Fools of nature, a novel

FOOLS
OF

NHTURE

ALICE • BROWN

UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA
AT LOS ANGELES

FOOLS OF NATURE

For the action of these influences is from a property the principles of
whose origin we cannot comprehend. — GALEN.

No superstition can ever be prevalent and widely diffused through ages and
nations, without having a foundation in human nature. — ScHLEGKL.

And hence in most cases of superstition . . . those who find pleasure in
such kind of vanities, always observe where the event answers, but slight
and pass by the instances where it fails. — BACON.

FOOLS OF NATURE

Nobel

BY

ALICE BROWN

BOSTON
TICKNOR AND COMPANY

211 Cronont Street
1887

Copyright, 1887,

BY TlCKNOR AND COMPANY.

All rights reserved.

Printed by Addison C. Getchell, 55 Oliver St., Boston.

CONTENTS,

CHAl'TKR.

I. A PRIZE ....

II. THE PROFESSOR ARKIVKS

III. THE INITIAL STEP .

IV. AT Miss PHEBE'S

V. TAKING A PLUNGE .

VI. LAYING A TRAIN

VII. REVELATIONS

VIII. BURNING His BOATS

IX. A HIGHER COURT

X. NEWS FROM COVENTRY

XI. A VERDICT

XII. SPRING .

XIII. A NEW DEPARTURE

XIV. IN TOWN .

XV. LlNORA .

XVI. AN UNEXPECTED CHECK

XVII. OUTSIDE AND IN

XVIII. A FLAW .

XIX. IN EXILE ....

XX. FROM DAY TO DAY .

XXI. PROGRESS .

XXII. A MESSAGE

XXIII. BEYOND RECALL

PAGE.

7

20

38

51

G5

81

97

113

131

145

158

176

185

199

213

232

248

259

269

282

294

304

31G

CONTENTS.

CHAPTER.

XXIV.
XXV.

FOUR THREADS ....
BERNARD GOES HOME

PAGE.

324
334

XXVI.

THE ORACLE SILENT

344

XXVII.
XXVIII.
XXIX.
XXX.
XXXI.
XXXII.
XXXIII.
XXXIV.

NEMESIS LOOKS ABOUT HER .
UNDER THE RED CROSS .
PROSPECTIVE REFORMATION .
THE SHADOW OF DEATH
THE USUAL RESULT
LEONARD SEEKS REFUGE
SAM TO THE RESCUE
AT HOME ,

355

3G2
376
381
389
403
412
424

FOOLS OF NATURE.

CHAPTER I.

A PRIZE.

A GRAY farm-house, sunken on its sills, be-
-*"*• hind enormous chestnut trees. Miss Maria
frequently suggested that the chestnuts should be
cut down, as shutting off the light from the south
side of the house, and producing only an abundant
yearly crop of empty burrs, but her father could
not bring himself to make the sacrifice. In busy
times, when no reasonable being could expect him
to put off haying or planting for cutting trees, he
acquiesced most cheerfully in his daughter's hints ;
but when the feasible opportunity came, he proved
either forgetful or indolent. So the trees stood.

This was a cold November night, or rather the
late afternoon merging into twilight. Miss Maria
had the kettle on and the table set, ready for a
somewhat later tea than usual. Her father was
making one of his frequent visits to the poor-farm,

7

8 FOOLS OF NATUKE.

and they were never short. She had fritters to
fry, and they must be light and hot. Therefore
there was nothing to do now till she should hear
the rattle of wheels. The room where she waited
was dark enough without the help of outside shade ;
the walls were low, the ceiling smoky, and the great
beams overhead dingy with age. Still, everything
was so severely clean, from the middle-aged woman
in her starched calico and white collar to the very
floor, that the evident extreme age of the house
seemed no ruinous, unkempt one. Miss Maria, as
she stood by the stove, bearing her idleness a little
impatiently, was of a wiry, absolutely alert Yankee
type. Her crimped hair, the stiff little plaid bow
at her throat, could not soften her in a line or hue.

Some one was pushing the heavy side door,
which sagged so that even the daughter of the
house could not always force it to obey her ener
getic will. She took the lamp into the entry, as
the great piece of timber swung in with a sullen
creak, to admit a slender, straight, girlish woman
of seventy. Aunt Lomie always insisted that her
figure was owing to the early use of the busk, and
it was greatly to her mortification that her own
girls, long since married, had declined to wear that
article of torture.

" I brought you in some of our barberry," she
said in a soft, even voice, like a skein of silk.
" We begun on it to-day. I believe I put in more

A PRIZE. 9

sweet apple'n common, an' that made me think of
your father."

" I'm sure I'm much obliged," said Miss Maria,
tasting at once. " So'll father be. He don't say
he don't take to my sugar barberry, but I'm awful
sorry I didn't do any in molasses. Seemed as if
sugar'd be so much nicer that I done it all that
way."

Aunt Lomie had taken a chair by the stove,
where she sat bolt-upright, patting her knees softly
and reflectively.

"Where's your father?" she said, breaking the
silence, that was perfectly easy, since neither of
the two felt a necessity for talking.

" Gone to the poor-farm," returned Miss Maria,
something aggressive developing itself in her tone.

"He's all carried away with that boy, ain't
he?"

" Seems so ; " and Maria put all the emphasis of
her sentence into the stove with an obstinate stick
of wood.

" It does seem a pity, Maria, don't it, that he
should be given to such folderol ? "

After a silence, "Father can think and do just
what he's a mind to, for all me. His ways ain't
my ways , but they're better'n mine. He's got more
goodness in his little finger than all the rest of the
town in their whole body."

"You always would stand up for your father,"

10 FOOLS OF NATURE.

said Aunt Lomie, looking at her with mild ap
proval. " Queer you should, too, when you don't
jine in with him."

"That ain't the question," said Maria stoutly.
"It ain't what I believe or don't believe. I may
be too ungodly to believe it. Anyway, I never
shall badger father's life out of him. There he is

now ! "

Old Dolly's hoofs had a peculiar beat, and the
red wagon a rattle all its own. Maria's quick ears
caught both sounds before the wagon turned into
the driveway, where it was now hurrying gayly
along, hobnobbing with the frozen ruts.

" 'Tis your father, sure enough. I guess I won't
wait, he'd keep me so long talking, and it's our
supper time, too."

When Miss Maria had closed the unwilling door
on her visitor, she hurried back to her fritters, all
alive at the immediate prospect of work. By the
time Uncle Ben, as he was called by the town
in general, had finished unharnessing and feeding
Dolly, and given the cows their last fodder, the
table was ready, and the lamp waiting in the little
back kitchen where he was accustomed to attend
to his toilet.

" Here we are. Mind the step ! " came a voice
full of loving quality. "Here we are, Maria ! " •

Maria had, so to speak, pricked up her ears at
the sound of lighter steps beside her father's.

A PRIZE. 11

" I'll be buttered if he ain't brought the poor-house
boy back with him ! " she ejaculated under her
breath.

" Here's Lenny, Maria," said the old man, fairly
inside by this time. " Let him run right in and
warm him. His hands don't need so much washin'
as they do thawin' out. We kep' 'em under the
robe, but they're pretty cold, — pretty cold ! "

Maria, without a word, preceded the boy to the
larger room, and, still silent, drew forward a chair.
The child, a somewhat shapeless, stocky boy, stood
still in the background.

"You can sit down," said his hostess ungra
ciously. Then she went back to her father. "Is
he going to stay ? " The voice was carefully mod
ulated. There was neither displeasure nor re
proach in it, yet Uncle Ben was quite well assured
that Maria was not gratified.

" Well, now, if he wouldn't be a great deal of
trouble, Maria," he began persuasively, from the
roller towel. "Now really, Maria, he's goin' to
be a wonderful medium ; somethin' out o' the com
mon course, and he'll never develop there. The
conditions ain't right. An' he could help about
the chores." But Maria had disappeared, as he
found on emerging from the roller. " Oh, well,
well, well," said the old man. "Sorry! sorry!
Wish Maria'd see these things, but she don't, and
you can't expect everybody to. — Willin' the old

12 FOOLS OP NATURE.

man should have his own way?" he went on in
his sing-song manner of speaking. " You ain't said
much."

" I didn't have time to wait," said Maria dryly.
" I had to go in and put on another plate."

Then the two looked in each other's faces and
smiled the smile of perfect understanding, a mo
mentary twinkle from Maria and a folding of
wrinkles in the old man's face, — for all the seams
there had been made by much smiling.

" Now, if you could get a test such as I've had
tune an' again," he went on, rubbing his hands at
the fire, " you might begin to see your way to hav-
in' faith. An' with Lenny in the house you may
get a test."

Miss Maria set her lips firmly, and went on
pouring the tea, having done which she drew up
the third chair for the boy, and motioned him to
take it. He obeyed with a shiver, suggesting a
young robin out in the cold. Miss Maria had
made an impression on him.

No one paid any attention to him during the
meal, Uncle Ben contenting himself with heaping
the child's plate, once giving him a pat on the head
in passing. But when her father had gone out to
shut the barn, Maria said her say. She emphati
cally set down in the sink the cups she was carry
ing, and then placed herself directly opposite the
robin, who was again huddling over the stove.

A PRIZE. 13

She looked at him steadily, while he as steadily
regarded his cracked, stubby hands.

" An' so you see things — spirits ? " said Miss
Maria at length, in a biting tone.

"I don't know what they be. How should I
know ? It's always a lady," said the boy, begin
ning to whimper a little.

" And you're going to get up a test to convince
me, are you?" still regarding him as curiously
as severely.

" I don't know what a test is. I don't care any
thing about it. I wisht I was back to the farm ! "
said the whimperer.

This protestation only served to disgust Maria
the more. So he was a hypocrite also !

"Well, there's one thing for you to remember.
Ever go to school ? Ever learn anything? Well,
you learn this ! If you take it into your head to
get up tests for me I'll take your head off; and if
you ever tell my father a lie — say you see things
when you don't, or say you've seen 'em when you
haven't — I'll take your head off again. And
heads aint like lobster claws ; they don't grow on,
once they're off. Understand?"

The robin evidently did not, but he was suffi
ciently impressed, Miss Maria thought; and her
father coming in just then, she went on with her
dish-washing.

"Been cryin', sonny? Homesick? Oh, that

14 FOOLS OF NATURE.

never'll do ! Never in the world ! Folks have to
make up their minds to things. — Maria, where's
that old fox-and-geese board ? "

It was in the corner cupboard, and Maria brought
it without a word. The old man and his little
friend began their game, interrupted only by the
robin's nervousness. He watched Miss Maria too
incessantly to show much generalship in his moves,
and became so distraught that Uncle Ben sent him
to bed, going with him to see him comfortably dis
posed. When the child had drawn the great com
forters up to his ears, looking as if he felt himself
in safety for the first time that night, Uncle Ben
took the candle and paused to say, hesitatingly,
before leaving the room, " You ain't seen anything
since you've been in the house, Lenny? "

"No, sir."

"Nor heard anything?"

"No."

"Well, well, that's all right I It'll come, all in
good time. I'll call you in the mornin'."

"Be you going to keep him, father?" asked
Miss Maria, later in the evening, looking up from
her rapid knitting. Her father had finished the
county paper, and sat toasting his stockinged feet
at the stove-hearth.

" Well, no ; I ain't got so far as that yet. No, I
do' know's I mean to keep him on'y till he gets a
good place. But I mean to see he ain't starved as

A PRIZE. 15

he was up country before he come to the farm.
Skin an' bone he was ; but he begun to pick up
right off."

"Yes," said Maria dryly, "he don't seem to
have many bones now."

" Fatted right up ! I told 'em at the farm they'd
better have his mini'ture took an' send it round to
show folks how we treat our paupers. Maria,
that boy begun to see spirits when he wa'n't more'n
ten year old, when he was up country."

Maria was setting her heel, and bent over her
work too closely to reply.

" He says he always sees a lady, — a lady in a cap.
Somehow I felt as if it might be your mother."

Maria gave an indignant twitch, setting loose
half a dozen stitches, but she did not answer.

" The trouble is, she never speaks, — ain't spoke
yet, that is, — on'y makes signs. But he'll
develop yet, just keep him where the influences
are harmonious."

The next morning, before breakfast, Uncle Ben
took the boy to the barn, but once inside the door,
he did not set him a task. Putting down his milk-
pail, he turned to the child eagerly.

" Anything yet, Lenny ? "

" Yes, sir," said the boy in a whisper, looking
behind him, to see if perchance Maria might be
there.

" You don't say so ! What ? "

16 FOOLS OP NATURE.

"The woman."

"Say anything? Now she did say something
this time?"

"No, she didn't ; only motioned. Put both her
hands on her head — so — and shook it and cried."

The old man took off his hat in order to con
sider the better, and stood with the brim of it
over his mouth.

" Yes, that's it ! It's Aunt Peggy ! " he cried at
last triumphantly. " She died with brain-fever.
Strange I shouldn't ha' thought o' her before.
An' what else ? "

"Nothing. Yes, there was. She went to the
fire-place and kept putting her finger on the
squares marked out on the mantel-piece. She'd
count up to seven and then stop, and go over 'em
again."

" Seven ! Now I wonder what that meant.
Seven year? No, she must ha' died over forty
year ago. Maria wouldn't remember. Seven in
the family? No, there was three. Sure it was
seven, Lenny?"

" Course I am," said the boy, a little fretfully.
" Didn't she keep me awake with her old count-
in'?"

" Sh-sh ! You mustn't say anything about them
that's gone to the spirit world that you wouldn't
want 'em to hear. But then it ain't right neither
to treat folks in this world worse'n you would

A PRIZE. 17

angels. An' you see everything she was doin'?
See the squares on the mantel-piece ? "

" Why, there's a light round her, bright," said
the boy, stuffing his hands in his pockets and
thinking of breakfast. " There's always a light."

"So there is, — so there is. I forgot that. Now,
Lenny, you be sure you don't hear nor see a thing
you don't tell me."

When the two went in to breakfast, Maria, cut
ting bread at the table, detected news in her
father's livelier step.

" Maria, he's seen Aunt Peggy ! " said the old
man, coming in and looking at her triumphantly
across the stove. Miss Maria paused, with the
bread knife in her hand. Leonard, just behind,
noted the glittering blade with a sickening heart-
thump, sure of his impending doom. But the
ogress went on cutting. "Leastwise, I can't help
feelin' as if 'twas Aunt Peggy. Seems to answer
to her looks, an' what she died of. But there's
somethin' about it I don't understand ; seven, the
number seven. Maybe she wants to tell us some-
thin'."

" Seven wise men of Greece ! " said Miss Maria,
grimly. " Maybe she wants to warn this boy here
he'd better be careful not to grow up and make
eight."

As the days went on, Leonard outgrew some
of his first fear of Miss Maria. He took a cold,

18 FOOLS OF NATURE.

which for the time being obliterated his ill quali
ties in her eyes. The nursing instinct was strong
in her, and to take her ginger-tea and thorough-
wort was equivalent to eating her salt. With his
returning health, her severity also returned in part ;
but though there were days when, as her father
told of new visions, she was only restrained by
principle from laying violent hands on the lad, she
did not prove an incessant north-wind to him. He
was a frank, well-disposed fellow. No one could
help liking his absolute honesty and his gratitude
for slight favors. Sometimes his truth-telling
propensity was so apparent, even when it militated
against his own advantage, that Maria had intervals
of wondering if his vision might not be " an honest
ghost." That was almost inconceivable to her.
She had only as much appetite for the supernatural
as would enable her to swallow a few scriptural
doctrines, — not by any means all, and not enough
to render her an eligible candidate for church-mem
bership. She confined her belief in the unknown
to a faith in the immortality of the soul, and in the
incomprehensibility of the Holy Ghost. With
Miss Maria the Holy Ghost stood for a sort of
fetich, a mystic symbol to be pronounced by way
of a charm with the names of the Father and the
Son. Miracles she rejected, and only received
Christ as a leader on the ground of his preaching
sound doctrine. She would not have said he was

A PRIZE. 19

a juggler ; doubtless she gave him the credit of
honestly believing in his own miracles, but she
pityingly ascribed to him the same sort of diseased
mind with which she accredited her father in his
belief in the manifestations of spiritualism. The
whole subject she hated rancorously ; yet when
her father's finger touched it, she was tolerant,
even cherishing him the more for his weakness.

"Everybody's got a crack somewhere in his
head," she would say, when most kindly disposed
towards Leonard. " I don't know what mine is,
but I s'pose other folks do."

CHAPTER H.

THE PROFESSOR ARRIVES.

T EONARD was perhaps thirteen when Uncle
-*-* Ben Adams took him home from the poor-
farm that night. In five years he had grown into
a clownish sort of fellow, with long legs and a
superfluity of flesh, cheeks of apple redness and
eyes of a china blue, in which pure honesty lay
looking up at the world. Every one of the neigh
bors liked Len, he was so ready to do a service,
so destitute of boyish freaks. When Aunt Lomie
baked pies, she brought him in a turnover, a mar
vel of horrible richness ; and if her sons went to
caucus, or to town for the weekly supply of gro
ceries, she was liable to send for Len to sit with
her through the evening. Cap'n Sol, Aunt Lo-
mie's husband, had died since we first saw her, and
she, with the two giants of sons, kept up a peace
ful little household.

Although Leonard had every educational advan
tage the town afforded, going to the district school
through the winter with the other well-grown
lads, he showed little inclination for books. Miss
Maria hurled the abstruse truths of Colburn at
him until he could prove, parrot-like, the feasi-

THE PROFESSOR ARRIVES. 21

hility of a man's driving fifty and one-half geese
to market, but the inner meaning of the problem
never suggested itself to him. This was much to
Miss Maria's scorn ; she had herself been accounted
a " smart scholar " in her day, and she still pre
served her rewards of merit with much satisfac
tion. Uncle Ben was not disturbed by the boy's
slight intellectual bent. In fact, his frame of
mind showed a wavering balance between what he
ought to feel and what he really did feel. It was,
of course, a subject of regret that the boy was
growing up to be accounted stupid ; on the other
hand, that very stupidity, a neutrality of mind
which allowed it to be swayed by any and every
influence, could only increase his ability for becom
ing a medium.

" Out o' the mouth of babes," said Uncle Ben,
" it is ordained the great truths shall come. 'Tain't
the wisest of us that learn 'em first. If 'twas, the
great revelation'd come too soon, an' it's got to be
worked out slowly, through much tribulation."

That Len had in five years made no advance in
development as a medium, caused the old man no
uneasiness. His patience was as absolute and
grand as the patience of Nature.

"An' maybe 'tain't comin', Lenny, my boy," he
would say, in the frequent talks they had on the
subject. " It may be 'tain't you, after all, that's
goin' to convince folks. But whether 'tis or not,

22 FOOLS OF NATURE.

you an' I mustn't care. 'Twon't make any differ
ence who the good news comes through."

Leonard himself would have been quite well sat
isfied to be sure that his evident ministry between
the other world and this was not to come about.
Even for so good-natured a boy, it was something
of a bore to be asked every morning if he had had
a spectral visitant the night before, and to be re
quired to give advice the bearing of which he could
scarcely comprehend. Mingled with the misery
of having greatness thrust upon him, however,
grew a sort of honest vanity in considering himself
gingled out from others by reason of an exceptional
gift. He still insisted that he saw the old lady of
his childhood, who was now familiarly known as
Aunt Peggy; often, indeed, she talked audibly.
It was somewhat strange that, although the whole
town had heard that fact, no one set him down for
a hypocrite. His little world passed over the foi
ble, and if it had been called on to give the reason,
would doubtless have excused him as not responsi
ble, — as being a natural in that one direction.

Just now, in his nineteenth year, it was an
nounced that Professor Biker would give an inspi
rational lecture on Spiritualism, as the circulars
stated it, in the town hall. Uncle Ben, who had
been for years in correspondence with various
mediums and was the representative spiritualist of
the town, had undertaken the management of the

THE PROFESSOR ARRIVES. 23

whole affair. It was he who proposed entertain
ing the guest, undeterred by Maria's grim silence.
That sceptic's housewifely pride, which was en
tirely independent of any bias of feeling, rose to
the surface, and her most plummy cake and rich
est pie were in hospitable readiness for the guest.
Uncle Ben met him at the station, and the fall twi
light had begun to settle before Dolly compassed
the eight miles of the return. Professor Riker
did not ride past the house to the barn, but
alighted at the front door. This circumstance
alone was enough to arouse Miss Maria's scorn.

" Let father drive along to unharness by him
self ! " she muttered, standing well back in the
shadow to take an unobserved inventory of the
stranger's appearance. "If I was a man I'd be a
man ! "

And yet, under ordinary circumstances, she
would have considered herself an offender against
the laws of hospitality, had she allowed a guest to
lift a finger in service.

He had knocked three times before she saw fit
to go to the door, clattering the cups meanwhile
to justify her inattention, even to herself. The
stranger lifted his hat with a flourish, when he was
finally allowed to set foot in the entry, extending
a daintily gloved hand which Maria, pushing the
door open, was too much occupied to notice.

"Miss Adams, I believe?"

24 FOOLS OF NATURE.

"Walk in — and take off your coat — and your
hat — and let me take 'em," said his hostess in
jerks, as if the words had a bad taste in her mouth
and she was anxious to finish the operation of
ejecting them as soon as possible.

Divested of his outside apparel, Professer Biker
proved to be a well-made, broad-shouldered man
of perhaps forty-two. His eyes were somewhat
near together and his nose was inferior, but a long
waving beard, delicate hands, and a superfine
nicety of attire were sufficient to stamp him,
among the many, as fine looking and a gentleman.
Maria noted with contempt that his watch-chain
was of many bands, and that he wore a large and
dangling bunch of seals. For five minutes she
was too incessantly on the wing to admit of
falling into the trap of conversation. Finally she
could make no more honest errands into the little
back kitchen, and, with some shame at her evil
humors, took her station opposite the visitor.

" You are not a believer in the cause ?" said the
professor, keeping up an incessant rubbing of his
hands. Maria was sure it was to prevent the red
ness of cold from settling in them. Her heart
hardened immediately. Why need he hare
chosen so unlucky a subject?

"No, I'm not," she said shortly. "It's the
greatest humbug the Lord ever allowed ! "

The professor looked at her with obtrusive pity.

THE PROFESSOR ARRIVES. 25

"You'll come to it by and by," he said with
great cheerfulness. " I perceive you have medium-
istic qualities. Once developed, I have no doubt
you'll be a burning and shining light."

The toad in the fable could not have felt himself
more perceptibly swelling with pride than did
Miss Maria in her indignation. Fortunately, her
father's step was heard at this moment, suggesting
the self-control which was the outgrowth of her.
love for him.

"Well, well, all right? Warm enough? Not
tired ridin' in the cars? Terrible tiresome work,
ain't it, makin' journeys? Uses my head all up
for a week."

"Ah, well, I'm used to it," said the professor
wearily. "I'm going about incessantly, you
know. But this speaking from inspiration is
wearing work. Sometimes I am afraid my poor
head won't stand it. However, we intellectual
people must expect to break down, — die at the
top."

" Supper's ready, father," said Maria. " I don't
see," she was unable to resist saying, as she poured
the tea, " why it should tire anybody to be
inspired. If the words come to you without any
composing, I shouldn't think 'twould be anything
great of a tax."

"Ah, you don't know, "said the professor. He
had always the air of commiserating one's igno-

26 FOOLS OF NATURE.

ranee. "It takes a great deal of nerve force to
place one's self in a purely receptive state. My
surroundings have to be harmonious. I am as
sensitive to bleak winds as a flower. "

Maria drank some tea hastily to cover an incip
ient sniff of disgust, and ended by choking herself.

"Yes, yes, now I can see how 'twould be," said
her father, passing cheese and butter with an
eagerness that was more than hospitable, his sim
plest services seeming to grow out of loving kind
ness. " Now it don't make no difference about us
common folks, but I can see how 'twould with
you. Great gifts you've got ; and then you're
educated up so ! "

The professor, with a wave of his fork, indul
gently deprecated the last remark.

"My wife doesn't always feel it," he said. "I
don't blame her for it, but sometimes I have to
say to her, ' Julia, can't you see I want to be let
alone?'"

"Well, I should think she'd be glad enough to
let you be ! " said Maria, taking his cup rather for
cibly to refill it.

" You would think so indeed," said the uncon
scious guest. "You would think she would see
the necessity of helping on a great work by doing
her little best. And there are times when I must
be alone. Often, when I commit my lectures to
memory, I walk the floor for hours."

THE PROFESSOR ARRIVES. 27

" Commit your lectures ! There's a mistake,
then, father. You got out the handbills to say
they were inspired."

" Oh, yes, — the thoughts, they are the result of
direct inspiration," said the professor imperturba-
bly . " But I have to formulate them a little, and re
duce them to the level of an ordinary audience."

Again Maria was saved, by an arrival, from the
open disgrace of speaking her mind, — this time
Leonard.

"Well, well, sonny ! where've you been?" said
Uncle Ben, as the great fellow came in shyly, and
began to dispose a part of his inconvenient person
under the table.

"Aunt Lomie asked me to do the barn work to
night. The boys have gone down to see about
buying Pete French's ma'sh."

" This is my boy, the one that's goin' to do
suthin' yet, we hope," went on the old man.
" Lenny, this is the lecturer."

The two pairs of eyes met, Len's shy and the
other man's searching. The end was that the
stranger, with flattering cordiality, held a white
hand across the table for the boy's awkward
grasp.

"You need not have told me who he is," he said,
smiling at him. " I knew as soon as he came in.
A spirit voice whispered, ' Great light ! prophet !
help him develop ! ' "

28 FOOLS OF NATURE.

" You don't say so ! " cried his host, laying down
his knife, and leaning back in his chair in sheer
delight. "Now you can't mean that! Maria,
ain't that a test ? "

"You can't expect your daughter to consider
anything short of the ocular proof as a test just
yet," said the professor, with an apologetic defence
of her which seemed to Maria as sheer impudence,
as it stood for charity in her father's eyes. " Sci
entists, with all the paraphernalia of philosophy
on their side, deny us the right of existence as a
sect : what should be expected of the unthinking
multitude ? "

" There's no call for you to use your lecture all
up on us," said Maria, this time with intentional
sarcasm, as they rose from the table. " Be a pity if
it should be second-hand when you get to the hall,
and your inspiration should give out."

But the professor was either too magnanimous
or too obtuse to take offense.

At seven old Dolly was harnessed to take the fam
ily to the hall, all but Maria. Just before they
went, she ventured on — what was rare with her
— an open remonstrance.

"Father," she said, taking him into the back
kitchen, "that man is a lying humbug, and you'd
never see it if you was to live with him till he
made you think black was white. And I don't
want him bamboozling Len. The boy's head's

THE PROFESSOR ARRIVES. 29

half turned now, thinking he's some great shakes."

"Now, Maria, le's leave it in the Lord's hands,"
said her father, his perpetual good-will to men
mantling all over his face in a radiant smile. "His
ways ain't our ways, an' the truth'll come upper
most. If Len's to help work it out, le's not be
stumbling-blocks in the way, an' if he ain't, the
Lord an' his niinisters'll defend the boy."

Maria could say no more. She went back into
the sitting-room with wet eyes, softened in spite
of her judgment. Her father alone woke in her
something like the maternal instinct. But there
was some little relief in asserting her own right so
far as to refuse to button Len's collar or tie his
cravat, and to indulge in one other bit of belliger
ent resistance.

" Would you give me that flower and a gera
nium leaf for my buttonhole ? " asked the professor,
pointing to the flourishing window plants. " There
is something harmonious about flowers."

" Here's the scissors," said Maria, passing them
with the points bloodthirstily foremost, and the
professor was obliged himself to cull and pin in
his floral ornaments.

The lecture was scantily attended, and the audi
ence was not too quiet during its florid eloquence.
A few boys fell into a scuffle about the stove, and
some one started that time-honored joke, a turnip
rolling down the aisle, at which there was a general

30 FOOLS OF NATURE.

titter. The town held Uncle Ben in high regard,
except in his capacity of spiritualist ; there he
commanded only lightness. When the professor
announced, at the close of his lecture, that he
would proceed to give tests, a hush settled even
upon the most sceptical.

"This room is filled with spirits," he began,
" townsmen of yours, most of them ; some, friends
who have passed over into spirit life at a distance
from here."

Several boys near the stove involuntarily looked
over their shoulders, and then by common consent
went into the front and more occupied portion of
the house, making but a subdued clatter.

" Here's one who says his name is Peter Dana.
He was hanged for the murder of an old woman.
Says his mother was an Indian. Anybody know
him?"

Glances were exchanged from large and wonder
ing eyes. Uncle Ben almost hugged himself with
delight. He would not pronounce his recognition
first, however. That should be left for the scep
tical.

"Half-breed Pete!" "That's him!" came in
murmurs, until one voice took courage to speak.
"I know him," when there came a chorus of cor-
roboration.

" Says he's been a long while in the first sphere ;
hopes to go on ; hopes you'll take warning by him."

THE PROFESSOR ARRIVES. 31

The professor was standing behind his table with
closed eyes, and hands occasionally waving before
his face. He had turned down the lights, and in
the uncertain dusk was surprisingly pale and un
earthly. It was astonishing that the corners about
the hall could look so dark to the boys who came
to scoff.

" Somebody says her name is Mary, and she died
of consumption. Ugh ! what a pain it gives me
in my chest ! How she did suffer before she passed
away ! "

A woman's sob broke the stillness. Two
women's voices exclaimed simultaneously, " I know
her ! " " She's mine ! "

The medium paused for a moment and pointed
in the direction of the first voice. " You're right ,
she's your Mary," he said decisively. " The other
one is here too, but isn't able to communicate as
well as your Mary."

The woman, the tears streaming down her face,
had risen and bent over the settee in front of her,
regardless of the pitying eyes upon her.

"What does she say? Tell her to speak. I
must hear her speak ! "

" She says it's all bright, all wonderful ! no more
pain ! and she's always near you."

" The Lord be thanked ! " said the woman, sink
ing back into her seat, and shamefacedly trying
to suppress her sobs.

32 FOOLS OF NATURE.

"There are three babies dressed in white. Oh,
how they do hover over here, and how bright
their wings are ! "

There was more sobbing recognition, in the
midst of which the medium opened his eyes with
a start and twitch, ejaculating loudly, " Where am
I? " Uncle Ben, triumphant and happy, drew him
away from the circle of awestruck people who
were desirous of regarding him, and yet exceed
ingly careful not to approach too closely.

"He ain't like us," said the old man in gentle
apology. " He can't stan' things as we can, an' I'll
warrant he's all wore out. Get Dolly round, Len,
an' we'll be on the road home."

Arrived there, they found Maria and Aunt Lomie
knitting by the table. Aunt Lomie looked at the
medium mildly, as she might regard an animal
born a scorpion and not able to help it, yet by no
means to be taken into one's bosom. The professor
asked leave to lie down on the sofa, and stretched
himself at full length there, his eyes closed, the
tips of his fingers together in the attitude of one

whose

" — bones are dust ;
His good sword rust."

Once the great Maltese cat walked up and sniffed
at his coat, whereupon Miss Maria called sharply,
"Puss, puss! come away!" showing a laudable
resolution that puss, at least, should not be con-

THE PROFESSOll ARRIVES. 33

taminated. When Uncle Ben and Leonard had
come in from unharnessing, quite a brisk con
versation sprang up, broken by the lurching arrival
of the two Wasson boys, as they would probably
be called to their seventieth birthdays.

"Thought we'd come in to see ma'am home,"
said Sam, drawing a chair to the stove and dang
ling his hat between his knees, while the other
took quite the same attitude in fondling the cat.

"You needn't ha' done that, — both on ye," said
Aunt Lomie, holding her forefinger on the needles
to keep the place, and looking mildly over her
glasses.

"Oh, it ain't all you, Lomie," said Uncle Ben.
" I spoke to 'em myself. I give 'em some hope of
a sittin'. He's tired all out now," nodding to
wards the sofa, and speaking in a whisper.
'' 'Tain't to be expected he won't feel what he's
been doin' to-night."

It was natural, after this, that the conversation
should drop into whispers, and then cease
altogether. When that consummation had beei.
reached, the professor came to a sitting posture,
and opened his eyes with a snap upon the com
pany.

"You spoke of a sitting, Mr. Adams? Any
thing I can do for you is at your service."

So the table was cleared and the light turned
down. Nobody had thought to notice Len since

34 FOOLS Or NATURE.

he came in. Only when his finger-tips touched
hers in laying them on the table, did Maria feel
that they were clammy and trembling. This was
his first experience of the common phenomena of
spiritualism.

" Now if you will place your fingers lightly on
the table, the little finger touching the next hand,
and so on," — a result brought about as soon as
Sam Wasson could realize that the whole of his
tremendous hand was not to be deposited on his
neighbor's. Maria never refused to take part in a
" sitting." It was the public sanction she was
glad to give to her father's wishes.

The medium closed his eyes and waited ; Aunt
Lomie was preternaturally solemn ; and Maria
fixed so wrathful a gaze on the professor's coun
tenance that Henry Wasson, chancing to meet it,
burst into a strange and monstrous laugh, which
he instantly suppressed, growing purple with
shame.

" Henry, I shouldn't think you was grown up ! "
said Aunt Lomie.

" Oh, never mind," said the professor, opening
his eyes for a moment. " It's merely nervousness.
Give way to it, by all means, and it will be over
the sooner. Your son is mediumistic, madam,
very impressionable in his nature."

A longer silence, and nothing occurred.

" S'pose we should sing," suggested Uncle Ben.

THE PROFESSOR ARRIVES. 35

" That would be well. Singing brings harmo
nious influences. And make yourselves as recep
tive as possible.

" Maria, ' Sweet Hour ' or ' Nearer to Thee ' ! "

Maria had a high, clear soprano which had led
the choir this many a year.

"Yes, father," she answered. It should be per
fectly apparent that she complied to oblige her
father only. When she struck into " Nearer, my
God, to Thee," Sam's tenor and Henry's bass were
ready. It was considered a great treat in Coven
try to hear the cousins sing. . Uncle Ben had a
tenor voice. It cracked frequently, indeed, and
became at some points a husky whisper, but he
always sang on undiscouraged.

" I think," said the medium, after the singing
had ceased, having proved of no avail, "I think
I must tell you what they whisper to me. There's
somebody here who is a real sceptic, and she
breaks the circle."

Uncle Ben knew well enough who it must be.
The look of genuine grief, which was heart-break
ing to his daughter, stole over his face. Seeing
it, Maria herself hung her head. In that minute
of feeling herself the cause of his pain, she would
willingly have bound herself hand and foot to
spiritualism, if that could have been possible.

" Maria, I think's likely they mean you. P'raps
you'd better set back ti little till we get started ! "

36 FOOLS OF NATURE.

" Yes, father ;" and Maria retired to the corner of
the room.

" They say there's too much vitality in the
room ; it draws from the medium," went on the
professor after another pause. "They are not
able to manifest themselves when there is so great
a flow of animal magnetism."

" That's you, boys, I'm afraid," said Uncle Ben,
shaking his head with disappointment. " I guess
you'd better set back a little too."

The boys pushed their chairs back somewhat
sulkily, and went over to join Maria where she'sat
stroking the cat. There was a chivalrous pleasure
in being her companion in disgrace. Henry shook
his fist at the medium's back and deftly executed
a grimace, at both of which Maria smiled and then
did her duty by frowning.

" Ah, this is better. The air is clearer ! " After
a series of twitches and noddings, "No, no, it's
of no use. The medium is exhausted and they
won't use him to-night." Professor Riker came to
himself, and Uncle Ben took his hands from the
table with a sigh.

"Well, well, too bad ! Can't be helped, though !
It'll all come right another time. Boys, you're
too strong by half, and Maria, she's got a doubtin'
spirit."

"Miss Maria is a repellent force," said the pro-

THE PROFESSOR ARRIVES. 37

fessor, "and a concentrated one, owing to her
being so entirely individualized."

" The cat's foot ! " said Miss Maria boldly, for
her father had gone out of the room.

Aunt Lomie discreetly rolled up her knitting
and drew her two giants away before they burst
into loud guffaws of approval.

366224

CHAPTEE III.

THE INITIAL STEP.

TT was Maria's first consolatory thought, in the
-*- morning, that the medium must take his leave
in a few hours ; but it was not so to be. At break
fast her father announced, with a sort of apologetic
delight, that the professor had decided to remain
until the afternoon train. While Maria was about
her work she heard a busy hum of conversation
in the sitting-room, conversation always quenched
by her entrance. That was not a suspicious cir
cumstance ; it was but natural that Eiker should
avoid wasting pearls within her sceptical hearing.

To enter the room when Len was admitted and
the three sat in conclave, revealed the fact that
Professor Eiker was offering to take the boy away
with him, "for development."

" It's a great offer," said Uncle Ben ; " my old
Adam seems to stan' in the way, that's all. Self
ish, you know, we all are, an' I can't seem to
make up my mind to partin' with the boy. Some
how I've been growin' into the feelin' that he was
goin' to do for Maria an' me in our old age."

"True, my dear sir, true," said the medium.
" We all have those impulses, which are, as you

38

THE INITIAL STEP. 39

say, selfish. But you wouldn't stand in the way
of the cause ? You wouldn't hinder Leonard from
making his fortune and having his name printed
all over the world ? "

" 'Tain't that ; we've got enough to do with, an'
after I'm gone Maria'd see that Lenny shouldn't
suffer. An' gettin' his name up ain't no temptation.
Why, you don't 'spose I don't know this great rev
elation ain't intended for us poor creatur's to make
ourselves whole with ! I ain't got such a miserable
spirit as that. It's missin' the boy I mind."

" He shall come home two or three times a year ;
more, even," said the other, glibly. "Why, you
won't lose sight of him ! Think how safe you'll
feel about him, knowing he is travelling about
with me."

"Yes, yes, that's so. Lenny, how is it; what
say ? Do you want to go ? "

The boy sat between the two, turning his gaze
from one to the other as they spoke, his face show
ing only absolute awe and admiration when his
eyes rested on the stranger, and a kind of boyish,
blubbering sorrow in meeting those of his old
friend.

"I like him," ho said shyly, " and last night the
lady come, and she said I was going away."

" That settles it ! " said the old farmer solemnly,
and at once ; " with you he goes. 'Tain't for me to
withstan' them that knows more'n I do. Now

40 FOOLS OF NATURE.

'tain't because I don't have faith in you, sir, but
I should like to know jest about what you'll do
with him, so't I can say to myself, one day after
another, Lenny's doin' so an' so."

" Well," and the medium, who was leaning
back in his chair, put his hands in his pockets, "I
shall take him about with me wherever I go. I
shan't require him to do anything, but just place
him wholly among spiritual influences, where he
can develop unconsciously as a flower opens in the
sun."

"Yes, yes ! " s.aid his host eagerly. "Like the
grass-seed comes up in the spring ; you know how
that is, Lenny. An' when he develops, then
you'll set him to work ? "

"Yes ; then he'll see people, and begin to make
— begin to do good."

" The Lord grant it ! " said the old man fervently.
" The Lord bless the sproutin' an' the comin' up
an' the bearin' fruit. Lenny, you don't know how
favorable things are goin' to be for you. Now
my spiritual experience was born out of great
tribulation."

"Ah? How was that?"

"I was brought up strict. We used to hear
hell preached every week, an' gran'ther'd mention
it every mornin' when he prayed. Well, it sort
o' wore on me. Long before I was as old as Len
here, I used to be out hoein' near the road some-

THE INITIAL STEP. 41

times, and when one neighbor an' another'd go by
I'd say to myself, He drinks ; he'll go to hell. He
ain't a professor ; he'll go to hell. An' one day
it come over me, Ben Adams, you ain't been con
verted, and you'll go to hell. That made it seem
kind o' personal."

" Yes, I should think likely. You don't mind
my using my note-book? Now go on."

" Well, I read Revelations till my hair stood on
end. You know sometimes you can't help readin'
the things that scare you, over'n over. It don't
seem to me I slep' much. One night I was awake,
starin' into the dark an' wonderin' if I should die
before light, when it come into my head all at
once, 'the angel rolled away the stone.' I don't
know how it comforted me, but it did, an' I went
to sleep sayin' it over an' o\er. The next mornin'
when I got up it was bright sunlight, an' I went
to the door an' looked right up to the sky an' says,
out loud, Lord, if you punish me for it, I can't
help it, an' I'll bear it ; but as long as I live, I ain't
agoin' to think one o' thy creaturs will be de
stroyed."

"But how did you get from that to spiritual
ism?"

"Well, I kep' thinkin' of them that had died,
an' wonderin' where they were an' what they were
doin' ; an' a good many years after, I got hold of
a newspaper with the doin's of the Fox girls in

42 FOOLS OF NATURE.

New York ; an' that cleared up my mind, so't I
ain't doubted since."

" How did your friends take it ? "

" Oh, I kep' still an' thought the harder, till I
got more light. The first circle I went to was
over to Creighton, an' I got great tests. Look
here, this is the first test I ever got : one night
there was a spirit come that said his name was
Bonnivard, an' that he'd been put in prison ; seemed
to want to be recognized, but we'd none of us
ever heard of him. When I got home I kep'
studyin' on it, but I knew if I'd ever known such
\ queer name I should ha' remembered it. I went
to the minister an' asked him if he knew ; an' he
said there was a man named so died in Switzer
land over three hunderd year ago. Now wa'n't
that wonderful ? The medium didn't know about
him, an' we didn't ; an' there he come an' spelled
his name out I "

The professor smiled, saying rather dryly, if
that unctuous manner could ever be dry, that it
was all very convincing.

" Well, it stan's to reason there should be a new
revelation," went on the old man, after a pause.
" 'Taint likely the Lord would give all He'd got to
give, an' stop there. 'Taint in reason He shouldn't
keep any truth on hand by Him."

" So you are perfectly convinced, and never have
any doubts?"

THE INITIAL STEP. 43

"No, I don't have any doubts, but I keep on
lookin' into it all the time. Truth's a mighty
queer thing, sir ! You think you've got her, an'
set down an' go to sleep ; an' when you wake up,
she's run away. Truth's a good deal like a puppy
that ain't got wonted to you."

The stranger again used his note-book, behind
the family Bible.

" No, no ! an' I don't by any means think I've
got at the whole on't yet. The Baptists have got
some, an' the Methodists ; on'y we've got the
newest revelation, an' they '11 come to it sometime.
We ain't all on us ready for it yet. — But I guess
Maria's ready for some short wood. No, Lenny,
I'll go ; I've got to speak to her."

"If you would allow me to suggest," said the
medium, placing a detaining hand on his shoul
der, " Miss Maria should not be told until Leonard
is gone. I heard her say she should spend the
afternoon away, — and I think she would ob
ject."

"No, Maria won't like it, but I shall tell her
now ; I can't be underhand with Maria," said
Uncle Ben, and, going into the kitchen, he made
the story short. The door between the two rooms
had been closed, and it was from pity only that he
lowered his voice. He was sorry for her.

" Father," said Maria, stopping short in rolling
pastry, " father, you can't mean to do that ! "

44 FOOLS OF NATURE.

"Now, Maria, if you could on'y think 'twas for
his good ; if you could on'y believe 'twas the Lord
speakin'."

" The Lord ! The " began Maria, and then

closed her lips, rolling crust energetically for a
second. Then she put down her pin and wiped
her hands on her apron, an action according well
with her disordered frame of mind. "Father, I
wasn't going to say anything more against him,
seeing he was going away so soon, but that —
that man in there is a humbug and a hypocrite."

" Now, now," said her father, soothingly, " don't
let your heart be hardened to think such things of
your fellow bein's."

"And you're responsible for Len, father.
You've took him from the poor-house, and if he
goes to ruin, who'll be to blame? And ruin him
that man will ! It'll be easy, too ; some ways Len
ain't more'n half-witted."

"He must leave father and mother, an' the
Lord'll provide for him. It's hard, Maria, but we
must give him up."

Maria stood an instant looking into the bare
branches of the chestnut trees, where a flock of
snow-birds were twittering. Then she took up her
rolling-pin, and went stolidly to work. " All right,
pa, I shan't say any more."

One question only did she ask, " When is he
going, father?"

THE INITIAL STEP. 45

"To-night, with the professor. He seems to
think it'll be better."

"Well, I've got half a dozen shirts to make
him. He's got enough now, but they're wore
thin. If he should wait a week, seem's if he could
go fitted out better."

But the professor, on being consulted, thought
it would be better not ; in fact it would be impos
sible to leave him. In a week or two he should
be on an extended lecture tour, and should want
Leonard's company. Naturally he did not state
that, if he should leave him, he feared Maria's
influence. The day was a hurry of packing.
Luckily the boy's clothes were in perfect condition,
and his china-blue eyes danced when the professor
casually remarked that he should buy him a ready-
made suit when they reached town. No one but
the medium made a dinner that day. Maria, re
marking shortly that she must "see to the pies,"
left the table and was seen no more.

When Len was dressed in his Sunday best,
looking more than ever like a" fat-cheeked squirrel
in holiday attire, she took him aside into her own
room.

" Now, Lenny, if you don't have a good time
— if it's hard — if he — (O Lord ! I mustn't make
him suspicious and miserable," she said to her
self) — "well, if things ain't pleasant, — they ain't
always, you know, — and you want to come home,

4f> FOOLS OF NATURE.

you privately put a letter into the post for me,
and I'll send you the money to come with. And
if you're sick, you send to me just the same, and
I'll be there in a jiffy. Understand?

" Yes," said the boy, a suspicious choking in his
voice. "I wisht I hadn't got to go. Do you
s'pose he'll buy me a suit ? "

" I don't know anything about suits, but, Lenny,
did you say you didn't want to go ? "

"I — I guess I do," said the boy, the glories of
possible checkered trousers looming up before him.
" I guess I'll try it." So Miss Maria hardened her
heart to hope, and sped the travellers.

" You'll have to tell us where to direct to you,"
she said, loftily, to nobody in particular, when
they had gone down to the kitchen. " I shall
want to send Len some shirts. — Thank the Lord,
they'll fit nobody but him !•" she added, in not too
low an aside, when her father left the room.

Hiker was deaf to innuendoes. Perhaps if he
had not treated her with such indulgent gravity,
Maria might have been better able to endure him.
She had her interview with him before he left,
however, calling him back when her father and
Len had gone out to the wagon.

"Now there's no need of thinking I don't see
through you, inspiration and all. I do ! "

" I am glad," said the professor, looking up from
his glove-buttoning, with an expression of frank

THE INITIAL STEP. 47

innocence; "you can't find much to disapprove
of."

"I know just what sort of a wolf in sheep's
clothing you are likely to be. Now if any harm
conies to the boy through you, you'll be sorry ! "

"I certainly shall," said Hiker, smiling slightly.

" I mean I'll make you sorry ! " cried Maria, ex
asperated beyond bounds. "If there's any law in
the land, I'll make you suffer ! Oh, go along, go
along ; I don't want to talk to you ! " and the pro
fessor lifted his hat and went, with the same grace
which had encircled his arrival.

At the station, Uncle Ben, who on the way had
addressed his remarks exclusively to the horse,
pressed a dingy roll into Hiker's hand. " 'Tain't
much," he whispered, " but you know you spoke
of that suit for Len, an' you didn't get much for
your lecture. Admission don't count up much,
an' I want you to be paid ; it's a great thing for
us to have a speaker. — Lenny, I guess I'll go.
Dolly'll want to get home ! " and in an inextricable
confusion of blessing and sorrow, he had clambered
into the wagon and lashed old Dolly so suddenly
at starting, that that sober animal threw up her
heels in a very coltish fashion, before settling down
to her ordinary gait.

That night Leonard slept in a room which seemed
to him a marvel of splendor. There was no
vacant place in Hiker's own boarding-house, and

48 FOOLS OF NATURE.

he had left the boy at a near hotel, where he called
in the morning to take him to breakfast. Len
was too bewildered to eat, but sat, with open-
mouthed awe, watching Eiker break his egg.

" Now we shall have to talk a little about busi
ness," said the medium, after his first roll. " How is
it about this lady of yours ? Do you see her often ? "

"Almost every night," said the boy, whispering,
in fear of disturbing the waiters.

" What does she talk about? "

"Oh, I don't know ; all sorts of things."

"Well, now," said the professor, insinuatingly,
" suppose I should fit up a nice room for you, and
put your name printed on the door, Professor
Sparrow (you're a professor now, remember ; I've
made you one). Suppose I should put up that
black-and-gilt sign, and people should come and
ask your advice ? " The sign and the title were
mightily taking ; the advice struck Len as an
unknown quantity. "Then they would come in,
and you would shut your eyes and try and see the
lady. You could sec her almost any time with
your eyes shut, couldn't you?"

"I don't know ; I never tried."

" Well, you must try when you have your office.
And you'll say to the people, ' I see an old lady,'
and tell just how she looks; and when they ask
questions of you, you'll tell them whatever she
seems to say."

THE INITIAL STEP. 49

" But s'posin' she shouldn't say anything ? "

"She must. You must make her," answered
Riker, with meaning.

" But I don't know how I could," rejoined the
other, distressed.

" Stupid ! " muttered the medium, under his
breath ; but presently his lips parted with a very
engaging smile. " I guess she will talk if she
remembers you can't go on being a professor unless
she does. Then, by and by, you might get to
seeing other people, and giving them names in
your mind, — not last names, but good, easy first
names, such as Mary and John ; and when people
came to you, you could say, * I see Mary,' or, ' I
see John,' 'Mary wants you to know she is happy,
and is waiting for you.' That's all easy enough,
isn't it?"

"Is that all I've got to do?" asked the boy, his
very cheeks shining with delight as well as fatness.
But his face fell. " And what if I can't see 'em ? "
he said again.

" You must ! " answered the professor, fixing a
narrowed gaze on him, across the table. "Oh,
you don't know what talents you have ! " he went
on quickly. "Why, I never saw a young fel
low with such chances ! It won't be three years
before you'll be a rich man, and then you can
go home to Uncle Ben and buy him a smart
horse and build him a new house, and give that

50 FOOLS OF NATURE.

lovely Miss Maria — bless her ! — a handsome silk
dress."

No wonder Len was quite intoxicated with joy.

" I shall be in again and give you something to
do," said Biker as he left him. "I'm going to
find a room where you can live ; you'll always go
to your meals with me."

In the course of the forenoon he was back again,
bringing a set of printed slips which he proceeded
to pin on some sheets of paper.

" Now," he said when that was finished, placing
them before Len, " I want you to learn these. You
never went to school much, you know, and you
must have an education. Learning these will help
you to use good language when you go into society.
Get one perfectly, and try saying it over with your
eyes shut, before you read another."

He left Len droningly reading them over to him
self. One of the extracts is a fair specimen of the
whole :

" I have been some time in the spirit land. I
am beginning to progress slowly, and hope soon
to enter another sphere. Dear friend, I am always
near you."

CHAPTER IV.

AT MISS PHEBE'S.

~VT EARLY a year after the fall when Leonard
-*-^ began his education in Boston, a boarding-
house at the West End received an expected
arrival. A young man and woman were shown
into the hall, where they waited, somewhat uncer
tainly, while the trim maid-servant went, as she
announced, to call Miss Phebe.

" It looks clean," whispered the girl. " I
thought boarding-houses were always dirty."

" Didn't she show you into the parlor ? " came a
great fresh voice up the basement stairs, in ad
vance of a very tall woman. * I declare, a new
girl always acts as if she was just born, and hadn't
an idea of how things went in this world ! Glad
to see you. I'll have your trunks carried right
up," she went on. "I suppose a hackrnan wouldn't
carry up a trunk if his eternal salvation depended
on it. I'll show you your rooms now."

The girl's bedroom, up one flight, was a clean
little nest of a place, opening into a larger sitting-
room.

"Your sleeping-room is upstairs," said Miss
Phebe to the brother. " I'll show it to you in a

51

52 FOOLS OF NATURE.

jiffy." She stopped to run her finger along the
mantel, and looked keenly at the member. " She
did dust, then ; I'm surprised. Strange that I
can't teach a girl to turn the handles of the pitch
ers out," she added, giving the water-jug a twist
in passing. "Supper at six, down stairs."

Before that time, Bernard, ready for tea, ran
down to his sister's room, to find her sitting on her
trunk, in an attitude of rather disconsolate medi
tation.

"Well," he said, closing the door, "what do
you think, Sarah?"

" Everything is in beautiftu order, — Miss
Phebe is queer, — and I've got a lump in my
throat." She rose with a little defiant toss at the
last admission, and began brushing her dress.

"Oh, no, dear, no," said Bernard, putting a
hand on her shoulder. "No, we'll have a good
time. Be a man, Sarah ! "

" So I will ! " turning her head with a kind of
resolute shame, to let him see the teardrops
through which she was smiling. " There's a bell.
Come. Oh, how I hate to meet the other board
ers ! I wonder if we have to be introduced all
round ! "

Miss Phebe was at the head of the table, and
gave them seats near her. They had time to notice
that she was a very bony woman with a long face,
which irresistibly suggested a horse.

AT MISS PHEBE'S. 53

" Just give me a hint as to your name," she
whispered in a loud aside. "Ellis?"

Sarah was conscious that she was being intro
duced to Mr. Mann and Miss Reynolds, and won
dered afterwards if she had bowed in the wrong
direction, and how Bernard had got through with
it. Then there was silence, and a clatter of cups.

"I wonder how Miss Gale is," came an even
voice from the other end of the table, belonging
to a white face and very smooth, black hair ; this
must be Miss Reynolds.

" She's had a hard day," answered the hostess,
solemnly. "Miss Linora's to be pitied, if any
body ever was. Mr. Mann, do you think she's
having a harder time than usual?" The tone
suggested the inference that Mr. Mann was re
sponsible for the suffering absent one, — a tone
which he evidently resented.

" I'm sure I couldn't say," he answered dryly,
at which Miss Phebe looked at him with great
severity.

Sarah glanced up too, to find him a young
man, blond and handsome, but with an irritating
weariness of face and manner.

"I wish that poor child had more friends, and I
wish what she had would be true to her," announced
Miss Phebe, apparently to nobody ; adding imme
diately, " Sh-sh, she's coming ! "

She was a little thing in a suit of dove-gray,

54 FOOLS OF NATUKE.

with a pale Madonna-like face, and smooth brown
hair. Her mouth had a droop, her eyes were cast
down, and their fringes were like shadows of a
grief. Sarah longed to immolate herself at once
in service as to a maiden dolorous. Miss Phebe
left her own place to draw out the girl's chair, and
seated her in it with a little pat on the shoulder.
Miss Gale acknowledged the introduction to the
two strangers with a sweet little smile and a lifting
of her gray eyes. Then Sarah lost her timidity
in watching Miss Phebe serve the new-comer,
ordering for her a peculiarly strong libation of tea
and a hot supply of dry toast. Conversation
languished, and, the meal over, everybody with
drew to his own room.

Bernard had run up stairs, to go to his sister's
sitting-room later. Busy in unpacking, Sarah
heard a little rap which could be only his, and
called " Come in ! " without lifting her head from
the trunk-tray.

"I wonder if I shall intrude," came a soft
voice from the door. It was the dove-colored
Linora.

" Oh dear me ! Excuse me ; come in," said
Sarah, flushing brightly. "Everything is scat
tered about ; only wait till I can clear a chair."

"No," said the celestial sort of visitor, putting
her hand on the other girl's shoulder and arresting
her. "No, I only want to say a word. I like

AT MISS PHEBE'S. 55

you so much ; I like your face, and your eyes are
so good. You will be a great comfort to me."

Before Sarah could do more than laugh and
blush a little, Linora had risen on tiptoe to deposit
a kiss on her cheek, and was gone. When Ber
nard came in Sarah did not tell him. Everything
about Miss Linora seemed so mysteriously confi
dential that she began now to feel herself in the
secret.

" What shall you do in the morning, Bernard ? "
she asked, as they said good-night.

"Go to the library and begin to read. You
won't be lonesome if I do ? "

"No, for I shall go with you," with a little
grimace which Bernard loved, for it never came
except when she was at least moderately happy.

" Sarah, there's one thing," he said, coming
back. "I wish you wouldn't tell any one I'm not
your own brother."

