Part II

Strange

VII

Dressed in overalls that had once been white, he was superintending thestacking of wool in a long, brick-walled, iron-roofed shed in Buenos Aireswhen the thought came to him how easy it had all been. He paused for aminute in his work of inspection--standing by an open window, where awhiff of fresh air from off the mud-brown Rio de la Plata relieved theheavy, greasy smell of the piles of unwashed wool--just to review againthe past eighteen months. Below him stretched the noisy docks, with theirrow of electric cranes, as regular as a line of street lamps, loading orunloading a mile of steamers lying broadside on, and flying all flags butthe Stars and Stripes. Wines, silk, machinery, textiles were coming out;wheat, cattle, hides, and beef were pouring in. In the confusion oftongues that reached him he could, on occasions, catch the tones ofSpaniard, Frenchman, Swede, and Italian, together with all the varietiesof English speech from Highland Scotch to Cockney; but none of theintonations of his native land. The comparative rarity of anythingAmerican in his city of refuge, while it added to his sense of exile, heightened his feeling of security. It was still another of the happycircumstances that had helped him. 

The strain under which he had lived during this year and a half hadundoubtedly been great; but he could see now that it had been inwardstrain--the mental strain of unceasing apprehension, the spiritual strainof the new creature in casting off the old husk, and adapting itself notmerely to new surroundings, but to a new life. This had been severe. Hewas not a rover, and still less an adventurer, in any of the sensesattached to that word. His instincts were for the settled, thewell-ordered, and the practical. He would have been content with anyhumdrum existence that permitted his peaceable, commercially gifted soulto develop in its natural environment. The process, therefore, by whichNorrie Ford became Herbert Strange, even in his own thoughts, had been oneof inner travail, though the outward conditions could not have been morefavorable. Now that he had reached a point where his more obviousanxieties were passing away, and the hope of safety was becoming areality, he could look back and see how relatively easy everything hadbeen. 

He had leisure for reflection because it was the hour for the men's middaymeal and siesta. He could see them grouped together--some thirty-odd--atthe far end of the shed--sturdy little Italians, black-eyed, smiling, thrifty, dirty, and contented to a degree that made them incomprehensibleto the ambitious, upward-toiling American set over them. They sat, orlounged, on piles of wood, or on the floor, some chattering, most of themasleep. He had begun like them. He had stacked wool under orders till hehad made himself capable of being in command. He had been beneath theladder; and though his foot was only on the lowest rung of it even now, hewas satisfied to have made this first step upward. 

He could not be said to have taken it to his own surprise, since he hadprepared himself for it, and for other such steps to follow it, knowingthat they must become feasible in time. He had been given to understandthat what the Argentine, in common with some other countries, needed mostwas neither men nor capital, but intelligence. Men were pouring in fromevery corner of the globe; capital was keen in looking for itsopportunity; but for intelligence the demand was always greater than thesupply. 

The first intimation of such a need had come to him on the _Empress ofErin_, in mid-Atlantic, by a chance opportunity of the voyage. It was onone of the first days of liberty when he had ventured to mix freely withhis fellow-passengers. Up to the present he had followed the rule ofconduct adopted at the little Canadian station of Saint Jean du Clou Noir. He went into public when necessary, but no oftener. He did then what otherpeople did, in the way to attract the least attention. The season favoredhim, for amid the throngs of early autumn travellers, moving from countryback to town, or from seaside resorts to the mountains he passedunnoticed. At Quebec he was one of the crowd of tourists come to see thepicturesque old town. At Rimouski he was lost among the trainful of peoplefrom the Canadian maritime provinces taking the Atlantic steamer at aconvenient port. He lived through each minute in expectation of the law'stap on his shoulder; but he acquired the habit of nonchalance. Onshipboard it was a relief to be able to shut himself up in his cabin--hissuite!--feigning sickness, but really allowing his taut nerves to relax, as he watched first the outlines of the Laurentides, and then the shoresof Anticosti, and lastly the iron-black coast of Labrador, follow eachother below the horizon. Two or three appearances at table gave himconfidence that he had nothing to fear. By degrees he allowed himself towalk up and down the deck, where it was a queer sensation to feel that thelong row of eyes must of necessity be fixed upon him. The mere fact thathe was wearing another man's clothes--clothes he had found in the cabintrunk that had come on board for him--produced a shyness scarcelymitigated by the knowledge that he was far from looking grotesque. 

Little by little he plucked up courage to enter the smoking-room where thetacit, matter-of-course welcome of his own sex seemed to him likeextraordinary affability. An occasional word from a neighbor, or aninvitation to "take a hand at poker, " or to "have a cocktail, " was like anassurance to a man who fancies himself dead that he really is alive. Hejoined in no conversations and met no advances, but from the possibilitiesof doing so he would go back to his cabin smiling. 

The nearest approach to pleasure he allowed himself was to sit in a cornerand listen to the talk of his fellow-men. It was sometimes amusing, butoftener stupid; it turned largely on food, with irrelevant interludes onbusiness. It never went beyond the range of topics possible to theAmerican or Canadian merchants, professional men, politicians, andsaloon-keepers, who form the rank and file of smoking-room society on anyAtlantic liner; but the Delphic worshipper never listened to Apollo'soracle with a more rapt devotion than Ford to this intercommunion ofsouls. 

It was in this way that he chanced one day to hear a man speaking of theArgentine. The remarks were casual, choppy, and without importance, butthe speaker evidently knew the ground. Ford had already noticed him, because they occupied adjoining steamer-chairs--a tall, sallow Englishmanof the ineffectual type, with sagging shoulders, a drooping mustache, andfurtive eyes. Ford had scarcely thought of the Argentine since the girl inthe cabin had mentioned it--- now ten or twelve days ago; but thenecessity of having an objective point, and one sufficiently distantturned his mind again in that direction. 

"Did I hear you speaking yesterday of Buenos Aires?" he ventured to ask, on the next occasion when he found himself seated beside his neighbor ondeck. 

The Englishman drew his brier-root pipe from his mouth, glanced sidewisefrom the magazine he was reading, and jerked his head in assent. 

"What kind of place did it seem to you?"

"Jolly rotten. "

Pondering this reply, Ford might have lost courage to speak again had henot caught the eye of the Englishman's wife as she leaned forward andpeeped at him across her husband's brier-root. There was something in herstarry glance--an invitation, or an incitement--that impelled him tocontinue. 

"I've been told it's the land of new opportunities. "

The Englishman grunted without looking up. "I didn't see many. "

"May I ask if you saw any?"

"None fit for a white man. "

"My husband means none fit for a--gentleman. I liked the place. "

From the woman's steely smile and bitter-sweet tones Ford got hints ofmasculine inefficiency and feminine contempt which he had no wish tofollow up. He knew from fragments of talk overheard in the smoking-roomthat they had tried Mexico, California, and Saskatchewan in addition toSouth America. From the impatience with which she shook the foot justvisible beneath the steamer-rug, while all the rest of her bearing feignedrepose, he guessed her humiliation at returning empty to the land she hadleft with an Anglo-Saxon's pioneering hope, beside a husband who could donothing but curse luck. To get over the awkward minute he spoke hurriedly. 

"I've heard of a very good house out there--Stephens and Jarrott. Do youhappen to know anything about them?"

"Wool, " the Englishman grunted again. "Wool and wheat. Beastly brutes. "

"They were horribly impertinent to my husband, " the woman spoke up, with akind of feverish eagerness to have her say. "They actually asked him ifthere was anything he could do. Fancy!"

"Oh, I know people of that sort put a lot of superfluous questions toyou, " Ford said. But the lady hurried on. 

"As to questions, there are probably fewer asked you in Argentine thananywhere else in the world. It's one of the standing jokes of the place, both in Buenos Aires and out in the Camp. Of course, the old Spanishfamilies are all right; but when it comes to foreigners a social catechismwouldn't do. That's one of the reasons the place didn't agree with us. Wewanted people to know who we'd been before we got there; but that branchof knowledge isn't cultivated. "

"More beastly Johnnies in the Argentine passin' under names not theirown, " said the man, moved to speak, at last, "than in all the rest of theworld put together. Heard a story at the Jockey Club--lot of beastlynative bounders in the Jockey Club--heard a story at the Jockey Club of alittle Irish Johnny who'd been cheatin' at cards. Three other asseskicked him out. Beggar turned at the door and got in his lick of revenge. 'Say boys, d'yez know why they call me Mickey Flanagan out here? Becauseit's me na-ame. ' Beggar 'd got 'em all there. "

Ford nerved himself to laugh, but made an excuse for rising. 

"Oh, there's lots of cleverness among them, " the lady observed, before hehad time to get away. "In fact, it's one of the troubles with thecountry--for people like us. There's too much competition in brains. Myhusband hit the right nail on the head when he said there was no chancefor any beastly Johnny out there, unless he could use his bloomin'mind--and for us that was out of the question. "

Ford never spoke to them again, but he meditated on their words, findinghimself at the end of twenty-four hours in possession of a new light. "I've got to use my bloomin' mind. " The words seemed to offer him the clewto life. It was the answer to the question, "What should I do _there_?"which positively asked itself, whenever he thought of seeking a refuge inthis country or in that. It came as a discovery that within himself wasthe power that would enable him to make the best of any country, and thecountry to make the best of him. 

He could hardly have explained how his decision to try Argentina hadbecome fixed. Until he saw whether or not he should get successfullyashore at Liverpool there was a paralysis of all mental effort; but onceon the train for London his plans appeared before him already formed. Thecountry where few questions were asked and the past had no importance wasclearly the place for him. Within a fortnight he was a second-classpassenger on board the Royal Mail Steam Packet _Parana_, bound for BuenosAires--thus fulfilling, almost unexpectedly to himself, the suggestionmade by the girl in the Adirondack cabin, whose star, as he began tobelieve, must rule his fate. 

He thought of her now and then, but always with the same curious sense ofremoteness--or unreality, as of a figure seen in a dream. Were it not forthe substantial tokens of her actuality he possessed she would have seemedto him like the heroine of a play. He would have reproached himself fordisloyalty if the intensity of each minute as he had to meet it had notbeen an excuse for him. The time would come when the pressure of theinstant would be less great, and he should be able to get back the emotionwith which he left her. Perhaps if she had been "his type of girl, " herimage would not have faded so quickly. 

There was but one thing for which he was not grateful to her. She hadfixed the name of Herbert Strange upon him in such a way that he wasunable to shake it off. His own first name was the unobjectionablemonosyllable John--though he had always been known by his less familiarmiddle name, Norrie--and as John Ford he could have faced the world with acertain amount of bluff. He meant to begin the attempt immediately onreaching London, but the difficulty of appearing in a hotel under one namewhile everything he brought with him bore another was patent to him atonce. Similarly, he could not receive the correspondence incidental to hisoutfit and his passage under the name of Ford in a house where he wasknown as Strange. Having applied for his passage as Strange, he knew itwould create comment if he asked to be put down in the books as Ford. Dowhat he would he was obliged to appear on the printed list of second-cabinpassengers as Herbert Strange, and he had made at least one acquaintancewho would expect to call him so after they reached land. 

This was a little, clean-shaven man, in the neighborhood of sixty, alwaysdressed at sea as he probably dressed on shore. He wore nothing but black, with a white shirt and a ready-made black bow-tie. He might have been abutler, an elderly valet, or a member of some discreet religious order instreet costume. Ford had heard a flippant young Frenchman speak of him asan "ancien curé, qui a fait quelque bêtise"; and indeed there was abouthim that stamp of the ecclesiastic which is sometimes ineffaceable. 

"I call myself Durand, " he said to Ford, using the conveniently ambiguousFrench idiom, "je m'appelle Durand. "

"Et je m'appelle Strange, I call myself Strange, " Ford had replied, claiming the name for the first time without hesitation, but feeling theirrevocable nature of the words as soon as he had uttered them. 

Out of the crowd of second-rate Europeans of all races who made up thesecond cabin, the man who called himself Strange had selected the man whocalled himself Durand by some obscure instinct of affinity. "He looks likean old chap who could give one information, " was Strange's own way ofputting it, not caring to confess that he was feeling after a bit ofsympathy. But the give and take of information became the basis of theirfriendship, and imparted the first real stimulus to the young man'sawkward efforts to use his mind. 

Monsieur Durand had been thirty years in the Argentine, observing theplace and the people, native and foreign, with the impartial shrewdnessonly possible to one who sought little for himself. It was a pleasure toshare the fruits of his experience with one so eager to learn, for youngmen were not in the habit of showing him deference. He could tell Mr. Strange many things that would be to his advantage--what to do--what toavoid--what sort of place to live in--what he ought to pay--and what sortof company to keep. 

Yes, he knew the firm of Stephens and Jarrott--an excellent house. Therewas no Mr. Stephens now, only a Mr. Jarrott. Mr. Stephens had belonged tothe great days of American enterprise in the southern hemisphere, to thetime of Wheelwright, and Halsey, and Hale. The Civil War had put an end tothat. Mr. Jarrott had come later--a good man, not generally understood. Hehad suffered a great loss a few years ago in the death of hisbrother-in-law and partner, Mr. Colfax. Mrs. Colfax, a pretty littlewoman, who hadn't old age in her blood either--one could see that--hadgone back to the United States with her child--but a child!--blond as anangel--altogether darling--_tout à fait mignonne_. Monsieur Durand thoughthe remembered hearing that Mrs. Colfax had married again, but he couldn'tsay for certain. What would you? One heard so many things. He knew less ofthe family since the last boy died--the boy to whom he gave lessons inSpanish and French. Death hadn't spared the household--taking the threesons one after another and leaving father and mother alone. It was athousand pities Mrs. Colfax had taken the little girl away. They loved heras if she had been their own--especially after the boys died. An excellenthouse! Mr. Strange couldn't do better than seek an entry there--it is Iwho tell you so--_c'est moi qui vous le dis_. 

All this was said in very good English, with occasional lapses intoFrench, in a soft, benevolent voice, with slow benedictory movements ofthe hands, more and more suggestive of an ecclesiastic _en civile_--orunder a cloud. Strange stole an occasional glance into the delicate, clear-cut face, where the thin lips were compressed into permanent linesof pain, and the sunken brown eyes looked out from under scholarly browswith the kind of hopeful anguish a penitent soul might feel in the midstof purifying flames. He remembered again that the flippant young Frenchmanhad said, "Un ancien curé, qui a fait quelque bêtise. " Was it possiblethat some tragic sin lay under this gentle life? And was thefour-funnelled, twin-screwed _Parana_ but a ghostly ship bearing a cargoof haunted souls into their earthly purgatory?

"But listen, monsieur, " the old man began next day. But listen! Therewould be difficulties. Stephens and Jarrott employed only picked men, menwith some experience--except for the mere manual labor such as theItalians could perform. Wouldn't it be well for Mr. Strange to qualifyhimself a little before risking a refusal? Ah, but how? Monsieur Durandwould explain. There was first the question of Spanish. No one could getalong in the Argentine without a working knowledge of that tongue. Monsieur Durand himself gave lessons in it--and in French--but in theEnglish and American colonies of Buenos Aires exclusively. There werereasons why he did not care to teach among Catholics, though he himselfwas a fervent one, and he hoped--repentant. He pronounced the last wordwith some emphasis, as though to call Strange's attention to it. If hisyoung friend would give him the pleasure of taking a few lessons, theycould begin even now. It would while away the time on the voyage. He hadhis own method of teaching, a method based on the Berlitz system, but notborrowed from it, and, he ventured to say, possessing its own goodpoints. For example: _el tabaco--la pipa--los cigarillos. Que es esto?Esto es la pipa_. Very simple. In a few weeks' time the pupil is carryingon conversations. 

It would be an incalculable advantage to Mr. Strange if he could enter onhis Argentine life with some command of the vernacular. It might even bewell to defer his search for permanent employment until he could have thataccomplishment to his credit. If he possessed a little money--even a verylittle--Oh, he did? Then so much the better. He need not live on itentirely, but it would be something to fall back on while getting therudiments of his education. In the mean time he could learn a little aboutwool if he picked up jobs--Oh, very humble ones!--they were always to behad by the young and able-bodied--at the Mercado Central, one of the greatwool-markets of the world. He could earn a few pesetas, acquire practicalexperience, and fit himself out in Spanish, all at the same time. 

And he could live with relative economy. Monsieur Durand could explainthat too. In fact, he might get board and lodging in the same house ashimself, with Mrs. Wilson who conducted a modest home for "gentlemenonly. " Mrs. Wilson was a Protestant--what they called a Methodist, hebelieved--but her house was clean, with a few flowers in the patio, verydifferent from the frightful conventillos in which the poor were obligedto herd. If Mr. Strange thought it odd that he, Monsieur Durand, should beliving beneath a Protestant roof--well, there were reasons which weredifficult to explain. 

Later on, perhaps, Mr. Strange might take a season on some great sheepestancia out in the Camp, where there were thousands of herds that werethousands strong. Monsieur Durand could help him in that too. He couldintroduce him to wealthy proprietors whose sons he had taught. It would bea hard life, but it need not be for long. He would live in a mud hut, dirty, isolated, with no companionship but that of the Italian laborersand their womenkind. But the outdoor existence would do him good; the airover the pampas was like wine; and the food would not be as bad as hemight expect. There would be an abundance of excellent meat, chieflymutton, it was true, which when cooked _à_ la guacho--_carne concuero_, they called it in the Camp--roasted in the skin so as to keep all thejuices in the meat--! A gesture of the hands, accompanied by a succulentinspiration between the teeth, gave Strange to understand that there wasone mitigation at least to life on an Argentine estancia. 

To come into actual contact with the sheep, to know Oxfords, Cheviots, Leicesters, and Black-faced Downs, to assist at the feedings and washingsand doctorings and shearings, to follow the crossings and recrossings andcrossings again, that bred new varieties as if they were roses, to tracethe processes by which the Argentine pampas supply novel resources to theEuropean manufacturer, and the European manufacturer turns out the smartyoung man of London or New York, with his air of wearing "the verylatest"--all this would not only give Strange a pleasing sense of being atthe root of things, but form a sort of apprenticeship to his trade. 

 * * * * *

The men had not yet finished their hour of siesta, but Strange himself wasat work. Ten minutes were sufficient for his own snack, and he neverneeded rest. Moreover, he was still too new to his position to do otherthan glory in the fact that he was a free being, doing a man's work, andearning a man's wage. Out in the Camp he had been too desolate to feelthat, but here in Buenos Aires, at the very moment when the great city waswaking to the knowledge of her queenship in the southern world--when thecommercial hordes of the north were sweeping down in thousands of shipsacross the equator to outdo each other in her markets, it was an inspiringthing merely to be alive and busy. He was as proud of Stephens andJarrott's long brick shed, where the sun beat pitilessly on the corrugatediron roof, and the smell of wool nearly sickened him, as if it had been aRothschild's counting-house. His position there was just above the lowest;but his enthusiasm was independent of trivial things like that. How couldhe lounge about, taking siestas, when work was such a pleasure in itself?The shed of which he had the oversight was a model of its kind, not somuch because his ambition designed to make it so, as because his ardorcould make it nothing else. 

The roar of dock traffic through the open windows drowned everything butthe loudest sounds, so that busily working, he heard nothing, and paid noattention, when some one stopped behind him. He had turned accidentally, humming to himself in the sheer joy of his task, when the presence of thestranger caused him to blush furiously beneath his tan. He drew himselfup, like a soldier to attention. He had never seen the head of the firmthat employed him, but he had heard a young Englishman describe him as"looking like a wooden man just coming into life, " so that he was enabledto recognize him now. He did look something like a wooden man, in that thelong, lean face, of the tone of parchment, was marked by the few, deep, almost perpendicular folds that give all the expression there is to aSwiss or German medieval statue of a saint or warrior in painted oak. Onecould see it was a face that rarely smiled, though there was plenty oflife in the deep-set, gray-blue eyes, together with a force of cautious, reserved, and possibly timid, sympathy. Of the middle height and slender, with hair just turning from iron-gray to gray, immaculate in white duck, and wearing a dignified Panama, he stood looking at Strange--who, tall andstalwart in his greasy overalls, held his head high in conscious pride inhis position in the shed--as Capital might look at Labor. It seemed a longtime before Mr Jarrott spoke--the natural harshness of his voice softenedby his quiet manner. 

"You're in charge of this gang?"

"Yes, sir. "

There was an embarrassed pause. As though not knowing what to say next, Mr. Jarrott's gaze travelled down the length of the shed to where theItalians, rubbing their sleepy eyes, were preparing for work again. 

"You're an American, I believe?"

"Yes, sir. "

"How old are you?"

"Not quite twenty-six. "

"What's your name?"

"Herbert Strange!"

"Ah? One of the Stranges of Virginia?"

"No, sir. "

There was another long pause, during which the older man's eyes wanderedonce more over the shed and the piles of wool, coming back again toStrange. 

"You should pick up a little Spanish. "

"I've been studying it. Hablo Español, pero no muy bien. "

Mr. Jarrott looked at him for a minute in surprise. 

"So much the better--tanto mejor, " he said, after a brief pause, andpassed on. 

VIII

He was again thinking how easy it had been, as he stood, more than threeyears later, on the bluffs of Rosario, watching the sacks of wheat glidedown the long chute--full seventy feet--into the hold of the _WalmerCastle_. The sturdy little Italians who carried the bags from thewarehouse in long single file might have been those he had superintendedin the wool-shed in Buenos Aires in the early stages of his rise. But hewas not superintending these. He superintended the superintendents ofthose who superintended them. Tired with his long day in the office, hehad come out toward the end of the afternoon not only to get a breath ofthe fresh air off the Parana, but to muse, as he often did, over the oddspectacle of the neglected, half-forgotten Spanish settlement, that hadslumbered for two hundred years, waking to the sense of its destiny as afactor of importance in the modern world. Wheat had created Chicago andWinnipeg Adam-like from the ground; but it was rejuvenating Rosario deSanta Fé Faust-like, with its golden elixir. It interested the man whocalled himself Herbert Strange--resident manager of Stephens and Jarrott'sgreat wheat business in this outlet of the great wheat provinces--to watchthe impulse by which Decrepitude rose and shook itself into Youth. As yetthe process had scarcely advanced beyond the early stages of surprise. The dome of the seventeenth-century Renaissance cathedral accustomed forfive or six generations to look down on low, one-storied Spanish dwellingssurrounding patios almost Moorish in their privacy, seemed to lift itselfin some astonishment over warehouses and flour-mills; while the minglingof its sweet old bells with the creaking of cranes and the shrieks ofsteam was like that chorus of the centuries in which there can be noblending of the tones. 

Strange felt himself so much a part of the rejuvenescence that theincongruity gave him no mental nor æsthetic shock. If in his presentposition he took a less naïve pride than in that of three years ago, hewas conscious none the less of a deep satisfaction in having his part, however humble, in the exercise of the world's energies. It gave him asense of oneness with the great primal forces--with the river flowingbeneath him, two hundred miles to the Atlantic, with the wheat fieldsstretching behind him to the confines of Brazil and the foothills of theAndes--to be a moving element in this galvanizing of new life into thedormant town, in this finding of new riches in the waiting earth. Therewas, too, a kind of companionship in the steamers moored to the red buoysin the river, waiting their turns to come up to the insufficient quays andbe loaded. They bore such names as _Devonshire_, _Ben Nevis_, and_Princess of Wales_. They would go back to the countries where the speechwas English, and the ideals something like his own. They would go back, above all, to the north, to the north that he yearned for with a yearningto which time brought no mitigation, to the north which was coming to meanfor him what heaven means to a soul outside the scope of redemption. 

It was only on occasions that this sentiment got possession of himstrongly. He was generally able to keep it down. Hard work, assisted byhis natural faculty for singleness of purpose and concentration ofattention, kept him from lifting the eyes of his heart toward theunattainable. Moreover, he had developed an enthusiasm, genuine in itsway, for the land of his adoption. The elemental hugeness of itscharacteristics--its rivers fifty to a hundred miles in width, its farms ahundred thousand acres in extent, its sheep herds and cattle herdsthousands to the count--were of the kind to appeal to an ardent, strenuousnature. There was an exhilarating sense of discovery in coming thus earlyto one of the world's richest sources of supply at a minute when it wasonly beginning to be tapped. Out in the Camp there was an impression offecundity, of earth and animal alike, that seem to relegate poverty andits kindred ills to a past that would never return; while down in the Portthe growth of the city went on like the bursting of some magic, monstrousflower. It was impossible not to share in some degree the pride of thebraggart Argentine. 

It was difficult, too, not to love a country in which the way had beenmade so smooth for him. While he knew that he brought to his work thosequalities most highly prized by men of business, he was astonishednevertheless at the rapidity with which he climbed. Men of long experiencein the country had been more than once passed over, while he got thepromotion for which they had waited ten and fifteen years. He admired theway in which for the most part they concealed their chagrin, but now andthen some one would give it utterance. 

"Hello, grafter!" a little man had said to him, on the day when hispresent appointment had become known among his colleagues. 

The speaker was coming down the stairs of the head office in the Avenidade Mayo as Strange was going up. His name was Green, and though he hadbeen twenty years in Argentine, he haled from Boston. Short and stout, with gray hair, a gray complexion, a gray mustache, and wearing grayflannels, with a gray felt hat, he produced a general impression ofneutrality. Strange would have gone on his way unheeding had not thesnarling tone arrested him. He had ignored this sort of insult more thanonce; but he thought the time had come for ending it. He turned on anupper step, looking down on the ashy-faced little man, to whom he had oncebeen subordinate and who was now subordinate to him. 

"Hello--what?" he asked, with an air of quiet curiosity. 

"I said, Hello, grafter, " Green repeated, with bravado. 

"Why?"

"I guess you know that as well as I do. "

"I don't. What is it? Out with it. Fire away. "

His tranquil air of strength had its effect in overawing the little man, though the latter stood firm and began to explain. 

"A grafter is a fellow with an underground pull for getting hold of whatbelongs to some one else. At least that's what I understand by it--"

"It's very much what I understand by it, too. But have I ever got hold ofanything of yours?"

"Yes, confound you! You've taken my job--the job I've waited for eversince 1885. "

"Did waiting for it make it yours? If so, you would have come by it moreeasily than I did. I worked for it. "

"Worked for it? Haven't I worked for it, too? Haven't I been in thisoffice for going on seventeen years? Haven't I done what they've paid mefor--?"

"I dare say. But I've done twice what they've paid me for. That's thesecret of my pull, and I don't mind giving it away. You mayn't likeit--some fellows don't; but you'll admit it it's a pull you could havehad, as well as I. Look here, Green, " he continued, in the same quiettone, "I'm sorry for you. If I were in your place, I dare say I shouldfeel as you do. But if I _were_ in your place, I'll be hanged if Ishouldn't make myself fit to get out of it. You're not fit--and that's theonly reason why you aren't going as resident manager to Rosario. You'relabelled with the year '1885, ' as if you were a bottle of champagne--andyou've forgotten that champagne is a wine that gets out of date. You're agood chap--quite as good as your position--but you're not better than yourposition--and when you are you won't be left in it any longer. "

In speaking in this way the man who had been Norrie Ford was consciouslydoing violence to himself. His natural tendency was to be on friendlyterms with those around him, and he had no prompting stronger than theliking to be liked. In normal conditions he was always glad to do akindness; and when he hurt any one's feelings he hurt his own still more. Even now, though he felt justified in giving little Green to understandhis intoleration of impertinence, he was obliged to fortify himself byappealing to his creed that he owed no consideration to any one. LittleGreen was protected by a whole world organized in his defence; Norrie Fordhad been ruined by that world, while Herbert Strange had been born outsideit. With a temperament like that of a quiet mastiff, he was forced to turnhimself into something like a wolf. 

In spite of the fact that little Green's account of the brief meeting onthe stairs presented it in the light of the castigation he hadadministered to "that confounded upstart from nobody knows where, " Strangenoticed that it made the clerks in the office, most of whom had been hissuperiors as Green had been, less inclined to bark at his heels. He gotrespect from them, even if he could not win popularity--and frompopularity, in any case, he had been shut out from the first. No man canbe popular who works harder than anybody else, shuns companionship, andtakes his rare amusements alone. He had been obliged to do all three, knowing in advance that it would create for him a reputation of an "uglybrute" in quarters whence he would have been glad to get good-will. 

Finding the lack of popularity a safeguard not only against pryingcuriosity, but against inadvertent self-betrayal, it was with somemisgiving that he saw his hermit-like seclusion threatened, as he rosehigher in the business and consequently in the social--scale. In theEnglish-speaking colony of Buenos Aires the one advance is likely to bringabout the other--especially in the case of a good-looking young man, evidently bound to make his mark, and apparently of respectableantecedents. The first menace of danger had come from Mr. Jarrott himself, who had unexpectedly invited his intelligent employee to lunch with him ata club, in order to talk over a commission with which Strange was to beintrusted. On this occasion he was able to stammer his way out of theinvitation; but when later, Mr. Skinner, the second partner, made a likeproposal, he was caught without an excuse, being obliged, with someconfusion, to eat his meal in a fashionable restaurant in the CalleFlorida. Oddly enough, both his refusal on the one occasion and hisacceptance on the other obtained him credit with his elders and superiors, as a modest young fellow, too shy to seize an honor, and embarrassed whenit was thrust upon him. 

To Strange both occurrences were so alarming that he put himself into adaily attitude of defence, fearing similar attack from Mr. Martin, thethird member of the firm. He, however, made no sign; and the bomb wasthrown by his wife. It came in the shape of a card informing Mr. Strangethat on a certain evening, a few weeks hence, Mrs. Martin would be athome, at her residence in Hurlingham. It was briefly indicated that therewould be dancing, and he was requested to answer if he pleased. Thegeneral information being engraved, his particular name was written in afree bold hand, which he took to be that of one of the daughters of thefamily. 

Though he did his best to keep his head, there was everything in that bitof pasteboard to throw him into a state of something like excitement. Notonly were the doors of the world Norrie Ford had known being thrown opento Herbert Strange, but the one was being moved by the same thrill--thethrill of the feminine--that had been so powerful with the other. He wasgrowing more susceptible to it in proportion as it seemed forbidden--justas a man in a desert island may dream of the delights of wine. 

He had looked at the Misses Martin, but had never supposed they couldfling a glance at him. He had seen them at the public gathering-places--intheir box at the opera, in the grand stand at the Jockey Club, in theircarriage at Palermo or in the Florida. They were handsome girls--blondeand dashing--whose New York air was in pleasant contrast to the gracefulindolence or stolid repose of the dark-eyed ladies of the Argentine, tooheavily bejewelled and too consciously dressed according to the Parismode. Strange said of the Misses Martin, as he had said of Wild Olive, that they were "not his type of girl"--but they were girls--they wereAmerican girls--they were bright, lively girls, representing the verypoetry and romance of the world that had turned him out. 

It was a foregone conclusion that he should decline their invitation, andhe did so; but the mere occasion for doing it gave his mind an impetus inthe direction in which he had been able hitherto to check it. He beganagain to think of the feminine, to dream of it, to long for it. For thetime being it was the feminine in the abstract--without features orpersonality. As far as it took form at all it was with the dainty, nestling seductiveness that belonged to what he called his "type"--a charmthat had nothing in common with the forest grace of the Wild Olive or thedash of the Misses Martin. 

Now and then he caught glimpses of it, but it was generally out of reach. Soft eyes, of the velvety kind that smote him most deliciously, would lifttheir light upon him through the casement of some old Spanish residence, or from the daily procession of carriages moving slowly along the palmavenue at Palermo or in the Florida. When this happened he would have aday or two of acting foolishly, in the manner of the Bonarense bucks. Hewould stand for hours of his leisure time--if he could get away from theoffice at the minute of the fashionable promenade--on the pavement of theFlorida, or under a palm-tree in the park, waiting for a particularcarriage to drive round again and again and again, while he returned thesweet gaze which the manners of the country allow an unknown lady tobestow, as a rose is allowed to shed its beauty. This being done, hewould go away, and realize that he had been making himself ridiculous. 

Once the incarnation of his dreams came so near him that it was actuallywithin his grasp. The tree of the knowledge of good and evil dangled itsfruit right before his eyes in the person of Mademoiselle Hortense, whosang at the Café Florian, while the clients, of whom he was sometimes one, smoked and partook of refreshments. She was just the little round, soft, dimpling, downy bundle of youth and love he so often saw in his mind'seye, and so rarely in reality, and he was ready to fall in love with anyone. The mutual acquaintance was formed, as a matter of course, over thepiece of gold he threw into the tambourine, from which, as she passed fromtable to table, she was able to measure her hearer's appreciation of art. Those were the days in which he first began to be able to dress well, andto have a little money to throw away. For ten days or a fortnight he threwit away in considerable sums, being either in love or in a condition likeit. He respected Mademoiselle Hortense, and had sympathy with her in hertrials. She was desperately sick of her roving life as he was of Mrs. Wilson's boarding-house. She was as eager to marry and settle down as heto have a home. The subject was not exactly broached between them, butthey certainly talked round it. The decisive moment came on the night whenher troupe was to sail for Montevideo. In the most delicate way in theworld she gave him to understand that she would remain even at theeleventh hour if he were to say the word. She might be on the deck, shemight be in her berth, and it still would not be too late. He left her atnine, and she was to sail at eleven. During the two intervening hours hepaced the town, a prey to hopes, fears, temptations, distresses. To do himjustice, it was her broken heart he thought of, not his own. To him shewas only one of many possibilities; to her, he was the chance of alifetime. She might never, he said to himself, "fall into the clutches ofso decent a chap again. " It was a wild wrestle between common sense andfolly--so wild that he was relieved to hear a clock strike eleven, and toknow she must have sailed. 

The incident sobered him by showing him how near and how easily he couldcome to a certain form of madness. After that he worked harder than ever, and in the course of time got his appointment at Rosario. It was a great"rise, " not only in position and salary, but also in expectations. Mr. Martin had been resident manager at Rosario before he was taken intopartnership--so who could tell what might happen next?

The first intimation of the change was conveyed by Mr. Jarrott in a mannercharacteristically casual. Strange, being about to leave the privateoffice one day, after a consultation on some matter of secondary import, was already half-way to the door, while Mr. Jarrott himself was stoopingto replace a book in the revolving bookcase that stood beside his chair. 

"By-the-way, " he said, without looking up, "Jenkins is going to representthe house in New York. We think you had better take his place at Rosario. "

Strange drew himself up to attention. He knew the old man liked hissubordinates to receive momentous orders as if they came in the routine ofthe day. 

"Very well, sir, " he said, quietly, betraying no sign of his excitementwithin. Raising himself, Mr. Jarrott looked about uneasily, as if tryingto find something else to say, while Strange began again to move towardthe door. 

"And Mrs. Jarrott--"

Strange stopped so still that the senior partner paused with that air ofgentlemanly awkwardness--something like an Englishman's--which he took onwhen he had firmly made up his mind. 

"Mrs. Jarrott, " he continued, "begs me to say she hopes you will--a--comeand lunch with us on Sunday next. "

There was a long pause, during which the young man searched wildly forsome formula that would soften his point-blank refusal. 

"Mrs. Jarrott is awfully kind, " he began at last to stammer, "but if shewould excuse me--"

"She will expect you on Sunday at half-past twelve. "

The words were uttered with that barely perceptible emphasis which, as thewhole house knew, implied that all had been said. 

 * * * * *

In the end the luncheon was no formidable affair. Except for his fear, lest it should be the thin edge of the wedge of that American social lifewhich it would be perilous for him to enter, he would have enjoyed thispeep into a comfortable home, after his long exile from anything of thesort. In building his house at Palermo, Mr. Jarrott had kept, in theoutlines at least, to the old Spanish style of architecture, as being mostsuited to the history and climate of the country, though the wealthyArgentines themselves preferred to have their residences look--like theirdresses, jewels, and carriages--as if they had come from Paris. Theinterior patio was spacious, shaded with vines, and gay with flowers, while birds, caged or free, were singing everywhere. The roomssurrounding it were airy and cool, and adapted to American standards ofcomfort. In the dining-room mahogany, damask, crystal, and silver gaveStrange an odd feeling of having been wafted back to the days and usagesof the boyhood of Norrie Ford. 

As the only guest he found himself seated on Mrs. Jarrott's right, andopposite Miss Queenie Jarrott, the sister of the head of the house. Thehost, as his manner was, spoke little. Miss Jarrott, too, only looked atStrange across the table, smiling at him with her large, thin, upward-curving smile, comic in spite of itself, and with a certain pathos, since she meant it to be charged with sentiment. Over the party at table, over the elderly men-servants who waited on them, over the room, over thepatio, there was--except for the singing of the birds--the hush thatbelongs to a household that never hears the noise or the laughter ofyouth. 

Mrs. Jarrott took the brunt of the conversation on herself She was abeautiful woman, faded now with the pallor that comes to northern peopleafter a long residence in the sub-tropical south, and languid from thesame cause. Her handsome hazel eyes looked as if they had been used toweeping, though they conserved a brightness that imparted animation to herface. A white frill round her throat gave the only relief to her plainblack dress, but she wore many handsome rings, after the Argentine fashionas well as a brooch and earrings of black pearls. 

She began by asking her guest if it was true, as Mr. Jarrott had informedher, that he was not one of the Stranges of Virginia. She thought he mustbe. It would be so odd if he wasn't. There _were_ Stranges in Virginia, and had been for a great many generations. In fact, her own family, theColfaxes, had almost intermarried with them. When she said almost, shemeant that they had intermarried with the same families--the Yorkes, theEndsleighs and the Poles. If Mr. Strange did belong to the VirginiaStranges, she was sure they could find relatives in common. Oh, he didn't?Well, it seemed really as if he must. If Mr. Strange came from New York, he probably knew the Wrenns. Her own mother was a Wrenn. She had been MissWrenn before she was Mrs. Colfax. He thought he had heard of them? Oh, probably. They were well-known people--at least they had been in the olddays--though New York was so very much changed. She rarely went back therenow, the voyage was so long, but when she did she was quite bewildered. Her own family used to be so conservative, keeping to a little circle ofrelatives and friends that rarely went north of Boston or south ofPhiladelphia; but now when she made them a visit she found them surroundedby a lot of people who had never been heard of before. She thought it apity that in a country where there were so few distinctions, those whichexisted shouldn't be observed. 

It was a relief to Strange when the sweet, languorous monologue, punctuated from time to time by a response from himself, or aninterjectory remark from one of the others, came to an end, and theyproceeded to the patio for coffee. 

It was served in a corner shaded by flowering vines, and presided over bya huge green and gray parrot in a cage. The host and hostess being deniedthis form of refreshment took advantage of the moment to stroll arm in armaround the court, leaving Miss Jarrott in tête-à-tête with Strange. Henoticed that as this lady led the way her figure was as lithe as a younggirl's and her walk singularly graceful. "No one is ever old with acarriage like yours, " Miss Jarrott had been told, and she believed it. Shedressed and talked according to her figure, and, had it not been forfeatures too heavily accentuated in nose and chin, she might have producedan impression of eternal spring-tide. As it was, the comic papers wouldhave found her cruelly easy to caricature, had she been a statesman. Theparrot screamed at her approach, croaking out an air, slightly off thekey:

 "Up and down the ba-by goes, Turning out its lit-tle . .. "

Tempted to lapse into prose, it proceeded to cry:

"Wa-al, Polly, how are you to-day? Wa-al, pretty well for an old gal, "after which there was a minute of inarticulate grumbling. When coffee waspoured, and the young man's cigarette alight, Miss Jarrott seized theopportunity which her sister-in-law's soft murmur at the table had notallowed her. 

"It's really funny you should be Mr. Strange, because I've known a younglady of the same name. That is, I haven't known her exactly, but I'veknown about her. "

Not to show his irritation at the renewal of the subject, Strange presumedshe was one of the Stranges of Virginia, with right and title to be socalled. 

"She is and she isn't, " Miss Jarrot replied. "I know you'll think it funnyto hear me speak so; but I can't explain I'm like that. I can't alwaysexplain. I say lots and lots of things that people just have to interpretfor themselves It's funny I should be like that, isn't it? I wonder why?Can you tell me why? And this Miss Strange--I never knew her really--notreally--but I feel as if I had. I always feel that way about friends offriends of mine. I feel as if they were my friends, too. I'd go throughfire and water for them. Of course that's just an expression but you knowwhat I mean, now don't you?"

Having been assured on that point, she continued:

"I'm afraid you'll find us a very quiet household, Mr. Strange, but we'rein mourning. That is, Mrs. Jarrott is in mourning; and when those dear tome are in mourning I always feel that I'm in mourning, too. I'm like that. I never can tell why it is, but--I'm like that. My sister-in-law has justlost her sister-in-law. Of course that's no relation to me, is it? And yetI feel as if it was. I've always called Mrs. Colfax my sister-in-law, andI've taught her little girl to call me Aunt Queenie. They lived here once. Mr. Colfax was Mrs. Jarrott's brother and Mr. Jarrott's partner. Thelittle girl was born here. It was a great loss to my brother when Mr. Colfax died. Mrs. Colfax went back to New York and married again. That wasa blow, too; so we haven't been on the same friendly terms of late years. But now I hope it will be different. I'm like that. I always hope. It'sfunny, isn't it? No matter what happens, I always think there's a silverlining to the cloud. Now, why should I be like that? Why shouldn't Idespair, like other people?"