" Of course not. Why should I ? "

It had never seemed to weigh on Bernard that
he was an adopted son, although he had been de
voted to his second mother. Perhaps he was too
jealously fond of Sarah to care to pass as a brother
merely ; it was better to hold at once the rights of
a brother and friend. There was no mystery
about his parentage. Mrs. Ellis had offered to
tell him all about it when he came of a suitable
age, and he had refused, for some reason inexplica-

56 FOOLS OF NATURE.

ble to himself. So she put the bare facts on paper
and gave it to him ; a paper which he had never
been tempted to read.

There was unlikeness enough between him and
Sarah to suggest some freak of nature, if they
had come of the same parents. Sarah was brown-
eyed and brown-haired, with a stain of red on the
cheeks ; Bernard's face was heavy, his head large,
almost overtopping his slight frame ; his hair, a
mat of yellow with a shade of drab, was combed
back from the great forehead, and he had a way
of throwing back his head when he walked which
was suggestive of seeing only the sky. He was
here to read in connection with a book he meant
to publish for children, — stories from all the
mythologies ; Sarah, because her mother had died
six months before, and she had no one in the
world nearer her heart than Bernard. They had
heard of Miss Phebe through acquaintances, and
here the two country mice were established.

Bernard went to the library in the morning, but
Sarah stayed behind.

"Would you let me come and sit with you a
little while this morning?" whispered Linora, as
they came up from breakfast. " Or, if your un
packing isn't done yet, come to me." Sarah ran
down to the little lady's apartments. These were
two large rooms, running over with luxuries of
furnishing and littered with bric-a-brac.

AT MISS PHEBE'S. 57

"Come to the fire," said Linora, drawing an
easy-chair to the grate and placing a footstool
beside it for herself, where she sat clasping her
knees and looking up to Sarah with a childlike
seriousness. "Now talk."

" But what shall I talk about ? " said the other
girl, not so much embarrassed now as amused.

"About yourself."

"I'd rather talk about you."

" No," said Linora, the corners of her mouth
drooping again. " There's nothing but trouble
when you come to me."

Sarah was thereupon angry with herself for her
stupidity. It seemed coarseness at which Linora
might reasonably be disgusted.

" There's one thing I wanted to speak of," she
said, veering in haste. "Your name — how
pretty it is ! "

" Do you think so ? That isn't all of it, though.
Don't laugh, now ; they named me Eleonora.
Think of that, — little me ! 1 knew you'd laugh."

" Who changed it?" asked Sarah, venturing to
stroke the brown head.

" Well, they nicknamed me variously at first.
Once it was Norah, but that's red-cheeked and
Irish ; then it was Leo, — for little me again !
But when I grew up enough to realize the emer
gency, I took matters into my own hands. If you
like the name, will you use it?"

58 FOOLS OF NATURE.

"Why, if you let me." Linora gave Sarah's
little finger, which she was caressing, a soft little
kiss.

"Now how shall I entertain you?" she asked.

"Tell me about the people in the house."

"Well, there's Miss Phebe, — she's pure gold :
there's Miss Reynolds, born to make mischief;
and Mr. Mann, — I don't know what to say about
Mr. Mann."

" You know him better than you do the rest,"
thought Sarah. " What does Miss Reynolds do ? "
she asked.

" Collects her dividends chiefly, and also collects
personal items about her acquaintances. If she
tells you I am an offspring of evil, don't believe
her."

•V

" Not I ! " with another stroke of the brown head.

"About Mr. Mann," Linora went on, reflect
ively, her eyes filling with tears. "I don't
know, — yes, I think I'd better tell you. Mr.
Mann hasn't been quite kind to me. I was in
great trouble when I first came here. He was, or
I thought so, a firm friend. Why, he called him
self my brother. But he changed. I have thought
since that he only likes new people, new things ! "

Sarah had one throb of compassion for her new
friend, to ten of indignation at the recreant knight.

" Perhaps I'd better tell you everything, if we
are to be friends," said Linora, after another pause

AT MISS PHEBE'S. 59

of gazing abstractedly at the coals. " Would it
bore-you to hear all about me ? "

" Oh, if you could trust me as much as that ! "

"Anybody would after seeing your face, my
dear. You will find me sad so many times, that
I'd rather you should know just why. My mother
and father are dead, and my uncle has charge of
my property ; that's considerable, by the way. My
uncle does not care for me, and it only bores him
to have me with him ; and as he is travelling most
of the time , I drift about wherever I can . I heard of
Miss Phebe through a friend of hers, — Mrs. Win
ter the singer, you know, — and I felt as if I could
come here in her charge without a chaperone."

Sarah's assent was slightly perplexed ; she had
not been bred on the tradition of the necessity of
chaperones.

"Once I had a voice, a contralto. It showed
the most flattering prospect of developing, and I
was going on the operatic stage. Singing was
life ; looking forward to my profession was my
heaven ! " She told her story well. Doubtless
she had the dramatic instinct. " While I was study
ing, I met a young priest. I was interested in
Catholicism then, and once I went to confession.
We met often after that. We fell in love with
each other."

Sarah scarcely dared breathe, fearing to disturb
the sacred stillness of the air.

60 FOOLS OF NATURE.

" Think what that meant for him ! lie could
not marry. There were his vows on one side, his
God, his sacred calling ; there was I on the other.
We gave each other up a thousand times ; a thou
sand times we met and swore fidelity. Sometimes
he gave up his priesthood and chose me. Then
we were happy ; but by the time I saw him again,
his conscience had begun to gnaw him, and we
had the same struggle to go through from the
beginning. I was not strong. I could not help
him give me up ; I was too much a woman." Her
voice failed in tears. " At last, one day, he swore
it should end ; he would marry me, and I was to
meet him to have the ceremony performed. I
went, and waited hours at the appointed place ;
finally a letter came that bade me good-by ; he
could not break his vows to the Church. I had
gone through too much, and that last blow crushed
me. I fainted, and, days after, when I tried to
sing, my voice was — gone ! "

Sarah sat speechless and still, clasping her hands
in her lap. She was sure if she tried to utter a
word it would only result in a sob.

" That is the end," said Linora at last, looking
up pitifully through tears. "I have not seen him
since. I lost my lover and my voice at one blow.
What is there left for me? "

" If I could make any difference," said Sarah,
timidly, after a long silence. "I know it sounds

AT MISS PHEBE'S. 61

presuming ; but I could be trusted if I couldn't
do any real good ! "

" My dear, you're just the friend I've always
needed," said Linora. In consequence of which
assertion Sarah felt a thousand times more at home
in her new surroundings by the time Bernard came
back.

"What luck? Ship-ahoy!" she called to him
as he came up, waiting at the head of the stairs.

" You never saw so many books in your life ! "
said Bernard, out of breath. " You must go to
morrow. But, Sarah, my book has been writ
ten."

" It has ? What shall we do ? Go on writing ? "

"No, give it up and read. I don't want to
work ; I want to browse."

Sarah only told her brother that she found Miss
Linora charming, and his own acquaintance with
her amounted to little more than an interchange
of the ordinary civilities of life. The two girls
were almost constantly together, and Bernard
wondered a little that Sarah was not more ready
to go out with him. The wonder did not last,
however ; he was too busy among the books.

"You would scarcely believe me, I'm afraid, if
I told you where I get great comfort," said Lin
ora, one day. Almost their entire conversation
had some bearing on her own afflictions. "In
spiritualism. Yes, I was afraid it would shock

62 FOOLS OF NATURE.

you. My dear, you don't know. I went first to
ask about my voice. They gave me hope of its
coming back."

" Oh, I am so glad ! That is, I should be if I
believed in it ; but how can it be true ? It shocks
me ; it is vulgar for people who have died to come
back to tip tables."

"Ah, those arc only the first coarse manifesta
tions ; we are beyond that now. I see ! you have
the common idea. What should you say if a
medium should talk to you in the voice of your
own mother and say things she would say ? "

" Don't ! " cried Sarah, with a quick backward
motion of her hands, the tears springing into her
eyes.

" Forgive me ! I wouldn't wound you for any
thing. But go with me sometime ; go to Madame
Swift's."

They were standing at Sarah's door when
Stephen Mann passed them on his way up stairs.
Five minutes after, when Sarah was alone, some
one knocked at her door. She opened it to find Mr.
Mann, evidently a little embarrassed ; it was the
first time he had offered to exchange a word with

O

her, beyond a good-morning.

" You must excuse me for overhearing you, but
I couldn't help it. Are you going to see a medium
with Miss Gale?"

"I haven't decided," said Sarah, telling a lie as

AT MISS PIIEBE'S. 63

a species of loyalty. He was Linora's enemy,
therefore he was hers.

" You may think I'm interfering, — it is interfer
ence ; but I shouldn't advise you to go. In fact,
I should advise you not."

"You mean if there were a question of your
advising at all," said Sarah, bitingly, and feeling
a little ashamed of herself in consequence.

"Exactly; but I mean for Miss Linora's sake,
you know ; of course I shouldn't presume to inter
fere with you. It excites her ; it's very bad for
her."

Sarah softened in spite of herself. Perhaps he
was misunderstood, after all, and not as false as
circumstances painted him.

" I see ; and I didn't really mean to go," she
said, smiling grudgingly. Ought she to smile,
after all?

" And you won't say anything to Miss Gale ?
She might think I'd no business to feel inter
ested."

" Yes, I see ; " and Sarah withdrew into her room
to wonder if she could play peacemaker. His
face was marvellously changed by its smile ; made
radiant as some few faces are.

That night Bernard gleefully produced tickets
to the Mozart Club. " Mann gave them to me ;
he's a member."

"I didn't know you were acquainted with him,"

64 FOOLS OF NATURE.

said Sarah, looking at the tempting slips, and won
dering if she ought to accept her enemy's favor.

" I've been getting acquainted while you and
Miss Gale have been, colloquing. He's a good
fellow; handsome and musical, and all that. He's
a tenor, too. Did you ever imagine an attractive
chap singing bass ? "

"An attractive chap may have no voice at all,
dear raven ! "

' The raven is hoarse ! ' " cried Bernard, throw
ing himself into an attitude. " Sometime his voice
will clear, and then, what melody ! "

CHAPTER V.

TAKING A PLUNGE.

A NIGHT came when a celebrated man was to
•*"*- speak on immortality. Sarah had a great
longing to hear him. Half her life lay in an unseen
existence, where her mother dwelt. Her mood in
these days was not her habitual one ; her heart
rose in brief flashes of cheerfulness, but her
thoughts were too much with the dead. Something
haunted her, which not even Bernard suspected.
She was one of the people who love passionately,
with pain ; in whom conscience is often stricken
because there has been no adequate expression of
the love. There are such people, to whom love
has been in some degree violated if the torch is
not always flaming ; as there may have been poets
who grieve that the necessities of life call upon
them to drop from singing to speech. Did her
mother, — one of the perfect mothers, whose un
derstanding was as marvellous as her silence was
fine, — did she surely understand now, and had she
always understood her child's longing to serve her ?
When the evening came, Bernard yielded to
a headache, and Sarah, in spite of his protesta
tions, set forth alone. There was no one else to

66

66 FOOLS OF NATURE.

go with her. This was one of the days when
Linora betook herself to solitude in her room, and
was supposed by the household in general to be
devoting herself to grief.

Stephen Mann was drawing on his gloves at the
door when Sarah reached it ; it was natural enough
to accompany her down the steps, and his way
proved hers. Sarah had been in doors all day,
and was eager for a walk. It did occur to her
that Stephen might possibly drop off, until they
reached the Common and he took her path. He
was — a new thing to her — exceedingly ani
mated ; a sign, if she could have known it, that he
was holding himself in leash.

"You are going to Kay Street? So am I," he
announced. " Would you allow me to find you a
seat? Then I can put you in a car afterwards,
and that will be pleasanter than finding one your
self."

Sarah hesitated an instant to wonder if this
would be proper in the city. It would in the
country, and Mr. Mann was so fine a gentleman
that he might be trusted to know. Then the city
itself still frightened her, like a monstrous animal,
and she never knew which way the car she wanted
ought to go. So she agreed ; and Stephen, with
the air of having tossed some doubt and apprehen
sion to the winds, ran on in a scamper of conver
sation. Sarah had at the bottom of her reasons

TAKING A PLUNGE. 67

for saying yes, — or was it a surface bubble ? — a
thought of Linora and her own possible mission as
peacemaker. She would broach the subject pres
ently.

The sermon that night was no revelation to
her ; it only responded like an ecstatic chorus to
her own certainty of eternal life. She was one of
those fortunate souls who never really doubt it.
At the close, the choir melted into a sweet con
firmation of the preacher's wisdom. The tenor
pierced through it like a bugle note, — ecstatic,
triumphant, a conquering Michael. Sarah threw
back her head ; she felt like challenging the voice
with answering joy. It upbore the harmony, and
ended at a triumphant height. She could not bow
her head for the benediction ; it -was the natural
worship, for the moment, to look up into the face
of the Almighty. But Stephen looked at her.

" Will you ride down ? " he said, as they left the
church.

Sarah, quivering, and on the verge of excited
tears, answered hastily, "No, I must walk! that
is — "

"No," said Stephen, his voice no more even than
her own. "I must walk too. Is it proved to
you?" he asked, when the stars and clear air had
calmed her. " Are you surer of being immortal ? "

" More sure than I was ? " cried the girl triumph
antly. " I did not need to be."

68 FOOLS OF NATURE.

" Are you so positive ? "

"You may take my word for it, if you are not,"
said Sarah, with an audacity that seemed like in
spiration. " I am sure, if the universe is destroyed,
that I shall live."

They did not speak again till, striking the Com
mon, Stephen stopped her to say, almost in a
whisper, "Look at the moon. How young she
seems ! A month or so ago I thought the world
was rather an old affair ; now I could swear it is
just born."

When she would have gone on he arrested her
again by a hand on her arm.

" Just one minute. Give me that to think," he
said in a husky voice. Sarah turned to look at
him curiously, but it occurred to her that, after
Linora and Miss Phebe, it must not surprise her
to meet any out-of-the-way type.

"Well," said Stephen, looking up from his
moment's meditation. "If a man has burned his
boats behind him, he must e'en go on. I shouldn't
have come out with you to-night."

"I'm sure you needn't have," said Sarah, flip
pant, to cover the fact that she was a little fright
ened.

" I suppose it must out sometime ; there's a fate
about such things. I love you ! "

" What do you mean ! " she cried, losing every
other feeling in indignation. "How dare you

TAKING A PLUNGE. 69

make fun of me ? That was the way you began
with Linora."

" Linora be — don't mention that girl's name to
me ! " with a sternness under which she quailed a
little. " And don't even think so blasphemous a
thing as what you said first. Does a man feel his
whole frame convulsed by his jokes ? I'm not so
dramatic." His voice was hoarse ; she felt a cur
rent through the arm she held, — not a trembling,
but such a thrill as results in music from vibrating
atoms. "There! It's said," he went on dryly.
"Now, having made a donkey of myself, I'll stop.
Doubtless I shall feel better after the disclosure,
though you probably won't speak to me to-morrow.
I don't suppose that, by any chance, you are at
this moment madly in love with me ? " The specu
lation in his tone was sufficient to provoke a laugh,
most of all from Sarah, who was nervous enough
for any outbreak. " No ? I thought not. Well,
shall you speak to me to-morrow ? "

"Yes, I hope so. Oh, don't make your voice
so hard ! " she cried, overcome by an irresistible
pity. " I don't care if you did mean it for a joke.
Just don't say it any more."

" So you don't feel disposed to have me decapi-
ated? I dare say not. A woman likes well
enough to see a man crawling."

" You insult me ! " flashed the girl. "You need

70 FOOLS OF NATURE.

not class me in such vile generalities. What sort
of women have you known ? "

"None like you," he said softly. "I know
what you are, though I am trying to be rough
to you and sneer myself into good behavior. You
would not like to have me incontinently stop here
to kiss the toe of your overshoe. I might."

"Because," Sarah went on, with an awkward
feeling that something must be settled, "you've
only known me a month. We shall be very good
friends, though, I feel, after we're better ac
quainted." Here she was a little stung by the
thought of Linora.

" Only a month ? I loved you the first night I
set eyes on you. You'll say that's a thing of
the senses and you'll have nothing to do with it.
I know your practical little hard-headedness. If
I were a hero in a German romance and wore my
soul outside, like a frock-coat, you wouldn't object
to my abruptness. You came, and I said, it is
my angel, my deliverance, my soul. No, I didn't
say anything ; I knelt before the altar and covered
my eyes."

They were almost home. Sarah was absolutely
overawed by the consciousness of a great fact.
The man might be wild, but he was talking truth ;
he loved her in this strange fashion.

" If you think you're to be annoyed by opening
your door and stumbling over me," began Stephen

TAKING A PLUNGE. 71

again, lightly, "you're mistaken. I shan't sigh
across the table ; I shan't leave verses under your
plate. The world will go on and the boarders stag
nate in ignorance that I am your subject. But just
what I shall do I can't decide to-night : when I
do, I'll tell you."

He was fitting in his key as he finished, and let
Sarah in, as bewildered as humanity has capacity
for being. Stephen laughed, though his eyes were
like blue fire, quenched in suspicious moisture.

"I hope Bernard's head is better," he said, com
fortably, going up stairs. "Good-night, Miss
Ellis. I hope I haven't talked too much."

Miss Phebe was in Sarah's sitting-room, putting
coal on the grate. " I thought maybe 'twouldn't
keep till you came back," she said, without turn
ing, vigorously poking, and besprinkling herself
with ashes. " I'm glad you're getting acquainted
with Mr. Mann. He is as good as gold. The
only thing about him I ever had to complain of
was his treating Miss Linora so. But we can't
all be perfect."

Next day, at tea, Miss Phebe announced that if
the boarders were in no hurry she would like to see
them in the parlor for a few minutes. Accordingly,
there they assembled after the meal. Sarah had not
dared look at Stephen all day, but he had said
good-morning and offered her the butter in so un-

72 FOOLS OF NATURE.

•

concerned a manner that she blushed at herself for
having had a bad dream and one of which she was

O

ashamed.

The parlor at the boarding-house was less
attractive than any other room, with its stiff
bouquets of dried grasses and its family photo
graphs.

"I've been trying to make up my mind about the
board," said Miss Phebe, coming in at last, and
sitting down on a camp-stool with the air of a
darning-needle stuck in.

"I vote we raise the price a dollar a week," said
Stephen, breaking in.

"No, you needn't take the trouble," said Miss
Phebe, smiling at him. " The fact is, I mean to
give up my table." Everybody looked dismayed,
Miss Reynolds severe. "You know I never
started to keep a boarding-house, only one for
lodging, and you sort of persuaded me into having
a table; and it's too much care. I do this for
fun ; just to earn my living and stay in Boston.
I don't want to make money."

" Pm surprised ! " said Miss Reynolds, with a
cutting emphasis which left it in doubt whether her
emotion had reference to the last iact or a preced
ing one. "It's very inconvenient to go out for
meals this weather."

"There's a good table next door," said Miss
Phebe, with not much feeling for that particular

TAKING A PLUNGE. 73

member of her family. w And I guess they've got
vacant rooms there, too ! ;'

" We don't want to work Miss Phebe to death,"
said Stephen, coming to the rescue. " We want
to stay with her, but we can't, — so let us be good."

"Is that all? " asked Miss Reynolds, rising.

" Yes, it is ! " said the landlady, with emphasis.

"Miss Phebe, how did you happen to take
lodgers in the first place ? " asked Linora, getting
up to lead Miss Phebe over to the sofa, where she
sat patting the bones which stood for that lady's
hand.

"I needed money, bless you, for I wanted to
live in Boston."

" Yes, but how ? When did you come to Boston ?
What did you do before? "

" Well, I took care of mother ; she was para
lytic. Then, when she died, I came here and took
a house, and took singing-lessons." Stephen
looked up with sudden interest. " Oh, you didn't
think I'd had anything happen to me, did you ? "
sa'id Miss Phebe, with good-natured sarcasm.
" You thought I was only old Phebe Kane, just
about up to answering the bell and bringing up
fresh towels. I can have my history, too, as well
as the rest of you ! "

w I wish you would tell us about it," said Sarah,
shyly.

"There's nothing to tell. I sang in choir at

74 FOOLS OF NATURE.

home, and I meant to sing here. I meant to sing
in concerts."

" And did you ? " asked Linora, alone in not
fearing to stir up painful suggestions.

" Once."

"Where?"

"In Music Hall."

" Was it a success ? "

"No, I failed."

"OMissPhebe, why?"

" Because I was so homely."

No extreme of delicacy could have kept down
curiosity at this. Her audience hung on her next
words.

" It was an air from an opera. I shan't tell you
what it was. I used to feel that I was meant to go
on to the stage ; I couldn't help acting. That
night when I sang I suppose I nodded my head
round, and behaved like a fool generally. You
can guess how anything would look acted out by
such a face as I've got. When I got through
there was a titter, and all the rows I could see
were one broad smile. I came home and burnt
my music, and said to myself that no living be
ing should ever hear me sing again, and they
shan't ! "

Linora's nostrils were dilating and her mouth
was quivering. "O Miss Phebe, and you didn't
tell me, when I told you all my story ! " At which

TAKING A PLUNGE. 75

remark Stephen began turning over the photograph
album.

"There was no call to," said Miss Phebe,
shortly. " What happened to you was a trial. I
lost my chance through my own stuffiness. There,
I've talked enough."

She left the room, followed by Linora, who in
sisted upon fondling her in sympathy, a kindness
Miss Phebe bore with commendable patience and
great awkwardness.

Bernard rose, too, to go to the library for an
evening's reading. With a wild fear that she was
to be left alone with her new and embarrassing
acquaintance, Sarah made her way to the door, with
as much dignity as could be indicated by lack of
haste.

" Miss Ellis," came softly from the table, just as
Bernard found his hat and went out. Sarah
looked round ; Stephen was still turning over the
album. " I'm very anxious to say something to
you, and I don't want to say it in the hall." Sarah
came a few steps nearer, and Stephen drew for
ward a chair.

" Please sit; well, then, I must stand too. I've
decided."

': About what?"

" What to do in regard to being in love with
you." Could mortal man be serious and yet speak
in so softly reflective a tone ? And yet she could

76 FOOLS OF NATURE.

not doubt him. She took one step away and then
paused again. " I've decided to keep on." Now he
was looking at her, and her eyes would not sustain
her in the combat. "It isn't the point as to
whether I keep on loving you ; that's decided for
me. I shall do that in my grave. But as to
troubling you with the tender of it, — that was
what weighed on me."

" Well ? " said Sarah, gaining courage and mis
chief at the same moment.

" I have decided that I remain a suppliant till
you reach me a gracious hand."

" I shall never do that ! " flashed the girl, the
suggestion of surrender like a sting.

"Very well, then, I shall stay."

" Mr. Mann, if you say such things to me, I
shall be obliged to avoid you. I'll do anything —
I'll move away from here."

Stephen looked at her with an admiring smile.
His eyes were dangerous in their mastery. He
seemed to himself dangerous.

"Are you honestly sure," he said, compelling
her eyes to meet his, " that you are not willing I
should love you ? "

A slow blush came into her cheeks and stung
her forehead. "No," she said at last. " I daresay
I like it — if I don't see you. Oh, what a shame
ful creature I am ! "

"If you don't see me? Then I'm a monster?"

TAKING A PLUNGE. 77

" How can you lead me on so ! I mean if I were
never to see you again."

"I understand. You'd like to have me in China,
wearing the willow under your feet. That cannot
be, unless you become a celestial citizen. Now it
is a very painful sort of thing to love and have no
expression of one's feelings ; therefore I shall not
be silent. To-morrow morning I shall send you
a rose, and you will wear it at your throat, or in
your hair just behind the ear."

" You may be sure I shall not," she cried, flying
baffled up stairs. And she kept her word, leaving
the great velvet creature to wither on her bureau,
and there it looked so pathetic that, after breakfast,
she put it in a glass of water on a shelf in her
closet.

" So you didn't wear it ? " said Stephen, glancing
at her incidentally as they were left alone at table.
She had gone late to avoid him ; he proved late
also. Sarah vouchsafed no answer. " Never mind ,"
said he, placidly, as he rose to go. "I think, on
the whole, I'd rather you would not wear flowers
till I pin them on for you."

Bernard had guessed at their secret understand
ing, though he had not accredited it as going so far.
It was like a blow to see any other man's time
and service at her command. He grew moody
and churlish, refusing to drop into Stephen's room,
as he had once done every night. The other man

78 FOOLS OF NATURE.

wondered a little, and then set his coolness down
to jealousy, though necessarily of a fraternal sort.

Stephen went on his way, apparently careless
and at ease. He exchanged a word with Sarah
now and then, sometimes neglecting her for so long
that she began to draw a breath of relief and re
gret that it was all really over. Being honest, she
shamefacedly confessed to the regret in her own
heart. She was young and full of a nervous vital
ity ; the new circumstances filled her with a kind
of animal elation ; moreover, she was recovering
from the physical strain attendant on her mother's
illness, asod was still in a supersensitive mental
state from the fact of her death. Excitement was
welcome, and Stephen had been food for thought.

" Promise me, dear," said Linora one day, after
a protracted account of her latest troubles, "prom
ise me you won't talk me over with Stephen Mann.
No, I know you don't exchange three words a
week with him, but you may. Promise ! "

"I can't, dear," said Sarah, angry with herself
for flushing, with those clear eyes on her face. "I
might want to praise you, you know. But I do
promise I never will except for your good."

" What people invariably say before a particu
larly nasty dose ! " said Linora, with a grimace.

But Sarah laughed and shook her head, and the
postman saved her. A letter was brought in for
Linora. She came back to her seat, and, holding

TAKING A PLUNGE. 79

it tightly, looked at Sarah with slowly dilating
eyes and quivering lips.

" What is it, dear? " cried Sarah in quick sym
pathy. Linora's universe, to her thinking, was a
fabric always in imminent danger of being dis
solved. "Open it ; it may not be bad news."

" Oh my dear, my dear ! " said Linora, shaking
her head mournfully, " if you knew what his let
ters can be ! Some new calamity, some new
cruelty in each ! "

" Come, let me tear it open."

" No, no ; you couldn't save me from reading it
finally.'' She walked to the window and stood
there, reading slowly. Sarah watched her, her
heart in arms, ready to succor. At last Linora
crumpled the sheet in her hand, and came back, to
sink at the other girl's feet and bury her face in
her lap. " Oh, I deserve pity — I know I do ! "
she sobbed. "And he has always been cruel to
me, always ! "

Sarah stroked her hair and dried her eyes in
pitying silence. Then she tried to be equal to the
emergency in some sort of practical help. She
had always occasion to flagellate herself after a
one-sided confidence of this kind, at the remem
brance that she had only sympathized and never
proposed a remedy.

"Now let us consider, Linora," she said, men
tally stiffening her own backbone. "You are not

80 FOOLS OF NATURE.

in your uncle's power. He can't treat you like a
child, or shut you up in a convent."

" No, but I am so young, you see ; only seven
teen, Sarah, and he can call me about from place
to place, or put an end to my winter here, for I
haven't a cent out of his control."

"Ah, that is a difficulty, an actual one," said
Sarah, tightening her lips and musing. " But it
isn't at all likely he will do it, Linora. It isn't in
nature."

"You don't know his nature. And there are
other things I can't tell you — things you wouldn't
believe. My dear girl, you don't know what
trouble is."

So the usual petting followed, and the practical
sympathy proved as unsubstantial a phantom as
ever.

CHAPTER VI.

LAYING A TRAIN.

HHHE course of events brought about the fulfil-
-*- ment of Riker's prophecy with marvellous ex
actness. Leonard Sparrow was now Professor
Leonard, Test Medium, and saw his name at last
on a black sign in letters of gold. He had adopt
ed his Christian name as his professional one, at
Riker's suggestion. Riker had conceived the idea
that when the young man should become well
known and prosperous, a score of relatives might
start up to divide the proceeds. This his tutor
had no idea of allowing. Uncle Ben demurred a
little at the assumption of the name, but submitted
when Riker told him that the influences had stren
uously insisted on it, without giving a reason.

Mrs. Riker had gone West, as her husband said,
with a sigh, because he and Julia were no longer
•congenial ; therefore he had moved into a room
adjoining Len's office and kept a constant and vigi
lant guardianship over him. Len was not sorry
for this, and would not have objected had it im
plied a companionship ten times closer. Riker
was invariably kind to him, even good-natured,
when the boy's scruples proved a dead wall to his

81

82 FOOLS OF NATURE.

suggestions ; and, indeed, Len's simplicity often
stood in the way of his choicest plans. One day,
soon after the sign had been hung out, a visitor
was shown into the waiting-room, whose circum
stances Riker chanced to know. He called the
medium into his own room, and briefly rehearsed
them to him.

" Her name is Vincent ; she has lost a daugh
ter," he said, rapidly, while Len stared at him in
the vacuous way he sometimes had. " Her
daughter died two months ago, a blond — light
hair and eyes, remember — name, Mary. Under
stand?"

"Yes," said Len. "Poor woman ! Shall I go
in now ? "

"Yes, and you'd better tell her to keep on try
ing to find means of communicating with her daugh
ter, and soon they will be satisfactory. Tell her
to go among mediums, into a spiritual atmosphere.
I've just had a communication to that eflect. Go
along."

It was not half an hour before the medium came
back again. " Well ? " asked his master, impa
tiently. Mrs. Vincent, once secured, would be a
valuable patron. Len was evidently much moved.

"I can't help it," he said, wiping his eyes. "It's
awful to see anybody cry so."

"What did you tell her?"

"I told her I couldn't see a thing, and gave her

LAYING A TRAIN. 83

back her money," said Len, unconscious of the
effect he was producing. " Wa'n't it too bad, when
she cried so ? "

Riker laid down the pencil with which he was
writing his next inspired lecture, and looked at
the boy in silence. Len went to the mirror and
brushed his hair, with a growing smile over his
eminently satisfactory appearance. His watch-
chain had been new only the day before, and had
not yet lost its power of keeping his undivided at
tention.

" Didn't you see Aunt Peggy ? " asked his mas
ter, at last, in a scrupulously even voice.

"No, I couldn't see a thing but the chairs and
tables," trying the effect of a longer loop in his
chain.

" Didn't you say anything to comfort her ? "

" Yes, I told her you said she'd better keep going
around among mediums." Biker groaned ; then
he made one more effort at the instilling of first
principles into Len's benighted mind.

" Len, it's your duty to say something to com
fort people," he began, gravely. " The spirits
have put you here to do a great work, and when
you refuse to do it, you are committing sin. When
people come to you, you can always say something
that will be satisfactory."

" I can't," said Len, almost in tears. " I ain't
bright, like you ; bright things don't come into

84 FOOLS OF NATURE.

my head. And how can I say I see things when I
don't?" he added triumphantly, as a final and un
answerable argument. Biker could say no more.
He dared not hint at the advisability of lying,
until the pupil's mind should be ready for such an
advance.

But Len, in spite of his unambitious simplicity,
was wonderfully prosperous. His honesty im
pressed people, — a circumstance Riker was not
slow at marking, and which made him all the more
anxious not to conceal this trump-card too effect
ually. When the real virtue was gone, its coun
terfeit must be left. It was surprising that so
many people were satisfied by the few things the
boy had to say. He saw an old lady ; that almost
invariably stood for the dead-and-gone ancestor of
the questioner. Often she had much to say ; how
ever it might have been accounted for, most of
Lcn's simple reflections seemed to him to come
from her lips, and, clothed in the high-flown
phraseology he caught from Riker on the lecture
platform, they were generally satisfactory. He
had certain office days in the week ; on others he
accompanied Riker in his shortest trips about the
country. It fed Len's vanity to be regarded, in
small towns, as the friend and colleague of a great
man. There was usually a circle of spiritualists
wherever they stopped, who received them hos
pitably, heaping social honors upon thorn. Simple

LAYING A TRAIN. 85

and worshipping women sent Riker buttonhole
bouquets to be worn on the platform, and some
times Len came in for his share of floral tributes.
His simple, innocent vanity grew like a mushroom.
He was a great man now ; what a pity the poor-
house boys could not see him ! Still, they never
would guess who he was.

One day of this same winter, an early visitor
stood nervously in the waiting-room, grasping his
stick and hat, and smiling with impatience. It
was Uncle Ben in company array ; all excitement
at the prospect of meeting his boy again. This
was the fii«t time since their farewell at Coventry.
Len came in, giving his faultless coat a last affec
tionate brush with his fat white hand.

" Why, Uncle Ben ! Why, why ! " he began,
and then ran forward to seize the old man by both
hands and smile speechlessly in broad delight.

" Well, well ! " said Uncle Ben at last, extricat
ing himself and stooping to pick up his hat and
stick, which had fallen unobserved, and then care
fully wiping the hat with his handkerchief as a
diversion for his feelings. Len kept one hand on
his shoulder, stroking the homely gray coat. He
had not known how dear the old life was until the
breath of its atmosphere drifted in.

" Well, well, Lenny," said Uncle Ben, when the
hat no longer served as a pretext, " we old folks
get into a second childhood before we know it ; but

86 FOOLS OF NATURE.

it ain't any disgrace to have to wipe your eyes,"
suiting the action to the word. "You look well,
Lenny. You look prosperous."

Len glanced down at his well-made clothes, and
involuntarily settled his blue necktie.

" You've made it well by going away ; but that
ain't the main thing. It's everything to be doin'
such good ; bein' such a medium as you have made
is a great callin', Lenny. Don't you forget your
responsibilities."

"No, Uncle ; but how's Aunt Maria? "

" Maria, she's well, an' she sent you a whole
carpet-bag full of things. It'll do Maria's heart
good to know how well you look ; she won't have
it but the professor's cross to you."

" Oh my, no ! " cried Len, laughing at the very
idea.

" Needn't tell me, boy ; I know him. He's got
your good at heart, if ever anybody had a good
heart for anybody else. I wanted Maria to send
him some things, too, for fear he should feel sort
o' touched, you know, but she wouldn't. When
Maria gets anything into her head, it's there ! an'
she never liked the professor. Now, Lenny,
you'll give me a sittin' ? "

" O Uncle, I can't bear to take up the time so ! "
cried Len, in weariness at being perpetually hag
ridden. " I'd rather talk. "

'* Yes, yes, so you shall ; that's all right enough

LAYING A TRAIN. 87

— but you don't want me to come all the way up
here an' go home without seem' how you've de
veloped ! No, no ! Well, if there ain't the pro
fessor ! "

Kiker came in, with beaming countenance and
outstretched hand. It did Len's heart good to see
the two people he so admired and loved, on such
terms with each other.

"Now I begin to get over being hurt in think
ing you haven't been to see us ! " cried Riker. " I
hope you're going to stay a month ! "

"No, no, that wouldn't do," said Uncle Ben,
beaming at what he considered a reception far be
yond his deserts. " Maria wanted me to make a
visit on't, but I am too old for that. We old ones
are better on't at home. This changin' beds in
winter time can't help bein' bad for old bones.
No, I shall have to go home to-night."

" Oh, not to-night, uncle ! " cried Len.

"Yes, Lenny, so it's got to be. I don't know
what possessed me to come on a journey in winter
weather, but a while ago it was borne in on me I
must see Lenny, an' I said, if there's a warm spell
I'll go. So when this thaw come, I couldn't go
agin my word."

A caller for Professor Leonard was shown into
the hall. Len looked appealingly at his master.
" I can't see anybody when uncle's here."

"No, no, Lenny, don't turn anybody away

88 FOOLS OF NATURE.

empty," said the old man. "It might be some
good you never could make up in all your life.
No, I'll talk with the professor a little while, an'
if he's busy, I'll take a nap."

The professor was unctuously ready to be of
service, and was not at all busy. He proposed a
walk, — a look at the State House, and a call
upon a medium of great popularity. So they
left Len sorely and boyishly disappointed, feeling
his vocation to be more of an old man of the sea
than ever.

This was the opportunity Biker had longed for
— and for which a visit to Coventry within Maria's
jurisdiction would hardly have sufficed.

" Well, an' how's Lenny gettin' along ?" asked
Uncle Ben, when they were once outside. "You
think he develops, don't you? "

"Think, my dear sir ! I know there isn't a more
wonderful case in the country. He develops
slowly, but we must have patience, you know."

"Yes, yes; the Lord brings out His revelation
pretty slow. We musn't get our backs up an'
pretend we could plan things better. I've got
beyond that, little's I know. Now how is it
about money ? Does Lenny need more for his ex
penses ? "

"No," said. Hiker thoughtfully, wondering how
far he dared go. " No, not for his immediate ex
penses. He makes enough for those, and when

LAYING A TRAIN. 8U

he doesn't regularly, I always supply what he
lacks."

" That mustn't be ! " said Uncle Ben promptly.
"You've got ways enough for your money, I'll
warrant, — a man that does as much good as you
do. No, you must let me send Lenny a bill once
in a while."

"Ah, that's very kind," said Hiker, smiling,
" but you don't know how independent he has
grown. I don't believe he'd take it ; when I help
him out, I have to do it on the sly."

"Now you don't say!" cried Uncle Ben, de
lighted. " Well, I do' know as I like him any the
worse for that. He'll get over it by the time he's
as old as I am. We all have to find out there's
nobody but what has to have things done for him.
But I'd rather he'd begin by bein' independent.
Now what say to my sendin' the money to you ? "

" Capital, if you can trust my judgment about
spending it."

" Don't you say another word ! You'll know how
to lay it out, an' you can do it so he'll never have
to be worried. It's pretty hard for you that have
so much hard work to do, to have to think about
what you shall eat and wear."

" Well, I'm greatly relieved," said Hiker, watch
ing him furtively. " At least Leonard never will
want while you live, and if he should survive you,
I should try to look out for him." They walked

90 FOOLS OF NATURE.

along in silence for a few minutes, Biker still
craftily keeping the corner of his eye open to the
old man's expression.

" I do' know but what I've done wrong not to
make some provision for Lenny," said Uncle Ben,
thoughtfully. "I ain't likely to last forever, nor
Maria after me, an' I meant what property I
had should go to him. I sort o' wish I'd made
my will before I put myself in a place of danger
comin' up here on the cars. But then, what's the
Lord's will's sure to come, whether you're asleep
in your bed, or in a train of cars."

"A will is the only safe thing," said Hiker
quietly ; then, turning suddenly, with a great
burst of frankness, he went on: "You must not
think I speak too plainly. I do speak plainly, I
know, but it comes from my great affection for
Leonard."

"Yes, yes, I understand," said Uncle Ben,
trudging sturdily along, emphasizing the points of
his sentence with his stout stick. " You've got a
great heart as well as a clear head. 'Tain't every
body's got such feelin's as you have ; an' I always
feel as if you was under influence to speak."

" Then perhaps I might as well go on and speak
further. If you ever do make a will in Len's
favor, I hope you'll do it in the safest way. I
wonder if you've noticed one of his traits ? He's
as good as gold, but he's what worldly people

LAYING A TRAIN. 91

would call simple about some things, — business
and money, you know."

"Yes, he's one of the Lord's triumphs; I've
always thought of that. He's bringin' the revela
tion out o' the mouths o' babes."

"Now if Len should have absolute control of
money, it would be cheated out of him in a year.
He'd never go to the bad, but he'd fall into the
hands of sharpers and speculators."

"Yes, yes, there's reason in that."

" And you know there are periods in spiritual
development when we must rest ; we can't do
anything but render ourselves receptive. Now
such a period might come upon Len when his
money was all spent. What could he live on ? I
should help him, but I am a poor man, and likely
to be, and I have my family troubles that take
money."

" To be sure, to be sure. It's everything to be
long-headed, ain't it? I never was. You just go
on an' talk it out for me."

"Well, I should suggest that you leave what
money you have for Len in the hands of some
competent business man, who, though Len might
be of age himself, would act as a sort of guardian
over him."

" That's a good thing, an' I'm obliged to you,"
said Uncle Ben ; and here, at the medium's door,
the subject was dropped.

92 FOOLS OF NATURE.

When they were once more at home they found
Len busy with waiting visitors. Uncle Ben
seemed not to be disappointed, but sat down by
himself in Hiker's room, evidently turning things
over in his mind. Riker left him to himself for a
while and then came in, proposing to give him a
sitting. Leonard was busy, and might be so half
the afternoon, and there were influences crowd
ing round. The room was full of faces, Riker
said.

" I guess so, now ! " cried Uncle Ben delight
edly. " Ain't willin' I should have to have my
journey for nothin', are they? I told Maria so.
But they must just wait a minute. Professor,
I've got a great favor to ask of you."

" Anything in my power to do," said Riker, his
small eyes gleaming impatiently. " Anything in
the world in my power is at your service."

" It's to let me appoint you Lenny's guardeen
in my will."

" My dear sir ! " said the professor, standing
back and shaking his head. " Such a trust as that ?
No, no, I'm not fit for the responsibility."

" Now I begin to feel disapp'inted," said Uncle
Ben. " I thought you was the right man for it,
an' I thought you'd jump to do good to anybody."
Riker held up a warning finger.

" Sh-h ! " he whispered, inclining his head to
listen. His eyes closed and his face twitched con-

LAYING A TRAIN. 93

vulsively. — "Well, it's settled!" he went on,
presently, opening his eyes and smiling faintly.
" The influences are too much for me ; I often have
to submit my will to theirs. They tell me to do
as you say, and if I feel myself unfit for such a
task, they will aid me."

" There ! how bright things do turn out in the
end ! " cried Uncle Ben. "Here I was, five min
utes ago, all worried and unsettled ; and here I am,
my way all marked out for me by them that knows
more'u I do. No wronder I was impressed to come
to Boston ! "

In the course of the next hour's discussion as
to the provisions of the will, Riker had also pre
pared for a stance. The curtains were drawn, the
door locked, and his arm-chair placed beside Uncle
Ben's. Then they went on talking, in the midst
of which Riker suddenly closed his eyes, his face
becoming set and his voice unnatural.

" I s'pose the medium hasn't got anything to do
with what's goin' to be said to me ? " began Uncle
Ben. " I mean, he won't hear it."

" The medium is quite unconscious," returned
Riker.

"Well, now, I want to ask for a test; not for
me ; for somebody else that don't believe. Some
body told me, when I was talkin' of comin' here,
that I'd better not have a sittin' with the professor,
because he's talked me over with Lenny and Len-

94 FOOLS OF NATUliE.

ny's told him all about our family and the folks
that's died. Now who told me that?"

" The name is quite clear," said the medium,
slowly. " We will spell it. Ma-ri-a, Maria."

"Now if that ain't a test ! " cried the old man,
rubbing his hands. " Why, this is wuth comin' to
Boston for. Now how about what I was talkin'
over with the professor ; had I better do it ? "

" It was what we brought you to Boston for,"
returned the voice. " We have been influencing
you Tor a long time. Your mind was all ready,
and then we brought you up here. We knew
what to do."

" I guess you did ! I guess you mostly do know
more'n we poor creatur's that don't have no
wisdom but what comes to us here. You must
help me write the will ; put me up to what to say
to the lawyer."

"Yes, we'll be there; but we want you to re
member one thing, — don't tell Maria."

"Not tell Maria about the will? Now I should
like to know why."

" She would be unhappy. Some bad spirits
have got hold of her, and they make her hate the
medium. She thinks he would cheat the money
all away."

"Now ain't that queer?" said the old man to
himself. " Maria don't like him ; she can't bear
him. Strange folks shouldn't believe, when tests

LAYING A TRAIN. 95

come out like this. — What shall I do about Maria
in the will ? "

" Leave her half, and let it go to the boy after
her death."

"I do' know's I can do that," said Uncle Ben
slowly ; " still, Maria's got bank-stock. She'll
never want. Who is it talkin' to me ? "

" 'Squire John."

"I might ha' known it. There ain't a lawyer
round anywhere to compare. How about your
fee this time, 'squire?"

" Give it to the medium," returned the voice ; at
which Uncle Ben laughed, as having got the worst
of it.

The interview lasted over an hour, at the end
of which time Len came in exhausted, having
finished his own engagements. Eiker opened his
eyes, and conversation resumed its ordinary tone.

"Professor, do you know what you've been
doin'?" asked Uncle Ben, solemnly.

"No," answered the professor, with a start that
might have been ascribed to guilt. In fact, the
answer was true ; his deeds were too numerous to
be classified.

"You've gi'n me more'n twenty names of folks
that have passed into spirit life from Coventry
alone, an' messages from more'n half. I ain't had
such a feast, no, nor such tests, since I've been a
believer."

96 FOOLS OF NATURE.

The professor declared himself humbly de
lighted, and only accepted a fee of ten times the
usual amount, with the second thought that he
could use it in sending specimen copies of the
" Spiritual Messenger " to unbelievers.

Uncle Ben went home scarcely disappointed at
having had merely a glimpse of Leonard. That
was enough to show him as well and happy ; and
finding him a man of business amply compensated
for the loss of his society. Len insisted on pack
ing into the emptied carpet-bag, with his own
hands, a parcel for Maria containing a dress and
a pair of long ear-rings.

" You tell her I'm well, and having a jolly time,"
he called in at the window, as the train moved
away.

CHAPTER VII.

REVELATIONS.

TT7HEN Miss Phebe's entire household were
* asked to leave her hospitable table, two of
the members made a pleasing amendment to that
proposition. One night, as Sarah and Bernard,
jubilant after a long walk, were passing a kitchen-
furnishing store, Sarah stopped before the window,
bright with tin and illuminated with brass.

" Bernard, come ! " and she drew him in. He
stood by in wonder, while she bought a small
tea-pot ; but questions were to no purpose till he
had been eonvoyed here and there for sugar,
tea, and a couple of cheap little cups.

" We shall not go to the ogress' den to-night,
my hearty," said Sarah, on tiptoe with delight at
a new thing. " We shall buy a frugal lunch, and
then we shall make a festive cup of tea in our
sitting-room."

So that evening the tea was steeped over the
coals of the grate, and two spoons borrowed of
Miss Phebe. Spoons had been forgotten in the
midst of household purchasing. Bernard was in
high feather that night ; he had been happy all
that afternoon, with Sarah to himself. But there

97

98 FOOLS OF NATURE.

came a knock at the door which was destined to
overturn his cup of joy. Sarah went to the door,
to find Stephen in gala array.

"I have come to call," he said, with great gravity.
"I have never called on my new neighbors. I
have put on a claw-hammer coat, in which I am
sufficiently miserable, and I have a flower in my
button-hole."

" Come in, by all means," said Sarah, merry and
annoyed. Seeing him always brought some change
of her mood, — a curious disturbance of her life-
forces. "Bernard, Mr. Mann, has come to be
polite to you."

Bernard shook hands with him, and hated him
self for hating Stephen's air of general adaptability.

"We are having tea," said Sarah shyly, not
quite knowing what to do with her guest, now he
was there. " Will you have some ? "

"I will have some by all means," said Stephen,
disposing himself comfortably. " Are there only
two cups? Then give me yours and improvise
another."

His manner, his look, were enough to inflame
Bernard. He was sure that he should not have
resented the familiar gallantry of men in general,
but Stephen in particular was especially irritating.
And this was a new experience ; until now he had
only seen his sister interested in a few old friends
she had known from her cradle.

REVELATIONS. 99

"I'll borrow a cup of Miss Phebe," he said,
hastily rising. " Sarah, keep your own."

Sarah would not meet the look Stephen turned
on her when they were alone.

"I came to-night because I could not stay
away," he said in a low voice. " I am making a
joke of it because I am terribly in love with you.
How long do you think I can live like this, —
darling?"

" How dare you ! I hate you I " she cried, with
an instinct of self-defence.

" If you like • oh, if you will ! A hot hate
up to the measure of my love ! yes, give me
that ! "

Bernard came in, frowning, his face to light up
with a flash of suspicion as he caught his sister's
confusion. She filled the three cups with a trem
bling hand, and would have passed Stephen his,
but he quietly took her own from the table and
talked to Bernard about the latest additions to the
library. It was too much ; his coolness struck
the boy like insolence, and he was too much a boy
for concealment.

" Sarah, I'm going out to buy a paper," he an
nounced, suddenly putting down his cup, having
made Stephen no answer.

"O Bernard, no!" said Sarah appealingly.
" Stay ! " But was she altogether displeased at the
chance of listening again ?

100 FOOLS OF NATURE.

"No, I must go." There was a grain of pleas
ure in doing the penance which lay in refusal.

"He is very kind," said Stephen, putting down
his cup the instant Bernard had gone. "Do you
object to being loved ? "

" Yes, in this way."

"This way is my way, and you must learn to
like it. What do you mean by this way ? "

"Suddenly, without knowing me. I want
people to like my qualities."

"I love you!" said Stephen irrelevantly, lean
ing his chin on his hand and musingly regarding
her.

"That is no answer!" said the girl, waxing
wroth. " You are like a parrot. Say something
new."

" Anything you teach me, sweet mistress ; being
a parrot, I can only learn."

"Besides, I don't approve of you ; I don't like
your character," she went on, satisfying her con
science by having it out at once.

"Nor I, but I will improve. I will be whatever
you like."

" Then I don't like fickleness. You have been
false to Linora."

" Bother Linora ! — I mean I know I have.
The parrot pleads guilty."

"Well, if you have done wrong, why not apolo
gize and let her forgive you ? "

REVELATIONS. 101

" Because I don't choose to, — not even for you.
I shall never again label myself Miss Linora's
friend : you must like me without the label."

" Are you tickle ? " suddenly asked Sarah. Her
eyes were very soft and searching. The question
might have arisen from an impulse of coquetry ;
its effect was entirely charming. Stephen looked
at her more than an instant in silence.

"My dear little girl, I honestly think not," he
said, slowly, and with a gravity that lent him a
dangerous charm. " I have been fickle, but it has
been to the false. You can't blame a man for not
worshipping false gods."

" No," said Sarah, softly, " and I believe in
you."

Perhaps he might have taken a confession of love
like one of the world-old race of lovers. This
serious little speech was like a blow of knighthood.
He hid his eyes.

" Oh, don't ! " said Sarah, instinctively stretching
her hand out, and as quickly drawing it back.

" I won't disgrace you," said Stephen, throwing
back his head with a toss of his bright hair. " You
put out your hand then. Do it again." Sarah
laughed and shook her head. "No, trust me.
Put it out and hold it there." He knelt and bent
toward the round white wrist, not touching it with
lips or hand. " That is my regard for youj" he
said, rising. " If my love were less I might long

102 FOOLS OF NATURE.

to kiss the hand. I am willing to worship at a
distance."

The task of setting their acquaintance on a com
monplace basis was greater than she had anticipa
ted ; she despaired of it. She took her sewing,
then laid it down to make one more effort.

"Mr. Mann, I like you ever so much, and I
want to know you."

" Very well ; that's a good beginning."

" But I can't be comfortable when you say such
silly things. You call me names, too, that you've
no right to."

" What names ? " Sarah blushed deeper and
deeper, and took a stitch that would hardly have
done credit to basting. " How cowardly you are !
How can I know what you mean, till you tell me ? "

"Well then, — * darling '!" with a sort of des
perate bravery.

"Oh, the sweet word ! " said her lover, his eyes
feeding dreamily on her face. " When will you
say it to me in earnest ? "

Bernard was soon back again and without his
paper. He had taken a walk in hot haste, lashing
himself all the way for a suspicious fool. Coming
back sane, it was only to fall into the same pit of
jealousy at finding Stephen still there.

" What a dandy he is ! " he exclaimed as soon
as Stephen had taken his leave, — and then hated
himself for his injustice.

REVELATIONS. 103

"He isn't at all," flamed Sarah. "And you
didn't think so at first. What has happened? "

"Nothing. I've grown envious, that's all. His
nose is handsome and mine is not," sneered Ber
nard, bolting out of the room, leaving Sarah to
wonder at the general disjointedness of the char
acters she had to do with. She could not be
angry with Stephen. No woman can be with the
worship of a man in whom she finds a charm, and
who keeps at a respectful distance. Then his
audacity of word was so delicately excused by the
reverence of his look and manner that she could
not feel herself to be held lightly.

Her coming here had been like stepping from
the fireside to the stage. The foot-lights dazzled
her. Perhaps this hurry and rush of events, this
outcropping of the unknown in character, was the
ordinary and expected thing in city life. She
would not shrink from her draught of elixir, but
take it with the high courage she would like to
show were it hemlock. She had often said she
longed to know every emotion and every possible
experience of life. Fate \vas taking her at her
word. And yet often when she went to her bed
at night the thought of her mother came like the
sound of a clear stream in deep woods, after one
has shouted with revellers in a garden of artificial
beauty. She longed for counsel ; for aged woman
hood and placid experience to place a cool hand on

104 FOOLS OF NATURE.

her forehead and still her pulses, before the next
glowing dream of the panorama.

Linora was keeping her room most of the time,
as Miss Phebe said, "all broken down by some
new villany of that uncle. Do you know what I
should like to do ? " she said, with emphasis, one
day, passing Sarah's door on her way to carry Lin
ora a cup of coffee. "I should like to take him
by the ear and walk him up to that little angel
and say, now do you see this dear little thing?
Well, you've most broken her heart and drove her
to the grave with your carryings on ! " and Miss
Phebe passed by, having spoken her righteous
mind. Sarah, having exhausted her imagination
in trying to be of use to Linora without full know
ledge of her troubles, was at last admitted to a
further confidence. One day she went to Linora's
room, to find the atmosphere heavy and fragrant
with smoke. Linora lay upon the sofa, in a bar
baric-looking costume, with colored wraps disposed
about her. She was very different on occasions,
sometimes rakishly so, from the Madonna-like
Linora whom Sarah had first seen.

" Dear girl ! " she said with her most sorrowful
smile, holding out her hand ; " take the little has
sock and come here. Don't be shocked at my
cigarette ; come and have one too."

"Cigarette?"

" Oh, I was in fun, of course," said Linora,

REVELATIONS. 105

quickly, withdrawing the little case. "I am
ordered to smoke them for my head ; it is very
disagreeable. Please don't mention it to any one.
It seems so unwomanly, even under orders."

" Poor little thing ! 1 don't believe anybody
would suspect you of un womanliness," said Sarah,
seating herself and patting the soft cheek. "And
how do things go to-day ? "

" Quite as one might expect — badly," said
Linora, more pitiful than ever, when she tried to
smile. " I had a letter from him to-day — uncle."

" Another ? How often he writes ! "

" He speaks of a widow who is in their party.
He has fallen in with a party abroad. Suppose he
marries her ! "

"Well, suppose he does? You may like her,
and it may make things twice as pleasant for
you."

" Ah, my dear, there is more behind. I could
tell you a reason why he should not marry. There
is insanity in the family." She buried her face in
her wilderness of wraps and sobbed aloud.

"Poor, poor child ! " said Sarah, thinking of the
slight proportions of her own sorrows, in compar
ison with those heaped upon this little creature.

" And that is not all," whispered Linora. " Don't
fear me ; don't shun me afterwards, but — I
dread it for myself ! " Sarah could only put her
arms about her and hold her in motherly fondness.

106 FOOLS OF NATURE.

" That is why my uncle hates me ; because, when
ever I find him in danger of marrying, I feel
obliged to warn the woman in question. He
never would tell her, and how can I see any one
so sacrificed without knowing what she was bind
ing herself to ? "

" But," said Sarah, a sudden thought striking
her, " you were going to marry, yourself." Linora
paused, as if an unforeseen obstacle had presented
itself. But she was ready for the emergency ; no
one was ever quicker-witted than she.

"That was my sin. That was where I was
weak," she cried, in bitter self-reproach. "I
loved him so much that I was ready to deceive
him. Sarah, don't despise me ! " But Sarah
pitied her the more, and spent hours in reading to
her, and soothing her when she seemed in hope
less paroxysms of sorrow.

She, too, had some growing need of Linora, as an
affectionate, clinging creature who frankly owned
dependence on her help. She was more and more
alone, shunning Stephen, as his power of moving
her grew, and shunned by Bernard. He had
fallen into the habit of staying whole days away
from her, coming back at night surly and moody.
Their old companionship was dead, and she grieved
over it. Sometimes she was too hurt by his evil
humors to do more than keep silence, and leave him
to his own ways. Then Bernard was only more

REVELATIONS. 107

bitter, and was sure she was comparing his churl
ishness with Stephen's readiness and grace, —
hating the other man less than he did himself.

In one of these moods of self-torture, he went to
the box of papers where lay the statement of his
birth, written by his second mother. He began
to formulate his reasons for leaving it unread ;
chief among them must have been the feeling that
it could only amount to a weakening of the tie
made only by affection, if the n^ame and locality of
his kindred should assume a practical value in his
mind. Now, when the superfine texture of Ste
phen's manner and beauty mocked him continually,
he was driven back and out of himself to find
further cause for misery. Stephen faced the world
coolly, and looked as if he might do it arrogantly,
with an eye single to his future, knowing the past
contained no stain. Bernard had been trans
planted ; no doubt taken from a soil that grew
only weeds ; and if that were so, it was no wonder
that the rankness and grossness of the weed lay in
his nature. Sarah tapped at his door while he was
unlocking the box. The sound was like the dis
suading whisper of a guardian angel. He stopped
and listened, his finger still on the packet.

"Not now, Sarah; go away!" he called,
harshly, hoping she would insist, but her footsteps
retreated slowly down the stairs. Then he opened
the paper, committed himself to the severe mercies

108 FOOLS OF NATURE.

of truth, and read. There was no attempt at
melodramatic surprise in the document, and there
was need for none. He knew the main fact before,
being ignorant only of name and place.

'' My dear son," his mother wrote. "I thank
you for being so willing to belong to me that you
are not curious as to your natural ties. The year
my little son died, I found you in Freeport, a
country town where I boarded a few weeks. Your
mother did some work for me, and brought you
with her when she took home the clothes. You
were very precocious ; Sarah, who was a month
younger, took a great fancy to you, and I fell in
love with you. Your mother was very poor just
then, and was willing I should take you to educate.
I think she was the more willing because she was
about to marry again, a very respectable mechanic,
who objected to a child not his own. I adopted
you, and she promised not to find you out, when
you had once taken my name. She still lives in
Freeport, I have recently taken the trouble to
ascertain. Her name was formerly Bridget Mac-
Claren, and she married a man by the name of
Mason. They are in good circumstances, and have
a large family of children. I do not think she
needs you, but it is unnecessary to remind you to
consider — though you may not acknowledge —
the ties of blood, if you should ever see an occa
sion of duty for doing so."

REVELATIONS. 109

Bernard dropped the paper, and, in taking it up,
looked curiously at his hand. The white length
of Stephen's fingers ranged itself beside his square
ones.

" Anybody could tell, to look at that," he said
aloud. "A workman's hand, through generations
of ditchers and road-menders." He took the lamp,
and, placing it on the bureau, studied his face in
tently in the glass. It had before only struck
him as not being handsome ; now it classified him.

"Features thick, "he went on relentlessly, every
word stabbing ; " skin coarse, eyes no-colored
and watery. And I dared to dream of marrying
her. Faugh ! " Moved only by pure physical
disgust, he threw himself into a chair, to think it
all out.

" Bridget MacClaren. She must be Irish ; that
accounts for my temperament. So she brought
home the clothes ; that means she was a washer
woman. And I'm not even gentleman enough to
be willing to be a washerwoman's son 1 "

It occurred to him that Stephen — for Stephen
would always now stand opposite himself for a
contrasting type — would have inherited such
chivalry of feeling that he could believe himself
sprung from a muck-heap without losing self-
respect.

"He is too fine to despise anybody," went on
the sharp tongue of his consciousness. " He could

110 FOOLS OF NATURE.

hold up his head anywhere ; he could win his
spurs if they were withheld. I am too coarse not
to despise coarseness."

A beautiful and ideal state of mind arose tempt
ingly before him, — that which counsels one to
condemn no man on account of his birth, and love
no woman better for the fineness she borrows
from station. All the maxims relating to man's
intrinsic worth, and the transitory nature of advan
tages that lie outside himself, passed through his
mind with a monotonous iteration, but he could
not absorb them. He told himself that he could
appreciate them in an intellectual sort of manner,
could see their beauty from an artistic point of
view, finding nothing akin to them in the sponta
neous utterances of his own heart. That blank
feeling of having no part or lot in what his spirit
ual eye saw to be finest, moved him to despair.
No other man, except one with his inherited igno-
bility, would have taken Stephen's intrusion on
his life in just this way. Another lover — and
he shuddered to think how Sarah would shrink
from the word applied to himself — would have
risen to meet his rival in noble and generous
combat, thinking first of the lady's happiness, and,
if he must leave the field, withdrawing in all
courtesy. But he had merely fostered in his
heart a noisome growth of envy and hatred. With
a sudden thought of Sarah, he seized the paper and

REVELATIONS. Ill

ran down to her room, afraid of waiting a second
lest his resolve should fail him. She looked up in
surprise at his wildness.

" Read it ! " he cried, thrusting it into her hands.
" Don't wait an instant or I shall tear it up. The
devil is tempting me ! "

He could not watch her. He felt like imploring
her not to let her voice change when she should
speak. With his eyes covered, his heart beating
a cruel death-march to his hopes, it seemed ages
before she finished, though she had run her eye
over it rapidly.

"Well, dear boy?" with surprise in her voice,
which held also a sweet intonation. He could not
believe his ears : his heart broke its monotonous
time for a suffocating leap into a quicker measure.
"Bernard," said Sarah, her tone all gravity, —
one that would compel an answer, "are you
so fond of me you are sorry you are not my
brother?"

An impetuous answer rose to his lips, to be
choked there.

" If you read such a thing about yourself," said
he, "if you knew your mother — " and then he
stopped.

" I hope I should respect her name because she
was my mother," said the girl, hotly. Whatever
could be construed as a slur on the sacred name
touched a wound.

112 FOOLS OF NATURE.

Bernard's head sank lower. He deserved it ;
but it was hard that she too must recognize the
pettiness of his soul. Still that was not, after all,
the main point. Nothing stood before his rela
tion to her, and the manner in which she would
regard him.

" Do you mean that you wouldn't despise a man
who came from such a family?" he asked, with a
shamefaced resolution. "Now you know all
about me, don't you half wish your mother had
never adopted me? Shan't you treat me differ
ently to-morrow from what you did yesterday ? "

He had an instant to wait for his answer. It
was a ringing laugh that startled him into looking
up.

" You silly child ! " said Sarah, a delicious mirth
about her mouth, and a motherly compassion in
her eyes. "Do you think this is news to me? I
could have told you the facts ten years ago."

Bernard looked at her in blank amazement
before he rushed up to his own room, where he
locked himself in. If that was a precautionary
measure against the betrayal of unmanly weakness,
I am afraid his Irish temperament must be held
responsible for the latter.

CHAPTER VIII.

BURNING HIS BOATS.

SARAH came in from a walk, slow and full of
reflection, to be met in the hall by Miss
Phebe and a smell of camphor.

" I've got to go to Linora," said Miss Phebe, in
passing. " Mr. Mann's been thrown from his horse
and hurt. Go in and see that he don't faint again,
till I come back."

The sickness of sudden calamity came upon
Sarah, blinding and choking" her. Above and
through this purely physical sensation, sounded
like a clear full note of music the consciousness
that Stephen belonged only to her. After that
recognition, she walked steadily to his half-opened
door, expecting to find him shattered, perhaps
unconscious. He was sitting by the fire, his pale
ness the only apparent flag of distress.

"You?" trying to rise, and then giving it up
with an annoyed sense of its awkwardness.
" What is it? What has happened? " he went on,
in some sudden, vague fear, when she did not
answer.

Sarah stood looking at him, her eyes radiant,
her face quivering. Not an impulse rose in her

113

114 FOOLS OF NATURE.

— and this was the most purely impulsive moment
of her life — but one of joy, and honest willing
ness that he and the universe should know its
cause. Indeed, they must, taking the burden
from her own heart by sharing it.

"I thought you must be dead ! " she trembled,
her voice full of musical suggestions. " I don't
care for anything now. I don't care how much
you are hurt ! Oh, you are alive ! "

Stephen sat quite still, but his eyes were like
two living creatures.

"Very much alive," he said dryly. "Do you
want to feel my pulse ? For God's sake ! " he
burst forth, his self-control swept away by the
tide. "Is it so?"

She faced him with an unfaltering look. The
time for blushes had not come. She would take
love like a goddess, not like a coquette.

" That I am yours ? " she said clearly. " Yes !
Then came the instinct of flight, and she turned
to the door.

" Go, dear," said Stephen gently. He had
turned his face from her, and his voice shook.
"Go, I shall come to you."

When Sarah reached her own room, instead
of going through any dramatic yielding to emotion,
she quietly drew off her gloves and hung up her
wraps in unwonted order. Then she sat down by
the grate, and began to shiver. The word had

BURNING HIS BOATS. 115

been spoken, and withdrawal was beyond her
power. Miss Phebe came to ask if she would sit
an hour with Linora. The poor child was so ex
hausted ; the fright of Mr. Mann's accident had
sent her into a fainting fit and then into hysterics.
Sarah was ashamed of herself for a momentary
hardness and disgust. These seemed such trifling
emotions, compared with the real convulsions of
life. She would not sit with Linora ; she could
not bear to see her when she longed to look only
in the face of her own awe and joy.

"I can't, Miss Phebe," she said, desperately.
"I'm — busy."

" Then if you can't, you can't," rejoined Miss
Phebe. "I've got to see about Mr. Mann. He's
only got a million bruises, but he's none too com
fortable."

That evening Sarah refused to go out with Ber
nard, and he jealously sought for a reason. Was
it somehow for Stephen's sake ? — though Stephen,
in his disabled condition, would probably not make
calls. The sharing of his own gnawing discovery
with Sarah had not proved to be of much perma
nent comfort. With the next day, and u look in
the glass, he was again his most jealous and sus
picious self. But, though his own evening was
spoiled through anticipation, he would not intrude
on hers. She would doubtless hate him enough,
even if he refrained from becoming a spy upon

116 FOOLS OF NATURE.

her. So he betook himself to his room, and locked
himself in with his changing moods.

And Sarah was waiting ; her heart giving the
lie to her judgment, and declaring Stephen's com
ing. Presently his knock announced it. He was
there, pale as much with mental disturbance as
physical discomfort. Sarah held the door open,
and when he had come, retreated to the fire-place.

"Shall I sit down?" asked Stephen. "I am
heartily ashamed of behaving like a rheumatic old
lady."

" Oh, please, and in this great chair. Was it
a dreadful hurt?" coming a little nearer in voice.

"No hurt at all, to speak of, and I wonder I'm
so voluble about it. Ridiculous to be faint, wasn't
it ? Perhaps it isn't quite fair to come to you to
night."

"Why?"

"You may pity me. I don't want your kind
ness to spring from that ; I'd rather not be indebt
ed to my bruises."

Sarah stood looking down at the coals, and trac
ing the diamond-shaped pattern of the rug with her
foot.

"Dear, let me speak seriously to you," said
Stephen, his voice shaking out vibrations from her
own heart. " I have been half laughing about it
all these weeks ; it was because I didn't dare to do
anything else, for fear of frightening you. Now

BURNING HIS BOATS. 117

I can tell you everything I meant." He moved a
cricket near her. " Will you take it ? I want to
see how you will look beside my hearth."

At the last sentence, she arrested her movement
to draw it forward, with a sweet contradictoriness.

"Oh," said Stephen beseechingly, "let me have
the comfort ! I've got some hard things to say to
you. The cricket commits you to nothing."
Thereupon she smiled a little proudly, as if assert
ing her continued freedom, and obeyed him, sitting
with her hands clasped over her knees and looking
persistently at the fire.

" I wonder if you will answer me as it is natural
for you to do," he said at last, evidently making
an effort; "truly, not coquetting nor trifling?"

"Yes."

"Then, shall you love me? I don't ask if you
do ; I could not quite believe that. But shall you
sometime ? "

" Not more than now I "

He bent forward quickly, but pulled himself
up.

"Not yet, dearest, don't say it yet ! " he cried.
" How could I let you take it back I "

"Why should I?"

"Because you may hate me instead. Once I
thought I loved another woman." He had turned
away his face, and his lips were ashen.

"Do you care for her now?" asked Sarah,

118 FOOLS OF NATURE.

steadily. His hand framed a quick gesture of dis
gust.

"No, no ! How could you think so poorly of
me? What should I deserve for offering you
this?"

" Then — " began Sarah.

" Not yet. Hear it all and condemn in one
breath. I married her. We were married three
years."

" Were you happy ? "

"I was a fool, but even a fool can suffer
torment."

"Darling ! " said Sarah, softly, a swell of love
and pity urging on her voice. " You said it was
a sweet word."

Stephen turned to look at her. Her face daz
zled him.

" Do you want to hear the miserable story,
dear?"

"No, I shall never want to hear it."

" But sometime you must. You must know all
about me."

" Then let it be afterwards . Bernard will come , "
she added ; "don't tell him, please."

"WTiynot?"

" I don't know, except that he is so strange and
moody of late, and I can't bear to have this one
night spoiled."

" But he is your next of kin."

BURNING HIS BOATS. 119

" No kin at all," said Sarah, laughing. "Hadn't
you guessed that he was an adopted brother? "

"Powers that be!" whistled Stephen. "That
accounts."

" For what, if you please ? "

" For his not seeming fraternal."

" Ah, but he is ! He's very fond of me ; only
he's troubled of late."

Stephen said no more, but thanked his particu
lar divinities that he came in time.

The following days were sweeter for being full
of a hidden joy. Stephen carried the feeling that
he had an appointment at a secret place with one
of whom the world did not know ; but the source
of joy could not lie long concealed. He was too
desirous of her presence, and hung too boldly on
her words and face, ever to feign indifference ; more
over, when there was no good reason for subter
fuge.

Sarah lived in a dream, seeing little of Bernard
and avoiding Linora. She was blinded by the
haze of her own happiness, and did not see the dis
turbance in her brother's manner. The world was
shrouded in mist, through which she beheld the
figures of men dimly, — but before and above her
vision hung the dazzling globe of love, striking
white light from the surrounding veil. She and
Stephen took long walks, their best chance of being
alone together. He talked rapturously, but only

120 FOOLS OF NATURE.

of her, and she was often silent. She had taken
the wonder of love royally, after her first wide
glance of amazement at its shining form. Stand
ing where he placed her, high above him, she dis
pensed her favors with a gracious hand, — bewil-
deringly shy, motherly, and stately, all in one, until
his tongue was well used to swearing there was
no woman like her.

That quick egotism which usually springs to
life in a man, with love, prompting him to dwell on
his past life, even if he scarcely chooses to lay its
incidents bare, was quite absent from Stephen's
mood. He was rather like a man born to life on
a new planet, looking forward with exultant hope,
and spurning memories of the old dark days. Yet
he reminded himself sometimes, with a shiver,
when he was not with her, that a miserable story
was still to be told. To put it off longer would
be cowardice rather than the forgctfulness that
comes with happiness. It would be easier to do
it on the road, her hand in his arm ; so, one night
at the early dusk, he called her to equip herself for
walking.

Sarah was in high spirits, " like a cat when the
wind is rising," she said. It oppressed Stephen.
He had made up his mind at last, and it roused
in him that sickening feeling which comes when
some are talking glibly and others must listen, yet
hear at the same time the insistent inner voice of

BURNING HIS BOATS. 121

a concealed anticipation. They were barely out
side the house when he began.

" I want to tell you about myself to-night."

"How like spring it is ! " said Sarah, not heed
ing him. " Feel the softness in the air, and see
the moon. I can almost hear the little brooks
that come from the melting of the snow. Stephen,
I wish you had had my country life, years and
years, with me."

"I wish to God I had!" broke out the man,
startling her. "Perhaps I might have been some
thing different if I could have been delivered over
to an angel instead of — other people."

" You need not be different for me, dear," said
the girl, serious in an instant. "You are my true
and loyal knight."

"Now, yes. But I must tell you it all. Sarah,
I was once desperately in love with a beautiful
woman. I married her at twenty-one, and was
divorced three years after."

He threw the words out as the skeleton of his
spectre. It would be easier to add details, hav
ing the main, hard facts before him. Sarah had
stopped short, and was looking at him in the
moonlight, her eyes growing wide, and her throat
constricting itself too closely for speech.

" What was it ? Divorced ? "

"Yes, I told you the other night."

" But not that ! "

122 FOOLS OF NATURE.

" I must have. What did I say ? "

" I don't know — I thought she died. But she
did die, — she died afterwards?"

The appeal told its story. Stephen understood
that the spectre had risen between them. He had
believed that the fair white hands could thrust it
aside.

" She is alive," he said, doggedly.

Sarah's steps faltered a little, but she did not
lift her face.

" Only speak to me ! " cried Stephen, at last.
"I'd rather have died myself than hurt you, —
and that means I'd rather have gone to perdition ;
that was where I was going when you stood in the
way."

" Tell me about it, — though it can do no good
now," she said, miserably. Her voice, no matter
what its tone, was like a sudden light through
fog. Stephen hated his work too much to think
of anything else till it should be over.

"I was twenty when I saw her," he began, hur
riedly, " more of a boy than most boys, romantic,
dreaming about music, and in my sophomore year
at college. She was the sister of a fellow who was
ill a long time, and she came to nurse him. I
used to visit him. After she came, I used to take
night after night to watch with him. You will
despise me more than I deserve, when I tell you
why I think I fell in love with her. I know how

BURNING HIS BOATS. 123

you feel about such things, like an angel that was
never human. She was beautiful flesh, enough
to prove an artist's life-long discouragement, with
her tints and outlines. I had the sort of nature
that worships beauty ; I was at the age for falling
in love ; so I took the first material at hand. I
fell in love with her."

" How did she look? " asked Sarah, in a whispei%

" Like a sunset, I always told her. You won't
understand when I tell you that an indescribable
purple always seemed to me to be the tint hanging
about her. Her eyes were a strange blue, and
her hair black, but her skin always seemed to lie
under a veil, like the bloom on a plum. As I
told you, she looked to me like the rosy sunset of
a moist day."

Sarah felt herself at the brink of shivering, and
clenched her hand on her nerves. There was more
pure dramatic interest than jealousy in her ex
citement.

" She was five years older than I, and she was a
coquette to the very marrow. She liked my wor
ship, you may be sure of that. She'd had a good
deal before, but young adoration has a flavor about
it, I have come to think since. She used to come
in to relieve me or bring me a glass of wine, when
I watched with Fred, and look at me across his
bed. When he was delirious, she could make
eyes at me. I saw then that she had no feeling

124 FOOLS OF NATURE.

for anybody but — me, I suppose I thought ! I
knew she hoodwinked me and lied to me. I
heard her lies with my ears, but they made no dif-
feyence with niy heart. I must have been a fine
sort of fellow ! "

" But if you saw she wasn't your ideal," began
Sarah, in her perplexity, " why did you go on lov
ing her ? "

" Because, I suppose, I had no ideal. Yes, I
had. Yes, it is fair to tell you all the good there
is to tell of me. I had. I had all my short life a
woman in my mind made up of all perfections,
whom I should sometime love. But when my
senses said ' she has come,' I tore off the crown
and put it on her head ; and I could not see
straight after that.

" She treated me like a boy ; scolded and flirted
with me, but she said she loved me, and I was in
fatuated. Fred got well and she was going home.
She lived West, fifty miles from what was my own
home then. I remember wondering, when I
found out her birthplace, how such a creature
could have grown up so near me without my hear
ing of her. Somehow I was afraid of losing her,
she seemed so beautiful and my deserts so small.
I' suppose I thought little Skeriton, where she
lived, a sort of Belmont, and that suitors flocked
there night and day. I proposed that she should
marry me, and she consented. I thought it was

BURNING HIS BOATS. 125

because she was an angel, and the gods were in
love with me : afterwards I saw she found my po
sition good and my money an object.

" So we were married secretly, because I was still
in college, and she went back to Skeriton. I saw
her twice a year, on vacations. She forbade my
coming often, though I could always have done so
on my way home ; and I stood back and rever
enced her commands. Now guess, for once, why
she wouldn't allow me to come and see her," said
Stephen, with an unpleasant sort of amusement in
his tone.

"I can't."

"You never would. Your eternal salvation
would be lost if it depended on that. She was en
gaged, and was afraid the other fellow would see
me and ask unpleasant questions."

" I don't understand. How could she be en
gaged?"

" Easily. Why not ? Nobody knew I was her
husband but myself and an old Methodist minister,
and we weren't on the spot."

M But she couldn't marry him."

" Naturally not ; but that didn't detract from the
pleasure of the experience. I don't .suppose she
had debated on consequences. She'd been engaged
to more than one man, I found out afterwards."

"That is very strange," said Sarah, more to her
self than to him.

126 FOOLS OF NATURE.

" One might call it so indeed. But let me open
your ears — which, to be sure, ought to be sacred
temples — to an unclean truth ; it may help you to
understand the kind of ideal, as you say, I had
chosen. There is a variety of woman, as there are
men, with whom a sort of commerce of looks and
small change of caresses is a necessity of life.
Well, when I graduated, it was not with honors,
as it might have been. My mind had been too
much engrossed by writing a poetic epistle daily.
I told my father what I had done, and asked per
mission to take my wife home. I am sorry to say
my father swore and my mother cried. I had no
patience with either of them. I thought they
ought to go down on their knees and be thankful
for what they were about to receive. I was very
obstinate, and they were too fond of me to go
through any such dramatic business as cursing me ;
so the marriage was acknowledged and Dora taken
home. Her relatives were quite as electrified as
mine, though not displeased. My father, being
Judge Mann, was too well known. The young
man to whom she was engaged at the time was
also surprised, I believe !

" I was in a sort of maudlin Elysium. I was to
gtudy law with my father, and tried faithfully, but
the reading did not make its deepest impression on
nie. I was beginning to be uneasy. I should
have been glad enough to spend my time at her

BURNING HIS BOATS. 127

feet if that would have made her contented, but
it did not. She wanted to be taken into society,
wanted me to spend a winter in Washington or
New York and read law there. I refused flatly.
I had an instinctive jealousy, such as would sicken
a loyal wife. I did not dare, somehow, to trust
her with people more worthy her liking than I. I
suppose I told myself that it was because she was
such a gem that everybody must covet her. Per
haps if I had let her have her own way, the end
might not have come so soon. She was dull
enough in our dull town, and finally her old lover
nioved there. By the way, I knew that story of
the previous engagement ; Fred divulged it one
day when he was angry with her ; but she told me
it was a lie, and I believed her. The lover had
struck silver in a mine near town, and it had filled
his pockets fuller in a week than mine would be
in ten years, if I doubled my father's business.

" One fine morning she walked away with him,
leaving a note telling me where to express her
clothes."

A strange revulsion was coming about in Sarah's
mind. She was too oppressed with pity for the
boy to remember her own relation to the man. It
seemed impossible to live unless she could restore
his betrayed trust, lead him back to his boyish
love to find her pure, and say, " It was a bad
dream ; wake and behold everything you imagined."

128 FOOLS OF NATURE.

"My father and mother were very good to me,"
said Stephen, gravely. " They had reason for say
ing, ' I told you so,' and for being glad I had
come to the end. Everybody had seen what she •
was, but everybody had been forbearing for my
sake. Through my father's influence I got a
divorce as soon as possible, without much publi
city. Then I came East.'''

" And how long did you care for her ? " asked
Sarah, in a whisper. Stephen turned upon her in
amazement.

" Care for her ? Never one instant after I really
knew her. Do you think a man could stay on his
knees to carrion after he was sickened by it, even
if his senses had been once so vilely ordered as to
love it? That was partly why I had the divorce,
because I could not bear having the least connec
tion left between us. Then, too, I thought it
would be better for her to feel she had some sort
of sanction."

" Have you ever seen her ? "

"Not once. I see her name in the papers some
times. She has left that man, and joined a troupe
of travelling comedians. Once I was in the town
where they played a night. You can imagine I
didn't go to see them."

" Is there anything more ? " asked Sarah, with
sick apprehension that there might be new kor-
rors.

BURNING HIS BOATS. 129

" No, nothing so pleasantly dramatic ; only that I
didn't study law after all. My heart wasn't in it, or
in anything. I gave up music, too ; I felt that I
had lost my chance in life. Father had this man
ufacturing interest here in Boston, and when he
died — mother had died the year before — I took
charge of the factory."

They had come round the great square that had
become a familiar walk, and were again before
Miss Phebe's door. Stephen followed, when Sarah
went into her room. She turned on the gas, and
as the light fell on her slight figure and pale, work
ing face, his eyes came back to her with a kind of
amazement. Then he fell on his knees before her.

"I had .almost forgotten my heaven," he cried,
brokenly, "I had gone so far back into hell.
Yes, hear the rest of the story ; oh, let me tell it
here ! When I was tired of life and had only base
ness and my own base responses to remember, I
saw you. Every dream I ever had, every worship
ping thought of a woman's nature, confronted me.
I was dazzled by your radiance. Not my senses,
dear ; my heart and soul knelt there, and — God,
I will deserve her ! "

Sarah bent over him with slow, bitter weeping
that pitifully contracted her face. In the cry of
his vow to heaven, Stephen had lifted his face, as
full of hope as hers of misery.

" O dearest, no ! " he cried, starting to his feet to

130 FOOLS OF NATURE.

dry her tears. "You must not cry for me. It
was worth it, if I must have gone through even
that, to be able to love you when I found you ;
or — " with breathless suspicion — " are you crying
for lost faith in me ? You think me too stained to
be lifted by such hands ! "

" No, no, no ! " cried she, hushing herself. " No,
you have only suffered, not sinned — never that.
You were 'deceived ; you could not do wrong."

"It is all right, then ! " asked Stephen, still un
satisfied. " You love me ? "

WI love you more," she said, sorrowfully. " Go
now."

Sne kissed his forehead, and softly touched the
bright hair above it with her hand. It was like a
blessing, and he could not ask for a more lover-
like good-night.

CHAPTEK IX.

A HIGHER COURT.

TTALF that night Sarah sat by the fire, facing
-*--•- her problem. In the one moment of
realizing Stephen's disclosure, a fatal denial had
branded itself into the living flesh of her heart.
It burned there now. Stephen's wife was alive ;
iio human law could part the two so irrevocably
that either would have a right to form new ties.
She had no jealousy of the other woman ; her
falsity seemed to debar her from Stephen's life
as entirely as it would have done from Sarah's
own. In her pure young love of the highest, she
could imagine no longing for a beautiful dream
when a waking moment had pronounced the out
lines distorted, and transformed the bewitching
haze into poisonous vapor. As it happened, she
was right. Stephen had nothing but repugnance
for his past, a repugnance that was tainting his
life till he found a star in his low sky. She felt
a deep compassion for him, — nothing yet for her
self. She was young and strong, fresh from her
mother's side, new to trouble and able to bear it.
He was jaded and worn ; he needed sunshine
rather than continued struggling through mists.

131

132 FOOLS OF NATURE.

The wisdom quickly born of love taught her
this. A motherly instinct of sparing him had
kept her that night from outward decision. The
next day it must come. Then, when his low tap
came at her door, she called a good-morning and
said he must excuse her for not appearing at
breakfast. She had risen late ; she might be away
at noon ; he need not come home with the hope of
seeing her.

"You are well, dear?" came his voice, the last
word in a whisper.

"Quite well," she said, clearly. So Stephen
had a few more hours of confidence.

Sarah entered upon a busy day, almost solemnly.
Did any one ever pledge himself to a great renun
ciation or purpose without a new sense of conse
cration to all other duties ? She ran up to Linora's
room, finding that excitable young woman in a
fever of discovery.

"I have found the most wonderful medium,"
she said, impressively. "You really must see
him. He is controlled by an old lady, and she
told me all sorts of things about what has hap
pened to me."

" Don't go again, dear," said Sarah. All the
world seemed younger than herself just now.
She wanted to protect it, and save it from further
danger of fall. " I don't believe it's good for any
body."

A HIGHER COURT. 133

M But I must investigate," cried Linora, rising
from her nest of pillows and looking, with her
hair rumpled, like a little goblin. " I don't care
so much for my private affairs — nobody can help
them much — " with the old dropping of her lids,
"but I feel it my mission to investigate. Miss
Phebe," she called, as that lady went past her
door, bearing rattling impedimenta of coal-scuttle
and dust-pan. "Just a minute! Won't you go
with me to see a medium?"

Miss Phebe, her head temporarily swaddled in
a red handkerchief, the insignia of sweeping,
smiled grimly. She always did smile at Linora,
regarding her pranks with much the same indul
gence due to a kitten's whisking of tail. "I'd
rather go to a good play."

"But, Miss Phebe, if you went once you'd go
again."

" Fiddle-dee-dee ! " said Miss Phebe, withdraw
ing the length of her countenance.

" The Bible says the witch of Endor — " called
Linora.

" The Bible speaks of answering folks accord
ing to their folly," came tartly , with an undercurrent
of amusement at the cleverness involved in her
repartee ; and the coal-scuttle and dust-pan moved
on.

"I should think your brother might be inter
ested," said Linora, when they turned to each

134 FOOLS OF NATURE.

other, with a smile over Miss Phebe's memory.
" Ho seems to have a very nervous, impressible
nature."

"Poor Bernard, yes," said Sarah, with a sigh
for his recent strange moods. " But don't ask him.
I think it would be worse for him than for any one
I know. But, Linora, why do you try to draw
your friends into the belief? Is it from a mission
ary spirit ? "

"Partly," said Linora; then, with a childish
frankness, " Not altogether, either. Half of it is
selfishness. You know I was brought up to think
a chaperone one of the necessities of life. Now
here in this democratic Boston, girls as young as
I am seem to go about alone, and so I try to
make myself. But it is a comfort to have some
one with me, even if it is not an older person."

"Very well, dear. I'll go anywhere with you."

" Go to Professor Leonard's ? I shall go, in any
case," with a quick leap at her own purpose.

"If you are determined to go, I'll walk there
with you and wait till you see him. Not to-day,
though. Now I must find Bernard."

He proved to be in his own room, ready to go
out. A portfolio of blank paper under his arm
indicated the library.

"O Bernard," said Sarah, eagerly, "let me
go with you. How I should like to spend a long
day with you and a book ! "

A HIGHER COURT. 135

"You'll disturb me," he said roughly, though he
wanted her more than anything in the world.

" Disturb you ? I never do ; I'm not a child ! "

"I can work better alone," pulling his sleeve
away from her hand.

" Bernard, what is it, lately? " asked Sarah, with
the patience of wounded affection. " You are so
changed. You never spend your evenings with
me — '

"Arc you lonely, then?" he sneered.

A quick blush stained her face, as memory
threw before "her eyes the record of happy hours.

" No, I have been very happy," she said. " But,
Bernard, I care for you ; I miss you," she added
softly, seeking to heal whatever wound he had.
"Don't be so unjust ; you are not generous."

He looked at her, with his face contracting.

" You see it in me too ? You are right ; I've
got in me every vile trait a man ever had. Don't
speak to me again. Don't come near me ! "

He ran down stairs, and left her to follow in
sore bewilderment. But she put thought of him
aside. There would be time enough later to make
things right there ; the coming moments must hold
her good-by to Stephen. He came that evening,
boyish, radiant. Now she knew him as he was, and
did not love him less. He was ready for the fut
ure ; the past had received its cancelling stroke.
He held out his arms ; she must fly to him, sharing

136 FOOLS OF NATURE.

his fulness of joy. But she shook her head with an
effort at smiling. Her shyness disappointed him.

"Well," he said, with his habitual shrug of
the shoulders, "must I beg my way? "

"No," said Sarah, trying to speak lightly, but
feeling her heart die within her. It was going to
be harder than she thought. " Sit down, please.
I want to tell you something."

Stephen began to look at her searchingly. She
felt her limbs trembling. Her mouth seemed to
stiffen, and her teeth chattered with cold.

" Did you ever think — "

"Dear, if it's something hard to say, why not
say it here ? " He held out his arms again, but
Sarah shook her head and turned her eyes from
his. The gas-lamp opposite was being lighted ;
it flamed up as he spoke.

"Did you ever think," she went on, still frozen,
"that, the woman being alive, you had no right to
marry ? "

All Stephen's jubilance died down like a fire
suddenly extinguished. So he must face the old
spectre once more ! Now it had become more hor
rible, — a ghoul, with malicious eyes.

"No, the law gave me full liberty to do so. I
have always known that, though I never expected
to use it."

" Did you ever think that the law had no power
to give you liberty ? "

A HIGHER COURT. 137

"Do you mean," he asked, in a hard voice,
" do you mean you will not marry me ? "

"Not while she lives," she said, in a whisper.

The silence was so long that Sarah felt it might
be broken by a shriek from her own lips. Then
she durcd turn to him. Stephen was looking into
vacancy, his face haggard and old.

" God ! isn't it a little too hard ? " he said qui
etly. " Do you punish crimes as you punish me
for being a fool?"

" Oh, I know how your throat feels ! " cried
Sarah, childishly, at the sound of his voice. "It's
dreadful, isn't it?"

She moved swiftly towards him and stood by his
side, her beautiful eyes full of compassion. Ste
phen slowly raised his own to them ; they gathered
flame. He put his hand on her wrist and held it
firmly.

" Is it your personal feeling for me ? " he said,
searching her face with eyes that must have com
pelled the truth. "Are you changed? Is it
disgust?"

"Oh, no, no, no!" she cried, quickly, with a
momentary impulse towards him. " I love you.
You are everything to me ! It is God's law."

The change that swept over his face was like the
light and shade from flying summer clouds. Now
there was light.

" To the winds with your silly scruples ! You

138 FOOLS OF NATURE.

are mine ; I will never give you up ! " He had
drawn her into his arms, his heart beating in tri
umphant mockery of her fallen resolutions. A
sense of despair seized her. She must yield, she
felt, only to repent to-morrow.

"You hurt my wrist," she whispered, with a
feminine instinct as to her choice of weapons. He
was still holding it with all the energy of pain.
She was released, and the red, bruised flesh cov
ered with kisses.

"Darling, how can you love a brute? You will
never forgive me this, even if you can forgive me
for loving you ! "

Sarah drew her hand away and retreated to the
hearth. There were the two chairs where they had
so often sat like married lovers and dreamed of
an assured future.

"Come and sit here, please. Now let us be
serious, — and quiet. Stephen, it may be right
for you to marry, if you feel it so, but it is not
right for me."

" Has the law pretended to free me, and left me
bound?"

" I think it has only freed you from present un-
bappiness. It hasn't given you a right to choose
new ways of happiness."

" Then the law, according to your idea, is an
infallible vengeance, not reformatory in the least? "

" I don't know what you mean. Don't be bitter.

A HIGHER COURT. 139

Stephen, not yet ; it is so much easier to talk if
you are not." He bent forward and touched her
hand softly.

" I'll try not, dear. Go on."

"I have only this one thing to say over and
over. When you were married, your promise
was made for life."

A flush rose to his face, — a savage shame at
what he had to remember.

"Sarah, you must hear hard facts. Do you
realize that when the woman went from my house
to another man's arms, the promise was broken?"

" For her, not for you."

" You are a strange physician," he said, bitterly.
" You think my moral health would have been im
proved if I had carried about with me this eating
sore."

" No, not that. You were free. It would have
been horrible to live together after that. But a
new marriage would have no sacredness."

" Not even with you ? " He was only the lover
now, adoring but conquering. She feared her
own strength, set face to face with his charm.

"Not even with me," she said, steadily. "I
should only be your mistress."

" God forbid ! " said Stephen, rising and walk
ing to the window. "Your purity shall never
feel itself sullied by me."

To be protected was too much, after standing

140 FOOLS OF NATURE.

BO wearily alone. She fell into soft weeping. He
came back to stand before her. He was armed
with reason this time, not persuasion.

"Don't cry, dearest, don't cry. Nothing is
worth one of your tears. Listen. In this world
everything is so full of contrariety and we are
such weak fools, that it is almost impossible
to get along without mistakes. You don't believe
in eternal punishment hereafter, — why do you
insist on life-long punishment here ? "

"I don't. But happiness isn't all."

"No, but in this case it is not my happiness
alone that is in question. It is my good, my one
chance of life. Sarah, you know well enough what
I was when I found you, — sneering at pretences
of good, unbelieving, forsaken of ideals. You
know what will surely happen if you marry me.
I shall live as I never have — as I only dreamed it
was possible to live, when I was a boy."

He had meant to meet her argument for argu
ment, but his heart would make itself heard in
defiance of resolutions.

Sarah could only repeat wearily, " It would be
no marriage."

M Dear, there have been a few high souls who
were not afraid to choose for themselves. If you
think it would be no marriage, still come, and be
everything to me."

"I cannot ! I cannot ! " she repeated, the word

A HIGHER COURT. 141

ending in a cry. She could only belie her heart,
that had lost all voice but one of pleading in his
cause.

" Shall I take off the little ring? " asked Stephen.
In his dying hope, he caught desparingly at what
ever trifle might move her. Sarah looked at it on
the hand that lay in her lap. The moment of his
putting it on, his joy in the symbol, flashed upon
her and roused her.

" Oh, no, not you ! " she cried, longing to save
him pain. "Let me do it. It will be easier."

Stephen stayed her other hand as it came to do
his work. He bent on one knee to look at the
stone.

" See, princess ! " he whispered. " See how it
burns ! "

In the shadow of her dress, the opal was like
flame, — a heart of fire in a shimmering sea of
green and violet and milk.

.. "Take it for an omen. It means nothing but
love."

The mighty bond of nature which lies between the
man and woman tightened, like an invisible chain;
Their eyes met. Some blinding consciousness
came to her that in another moment her lips would
passively confess surrender. The saving, valiant
right hand did its work, snatched off the ring
and held it, while she rose and looked at him,
trembling. Stephen rose too, flushed with an

142 FOOLS OF NATURE.

adoring admiration, too much in love with her for
pain.

" The spirit of all the Romans was nothing to
yours ! " he said, between his teeth. " My darling,
do as you will. Make me serve all my life, wheth
er you are mine or not."

" Then go ; I am so tired ! " she said, brokenly.

It was best, he saw. He could only excite her
now ; he bent to kiss the little hand that held the
mantel, and was gonet The ring lay still clenched
in her palm. She looked at it, when she was
alone, as her heart had begged her to look at him,
kissed it good-night, and slept with it under her
pillow.

Though she could tell no one, and could scarcely
conceive of asking even her mother for help, had
she been there, Sarah's greatest grief for herself
lay in the fact that she must be entirely alone.
Stephen was thenceforth to be resisted as her ene
my. There was needed some one who, by a com
forting and ennobling presence, could hold her up
to the demands of her best self. She could not
turn to Bernard ; he was too hopelessly changed.

Bernard, too, longed for companionship; his
days were growing sadly lonely, though the lone
liness was the result of his own caprice. But the
consequences of one's deeds are no pleasanter for
coining logically. A little obliquity in cause and
effect would be far more palatable. Bernard re-

A HIGHER COURT. 143

fleeted, with a morbid self-pity, that there was no
one in the world to whom he could turn for eom-
panionship. Stephen he hated ; his easy good-
humor was but patronage. With Linora he had
always been at sword's points, feeling sure she rid
iculed him. That was true, though her jesting
was merry enough to pass unchallenged before a
less critical judgment. Only Bernard knew how
it stung. The uncouthness that shrouded his set
of tingling nerves was very ridiculous to Linora.
He reminded her of some strange animal, and she
was always privately trying to guess what it might
be. It amused her better to ilay him, bit by bit,
with satire, than to win him over to her set of ad
herents.

"You should sing, Mr. Ellis," she said once,
innocently. Her shots were always despatched
when some one was by, before whom they could
be delivered without fear of too blunt retaliation.
"You look so musical."

Bernard writhed and trembled, while Sarah won
dered at his disturbance.

" You arc right, Miss Gale, though I don't know
that you are aware of it," said Stephen, coining to
the rescue. "Ellis has a musical face. He has
sometimes a turn of expression which suggests
the great composers." And though Stephen was
honest, Bernard set him down as gibing with the

144 FOOLS OF NATURE.

rest. All the world would soon be ready to mock
at him.

Sarah had been won by Stephen ; Bernard was
sure of that. He had hated her for not telling him,
if it were so, and shrank back shivering at the fear
that she would. And while he wept and prayed
by himself for even her toleration, — not her love,
— he met every advance she made with roughness.
Through all his moods beat, like the throbbing of
a wound, the consciousness that he was not akin
to the pure-minded ; that his soul was indelibly
stamped from birth with some stain that impressed
it through and through.

CHAPTER X.

NEWS FROM COVENTRY.

OTEPHEN had only retired from the field, confi-
^ dent that on his side no surrender was possible.
Sarah's denial represented nothing more than an
illogical scruple, to be overcome by persuasion of
love or reason. Able to estimate very fairly the
amount of suffering meted out to him from his un
lucky past, he decidedly refused further retribu
tion ; and what, but a voluntary sacrifice to Neme
sis, would be the withdrawal of his suit? He
loved Sarah the more for her decision ; it stood as
proof of her pure adherence to an immaculate
standard of right, though he confidently foresaw,
in the growth of her heart, the promise of a higher
revelation. When that should come, as it must
speedily, he having access to her ear, she would
choose with him the mountain-tops of exaltation,
leaving these cold valleys where prevailed only a
meaningless rigor of law. Their future should
win from her many a smile over the childish scru
ples of her past.

If he could have known how his arguments had
shaken her he would have grown more hopeful still.
Sarah remained by no means convinced of having

146

146 FOOLS OF NATURE.

done right. She had religiously adhered to her
preconceived theories, but did those theories rep
resent the highest wisdom ? Might not great love
give an insight of its own, transcending every
thing learned of tradition ? She could but remem
ber the great cases, destined always to be cited in
morals, wherein the highest course has proved that
of transgression, the choice of a liberty which has
become in its turn law. Might not her own prob
lem be of the color of these ?

She had been moved by no argument or per
suasion as by his picture of the barrenness of his
life without her. She felt its perfect truth. In
this short period of their courtship she had some
times trembled before his reverence of her nature
and its demands. Whenever that had arisen
which required the pure heart and keen vision
which make and uphold moral decisions, he had
always virtually retired, leaving her the field as
one whose paths were familiar to her tread. That
he by no means bowed to her judgment in this
last case, shook her own belief in herself. Stephen
must be absolutely confident on his side of the
question. Could he be so without some measure
of right on his side ?

The next night he came again, at his usual time,
apparently neither perplexed nor troubled.

"I know you have reconsidered » dear," }ie saM->
with a smile.

NEWS FROM COVENTRY. 147

Sarah shook her head.

"Not thought it over? I have, and I can't give
you up."

The same battle was to be fought over again ;
she trembled with anticipation.

" If you could tell me your respect or love had
waned, that you could not forgive rue for being such
a poor fool, I would leave you at once. Is it so ? "

" No."

" Then I can make you happy. Moreover, I
will."

A confident lover could be better withstood than
one despairing. Her spirit rose to meet his chal
lenge.

" You never shall ! "

Stephen's eyes flashed ominously.

" You cannot rid yourself of me so long as you
confess you love me. I will not go. I have no pride
where you are concerned ; I have no chivalry,
cither. As to the last, you will be far happier if I
stay with you and make you miserable, than if I
obey you and go."

It was true. She felt it and flushed consciously,
though her head was still high with pride.

"You are very beautiful ! " said Stephen, in low-
toned admiration. "You are more like a splendid
young horse than anything. Toss your head, dear
creature ! You shall never be tamed, though you
shall love your master."

148 FOOLS OF NATURE.

It was becoming an encounter of lovers' wits.
The great question was falling far behind. Sarah
felt that, and bravely dragged it to the front
again.

" Stephen, all this is not to the purpose. You
have no right to admire me or — caress me, when
I take away the right."

"I have my soul to save as well as you, fair
saint. You are my heaven ; I shall not give you
up."

" But I have given you up. Our paths are dif
ferent."

" Truly ? Then one of us must forsake his own
road, for we go together."

She was not of less inflammable matter than he.

"I refuse to marry you! You are rejected.
Are you so little of a gentleman as to stay ? "

"Just that. I am your slave ; you can't trans
mute base blood into noble."

" Stephen, go ! " she cried at last, humbling her
self to appeal. " Only go to-night. I must
think."

"Will you leave your door open while I play?"

" Yes, anything — only go."

That approach to her ear was well chosen, for
Sarah must take her place among the untaught
worshippers of music. Her face covered by her
hands, she listened, and was moved, as he was
praying that she should be. The appeal and an-

NEWS FROM COVENTRY. 149

guish, the supplication of minor chords, she could
withstand ; but not the flowing of the melody his
fingers presently wove, that was like an endless
marriage-song of joy. Jubilant at first, full of
ecstasy at its triumph, it led into mazes of sweet
wandering through the green fields of wedded con
tent. It stopped on a hasty chord, and he was
hurrying down to her. She could deny him no
longer, but she could not decide in hot blood, —
and Stephen found the door closed and silence
within.

After this, she scarcely saw him for a week.
She knew him too well to hope he had taken
her at her word. The battle between the two
wills must be renewed, and she must somehow
gain strength and confidence. For every day her
consciousness grew that there were two balancing
sides to her question, and she wondered more and
more if the spirit of her love might not be fuller
of divine life than the letter of her belief.

During this time Linora was beseeching her to
visit Professor Leonard. Linora herself went al
most daily, now, to one medium or another ; and
though Sarah still reasoned and pleaded against
such mistaken zeal, she was conscious that the
subject had aroused a vivid curiosity in her own
mind. In consequence, she one day agreed to
witness an interview with the man of magic, —
this to Linora's great delight. But with their

150 FOOLS OF NATURE.

entrance into the medium's little waiting-room her
courage failed, or her disgust arose, and she re
fused to go further. Linora was injured, indignant,
and coaxing to no purpose ; if she would keep her
appointment, it could only be by leaving Sarah
without, as she presently realized.

An old man was turning over the album in the
waiting-room, — Uncle Ben himself. He had come
up that morning, and had not yet announced his
arrival to Leonard. He meant to take his turn
and go in after Linora, standing hidden in the
shadow of the curtain, when the latter was
beckoned in.

" You goin' to have a sittin' after your friend ? "
he began, when Sarah put down her newspaper.
She looked up to catch his sunny smile, and trust
him immediately.

" No, I am only waiting for her."

" Oh, yes, yes ! Well, young folks don't have
so much call to get comfort from them that's on
the other side as some of us do. But I like to
have the young believers. They can help on the
cause better than we can."

Sarah's interest rose. "I see you believe," she
said, smiling.

" Yes, anybody could see it, I hope. I mean to
speak a good word for it everywhere I can. It's
meat an' drink to me."

" I wish you could tell me something about it,"

NEWS FROM COVENTRY. 151

she began, hesitating between a sudden loving
interest in him, and a fear of encroaching. " It is
quite new to me."

"I see, I see; there's a good many so," said
Uncle Ben, nodding. "Never lost anybody, I
s'pose, an' don't feel the drawin' we do, that have
folks on the other side ? "

The quick tears sprang to her eyes.

" There, there I anybody but me'd have known
bctter'n that ! " said Uncle Ben, in distress, hastily
removing his hat from the floor to a table, as a
delicate excuse for looking away from her.

" You needn't be sorry for speaking," said Sarah,
at once. " My mother died last year. My father
is dead, too, but I can't remember him."

"Pretty hard! pretty hard !" said Uncle Ben,
" unless you can have a word from 'em now and
then. I al'ays think, too, how hard it must seem
to the young to wait, with so many years afore
'em, an' we almost through."

" But it's a beautiful world," said Sarah, quickly.
It was always a point of honor with her to uphold
the praises of her birthplace.

"Yes, yes, that's so. I like to hear the new
generation say that. It shows they'll make the
most of their privileges, an' they've got a good
deal to answer for. Now I hope you remember
to think what a privilege 'tis to be sound in wind
an' limb?"

152 FOOLS OF NATURE.

Sarah laughed. "Perhaps; not often, though,
I'm afraid ; but I enjoy my strength."

" That's so ; that's just it ;" nodding to her over
his stout cane. " You don't have to think about
your hearin', nor your eyesight, nor your sciatic
nerve. I often think if I could go out mo win'
an' feel gallons of blood goin' like coach-horses
through my veins, as I used to, I should be some
good in the world. All I can do now is to have
faith an' believe."

" That is a great deal, I think," said Sarah, shyly ;
"a very great thing to do,"

"Well, well, we must all be contented with our
powers," said Uncle Ben, the smile coming back,
to wrinkle his face into sunny ridges. " Some are
made prophets, and some of us can't be anything
but sort of underwitted bein's, clingin' to the hand
that feeds us. But now about spiritualism ; if you
should ever feel a drawin' towards it, you'll find the
medium in there can tell you things worth hearin'."

"Is he a good medium ?" asked Sarah, chiefly
from the desire of leading him on.

" I've known him ever since he was a boy and
had just begun to develop. He's got great
powers, an' he's gentle an' tender an' honest in his
heart. Oh, you can trust him ! I al'ays feel
bound to think o' that, too, in a medium ; there's
just as much lyin' an' cheatin' in this as there is in
any faith. Even religion ain't free from it."

NEWS FROM COVENTRY. 153

Linora presently appeared, and Sarah bade her
new friend good-by, offering him her hand, with
a sudden impulse of reverence. As they were on
their way down stairs she heard him calling, and
going back, found him hurrying to meet her.

"I was most afraid I shouldn't overtake you,"
said he. " There's one thing I ought to ha' said.
I told you where to go if you should feel any
drawin' towards spiritualism ; but if you shouldn't
come to be interested in it nat'rally, I wouldn't
force it. Some are ready for it an' some ain't ! I
wouldn't force it."

" If your Professor Leonard were like that dear
old man, Linora," said Sarah, as they walked
away, "I might be willing to make him my con
fessor. Did you notice the sweetness of his ex
pression ? And he is wise."

" Would you truly go ? " said Linora, her eyes
beginning to dance. " Well, they're very much
alike. Professor Leonard is a dear old gentle
man."

" Old ! I thought you said he was young."

" You're thinking of the young man who showed
me in. Professor Leonard is white-haired and
venerable. Now I hold you to your word."

Uncle Ben had gone back and succeeded in sur
prising Leonard. It warmed his heart to find the
boy so fond of him, and so unspoiled by pros
perity.

154 FOOLS OF NATURE.

"But we'd better get to business, Lenny," he
said, interrupting an avalanche of questions about
the farm. "You must give me a sittin' this time.
We've got to see trouble, Lenny, you an' me, I'm
afraid. Maria ain't well."

" Aunt Maria ! How long's she been sick ? "

" She's up an' around this mornin', but she's had
a pretty ill turn. When I come in from the barn
day 'fore yesterday, she was on the lounge an'
couldn't move nor speak."

"What was it?"

"Her heart. She had to tell me all about it
then, though she was a good deal put out with
herself for lettin' me know. She's had the spells
nigh onto two year, an' ain't told nobody but
Lomie, an' wouldn't ha' told her if Lomie hadn't
found her in one an' promised to keep it from me."

" O Uncle Ben ! " cried Leonard, his eyes full
of great tears ; " what are we going to do ? "

"Lenny, boy, we shall have to do exactly as the
good Lord says," said the old man, patting his
shoulder and smiling at him. "Just exactly. It
ain't been easy for me to be reconciled. For two
nights, I've been almost questionin' the Lord, an'
wonderin' how, if 'twas to be, I could give Maria
up. An' then somethin' says to me, 'You selfish
old creatur', when you ain't got a day to live your
self, here you are grudgin' your girl goin' to find
out her home afore you.' Then I give up."

NEWS FROM COVENTRY. 155

" Will she die right away ? " asked Len.

"I don't think it's likely," said the old man.
" She's had the spells two years, but they've been
comin' on faster for a couple o' months, so Lomie
says. An' she may be here longer'n any of us,
an' she may go 'most any time. Now, Lenny, I want
to have a sittin', an' have you ask if there ain't
somethin' can be done for her."

" Oh, get a doctor ! Don't stop for sittings ! "

" Lenny, don't speak so. You're young, an' you
ain't reverent, sometimes. No, set down an* see
if the influences won't come."

Leonard yielded with a sigh, and led the way
into the inner room. Then he closed his eyes,
and seemed to fall at once into an abnormal
state.

"The old lady's here," he said, in a voice not
quite his natural one.

" Aunt Peggy ! Yes, go on ! "

"She puts her hand on her side as if she had
pain there."

"Yes, she takes on Maria's conditions. Now
what does she say we shall do ? "

Leonard's face gathered an expression of gen
uine misery, until he burst forth, —

" She doesn't say anything, only keeps her hand
on her side. She don't say a word."

"Try, Lenny, try ; be patient," said Uncle Ben,
an extremity of impatience in his own voice.

156 FOOLS OF NATURE.

The door opened softly, and Biker walked in,
his eyes closed, his hands tightly clenched.

"This medium is under control of those who
have most interest in you," he began monoto
nously. " The other medium is tired ; listen to
this one."

" Thank the Lord ! " said Uncle Ben fervently.
"I knew they would have something for me."

So Leonard opened his eyes and listened, while
Biker went on.

" Me big Injun — medicine man," he said guttur-
ally. " Squaw much sick ; me make her live
many moons more. Me put hand on heart and
stroke it. Squaw not get well, but live many
moons."

"That's good news," said Uncle Ben. "You'll
be with her, won't you? An' ain't there some
thing we can do for her ? "

" No — what you call it ? — excitement. Not let
her see folks she would be much glad or much
sorry to see. Don't let young brave here," put
ting his hand on Len's knee, " not let him go there
yet. She be too heap glad."

"Oh," cried Len, in a sorrow long drawn out,
"I wanted to go down right away."

"Brave not go yet, — go sometime. Now we
want to send medium out on smoking steam horse,
to give big talk." Biker came to himself with a
start, and opened blank eyes on the two tearful

NEWS FROM COVENTRY. 157

people before him. " Ah ! I've either pleased or
troubled you," he smiled. "Dear Uncle Ben,
how glad I am to see you ! "

"The Lord forever bless you, sir!" returned
the old man, fervently. "I wish I could do one
quarter as much for you as you have done for me
an' mine."

And before he left, he had decreased the obliga
tion by fifty dollars.

CHAPTER XI.

A VERDICT.

TTE who hesitates is lost, says the proverb. He
-*—*- who looks too closely on both sides of a
question sees himself in danger of offending the
truth on either. When Stephen came in for his
next evening with Sarah, it was with softened and
graver air. He was no longer disposed to take
her audaciously by storm. Further waiting had
placed her scruples in a light which made him
shrink with fear lest they might indeed prove irre
vocable.

" You know why I have come ? " he said, smil
ing faintly.

" Yes, to ask if I have any further light. I have,
Stephen, but it confuses me the more. I see so
much reason on your side."

His heart leaped, though a generous impulse
checked the coming jubilance of word. She should
take her own course. Yet, so deserving of victory
did his arguments seem, that over-persuasion had
begun to assume the guise of charity.

"In the first place, I know you would never ask
me to do what you thought wrong," she said, lift
ing her innocent eyes to his.

158

A VERDICT. 159

"I hope not."

" And your standard of right is likely to be quite
as high as mine ; higher, since you know more."

"No, you are wrong there1," said Stephen, hon
estly. "My intuitions as to fine questions are
smoke compared with yours. I can plod along
very well in every-day life, but as to very ideal
aspirations, I am a beast of the field."

" Don't say such things, Stephen. Now I sup
pose, in the sight of God, you are free."

" I hope so ; I've done my best to become so."

" And it seems only just that you should be al
lowed to choose a new life after shaking off the
old."

" I agree with you."

"But, after all is said, marriage ought to last till
death, — the sacredness of having one wife or one
husband," she cried, piteously, " that is the only
right thing."

Stephen was silent, debating within himself.
Then he said, gently, " Sarah, in all your thinking,
have you thoroughly considered the cause of my
divorce ? Not incompatibility, you know ; no
sentimental reason, but the old sin, the one that
snaps a marriage bond like rotten thread."

Sarah's face flushed painfully. " I know," she
said ; "I have thought."