Strange ventured the suggestion that she had been born with a joyoustemperament. 

"Wa-al, pretty well for an old gal!" screamed the parrot ending in acroaking laugh. 

"I'm sure I don't know, " Miss Jarrott mused. "Everybody is different, don't you think? And yet it sometimes seems to me that no one can be sodifferent as I am. I always hope and hope; and you see, in this case I'vebeen justified. We're going to have our little girl again. She's coming tomake us a long, long visit. Her name is Evelyn; and once we get her herewe hope she'll stay. Who knows? There may be something to keep her here. You never can tell about that. She's an orphan, with no one in the worldbut a stepfather, and he's blind. So who has a better right to her? Ialways think that people who have a right to other people should havethem, don't you? Besides, he's going to Wiesbaden, to a great oculistthere, so that Evelyn will come to us as her natural protectors. She'snearly eighteen now, and she wasn't eight when she left us. Oh yes, ofcourse we've seen her since then--when we've gone to New York--but thathasn't been often. She will have changed; she'll have her hair up, and bewearing her dresses long; but I shall know her. Oh, you couldn't deceiveme. I never forget a face. I'm like that. No, nor names either. I shouldremember you, Mr. Strange, if I met you fifty years from now. I noticedyou when you first began to work for Stephens and Jarrott. So did mysister-in-law, but I noticed you first. We've often spoken of you, especially after we knew your name was Strange. It seemed to us sostrange. That's a pun, isn't it? I often make them. We both thought youwere like what Henry--that's Mr. Jarrott's oldest son--might have grownto, if he had been spared to us. We've had a great deal of sorrow--Oh, agreat deal! It's weaned my sister-in-law away from the world altogether. She's like that. My brother, too--he isn't the same man. So when Evelyncomes we hope we shall see you often, Mr. Strange. You must begin to lookon this house as your second home. Indeed, you must. It'll please mybrother. I've never heard him speak of any young man as he's spoken ofyou. I think he sees the likeness to Henry. That'll be next year whenEvelyn comes. No, I'm sorry to say it isn't to be this year. She can'tleave her stepfather till he goes to Wiesbaden. Then she'll be free. Someone else is going to Wiesbaden with him. And isn't it funny, it's the sameMiss Strange--the lady we were speaking of just now. "

It was already some months since those words had been spoken, so that hehad ceased to dwell on them; but at first they haunted him like a snatchof an air that passes through the mental hearing, and yet eludes theattempt to bring it to the lips. Even if he had had the syntheticimagination that easily puts two and two together, he had not the leisure, in the excitement of his removal to Rosario and the undertaking of hisduties there, to follow up a set of clews that were scarcely more palpablethan odors. Nevertheless the words came back to him from time to time, andalways with the same odd suggestion of a meaning special--perhapsfatal--to himself. They came back to him at this minute, as he stoodwatching the loading of the _Walmer Castle_ and breathing the fresh airoff the Parana. But if they threatened danger, it was a danger thatdisappeared the instant he turned and faced it--leaving nothing behind butthe evanescent memory of a memory, such as will sometimes remain from adream about a dream. 

IX

Another year had passed before he learned what Miss Jarrott's words wereto mean to him. Knowledge came then as a flash of revelation in which hesaw himself and his limitations clearly defined. His success at Rosariohad been such that he had begun to think himself master of Fate; but Fatein half an hour laughingly showed herself mistress of him. 

He had been called to Buenos Aires on an errand of piety and affection--tobury Monsieur Durand. The poor old unfrocked priest had been gathered tohis rest, taking his secret with him--penitent, reconciled to the Church, and fortified with the Last Sacraments. Strange slipped a crucifix betweenthe wax-like fingers, and followed--the only mourner--to the RecoletaCemetery. 

Having ordered a cross to mark the grave, he remained in town a day or twolonger to attend to a small matter which for some time past he had atheart and on his conscience. It was now three or four years since he hadset aside the sum lent him by the girl for whom he had still no other namethan that of the Wild Olive. He had invested it, and reinvested it, tillit had become a fund of some importance. Putting it now into the safestAmerican securities, he placed them in the hands of a firm of Englishsolicitors in Buenos Aires, with directions not only to invest theinterest from time to time, but--in the event of his death--to followcertain sealed instructions with which also he intrusted them. From thefew hints he was able to give them in this way he had little doubt butthat her identity could be discovered, and the loan returned. 

In taking these steps he could not but see that what would be feasible incase of his death must be equally feasible now; but he had two reasons fornot attempting it. The first was definite and prudential. He was unwillingto risk anything that could connect him ever so indirectly with the lifeof Norrie Ford. Secondly, he was conscious of a vague shrinking from thepayment of this debt otherwise than face to face. Apart fromconsiderations of safety, he was unwilling to resort to the commonplacechannels of business as long as there was a possibility of taking anotherway. 

Not that he was eager to see her again. He had questioned himself on thatpoint, and knew she had faded from his memory. Except for a vision offugitive dark eyes--eyes of Beatrice Cenci--he could scarcely recall herfeatures. Events during the last six years had pressed so fast on eachother, life had been so full, so ardent, each minute had been so insistentthat he should give it his whole soul's attention, that the antecedentpast was gone like the passion no effort can recapture. As far as he couldsee her face at all, it looked at him out of an abyss of oblivion to whichhis mind found it as hard to travel back as a man's imagination to hisinfancy. 

It was with some shame that he admitted this. She had saved him--in asense, she had created him. By her sorcery she had raised up HerbertStrange out of the ruin of Norrie Ford, and endowed him with young vigor. He owed her everything. He had told her so. He had vowed his life to her. It was to be hers to dispose of, even at her caprice. It was what he hadmeant in uttering his parting words to her. But, now, that he had thepower in some degree, he was doing nothing to fulfil his promise. He hadeven lost the desire to make the promise good. 

It was not difficult to find excuses for himself. They were ready-made tohis hand. There was nothing practical that he could do except what he haddone about the money. Life was not over yet; and some day the chance mightcome to prove himself as high-souled as he should like to be. If he couldonly have been surer that he was inwardly sincere he would not have beenuneasy over his inactivity. 

Then, within a few minutes, the thing happened that placed him in a newattitude, not only toward the Wild Olive, but toward all life. 

Business with the head office detained him in Buenos Aires longer than hehad expected. It was business of a few hours at a time, leaving himleisure for the theatres and the opera, for strollings at Palermo, and forstanding stock-still watching the procession of carriages in the Floridaor the Avenida Sarmiento, in the good Bonarense fashion. He was alwaysalone, for he had acquired the art--none too easy--of taking pleasurewithout sharing it. 

So he found himself, one bright afternoon, watching the races from thelawn of the Hipodromo of the Jockey Club. He was fond of horses, and heliked a good race. When he went to the Hipodromo it was for the sporting, not the social, aspect of the affair. Nevertheless, as he strolled about, he watched for that occasional velvety glance that gave him pleasure, andamused himself with the types seated around him, or crossing hispath--heavy, swarthy Argentines, looking like Italian laborers grownrich--their heavy, swarthy wives, come out to display all the jewels thatcould be conveniently worn at once--pretty, dark-eyed girls, already witha fatal tendency to embonpoint, wearing diamonds in their ears and roundtheir necks as an added glory to costumes fresh from the rue de laPaix--grave little boys, in gloves and patent-leather boots, seatedwithout budging by their mammas, sucking the tops of their canes inimitation of their elder brothers, who wandered about in pairs or groups, all of the latest cut, eying the ladies but rarely addressing them--tallEnglishmen, who looked taller than they were in contrast to the pudgy racearound them, as the Germans looked lighter and the French moreblond--Italian opera singers, Parisian actresses Spanish dancers, music-hall soubrettes--diplomats of all nations--clerks out for aholiday--sailors on shore--tourists come to profit by a spectacle that hasno equal in the southern world, and little of the kind that is moreamusing in the north. 

As Strange's glance roamed about in search of a response he notinfrequently received it, for he was a handsome fellow by this time--tall, well dressed, and well set up, his trim, fair beard emphasizing theclear-cut regularity of his profile, without concealing the kindlinessthat played about the mouth. A little gray on the temples, as well as afew tiny wrinkles of concentration about the eyes, gave him an air ofmaturity beyond his age of thirty-two. The Anglo-Saxon influence in theArgentine is English--from which cause he had insensibly taken on anEnglish air, as his speech had acquired something of the Englishintonation. He was often told that he might pass for an Englishmananywhere, and he was glad to think so. It was a reason the less for beingidentified as Norrie Ford. It sometimes seemed to him that he could, incase of necessity, go back to North America, to New York, to Greenport, oreven to the little county town where he had been tried and sentenced todeath, and run no risk of detection. 

 * * * * *

The staring of other men first directed his attention toward her. She wassitting slightly detached from the party of Americans to whom she clearlybelonged, and in which the Misses Martin formed the merrily noisy centre. Though dressed in white, that fell softly about her feet, and trained onthe grass sidewise from her chair, her black cuffs, collar and hatsuggested the last days of mourning. Whether or not she was aware of thegaze of the passers-by it was difficult to guess, for her air of demuresimplicity was proof against penetration. She was one of those daintylittle creatures who seem to see best with the eyes downcast; but when shelifted her dark lashes, the darker from contrast with the golden hair, tosweep heaven and earth in a blue glance that belonged less to scrutinythan to prayer, the effort seemed to create a shyness causing the lids, dusky as some flowers are, to drop heavily into place again, like curtainsover a masterpiece. It was so that they rose and fell before Strange, hereyes meeting his in a look that no Argentine beauty could ever havebestowed, in that it was free from coquetry or intention, and whollyaccidental. 

It was in fact this accidental element, with its lack of preparation, thatgave the electric thrill to both. That is to say, in Strange the thrillwas electric; as for her, she gave no sign further than that she openedher parasol and raised it to shade her face. Having done this shecontinued to sit in undisturbed composure, though she probably sawthrough her fringing lashes that the tall, good-looking young man stillstood spellbound, not twenty yards away. 

Strange, on his part, was aware of the unconventionality of his behavior, though he was incapable of moving on. He felt the occasion to be one whichjustified him in transcending the established rules of courtesy. He wasface to face with the being who met not only all the longings of hisearthly love, but the higher, purer aspirations that accompanied it. Itwas not, so he said to himself, a chance meeting; it was one which theages had prepared, and led him up to. She was "his type of girl" only inso far as she distilled the essence of his gross imaginings and gave themin their exquisite reality. So, too, she was the incarnation of his dreamsonly because he had yearned for something mundane of which she was thecelestial, and the true, embodiment. He had that sense of theinsufficiency of his own powers of preconception which comes to a blindman when he gets his sight and sees a rose. 

He was so lost in the wonder of the vision that he had to be awakened asfrom a trance when Miss Jarrott, very young and graceful, crossed the lawnand held out her hand. 

"Mr. Strange! I didn't know you were in town. My brother never mentionedit. He's like that. He never tells. If I didn't guess his thoughts, Ishouldn't know anything. But I always guess people's thoughts. Why do yousuppose it is? I don't know. Do you? When I see people, I can tell whatthey're thinking of as well as anything. I'm like that; but I can't tellhow I do it. I saw you from over there, and I knew you were thinking aboutEvelyn. Now weren't you? Oh, you can't deceive me. You were thinking ofher just as plain--! Well, now you must come and be introduced. "

He felt that he stumbled blindly as he crossed the bit of greensward inMiss Jarrott's wake; and yet he kept his head sufficiently to know that hewas breaking his rules, contradicting his past, and putting himself inperil. In being presented to the Misses Martin and their group, he wasactually entering that Organized Society to which Herbert Strange had noattachments, and in which he could thrust down no roots. By sheer force ofwill he might keep a footing there, as a plant that cannot strike into thesoil may cling to a bare rock. All the same the attempt would bedangerous, and might easily lead to his being swept away. 

It was in full consciousness, therefore, of the revolution in his lifethat he bowed before the Misses Martin, who received him coldly. He hadnot come to their dance, nor "called, " nor shown them any of thecivilities they were accustomed to look for from young men. Turning theirattention at once to the other gentlemen about them, they made no effortto detain him as Miss Jarrott led him to Miss Colfax. 

Here the introduction would have been disappointing if the greatness ofthe event had not been independent of the details with which it happened. Strange was not in a condition to notice them, any more than a soul canheed the formalities with which it is admitted into heaven. Nearly all hisimpressions were subconscious--to be brought to the surface and dwelt onafter he went away. It was thus he recorded the facts relating to the goldtint--the _teint doré_--of her complexion, the curl of her lashes thatseemed to him deep chestnut rather than quite black, as well as the littletremor about her mouth, which was pensive in repose, and yet smiled withthe unreserved sweetness of an infant. He could not be said to have takenin any of these points at a glance; but they came to him later, vividly, enchantingly, in the solitude of his room at the Phoenix Hotel. 

What actually passed would have been commonplace in itself had it not beenfor what lay behind. Miss Colfax acknowledged the introduction with afleeting smile and a quick lifting of the curtains of her eyes. He did notneed that glimpse to know that they were blue, but he got a throb of blissfrom it, as does one from the gleam of a sunlit sea. To her answers to thequestions he asked as to when she had arrived, how she liked theArgentine, and what she thought of the Hipodromo, he listened less than tothe silvery timbre of her voice. Mere words were as unimportant to thosefirst minutes of subtle ecstasy as to an old Italian opera. The music wasthe thing, and for that he had become one enraptured auditory nerve. 

There was no chair for him, so that he was obliged to carry on theconversation standing. He did not object to this, as it would give him anexcuse for passing on. That he was eager to go, to be alone, to think, tofeel, to suffer, to realize, to trace step by step the minutes of the daytill they had led him to the supreme instant when his eyes had fallen onher, to take the succeeding seconds one by one and extract thesignificance from each, was proof of the power of the spell that had beencast upon him. 

"And isn't it funny, Evie, dear, " Miss Jarrott began, just as he was aboutto take his leave, "that Mr. Strange's name should be--"

"Yes, I've been thinking about that, " Miss Colfax fluted, with that prettyway she had of speaking with little movement of the lips. 

But he was gone. He was gone with those broken sentences ringing in hisears--casual and yet haunting--meaningless and yet more thanpregnant--creeping through the magic music of the afternoon, as adeath-motive breathes in a love-chant. 

X

After a night of little sleep and much thinking he determined to listen tonothing but the love-chant. He came to this decision, not in therecklessness of self-will, but after due consideration of his rights. Itwas true that, in biblical phrase, necessity was laid upon him. He couldno more shut his ears against that entrancing song than he could shut hiseyes against the daylight. This was not, however, the argument that hefound most cogent, as it was not the impulse from which he meant to act. If he could make this girl his wife it would be something more than a caseof getting his own way; it would be an instance--probably the highestinstance--of the assertion of himself against a world organized to destroyhim. He could not enter that world and form a part of it; but at least hecould carry off a wife from it, as a lion may leap into a sheepfold andsnatch a lamb. 

It was in this light that he viewed the matter when he accepted MissJarrott's invitations--now to lunch, now to dinner, now to a seat in theirbox at the opera or in their carriage in the park--during the rest of thetime he remained in town. It became clear to him that the family viewedwith approval the attachment that had sprung up between Miss Colfax andhimself, and were helping it to a happy ending. He even became aware thatthey were growing fond of him--making the discovery with a queersensation of surprise. It was a thing so new in his experience that hewould have treated the notion as ridiculous had it not been forced uponhim. Women had shown him favors; one lonely old man, now lying in theRecoleta Cemetery, had yearned over him; but a household had never openedits heart to him before. And yet there could be no other reading of thepresent situation. He began to think that Mr. Jarrott was delaying hisdeparture for Rosario purposely, to keep him near. It was certain thatinto the old man's bearing toward him there had crept something that mightalmost be called paternal, so that their business discussions were muchlike those between father and son. Mrs. Jarrott advanced as far out of thecircle of her griefs to welcome him as it was possible for her languorousspirit to emerge. Miss Jarrott, friendly from the first, attached him tothe wheels of her social chariot with an air of affectionate possession. 

It required no great amount of perspicuity to see that the three elderswould be glad if Miss Colfax and he were to "make a match of it, " and why. It would be a means--and a means they could approve--of keeping theirlittle girl among them. As matters stood, she was only a visitor, whospoke of her flight back to New York as a matter of course. 

"I only came, " she lisped to Strange, as they sat one day, under theparrot's chaperonage, in the shady corner of the patio--"I only camebecause when dear mamma died there was nothing else for me to do. Everything happened so unfortunately, do you see? Mamma died, and mystepfather went blind, and really I had no home. Of course that doesn'tmatter so much while I'm in mourning--I mean, not having a home--but Isimply _must_ go back to New York next autumn, in order to 'come out. '"

[Illustration: "Who is Miriam?" was on his lips]

"Aren't you 'out' enough already?"

"Do you see?" she began to explain, with the quaint air of practicalwisdom he adored in her, "I'm not out at all--and I'm nearly nineteen. Dear mamma fretted over it as it was--and if she knew it hadn't been doneyet--Well something must be managed, but I don't know what. It isn't as ifMiriam could do anything about it, though she's a great deal older than Iam, and has seen a lot of social life at Washington and in England. Butshe's out of the question. Dear mamma would never have allowed it. Andshe's no relation to me, besides. "

The question, "Who is Miriam?" was on his lips, but he checked it in time. He checked all questions as to her relatives and friends whom he did notknow already. He was purposely making ignorance his bliss as long aspossible, in the hope that before enlightenment could be forced upon himit would be too late for any one to recede. 

"Couldn't they do it for you here?" he asked, when he was sure of what hemeant to say. "I know the Miss Martins--"

"Carrie and Ethel! Oh, well! That isn't quite the same thing. _I_ couldn'tcome out in a place like Buenos Aires--or anywhere, except New York. "

"But when you've been through it all, you'll come back here, won't you?"

His eyes sought hers, but he saw only the curtains of the lids--those lidswith the curious dusk on them, which reminded him of the petals of certainpansies. 

"That'll--depend, " she said, after a minute's hesitation. 

"It'll depend--on what?" he persisted, softly. 

Before she could answer the parrot interrupted, screaming out a bit ofdoggerel in its hoarse staccato. 

"Oh, that bird!" the girl cried, springing up. "I do wish some one wouldwring its neck. "

He got no nearer to his point that day, and perhaps he was not eager to. The present situation, with its excitements and uncertainties, was tooblissful to bring to a sudden end. Besides, he was obliged to go throughsome further rehearsing of the creed adopted in the dawn on Lake Champlainbefore his self-justification could be complete. It was not that he wasquestioning his right to act; it was only that he needed to strengthen thechain of arguments by which his action must be supported--against himself. Within his own heart there was something that pleaded against the breakingoff of this tender sprig of the true olive to graft it on the wild, inaddition to which the attitude of the Jarrott family disconcerted him. Itwas one thing to push his rights against a world ready to deny them, butit was quite another to take advantage of a trusting affection that camemore than half-way to meet him. His mind refused to imagine what theywould do if they could know that behind the origin of Herbert Strangethere lay the history of Norrie Ford. After all, he was not concerned withthem, he asserted inwardly, but with himself. They were intrenched withina world able to take care of itself; while there was no power whatever toprotect him, once he made a mistake. 

So every night, as he sat in his cheerless hotel room, he reviewed hisarguments, testing them one by one, strengthening the weak spots accordingto his lights, and weighing the for and against with all the nicety hecould command. On the one side were love, happiness, position, a home, children probably, and whatever else the normal, healthy nature craves;on the other, loneliness, abnegation, crucifixion, slow torture, andslower death. Was it just to himself to choose the latter, simply becausehuman law had made a mistake and put him outside the human race? Theanswer was obvious enough; but while his intelligence made it promptly, something else within him--some illogical emotion--seemed to lag behindwith its corroboration. 

This hesitation of his entire being to respond to the bugle-call of hisneed gave to his wooing a certain irregularity--an advance and recessionlike that of the tide. At the very instant when the words of declarationwere trembling on his lips this doubt about himself would check him. Therewere minutes--moonlit minutes, in the patio, when the birds were hushed, and the scent of flowers heavy, and the voices of the older ones stolefrom some lighted room like a soft, human obligato to the melody of thenight--minutes when he felt that to his "I love you!" hers would come assurely as the echo to the sound; and yet he shrank from saying it. Theirtalk would drift near to it, dally with it, flash about it, play attackand defence across it, and drift away again, leaving the essential thingunspoken. The skill with which she fenced with this most fragile of alltopics, never losing her guard, never missing her thrust or parry, and yetnever inflicting anything like a wound, filled him with a sort of rapture. It united the innocence of a child to the cleverness of a woman of theworld, giving an exquisite piquancy to both. In this young creature, whocould have had no experience of anything of the kind, it was the veryessence of the feminine. 

By dint of vigil and meditation he drew the conclusion that his innerhesitancy sprang from the fact that he was not being honest with himself. He was shirking knowledge that he ought to face. Up to the present he haddone his duty in that respect, and done it pluckily. He had not balked atthe statement that his rôle in the world was that of an impostor--thoughan impostor of the world's own creation. It had been part of the taskforced upon him "to deceive men under their very noses, " as he hadexpressed it to himself that night on Lake Champlain. Whatever vengeance, therefore, discovery might call upon him, he could suffer nothing in theloss of self-respect. He would be always supported by his inner approval. Remorse would be as alien to him as to Prometheus on the rock. 

In the present situation he was less sure of that, and there he put hisfinger on his weakness. Seeing shadows flitting in the background hedodged them, instead of calling them out into daylight. He was counting onhappy chances in dealing with the unforeseen, when all his moves should bebased on the precise information of a general. 

Therefore, when, in the corner of the patio, the next opportunity arosefor asking the question, "Who is Miriam?" he brought it out boldly. 

"She's a darling. " The unexpected reply was accompanied by a suddenlifting of the lashes for a rapturous look and one of the flashing smiles. 

"That's high praise--from you. "

"She deserves it--from any one!"

"Why? What for? What has she done to win your enthusiasm when other peoplefind it so hard?"

"It isn't so hard--only some people go the wrong way to work about it, doyou see?"

She leaned back in her wicker chair, fanning herself slowly, and smilingat him with that air of mingled innocence and provocation which he foundthe most captivating of her charms. 

"Do I?" he was tempted to ask. 

"Do you? Now, let me think. Really, I never noticed. You'd have to beginall over again--if you ever did begin--before I could venture an opinion. "

This was pretty, but it was not keeping to the point. 

"Evidently Miriam knows how to do it, and when I see her I shall ask her. "

"I wish you _could_ see her. You'd adore her. She'd be just your style. "

"What makes you think that? Is she so beautiful? What is she like?"

"Oh, I couldn't tell you what she's like. You'd have to see her foryourself. No, I don't think I should call her beautiful, though somepeople do. She's awfully attractive anyhow. "

"Attractive? In what way?"

"Oh, in a lot of ways. She isn't like anybody else. She's in a class byherself. In fact, she has to be, poor thing. "

"Why should she be poor thing, with so much to her credit in the way ofassets?"

"Do you see?--that's something I can't tell you. There's a sort of mysteryabout her. I'm not sure that I understand it very well myself. I only knowthat dear mamma didn't feel that she could take her out, in New York, except among our very most intimate friends, where it didn't matter. Andyet when Lady Bonchurch took her to Washington she got a lot of offers--Iknow that for a fact--and in England, too. "

"I seem to be getting deeper in, " Strange smiled, with the necessary airof speaking carelessly. "Who is Lady Bonchurch?"

"Don't you know? Why, I thought you knew everything. She was the wife ofthe British Ambassador. They took a house at Greenport that year becausethey were afraid about Lord Bonchurch's lungs. It didn't do any good, though. He had to give up his post the next winter, and not long afterthat he died. I don't think air is much good for people's lungs, do you? Iknow it wasn't any help to dear mamma. We had all those tedious years atGreenport, and in the end--but that's how we came to know Lady Bonchurch, and she took a great fancy to Miriam. She said it was a shame a girl likethat shouldn't have a chance, and so it was. Mamma thought she interferedand I suppose she did. Still, you can't blame her much, when she had nochildren of her own, can you?"

"I shouldn't want to blame her if she gave Miriam her chance. "

"That's what I've always said. And if Miriam had only wanted to, she couldhave been--well, almost anybody. She had offers and offers in Washington, and in England there was a Sir Somebody-or-other who asked her two orthree times over. He married an actress in the end--and dear mamma thoughtMiriam must be crazy not to have taken him while he was to be had. Dearmamma said it would have been such a good thing for me to have some onelike Miriam--who was under obligations to us, do you see?--in a goodsocial position abroad. "

"But Miriam didn't see it in that way?"

"She didn't see it in any way. She's terribly exasperating in somerespects, although she's such a dear. Poor mamma used to be very triedabout her--and she so ill--and my stepfather going blind--and everything. If Miriam had only been in a good social position abroad it would havebeen a place for me to go--instead of having no home--like this. "

There was something so touching in her manner that he found it difficultnot to offer her a home there and then; but the shadows were marching outinto daylight, and he must watch the procession to the end. 

"It seems to have been very inconsiderate of Miriam, " he said. "But why doyou suppose she acted so?"

"Dear mamma thought she was in love with some one--some one we didn't knowanything about--but I never believed that. In the first place, she didn'tknow any one we didn't know anything about--not before she went toWashington with Lady Bonchurch. And besides, she couldn't be in love withany one without my knowing it, now could she?"

"I suppose not; unless she made up her mind she wouldn't tell you. "

"Oh, I shouldn't want her to tell me. I should see it for myself. Shewouldn't tell me, in any case--not till things had gone so far that--but Inever noticed the least sign of it, do you see? and I've a pretty sharpeye for that sort of thing at all times. There was just one thing. Dearmamma used to say that for a while she used to do a good deal of moping ina little studio she had, up in the hills near our house--but you couldn'ttell anything from that. I've gone and moped there myself when I've felt Iwanted a good cry--and I wasn't in love with any one. "

There was a long silence, during which he sat grave, motionless, reflecting. Now and then he placed his extinguished cigarette to hislips, with the mechanical motion of a man forgetful of time and place andcircumstance. 

"Well, what are you thinking about?" she inquired, when the pause hadlasted long enough. He seemed to wake with a start. 

"Oh--I--I don't know. I rather fancy I was thinking about--about thisMiss--after all, you haven't given me any name but Miriam. "

"Strange, her name is. The same as yours. "

"Oh? You've never told me that. "

"Aunt Queenie has, though. But you always seem to shuffle so when it'smentioned that I've let it alone. I don't blame you, either; for ifthere's one thing more tedious than another, it's having people for everfussing about your name. There was a girl at our school whose name wasFidgett--Jessie Fidgett--a nice, quiet girl, as placid as a church--but Ido assure you, it got to be so tiresome--well, you know how it wouldbe--and so I decided I wouldn't say anything about Miriam's name to you, nor about yours to her. Goodness knows, there must be lots of Stranges inthe world--just as much as Jarrotts. "

"So that--after all--her name was Miriam Strange. "

"It was, and is, and always will be--if she goes on like this, " MissColfax rejoined, not noticing that he had spoken half-musingly to himself. "She was a ward of my step-father's till she came of age, " she added, inan explanatory tone. "She's a sort of Canadian--or half a Canadian--orsomething--I never could quite make out what. Anyhow, she's a dear. She'sgone now with my stepfather to Wiesbaden, about his eyes--and you can'tthink what a relief to me it is. If she hadn't, I might have had to gomyself--and at my age--with all I've got to think about--and my comingout--Well, you can see how it would be. "

She lifted such sweet blue eyes upon him that he would have seen anythingshe wanted him to see, if he had not been determined to push his inquiriesuntil there was nothing left for him to learn. 

"Were you fond of him?--your stepfather?"

"Of course--in a way. But everything was so unfortunate I know dear mammathought she was acting for the best when she married him; and if he hadn'tbegun to go blind almost immediately--But he was very kind to mamma, whenshe had to go to the Adirondacks for her health. That was very soon aftershe returned to New York from here--when papa died. But she was so lonelyin the Adirondacks--and he was a judge--a Mr. Wayne--with a goodposition--and naturally she never dreamed he had anything the matter withhis eyes--it isn't the sort of thing you'd ever think of asking aboutbeforehand--and so it all happened that way, do you see?"

He did see. He could have wished not to see so clearly. He saw with alight that dazzled him. Any step would be hazardous now, except one inretreat; though he was careful to explain to himself that night that itwas retreat for reconnoitre, and not for running away. The mere fact thatthe Wild Olive had taken on personality, with a place of some sort in theworld, brought her near to him again; while the knowledge that he bore hername--possibly her father's name--seemed to make him the creation of hermagic to an even greater degree than he had felt hitherto. He couldperceive, too, that by living out the suggestions she had made to him inthe cabin--the Argentine--Stephens and Jarrott--"the very good firm towork for"--he had never got beyond her influence, no more than theoak-tree gets beyond the acorn that has been its seed. The perception ofthese things would have been enough to puzzle a mind not easily at home inthe complex, even if the reintroduction of Judge Wayne had not confusedhim further. 

It was not astonishing, therefore, that he was seized with a suddenlonging to get away--a longing for space and solitude, for the pampas andthe rivers, and, above all, for work. In the free air his spirit wouldthrow off its oppression of discomfort, while in a daily routine ofoccupation he often found that difficulties solved themselves. 

"If you think that this business of Kent's can get along without me now, "he said to Mr. Jarrott, in the private office, next morning, "perhaps Ihad better be getting back to Rosario. "

Not a muscle moved in the old man's long, wooden face, but the gray-blueeyes threw Strange a curious look. 

"Do you want to go?" he asked, after a slight pause. 

Strange smiled, with an embarrassment that did not escape observation. 

"I've been away longer than I expected--a good deal longer. Things mustwant looking after, I suppose. Green can take my place for a while, but--"

"Green is doing very well--better than I thought he could. He seems tohave taken a new start, that man. "

"I'm not used to loafing, sir. If there's no particular reason for mystaying on here--"

Mr. Jarrott fitted the tips of his fingers together, and answered slowly. 

"There's no particular reason--just now. We've been speakingof--of--a--certain changes--But it's too soon--"

"Of course, sir, I don't want to urge my private wishes against--"

"Quite so; quite so; I understand that. A--a--private wishes, you say?"

"Yes, sir; entirely private. "

The gray-blue eyes rested on him in a gaze meant to be uninquisitive andnon-committal, but which, as a matter of fact, expressed something fromwhich Strange turned his own glance away. 

"Very well; I'd go, " the old man said, quietly. 

Strange left his cards that afternoon at the house just when he knew Mrs. Jarrott would be resting and Miss Jarrott driving with Miss Colfax. Atseven he took the night boat up the Plata to the Parana. 

XI

"Evie, what do you think made Mr. Strange rush away like that? Your unclesays he didn't have to--that he might just as well have stayed in town. "

"I'm sure I don't know, " was Evie's truthful response, as she flittedabout the dining-room table arranging the flowers before luncheon. 

"Your uncle thinks you do, " Mrs. Jarrott said, leaning languidly back inan arm-chair. Her tone and manner implied that the matter had nothing todo with her, though she was willing to speak of it. This was as far as shecould come to showing an interest in anything outside herself since theboys died. She would not have brought up the subject now if the girl'spallor during the last few days had not made them uneasy. 

"I haven't the least idea, " Miss Colfax declared. "I was just as muchsurprised as you were, Aunt Helen. "

"Your uncle thinks you must have said something to him--"

"I didn't. I didn't say anything to him whatever. Why should I? He'snothing to me. "

"Of course he's nothing to you, if you're engaged to Billy Merrow. "

Miss Colfax leaned across the table, taking a longer time than necessaryto give its value to a certain rose. 

"I'm not engaged to him now, " she said, as if after reflection--"not inmy own mind, that is. "

"But you are in his, I suppose. "

"Well, I can't help that, can I?"

"Not unless you write and tell him it's all over. "

Miss Colfax stood still, a large red flower raised in protestation. 

"That would be the cruellest thing I ever heard of, " she exclaimed, withconviction. "I don't see how you can bear to make the suggestion. "

"Then what are you going to do about it?"

"I needn't do anything just yet. There's no hurry--till I get back to NewYork. "

"Do you mean to let him go on thinking--?"

"He'd much rather. Whenever I tell him, it will be too soon for him. There's no reason why he should know earlier than he wants to. "

"But is that honor, dear?"

"How can I tell?" At so unreasonable a question the blue eyes clouded withthreatening tears. "I can't go into all those fine points, Aunt Helen, doyou see? I've just got to do what's right. "

Mrs. Jarrot rose with an air of helplessness. She loved her brother'sdaughter tenderly enough, but she admitted to herself that she did notunderstand young girls. Having borne only sons, she had never been calledupon to struggle with the baffling. 

"I hope you're not going to tell any one, Aunt Helen, " Evie begged, asMrs. Jarrott seemed about to leave the room. "I shouldn't want UncleJarrott to know, or Aunt Queenie, either. "

"I shall certainly spare them, " Mrs. Jarrott said, with what for her wasasperity. "They would be surprised, to say the least, after theencouragement you gave Mr. Strange. "

"I didn't give it--he took it. I couldn't stop him. "

"Did you want to?"

"I thought of it--sometimes--till I gave up being engaged to Billy. "

"And having passed that mental crisis, I suppose it didn't matter. "

"Well, the mental crisis, as you call it, left me free. I sha'n't have toreproach myself--"

"No; Mr. Merrow will do that for you. "

"Of course he will. I expect him to. It would be very queer if he didn't. I shall have a dreadful time making him see things my way. And with allthat hanging over me, I should think I might look for a little sympathyfrom you, Aunt Helen. Lots of girls wouldn't have said anything about it. But I told you because I want you to see I'm perfectly straight andabove-board. "

Mrs. Jarrott said no more for the moment, but later in the day sheconfided to her husband that the girl puzzled her. "She mixes me up sothat I don't know which of us is talking sense. " She was not at all surethat Evie was fretting about Mr. Strange--though she might be. If shewasn't, then she couldn't be well. That was the only explanation of herdepression and loss of appetite. 

"You can bet your life he's thinking of her, " Mr. Jarrott said, with thelapse from colloquial dignity he permitted himself when he got into hishouse-jacket. "He's praying to her image as if it was a wooden saint. "

With the omission of the word wooden this was much what Strange was doingat Rosario. Not venturing--in view of all the circumstances--to write toher, he could only erect a shrine in his heart, and serve it with adevotion very few saints enjoy. He found, however, that absence from herdid not enable him to form detached and impartial opinions on hissituation, just as work brought no subconsciously reached solution to theproblems he had to face. In these respects he was disappointed in theresults of his unnecessary flight from town. 

At the end of two months he was still mentally where he was when he leftBuenos Aires. His intelligence assured him that he had the right of a manwho has no rights to seize and carry off what he can; while that namelesssomething else within him refused to ratify the statement. What precisepart of him raised this obstacle he was at a loss to guess. It could notbe his conscience, since he had been free of conscience ever since thenight on Lake Champlain. Still less could it be his heart, seeing that hisheart was crying out for Evie Colfax more fiercely than a lion roars forfood. The paralysis of his judgment had become such that he was fastapproaching the determination to make Love the only arbiter, and let allthe rest go hang!

He was encouraged in this impulse by the thought that between her andhimself there was the mysterious bond of something "meant. " He believedvaguely in a Power, which, with designs as to human destinies, manifestsits intentions by fitful gleams, vouchsafed somewhat erratically. In thisway Evie Colfax, as a beautiful, fairy-like child, had been revealed tohim at the most critical instant of his life. His mind had never hithertogone back willingly to recollections of that night; but now he made theexcursion into the past with a certain amount of pleasure. He could seeher still, looking at a picture-book, her face resting on the back of herhand, and golden ringlets falling over her bare arm. He could see theboy, too. He remembered that his name was Billy. Billy who? he wondered. He could hear the sweet, rather fretful voice calling from the shadows:

"Evie dear, it's time to go to bed. Billy, I don't believe they let youstay up as late as this at home. "

How ridiculous it would have been to remember such trivial details allthese years if something hadn't been "meant" by it. There was a hint inthe back of his mind that by the same token something might have been"meant" about the Wild Olive, too, but he had not an equal temptation todwell on it. The Wild Olive, he repeated, had never been "his type ofgirl"--not from the very first. It was obviously impossible for asuperintending Power to "mean" things that were out of the question. 

He had got no further than this when the news was conveyed to him by Mrs. Green, whom he met accidentally in the street, that Mr. Skinner, thesecond partner, had had a "stroke, " and had been ordered to Carlsbad. Mrs. Skinner, so Mrs. Green's letters from the Port informed her, was toaccompany her husband. Furthermore, Miss Colfax was seizing theopportunity to travel with them to Southampton, where she would be able tojoin friends who would take her to New York. There was even a rumor thatMiss Jarrott was to accompany her niece, but Mrs. Green was unable tovouch for the truth of it. In any case, she said, there were signs of "aregular shaking up, " such as comes periodically in any great mercantileestablishment; and this time, she ventured to hope, Mr. Green would gethis rights. 

XII

The knowledge that it was a juncture at which to execute a daring movementacted as an opiate on what would otherwise have been, for Strange, a dayof frenzy. While to the outward eye he was going quietly about his work, he was inwardly calling all his resources to his aid to devise some planfor outwitting circumstance. After forty-eight hours of tearing at hisheart and hacking at his brain, he could think of nothing more originalthan to take the first train down to the Port, ask the girl to be hiswife, and let life work out the consequence. At the end of two days, however, he was saved from a too deliberate defiance of theunaccounted-for inner voice, by an official communication from Mr. Jarrott. 

It was in the brief, dry form of his business conversation, giving no hintthat there were emotions behind the stilted phraseology, and an old man'syearnings. Mr. Skinner was far from well, and would "proceed immediately"to Carlsbad. Strange would hand over the business at Rosario to Mr. Green--who would become resident manager, _pro tem_ at any rate--andpresent himself in Buenos Aires at the earliest convenient moment. Mr. Jarrott would be glad to see him as soon as possible after his arrival. 

That was all; but as far as the young man was concerned, it saved thesituation. On consulting the steamer-list he saw that the Royal MailSteam Packet _Corrientes_ would sail for Southampton in exactly six days'time. By dint of working all night with Mr. Green, who was happy to lendhimself to anything that would show him the last of his rival, he was ableto take a train to the Port next day. It was half-past six when he arrivedin Buenos Aires. By half-past eight he had washed, changed to an eveningsuit, and dined. At nine his cab stopped at the door of the house atPalermo. 

As he followed the elderly man-servant who admitted him, the patio was sodim that he made his way but slowly. He made his way but slowly, not onlybecause the patio was dim, but because he was trying to get his crowdingemotions under control before meeting his employer in an interview thatmight be fraught with serious results. For once in his life he wasunnerved, tremulous, almost afraid. As he passed the open doors andwindows of unlighted, or dimly lighted, rooms he knew she might be in anyone of the shadowy recesses. It would have been a relief to hear her atthe piano, or in conversation, and to know her attention was diverted. None the less, he peered about for a glimpse of her, and strained hishearing for a sound of her voice. But all was still and silent, except forthe muffled footfall of the servant leading him to the library at the farend of the court. 

If she had not moved out unexpectedly from behind a pillar, a littlefluttering figure in a white frock, he could have kept his self-control. If he had not come upon her in this sudden way, when she believed him inRosario, she, too, would not have been caught at a disadvantage. As itwas, he stood still, as if awe-struck. She gave a little cry, as iffrightened. It is certain that his movement of the arms was an automaticprocess, not dictated by any order of the brain; and the same may be saidfor the impulse which threw her on his breast. If, after that, the restwas not silence, it was little more. What he uttered and she replied wasscarcely audible to either, though it was understood by both. It was allover so quickly that the man-servant had barely thrown open the librarydoor, and announced "Mr. Strange, " when Strange himself was on thethreshold. 

It was a moment at which to summon all his wits together to attend tobusiness; but he was astonished at the coolness and lightness of heartwith which he did it. After those brief, sudden vows exchanged, it was aseasy to dismiss Evie Colfax momentarily from his mind as it is to forgetmoney troubles on inheriting a fortune. Nevertheless as he got himselfready to deal with practical, and probably quite commercial, topics, hewas fully conscious of the rapture of her love, while he was scarcely lessaware of a comfort closely akin to joy in feeling that the burden ofdecision had been lifted from him. Since Fate had taken the matter intoher own hands, she could be charged with the full responsibility. 

 * * * * *

Mr. Jarrott, who was smoking a cigar and sipping his after-dinner coffee, was in evening dress, but wore his house-jacket--a circumstance of whichStrange did not know the significance, though he felt its effect. The oldman's welcome was not unlike that of a shy father trying to break theshackles of reserve with a home-coming son. He pushed Strange gently intothe most comfortable arm-chair beside which he drew up a small table forthe cigar-box, the ash-tray, and the matches. He rang for another cup, and brought the coffee with his own hands. Strange remembered how often, after a hard day's work, he had been made uncomfortable by just suchawkward, affectionate attentions from poor old Monsieur Durand. 

"I didn't expect you so soon, " Mr. Jarrott began, when they were bothseated, "but you've done well to come. I'm afraid we're in for a regularupset all round. "

"I hope it isn't going to make things harder for you, sir, " Strangeventured, in the tone of personal concern which his kindly treatmentseemed to warrant him in taking. 

"It won't if I can get the right men into the right places. That'll be thetough part of the business. The wool department will suffer by Mr. Skinner's absence--he's very ill, in my opinion--and there's only one manwho can take his place. " Strange felt his heart throbbing and the colorrising to his face. He did not covet the position, for he disliked thewool department; but it was undeniably a "rise, " and right along the lineof highest promotion. "That's Jenkins, " Mr. Jarrott finished, quietly. 

Strange said nothing. After all, he was relieved. Mr. Jarrott did not goon at once, but when he did speak Strange fell back into the depths of hisarm-chair, in an attitude suggestive of physical collapse. 

"And if Jenkins came back here, " the old man pursued, "you'd have to takehis place in New York. "

Strange concealed his agitation by puffing out successive rings of smoke. If he had not long ago considered what he would say should this proposalever be made to him, he would have been even more overcome than heactually was. He had meant to oppose the offer with a point-blank refusal, but what had happened within the last quarter of an hour had so modifiedthis judgment that he could only sit, turning things rapidly over in hismind, till more was said. 

"There's no harm in--a--telling you, " Mr. Jarrott went on again, with thathesitancy Strange had begun to associate with important announcements, "that--a--Jenkins will be--a--taken into partnership. You won't--a--betaken into partnership--a--yet. But you will have a good salary in NewYork. I can--a--promise you that much. "

It was because he was unnerved that tears smarted in the young man's eyesat the implications in these sentences. He took his time beforeresponding, the courtesies of the occasion being served as well by silenceas by speech. 

"I won't try to thank you for all your kindness, sir, " he said, with avisible effort, "until I've told you something--something that, verylikely, you won't approve of. I've asked Miss Colfax to marry me, andshe's consented. "

The old man's brows shot up incredulously. 

"That's odd, " he said, "because not half an hour ago she told my wifethere was nothing whatever between you--that you hadn't even written toher since you went away. Mrs. Jarrott only left this room as you rang thedoor-bell. "

"But it was after I rang the door-bell, " Strange stammered "thatI--I--asked her. "

"Quick work, " was the old man's only comment, but the muscles of his lipsrelaxed slowly, as if rusty from disuse, into one of his rare smiles. 

With the assurance of this reception, Strange could afford to sit silenttill Mr. Jarrott made some further sign. 

"By the terms of her father's will, " he explained some minutes later, "I'mher guardian and trustee. She can't marry without my consent till shecomes of age. I don't say that in this instance I should--a--withhold myconsent; but I should feel constrained to--a--give it with conditions. "

"If it's anything I can fulfil, sir--"

"No; it wouldn't concern you so much as her. She's very young--and inheart she's younger than her age. She knows nothing about men--she can'tknow--and I dare say you're the first young fellow who ever said anythingto her about--well, you understand what I mean. Mind you, we've noobjections to you whatever. You are your own credentials; and we take themat their face value. You tell me you're an orphan, with no near relations, so that there couldn't be any complications on that score. Besides that, you're--a likely chap; and I don't mind saying that--a--my ladies--Mrs. Jarrott and my sister--have taken rather a fancy to you. It can't do youany--a--harm to know as much as that. "

Strange murmurred his appreciation, and the old man went on. 

"No; you're all right. But, as I said before, she's very young, and if wemarried her to you out of hand we feel that we shouldn't be giving her afair show. We think she ought to have a little more chance to look roundher, so to speak. In fact, she isn't what ladies call 'out. ' She'sscarcely ever seen a man, except through a window. Consequently, we thinkwe must send her back to New York, for a winter at any rate, and trot theprocession before her. My sister is to undertake it, and they're to sailnext week. That won't make so much difference to you now, as it would ifyou weren't soon going to follow them. "

Strange nodded. He felt himself being wafted to New York, whether he wouldor no. 

"Now all I have to say is this: if, when she's regularly started, shesees some other young fellow she likes better than you, you're to give herup without making a fuss. "

"Of course. Naturally, she would have to be free to do as she chose in thelong run. I'm not afraid of losing her--"

"That'll be your own lookout. You'll be on the spot, and will have as gooda chance as anybody else. You'll have a better chance; for you'll onlyhave to keep what you've won, while any one else would have to start in atthe beginning. But it's understood that there--a--can be no talk of awedding just yet. She must have next winter to reconsider her promise toyou, if she wants to. "

Strange having admitted the justice of this, the old man rose, and heldout his hand. 

"We'll keep the matter between ourselves--in the family, I mean--for thetime being, " he said, with another slowly breaking smile; "but the ladieswill want to wish you luck. You must come into the drawing-room and seethem. "

They were half-way to the door when Mr. Jarrott paused. 

"And, of course, you'll go to New York? I didn't think it necessary to askyou if you cared to make the change. "

With the question straight before him, Strange knew that an answer must begiven. He understood now how it is that there are men and women who findit worth their while to thrust their heads into lions' mouths. 

"Yes, sir, of course, " he answered, quietly; and they went on to join theladies. 

Part III

Miriam

XIII

On a day when Evie Colfax was nearing Southampton, and Herbert Strangesailing northward from the Rio de la Plata, up the coast of Brazil, MiriamStrange, in New York, was standing in the embrasure of a large bay-windowof a fifth-floor apartment, in that section of Fifty-ninth Street thatskirts the southern limit of Central Park. Her conversation with the manbeside her turned on subjects which both knew to be only preliminary tothe business that had brought him in. He inquired about her voyage homefrom Germany, and expressed his sympathy with "poor Wayne" on thehopelessness and finality of the Wiesbaden oculist's report. Taking alighter tone, he said, with a gesture toward the vast expanse of autumncolor on which they were looking down:

"You didn't see anything finer than that in Europe. Come now!"

"No, I didn't--not in its own way. As long as I can look at this I'malmost reconciled to living in a town. "

As her eyes roamed over the sea of splendor that stretched from their veryfeet, a vision of October gorgeousness against the sky, he was able tosteal a glance at her. His immediate observation was to the effect thatthe suggestion of wildness--or, more correctly, of a wild origin--was asnoticeable in her now, a woman of twenty-seven, as it was when he firstknew her, a girl of nineteen. That she should have brought it with herfrom a childhood passed amid lakes and rivers and hills was naturalenough--just as it was natural that her voice should have that liquidcadence which belongs to people of the forest, though it is rarely caughtby human speech elsewhere; but that she should have conserved thesequalities through the training of a woman of the world was moreremarkable. But there it was, that something woodland-born which Londonand New York had neither submerged nor swept away. It was difficult to sayin what it consisted, since it eluded the effort to say, "It is this orthat. " It resisted analysis, as it defied description. Though it mighthave been in the look, or in the manner, it conveyed itself to theobserver's apprehension, otherwise than by the eye or ear, as if itappealed to some extra sense. People who had not Charles Conquest'scloseness of perception spoke of her as "odd, " while those who had heardthe little there was to learn about her, said to each other, "Well, whatcould you expect?" Young men, as a rule, fought shy of her, not so muchfrom indifference as from a sense of an indefinable barrier between herand themselves so that it was the older men who sought her out. There wasalways some fear on Conquest's part lest the world should so assimilateher that her distinctiveness--which was more like an influence thatradiated than a characteristic that could be seen--would desert her; andit was with conscious satisfaction that he noted now, after an absence ofsome months, that it was still there. 

He noted, too, the sure lines of her profile--a profile becoming clearercut as she grew older--features wrought with delicacy and yet imbued withstrength, suggestive of carved ivory. Delicacy imbued with strength wasbetokened, too, by the tall slenderness of her figure, whose silence andsuppleness of movement came--in Conquest's imagination at least--from herfar-off forest ancestry. 

"I couldn't live anywhere else but here--if it must be in New York, " shesaid, turning from the window. "I couldn't do without the sense of woods, and space, and sky. I can stand at this window and imagine all sorts ofthings--that the park really does run into the Catskills, as it seems todo--that the Catskills run into the Adirondacks--and that the Adirondackstake me up to the Laurentides with which my earliest recollections begin. "

"I think you're something like Shelley's Venice, " he smiled, "a sort of'daughter of the earth and ocean. ' You never seem to me to belong in justthe ordinary category--"

She had been afraid of something like this from the minute he wasannounced, and so hastened to cling to the impersonal. 

"Then, the apartment is so convenient. Being all on one floor, it is somuch easier for Mr. Wayne to get about it than if he had stairs to climb. I didn't tell you that I've had Mrs. Wayne's room done over for Evie. It'sso much larger and lighter than her old one--"

He cleared his throat uneasily. 

"I remember your saying something of the kind before you went away in thespring. It's one of the things I came in to talk about to-day?"

"Indeed?" His change of tone alarmed her. He had taken on the air of a manabout to break unpleasant news. "Won't you sit down? I'll ring for tea. We're not in very good order yet, but the servants can give us that much. "

She spoke for the purpose of hiding her uneasiness, just as she felt thatshe should be more sure of herself while handling the teacups than if shewere sitting idle. 

"I've had a letter from Mr. Jarrott, " he said, making himself comfortable, while she moved the tea-table in front of her. "He wrote to me, partly asStephens and Jarrott's legal adviser, and partly as a friend. "

He allowed that information time to sink in before continuing. 

"He tells me Miss Jarrott is on her way home, with Evie. "

"Yes; Evie herself wrote me that. I got the letter at Cherbourg. "

"Then she probably told you about the house. "

"The house? What house?"

"The house they've asked me to take for the winter--for Miss Jarrott andher. "

The tea-things came, giving her the relief of occupation. She said nothingfor the moment, and her attention seemed concentrated on the rapid, silentmovements of her own hands among the silver and porcelain. Once she lookedup, but her glance fell as she saw his small, keen, gray-green eyesscanning her obliquely. 

"So I'm not to have her?" she said, at last. 

"It's only for this winter--"

"Oh, I know. But what's for this winter will be for every winter!"

"And she won't be far away. I've taken the Grant's house in Seventy-secondStreet. They asked for a house in which they could do some entertaining. You see, they want to give her a good time--"

"I quite understand all that. Evie has to 'come out. ' I've not the leastdoubt that they're managing it in the best way possible. Yes, I see that. If I feel a little--well, I won't say hurt--but a little--sorry--it'sbecause I've almost brought Evie up. And I suppose I'm the person she'smost fond of--as far as she's fond of any one. "

"I presume she's fond of my nephew, Billy Merrow. "

"I hope so. Billy rather teased her into that engagement, you know. She'stoo young to be deeply in love--unless it was with one romantic. And Billyisn't that. I'm not sure that there isn't trouble ahead for him. "

"Then I shall let him worry through it himself. I've got other things tothink about. "

When she had given him his tea and begun to sip her own, she looked upwith that particular bright smile which in women means the bracing of thecourage. 

"It'll be all right, " she said, with forced conviction. "I know it will. It's foolish in me to think I shall miss her, when she will be so near. It's only because she and Mr. Wayne are all I've got--"

"They needn't be, " he interposed, draining his cup, and setting it down, like a man preparing for action. 

She knew her own words had exposed her to this, and was vexed with herselffor speaking in a dangerous situation without due foresight. For a minuteshe could think of nothing to say that would ward off his thrust. She satlooking at him rather helplessly, unconsciously appealing to him with hereyes to let the subject drop. 

If he meant to go on with it, he took his time--flecking a few crumbs fromhis white waistcoat and from his fingertips. In the action he showedhimself for what he was--a man so neat as just to escape being dapper. There was nothing large about him, in either mind or body; while, on thecontrary, there was much that was keen and able. The incisiveness of theface would have been too sharp had it not been saved by the high-bredeffect of a Roman nose and a handsome mouth and chin. The fair mustache, faded now rather than gray, softened the cynicism of the lips withoutconcealing it. It was the face of a man accustomed to "see through" othermen--to "see through" life--compelling its favors from the world ratherthan asking them. The detailed exactness and unobtrusive costliness ofeverything about him, from the pearl in his tie to the polish on hisboots, were indicative of a will rigorously demanding "the best, " andtaking it. The refusal of it now in the person of the only woman whom hehad ever wanted as a wife left him puzzled, slightly exasperated, asbefore a phenomenon not to be explained. It was this unusual resistancethat caused the somewhat impatient tone he took with her. 

"It's all nonsense--your living as you do--like a professional trainednurse. "

"The life of a professional trained nurse isn't nonsense. "

"It is for you. "

"On the contrary; it's for me, more than for almost any one, to justify myright to being in the world. "

"Oh, come now! Don't let us begin on that. "

"I don't want to begin on it. I'd much rather not. But if you don't, youthrow away the key that explains everything about me. "

"All right, " he rejoined, in an argumentative tone. "Let's talk about it, then. Let's have it out. You feel your position; granted. Mind you, I'vealways said you wouldn't have done so if it hadn't been for GertrudeWayne. The world to-day has too much common sense to lay stress on acircumstance of that kind. Believe me, nobody thinks about it butyourself. Did Lady Bonchurch? Did any of her friends? You've got it alittle bit--just a little bit--on the brain; and the fault isn't yours; itbelongs to the woman whose soul is gone, I hope, where it's freed from therules of a book of etiquette. "

"She meant well--"

"Oh, every failure, and bungler, and mischief-maker means well. That'stheir charter. I'm not concerned with that. I'm speaking of what she did. She fixed it in your mind that you were like a sapling sprung from a seedblown outside the orchard. You think you can minimize that accident bybringing forth as good as any to be found within the pale. Consequentlyyou've taken a poor, helpless, blind man off the hands of the people whoseduty it is to look after him--and who are well able to do it--"

"That isn't the reason, " she declared, flushing. "If Mr. Wayne and I livetogether it's because we're used to each other--and in a way he has takenthe place of my father. "

"Oh, come now! That's all very fine. But haven't you got in the back ofyour mind the thought that the wild tree that's known by its good fruit isthe one that's best worth grafting?"

"If I had--" she began, with color deepening. 

"If you had, you'd simply be taking a long way round, when there's a shortcut home. I'm the orchard, Miriam. All you've got to do is to walk intoit--with me. "

A warmer tone came into his voice as he uttered the concluding words, adding to her discomfort. She moved the tea-things about, putting theminto an unnecessary state of order, before she could reply. 

"There's a reason why I couldn't do that, " she said, meeting his sharpeyes with one of her fugitive glances. "I would have given it to youwhen--when you brought up this subject last spring, only you didn't askme. "

"Well, what is it?"

"I couldn't love you. "

She forced herself to bring out the words distinctly. He leaned back inhis chair, threw one leg across the other, and stroked the thin, colorlessline of his mustache. 

"No, I suppose you couldn't, " he said, quietly, after considering herwords. 

"So that my answer has to be final. "

"I don't see that. Love is only one of the many motives for marriage--andnot, as I understand it, the highest one. The divorce courts are strewnwith the wrecks of marriages made for love. Those that stand the test oflife and time are generally those that have been contracted from some ofthe more solid--and worthier--motives. "

"Then I don't know what they are. "

"I could explain them to you if you'd let me. As for love--if it's neededat all--I could bring enough into hotch-potch as the phrase goes, to dofor two. I'm over fifty years of age. It never occurred to me that youcould--care about me--as you might have cared for some one else. But asfar as I can see, there's no one else. If there was, perhaps I shouldn'tpersist. "

She looked up with sudden determination. 

"If there was any one else, you--would consider that as settling thequestion?"

"I might. I shouldn't bind myself. It would depend. "

"Then I'll tell you; there _is_ some one else. " The words caused her toflush so painfully that she hastened to qualify them. "That is, theremight have been. "

"What do you mean by--might have been?"

"I mean that, though I don't say I've ever--loved--any man, there was aman I might have loved, if it had been possible. "

"And why wasn't it possible?"

"I'd rather not tell you. It was a long time ago. He went away. He nevercame back again. "

"Did he say he'd come back again?"

She shook her head. She tried to meet his gaze steadily, but it was likefacing a search-light. 

"Were you what you would call--engaged?"

"Oh no. " Her confusion deepened. "There was never anything. It was a longtime ago. I only want you to understand that if I could care for any oneit would be for him. And if I married you--and he came back--"

"Are you expecting him back?"

She was a long time answering the question. She would not have answered itat all had it not been in the hope of getting rid of him. 

"Yes. "

He took the declaration coolly, and went on. 

"Why? What makes you think he'll come?"

"I have no reason. I think he will--that's all. "

"Where is he now?"

"I haven't the faintest idea. "

"Hasn't he ever written to you?"

"Never. "

"And you don't know what's become of him?"

"Not in the least. "

"And yet you expect him back?"

She nodded assent. 

"You're waiting for him?"

Once more she braced herself to look him in the eyes and answer boldly. 

"I am. "

He leaned back in his chair and laughed, not loudly, but in good-humoredderision. 

"If that's all that stands between us--"

To her relief he said no more; though she was disappointed that thesubject should be dropped in a way that made it possible to bring it upagain. As he was taking his leave she renewed the attempt to end thematter once for all. 

"I know you think me foolish--" she began. 

"No, not foolish; only romantic. "

"Then, romantic. Romance is as bad as folly when one is twenty-seven. Iconfess it, " she went on, trying to smile, "only that you may understandthat it's a permanent condition which I sha'n't get over. "

"Oh yes, you will. "

"Things happened--long ago--such as don't generally happen; and so--I'mwaiting for him. If he never comes--then I'd rather goon--waiting--uselessly. "

It was hard to say, but it was said. He laughed again--not quite soderisively as before--and went away. 

When he had gone, she resumed her seat behind the tea-table. She satlooking absently at the floor and musing on the words she had just spoken. Not in all the seven or eight years since Norrie Ford went away had sheacknowledged to her own heart what, within the last few minutes, she haddeclared aloud. The utmost she had ever owned to herself was that she"could have loved him. " When she refused other men, she did not confess towaiting for him; she evaded the question with herself, and found pretexts. She would have continued doing so with Conquest, had not his persistencydriven her to her last stand. But now that she had uttered the words forhis benefit, she had to repeat them for her own. Notwithstanding herpassionate love of woods, winds, and waters, she had always been so sane, so practical, in the things that pertained to daily life that sheexperienced something like surprise at detecting herself in this conditionof avowed romance. She had actually been waiting for Norrie Ford toreturn, and say what he had told her he _would_ say, should it ever becomepossible! She was waiting for him still! If he never came she would rathergo on waiting for him--uselessly! The language almost shocked her; but nowthat the thing was spoken she admitted it was true. It was a light thrownon herself--if not precisely a new light, at least one from which allshades and colored wrappings that delude the eye and obscure the judgmenthad been struck away. 

She smiled to herself to think how little Conquest understood her when heascribed to her the ambition to graft her ungarnered branch on the stockof a duly cultivated civilization. She might have had that desire once, but it was long past. It was a kind of glory to her now to be outside thelaw--with Norrie Ford. There they were exiles together, in a wild paradisewith joys of its own, not less sweet than those of any Eden. She had facedmore than once the question of being "taken into the orchard, " as Conquestput it. The men who had asked her at various times to marry them had beenlike himself, men of middle age, or approaching it--men of assuredposition either by birth or by attainment. As the wife of any one of themher place would have been unquestioned. She had not rejected their offerslightly, or from any foregone conclusion. She had taken it as a duty toweigh each one seriously as it came; and, leaving the detail of loveapart, she had asked herself whether it was not right for her to seize theoccasion of becoming "some one" in the world. Once or twice the positionoffered her was so much in accordance with her tastes that her refusalbrought with it a certain vague regret. "But I couldn't do it, " were thewords with which she woke from every dream of seeing herself mistress in aquiet English park, or a big house in New York. Her habits might be thoseof civilized mankind; but her heart was listening for a call from beyondthe limits in which men have the recognized right to live. She could putno shackles on her freedom to respond to it--if it ever came. 

XIV

She discovered that Norrie Ford had come back, and that some of herexpectations were fulfilled by finding him actually seated beside her oneevening at dinner. 

Miss Jarrott's taste in table light was in the direction of candlestempered by deep-red shades. As no garish electricity was allowed tointrude itself into this soft glow, the result was that only oldacquaintances among her guests got a satisfactory notion of each other'sfeatures. It was with a certain sense of discovery that, by peeringthrough the rose-colored twilight, Miriam discerned now a Jarrott or aColfax, now an Endsleigh or a Pole--faces more or less well known to herwhich she had not had time to recognize during the few hurried minutes inthe drawing-room. 

It was the dinner of which Evie had said, in explaining her plan ofcampaign to Miriam, "We must kill off the family first of all. " It wasplain that she regarded the duty as a bore; but she was too worldly wisenot to see that her bread cast upon the waters would return to her. Mostof the Jarrotts were important; some were wealthy; and one--Mrs. EndsleighJarrott--was a power in such matters as assemblies and cotillons. Theladies Colfax were little less influential; and while the sphere of thePoles and Endsleighs was in the world of art, letters, and scholarship, rather than in that of fashion and finance, they had the uncontestedstatus of good birth. To Evie they represented just so much in the way ofher social assets, and she was quick in appraising them at their correctrelative values. Some would be good for a dinner given in her honor, others for a dance. The humblest could be counted on for a theatre-partyor a "tea. " She was skilful, too, in presenting her orphan state with atouching vividness that enlisted their sympathies on behalf of "poorJack's, " or "poor Gertrude's, " pretty little girl, according to the sideof the house on which they recognized the relationship. 

With the confusion incidental to the arrival from South America, thesettling into a new house, and the ordering of new clothes, Miriam had hadlittle of the old intimate intercourse with Evie during the six weekssince the latter's return. There was no change in their mutual relation;it was only that Evie was caught up into the glory of the coming winter, and had no time for the apartment in Fifty-ninth Street. It was withdouble pleasure, therefore, that Miriam responded one day to Evie'sinvitation to "come and look at my things, " which meant an inspection ofthe frocks and hats that had just come home. They lay about now, in cloudslike a soft summer sunset, or in gay spots of feathers and flowers, on thebed and the sofa in Evie's room, and filled all the chairs except the oneon which Miriam had retreated into the farthest corner of the bay-window. Seated there, not quite in profile, against the light, her head turned andslightly inclined, in order to get a better view of Evie's finery, herslender figure possessed a sort of Vandyke grace, heightened rather thandiminished by the long plumes and rich draperies of the month's fashion. Evie flitted between closets, wardrobes, and drawers, prattling while sheworked off that first event of her season, in which the family were to be"killed off. " She recited the names of those who would "simply _have_ tobe asked" and of those who could conveniently be omitted. 

"And, of course, Popsey Wayne must come, " she observed in her practicallittle way. "I dare say he won't want to, poor dear, but it wouldn't do ifhe didn't. Only you, you dear thing, will have to go in with him--to pilothim and look after him when the dishes are passed. But I'm going to havesome one nice on your other side, do you see?--some one awfully nice. Weshall have to ask a few people outside the family, just to give it relief, and save it from looking like Christmas. "

"You'll have Billy, I suppose. "

Evie took the time to deposit a lace blouse in a drawer, as softly as amother lays a sleeping babe to rest. 

"No, I sha'n't ask Billy, " she said, while she was still stooping. 

"Won't he think that queer?"

"I hope so. " She turned from the drawer, and lifted a blue gossamercreation from the bed. Miriam smiled indulgently. 

"Why? What's the matter? Have you anything to punish him for?"

"I've nothing to punish him for; I've only got something I want to--bringhome to him. " She paused in the middle of the room, with her blue burdenheld in her outstretched arms, somewhat like a baby at a christening. "Imight as well tell you, Miriam, first as last. You've got to know it sometime, though I don't want it talked about just yet. I've broken myengagement to Billy. "

"Broken your engagement! Why, I saw Billy myself this morning. I met himas I was coming over. He said he was here last night, and seemedparticularly cheerful. "

"He doesn't know it yet. I'm doing it--by degrees. "

"You're doing it by--what?" Miriam rose and came toward her, stoppingmidway to lean on the foot-rail of the bed. "Evie darling, what do youmean?"

Evie's eyes brimmed suddenly, and her lip trembled. 

"If you're going to be cross about it--"

"I'm not going to be cross about it, but I want you to tell me exactlywhat you're doing. "

"Well, I'm telling you. I've broken my engagement, and I want to let Billyknow it in the kindest way. I don't want to hurt his feelings. Youwouldn't like me to do that yourself. I'm trying to bring him where he'llsee things just as I do. "

"And may I ask if you're--getting him there?"

"I shall get him there in time. I'm doing lots of things to show him. "

"Such as what?"

"Such as not asking him to the dinner, for one thing. He'll know from thatthere's something wrong. He'll make a fuss, and I shall be disagreeable. Little by little he'll get to dislike me--and then--"

"And how long do you think it will take for that good work to beaccomplished?"

"I don't see that that matters. I suppose I may take all the time I need. We're both young--"

"And have all your lives to give to it. Is that what you mean?"

"I don't want to give all my life to it, because--I may as well tell youthat, too, while I'm about it--because I'm engaged to some one else. "

"Oh, Evie!"

Miriam went back, like a person defeated, to the chair from which she hadjust risen, while Evie buried herself in the depths of a closet, where sheremained long enough, as she hoped, to let Miriam's first astonishmentsubside. On coming out she assumed a virtuous tone. 

"You see now why I simply _had_ to break with Billy. I couldn't possiblykeep the two things going together--as some girls would. I'm one of thosewho do right, whatever happens. It's very hard for me--but if people wouldonly be a little more sympathetic--"

It was some minutes before Miriam knew just what to say. Even when shebegan to speak she doubted her capacity for making herself understood. 

"Evie darling, " she said, trying to speak as for a child's comprehension, "this is a very serious matter. I don't think you realize how serious itis. If you find you don't love Billy well enough, of course you must askhim to release you. I should be sorry for that, but I shouldn't blame you. But until you've done it you can't give your word to any one. "

"Well, I must say I never heard anything like that, " Evie declared, indignantly. "You do have the strangest ideas, Miriam. Dear mamma used tosay so, too. I try to defend you, but you make it difficult for me, I mustsay. I never knew any one like you for making things more complicated thanthey need be. You talk of my asking Billy to release me when I releasedmyself long ago--in my own mind. That's where I have to look. I must dothings according to my conscience--and when that's clear--"

"It isn't only a case of conscience, dear; it's one of common sense. Conscience has a way of sometimes mistaking the issue, whereas commonsense can generally be trusted to be right. "

"Of course, if you're going to talk that way, Miriam, I don't see what'sleft for me to answer; but it doesn't sound very reverent, I must say. I'mtrying to look at things in the highest light, and it doesn't strike me asthe highest light to be unkind to Billy when I needn't be. If you think Iought to treat him cruelly you must keep your opinion, but I know you'llexcuse me if I keep mine. "

She carried her head loftily as she bore another gown into the adjoiningdarkness, and Miriam waited patiently till she emerged again. 

"Does your other--I hardly know what to call him--does your other fiancéknow about Billy?"

"Why on earth should he? What good would that do? It will be all over--Imean about Billy--before I announce my second engagement, and as the oneto Billy will never be announced at all there's no use in saying anythingabout it. "

"But suppose Billy himself finds out?"

"Billy won't find out anything whatever until I get ready to let him. "

The finality of this retort reduced Miriam to silence. She allowed someminutes to pass before saying, with some hesitation:

"I suppose you don't mind my knowing--who it is?"

Evie was prepared for this question and answered it promptly. 

"I shan't mind your knowing--by-and-by. I want you to meet him first. When you've once seen him, I know you'll be more just to me. Till then I'mwilling to go on being--misunderstood. "

 * * * * *

During the three more weeks that intervened before the family dinnerMiriam got no further light on Evie's love-affairs. She purposely asked noquestions through fear of seeming to force the girl's confidence, but sheobtained some relief from thinking that the rival suitor could be no otherthan a certain young Graham, of whom she had heard much from Evie duringthe previous year. His chances then had stood higher than Billy Merrow's;and nothing was more possible than a discovery on Evie's part that sheliked him the better of the two. It was a situation that called forsympathy for Billy, but not otherwise for grave anxiety, so that Miriamcould wait quietly for further out-pourings of Evie's heart, and give hermind to the mysteries incidental to the girl's social presentation to theworld. 

Of the ceremonies attendant on this event the "killing off" of the familywas the one Miriam dreaded most. It was when she came within the peripheryof this powerful, meritorious, well-to-do circle, representing whateverwas most honorable in New York, that she chiefly felt herself an alien. She could scarcely have explained herself in this respect, since many ofthe clan had been kind to her, and none had ever shown her incivility. Itwas when she confronted them in the mass, when she saw their solidarity, their mutual esteem, their sum total of wealth, talents, and good works, that she grew conscious of the difference of essence between herself andthem. Not one of them but had the right to the place he sat in!--a rightmaintained by himself, but acquired by his fathers before him--not one ofthem but was living in the strength of some respectable tradition of whichhe could be proud! Endsleigh Jarrott's father, for example, had been abanker, Reginald Pole's the president of a university, Rupert Colfax's ajudge; and it was something like that with them all. In the midst of somuch that was classified, certified, and regular she was as obviously aforeign element as a fly in amber. She came in as the ward of PhilipWayne, who himself was a new-comer and an intruder, since he enteredmerely as "poor Gertrude's second husband, " by a marriage which they allconsidered a mistake. 

With the desire to be as unobtrusive as possible, she dressed herself inblack, without ornament of any kind, unaware of the fact that with herheight of figure, her grace of movement, her ivory tint, and thatexpression of hers which disconcerted people because it was firstappealing and then proud, she would be more than ever conspicuous againstthe background of brilliant toilets, fine jewels, and assured mannerswhich the family would produce for the occasion. As a matter of fact, there was a perceptible hush in the hum of talk as she made her entry intothe drawing-room, ostensibly led by Philip Wayne, but really leading him. As she paused near the door, half timid, half bewildered, looking for herhostess, it did not help her to feel at ease to see Mrs. EndsleighJarrott--a Rubens _Maria de Medici_ in white satin and pearls--raise herlorgnette and call on a tall young man who stood beside her to take alook. There was no time to distinguish anything further before MissJarrott glided up, with mincing graciousness, to shake hands. 

"How do you do! How do you do! So glad you've come. I think you must knownearly every one here, so I needn't introduce any one. I hardly everintroduce. It's funny, isn't it? They say it's an English custom not tointroduce, but I don't do it just by nature. I wonder why Ishouldn't?--but I never do--or almost never. So if you don't happen toknow your neighbors at table just speak. It was Evie who arranged whereevery one was to sit. _I_ don't know. They say that's English, too--justto speak. I believe it's quite a recognized thing in London to say, 'Isthis your bread or mine?' and then you know each other. Isn't it funny?Now I think we're all here. Will you take in Miriam, Mr. Wayne?"

A hasty embrace from Evie--an angelic vision in white--was followed by afew words of greeting from Charles Conquest after which Miriam saw MissJarrott take the arm of Bishop Endsleigh, and the procession began tomove. 

At table Miriam was glad of the dim, rose-colored light. It offered her aseclusion into which she could withdraw, tending her services to Wayne. She was glad, too, that the family, having so much to say to itself, paidher no special attention. She was sufficiently occupied in aiding thehelpless blind man beside her, and repeating for his benefit the names oftheir fellow-guests. As the large party talked at the top of its lungs, Miriam's quiet voice, with its liquid, almost contralto, quality, reachedher companion's ears unheard by others. She began with Bishop Endsleighwho was on Miss Jarrott's right. Then came Mrs. Stephen Colfax; after herMr. Endsleigh Jarrott, who had on his right Mrs. Reginald Pole. Mrs. Pole's neighbor was Charles Conquest, whom she shared with Mrs. RodneyWrenn. Now and then Wayne himself would give proof of that increasedacuteness in his hearing of which he had spoken more than once since hisblindness had become total. "Colfax Yorke is here, " he observed at onetime. "I hear his voice. He's sitting on our side of the table. " "Mrs. Endsleigh Jarrott is next but one to you, " he said at another time. "She'sairing her plans for the reconstruction of New York society. "

So for a while they kept one another in small talk, affecting the samesort of vivacity that obtained around them. It was not till dinner washalf over that he asked in an undertone:

"Who is your neighbor?"

"I don't know, " she managed to whisper back. "He's so taken up with Mrs. Endsleigh Jarrott that he hasn't looked this way. I don't think he's anymember of the family. "

"He must be, " Wayne replied. "I know his voice. I have some associationwith it, but just what I can't remember. "

Miriam herself listened to hear him speak, catching only an irrelevantword or two. 

"He sounds English, " she said then. 

"No, he isn't English. That's not my association. It's curious how themind acts. Since I became--since my sight failed--my memory instinctivelybrings me voices instead of faces, when I want to recall anything. Aren'tyou going to speak to him? You've got the formula: Is this your bread ormine?"

"It's very convenient, but I don't think I shall use it. "

"He'd like you to, I know. I heard him say to Mrs. Endsleigh Jarrott as wecame in--while Queenie Jarrott was talking--that you were he moststrikingly beautiful woman he had ever seen in his life. How's that for acompliment from a perfect stranger?"

"I certainly sha'n't speak to him now. A man who could say that to Mrs. Endsleigh, after having seen _her, _ must be wofully wanting in tact. "

Mary Pole on Wayne's right claimed his attention and Miriam was left herown mistress. Almost at once her attention was arrested by hearing Mrs. Endsleigh Jarrott saying in that appealing voice which she counted as thesecret of her success with men:

"Now do give me your frank opinion, Mr. Strange. You don't know how much Ishould like it. It's far from my idea that we should slavishly copyLondon. You know that, don't you? We've an entirely different stock ofmaterials to work with. But I'm firmly convinced that by working on theLondon model we should make society far more general, far morerepresentative, and far--oh, _far_--more interesting! Now, what do _you_think? Do give me your frank opinion. "

Mr. Strange! Her own name was sufficiently uncommon to cause Miriam toglance sidewise, in her rapid, fugitive way, at the person who bore it. His face was turned from her as he bent toward Mrs. Jarrott, but again sheheard his voice, and this time more distinctly. 

"I'm afraid my opinion wouldn't be of much value. Nevertheless, I know youmust be right. "

"Now I'm disappointed in you, " Mrs. Jarrott said, with prettyreproachfulness. "You're not taking me seriously. Oh, I see, I see. You'rejust an ordinary man, after all; when I thought for a minute you mightbe--well, a little different. Do take some of that asparagus, " she addedin another tone. "It's simply delicious. "

It was while he was helping himself to this delicacy that Miriam got thefirst clear view of his face, half turned as it was toward her. He seemedaware that she was observing him, for during the space of some seconds heheld the silver implements idle in his hands, while he lifted his eyes tomeet hers. The look they exchanged was significant and long, and yet shewas never quite sure that she recognized him then. For the minute she wasonly conscious of a sudden, inward shock, to which she was unable toascribe a cause. Something had happened, though she knew not what. Havingin the course of a few minutes regained her self-control, she could onlysuppose that it was a repetition of that unreasoning panic which had nowand then brought her to the verge of fainting, when by chance, in London, Paris, or New York, she caught a glimpse of some tall figure that carriedher imagination back to the cabin in the Adirondacks. She had alwaysthought that he might appear in some crowd and take her by surprise. Shehad never expected to find him in a gathering that could be called social. Still less had she looked to meet him like this, with Philip Wayne who hadsentenced him to death not three feet away. The mere idea waspreposterous. And yet--

She glanced at him again. He was listening attentively while Mrs. Endsleigh Jarrott's voice ran on:

"People say our society has no traditions. It _has_ traditions. It has thetraditions of the country village, and it has never outgrown them. We'renothing but the country village writ large. New York, Philadelphia, Boston, Baltimore--we're the country village over again, with itsnarrowness its sets, its timidity, all writ _so_ large that they hideanything like a real society from us. Now isn't it so, Mr. Strange? Don'tbe afraid to give me your frank opinion because that's what I'm askingfor. "

Miriam herself made an effort to seem to be doing something that wouldenable her to sit unnoticed. She was glad that Wayne was engaged by MaryPole so that he could no longer listen to the voice that wakened hisrecollections. She looked again at the tall, carefully dressed man besideher, so different in all his externals from anything she imagined NorrieFord could ever become. Norrie Ford was an outlaw and this was a man ofthe world. She felt herself being reassured--and yet disappointed. Herfirst feeling of faintness passed away, enabling her to face the situationwith greater calm. Under cover of the energetic animation characteristicof every American dinner-party at which the guests are intimate, she hadleisure to think over the one or two hints that were significant. Now andthen a remark was addressed to her across the table to which she managedto return a reply sufficiently apt to give her the appearance of being intouch with what was going on around her; but in reality she was taking inthe fact, with the spirit rather than the mind, that Norrie Ford hadreturned. 

She never understood just how and when that assurance came to her. It wascertainly not by actual recognition of his features, as it was not byputting together the few data that came under her observation. Thinking itover in after years, she could only say that she "just found herself_knowing it_. " He was there--beside her. Of that she had no longer adoubt. 

Her amazement did not develop all at once. Indeed, the position had an oddnaturalness, like something in a dream. The element of impossibility inwhat had happened was so great that for the time being her mind refused tomeet it. She was only aware of that vague sense of satisfaction, of inwardpeace, that comes when long-desired ends have been fulfilled. 

The main fact being accepted, her outer faculties could respond to thecall that a dinner-party makes on its least important member. When theconversation at her end of the table became general she took her part, andlater engaged in a three-cornered discussion with Wayne and Mary Pole onthe subject of an endowed theatre; but all the while her subconscious mindwas struggling for a theory to account for Norrie Ford's presence in thatparticular room and in that unexpected company. The need of someimmediate, plausible reason for so astounding an occurrence deadened herattention to the comparative quietness with which she accepted hiscoming--now that she had regained her self-control, although she wasconscious of stirrings of wild joy in this evidence that he had been trueto her. Had she recalled what she had said to him eight years ago as tothe Argentine, and the "very good firm to work for, " she would have had aneasy clew, but that had passed from her mind almost with theutterance--certainly with his departure He had gone out into the world, leaving no more trace behind him than the bird that has flown southward. Not once during the intervening years did the thought cross her mind thatwords which she had spoken nearly at haphazard could have acted as a guideto him, while still less did she dream that they could have led him intothe very seat beside her which he was occupying now. 

Nevertheless, he was there, and for the present she could dispense withthe knowledge of the adventures that had brought him. He was there, andthat was the reason of his coming in itself. He had hewn his way throughall difficulties to reach her--as Siegfried came to Brunhild, over themountains and through the fire. He had found the means--both the meansand the daring--to enter and make himself accepted in her own world, herown circle, her own family--in so far as she had a family--and to sitright down at her side. 

She was not surprised at it. She assured herself of that. At the veryinstant when she was saying to Mary Pole, across Philip Wayne's whitewaistcoat, that she had always thought of endowed institutions of creativeart as belonging to the races of weaker individual initiative--at the veryinstant when she was saying that, she was repeating to herself that thedirectness, the high-handedness, and the success of this kind of exploitwas exactly what she would have expected of Norrie Ford. It was what she_had_ expected of him--in one form or another. It was with a sense ofinward pride that she remembered that her faith in him had never wavered, even though it was not until Conquest forced her that she had confessedthe fact. She glanced at Conquest across the table now and caught his eye. He smiled at her and raised his glass, as though to drink to her health. She smiled in return, daringly, triumphantly, as she would not haveventured to do an hour ago. She could see him flush with pleasure--a rareoccurrence--at her unusual graciousness, while she was only rejoicing inher escape from him. Under the shadow of the tall man beside her, who hadachieved the impossible in order to be loyal to her, she felt for thefirst time in her life that she had found a shelter. It mattered nothingthat he was engrossed with Mrs. Endsleigh Jarrott, and that, after the oneglance, he had not turned toward her again; she was sure he knew that sheunderstood him, and that he recognized her power to wait in patience tohave the mystery explained. 

In the drawing-room he was introduced to her. Miss Jarrott led him up andmade the presentation. 

"Miss Strange, I want you to know Mr. Strange. Now isn't that funny? Youcan't think how many times I've thought how interesting it would be to seeyou two meet. It's so unusual to have the same name, especially when it'ssuch a strange name as yours. There's a pun. I simply can't help makingthem. My brother says I inherited all the sense of humor in the family. Idon't know why I do it, but I always see a joke. Can you tell me why I doit?"

Neither Strange nor Miriam knew what replies they made, but a conversationof some sort went on for a minute or two, after which Miss Jarrott whiskedhim away to present him to some one else. When he had gone Miriam was leftwith a feeling of spiritual chill. While it was impossible to betray aprevious acquaintance before Miss Jarrott, there had been nothing whateverin his bearing to respond to the recognition in hers. There was somethingthat might have been conveyed from mind to mind without risk, and he hadnot used the opportunity. In as far as he addressed her at all it had beenthrough Miss Jarrott, and he had looked around her and over her ratherthan directly into her eyes. 

During the rest of the evening she caught glimpses of him only in thedistance, talking now to one member of the family, now to another. It wasclear that Miss Jarrott was, in a way, showing him off, and that he wasreceived as some one of importance. She admired the coolness with which hecarried himself, while her inherited instincts gave her a curious thrillof content that these law-making, law-keeping people should be duped. 