" Dear, laws are for the protection of society.
The law allows me to marry without reproach to

160 FOOLS OF NATURE.

myself or danger of injuring other people. And
you know there is a law of human development ;
we must cast off old fetters and take on new hab
its. You are going to refuse me that privilege."

"No, oh, no, but something — not my heart or
reason — denies every word you say. Stephen,
give me a little time to think, and don't come near
me till it is over."

"Have it as you please, dear," said Stephen,
rising to go, and touching her hand softly. But
he knew well that if she decided against him, he
should return to the siege, and that with a more
desperate courage than before.

The outward actions of life lost their savor with
the girl. She scarcely knew what she ate or when
she slept. All action seemed concentrated with
in ; her brain had become a whirling maze of what
might prove sophistry or truth. She could no
longer distinguish between the two. Bernard eyed
her jealously, and saw her less and less often. But
Linora grew violently curious, her fertile little
mind suggesting Stephen as the moving cause of
disturbance. He had been constantly with Sarah
of late ; now they met less often, and Sarah was
growing ghostly every day.

" Ah, dear, if you had only taken my warning ! "
Linora said to her in her softest, saddest tones.
" I told you he was fickle."

A VERDICT. 161

"Who?"

" You know, — Stephen Mann. Why should you
mind talking it over with ine?" Annoyed as
Sarah was, her bright sense of humor flashed
up.

"Linora, what a sentimental goose you are!
Mr. Mann and I have not quarrelled."

"No, very likely not; we had no out-and-out
quarrel."

" I shall need to visit your favorite medium to
procure balm for my wounded spirit," said Sarah,
jestingly.

"Will you, really? " Linora scented emotions,
fainting-fits, tears, afar off, and neighed like the
typical war-horse.

" No, assuredly I shall not. There is nothing to
moan over, and if there were, you may be sure I
should not trust it to a man in a trance."

But her jest nevertheless fulfilled itself in earn
est. There come times when, to a nature like
hers, excitement, abandonment, are as necessary
as food on ordinary days. She was worn out with
struggling. How weak she felt herself, how pow
erless to choose the wisest right, and how unable
to cling to it after it should be chosen, only she
knew. Stephen, though he saw her grow paler
day by day, would have said it was her reason only
which held debate. lie was wrong. Her whole
nature was bound upon the rack of a torturing

FOOLS OF NATURE.

question, rising wearily after every ordeal, only
to fall into stupor.

In a mood which made her anxious only to es
cape harassment, Linora found her, and reminded
her of a half promise to see Professor Leonard.
Sarah agreed at once. She would have accepted
a ride to Tartarus in the same reckless spirit.

" Now remember what I told you," said Linora,
as they were going up the stairs. "He is a ven
erable old gentleman, and you will like him a great
deal better than your farmer friend. But promise
me one thing, — that after you are in the room
you won't change your mind and come out."

" Of course not. Why should I ? "

"You did before, you know, and this time I so
want you to go through with it ! "

Professor Leonard was at liberty, and ushered
Sarah at once into his private room. She had
made the condition, also, that whatever was told
her should be said in private.

Leonard was in an excited frame of mind. A
letter from Uncle Ben that morning informed him
that Maria had been ill again. A rare occurrence,
his own cheeks of cherubic plumpness were pale,
and Sarah's first thought was that he seemed a
pretty, though overgrown youth.

" Take a chair here, if you please," said Leonard,
regarding her with a good deal of reverence. He
was always on his knees before women, and this

A VERDICT. 163

was a lady, liner even than her clothes. He hoped
with all his heart he might help her, since she
bore the facial marks of mental illness. Sarah
had seated herself, and noticed that he was draw
ing up a chair at a little distance.

" Is Professor Leonard ready to see me ? "

"I am Professor Leonard," said the young man,
smiling. He had grown to feel himself almost as
well known as the State House.

As the meaning of Linora's cunning flashed over
her, Sarah's first provoked impulse counselled her
to take summary leave ; but that would only give
rise to a scene. She would go through with the
interview now, reserving her indignation. This
boy was no more objectionable than if he wore
gray hair.

" Would you mind having the windows darkened ?
We find it better. Now if you will be patient, I'll
see if anybody will come."

. He closed his eyes and waited, while Sarah
looked curiously around the room. It was fur
nished simply, in neutral tints that gave back a
solemn twilight when the day was partially shut
out. Hiker had been wise enough to please the
eye while the ear waited for heavenly utterances.

" I see an old lady, and she calls you, ' My child,
dear child,' " said Leonard, in a subdued voice. In
spite of her scepticism, Sarah's heart leaped in
answer. " She is your mother. She sees you

164 FOOLS OF NATURE.

are troubled, and comes to tell you she tries to
help you."

She had honestly thought it would be profana
tion to suffer her mother's memory to be tampered
with by vulgar clap-trap. The influence of the
softened light, the quick yearning impulse that
arose towards whatever could address her in her
mother's guise, overbore every other feeling.

" Well ? " she said, breathlessly.

"She says, 'You poor child; how you have
suffered ! ' "

A quick sob rose in her throat. She had suf
fered indeed. No mortal being, even the two
nearest her, had guessed how much. It was
likely that only the finer ears of the dead should
have heard her cries.

" She says there are two paths ahead of you.
You have been trying to choose between them till
you're all worn out. And she says you needn't
be so unhappy."

"Why?"

" You think you can't be happy ; but you can."'

" I must do right," whispered Sarah. She had
not meant to speak, but the words forced their
way.

" You will do it. She won't let you do anything
else. The first thing you've got to do is to take
the pleasant road. I see it now. It's all flowers,
— white flowers, — and oh, how sweet they are ! "

A VERDICT. 165

" Tell me more. Tell me plainly."

" She says she could talk different if the medium
wasn't so ignorant. His tongue gets all twisted
up, and he can't talk well. But the lady wants you
to take the beautiful road and be happy."

" Tell me more."

"Not now; not to-day. This is enough, if you
follow it. Only take the path with flowers ; don't
be afraid, and don't worry any more."

Leonard opened his eyes, and Sarah hastily
rose, leaving his fee on the table. She could not
speak to him. A further word from him in his
own proper person could only vulgarize what bore
the stamp of the supernatural.

" Well, tell me," said Linora, meeting her.

" I can't."

" That means he told you something," said Lin
ora, in triumph. " I know well enough you'll go
again."

" Never, as long as I live. This was enough.
I can't have it made common." And in spite of
entreaties, and even pettishness, she would say no
more. Linora began to think there had not been
quite as much entertainment as might have been
expected from the conversion of an unbeliever.

Sarah was penetrated by the solemn sense of
having been face to face with the unknown. In
spite of her overwrought sensibilities she might not
have fallen so quickly into belief had the medium's

166 FOOLS OF NATURE.

personality carried any offence with it. But Leon
ard always affected people with a peculiar tolerance.
They saw him to be simple and untrained, but
there was so much gentleness and honesty about
him, so much reverence for higher powers than hi.s
own, that even his childish vanity never led him
into arrogance or presumption. Nothing he had
said to her was beyond dispute, but it bore so un
mistakably the stamp of reality that she tried it by
no cross-questioning of reason. Her problem had
hung in a nicely adjusted balance, and a weight of
influence from a higher region had turned the
scale. Mountains seemed to have rolled from her ;
she was free to breathe and live ; and such a life,
fed by such rarified air ! She caught her breath,
as she sat waiting for Stephen that night. She
was sure he had read her smile, as he passed while
she and Miss Phcbe were talking, and that he
would come. He was early in coming, — hesitat
ing and afraid of his welcome. What had seemed
to be betokened by her new look of brilliant joy
could scarcely be true.

"Shall I come in?"

" Yes." She blushed vividly as a daring impulse
prompted her to add, " and never go away again."
He stopped midway, arrested by her hand. Since
the ring had left it, he had not once seen her with
out involuntarily wounding himself by letting his
eyes seek the naked white linger.

A VERDICT. 167

"Sarah, why do you wear it?"

"I took it off; why shouldn't I put it on?"

"Yes, but why did you?"

He was not to be put oft'. A coquette would
have found her archness go down like grain before
a mighty reaper. Sarah took oft' the ring and
gave it to him.

" Do what you please with it."

"I choose to put it on again."

Accomplished summarily, almost roughly, he
looked at her like a Hash to see whether denial
would follow. But she was far beyond mischief;
that had been a momentary weakness to save them,
both from tragic outbreak. Her eyes were wet
and shining, but lifted to his most trustfully.

"Stephen, I have decided; it has been decided
for me. We can be happy ! "

The violence of his possession almost frightened
her. How could her weak hand guide a love that
was like a torrent?

"Whatever you say, I shall never let you go
again, "he said, assuming a harshness which might
cover the break in his voice. " This has been too
much ; a man can't bear more. I never will yield
to the trial again."

"Oh, you will let me make up to you? "

" You have made up everything, when you look
at me with such divine eyes. When will you
marry me ? "

168 FOOLS OF NATURE.

" Oh, talk of that to-morrow."

" No, to-night, to-night ! " You have nobody
to consult ; you have no clothes to buy. I adore
this little black dress. Put a red rose at your
throat and come to the wedding."

" Stephen, you are wild ! "

" So I am, but I will have my way. After
wards, when you are safely between my four walls,
you may take your turn. Then I will obey ; now
it is you who must yield." Sarah lifted her head
a little proudly. The wild-horse instinct rose in
her, and challenged mastery. "Love, forgive
me," he whispered, all gentleness. "Do with me
as you will. You know you can. I am bound
hand and foot with silk, — no, with this," bringing
forward a clinging lock of her hair.

When she told what had influenced her, he
listened in wonder, but without expression of it.
That a girl of clear sight could be moved by
quackery was not to be accounted for ; but he laid
the great effect at the door of her fine sensibilities,
always liable to be swayed by the figments of her
brain. Whatever the cause of her new decision,
he was exceedingly grateful to it, and by no means
so curious as to dare risk weakening the effect by
discussion. Instead, he expended his efforts in
convincing her that, as a first preliminary of mar
riage, Bernard must be informed of their settled
relation. As they could not well be married

A VERDICT. 169

under the rose, other people might as well begin
to make up their own minds to the ceremony.
The task was not too easy of performance. Sarah
had the feeling, of late, that Bernard scarcely saw
her, or listened when she spoke. He seemed to
carry ubout some irritating wound which stung at
intervals too short to serve as breathing-spells,
in which his mind could fix itself elsewhere.

"Bernard, I want to tell you something," she
began, decoying him into the room one night, with
hand and .smile.

"I know all about it," said Bernard, walking
back and forth. "You need not have told at all.
I've known it all the time."

"But to have nobody to tell !" she said, the
tears coming. " To be all alone and have nobody
glad ! Bernard, don't leave me alone."

" I can't wish you happiness ; I'm not good
enough," he went on, rapidly, hastening his steps.
" I don't wish you suffering ; I suffer too much
myself. You are going to marry Stephen Mann ? "

" Yes."

" I hope you won't find him vile, a wretch like
me. He may be. That's a part of my curse ; I
ean't believe in anybody."

" Bernard, it is not so bad as that ! You believe
in me, at least."

" I suppose I do. It may be foolish to do even
that. The taint has come out in me after all

170 FOOLS OF NATURE.

these years. Every coarse thing I ever read or
heard, every wicked thing, every blasting, dis
trustful thing, has started up in me. You played
with me when we were children ; aren't you afraid
of having been contaminated ? "

" Bernard, what have I done ? What have we
all done ? It must be something ; we have been
unkind — "

"Nobody has been unkind but the God who
made me, and made me of such clay. I can't for
give Him that."

" My dear, you are childish and foolish," said
Sarah, calm only by an effort. " You can esti
mate yourself as well as the rest of us. Who that
I ever saw was as bright as you? Who had such
fancies and so much ambition ? "

"Who, indeed? And who would have lost am
bition so ? Everything noble in me died down the
instant I lost you."

"Lost me! Why, you have me! I love you
dearly."

Bernard bit his lip. He had not meant to dis
close that first grief which had stirred all the

cu

others to light. He would not be pitied for de
spised love.

" Well, lost your society ; lost the right to be
with you. When are you going to marry him ? "

"I do not know."

A VERDICT. 171

" You must know something about it ; in a year,
or a day ? "

" In less than a year. If you knew how much he
needs to be made happy ! His life has been sad."

"I don't want to know. Why should I pity
him? Ho has eaten his bitter bread, and is ready
for his reward. Some of us are in the slough,
still."

At any other time his moods must have filled
her with fear and a deep anxiety. That was so
now in a measure, but every emotion which did
not have to do with Stephen, was seen through
haze, touching her sensibilities but numbly. The
world can scarcely keep its just proportions in
eyes newly opened to the value of the one.

It would save the trouble of surmise, to tell
Linora her great fact. To her surprise, the tears
gathered in the girl's eyes. They were there very
often, but there was a spontaneity about these which
bespoke them as uusummoned. While Sarah was
perplexedly trying to comfort her, Stephen camo
in, and to him walked Linora.

"She has told me," she said. "Will you let
her keep on liking me ? "

Stephen looked doubtfully into the appealing
eyes. " Yes, I will," said he, the doubt vanishing.

" It's a promise ! "said Linora, drawing a breath
of relief. " Thank you. Then I wish you both

joy."

172 FOOLS OF NATURE.

"What does she mean, Stephen?" asked Sarah,
as Linora left them together. " How could you
help my liking her ? "

tr By incantations and the black art."

"Will you tell me why you were unkind to
Linora, — or were you unkind to her? Why did
you drop her friendship ? "

" To be plain, I didn't like her as well on ac
quaintance as I did at first. Set me down as
fickle and hard-hearted, dear, but don't bother
me about her any more. I haven't time for her ;
I have to think about my wedding."

Sarah was forced to be content, but there re
mained in her heart some blame of him which loy
alty forbade her acknowledging. He had not been
quite kind or unselfish, said that persistent inner
critic. She was annoyed at herself from time
to time, by detecting the lurking of a wish that he
had been different.

As spring came on, Linora divulged a new plan.
According to the advice of Professor Leonard,
she had decided to spend her summer at Coven-
try.

" And with your divine old man and his daugh
ter," she said, gleefully, to Sarah. " I asked Pro
fessor Leonard if he knew of any place where I
could find rest and quiet, — real country, you know.
It seems he grew up in this most idyllic place,
where all the people are good and everything bios-

A VERDICT*. 173

soms and bears. And he thinks your old man
might take me."

" Don't call him my old man ! He looked like
a prophet."

" Well, it seems his name is Adams. The pro
fessor calls him ' Pa,' in the most pastoral manner,
varying it with ' Uncle.' ' Pa ' adopted him in his
early youth."

" Linora, how you run on ! How much you
have changed since I saw you first ! " Linora's
face fell into its most dove-like innocence.

" If you knew how I try to be light and gay, to
prevent you from getting tired of me ! "

"Dear child, do you think I complain? I am
only surprised at finding you so different. Oh,
don't cry, dear ! "

" So many new blows to bear," sobbed Linora,
throwing herself on the floor and putting her head
in Sarah's lap. "Now, with the prospect of a
beautiful summer before me, with these simple,
good people, I am likely to be ordered anywhere
else, perhaps into a whirl of gayety, and that I
dare not think of."

" Poor child ! But you have been allowed to
stay here all winter."

" Yes ; though, after any time of peace, I am
always afraid of a new calamity. It has always
been so."

Stephen came in — the two were in Miss

174 FOOLS OF NATURE.

Phebe's parlor — and critically surveyed the tab
leau. There was a good deal of latent amusement
in his eyes. Sarah indignantly shook her head at
him, fearful of its cropping out in a smile. His
total indifference to Linora's sorrows annoyed her
sorely. How could he be so unfeeling in this case
alone ? Linora felt his presence, and, glancing up,
rose at once, wiping her eyes with real shame.

" Is it some new trouble? " asked Stephen, lift
ing his brows rather quizzically.

"Linora is expecting bad news," volunteered
Sarah, putting her arm round the little shrinking
figure and looking at Stephen defiantly, as if to
say, " Here am I ! take the other side if you can."
Stephen read the look, and smiled. His valor was
discretion, it seemed, for he only said, quietly, —

" From your uncle ? I had a letter from him
this morning ; he wTas quite well."

"Why, you didn't tell me you knew him!"
cried Sarah. Linora's eyes implored him to be
silent.

" I knew him at college, though I was not aware
he was related to Miss Gale until I chanced to
meet them together in New York."

That was all ; but after Linora had gone, as she
did go speedily, Sarah looked at him with a keen
sparkle in her eyes, saying, —

" Stephen, you know something about Linora
that you won't tell me."

A VERDICT. 175

"Many things," answered Stephen, smiling at
her prim little air of wisdom.

" Anything I want to know ? "

" No, something you don't. You wouldn't
choose to know her secrets till she told you ? "

"Naturally not," with reproving dignity. "I
like Linora; I sympathize with her, yes, deeply,
Stephen. You think her sentimental because she
cries so often, but that is only from her being so
sensitive. And since she is my friend, I don't
need to be told anything about her."

"You purest, finest of souls ! " cried Stephen, in
a transport. He admired her at such odd times,
found her a paragon in what seemed to her such
ordinary moments, that she had begun to cease
wondering, accepting worship with a pleased ac
quiescence, and querying, " Is this a lover's manner
of thinking? How beautiful, but how strange ! "

CHAPTER XII.

SPRING.

) linger over spring-time is the temptation of
the story-teller, as lingering in memory over
the first days of love is common to the world.
But when spring-time and love-time come together,
who can resist an attempt at his own imperfect
rhyming of the poem ? He has not known spring
who has only watched her advent in the country.
There she is winged, and comes floating on a thou
sand breezes, bending for sweetening touch of
apple-bough or violet. She cannot walk, poor
princess ; the ways are too muddy. But look for
her, you in city streets, and you shall see her
tripping blithely into town, her skirts held daintily,
though her feet kiss the pavements without fear.
I would not miss seeing her walk into town for
anything, not for all her coquetting with springing
grass and swelling buds. And it is good to catch
the first news of her from happy faces, when the
air softens and the sky melts, and human hearts
and features are played upon by the change.

The warmer months would have brought a dear
delight to Sarah, even if she had met them alone,
or herself in tears ; but without her, Stephen must

176

SPUING. 177

have found himself jaded and dull in his once keen
scent of beauties. The emotional nature dies
quickly down, touched by blight, though in time
it rises again to the sun's kiss, venturing to enjoy
once more the mildest of heaven's breezes. Stephen
had but now lived in the intermediate stage of
clinging to the earth and declaring he dared accept
nothing from life beyond the commonplace. He
had doubted, he grovelled in spirit, he was neutral
of mind, only keeping himself from sin, but never
aspiring to heights beyond innocence ; and lo ! in
the midst of this half-light, arose a dazzling sun of
love, — no marshy will-o'-the-wisp, but the god of
the world.

Slowly came back to him the sense of divine
mystery that wraps the world from the eyes of the
child and the poet. He loved Sarah with a youth
ful, adoring love, as distinct from reason as if
reason hud given no sanction to what his heart
declared of her. He could not tolerate in her the
sense of mysterious sadness brought by the young
months. It seemed a reproach to his exultation.
There should henceforth be no sorrow in the world.
But the more she loved him, the more her distance
from him widened, until her delicious reserves of
confidence and denials of love's rights pained,
bewildered, and charmed him a dozen times a
day.

" Once you let me pin your roses there myself,"

178 FOOLS OF NATURE.

he said, jealously. Sarah half turned, with the
daring coquetry that grew in her day by day.

" That was because I loved you less than now."

" Oh, sweetheart, if that were true — " She
eluded his caress, and sparkled at him from a dis
tance.

" I don't blame you," said Stephen, huskily.
"I see what you have to lose by love, — your
freedom, your personality, everything. And you
shall not have a thought that is not mine ; you
shall not look away from me. I will devour you,
roses and all ! "

" So much ? Am I to pay so large a price ! "
with lifted brows. "And you, sir; do you go
free?"

" I have given everything, now," said Stephen,
humbly. " I am no longer myself. I have no
self away from you. Quick ! see that star sink
into the night."

After such a passage, she was likely to seek him
with downcast eyes, asking him to take back the
ring. Not for always, oh, no ! she would wear it
again, but she must be her own for one day at
least. Then, when the period of her resistance
had passed, she would as timidly beg him to re
place her fetters. The first time it, happened, he
was cruelly wounded ; the sun would never shine
again. But when she had once come back to him,
he learned to bow to the whimsical shifting of her

SPRING. 179

moods, — and in what full measure did she thank
him for forbearance ! In those days he was most
bewildered by her caresses and humility ; it was
perhaps easier to bow to her imperious phases.

Sarah had conceived a great fancy for going with
Linora into the country. The green fields drew
her ; and might they not bring some healing to
Bernard's diseased spirit ? For of course he would
go with her.

" I think he will do nothing of the kind," said
Stephen, deliberately, when her plan was broached.

" If anybody goes with you it will be your
husband and lover. The two offices are to be
combined."

" I will have only the lover," laughed the girl,
defiantly. " But seriously, dear, Bernard, — what
can we do for him ? "

"I don't know. I am anxious first to do some
thing for myself. Marry me now, and in six
months set me any task you please."

As it proved, Linora was not to go to Coventry,
having, as she said, been ordered to join her uncle
for the summer. Bernard also ceased to furnish
motive for delay. One morning he was missing,
leaving his trunks ready to be sent, with a letter
asking Sarah to take the trouble of starting them
to New York ; he would write her from there and
give her his address. This was no sudden freak.
He had long meant to go, and this suddenness of

180 FOOLS OF NATURE.

action did away with the misery of farewells. He
did wish her happiness, if the wish of such a man
could do her good, and Sarah hugged that to her
heart as some slight comfort. She was for going
with the trunks and prevailing upon him to return,
but Stephen forbade it, and then reasoned her into
compliance.

" He is old enough to take care of himself," said
he. " Besides, he has acted neither like a brother
nor a gentleman. Taking the consequences of his
own freak will be good for him."

There was nothing to wait for now but the
bride's whims, and in the temporary sadness
brought on by Bernard's disjointed course of ac
tion, she fell into gravity and constancy of mood.
In that she was easily influenced ; and one June
morning, the two walked to a little church and
were married, going immediately away to the
sea.

They found Linora drenched in tears when they
returned from the church. In spite of Stephen's
laughing beyond the verge of mercy, she did her
duty heroically as chorus.

"O my dear," she said, clinging to Sarah as
they said good-by, " you will not be alone : you
will not be at the mercy of every wind that
blows." And I—"

" Come right here, you little lamb," said Miss
Phcbe, drawing her into her own bony embrace.

SPRING. 181

" You're not the only one. Folks don't lose two
such lodgers every day."

So the prince and the princess were married,
and went away to seek their fortune in a land
where every one should be happy ever after.

Was there ever before, thought Stephen, a
woman for whom the bridal chest of linen would
not have delayed the wedding-day, or from whom
the consideration of the house-furnishing would
have provoked no question ? Sarah came to him
in her simple gowns, tied her bright hair with a
little black snood, and let the wind sweep it back
in defiant tangles, as freely as the sun had leave
to burn in it. She opened her eyes wide at the
jewels he brought her ; he had inherited his
mother's small magnificence, and spent his own
fancy in exquisite devisings for his bride.

"They must cost a great deal of money," she
said, gravely, at the first.

" Not too much, sweetheart. We can afford it."

"I must be a prudent wife, you know. I must
not let you ruin yourself for me."

After the assurance, however, she objected no
more, but worshipped her gems in lightness of
heart. Years after, nay, as long as he lived,
Stephen never thought of that bridal stay away
from the rest of the world, without seeing one
picture struck out by a throb of mental light. A
slender figure in black, by a window through

182 FOOLS OF NATURE.

which came the sound of the monotonous wash of
the sea ; all her attire dead simplicity, but her hair
a glory, and her face a joy. In her lap a glitter
ing handful of gems and gold, and she turning
and twisting a necklace in the sun, flushing at its
ilashes of light. She never wore her jewels out
of her own room ; not from that conventional idea
that gems are only suited to magnificence of ap
parel, but because they were put on solely for
her own pleasure in them. When she must give
her attention elsewhere there was no reason for
their being outside their casket.

"If I were a prince of the Indies," Stephen
would say, watching her, as he always watched
her, " I should be able to make you happy. When
I went out you would say, ' Bring me a box of dia
monds, most worshipful sir, and let them be of
the purest water and the most marvellous cut-
ting."

"No, not that, but bring me moonstones, cat's-
eyes, opals, emeralds for light, and rubies for
blood, and a great yellow topaz. Diamonds are
for the senseless rich ; they ought to have some
compensation."

" Sarah , how lucky it is I am not poor ! "

" No, no ! we could live, with buttercups for yel
low, and roses for red." And she hid the gems
away, as having done him wrong, and would not
touch them again for many a day.

SPRING. 183

When summer was half done, he tried her curi
ously with a question : " Sarah, where are we going
to live when we go back ? "

" Why, at Miss Phebe's, I thought."

" Is Miss Phebe's the place for a princess ? "

"You used to think you saw one there, sir!
Miss Phebe's was good enough for me and good
enough for you ; why isn't it good enough for us
together ! "

" Not for a princess come into her kingdom.
There is a house in town, not too small, large
enough for breathing-space and for a wayward
woman to indulge her moods — "

"Am I, Stephen? " creeping up to him, all sub
mission and softness.

" When you gave me that hard month of wait
ing last winter, it was planned, and since then a
hundred Pucks have been girdling the earth to fur
nish it."

" Stephen, in that month? Then you were sure
I should say yes ? "

"No, though I was sure you must. I think I
spent my time so, to keep myself quiet. Shall
I tell you how it looks? I don't want you to
expect different things, and be disappointed."

"Yes, please."

" I meant it to be like a great carven casket for
my jewel. There are rare woods everywhere, and
heavy red hangings. Here and there the glass is

184 FOOLS OF NATURE.

stained ; I knew then, even, how you fed on
color."

" Stephen, it is marvellous ! " cried his wife.
" I love you, — but you think of me, you do for
me, — you serve Love."

" It is the one god," said Stephen, reverently.
" and you are his prophet ! You are my best."

"No, dear, don't believe that, or I shall fail
you."

"You can't fail me. Does it frighten you? I
don't wonder. You look up to strange white
angels of ideals ; I look up to you."

It was well Stephen had no pressing business,
and that his place of oversight at the factory could
be taken ; for that summer, in spite of herself,
Sarah drew him to forgetfulness of action, as Enid
drew Geraint.

Yet he was not to find his rose-garden lacking
in thorns, — the expression of an honest coquetry,
which sprang so directly from his wife's nature
that he could but yield to it. He could never
cease to think of her for an instant, he said and
believed. She was a thousand things in one ; an
elusive, submissive, untamed creature. The gods
must have intended her for the wife of a fickle
man.

CHAPTER XIII.

A NEW DEPARTURE.

T)ROFESSOR RIKER became afflicted with that
-*- noble discontent which reproves a, man for
not having done the utmost in his chosen profes
sion. Heretofore he had been satisfied with gorg
ing himself to repletion on the sentimental side of
his victims. With such a man, however, no in
come remains sufficient when he once espies
heights of mammon beyond. As an inspirational
lecturer, his travelling expenses were always paid ;
beyond these he received the proceeds of the
evening, greater or less, as it might happen. His
income from private patronage was not small, but
here he lost time in travelling.

" I diffuse myself too much," said he, with mod
est self-estimate. " Jack-at-all-trades is master of
none. I will become a specialist." Therefore it
happened that he gave no more lectures, but live
days in the week received visits from private
patrons, devoting his remaining time to prepara
tions for a new departure. The professor was
about to materialize the heavenly visitants who
had previously sought him as a medium of verbal
communication only.

185

186 FOOLS OF NATURE.

It was at this point that Leonard became a source
of exasperation to his master. Biker could not
say that his pupil had belied his prophecy ; in
spite of his honesty, Lent had proved a good in
vestment. But it was when the professor reflected
on what might be made of him if that transparent
honesty were not in the way, that he was tempted
to wish he had never seen the boy. Here were
shining qualities, needing only for their perfection
to become the creatures of a master will. Had
Riker not recognized in Len such marvellous pos
sibilities of duping by the wholesale, he could have
borne his daily discomfiture more calmly. From
a man of moderate endowments, you take what you
get and are thankful ; but it goes to the heart to
see exceptional ability wasted.

Still, in considering the boy's simplicity and
capacity for dog-like attachment, Riker caught a
gleam of hope; it seemed almost possible to lead
his pupil blindfold into the acts his stiff-necked
judgment would have condemned. His honesty
had never seemed to sleep ; it was pugnacious,
alert. If his master counselled him to report what
his strangely hazy intellect refused to corrobo
rate, he would cry in acute regret, " But I can't ! "
Now, though his conscience was no less alert than
formerly, it was rapidly losing its power of vision.
He vyas confused between the supernatural and the
actual. Urged on by Hiker's cloudy expositions

A NEW DEPARTURE. 187

of what the spirits demanded, impressed by the
certainty that Hiker knew a thousand-fold more
than he, he followed devious ways, believing them
with all his heart to be straight.

When Len was informed that the spirits had
selected Riker as a medium through which to ma
terialize, he regarded his master with an increased
reverence. He had been kept as much as possible
from communication with other members of his
profession, and had never seen the phenomenon in
question. He could but conceive of winged creat
ures floating down and about. Would there be
anything he could do , — and might he help ? There
was much he might have done, had he been capa
ble of becoming his master's actual confederate.
As it was, qualified only by obedience, he might
assist in a measure.

Mrs. Riker had returned, after her vacation
from domestic wrangling, urged into compliance
by her husband's promises of sharing his business
proceeds with her, and also by an interpolated
clause that if she refused he might call for her in
person. He needed an assistant, and the wages
of the woman legally belonging to him would be
only a fraction of those demanded by one who
had no part in his lot. Also, in spite of her one
rebellion, she would be less a partner than a ser-
vant, and that was what he wished. Mrs. Riker
was a woman of nerves rather than nerve. IIuv-

188 FOOLS OF NATURE.

ing more than once felt the weight of her husband's
hand, she had sunk into quivering submission.
Rebellion — and she had ventured upon it but once
— had been the result of a sudden, simultaneous
jangling of the irritated nerves, ringing the alarm
to an action that frightened even herself. Away
from him, though she had fled to a brother who
vowed he would protect her, she could never feel
safe. The time for settlement must come, how
ever long it might be deferred, and when her
master did at last beckon, she dared do nothing
less than creep back to him.

It must not be supposed that Biker could dash
into this channel of his profession without laborious
preparation. That had gone on for some months.
He hud been long tending towards this goal, with
a concentration of attention, a power of will and
constancy of thought which put to shame such
among us as do slovenly, intermittent work. But
it was not without trembling that he ventured on
his first public exhibition. Even he was capable
of stage-fright, though he had the privilege of
choosing his audience. There were certain dis
ciples of his who came often for interviews. The
most constant were the most credulous ; these he
informed, from his trance, that the medium would
be influenced to materialize on a specified night. As
the medium was not accustomed to the work, and
it might at first be difficult for the influences to

A NEW DEPARTURE. 189

make use of him, the atmosphere must be har
monious. Therefore the audience must consist
of a chosen few, and the conditions imposed would
be rigid.

Leonard was somewhat hurt on finding himself
relegated to the position of second assistant, in
fuvor of Mrs. Riker, but submitted, as he always
did when Riker cited the commands of the in
fluences. Riker and his wife were to take charge
of the cabinet whence the spirits would issue,
while Leonard regulated the lamp at the back of
the room. The condition of absolute obedience
was imposed also on him. If the sky should fall,
he was not to approach the cabinet.

The little company of ten arrived in the state
of excited interest with which the enthusiastic
theatre-goer hurries to his place. Nearly all had
seen materializing before, but to witness it through
the mediumship of their trusted, their admired
professor — a man of such marvellous gifts — was
a blessing, and as such to be received. The cab
inet, a light frame covered with cloth, was set up
before their eyes, and one and another tested it,
«at Riker's request. This was apologetically done,
their faith in him being absolute, but he insisted
that the evidence of their senses should be on his
side. The parlor doors, three in number, were
locked by one of the company, and the key was
retained in his own pocket. Then Riker, at his

190 FOOLS OF NATURE.

own suggestion, was bound to a chair in the cabi
net, the two men who tied him affirming with self-
laudatory smile that only Samson himself could
escape from their bonds. The gas was turned off,
and Len had been previously instructed to keep
the lamp at a faint glimmer of life. Mrs. Riker,
who stood beside the cabinet, broke into a droning
song, in which the audience discordantly joined.
The stanzas had been twice repeated before the
slightest manifestation appeared, and then a hand
was waved from the little window of the cabinet.
The song was continued, though in tones hushed
by awe. Leonard felt himself almost overcome
by a shuddering wonder. His knees trembled
beneath him, and he was very near begging that
the light might be turned up.

Suddenly the curtain was thrown aside by a
white-robed figure, which remained visible in the
opening. The light was too indistinct for disclos
ing more than its outline and the ghostly sheen of
its garments, but to the honest senses it was with
out doubt a figure of life size, with human form
and power of motion. It proved likewise to pos
sess the power of speech. *

" Dear friends," came a whisper, — and in that
twilight and silence, the tones were nothing if not
unearthly, — " dear friends, I have never been able
to materialize before, though I have tried ever
since I passed over. The medium has a wonder-

A NEW DEPARTURE. 191

ful power of helping us. I have just entered the
second sphere. Dear husband — my strength is —
is — failing — I - It vanished into the cabinet.

" It was Jenny ! " cried a man among the circle.
f'O Jenny, can't you say more?"

" She has gone into the cabinet to get strength,"
explained Mrs. Riker. Her face was white and
set as that of one dead. Evidently she was at an
extreme pitch of anxiety or interest. Her voice
shook perceptibly, and one whispered to another
that Mrs. Riker seemed to be " under control."

" Be patient," came the whisper from the cabi
net. '" Sing ; I will appear again as soon as I get
more strength."

The slow dirge of aspiration for the " By-and-
by " began again, and again the curtain was drawn
aside to admit the same figure, brighter, more dis
tinct, with a glow about the drapery of the head
that was either celestial or phosphorescent. Then
the curtain was hastily swept together as the hus
band seemed at the point of rushing towards his
wife's semblance.

" No, no ! " cried Mrs. Riker, holding him back
with a trembling hand, "you will hurt her. She
can't gather strength enough yet to bear a touch."

"I know it," said the man, retreating humbly,
"but I couldn't think. Won't she appear once
more to-night ? "

"Perhaps," came a whisper from the cabinet;

192 FOOLS OF NATURE.

"but there are a great many more behind that
want to come, and I am so tired."

Leonard watched the man who had received the
manifestation, with heart swelling in sympathy.
Every day confirmed in him the certainty that
Kiker was a lover and helper of his kind. This
was but additional proof.

An old man appeared next, and even stepped
outside the cabinet, making a little speech in
Quaker phraseology. Then, with a nerve-tingling
war-whoop, an Indian, with feathered crown and
floating hair, sprang into the very middle of the
circle, brandishing a tomahawk and chattering
voluble gibberish. His disappearance was fol
lowed by the arrival of an old lady in a cap, and a
gray gown of some soft fabric. She could not
speak, "because," Mrs. Hiker explained, "the
medium was growing weaker ; too much strength
had been drawn from him."

In the subsequent interval of rest, the audience,
according to Mrs. Hiker's direction, strove to
calm the influences by renewed song, in the midst
of which Hiker's own voice, exhausted of all its
vitality, was heard asking that he might be un
bound. The lights were turned up and the cab
inet curtains thrown back. The professor, flushed,
trembling, was seated, bound to his chair as he
had been left. The committee of two who had
bound him, declared the knots to be intact,

A NEW DEPARTURE. 193

No religious sect bows to its pastor more sub
missively than the spiritualist to his chosen leader.
Kiker was a sort of high-priest among his fol
lowers. They crowded about him when he was
released, with hand-shakings and profuse congrat
ulations.

"How was it?" he asked, faintly, allowing him
self to be fanned, " Was it at all satisfactory ? "

After their assurances of perfect success, and his
promise to give other exhibitions weekly, they
took their leave, at Mrs. Biker's anxious request,
because, she said, her husband could not bear fur
ther excitement.

One curious incident was connected with the
evening. At the last appearance, that of the old
lady, some one remarked in quick surprise, " See,
she has a seal ring on her finger ! " Mrs. Kiker
started, and possibly turned pale, though she had
before been sufficiently spectral, and it was im
mediately after that the old lady disappeared.
While the following ovation to Riker was in
progress, the husband who had received such
indisputable proof of his wife's existence, began,
shamefacedly, but as if constrained, —

"Professor, besides taking your strength, do
they take anything else ? — part of the medium's
form, or anything?"

" Sometimes," said Riker, with bland readiness.
"I believe it often happens that they draw so

194 TOOLS OF NATURE.

much from the medium as to resemble him in face
or voice. Was it so to-night ? "

"No," hesitated the man. "No, but I could
have sworn that the ring on the old lady's finger
was the one you always wear."

Biker smiled indulgently, and extended both
his hands. There was no ring on any finger.

"It could hardly be, for I lost the ring this very
day, and have been worrying about it. It may be
that the spirit wished to indicate to my wife that
it would be found, or my thinking so much about
it may have brought about an appearance of it on
the spirit's finger. Why, did any of you see the
ring on my finger when I went into the cabinet ? "

Nobody had noticed it.

"You did not think I was the spirit myself,
when I was tied in the cabinet?" asked Riker,
smiling heartily.

"No," said the questioner. "I know every
thing is above-board, but you see, Mr. Biker, I've
got something at stake. It's a good deal to me to
know whether I saw my wife or not, and I. don't
want to have any little doubt picking at me when I
go away. I ask your pardon, sir." Which Biker
granted with patronizing affability, and the doubter
speedily took his leave, glad to escape the re
proachful glances of the more devout.

When the hall door closed on the last guest,
Biker turned to his wife in triumphant elation ; but

A NEW DEPARTURE. 195

she had thrown herself on the sofa, and was sob
bing in hysterics. At another time, Biker might
have resuscitated her with some roughness. To
night he was too beamingly grateful to fortune.

"There, there, Julia !" he said, affably, walk
ing up and down the parlors, his hands in his
pockets. "You've done well, for you. You
shan't regret it, either. — Len, let the cabinet
alone ! "

The tone was as sudden as a pistol-crack. It
did almost as effective execution. Len dropped
the curtain, which he had begun to remove, and
stood petrified in sheer fright.

" There ! don't look so scared," said Riker,
dropping into his affectionate manner of speech.
" I wanted to stop you quickly, that was all.
The influences have just told me that you mustn't
work a stroke to-night, or you'll be too tired for
your sittings to-morrow. Good- night. Julia and
I will take down the cabinet." ,

Suspicion had no place in the boy's mind. Ap
peased at once, he obeyed, and the door was
locked. Riker, his first flush of triumph over,
turned upon his wife with an oath.

"Now stop whining, and take down the cab
inet."

The woman dried her eyes, and set about tho
task.

" It was the ring that frightened me so ! " she

196 FOOLS OP NATURE.

said, stopping now and again to wipe away the
persistent tears. " I thought it would be all over
then. What made you think to take it off? "

" Didn't I hear them talking about it ? You
must think me a fool. Now it goes into my desk,
and nobody sees me wear it again for one while.
No, see here ! " He dropped it carefully into the
depression between the seat and back of the sofa.
" Some fool will find it. People are always run
ning their fingers along there, when they are talk
ing. Mark my words, it'll be brought out at
another meeting ! " And it was, as it happened,
by a sort of poetic justice, by the very man who
had questioned Biker about it.

After this, his success as a spirit-producer being
assured, Biker bent his energies afresh towards
educating Leonard according to his own standard.
To enjoy through him u double income was not
suflicieiit ; he saw new ways of utilizing him.
Moreover, it was becoming too great a task to
keep up the same system of deception towards him
that must be used for the public. Philanthropic
motives had failed. He had set forth to the boy
in glowing colors the good he might do by at
tempting more ambitious consolation. Leonard
recognized the possibility, longed for it, and almost
wept over his inability to grasp it.

He had sufficient vanity to be led thereby into
an infinite number of deeds, good or bad. Biker

A NEW DEPARTURE. 197

worked now upon that vanity. He took the boy
— it is impossible to call him anything else,
though he had now reached manhood — to the
theatre, to the tailor to be measured for superfine
clothes, and to examine fur which, Biker declared
with a sigh, would make just the garment for
Len's princely figure. Len had a childish delight
in finery ; Kiker fed it by spending exorbitant
sums in chains and rings. He took him to drive
behind fast horses, and discussed buying a house,
they two together, to be furnished like a palace,
where Uncle Ben and Aunt Maria might sometime
be persuaded to spend the winter.

"Just think, if Miss Maria should pass over
into the spirit life, and leave Uncle Ben all alone,
you'd have to take care of him," he said one day,
as they drove along, looking, as Len exultantly
thought, like gentlemen and millionaires. " There'd
be nobody to keep house for him then, you know,
and if there was, he'd be lonesome. Now if you
had a house where you could invite him to spend
his old age ! "

" Oh, how I wish I had ! Do you think it will
ever happen ? "

"If you should work hard, there's nothing you
couldn't do. What should you to say to a house
all white marble ? "

" Like mantel-pieces ? "

"Yes. I tell you it would cost a fortune, but

198 FOOLS OF NATURE.

you could afford it, Lenny, if you tried. And a
pair of diamond ear-rings for Aunt Maria ! "

Len's face was all beaming delight.

" But you must give way to the influences more
than you have done. When anybody comes for
comfort, say all you can."

"But I do!"

"You must put your mind on it. Sometimes
the spirits want help. It's just as it is when they
materialize ; they have to draw strength from you.
And if you think they want to say something, you
must help them say it. O Lenny, spiritualism is
a wonderful blessing to people ! "

Len listened respectfully, but flicked the horse
with more interest. Sometimes he tired of this
monotony of topic.

"And even," went on Riker, feeling his way,
" even if there was no truth in it, it is such a com
fort to people, that I should hate to give it up."

Len laughed at the idea of holding to a pretence.

"TeU'emlies?"

"Tell some good, pious truth, and if they
thought it came from spirits, why, so much the
more good would it do them ! Lenny, we could
do more good than all the ministers put together,
even if that was so."

CHAPTEE XIV.

IN TOWN.

T> ETURNED to the city, the friends of a winter
-*-*' drifted at once together. Linora was again
sit Miss Phebe's, and had descended upon Sarah's
door-step like a sorrowful little thistle-down.

" Are you happy ? " she asked Sarah, drawing
back after a light little kiss.

"Naturally," answered Sarah, laughing. She
seemed to herself made only for laughter now.
"Are you?"

Linora began slowly pulling off her long gloves,
her mouth quivering as she looked down at them.
" You can guess. Look at me." She was indeed
much worn. Eloquence of mouth and nostrils
emphasized the change.

" Poor child ! Your summer has done you no
good. Sit down and tell me about it."

Linora threw herself into a chair, and stared
straight before her.

" I've begun to find out that there can be nothing
but misery before me," she said. " I have spent
the summer with him."

"Your uncle?"

" Yes ; we have been from one resort to another.

199

200 FOOLS OF NATURE.

I have danced night after night ; he forced me to
do it."

" I can't believe it was necessary for you to do
what you didn't choose," said Sarah, indignantly.
" If you had shown some spirit, now ! Suppose
you are young, you are a woman. If you resisted,
he would have to yield."

" Never," said Linora, with all the quiet of a
sad conviction. "You don't know him. Besides,
you forget, he can turn me away to earn my liv
ing, and that I cannot do. But there is more —
worse. I have seem him."

"The priest?" whispered Sarah.

"Yes, and he has followed me here."

"Why?"

" Oh, he is so troubled ! He cannot forget me,
any more than I can forget him. It is wild, in
sane of him, but he has come only because I am
here."

" My dear," said Sarah, " unless he has made
his choice between you and the Church, what can
this do but harm ? "

A fortunate love had given her a prophetic
sense of the shipwreck which might come of one
having no right to exist. Linora's only answer
lay in tears. Sarah was right ; only sorrow could
come of it all, but they were too weak to resist.

" He is here, and I must see him. It would be
cruel to refuse him that," she said, slightly recov-

IN TOWN. 201

ering from her sobs. "And I have something
to ask of you. If you love me, do it ; go with me
when I meet him."

"Where?"

" We shall walk together after dark. I am to
meet him on Park Street to-morrow night."

"Impossible, Linora 1 If you are to see him,
let him go to Miss Phebe's."

M I would gladly, but he is so sensitive, so mor
bidly sensitive, so afraid of being detected and
disgraced ! "

Sarah began to be confirmed in her former
opinion of the young man. "Linora," she said,
after a moment's thought, " spend the night with
me, and let him call on you here. You ought
not to meet ; if you must and will, this will be
best."

"You are so kind! and if he consents, it will
take a terrible load off my heart. These secret,
dark ways fill me with horror. Dear, you are so
good to me ! "

So she took her leave, specifying that Stephen
should not know ; all her confidences must be kept
from him. Sarah agreed, after a little remon
strance. It seemed to her that no one could help
as much as Stephen ; she privately thought that it
might do good to this young priest of tortuous
ways, to make Stephen's acquaintance. But she
also reflected that she herself should scarcely care

202 FOOLS OF NATURE.

to confide in a friend's husband merely because
she might wish to confide in the friend.

The next day, instead of Linora, came a sor
rowful little note saying he had refused. More
than that, his conscience was again roused, and
he had vowed not to see her at all. She could bear
anything better than this ; even a final renunciation
would be preferable to uncertainty. Sarah went
to Miss Phebe's without delay, asking that lady,
who opened the door, how Linora seemed to
be. Miss Phebe regarded her with stony benevo
lence.

" I'm not a mite sorry I lost you," she said.
"You've found better quarters than mine. Lin
ora ! Poor little soul ! Up and down, here and
there ! I'll see if she's ready for you."

It was along time before Linora answered, and
longer still before Miss Phebe was informed by
the little maid that she would see Mrs. Mann.
Meanwhile Miss Phebe had sat tenderly recount
ing the girl's last mental symptoms.

Sarah found her sunken among billows of cush
ions, her face pale, her hands folded.

" You wonder at not seeing me more overcome,"
she said, with her piteous smile. " I have done
crying. I can shed no more tears."

Sarah silently stroked her hair, and then ven
tured to say, —

" But isn't it better as it is, my dear? It seems

IN TOWN. 203

to me wise and conscientious of him to refuse to
see you, if he has chosen the Church."

" I shall come to you to-night," said Linora,
restlessly. "I am all unstrung; you will rest
me."

Stephen found her there when he went home to
dinner. Linora amused him, though he had his
own private reasons for not subscribing to her.
As to that, however, he could afford to show her
more cordiality than formerly, because his own
heaven had grown so bright as to shed its friendly
radiance over everybody. That evening it hap
pened, as it inevitably must, with Linora in the
room, that the conversation drifted to spiritualism.
Linora had some excellent " tests " to report. In
her wanderings, she seemed able to find every
where mediums for the transmission of spiritual
messages.

" The best society is open to you ; why do you
go into this sort of limbo ? " asked Stephen, lazily
regarding her.

" Think of investigating such a thing ! " cried
Linora, her little hands fluttering in dramatic com
mentary. "Think of establishing immortality ! "

Stephen laughed, but his wife looked grave.
When they were alone that night, she touched on
the subject again, though with hesitation.

" Stephen, you used to doubt immortality."

" I doubt nothing now,"' said he with smiling

204 FOOLS OF NATURE.

fondness. "I believe whatever you tell me to
believe."

Sarah knitted her brows.

" Dear, I am in earnest."

" So am I. Deeper than that ; I am in love."

" You laughed at Linora. Are you sure spirits
cannot appear, or cannot communicate with us ? "

" Quite, if you force me to say it. It is a phys
ical impossibility."

"Stephen, if you were convinced that they
could, wouldn't it prove immortality to you ? "

"Undoubtedly. If the dead can speak, they
exist."

" Should you object to investigating it with me,
if I wanted it very much ? I don't know that I
do want it, but suppose I should?"

Stephen hesitated.

"I don't know," he said finally. "I suppose I
could be brought to it, but I should be exceeding
loath. I should be sorry to take you into such
villanous company."

It was on the tip of his wife's tongue to remind
him of the spiritual old man she had seen at Leon
ard's, but she checked herself. For some reason
she felt disinclined to run the risk of dimming the
halo about her own experience there, by making
it the subject of conversation. Stephen went on.

"You don't know as much as I do about the
people who engage in that sort of thing. Hun-

IN TOWN. 205

dreds of fine, sensitive natures are misled by it,
but the mediums themselves are simply vile. Do
you want to see a man through whom Shakspeare
recites doggerel purporting to be original ? "

"All mediums may not be alike," ventured
Sarah.

"No, but when you find an educated man of
known integrity, who offers himself as a medium,
I'll visit him with pleasure."

It was inevitable that Sarah's own experience
should have lingered in her mind, asserting from
time to time its right to be heard. And as she
refrained from speaking of it, she protected it even
from her own thought. But the subject in general
attracted her craftily. It might be possible, she
argued ; spiritualism might be the great coming
revelation. For the world is not at a standstill,
as priests would have us believe. A faith not yet
established need not of necessity be false. That
the formless embryo is destitute of grace in the
artistic eye, furnishes no proof that a Venus may
not expand from the lump.

"Men laughed at Galileo, and Newton, and
Stevenson," she said to herself, again and again,
"yet they were right."

Linora was often with her, and when her per
sonal griefs were not the subject of conversation,
this one topic held the floor. One evening, as
the three sat together, without announcement, in

206 FOOLS OF NATURE.

walked Bernard. Haggard, care-ridden, he seemed
ten years older than the Bernard they remem
bered. All her past love for him, mingled with
present grief, surprised Sarah into a show of ten
derness unusual in her. She gave him both her
hands, and when she lifted her face, Bernard saw
that she was crying. A sword welded of opposite
emotions pierced him. Her gladness at renewing
old associations scarcely argued well for the pres
ent. Stephen must be neglectful of her, and he
was angry and exultant in a breath. Stephen,
seeing his wife so moved, was gently kind in his
own greeting. Sometimes his manner towards
Bernard was half ironical. An unrestrained dis
play of the poetic temperament struck him as
something ridiculous. Bernard was too suggestive
of tragedy in every-day life ; he seemed ill-adapted
to anything outside Wagnerian opera.

" Did you come to-night, Bernard ? " asked
Sarah, hovering about him. "Do tell me it was,
so that I may be sure you came straight to us."

"Yes, it was to-night," said Bernard.

"And you will make your stay with us, I hope,"
said Stephen, courteously.

" No, thank you. I am at Miss Phebe's." Here
Linora broke in for the first time, with a fervor
which drew Bernard's eyes suspiciously upon her.

" How glad I am ! Do you know, I am still
there, Mr. Ellis, and your coming will bring a bit

IN TOWN. 207

of dear last winter back again. We must help
each other in our loneliness ! "

Bernard murmured something unintelligible,
turning of a brick-red. Stephen regarded Linora
quizzically, and Sarah again wondered what he
could possibly know to the girl's prejudice. Con
versation flagged, as it has a way of doing when
its participants are thus at cross-purposes, and
Bernard soon rose to take his leave, promising to
return the next day to be catechised.

"And am I going, too, Mr. Ellis," said Linora,
rising also, and looking up through her lashes.
"The same way, to the same house. What does
that imply?" Bernard rather awkwardly stated
that he should be grateful for her company, and
the two set off together, — Stephen smiling after
them, and informing his wife that the girl was
better than any comedy.

Once outside, Linora alluded to the beauty of
the night and the probable closeness of the horse-
cars. Bernard consequently inquired if she pre
ferred walking, and Linora did prefer it. Her
manner towards him was wonderfully softened,
Bernard thought. Could he possibly have been
mistaken in thinking she ridiculed him? Linora
led him on with gentle interest to speak of himself.
He had been in New York, he told her, through
the hot summer months, trying in vain to get
work as a journalist. He had served no appren-

208 FOOLS OF NATURE.

ticeship, and nobody wanted him. And yet he
must find work to do ; it was absolutely necessary
that he should earn money. Here, however, he
checked himself, and would speak no more of his
own affairs. He catechised Linora in her turn,
with a suppressed eagerness which she set down
as fondness for his sister. Did she think Sarah
was happy? Yes, Linora was sure of it. After
that Bernard seemed to withdraw within herself,
wrapped about with his own musings.

He had come back, as he doggedly acknow
ledged to himself, to be near Sarah. Perhaps his
homesick loneliness through those hot months in a
strange city had made him exaggerate his fondness
for the one creature in the world who was dear
to him ; and the more irresistible his longing to
see her face, the more harshly did his perverse
spirit set it down as springing from the devilish
side of his nature. He was most evidently in love
with her. No man but one tainted, like himself,
with hereditary disposition towards the base would
boldly acknowledge such a thing and tolerate it
a day after. Taunting himself thus, driven be
yond endurance by his own flagellations, he turned
upon himself one day, declaring, " I might as well
commit base deeds as plan them. I long to see
her ; the sight can be no worse than the longing.
I will go ! " Therefore he was here, not abandon
ing his purpose of finding work, but relinquishing

IN TOWN. 209

it for the present. He had been living with all
possible frugality, because it had seemed to him of
late impossible to use the money given him by his
adopted mother. She had not known him, he
said bitterly. If she could have understood the
vile nature of the creature she took to her heart,
she would have shuddered and cast him from her.
In common honesty, the least he could do towards
preserving his self-esteem was to earn his own
bread, and render up his ill-gotten legacy to
Sarah.

Next day he went to Sarah while her husband
was sure to be out. She was waiting for him at
the window, her bright hair and white hands points
of brightness and beauty against her black dress.
He forgot to taunt himself by declaring to his re
sisting heart that he loved her. He could only
think, with a dull pain in recognizing his distance
from her, that she was not only fair, but pure
as a statue. She smote his eyes as the bliss
of heaven is said to pierce the heart of the sin
ner.

"Your dress is the same," he said, slowly, after
she had seated him and was fluttering about like
a radiant butterfly. "The same black clothes..
But your face is like the sun ; it never used to be
so."

Sarah seated herself opposite, folding her hands
in her lap. A laugh and blush came together.

210 FOOLS OF NATURE.

"I put on the black dress for you," she said.
"I wanted to be the same. I wanted you to see
I had not changed."

There was such candor in this assurance of the
constancy of her love, that he felt the tears strike
a hot flash into his eyes. Contrasted with his
sickly fancies, her affection fell like pure sunlight
after the blackness of underground passages. He
bent forward to kiss her hand, and Sarah gave
his head a reassuring little touch with the other
palm.

"You say I have changed," she went on. "You
see it in my face? So do I. Do you know, a
girl is only half alive ; she begins to live when she
becomes a woman."

Bernard was leaning back, regarding her blindly.
It had been more unsafe to come than he had
thought. She dazzled him, and, he stopped to
think, not from his worship of her. She would
have dazzled any one.

" I am so happy, you see ! " went on Sarah,
rapidly. " See this, all this he has placed me in,"
indicating with a sweep of her hands the room
about her, — a soft, deep wonder of color.

" So you worship your household gods ? " said
Bernard. Sarah looked at him gravely ; he met
her glance, and hated his own flippancy.

"Yes," she said, simply. "They are symbols
of the whole."

IN TOWN. 211

She was giving him a great deal, he realized, in
admitting him to her sacred inner confidence. He
must lose it if he received it lightly. Therefore he
tried to regain his ground.

"You must forgive me, Sarah; I am tired.
The hot summer has been too much for me.
Tell me more about yourself, and let me snarl if
J like, but don't punish me as I deserve."

She was ready to prove her quick forgive
ness.

" I'll tell you anything to show you how happy
I am ; but it won't come all at once, without ques
tioning. Stay, — yes, I can prove it without many
words. Bernard, when I'm not putting on a black
dress to please you, I wear deep reds and amber,
in velvet and soft cashmere. I put jewels on my
wrists. I hear wonderful music, and I dream at
night that I can sing in a wonderful soprano. Am
I happy ? " Bernard almost groaned. She seemed
ages distant, in a radiant heaven all her own.
Her changes were like a bird's darting from bough
to ground. " And now about your summer ? " she
said, quietly. " Tell me it all ; — why you went,
why it was so sudden and secret, and what you
did when you were there."