She hoped he would find an occasion for passing again in her direction. If she could have only a word with him it might help to make the situationintelligible. But he did not return, and presently she noticed, in lookingabout the room, that he had disappeared. She, too, was eager to be gone. Only in solitude could she get control of the surging thoughts, thebewildering suggestions, the contradictory suppositions that crowded it onher. She saw how useless it was to try to build a theory without at leastone positive fact to go on. 

It was just as they were departing that her opportunity to ask a questioncame. They had said their good-nights to Miss Jarrott and were in thehall, waiting for the footman to call their carriage, when Evie, whom theyhad not wanted to disturb, came fluttering after them. She was flushed butradiant, and flung herself into Miriam's arms. 

"You dear thing! I haven't had time to say a word to you or Popsey Waynethe entire evening. But you'll excuse me, won't you? I've had to be civilto them all--do you see?--and do them up well. I knew you wouldn't mind. Iwanted you to have a good time, but I'm afraid you haven't. "

"Oh yes, " Miriam said, disengaging herself from the girl's embrace. "It'sbeen wonderful--it really has. But, Evie dear, " she whispered, drawing heraway from the group of ladies who stood cloaked and hooded, also waitingfor their carriages, "tell me--who is that Mr. Strange who sat next tome?"

Evie's eyes went heavenward, and she took on a look of rapture. 

"I hope you liked him. "

"I didn't have much chance to see. But why do you hope it?"

"Because--don't you see? Oh, surely you _must_ see--because--he's theone. "

XV

Enlightenment came to her in the carriage while she was driving homeward. During the five or ten minutes since Evie had spoken she, Miriam, had beensitting still and upright in the darkness, making no further attempt tosee reason through this succession of bewilderments from sheer inabilityto contend against them. For the time being, at any rate, the struggle wastoo much for her. The issues raised by Evie's overwhelming announcementwere so confusing that she must postpone their consideration. She mustpostpone everything but her own tumultuous passion, which had to be facedand mastered instantly. She was fighting with herself, with her own wildinward cries of protest, anger, jealousy, and self-pity, trying todistinguish each from the others and to silence it by appeal to her yearsof romantic folly, when suddenly Wayne spoke, in the cheery tone of a manwho has unexpectedly passed a pleasant evening. 

"I had a nice long chat with the Great Unknown, who was sitting besideyou, when the ladies left the dining-room. Who do you think he is?"

After the shocks of the last two hours, she was prepared to hear Waynetell her, in an offhand way, that it was Norrie Ford. Nevertheless, shesummoned what was left of her stunned faculties and did her best to speakcarefully. 

"I heard them call him Mr. Strange--"

"Odd that was, wasn't it? But it isn't such a very uncommon name. I've metother Stranges--"

"Oh yes. So have I. "

"Well, who do you think he is? Why, he's Stephens and Jarrott's new man inNew York. He's taken Jenkins's place. You remember Jenkins, don't you?That little man with a lisp. I had a nice long chat with him--Strange, Imean. He tells me he's a New-Yorker by birth, but that he went out to theArgentine after his father failed in business. Well, _he_ won't fail inbusiness, _I_ bet a penny. He's tremendously enthusiastic over theArgentine, too. Showed he had his head put on the right way when he wentthere. Wonderful country--the United States of South America some peoplecall it. We're missing our opportunities out there. Great volume of tradeflowing to Europe of which we had almost the monopoly at one time. I had anice long chat with him. "

Her tired emotions received a new surprise as Wayne's words directed herthoughts to the morning when she had made to Ford the first suggestion ofthe Argentine. She had not precisely forgotten it; she had only thought itof too little importance to dwell on. She remembered that she hadconsidered the idea practical till she had expressed it, but that hisopposition had seemed to turn it into the impossible. She had neversupposed that he might have acted on it--not any more than she hadexpected him to retain her father's name once he had reached a place ofsafety. In spite of the suddenness with which her dreams regarding him hadbeen dispelled, it gave her a thrill of satisfaction to think that theword which, in a sense, had created him had been hers. To her fiercejealousy, with which her pride was wrestling even now, there was ameasure of comfort in the knowledge that he could never be quite free fromher, that his existence was rooted in her own. 

"Queenie Jarrott tells me, " Wayne meandered on, "that her brother thinksvery highly of this young man. It seems that his business abilities arequite remarkable, and they fancy he looks like Henry--the eldest of theboys who died. It's extraordinary how his voice reminds me of someone--don't know who. It might be--But then again--"

"His voice is like a thousand other voices, " she thought it well to say, "just as he looks like a thousand other men. He's one of those rathertall, rather good-looking, rather well-dressed youngish men--not reallyyoung--of whom you'll pass twenty within a mile any day in Fifth Avenue, and who are as thick as soldiers on a battle-field at the lower end ofBroadway. "

 * * * * *

With the data Wayne had given her she worked out the main lines of thestory during the night; but it was not until she had done so that its fullsignificance appeared to her. Having grasped that, she could scarcely waitfor daylight in order to go to Evie, and yet when morning came sheabandoned that course as impolitic. Reflection showed her that herstruggle must be less with Evie than with Ford, while she judged that hehimself would lose no time in putting the battle in array. He must see asplainly as she did that she stood like an army across his path, and thathe must either retreat before her or show fight. She believed he would dothe latter and do it soon. She thought it probable that he would appearthat very day, and that her wisest plan was to await his opening attack. The necessity, so unexpectedly laid upon her, of defending the rightdeflected her mind from dwelling too bitterly on her own disillusioning. 

The morning having passed without a sign from him, she made herarrangements for having the afternoon undisturbed sending Wayne to drive, and ordering the servants to admit no one but Mr. Strange, should hechance to call. Having intrenched herself behind the fortification of thetea-table, she waited. In spite of her preoccupation, or rather because ofit, she purposely read a book, forcing herself to fix her attention on itspages in order to have her mind free from preconceived notions as to howshe must act and what she must say. Her single concession to herself wasto put on a new and becoming house dress, whose rich tones of brown andamber harmonized with her ivory coloring and emphasized the clear-cutdistinction of her features. Before taking up her position she surveyedherself with the mournful approval which the warrior about to fall maygive to the perfection of his equipment. 

It was half-past four when the servant showed him in. His formal attireseemed to her, as he crossed the room, oddly civilized and correct afterher recollections of him. Notwithstanding her dread of the openingminutes, the meeting passed off according to the fixed procedure of thedrawing-room. It was a relief to both to find that the acts of shakinghands and sitting down had been accomplished with matter-of-courseformality. With the familiar support of afternoon-call conventionsdifficult topics could be treated at greater ease. 

"I'm very glad to find you at home, " he began, feeling it to be a safeopening. "I was almost afraid--"

"I stayed in on purpose, " she said, frankly. "I thought you might come. "

"I wasn't sure whether or not you knew me last night--"

"I didn't at first. I really hadn't noticed you, though I rememberedafterward that you were standing with Mrs. Endsleigh Jarrott when Mr. Wayne and I came into the room. I wonder now if you recognized me?"

"Oh, rather! I knew you were going to be there. I've been in New York amonth. "

"Then you might have come to see me sooner. "

"Well, you see--"

He paused and colored, trying to cover up his embarrassment with a smile. She allowed her eyes to express interrogation not knowing that her frankgaze disconcerted him. She herself went back so eagerly to the days whenhe was the fugitive, Norrie Ford, and she the nameless girl who washelping him, that she could not divine his humiliation at being obliged todrop his mask. Since becoming engaged to Evie Colfax and returning to NewYork, he perceived more clearly than ever before that his true part in theworld was that of the respectable, successful man of business which heplayed so skilfully. It cost him an effort she could have no reason tosuspect to be face to face with the one person in the world who knew himas something else. 

"You see, " he began again, "I had to consider a good manythings--naturally. It wouldn't have done to give any one an idea that wehad met before. "

"No, of course not. But last night you might have--"

"Last night I had to follow the same tactics. I can't afford to run risks. It's rather painful, it's even a bit humiliating--"

"I can imagine that, especially here in New York. In out-of-the-way placesit must be different. There it doesn't matter. But to be among the verypeople who--"

"You think that there it does matter. I had to consider that. I had tomake it plain to myself that there was nothing dishonorable in imposing onpeople who had forced me into a false position. I don't say it'spleasant--"

"Oh, I know it can't be pleasant. I only wondered a little, as I saw youlast night, why you let yourself be placed in a position that made itnecessary. "

"I should have wondered at that myself a year ago. I certainly never hadany intention of doing it. It's almost as much a surprise to me to be hereas it is to you to see me. I suppose you thought I would never turn upagain. "

"No, I didn't think that. On the contrary, I thought you _would_ turnup--only not just here. "

It struck him that she was emphasizing that point for a purpose--to bringhim to another point still. He took a few seconds to reflect beforedeciding that he would follow her lead without further hanging back. 

"I shouldn't have returned to New York if I hadn't become engaged to MissColfax. You know about that, don't you? I think she meant to tell you. "

She inclined her head assentingly, without words. He noticed her dark eyesresting on him with a kind of pity. He had cherished a faint hope--thevery faintest--that she might welcome what he had just saidsympathetically. In the few minutes during which she remained silent thathope died. 

"I suppose, " she said, gently, "that you became engaged to Evie beforeknowing who she was?"

"I fell in love with her before knowing who she was. I'm afraid that whenI actually asked her to marry me I had heard all there was to learn. "

"Then why did you do it?"

He shrugged his shoulders with a movement acquired by long residenceamong Latins. His smile conveyed the impossibility of explaining himselfin a sentence. 

"I'll tell you all about it, if you'd like to hear. "

"I should like it very much. Remember, I know nothing of what happenedafter--after--"

He noticed a shade of confusion in her manner, and hastened to begin hisnarrative. 

Somewhat to her surprise, he sketched his facts in lightly, but dweltstrongly on the mental and moral necessities his situation forced on him. He related with some detail the formation of his creed of conduct in thedawn on Lake Champlain, and showed her that according to its tenets he waspermitted a kind of action that in other men might be reprehensible. Hecame to the story of Evie last of all, and allowed her to see howdominating a part Fate, or Predestination had played in evolving it. 

"So you see, " he ended, "it was too late then to do anything--but toyield. "

"Or withdraw, " she added, softly. 

He stared at her a moment, his body bent slightly forward his elbowsresting on the arms of his chair. As a matter of fact, he was thinkingless of her words than of her beauty--so much nobler in type than heremembered it. 

"Yes, " he returned, quietly, "I can see that it would strike you in thatway. So it did me--at first. But I had to look at the subject all round--"

"I don't need to do that. "

He stared at her again. There was a decision in her words which he foundhard to reconcile with the pity in her eyes and the gentle softness of hersmile. 

"You mean that you don't want to take my--necessities--intoconsideration. "

"I mean that when I see the one thing right to do, I don't have to lookany further. "

"The one thing right to do--for you?--or for me?"

"There's no reason why I should intervene at all. I look to you to save mefrom the necessity. "

He hesitated a minute before deciding whether to hedge or to meet hersquarely. 

"By giving up Evie and--clearing out, " he said, with a perceptible hint ofdefiance. 

"I shouldn't lay stress on your--clearing out. "

"But you would on my giving up Evie?"

"Don't you see, " she began, in an explanatory tone, "I, in my own person, have nothing to do with it? It isn't for me to say this should be done orthat. You can't imagine how hard it is for me to say anything at all; andif I speak, it isn't as myself--it's as the voice of a situation. You mustunderstand as well as I do what that situation imposes. "

"But I don't intend that a situation shall impose anything--on me. I meanto act as master--"

"But I'm neither so independent nor so strong--nor is Evie. You don'tconsider her. "

"I don't have to consider any one. When I make Evie happy I do all thatcan be asked of me. "

"No, you would be called on to _keep_ her happy. And she couldn't remainhappy if she were married to you. It isn't possible. She couldn't livewith you any more than--than a humming-bird could live with a hawk. "

They both smiled, rather nervously. 

"But I'm not a hawk, " he insisted. "I'm much more a humming-bird than youimagine. You think me some sort of creature of prey because youbelieve--that I did--what I was accused of--"

The circumstances seemed so far off from him now, so incongruous with whathe had become, that he reverted to them with difficulty. 

"I don't attach any importance to that, " she said, with a tranquillitythat startled him. "I suppose I ought to, but I never have. If you killedyour uncle, it seems to me--very natural. He provoked you. He deserved it. My father would have done it certainly. "

"But I didn't, you see. That puts another color on the case. "

"It doesn't for me. And it doesn't, as it affects Evie. Whether you'reinnocent or guilty--and I don't say I think you to be guilty--I've neverthought much about it--but whether you're guilty or not, your life is thekind of tragedy Evie couldn't share. It would kill her. "

"It wouldn't kill her, if she didn't know anything about it. "

"But she would know. You can't keep that sort of thing from a wife. Shewouldn't be married to you a year before she had discovered that youwere--a--"

"An escaped convict. Why not say it?"

"I wasn't going to say it. But at least she would know that you were a manwho was pretending to be--something that he wasn't. "

"You mean an impostor. Well, I've already explained to you that I'm animpostor only because Society itself has made me one, I'm not to blame--"

"I quite see the force of that. But Evie wouldn't. Don't you understand?That's my point. She would only see the horror of it, and she would beoverwhelmed. It wouldn't matter to her that you could bring forwardarguments in your own defence. She wouldn't be capable of understandingthem. You must see for yourself that mentally--and spiritually--just asbodily--she's as fragile as a butterfly. She couldn't withstand a storm. She'd be crushed by it. "

"I don't think you do her justice. If she were to discover--I mean, if theworst were to come to the worst--well, you can see how it's been withyourself. You've known from the beginning all there is to know--and yet--"

"I'm different. "

She meant the brief statement to divert his attention from himself, butshe perceived that it aroused a flash of self-consciousness in both. Whileshe could hear herself saying inwardly, "I'd rather go on waiting forhim--uselessly, " he was listening to a silvery voice, as it lisped thewords, "Dear mamma used to think she was in love with some one; we didn'tknow anything about it. " Each reverted to the memory of the lakeside scenein which he had said, "My life will belong to you . .. A thing for you todispose of . .. " and each was afraid that the other was doing so. 

All at once she saw herself as she fancied he must see her--a womanclaiming the fulfilment of an old promise, the payment of a long-standingdebt. He must think she was making Evie a pretext in her fight for her ownhand. His vow--if it was a vow--had been the germ of so much romance inher mind that she ascribed it to a place in the foreground of his. In allshe was saying he would understand a demand on her part that he shouldmake it good. Very well, then; if he could do her such injustice, he mustdo it. She could not permit the fear of it to inspire her with moralcowardice or deter her from doing what was right. 

Nevertheless, it helped her to control her agitation to rise and ring fortea. She felt the need of some commonplace action to assure herself andhim that now, at last, she was outside the realm of the romantic. He roseas she did, to forestall her at the bell; and as the servant entered withthe tray, they moved together into the embrasure of the wide bay-window. Down below the autumn colors were fading, while leaves, golden-yellow orblood-red, were being swirled along the ground. 

"I had to do things out there"--his nod was meant to indicate thedirection of South America--"in a somewhat high-handed manner, and I'veacquired the habit of it. If I'd stuck at difficulties I shouldn't havegot anywhere. "

She looked at him inquiringly, as though to ask the purport of theobservation. 

"You must see that I'm obliged to put this thing through--on Evie'saccount as much as mine. After getting her to care for me, I can't deserther now, whatever happens. "

"She wouldn't suffer--after a while. She'd get over it. You might not, butshe--"

"She shall not get over it, if I can help it. How can you ask me to lether?"

"Only on the ground that you love her well enough. "

"Would you call that love?"

"In view of all the circumstances, it would be my idea of it. "

"Then it wouldn't be mine. The only love I understand is the love thatfights for its object, in the face of all opposition. "

She looked at him a minute with what she tried to make a smile, but whichbecame no more than a quivering of the lip and lashes. 

"I hope you won't fight, " she said, in a tone of appeal, "because it wouldhave to be with me. If anything could break my heart, that would. "

She knew how near to self-betrayal she had gone, but in her eagerness shewas reckless of the danger. 

"How do you know it wouldn't break mine too?" he asked, with a scrutinythat searched her eyes. "But there are times in life when men have just tofight--and let their hearts be broken. In becoming responsible for Evie'shappiness I've given a pledge from which I can't withdraw--"

"But that's where you don't understand her--"

"Possibly; but it's where I understand myself. "

"Tea is served, miss, " the maid said, coming forward to where they talkedin undertones. At the same minute there was a shuffling at the door andWayne entered from his drive. Ford would have gone forward to help him, but she put out her hand and stopped him. 

"He likes to find his way himself, " she whispered. 

"They tell me there's tea in here, " Wayne said, cheerily, from thedoorway. 

"There's more than tea, " Miriam replied in as bright a tone as she couldassume. "There's Mr. Strange, whom you met last night. "

"Ah, that's good. " Wayne groped his way toward the voices. "How do you do!Glad to see you. It's windy out-of-doors. One feels the winter beginningto nip. "

Ford took the extended hand, and, without seeming to do so, adroitlypiloted the blind man to a seat as they moved, all three, to thetea-table. 

For the next ten minutes their talk turned on the common topics of theday. As during her conversation with Conquest a few weeks before, Miriamfound again that the routine of duties of acting as hostess steadied hernerves. With Ford aiding her in the little ways to which he had becomeaccustomed since his engagement to Evie, hostility was absent from theirmutual relation, even though opposition remained. That at least was acomfort to her; and now and then, as she handed him the bread and butteror a plate of cakes to pass to Wayne, their eyes could meet in a glance ofcomprehension. 

Wayne was still enjoying his tea when Ford turned to him with an abruptchange of tone. 

"I'm glad you came in, sir, while I was still here, because there'ssomething I particularly want to tell you. "

He did not look at Miriam, but he could feel the way in which she satupright and aghast. Wayne turned his sightless eyes, hidden by largecolored glasses, toward the speaker, and nodded. 

"Yes?" he said, interrogatively. 

"I would have told you before, only that Miss Jarrott and Miss Colfaxthought I had better wait till every one got settled. In any case, Mr. Jarrott made it a condition before I left Buenos Aires that it shouldn'tgo outside the family till Miss Colfax had had her social winter in NewYork. "

Wayne's face grew grave, but not unsympathetic. 

"I suppose I know what's coming, " he said, quietly. 

"It's the sort of thing that was bound to come sooner or later with MissColfax, " Ford smiled, speaking with an air of assurance. "What makes meuneasy is that I should be the man to come and tell the news. If it wasany one you knew better--"

"You've probably heard that I'm not Evie's guardian, " Wayne interposed. "I've no control at all over what she does. "

"I understand that; but to me there's an authority above the legal one--orat least on a level with it--and I should be unhappy--we should both beunhappy--if we didn't have your consent. "

Wayne looked pleased. He was so rarely consulted in the affairs of thefamily, especially since his affliction had forced him aside, that thisdeference was a clew to the young man's character. Nevertheless, heallowed some seconds to pass in silence, while Ford threw at Miriam aglance of defiance, in which there was also an expression of audaciousfriendliness. She sat rigid and pale, her hands clinching the arms of herchair. 

"It's a serious matter--of course, " Wayne said, after becoming hesitation;"but I've great confidence in Henry Jarrott. Next to Evie herself, he'sthe person most concerned--in a certain way. I'm told he thinks well ofyou--"

"He ought to know, " Ford broke in, confidently. "I've nothing to show inthe way of passports, except myself and my work. I've been with him eversince I went to South America, and he's been extremely kind to me. Theonly certificate of character I can offer is one from him. "

"That's sufficient. We should be sorry to let Evie go, shouldn't we, Miriam? She's a sweet child, and very much like her dear mother. But, asyou say, it was bound to happen one day or another; and we can only beglad that--I'm happy to congratulate you, Mr. Strange. Your name, at anyrate, is a familiar one. It's that of an old boyhood's friend of mine, whoshowed me the honor of placing this young lady in my charge. We calledhim Harry. His full name was Herbert Harrington, but he dropped the first. You seem to have taken it up--it's odd, isn't it, Miriam?--and I take itas a happy omen. "

"Thank you. " Ford rose, and made the blind man understand that he washolding out his hand, "I shall be more satisfied now for having told you. "

Miriam accompanied him into the hall, on pretext of ringing for the lift. 

"Oh, why did you do that?" she protested. "Don't you see that it onlymakes things more complicated than they were already?"

"It's my first move, " he laughed, with friendly bravado. "Now you can makeyours. "

She gazed at him in puzzled distress as the lift rose. 

"I'm coming again, " he said, with renewed confidence. "I've a lot morethings to say. "

"And I have only one, " she answered, turning back toward the drawing-room. 

"He's a nice young fellow, " Wayne said, as he heard her enter. He hadrisen and felt his way into the bay-window, where he stood looking outwardas if he could see. "I suppose it must be all right, since the Jarrottsare so enthusiastic Poor little Evie! I hope she'll be happy. It'sextraordinary how his voice reminds me of--"

She stood still in the middle of the room, waiting for him to continue. Nothing he could add would have surprised her now. But he said no more. 

XVI

Thinking that Ford might come again next afternoon, Miriam went out. Onher return she found his card--_Mr. Herbert Strange. _ The same thingoccurred the next day, and the next, and so on through the week. She wasnot afraid of seeing him. Now that the worst was known to her, she wassure of her mastery of herself, and of her capacity to meet anything. Whatshe feared most was her sympathy for him, and the possibility that in someunguarded moment of pity he might wring concessions from her which she hadno right to make. She hoped, too, that time, even a few days' time, wouldhelp him to work out the honorable course for himself. 

Her meetings with Evie were more inevitable, and required greaterself-repression. She was so used to the part of elder sister, with whomall confidences are discussed, that she found it difficult not to speakher heart out frankly. 

"I heard he had been to see you and Popsey Wayne, and told you, " Eviesaid, with her pretty nose just peeping above the bedclothes, at midday, on a morning later in the week. It was the day after Evie's first largedance, and she had been sleeping late. Miriam sat on the edge of the bed, smoothing stray golden tendrils off the flushed, happy little face. 

"He did come, " Miriam admitted. "Mr. Wayne made no objections. I can'tsay he was glad. You wouldn't expect us to be that, dear, would you?"

"I expect you to like him. It isn't committing you to much to say that. But you seem so--so every which way about him. "

"I'm not every which way about him. I can't say that I'm any way at all. Yes, I do like him--after a fashion. If I make reserves, it's because I'mnot sure that I think him good enough for my little Evie. "

"He's a great deal too good!" Evie exclaimed, rapturously. "Oh, Miriam, ifyou only knew how fond I am of him! I'd die for him--I truly believe Iwould--almost! Oh, it was so stupid last night without him! All these boysseem such pigeons beside him. I'm sorry now we're not going to announcethe engagement at once. I certainly sha'n't change my mind--and it wouldbe such fun to be able to say I was engaged before coming out. "

"Twice before coming out. "

"Oh, well, I only count it once, do you see? Billy's such a goose. Youshould have seen him last night when I forgot two of my dances withhim--on purpose. He's really getting to dislike me; so that I shall soonbe able to--to show him. "

"I wouldn't be in a hurry about that, dear. There's lots of time. As yousaid the other day, it's no use hurting his feelings--"

Evie sat up suddenly in bed, and looked suspicious. 

"So you're taking that stand. Now I know you don't like him. You've gotsomething against him, though I can't for the life of me imagine what itcan be, when you never laid eyes on him till a few days ago. Well, I'm notgoing to change, do you see? You may as well make up your mind to that atonce. And it will be Billy or no Billy. "

Nearer than that Miriam could not approach the subject through fear ofdoing more harm than good. At the end of a week Ford found her at home, chiefly because she felt it time he should. She secured again theafternoon-call atmosphere; but she noticed that he carried a smallpacket--a large, brownish-yellow envelope, strapped with rubberbands--which he kept in his hand. She was struck by the greater ease ofhis entry, and by the renewal of that sense of comradeship which hadmarked his bearing toward her in the old days in the cabin. The smallcomedy of introductory commonplace went off smoothly. 

"Well?" he said then, with a little challenging laugh. 

"Well--what?"

"I've been waiting for your move. You haven't made it. "

She shook her head. "I've no move to make. "

"Oh yes, you have--a great big move. You can easily say, Check. I doubt ifyou can make it, Checkmate. "

"I'm afraid that's a game I don't know how to play. "

He stared at her inquiringly--noting the disdain with which her chintilted and her lip curled, though he could see it was a disdain suffusedwith sweetness. 

"Do you mean that you wouldn't--wouldn't give me away?"

"I mean that you're either broaching a topic I don't understand orspeaking a language I've never learned. If you don't mind, we won'tdiscuss the subject, and we'll speak our mother-tongue--the mother-tongueof people like you and me. "

He stared again. It took him some few seconds to understand herphraseology. In proportion as her meaning broke upon him, his face glowed. When he spoke it was with enthusiasm for her generosity in taking thisstand rather than in gratitude for anything he was to gain by it. 

"By Jove, you're a brick! You always were. I might have expected that thisis exactly what you'd say. "

"I hope so. I didn't expect that you'd talk of my giving you away, as youcall it--to any one. "

"But you're wrong, " he said, with a return to the laughing bravado whichconcealed his inward repugnance to his position. "You're wrong. I'll giveyou that tip now. I'll fight fair. I sha'n't be grateful. I'll profit byyour magnanimity. Remember it's my part in the world to be unscrupulous. It has to be. I've told you so. With me the end justifies themeans--always; and when the end is to keep my word to Evie, it will makeno difference to me that you were too high-minded to put the big obstaclein my way. "

"You'll not expect me to be otherwise than sorry for that--for your sake. "

"No, I dare say. But I can't stop to think of what any one feels for mysake when I know what I feel for my own. "

"Which is only an additional reason for my being--sorry. You don't findfault with me for that?"

"I do. I don't want you to be sorry. I want to convince you. I want you tosee things from my point of view--how I've been placed. Good Lord! it'shard enough, without the sense that you're sitting in judgment on me. "

"I'm not sitting in judgment on you--except in so far as concerns EvieColfax. If it was anybody else--"

"But it couldn't be anybody else It's Evie or no one. She's everything onearth to me. She's to me what electricity is to the wire--that which makesit a thing alive. "

"To be a thing alive isn't necessarily the highest thing. "

"Ah, but that doesn't apply to me. It's all very well for other men tosay, 'All is lost to save honor. ' They have compensations. I haven't. Youmight as well ask a man to think of the highest thing when he's drowning. "

"But I should. There have been men who haven't--and they've saved theirlives by it. But you know what we've called them. "

"In my case there'd be only you to call me that--if you wanted to. "

"Oh no; there'd be--you. "

"I can stand that. I've stood it for eight years already. If you think Ihaven't had times when it's been hell, you're quite mistaken. I wonder ifyou can guess what it means to me--in here"--he tapped his breast--"to goround among all these good, kind, honorable people, passing myself off asHerbert Strange when all the time I'm Norrie Ford--and a convict? But I'mforced to. There's no way out of it. "

"Because there's no way out of it isn't a reason for going further in. "

"What does that matter? When you're in up to the eyes, what does it matterif you go over your head?"

"In this case it would matter to Evie. That's my point. I have to protecther--to save her. There's no one but me to do it--and you. "

"Don't count on me, " he said, savagely. "I've the right, in this wildbeast's life, to seize anything I can snatch. "

He renewed his arguments, going over all the ground again. She listenedto him as she had once listened to his plea in his defence--her posepensive, her chin resting on her hand, her eyes pitiful. As far as she wasaware of her own feelings it was merely to take note that a kind ofyearning over him, an immense sorrow for him and with him, hadextinguished the fires that a few days ago were burning for herself. Itwas hard to sit there heedless of his exposition and deaf to hispersuasion. Seeing her inflexible, he became halting in his speech, tillfinally he stopped, still looking at her with an unresenting, dog-likegaze of entreaty. 

She made no comment when he ceased, and for a time they sat in silence. 

"Do you know what this is?" he asked, holding the packet toward her. 

She shook her head wonderingly. 

"It's what I owe you. " She made a gesture of deprecation. "It's the moneyyou lent me, " he went on. "It's a tremendous satisfaction--that atleast--to be able to bring it back to you. "

"But I don't want it, " she stammered, in some agitation. 

"Perhaps not. But I want you to have it. " He explained to her briefly whathe had done in the matter. 

"Couldn't you give it to something?" she begged, "to some church orinstitution?"

"You can, if you like. I mean to give it to you. You see, I'm notreturning it with expressions of gratitude, because anything I could saywould be so inadequate as to be absurd. "

He left his chair and came to her, with the packet in his outstretchedhand. She shrank from it, rising, and retreating into the space of thebay-window. 

"But I don't want it, " she insisted. "I never thought of your returningit. I scarcely thought of the incident at all. It had almost passed frommy memory. "

"That's natural enough; but it's equally natural that it shouldn't havepassed from mine. " He came close to her and offered it again. "Do takeit. "

"Put it on the table. Please. "

"That isn't the same thing. I want you to take it. I want to put it intoyour own hand, as you put it into mine. "

She remembered that she had put it into his hand by closing his fingersforcibly upon it, and hastened to prevent anything of that kind now. Shetook it unwillingly, holding it in both hands as if it were a casket. 

"That's done, " he said, with satisfaction. "You can't imagine what arelief it is to have it off my mind. "

"I'm sorry you should have felt about it like that. "

"You would have felt like that yourself, if you were a man owing money toa woman--and especially a woman who was your--enemy. "

"Oh!" She cowered, as if he had threatened her. 

"I repeat the word, " he laughed, uneasily. "Any one is my enemy who comesbetween me and Evie. You'll forgive me if I seem brutal--"

"Yes, I'll forgive you. I'll even accept the word. " She was pale andnervous, with the kind of nervousness that kept her smiling and still, butsent the queer, lambent flashes into her eyes. "Let us say it. I'm yourenemy, and you pay me the money so as to feel free to strike me as hard asyou can. "

He kept to his laugh, but there was a forced ring in it. 

"I don't call that a fair way of putting it, but--"

"I don't see that the way of putting it matters, so long as it's thefact. "

"It's the fact twisted in a very ingenious fashion. I should saythat--since I'm going to marry Evie--I want--naturally enough--to feelthat--that"--he stammered and reddened, seeking a word that would notconvey an insult--"to feel--that I--met other claims--as well as I could. "

He looked her in the eyes with significant directness. His steady gaze, inwhich she saw--or thought she saw--glints of challenge toned down bygleams of regret, seemed to say, "Whatever I owe you other than money isout of my power to pay. " She fully understood that he did not repudiatethe debt; he was only telling her that since he had given all to Evie, hisheart was bankrupt. What angered her and kept her silent, fearing shewould say something she would afterward repent, was the implication thatshe was putting forth her claim for fulfilment. 

He still confronted her, with an air of flying humiliation as a flag ofdefiance, while she stood holding the packet in both hands, when the doorwas pushed open, and Evie, radiant from her walk in the cold air and finein autumn furs and plumage, fluttered in. Her blue eyes opened wide on thetwo in the bay-window, but she did not advance from the threshold. 

"Dear me, dear me!" she twittered, in her dry little fashion, before theyhad time to realize the fact that she was there. "I hope I'm notinterrupting you. "

"Evie dear, come in. " Miriam threw the packet on a table, and wentforward. Ford followed, trying to regain the appearance of "just making acall. "

"No, no, " Evie cried, waving Miriam back. "I only came--for nothing. Thatis--But I'll go away and come back again. Do you think you'll be long? ButI suppose if you have secrets--"

Her hand was on the knob again, but Miriam caught her. 

"No, darling, you must stay. You're absurd. Mr. Strange and I werejust--talking. "

"Yes, so I saw. That's why I thought I might be _de trap_. How do you do!"She put out her left hand carelessly to Ford, her right hand still holdingthe knob, and twisted her little person impatiently. Ford held her hand, but she snatched it away. "There's not the least reason why I should stay, do you see?" she hurried on. "I only came with a message from AuntQueenie. "

"I'm sure it's confidential, " Ford laughed, "so I'll make myself scarce. "

"You can do just as you like, " Evie returned, indifferently. "CousinColfax Yorke, " she added, looking at Miriam, "has telephoned that he can'tcome to dine; and, as it's too late to get anybody else, Aunt Queeniethought you might come and make a fourth. It's only ourselves and--- him, "she nodded toward Strange. 

"Certainly, I'll come, dear--with pleasure. "

"And I'll go, " Ford said; "but I won't add with pleasure, because thatwould be rude. "

When he had gone Evie sniffed about the room, looking at the pictures andcurios as if she had never seen them before. It was evident that she hadspied the packet, and was making her way, by a seemingly accidental route, toward it. Miriam drifted back to her place in the bay-window, where, while apparently watching the traffic in the street below, she kept an eyeon Evie's manœuvres. 

"What on earth can you two have to talk about?" Evie demanded, while sheseemed intent on examining a cabinet of old porcelain. 

"If you're very good, dear, " Miriam replied, trying to take an amused, offhand tone, "I'll tell you. It was business. "

"Business? Why, I thought you hardly knew him. "

"You don't have to know people very well to transact business with them. He came on a question of--money. "

"No, but you don't start up doing business with a person that's justdropped down from the clouds--like that. " She snapped her fingers toindicate precipitous haste. 

"Sometimes you do. "

"Well, _you_ don't. I know that for a fact. " She was inspecting a vase ona pedestal in a corner now. It was nearer to the packet. She wheeled roundsuddenly, so that it should take her by surprise. "What's that?"

"You see. It's an envelope with papers in it. "

"What sort of papers?"

"I haven't looked at them yet. They have to do with money, or investments, or something. I'm never very clear about those things. "

"I thought you did all that through Cousin Endsleigh Jarrott and Mr. Conquest?"

"This was a little thing I couldn't trouble them with. "

"And you went straight off to _him_, when you'd only known him--let mesee!--how many days?--one, two, three, four--"

"I've gone to people I didn't know at all--sometimes. You have to. If youonly knew more about investing money--"

"I don't know anything about investing money; but I know this is veryqueer. And you didn't like him--or you said you didn't. "

"I said I did, dear--after a fashion--and so I do. "

"In that case I should think a good deal would depend upon the fashion. Look here. It's addressed--_Miss Strange. _ That's his writing. That's howhe scribbles his name. And there's something written in tiny, tiny lettersin the corner. What is it?" Without touching the envelope she bent down tosee. "It's _The Wild Olive_. Now, what in this world can that mean? That'snot business, anyhow. That means something. "

"No, that's not business, but I haven't an idea what it means. " Miriam wasglad to be able to disclaim something. "It was probably on the envelope byaccident. Some clerk wrote it, and Mr. Strange didn't notice it. "

Evie let the explanation pass, while continuing to stare at the object ofher suspicions. 

"That's not papers, " she said, at last, pointing as she spoke to somethingprotruding between the rubber bands. "There's something in there. It lookslike a"--she hesitated to find the right article--"it looks like acard-case. "

"Perhaps it is, " Miriam agreed. "But I'm sure I don't know why he shouldbring me a card-case. "

"Why don't you look?"

"I wasn't in a hurry; but you can look yourself if you want to. "

Evie took offence. "I'm sure I don't want to. That's the last thing. "

"I wish you would. Then you'd see. "

"I only do it under protest, " she declared--"because you force me to. " Shetook up the envelope, and began to unloose the rubber bands. "_The WildOlive_" she quoted, half to herself. "Ridiculous! I should think clerksmight have something better to do than write such things as that--onenvelopes--on people's business. " But her indignation turned to surprisewhen a small flat thing, not unlike a card-case, certainly, tumbled out. "What in the name of goodness--?"

Only strong self-control kept Miriam from darting forward to snatch itfrom the floor. She remembered it at once. It was a worn red leatherpocket-book, which she had last seen when it was fresh and new--sitting inthe sunset, on the heights above Champlain, and looking at the jewelledsea. A card fell from it, on which there was something written. Eviedropped on one knee to pick it up. Miriam was sorry to risk anything, butshe felt constrained to say, as quietly as possible:

"You'd better not read that, dear. It might be private. "

Evie slipped the card back into the pocket-book, which she threw on thetable, where Miriam let it lie. "I won't look at anything else, " Eviesaid, with dignity, turning away. 

"I want you to, " Miriam said, authoritatively. "I beg you to. "

Thus commanded, Evie drew forth a flat document, on which she read, inornamental letters, the inscription, _New York, Toronto, and Great LakesRailroad Company_. She unfolded it slowly, looking puzzled. 

"It's nothing but a lot of little square things, " she said, with somedisdain. 

"The little square things are called coupons, if you know what they are. "

"I know they're things people cut--when they have a lot of money. I don'tknow why they cut them; and still less do I know why he should be bringingthem to you. "

Miriam had a sudden inspiration that made her face beam with relief. 

"I'll tell you why he brought them to me, dear--though I do it underprotest, as you say yourself. Your curiosity forces my hand, and makes meshow it ahead of time. He brought them to me because it's awedding-present for you. When you get married--or begin to getmarried--you can have all that money for your trousseau. "

"Aunt Helen is going to give me my trousseau. She said so. "

"Then you can have it for anything you like--for house-furnishings or apearl necklace. You know you wanted a pearl necklace--and there's plentyfor a nice one. Each of those papers is worth a thousand dollars, ornearly. And there are--how many?"

"Three. You seem very keen on getting rid of them. "

"So I am--to you, darling. "

Evie prepared to depart, looking unconvinced. 

"It's awfully nice of you--of course. But still--if that's what you hadmeant at first--from the beginning--you would have--Well, I'll tell AuntQueenie you'll come. "

Left alone, Miriam made haste to read the card in the pocket-book. 

 _As deep calls to deep, so Spirit speaks to Spirit. It is the only true communion between mutually comprehending souls. But it is unerring--pardoning all, because understanding all, and making the crooked straight. _

She read it more than once. She was not sure that it was meant for her. She was not sure that it was in Ford's own handwriting. But in theirsituation it had a meaning; she took it as a message to herself; and asshe read, and read again, she felt on her face the trickling of one or twoslow, hard tears. 

XVII

The result of the dinner that evening was that Evie grew more fretful. After the departure of her guests, she evolved a brief formula which sheused frequently during the next few weeks: "There's something!" With herquick eyes and quicker intuitions, it was impossible for her not to seethat Ford and Miriam possessed common memories of the kind thatdistinguish old acquaintances from new ones. When it did not transpire inchance words she caught it in their glances or divined it in the mentalatmosphere. As autumn passed into early winter she became nervous, peevish, and exacting; she lost much from her pretty ways and somethingfrom her looks. In the family the change was ascribed to the fatigueincidental to the sudden round of lunches, dinners, dances, suppers, theatre-parties, opera-goings, and "teas" with which American boys andgirls of a certain age are surfeited pitilessly with pleasure, asStrasburg geese are stuffed for paté de foie gras. Ford, however, suspected the true reason, and Miriam knew it. They met as seldom as mightbe; and yet, with the many things requiring explanation between them, frank conversation became imperative. 

"You see how it is already, " Miriam said to him. "It's making her unhappyfrom the start. You can't conceal the truth from her very long. "

"She isn't fretting about the truth; she's fretting about what sheimagines. "

"She's fretting because she doesn't understand, and she'll go on frettingtill she does. I'm not sorry. It must show you--"

"It shows me the necessity of our being married as soon as possible, sothat I may take care of her, and put a stop to it. "

"I agree with you that you'd put a stop to it. You'd put a stop toeverything. She wouldn't live a year--or you wouldn't. Either she'ddie--or she'd abhor you. And if she didn't die, you'd want to. "

"I wish to the Lord I had died--eight years ago. The great mistake I madewas when the lumber-jacks loosed my hand-cuffs and started me through thewoods. They called it giving me a chance, and for a few minutes I thoughtit was one. A chance! Good God! I remember feeling, as I ran, that I wasdeserting something. I didn't know what it was just then, but I'veunderstood it since. It would have been a pluckier thing to have been inmy coffin as Norrie Ford--or even doing time--than to be here as HerbertStrange. "

She said nothing for the moment, but as they walked along side by side heshot a glance at her, and saw her coloring. They had met in the park. Hewas going toward the house in Seventy-second Street when she was comingaway from it. Seizing the opportunity of a few words in private, he hadturned to stroll back with her. 

"I didn't expect you to be here as Herbert Strange, " she said, as thoughin self-excuse. "I had to give you a name that was like my own, when I waswriting letters about your ticket, and sending checks. I had to doeverything to avoid suspicion at a time when Greenport was watched. Ithought you might be able to take your own name or something like it--"

He explained to her how that had never been possible. 

"Evie fidgets about it, " he continued. "She puts together the two factsthat you and I seem to have known each other, and that my name isidentical with your father's. She doesn't know what to make of it; sheonly thinks 'there's something. ' She hasn't said more than that in words, but I see her little mind at work. "

"Evie isn't the only one, " she informed him. "There's Mr. Wayne. He has tobe reckoned with. He recognized your voice from the first minute ofhearing it, though he hasn't said yet that he knows whose it is. He may doso at any time. He's very surprising at that sort of thing. I can see himlistening when you're there, not only to your words, but to your verymovements, trying to recapture--"

"The upshot of everything, " he said, abruptly, "is that I must marry her, take her back to the Argentine, where I found her, and where we shall bothbe out of harm's way. "

"You wouldn't be out of harm's way. You can't turn your back on it likethat. You alone might be able to slip through, but not if you have Evie. "

"That will be my affair; I'll see to it. I take the full responsibility onmyself. "

"I couldn't let you. Remember that. You can't marry her. Let me say itplainly--"

"Oh, you've said it plainly enough. "

"If I've said it too plainly, it's because you force me. You're sowilful. "

"You mean, I'm so determined. What it amounts to is the clash of yourwill against mine; and you refuse to see that I can't give way. "

"I see that you must give way. It's in the nature of things. It'sinevitable. If I didn't know that, do you think I should interfere? Do youthink I should dare to run the risk of wrecking your happiness if I coulddo anything else? If you knew how I hate doing anything at all--"

"But you needn't. You can just let things be. "

"I can't let things be--with all I know; and yet it's impossible for me toappeal to any one, except yourself. You put me in a position in which Imust either betray you or betray those who trust me. Because I can't doeither--"

"I profit by your noble-mindedness. I told you I would. I'm sorry to haveto do it--I'll even admit that I'm ashamed of it--and yet there's no othercourse for me. I'm not taking you at an unfair advantage, because I'veconcealed nothing from you from the first. You talk about the difficultyof your position, but you don't begin to imagine mine. As if everythingelse wasn't gall to me, I've got your disapproval to add wormwood. "

"It isn't my disapproval; it's simply--the situation. My opinion countsfor nothing--"

"It counts for everything with me--and yet I have to ignore it. But, afterall, " he flung out, bitterly, "it's the old story. I claim the right tosqueeze out of life such drops of happiness--if you can call ithappiness--as men have left to me, and you deny it. There it is in anutshell. Because other people have inflicted a great wrong on me, youinsist that I shall inflict a greater one on myself. And this time itwouldn't be only on myself; it would be on poor little Evie. There'swhere it cuts. No, no; I shall go on. I've the right to do it. You muststop me if you can. If you don't, or won't--why, then--"

"I can stop you . .. If you drive me to extremes . .. But it wouldn't be bydoing . .. Any of the things you expect. "

It was because of the catch in her voice that he stopped in his walk, andconfronted her. In spite of the little tremor he could see in her no signof yielding, and behind her veil he caught a gleam like that of anger. Itwas at that minute, perhaps, that he became distinctly conscious for thefirst time of a doubt as to the superiority of "his type of girl. "Notwithstanding the awakening of certain faint perceptions, he hadhitherto denied within himself that there was anything higher or morelovely. But in this girl's unflinching loyalty, and in her tenaciousclinging to what she considered right, he was getting a new glimpse ofwomanhood, which, however, in no way weakened his determination to resisther. 

"As far as I see, " he said, after long hesitation, "you and I have twoirreconcilable duties. My duty is to marry Evie; yours is to prevent me. In that case there's nothing for either of us but to forge ahead, and seewho wins. If you win, I shall bear no malice; and I hope you'll be equallygenerous if I do. "

"But I don't want to win independently of you. If I did, nothing could beeasier. "

"Then why not do it?"

He tossed up his hand with one of his fatalistic Latin gestures, drawingthe attention of the passers-by to the man and woman talking so earnestly. For this reason, and because she was losing her self-command, she hastenedto take leave of him. 

Arrived at home, it gave her no comfort to find Charles Conquest--themost spick and span of middle-aged New-Yorkers--waiting in thedrawing-room. 

"I thought you might come in, " he explained, "so I stayed. I have to getyour signature to the papers about that property in Montreal. I've fixedthe thing up and we'll sell. "

"You said you'd send the papers--"

"That sounds as if you weren't glad to see me, " he laughed, "but I'llignore the discourtesy. Here, " he added, unfolding the documents, "you putyour name there--and there--near the L. S. "

She carried the papers to her desk, and sat down to write. Conquest tookthe liberty of old friendship to stroll about the room, with his handsbehind him, humming a little tune. 

"Well, " he said suddenly, "has he come back?"

He had not approached the subject, beyond alluding to it covertly, sincethe day she had confided to him the confused story of her hopes. Sheblotted her signature carefully thinking out her reply. 

"I've given up expecting him, " she said at last. 

"Ho! ho! So that's out of the way. "

She pretended to be scanning the documents before her so as to be able tosit with her back to him. 

"It isn't, for the reason that there's--no _way_, " she said, after somehesitation. 

"Oh yes, there is, " he laughed, "where there's a will. "

"But I've no will. "

"I have; I've enough for two. "

"I'll tell you what you have got, " she said, half turning and speaking tohim over the back of her chair. He drew near her. "You've got a greatdeal of common sense, and I want to ask your advice. "

"I can give that, as radium emits light--without ever diminishing theoriginal store. "

"Then tell me. Has one ever the right to interfere where a man and awoman--"

"No, never. You needn't give me any more details, because it's one of thequestions an oracle finds easiest to answer. No one ever thanks you--"

"I shouldn't be doing it for thanks. "

"And you get your own fingers burnt. "

"That wouldn't matter. I'd let my fingers burn to the bone if it would doany good. "

"It wouldn't. You may take my word for it. I know who you're talkingabout. It's Evie Colfax. "

She started, looking guilty. "Why should you suppose that?"

"I've got eyes. I've watched her, and I know she's a little minx. Oh, youneedn't protest. She's a taking little minx, and this time she's in theright. "

"I'm afraid I don't know what you mean. "

"What has Billy Merrow got to offer her, even if he is my nephew? Comenow! He won't be in a position to marry for the next two or three years. Whereas that fellow Strange--"

"Have you heard anything about him?" she asked, breathlessly. 

"It isn't what I've heard, it's what I see. He's a very good chap, and afirst-rate man of business. "

"Do you know him well--personally?"

"I meet him around--at the club and other places--and naturally I havesomething to do with him at the office. I like him. If Evie can snap himup she'll be doing well for herself. I'm sorry for Billy, of course; buthe'll have time to break his heart more than once before he'll have moneyenough to do anything else with it. If I'd married at his age--"

This, however, was venturing on delicate ground, so that he broke off, wheeling round toward the centre of the drawing-room. She folded thedocuments and brought them to him. 

"You know why I didn't send them?" he said, as he took them. "I thought ifI came myself, you might have something to tell me. "

"I haven't; not anything special, that is. "

"You've told me something special already--that you're not looking for himback. "

"I'd rather not talk about it now, if you don't mind. "

"Then we'll talk about what goes with it--the other side of the subject. "

"There is no other side of the subject. "

"Oh, come now, Miriam! You haven't heard all I've got to tell you. You'venever let me really present my case, as we lawyers say. If you could seethings as I do--"

"But I can't, and you mustn't ask me to-day. I'm tired--"

"It would rest you. "

"No, no; not to-day. Don't you see I'm not--I'm not myself? I've had avery trying morning. "

"What's the matter? Tell me. I can keep a confidence even if I can't dosome other things. Come now! I don't like to think you're worried whenperhaps I could help you. That's what I should be good for, don't you see?I could assist you to bear a lot of things--"

His tone, which was so often charged with a slightly mocking banter, became tender, and he attempted to take her hand. For a minute it seemedas if it might be a relief to trust him, to tell him the whole story andfollow his counsel; but a second's thought showed her that she could notshift the responsibility from herself, and that in the end she should haveto act alone. 

"Not to-day, " she pleaded. "I'm not equal to it. "

"Then I'll come another day. "

"Yes, yes; if you like, only--"

"Some day soon?"

"When you like, only leave me now. Please go away. You won't think I'mrude, will you? But I'm not--not as I generally am--"

"Good-bye. " He put out his, hand frankly, and smiled so humbly, and yetwithal so confidently, that she felt as if in spite of herself she mightyield to his persistence through sheer weariness. 

 * * * * *

To her surprise, the next few weeks passed without incident bringing nodevelopment in the situation. She saw little of Evie and almost nothing ofFord. One or two encounters with Charles Conquest had no result beyond thereiteration on his part of a set phrase, "You're coming to it, Miriam, "which, while exasperating her nerves, had a kind of hypnotic effect uponher will. She felt as if she might be "coming to it. " Without calculatingthe probabilities she saw clearly enough that if she married Conquest thevery act would furnish proof to Ford that her intervention in his affairshad been without self-interest. It would even offer some proof to herself, the sort of proof that strengthens the resolution and supports what istottering in the pride. Notwithstanding the valor with which shestruggled her victory over herself was not so complete that she couldcontemplate the destruction of Ford's happiness with absolute confidencein the purity of her motives in bringing it to ruin. It was difficult totake the highest road when what was left of her own fiercest instinctsaccompanied her on it. That she had fierce instincts she was quite aware. It was not for nothing that she had been born almost beyond the confinesof the civilized earth, of parents for whom law and order and other men'srights were as the dead letter. True, she was trying to train theinheritance received from them to its finer purposes, as the vine drawsstrange essences from a flinty soil and sublimates them into thegrape--but it was still their inheritance. While she was proud of it, shewas afraid of it; and the fact that it leaped with her to separate NorrieFord from Evie Colfax was a reason for distrusting the very impulse sheknew to be right. Marriage with Conquest presented itself, therefore as arefuge--from Ford's suspicion and her own. 

For the time being, however, the necessity for doing anything was notpressing. Evie was caught into the social machine that had been set goingon her account, and was not so much whirling in it as being whirled. Herenergies were so taxed by the task of going round that she had onlysnatches of time and attention to give to her own future. In one of theseshe wrote to her uncle Jarrott, asking his consent to the immediateproclamation of her engagement, with his approval of her marriage at theend of the winter, though the reasons she gave him were not the same asthose she advanced to Miriam. To him she dwelt on the maturity of herage--twenty by this time--the unchanging nature of her sentiments, and herdesire to be settled down. To Miriam she was content to say, "There'ssomething! and I sha'n't get to the bottom of it till we're married. "

Of the opening thus unexpectedly offered her Miriam made full use, pointing out the folly or verifying suspicions after marriage rather thanbefore. 

"Well, I'm going to do it, do you see?" was Evie's only reply. "I know itwill be all right in the end. "

Still a few weeks were to pass, and it was early in the new year beforeUncle Jarrott's cablegram arrived with the three words, "_If you like_. "Miriam received the information at the opera, where she had been suddenlycalled on to take the place of Miss Jarrott, laid low with "one of herheadaches. " It was Ford who told her, during an entr'acte, when for a fewminutes Evie had left the box with the young man who made the fourth inthe party. Finding themselves alone, Ford and Miriam withdrew as far aspossible from public observation, speaking in rapid undertones. 

"But you'll not let her do it?" Miriam urged. 

"I shall, if you will. You can stop it--or posptone it. If you don't, Ihave every right to forge ahead. It's no use going over the old argumentsagain--"

"You put me in an odious position. You want me either to betray you orbetray the people who've been kind to me. It _would_ be betrayal if I wereto let you go on. "

"Then stop me; it's in your power. "

"Very well; I will. "

He gave her a quick look, astonished rather than startled, but there wasno time for further speech before Evie and her companion returned. 

It was Miriam's intention to put her plan into immediate execution, butshe let most of the next day go by without doing anything. Understandinghis driving her to extremes to be due less to deliberate defiance than toa desperate braving of the worst, she was giving him a chance forrepentance. Just at the closing in of the winter twilight, at the hourwhen he generally appeared, the door was flung open and Billy Merrowrushed in excitedly. 

"What's all this about Evie?" he shouted, almost before crossing thethreshold. "I've been there, and no one is at home. What's it about? Whohas invented the confounded lie?"

She could only guess at his meaning, but she forced him to shake hands andcalm himself. Turning on the electric light, she saw a young man withdecidedly tousled reddish hair, and features as haggard as a perfectlyhealthy, honest, freckled face could be. 

"Sit down, Billy, and tell me about it. "

"I can't; I'm crazy. "

"So I see; but tell me what you're crazy about. "

"Haven't you heard it? Of course you have. They wouldn't be writing it toUncle Charlie if you didn't know all about it. But I'm hanged if I'll letit go on. "

Little by little she dragged the story from him. Miss Queenie Jarrott hadwritten to Charles Conquest as one of the oldest friends of the family toinform him, "somewhat confidentially as yet, " of her niece's engagement toMr. Herbert Strange, of Buenos Aires and New York. Uncle Charlie, knowingwhat this would mean to him, had come to break the news and tell him to"buck up and take it standing. "

"I'll bet you I sha'n't take it lying down, " he assured Miriam. "Evie isengaged to _me_. "

"Yes, Billy, but you see Miss Jarrott didn't know it. That's where themistake has been. You know I've always been opposed to the secrecy of theaffair, and I advised you and Evie to wait till you could both speak out. "

"It isn't so very secret. You know it and so does Uncle Charlie. "

"But Evie's own family have been kept in the dark, except that she toldher aunt in South America. But that's where the mistake comes in, don'tyou see? Miss Jarrott, not having an idea about you, you see--"

"Spreads it round that Evie is engaged to some one else, when she isn't. I'll show her who's engaged, when I can find her in. I'm going to sit onher door-step till--"

"I wouldn't do anything rash, Billy. Suppose you were to leave it to me?"

"What good would that do? If that old witch is putting it round, the onlything for Evie and me to do is to contradict her. "

"Has Evie ever given you an idea that anything was wrong?"

"Evie's been the devil. I don't mind saying it to you, because youunderstand the kind of devil she'd be. But Lord! I don't care. It's justher way. She's told me to go to the deuce half a dozen times, but sheknows I won't till she comes with me. Oh, no. Evie's all right--"

"Yes, of course, Evie's all right. But you know, Billy dear, this thingrequires a great deal of management and straightening out, and I do wishyou'd let me take charge of it. I know every one concerned, you see, sothat I could do it better than any one--any one but you, I mean--"

"I understand that all right. I'm not going to be rough on them, but allthe same--"

She got him to sit down at last, made tea for him, and soothed him. Atthe end of an hour he had undertaken not to molest Miss Jarrott, or tofight that "confounded South-American, " or to say a word of any kind toEvie till she was ready to say a word to him. He became impressed with thenecessity for diplomatic action and, after some persuasion, promised tosubmit to guidance--at any rate, for a time. 

"And now, Billy, I'm going to write a note. The first thing to be done isthat you should find Mr. Strange and deliver it to him before nine o'clockthis evening. You'll do it quietly, won't you? and not let him see thatyou are anything more than my messenger. No matter where he is, even in aprivate house, you must see that he gets the note, if at all possible. "

When he had sworn to this she wrote a few lines hurriedly. He carried themaway in the same tumultuous haste with which he had come. After hisdeparture she felt herself unexpectedly strong and calm. 

XVIII

The feeling of being equal to anything she might have to face continuedwith her. Now that the moment for action had arrived she had confidence inher ability to meet it, since it had to be done. At dinner she was able totalk to Wayne on indifferent topics, and later, when he had retired to hisden to practise his Braile, she sat down in the drawing-room with a book. Noticing that she wore the severe black dress in which she had assisted atthe "killing off" of Evie's family, she brightened it with a fewunobtrusive jewels, so as to look less like the Tragic Muse. The nightbeing cold, a cheerful fire burned on the hearth, beside which she satdown and waited. 

When he was shown in, about half-past eight, it seemed to her best not torise to receive him. Something in her repose, or in her dignity, gave himthe impression of arriving before a tribunal, and he began hisexplanations almost from the doorway. 

"I got your note. Young Merrow caught me at dinner. I was dining alone, sothat I could come at once. "

"You're very kind. I'm glad you were able to do it. Won't you sit down?"

Without offering her hand, she indicated a high arm-chair suitable for aman, on the other side of the hearth. He seated himself with an air ofexpectation, while she gazed pensively at the fire, speaking at lastwithout looking up. 

"I hear Miss Jarrott has begun to announce your engagement to Evie. "

"I understood she was going to, to a few intimate friends. "

"And you allowed it?"

"As you see. "

"Didn't you know that I should have to take that for a signal?"

"I've never given you to understand that a signal wouldn't come--if yourequired one. "

"No; but I hoped--" She broke off, continuing to gaze at the fire. "Do youremember, " she began again--"do you remember telling me--that evening onthe shore of Lake Champlain--just before you went away--that if ever Ineeded your life, it would be at my disposal?--to do with as I chose?"

"I do. "

"Then I'm going to claim it. " She did not look up, but she heard himchange his position in his chair. "I shouldn't do it if there was anyother way. I'm sure you understand that. Don't you?" she insisted, glancing at him for an answer. 

"I know you wouldn't do it, unless you were convinced there was a reason. "

"I've tried to be just to you, and to see things from your point of view. I do; I assure you. If I were in your position I should feel as you do. But I'm not in your position. I'm in one of great responsibility, towardEvie and toward her friends. "

"I don't see what you owe to them. "

[Illustration: Again there was a long silence. ]

"I owe them the loyalty that every human being owes to every other. "

"To every other--except me. "

"I'm loyal to you, at least, whoever else may not be. But it wouldn't beloyalty if I let you marry Evie. I'm going to ask you--not to do it--to goaway--to leave her alone--to go--for good. "

There was a long silence. When he spoke, it was hoarsely but otherwisewithout change of tone. 

"Is that what you meant?--just now?"

"Yes. That's what I meant. "

"Do you intend me to get out of New York, to go back to the South--?"

She lifted her hand in protestation. 

"I'm not giving orders or making conditions. New York is large. There'sroom in it for you and Evie, too. "

"I dare say. One doesn't require much space to break one's heart in. "

"Evie wouldn't break her heart. I know her better than you do. She'dsuffer for a while, but she'd get over it, and in the end, very soonprobably--marry some one else. "

"How cruel you can be, " he said, with a twisted smile. 

"I can be, when it's right. In this case I'm only as cruel as--the truth. I'm saying it because it must make things easier for you. Your own painwill be the less from the knowledge that, in time, Evie will get overhers. "

"I suppose it ought to be, but--"

He did not finish his sentence, and again there was a long hush, duringwhich, while she continued to gaze pensively at the fire, she could hearhim shifting with nervous frequency in his chair. When at last sheventured to look at him he was bowed forward, his elbow supported on hisknee, and his forehead resting on his hand. 

"You'll keep your promise to me?" she persisted, softly, with a kind ofpitiful relentlessness. 

"I'll tell you in a minute. "

He jerked out the words in the brusque way in which a man says all that, for the moment, he is physically able to utter. She allowed more time toelapse. The roar of traffic and the clanging of electric trams came upfrom the street below, but no sound seemed able to penetrate the stillnessin which they sat. As far as Miriam was conscious of herself at all, itwas simply to note the curious deadness of her emotions, as though she hadbecome a mere machine for doing right, like a clock that strikespunctually. Nevertheless, it caused her some surprise when he raisedhimself and said, in a voice that would have been casual on a commonoccasion:

"I suppose you think me a cad?"

"No; why should I?"

"Because I am one. "

"I don't know why you should say that, or what it has to dowith--anything. "

"It's about that--that--promise. "

"Oh!"

"Do you mind if we speak quite frankly? I should like to. I've beenbluffing that point ever since you and I met again. It's been torture tohave to do it--damned, humiliating torture; but it's been difficult to doanything else. You see, I couldn't even speak of it without seeming to--toinsult you--that is, unless you took me in just the right way. "

His look, his attitude, the tones of his voice, the something woe-begoneand yet boyish in his expression, recalled irresistibly the days in thecabin, when he often wore just this air. She had observed before that whenthey were alone together the years seemed to fall from his manner, whilehe became the immature, inexperienced young fugitive again. She hadscarcely expected, however, that this lapse into youth would occurto-night. She herself felt ages old--as though all the ends of the worldhad come upon her. 

"You may say anything you like. There's nothing you could possibly tell methat I shouldn't understand. "

"Well, then, when I made that promise, I meant to keep it, and to keep itin a special way. I thought--of course we were both very young--but Ithought that, after what had happened--"

"Wait a minute. I want to tell you something before you go on. " Sherallied her spirit's forces for a desperate step, gathering all her life'spossible happiness into one extravagant handful, and flinging it away, inorder to save her pride before this man, who was about to tell her that hehad never been able to love her. "What I am going to say may strike you asirrelevant; but if it is, you can ignore it. I expect to be married--in alittle while--it's practically a settled thing--to Charles Conquest, whomI think you know. Now, will you go on, please?"

He stared at her in utter blankness. 

"Good God!"

He got up and took a few restless turns up and down the room, his headbent, his hands behind his back. He reseated himself when his confusedimpressions grew clearer. 

"So that it doesn't matter what I thought about--that promise?"

"Not in the least. " She had saved herself. "The one thing important to meis that you should have made it. "

"And that you can hold me to it, " he added, tersely. 

"I presume I can do that?"

"You can, unless--unless I find myself in a position to take the promiseback. "

"I can hardly see how that position could come about, " she said, with anair of wondering. 

"I can. You see, " he went on in an explanatory tone, "it was an unusualsort of promise--a promise made, so to speak, for value received--forunusual value received. It wasn't one that a common occasion would havecalled forth. It was offered because you had given me--life. "

He rested his arm now on a table that stood between them and, leaningtoward her, looked her steadily in the eyes. 

"I haven't the faintest idea what you're going to say, " she remarked, rather blankly. 

"No, but you'll see. You gave me life. I hold that life in a certain senseat your pleasure. It is at your disposal. It must remain at yourdisposal--- until I give it back. "

She sat upright in her chair, leaning in her turn on the table, anddrawing nearer to him. 

"I can't imagine what you mean, " she said, under her breath and looking alittle frightened. 

"You'll see presently. But don't be alarmed. It's going to be all right. As long as I hold the life you gave me, " he continued to explain, "I mustdo your bidding. I'm not a free man; I'm--don't be offended--I'm yourcreature. I don't say I was a free man before this came up. I haven't beena free man ever since I've been Herbert Strange. I've been the slave of asort of make-believe. I've made believe, and I've felt I was justified. Perhaps I was. I'm not quite sure. But I haven't liked it; and now I beginto feel that I can't stand it any longer. You follow me, don't you?"

She nodded, still leaning toward him across the table, and not taking hereyes from his. He remembered afterward though he paid no heed to it at thetime, how those eyes grew wide with awe and flashed with strange, lambentbrightness. 

"I told you a few days ago, " he pursued, "that there were _times_ when itwas hell. That was putting it mildly--too mildly. There's been no timewhen it wasn't hell--in here. " He tapped his forehead. "I've struggled, and fought, and pushed, and swaggered, and bluffed, and had ups and downs, and taken heart, and swaggered and bluffed again, and lied allthrough--and I've made Herbert Strange a respectable man of business onthe high road to success. But when I come near you it all goes topieces--like one of those curiously conserved dead bodies when they'rebrought to the air. There's nothing to them. There's nothing to me--solong as I'm Herbert Strange. "

"But you _are_ Herbert Strange. You can't help yourself--now. "

"Herbert Strange goes back into the nothingness out of which he was bornthe minute I become Norrie Ford again. "

"But you can't do that!"

She drew herself up hastily, with a gasp. 

"It's exactly what I mean to do. " He spoke very slowly "I'm going to be afree man, and my own master, even if it leads me where--where they meantto put me when you snatched me away. I'm going back to my fellow-men, tothe body corporate--"

She rose in agitation, and drew back from him toward the chimney-piece. "So that if--if anything happens, " she said, "I shall have driven you toit. That's how you get your revenge. "

"Not at all. I'm not coming to this decision suddenly, or in a spirit ofrevenge, in any way. " He followed her, standing near her, on thehearth-rug. "I can truthfully say, " he went on in his slow, explanatoryfashion, "that there's been no time, since the minute I made my first dashfor liberty, when I haven't known, in the bottom of my heart, what a goodthing it would have been if I hadn't done it. I've come to see--I've _had_to--- that the death-chair would have been better, with self-respect, thanfreedom to go and come, with the necessity to gag every one, every minuteof the day, and every day in the year, and all the time, with lies. Ifthat seems far-fetched to you--"

"No, it doesn't. "

"Well, if it did you'd see it wasn't, if you were in my place for a month. I didn't mind it so much at first. I stood it by day and just suffered bynight--till the Jarrotts began to be so kind to me, and I came to NewYork--and--and--and Evie!"

"I'm sorry I've spoken to you as I have, " she said, hastily. "If I'd knownyou felt like that--"

"You were quite right. I always understood that. But I can't go on withit. If Evie marries me now, it shall be knowing who I am. "

"You don't mean that you could possibly tell her?"

"I'm going to tell every one. "

She stifled a little cry. "Then it will be my doing!"

"It will be your doing--up to a point. But it will be something for you tobe proud of, not to regret. You've only brought my mistake so clearlybefore me that even I can't stand it--when I've stood so much. You ask meto turn my back on Evie and sneak away. You've got the right to command, and there's nothing for me but to obey you. But I can't help seeing thesort of life that would be left to me after I'd carried out your orders. It wouldn't only be the loss of Evie--I may lose her in any case--it wouldbe the loss of everything within myself that's enabled me hitherto merelyto hold up my head--and bluff. "

"I might withdraw what I've just asked you to do. Perhaps we could findsome other way. "

He laughed with grim lightness. 

"You're weakening. That's not like you. And it wouldn't do any good now. Even if we did patch up some other scheme, there would still remain whatyou talked about a minute ago--the loyalty that every human being owes toevery other. "

"But I thought you didn't recognize that?"

"I said I didn't. But in here"--he tapped his fingers over the heart--"Idid, and I do. You've brought me to see it. "

"That's very noble, but you saw it for yourself--"

"Through a glass--darkly; now I can look at the thing in clear daylight, and see what I have to do. "

She dropped into her chair again, looking up at him. He stood with hisback to the fire, holding his head high, his bearing marked by a dogged, perhaps forced, serenity. 

"But what _can_ you do?" she asked, after considering his words. "You'reso involved. All this business--and the people in South America--"

"Oh, there are ways and means. I haven't made plans, but I've thought, from time to time, of what I should do if I ever came to just this pass. The first thing would be to tell the few people who are most concerned, confidentially. Then I should go back to South America, and settle thingsgive me your respect again--not even the little you've given mehitherto--and God knows that can't have been much. I could stand anythingin the world--anything--rather than that you should come to that. "

"But I shouldn't, when I myself had dissuaded you--"

"No, no; don't try. You'd be doing wrong. You've been to me so high andholy that I don't like to think you haven't the strength to go on to theend. I've got it, because you've given it me. Don't detract from your owngift by holding me back from using it. You found me a prisoner--or anescaped one--and I've been a prisoner all these years, the prisoner ofsomething worse than chains. Now I'm going free. Look!" he cried, withsudden inspiration. "I'll show you how it's done. You'll see how easy itwill be. "

He moved to cross the room. 

"What are you going to do?"

She sprang up as if to hold him back, but his finger was on the bell. 

"You don't mind, I hope?" he asked; but he had rung before she could givean answer. The maid appeared in the doorway. 

"Ask Mr. Wayne if he would be good enough to come in here a minute. Tellhim Mr. Strange particularly wants to see him. "

He went back to his place by the fireside, where he stood apparently calm, showing no sign of excitement except in heightened color and the stillnessof nervous tension Miriam sank into her chair again. 

"Don't do anything rash, " she pleaded. "Wait till to-morrow There willalways be time. For God's sake!"

If he heard her he paid no attention, and presently Wayne appeared. Hehesitated a minute on the threshold, and during that instant Ford couldsee that he looked ashy and older, as if something had aged him suddenly. His hands trembled, too, as he felt his way in. 

"Good-evening, " he said, speaking into the air as blind men do. "I thoughtI heard your voice. "

Having groped his way across the room and reached the table that stoodbetween the arm-chairs Miriam and Ford had occupied, he stopped. He stoodthere, with fingers drumming soundlessly on the polished wood, waiting forsome one to speak. 

In spite of the confidence with which he had rung the bell, Ford found itdifficult now to begin. It was only after one or two inarticulate attemptsthat he was able to say anything. 

"I asked you to come in, sir, " he began, haltingly, "to tell you somethingvery special. Miss Strange knows it already. .. . If I've done wrong in nottelling you before . .. You'll see I'm prepared to take my punishment. .. . My name isn't Strange . .. It isn't Herbert. "

"I know it isn't. "

The words slipped out in a sharp tone, not quite nervous, but thin andworn. Miriam's attitude grew tense. Ford took a step forward from thefireside. With his arm flung over the back of his chair, and his kneeresting on the seat of it, he strained across the table, as if toannihilate the space between Wayne and himself. 

"You _knew_?"

The blind man nodded. When he spoke it was again into the air. 

"Yes; I knew. You're Norrie Ford. I ought to say I've only known itlatterly--about a fortnight now. "

"How?"

"Oh, it just came to me--by degrees, I think. "

"Why didn't you say something about it?"

"I thought I wouldn't. It has worried me, but I thought I'd keep still. "

"Do you mean that you were going to let everything--go on?"

"I weighed all the considerations. That's the decision I came to. You mustunderstand, " he went on to explain, in a voice that was now tremulous aswell as thin, "that I'd had you a good deal on my mind, during these pasteight years. I sentenced you to death when I almost knew you wereinnocent. It was my duty. I couldn't help it. The facts told dead againstyou. Every one admitted that. True, the evidence might have been twistedto tell against old Gramm and his wife, but they hadn't been dissipated, and they hadn't been indicted, and they hadn't gone round making threatsagainst Chris Ford's life like you. "

"I didn't mean them. It was nothing but a boy's rage--"

"Yes, but you made them; and when the old man was found--But I'll not gointo that now. I only want to say that, while I couldn't acquit you withmy intelligence, I felt constrained to do it in my heart, especially wheneverything was over, and it was too late. The incident has been the onething in my professional career that I've most regretted. I don't quiteblame myself. I had to do my duty. And yet it was a relief to me when yougot away. I don't know that I could have acted differently, but--but Iliked you. I've gone on liking you. I've often thought about you, andwondered what had become of you. And one day--not long ago--as I was goingover the old ground once more, I saw I'd been thinking about--_you_. That's how it came to me. "

"And you were going to remain silent, and let me marry Evie?"

The blind man reflected. 

"I saw what was to be said against it. But I weighed all the evidencecarefully. You were an injured man; you'd made a great fight and you'dwon--as far as one man can win against the world. I came to the conclusionthat I wasn't called on to strike you down a second time, after you'dscrambled up so pluckily. Evie is very dear to me; I don't say that Ishould see her married to you without some misgiving; but I decided thatyou deserved her. It was a great responsibility to take, but I took it andmade up my mind to--let her go. "

"Oh, you're a good man! I didn't think there was such mercy in the world. "

Ford flung out the words in a cry that was half a groan and half a shoutof triumph. Miriam choked back a sob. The neat little man shrugged hisshoulders deprecatingly. 

"There's one thing I should like to ask, " he pursued, "among the many thatI don't know anything about, and that I don't care to inquire into. Howdid you come by the name of this lady's father, my old friend HerbertStrange?"

Ford and Miriam exchanged swift glances. She shook her head, and he tookhis cue. 

"I happened to see it in a--a sort of--paper. I had no idea it was that ofa real person. I fancied it had come out of a novel--- or something likethat. I didn't mean to keep it, but it got fastened on me. "

"Very odd, " was his only comment. "Isn't it, Miriam?

"Now, " he _added_, "I suppose you've had all you want of me, so I'll saygood-night. "

He held out his hand, which Ford grasped, clinched rather, in both hisown. 

"God bless you!" Wayne murmured, still tremulously. "God bless you--myboy, and bring everything out right. Miriam, I suppose you'll come in andsee me before you go to bed. "

They watched him shuffle his way out of the room, and watched the doorlong after he had closed it. When at last Miriam turned her eyes on Fordthey were luminous with the relief of her own defeat. 

"You see!" she cried, triumphantly. "You see the difference between himand me--between his spirit and mine! Now which of us was right?"

"You were. "

XIX

The one thing clear to Miriam on the following day was that she had ruinedeverything with astonishing completeness--a curious result to come fromwhat she was firmly convinced was "doing right. " She had calculated that, by a moderate measure of suffering to Evie, and a large one to Ford, Evie's ultimate welfare at least would be secured. Now everything wasbeing brought to grief together. Out of such a wreck nothing could besaved. 

With Ford's desire to break the force which made him an impostor she hadsympathy, but his willingness to risk his life in order to be in harmonywith law and order again was not so easy for her to understand. Whileeducation, training and taste kept her, in her own person, within therestrictions of civilized life, yet the part of a free-lance in the worldappealed to her strongly atavistic instincts far more directly thanmembership in a disciplined regular army. The guerilla fighter must ofnecessity be put to shifts--even moral shifts--which the common soldier, trained and commanded by others, can be spared; but her heart was with theman roving in the hills on his own account. That Ford should deliberatelyseek chains in barracks, when by her surrender on the subject of Evie shehad made it possible for him still to keep the liberty of the field, wasto her at once incomprehensible and awful. She had not only the sense ofwatching a man rushing upon Fate, but the knowledge that she herself hadgiven him the impetus; while she was fully alive to the fact that when hefell everything she cared for in the world would fall with him. 

Her mind was too resourceful, her spirit too energetic, to permit of hersitting in helpless anguish over his new determination. She was alreadybusy with plans for counteracting him, in one of which at least she sawelements of hope. Having conceived its possibilities, she was eager to goand test them; but she had decided not to leave the house until she knewthat Ford was really putting his plans into execution. The minute Evielearned the fatal news she would have need of her, and she dared not putherself out of the child's reach. Her first duty must be toward thefragile little creature, who would be crushed like a trampled flower. 

Shortly before noon she was summoned to the telephone, where Evie wasasking if she should find her in. Miriam judged from the tones of thetransmitted voice that the worst had been made known. She was not, however, prepared for the briskness with which, ten minutes later, Eviewhisked into the room, her cheeks aglow with excitement and her heavenlyeyes dancing with a purely earthly sparkle. 

"Isn't this awful?" she cried, before Miriam could take her into herloving arms. "Isn't it appalling? But it's not a surprise to me--not inthe least. I knew there was something. Haven't I said so? I almost knewthat his name wasn't Strange. If I hadn't been so busy with my comingout--and everything--I should have been sure of it. I haven't had time tothink of it--do you see? With a lunch somewhere every day at half-pastone, " she hurried on, breathlessly, "and a tea at half-past four, and adinner at eight, and a dance at eleven, and very likely the theatre or theopera in between--well, you can see I haven't been able to give muchattention to anything else; but I knew, from the very time when I was inBuenos Aires, that there was something queer about that name. I never sawa man so sensitive when any one spoke about his name, not in all my lifebefore--and you know down there it's the commonest thing--why, they're sosuspicious on that point that they'd almost doubt that mine was EvieColfax. "

She threw her muff in one direction, her boa in another, and her gloves instill another. 

"But, Evie darling, you surely didn't think--"

"Of course I never thought of anything like this. I didn't really think ofanything at all. If I'd begun to give my mind to it, I should probablyhave hit on something a great deal worse. "

"What do you mean, dear? Worse--than what?"

"Worse than just being accused of shooting your uncle--and it was only hisgreat-uncle, too. I might have thought of forgery or somethingdishonorable, though I should know he wasn't capable of it. Being accusedisn't much. You can accuse _any one_--you could accuse _me_. That doesn'tprove anything when he says he didn't do it. Of course he didn't do it. Can't any one _see_? My goodness! I wish they'd let me make the laws. I'dshow them. Just think! To put a man like that in prison--- and say they'ddo such awful things to him--and make him change his name--and everything. It's perfectly scandalous. It's an outrage. I shouldn't think such thingswould be allowed. They wouldn't be allowed in the Argentine. Why, therewas a man out there who killed his father-in-law--actually _killed_him--and they didn't do anything to him at all. I've seen him lots oftimes. Aunt Queenie has pointed him out to me. He used to have the boxnext but two to ours at the opera. And to think they should take a manlike Herbert, and worry him like that--it makes me so indignant I'd liketo--"

Evie ground her teeth, threw her clinched fists outward, and twitched herskirts about the room in the prettiest possible passion of righteousanger. 

"But, darling, " Miriam asked, in a puzzled voice, "what are you going todo about it?"

Evie wheeled round haughtily. 

"Do about it? What would you expect me to do about it? I'm going to tellevery one he didn't do it--that's what I'm going to do about it. But ofcourse we're not to speak of it just yet--outside ourselves, you know. He's going to Buenos Aires to tell Uncle Jarrott he didn't do it--and whenhe comes back we're going to make it generally known. Oh, there's to belaw about it--and everything. He means to change his name again to what itwas before--Ford, the name was--and I must say, Miriam, I like that a gooddeal better than Strange, if you don't mind my telling you. It seems oddto have so many Stranges--and I must say I never could get used to theidea of having exactly the same name as yours. It was almost like notbeing married outside the family--and I should hate to marry a relation. That part of it comes as a pleasant surprise, do you see? I'd made up mymind to Strange, and thought there was no way of getting rid of it, unlessI--but I wasn't looking ahead to anything of _that_ kind. I hope I shallnever--"

"So, darling, you're going to be true to him?"

"True to him? Of course I'm going to be true to him. Why shouldn't I be?I'm going to be more true to him now than I was before. He's so nobleabout it, too. I wish you could have seen the way he broke it to me. AuntQueenie said she never saw anything so affecting, not even on the stage. She was there, you know. Herbert felt he couldn't go over it all twice, and he thought I should need some one to support me through the shock. Ididn't--not a bit. But I wish you could have been there, just to see him. "

"I can fancy it, dear. "

"Of course I know now what you've been fidgeting about ever since he cameto New York. He says you recognized him--that you'd seen him at Greenport. Oh, I knew there was something. But I must say, Miriam, I think you mighthave told me confidentially, and not let it come on me as such a blow asthis. Not that I take it as a blow, though, of course, it upsets thingsterribly. We can't announce our engagement for ever so long, and AuntQueenie is rushing round in the motor now to take back what she wrote to afew people yesterday. I can't imagine what she'll tell them, because Icharged her on her sacred honor not to give them the idea it was brokenoff, although I'd rather they thought it was broken off than that I hadn'tbeen engaged at all. "

"Miss Jarrott takes it quietly, then?"

"Quietly! I wish you could see her. She thinks there never was anything soromantic. Why, she cried over him, and kissed him, and said she'd alwaysbe his friend if every one else in the world were to turn against him. Asa matter of fact, the poor old dear is head over heels in love withhim--do you see?--in that sort of old-maid way--you know the kind ofthing I mean. She thinks there's nobody like him, and neither there is. Ishall miss him frightfully while he's down there telling Uncle Jarrott. Ishall skip half my invitations and go regularly into retreat till he comesback. There's lots more he's going to tell me then--all about what PopseyWayne had to do with it--and everything. I'm glad he doesn't want to do itnow, because my head is reeling as it is. I've so many things to thinkof--and so much responsibility coming on me all at once--and--"

"Are you going to do anything about Billy?"

"Well, I can postpone that, at any rate. Thank goodness, there's _one_silver lining to the cloud. I was going to give him a pretty strong hintto-night, seeing Aunt Queenie has begun writing notes around, but now Ican let him simmer for a while longer. He won't be able to say I haven'tlet him down easy, poor old boy. And, Miriam dear, " she continued, gathering up her various articles of apparel, preparatory to taking leave, "you'll keep just as quiet about it as you can, like a dear, won't you? Wedon't mean to say a word about it outside ourselves till Herbert comesback from seeing Uncle Jarrott. That's my advice--and it's all ouradvice--I mean, Aunt Queenie's, too. Then they're going to law--orsomething. I know you _won't_ say anything about it, but I thought I'djust put you on your guard. "

 * * * * *

If Evie's way of taking it was a new revelation to Miriam, of her ownmiscalculation, it was also a new incentive to setting to work as promptlyas possible to repair what she could of the mischief she had made. WithEvie's limitations she might never know more of the seriousness of hersituation than a bird of the nature of the battle raging near its nest;while if even Ford "went to law, " as Evie put it, and he came offvictorious, there might still be chances for their happiness. To anythingelse Miriam was indifferent, as a man in the excitement of saving hischildren from fire or storm is dead to his own sensations. It was withimpetuous, almost frenzied, eagerness, therefore, that she went to thetelephone to ring up Charles Conquest, asking to be allowed to see himprivately at his office during the afternoon. 

In what she had made up her mind to do the fact that she was planning forherself an unnecessary measure of sacrifice was no deterrent. She was in amood in which self-immolation seemed the natural penalty of her mistakes. She was not without the knowledge that money could buy the help shepurposed to obtain by direct intervention; but her inherited instincts, scornful of roundabout methods, urged her to pay the price in somethingmore personal than coin. It replied in some degree to her self-accusation, it assuaged the bitterness of her self-condemnation, to know that she wasto be the active agent in putting right that which her errors of judgmenthad put wrong. To her essentially primitive soul atonement by proxy was asmuch out of the question as to the devotee beneath the wheels ofJuggernaut. Somewhere in the background of her thought there were faintprudential protests against throwing herself away; but she disdained them, as a Latin or a Teuton disdains the Anglo-Saxon's preference for a courtof law to the pistol of the duellist. It was something outside the realmof reason. Reckless impulses subdued by convent restraint or civilizedrequirements awoke with a start all the more violent because of their longsleep, driving her to do that which she knew other women would have doneotherwise or not at all. 