He gave her the briefest facts, laying the eccen
tricity of the proceeding on the shoulders of his
known moodiness of nature. It seemed perfectly
reasonable to Sarah that he should care for work ;

212 FOOLS OF NATURE.

she was sure she could not be content, if she were
a man, without some stated business. Stephen
might prove of practical use to her brother, and
she privately resolved to speak to him on the
subject.

CHAPTER XV.

LINORA.

TT grew into a habit for Bernard to spend much
-•- of his time with Sarah, and as Linora was
often there, it gradually fell out that the two came
and went together. Bernard slowly, suspiciously,
recovered from his fear of Linora. How could it
be otherwise, when she one night threw aside her
reserve and frankly confided in him, as she had in
others? He listened with painful sympathy; he,
too, knew the suffering involved in hopeless love.
Again the priest had returned to the city, because
he was unable to remain away.

" We must meet ! " cried Linora, almost wring
ing her hands. "And yet, how can it be done, in
the very face of propriety? Sarah will not go
with me, and how can I alone keep a clandestine
appointment, even with him?"

" Miss Phebe," suggested Bernard.

" I couldn't ask her ! She is so literal, so sure
everything can be settled by the card ! She would
charge him with having been unkind to me."

" If I could be of any use — " Bernard hesitated.
Linora clasped his arm with both her hands, her
tearful eyes raised to his.

m

214 FOOLS OF NATURE.

" Do you mean you would really take me to the
place, wait with me, walk behind us while we
talked, and take me home again?"

" That, or more," said Bernard, smiling. " Any
thing."

Linora made an appointment for seven o'clock,
and at the hour Bernard found her waiting for
him outside her door. She was dressed in black,
and closely veiled. The general funereal look of
the little figure inspired him with an additional
pity. She did not speak on their way to the tryst-
ing place, a lonely street of unused building lots.
When they neared the spot she whispered excit
edly, —

" Do you see him ? "

"No," said Bernard, straining his eyes, "there
is no one there."

"Walk! walk! "said Linora, eagerly, tighten
ing her grasp on his arm. "Let us use up the
time till he conies."

They hurried back and forth, Bernard awk
wardly adapting his steps to her uneven ones.
Sometimes he fancied a suppressed sob shook her
frame. So a half hour passed, varied only by an
occasional meeting with some pedestrian , at whom
Bernard would stare with sickening suspense, till
he was proven beyond a doubt to be no errant
priest. He was so sorry for the little creature,
that the torture of waiting fastened itself also

LIN OK A. 215

upon him. Finally , Linora threw back her veil and
looked at him with a despairing face.

"He will not come, my friend ! " she said, in a
dull voice. " Let us go home."

They went back again in silence. Linora had
veiled her face, as before, and, as before, Bernard
caught the sound of her sobs. When they had
nearly reached the house, she broke out, to his
horror and surprise, into an uncontrollable fit of
laughter.

"You must forgive me ! " she said, chokingly,
as soon as she could muster voice. " Have pa
tience. This is my way of weeping. Other women
cry ; I have hysterics." She laughed on and on,
until Bernard was in despair, and chiefly anxious
at last to get her safely into her own room before
she fainted or died ; he was prepared for anything.

Once there, she insisted on being left alone, and
also that he should not call Miss Phebe. Bernard,
too distressed to leave her entirely, sat on the
stairs near her door, and from that post heard her
laughing at intervals for half an hour. The next
morning she was perhaps more quietly sad than
usual. When Bernard ventured to speak to her, —

" It is all over, my friend," she said, with a weary
smile. "He can be unkind to me. He does not
love me as I thought, if he can let me suffer what
I did last night. Don't tell Sarah ; and forget it,
as I shall. I have given him up."

216 FOOLS OF NATURE.

After this, a further intimacy could hardly help
following. It is not to be wondered at that, on
one of their walks, Bernard was led into speaking
of his own mental troubles ; not of his love for
Sarah, or the sore topic of his birth, but the fact
that he was haunted by thoughts too vile to be
claimed as his own. He was not altogether actu
ated by desire of sympathy. A disclosure of his
true nature, as he believed it to be, seemed neces
sary in common honesty. She had trusted him ;
she must be told that he was unfit for trust, that
he had a second self which scoffed at virtue and
laughed at profanation. Linora listened with bird-
like attention, her head on one side, eying him as
if he were indeed a rare specimen.

"You mean, in short, that you think wicked
thoughts ? " she said, as soon as he had finished.

"It isn't that I think wicked thoughts," burst
out Bernard. " It is that I am naturally bad,
coarse. I have a surface polish which misleads
you ; that is education, intercourse with respectable
people. If I had been let alone for the untrained
Adam to develop in me, I should have been a thief;
not a murderer, — I'm too base for courage."

"My friend," said Linora, impressively, "you
must go to Professor Leonard." Thereupon she
descanted upon Professor Leonard, and the skill
with which he ministered to the sorrowful.

Bernard had never been called on to form a very

LINORA. 217

positive opinion on the subject of spiritualism.
He regarded it, in a general way, as rude quack
ery ; after Linora's preface he was open to convic
tion. No one could be more easily captivated by
the strange in psychology. The next morning
found him inquiring for Professor Leonard. As
it happened, Leonard was so ill with headache that
Hiker, kindly inexorable master as he was, had
been obliged to excuse him from the office. At
some inconvenience to himself, since there were
preparations to be made for materialization that
evening, Hiker took his place.

When Bernard was shown in, Biker met him
with an effusive apology for Professor Leonard's
absence. Might he do his best to act instead?
Bernard saw no reason to the contrary, and Riker
accordingly went* through the preliminaries of
seating him, taking his own place, and going into
a trance. The first result was a very clever anal
ysis of Bernard's own character, independent, how
ever, of the late conclusions Bernard had himself
drawn. He listened, quite unconscious that he
was now and then helping along the disquisition
by volunteering confirmation or disapproval.
Riker made some telling hits, and Bernard, in his
interest, became more and more involved. Not
at all to his surprise, since it came about so grad
ually, he was soon describing his mental troubles
and asking for advice.

218 FOOLS OF NATURE.

" We are glad you came to us," said Riker, after
keen listening. " We have been wanting to help
you for a long time. Do you know there is a shin
ing throng waiting to see you? They are your
own relatives ; some of them have been years in
the spirit land. Mary, Aunt Mary, is here."

How could Bernard accept or deny? He
thought with shame that he might be presented to
generations of ancestors of whose very names he
was ignorant.

" One — I think she passed over when she was
very young — " Riker went on. " May be an aunt
or a cousin, — a sister even. She seems to know
all about your condition ; she tells me what it is,
and what you must do. Did you ever know a
tall, stooping, broad-shouldered man with a heavy
face? He has thick black eyebrows and cruel
little eyes. He wears a great coat with a cape,
and a queer little cap. Did you ever know him? "

Bernard considered, and then said, " No."

" How could you ? " said Riker, with an apolo
getic laugh. " She, the bright spirit, tells me he
lived a hundred years ago. He was a great stu
dent. She seems to tell me he lived in some for
eign country."

" What have I to do with him? " asked Bernard.

" She shakes her head and smiles. There are
some things they are not allowed to tell. She
says he haunts you ; he whispers those things into

LINORA. 219

your cars. You believe you think them yourself,
but you don't."

" What can I do to get rid of him? "

" Put yourself under better conditions. The
best way to keep off bad spirits is to put yourself
under the influence of good ones. There are
many beautiful spirits ready at any time to talk
with you. Go where they can have a chance to
do it, and the black student will find he has lost
his hold on you."

This was followed by much more to the same
purpose, together with a very positive declaration
that Bernard was " mediumistic," and might be
easily developed if he chose ; a compliment usually
paid by mediums to whomsoever they chance to
address.

It would have been hard for Bernard to formu
late his impressions. Indeed, it was, when Linora
demanded them. He was, of all people, one of
the most credulous. It was by no means neces
sary to demonstrate that two plus two equal four,
to insure his acceptance of the fact. Two results
certainly followed the visit, — he was aroused to
a vivid interest in spiritualism, and he found him
self haunted by a visual image of the man Riker
had described. His sensitive condition, acted upon
by the vividness of his imagination, readily brought
that about. If he went into a room, the malicious
student was likely to confront him. If he took a

220 FOOLS OF NATURE.

chair, the chances were that the image was already
in possession of it. It was, he told himself,
merely a freak of the imagination, but it was, nev
ertheless, productive of decided discomfort.

Gradually Linora drew him into her own fervor
of zeal as to investigation , and the two consulted
clairvoyants and mediums, growing more and more
credulous.

Nothing amused Stephen more than to hear the
two fanatics marshal their arguments. Though
she had less to say, it was evident that his wife
.shared their interest. He was sorry for that. It
was perfectly evident to so keen an observer that a
double motive spurred Linora on to discuss and
question. She was interested in the subject ; she
was doubly interested in exciting Bernard to en
thusiastic exposition of his views. Zeal is apt to
lead a man into ridiculous display, and Bernard
was mirth-provoking at his best. Even Sarah,
who loved him, could see that, and caught herself
wishing that, for the sake of impartial eyes, he
would not rumple his hair and snap his eyes in
the heat of argument.

" For — either one of two things," said Bernard,
when the four were together, " either one of two
things ! " He put one lean finger on the table to
mark a point, and sat blinking rapidly at Stephen.
Linora, having plied the subject as bait until he
had once vigorously seized upon it, lay back in her

LINORA. 221

chair and watched him. " Either these phenomena
come from some strange faculty of the mind, un
classified as yet, or they are literally communica
tions from the spirits of the dead. In either case
we are bound to investigate."

" Why ? " asked Stephen, his coolness in striking
contrast with Bernard's perturbation.

"Because we are the better for all knowl
edge," went on Bernard. "We have the revela
tion by faith ; perhaps we are going to have it by
sight."

" Half of it," said Stephen, " does come from
unclassified action of the mind, as you say ; half
is clever guessing. I am willing to stake ten to
one that, if I chose to barter for it the simple
practice of not lying, I could act as medium for
five years, and retire on a princely fortune, with a
prime reputation."

"You may be a genuine medium," suggested
Linora.

"No, I have only my quota of senses. But —
added he, glancing at her mischievously, "I'll
prove my point, if you like. Shall I tell your past
history, and let you judge my guessing powers for
yourself? "

Sarah laughed, but instantly stopped when Lin
ora shrank into herself, saying, with real earnest
ness, "Not that! Be kind!" Sarah at once
thought of the priest, and tingled with shame and

222 FOOLS OF NATDEE.

sorrow that they should have reminded the poor
little creature of her sufferings.

It happened about this time that Miss Maria
broke through a custom of long standing, and made
a visit to Boston. She had not once seen Leonard
since he left Coventry. Through one pretext or
another, Riker had prevented his pupil from going
down to the old home. Miss Maria knew the
reason quite as well as Eiker himself. He was
well aware of her hatred of him, and her continual
mental remonstrance against Leonard's stay with
him. The medium feared her influence ; he would
never allow her to exert it if he could prevent it.
Therefore, since her boy could not go to her, she
would find him in Boston. She wished, if possi
ble, to go when Eiker was away from home, but
there was no certainty of being able to do that.
One morning, as she was pondering over the ques
tion in the midst of breakfast-getting, a neighbor
brought in a letter from Leonard. In the course
of it, he mentioned, incidentally, that the pro
fessor had consented to give a lecture in the west
ern part of the state. Some wealthy resident of a
town had begged him to do so as a great favor, and
in consideration of a large sum of money. The
date mentioned was the very day on which Miss
Maria was reading the letter. Her resolution was
formed and matured in a flash.

LINORA. 223

"Pa," she said, when Uncle Ben came in from
milking, "I'm going to Boston." Uncle Ben
straightened himself after putting down the pails,
took oft' his hat, aud passed his hand over his hair.

" Sho ! " was his final exclamation.

"You see," went on Maria, discreetly reserving
a part of her motives, " I ain't seen Leonard for
nobody knows how long, and this morning it's
come over me, so that I guess I'll go to-day, if
you'll get me to the depot."

" Now how pleased he'll be ! " said Uncle Ben,
the smiling wrinkles deepening in his face. Then
the shadow of an anxious thought flitted across it.
" It ain't another arrant, Maria? " he said, taking
a step towards her. " Is it because you want to
see a doctor up there, an' are keepin' it away from
me?"

Maria laughed, half in genuine pleasure at his
constant thought of her, half in ridicule of the
thought.

" You've never known me to tell a lie when I
did speak, have you, Pa? I've kept a good many
things close, but I never lied out-and-out. I don't
want to see any doctor, and I won't see any doc
tor, and there's the whole ! "

" Yes, yes, that sets my mind easy," said Uncle
Ben, beginning to bustle about. " Now you fly
round an' get off, an' leave the dishes to me."

In two hours' time Miss Maria was sitting in the

224 FOOLS OP NATURE.

train flying towards Boston, her bag in her lap,
tightly clasped by both hands, and an expression
of determination on her face. As the magnitude of
the occasion impressed her more deeply, and she felt
that it would be impossible, in the nature of
things, for such wild trips to occur often, she be
came a little dismayed at the thought that Leon
ard himself might not be at home. That she might
telegraph and ask him to remain at home, should
he still be there, did occur to her, but though
she was not sparing of money, she could not tele
graph. That adaptation of the lightning seemed
sacred to the uses of adversity, the announcement
of illness and death. There seemed, although she
did not so state it to herself, an impropriety in
using it for trivial purposes.

When she reached the house in Kay Street, her
eye was at once arrested by the sign which set
forth Professor Leonard's name. She stopped to
contemplate it. Despite the fact that she firmly
believed Leonard to be a dupe, in his turn duping
others, she did feel a thrill of pride in regarding
that sign !

Professor Leonard was in, and Maria awaited
her turn in the reception room, with Linora, as it
happened. Linora became instantly observant of
the woman's village smartness of dress, and her
New England type of face. Placing one's self in
these semi-spiritual surroundings seemed to do

LINORA. 225

away with the small restraints of conventionality.
People never waited for an introduction in Professor
Leonard's reception room. Linora drew her chair
nearer, and asked in a gentle voice, the deprecation
of which itself apologized for the liberty, —

"Pardon me, but are you a spiritualist? "

"No," said Miss Maria, stiffening, and embrac
ing with delight the opportunity of displaying her
true colors in a place where they could by no
means offend her father. "No, I thank the Lord
I'm not."

" Excuse me ; I thought from your being
here — "

" I'm here to see the medium. I've known him
ever since he was a little boy. My father brought
him up."

" Then your father is the old gentleman I have
sometimes seen here," said Linora, assuming the
air of the interest she really felt. " But he be
lieves in it?"

"Yes," said Miss Maria, shortly. She was not
drawn to Linora. Having justified herself in re
gard to the imputation of belief in spiritualism,
she meant to go no further in the catechism.

A second visitor was shown in, — Sarah. Lin
ora had begged for her companionship an hour
before, and Sarah had refused it. When Linora
had gone, however, she thought over the girl's
erratic ways, and felt impelled to meet her at

226 FOOLS OF NATURE.

Leonard's, in spite of her own shrinking from the
place. She still saw no reason why a girl of re
spectable training should be attended through her
maiden life. That was true of the generality of
girls, but she began to have a faint glimmering of
an idea that Linora personally needed a duenna.

" How good you were to come ! " called Linora.
"And you want to see this lady. She is the
daughter of the old gentleman you liked so much."
In the instant before acknowledging the awkward
introduction, Sarah was conscious of thankfulness
that Linora had not phrased the description as her
"wise old man."

Miss Maria was as quick in her likings as her in
antipathies. Sarah's face was not only bright but
frank, and the elder woman put out her hand to
her.

"How did you know my father? " she asked.

"I saw him here one day, and he was kind
enough to talk with me," answered Sarah. "I
was very grateful to him." Maria smiled, well
pleased. — "Suppose," Sarah went on, turning to
Linora, " suppose you make your visit some other
day? This lady will have more time for her call,
and you can come again better than she."

It was for Linora's sake also. Sarah could but
feel that whatever good spiritualism might hold,
it was not meant for precisely this sort of nature.
Linora would gladly have demurred, but as Miss

UNORA. 227

Maria did not refuse the sacrifice, she yielded, and
the two took their leave, Maria going to an ex
cess of cordiality that was surprising even to
herself. "If you should ever come my way —
Coventry — come and see us," she said, pointedly
to Sarah.

The visitor closeted with Leonard came out
alone, and presently Leonard followed. Maria
heard his step, and her heart beat high, but she did
not turn her face.

"This way, if you please," said the familiar
voice, not so strikingly changed as she had expect
ed it to be. Maria did not move. The young
man came nearer, and looked curiously at her.
His astonished blue eyes seemed to start from their
sockets.

"Auntie I it isn't I it can't be I "

" Ain't it ? " said Maria, composedly, though her
own cheeks were flushed and her eyes full of
tears. "Well, I should like to know why it
ain't?"

Leonard was quite beside himself, but none too
demented for her. She had a jealous heart ; it
demanded much from the few who occupied it.
Leonard told the servant to deny him to other vis
itors, and led Maria into his private room. There
she was about to throw off her shawl, but paused
midway to ask, —

" Is he gone?"

228 POOLS OP NATURE.

« Professor Riker? Yes."
« For all day?"

"Yes." Then she put aside her wrappings,
settled her collar and bow, and began, abrupt-

iy>-

" Well, how's he treated you?"

"Well I splendidly ! " answered the boy, heart
ily. "He's always been good to me, and I have
more money than I want to spend."

" Do you lay up any ? "

"Yes ; the professor does for me."

" Where has he put it?"

"In a bank here."

" In your name ? "

" No, in his. He does all my business for me ;
he understands business."

" Humph ! " said Maria. " Lenny, you take my
advice, and have every cent you own put under
your own name. It's safer; something might
happen," she added, with an afterthought that
there was no necessity for arousing in him a dis
trust to no purpose. " The professor may die,
you know."

"Yes," said Len, with easy assurance, "but if
he did, Mrs. Eiker'd look out for me."

Maria groaned in spirit, and held her peace.
As she looked at Len, in his fashionable dress,
— and it struck her with even more awe for its
gaudiness, — she felt herself slightly dazed by his

UNORA. 229

elegance and that of the room. She was still
firmly convinced that his money was ill-gotten,
but there is, nevertheless, something very impos
ing in the sight of prosperity, even that of the
wicked. A thing may have no right to exist,
yet when it stares you calmly in the face, saying
" I am ! " there seems some practical difficulty in dis
puting its claim point-blank. The personal change
in Len did not deeply affect her. She had been
training herself during his absence to the expecta
tion of finding him altered beyond recognition,
and the reality lay far behind her fears.

" Lenny," she began again, fixing her keen gray
eyes on his, " do you honestly and truly believe in
what you tell folks here, — in this spiritualism
business ? "

"Honestly and truly, auntie," answered Lcn,
without hesitation.

" Do you believe you see things, and hear people
talk to you ? "

" I know I see the old lady I've always seen, and
she does talk to me," said Len, meeting her gaze
unflinchingly . " Sometimes I don't see her for days,
and then again she won't leave me for weeks."

" What do you think she is ? " went on Maria,
making a last despairing effort to reach the bottom
of his consciousness.

" Why, my control ! " said he, surprised at the
intimation that there might be another theory.

230 FOOLS OF NATURE.

'"The professor says so, and Uncle Ben says so.
They know more'n I do."

" You say she talks to you ; do you hear her
voice ? "

" No, not exactly, — not in my ears ; in my
mind. I can't seem to tell you about it, auntie.
I seem to hear it and feel it together."

Aunt Maria gave up the solution, in pure de
spair, and turned to the less vexing point of gaining
a promise from him to visit Coventry. That proved
impossible. Len acknowledged his longing to be
there again ; homesick tears came into his eyes,
confirming his words, but he could only promise
provisionally. He must do whatever the professor
said. Maria realized that, in some mysterious way,
he was held under the influence of a will beside
which her persuasion had little weight. When
she took her way home that night, she was very
doubtful as to her own satisfaction in her visit.
So far as coming to any right understanding of
Len's position was concerned, it had ended in
smoke. The sight of him, however, had satisfied
her affection. Strange, too, as it was, and as she
felt it to be, his simple declaration convinced her
of his continued honesty, in the face of evidence
to the contrary.

Leonard had not told her everything in regard
to his manner of working, simply because he
could not. He himself did not know how deeply

LINORA. 231

he had been drawn into Biker's own methods.
His master still kept him, at intervals, conning
high-sounding diction, suited to the consolation of
the afflicted, and descriptive of the occupations
and emotions of those who had " passed over into
spirit life." He accepted such tasks unquestion-
ingly, as part of his education, and was quite
unconscious of their influence on his business
interviews. He would have been horrified at the
thought of interpolating ideas of his own in the
messages given to him by his " control," but as
time went on, those messages became inextricably
mingled with fragments of remembered rote. On
the days when he firmly declared that he could
not see his phantom, Riker was obliged to excuse
him to visitors, though thereby was lost many a
fat fee. But as his master pressed him with
hourly repeated inquiries as to his possible ability
to recall her, the boy was inevitably driven into a
nervous trepidation which always ended in her
appearance. So, with this resource of harassment
at his command, Riker was able to take care that
the periods when Leonard was not " under control "
should be of short duration.

CHAPTER XVI.

AN UNEXPECTED CHECK.

"OERNARD had not resigned himself to the

•~~^

-*-* prospect of idleness, though, as it seemed,
he was not to find work as a journalist. There
was no place for him in Boston, as there had been
none in New York. He had had no experience,
and editors showed a surprising unanimity in
refusing to take the will for the deed. In the
mean time, he must live on the money of which he
felt himself wrongfully possessed, though when
the hour for work should come, as it must, he
would pay it back to the last penny. In these
days, Sarah was not his chief adviser ; that place
was held by Linora. If Bernard did not tell her
all the facts which weighed upon him, he hinted
so constantly at his overmastering emotions that
the clever little creature finally knew him far
better than he knew himself. Sarah, in secret, de
plored her inability to approach him, but noted
his growing intimacy with Linora, and was glad.
He must become fond of her. If Linora could
forget her priest, and sometime return his possible
love, it would be well for them both. She had
begun to realize that there were strange inconsist-

232

AN UNEXPECTED CHECK. 233

ences in Linora's nature, but she reflected that
marriage and happiness might assimilate them into
the consistently good.

The time came when Bernard spoke cautiously
to Linora of his parentage. Linora immediately
assumed the existence of a thrilling domestic
drama, evolving from her sentimentally disposed
brain the conclusion that, beyond the bare facts he
had mentioned, lay some dramatic mystery. For
the solution of that she insisted upon his consult
ing Professor Leonard. Bernard refused, thought
it all over, and went. Could the medium describe
his mother? Bernard was conscious of a great
curiosity as to whether the tie of blood or the
ignobility of his nature might be stronger. Should
he hate her because she was not of the manner of
life he coveted, or love her simply because he was
of her flesh?

Leonard was that day sadly homesick, a state
of emotion for which Maria was responsible.
The sight of her had renewed his longing for the
old place, the farm-house, the little river flowing
near, the peaceful faces of the two people dearest
to him. He had asked permission to go down at
once, and Biker had refused. His denials were
still kind ; they lay in an indefinite postponement.

Bernard's first question was, "Tell me about my
mother." And Leonard began with his stereo
typed phrase, "I see an old lady." Thereupon

234 FOOLS OF NATURE.

followed the description he had given Sarah, and,
like Sarah, Bernard fitted the words to his adopted
mother.

"Not that one," he said. "I mean my real
mother, not my adopted one. The one alive ; the
one I haven't seen for so long."

Leonard's heart, big with his own longing for
home, pictured to him a mother neglected, de
prived of her son for many years.

" Oh, go and see her ! " he broke forth, earnestly,
"go back to her and ask her to forgive you."
Bernard could not protest against the latter phrase.
There lay much need of forgiveness, he thought,
in his disloyalty.

" Would she be glad to see me ? " he asked, his
heart sinking under the thought that he might in
deed feel called upon to go.

" She thinks of you all the time. She is waiting
for you to come back." Further questioning elici
ted nothing of a different nature. Leonard owned
that the " control " had left him and he could say
no more.

Whether Bernard was or was not influenced by
this as being supernatural, and therefore weighty
advice, it gave him a new idea. All these months
he had been longing to perform some sort of
exaggerated penance. Might it not be the true,
the noble tiling, to go back to his own people and
live in their midst? He, with his evil nature,

AN UNEXPECTED CHECK. 235

seemed to hold no place among the irreproachable
in life and pure in heart. Let him return to the
place and rank where nature placed him, and be
come at least an honest laboring man. He went
home and told Linora of his decision. To his
srreat delight she combated it. What could be

r? o

more welcome than the declaration of one knowing
his position, that he was expecting too much of
himself?

" Now," said Linora, in a business-like manner,
" where is the duty ? You are trying to make
one where none exists. Your mother gave you
away because it was best for you and convenient
for her. It is still best for you to stay away ; no
doubt it is still convenient for her to have you."

The advice coincided entirely with his own in
clinations, but it did strike him as being slightly
cold-blooded. Linora was marvellously quick in
response to the mood of her listeners. She de
tected in his face the surprise that held no approval ,
and her own expression changed at once. She
broke into tearful appeal.

" I am selfish ! " she said, putting her hand on
his arm. "I am not to be trusted for advice.
You see, I need you here so much that I can't ask
you to go."

What man or woman was ever ungratified by a
just appreciation of himself? Bernard, like most
unprepossessing people, was gifted with a large

236 FOOLS OF NATURE.

quota of vanity, and sought Linora oftener because
her friendship for him seemed to be growing in
warmth. And she was sincerely anxious to keep
him. He represented a punctual and attentive
audience.

Now came one of her periodical seasons of
grief. What wonder ? The priest had again re
turned, again insisted on seeing her, and again
she was unable to deny him. By this time both
Bernard and Sarah had settled into a very decided
disgust at the proceedings of the invisible lover.
Either would have been glad to offer him salutary
advice. This time Linora confided in them both,
stipulating over and over again that every syllable
should be kept from Stephen. This time, too,
she proved herself amenable to reason, and gently
submitted to Sarah's determination that at least
the errant lover should come respectably to call
at her own house, or that Linora should refuse to
see him. The girl wearily acquiesced. She was
tired of struggling, so she said ; perhaps even the
sight of him would lead to no good. She was
distrustful enough now of her own wisdom to allow
others to choose for her. Finally she announced
to Sarah that she had written him, and he had con
sented to a meeting under conventional sanctions.
The evening was appointed, and when it came,
Linora insisted on Bernard's being also in the house.
She seemed nervously to dread the ordeal, declar-

AN UNEXPECTED CHECK. 237

ing that she needed his support, and Bernard was
flattered into thinking himself of some slight use
in the world, after all.

Stephen was away that evening, to Linora's
apparent relief. Perhaps, as she knew of his en
gagement, she had purposely made the appoint
ment for that night. As the time drew near,
Bernard and Sarah found themselves afflicted by
a sympathetic nervousness. Linora was so evi
dently beside herself that it was impossible to re
sist the influence of her mood. As the hour
approached, she pathetically begged to be allowed
to wait alone in a chamber which she had often
occupied. Sarah and Bernard remained together.
The clock struck, and the priest had not come.
Five and ten minutes passed. Sarah ventured to
look at Bernard ; his glance prophesied ill.

"He won't come," he said. "He has a way of
not coming."

Overhead they could hear Linora hurry up and
down the room, all her fever of impatience made
audible in her hastening footsteps. The bell sud
denly rang, and the watchers started, exchanging
another quick glance.

Sarah stole on tiptoe to the head of the stairs.
A masculine voice was just asking for Miss Gale.*
Sarah came back, her face aflame, her eyes bright.
Bernard forgot Linora in looking at her.

" Bernard," she announced, firmly, "I am go-

238 FOOLS OF NATURE.

ing to see him myself before she does. He must
be warned not to excite her. The poor little thing
is beside herself now."

She ran rapidly down the stairs, dismissing the
servant whom she met, and entered the room
where the stranger was still standing. There was
nothing of the priest about him, she thought.
His thin face was clean shaven, indeed, but his
mouth was not of the priestly order. He had
rather the air of a languid man about town.

" May I say a word to you before you speak to
Linora?" she began, without preamble. "The
poor child is very nervous, almost ill. I beg of
you to make this interview as little exciting as you
can."

"By all means," said the stranger, in evident
surprise. His voice was neutral, even when enliv
ened by that emotion. " What I have to say to
her is of the most commonplace nature."

That seemed too unnecessarily deceptive, and
Sarah was betrayed into a retort.

" That can scarcely be, when she has suffered so
much on your account."

Immediately she was ashamed of having spoken.
The stranger lifted his eyebrows increduously.

" May I ask," he said, as Sarah turned to leave
the room, "for whom you take me?"

"Naturally," returned she, with emphasis ; " for
the priest — she has never told me your name

AN UNEXPECTED CHECK. 239

— who has been so unhappily connected with
her."

The man looked thoughtfully at the floor an in
stant, a smile curving his lips, and growing upon
them until it brooded into a laugh. It was a very
pleasant laugh.

"You," he said then, looking up suddenly,
"must be Mrs. Mann." Sarah bowed, not sur
prised. "Mrs. Mann," said the stranger, with a
change to great frankness, " may I have five min
utes' talk with you ? "

It was certainly extraordinary. Here was no
lover-like haste. Sarah came back and gave him
a chair opposite the one she took.

"Now," he said, looking at her quizzically, "I
am going to surprise you. I am no priest. lam
Miss Gale's uncle." She looked at him in a
dumb astonishment which she was conscious ought
to transform itself into horror. " She told you I
was a monster, now, didn't she ? " he went on, with
great enjoyment. Sarah made no reply, but her
eyes spoke for her. "I'm not," he rejoined,
coolly. " She is simply a very theatrical young
woman, with tastes adapted to the stage. It was
a great pity it did not occur to her to go on, in her
earlier youth. Now shall I tell you the little
fiction she has been rehearsing to you of late
months ? "

Thereupon he told the entire story which had

240 FOOLS OF NATURE.

been Sarah's constant food when with Linora,
ending with the declaration, made with great calm
ness, " And there is not one word of truth in it
all ! " Sarah had been recovering her self-posses
sion. Once mistress of it, she said, stoutly, —

" It is exactly the story Linora tells. When the
details agree so well, why should I not believe
them?"

Mr. Gale smiled.

" You will need to ask Linora for confirmation.
Trust me, she enjoys the denouement of her drama
quite as well as the intermediate stages. The little
wretch has a marvellous appreciation of her own
cleverness. Now, Mrs. Mann, I must ask pardon
for expecting you to entertain Ella's visitors, —
yes, we who have always known her call her Ella,
— but I intend to stay but one night in the city,
and they told me at her boarding-place where to
find her. I had hoped also in coming here to see
your husband, my old friend."

That last clause went far towards confirming
Sarah in her growing faith in him. Her anger was
rising now. If Linora had duped her, had cheated
her out of a year's steady drain of sympathy !
Two little spots of red burned on her cheeks ; it
used to be said in her village home that Sarah
Ellis was "high-spirited."

"My husband is not at home," she said, rising.
" He will be sorry, and you must come at another

AN UNEXPECTED CHECK. 241

time. Now will you come with me where we shall
not be disturbed, and I will send for Linora."

He followed, apparently gently amused, but in
capable of taking very vital interest in anybody or
anything. There was tune to introduce him to
Bernard before Linora came, and time to add
meaningly, " This is Linora's uncle." Bernard's
eyes also began to devour the monster, a proceed
ing the monster evidently understood and which
did not displease him. Linora came softly in, her
drooping form and woeful expression making an
artistic whole.

"Well, Ella," said the uncle, dryly, putting out
his hand.

Blank astonishment usurped her features, effect
ually disposing of their misery. Then she made a
swift attempt to recover herself and assume a
natural trepidation. Bernard and Sarah were not
losing a look, the former quite dazed by the turn
affairs had taken.

" Now, Ella," began her uncle, quietly, but not
without a certain authority, "this is the last
scene, you know ; don't try to prolong it. I have
been telling Mrs. Mann that your priest-ridden
love-story is all a myth. Is it? "

The girl hesitated a moment, in thought ; then
she laughed in genuine enjoyment.

" I must sit down if I'm to be cross-examined,"
she said, taking a chair, and crossing her little feet

242 FOOLS OF NATURE.

and hands. "Yes, I suppose I might as well con
fess that it was the fruit of my invention."

"As to my tyranny?" suggested Mr. Gale,
gently patting the arm of his chair. Linora
smiled at him in the most serene good-nature.

" You've always been a dear thing," she said, in
what seemed real affection. " I wouldn't slander
you for the world, if life wasn't so awfully stupid."

"And — ah, there is one point I seem to have
forgotten," he went on, with somewhat weary
conscientiousness. "Did you make the loss of
your voice one item of your drama? It usually is,
as I remember it. — This young lady, Mrs, Mann,
was born without capacity for musical training.
She never had a voice, consequently she never
lost it. Now, I think that is all."

"One thing," said Sarah, indignantly, "one
thing I should like to know, Linora. What
earthly object did you have in telling this host of
lies?"

Linora looked at her with the first real com
punction she had shown. Shallow as she might
be, she would have preferred that Sarah, at least,
should continue to believe in her. Her uncle left
her no time to reply.

" I see I must briefly sketch this young lady's
career," he said. " Her mother died when she was
very young. She never had advisers, or pastors,
or masters of wise repute. Her father let her go

AN UNEXPECTED CHECK. 243

into society when she pleased. That was when she
was sixteen. From that time to her twenty-eighth
year she was steadily busy in the rather ill-bred
pastime known as flirting. I suppose she num
bers her victims by the hundred." Here Linora
smiled, in retrospective enjoyment. "About that
time I became her guardian, and, as I proved
somewhat of a damper on her amusements, she
preferred to live away from me. I had no objec
tion. For the last four years she had been gulling
people with the little dramatic fiction 1 have just
told you. Society was wearing her out, body and
mind, and she was tired of it. Most people under
such circumstances, embrace religion ; Ella had
dramatic instincts, and she took to private theat
ricals. Last summer, however, they seemed to
have palled upon her, and she begged me to take
her to various fashionable resorts, where she
danced and flirted to her heart's content. I did it
as a precautionary measure ; I thought it quite as
well that she should exercise her inclinations in
my care. I can't take it upon myself to watch
her all the time, but whenever I find it possible, I
drop down and expose her to her last victims. It
not only saves* them from being too deeply
deceived, but I fancy in time it may prove salutary
for her. Possibly, with public exposure always
before her, she may not continue to indulge in her
intemperance."

244 FOOLS OF NATURE.

His manner was still languid and his tone
unconcerned, but Sarah thought she detected an
undercurrent of real annoyance and displeasure.

"Is that all?" asked Linora, airily, from behind
her archly uplifted fan. She was not defiant nor
ashamed, — only amused at her own cleverness,
and at the unexpected blow of finding the tables
turned upon her. At that moment she caught
sight of Bernard, bending forward, his hair dishev
elled, his mouth and eyes distended. She broke
into overwhelming laughter ; peal upon peal it
came, till the tears rolled down her cheeks. Angry
and disgusted as she had been, Sarah's inevitable
sense of humor came to the surface, and she smiled
against her will. Even Gale looked at Linora with
a twinkle in his eye, his mouth curving almost
imperceptibly.

" Whenever I see him," panted Linora, in the
midst of inextinguishable bursts of merriment,
" whenever I see him I think of that night when
we paced up and down at our rendezvous. I
nearly died over it; I'm so glad I can laugh it
out ! "

It is difficult to realize that one's self is included
in a deception. In some strange manner Bernard
had overlooked his own share in the farce ; now he
started, flushing irritably.

"Do you mean to say — " he began, and then
stopped, trembling.

AN UNEXPECTED CHECK. 245

"The way we paced up and down, and he so
sorry for me ! " went on Linora, still pointing at
him, and trying to wipe her tears. "His delicate
sympathy ! His patience, and the heroism with
which he kept down his shivers ! It was a fear
fully cold night, but I was muffled and veiled. Oh,
how I have laughed at it since, and how I laughed
that night ! And when I could contain myself no
longer, he thought I sobbed."

Bernard waited for no more ; he walked from
the room, looking at no one, and presently they
heard the street door close behind him. There
was a slight flush on Gale's face.

"Mrs. Mann," he said, rising, "I hope you will
do me the justice to believe that I am very much
ashamed. Perhaps it was not wise to make a scene,
but my good angel isn't always at hand, and I am
afraid I was too — well, — displeased with Ella to
be very delicate."

Sarah gave him her hand, looking at him with
frank cordiality.

"I thank you, and I want to know you," she
said, simply. You must come to us at your first
opportunity."

Linora put her palms together and approached
them, a humble little penitent.

"Don't try anything of that sort again," said
Sarah, her anger breaking bounds. "If you wish
me to tolerate you, be your real self, — if there is

246 FOOLS OF NATURE.

any real self to you." Linora turned away, brush
ing aside what might have been a couple of genuine
tears.

"I did care for you," she said, bluntly. "I
didn't lie there."

Sarah waited for her husband that night, and,
when he came, ran to meet him like a whirlwind.

" Stephen, what do you know about Linora?"

"What do you know?" asked he, shaking the
rain-drops from his hat, and then turning to con
front her with a mischievous face.

"Everything!"

"Well, so do I," returned her husband, as they
went up stairs. " How did your revelation come ? "

Sarah told him the story from beginning to end,
finishing with the exclamation, "Now, Stephen,
why did you allow me to be deceived ? "

"My dearest," said Stephen, reflectively, "I
suppose that was one of the few humane impulses of
my life. You remember she asked me to let you
keep on caring for her. Just at the time you were
promising to bless my own life, and that made me
soft-hearted. I knew the girl felt about you exactly
as I do, — that you are as pure as an angel and as
true as truth. I thought you might do her good."

"And I haven't ! " cried Sarah, conscience-
stricken.

" You must have, little heart. You couldn't ex
pect to change her nature ; that's warped out of all

AN UNEXPECTED CHECK. 247

symmetry by this time. But it would do the arch
fiend himself good to see you often."

" But why didn't you tell me before we were
engaged, when you saw she was deceiving me?"
asked Sarah, willing to draw the conversation
away from her own perfections.

" I couldn't ! It seemed such an underhand
thing to do, especially as I was sure you couldn't
be injured by her. I suppose she took me in as
thoroughly as she ever swallowed a victim."

" Tell me about it."

"Well, she told me her story, and I was so
sorry for her that we swore an oath of eternal
friendship ; and she used to call me her champion
and brother. Then, after I met Gale with her in
New York, and he gave the true version, — because
it was necessary, you understand; he saw I was
too thoroughly gulled, — I was so furiously angry
with her, and disgusted with myself, that I acted
the ruffian to her fair penitent, ever after ; at least
until you came, and your fingers smoothed out all
my rage and wrinkles."

"I wonder how I shall treat her if we meet
again," mused Sarah.

" You will meet again," sajd Stephen, smiling
broadly. " She won't give you up so. She's the
coolest little piece that ever told a lie. And she
is amusing ! " he added, emphatically. " I can
forgive her much, in consideration of that."

CHAPTEE XVH.

OUTSroE AND IN.

T INORA had, indeed, no idea of giving up her
-*-^ friends. It was on the very evening after
the end of her comedy that she made her appear
ance unannounced, in the room where the three
sat together. Bernard himself had just come.
His evil humors were strong upon him. His
thoughts were troubled by demons of iniquity ; his
room was haunted by the malicious visitant Hiker
had described. Choosing rather to be made jeal
ous of the human than afraid of the unsubstantial,
he had rushed away to find such comfort as he
might in companionship.

Linora came in brightly, by no means defiant
in ignoring what had passed the night before. She
had not forgotten it, and remembrance involved no
shame. She had enjoyed it, and was ready for a
new play.

Sarah rose hesitatingly, divided between the
promptings of her quick instinct of hospitality, and
an irrepressible distrust. Linora was equal to the
occasion ; she seemed to bear about her the airs
from a thousand drawing-rooms. Bernard would

248

OUTSIDE AND IN. 249

not look at her. Only with Stephen did she ex
change an amused glance.

" I know you are talkingabout my iniquities," she
said, coolly, taking her favorite corner of the sofa.
" Don't deny it. What was the verdict, — the
average verdict?"

"You may exaggerate our interest," returned
Sarah, quickly. "And you were mistaken; we
hadn't mentioned your name."

"Not once? Then I'm glad I came," said Lin-
ora, imperturbably ; "for you would have done it
in five minutes more. Mr. Bernard, you haven't
spoken to me."

Bernard was beyond consideration of rules
and precedents. She had deceived him ; he had
given his most sacred confidences into soiled
hands.

" I don't speak to you because I can't," he
answered. "I don't like you; I distrust you."
That seemed so plainly brutal an assertion that
Sarah, with her idea of the growing relation be
tween the two, was moved to pity. She made an
involuntary motion to prevent his going further.
But Linora was not disconcerted.

"I knew you wouldn't like me," she said, smil
ing kindly. " But I like you, though you are
rather more pastoral in your tastes than I should
choose a young man to be." While Stephen in
lazy interest, and Sarah more earnestly, were

250 FOOLS OF NATURE.

looking their inquiries, she broke forth into peals
of laughter.

M I have a vision of you," she said, when she had
recovered herself, " returning to the home of your
ancestors ! "

" Linora, — Bernard, what does this mean ? "
asked Sarah, looking from one to the other. Ber
nard sat nervously clenching and opening his
hands, his face growing every instant more and
more flushed.

" After you are fairly domesticated, you take
up rural pursuits," went on Linora. "You wear
shepherd's costume, with pink and blue ribbons
round your knees ; and you strike attitudes all
day long, playing on an oaten pipe. Isn't it
an oaten pipe, Mr. Mann?" Stephen looked at
her indulgently. " You must stand cross-legged,"
continued she, in solemn reflection, "one toe on
the ground. You will lead forth the flocks, and
the feminine portion of the household will twine
garlands and wreaths about their horns. I also
may go there and twine. Sarah, will you not
twine ? "

"Linora, don't be absurd," said Sarah, watching
Bernard in apprehension. "Or, if you must make
fun of anybody, take me."

" I must eulogize Colin ; indeed I must," went
on Linora, turning again to Bernard. " Colin, you
will remember the blue ribbons — and a largo hat

OUTSIDE AND IN. 251

— and a crook ? You'd better take the crook down
with you."

The cold sweat had broken out on Bernard's
face. He was miserable enough at finding him
self the butt of a joke ; he suffered acutely when
the jest touched a wound. Stephen, glancing at
him, forbore to smile.

" Has your uncle left town? " he asked, merci
fully changing the topic.

" On the contrary, he has sent for his trunks,"
returned Linora, lifting her brows and plaiting a
fold of her dress. " I think — I should object to
the entire area of Gath becoming acquainted
with the suspicion, but I really think — he is on
the brink of falling in love with Miss Phebe."
Stephen was evidently willing she should go on,
and she did not wait for encouragement. " I intro
duced them this morning, and a wonderful com
munity of feeling already exists between them ;
that is, on all subjects but one. You couldn't
expect them to agree in their estimate of me."

" No, hardly," said Stephen, with dry frankness.

"But Uncle Will has not yet confided my
idiosyncrasies to her. I extra«ted a promise
from him to that effect. On condition that I leave
the priest to rest in unhallowed earth, Miss Phebe
is not to be told that he has never existed. Is it
too much to ask you all to refrain from confiding
in her?"

252 FOOLS OF NATURE.

The request was put in an off-hand, incidental
way, and she apparently took the answer for
granted.

"I like Miss Phebe," she stated, "just as I
like you, Sarah, though not as much. I object to
losing her toleration. And with all this hideous
frankness buzzing about the air, I am likely to
have no friends left."

"Don't talk about it," said Sarah, longing to
help her into a clearer atmosphere. "Let us all
forget it, Linora. Life is too good and too short
for such play."

"Will you forget it?" said Linora, looking up
in what seemed earnest gratitude. But her glance
took in Bernard on the way, and her demon of
absurdity triumphed. " But when I think of
Colin ! " she reiterated, her laughter beginning
afresh. "Colin, cross-legged, and piping out his
distrust of me to the vales and hills, — it is too
much ! "

As it had previously happened, Bernard was
driven from the field ; he literally ran away, and
Linora followed, uttering some indulgent con
demnation of her own hardness of heart. Then
Stephen and Sarah could but exchange glances of
puzzled amusement. Possibly there awoke in
Sarah something of the righteous indignation of
the reformer who finds his seed scattered by the
four capricious winds of heaven. Since Stephen

OUTSIDE AND IN. 253

had told her that he had hoped good would spring
from her influence over Linora, she had felt
bound to drag the girl to the firm ground of
truth. And lo ! her first weak effort had ended
in laughter.

"I am a haunted man," said Bernard to himself
that night, hurrying to his lonely room. " They
must be right, these spiritualists. Some unclean
devil has me in his power."

With his hand on the key, he paused, half fear
ing to enter. What might he not find there ? The
bodily presence of the man who was said to haunt
him?

•

" No one can look upon a spirit and live," he
whispered. " My time for seeing may have come."

He threw open the door, and took one wide,
defiant glance, which swept the room. Nothing
unusual was there, though the dim light of the
lowered gas softened all outlines, and transformed
the common furniture into a menagerie of strange
monsters. He turned on the gas to a full blaze,
and drew a breath of relief. Sitting down to the
brooding which now occupied half his time, he
chose a corner, that he might hold the entire room
under survey. Nothing should creep behind him.
A fear was gaining upon him, day by day, that
the mediums might be right in calling him " me-
diumistic." He might indeed possess this horri
ble faculty; it might develop itself in spite of

254 FOOLS OF NATURE.

him, and, at some moment, a vision would burst
upon him, and he must die in spasms of terror.
His sick mind had still the power of reflection ; it
reached the certain conclusion that its own weak,
shattered condition was not that in which the
supernatural might be faced. Threads of reverie
on the unseen and the material braided themselves
in and out within his mind. Now he pictured to
himself the form of his unseen visitant, who nrght
at the moment be lowering at him from some cor
ner. Now he thought of Linora with a pang of
disgust. And yet she was not so much to be
blamed for making him the butt of her scorn. He
was sufficiently ridiculous to furnish food for laugh
ter to both gods and men.

The thought of Sarah lay upon his mind like the
one cool drop which must rather aggravate than
allay his thirst for consolation. It borrowed heat
from his own blood, and became scalding. She
was the one pure thing that held place in his life,
but being pure, she was not for him. Just what
he would have chosen, after the inconceivable
good of her love, he could not have told. Chiefly,
perhaps, to be in some manner, and through her,
less lonely ; to feel her fingers smooth out the
knotted lines of life, her sweet breath purify the
air like garden pinks. She inevitably suggested
things homelike, sweet, and natural. And yet,
while he acknowledged his need of the loving

o o

OUTSIDE AND IN. 255

friendliness she had for him, he could not bring
himself to the point of accepting it.

All this time he was trying, in an inert, leaden
fashion, to bring himself to do his penance, in go
ing back to his own people.

Another night came when, beside himself with
loneliness and the misery of dreams, he took his
way to Stephen's street and number. He stopped
outside the house, arrested by two figures passing
and repassing the window of the large library.
There was no light in the room but that of the
fire ; had it not been for sharp-eyed Envy at his
side, he might not have noticed them. He would
not go in. They wandered up and down their
paradise in interchange of articulate love. He had
no part in their lot ; no one could have. This
was the greatest miracle and paradox of creation,
— the dual unit which makes its own complete
ness. He ran on, almost gnashing his teeth,
striving so to tire his body that it might lead the
mind to forgetfulness.

The two people within were altogether happy,
and unconscious of possible pain elsewhere. The
glow of the fire was red in the room where they
walked. It struck out red from hangings and
couches. Sarah, dressed in a white gown of some
soft, clinging stuff, gathered a rosy flush over face
and drapery. There is, perhaps, nothing more
sweetly absurd than the fact that two people, dcs-

256 FOOLS OP NATURE.

tined in all probability to spend their entire life
together, should steal moments and hours wherein
to talk to each other with desperate eagerness, as
if eternal separation might, at any instant, over
take them. These two were laughing over it
now.

" And it is as if I found you alone for only five
minutes, and a duenna might be lurking behind
the Yenus there," said Stephen, smiling at himself ,
and caressing her hand. "I want to whisper; I
am almost at the point of begging you to fly with
me."

"And I shall," said Sarah, meeting his glance.
"I need but a hint."

His face contracted with the sudden pang of a
remembered pain.

" We have escaped fiercer dragons than any the
story-books put down," he said. " Sweet woman,
I could not have escaped alone."

Part of her loyalty to his present lay in helping
him to forgetfulness of his past. That was pos
sible, since he had no morbid, poetic joy in remem
brance.

" We are safely away, and on the high road to
paradise," she said, lightly. "No, Stephen, how
dare I forget the present? We are not on any
road ; we are at home."

" I may be a weak fellow to say that, if you had
come earlier, my life might have been something

OUTSIDE AND IN. 257

of itself. I ought to have been able to live down
discouragement alone, but I wasn't."

"You have always kept yourself head and shoul
ders above common things," she said, steadily,
"always."

" If it had been any other sort of thing, I might
perhaps have lived it down. If I could have
fought it I but it crept over me like a mildew. I
couldn't breathe through remembering how base
I had made my life. Sarah, sometimes I can't
breathe now ! "

It was true that, the more radiant became his
joy, the more did it seem to illuminate the stains
gathered in the slough where he had lain faint
hearted. Plis wife seemed to awaken in him a
peculiar worship. He did not merely thank God
for the gift of a good woman ; he regarded her with
a species of awe, and was conscious of a half-super
stitious feeling that she had entrance to high regions
inaccessible to him. The belief gave birth to a
jealous idolatry. He feared denial of admission
to the least of her meditations. He felt the neces
sity of purifying himself sufficiently to live with
this virgin mind.

"You are on your knees too much before me,"
she said, that night, between earnest and lightness.
"I am so happy, — oh, a woman loves to play the
queen ! — but you are there because you think I
am good, and I am not." They had passed into

258 FOOLS OF NATURE.

the circle of fire-light where her face was more
clearly visible.

"I worship you as the symbol of all woman
hood," said her husband.

"Not that, Stephen," she said, her own voice
vibrating as she put both her hands on his shoul
ders and looked at him. "I am not worth that.
Do as I do, and worship the Love instead. I
think of it as a great white-winged creature above
us, — noble, majestic, who must not be offended
by anything ignoble in us."

He took her in his arms, and again their talk
went on in a corner of their fireside. Safe, shield
ed, their bliss assured from all calamity but that
of death, they could map out the happy years in
dreams, — years that were gently to soothe this
ecstasy of loving into a calm delight of growth
together.

CHAPTER

A FLAW.

HPHE next day, Stephen was going out of town
-*- on business, and Sarah walked to the station
with him. There had hitherto been no partings
for them, and she was laughingly bemoaning her
self at the prospect of saying good-by. They
laughed at themselves and at the world in general
a great deal, in those days. There is something
rarely childlike in pure human joy.

The spring was coming, and they had the summer
to dispose of, in anticipation.

" You have had no mountains yet," Stephen was
saying as they waited at a crossing. "I — good
God ! " he exclaimed, under his breath. Sarah
turned to him, startled. His eyes were fixed on
a woman standing near them, whose glance inci
dentally met his at the same moment.

"What is, it Stephen?" whispered his wife.

" Don't ! " he answered, hoarsely. " Come ! "

He hurried her across the street and into the
station, dropped her arm when they were once in
side, and drew the long breath of a man unnerved.
An inspiration of knowledge struck his wife like a
throb of pain.

2S0

260 FOOLS OF NATURE.

"Stephen, is it — the woman?" she whispered.

A dull flush branded his face. He turned to
her with the dogged obstinacy of one forcing his
unwilling eyes to meet an accusation.

"Yes." He saw in her the instant almost im
perceptible yielding of the frame, — its cowering
under a blow. " Let us go home. Only have
courage till we get there ! " he said. But she had
gathered herself for action.

"No, of course not. Why should we change
our plans? Nothing has happened." She smiled
up at him. The glance brought a sob to his throat.

" Heaven bless the brave brown eyes ! " he said.
But he ran back as she was turning to leave him, to
say again, " Let me stay with you."

"No," she answered, still smiling. "There is
no need. I am not foolish ; believe in me, and

go."

She hastened out at another door, her head
bent, her eyes on the ground. She was possessed
by a sickening fear of again meeting the woman.
Nothing had happened. Ah, but something had,
and she was hurrying home to meet it alone.
She tried not to think until she was locked in her
own room, with the time before her to scan and
lay her ghost, if it could be laid. For a while
she sat silently listening to an insistent voice.
Then she spoke aloud the words that were beating
themselves into her throbbing brain.

A FLAW. 261

"I have been mistaken," she said, clearly, look
ing up and speaking to the four walls. " We had
no right to marry. It was a lie ; my mother did
not speak through that man."

To have grown up with an ideal of right, to
have been led away from it by what seemed wiser
intuitions, and to behold then the forsaken goddess
stretching out reproachful arms, - — this was what
had happened to her.

Could one go back to forsaken aspirations with
out as much pain as joy — the joy of possession
pierced by the vibrating chord of repentance at
having once renounced them? And with noble
souls, what second fickleness would be possible?
All that day there rang in her heart the reiteration
of the certainty that she could not change again,
however she might long to do so. She had been
right at first, and had fallen from a just decision
through what she had felt to be divine counsel.
She had placed herself under the new laws of an
unfamiliar world of love. What was to be done?

The sin of a wrong decision had been committed,
and, bitterly as she might repent, repentance would
not suffice. The past could not be retraced, but
there must be some steep and thorny by-path lead
ing to the one she should never have left. She
laid her finger on this one day of her life, saying,
"It ends here."

In these first moments, the one right assumed

262 FOOLS OF NATURE.

such gigantic proportions, that she scarcely thought
of the pain involved in serving it. Stephen and
she had been bitterly unfortunate ; their love had
led them towards what seemed the most beautiful,
but which was not, in this one case, the most true.
They were mistaken ; they would retrieve their
mistake. So long as the question bore only an
abstract significance, she thought entirely of the
end, overlooking the common, heart-sickening
means to be traversed. It was a trifling incident
that recalled her to the sight of the' rack, from
dreamy contemplation of the heights to which it
must lead. At twilight, she went to the mirror
to put her hair in order ; a rose in a glass caught
her eye. Stephen had put it there with a lover's
foolish care, that she might pin it at her throat in
the morning, when he should not be by to do it.
She held her hand over the petals, not touching
them, a slow horror gathering in her eyes.
" To give up this ? " she said aloud. " This, all ! "
Her glance had flashed rapidly about the room,
furnished with a hundred thoughts of her. She
had been right in telling Bernard that these were the
symbols of married love. There had been a time
when she could have parted from her lover, feel
ing only the pain of loss. She might now as well
think of tearing limb from limb, expecting still to
live, as to give up the sweet habit of dual exist
ence.

A FLAW. 263

The night passed, and he came. They con
fronted each other like two ghosts held asunder
by an irrevocable decree. When he entered,
Stephen had made an eager, involuntary move
ment towards her, but he was not surprised that
she only smiled at him. lie had expected to find
distance between them at first.

" Well ?" he said, regarding her hopelessly. She
had meant to take the burden of decision on her
self. Now that the time had come, her dry lips
refused their task.

"I couldn't help it, you know," he went on.
" If I could, I would put you under another heaven,
but I can't deny the earth to the creatures born
on it."

Then she found her breath. " My darling, do
you think I could blame you? — do anything but
love you — pity — die for you ? " she said, going
up to him, her eyes all eloquence, regardless of
the endearments she had promised herself to use
no more.

Stephen's face quivered. He could have gone
on his knees to her in pure gratitude. But her
next words roused him.

" Whatever we decide, you will remember that
I did not change, that I loved you, and found you
worthy any woman's love."