She was aware, therefore, of limitations in the sacrifice she was making;she was even aware that, in the true sense, it was no sacrifice whatever. She was offering herself up because she chose to--in a kind ofwilfulness--but a passionate wilfulness which claimed that for her atleast there was no other way. Other women, wiser women, women behind whomthere was a long, moderation-loving past, might obey the laws that promptto the economy of one's self; she could only follow those blind urgingswhich drove her forefathers to fight when they might have remained atpeace, or whipped them forth into the wild places of the earth when theycould have stayed in quiet homes. The hard way in preference to the easyway was in her blood. She could no more have resisted taking it now thanshe could have held herself back eight years ago from befriending NorrieFord against the law. 

Nevertheless, it was a support to her to remember that Conquest's manneron the occasions when business brought her to his office was always alittle different from that which he assumed when they met outside. He wasmuch more the professional man with his client, a little the friend, butnot at all the lover--if he was a lover anywhere. Having welcomed her nowwith just the right shade of cordiality, he made her sit at a littledistance from his desk, while he himself returned to the revolving-chairat which he had been writing when she entered. After the preliminarygreetings, he put on, unconsciously, the questioning air a business mantakes at the beginning of an interview which he has been invited toaccord. 

"I came--about Evie. "

Now that she was there it was less easy to begin than she had expected. 

"Quite so. I knew there was a hitch. I've just had a mysterious note fromQueenie Jarrott which I haven't been able to make out. Can't they hit itoff?"

"It's a good deal more serious than that. Mr. Strange came to see Mr. Wayne and me last night. I may as well tell you as simply as I can. Hisname isn't Strange at all. "

"Ho! ho! What's up?"

"Did you ever hear the name of--Norrie Ford?"

"Good Lord, yes! I can't quite remember--Let's see. Norrie Ford? I knowthe name as well as I know my own. Wasn't that the case--why, yes, it musthave been--wasn't that the case Wayne was mixed up in six or eight yearsago?"

"Yes, it was. "

"The fellow gave 'em all the slip, didn't he?"

She nodded. 

"Hadn't he been commuted to a life sentence--?"

"Mr. Wayne hoped it would be done, but it hadn't been done yet. He wasstill under sentence of--death. "

"Yes, yes, yes. It comes back to me. We thought Wayne hadn't displayedmuch energy or ability of foresight--or something. I remember there wastalk about it, and in the newspapers there was even a cock-and-bull storythat Wayne had connived at his escape. Well, what has that got to do withEvie?"

"It has everything to do with her. "

Conquest's little gray-green eyes blinked as if against the blaze of theirown light, while his features sharpened to their utmost incisiveness. 

"You don't mean to say--?"

"I do. "

"Well, upon--my--!" The exclamation trailed off into a silent effort totake in this extraordinary piece of intelligence "Do you mean to say thescamp had the cheek--? Oh no, it isn't possible. Come now!"

"It was exactly as I'm going to tell you, but I don't think you shouldcall him a scamp. You see, he's engaged to Evie--"

"He's not engaged to her now?"

"He is. She means to be true to him. So do we all. "

Two little scarlet spots burned in her cheeks, but it was not more in theway of emotion than a warm partisanship on Evie's account demanded. 

"Well, I'm blowed!" He swung one leg across the other, making his chairdescribe a semicircle. 

"Perhaps you won't be so much--blowed, when you hear all I have to tellyou. "

"Go ahead; I'm more interested than if it was a dime novel. "

As lucidly as she could she gave him the outline of Ford's romance, dwelling as he had done in relating it to her, less on its incidents thanon its mental and moral effect upon himself. She suppressed the narrativeof the weeks spent in the cabin and based her report entirely oninformation received from Ford. For testimony as to his life and characterin the Argentine she had the evidence of Miss Jarrott, while on thesubject of his business abilities--no small point with a New York businessman, as she was astute enough to see--there could be no better authoritythan Conquest himself, who, as Stephens and Jarrott's American legaladviser, had had ample opportunity of judging. She was gratified to notethat as her story progressed it called forth sympathetic looks, and anoccasional appreciative exclamation, while now and then he slapped histhigh as a mark of the kind of amused astonishment that verges onapprobation. 

"So we couldn't desert him now, after she's been so brave, could we?" shepleaded, with some amount of confidence; "and especially when he's engagedto Evie. "

"I suppose we can't desert him, if he's sane. "

"Oh, he's sane. "

"Then why the deuce, when he was so well out of harm's way, didn't he staythere?"

"Because of his love for Evie, don't you see?" She had to explain Ford'smoral development and psychological state all over again, until he couldsee it with some measure of comprehension. 

"It certainly is the queerest story I ever heard, " he declared, inenjoyment of its dramatic elements, "and we're all in it, aren't we? It'slike seeing yourself in a play. "

"I thought you would look at it in that way. As soon as I began wonderingwhat we could do--this morning--I saw that, after Evie, you were theperson most concerned. "

"Who? I? Why am I concerned? I've got nothing to do with it!"

"No, of course not, except as Stephens and Jarrott's lawyer. When theirrepresentative in New York--"

"Oh, but my dear girl, my duties don't involve me in anything of thiskind. I'm the legal adviser to the firm, but I've nothing to do with theprivate affairs of their employees. "

"Mr. Jarrott is very fond of Mr. Strange--"

"Perhaps this will cool his affection. "

"I don't think it will as long as Evie insists on marrying him. I'm surethey mean to stand by him. "

"They won't be able to stand by him long, if the law gives him--what itmeant to give him before. "

"Oh, but you don't think there's any danger of that?"

"I don't know about it, " he said, shaking his head, ominously. "The factthat he comes back and gives himself up isn't an argument in favor of hisinnocence. There's generally remorse behind that dodge. "

"Then isn't that all the more reason why we should help him?"

"Help him? How?"

"By trying to win his case for him. "

He looked at her with eyes twinkling while his fingers concealed the smilebehind his colorless mustache. 

"And how would you propose to set about that?"

"I don't know, but I suppose you do. There must be ways. He's leaving assoon as he can for South America. He thinks it may be months before hegets back. I thought that--perhaps--in the mean time--while he won't beable to do anything for himself--you might see--"

"Yes, yes; go on, " he said, as she hesitated. 

"You might see if there is any evidence that could be found--that wasn'tfound before--isn't that the way they do it?--and have it ready--for himwhen he came back. "

"For a wedding present. "

"It _would_ be a wedding present--to all of us. It would be for Evie'ssake. You know how I love her. She's the dearest thing to me in the world. If I could only secure her happiness like that--"

"You mean, if I could secure it. "

"You'd be doing it actively, but I should want to co-operate. "

"In what way?"

She sat very still. She was sure he understood her by the sudden rigidityof his pose, while his eyes stopped twinkling, and his fingers ceased totravel along the line of his mustache. Her eyes fell before the scrutinyin his, but she lifted them again for one of her quick, wild glances. 

"In any way you like. "

She tried to make her utterance distinct, matter of fact, not toosignificant, but she failed. In spite of herself, her words conveyed alltheir meaning. The brief pause that followed was not less eloquent, nordid it break the spell when Conquest gave a short little laugh that mighthave been nervous and, changing his posture, leaned forward on his deskand scribbled on the blotting-pad. While he would never have admitted it, it was a relief to him, too, not to be obliged to face her. 

He was not shocked, neither was he quite surprised. He was accustomed tothe thought that a woman's love was a thing to purchase. One man bought itfrom her father for a couple of oxen, another from herself for anestablishment and a diamond tiara. It was the same principle in bothcases. He had never considered Miriam Strange as being without a price;his difficulty had been in knowing what it was. The establishment and thediamond tiara having proved as indifferent to her as the yoke of oxen, hewas thrown back upon the alternative of heroic deeds. He had more thanonce suspected that these might win her if they had only been in his line. There being few opportunities for that kind of endeavor as the head of alarge and lucrative legal practice, the suggestion only left him cynical. In the bottom of his heart he had long wished to dazzle, by some act ofprowess, the eyes that saw him only as a respectable man of middle age, but the desire had merely mocked him with the kind of derision whichimpotence gets from youth. It seemed now a stroke of luck which almostmerited being termed an act of Providence that there should have come acall for exactly his variety of "derringdo" from the very quarter in whichhe could make it tell. 

"We've never gone in for any criminal business here, " he said, after longreflection, while he continued to scribble aimlessly, "but, of course, we're in touch with the people who take it up. "

"I thought you might be. "

"But it's only fair to tell you that if your motive is to save time forour friend in question--"

"That _is_ my motive--the only one. "

"Then you could get in touch with them, too. "

"But I don't want to. "

"Still I think you should consider it. The best legal advice in the worldcan be--bought--for money. "

"I know that. "

Lifting his eyes in a sharp look, he saw her head lilted back with her ownspecial air of deliberate temerity. 

"Oh, very well, then, " he said, quietly, resuming his scribbling again. After this warning he felt justified in taking her at her word. 

With that as a beginning she knew she had gained her first great point. Inanswer to his questions she told the story over again, displaying, as heremembered afterward--but long afterward--a surprising familiarity withits details. She made suggestions which he noted as marked by some acumen, and laid stress on the value of the aid they might expect privately fromPhilip Wayne. The beauty and eagerness in her face fired the almostatrophied enthusiasm in his own heart, while he could not but see thatthis entirely altruistic interest had brought them in half an hour nearertogether than they had ever been before. It was what they had never hadtill now--a bond in common. In spite of the persistency of his efforts andhis assertions, he had never hitherto got nearer her than a statue on apedestal gets to its neighbor in a similar situation but now at last theywere down on the same earth together. This was more than reason enough forhis taking up the cause of Norrie Ford, consecrating to it all hisresources, mental and material, and winning it. 

In the course of an hour or two their understanding was complete, but hedid not refer again to the conditions of their tacit compact. It was shewho felt that sufficient had not been said--that the sincerity with whichshe subscribed to it had not been duly emphasized. She was at the door onthe point of going away when she braced herself to look at him and say:

"You can't realize what all this means to me. If we succeed--that is, ifyou succeed--I hardly dare to tell you of the extent to which I shall begrateful. "

He felt already some of the hero's magnanimity as to claiming his reward. 

"You needn't think about that, " he smiled. "I sha'n't. If by making Eviehappy I can serve you, I shall not ask for gratitude. "

She looked down at her muff and smoothed its fur, then glanced up swiftly. "No; but I shall want to give it. "

With that she was gone--lighter of heart than a few hours ago it hadseemed to her possible ever to be again. Her joy was the joy of thecaptain who feels that he has saved his ship, though his own wound isfatal. 

Part IV

Conquest

XX

Among the three or four qualities Conquest most approved of in himself, not the least was a certain capacity for the patient acquisition of theworld's more enviable properties. He had the gift of knowing what hewanted, recognizing it when he saw it, and waiting for it till it camewithin his reach. From his youth upward he had been a connoisseur ofquality rather than a lover of abundance, while he owned to a talent forseeing the value of things which other people overlooked, and throwingthem into relief when the objects became his. As far back as the time whenthe modest paternal heritage had been divided between his brothers andsisters and himself, he had been astute enough to leave the bulk of it tothem, contenting himself with one or two bits of ancestral furniture and afew old books, which were now known by all to have been the only thingsworth having. Throughout his life he had followed this principle ofacquiring unobtrusively but getting exactly what he wanted. It was so thathe bought his first horse, so that he bought his first motor, so that hepurchased the land where he afterward built his house--in a distant, desolate stretch of Fifth Avenue which his acquaintances told him would behopelessly out of reach, but where, not many years after, most of themwere too late to join him. 

In building his house, too, he took his time, allowing his friends tomake their experiments around him, while he studied the great art of "hownot to do it. " One of his neighbors erected a Flemish château, another aFlorentine palazzo, and a third a François Premier _hôtel_; but his plotof ground remained an unkempt tangle of mullein and blue succory. In theend he put up a sober, handsome development on a style which the humblerpassers-by often called, with approval, "good, plain American, " but whosepoint of departure was Georgian. He had the instinct for that whichsprings out of the soil. For this reason he did not shrink from an EarlyVictorian note--the first note of the modern, prosperous New York--indecoration; and the same taste impelled him toward the American in art. While Neighbor Smith displayed his Gainsboroughs, and Neighbor Jones hisRousseaus or Daubignys, Conquest quietly picked up a thing here andthere--always under excellent advice--which no picture-dealer had beenable to dispose of, because it came from some studio in Twenty-thirdStreet. Hung on his walls, it produced that much-sought-for effect of"having been always there. " He was not a Chauvinist, nor had he anysympathy with the intolerantly patriotic. He was merely a lover of theindigenous. 

In much the same way he had sought for--and waited for--a wife. He hadbeen rashly put down as "not a marrying man, " when he was only taking histime. He had seen plainly of excellent possibilities--fine women, handsomewomen, clever women, good women--any of whom presumably he could have hadfor the asking; but none was, in his own phraseology, "just the rightthing. " He wanted something unusual, and yet not exotic--somethingobvious, which no one else had observed--something cultivated, and yetnative--something as exquisite as any hothouse orchid, but with the keen, fresh scent of the American woods and waters on its bloom. It was not athing to be picked up every day, and so he kept on the lookout for it, andwaited. Even when he found it, he was not certain, on the spur of themoment, that it would prove exactly what he had in mind. So he waitedlonger. He watched the effect of time and experience upon it, until he wasquite sure. He knew the risk he was running that some one else mightsnatch it up; but his principle had always been to let everything, nomatter how coveted, go, rather than buy in haste. 

Lest such an attitude toward Miriam Strange should seem cold-blooded, itshould be said in his defence that he considered the aggregate of hissentiments to be--love. She was to be more than "something better than hisdog, a little dearer than his horse, " more than the living, responsivesoul among his chattels. There was that in her which appealed to hisdesire, and to something more deeply seated in him still. After satisfyingear, eye, and intelligence, there was in her nature a whole undiscoveredregion, undivined, undefined, wakening the imagination, and stirring thespeculative faculties, like the subconscious elements in personality. Inher wild, non-Aryan glances he saw the flame of eyes that flashed on himout of a past unknown to history; in the liquid cadences of her voice heheard the echo of the speech that had sounded in the land before Plymouthwas a stockade or Manhattan was a farm; in her presence he found a claimthat antedated everything sprung of Hudson, Cabot, or Columbus. Theslender thread that attached her to the ages of nomadic mystery made herfor him the indigenous spirit, reborn in a woman of the world. 

Knowing himself too old to be dominated by a passion, and too experiencedto be snared by wiles, he estimated his feelings as being those of love, as he understood the word. He conceded the fact that love, like everyother desire, must work to win, and proceeded to set about his taskaccording to his usual methods of persistent, unobtrusive siege. It waslong before Miriam became aware of what he was doing, and her surprise asshe drew back was not quite so great as his to see her do it. He was soaccustomed to success--after taking the trouble to insure it--that he wasastonished, and a little angry, to find his usual tactics fail. He did notbelieve that she was beyond his grasp; he perceived only that he had takenthe wrong way to get her. That there was a right way there could be noquestion; and he knew that by patient, unremitting search he should findit. 

He had, therefore, several sources of satisfaction in espousing the causeof Norrie Ford. The amplitude of his legal knowledge would be to him asgay feathers to the cock; while the contemplation of the prize added tohis self-approval in never doubting that it could be won. 

 * * * * *

It was early March when Ford sailed away, leaving his affairs inConquest's charge, at the latter's own request. He in his turn placed themin the hands of Kilcup and Warren, who made a specialty of that branch ofthe law. The reward was immediate, in that frequent talks with Miriambecame a matter of course. 

His trained mind was prompt to seize the fact that these interviews tookplace on a basis different from that of their meetings in the past. Wherehe had been seeking to gain an end he was now on probation. He had beentold--or practically told--that what he had been asking would be granted, as soon as certain conditions were fulfilled. It became to him, therefore, a matter of honor, in some degree one of professional etiquette, to fulfilthe conditions before referring to the reward. Instead of a suitorpressing his suit, he became the man of business recounting the pointsscored, or still to be scored, in a common enterprise. In keeping herinformed of each new step that Kilcup and Warren were taking, hemaintained an attitude of distant respect, of which she could have nothingto complain. 

Expecting an equal reserve on her part, it was with some surprise that hesaw her assume the initiative in cordiality. He called it cordiality, because he dared not make it a stronger word. Her manner went back to thespontaneous friendliness that had marked their intercourse before shebegan to see what he was aiming at, while into it she threw an infusion ofsomething that had not hitherto been there. When he came with theinformation that a fresh bit of evidence had been discovered, or a newlight thrown on an old one, she listened with interest--just the rightkind of interest--and made pretexts to detain him, sometimes with Wayne asa third, sometimes without, for the pleasure of his own company. Now andthen, as spring came on, they would all three, at her suggestion, crossthe street, and stroll in the park together. Leaving Wayne on someconvenient seat, they would prolong their own walk, talking with theunguarded confidence of mutual trust. It was she who furnished thetopics--books, music, politics, people, anything that chanced to beuppermost. When he decided to purchase an automobile a whole new world ofconsultation was opened up. They visited establishments together, anddrove with Wayne into the country to test machines. Returning Conquestwould dine informally, in morning dress, with them; or else, from time totime he would invite them to a restaurant. By-and-by he took to organizinglittle dinners at his own house, ostensibly to cheer up Wayne, but reallyto see Miriam at his table. 

In all this there was nothing remarkable, as between old friends, exceptthe contrast with her bearing toward him during the past year. He hadexpected that when Norrie Ford went finally free she would fulfil hercontract, and fulfil it well; but he had not expected this instalment ofgraciousness in advance. It set him to pondering, to looking in themirror, to refining on that careful dressing which he had already made anart. After all, a man in the fifties was young as long as he looked young, and according as one took the point of view. 

Except when Ford's affairs came directly under discussion he occupied, seemingly, a secondary place in their thoughts. Miriam rarely spoke of himat all, and if Conquest brought up his name more frequently it was becausehis professional interest in the numerous "nice points" of the case wasbecoming keen. He talked them over with her, partly because of hispleasure in the intelligence with which she grasped them, and partlybecause their intimacy deepened in proportion as the hope strengthenedthat Ford's innocence would be proved. 

It was June before Miriam heard from South America. Two or three lettersto Evie had already come, guardedly written, telling little more than theincidents of Ford's voyage and arrival. It was to Miriam he wrote what heactually had at heart. 

 * * * * *

"The great moment has come and gone, " she read to Conquest. "I have seenMr. Jarrott, and made a clean breast of everything. It was harder than Iexpected, though I expected it would be pretty hard. I think I feltsorrier for him than for myself, which is saying a good deal. He not onlytakes it to heart, but feels it as a cut to his pride. I can see that thatthought is uppermost. What he feels is not so much the fact that _I_deceived him as that I deceived _him_. I can understand it, too. In acountry where there is such a lot of this sort of thing, he has never beentouched by it before. It has been a kind of boast that his men were alwaysthe genuine article. If one of them is called Smith, it is because he _is_a Smith, and not a Vere de Vere in hiding. But that isn't all. He took meinto his family--into his very heart. He showed that, when I told him. Hetried not to, but he couldn't help it. I tell you it hurt--_me_. I won'ttry to write about it. I'll tell you everything face to face, when I getup to the mark, if I ever do. Apparently my letters hadn't prepared himfor the thing at all. He thought it was to be something to do with Evie, though he might have known I wouldn't have chucked up everything for that. The worst of it is, he's no good at seeing things all round. He can't takemy point of view a bit. It is impossible to explain the fix I was put in, because he can see nothing but the one fact that I pulled the wool overhis eyes--_his_ eyes, that had never suffered sacrilege before. Isympathize with him in that, and yet I think he might try to see thatthere's something to be said on my side. He doesn't, and he neverwill--which only hurts me the more. 

"As for Evie, he wouldn't let me mention her name. I didn't insist, because it was too painful--I mean, too painful to see how he took it. Hesaid, in about ten words, that Evie had not been any more engaged than ifshe had given her word to a man of air, and that there was no reason whyshe should be spoken of. We left it there. I couldn't deny that, and itwas no use saying any more. The only reply to him must be given by Evieherself. He is writing to her, and so am I. I wish you would help her tosee that she must consider herself quite free, and that she isn't toundertake what she may not have the strength to carry out. I realize moreand more that I was asking her to do the impossible. "

 * * * * *

It was an hour or two after reading this, when Conquest had gone away, that Evie herself--as dainty as spring, in flowered muslin and a Leghornhat crowned with a wreath of roses--came fluttering in. 

"I've had the queerest letter from Uncle Jarrott, " she began, breathlessly. "The poor old dear--well, something must be the matter withhim. I can't for the life of me imagine what Herbert can have told him, but he doesn't understand a bit. "

Miriam locked her own letter in her desk, saying as she did so:

"How does he show it?--that he doesn't understand. "

"Why, he simply talks wild--that's how he shows it. He says I am not toconsider myself engaged to Herbert--that I was never engaged to him atall. I wonder what he calls it, if it isn't engaged, when I have aring--and everything. "

"It is rather mystifying. " Miriam tried to smile. "I suppose he means thathaving given your word to Herbert Strange, you're not to consider yourselfbound to Norrie Ford, unless you want to. "

"Pff! I don't care anything about that. I never liked the name ofHerbert--or Strange, either. I told you that before. All the same, I wishUncle Jarrott would have a little sense. "

"Suppose--I mean, just suppose, dear--he felt it his duty to forbid yourengagement altogether. What would you do then?"

"It wouldn't be very nice of him, I must say. He was as pleased as Punchover it when I was down there. If he's so capricious, I don't see how hecan blame me. "

"Blame you, for what, dear?"

"For staying engaged--if it's all right. "

"But if he thought it wasn't all right?"

"You do, don't you?"

Evie, who had been prancing about the room, turned sharply on Miriam, whowas still at her desk. 

"That isn't the question--"

"No, but it's _a_ question. I presume you don't mind my asking it?"

"You may ask me anything, darling--of course. But this is your uncleJarrott's affair, and yours. It wouldn't do for me--"

"Oh, that's so like you Miriam. You'd exasperate a saint--the way youwon't give your opinion when you've got one. I wish I could ask Billy. He'd know. But of course I couldn't, when he thinks I'm still engaged to_him_. "

"What do you want to ask him, Evie, dear?"

"Well, he's a lawyer. He could tell me all about what it's all about. I'msure _I_ don't know. I didn't think it was anything--and yet here's UncleJarrott writing as if it was something awful. He's written to AuntQueenie, too. Of course I must stand by Herbert, whatever happens--if itisn't very bad; but you can see yourself that I don't want to be mixed upin a--a--in a scandal. "

"It would hardly be a scandal, dear; but there would be some--somepublicity about it. "

"I don't mind publicity. I'm used to that, with my name in the paper everyother day. It was in this morning. Did you see it?--the Gresley's dance. Only I do wish they would call me Evelyn, and not Evie. It sounds sofamiliar. "

"I'm afraid they'd put more in about you than just that. "

"Would they? What?" Her eyes danced already, in anticipation. 

"I can't tell you exactly what; but it would be things you wouldn't like. "

Evie twitched about the room, making little clicking sounds with her lips, as signs of meditation. 

"Well, I mean to be true to him--a while longer, " she said, at last, as ifcoming to a conclusion. "I'm not going to let Uncle Jarrott think I'm justa puppet to be jerked on a string. The idea! When he was as pleased asPunch about it himself. And Aunt Helen said she'd give me my trousseau. Isuppose I sha'n't get that now. But there's the money you offered me forthe pearl necklace. Only I'd much rather have the pearl--Well, I'll betrue to him, do you see? We're leaving for Newport the day afterto-morrow. They say there hasn't been such a brilliant summer for a longtime as they expect this year. Thank goodness, there's something to takemy mind off all this care and worry and responsiblity, otherwise I think Ishould pass away. But I shall show Uncle Jarrott that he can't do just ashe likes with me, anyhow. "

Evie and Miss Jarrott went to Newport, and it was the beginning of Julybefore Miriam heard from Ford again. Once more she read to Conquest suchportions of the letter as she thought he would find of interest. 

 * * * * *

"It is all over now, " Ford wrote, "between Stephens and Jarrott and me. I'm out of the concern for good. It was something of a wrench, and I'mglad it is past. I didn't see the old man again. I wanted to thank him andsay good-bye, but he dodged me. Perhaps it is just as well. Even if I wereto meet him now, I shouldn't make the attempt again. I confess to feelinga little hurt, but I thoroughly understand him. He is one of thosemen--you meet them now and again--survivals from the old school--with asense of rectitude so exact that they can only see in a straight line. Itis all right. Don't think that I complain. It is almost as much for hissake as for my own that I wish he could have taken what I call a morecomprehensive view of me. I know he suffers--and I shall never be able totell him how sorry I am till we get into the kingdom of heaven. In fact, Ican't explain anything to any one, except you, which must be an excuse formy long letters. I try to keep you posted in what I'm going through, sothat you may convey as much or as little of it as you think fit to Evie. Ican't tell her much, and I see from the little notes she writes me thatshe doesn't yet understand. 

"The cat seems to be quite out of the bag in the office, though I haven'tsaid a word to any one, and I know Mr. Jarrott wouldn't. Pride and sorefeeling will keep him from ever speaking of me again, except when he can'thelp it. I don't mean to say that the men know exactly what it is, butthey know enough to set them guessing. They are jolly nice about it, too, even the fellows who were hardly decent to me in the old days. LittleGreen--the chap from Boston who succeeded me at Rosario; I must have toldyou about him--and his wife can't do enough for me, and I know they meanit. "

There was a silence of some weeks before he wrote again. 

"I shall not get away from here as soon as I expected, as my privateaffairs are not easily settled up. This city grows so fast that I have hada good part of my savings in real estate. I am getting rid of it bydegrees, but it takes time to sell to advantage. I may say that I am doingvery well, for which I am not sorry, as I shall need the money for mytrial. I hope you don't mind my referring to it, because I look forward toit with something you might almost call glee. To get back where I startedwill be like waking from a bad dream. I can't believe that Justice willmake the same mistake twice--and even if she does I would rather she hadthe chance. I am much encouraged by the last reports from Kilcup andWarren. I've long felt that it was Jacob Gramm who did for my poor uncle, though I didn't like to accuse him of it when the proofs seemed all theother way. He certainly had more reason to do the trick than I had, for myuncle had been a brute to him for thirty years, while he had only worriedme for two. He wasn't half a bad old chap, either--old Gramm--and it wasone of the mysteries of the place to me that he could have stood it solong. The only explanation I could find was that he had a kind ofaffection for the old man, such as a dog will sometimes have for a masterwho beats him, or a woman for a drunken husband. I believe the moment camewhen he simply found himself at the end of his tether of endurance--andhe just did for him. His grief, when it was all over, was real enough. Nobody could doubt that. In fact, it was so evidently genuine that thetheory I am putting forward now only came to me of late years. I thinkthere is something in it, and I believe the further they go the more theywill find to support it. Now that the old chap is dead I should have lessscruple in following it up--especially if the old lady is gone too. Shewas a bit of a vixen, but the husband was a good old sort. I liked him. "

Some weeks later he wrote:

"I wander about this place a good deal like a ghost in its old haunts. Everything here is so temporary, so changing--much more so than in NewYork--that one's footprints are very quickly washed away. Outside theoffice almost no one remembers me. It is curious to think that I was onceso happy here--and so hopeful. There was always a kind of hell in myheart, but I kept it banked down, as we do the earth's internal fires, beneath a tolerably solid crust. Yesterday, finding myself at theHipodromo, I stood for a while on the spot where I first saw Evie. It usedto seem to me a bit of enchanted ground, but I feel now as if I ought toerect a gravestone there. Poor little Evie! How right you were about itall. It was madness on my part to think she could ever climb up myCalvary. My excuse is that I didn't imagine it was going to be so steep. Ieven hoped she would never see that there was a Calvary at all. Her notesare still pitifully ignorant of the real state of things. 

"And speaking of gravestones, I went out the other day to the RecoletaCemetery, and looked at the grave of my poor old friend, Monsieur Durand. Everything neat, and in good order. It gives me a peculiar satisfactionto see that the decorum he loved reigns where he 'sleeps. ' I never knewhis secret--except that rumor put him down for an unfrocked priest. 

"I doubt if I shall get away from here till the beginning of October; butwhen I do, everything will be in trim for what I sometimes think of as myresurrection. "

 * * * * *

These letters, and others like them, Miriam shared conscientiously withConquest. It was part of the loyalty she had vowed to him in her heartthat she should keep nothing from him, except what was sanctified andsealed forever, as her own private history. In the impulse to give herlife as a ransom for Norrie Ford's she was eager to do it withoutreserves, or repinings, or backward looks--without even a wish that it hadbeen possible to make any other use of it. If she was not entirelysuccessful in the last feat, she was fairly equal to the rest, so that inallowing himself to be misled Conquest could scarcely be charged withfatuity. With his combined advantages, personal and otherwise, it was notastonishing that a woman should be in love with him; and if that womanproved to be Miriam Strange, one could only say that the unexpected hadhappened, as it often does. If, in view of all the circumstances, hedressed better than ever, and gave his little dinners more frequently, while happiness toned down the sharpness of his handsome profile to asofter line, he had little in common with Malvolio. 

And what he had began to drop away from him. Insensibly he came to seethat the display of his legal knowledge, of his carefully chosen ties, ofhis splendid equipment in house, horses, and automobiles, had something ofthe major-domo's strut in parti-colored hose. The day came when heunderstood that the effort to charm her by the parade of these things waslike the appeal to divine grace by means of grinding on a prayer-mill. Itwas a long step to take, both in thought and emotion, leading him to seelove, marriage, women's hearts, and all kindred subjects, from a differentpoint of view. Love in particular began to appear to him as more than thesum total of approbation bestowed on an object to be acquired. Though hewas not prepared to give it a new definition, it was clear that the oldone was no longer sufficient for his needs. The mere fact that this woman, whom he had vainly tempted with gifts--whom he was still hoping to captureby prowess--could come to him of her own accord, had a transforming effecton himself. If he ever got her--by purchase, conquest, or any other formof acquisition--he had expected to be proud; he had never dreamed of thiscurious happiness, that almost made him humble. 

It was a new conception of life to think that there were things in it thatmight be given, but which could not be bought; as it was a new revelationof himself to perceive that there were treasures in his dry heart whichhad never before been drawn on. This discovery was made almostaccidentally. He stumbled on it, as men have stumbled on Koh-i-noors andCullinanes lying in the sand. 

"What I really came to tell you, " he said to her, on one occasion, as theystrolled side by side in the Park, "is that I am going away to-morrow--tothe West--to Omaha. "

"Isn't that rather sudden?"

"Rather. I've thought for the last few days I might do it. The fact is, they've found Amalia Gramm. "

She stopped with a sudden start of interrogation, moving on again at once. It was a hot September evening, at the hour when twilight merges intonight. They had left Wayne on a favorite seat, and having finished theirown walk northward, were returning to pick him up and take him home. Itwas just dark enough for the thin crescent of the harvest moon to bependulous above the city, while a rim of lighted windows in high façadesframed the tree-tops The peace of the quiet path in which they rambledseemed the more sylvan because of the clang and rumble of the streets, asa room will appear more secluded and secure when there is a storm outside. 

"They've found her living with some nieces out there, " he went on toexplain. "She appears to have been half over the world since old Grammdied--home to Germany--back to America--to Denver--to Chicago--toMilwaukee--to the Lord knows where--and now she has fetched up in Omaha. She strikes me in the light of an unquiet spirit. It seems she has nephewsand nieces all over the lot--and as she has the ten thousand dollars oldChris Ford left them--"

"Are they going to bring her here?"

"They can't--bedridden--paralyzed, or something. They've got to take hertestimony on the spot. I want to be there when they do it. There arecertain questions which it is most important to have asked. In a way, itis not my business; but I'm going to make it mine. I've mulled over thething so long that I think I see the psychology of the whole drama. "

"I can never thank you enough for the interest you've shown, " she said, after a brief silence. 

He gave his short, nervous laugh. 

"Nor I you for giving me the chance to show it. That's where the kindnesscomes in. It's made a different world for me, and me a different man init. If anybody had told me last winter that I should spend the wholesummer in town working on a criminal case--"

"You shouldn't have done that. I wanted you to go away as usual. "

"And leave you here?"

"I shouldn't have minded--as long as Mr. Wayne preferred to stay. It's sohard for him to get about, anywhere but in the place he's accustomed to. New York in summer isn't as bad as people made me think. "

"I too have found that true. To me it has been a very happy time. Butperhaps my reasons were different from yours. "

She reflected a minute before uttering her next words, but decided to saythem. 

"I fancy our reasons were the same. "

The low voice, the simplicity of the sentence, the meanings in it andbehind it, made him tremble. It was then, perhaps, that he began to seemost clearly the true nature of love, both as given and received. 

"I don't think they can be, " he ventured, hoping to draw her on to saysomething more; but she did not respond. 

After all, he reflected, as they continued their walk more or less insilence, too many words would only spoil the minute's bliss. There was, too, a pleasure in standing afar off to view the promised land almostequal to that of marching into it--especially when, as now, he was givento understand that its milk and honey were awaiting him. 

XXI

It was the middle of October when Evie wrote from Lenox to say she wouldcome to town to meet Ford on his arrival, begging Miriam to give hershelter for a night or two. The Grants remaining abroad, Miss Jarrott hadtaken the house in Seventy-second Street for another winter, but as Eviewould run up to New York alone she preferred for the minute to be Miriam'sguest. 

"The fact is, I'm worried to death, " she wrote, confidentially "and youmust help me to see daylight through this tangled mass of everybody sayingdifferent things. Aunt Queenie has gone completely back on Herbert, justbecause Uncle Jarrott has. That doesn't strike me as very loyal, I mustsay. I shouldn't think it right to desert anybody, unless I wanted to. Iwouldn't do it because some one else told me to--not if he was my brotherten times over. I mean to be just as true to Herbert as I can Not that hemakes it very easy for me, because he has broken altogether with UncleJarrott--and that seems to me the maddest thing. I certainly sha'n't getmy trousseau from Aunt Helen now. I don't see what we're all coming to. Everybody is so queer, and they keep hinting things they won't say out, asif there was some mystery. I do wish I could talk to Billy about it. Ofcourse I can't--the way matters stand. And speaking of Billy, that richMr. Bird--you remember I told you about him last winter--has asked me tomarry him. Just think! I forget how much he has a year, but it's somethingawful. Of course I told him I couldn't give him a definite answer yet--butthat if he insisted on it I should have to make it No. He said he didn'tinsist--that he'd rather wait till I had time to make up my mind, if Ididn't keep him dangling. I told him I wouldn't keep him doing anythingwhatever, and that if he dangled at all it would be entirely of his ownaccord. I think he liked my spirit, so he said he'd wait. We left itthere, which was the wisest way--though I must say I didn't like hispresuming on his money to think I would make a difference between him andthe others. Money doesn't mean anything to me, though dear mamma hoped shewould live to see me well established. She didn't, poor darling, butthat's no reason why I shouldn't try to carry out her wishes. All thesame, I mean to be true to Herbert just as long as possible; and so youmay expect me on the twenty-ninth. "

 * * * * *

If there was much in this letter that Miriam found disturbing, it was notthe thought that Evie might be false to Ford, or that Ford might suffer, which alarmed her most. There was something in her that cried out in fearbefore the possibility that Norrie Ford might be free again. Her strengthhaving sprung so largely from the hope of restoring the plans she hadmarred, the destruction of the motive left her weak; but worse than thatwas the knowledge that, though she had tried to empty her heart completelyof its cravings, only its surface had been drained. It was to getassurance rather than to give information that she read fragments ofEvie's letter to Conquest, on the evening of his return from Omaha. He hadcome to give her the news of his success. That it was good news wasevident in his face when he entered the room; and, almost afraid to hearit, she had broached the subject of her anxiety about Evie first. 

"She's going to give him the sack; that's what _she's_ going to give him, "Conquest said, conclusively, while Miriam folded the dashingly scribbledsheets. "You needn't be worried about her in the least. Miss Evie knowsher way about as cleverly as a homing bee. She'll do well for herselfwhatever else she may not do. _Come now_!"

"I'm not thinking of that so much as that she should do her duty. "

"Duty! Pooh! That sort of little creature has no duty--the word doesn'tapply to it. Evie is the most skilful mixture of irresponsible impulse andshrewd calculation you'll find in New York. She'll use both her gifts withperfect heartlessness, and yet in such a way that even her guardian angelwon't know just where to find fault with her. "

"But she must marry Mr. Ford--now. "

He was too busy with his own side of the subject to notice that herassertion had the intensity of a cry. He had a man's lack of interest inanother man's love-affairs while he was blissfully absorbed in his own. 

"You might as well tell a swallow that it must migrate--now, " he laughed. "Poor Ford will feel it, I've no doubt; but we shall make up to him for agood deal of it. We're going to pull him through. "

For the instant her anxiety was diverted into another channel. "Does thatmean that Amalia Gramm has told you anything?"

"She's told us everything. I thought she would. I don't feel at liberty togive you the details before they come out at the proper time and place;but there's no harm in saying that my analysis of the old woman'spsychological state was not so very far wrong. There's no question aboutit any longer. We'll pull him through. And, by George, he's worth it!"

The concluding exclamation, uttered with so much sincerity, took her bysurprise, transmuting the pressure about her heart into a mist of suddentears. Tears came to her rarely, hardly, and seldom with relief. She wasespecially unwilling that Conquest should notice them now; but the attemptto dash them away only caused them to fall faster. She could see himwatching her in a kind of sympathetic curiosity, slightly surprised in histurn at the unexpected emotion, and trying to divine its cause. Unable tobear his gaze any longer, she got up brusquely from her chair, retreatinginto the bay-window, where--the curtains being undrawn--she stood lookingdown on the sea of lights, as beings above the firmament might look downon stars. He waited a minute, and came near her only when he judged thathe might do so discreetly. 

"You're unnerved, " he said, with tender kindliness. "That's why you'reupset. You've had too much on your mind. You're too willing to take allthe care on your own shoulders, and not let other people hustle forthemselves. "

She was pressing her handkerchief against her lips, so she made no reply. The moment seemed to him one at which he might go forward a little moreboldly. All the circumstances warranted an advance from his position ofreserve. 

"You need me, " he ventured to say, with that quiet assurance which in alover means much. "I understand you as no one else does in the world. "

Her brimming eyes gave him a look which was only pathetic, but which hetook to be one of assent. 

"I've always told you I could help you, " he went on, with tranquilearnestness, "and I could. You've too many burdens to carry alone--burdensthat don't belong to you, but which, I know, you'll never lay down. Well, I'll share them. There's Wayne, now. He's too much for you, by yourself--Idon't mean from the material point of view, but--the whole thing. It wearson you. It's bound to. Wayne is my friend just as much as yours. He's myresponsibility--so long as you take it in that light. I've been thinkingof him a lot lately--and I see how, in my house--could put himup--ideally. "

Still pressing her handkerchief against her lips with her right hand, sheput out her left in a gesture of deprecation. He understood it as one ofencouragement, and went on. 

"You must come and look at my house. You've never really seen it, and Ithink you'd like it. I think you'd like--everything I've got everything tomake you happy; and if you'll only let me do it, you'll make me happy, too. "

She felt able to speak at last. Her eyes were still brimming as she turnedtoward him, but brimming only as pools are when the rain is over. 

"I want you to be happy. You're so good . .. And kind . .. And you've doneso much for me . .. You deserve it. "

She turned away from him again. With her arm on the woodwork of thewindow, she rested her forehead rather wearily on her hand. He understoodso little of what was passing within her that she found it a relief tosuspend for the minute her comedy of spontaneous happiness, letting herheart ache unrestrainedly. Her left hand hanging limp and free, she madeno effort to withdraw it when she felt him clasp it in his own. Since shehad subscribed to the treaty months ago, since she had insisted on doingit rightly or wrongly, it made little difference when and how she carriedthe conditions out. So they stood hand in hand together, tacitly, but, aseach knew, quite effectually, plighted. In her silence, her resignation, her evident consent he read the proof of that love which, to his mind, nolonger needed words. 

 * * * * *

Late that night, after he had gone away, she wrote to Evie, beseeching herto be true to Ford. The letter was so passionate, so little like herself, that she was afraid of destroying it if she waited till morning, so sheposted it without delay. The answer came within forty-eight hours, in theshape of a telegram from Evie. She was coming to town at once, though itwanted still three or four days to Ford's arrival. 

It was a white little Evie, with drawn face, who threw herself intoMiriam's arms at the station, clutching at her with a convulsive sob. 

"Miriam, I can't do it, " she whispered, in a kind of terror. "They sayhe's going to be put in--_jail_!"

Her voice rose on the last word, so that one or two people paused in theirrush past to glance at the pitifully tragic little face. 

"Hush, darling, " Miriam whispered back. "You'll tell me about it as we gohome. "

But in the motor Evie could only cry, clinging to Miriam as she used to doin troubled moments in childhood. Arrived at the apartment, Wayne had tobe faced with some measure of self-control, and then came dinner. At tableEvie, outwardly mistress of herself by this time, talked feverishnonsense about their common friends in Lenox, after which she made anexcuse for retiring early. It was only in the bedroom, when they weresecure from interruption that Miriam heard what Evie had to tell. She wastearless now, and rather indignant. 

"I've had the strangest letter from Herbert, " she declared excitedly, assoon as Miriam entered the room. "I couldn't have believed he wrote it inhis senses if Aunt Queenie hadn't heard the Same thing from Uncle Jarrott. He says he's got to go to--_jail_. "

There was the same rising inflexion on the last word, suggestive of ashriek of horror, that Miriam had noticed in the station. In her whitepeignoir, her golden hair streaming over her shoulders, and her handsflung wide apart with an appealing dramatic gesture, Evie was not unlikesome vision of a youthful Christian martyr, in spite of the hair-brush inher hand. Miriam sat down sidewise on the edge of the couch, looking up atthe child in pity. She felt that it was useless to let her remain indarkness any longer. 

"Of course he has to, " she said, trying to make her tone as matter of factas might be. "Didn't you know it?"

"Know it! Did _you_?"

Evie stepped forward, bending over Miriam as if she meant to strike her. 

"I knew it in a general way, darling. I suppose, when he gives himself tothe police--"

"The police!" Evie screamed. "Am I to be engaged to a man who--giveshimself up to the police?"

"It will only be for a little while, dear--"

"I don't care whether it's for a little while or foreverit can't _be_. What is he thinking of? What are _you_ thinking of? Don't you _see_? Howcan I face the world--with all my invitations--when the man I'm engaged tois--in jail?"

Evie's hands flew up in a still more eloquent gesture, while the blueeyes, usually so soft and veiled, were wide with flaming interrogation. 

"I knew that--in some ways--it might be hard for you--"

Evie laughed, a little silvery mirthless ripple of scorn. 

"I must say, Miriam, you choose your words skilfully. But you're wrong, doyou see? There's no way in which it can be hard for me, because there's noway in which it's possible. "

"Oh yes, there is, dear--if you love him. "

"That has nothing to do with it. Of course I love him. Haven't I said so?But that doesn't make any difference. Can't I love him without beingengaged to--to--to a man who has to go to jail?"

"Certainly; but you can't love him if you don't feel that you must--thatyou simply _must_--stand by his side. "

"There you go again, Miriam, with your queer ideas. It's exactly what anyone would expect you to say. "

"I hope so. "

"Oh, you needn't hope so, because they would--any one who knew you. But Ihave to do what's right. I know what I feel in my conscience--and I haveto follow it. And besides, I couldn't--I couldn't"--her voice began torise again--"I couldn't face it--I couldn't bear it--not if I loved him agreat deal better than I do. "

"That's something you must think about very seriously, dear--"

"I don't have to!" she cried, with a stamp of her foot. "I know italready. It wouldn't make any difference if I thought about it a thousandyears. I couldn't be engaged to a man who was in jail, not if I worshippedthe ground he trod on. "

"But when he's innocent, darling--"

"It's jail, just the same. I can't be engaged to people just becausethey're innocent. It isn't right to expect it of me. And, anyhow, " sheadded, passionately, "I can't do it. It would kill me. I should never liftmy head again. I can't--I can't. It's hateful of any one to say I oughtto. I'm surprised at you, Miriam, when you know how dear mamma would haveforbidden it. It's all very well for you to give advice, when you have nofamily--and no one to think about--and hardly any invitations-- Well, Ican't, and there's an end of it. If that's your idea of love, then, I mustsay, my conception is a little different. I've always had high ideals, andI feel obliged to hold to them, however you may condemn me. "

She ended with a catch in her breath something like a sob. 

"But I'm not condemning you, Evie dear. If you feel what you say, there'snothing for it but to see Mr. Ford and tell him so. "

At this suggestion Evie sobered. She was a long time silent before sheobserved, in a voice that had become suddenly calm and significantlycasual, "That's easy for you to say. "

"If you speak to him as decidedly as to me, I should think it would beeasy for you to do. "

"And still easier for you. "

Evie spoke in that tone of unintentional intention which is most pointed. It was not lost on Miriam, who recoiled from the mere thought. It seemedto her better to ignore the hint, but Evie, with feverish eagerness, refused to let it pass. 

"Did you hear what I said?" she persisted, sharply. 

"I heard it, dear; but it didn't seem to me to mean anything. "

"That would depend on whether you heard it only with the ear or in theheart. "

"You know that everything that has to do with you is in my heart. "

"Well, then?"

"But if you mean by that that I should tell Mr. Ford you're not going tomarry him--why, it's out of the question. "

"Then who's to tell him? _I_ can't. It's not to be expected. "

"But, darling, you must. This is awful. "

Miriam got up and went toward her, but Evie, who was nervously brushingher hair, edged away. 

"Of course it's awful, but I don't see the use of making it worse than itneed be. He'll feel it a great deal more if he sees me, and so shall I. "

"And what shall I feel?" Miriam spoke unguardedly, but Evie was toopreoccupied to notice the bitterness of the tone. 

"I don't see why you should feel anything at all. It's nothing to you--orvery little. It wouldn't be your fault; not any more than it's thepostman's if he has to bring you a letter with bad news. "

Miriam went back to her place on the edge of the couch, where with herforehead bowed for a minute on her hand she sat reflecting. Anoverwhelming desire for confidence, for sympathy perhaps, for theclearing up of mysteries in any case, was impelling her to tell Evie allthat had ever happened between Ford and herself. It had been necessary tomaintain so many reserves that possibly this new light would enable Evieto see her own duty more straightforwardly. 

"Darling, " she began, "I want to tell you something--"

But before she could proceed Evie flung the hair-brush on the floor anduttered a great swelling sob. With her hands hanging at her sidess and hergolden head thrown back, she wept with the abandonment of a child, whilesuggesting the seraphic suffering of a grieving angel by some old master. 

In an instant Miriam had her in her arms. It was the appeal she had neverbeen able to resist. 

"There, there, my pet, " she said, soothingly, drawing her to the couch. "Come to Miriam, who loves you. There, there. "

Evie clung to her piteously, with flower-like face tilted outward andupward for the greater convenience of weeping. 

"Oh, I'm so lonely!" she sobbed. "I'm so lonely . .. I I wish dear mamma. .. Hadn't died. "

Miriam pressed her the more closely. 

"I'm so lonely . .. And everything's so strange . .. And I don't know whatto do . .. And he's going to be put in jail . .. And you're so unkind tome. .. . Oh, dear! . .. I can't tell him . .. I can't tell him . .. I can't . .. I can't . .. "

She pillowed her head on Miriam's shoulder, like a child that would forcea caress from the hand that has just been striking it. The action filledMiriam with that kind of self-reproach which the weak creature inspires soeasily in the strong. In spite of her knowledge to the contrary, she hadthe feeling of having acted selfishly. 

"No, darling, " she said, at last, as Evie's sobs subdued into convulsivetremblings, "you needn't tell him. I'll see him. He'll understand how hardit's been for you. It's been hard for every one--and especially for you, darling. I'll do my best. You know I will. And I'm sure he'll understand. There, there, " she comforted, as Evie's tears broke out afresh. "Have yourcry out, dear. It will do you good. There, there. "

 * * * * *

So Evie went back next day to Lenox, while Miriam waited for Ford. 

XXII

A few days later she read his name, in a morning paper, in the _Asiatic's_list of passengers the steamer having arrived at quarantine the nightbefore: Mr. John Norrie Ford. Though flung carelessly into a paragraphprinted in small type, it seemed to blaze in fire on the page! It was asif all America must rise at it. As she looked from the window it was withsomething like surprise that she saw the stream of traffic roaring onward, heedless of the fact that this dread name was being hawked in the streetsand sold at the news-stands. She sent out for the evening papers thatappear at midday, being relieved and astonished to find that as yet it hadcreated no sensation. 

She was not deceived by his ease of manner when he appeared at theapartment in the afternoon. Though he carried his head loftily, and smiledwith his habitual air of confidence, she could see that the deep waters ofthe proud had gone over his soul. Their ebb had streaked his hair andbeard with white, and deepened the wrinkles that meant concentrated willinto the furrows that come of suffering. She was more or less prepared forthat. It was the outward manifestation of what she had read between thelines of the letters he had written her. As he crossed the room, with handoutstretched, her one conscious thought was of the chance to be a womanand a helpmeet Evie had flung away. She had noticed how, on the verythreshold, he had glanced twice about the room, expecting to find herthere. 

They did not speak of her at once. They talked of commonplace introductorythings--the voyage, the arrival, the hotel at which he wasstaying--anything that would help her, and perhaps him, to control thepreliminary nervousness. There was no sign of it, however, on his part, while she felt her own spirit rising, as it always did, to meetemergencies. Presently she mentioned her fears regarding his use of histrue name. 

"No; it isn't dangerous, " he assured her, "because I'm out of danger now. Thank the Lord, that's all over. I don't have to live with a great hulkingterror behind me any longer. I'm a man like any other. You can't imaginewhat it means to be yourself, and not to care who knows it. I'm afraid Iparade my name just like a boy with a new watch, who wants to tell everyone the time. So far no one has paid any particular attention; but I daresay that will come. Is Evie here?"

"She's not here--to-day. "

"Why not?" he asked, sharply. "She said she would be. She said she'd cometo town--"

"She did come to town, but she thought she'd better not--stay. "

"Not stay? Why shouldn't she stay? Is anything up? You don't mean thatMiss Jarrott--?"

"No; Miss Jarrott had nothing to do with it. I know her brother haswritten to her, in the way you must be prepared for. But she couldn't havekept Evie from waiting for you, if Evie herself--"

"Had wanted to, " he finished, as she seemed to hesitate at the words. 

Since she said nothing to modify this assertion, she hoped he wouldcomprehend its gravity. Indeed, he seemed to be trying to attenuate thatwhen he spoke next. 

"I suppose she had engagements--or something. "

"She did have engagements--but she could have put them off. "

"Only she didn't care to. I see. "

She allowed him time to accept this fact before going on. 

"Her return to Lenox, " she said then, "wasn't because of her engagements. "

"Then it must have been because of me. Didn't she want to see me?"

"She didn't want to tell you what she felt she would have to say. "

"Oh! So that was it. "

He continued to sit looking at her with an expression of interrogation, though it was evident from his eyes that his questions had been answered. They sat in the same relative positions as on the night of their last longtalk together, he in his big arm-chair, she in her low one. It struck heras strange--while he stared at her with that gaze of inquiry from whichthe inquiry was gone--that she, who meant so little to his inner life, should be called on again to live through with him minutes that mustforever remain memorable in his existence. 

"Poor little thing! So she funked telling me. "

The comment was made musingly, to himself, but she took it as if addressedto her. 

"She wasn't equal to it. "

"But you are. You're equal to anything. Aren't you?" He smiled with thatpeculiar twisted smile which she had noticed at other times, when he wasconcealing pain. 

"One is generally equal to what one has to do. All the same, " she added, with an impulse she could not repress, "I'm sorry to be always associatedin your mind with things that must be hard for you. "

"You're associated in my mind with everything that's high and noble. That's the only memory I shall ever have of you. You've been with methrough some of the dark spots of my life; but if it hadn't been for you Ishouldn't have found the way. "

"Thank you. I'm glad you can say that. I should be even more sorry than Iam to give you this news to-day, if it were not that perhaps I can explainthings a little better than Evie could. "

"I don't imagine that they require much explanation. I've seen from Evie'sletters that--"

"That she was afraid of--the situation. She hasn't changed toward you. "

"Do you mean by that that she still--cares anything about me?"

"She says she does. "

"But you don't believe her. "

"I'm not entitled to an opinion. It's something you and she must work outtogether. All I can do is to tell you what may give you a little hope. "

She watched for the brightening effect of these words upon him, but he satlooking absently at the floor, as if he had not heard them. 

"Evie is afraid, " she continued, "but I think it's only fair to rememberthat the circumstances might well frighten any young girl of her sort. "

He showed that he followed her by nodding assent, though he neither liftedhis head nor spoke. 

"She wanted me to tell you that while the--the trial--and otherthings--are going on, she couldn't be engaged to you--I'm using her ownexpression, but she didn't say that, when it was all over and you werefree, she wouldn't marry you. I noticed that. "

He looked up quickly. 

"I'm not sure that I catch your drift. "

"I mean that when it's all over, and everything has ended as you hope itwill, it may be quite possible for you to win her back. "

He stared at her, with an incredulous lifting of the eyebrows

"Would you advise me to try?"

"It isn't a matter I could give advice about. I'm showing you what mightbe possible, but--"

"No, no. That sort of thing doesn't work. There was just a chance thatEvie might have stuck to me spontaneously but since she didn't--"

"Since she didn't--what?"

"She was quite right not to. I admit that. It's in the order of things. She followed her instinct rather than her heart--I'm ready to believethat--but there are times in life when instinct is a pretty good guide. "

"Am I to understand that you're not--hurt?--or disappointed? Because inthat case--"

"I don't know whether I am or not. That's frank. I'm feeling so manythings all at once that I can hardly distinguish one emotion from another, or tell which is strongest. I only know--it's become quite plain tome--that a little creature like Evie couldn't find a happy home in mylife, any more than a humming-bird, as you once called her, could make itsnest among crags. "

"Do you mean by that, " she asked, slowly, "thatyou're--definitely--letting her go?"

"I mean that, Evie being what she is, and I being what life has mademe--Isn't it perfectly evident? Can you fancy us tied together--now?"

"I never could fancy it. I haven't concealed that from you at any time. But since you loved her, and she loved you--"

"That was true enough--in its way. In its way, it's still true. Evie stillloves the man I was, perhaps, and the man I was loves her. The differenceis that the man I was isn't sitting here in front of you. "

"One changes with years, of course. I didn't suppose one could change in afew months, like that. "

"One changes with experience--above all, with that kind of experiencewhich people generally call--suffering. That's the great Alchemist; and heoften transmutes our silver into gold. In my case, Evie was silver; butI've found there's something else that stands for--"

"So that, " she interposed, quickly, "you're not sorry that Evie--?"

He got up, restlessly, and stood with his back to the empty fireplace. 

"It isn't a case for sorrow, " he replied, after a minute's thinking, "asit isn't one for joy. It's one purely for acceptance. When I first knewEvie I was still something of a kid. It was so all the more because thekid element in me had never had full play. I was arrogant, and cock-sureand certain of my ability to manipulate the world to suit myself. That wasall Evie saw, and she liked it. In as far as she had it in her to fall inlove with anything, she fell in love with it. "

He took a turn or two across the room, coming back to his stand on thehearth-rug. 

"I've travelled far since then, " he continued; "I've _had_ to travel far. Evie hasn't been able to come with me; and that's all there is to thestory. It isn't her fault; because when I asked her, I had no intention oftaking this particular way. "

"It was I who drove you into that, " she said, with a hint of remorse. 

"Yes--you--and conscience--and whatever else I honor most. I give you thecredit first of all, because, if it hadn't been for you, I shouldn't havehad the moral energy to assert my true self against the false one. Isn'tit curious that, after having made me Herbert Strange, it should be youwho turned me into Norrie Ford again? It means that you exercise supremepower over me--a kind of creative power. You can make of me what you careto. It's no wonder that I've come to see----" He paused, in doubt as tohow to express himself, while her eyes were fixed on him in troubledquestioning. "It's no wonder, " he went on again, "that I've come to seeeverything in a truer light--Evie as well as all the rest of it. "

With a renewed impulse to move about, he strode toward the bay-window, where he stood for a few seconds, looking out and trying to co-ordinatehis thoughts. Wheeling round again, he drew up a small chair close tohers, seating himself sidewise, with his arm resting on the back. Helooked like a man anxious to explain himself. 

"You're blaming me, I think, because I don't take Evie's defection more toheart. Isn't that so?"

"I'm not blaming you. I may be a little surprised at it. "

"You wouldn't be surprised at it, if you knew all I've been through. It'sdifficult to explain to you--"

"There's no reason why you should try. "

"But I want to try. I want you to know. You see, " he pursued, speakingslowly, as if searching for the right words--"you see, it's largely aquestion of progress--of growth. Trouble has two stages. In the first, youthink it hard luck that you should have to meet it. In the second, you seethat, having met it, and gone through it, you come out into a region ofbig experience, where everything is larger and nobler than you thought itwas before. Now, you'd probably think me blatant if I said that I feelmyself emerging into--_that_. "

"No, I shouldn't. As a matter of fact, I know you're doing it. "

"Well, then, having got there--out into that new kind of world"--hesketched the vision with one of his Latin gestures--"I discover that--forone reason or another--poor little Evie has stayed on the far side of it. She couldn't pass the first gate with me, or the second, or the third, tosay nothing of those I have still to go through. You know I'm notcriticising, or finding fault with her, don't you?"

She assured him of that. 

"And yet, I must go on, you see. There's no waiting or turning back forme, any more than for a dying man. No matter who goes or who stays, I mustpress forward. If Evie can't make the journey with me, I can only feelrelieved that she's able to slip out of it--but I must still go on. Ican't look back; I can't even be sorry--because I'm coming into the new, big land. You see what I mean?"

She signified again that she followed him. 

"But the finding of a new land doesn't take anything from the old one. Itonly enlarges the world. Europe didn't become different because theydiscovered America. The only change was in their getting to know a countrywhere the mountains were higher, and the rivers broader, and the sunshinebrighter, and where there was a chance for the race to expand. Evieremains what she was. The only difference is that my eyes have been openedto--a new ideal. "

It was impossible for her not to guess at what he meant. Independently ofwords, his earnest eyes told their tale, while he bent toward her like aman not quite able to restrain himself. In the ensuing seconds of silenceshe had time to be aware of three distinct phases of emotion within herconsciousness, following each other so rapidly as to seem simultaneous. Athrob of reckless joy in the perception that he loved her was succeeded bythe knowledge that loyalty to Conquest must make rejoicing vain, while itflashed on her that, having duped herself once in regard to him, she mustnot risk the humiliating experience a second time. It was this lastreflection that prevailed, keeping her still and unresponsive. After all, his new ideal might be something--or some one--quite different from whather fond imagining was so ready to believe. 

"I suppose, " she said, vaguely, for the sake of saying something, "thattrial is the first essential to maturity. We need it for our ripening, asthe flowers and fruit need wind and rain. "

"And there are things in life, " he returned, quickly, "that no immaturecreature can see. That's the point I want you to notice. It explains me. In a way, it's an excuse for me. "

"I don't need excuses for you, " she hastened to say, "any more than Irequire to have anything explained. "

"No; of course not. You don't care anything about it. It's only I who do. But I care so much that I want you to understand why it was that--that--Ididn't care before. "

She felt the prompting to stop him, to silence him, but once more she heldherself back. There was still a possibility that she was mistaking him, and her pride was on its guard. 

"It was because I didn't know any better, " he burst out, in naïveself-reproach. "It was because I couldn't recognize the high, the finething when I saw it. I've had that experience in other ways, and with justthe same result. It was like that when I first began to hear good music. Icouldn't make it out--it was nothing but a crash of sounds. I preferredthe ditties and dances of a musical comedy; and it was only by degreesthat I began to find them flat. Then my ear caught something of thewonderful things in the symphonies that used to bore me. You see, I'mslow--I'm stupid--"

"Not at all, " she smiled. "It's quite a common experience. "

"But I'm like that all through, with everything. I've been like that--withwomen. I used to be attracted by quite an ordinary sort. It's taken meyears--all these years, till I'm thirty-three--to see that there's aperfect expression of the human type, just as there's a perfect expressionof any kind of art. And I've found it. "

He bent farther forward, nearer to her. There was a light in his face thatseemed to her to denote enthusiasm quite as much as love. To her widerexperience in emotions this discovery of himself, which was involved inhis discovery of her, was rather youthful, provoking a faint smile. 

"You're to be congratulated, then, " she said, with an air of distantfriendliness. "It isn't every one who's so fortunate. "

"That's true. There's only one man in the world who's more fortunate thanI. That's Conquest. "

"Oh!"

In the brusqueness with which she started she pushed her chair slightlyback from him. It was to conceal her agitation that she rose, steadyingherself on the back of the chair in which she had been seated. 

"Conquest saw what I didn't--till it was too late. "

He was on his feet now, facing her, with the chair between them. 

"I wish you wouldn't say any more, " she begged, though withoutoveremphasis of pleading. She was anxious, for her own sake as well as forhis, to keep to the tone of the colloquial. 

"I don't see why I shouldn't. I'm not going to say anything to shock you. I know you're going to marry Conquest. You told me so before I went away, and----"

"I should like to remind you that Mr. Conquest is the best friend youhave. When you hear what he's done for you, you will see that you owe himmore than you do any man in the world. "

"I know that. I'm the last to forget it. But it can't do any harm to tellthe woman--who's going to be his wife--that I owe her even more than I dohim. "

"It can't do any harm, perhaps; but when I ask you not to----"

"I can't obey you. I shouldn't be a man if I went through life withoutsome expression of my--gratitude; and now's the only time to make it. There are things which I wasn't free to say before, because I was boundto Evie--and which it will soon be too late for you to listen to, becauseyou'll be bound to him. You're not bound to him yet----"

"I _am_ bound to him, " she said, in a tone in which there were all theregrets he had no reason to divine. "I don't know what you think ofsaying; but whatever it is, I implore you not to say it. "

"It's precisely because you don't know that I feel the necessity oftelling you. It's something I owe you. It's like a debt. It isn't as if wewere just any man and any woman. We're a man and a woman in a very specialrelation to each other. No matter what happens, nothing can change that. And it isn't as if we were going to live in the same world, in the sameway. You will be Conquest's wife--a great lady in New York. I shallbe--well, Heaven only knows what I shall be, but nothing that's likely tocross your path again. All the same, it won't hurt you, it wouldn't hurtany woman, however good, to hear what I'm going to tell you. It wouldn'thurt any man--not even Conquest--that it should be said to his wife--inthe way that I shall say it. If it could, I wouldn't----"

"Wait a minute, " she said, suddenly. "Let me ask you something. " She tooka step toward him, though her hand rested still on the back of the chair. "If I know it already, " she continued, looking him in the eyes, "therewould be no necessity for you to speak?"

He took the time to consider this in all its bearings. 

"I'd rather tell you in my own words, " he said, at last; "but if youassure me that you know, I shall be satisfied. "

She took a step nearer to him still. Only the tips of her fingers nowrested on the back of the chair, to which she held, as to a bulwark. Before she spoke she glanced round the room, as though afraid lest thedoors and walls might mistake her words for a confession. 

"Then I do know, " she said, quietly. 

XXIII

"The old lady was willing enough to talk, " Conquest assured Ford, in hisnarrative of the taking of Amalia Gramm's testimony. "There's nothing moreloquacious than remorse. I figured on that before going out to Omaha. "

"But if she had no hand in the crime, I don't see where the remorse comesin. "

"It comes in vicariously. She feels it for Jacob, since Jacob didn't liveto feel it for himself. It involves a subtle element of wifely devotionwhich I guess you're too young, or too inexperienced, to understand. Shewas glad old Jacob was gone, so that she could make his confession withimpunity. She was willing to make any atonement within _her_ power, sinceit was too late to call _him_ to account. "

"Isn't that a bit far-fetched?"

"Possibly--except to a priest, or a lawyer, or a woman herself. It isn'toften that a woman's heroism works in a straight line, like a soldier's, or a fireman's. It generally pops at you round some queer corner, where ittakes you by surprise. Before leaving Omaha I'd come to see that AmaliaGramm was by no means the least valiant of her sex. "

Conquest's smoking-room, with its space and height, its deep leatherarm-chairs, its shaded lamps, its cheerful fire, suggested a club ratherthan a private dwelling, and invited the most taciturn guest toconfidence. Ford stretched himself before the blaze with an enjoymentrendered keener by the thought that it might be long before he hadoccasion to don a dinner-jacket again, or taste such a good Havana. Thoughit was only the evening of his arrival, he was eager to give himself up. Now that he had "squared himself, " as he expressed it, with MiriamStrange, he felt he had put the last touch to his preparations. Kilcup andWarren were holding him back for a day or two, but his own promptings werefor haste. 

"I admit, " Conquest continued to explain, as he fidgeted about the room, moving a chair here, or an ash-tray there, with the fussiness of an oldbachelor of housekeeping tastes--"I admit that I thought the old woman wastrying it on at first. But I came to the conclusion that she had told atrue story from the start. When she gave her evidence at your trial shethought you were--the man. "

"There's nothing surprising in that. They almost made me think so, too. "

"It did look fishy, my friend. You won't mind my saying that much. Clearerheads than your jury of village store-keepers and Adirondack farmers mighthave given the same verdict. But old lady Gramm's responsibility hadn'tbegun then. It was a matter of two or three years before she came tosee--as women do see things about the men they live with--that the handwhich did the job was Jacob's. By that time you had disappeared intospace, and she didn't feel bound to give the old chap away. She says shewould have done it if it could have saved you; but since you had savedyourself, she confined her attentions to shielding Jacob. You may creditas much or as little of that as you please; but I believe the bulk of it. In any case, since it does the trick for us we have no reason to complain. Come now!"

"I'm not going to complain of anything. It's been a rum experience allthrough, but I can't say that, in certain aspects, I haven't enjoyed it. I_have_ enjoyed it. If it weren't for the necessity of deceiving people whoare decent to you, I'd go through it all again. "

"That's game, " Conquest said, approvingly, as he worked round to thehearth-rug, where he stood cutting the end of a cigar, with Ford's longfigure stretched out obliquely before him. 

"I would, " Ford assured him. "I'd go through it all again, like a shot. It's been a lark from--I won't say from start to finish--but certainlyfrom the minute--let me see just when!--certainly from the minute whenMiss Strange beckoned to me, over old Wayne's shoulder. "

An odd look came by degrees into Conquest's face--the look of pityingamusement with which one listens to queer things said by some one indelirium. He kept the cutter fixed in the end of the cigar, too muchastonished to complete his task. 

"Since Miss Strange did--_what_?"

Ford was too deeply absorbed in his own meditations to notice the tone. 

"I mean, since she pulled me through. "

Conquest's face broke into a broad smile. 

"Are you dreaming, old chap? Or have you 'got 'em again'?"

"I'm going back in the story, " Ford explained, with a hint of impatience. "I'm talking about the night when Miss Strange saved me. "

"Miss Strange saved you? How?"

Ford raised himself slowly in his chair, his long legs stretched outstraight before him, and his body bent stiffly forward, as he stared up atConquest, in puzzled interrogation. 

"Do you mean to say, " he asked, incredulously, "that she hasn't toldyou--_that_?"

"Perhaps you'll be good enough to tell me yourself. I'll be hanged if Iknow what you're talking about. "

There was suppressed irritation in the way in which he tore off the end ofthe cigar and struck a match. Ford let himself sink back into the chairagain. 

"So she never told you! By George, that's like her! It's just what I mighthave expected. "

"Look here, " Conquest said, sharply, "did you know Miss Strange before youcame up here from South America?" He stood with his cigar unlighted, forhe had let the match burn down to his fingers before attempting to applyit. "Was your taking the name of Strange, " he demanded with suddeninspiration, "merely an accident, as I've supposed it was--or had itanything to do with her?"

"It wasn't an accident, and it did have something to do with her. "

"Just so! And you kept it dark!"

Something in Conquest's intonation caused Ford to look up. He saw a manwith face suddenly growing gray, as though a light had gone out of it. Hewas disturbed only to the point of feeling that he had spoken tactlessly, and proceeded to repair the error. 

"I kept it dark for obvious reasons. If Miss Strange didn't tell you aboutit, it's because she isn't the kind of person to talk of an incident inwhich her own part was so noble. I'll give you the whole story now. "

"I should be obliged to you, " Conquest said, dryly. 

He sat down on the very edge of one of the big arm-chairs, leaningforward, and fingering his still unlighted cigar nervously, as he watchedFord puff out successive rings of smoke before beginning. He was less onhis guard to screen the intenseness with which he listened, because Fordspoke at first in a dreamy way, without looking in his direction. 

With more insight into the circumstances surrounding him Ford would havetold his tale with greater reticence. As it was he spoke with enthusiasm, an enthusiasm born of an honest desire that Conquest should see the womanhe was about to marry in the full beauty of her character. In regard tothis he himself had made the discovery so slowly and so recently that hewas animated by something like a convert's zeal. Beginning his narrativequietly, in a reminiscent vein, with intervals in which he lapsedaltogether into meditation, he was presently fired with all the animationin a story-teller when he perceives he is holding his hearer spellbound. As a matter of fact, he was moved not so much by the desire of convincingConquest of Miriam Strange's nobility, as by the impulse to do herjustice, once in his life at least, in language of his own. 

It was a naïve bit of eloquence, of which no detail was lost on theexperienced man of the world, who sat twirling his cigar with nervousfingers, his eyes growing keener in proportion as his face became moregray. It was part of his professional acquirement to be able to draw hisdeductions from some snatch of human drama as he listened to itsunfolding. His quickness and accuracy of judgment had, indeed, been alarge element in his success; so that the habit of years enabled him topreserve a certain calmness of comprehension now. It lost nothing in beinga studied calmness, since the forcing of his faculties within restraintconcentrated their acumen. 

Ford concluded with what for him was an almost lyric outburst. 

"By George! Conquest, I didn't know there were such women in the world. She's been a revelation to me--as art and religion are revelations toother people. She came to me as the angel came to Peter in the prison;but, like Peter, I didn't know it was an angel. There's a sort of gloryabout her--a glory which it takes a higher sense than any I've got to seeand understand. After all she's done for me--after all this time--I'm onlynow beginning to get glimpses of it; but it's merely as we get glimpses ofan infinite beyond, because we see the stars. She's a mystery to me, inthe same way that genius is a mystery, or holiness. I didn't appreciateher because I hadn't the soul, and yet it's in seeing that I hadn't thesoul that I begin to get it. That's curious, isn't it? She's like someheavenly spirit that's passed by me, and touched me into newness of life. "

His ardor was so sincere, his hymn of praise so spontaneous that heexpected some sort of echo back. It seemed to him that even if Conquestdid not join in this chant in honor of the woman who presumably loved him, whom more presumably still he loved, it would be but natural for him toapplaud it. Ford knew that if any one else had sung of Miriam Strange ashe had just been singing, he would have leaped to his feet and wrung theman's hand till it ached. It surprised him, therefore, it disappointedhim, that Conquest should sit unmoved, unless the spark-like twinkle ofhis little eyes could be taken as emotion. 

It was a relief to Conquest to get up, scratch another match, and lighthis cigar at last, turning his back so that it should not be seen that hisfingers trembled. When he was sure of himself he faced about again, takinghis seat. 

"It's the most amazing story I ever heard, " was his only comment, inresponse to Ford's look of expectation. 

"I hoped it might strike you as something more than--amazing, " Fordventured, after a minute's waiting for a more appreciative word. 

"Perhaps it will when I get my breath. You must give me time for that. Doyou actually tell me that she kept you in her studio for weeks----?"

"Three weeks and four days, to be exact. "

"And that she furnished you with food and clothing----?"

"And money--but I paid that back. "

"And got you away in that ingenious fashion----?"

"Just as I've told you. "

"Amazing! Simply amazing! And, " he added, with some bitterness, "you cameback here--and you and she together--took us all in. "

Ford drew his cigar from his lips, and, turning in his chair, facedConquest in an attitude and with a look which could not be misinterpreted. 

"I came back here, and took you all in--if you like. Miss Strange hadnothing to do with it. She didn't even expect me. "

The last sentence gave Conquest the opening he was looking for, but nowthat he had it, he hesitated to make use of it. In his memory were thevery words Miriam Strange had stammered out to him in the sort ofconfession no woman ever makes willingly: "Things happened . .. Such asdon't generally happen . .. And even if he never comes . .. I'd rather go onwaiting for him . .. Uselessly. " It was all growing clear to him, and yetnot so clear but that there was time even now to let the matter drop intothe limbo of things it is best not to know too much about. It was againsthis better judgment, then--his better judgment as a barrister-at-law--thathe found himself saying:

"She didn't expect you at that day and date, perhaps: but she probablylooked for you some time. "

"Possibly; but if so, I know little or nothing about it. "

The reply, delivered with a certain dignified force of intention, recalledConquest to a sense of his own interests. He had too often counselled hisclients to let sleeping dogs lie, not to be aware of the advantage ofdoing it himself; and so, restraining his jealous curiosity, he turned theconversation back to the evidence of Amalia Gramm. 

During the next half-hour he manifested that talent--partly native andpartly born of practice--which he had often commended in himself, oftalking about one thing and thinking of another. His exposition of theline to be adopted in Ford's defence was perfectly lucid, when all thewhile he was saying to himself that this was the man whom Miriam Strangehad waited for through eight romantic years. 

The fact leaped at him, but it was part of his profession not to be afraidof facts. If they possessed adverse qualities one recognized them boldly, in the practise of law, chiefly with a view of circumventing them. Thematter presented itself first of all, not as one involving emotional ormoral issues, but as an annoying arrangement of circumstances which mightcheat him out of what he had honestly acquired. He had no intention ofbeing cheated by any one whatever; and as he made a rapid summary of thepoints of the case he saw that the balance of probabilities was in hisfavor. It was to make that clear to Ford that he led the conversation backagain to the subject of his adventures, tempting him to repeat at least aportion of his hymn of praise. By the time he had finished it Conquest wasable to resume the friendly, confidential tone with which they had begunthe evening. 

"It's very satisfactory to me, old man, " he said, between quiet puffs athis cigar, "to know that you think so highly of Miss Strange, because--Idon't know whether you have heard it--she and I are to be married beforelong. "

He looked to see Ford disconcerted by this announcement and was surprisedto see him take it coolly. 

"Yes; I knew that. I've meant to congratulate you when the time came. Ishould say it had come now. "

There was a candor about him that Conquest could scarcely discredit, though he was unwilling to trust it too far. 

"Thanks, old man. I scarcely expected you to be so well posted. May I askhow--?"

"Oh, I've known it a long time. Miss Strange told me before I went toSouth America last spring. "

This evidence of a confidential relation between the two gave him a secondshock, but he postponed its consideration, contenting himself for themoment with making it plain to Ford that "Hands off!" must be the firstrule of the game. His next move was meant to carry the play into theopponent's quarters. 

"As a matter of fact, I've never congratulated _you_, " he said, withapparent tranquillity. "I've known about you and Evie for some time past, but--"

"Oh, that's all off. In the existing circumstances Evie didn't feellike--keeping the thing up. "

"That's too bad. You've been pretty hard hit--what? When a fellow is asgame as you a girl should stand by him, come now! But I know Evie. I'veknown her from her cradle. She'll back round, you'll see. When we'vepulled you through, as we're going to, she'll take another view of things. I know for a fact that she's been head over heels in love with you eversince her trip to Buenos Aires. "

As Ford made no remark, Conquest felt it well to drive the point home. 

"We can all help in that, old boy; and you can count on us--both on MissStrange and me. No one has such influence over Evie as Miriam, and I knowshe's very keen on seeing you and her--you and Evie, I mean--hit it off. Idon't mind telling you that, as a matter of fact, it's been Miriam'sanxiety on Evie's account that has mixed me up in your case at all. Idon't say that I haven't got interested in you for your own sake; but itwas she who stirred me up in the first place. It's going to mean a lot toher to see you get through--and marry Evie. "

Ford smiled--his odd, twisted smile--but as he said nothing, Conquestdecided to let the subject drop. He had, in fact, gone as far as hispresent judgment would carry him, and anything farther might lead to afalse step. In a situation alive with claims and counter-claims, withyearnings of the heart and promptings of the higher law, he could preservehis rights only by a walk as wary as the treading of a tight-rope. 

This became clearer to him later in the night, when Ford had gone away, and he was left free to review the circumstances with that clarity ofco-ordination he had so often brought to bear on other men's affairs. Outof the mass of data he selected two conditions as being the only ones ofimportance. 

If Miriam Strange was marrying him because she loved him, nothing elseneeded to be considered. This fact would subordinate everything to itself;and there were many arguments to support the assumption that she was doingso. One by one he marshalled them before him, from the first faintpossibility up to the crowning proof that there was no earthly reason forher marrying him at all, unless she wanted to. He had pointed that out toher clearly, on the day when she came to him to make her terms. He hadbeen guilty on that occasion of a foolish generosity, for that it wentwith a common-sense honesty to take advantage of another's ignorance, orimpulsiveness, was part of his business creed. Nevertheless, having shownher this uncalled-for favor, he did not regret it now, since it put thespontaneous, voluntary nature of her act beyond dispute. 

To a late hour of the night he wandered about the great silent rooms ofthe house which he had made the expression of himself. Stored with costly, patiently selected comforts, it lacked only the last requisite which wasto impart the living touch. Having chosen this essential with so muchcare, and begun to feel for her something far more vital than the pride ofpossession which had been his governing emotion hitherto, it was an agonywith many aspects to think he might have to let her go. 

That there was this possibility was undeniable. It was the second of thetwo paramount considerations. Though Ford's enthusiasm tried to makeitself enthusiasm and no more, there had been little difficulty in seeingwhat it was. All the same, it would be a passion to pity and ignore, if onMiriam's side there was nothing to respond to it. But it was here that, in spite of all his arguments, Conquest's doubts began. With much curiousignorance of women, there was a point of view from which he knew themwell. It was out of many a poignant bit of domestic history, of which hisprofession had made him the confidant, that he had distilled theobservation made to Ford earlier in the evening: "It isn't often that awoman's heroism works in a straight line, like a soldier's or afireman's. " Notwithstanding her directness, he could see Miriam Strange asjust the type of woman to whom these words might be applicable. If bymarrying a man whom she did not love she thought she could help anotherwhom she did love, a culpable sacrifice was just the thing of which shewould be capable. He called it culpable sacrifice with some emphasis forin his eyes all sacrifice was culpable. It was more than culpable, in thatit verged on the absurd. There were few teachings of an illogicalreligion, few promptings of a misdirected energy, for which he had agreater scorn than the precept that the strong should suffer for the weak, or one man for another. Every man for himself and the survival of thefittest was the doctrine by which he lived; and his abhorrence of anythingelse was the more intense for the moment because he found himself in asituation where he might be expected to repudiate his faith. 

But there it was, that something in public opinion which, in certaincircumstances, might challenge him--might ask him for magnanimity, mightappeal to him for mercy, might demand that he make two other human beingshappy while he denied himself. It was preposterous, it was grotesque, butit was there. He could hear its voice already, explaining that sinceMiriam Strange had given him her word in an excess of self-devotion, itwas his duty to let her off. He could see the line of argument; he couldhear the applause following on his noble act. He had heard itbefore--especially in the theatre--and his soul had shaken with laughter. He had read of it in novels, only to toss such books aside. "The beauty ofrenunciation, " he had often said, "appeals to the morbid, the sickly, andthe sentimental. It has no function among the healthy and the sane. " Hehad not only said that, but he had believed it. He believed it still, andlived by it. By doing so he had amassed his modest fortune and won arespected position in the world. He had not got on into middle lifewithout meeting the occasion more than once when he could have savedothers--a brother, or a sister, or a friend--and forborne to save himself. He had felt the temptation and resisted it, with the result that he was upin the world when he might have been down in it, and envied by those whowould have despised him without hesitation when they had got out of himall he could give. He could look back now and see the folly it would havebeen had he yielded to impulses that every sentimentalist would havepraised. He was fully conscious that the moment of danger might be on thepoint of returning again, and that he must be prepared for it. 

He was able to strengthen himself with the greater conviction because ofhis belief in the sanctity of rights. The securing of rights, the definingof rights, the protection of rights, had been his trade ever since he wastwenty-five. The invasion of rights was among the darkest crimes in hiscalendar. In the present case his own rights could not be called intoquestion; they were inviolable. Miriam Strange had come to himdeliberately, and for due consideration had signed herself away. He hadspared nothing, in time, pains, or money, to fulfil his part of thecompact. It would be monstrous, therefore, if he were to be cheated of hisreward. That either Ford or Miriam would attempt this he did not believe, even if between them the worst, from his point of view, was at the worst;but that an absurd, elusive principle which called itself chivalry, butreally was effeminacy of will, might try to disarm him by an appeal toscruples he contemned, was the possibility he feared. He feared it becausehe estimated at its worth the force of restraint a sentimentalcivilization and a naïve people can bring to bear, in silent pressure, upon the individual. While he knew himself to be strong in his power ofresistance, he knew too that the mightiest swimmer can go down at last ina smiling, unrippled sea. 

His exasperation was as much with his doubt about himself as with theimpalpable forces threatening him, as he strode fiercely from room toroom, turning out the flaring lights before going to bed. After all, hisfinal resolutions were pitifully insufficient, in view of the tragicelement--for he took it tragically--that had suddenly crept into his life. While his gleam of happiness was in danger of going out, the sole means hecould find of keeping it aglow was in deciding on a prudent ignoring ofwhatever did not meet the eye, on a discreet assumption that what he hadbeen dreaming for the past few months was true. As a matter of fact, therewas nothing to show him that it wasn't true; and it was only common senseto let the first move toward clearing his vision come from the other siderather than from his. 