He regarded her in breathless amazement.

264 FOOLS OP NATURE.

" Decide ? What is there to decide ? That was
done once for all."

"No," she said, not daring to look at him. "I
was wrong then. You must help me to be right
now."

He was silent so long that she turned to him in
fear. His face showed only a great weariness.

" I thought that ghost was laid," he said, in a
low voice, turning to walk up the room. "It
seems ghosts never are. Well, what am I to do ? "

" Our marriage was no marriage. I am not
your wife. We must live accordingly — apart."

He turned upon her with a power of passion
that made her shrink.

" Not my wife ! " he cried, holding her before
him and forcing her eyes to meet his. " Do you
dare say that ? Think what we two have been to
each other; think of the life we have led here,
and then call it no marriage ! "

Her heart rose to the level of his passion, ready
to join its flood with that torrent, but the pale
ghost of the ideal did not flinch. There, it must
be obeyed.

" If our marriage is a true one, it ought to stand
every test," she said. " It cannot stand the test
of my meeting that woman."

He left her again and walked to the window.
When he came back, it was after reflection, and his
tone was gentler.

A FLAW. 265

" I want to say one thing. It will sound hor
ribly. May it not be — the feeling you evidently
have — the inevitable disgust, shame, that I my
self feel?"

"No," she said, steadily. " I have thought of
that. It is not jealousy. I \vish it were. It is
seeing in her the law I have broken."

Stephen sat down with the air of a man who
had abandoned hope.

" Then I give it up," he said. " There seems
to be no outlet."

" If I could think I had decided through my
own free will," she broke forth, in irrepressible
disgust at the manner of her former change, "I
could bear it. But I was juggled with. I took a
medium's misty commonplaces for a message from
my mother. I thought that supernatural wisdom
was setting me above law. I hate myself for my
weakness. You should hate me, too."

He made no answer. He was scarcely thinking
of her. So the years he had cast behind him were
to repeat themselves ! The shining fabric of this
beautiful dream was ruined forever.

" It's of no use to tell you how much I would
sacrifice to have saved you," he said, at last. " We
must go on as we can. When you repent, try to
think what it has done for me. Your error — if
it is error — has made me very happy."

" But, Stephen," she said, in a voice that feared

266 FOOLS OF NATURE.

itself and shrunk back, " we must not go on to
gether."

Mastery flashed up in him again.

" Yes, by the God that made me ! " he cried,
his voice ringing like that of a conquering host,
"you are mine! I suppose they can kill you,
these higher powers, but as long as I am a man
with my breath and senses, they shall take you in
no other way. Let me see the being that dares
to tell me you are not mine ! Every law in nature
declares it. If it is true that you do not belong
to me, let the old universe rock — for God denies
his own law, and chaos will come next ! "

With all her senses fighting on his side, she, a
speck in that whirlwind of struggling atoms, clung
to her one conviction.

" I do not belong to you. We both belong to
the law."

He turned from her and left the room. She
heard him pacing the next floor, and knew he
would return, winged with persuasion. She sank
on her face upon the pillows, great floods of tears
coming. They were all for him. She was his
wife, not an imperious mistress who might accept
or reject at will, but the woman who had cherished
him as tenderly as mothers soothe and nourish their
children. She was even willing that he should
storm her with arguments. She felt an infinite
patience with his rebellion, growing out of an in-

A FLAW. 267

finite pity for his sorrow. She would answer him
as fully as he chose to ask ; he should know all
her reasons as she knew them. But this time she
was sure she should not yield.

In the next room, Stephen was fighting out his
battle alone, conscious only of placing himself in
defiant antagonism to the powers that warred
against him. One rage of resistance possessed
him ; an angry madness against the world. Sud
denly there swept upon him, like a soft pall cover
ing the corpse of noisome passions, the old sense
of sweet worship for his wife. His belief in her
goodness attacked him with such melting force that
he could have wept himself into childishness.
Sometimes he had thought, in these throes of ec
static woman-worship, " to be her child, her dog, if
one could be no more ! Anything to be near her ! "

Remembering that, he would not resist. The
better part of her nature demanded some sacrifice
which he could not, of his own accord, give. He
would have left the altar bare, hiding his one
lamb in his breast, though the gods had thundered
for a victim ; but if she chose to place herself
thereon, he would see that she died painlessly.
With this mood upon him, he went back to her.
She had wept herself tired, and lifted a wet but
very patient face. He knelt by her couch, and
her tears started afresh when she saw his eyes,
like dumb things pleading for pity.

268 FOOLS OF NATURE.

"I haven't cared for some things you care for,"
he began, hoarsely, making sudden pauses between
the words. " I am contented to live along and be
happy. Your nature is so high that your happi
ness lies in renunciation. I can't bring myself up
to your level, but there is one way in which I
won't fail you ; you shall choose your right, and I
will help you do it."

She could only kiss his hand again and again ;
but he went on, to make sure of finishing while
he could.

" I must take care of you ; nobody can deny me
that. The first thing is to rest the dear body ; so
you will promise me to go now and try to sleep ?
In the morning we can talk again."

She rose obediently. Turning when she had
reached the door, she hastened back.

" If you could forgive — "

" Look at me ! " he said. She raised her eyes, to
find his face lighted with a great love. " There is
no such word possible between us," he went on,
firmly and slowly. She must remember it, to be
less unhappy. " You have given me such immor
tal happiness that I am willing to pay for it by
going to hell ! And you shall have made it possi
ble for me not to drag you down an inch. I swear
that."

CHAPTER XIX.

IN EXILE.

HPHE two met for days in a constrained kindli
ness which, in contrast with remembered
hours, had about it some thing of horror. Stephen
was waiting, his wife felt, for some further word
from her. His compliance with her decision had
thrown the burden of responsibility upon her, but
she was not doubtful as to her course.

" Stephen," she said, at length, "you will let me
go wherever I think best?"

"Yes."

" It may seem romantic, but I should like to go
to the house of that old man down in the country ;
the one I met and liked. I fancied I saw in him
something very good, almost holy."

" Anywhere you like," he said, with the same
forced kindliness which pained her so much. If
it had concealed impatience, disapproval, she could
have taken it with gratitude. Instead, it covered
an ocean of waiting love for whose expression she
was athirst.

" Then I will write and find out about it," she
went on, half timidly.

" No, let me do all that. Take no trouble. And

270 FOOLS OF NATURE.

shall I say you intend staying any given length of
time?"

"No, I may not want to stay ; and I can't tell
now where I may want to go next."

" Except that you won't come back to me ! "

The next day he was away, and came back late
in the evening.

" I have been down there — Coventry," he said,
as soon as he had thrown himself into a chair by
the fire. "I liked the old man, too. They will
take you."

"You went, Stephen? There was no need of so
much trouble ; you might have written."

"Yes, but of course I couldn't send you to a
place without first knowing about it. Then I
wanted to see it, to think of you there."

His face contracted painfully, and he passed his
hand over it. Sarah held herself silent, by the
greatest effort she was capable of making. How
often in this miserable time had she been drawn
to throw herself into his arms, and heal his wounds
by the flood of the tenderness that possessed her !
For the next few days she saw him but seldom.
He could not trust himself to be near her, but
often when she supposed him to be away he was
in the next room listening for her footsteps, feel
ing her presence in a dumb anguish, with dull pre
sentiment of the loss that would settle upon him
when she should indeed be gone.

IN EXILE. 271

Bernard had not been heard from, and she had
no wish to see him. She would write him a note
before she left, saying that she was not well and
needed change. If she should see him again, his
quick eyes might detect more than ill-health in the
alteration she felt sure must be wrought in her.
Once only did Stephen break through his resolve
of unquestioning loyalty to her decision. On their
last morning together, at the very instant before
they set out for the station, he caught her look.
It was as if each suffering soul saw itself reflected
in the other face.

" Are you sure you are not making a mistake ? "
he said, hoarsely. " It is a good deal to do for
an abstract sort of sacrifice."

His arms and her home lay before her on one
side ; on the other, barren days among strangers.
Still there was no doubt, and she shook her head.

" I have told them at Coventry that you have
had trouble and need rest," he said, as he left her.
" And you promise to write if you are ill, or if you
need me ? You couldn't deny me that."

She promised, and they looked at each other no
more. It was easiest to part in haste.

When she reached Coventry, Uncle Ben had been
waiting for her half an hour, patiently sitting in
the old sleigh and discussing spiritualism with a
sceptic. There was something Socratic in his
longing to turn market-place and hall into sympo-

272 FOOLS OF NATURE.

sia ; he had, moreover, the rare faculty of issuing
with undisturbed serenity from debates wherein
his dear belief had been scoffingly received.

"It's the works of the devil, I tell you ! " shout
ed his opponent, hurling his last arrow as the
train came in, and winking at the bystanders.
"The works of the devil, an' nothin' else."

" Well, well ! " said Uncle Ben, smiling, " then I
must be one of the devil's followers ; an' as long as
there ain't anybody but what's got some good in
him, perhaps he won't lead an old man fur out o'
the way. — I guess it's you, as long as there ain't
no other passenger," he said, walking up to Sarah
and offering his hand. " Come right along. I'll
take your bag, an' Sam — he's comin' up from the
ma'sh byme-by — he'll take your trunk on his
sled."

Sarah cast a quick glance at the landscape, as
soon as they had turned away from the dingy
little station. A country of bare trees and un
clean, melting snow. The trickling of water here
and there from little runnels by the side of the
road sang the tinkling prelude to the spring
song.

" Seems queer to have you down here," began
Uncle Ben, when they were on the straight road.
" I never thought o' seein' you ag'in till we got
over on the other side, after that day in the city.
But (hen you never can tell how things are goin'

IN EXILE. 273

to come round. Perhaps you've seen Lenny
lately."

"Lenny?"

" Now it's no wonder," laughed the old man.
" We've al'ays called him so. He's our little boy,
you know, an' I s'pose he al'ays will be. Pro
fessor Leonard, you know, test medium," with
the air of reading the sign, and that with great
relish.

"No, I have not been there for a long time,"
said Sarah, the mention of the name bringing back
her sickness of heart.

"An' have you got any new light?" said the
old man, earnestly. " Somehow I expect the new
lights are comin' from you young folks. Likely
you're nearer the kingdom of heaven than some
of us."

" No, no light anywhere." After their utterance,
she felt that the words must have sounded like a
cry. The old man answered them gently and pa
tiently.

" Sometimes you have to wait a great many
years. Little as I know, I can tell you that."

Maria was at the door when they drove up,
starched of dress and very stiff of collar, but
evidently in some trepidation. "When she had
fairly seen Sarah's face, she uttered a fervent
" Lord be praised ! " The ejaculation was explained
later, while she was, as she would have said,

274 FOOLS OF NATURE.

"flyin* round," making the last preparations for
tea, and Sarah sat by the window watching her.

"Ever since pa said he'd take you," said Maria,
cutting a pie with dexterous little strokes, " ever
since, I've had sort of a sickening feeling for fear
'twas the other one."

" The other one ? "

" The one that come with you that day to Lenny's.
And if she's your own flesh and blood, I should
say the same — I couldn't abide her." She com
pressed her lips, evidently challenging reproval of
her defiant honesty. But Sarah laughed.

"You mean Miss Gale. Many people like her,
but I'm very much obliged to you for liking me
better."

"Pa took a fancy to you, too," went on Maria,
setting the last chair in place at the table. w That's
how we happened to tell your husband we'd under
take it. Not but what we both wanted you," she
added, hastily, " but I never took a boarder in my
life, and I'm going to say it beforehand so't you
can put up with our ways. Pa likes young folks,
and you must cheer him up. I ain't so chipper as
I used to be."

Through the tea-time Uncle Ben kept up his
soliloquizing reflections, chiefly o» spiritualism and
the other life. Sarah noticed that his thoughts
seemed to tend irresistibly towards some centre out
side mundane affairs. And yet, constantly as he

IN EXILE. 275

harped upon his one string, the tune was not weari
some ; possibly because he never insisted upon an
answer, and never attempted to convince. He
seemed to be holding the shell to his own ear,
smiling to himself at its song of eternity.

When he had gone out after tea, Maria stationed
herself before Sarah and transfixed her with keen
eyes.

"Do you believe in it?" she asked, abruptly.

" Spiritualism ? No, I think not."

" Thank the Lord again ! If there was only one
spiritualist in the world, and that was pa, I could
get along well enough. But the rest of 'em make
me sick."

Sarah smiled at her in understanding. Her ex
treme shrewdness and honesty were refreshing.

" You needn't be afraid," she said, still smiling.
"I shan't try to convert you, and I'm enough in
terested in it not to offend your father."

When Sarah went to her own room, she started
with a low cry. In contrast with the rest of the
old house, it was a princess' bower. Books were
there, the pictures she loved most, the red hang
ings that suited her fancy, and the fragrance of
fresh flowers — her red roses and spicy pinks.
How he had brought it all about in so short a
time she could not guess. She remembered that,
as he had once before in separation planned the
home he meant to offer her, so now his pain had

276 FOOLS OF NATURE.

been lessened by serving her. She wandered
about the room until late, touching one thing after
another. Here was almost his visible presence.
She was indeed less unhappy than the morning had
found her. The strangeness of the place, with these
reminders of his care over her, suggested the fact
of a temporary separation. And as an absence of
years would have seemed slight, if she might go
back to him at last, she comforted herself with the
delusion, and slept.

Aunt Lomie came in the very next morning,
ostensibly to bring the week's " County Times ; " in
reality to see the new-comer. She had a mild
curiosity as to the person Maria had been willing
to receive into the family. Her sense of awe
vanished, however, when she found Sarah to be a
girlish creature with short hair, " sittin' round doin'
nothin' in particular," as she reported to the two
boys.

" We should like to have you come in an' be
neighborly, if you feel to," she said, with her air
of prim courtesy, instantly suggesting the day of
busks.

The boys, Aunt Lomie privately told Maria, had
indicated their purpose of " fightin' shy " of the
house so long as the stranger should remain in it.

In the following days, Maria more than once
caught herself wondering how she had ever dared
try the experiment of admitting a stranger within

IN EXILE. 277

her kingdom. That pa had been inclined to do
so, furnished a strong argument, but the course
seemed in itself almost beyond reason. She had
also agreed that a woman might come in on certain
days of the week to help with the hard work, —
she who had once religiously reserved her rights
of doing with her own hands every part of the
housekeeping.

" I wouldn't have believed any body 'd be so little
under foot," she said one day, when Sarah was
slicing applies for pies, " nor that I'd have any
body touching a dish round the house. But here
we are I "

" Here we are, indeed," repeated Sarah, looking
up in quiet triumph. "But it's pure charity in
you. How can you let me meddle, when I do
things wrong so many times ? "

" I don't know," answered Maria, with uncom
promising candor. "Maybe it's because you're
willing. But that don't make it clear how I can
let you do housework, and take your money for
board."

"I'm an apprentice," said Sarah, soberly.
" When I graduate, perhaps you'll give me wages."

There was something ideal and charming in the
homely work about the old house. Everything
was so exquisitely clean, Maria herself was always
so starched and immaculate ! There was even a
delicious flavor about the sweeping and dusting.

278 FOOLS OP NATURE.

" It is more than clean," said Sarah, as she stood
by the hearth after the final setting to rights of a
washing day. " I can smell and taste it.**

w What ? " asked Maria, practically.

w It — the flavor — the essence of the honse, and
the cooking, and the sweet country life." And
they laughed together.

As time went on, Aunt Lomie often came for an
afternoon, with her knitting carefully rolled in a
gingham kerchief. Sarah used to watch her as
she made ready for work, to see if she ever devi
ated by the hair's breadth of a gesture from one
established programme. It never happened. She
sat bolt-upright in the straightest chair to be found,
unrolled the kerchief, pinned on a knitting-sheath,
stuck the needle in the quill, and cast the yarn over
her little finger. Such trifles made Sarah's daily
food ; her study even of still life had become mi
nute. Aunt Lomie had therefore assumed place
in her mind, but the boys remained unknown
factors. She saw them pass with their oxen, or
alone, giants in stature and stentorian of voice,
but they had not ventured within possibility of
meeting her. One day, however, she ran away.
She had had a longing to take the cart-path that
wound round the barn and over the hill to the
woods, but Maria had laughed at her. Surely
there was something to be found in the woods,
even in so early a spring !

IN EXILE. 279

"Slush!" said Maria, sententiously. "And
there's plenty of that out the back door."

So, saying nothing of her purpose, on this day
she essayed the path where there lay the least
possible snow and the deepest ponds of water
compatible with a roadway. Half way up the
hill, she heard the laborious tramp of oxen behind
her, with Sam's step regardless of the water, and
his bold " Gee, Bright ! " She stepped to the ex
treme edge of the path and waited for them to pass.
She had thrown back her jacket, and her cheeks
were pink from the moist, warm wind, her lips
parted by exertion. Even Sam, with his bashful
half glance, took in her bright freshness.

" Ride ? " he called, not stopping the oxen, but
ready with uplifted goad if she should assent.

"Yes, indeed!" came the fresh young voice,
much to Sam's surprise. Henry, sitting on the
sled and dangling his feet, cast a reproachful
glance at his brother before helping her on. But
the deed was done, and the gee-hawing went on,
Sam slyly congratulating himself on having chosen
to drive. Henry would be obliged to talk to her,
not he.

w How fast the snow is going ! " began Sarah, as
an easy commonplace.

" Most gone," returned Henry, briefly.

* Sleddin's over. We thought we'd be sure o*
one more load," called Sam, willing to earn fra-

280 FOOLS OF NATURE.

ternal gratitude. "It's the last we shall get on
runners."

"I should think so, indeed. How far do you
go for the wood ? "

"Oh, a matter o' two mile, — through Uncle
Ben's lot here, an' another pastur', an' then we
come to our'n ! "

Explorations in six inches of damp snow within
the woods had ceased to hold a charm.

"Suppose I should go with you, would you let
me ride back on the load ? " she suggested.

Sam glanced at her dubiously.

" It ain't good for clothes, wood an' pitch ain't,"
he said, this time looking straight in her eyes, his
own holding a spark of mischief. Sarah's laughed
in answer.

" And my clothes are only good to go where I
choose to have them."

So she kept her state, and was soon on an ex
cellent footing with her charioteers. While they
were loading, she sat by, musing admiringly over
their splendid control of matter. They seemed
great, rude forces ; a choking arose in her throat
when the thought suggested the trained muscle
and fine poise of nerve in another man. He, too,
had the true manhood, that intangible quality as
elusive of definition as genius, and yet as palpable
to the consciousness. But, the load ready, she
woke from her musings, climbed to her perch, and

IN EXILE. 281

the oxen swung slowly back over the fields. After
that, Sam came bashfully in for an evening;
Henry followed, and her place in the family circle
was secure. So her double life began, active,
wholesome, and sweet on the surface ; filled with
cries of longing for the pleasant land behind her,
of prayers for his consolation who was left sole
watcher by a lonely hearth.

CHAPTER XX.

FEOM DAY TO DAY.

O TEPHEN had lent his aid to an act of abstract
justice, which could do no one, so said his
practical sense, an iota of good. Some unknown
consummation was to be reached through an infi
nite amount of suffering . Was it all worth while ?
He had scarcely returned to his lonely house,
haunted still by her warm presence, before the doubt
assailed him. Worse, he knew that the struggle
must continue, as the doubt should grow, unless
that could be at once strangled. The staff on
which he leaned was the certainty that it wras like
a loyal lover to submit to the dictates of a good
woman. She might have set her soul to folly, be
lieving it to be a higher wisdom. If that were so,
she should turn her steps homeward of her own
accord. Unless he should be overcome by his
weakness of longing, he would not influence her
choice. He did not delude himself into feeling
that his acquiescence arose from any aspiration for
a satisfied sense of right. A sweet human happi
ness would have contented him. It had contented
him, and he would again have been supremely
satisfied to sit with her beside his hearth, feel-

FROM DAY TO DAY. 283

ing that the gods could bear no enmity towards
such unambitious serenity of joy. But she had
wished something different. She longed for a
wine of sanctification ; he would not put the cup
away from her lips.

To him came Bernard, more beside himself than
usual.

" What does her note mean ? " he asked, without
preamble, running his hand through his long hair.
" She wanted rest, quiet ? Why ? She wasn't ill."

" No, not ill," said Stephen, leaning wearily back
from the table where his head had been resting on
his arms. " It is true, she needs rest." He scarcely
saw Bernard, vaguely conscious that he was being
disturbed, and that the cause of annoyance lay in
some one always slightly antagonistic to him.

" There is trouble between you," said Bernard,
suddenly, watching him. In these days he was
animated by something like the malicious cunning
of the insane. "I see it in you, too."

The words roused Stephen like a sudden shaft
of bright sunlight. He awoke from his torpor ; a
smile shot over his face.

" No, no trouble between us, thank God ! That
can never be. Whatever there is, is outside, and
we bear it together."

"Well, and as long as I am outside, I suppose
I am not to know," sneered Bernard. "You can't
deny that something has happened."

284 FOOLS OF NATURE.

" No, something has happened. She is in trouble,
and she felt it could be borne best away from
me."

Bernard walked to the farther side of the room.
There he flung up his arms desparingly.

" My God ! " he cried. " It is only a year, and
what shipwreck has overtaken us both ! We came
here a year ago ; we were young, and had no
trouble except from losing her. And since then
Sarah has lived centuries, and I am in hell ! "

Stephen looked at him in some distaste. Ber
nard's paroxysms could scarcely have been inter
esting to any man, except a physician. There was
something womanish in this jTielding to over
strained nerves. Stephen thought it might prove
salutary for the man to be placed under the pump,
for baptism into brotherhood with the sane.
Bernard walked back, and stopped in front of him.

" I lived in disguise for over twenty years of my
life. Then I found out that I was rotten to the
heart's core. I am haunted, I am cursed by my
own thoughts ; I am betrayed, ridiculed, forsak
en. And all this is nothing to the thought that
she is in trouble. You don't know what she was
to me ! " He made the last declaration slowly,
looking Stephen daringly in the eye. He expect
ed vengeance. But the poor creature was too
broken to excite anything but pity.

"I know it," said Stephen, gently. "I have

FROM DAY TO DAY. 285

always known all about it. I wish you could
have been happier."

The surprise took Bernard by storm. He laid
his head on the table and burst into weak tears.
Stephen sat looking at him with listless specula
tion. "And yet she was fond of him," suddenly
formed itself in his revery . " She would wish him
helped." He endeavored to recall his scattered
energies, to throw his own trouble behind him and
cast sad fancies out of the moment. When Ber
nard had recovered himself and sat up shame
facedly, it was to find Stephen standing before the
fire, graver than usual, but possessed of all his
ordinary coolness of demeanor.

" Now, Ellis," he said, in a most business-like
tone, " you and I have been hard hit, in different
ways, but we've got to live through it. Would
you do a fellow-creature a favor, even if that in
dividual happened to be the one before you ? "

" I don't know. Anybody else might, but I
don't reckon myself among other people."

" That's nonsense ; you are no worse off than
other men, and you have no more right to ex
cuse yourself from common courtesies. You may
have more black humors, but there are practical
troubles that overbalance such a million times
over."

Bernard clenched his hands, in his hopeless ina
bility to explain.

FOOLS OP NATURE.

" If you only knew ! " he began, sure that his
sum of miseries must "make Ossa like a wart."

" I don't want to know. There's no reason why
either of us should read the other's private history
in order to behave like a human being. Now you
don't like me, and I don't especially like you, but
for my own satisfaction I want you to stay here a
week. Will you ? "

" In this house ? Here, with you ? "

" With me, so to speak. I sha'n't lay veiy
heavy demands on your society."

" I can't do it. There are duties before me
that must be done. Anybody else would have
done them long ago. I have a debt to pay, of
money that I should not have used."

"Ah?" said Stephen, regarding him keenly.
"Is that your trouble? If it lies in a stolen
money-bag I don't wonder at your heroics."

Thereupon, in a manner forced to it, Bernard
told him a part of his haunting story, touching
chiefly on the point that he had no right to the
money he had inherited, and must provide himself
with an honest living.

" More abstract justice ! " thought Stephen.
" And I the instrument to help work it out." The
last struck him as being irresistibly amusing. He
remained in thought so long that Bernard, feeling
himself forgotten, rose to go. Then Stephen
looked up.

FROM DAY TO DAY. 287

" I have been wanting for some days a man to
take charge of the correspondence at the mill, and
to attend to various items not the business of the
book-keeper. Will you take the place ? It's no
favor to you."

"If I could go in as a workman, where I
belong."

"Mere sentiment," interrupted Stephen. "If
you want to earn your living, here is a respectable
chance, — that is, if j'our handwriting is decent
and you can compose a coherent letter. Take it,
or leave it."

The tone disarmed Bernard of his suspicion that
the offer might have arisen from pity. He would
have refused, but Stephen's practical, off-hand
manner made him ashamed of meeting it senti
mentally.

" Very well ; shall I begin to-morrow ? "

"Yes, be there at eight. And you refuse to
come here as my lodger ? "

" I must."

"Very well." They said good-night with no
expenditure of feeling on either side. Neither
man was much more surprised at what had passed
than the other, Stephen at his own offer, and Ber
nard at his acceptance. After all, Stephen was not
sorry that Bernard had rejected his proposal of
making his house a home. It had arisen from a
feeling that in his present frame of mind Bernard

288 FOOLS OF NATURE.

might do harm to himself. In that would lie an
other sorrow for Sarah, which perhaps could be
averted.

Bernard was at his duties early and late, show
ing an irritable dissatisfaction if he finished work
in time to give himself rest within the prescribed
hours. It made him suspicious of leaving some
credit on Stephen's side ; there should be no favor
between them. In his hatred of himself he took
a fierce delight in working his energies to their
fullest extent, going home enfeebled and dazed of
mind. He was away from Miss Phebe's early in
the morning, and returned late at night, to avoid
Linora. He feared her laughter almost as much
as his own malicious ghost. With his growing
weariness of nerve, that apparition increased in
clearness of outline. It seemed to feed upon him,
vampire-like, distending itself on his blood, and
smiling in bloated fatness while he paled and shiv
ered before it. It had not at first been visible to
his bodily eyes ; he had then been conscious that
it lay within fancy's field of vision. Now, so
diseased had all his senses become that he could
have sworn to a visible shape standing before him.
How could that fail to complete his potential be
lief in spiritual phenomena? He had been told
to frequent circles where good spirits would ap
pear. More than one evening in the week found
him with a medium, sometimes receiving raps

FROM DAY TO DAY. 289

from mysterious hands, often watching shadowy
forms appearing and disappearing, — and always
in weariness of heart. His spiritual guides gave
him ambiguous counsel, but none in which lay
strength or comfort. He came away from them
each time, not with any weakening of belief in
their honesty, but with his faith in the nobility of
existence, in this or any other sphere, hopelessly
damaged. The plane of his conception of life
sank by steady degrees. Stephen, seeing such
change wrought in him, exerted himself as a phy
sician might, to minister to him secretly. He sent
him out of town on slight errands, making various
pretexts for his driving a horse which brooked no
listlessness nor inattention. Stephen had an un
spoken theory, which he constantly acted upon in
his own case, that there exists no more effectual
remedy for a sick mind than lies in the company
of a horse full of nerve and muscle.

And in the mean time how should Linora amuse
herself? She had no new confidant, and her uncle
had taken up his residence at the nearest hotel,
whence he made a daily pilgrimage to Miss Phebe's
parlor. There was, indeed, the briefest sort of
satisfaction for the retired actress in playing her
new part of repentant sinner with such quiet clever
ness as to ward him off from discussion of her
errors, and in preserving with Miss Phebe her most

290 FOOLS or NATURE.

Madonna-like deportment. It did indeed puzzle
that lady to find the niece on terms of good-fellow
ship with an uncle who had been painted as a ser
pent full of guile ; but here she brought to bear her
theory of the sweet resignation and forgiveness
which made up Linora's character. That the uncle
showed no trace of his innate depravity did not
surprise her, since deceit lay at the very founda
tion of his character, the point on which all this
villany hinged. Contrary to her nature as it
might be, she did not give way to her outspoken
opinion of him. She meant, for Linora's sake,
first to tolerate, to rouse in him some sense of the
girl's worth, then to speak her mind with a ven
geance and swear him to future well-doing. Miss
Phebe had constituted herself a reformer. She
realized the humor of the situation, and smiled
grimly.

One day she found Gale waiting in the parlor,
idly and execrably picking out an air upon the
piano. She had intended dusting the room, but
confined her operations to the hall till he should
have gone. Linora, she knew, was not in, but
she waited for the servant to tell him so. The
false notes and purposeless retracing of steps went
on at the piano till Miss Phebe could bear it no
more.

"You'll never get it in the world," she said,
suddenly appearing in the doorway, duster in hand,

FROM DAY TO DAY. 291

her head enveloped in a blue kerchief. "It's as
wrong as it can be."

"So I see," said Gale, with unimpaired good-
humor. " But I wish it wouldn't haunt me. I
daresay I shall get it by and by, if you don't mind
my trying." And he placidly began his stumbling
way again.

" Not if I go up into the fourth story," muttered
Miss Phebe.

" Perhaps you will play it for me ? "

"I can't play. Why, see — "the temptation
becoming too strong for her, " listen ; it goes like
this."

She burst forth into the soaring melody, and, with
no more attention to her listener than if he had
been a statue, sang on to the end. She waved her
turbaned head in time, she held the duster like a
banner, she was grotesque in the extreme ; her
voice, in its contrast with the common surround
ings and her own person, seemed almost divine.

" Ye gods ! " muttered Gale, startled out of his
composure. " More, more ! " he called, as stormily
as if he represented an entire gallery. " Go on ; I
will have more ! "

Miss Phebe had forgotten ; it was true that she
had not sung for years. She began an aria from
" Semiramide." What she had once hoped from
her voice came back to her. She was a girl again,
dreaming ambitious dreams. When she had fin-

292 FOOLS OF NATURE.

ished, Gale laid his hands together in noisy ap
plause, and Miss Phebe looked at him for one
instant, buried her face in the duster, and sobbed
aloud.

* Shut the door ! " came incoherently from the
folds of her temporary refuge. " Shut it ! lock it !
Somebody's coming down stairs, and I wouldn't
have the angel Gabriel see me so ! "

Gale promptly shut out the public, and then, too
much distressed to utter a word, stood waiting for
the termination of the sobs. He had not long to
wait. Miss Phebe presently emerged, her face
covered with shame and tears.

"Am I all streaks?"

"On my honor, no; not a streak," said Gale,
solemnly. If he himself had been in the habit of
indulging in tears, he would have given way to
them.

" It's well I've got such a clean house," said Miss
Phebe, philosophically. "I shouldn't want to cry
into some dusters." She had produced a handker
chief by this time, and carefully dried her face.
" What sort of a memory have you got ? "

w Short, deplorably short," answered Gale, with
a twinkle in his eyes.

"Well, by the next time I see you, or you see
somebody else — "

" I sha'n't remember that Fv<s heard a heavenly
voice this morning ! "

FROM DAT TO DAT. 293

"Then I think I'll dust here. And Linora isn't
in. I forgot to tell you."

Gale walked out, and had inadvertently gone
two miles before he had collected his scattered
wits.

CHAPTER XXI.

PROGRESS.

T)ROFESSOR LEONARD, medium, was in
-*- deep trouble of mind. It had frequently been
suggested to him by Riker that they were not
earning money enough to support their present
style of living, and to carry on what Riker des
ignated as his charities. He presented himself
in the young man's room one evening, after rather
an unsuccessful materialization, and threw himself,
with an air of great frankness, upon his pupil's
sympathy.

"Luck is going hard with me, Len," he said,
stretching himself upon the sofa, and stroking his
long beard.

" Maybe 'twill be better another night. Did you
think it was because they didn't seem so strong ?
Did they draw from you as much as common ? "

" It isn't that. The fact is, Len, our income isn't
what it ought to be."

"Oh, that's all right," said the boy, relieved.
" Why, there's dozens of things we can live with
out ! There's everything you've been planning for
me."

"My dear boy," said Riker, in his most engag-

294

PROGRESS. 295

ing lecture-room manner, " I must tell you some
thing I meant nobody should know. For five years
1 have been more than half supporting a hospital,
— I won't tell you where. Its expenses are increas
ing, and my income isn't. Can I leave those poor
people to be turned away from its doors because
there isn't room for them ? Can I beg the purse-
proud millionaire for a pittance of his gains, to be
refused in scorn ? No ! "

It was a burst of truly inspirational eloquence,
which would have elicited rounds of applause from
his kind. Leonard paid tribute in quickly starting
tears.

"Why didn't you tell me before?" he cried.
"Use the money you've been investing forme. I
take this hard of you, Biker ! "

The money he had been investing ! Hiker
looked sharply at him at that clause, but the in
nocence of his face was reassuring.

"No, Lenny. Your savings never shall be
touched. If I should die, you would need a little
capital to start on again, and you might fall sick,
you know." Leonard entreated, but to no purpose.
" But I won't deny," added Riker, frankly, " that
if you made more than you do at present, I'd take
a percentage besides what I mean to lay up for
you. I wouldn't ask you to see more people, Len,
if I wasn't sure you could do 'em justice, and with
your talents, I know you can. When I think of

296 FOOLS OF NATURE.

those orphans and widows turned away from the
hospital doors, my heart bleeds, Len, bleeds ! "
striking a resounding blow in the locality of that
organ.

Len, too, had some experience of the figurative
discomfort in question as he lay awake that night,
with him an unusual proceeding. His fancy formed
a procession of the halt and maimed, refused heal
ing and comfort because he, Professor Leonard,
was too sparing of his talents. Hitherto he had
denied himself to those he was sure he could not
serve through lack of the one vision. The next
day, he recklessly invited in one after another,
beyond his hours of seeing visitors. There were
runs of custom, as in all trades, and just now the
world seemed bound on spiritual investigation.
Leonard silenced his inward protest by an indig
nant remembrance of last night's appeal ; he felt
that he should despise himself if he did not re
spond to it. Therefore it was that to the last two
or three of his visitors he contented himself with
uttering some of the platitudes which Biker had
set him*as lessons. And at night he ran with his
gains to his master, his heart overflowing, begging
him to use them at once. Hiker's face glowed
with approval. At last he had a hold on his crea
ture, on whose simple and stubborn honesty no
wile had hitherto been able to produce much real
effect.

PROGRESS. 297

w My dear boy ! my son, I should be proud to
call you ! " he cried, again in his lecture-room man
ner. " You never can guess how you can relieve
my load ! This very afternoon a call came for
medicines and wine. My last cent is gone except
what I must use to pay my honest debts, and this
saves me. I need not refuse my poor."

His transport was no more than equal to Len's
honest delight. Len seemed to himself a new
man, with a part of the world on his shoulders.
The deed not only ministered to his vanity ; it
satisfied a legitimate quality of the human mind,
— the longing to be of use. He worked un-
weariedly ; there was no need of justifying him
self for making little distinction between the les
sons rooted in his own mind and what he believed
to be spiritual utterances. Doubtless he might
have done that and still considered himself honest,
but constant occupation saved him .the trouble.
His overpowering interest in the unknown hospital
occupied his mind to the exclusion of metaphysical
problems.

Soon after this, Bernard was present at one of
the many " dark circles " he was in the habit
of frequenting. Biker was becoming exceedingly
versatile in the various branches of his profession.
He had attempted some of the physical feats in
dulged in by mediums, but always apologetically,
referring to them as the lowest form of manifesta-

298 FOOLS OF NATURE.

tions, which were yet sometimes necessary for
the conversion of sceptics. The usual formula
followed the darkening of the room. Previously,
however, visitors had been seated according to
Hiker's direction, who announced that he was
guided in his choice by Mixy-Maxy, an exceed
ingly hilarious and unconventional Indian maiden.
Her dialect lay in an indescribable corruption of
the English language, which Mrs. Biker inter
preted at intervals, always with the air of standing
on hot coals and waiting for permission from her
master to seek a cooler resting-place.

" That ol* chief one with white top-knot, he set
down by little papoose . Why , you big squaw , too ! "
This to a rather diminutive woman whom the eyes
of the crowd, concentrated to a focus on herself,
greatly embarrassed. " Well, you sets yourself
right down 'ere. Ol' chief, has you ever been in a
snircle before ? "

" Circle, she means," explained Mrs. Riker to
the tittering assembly.

The monologue was hailed with the enthusiasm
elicited by the points of good comedy. Finally,
when the circle had been formed to Biker's satis
faction, — and it was to be observed that no
acquaintances sat together, except such as were
known to be fervent spiritualists, — each member
was directed to hold the wrist of his next neighbor,
and in like manner to allow his own to be held on

PROGRESS. 299

the other side. Hiker adjured the company on no
account to drop this hold, as it would break the
current and the circle at once. Leonard was
placed between two strangers, Kiker knowing well
that nothing short of paralysis could weaken his
grasp when once he had been told to keep it. The
usual line of action followed, though none of the
phenomena were of a complicated nature. Riker
was not yet an adept, and was too cautious to trust
himself on uncertain ground.

Balls of fire were to be seen hovering over the
heads of the company, and were greeted with
little shouts of delighted wonder. Riker, who sat
in the centre, kept up an incessant patting of his
hands, to keep up also the delusion that he had no
share in the coming manifestations. Presently
one cried out that his face had been touched ; then
a hoarse whisper was heard, now here, now there.
Riker had taken a ring from his finger, and one of
the company had placed it on his own hand. A
spiritualist at some distance from him requested
that the ring should be carried to him, and, after
several seconds, delightedly thanked the unseen
messenger. One of the women present had brought
a bag of candy which she laid in her lap, as an
offering to the very active Mixy-Maxy. From
time to time was heard a rustling of the bag, ac
companied by an exuberant, "Dear little soul, help
yourself ! " from the donor ; and the generous

300 FOOLS OF NATURE.

Mixy distributed the candy about the circle.
Meanwhile Bernard sat in the midst of this rather
broad comedy, listless and sick at heart. Believ
ing that the phenomena were really manifestations
of an inconceivably noble science, he would not
have owned that they were disgusting to him.
He would probably rather have ascribed the feel
ing which they certainly inspired, to his own im
perfections. He had come here hoping for some
sort of spiritual stimulus to whet his purpose.
Suddenly he was roused from the dead level of
re very by a whisper in front of him, " My son, do
you know me ? "

" Speak to me ! " called Bernard, loudly and im
petuously, as if to arrest the voice before it fled.
"Tell me what to do."

"You know."

"Shall I go back?"

" Yes, go back, but don't stay. Come here often
for strength." And it would speak no further.

Bernard went home determined. He seemed to
be nearing the end of a narrowing path. Celestial
fingers pointed out his way, and always in one di
rection. He must go back to his mother. With
a half formed purpose of asking Stephen for leave
of absence, he went next day to the office. He
found Stephen there alone, and as soon as he set
eyes upon him, felt and saw a marvellous change.
Stephen's struggle of renunciation was growing

PROGRESS. 301

no easier. It was like a constant gnawing of pain,
in the midst of which a tearing tooth would some
times more cruelly lacerate the flesh. He had set
himself the task of neither writing nor seeing his
wife until she herself should give him leave. Per
haps in that lay not only loyal submission to her
wishes, but a knightly desire to purge himself
from a sin against love by an act almost too great
to be accomplished. He was becoming conscious
that he, too, had been born with an enthusiasm
for noble deeds, though he had recognized the
longing, as it lay half formless, only as love of the
beautiful. He had begun vaguely to feel that it
was changing in form, growing to be less sensuous
of outline and warm of color ; that it need not
demand serene conditions of life for its ripening,
but, like a severe goddess, was able to reflect the
godlike in the midst of arctic snows. Was it one
and the same thing they worshipped, he with his
emotional temperament, and this New England
girl, whose will was as unyielding to sunshine as
the granite of her own hills ? But there were times,
in spite of this growing change, when heart and
brain cried together in loud protest against his
loss. Often he felt that going to her would be the
only deed that the universe held for him. He
loved too well to feel a small pride where she was
concerned ; there would be no shame in confessing
to himself, " I failed because my will was weaker

302 FOOLS OF NATURE.

than my love." But here a dull restraint lay
heavy upon him, in the thought that she might
feel shame for him. The bliss of their meeting
might with her be secondary to the wish that he
had not yielded. That must never be.

This morning, the inward protest against his
task had quite destroyed his composure. He was
in a state of quivering sensitiveness which no one
could understand better than Bernard, and which
could not be more despicable to any one than to
Stephen himself. It seemed to Bernard that he
could almost see the quiver of the nerves beneath
the thin face.

"Have you heard from her? " he asked, hastily,
breaking the restraint of weeks in his instant
thought of her.

" No ; and I'll sell my soul to anybody who has
seen her and can tell me how she is." Then he
recollected himself, and returned to his desk,
ashamed enough of the self-betraying outbreak to
remain sane for the rest of the day. Later, Ber
nard told him that he was going to his mother,
and asked leave of absence, which Stephen granted
without looking at him.

But Bernard's plans had changed in that mo
mentary perusal of Stephen's face. He had re
strained himself from questioning about Sarah,
and even from writing to her. If he had not been
born with the instincts of a gentleman, he would

PROGRESS. 303

supply their effect by power of will. There was
a fierce emulation of Stephen in this thought.
Since Stephen chose to reserve his confidence, he,
Bernard, would reserve his curiosity. But now,
with a blind grasping after knight-errantry, he
determined on going to Coventry, to bring Stephen
news of his wife.

CHAPTER XXII.

A MESSAGE.

T>ERNARD arrived at Coventry without pre-
-*^ vious announcement, and walked from the
station. Sarah was stricken white and trembling
with joy at sight of him, but, as he was able bit
terly to tell himself, a joy not for him.

"Have you seen him, Bernard? " she whispered,
as soon as they were alone. He stoically began
the recital of all that had happened. Her eyes
flashed with delight when he came to his own en
gagement at the office. It was for her sake, she
knew.

Later in the evening, when the family sat
together, Bernard watched her absently while the
others talked. He remembered, with a start, the
old simile of the lamp burning within its fine
porcelain vase. Her face had become refined to
something pure and transparent, through which
shone an eager soul. The ultimate stage had
been reached ; she had at last realized, in spite of
insistent and unreasonable hope, that the step she
had taken was final . The heart of many a woman
possessing as great strength of will might have
died down, leaving the token of its fall in a shat-

304

A MESSAGE. 305

teved frame. But there was a strong joyousness
inherent in this soul, which never asserted itself
more actively than now. Having sacrificed to a
god, every fibre of her nature insisted that the
struggle must avail ; to believe otherwise was to
hurl blasphemy against nature's mercy. Over the
sharp undertone of her pain soared this triumph
ant melody of prophecy. Such dramatic living
might, indeed, of itself wear her out. The body
might be wasted and consumed by such vibration ;
but it was not likely. She had been born a crea
ture of fine flesh, fitted to endure the burning of
the intense spirit.

Half unconsciously to himself, Bernard was
soothed by the atmosphere of the place. He had
grown of late to regard outward objects with the
eyes of a dreamer. They were unsubstantial,
wavering ; assuming lessening proportions as his
phantom took on flesh. He hardly noticed Maria,
who in turn was not attracted to him. He im
pressed her as a poetizing mind is likely to affect
one of aggressive practicality, as having no particu
lar fitness in reference to things in general. But
by Uncle Ben, with his love to all mankind, he was
fathered at once.

As he sat by the fire, leaning his head upon the
old-fashioned wood-work, and letting his eyes
wander, he was arrested by the old man's voice.

"You two don't seem to favor each other much.

306 FOOLS OF NATURE.

Well, well ! one 's father an' one 's mother, I
s'pose."

A dull blush stained Bernard's face. He seemed
to be pursued by little imps of words, grinning!}-
pointing at his griefs. With his belief in the su
pernatural, he could easily imagine that the most
innocent speech had been suggested to its utterer
by his own evil spirit, with an occult meaning
manifest to him alone.

"Whenever I think o' the young," went on
Uncle Ben, "it seems to me to be a great privi
lege — great — to be in their places. Folks talk
about gettin' wisdom as they grow older. Now I
never took it that way ; 'pears to me there's a
wisdom young folks bring right from their Father
in heaven."

Maria was trying a blue mitten on his gnarled
hand, to fix upon the length of the thumb. She
stroked the hand, ostensibly to smooth its cover
ing, but honestly, perhaps, as some admissible
expression of her father-worship.

"An' they have so many privileges nowadays,
that I often think how deservin' of credit they are
not to cut loose from us an' our old-fashioned
ways."

" I should think so ! " muttered Maria. " Pre
cious credit, indeed ! "

"There seems to be somethin' in relationship
that makes folks tender, even when there's nothin'

A MESSAGE. 307

in common between 'em. An' whatever they say
about unthankfulness, I'm sure I've seen more
child'en honorin' their fathers an' mothers than I've
seen hard-hearted." .

Bernard moved uneasily upon his chair. The
homely philosophy touched him like a sting. Was
it indeed in nature that a tie of blood should pre
suppose kindliness? In this, too, his denial of
his own, was he against nature? He left the
family circle soon after ; the sweetness of its air
had become oppressive.

Next day Sarah took him for a long walk over
the muddy country road, bordered on either side
by a narrow path of spongy sward. They wanted
to be alone together, and the damp spring air
seemed a freer medium for speech than that within
doors. Bernard was surprised, after a longer in
terval of her presence, to find that Sarah's position
within his horizon had changed. For so many
weeks had his eyes been turned inward upon his
own diseases, and towards that misty boundary be
yond which seemed to lie the spiritual, that earthly
things had dropped away from their former rela
tion with him. Sarah was no longer a woman of
flesh and blood whom he guiltily loved ; she rep
resented, in a somewhat abstract way, one more of
the many goods which had been denied him. With
his growing faith in spiritual phenomena, there
seemed to have woven itself over his eyes a film

308 FOOLS OF NATURE.

which he did not even care to pierce. He had
just told her the story of his haunting demon.
Sometimes it seemed to him that the ghost might

O O

be laid if he could place its existence upon an
other's consciousness.

" O Bernard," she cried, stopping short to look
at him, " how strange and dreadful it is that we
two should have walked into this snare, — this
spiritualism ! Other people seem to believe in it,
and continue to carry on their lives. We have
meddled with it, and it has poisoned us."

He looked at her curiously. " So you are bit
ten, too ; that is your trouble ! "

Sarah blushed a little. She had not meant to
commit herself; but she went on bravely, because
he might need her own experience, spoken from a
still bleeding heart.

"I made a decision against my own conscience.
My conscience seemed to go to sleep, and I
believe, though I was half way on the road to the
same decision, that I should have kept my clear
ness of sight if this jugglery had not interfered."

" Did you ask advice ? "

" I went to a medium out of curiosity, not to
ask anything. It seemed so low a thing, that I
should have been ashamed to hint at one of my
own affairs. But he told me what had the ap
pearance of coming direct from heaven."

"You may have been advised by an evil spirit."

A MESSAGE. 309

" Bernard, don't ! It makes me sick to hear their
queer clap-trap and ignorant definitions of what
meddles with our sacred lives. I don't mind
Uncle Ben's talking about it ; his life is so beauti
ful and sheltered that I don't believe it can ever
harm him. With you it is different. It breaks
my heart to think you may believe it, and be led
away and destroyed."

" Do you mean to say that, having found one
flaw, you would condemn the whole system? "

" No, only that I shall never meddle with it
again. If it is to be investigated and immortality
proved, I leave the deed to stronger hearts and
wills than mine."

"It is true, Sarah," said Bernard, doggedly, not
as if he greatly cared, but as if the truth compelled
him. " I have seen what amounts to scientific dem
onstration."

"It may be so ; until my own share in it so dis
gusted me, I used to hope it might be so. But
this is the only conclusion I have been able to
reach, — and I have had a great many dull, still
hours for thinking, down here. If it is a fact, such
a great fact can't exist without tremendously in
fluencing moral relations. Don't you see that it
brings into play all the strongest emotions we
have ? Old people see their dead through it ;
young, imaginative people find something more
bewitching than there is in all the natural world ;

310 FOOLS OF NATURE.

and it is a thing which is unfit to influence our
moral lives."

Bernard looked at her in surprise. She had
changed as much as he. Once — her emotions
light and iridescent as bubbles, her ideas of right
and wrong like inspirational flashes — she would
never have formulated her opinions.

"But if it is true, why shouldn't it influence
moral decisions ? " he suggested.

" Because it would be next to impossible to reach
its truth. Think what a chance mediums have to
lie ! To consult them is to place ourselves at the
mercy of an ignorant, possibly a designing, set of
men. And somehow, though I can't support it, I
have a feeling that we are intended to live now
only in this world, and under its laws."

" But spiritual intercourse may be an undiscov
ered law. The fact that a thing has not been
demonstrated does not prove its non-existence ; I
heard you say that once, about this very thing."

" It is true in theory, I suppose ; it may be true
as applied to this particular case. I only feel that
it would take the announcement of an archangel
to make me a believer, — and an archangel of
solid, reliable flesh and blood, too ! " she added,
with her old laugh.

Another theory was growing up in her mind,
though as yet too much a matter of feeling to be
put in words. Suppose this were indeed a truth,

A MESSAGE. 311

she thought, and the universal uncertainty of im
mortality were to be quite set at rest, the battle of
life would be reduced from its proportions of
deadly struggle to a harassing fight enough, but
one assured of victory. Would earthly warfare
1 >e then as noble ? Could humanity grow to such
godlike stature as that reached by great souls,
when its most gigantic foes should have proved
phantoms? With her, such a suggestion had
weight ; the greater the odds against which it coped,
the more eagerly rose her soul in bright armor,
crying " I will not faint ! "

For Uncle Ben, Bernard's coming made an era ;
(he young man was fresh from one of the centres
of spiritualism, where signs and wonders were
of daily occurrence. Then, too, he brought direct
news of Leonard. He talked of it all as if it were
a duty to answer, being asked, but he showed no
especial interest of his own. Spiritualism in
volved many an hard saying, only to be entertained
because they were unfortunately true. One con
versation began in the barn, and as it progressed
in interest, Uncle Ben brought two milking-stools
to the door, outside which the spring sunlight fell
over a great heap of brown manure where the hens
scratched, and prated of spring. With the stir
ring growth of the season and the contact of these
simply good lives, Bernard felt again the moving
of healthier impulses within himself, the shadow

312 FOOLS OF NATURE.

of a wish to touch with his own hands the happi
ness that is goodness. But he discoursed of
spiritual phenomena, and, led on by the same
motive which had drawn him into confiding in
Sarah, went on to speak of his ghost. Uncle Ben
listened, and at the end of the story sat looking
down at his feet, absently chewing a straw.
Finally he looked up with a bright smile that
seemed to flow in little runnels all over his face,
in the dry water-courses of wrinkles.

" If I was you, I believe I wouldn't have a
thing more to do with circles ! " he said, placing a
sympathetic hand on Bernard's knee.

tr You, when you believe in it ! "

" Yes, I do believe in it, sure enough ; but what's
one man's meat's another man's p'ison. We wa'n't
all created to live in one climate, else why should
the equator ha' been made ? "

" But they told me to seek out good spirits ! "

" Yes, yes, an' so we all must ; but we've got to
use our common sense, even if we are spiritual
ists. Now there couldn't any spirits do more
for you — I won't say they couldn't do so much
— as new-laid eggs, an' good air, an' hearin' young
folks laughin'."

Bernard had it on his tongue's end to say, " I
supposed you thought of nothing else 1 " but he rec
ollected himself, and forbore.

w It's a fact, I do think about this new revela-

A MESSAGE. 313

tion night an' day," went on the old man, as if he
were capable of mind-reading ; " but that don't
keep me from lovin' the good world. I seem to
love it more an' more, the older I grow an' the
likelier to leave it." He was looking at the ever
greens beyond the orchard, his blue eyes dimmed
with happy tears.

" Tell me what to do ! " burst out Bernard,
moved by an impulse beyond his control.

'' I wish I could ; but I'm as ignorant as you can
think ! Seems to me, if you was my boy, I should
want to get your body into a good nat'ral state,
an' then I should try to have you set your mind on
doin' for other people." He looked away in utter
ing the last sentence. There seemed an indelicacy
in hinting that the youth struck him as being too
impregnated with fears for self alone. "Why,
sometimes," he went on, quickly, "sometimes I
feel such a love for the ground, the dirt under-foot,
that it seems as if I must ha' been born from it.
The earth is like a great, good mother to us. You
see, if you had a mother I should tell you to go to
her, an' find out if she couldn't make you well ; as
long as you ain't, what is there better than goin'
into the country? No matter how homely the
earth is, she'll do you good, just as your mother
could help you as nobody else could, even if she
was homely an' old."

314 FOOLS OF NATURE.

" Go back to my mother ! " said Bernard, mus
ingly ; " I wish I could ! "

"I wish you could," said Uncle Ben, rising to
finish his work. " An' if she was old an' there was
things to do for her, you'd seem to stan' on your
feet right away. There's nothin' like havin' to do
for the folks the Lord's given you."

There began in the younger man's heart that
day the least possible vibration of the string that
forms the tie of blood. Slight though it might be,
it was indeed a recognition of the sacred duty
arising from birth and nourishment.

"I am going back to-morrow, Sarah," he an
nounced, when they were next alone together.
" What message is there for him ? "

The girl stood with hands tightly clasped before
her. " Tell him — " she began, and then stopped.
" I will not send a message, except that I am well."

Next morning, however, when he was bidding
her good-by, she gave him a note.

" I changed my mind," she said. '' I could have
given it to you by word of mouth, but I think he
will like it so."

Tnat night Bernard sought out Stephen as he
was leaving the office, and gave him the note, say
ing only, "I have been down to see her for you."

The flash of the other man's eyes was ready on
the instant ; then he said, searchingly, "Why,
did you say ? "

A MESSAGE. 315

" I saw you were in misery because you wanted
to know, and so I went to find out." The state
ment was full of a studied carelessness.

Stephen's hand had closed upon the note, which
shook in his grasp. He could not now waste time
in gratitude, nor even in loving queries ; he must
first read that by himself. He hurried away, and
at home read with blinded eyes :

" I begin to see why Christ died, for I would die
for you to save you this pain, or any sin. I shall
live, and so must you."

The words were like wine. He lived on them
for hours, and then went to Bernard, saying
abruptly, as he entered, "Tell me all there is to
tell."

Bernard did so obediently, though rather
drearily. He described the people and the place,
not knowing Stephen had seen them ; he repeated
her words, carefully omitting those which touched
upon spiritualism. Instinctively he felt that this
one topic must be avoided, as being too closely
connected with what he had no right to know.
When he had finished, Stephen rose like a man in
a happy dream. " Good-night," he said, offering
his hand. That was the only sign that he knew
how honestly the other man had served him ; but
even Bernard was sure he did know.

CHAPTER XXTTT.

BEYOND RECALL.

npHERE came a day when sorrow and confusion
-•- swept down upon the peaceful house at
Coventry. Maria had what she called one of her
"turns," and in the midst of it her life went out
like a candle.

"He does take it hard, don't he," whispered
Aunt Lomie to Sarah, eying Uncle Ben with some
awe. " I always had it in mind he'd be calm," with
an audible "1," which added to the force of the
word. " He seemed so somehow lifted up by be-
lievin' on unnat'ral things. But he's human,
after all."

Ah, he was indeed human, lost in speculation
on the workings of a law beyond his grasp.
Loneliness seized upon him, that of the young
child without the mother, of the husband without
the wife. There had been greater than a filial
bond between them ; the relation had been a deep
and clinging friendship.

" My faith don't fail me, not a mite," he said,
with a pitiful smile. "I know she's passed over
into the spirit life, but she ain't here ! "

Aunt Lomie, most conscientious of women, es-

316

BEYOND RECALL. 317

sayed comfort by the aid of the faith she despised.
"Benjamin, time an' again you've said they're all
round us, — dead folks, you know. Accordin' to
that, Maria ain't gone away."

"No," said the old man, a glow sweeping over
his face. " No, she ain't gone, an' I thank my
God for His mercy in not lettin' us die down into
the dust forever ! But somehow I ain't able to
feel calm, Lomie, not yet. Maybe the evil
spirits have got dominion over me."