And yet it was precisely this passive attitude which he found himself nextday least able to maintain. If he needed anything further to teach himthat love was love, it was this restless, prying jealousy, making itimpossible to let well enough alone. After a trying day at the office, during which he irritated his partners and worried his clerks, hepresented himself late in the afternoon at Miriam's apartment at the hourwhen he generally went to his club, and he knew she would not expect him. Thinking to surprise Ford with her--like the suspicious husband in aFrench play, he owned to himself, grimly--he experienced something akin todisappointment to find her drinking tea with two old ladies, whom heoutstayed. During the ceremonies of their leave-taking he watched Miriamclosely, seeking for some impossible proof that she either loved Ford ordid not love him, and getting nothing but a renewed and maddeningconviction of her grace and quiet charm. 

 * * * * *

"What about Evie's happiness?"

Miriam raised her eyebrows inquiringly at the question before stooping toput out the spirit-lamp. 

"Well, what about it?" she asked, without looking up. 

"Oh, nothing--except that we don't seem to be securing it. "

She gazed at him now, with an expression frankly puzzled. He had refusedtea, but she kept her accustomed place behind the tea-table, while hestretched himself comfortably in the low arm-chair by the hearth, whichshe often occupied herself. 

"Don't you remember?" he went on. "Evie's happiness was the motive of ourlittle--agreement. "

He endeavored to make his tone playful, but there was a something sharpand aggressive in his manner, at which she colored slightly, no less thanat his words. 

"I suppose, " she said, as if after meditation, "Evie's happiness isn't inour hands. "

"True; but there's a good deal that _is_ in our hands. There's, forexample--our own. "

"Up to a point--yes. "

"And up to that point we should take care of it. Shouldn't we?"

"I dare say. But I don't know what you mean. "

He gave the nervous little laugh which helped him over moments ofembarrassment. 

"Ford was with me last night. He said it was all off between him andEvie. "

"I thought he might tell you that. "

"So that, " he went on, forcing a smile, with which his voice and mannerwere not in accord, "our undertaking having failed, the bottom's out ofeverything. Don't you see?"

She was so astonished that she walked into his trap, just as he expected. 

"I don't see in the least. I thought our undertaking--as you call it--wasgoing to be particularly successful. "

"Successful--how?"

He dropped his smile and looked interrogative, his bit of acting stillkeeping her off her guard. 

"Why, if Amalia Gramm's testimony is all you think it's going to be----"

"Oh, I see. That's the way you look at it. "

"Isn't it the way you look at it, too?"

He smiled again, indulgently, but with significance. 

"No; I confess it isn't--at least, it hasn't been. I thought--perhaps Iwas wrong--that our interest was in getting Ford off, so that he couldmarry Evie. Since he isn't going to marry her, why--naturally--we don'tcare so much--whether he gets off or not. "

"Oh, but----"

She checked herself; she even grew a little pale. She began to see dimlywhither he was leading her. 

"Of course I don't say we should chuck him over, " he went on; "but itisn't the same thing any longer, is it? I think it only fair to point thatout to you, because it gives you reasonable ground for reconsideringyour--decision. "

"Oh, but I don't want to. "

While she had said exactly what he hoped to hear, she had not said it ashe hoped to hear it. There were shades of tone even to impetuosity, andthis one lacked the note his ear was listening for. None the less, he toldhimself, a wise man would have stopped right there; and he was consciousof his folly in persisting, while he still persisted. 

"That's for you to decide, of course. Only if we go on, it must beunderstood that we've somewhat shifted our ground. "

"I haven't shifted mine. "

"Not as you understand it yourself--as, possibly, you've understood it allalong. But you have, as I see things. When you came to me--to myoffice----"

She put up her hand as though she would have screened her face, butcontrolled herself to listen quietly. 

"Your object, then, " Conquest continued, cruelly, "was to get Ford off, sothat he might marry Evie. Now, I understand it to be simply--to get himoff. "

She looked at him with eyes full of distress or protest. It was a minuteor two before she spoke. 

"I don't see the necessity for such close definition. "

"I do. I want you to know exactly what you're doing. I want you to seethat you're paying a higher price than you need pay--for the servicesrendered. "

He had got her now just where he had been trying to put her. He had snaredher, or given her an opportunity, according as she chose to take it. Shecould have availed herself of the latter by a look or a simple intonation, for the craving of his heart was such that his perceptions were acute forthe slightest hint. Had she known that, it would have been easy for her torespond to him, playing her part with the loyalty with which she had begunit. As it was, his cold manner and his slightly mocking tone betrayed her. Her answer was meant to give him the kind of assurance she thought he waslooking for; and she couched it in the language she supposed he would mosteasily understand. In the things it said and did not say her verysincerity was what stabbed him. 

"I hope it won't be necessary to bring this subject up again. I know whatI undertook, and I'm anxious to fulfil it. I should be very much hurt if Iwasn't allowed to, just because you had scruples about taking me at myword. You've been so--so splendid--in doing your part that I should feelhumiliated if I didn't do mine. "

There was earnestness in her regard and a suggestion of haughtiness in thetilt of her head. The Wise Man within him bade him be content, and thistime he listened to the voice. He did her the justice to remember, too, that she was offering him all he had ever asked of her; and if he wasdissatisfied, it was because he had increased his demands without tellingher. 

It was by a transition of topic that he saw he could nail her to herpurpose. 

"By-the-way, " he said, when they had got on neutral ground again, andwere speaking of Wayne, "I wish you would come and see what I think ofdoing for him. There are two rooms back of my library--too dark for myuse--but that wouldn't matter to him, poor fellow--"

He saw that she was nerving herself not to flinch at this confrontationwith the practical. He saw too that her courage and her self-command wouldhave deceived any one but him. The very pluck with which she nodded hercomprehension of his idea, and her sympathy with it, enraged him to apoint at which, so it seemed to him, he could have struck her. Had shecried off from her bargain he could have borne it far more easily. Thatwould at least have given him a sense of superiority, and helped him to bemagnanimous; while this readiness to pay put him in the wrong, and drovehim to exact the uttermost farthing of his rights. On a weak woman hemight have taken pity; but this strong creature, who refused to sue to himby so much as the quiver of an eyelid, and rejected his concessions beforehe had time to put them forth, exasperated every nerve that had been wontto tingle to his sense of power. Since she had asked no quarter, whyshould he give it?--above all, when to give quarter was against hisprinciples. 

"And perhaps, " he pursued, in an even voice, showing no sign of thetempest within, "that would be as good a time as any for you to look overthe entire house. If there are any changes you would like to havemade----"

"I don't think there will be. "

"All the same, I should like you to see. A man's house, however wellarranged, isn't always right for a woman's occupancy; and so----"

"Very well; I'll come. "

"When?"

"I'll come to-morrow. "

"About four?"

"Yes; about four. That would suit me perfectly. "

She spoke frankly, and even smiled faintly, with just such a shadow of ablush as the situation called for. The Wise Man within him begged him oncemore to be content. If, the Wise Man argued, this well-poised serenity wasnot love, it was something so like it that the distinction would require asplitting of hairs. Conquest strove to listen and obey; but even as he didso he was aware again of that rage of impotence which finds its easiestoutlet in violence. As he rose to take his leave, with all the outwardsigns of friendly ceremoniousness, he had time to be appalled at theperception that he, the middle-aged, spick-and-span New-Yorker, should sofully understand how it is that a certain type of frenzied brute can killthe woman whom he passionately loves, but who is hopelessly out of reach. 

XXIV

Except when his business instincts were on the alert, Ford's slowness ofperception was perhaps most apparent in his judgment of character and hisanalysis of other people's motives. Taking men and women as he found them, he had little tendency to speculate as to the impulses within their lives, any more than as to the furnishings behind their house-fronts. A humanbeing was all exterior to him, something like a street. Even in mattersthat touched him closely, the act alone was his concern; and he dealt withits consequences, without, as a rule, much inquisitive probing of itscause. 

So when Miriam Strange elected to marry Conquest, he accepted the settledfact, for the time being, in the spirit in which he would have taken somedisastrous manifestation of natural phenomena. Investigation of the motiveof such a step was as little in his line as it would have been in the caseof a destructive storm at sea. To his essentially simple way of viewinglife it was something to be lamented, but to be borne as best one wasable, while one said as little as one could about it. 

And yet, somewhere in the wide, rarely explored regions of his naturethere were wonderings, questionings, yearnings protests, cries, thatforced themselves to the surface now and then, as the boiling waterswithin the earth gush out in geyser springs. It required urgent pressureto impel them forth, but when they came it was with violence. Such anoccasion had been his night on Lake Champlain; such another was theevening when he announced to Miriam his intention of becoming Norrie Fordagain. When these moments came they took him by surprise, even thoughafterward he was able to recognize the fact that they had been longpreparing. 

It was in this way, without warning, that his heart had sprung on him thequestion: Why should she marry him? At the minute when Conquest wasleaving Miriam, he, Ford, was tramping the streets of New York, watchingthem grow alive with light, in glaring, imaginative ugliness--ugliness sodazzling in its audacity and so fanciful in its crude commercialism thatit had the power to thrill. It was perhaps the electric stimulus of sheerlight that quickened the pace of his slow mentality from the march ofacceptance to the rush of protest, at an instant when he thought he hadresigned himself to the facts. 

Why should she marry Conquest? He was shouldering his way through thecrowds when the question made itself heard, with a curious illuminatingforce that suggested its own answer. He was walking, partly to work offthe tension of the strain under which these few days were passing, andpartly because he had got the idea that he was being shadowed. He had noprofound objection to that, though he would have preferred to give himselfup of his own free will rather than to be arrested. Perhaps, after all, itwas only an accident that had caused him to catch sight of the same twomen at different moments through the day, and just now it amused him toput them to the test by leading them a dance. He had come to theconclusion that he had been mistaken, or that he had outwitted them, whenthis odd question, irrelevant to anything he had directly in his thoughts, presented itself as though it had been asked by some voice outside him:Why should she marry him?

Up to the present his unanalytical mind would have replied--as it wouldhave replied to the same query concerning any one else--that she wasmarrying him "because she wanted to. " That would have seemed to him tocover the whole ground of any one's affairs; but all at once it had becomeinsufficient. It was as if the street had suddenly become insufficient asa highway, breaking into a chasm. He stopped abruptly, confronting, as itwere, that bewildering void which a psychological situation invariablyseemed to him. To get into a place where his few straightforward formulædid not apply gave him that sense of distress which every creature feelsout of its native element. 

It was a proof of the dependence with which, in matters requiring mentalor emotional experience, he had come to lean on Miriam Strange, as well asof the directness with which he appealed to her for help, that he shouldface about on the instant, and turn his steps toward her. 

 * * * * *

Only a few minutes earlier she had seen Conquest go, and in the intervalsince his departure she had had time to detect the windings of hisstrategy, and to be content with the skill with which she had met them. She understood him thoroughly, both in his fear of letting her go and hisshame at holding her. Standing in her wide bay-window, her slight figureerect, her hands behind her back, she looked down, without seeing it, onthe spangled city, as angels intent on their own high thoughts might passover the Milky Way. She smiled faintly to herself, thinking how sheshould lead this kindly man, who for her sake had done so much for NorrieFord, back to a sense of security and self-respect. When Norrie Ford wentfree she meant to live for nothing else but the happiness of the man whohad cleared his name and given him back to the world. It would be a kindof consecration to her, like that of the nun who forsakes the dearest tiesfor a life of good works and prayer. Conquest had told her that she waspaying a bigger price than she needed to pay for the services rendered, but that depended somewhat on the value one set on the services. In thiscase she would not have been content in paying less. To do so would seemto indicate that she was not grateful. Since perceiving his compunction asto claiming his reward, she was aware of an elation, an exaltation, inforcing it upon him. 

She was in the glow of this sentiment when Ford was ushered in. He was sovitally in her thoughts that, though she did not expect him, his presencegave her no surprise. It helped her, in fact, to sustain the romanticquality in her mood to treat his coming as a matter of course, and make ita natural incident to the moment. 

"Come and look down on the stars, " she said, in the tone she might haveused to another member of her household who had appeared accidentally. "The view here, in the evening, makes one feel as if one had been waftedabove the sky. "

She half-turned toward him, but did not offer her hand as he took hisplace by her side. For a few seconds he said nothing, and when he spokeshe accepted his words in the manner in which she had taken his coming. 

"So you're going to marry Conquest!"

It was to show that the abrupt remark had not perturbed her that shenodded her head assentingly, still with the smile that had greeted hisarrival. 

"Why?"

In spite of her efforts she manifested some surprise. 

"What makes you ask that question--now?"

"Because it never occurred to me before that there might be a specialreason. "

"Well, there is one. "

"Has it anything to do with me?"

She backed away from him slightly, to the side curve of the window, whereit joined the straight line of the wall. In this position she had him moredirectly in view. 

"I said there was a reason, " she answered, after some hesitation. "Ididn't say I would tell you what it was. "

"No, but you will, won't you?"

"I don't see why you should want to know. "

"Is that quite true?" he queried, with a somewhat startling fixing of hiseyes upon her. "Don't you see? Can't you imagine?"

"I don't see why--in such circumstances as these--any man should want toknow what a woman doesn't tell him. "

"Then I'll explain to you. I want to know, because . .. I think . .. You'remarrying Conquest . .. When you don't love him . .. "

"He never asked me to love him. He said he could do without that. "

". .. While . .. You do love . .. Some one else. "

She reflected before speaking. Under his piercing look she took on oncemore the appealing expression of forest creatures at bay. 

"Even if that were true, " she said, at last, "there would be no harm init as long as there was what you asked me for at first--a special reason. "

"Is there ever a reason for a step like that? I don't believe it. "

"But I do believe it, you see. That makes a difference. "

"It would make a still greater difference if I begged you not to do it, wouldn't it?"

She shook her head. "It wouldn't--now. "

"I let you see yesterday that I--I loved you. "

"Since you force me to acknowledge it--yes. "

"And you've shown me, " he ventured, "within the last minute, thatyou--love me. "

Her figure grew more erect against the background of exterior darkness. Even the hand that rested on the woodwork of the window became tense. Lambent fire in her eyes--the light that he used to call non-Aryan--tookthe place of the fugitive glance of the woodland animal; but she kept hercomposure. 

"Well, what then?"

"Then you'd be committing a sacrilege against yourself--if you married anyone else but me. "

If her heart bounded at the words, she did nothing to betray it. 

"You say that, because it seems so to you. I take another view of it. Loveto me does not necessarily mean marriage, any more than marriagenecessarily implies love. There have been happy marriages without love, and there can be honorable love that doesn't ask marriage as its object. If I married you now, I should seem to myself to be deserting a highimpulse for a lower one. "

"There's only one sort of impulse to love. "

"Not to my love. I know what you mean--but my love has more than oneprompting, and the highest is--or I hope it is--to try to do what'sright. "

"But this would not be right. "

"I'm the only judge of that. "

"Not if we love each other. In that case I become a judge of it, too. "

Once more she reflected. In speaking she lifted her head and looked at himfrankly. 

"Very well; I'll admit it. Perhaps it's true. In any case, I'd ratherthings were clear to you. It will help us both. I'll tell you what I'mdoing, and why I'm doing it. "

It was one of those occasions when a woman's emotion is so great that sheseems to have none at all. As iron is said to come to a degree of heat sointense that it does not burn, so Miriam Strange seemed to herself to havereached a stage where the sheer truth, simple and without reserve, couldbring no shame to her womanhood. Words that could not have passed her lipseither before that evening or after it escaped her in the subsequentminutes as a matter of course. 

"I entered into your life twice, and each time I did you harm. On thefirst occasion I turned you into Herbert Strange, and sent you out on acareer of deception; on the second, I came between you and Evie, andbrought you to the present pass, where you're facing death again, as youwere eight or nine years ago. It's no use to tell you that I wanted to domy best, because good intentions are not much excuse for the trouble theyoften cause. But I'm ready to say this: that whenever you've suffered, I've suffered more. That's especially true of what's happened in the lastsix months. And when I saw how much I had put wrong, it was a comfort tothink there was something at least that I could put right again. "

"But you've put nothing wrong. That's what I should like to convince youof. "

"I've put you in a position of danger. When I see that, I see enough toact upon. "

"It's a very slight danger. "

"It is now, because I've made it slight. It wasn't--before I went to Mr. Conquest. "

"You went to him--what for?"

"He wanted me to marry him. He had wanted it for a long time. I told him Iwould do so, on condition that he found the evidence that would prove youinnocent. "

Ford laughed harshly, and rather loudly, stopping suddenly, as though hehad ceased to see the joke. 

"So that's it! That's why Conquest has been so devilishly kind. I wonderedat his interest--or at least I should have wondered if I'd had the time. As a matter of fact, I took it for granted that he should help me, as adrowning man takes it for granted that the chance passer-by should pullhim out. It wasn't till this evening--about half an hour ago--By Jove! Iran right up against it. "

"You ran right up against--what?"

"Against the truth. It came in a flash--just like that. " He snapped hisfingers. "You're selling yourself--to get me off. "

She seemed to grow straighter, taller. For the minute he saw nothing butthe blaze of her eyes. 

"Well? Why shouldn't I? My mother sold herself--to get a man off. He wasmy father. I'm proud of her. She did the best she could with her life. I'mdoing the best I can with mine. "

"But I shouldn't be doing the best I can with mine--if I let youcontinue. "

"Isn't it too late for you to stop me? If I've sold myself as you put it, the price has been paid in. Mr. Conquest has secured the evidence thatwill acquit you. It will be used. That's all I care about--much. "

She saw the hot color surge into his cheeks and brows. It seemed to herthat his eyes grew red as the blood left his lips. She had never beforebeen called on to confront a man angry with a passion beyond his control, but instinct told her what the signs were. Instinct told her, too, that, however confused his own sensations might be, his anger was not so muchresentment against anything she might have done as it was despair athaving lost her. She had guessed already that he would be seized with ablind impulse to strike, as soon as he came to a realizing sense of heraction; though she had not expected the moment of his fury till after hewent free. Till then, she had thought, he would be partially unconsciousof his pain, just as a soldier fighting will run along for a while withoutfeeling a bullet in his flesh. The anticipation of an awakening on hispart some time enabled her to see beyond the madness of this instinct, even though the words he threw at her struck like stones. The very factthat she could see how he labored with himself to keep them back gave herstrength to take them without flinching. 

"You . .. Dared. .. ? Without . .. My . .. Permission. .. ?"

"I'd done so many things without your permission that it seemed I couldventure that far. "

"You were wrong. It was--too far. "

"It wasn't too far--when I loved you. "

She uttered the words in a matter-of-fact voice, without a tremor. Sheforesaw their effect in bringing him to himself In his next words his tonehad already softened slightly to one of protest. 

"But I could have done it so much better--! so much more easily--!without----"

"I could have done that too. Mr. Conquest pointed it out to me. He took noadvantage of my ignorance. As a matter of fact, I wasn't ignorant at all. I was extremely clear-sighted and wise. My love for you made me so. Iknew--I felt it--that money might fail to do what I wanted. But I knew toothat there was one thing that wouldn't fail. If you were innocent--and Iwasn't wholly sure that you were--I knew there was one energy that wouldsurely prove you so--and that was Charles Conquest's desire to have me ashis wife. I took the course in which there was least risk of failure--andyou see----"

A little gesture, triumphant in its suggestion, finished her sentence. 

"What I see is this, " Ford answered, thickly, "that I'm to hold my life atthe cost of your degradation. "

"Degradation? That's a hard word. But as applied to me--I don't know whatit means. "

"Isn't it degradation?--to enter into a marriage in which you put nolove?"

There was a kind of superb indifference in her answer. 

[Illustration: "I'm to hold my life at the cost of your degradation"]

"You may call it degradation if you choose. I shouldn't. As long as you gofree, you can call my action anything you like. I dare say, " she admitted, "you're quite right, from the highest moral--and modern--point of view;but that doesn't appeal to me. You see--you've got to make allowances forit--I'm not a child of your civilization. I'm not a child of anycivilization at all. At best I'm like the wild creature that submits tobeing tamed because it doesn't know what else to do--but remains wild atheart. I used to think I could come into your system of law and order ifany one would take me. But now I know I shall always be outside it. Thevery word you've just used of me shows me that. You say I'm to bedegraded--it's your civilized point of view. I have no comprehension ofthat whatever. Because I love you I want to save you. I don't careanything about the means so long as I reach the end. To undo the harm I'vedone to you I'd freely give my body to be burned; so why shoudn't I--? No, no, " she cried, as he made as though he would approach her, "keep away. Don't come near me! I can only talk to you like this--at a distance. Ishall never say these things again--but I want to tell you--to explain toyou--I should like you to understand. "

She repeated herself haltingly because, as Ford held back from approachingher, a sudden spasm passed over his face, while he hung his head, andcompressed his lips in a way that made him seem surprisingly boyish all atonce, and touched that maternal tenderness in her that had always formedsuch a large part of her yearning over him. It was the kind of tendernessthat steadied her own nerve, and kept her dry-eyed and strong, as she sawhim reel to a chair, and flinging his arms on the table beside it, bowhimself down on them, while his form shook convulsively. She had no shamefor him. She understood perfectly that the pressure of years had beenbrought to bear on the complex emotions of the moment--to which reactionfrom his brief anger and his bitter words added an element of remorse--tocause this honest, manly nature that had never made any pretence of beingstronger than it was, to give way to the instant's weakness. She was surehe would never have done it in the presence of any one but her, and shewas thrilled with a curious joy at this proof of their spiritual intimacy. What was difficult was not the keeping of her own self-control, but theholding herself back from crossing the room and laying a hand on hisshoulder, in token of their oneness at heart; but there, she felt, theforbidden line would be passed. She could only wait--it was not long--tillhe was calm again. Then he pulled himself together, got up heavily, andobviously refrained from looking her in the face. In the act and theattitude there was something so boylike, so natural, so entirely lackingin the dignity of grief, that if she had any impulse to let her own tearsflow it was then. 

But she knew it to be one of those minutes when a woman has to be strongfor herself and for the man, too, even though she break down afterward. The necessity of coming to an understanding with him, once for all, impelled her to the economy of her forces, while the nervous snapping ofhis fortitude had given her an opportunity she could not afford to lose. 

"So I want you to see, " she went on, quietly, as though no interruptionhad occurred, "that having gained my point in helping to--to get you off, it's to some extent a matter of indifference what you think of me--whatany one thinks of me--just as it was when I hid you in my studio, nearlynine years ago. You must put it down to my being of wild origin and notwholly amenable to civilized dictates. I can only do what the inwardurging drives me on to do--just as my mother did--and my father. If it'sdegrading--"

Raising his head at last, he strode toward her. He put his hands rigidlybehind his back, as if to show her that he pinioned them there in tokenthat she had nothing to fear from him. His eyes were red, and there wasstill a painful tightening about his lips. 

"You'll have to let me take that back, " he muttered, unsteadily. "I didn'tknow what I was saying. It's come on me so suddenly that it's broken meall up. I haven't realized till this evening what--what everything meant. It seemed to me then that I couldn't stand it. "

"But you can. "

"Yes, I can, " he replied, doggedly. "One can stand anything. If I reachedmy limit for a minute, it was in seeing that you have to suffer for mysake----"

"Wouldn't you suffer for mine?"

"I couldn't. Suffering for your sake would become such a joy----"

"That it wouldn't be suffering. That's just it. That's what I feel, exactly. It isn't hard for me to do what I'm doing because I know--I_know_--I'm helping to save your honor if not your life. I don't believemoney would have done it. Mr. Conquest reminded me that the best legalservices can be bought, but I never thought for an instant that you couldsecure zeal such as his for anything less than I offered him. And he'sbeen so superb! He's given himself up to the thing absolutely. He'sfollowed every trail with a scent--- with a certainty--your other men, your Kilcup and Warren, would never have been capable of. I've seen that;I'm sure of it. He has a wonderful mind, and in his way he has the kindestheart in the world. I'm very, very fond of him, and I'm deeply grateful. Next to seeing you free, I don't think I have any desire in life sostrong as to make him happy. I dare say that isn't civilized either--butit's what I feel. And so we must think of this, " she continued, eagerlyexplanative; "we must be loyal to him, you and I, as the first of all ourduties. Don't you think so?"

He withdrew his eyes from hers before answering. His power of resistancewas broken. The signs of struggle were visible, and yet the quixoticelement in his own nature helped him to respond to that in hers. 

"I'll try, " he muttered, looking on the ground. 

"You'll do more than try--you'll succeed. Only very small souls couldgrudge him what he's earned when he's worked so hard and given himself sounstintingly. The very fact that you and I know that we love each otherwill make it easier to be true to him. "

"Conquest must know that we love each other, too, " he declared, with somebitterness. 

"Perhaps he does; but, you see, every one has a different way of lookingat life, and I don't think that with him it's a thing that counts greatly. I'm not sure that I understand him in that respect. I only know that youand I, who owe him so much, can repay him by giving him what he asks for. Will you promise me to do it?"

He continued to look downward, as though finding it hard to give his word;but when he raised his eyes again, he flung back his head with his old airof resolution. 

"I'll promise to do anything you ask me throughout our lives. I don'tadmit that Conquest should demand this thing or that he had any right tolet you offer it. But since you want to give it--and I can show you noother token of my love--and shall never again be able to tell you that Iadore you--that I _adore_ you--I promise--to obey. "

XXV

The inspection of the house was over, and they had come back to thedrawing-room for tea. Conquest had lavished pains on the occasion, puttingflowers in the rooms, and strewing handsome objects carelessly about, soas to impart to the great shell as much as possible the air of being livedin. To the tea-table he had given particular attention, ordering out themost ornamental silver and the costliest porcelain, and placing the tableitself just where she would probably have it in days to come, so as to getthe effect she produced in sitting there, as he liked to do with a newpicture or piece of furniture. 

On her part, Miriam had made the rounds of the rooms with conscientiouscare, observing, admiring, suggesting, with just that mingling of shynessand interest with which a woman in her situation would view her futurehome. Having got, by intuition, the idea that he was watching for someflaw in her manner, she was determined that he should find none. It wasthe beginning of that lifelong schooling to his service to which she hadvowed herself, though the effort would have been easier had he notrendered her self-conscious by scanning her so keenly out of his littlegray-green eyes. Nevertheless, she was pleased with the manner in whichshe was acquitting herself, giving him his tea and taking her own with nosign of embarrassment. As on the preceding day, it was this perfection ofacting, as he chose to call it, that exasperated his restless suspicionmore than any display of weakness. 

The thought that she was keeping her true self locked against him had, during the last twenty-four hours, become an obsession, making itimpossible for him to eat or to sleep. In her serene, impeccable bearinghe saw nothing but the bars up and the blinds drawn down. An instant offaltering or self-betrayal would have admitted him to at least a glimpseof what was passing within; but through this well-balanced graciousness itwas as difficult to get at her soul as to read the mind of the Venus ofMilo in the marble nobility of her face. He had led her from room to room, describing one, explaining another, and apologizing for a third, but allthe while trying to break down her guard, only to find, as they returnedto the point at which they started, that he had failed. It was with nervesall unstrung, and with a lack of self-command he would have been, in hissaner senses, the first to condemn, that he strode up at last and rappedsharply at the door of her barricaded citadel. 

"Why did you never tell me that you knew Norrie Ford--years ago?"

He was putting his empty cup on the table as he spoke, so that he couldavoid looking at her. She was glad of this respite from his gaze, for shefound the question startling. Before the scrutiny of his eyes was turnedon her again she had herself in hand. 

"I should probably have told you some time. "

"Very likely. The odd thing is that you didn't tell me at once. "

"It wasn't so odd--given all the circumstances. "

"It wasn't so odd, given some of the circumstances; but given themall--_all_--I should say, I ought to have known. "

She allowed a few seconds to pass. 

"I suppose, " she said, slowly, then, "that may fairly be considered amatter of opinion. I don't see, however, that it makes muchdifference--since you know now. "

"My knowing or not knowing now isn't quite the point. The fact ofimportance is that you never told me. "

"I'm sorry you should take it in that way; but since I didn't--and thematter is beyond remedy--I suppose we shouldn't gain anything bydiscussing it. "

"I don't know about that. It seems to me a subject that ought tobe--aired. "

She tried to smile down his aggressiveness, succeeding partially, in thathe subdued the quarrelsomeness of his voice and manner to that affectationof banter behind which he concealed habitually his real self, and by whichhe most easily deceived her. 

"Very well, " she laughed; "I'm quite ready to air it; only I don't knowjust how it's to be done. "

"Suppose you were to tell me what happened, in your own language?"

"If Mr. Ford has told you already, as I imagine he has, I don't see thatmy language can be very different from his. All the same, I'll try, sinceyou want me to. "

"Just so. "

During the few minutes she took to collect her thoughts he could see sweepover her features one of those swift, light changes--as delicate as theripple of summer wind on water--which transformed her in an instant fromthe woman of the world to the forest maid, the spirit of the indigenous. The mystery of the nomadic ages was in her eyes again as she began hernarrative, wistfully, and reminiscently. 

"You see, I'd been thinking a good deal of my father and mother. I hadn'tknown about them very long, and I lived with their memory. The MotherSuperior had told me a few things--all she knew, I suppose--before I leftthe convent at Quebec; and Mr. And Mrs. Wayne--especially Mrs. Wayne--hadadded the rest. That was the chief reason why I wanted the studio--so thatI could get away from the house, which was so oppressive to me, and--so itseemed to me--live with them, with nothing but the woods and the hills andthe sky about me. I could be very happy then--painting thinge I fanciedthey might have done, and pinning them up on the wall. I dare say it wasfoolish, but----"

"It was very natural. Go on. "

"And then came up all this excitement about Norrie Ford. For months thewhole region talked of nothing else. Nearly every one believed he had shothis uncle, but, except in the villages, the sympathy with him wastremendous. Some people--especially the hotel-keepers and those whodepended on the tourist travel--were for law and order; but others saidthat old Chris Ford had got no more than he deserved. That was the waythey used to talk. Mr. Wayne was on the side of law and order, too--naturally--till the trial came on; and then he began----"

"I know all about that. Go on. "

"My own sympathy was with the man in prison. I used to dream about him. Iremembered what Mrs. Wayne had told me my mother had done for my father. Iwas proud of that. Though I knew only vaguely what it was, I was sure itwas what I should have done, too. So when there was talk of breaking intothe jail and helping Norrie to escape, I used to think how easily I couldkeep any one hidden in my studio. I don't mean I thought of it as apractical thing; it was just a dream. "

"But a dream that came true. "

"Yes; it came true. It was wonderful. It was the day Mr. Wayne sentencedhim. I knew what he was suffering--Mr. Wayne, I mean. We were allsuffering; even Mrs. Wayne, who in her gentle way was generally so hard. Some people thought Mr. Wayne needn't have done it; and I suppose it wasjust his conscientiousness--because he had such a horror of thething--that drove him on to it. He thought he mustn't shirk his duty. Butthat night at the house was awful. We dressed for dinner, and tried to actas if nothing frightful had happened--but it was as if the hangman wassitting with us at the table. At last I couldn't endure it. I went outinto the garden--you remember it was one of those gardens with clippedyews. Out there, in the air, I stopped thinking of Mr. Wayne and hisdistress to think of Norrie Ford. It seemed to me as if, in some strangeway, he belonged to me--that I ought to do something--as my mother haddone for my father. And then--all of a sudden--I saw him creep in. "

"How did you know it was he?"

"I thought it must be, though I was only sure of it when I was on theterrace and saw his face. He crept along and crept along--Oh, such aforlorn, hopeless, outcast figure! My heart ached at the sight of him. Ididn't know what he meant to do, and at first I had no intention ofattempting anything. It was by degrees that my own thought about thestudio came back to me. By that time he was on the veranda of the house, and I was afraid he meant to kill Mr. Wayne. I went after him. I thought Iwould entice him away and hide him. But the minute he heard my footstep heleaped into the house. The next I saw, he was talking to Mr. And Mrs. Wayne--and something told me he wouldn't hurt them. After that I watchedmy chance till he looked outward, and then I beckoned to him. That's howit happened. "

"And then?"

"After that everything was easy. He must have told you. I kept him in thestudio for three weeks, and brought him food--and clothing of my father's. It seemed to me that my father was doing everything--not I. That's whatmade it so simple. I know my father would have wanted me to do it. I wasonly the agent in carrying out his will. "

"That's one way of looking at it, " Conquest said, grimly. 

"It's the only way I've ever looked at it; the only way I ever shall. "

 * * * * *

"It was a romantic situation, " he observed, when she had given him theoutlines of the rest of the story. "I wonder you didn't fall in love withhim. "

He smoothed the colorless line of his mustache, as though concealing asmile. He had recaptured the teasing tone he liked to employ toward her, though its nervous sharpness would have betrayed him had she suspected hisreal thoughts. While she said nothing in response, the tilt of her headwas that which he associated with her moods of indignation or pride. 

"Perhaps you did, " he persisted. Then, as she remained silent, "Did you?"

She resolved on a bold step--the audacity of that perfect candor she hadalways taken as a guide. 

"I don't know that one could call it that, " she said, quietly. 

He drew a quick inward breath, clinching his teeth, but keeping his fixedsmile. 

"But you don't know that one couldn't. "

"I can't define what I felt at all. "

"It was just enough, " he pursued, in his bantering tone, "to keepyou--looking for him back--as you told me--that day. "

She lifted her eyes in a swift glance of reproach. 

"It was that--then. "

"But it's more--now. Isn't it?"

She met him squarely. 

"I don't think you've any right to ask. "

He laughed aloud, somewhat shrilly. 

"That's good!--considering we're to be man and wife. "

"We're to be man and wife on a very distinct understanding to which I'mperfectly loyal. I mean to be loyal to it always--and to you. I shall giveyou everything you ever asked for. If there are some things--one thing inparticular--out of my power to give you, I've said so from the first, andyou've told me you could do without them. If what I can't give you I'vegiven to some one else--because--because--I couldn't help it--that's mysecret, and I claim the right to guard it. "

They faced one another across the table piled with ornate silver. He hadnot lost his smile. 

"You've the merit of being clear, " was his only comment. 

"You force me to be clear, " she declared, with heightened color, "and alittle angry. When you asked me to be your wife--long ago--I told youthere were certain conditions I could never fulfil--and you waived them. On that ground I'm ready to meet all your wishes, and make you a good wifeto the utmost of my power. I'm eager to do it--because I honor and respectyou as women don't always honor and respect the very men they love. I'vetold Norrie Ford, and I repeat it to you, that after seeing him go freeand restored to his place among men, the most ardent desire of my life isto make you happy. I'm perfectly true; I'm perfectly sincere. What morecan you ask of me?"

He looked at her searchingly, while he thought hard and rapidly. He couldnot complain that the bars were up and the blinds drawn any longer. On thecontrary, she had let him see into the recesses of her life with a claritythat startled him, as pure truth startles often. As he sat musing, hispretence at cynicism fell from him, together with something of hisfurbished air of youth. She saw him grow graver, grayer, older, under hervery eyes, and was moved with compunction--with compassion. Her face stillaglow and her hands clasped in her lap, she leaned to him across thetable, speaking in the rich, low voice that always thrilled him. 

"What I feel for you is . .. Something so much like . .. Love . .. That youwould never have known the difference . .. If you hadn't wrung it from me. "

Though he toyed aimlessly with some small silver object on the table anddid not look up, her words sent a tremor through his frame. The Wise Manwithin him was very eloquent, repeating again and again the sentence sheherself had used a minute or two ago: What more could he ask of her? Whatmore _could_ he ask of her, indeed, after this assurance right out of theearnestness and honesty of her pure heart? It was enough to satisfy menwith far greater claims than he had ever put forth, and far morepretension than he had ever dreamed of cherishing. The Wise Man suppliedhim with two or three phrases of reply--neat little phrases, that wouldhave bound her forever, and yet saved his self-esteem. He turned them overin his mind and on his tongue, trying to add a touch of glamour while hekept them terse. He could feel the Wise Man fidgeting impatiently, just ashe could feel her flaming, expectant eyes upon him; and still he toyedwith the small silver object aimlessly, conscious of a certain bitter joyin his soul's suspense. He had not yet looked up, nor polished the WiseMan's phrases to his taste, when a footman threw the door open, and NorrieFord himself walked in. 

The meeting was saved from awkwardness chiefly by Ford's own lack ofembarrassment. As he crossed the room and shook hands, first with Miriam, then with Conquest, there was a subdued elation in his manner and glancethat reduced small considerations to nothing. 

"No; I won't sit down, " he explained, hurriedly, and not withoutexcitement, "because I only looked in for a minute. I've got a cab waitingfor me outside. The fact is, I ran in to say good-bye. "

"Good-bye?" Miriam questioned. 

"Not for long, I hope. I'm off--to give myself up. "

"But why to-night?" Conquest asked. "What's the rush?"

"Only that I want to get my word in first. They've got their eye on me. Ithought it yesterday, and I know it to-day. I want them to see that I'mnot afraid of them, and so I'm asking their hospitality for to-night. I'vegot my bag in the cab, and everything ship-shape. I couldn't do itwithout coming round for a last word with you, old man; and I was going tosee you afterward, Miss Strange. But since I've found you here----"

"You won't have to, " she finished, brightly. "I'm glad to be able to saveyour time. I'm confident we're not losing you for long; and as I knowyou're eager, I can only wish you God-speed, and be glad to see you go"

She held out her hand, frankly, strongly, as one who has no fear. 

"Now, " she added, turning to Conquest, "I'll ask you to see me to mymotor. I shall leave you and Mr Ford together, as I know you must havesome last detail to arrange. "

Ford protested, but she gathered up her gloves and furs, and both menaccompanied her to the street. 

It was an autumn evening, drizzling and dark. Up and down Fifth Avenue thewet pavements reflected the electric lamps like blurred mirrors. Therewere few passengers on foot, but an occasional motor whizzed weirdly outof the dark and into it. It was because there were no other people to beseen that two men standing in the rain attracted the attention of thethree who descended Conquest's steps together. 

"There they are, " Ford said, jerkily. "By George! they've got ahead ofme. "

Instinctively Miriam clutched his arm, while one of the two strangers cameforward apologetically. 

"You're Mr. John Norrie Ford, ain't you?"

"I am. "

"I'm very sorry, sir, but I've got a warrant for your arrest. "

"That's all right, " Ford said, cheerily. "I was on my way to you, anyhow. You'll find my bag in the cab, and everything ready. We'll drive, if it'sall the same to you. "

"Yes, sir. Sure thing, sir. "

The man dropped back a few paces courteously, while Ford turned to hisfriends. His air was buoyant. Miriam, too, reflected the radiance of hervision of his triumph. Conquest alone, looking small and white andshrivelled in the rain, showed care and fear. 

"I don't think there's anything special to say, " Ford remarked, with theawkwardness of a simple nature at an emotional crisis. "I'm not very goodat thanks. Miss Strange knows that already. But it's all in here"--hetapped his breast, with a characteristic gesture--"very sacred, verystrong. "

"We know that, " Conquest said, unsteadily, with an embarrassment likeFord's own. 

"Well, then--good-bye. "

"Good-bye. "

With a long pressure of the hand to each, he turned toward his cab. Of thetwo strangers, one took his place beside the driver on the box, while theother held the door open for Ford to enter. His foot was already on thestep when Miriam cried, "Wait!"

He turned toward her as she glided across the wet pavement. 

"Good-bye, good-bye, " she whispered again; and drawing down his face tohers, she kissed him, as she had kissed him once before, beside the watersof Champlain. 

As she drew back from him, Ford's countenance wore the uplifted look of aknight who has received the consecration to his quest. Even the twostrangers bowed their heads, as though they had witnessed the bestowal ofa sacrament. To Miriam herself it was the seal set on a past that couldnever be reopened. She felt the definiteness with which it was ended, asshe heard, on her way back to Conquest's side, the door slammed, while thecab lumbered away. It seemed to her that Conquest shrank from her as sheapproached him. 

 * * * * *

"You'll come to-morrow? I shall be home about five. "

Conquest had put her into her motor, drawn the rugs about her, and closedthe door. As he did so, she noticed something slow and broken in hismovements. Leaning from the open window, she held out her hand, but hebarely touched it. 

"No, " he said, hoarsely, "I shall not come to-morrow. "

"Then, the next day. "

"No, nor the next day. "

"Well, when you can. If you let me know, I shall stay in, whenever it maybe. "

"You needn't stay in. I'm not coming any more. "

"Oh, don't say that. Don't say that, " she pleaded. "You hurt me. "

"I can't come, Miriam. Don't you see? Isn't it plain enough? I can't come. I thought I could. I tried to think I could hold you--in spite ofeverything. But I can't. I _can't_. "

"You can hold me--if I stay. I want to stay. You mustn't let me go. I wantyou to be happy. You deserve it. You've done so much for me--and _him_. "

It was the stress she laid on the last word--a suggestion of somethingtriumphant and enraptured beyond restraint--that made him bound back tothe centre of the pavement. 

"Go on, Laporte, " he said to the chauffeur, in a sharp voice. "MissStrange is ready. "

"No, no, " Miriam cried, stretching both hands toward him. "I'm not ready. Keep me. I want to stay. "

"Go on!" he cried, sternly, as the chauffeur hesitated. "Miss Strange isquite ready. She must go. "

Standing by the curb, he watched the motor glide off into the misty, lamplit darkness. He was watching it still, as it overtook the carriage inwhich Norrie Ford had just driven away. As the two vehicles passed abreastout of his range of vision, he knew they were bearing Ford and Miriam sideby side into Life.