Leonard was summoned, and Biker gave an im
mediate consent to his going. There was now no
reason for keeping the boy away.

When the funeral was over, the near future
arranged itself, with Aunt Lomic's help. She
proposed that Uncle Ben should make one of her
household. Sarah saw him shrink, before she
took up the word and answered for him.

" If you will let me stay ! There is very little
work that I cannot do."

Uncle Ben made no civil demur; he wanted
her, and believed in her sincerity. w I seem to be
greatly favored," was all he said ; and Sarah be
came his housekeeper. Personal intercourse with
Leonard was what she would have dreaded, had
she been warned of it ; coming unexpectedly as it
did, she was surprised at bearing it so well, and
hating him so little. To her shame at having
been influenced by him, had been added a disgust

318 FOOLS OF NATURE.

at remembering that he must have been of common
fibre. As one is apt to do after a distance of time,
she had allowed her inclination to wash out the
tints of memory, before fancy painted thereon a
new image. The Leonard she remembered was a
coarse creature, the contact of whose mind had
soiled hers ; the Leonard she saw with her bodily
eyes awoke, against her will, the mysterious con
fidence she had previously felt in him. It was not
to be explained, this efiect he still produced on
minds as far above his own as he above the oyster
that contributed to his dinner. In spite of his
growing faults of character, men felt in him an
intrinsic sincerity and simple reverence for high
things. In those days of his stay in Coventry,
Sarah repeatedly saw him at the little kitchen
mirror anxiously disposing his hair, spreading his
blue tie in more luxurious abandon, and pulling
his extensive watch-chain a trifle this way or that,
but, strange to say, she never despised him. She
told herself over and over again that he must be
classed either as a clever deceiver, or the instru
ment of some mysterious law. There was quite
as much reason for placing him in the first cate
gory as in the second, and yet she believed in his
simple tenderness to Uncle Ben, his unrestrained
sorrow over his dead friend, and his bashful rev
erence for herself.

On the night after the funeral, the three sat

BEYOND RECALL. 319

alone in the dusk. Aunt Lomie had lingered to
put things in order after the great funeral supper,
and the boys had done the " chores," with some
undefined feeling that Uncle Ben had been physi
cally incapacitated by his trouble. But now even
these had gone, and left the inner circle alone to
adapt itself to its woful break.

"I've been wishin' for this all day," began Uncle
Ben, with the smile which had lost its brightness
for a sad patience. "Lenny, I guess we'll have a
little circle."

"Oh, no, I wouldn't ; not to-night ! "

But the old man was busy in drawing two chairs
nearer the sofa where Sarah was sitting. Leon
ard unwillingly took one as Uncle Ben did the
other.

"You don't need a table, do you? We used to
bo so careful to draw round a table, but that was
in early days. You don't mind our talkin' while
the influences gather? We might sing, but I
guess we don't any of us feel as if we'd got much
voice to-night."

"No, talk," answered Leonard. He felt a little
sick at the prospect. He was tired of exercising
his trade, and would gladly have rested from
it; more than that, he was conscious of a creeping
dread in the thought of summoning Aunt Maria
from the link no wn land. The dead we have never
seen, the dead who have lain years in their graves,

320 FOOLS OF NATURE.

may be safely dealt with ; the dead one has just
looked upon in the majesty of sleep, bear an awful
distinctness of personality. Sarah added a dis
suading voice. In her pity for Uncle Ben, she
could not refuse sharing the experience, if he
should insist. Her own righteous anger against
the whole system gave way to the necessity of
nursing him through his trouble.

" The quickest time's the best time," Uncle Ben
said. He had lowered his voice, that it might not
disturb the crystallizing of influences. The tone
and the twilight made the moment impressive.
" How often we hear about their waitin' round for
a chance to communicate, an' not gettin' it for
years an' years ! Now how hard that seems, an'
how careful we ought to be to open the way to
'em ! "

Leonard was growing more and more sick with
dread. He had an insane impulse to rush from the
room, never to come back. Vain as he was,
wholly as he believed Eiker's assertion that he was
one of the great men of the age, he was writhing
under the consciousness that too much was ex
pected of him. Had it not been that the day had
inspired him with awe, and a loving tenderness for
Uncle Ben, he might have begged off, with the
peevishness of a child. As it was, he only dared
sit in silent misery, waiting for things to take their
course.

BEYOND KECAUL. 321

" Anything yet, Lenny ? "

"No, nothing."

"We mustn't be downhearted," went on Uncle
Ben, some of his old brightness of demeanor
returning with the impatience he could not curb.
" I had a feelin' Maria would be right back, but
perhaps she ain't got her bearin's yet. Sometimes
they don't get into a sphere where they can com
municate for a good while, but I thought Maria
would be round with the rest, right away. She's
so chirk, she'll never lay by if she can help it."

Sarah felt the choking of a great pity, a wish
to save him from such magic. Deception would
make him happy ; but though she wanted him
happy, she could not have him deceived. She
almost smiled at her own childishness when she
caught herself repeating under her breath, "Oh,
let it be true ! Let it be true, just for him I "

"It's no use, pa," said Leonard, after half an
hour's silence, when he had suffered an agony of
suspense too great to be borne longer. " It's no
use. Give it up ! "

"Do you think so?" with great wistfulness.
"Perhaps you're too anxious yourself; perhaps,
bcin' so fond of her, you can't give yourself up to
control. You just try a minute more, an' pre
tend not to care, if you can. — Hear me tellin' a
great medium how to do ! " he added, apologet
ically, with a nervous laugh.

322 FOOLS OF NATUEE.

Leonard wretchedly set himself to his task.
He tried to clear his mind of thought and fear,
and did succeed in so blurring them that they re
mained only as vague and general pain. No, the
shadows in the room were the honest shadows of
this world, enfolding no pale shapes from another.
He heard the ticking of the clock, but no spirit
whispered. Even the wraith that had haunted
him from childhood, figment of his brain or vis
itant from another world, even she was not pres
ent. The reality of things, the solidity, embod
ied by the heavy old furniture, oppressed him as
they had never done in all his life. Much as his
very marrow shrank at thought of her, he would
have given all his small fame for the power of con
juring up the spirit the old man awaited.

''It's no use, I tell you ! " he broke out at last,
with a cry. " I can't do it, pa ; I can't I "

"Well, well, never mind! don't you feel bad.
It'll come ; she ain't got her bearin's yet. She'll
be round before we know it."

Sarah brought the lights, and made a great stir
of excitement over Trot, who was discovered to
have carried her four kittens in from the barn and
surreptitiously put them to bed in Uncle Ben's
room. What with Trot's underhand ways and the
charms of her Maltese family, the evening passed
not too dismally, and there came the blessed time
for sleep.

BEYOND RECALL. 323

Next morning Uncle Ben said at table, "You
won't go back yet, Lenny, now will you? An'
every night we'll have a sittin'. We've got to be
faithful, or how can we expect them that are in
the spirit life to keep us in mind, an' wait for their
chance to come ? "

Leonard murmured something unintelligible ; but
receiving a letter from Riker that forenoon, he an
nounced that he must return on the evening train .
It was true that Riker had, on the contrary, given
him permission to remain some days, the real rea
son, which it is needless to say he did not state,
being a new attempt at some daring departures
in the way of materialization. His pupil, not
being as yet his accomplice, would only be in the
way. Leonard, however, stoutly declared that
he must be gone. He felt unable to bear another
word of importunity.

CHAPTER XXIV.

FOUR THREADS.

HHHE tableau that confronted Stephen Mann as
he entered Miss Phebe's parlor one evening,
did not astonish him. Used to Linora's dramatic
climaxes, he was passively expectant of them.
She was kneeling by a large chair, in which Miss
Phebe had evidently been sitting. That lady was
now seated on a sofa at the farthest possible point
from Linora, bolt-upright, her hands on her knees,
her face wearing an indescribable confusion of
expressions. Stephen hesitated on the threshold.

"I came to make you a call, Miss Phebe," and
Miss Phebe starkly motioned him to a seat. Lin
ora rose from her posture of humility with great
self-possession.

"I wish you had come earlier, Mr. Mann," she
said, sweetly. " Miss Phebe has received a great
shock."

Miss Phebe's eyes began to glow with wrath.
" I have ; a great shock. I don't know as I shall
ever believe in anybody again."

"Oh, yes," Linora said ; "believe in me ! "

Something of the grim humor of the situation
seemed to strike Miss Phebe also. She smiled

324

FOUR THREADS. 325

slightly, and Linora, seeing the opportunity, made
haste to put in a wedge.

"Miss Phebe's kindness has made me so
ashamed," she continued, her delicate nostrils dilat
ing, her fine eyes growing suffused, "that I felt
obliged to confess to her that I am, to speak
mildly, a little humbug." At the close of her sen
tence, catching Stephen's glance, she could not
restrain a smile of genuine mirth, and Stephen
found himself answering it. Her effrontery con
tinued infinitely to amuse him.

" I hope Miss Phebe makes some allowance for
the temptations of a dramatic temperament," he
remarked.

" I don't know what I make allowance for ; I
don't know whom I believe. Yes, I do ; I believe
in your wife. How is she? where is she? "

"Well, and away with some quiet people in the
country."

" So she has been for weeks," said Linora, com-
plainingly. " Is she never coming home ? "

Stephen was saved from the necessity of answer
ing by Miss Phebe. She had evidently thought for
no one but Linora ; she could not take her eyes
from her. " And you've had your own way and
been comfortable all this winter ! and I've been
awake night after night, almost saying my prayers
for you ! Mr. Mann, you'll have to excuse me.
Come another day. I must go up stairs and settle

326 FOOLS OF NATURE.

my head." She left the room precipitately, shak
ing the head in question as she went. Left alone,
Stephen and Linora smiled again, though his look
contained a real and grave reproof.

"Linora, why don't you take less honest people
to humbug, if you must do it?"

" I wouldn't have done it for the world, if I'd
thought. But honestly, now, I didn't realize that
such good people existed. Uncle Will is respect
able enough, but he has a spice of the unmention
able one which makes him kin to me, and J never
have much compunction about deceiving him."

" Why confess ? "

Linora made her eyes very large and her mouth
very small. " There was a reason," she whispered,
solemnly. " My uncle, I am convinced, is about
to marry a wife. That wife will be — Miss Phebe ! "

" Impossible I "

" I saw his intentions ; I saw that she tried to
smother her preference, because she had precon
ceived ideas about him, gathered from my airy
fabrics of fancy. If I had been his rival, I should
have gloated over my hold on her. Being his
niece, I preferred placing myself in an unfavor
able light, that his suit might prosper."

" You're a very generous creature," said Stephen,
dryly.

" Not altogether so," returned Linora, with great
impartiality. "I had reasons of a prudential na-

FOUR THREADS. 327

ture. I realized that love would win. Love usually
does win, you know. And in the confidence ex
isting between husband and wife, Uncle Will would
be sure to give her my mental photograph. I pre
ferred giving it myself. And then I enjoyed the
surprise. Mr. Mann, do you think your wife
hates me ? "

" I don't think she does in the least," returned
Stephen, restraining his hand from its quick move
ment towards his throat. He wished at least for
freedom from the constriction that answered there
the mention of her name.

" Do you think she will see me when she comes
back?"

" Certainly ; she would have done so before she
went away, but she decided suddenly. Do you
ever meet Bernard now ? "

"Never ; and he has moved, you know."

Stephen did not know it, and, wondering if the
reason might lie altogether in avoidance of Linora,
it occurred to him that, so far as his knowledge
of Bernard's whereabouts was concerned, the man
might be buried every night, to be resurrected at
the office hour. He could not forget the service
Bernard had done him ; that had built up in his
mind an enduring gratitude. He was conscious
that he could never like him, and the thought
clung to him like an irritating reminder that, for
Sarah's sake, he must not lose sight of him. As

328 FOOLS OF NATURE.

some concession to a requirement that was distaste
ful, next night he walked away from the office
with him. The haunted man had wofully changed
since his return from Coventry. He had seen in
Uncle Ben's words the green fields and brilliant
skies of a new land of hope ; the possibility of
not sinking in these dark waters, but of reaching
the shore. Such a first trembling of hope, instead
of quieting the fever of his blood, shook him
painfully. He had been sinking in despair ; hav
ing resigned his will to the machinations of evil,
he had little more to suffer with the old acuteness.
Visions might press upon his eyelids, but the dull
eyes beneath would only feel an accustomed weight.
If, however, he must force his way through these
forms of horror to a possible goal, his eyes must
be fully opened upon the phantoms, the brain
must be roused to comprehend them. Thus a
new warfare had begun within him.

"Your work wears on you," said Stephen.
" Or is it the hot weather? "

" It is the impossibility of living. Mann, the
whole universe sickens me ! "

"I should like to see you in some practical
trouble. Forge a note, or go out West and get
scalped. Then you might not devote so much
time to the pleasures of the imagination."

Bernard scarcely heard him. "To think of all
things as noisome, as containing a horror ! " he

FOUK TIIKEAD8. 329

mused. w To be compelled to that, and yet not
dare to die, for fear the one spark of hope you had
might have been justified."

Stephen thought of his own desolate home, of
the common pleasures which would be sufficient to
fill him with a heart-breaking joy. " What do you
chiefly complain of? " he asked.

" Of having no part in what is clean, and healthy,
and fair ; of a ridiculous body and a filthy mind ; of
being haunted by a ghost that I see plainly, —
plainer than I see anything real, nowadays."

" Ellis," said Stephen, with a sudden thought,
" how should you like to go West and raise stock ? "

" The air is cleaner there ; it has not been
polluted by the breath of men."

" I have a stock-farm out there, and I used to
think of going myself. It is leased to John
O'Brien, and his lease expires in November. If
you like, you shall take it and manage it for me.
O'Brien would probably stay some months to get
you started."

"Do you mean that I could work, and earn
money honestly ? "

"I mean just that. For heaven's sake, doa't
keep on accusing me of being a charity bureau."

" I'll go ; that is, unless I am wanted at home.
I must find my mother first, and see if she needs
me. If she does, I shall settle among my own
people, — working men and women."

330 FOOLS OF NATURE.

" And what to do there ? "

" Learn a trade, it may be."

"Stuff! "said Stephen. Mr. Gale had over
taken them, and Bernard, not stopping to exchange
a word with him, disappeared round a near corner.

"Peculiar, your friend?" asked Gale, with a
whimsical lifting of his brows.

"Peculiar."

" I seem to remember him. Wasn't he present
at the dramatic disclosures at your house ? "

"Yes."

"The social world, that small orb we all have
to deal with, seems to me more and more worthy
of study. I discover queer breaks in its spectrum
every day, indicating, no doubt, new elements.
I begin to regret writing a history of races. It
would have been of more interest to make a social
study."

"A novel?"

" No, a disquisition, an analytic comparison of
strange elements in character. Mann, I am under
the impression, though it has nothing to do with
the present subject, that I am to be married."

" I congratulate you. Nobody deserves happi
ness more."

"Many, my dear fellow, many do; but I con
sider myself very fortunate. I feel, too, that the
preliminary stage has had a good effect on me.
Do you see no change in my manner ? "

FOUR THREADS. 331

w A great change ; I was about to remark it.
It strikes me that you have brightened, lost your
indifference."

" Yes, I think I have ; I feel freshened, invigo
rated. The lady — I forgot to tell you it is Miss
Phcbc — has all the effect of old wine on me. No,
I withdraw the comparison, — of good, stout old
cider."

Stephen wondered how much in earnest he might
be. Judging from his word and air, he was en
tirely so.

"I see in her," continued Gale, "a vista of
healthy, happy things. Still keeping up the
simile of cider, I see great plump-cheeked apples,
and a carnival of harvest time ; I see pink blos
soms, and a pageant of spring."

Much as he admired Miss Phebe, Stephen could
not help wondering that she should prove such
an efficient guide into regions of poetry.

" I am sure she will be good for you," he said.
" She is hearty and wholesome. I always feel
that seeing her is like breathing good air."

w I confess I have lingered here entirely on her
account," said Gale, evidently much interested in
his own state of feeling. " I haven't thought of
womankind since I was in my early twenties. I
felt in her from the very first a sort of repression ;
I was sure she had a thousand springs of concealed
romance in her nature. I think she has."

332 FOOLS OF NATURE.

He seemed to have become ten years younger.
Stephen devoted his thoughts, for the rest of his
walk, to the rejuvenating power of love. How
long could he follow the course of fancy in regard
to the romance between any man and woman, with
out touching on his own tragedy? Love had
changed Gale as completely as if some veil had
been drawn away from his earthly garments, dis
closing the gorgeous apparel of a shining young
bridegroom.

What deed had Love wrought in his own life ?
She had led him into a fair country, by gently
flowing streams, where he might bathe from his
limbs the dust of travel and pollution. And in a
moment the heavens had frowned, the flood had
pursued him ; Love had left him in a barren land
of sand and darkness. A great wave of pity for
himself surged over him as he entered his house
that night. He half expected to find a letter from
her. Though she had said she would not write,
the world seemed to have come to a stand-still, and
miracles might follow. No letter was there. Try
ing to smile at himself for his weakness, he went
from room to room looking for a token. He
opened her closets, and pressed her dresses to his
lips with a despairing prayer for some breath of
hers left in their folds. In vain ; the house was
desolate. He tried to reason himself into a san
ity of endurance, by remembering that she was

FOUR THREADS. 333

still alive, that not many miles divided them, and,
if his heart and will failed utterly, he might creep
there to her feet. No help in that ! If he broke
his pledge of abiding by her decision, he was no
more worthy even to lie there.

Sometimes, closing the house seemed the only
possible thing to do. Living there held in it but
an agony of comfort. Her presence still lingered
there as it could nowhere else, but as nowhere else
her absence stung him. And it might be — a
pitiful sob rose in his throat at that — it might be
she would return, and then her hearth must be
found lighted.

CHAPTER XXV.

BERNARD GOES HOME.

day it happened that Linora and Stephen
met on their way across the Common, and
that she made his path her own, saying frankly
that, as he walked presumably for business and she
for pleasure, it was only fair that she should make
the concession.

"Needs must," she said, skipping over a puddle
with great dexterity, "since a certain estimable
person has become my coachman. If I want
company, I have to swallow my pride and go out
of my path to get it. By the way, that worthy
brother-in-law of yours avoids me as the plague.
Where is he?"

" At this moment ? In niy office. To-morrow
he goes down to Freeport, to visit his mother."

" Really ? " Linora stopped an instant, and then
went on, with a somewhat soberer face. "Still
sentimental over certain ideas ? "

Stephen shrugged his shoulders, with a look
which might mean anything. Incapable of sym
pathy with Bernard's diseased views as he pro
nounced himself, he still felt the demands of a
certain loyalty concerning them.

334

BERNARD GOES HOME. 335

"Do you know, I think I must see him before
he goes," she continued. " But then I can't ; he
won't come, if I ask him. Why do all you people
regard me as a leper because you think I tell lies ?
And after all, it's only your thinking so that makes
the mischief. I don't half believe I do ! "

" And I don't believe you believe so. I'll wager
much, your conscience is white as any lamb. As
to Bernard, besiege the castle if you like. You
can see him alone in the office. I hope I'm not
offending any special propriety by suggesting it."

" I hope not ! Yes, I do like. I'll go with you
now, if you let me."

Stephen opened the door, and left her to make
an entrance. Bernard sat with his head very low
over his desk, not meditating on the morrow's step,
but studiously writing up the correspondence, that
he might leave his work square at the ends. Lin-
ora closed the door, put the point of her parasol
on the floor, and, resting both hands on it, said
dramatically, "Well!"

Bernard looked up with the start she mischiev
ously expected, his face instantly taking its brick-
red suffusion.

"Promise not to basely run away, if I leave the
door ? " she asked with her air of good-comrade
ship. Where was the pale, Madonna-like creature ?
Not certainly this little thing, in a gay spring cos
tume, with a striped umbrella. Bernard was

336 FOOLS OF NATURE.

nervously rolling his pen between his thumb and
finger. Now he rose and drew forward a chair,
hesitating beside his own seat while she took the
other.

" Sit down, please," said Linora, graciously
transforming the office into her own reception
room. " I've come for a serious talk with you.
I hear you are going away to-morrow."

" Yes," said Bernard, with difficulty. Noting
the huskiness of his voice, he vigorously cleared
his throat, and sat down with resolute hardihood.

" Now you know I know all your fancies and all
your whims," Linora continued, with a cheerful
ness of wholesale accusation which promised to
leave him no loop-hole of escape. " But I wish
you'd tell me further why you should go down
there to make the acquaintance of your mother
after twenty years or so."

" To find out whether I belong there ; to learn
whether I can work out something, in the class
where I belong, from which my diseases spring."

"You think so, but it is nothing of the sort."
The assault was so vigorous that he looked up at
her in surprise. " You are going down to patron
ize them ! "

After this extraordinary statement, she looked
at him in silent enjoyment of its effect. Bernard
only repeated her words.

w Yes," she went on. " I've been meaning to tell

BERNARD GOES HOME. 337

you, ever since last winter, what an abominable
way you have of throwing your sins on other
people's shoulders. You used to tell me you were
a monster ; I daresay you are, but for heaven's
sake don't cast all the credit of your monstrosity
on your ancestors. I suppose your nose and
eyes you were born with, but do give yorself the
credit of committing your own sins." Linora was
enjoying herself, confident that she was producing
an effect.. It is true that she had an honest pur
pose in mind, but she could no more help seeing it
through the medium of its action on another mind
than she could help breathing. " You think you
are making a great sacrifice in going down there to
present yourself to your relatives. I don't ; no
right-minded person would. The obligation is on
the other side. They've done without you all these
years, and no doubt they are enjoying themselves
very well. If they take you in and put up with
your whims, I'm sure it's very kind of them, and
the nobility is their own. I'm going now ; don't
look dazed. I only came in to tell you not to pat
ronize them."

When she reached the street and put up the
gorgeous umbrella, Linora also offered a slight
smile to the sunlit day.

" I flatter myself that was well done," she re
marked to her inner hearer. "A very good part,
and exceedingly like Miss Phebe. Indeed, I

338 FOOLS OF NATURE.

think I not only said what Miss Phebe would have
said, but as she would have delivered it."

Do not think too hardly of Linora if she could
not separate her enjoyment of the shows of life
from the serious matters of life itself. How could
she, when the importance of her own amusement
had grown to be of primary value ? Possibly, if she
could have seen the true, she might have chosen its
severe beauty ; but alas ! there is no pit of distinct
demarcation between it and the false. The soul
does not often say, "I will tell a lie ; " merely, at
most, "How pleasant if things could look so ! " or
" How necessary ! " — and presently the eye sees it,
and the tongue declares it thus. There is appar
ently nothing so fraught with unconsciousness as
lying.

Meantime, Bernard was left to feel the uncom
fortable pricking of the little germ she had dropped.
Whether it might be a germ of truth or not, it
certainly contained an atom of justice which had
not before occurred to him. Even after he had
sufficiently recalled himself to go on with his
work, his mind continued its brooding, its attempt
at reducing his new purpose to some distinct form
ula. " I have chosen to go because my place is
there ; because I am unfit for the class of people
into which I have found my way," he answered
himself, with the aid of his previous theories. All
vague, much too vague to bear utterance.

BERNARD GOES HOME. 339

He had greatly changed in the past weeks, ever
since that green spring morning with Uncle Ben.
His will was as weak, his fancies diseased as
before, but the alert imagination, having caught
at that vision of hope suggested by the old man,
had reanimated him for a struggle. Vague as the
intention sounds, he was in reality going down to
give himself to his people, to become one of them.
After Linora suggested it, the truth remained with
him that, after all, he had nothing to offer worth
the taking. Worn in body, incapable even of
using his eyes without deception, stained in
thought, he was the wreck of the perfect man.
On their part, she had said, would be the nobility
in receiving him. Be it there : he would go to be
healed, to be made capable of becoming something
to them yet.

It was in a very humble frame of mind that he
set out on his journey next day. The earth was
bright with sunlight, the air sweet with the new
growth of leaf and bud. Worn by thought,
by work, and the spectre of his brain, he saw
all darkly, felt only the lump in his throat which
makes a horrible spiritual nausea, and was con
scious that he was being whirled through a beau
tiful land, the forms of which were strangely
undefined. It was six o'clock when he reached
Freeport, a village resting between hills. The

340 FOOLS OF NATURE.

very air was green from the million-leaved trees,
green with new sunlight filtered through it ; even
in his feverish haste to have his errand done
and reach his journey's end, Bernard stopped to
draw a long breath of the sweet peace of the place.
Then he recalled himself, and went to ask the
baggage-master, " Can you tell me where John
Mason lives, — a carpenter?"

" Down Summer Lane," began the man ; but
glancing across the track he amended his sentence.
" There's Mason's girl; she'll show you the way.
— Mary!"

Mary turned at once, and waited for further
speech. Bernard took his bag, and crossed the
track towards her. She represented the next point
in his journey ; let her be reached quickly. The
girl, of fifteen perhaps, waited with a certain selt-
possession which might have passed for stolidity
till you had seen her face, square of chin, with
cheeks of splendid health. Her brown eyes had
a straightforward gaze, and they, with the two
thick, hanging braids of hair, made up her only
beauty.

"Do you want to go to father's?" she asked,
quietly, as Bernard reached her. His breath came
a little faster. This was a slight check ; " father "
was a personality he would rather not consider
at all:

"Yes, if you will show me the way."

BERNARD GOES HOME. 341

"I could tell father, if it was an errand," she
suggested, as they turned to walk on.

"No, I must see — them," said Bernard, it
striking him with a shock that this fresh young
creature must be his sister.

"You see, so many people want work done, and
often they're glad to leave messages with mother
and me ; it saves time, instead of hunting father
up. I shouldn't wonder if we overtook him, if
we're spry. He's on Simpson's barn now. There
he is ! — Father ! "

The clear young voice brought to a stand-still
the workman just in front of them, as they turned
the corner into the country road. Bernard could
only see, through the blackness before his eyes,
that he was tall and "workmanlike made," as he
afterwards heard John Mason say of his own
houses, and that he carried a tin dinner-pail. He
saluted Bernard with Mary's own straightforward
glance.

" Good-evening, sir." Then he waited. Ber
nard turned sick and faint. It seemed enough
that he had come ; why need he explain his way
at every step ?

" My name is Bernard Ellis," he said, not be
cause that offered any solution in his own mind,
but because it seemed the most natural thing to
say. But it evidently did offer a solution to
Mason. He turned a keen, half embarrassed look

342 FOOLS OF NATURE.

upon him . At last he said , with bluntness , — Mary
eying them both as they went on, and wondering
why they were so silent, — " I'm glad to see you, and
my woman'll be. I'll say now — it's been brewin'
in me ever since I had a child of my own — I
didn't see into family feelin's as I do now, or I
never should have asked her to give you up.
Maybe 'twas better for you, but folks want their
own. I don't believe your mother's ever give up
but what you'd come back."

Presently, as Bernard made no answer, Mason
began to watch him with as much curiosity as lay
in Mary's brown eyes. Bernard wavered in his
walk, and was evidently half unconscious of what
the other said. Mason wondered if he could have
been drinking, and was hoping, with the righteous
horror of slovenly living which seemed to go with
his love of fine workmanship, that Bernard had no
such bad habit, when they turned into the lane
leading to a very nicety of a house. A comely
woman, apple-cheeked, and fair of hair, was blood-
thirstily killing currant-worms on the bushes lining
the fence.

" Home together, then ! " said a voice, as she rose
— a voice with a suspicion of the Irish brogue, and
full of Irish richness. Mason took a quick step
in advance, while Bernard unconsciously faltered,
trying to make out her face.

" Mother, it's him ! " said her husband, not with-

BERNARD GOES HOME. 343

out some misgiving as to her manner of taking the
news. She never had had hysterics as yet, but
who can say when that latent tendency may not
develop ?

Mrs. Mason was staring hard into her son's face.
" Saints help us 1 " she cried. Then, her woman's
wit reading there symptoms invisible to her hus
band, she added, " Give him your shoulder, John."
(She did say Jahn, though she had indeed little
brogue. But that little was delicious.) "Give
him a shoulder. Don't you see he's ready to drop ?
— Poor little man ! poor sonny ! " taking up her
cooing just where she had dropped it.

So they took him into the house, Mary running
in advance to open a bedroom door, and three more
awe-struck children peering round a corner of the
piazza ; and Bernard went quietly off into brain-
fever.

CHAPTEE XXVI.

THE ORACLE SILENT.

~O IKER was still not altogether satisfied with
-*-^ his present manner of life. The certaint}^
that he was not making use of all possible appli
ances for success in his profession, continued to
grow upon him. More than that, he recognized
the fact that one side of his nature absolutely refused
to take an interest in his present severe and method
ical efforts. From a boy he had received applause
as a reward for the development and expression of
the purely sentimental. He had made his bread
thus, and a solid loaf it had always been. His beard,
his smile, the whiteness of his hands, had also won
him almost as many disciples as had his flowery
eloquence and ornate pathos. This traffic in sen
timents was attended by cash profits, a fact he
never overlooked. Having, however, seen those
of his own trade, more expert in deception, exhib
iting a certain admirable mastery over mechanical
means, he had striven to emulate them, with tol
erable success but with growing distaste. There
was too much hard work involved, and work of an
unintermitting nature. He was obliged to be more
eternally vigilant, having entered upon materiali
se

THE ORACLE SILENT. 345

zation, and that scarcely suited him. It was more
in accordance with his likings to give a lecture
here and there, to be entertained in this and that
town, than to grub along from day to day in his
own office.

It is not strange that adulation should have be
come a great part of his breath of life, for he had
been used to it from childhood. His earliest recol
lections were of seeing all his small world set
aside for himself. His widowed mother treasured
him as her one jewel, as a nature of inconceivably
finer fibre than herself. She wondered, in simple
humility, how she could have given birth to such
a prodigy. She could only read her Bible labo
riously ; he was studying wonderful sciences,
whose names she reverenced too deeply to pro
nounce* Therefore she considered it bare justice
that he should be shielded from the cold, from
anxiety, and from the hard labor that her poverty
necessitated.

Edward honestly agreed with her. He had
clearer faculties, finer tastes than she ; it was his
duty to cultivate them. And so, without much
hardness of heart, but only in intense apprecia
tion of himself, he allowed her to scrub, and wash
and iron, for meagre pay, until she sank quietly
into her grave, humbly thankful to have been of
use to him. And chancing always to fall among
people of no high intellectual level, he had been

346 FOOLS OF NATURE.

praised for his cleverness and admired for his con
descension ever since. The transition from tacit
deception, the mere cajoling of the weak points
of his audiences to actual deception of their eyes
and ears, was not a great one. It gave him no
shock ; in fact, he scarcely observed it at all as a
moral phenomenon. It was quite in the way of
business. Edward Hiker must be fed and clothed,
and he must also boast a train of adoring disci
ples. Deception and this necessary consummation
stood for cause and effect. The effect proved
absolutely necessary ; therefore the cause must be
evoked. For all that, he had at times serious
ideas of going back to his lecturing, and cast about
in his mind for other hands in which to leave mate
rialization, thus supporting two geese of the golden-
egg variety. About this- tune, the company who
were accustomed to assemble in his parlors were
astounded by the report that Mrs. Biker had
suddenly shown astonishing mediumistic powers.
She, it seemed, could evoke spirits with even more
facility than that possessed by her husband. A trial
of her skill was promised for a certain Wednes
day night, and at the hour appointed the rooms
were filled. Biker and Leonard were engaged in
setting up the cabinet, while the last guests arrived,
the former full of gushing volubility.

" So many years as I have waited for this ! " he
exclaimed to those who stood near him. " It has

THE ORACT-K SILENT. 347

always been the desire of my heart that Julia
should become a medium. I have had intimations
of it, though, so that my faith doesn't deserve too
much credit. I have been sustained from time to
time."

Leonard, too, was radiant, but with an honest
joy. He was fond of the timid little woman who
had become so favored. He felt, with a slight
self-reproach at judgment of his master, that
Biker might like her better now. Mrs. Biker
entered several minutes only before the hour ap
pointed for the ceremony. She was deadly pale,
and evidently beside herself with some emotion
which might be terror, but which Riker explained
as the effect of having fallen at once " under con
trol." She did not notice the men and women
about her, but whispered- to her husband, " Let me
begin now."

Riker nodded knowingly at the circle with a
triumphant, '' You see ! " led her at once into the
cabinet, and drew the curtains. Falling himself
" under control," he designated the seat each par
ticular member of the circle should occupy. Com
ing suddenly out from his trance-like state, he
stationed Leonard at the farther end of the room
in charge of the light, and then, having lowered
the gas, fell again into an abnormal condition.
Several spirits asked permission to come through
him while the "squaw-mejum," as Mixy-Maxy

348 FOOLS OF NATURE.

called her, should attain the requisite state of mind
and body. Mixy, in the name of the squaw-me-
jtim, apologized for the possible imperfection of
the manifestations, and begged the audience to
remain sitting, in no case attempting to touch the
spirits. That might be permitted at some future
time, when the medium should be more fully de
veloped. Now, owing to her inexperience, she
would need to work under favorable conditions.
As there came a pause in Riker's harangue, a slight
stir was heard from within the cabinet. He in
stantly ceased speaking, and the eyes of the spec
tators riveted themselves upon the mysterious
closet. The curtain was emphatically thrown
aside, and a white figure appeared in the door
way. It stood motionless for several seconds, and
then, throwing up the hands with a nervous
motion, disappeared. A murmur of interest rose,
but Riker cut it short.

"Sing!" he called, hurriedly, "all sing!"
Thereupon a hushed chorus arose. As the voices
died away at the end of a stanza, the curtain was
again removed, and a second form appeared, dis
tinctly an Indian, in blanket and feathers.

" Mixy herself," said Riker. " Come, Mixy, can't
you speak ? Are you glad to see us to-night ? "

" No," came a hoarse whisper.

"What! what! In a naughty frame of mind,
I'm afraid, Mixy. Not glad to see your good

THE ORACLE SILENT. 349

friends ? Well, tell us something, any way. Are
you happy?"

" Happy ! O my God ! " came in the same sup
pressed tone, and the figure flitted back into the
cabinet.

" I think," began Biker, in easy explanation, "I
am pretty sure that wasn't Mixy, but her sister.
And I'm sorry to say that I happen to know her
sister is a bad spirit. I hope we sha'n't have any
more bad spirits here to-night. If we do, we shall
have to punish them in some way." With the
last sentence, he raised his voice warningly. After
this the manifestations came fast and furious.
Hands were waved from the cabinet windows ;
spectral faces were visible there, and there was
heard the continual rustling of garments. Fre
quenters of this and similar places confessed that
never before had anything so satisfactory taken
place. Before the usual time had quite expired,
Eiker interrupted proceedings to say that he per
ceived the medium to be losing strength, and must
defer further appearances to another evening.
There was a murmur of disapproval, but he was
firm, and ordering the lights to be turned up, went
inside the cabinet to assist the medium in regain
ing her composure. After a few moments, during
which the company remained seated, he emerged
with her, no longer pale, but flushed and shaking,
and led her quickly up stairs.

350 FOOLS OF NATURE.

And while Leonard was delightedly receiving the
wondering comments of the dispersing crowd,
Riker remained with his wife, stifling her shrieks
with a towel, and endeavoring to shake her out of
hysterics.

Next morning Leonard came to Biker in great
agitation, holding an open letter.

" He's coming here ! " he began.

"Who?"

"Uncle Ben. I must go away. I can't see
him."

" Can't see him ? " repeated Riker, turning upon
him. "Why?"

"He will ask me about her — Aunt Maria — if
I've seen her. And I haven't, and I can't. How
can I tell him so again ? "

" I think," said Riker, fixing his eyes upon him
with the old concentration of look, " I think you
can see her, if you try. Have you tried ? "

"Till I couldn't breathe," returned Len, in a
whisper. " And I'm afraid to do it, too ; she'd
kill me ! But he wants it so, and I must do
it!"

" Yes, you are right ; you must do it. Can't
you see now just how she looked ? "

"Oh, yes; but — "

" Brown calico dress, plaid necktie, hair braided
and crimped, garnet ring on left hand," said Riker,
sending his mind back some years. It was an

THE ORACLE SILENT. 351

unerring messenger ; accuracy in details made part
of his business.

"Of course I see that ! "

"Then you can hear her voice, too? You can
think what she would be likely to say to her
father?"

" But I can't really see her ! I can't really hear
her ! " cried the boy, in desperation.

Biker made one more effort. "Think what
you owe him," he said, solemnly. " Think how
he depends on you. There's nothing in the
world he wouldn't do for you, and yet you refuse
him this little favor ! Len, I didn't think it of
you ! "

He went out and closed the door. That act
stood for precaution as well as policy. He felt it
necessary to utter in solitude the imprecations
brought to his lips by the boy's folly.

Uncle Ben's note did not long precede him.
Len, distressed and tearful in his own room, heard
his step and stick coming up the stairs. The
sound sickened him ; his only thought was one of
escape. Uncle Ben did not stay to knock.

"Any news, boy?" he began, as soon as his
foot was fairly over the threshold. "No? well,
we must be patient. You ain't had a hint nor a
sign?"

"No, sir," answered Len, chokingly.

" Oh, well, don't feel bad. She's busy, I s'pose,

352 FOOLS OF NATUEE.

but I can't think, bein' one o' the active ones,
what keeps her away so long. Perhaps, bein'
active, they want her there to go on missions."

"Perhaps," answered Leonard, scarcely know
ing what he said.

" Now I've come up here with a plan for you
an' me to carry out. It's for us two to have a
sittin' together every day for a week, an' see if
we can't make out suthin'."

" Oh, I can't, I can't ! "

"I know 'twouldn't be right to give up your
other business, as long as you're sorter in partner
ship. That's what you think. But I've thought
that all over, an' this is how we'll do it. I'll pay
you as much as you commonly make in that time,
an' it'll be all right. Now don't you say ' No,'
Lenny. It's no more'n right to do that."

Leonard, indeed, said nothing, after his first
gasp of involuntary protest. He seemed to be
caught in too complicated a snare to admit even
of struggling. Just at the moment, Piker, who
had the faculty of appearing at critical times,
opened the door, to hurry forward and greet Uncle
Ben with ostentatious cordiality. "You, my dear
sir ? How glad I am to see you ! And what mes
sage has our Len for you ? "

"Nothin' yet, but there's no hurry," said Uncle
Ben, laying his hand on Len's shoulder, with vague
appreciation of his distress. " I ain't so old yet

THE ORACLE SILENT. 353

but what I can wait, an' Lenny mustn't take it
hard on my account."

" If you will allow me to offer," said Riker, " I
venture to say I could get a message from your
daughter."

Uncle Ben hesitated. Then the smile which
must have disarmed resentment, even in a man
less conciliatory than Riker, rippled over his face.

" You mustn't be put out," he said, gently, " but
I don't believe I should be willin'. You know
Maria didn't take to you. Nothin' against you,
it ain't, for we can't control our feelin's ; but I
should feel as if I hadn't done the fair thing by
her if I asked her to do it."

Riker's face had darkened momentarily ; but be
fore the old man had concluded, he was ready for
a cordial grasp of his hand.

"You're right," he said, in his frankest voice.
" I honor you for it. But Len is at your service,
and I heartily hope he may be successful."

Leonard, still without protest, heard himself
condemned to his week of torture. He had laid
down his own will in subjection to Riker's. Obe
dience had become second nature, and he no more
thought of resisting his master than the demands
of his own appetite. He realized, with that heart-
sinking which accompanies a dismal foregone con
clusion, that the morrow would see him sitting
near his old friend, unable to offer him the cup of

354 FOOLS OF NATURE.

water for which his lips thirsted. The next day
and the next would bring the same ordeal. How
could he endure the seven?

Foreboding did indeed speak true. Day after
day he watched the old man growing more nervous
and impatient ; day after day he sat beside him,
giving, with parched tongue and aching throat,
that cruel negative. Strange that the possibility
of lying did not present itself, but it never did.
Had the suggestive devil of an active imagination
been more vigorous within him, it might have
forced some new vision upon his senses. As it
was, he waited for the voices of the dead, and they
were dumb.

CHAPTER XXVn.

NEMESIS LOOKS ABOUT HER.

TT is a question whether there are more than one
-*• two souls in thousands with whom a just re
nunciation becomes final with the resolve. A
minority of these there assuredly is, and they must
imply the existence of a kindred type, but their
fellows are rare. Most of us, no matter how
firmly the obstinate will clings to its purpose, are
obliged to hear again and again the waging of a
war of argument.

It is true that Sarah had ceased to debate first
principles. The traitorous faction of her mind
had exhausted reasons in its first specious pleading.
Time had passed ; the fall had come again, and
with every flying second she realized more and
more that the step she had taken was final. As
that came to pass, nature rose up in revolt, crying
out, not against right, not against her judgment,
but in some inarticulate protest, which was enough
to rend her day by day. She was passing out of
that state of extreme youth, wherein we believe
something must happen because we wish it, because
its refusal to happen would be BO unbearable.
Time himself declared that no deliverance was

*55

356 FOOLS OF NATURE.

possible. She must not yield, and circumstances
could not. •

In such extremity, it was a. merciful provision
that Uncle Ben should need a housekeeper and
friend. Her nature, demanding so much of life
which life was refusing, found its only relief in
passionate devotion to him. She performed her
homely duties with a religious fervor. Her mo
ther had been used to say that she would make a
fine little housekeeper. Now she thought eagerly
of the saying, and consulted Aunt Lomie as to old-
fashioned modes of cookery, and Miss Maria's
habits. Uncle Ben saw much and guessed at much,
but took her efforts as evidence of the goodness
inherent in humanity. That she could give such
loving service for his sake, he was too humble to
suspect ; still less that she was so deep in trouble
as to do it half for her own. Service simply stood
as expression of the universal love and brother
hood pervading the race, like some vital fluid.

Aunt Lomie said, " Benjamin is a good deal
broke up by Maria's death." It was true. He
began at last to waver under the weight of years.
A febrile unrest came upon him. It would be a
mistake to say that all his stock of philosophy
failed him at his need ; it was only true that he
suffered from impatience. When the message
should once have come from Maria that she had
met the dead face to face, and had been herself

NEMESIS LOOKS ABOUT HER. 357

permitted to return, he felt that his life would
settle into a smoother channel. He looked at
himself sometimes in simple wonder. He had not,
since his young manhood, been used to taking life
excitedly. What had come over him ?

" You see it makes an old fellow like me feel he
ain't got the backbone he ought to have, if he
can't wait," he said to Sarah, one morning, with a
somewhat pitiful smile. " But you know how you'd
feel if somebody near you was crossin' the water ;
you'd want to hear as soon as they'd landed. Now
I ain't a mite o' doubt about Mar ia'sbein' all right,
but I want to know when she's got settled, an'
what sphere they've put her in." Sarah felt her
self choking with a great pity for him, and a
sickening distaste for the whole subject. "Yes,
yes," he said, cheerfully, chancing to catch her
eager glance. "I know you feel for me, an' I
ought to do better than keep drawin' on your pity.
But it won't be so long. I've got a sort of impres
sion that's goin' to send me up to Boston to-day,
if you'd as soon stay with Lomie."

"To Boston?"

"Yes, it's beat into me Maria'll come back
through Lenny. It's nat'ral she should, just as
you'd go to your own brother to help you carry
out anything. I may stay a week, as I did before.
Lomie will be glad enough to have you come in
an' be with her."

358 FOOLS OF NATURE.

She was obliged to smile sorrowfully at herself,
in recognizing her own feeling as to these pilgrim
ages. It was a worried mother-love, the precise
type of love that might watch over the path of a
son setting out on periodical fits of dissipation.

Aunt Lomie dearly liked her presence in her
house, and in her calm way gave token of it by
sundry attentions which few people elicited from
her. There was something in Aunt Lomie's man
ner of entertainment which put cultivated graces to
shame. She was a simple gentlewoman, equipped
not only with kindliness of heart, but with a man
ner in which drawing-rooms could have found no
fault. In her youth, her soberness, it seems,
wrought her no good among the lads. Lomie, of
all the family of handsome sisters, had the smooth
est skin and the brownest eyes, — " sweet eyes,"
the yellowed poem of a dead and gone young min
ister called them. Therefore it was that when a
stranger came to town he always asked to be intro
duced first to Lomie, though, when he had talked
to her half an hour and found her not sprightly but
very sedate, he was likely to desert her for the
more lively sisters. But, as Aunt Lomie herself
would say, "that's neither here nor there." It
only pertains to this story to state that she set
dulcet purple grape preserve and amber quince
before her guest, insisted on her taking afternoon
naps, — a weakness she would have scorned in her

NEMESIS LOOKS ABOUT HER. 359

own case, — and quietly invited the boys to put
on their slippers before they came to the table.
The boys did not object. They had an excellently
well-founded regard for Sarah, and, as she de
manded no concession to her superiority, they were
quite ready to make any sort of free-will offering
of the kind.

Sam, at the present time, had something on his
mind. The " Original Villardini Comic Concert
Company " had advertised an entertainment to be
given in the town-hall, on a certain evening.
There were to be songs by Billy Harrison, a banjo
solo by the renowned Joe Bombei, a comic oper
etta, in which the most celebrated of modern act
resses would take part, together with sundry other
choice titbits. Sam was convinced that nothing of
equal worth had appeared in Coventry since the
settlement thereof, and he conceived the daring
project of inviting Mrs. Mann to accompany him
to that select entertainment. He was only deterred
by some doubt of his own appropriateness to the
occasion, his hands and feet seeming particularly
large whenever he thought of her, and a still more
potent reason lying in the doubt whether even
such an entertainment could be considered worthy
of her. Yet he knew she must be the better for a
comic opera. She was pale, thin, and not even
"set up" by thoroughwort. As an entering
wedge, he brought in one night, with an air of

360 FOOLS OF NATURE.

bashful unconcern, some handbills setting forth the
glories to be. She took one, and read it with
conscientious interest, to lay it down at the end,
feeling herself one white heat from head to foot.
The world-renowned actress who would illuminate
the operetta was Dolly Dennis. This was her
husband's wife.

" What think of it ? " called Sam from the kitch
en, where he was noisily washing his hands. But
Mrs. Mann had gone up to her room, and Sam,
ruefully regarding the bill dropped by her chair,
decided that it had been found wanting, and
disappointedly charged himself also to stay at
home.

As for Sarah, she longed only to hide herself
from pursuing circumstances. She threw up her
hands to heaven in denial of the justice of a pun
ishment which decreed that she should be haunted
by the embodiment of her sin.

" I have gone away," she whispered, as if to some
present Nemesis. " I have tried to make it right,
as far as I could. I will take any punishment
but this. I cannot bear this ! "

Infused through her horror at having sinned
against marriage, strengthening it into an ago
nizing intensity, was the traditionary protest of
the nations which abide by one wife. She had
inherited the fine ideal of love we cling to in theory,
however our practice may argue the right of a

NEMESIS LOOKS ABOUT HEB. 361

plurality of affections. Her own existence and
that of the woman in question were offences against
each other, and against transmitted law. There
arose in her a physical repulsion for the bond that
thus united them.

CHAPTEK XXVITL

UNDER THE RED CROSS.

TT is true that there are moments when the sky
-*- pours joyous revelation, saturating souls
ready to be confident.

Sarah could feel nothing but dread of her future,
and a horror made intense by the presence of the
third actor in her tragedy. This was the witness
to confront her as tangible evidence of her own
sin. No logical expedient helped her. As the one
subject preyed on her bodily strength, and she
could neither eat nor sleep like a healthy woman,
passion alone assumed control of her, — a fierce
disgust for what had spoiled Stephen's life, rebel
lion against the chance that had given its sanction,
and her old self-loathing for having yielded to
weak or base influences. When the night came
on which the Villardini Concert Company were to
make the hall vocal, she went early to her room to
look distractedly in the faces of the images which
her imagination suggested. The woman might now
be standing before her rough audience, tawdry,
smiling, and bold. Some reflection struck her of
the pain Stephen would feel could he know what
was taking place.

UNDER THE RED CROSS. 363

Sam and Henry had gone to the " show," the
former having been unable to resist the combined
influence of his brother's unctuous recapitulation
of the possible attractions, and his own conception
of them. Still, it was from some unconscious sug
gestion of chivalry, that while Henry went whistling
from the door, Sam had proposed meeting him a
" piece down the road," and had softly gone from the
shed, across lots. Sam gave himself no reason
for such proceedings ; in fact, he knew no more ne
cessity for chatechising himself than his neighbor.

Some hours of the night had passed for Sarah,
in that struggling that seems so futile because its
immediate result lies only in weariness. At length
she opened her eyes from the bed where she had
sunk, endeavoring to make her senses oblivious
to life. Moonlight and peace confronted her ;
they filled the room. She rose hastily and went
to the window, her strained hands locked in front
of her. The world also was full of light and peace,
and it seemed very good. Possibly the time had
come when the tense sensibilities could bear no
more, and ecstacy might come after pain, as it came
to the saints in torture. That makes the fact no less
wonderful ; if revelation may be born of fine fibres
of the body, one can imagine no more divine a
string for such vibration. Suddenly a quivering
sob burst from her lips, and hot tears came of an
ecstatic joy.

364 FOOLS OF NATURE.

" I will not be ashamed I " she said. " I meant to
be right ; my heart was holy, and our life together
is sacred. There is no stain." She sank on her
knees at the window, bending her head and sob
bing, " No stain ! I am sure of it ! "

There are some souls to whom confidence and
joy are most natural. Such have an audacity of
hope which the fearful call impious. They have
so much to do in the present, such triumphant
surety in the possibilities of existence, that regret
has no place with them. Sarah stood by the
window until her sobs had spent their force, and
then began making ready for bed, as quietly as
she might while her nerves were still quivering.
One purpose was paramount, — that of forbidding
failure to rest upon her life. If she had decided
unworthily, it had been honestly. She would in
deed no longer acknowledge the unworthiness as
criminal, even to herself. Let circumstances mil
itate as they would, forcing from her ignorance
still more unripe fruit of deeds, and she would be
content. She would behave honestly at the time,
whatever the time demanded of her. If in the
clearer light of further experience she should find
herself forced to hate her past, that must be ac
cepted as one of the inevitable penalties that ac
company human living. Remembering that men
and women are the sons and daughters of God,
she would hold her head proudly, not like a

UNDER THE RED CROSS. 365

craven. So she ,slept at last, grown to fuller
stature.

In the morning, Henry met her with face and
mouth full of news, Sam preserving a counte
nance of stolid neutrality, as if such items lay far
beneath his notice.

"No show last night," said Henry. Sarah felt
herself painfully flushing over brow and cheeks.
"No, "he went on, answering her glance, "com
pany's all broke up and gone to the dogs. Dolly's
the head one, you know, an' she's run away."

"Eunaway?"

"They can't find out that she's robbed the till.
Fact is, I don't believe the whole company's got
enough to buy a baby's frock. They couldn't pay
their score for last night's tavern-keep. They
took the mornin' train, an' Prescott let 'em go
scot free."

" He's a gump ! " came Sam's reedy voice, fol
lowed by an embarrassed laugh as he realized that
the word might not be sufficiently elegant. " Pres
cott might ha' kep' their trunks. It's likely there's
a good deal o' gold an' silver trimmin's in 'em
'twould ha' paid to have."

Sarah walked to the window, and watched the
two men as they swung away from the house.
Perhaps she did not really see them ; her will was
intent on the proud resolve that she would to-day
be her ordinary self, in spite of thought. Aunt

366 FOOLS OF NATURE.

Lomie was putting up peaches, and Sarah pared
till her hands were black, and weighed, and
screwed cans with all the strength of her small
strong wrists.

" I don't know as you can ever go away now,"
said Aunt Lomie. "I ain't missed the girls so
much since they went, as I shall after you're
gone, too."

The days were growing brighter and colder;
the air held an invigorating sparkle with its breath
of decay. Autumn was at its height. A very
royal splendor it held this year; one that has
been commemorated in eulogies from all New
England.

One day Sarah started alone for a purposeless
walk. She was enveloped in purple mist, the
bloom of the air ; she scented the fruit flavor and
drank in the leaf-rotting. A fine, intense exhila
ration fired her like a presentiment. "I should
think," she said, "that I must be going to the
opera to-night, if this were the land of operas."

The little laugh on her lips suddenly died at
the suggested remembrance. She went on her
way, effectually sobered. A mile from home, and
the familiar rattle of Sam's wagon was to be heard,
coming round a corner from the Exton road. Dill
had a way of throwing up her head at every step,
and presently Sarah descried her, making cour
tesies as she came.

UNDER THE RED CROSS. 367

"Kide?" called Sam. "I'll turn, an' go round
through the North road, if you say so."

"I do," returned Sarah, her laugh coming back.
"Don't get out, Sam. I can mount better if you
give me a pull."

"Beats all how the trees look up Bear Hill
way," and Sam gave the unwilling Dilly a flick.
"The Lord !" he ejaculated, pulling the animal up
with a jerk. "Dill, no wonder you didn't want
to turn. I'm a beast, an' you're a Christian."
He rattled the astonished animal round once more,
describing a curve which forced Sarah to catch
simultaneously at the seat and her hat. " Tell you
how 'tis ; you see, I've made a discovery. That
woman that run away from the Concert Company
is sick an' out of her head, down to Joe Mitchell's
house, where nobody lives. I was walkin' the
horse by there, an' heard a groanin', an' so I got
out an' went up to peek in the window. There she
was, on the old bedstead they left. She must ha'
been crazed when she crawled in there. I knew
her in a minute, — see her at the depot the day
she come. I was goin' home to get ma'am to go
down, an' it don't seem nat'ral, but when I come
across you it knocked her out o' my head."

Sarah was a woman of lightning impulses.
" Sam," she said, putting her hand on his to hasten
his pull at the reins, "take me back there now !
Don't go for your mother ; it isn't her place ; and

368 FOOLS or NATURE.

if you see her first, she'll try to prevent my going.
Take me back now ! " Dill had obeyed the detain
ing rein, and Sam sat with eyes and mouth suffi
ciently opened for definite facial expression. " I
know her ; nothing must happen to her. If you
don't take me, I shall walk."

Sam's chivalry overbore his convictions as to the
fitness of things. They were within five minutes'
drive of the Joe Mitchell house, when Sarah broke
the silence.

" I'm right, Sam, and you must help me. Will
you?"

" I'll do any fool's errand you're a mind to send
me on," said Sam, in cheerful resignation to his
puzzle. " An' now I've said it, go ahead an' tell
me what to do. We're both in for it."

"First, you must go for the doctor, and after he
tells what things may be wanted, you must drive
home to get them. And, Sam, above all, prevent
any one else from coming to help me. I must go
through this alone."

After all, it was perhaps a romantic impulse
which made her sure that her young shoulders
must bear the load. Destitute also of practical
calculation was she at the moment, for concealment
from many people seemed to be absolutely neces
sary ; what might not be told in the wildness of
delirium which would prove an additional disgrace
to Stephen? The poor child quite forgot, as she

UNDER THE RED CROSS. 369

had been for weeks forgetting, that a very large
part of the world was in ignorance of her troubles.

Sam was still in grievous doubt as to his own
conduct in leaving her alone at the house, when
they finally stopped before the dilapidated pile.
However, the time for remonstrance had passed,
and he stood in wholesome fear of Mrs. Mann's
higher nature. They left Dilly cropping the
brown grass near the fence, and went silently up
to the blackened front door. Sarah was sick with
fear, and wondered, a little weakly, if she must
faint. That was an unknown process to her healthy
young body, but such weakness of nerve and
muscle must portend something.

Sam broke a pane from the kitchen window, to
admit his hand to the fastening. Thus another
window had been opened by the strange guest
within. A minute after his long legs had dis
appeared within the window, Sarah heard a bolt
withdrawn, and the door swung open to admit her.
She walked bravely in ; indeed, there was a good
deal of courage involved in the one effort of mov
ing. Sam softly opened the door of the bare bed
room. There lay the woman, staring straight in
front of her with unseeing eyes, and talking by
snatches. Sarah stopped by her side ; she had an
absolute terror of encountering the eyes, which
searched Sam's face with no speculation in them.
Sam turned, and noted her pallor.

370 FOOLS OF NATURE.

" Come, give it up ! " he whispered.

The words recalled her to sharne at her physical
weakness. "No," she answered, taking off her
hat and gloves. " Go for the doctor. I shall stay
while you are gone."

Sana, very dissatisfied with himself, did go, after
one or two lingering looks which held a prayer
that she might have changed her mind. Once out
side, having also made his decision perforce, he
lashed Dill over the road to Doctor Bright's at a
pace previously unknown to her. Half-way there,
Sam broke out with an exclamation the very sound
of which led him to a more excessive use of the
whip. " Good Lord ! maybe it's catchin' ! "

Meantime, Sarah, to quiet her own wildness of
heart, and to familiarize the dreaded eyes with the
sight of her, moved to a point within their gaze,
where she began spreading a wrap over the
woman's form. The eyes met hers, full of a fear
ful blankness. It flashed into her mind that Ste
phen had spoken of their wonderful blue. Now
they were black. No trace was left of the beauty
he had loved and hated ; wrinkles, the ravages
made by unhealthful living, had crossed out all del
icacy of hue and outline, as if a ruthless hand
should draw rough lines across some priceless
sketch. Sarah brought a chair near the bedside,
and sat down where the woman could regard her.
She had an unexplained feeling that, even in her

UNDER THE RED CROSS. 371

delirium, the other must feel loneliness and be
somewhat comforted by a human being.

"It is strange," broke the hollow voice, "that
they should go without me ! Why couldn't they
wait?"

" They will wait," said Sarah, rising to place a
cold hand on the burning forehead. The bridge
had been crossed ; she had spoken to her and
touched her.

While she sat waiting for Doctor Bright, she
thought, with a deep relief, that the words of de
lirium were not as likely to be barbed with poison
as she had feared. Old records in the brain came
to light, — childish occurrences, and those of girl
hood. The girl prepared her dress for her first
ball, smoothed her hair with weak hands, and1
lived her triumphs over again. Stephen's name
was not mentioned. Was it because he had, after
all, made slight impression on her real life, or be
cause the busy brain, in its ransacking of odd cor
ners, did not chance to bring certain records to
light?

It was two hours before Dill came back at a
swinging trot, and behind her rang the precise
hoof-beats of Doctor Bright's roan. Sarah won
dered, in the idle speculation which fills up excited
moments, why physicians and roans as invariably go
together as bread and butter. Doctor Bright came
in first, and began at once feeling his patient's

372 FOOLS OF NATURE.

pulse. Sarah stood watching him, her mind hast
ily recounting whatever she had heard of him in
Coventry. Personally, he was an elongated skel
eton ; so thin a man that Coventry said to itself,
in mild speculation, that " whatever Dr. Bright's
victuals went to the making of, it wasn't fat ! "
The doctor was variously condemned and univer
sally loved in the county ; one party disapproved
of his prescription of mild doses, and another con
sidered him fatally slow in making up his mind, as
well as too reserved in speaking it. Neither, how
ever, would have been persuaded to admit another
practitioner to his house, under any circumstance
but that of Doctor Bright's departing this life.

" Wasson says you are to be with her," he said
at last, looking up from his case of vials.

"Yes, I can do it," began Sarah, fearing further
objection ; but the doctor nodded her speech short,
and went on in his gentle sing-song :

"I will give you directions later." He sat
down at a little side table, and began writing,
Sam by this time filling up the doorway and re
garding him with extreme impatience. Sam felt
that, after his own and Dill's exertions, he might
reasonably expect a verdict of life or death. The
doctor wrote slowly, and with microscopic fine
ness. At length the paper was concluded, and he
carefully dried it, causing Sam new qualms of im
patience.

UNDER THE RED CROSS. 373

"Articles you will need to bring from home.
It will be impossible to move her. I will stay
with the young woman till you come."

Sam took a step, and hesitated. "Ma'am will
ask what the matter is," he faltered. . Even those
of full strength and stature were not exempt from
awe of Doctor Bright.

" Typhoid fever ; that's all I know. Don't ask
me if she'll live. Don't ask me how she got it. I
can't tell you."

Sam and Dill having once more set out, Doctor
Bright turned to Sarah with a slip of written direc
tions. " I have put down what you will need to
do, in case you shouldn't be able to trust your
memory. Are you going to stay with her right
through?"

" Yes." Sarah was prepared to defend her posi
tion, to passionately assert that though she might
be young she would not prove untrustworthy ; but
Doctor Bright believed in the desirability of allow
ing man and woman to settle their own affairs.

"Very well ; you will need help soon, however.
Don't be romantic about devotion ; don't despise
sleeping when you can, and going out for fresh
air."

The patient moaned and talked on, and Sarah
sat by the window, afraid of the doctor, and afraid
of her task when she should once be left alone. So
the hours passed until Sam returned, on a wagon

374 FOOLS OF NATURE.

piled with bedding and articles rapidly suggested by
Aunt Lomie's practical mind, which never moved
slowly in time of need. Then Doctor Bright began
to work, with telling strokes of his own, and plac
idly neutral directions to the two in awe of him.
He had left word for Aunt Jane Hincklcy to lend
her aid, and while they were busy about the sick
woman, Sam coaxed a flame into life in the kitchen
fireplace.

Doctor Bright looked at his patient with some
quiet satisfaction, when she was finally resting on
Aunt Lomie's sweet bedding. At least that was
dry and pure, whatever the air of the house might
be. "It's an even chance," said the doctor to
himself, in tranquil enjoyment of speculation,
" whether it would have been better to give her a
mild shaking up, and let her die in a comfortable
house, or try to make this air fit for her breathing.
However — "dismissing his problem for future
solitary enjoyment, and turning to Sarah, — " keep
up a fire for dry ness, and open the windows for
air. It isn't such a bad house as it might be, for
the family have only been out of it a month. I'll
be over in the morning."

His carriage drove away, and presently Aunt
Jane, finding nothing further to do, went also.
Then Sam and Sarah looked at each other, some
what fearful of the responsibility they had jointly
undertaken.

UNDER TITE RED CROSS. 375

"Ma'am wanted to come, an' I wouldn't let her.
She was a good deal put out ; said you wouldn't
stan' it."

" "We may want very much to have her come
later. I was foolish to say I must do it all alone.
I meant that everything hard must be mine. But
somebody who knows more may be needed. Don't
wait, Sam, if you need to be home."

Sam arrested his steps in sheer surprise, and
finally said, with extreme nicety of emphasis, "I
sha'n't go out of this house till you do. Leave you
alone nights with a crazy woman, half a mile from
a neighbor? Good Lord ! that would be smart ! "

CHAPTEE XXIX.

PROSPECTIVE REFORMATION.

OING home one morning from a business trip
that had occupied several days, Stephen
found a rather urgent note from Miss Phebe, ask
ing him to call on her the previous evening.
Excuse having been impossible, he ran round im
mediately to offer his regret in person. There
seemed to have been some unusual occurrence at the
house. The maid who admitted him was agitated,
and Miss Phebe herself, whom he found in the parlor
with Gale and Linora, wore a flush high upon her
cheek-bones, and upon her head a new bonnet of
subdued autumn tints.

" Too bad you couldn't come," she said. 'f Some
how you seemed to be the only one left of the old
family, and I wanted you to come in while things
were just as they were."

" Things being now as they were not," put in
Gale, with a much gratified coolness. "Let me
introduce my wife. We walked to church this
morning, and came away hopelessly changed."

Thereupon Stephen congratulated the happy
pair, wondering all the time why Linora was
stripped of her usual volubility, like a bird plucked

378

PROSPECTIVE REFORM ATION. 377

of gorgeous plumage. She was not silent long,
however.

"Yes, I go with them," she exclaimed, nodding.
f'I know that's what you want to ask. We go
this noon to form a model household on the Hud
son, and there we remain all winter, uncle study
ing, Aunt Phebe reforming, and I being reformed.
Somehow I like the passive voice better ; it im
plies more repose, — less effort."

Gale's face relaxed in the slight indulgent smile
which her general worthlessness usually served to
call forth; but his wife looked at her gravely,
saying, "Yes, Linora, I do mean to reform you in
your ways, if that's possible."

Linora nodded again, and laughed gayly as she
rose to leave the room. Before going, however,
she stopped before Mrs. Phebe to deposit a little
kiss on her shoulder. " You don't know how nice
I think it is of you to let me go too ! " she said.
"In the midst of domesticity, who knows but I
also may be domestic 1 I fancy I might evolve
moral truths in the process of jelly-squeezing.
Mr. Mann, I shall see you again. I have a little
packing to finish, and an errand to do, and when
I hear your retreating steps, I shall run down to
accompany you to the corner, in pursuance of the
latter."

When she was out of the room, Gale regarded
his wife with a mixture of drollery and fondness,

378 FOOLS OF NATUKE.

saying, " Phebe will have it that there is mission
ary work to be done for our young friend. I tell
her it should have been begun fifteen years ago."

"Don't I know it ! " returned that lady, with em
phasis. " Do you suppose I think her poor little
twisted soul can ever be put straight now ? But
she shall have a home, and healthy, common things
to think of. We'll keep hens and pigs, — you
said there were horses ? — and she shall help feed
them. And her poor little body shall be nursed
up, after its cigarettes and being awake at all hours,
and starving herself at the table to eat when folks
didn't know it. Oh, I know her ! And I am fond
of her, too, in spite of it all."

" If she is to be reformed, it is perhaps well for
all of you that she is such a good-natured girl,"
suggested Stephen.

"Good-natured as the day is long," returned
Mrs. Phebe, in quick corroboration. "We can
call it quits ; she'll be a lesson to me as to temper."

" And so Number Forty is at an end, as far as
old associations go," said Stephen, looking about
him, and fixing again in his mind the stiff details
of the parlor, with a sad foreboding that he might
sometime need every remembrance of the past.

"Sold out, and the landlady coming in this
noon. The lodgers are put out, but that doesn't
signify ; they're not my old lodgers, and I've no
sort of aft'ection for them. Mr. Mann," as he

PROSPECTIVE REFORMATION. 379

gave her his hand in good-by, hearing Linora's
step, "I should like to feel that your wife was
well."

" I can assure you of that. She will be glad to
know you are so happy." He made his leave-
taking short after that, anxious to escape the
harrying of kind questions, and presently went
out with Linora.

"And now that you have wished us happiness,
and promised to visit us, which you won't do,
and thought it an extremely good thing for me to
have married my uncle off my hands to somebody
who will take charge of me, — well, after all this,
you're rid of us ! " said she.

"But, seriously," returned Stephen, looking at
her with challenging frankness, ^ isn't it a good
thing for you?"

" Seriously, it is ; and though you wouldn't think
it, I quite appreciate it. I am getting old enough
for the pastoral side of life to have some charms as
well as appropriateness for me. I may even marry
a rector, if such exist in our calm retreat."

"Not a priest?" suggested, Stephen, with a
mischief he felt to be not too chivalrous.

"Not a priest, I think," she said coolly, with
not even the suspicion of a blush. " There would
be a monotony of treatment in that subject. But
what I wanted really to see you for, was to ask
you to give my love — my real love — to your

380 FOOLS OF NATURE.

wife. There's not much of me, and I am afraid
she knows it ; but what there is, is loyal. I should
like to have a chance to show her that I'd do
anything in the world for her."

"I believe you would," said Stephen, as she
stopped at her destination. "You have proved it
by being so silent."

They hurriedly shook hands, and he left her,
anxious again to get away after the last subject
broached.

" So one person of the little knot of us who got
so tangled there, seems to see her solution," he
said to himself, as he went on. " Linora may not
be very much changed, — she may not want to be,
— but she is to have Mrs. Phebe's righteous arm to
lean on henceforth, and I believe she likes it. But
that solution involves somebody else in a new
coil, — Mrs. Phebe. Still, she will be happy, for
Gale sees all domestic and womanly graces in her,
and she won't disappoint him." And the thought
set him again upon the worn track of his own
sorrow.

CHAPTER XXX.

THE SHADOW OF DEATH.

T EONARD had become involved in the destiny
-*-^ which his own simplicity had marked out for
him, and it was too late to arrest his steps with
ease. Indeed, he saw no reason for pausing ; he
was only aware that his profession was productive
of great discomfort, and though that was possibly
the penalty of genius, he nevertheless chafed under
it. In that week of daily companionship with
Uncle Ben, he had become nervous- to a degree
incompatible, to casual eyes, with his placid fat
ness. This time, Uncle Ben was not to be balked
of his purpose ; he had come to receive a message
from Maria, and the message he must have. Great
issues were at stake ; communication between the
kingdoms of heaven and earth was to be indubita
bly proved by a word from a soul he trusted,
through means as clear as crystal. He did not
doubt Riker; without positive proof he would
doubt no one; but he had, as he had stated, the
certainty that Leonard's testimony must prove the
keystone to his life's structure of belief. Leonard
could see nothing, and reiterated that inability
until he feared to meet his old friend, and made

881

382 FOOLS OF NATURE.

engagements to escape from him. In his new
state of extreme nervous irritability, he saw every
thing else, it seemed, that the imagination could
compass ; so that Riker, overhearing his statements
to visitors, felt obliged to curb their wildness by a
gentle admonition.

" That's what the old lady said," Leonard would
invariably reply, with an obstinacy which Riker
did not dare combat too far.

Why should he not have seen what he had most
reason for seeing, when his mind, like a disordered
machine, seemed capable of fly ing in any direction,
in obedience to the greatest pressure ? Possibly
he was too anxious ; possibly the magnitude of the
requirement so awed him that he sifted whatever
his imagination offered, clown to its ultimatum of
chaff. Possibly, also, his first terror of Maria
had developed into a fear of misrepresenting her.
Riker had endless communications from her, —
somewhat slipshod ones, which, gratuitously of
fered him, Uncle Ben swallowed with patient
courtesy. Riker felt so sure of making his control
absolute over the old man, that he scarcely took
the trouble to remain plausible. He interpreted
Uncle Ben's growing simplicity of manner as a
weakness of mind, corresponding to his increasing
feebleness of body, and fed it, half contemptuously ,
with diluted milk fit for babes, who by dying
would best fulfil the decrees of a wise Providence,

THE SHADOW OF DEATH. 383

In pursuance of this more careless line of action,
he volubly apologized, in Miss Maria's name, for
her previous lack of charity towards the medium.
Even Uncle Ben, with a somewhat pitiful smile,
said that Maria was changed ; but not to himself
did he own that the change was scarcely to his
liking. He was not conscious of finding fault with
Hiker and his own scheme, but of an uneasiness in
the atmosphere.

"Just let it all be awhile," said Leonard one
morning, when the two sat together in one of their
interviews. "Wait till summer, and I'll come
down and spend a month, and then we can talk
it over. You don't seem well ; you're not fit to
worry."

"No, I ain't well, Lenny ; but it's what I've got
to expect. I am over eighty ; my tune ain't long
here."

" Then have a good time, and don't fret ! We
know Aunt Maria's well off, and when the time
comes, perhaps you'll hear from her."

"Yes, yes, we know she's well on't. I should
like to have patience, boy, if I only could. It's
the decay beginning, — the decay. It makes my
faculties weaker ; I can't seem to stan' things as I
could. An' you can't hear ? "

" I can't hear a thing. I wish I was dead ! "
cried Len.

"No, no!" said Uncle Ben, recalling himself,

384 FOOLS or NATURE.

and straightening in his chair with the responsi
bility of supporting the younger mind. "That
ain't right. Live till the Lord calls you, an' be
glad to live. There's worse things than this to
bear, an' you've no call to take it hard."

He made no further embarrassing demands, and
went home that afternoon. Leonard breathed
more freely, after he was fairly away, and then felt
with shame his want of gratitude.

Not a week had passed before his new peace of
mind was overthrown by a telegram from Coven
try. Uncle Ben had had a shock. Would he
come ? Riker took the news with a strange sort
of excitement, which struck Len as the result of
grief, and awakened a new flow of tenderness
towards his benefactor. Len would have said, had
he been in the habit of expressing himself freely
on any subjects but those connected with celestial
spheres, that Biker's heart was large enough to
take in the whole sorrowing world; one little
circle of friends could not fill it, and its tendrils
crept far and wide to draw in the needy to its
folds.

Professor Riker hastened his pupil's departure,
and bade him good-by, with excited face and
voice. He had debated within himself the wisdom
of going also, with the final decision that it was
better otherwise. Len's presence would be the
natural and expected event ; no one of the simple

THE SHADOW OF DEATH. 385

relatives would dream of wills or property. But
if he, Riker, should make a prominent figure in
the scene, his presence might suggest to Uncle
Ben some disclosure of his intentions. Then who
knew what persuasions and reconsiderations might
not follow ? There were situations in which Len's
vacuous simplicity would work far more good in
mere avoidance of disturbing crystallizing atoms,
than would the cleverest care. Once set a train
in motion, and Len would not interfere, save from
some innocent blunder. With Riker, the chances
were always against blunders.

When Len reached the old farm-house, he found
life flowing smoothly on there, under Aunt LoimVs
guidance. Uncle Ben lay motionless in bed, using
his eyes and sometimes his feeble lips ; but there
was none of that excitement of illness which Len's
childish imagination had depicted. He was ready
to sob aloud when he went, with blundering soft
ness, to the bedside. The smiling lines on the
old man's face had not forgotten their office. A
subtile change passed over his features, like the
flowing of faint sunlight.

" I never shall go back to leave you, pa," the
boy burst forth, as expression of the utmost con
solation in his power. The feeble lips moved.

"Put your head down," said Aunt Lomie, who
btood by the bedside, a cup and spoon in her
hands. " He wants to speak."

386 FOOLS OF NATURE.

What Len could distinguish of the broken
sentence started a new apprehension within him.
It was the old question ; had he heard from
Maria?

"No, not yet," said the boy. He longed, at the
moment , to utter a renunciation of the whole sys
tem, — money, the good he might do, his great
fame, — but the force of habit and fear of harming
the sick man closed his lips. In the following
days, he sat hour after hour by the bedside, always
in an agony of anticipation. Uncle Ben was
uneasy without him, and, when he was near, lay
with questioning blue eyes fixed on his face. Len
shuddered under that kindly, wistful gaze. He
alone knew what it meant, and that every silent
moment was a denial to his old friend's last re
quest.

The news of illness at the farm-house could not
greatly startle Sarah, still face to face with noisome
fever. It seemed the natural event that there
should be trouble and death ; she could not see
beyond them. Mrs. Hinckley had taken up her
residence with her, sharing the nursing, and bear
ing the burden of house duties ; and Sam was a
tower of strength.

Doctor Bright did not commit himself as to the
probable issue of the illness. . One might have
supposed that Aunt Jane, after manifold experi
ences of the cut direct, would have avoided asking

THE SHADOW OF DEATH. 387

his opinion ; but she could not resist her inner
longings for news.

"Think she's goin' to get .over it?" she re
marked, confidentially, as he was closing his med
icine case, with the vigorous snap which was the
only sudden expression he allowed himself. The
doctor made no answer for some minutes, and one
might have thought he had not heard.

" If she is strong enough to recover, I have no
doubt she will," he returned with unblemished neu
trality.

Sarah, in her place by the bed, felt a sudden
throb and stand-still of her heart. In the strain
of intense living, the question, as a blank form of
Avords, had not occurred to her. She was con
scious now of that deep fear which seems to at
tend great issues with which our wishes are liable
to meddle. At such times, the higher powers
seem immeasurably awful, and we dare not over
rule their decisions, even by a breath of prayer.

She had thought before that some one should be
notified of the woman's illness. It must not be
Stephen. She had set her mind against drawing
him into connection with it, even such as lay in
answering a question. She wrote to Skeriton,
under cover to the post-master, and an answer
came. It contained money, and was signed by
the woman's brother. He could not come, but
must be kept advised of her state. In case of a

388 FOOLS OF NATURE.

fatal issue, she must be sent home. So Sarah had
despatched daily word, wondering if all affection
were dead there also.

What could all this rouse in her own heart but
an intense pity? Thrown on her hands, depend
ent on her for the maintenance of the feeble flicker
of life still in the poor body, she could not cherish
harshness towards the helpless creature. And
when, in the dead stillness of the night » she sat by
the wreck of womanhood, the true, divine charity
awoke in her. That may be the far-reaching,
patient love of God, — His daily thought of His
creatures, only to be attained by them at brief
moments.

CHAPTER XXXI.

THE USUAL RESULT.

TT would be gratifying if there were something
-*- besides deadness of mind to chronicle of Ste
phen ; one would hope there might have taken
place some clarifying of the mist about him, some
tiny, special revelation which should enable him
to bear his lonely days with more high-minded for
titude. There was nothing of the sort ; he was
simply able to cling to resolution, and to do no
more. One can but feel great kindliness for that
sort of nature which loves so warmly as to follow
love's dictates with more eagerness than those of
reason. Such souls lie in daily danger of loss,
through devotion to what is not high, if it has
once been invested with ideality. Stephen felt
secure of the worth of his passion. His power
of loving was the strong force of his nature ; this
time he trusted it to bear him on to noble ends.

To him, sitting one morning in his office, came
an unexpected visitor, — Bernard.

" And may I ask where you dropped from ? "
said Stephen, getting out of his chair, and letting
surprise do the work of cordiality.

" Almost from the other side of Styx," answered

in

390 FOOLS OF NATURE.

Bernard, with a laugh. "I have been ill all sum
mer. I nearly died of fever."

"I'm sorry, decidedly sorry, you've had an un
comfortable time. And you show it, though the
change is becoming to you."

The change was great, to be found not only in
thinness of flesh and the effects of a general bleach
ing process, but in Bernard's new expression. He
was — though that is stating a fact but vaguely —
more human of glance and response. He met Ste
phen's look frankly ; the expression, at least, of
the old moodiness and distrust was quite gone.

" And how about your trip West ? Are you in
clined to carry out the proposition one of us made,
as to stock-raising ? "

'' That was partly what I came for. Now that
I am well, I want something to do, and the idea
of that suits me exactly. We have talked it over
at home, and they have half promised me that if
I make a home out West, sometime Mary shall go
and live with me."

"Mary?"

" She is my sister, — my half-sister, that is, —
and like a woman. I think she has done me as
much good as my mother. They all took me in,
Mann, and made me one of them."

Stephen's mind flew rapidly back to the figure
Bernard had made in his own mental horizon, just
before that visit to Freeport, and he could but

THE USUAL RESULT. 391

credit the Masons with an excess of charity.
However, he could and did say, in all cordiality,
"I am heartily glad of it."

"I found my mother so good, and sweet-natured,
and unselfish," continued Bernard, as if the flux
of adjectives was too pressing, and he could only
select what were, after all, inadequate. "And
Mary is a woman and a child in one. I think I
should be happy anywhere if I could have her
with me. But I want work."

" Very well ; as soon as I can settle up and get
you started ; I suppose there's no pressing neces
sity. You can wait a month ? "

"Yes, I could wait two, though I am impatient.
The fact is — " laughing somewhat uneasily, and
carrying embarrassment in his tone, " I haven't
laid aside my idea of giving up the property that
came to me by inheritance. I don't feel about it
as I did, and precisely because my feeling has
changed, I think I ought to carry out what I had
resolved on."

"As a sort of exquisite penance? Can you
afford to amuse yourself in that expensive way ? "

" I must, to keep my self-respect," said Bernard,
with none of his old irritability. "You see, I
thought I shamed Mrs. Ellis' choice through bad
ness of blood. Now I know I don't ; I am sure I
have as much claim to generosity and delicacy
through inheritance as any man. So I feel as

392 FOOLS OF NATURE.

though I had a foot-hold once more, a birthright,
and I can't curse myself or anybody else. But
just because I have changed, 1 don't want to make
capital out of repentance, and say I will not keep
a promise which is not for my advantage."

" I see ; having once been a fool , you are deter
mined to pay the full penalty, though, being now
sane, you see no valid reason for doing so. That
is an extreme of honesty for which the powers
above won't give you credit. They are more
likely to make a man pay twice over."

Bernard could give gentle judgment to the
bitterness in his tone. He himself had suffered
far too much to be obtuse to a man's wretched
moods.

"Nevertheless, I think I am right," he said,
brightly, "and if paying back the money helps
me keep my self-respect, what does it matter
whether I am foolish or not?"

But Stephen did not discuss the subject, turning
to one where he was sure Bernard must agree
with him, and probably find some amusement
there, as one may in past foibles which have not
been too deep or ridiculous. "And now, after
the indisputable proof of brain-fever, I suppose
you will agree with me that the spectres you used
to see were also the coinage of your fancy?"

" Not at all ! I might, if my belief in spirit
ualism rested on them alone ; but what will you do

THE USUAL RESULT. 393

with the materialized forms I have seen walking
out of Biker's cabinet ? "

Stephen leaned back in his chair, regarding
Bernard with more interest than he had ever be
fore felt in him. Once his vagaries had< appeared
to go well with his general un soundness of mind ;
now, when he seemed to look at the world like
other men, such aberrations were in the last
degree astonishing. He seemed a subject deserv
ing of the active charity of endeavor.

" Do you mean to say that you see disembodied
spirits in that vulgar trickery ? "

" I do ; I can but trust the evidence of my
senses." .

"That phrase is the expression of a very old
fallacy. Science has determined that there is
nothing more unworthy of trust."

" But when I plainly am haunted by shapes,"
urged Bernard, "as I know I was ! "

"Find me a physician who will tell you that
there are not constitutional causes for false see
ing," interrupted Stephen, with more heat than he
often showed, "and I should not be willing to
trust my constitution to his mercies. I suppose
total ignorance of the freaks the nerves and organs
may play isn't culpable in a wholly unlettered man ;
in you and me, who have access to scientific
books, it is culpable. How far did you ever try

394 FOOLS OF NATURE.

to test your vision by scientific methods, or paral
lel them in history ? "

Bernard hesitated. "Well, I believed in them
at once," he confessed.

"Yes, your imagination was on their side! I
can't conceive of being so gulled 1 It is an ana
chronism ; one might expect it in the Middle Ages,
or under the guidance of such a prince of magic as
Cagliostro ! "

Bernard had not come prepared for argument,
and, taken by surprise, did not retort to any pur
pose. But he did fall slightly out of temper ; it is
not in nature to hoar one's self reproved as unsci
entific or simple-minded, and still preserve pa
tience.

"When you prove positive falsity in what I
have seen, I will believe you -in the same whole
sale manner," he contented himself with saying.
"I suppose you wouldn't object to that."

" If you pin your faith to what any medium may
have told you of your past or future, you can ex
plain every hit of that kind by a practised clever
ness in making use of the victim's disclosures, or
by lucky guesses, or even by some mysterious
mental power, if you will. I am willing to con
cede any sort of unclassified force to the human
mind. But if you rely on shadowy figures from
dark cabinets, go yourself and seize one. No
honest spirit would grudge himself as subject of

THE USUAL RESULT. 395

experiment, as no generous man would deprive
the dissecting table of his tissues."

"Go with me, if you think you can arrest a
materialized form," returned Bernard, with the
feeling that he must not resist this trial between
his own gods and Baal. " Professor Hiker's mate
rializing can stand the test."

Stephen considered a moment. He had been
through the experience in his college days, when
it assumed the proportions of gay adventure. It
held no sort of interest at present ; nevertheless
the deed seemed worth doing.

" Very well," he said. " To-night ? "

"Yes, unless his times have changed. I'll find
out about that."

Stephen could scarcely have told why he so
earnestly resisted the fact of Bernard's binding
himself over to a paltry form of belief. Probably
he would have said, if pinned down to statement,
that credulity in regard to spiritualism was not
"good form ; " still, his motives for bestirring him
self lay deeper. He appreciated the dignity of a
clean habit of thought ; he knew what it was to be
drawn far out of his way by the affections, but that
could only happen when beauty wrought upon his
senses. In matters which were merely affairs of
eye and judgment, he saw piercingly through from
premise to conclusion. That a man should be de
ceived by a showman and his puppets, when thero

396 FOOLS OF NATURE.

might be at the same hour, round the next cor
ner, an exhibition of natural magic by a conjurer
who advertised himself as nothing more, stood
with him as the result of a perverted manner
of thinking. It was like drinking ditch-water
when one might dip his cup in the spring, — and
any man should be willing to take a few extra
steps in showing the unlearned and simple the
way.

Bernard came for him early that evening. He,
on his side, had a far greater burden than that of
defending his faith. He was wondering how he
could ask news of Sarah, if Stephen should not
broach her name of his own accord.

She must still be away ; he was sure of that,
for otherwise Stephen would have told him. And
if that were so, the mysterious trouble between
them must have continued. How could he bear
knowing nothing of it or her ? On the other hand,
how could he force himself where neither invited
him?

"One thing must be understood, "said Stephen,
when they were on their way to Riker's. "You
will not, under any temptation, say that I do not
believe. I saw enough, years ago, of the suppres
sion of people who honestly confessed that they
went to investigate. It is of no use to expect a
medium to meet you fairly."

Bernard acquiesced against his judgment ; he

THE USUAL KE8ULT. 397

could have sworn to Riker's impartiality, so accu
rate are sometimes impressions of character.

The scene at Riker's bore its old aspect. The
regular patrons were there, with the usual scatter
ing of new-comers. Mrs. Riker, who had contin
ued to develop as a medium, was somewhat worn
and apprehensive of look, but more confident of
manner. Riker met Bernard with effusion, remem
bering him as a staunch believer. Stephen his
glance sharply questioned. The younger man's
carelessness of manner had redoubled, at which
Bernard wondered, contrasting it with his heat and
earnestness of the morning. The stranger had evi
dently come to be amused, to pass an hour, thought
Riker, after exchanging some sentences with him,
and finding him good-humored and indifferent. He
decided that it might not be worth while to con
sider him especially, nor to take any precautions
against his possible interference. This was not,
indeed, a night when Riker should have been put
to the test ; half his mind was busy with conjec
tures as to what might be happening in Coventry,
:md it is an established fact that mediumship be
tween two worlds demands the undivided atten
tion.

Various versions of what followed can be read
by overlooking files of the daily papers ; one ex
posure of materializing is very like another, the
means at the command of most mediums being

398 FOOLS or NATURE.

identical. Several figures appeared in the door
way of the cabinet ; as many believers went for
ward to receive greetings of more or less cordial
ity, until, in some confusion of changing places,
Stephen, unobserved, took the end of the row of
seats. Gradually the spirits became bolder, and
one advanced along the line of chairs, when Ste
phen suddenly stepped forward and threw his arms
about her. Confusion reigned ; Stephen, throttled,
beset by blows, — for Hiker had rushed upon him
with the desperation of a prophet who hears the
crashing of his fair reputation, — Stephen held his
head down and clung to his captive. Bernard had
consented to do his part in turning up the light,
and, though he pressed his way to it with all pos
sible haste, chaos seemed to have had its way for
hours before he succeeded. At its first truth-telling
disclosure, believers and indifferent alike ranged
themselves on the side of Stephen ; the reality
was too patent. The most unworldly eyes could
scarcely resist the evidence presented by the tab
leau, — Stephen, now with one arm free, defend
ing himself from Riker's assault, while the other
held Mrs. Hiker, clothed in a loose white tunic.
She had proved accomplice, too, Riker thought
with rage, by fainting at the wrong moment. If
she had kept her senses and muscles under her own
control, he was sure she might have cleared her
self. A murmur arose among the spectators ;

THE USUAL RESULT. 399

some one laid a hand upon Hiker's collar and
jerked him aside. He had lost his disciples.

" I am sorry to have alarmed the spirit," said
Stephen, depositing her upon the sofa. "Will
some one bring a glass of water? — You see?" he
added, in a quick aside to Bernard, "you recog
nize the ghost ? "

Bernard could scarcely articulate ; his open eyes
and mouth struck Stephen with a sense of amuse
ment, and were sufficient evidence of his acceptance
of the testimony. Some one was working over
Mrs. Riker, and her husband was haranguing the
knot about him, interrupted by indignant denials
and repetitions.

"Let us go," whispered Stephen. "Slip out,
and I'll follow."

Their escape was managed as quickly as con
ceived, and Hiker was left to face his patrons, who
felt a double grief in having lost the hero of the
hour. Still, it was unanimously decided that he
must be a newspaper reporter, and that his account
might be bought in the morning for the sum of
two cents.

"Bah!" said Stephen, shaking himself, when
they reached the clear night air. " Dirty sort of
business, isn't it? The worst thing about placing
yourself in a genuine row is that you feel, when
all is over, the entire responsibility of it. I could
swear it was I who played the ghost, instead of

400 FOOLS OF NATURE.

that poor woman. No, I can't ride down ; my
coat seems to be torn."

Bernard was absolutely silent on the walk home,
and Stephen, accurately interpreting his mood,
was only amused. Bernard was neither ashamed
of his false gods, nor doubtful that he had seen the
failure of their test ; he was simply bewildered.
Possibly his frame of mind bore some relation to
that of the child who discovers the inner mechan
ism of his kaleidoscope. He only said at parting,
"I shall be round to-morrow," leaving Stephen to
literally wash his hands of the affair.

Next morning Bernard appeared as he was set
ting out for the office. "I am greatly obliged,"
was his greeting, half awkwardly given. No one
can resign even a pewter god with dignity.

" About the ghost ? Not at all. I only hope
she is in better spirits this morning."

"It throws the whole thing over for me. I
never shall even look into it again. I own I am
relieved ; it isn't comfortable to feel the invisible
at your elbow."

"No, especially as you've no guarantee that it
isn't the devil ! " Stephen was inwardly as much
amused at Bernard's complete denial as at his
former partisanship. Still, it was too desirable a
state of mind to be disturbed by insisting on a wide
embrace of evidence.

THE USUAL RESULT. 401

ff But this morning I came chiefly to ask other
questions," said Bernard.

Stephen was prepared by intuition. " I know,"
he said. " About my wife. I have been thinking
of that. It seems now only fair that you should
know why she is not here. I mean to tell you,
though not quite now."

Bernard was silent, his heart beating faster.
He longed to hear, yet he could not beg Stephen
to go on.

" I know she is well," Stephen continued, " be
cause, in any other case, I was to be informed.
She is still at Coventry. I will tell you all I
know about it later, — not to-day. To-night I go
to New York. I shall be home next Saturday.
Come to dinner with me on Sunday, and we will
talk. You have not written to her this summer?"

"No, I wasn't able, you know," answered Ber
nard. " I wrote to nobody." He did not add that
one deterring impulse had been the feeling that
Stephen would not have wished him to write. If
a mysterious something separated the two, it
seemed to him a matter of delicate scruple that he
should not hold constant communication with her.

Where did she stand now, in his thoughts?
Sacredly preserved like a vision, but at an infinite
distance from himself. He had felt, since the sum
mer with his mother, that he had passed through a
purification of body and mind. The joy in living,

402 FOOLS OF NATURE.

and sense of the honor of life, which come with
returning health, animated him to the desire of
pure deeds and thoughts. In that rapture of feel
ing new blood feeding wasted tissues, nothing
seemed comparable to the delight of noble living.
The earth bore that dear and familiar aspect which
she wears to eyes which have been long closed to
her by pain, or exile on tossing water, and it
seemed impossible ever again to regard her through
such miasmatic vapors of passion. That homely
family life at Freeport had changed the aspect of
family ties. A man's wife seemed no longer the
legitimate object for even a concealed passion from
a second lover, and he set himself to remember
chiefly the dear companionship of his childhood
with her.

There was, for him, a new heaven and a new
earth. Through the changed atmosphere and
clearer sunlight, he must henceforward regard men
and women with a difference. Even Stephen,
viewed by the aid of an unbiased common sense,
had ceased bearing the proportions of a gigantic
insult to awkward and ugly mankind.

CHAPTER XXXH.

LEONARD SEEKS REFUGE

TT7HEN the reporter besieged Biker's house,
the next morning after the crisis of events,
that gentleman had gone, and no one was admitted.
Hiker had fled to Coventry to make sure of his
harvest there, leaving his wife at home instructed
to communicate with no one. He had considered
that his best course lay in bravado. It was against
probability that the city papers should at once
reach and influence Coventry. Uncle Ben was
growing weaker, so Len's letters stated, arid
Hiker was sure that if he could stave off dis
closure until the final event should take place,
and Leonard had inherited the property, all
would go well. They might even go abroad,
and establish their business in England. With
the small fortune once within his grasp, he did
not greatly fear the effect of disclosing his own
true character to his pupil. Money held over
himself such godlike sway that, in the face of
Len's density to advantages not honestly attained,
he still trusted in them to influence him.

There came in Coventry a day when Sam urged
Dill at a good pace — which she must privately

403

404 FOOLS OF NATURE.

have thought was becoming too habitual — to his
own home, where he found his mother hastily
doing some necessary housework, that she might
return to Uncle Ben's. She and Henry were
there constantly now.

"Dr. Bright says she won't live the day out,"
began Sam. "Ma'am, you must go down. Mrs.
Mann is white as a sheet. You go, an' I'll bring
up Jane Hinckley to see to things here."

Aunt Lomie considered a moment before an
swering, "I don't know but I'll go," which was
tantamount to consent.

There was no change apparent in Uncle Ben,
except such as lay in his " sinking ; " and it might
be that he would live some days. Leonard was
with him constantly, and could do everything
necessary, with Aunt Lomie's place taken in the
kitchen and at the table. He was conscious of a
start in his pulsations, when she drew him from
the room to leave with him the needful directions.
It was not purely of fear, though he had become
accustomed to a flavor of uneasiness in approach
ing his old friend. Every instant, he keenly felt,
proved a denial of the demands of gratitude and
affection. Compared with the bird of gay plum
age he had been as Professor Leonard, he was now
but sick and bedraggled.

Aunt Lomie had gone, and Henry was busy
at the burns. Len sat beside the sick man, feel-

LEONARD SEEKS REFUGE. 405

ing his own heart every minute beating faster and
taster, as if it stole pulsations from the weakening-
one beside it. The drowsy sunshine lay upon
the floor, neutral and sickly ; the bare chestnut
limbs tapped on the window from time to time,
and, within, only the cat stirred in luxurious
stretching and recurling on the bright chintz
lounge. Len felt an increasing horror of every
thing, even of the sick man, whose bodily state
created an awe and mystery of its own. He had
played too long with the supernatural ; it had
done him service, and now, like many another
wary tamed monster, had turned about to begin
a horrible mastery. But the fearful ticking of the
clock, the fearful return of Uncle Ben's slow
breathing, suddenly ceased to his ears, as the
old man's eyes unclosed and fixed themselves
upon his. They held an anxious question. Len
bent forward to meet it, knowing well what it
must be.

" Maria ! " was formed by the feeble lips. Len
hesitated ; the time for final decision had come.
He was unused to symptoms of illness, but some
thing assured him that the change in the dear face
was made by approaching death. His haunting
question would never be asked again.

He began speaking clearly and deliberately.
"Pa, I've seen Aunt Maria." The stiffening face
brightened, the gaze grew more eager. " She is

406 FOOLS OF NATURE.

very happy, and she is waiting for you. She says
spiritualism is all true. She is here now."

These were the great tidings for which the
passing soul had longed. Socrates himself at the
last, assured by indubitable proof that his conclu
sions were true, could have been no happier. The
news had even the power of awakening the last
faint look of joy in the peaceful face, before it
ceased expressing the soul forever. He was dead.
Len stood looking at him with swelling dread, as
the fact stamped itself upon his mind . The remem
brance of his own last words returned upon him
like an echo, " She is here now ! " and with a cry
of fear he ran from the house to find Henry and
alarm the neighbors.

No one felt surprised at his frantic grief; it was
but additional sign of his "good-heartedness." In
the midst of a haste of preparation, Riker arrived.
Len hurried to him as to a deliverer, and with his
first breath began confessing his sin. Riker could
not understand, and dared not press him, in the
shrewd hearing of neighbors who had flocked in
to be of use.

"Tell me about it by and by," he said quickly.
— " And so our dear old friend has passed away ! "
he added, in affectionate sadness, turning to Henry
Wasson, who happened to stand next him.

"Seems so," answered Henry, who had not
Sam's vigor of utterance and cheerful willingness

LEONARD SEEKS REFUGE. 407

to speak his mind. Privately he remembered
Maria's estimate of the professor, and wished his
brother were there to suggest appropriate and
stinging retorts. Henry was conscious of not being
equal to all occasions, unsupported by Sam, but
he had the comfort of undeviatiug faith in his hero.
He was convinced that, in all cases, the unim
peachable thing would have been done had Saiu
been present.

Riker lounged about the rooms, gently sympa
thizing with Leii's loud and boyish grief, and wiping
his own eyes. But he seemed to be in bad odor,
as he was not slow in observing. The neigh
bors, though not sharing Henry's prejudice, were
neutrally interrogative as to his reason for coming
at all. Presently he drew Len out of the house to
finish the interrupted confidence.

" I've told him a lie ! " the boy began at once,
his pink and white face scalded and blurred by tears.
''He looked at me, and I told him I saw Aunt
Maria. I wish I was dead, and I'm afraid to die I "

" Never mind," said Eiker, some rough insolence
appearing in his manner. He had not recovered
from the smart of the previous night's disclosures.
Surely it might be expected that a man with a
lost reputation and problematic future should visit
his wrath against circumstances in the abstract on
some concrete inferior. Men of a larger calibre
have been known to find relief from strenuous

408 FOOLS OF NATURE.

events in kicking a dog, before Riker's day.
"Never mind." You seem to be in moderately
good health. I'd save my fear of dying till there
was a question of needing it."

Len's tears ceased, and his blue eyes took on wide
astonishment. The words might have passed ; the
tone was a revelation. " But it's the last word I
ever said to him," he continued, presently, bent
on drawing Eiker into his. own channel of thought.
"I never lied before."

His density grated on Riker, in his present ill-hu
mor with the world ; it seemed insufferable idiocy.

"Never told a lie in your life ! " he laughed, all
unctuousness swept away from his tone. "You
half-idiot ! you fool ! you have lied every day of
every year since I've known you, and been paid
for your lies."

Len's world reeled. The fact that his percep
tions were not of the most delicate order rendered
it no easier for him to understand that his beloved
friend and tutor' was a myth. What can be more
bewildering ? You love and trust, and Fact turns
her clear mirror at a different angle, saying, " He
never existed."

"You have taken in hundreds of people," Riker
went on, pitilessly, impelled to pass along with
interest the flagellation he had received. " Almost
as many as I have. And then you come to me
and whine, f I never lied ' ! "

LEONARD SEEKS REFUGE. 409

"Don't you believe in it? The spirits, — they
were materialized, — you did it yourself! "

" I did it myself! Yes, I did. I walked out of
my cabinet with a sheet on, and again with an
Indian's blanket and feathers. I taught my wife
to carry in with her enough for half a dozen dis
guises, and I made her work to earn her honest
living as I earned mine. I'll show you twenty
places in the cabinet where I can pack a spirit's
entire wardrobe, and the fools that investigate
may tap and pry over them a week, and then they
won't find them."

Len had grown white and rigid ; his eyes
searched Hiker's face in agonized wonder. He
turned suddenly away from him ; Riker turned
also and grasped his shoulder.

" Don't go in there to make a fool of yourself,"
he said, harshly. "Do as I tell you. Take a walk,
cool yourself off, and come home and say nothing.
If you make a fuss, I swear I'll kill you," he added,
as a final preventive.

Len turned obediently, and walked away through
the cart-path over the hill. Riker wandered about
a few minutes to spend his irritation, before enter
ing the house. He was not alarmed as to the
consequences of disclosure ; his power seemed to
have narrowed to a very small circle about the boy,
and this sudden twist had but tightened the ring.
In the future, he could work to better advantage,

410 FOOLS OF NATURE.

unhampered by daily subterfuge ; possibly, also,
the loss of the boy's simplicity would not prove
disastrous to his powers after all.

As for Leonard, he walked steadily on, encom
passed by fear. He had been told that the whole
system of spiritual communication was but fraud,
and so crippled was his mind by the stroke from
Biker's lash that he could not separate his own share
in the deception from the general wrong. He could
not, at the moment, have sworn that he had ever
seen miraculous sights or heard the whispers on
which he based his messages. His little world
was destroyed. Possibly the loss of intrinsic
purity would not have driven him to despair ; no
one can predict with much safety that most ravages
in the soul may not be condoned by habit and false
methods of thought. It was fear only which over
threw his reason. The habit of believing in the
presence of spirits was too strong to be easily
broken. His inflamed fancy pictured Uncle Ben
and Maria as avengers of his deception; being
dead, they were unspeakably horrible. He was
afraid to go back and afraid to run away, — shud
dering at the thought of Kiker, and yet, with a
child's terror, sure that no distance could remove
him so far that Riker would not finally reach him.
So thinking swiftly, — his thoughts like a mad
progress, a dance of death, — he reached Fenn's
Hole, the one deeply dangerous place in the little

LEONARD SEEKS REFUGE. 411

river which cut Uncle Ben's land. At the moment
when the water struck his eye, a new thought
flashed upon his brain. Uncle Ben and Maria had
always been kind ; wronged, deceived, their mercies
would be tenderer than Biker's love. The eye
and the brain had proposed his solution, and he
took it ; Fenn's Hole received him and his perplex
ity, giving the one verdict from which there is no
present appeal.

CHAPTEE XXXIH.

SAM TO THE RESCUE.

THE night came, and Len had not returned.
Eiker, looking to him for countenance in his
apparently needless stay there, awaited him with
an increasing irritation. Circumstances seemed
vilely against him. He was conscious of clenching
his hands with the determination that, when the
winning side should be again his, he would wreak
certain small vengeances on the nearest available
creatures. The house had settled into quiet, and
was doubly lonesome without Aunt Lomie. She
had gone in time to be present at that other death,
which could cause no sorrow. Sarah looked up
and smiled faintly as the dear old lady entered the
room. Then they sat together waiting, Sarah
with nerves as tensely strained as if the tragedy
were about to begin, instead of wavering to its close.
The flickering breath ceased.

She shuddered as Aunt Lomie's grave voice
broke the stillness telling Sam, at the door, to
summon a neighbor.

"You don't feel bad, I hope," said the old lady,
as she came back. " You've done all anybody coulcl

412

SAM TO THE RESCUE. 413

do for her. She was a poor sufferin* creatur', but
now it don't signify."

What should be done with Sarah ? When that
house, also, assumed the order and stillness
brought by death, it was Sara who took the reins
of government. It is a pity that it should be so
chronicled, but it is nevertheless true that he told
a great many merciful lies in the following days.

" She can't go through one more thing," he said
to his mother. " Look at her eyes ! Hear her
talk ! She'll be crazy. Just get her away from
this house, an' fix her up."

But Mrs. Mann would not be taken away. She
quietly insisted on remaining till the next morning,
when the last prayer would be made for the depart
ed soul, and the body would be sent to its home in
the West. "I will lie down," she promised of her
own accord. "I won't be foolish, but I want it to
seem like other people." Nobody understood the
last reason. It was true that she did feel a desire
that this unloved dead should receive to the last all
the semblances of affection which might justly have
belonged to her had she not chosen to throw off
family bonds.

So Uncle Ben had died ! She looked at them
when they told her, with the tears welling up in
such loving eyes that Sam felt it would be easy for
him also to cry. Yet she was glad ; the dear old
man must be safer in another life among different

414 FOOLS OF NATURE.

conditions, than beset by the cajoleries of the pres
ent world.

When the three were left after the funeral ser
vice, — for the cordial neighbors were not bidden
to the ceremony, — Sam delegated all details of
closing the house to an acquaintance, and himself
took his mother and Sarah home. She had ex
pected to occupy her old room at Uncle Ben's, but
the staunch Sam had forbidden it. .

"There's everybody there," he said, vaguely,
"mediums an* such. It ain't as it was. You
couldn't even see him. (Lord forgive me !) "
which was his Protestant equivalent for crossing
his sinful self.

But the morning had also come without the
appearance of the missing Len. Riker had grown
apprehensive, and the neighbors, even more im
pressed with Len's queerness than he, prophesied
evil. The verdict was unanimous that he had
" made way with himself." The professor, viewed
askance and left severely to himself, longed to
scout the notion, but nobody asked his opinion,
and he was silent from policy.

"Who see him last?" queried Sam, the one of
many resources. Riker felt it best to confess
that he had seen him follow the cart-path over
the hill. Sam did not waste words in conjecture,
but merely saying, "He al'ays was a queer one,"
signaled Henry to follow him, and left the house.

SAM TO THE RESCUE. 415

" You don't think ? " suggested Henry, interrog
atively, as they took the hill path.

" Shouldn't wonder, n answered Sam. " Shouldn't
be surprised at anything."

Neither had thought where they were to go ;
it was only an undefined impulse that bade them
follow, — and Fenn's Hole was near their path.
The sequence of events forms such an obstinate
chain that it is unusual for every link to be de
stroyed. The man had sunk ; his hat had floated
and caught in a net-work of fallen branches.
Henry was sure that if he had been alone he
must have turned coward and fled to tell the news ;
but Sam's own unconsciousness of any course but
the straightforward one could but inspire courage.

" Seem's a pretty sure thing what's become of
him," said he, peering forward into the still water.
" Wonder what he done it for. I didn't know he
set so much by Uncle Ben as that. Good Lord
above ! " A white gleam caught his eye ; that
dead sickness of a hand leering up through the
glassy surface.

With no more words he waded in ; that was not
sufficient, and he returned to take off his coat
and boots and dive, bringing up — what ? A sorry
object enough, pitiful indeed for our regard who
believe our proud selves to be the incomparable
work of creation. They laid it on the bank,
and with one accord started running, Sam because

416 FOOLS OF NATURE.

the water had been like ice and he dared not
delay, and Henry from force of example. The
alarm given, there were men and women enough
to help ; and again death was brought into the old
house. Little Coventry was almost bursting with
its sense of dramatic climax. A mystery had
grown up in its very midst, — nay, two. A stran
ger had died within its limits, and another stranger
had served her in her illness for no known reason.
And now suicide from grief had followed the death
of an old man who was " queer," — as doubtless
some of the more moderate contemporaries of
Jesus may also have considered Him.

Riker, calm of demeanor and faultless in ap
parel, was coming from the house when the sad
procession reached it. He had concluded to bear
the shocks of fortune with more equanimity, and
had been able to find some comfort in the luxuri
ance of his beard and the whiteness of his hands,
which would doubtless again assist him to some
eminence of reputation. Nobody regarded him,
but the instant meaning 01 the burden they carried
struck him back with a shock. He grasped the
side of the door, falling against it, ashen.

Some one pushed him aside, and the little knot
passed in. What they carried seemed like a wel
come guest, — one whose presence must bar the
portals of whatever abode it found against his
entrance. There were relics enough of the com-

SAM TO THE RESCUE. 417

mon theology in his mind to prompt the flashing
of the question whether it would sometime in the
future close against him those heavenly regions on
whose possession every man in some measure
counts. Into what could the confused blending of
emotions have been separated, — remorse, a pang
of affection for the boy, rage at the escape of a
victim? Whatever it was, passed quickly; the
habit of self-control proved his friend. He went
in, joining the group of excited talkers about the
kitchen stove.

" Nat'ral enough," said one voice. " He was fond
o' the old man, an' bein' sort o' half-witted, it upset
him."

"That ain't all," said another, with meaning.
" There's monkery at the bottom, depend on't."
And just then, Biker walking up to the group, an
uncomfortable silence settled down, made express
ive indeed by nods and half glances.

" I have noticed," began the professor, sadly,
"I could but be aware, seeing him so much, that
our poor young friend's mind was affected. Of
course I said nothing about it to Mr. Adams, but
he was often a care tome." Still silence, broken,
when it had become too prolonged for even that
stolid rural composure, by a woman's voice.

"Maybe it's well he's gone, if Uncle Ben didn't
think to provide for him by will. It's hard enough
to earn your livin' when you've got all your wits,

418 FOOLS OF NATURE.

an' if he wa'n't quite right I do' know what he
could ha' done, unless Lomie'd took him in."

Kiker turned towards the woman, and stared at
her with a look which arrested her open mouth and
eyes, fixing the latter upon himself. His was but
the look of an intense introspection ; she had
merely suggested the supreme fact for him in all this
drama of mistakes and sorrow. It was not merely
his pupil and Uncle Ben's friend who had died ; it
was the heir of Uncle Ben's property and Eiker's
prospective ward. Another shabby trick had
beeu played him ; again the victim had out
witted him. Why that fact had not suggested
itself first of all, it is difficult to say ; it must be
remembered, however, that Riker was unused to
the buffets of fortune, and it took a very plain,
bare statement of facts to convince him that there
was nothing further to gain. When he next spoke,
his suavity of manner was gone.

" Can you carry me to the depot? " he asked of
Henry.

"Can't," said that young man, evincing no great
regret. Riker turned to one and another in the
room and made the same request. Unwelcome as
he was, not one man among them would allow him
to ride behind his horse.

"An' I don't know," came Aunt Lomie's even
voice, as she paused on her way through the room
and caught the dialogue. " I don't know as it's

SAM TO THE RESCUE. 419

fittin' for anybody to go away now. Tears to me
there's always some kind of a trial when anybody's
made way with himself."

" So there is ! " came in such hoarse and ready
response that Riker was again tempted to launch
a wholesale curse. Unfamiliar with country ways,
he was not sure that he might not be detained and
lynched for complicity in Leonard's disagreeable
act. But in some attracting of the general atten
tion to another object than himself, he slipped
away and walked to the railroad station, where he
took the train for Boston.

It seemed to Sam at this stage of the proceed
ings, not that the last miserable news should be
broken gently to Mrs. Mann, but that she should
flee from it altogether. He took his mother and
Henry into the plot, and though they did not
see her great need of consideration as he had done,
they were yet willing to be guided by the head of
the family. Unless she should insist ongoing out
and thus seeing other people, there was no need
of her knowing yet what had happened. And
while his mother was baking the biscuits for tea,
he dared broach what seemed to him a most auda
cious plan.

"Mrs. Mann," he began, stroking old Blue with
exceeding zeal, which Blue mistook for tribute
paid her charms, purring accordingly, "if I was
you, I'd go away from here for a visit."

420 FOOLS OF NATURE.

The silence that followed was so long that Sam
had time to wish himself at various corners of the
earth. It is true that she had not dared to think
of her husband and all that their release implied.
The weary course of events seemed to have been
dragging on so long that, having reached its end,
she possibly needed some electrifying shock to
bring her into fitness for great joy. This sugges
tion of her home proved the shock. " Why ? " was
all she said, however, and though her tone was
very soft, it told nothing, and her hand shielded
her face from the firelight. "Why?"

"Well," answered Sam, relieved, "you don't
look well. You've lost sleep for a good long spell,
an' you've took her sickness hard. Now seems
to me what you need to do is to get away from
here."

"Yes, I shall go soon, immediately after the
funeral. I shall go home." She had begun to say
" to my husband," but changed the phrase. She had
a foolish fancy that the word should first leave her
lips when Stephen was by to hear.

"Now why not before?" suggested Sam, per
suasively. "Why not right away? There's no
need o' tellin' you we'd keep you till Gabriel
blowed, if 'twas best for you. But go on a visit
an' then come back. Now there never was a fu
neral that needs us any less than uncle's. Can't
you hear how he used to talk about his poor old

SAM TO THE RESCUE. 421

body, an' how he'd laugh at us for payin* much
attention to it ? "

Sarah smiled in loving recollection, but shook
her head. Uncle Ben might not care, but she did
care to do him reverence. And so Sam told her
the last pitiful act of the drama, in as simple a
way as his rare common sense suggested. Know
ing no more than he of the miserable under-plot
which had determined the deed, she saw in it not
only a token of the boy's dog-like devotion to his
friend, but proof that he was not a responsible
agent in his deception. But, to her after surprise,
and possibly self-reproach, it did not waken much
excitement in her. External tragedy, the con
vulsions of nations, would have been dwarfed
beside the wish that kept her heart beating like a
runner's, — the wish to see her husband. Having
reached the end of her sentence, for the time
being she cast remembrance of its cause away
from her, and began to live from the moment that
had parted them. Aunt Lomie said she was
ff all nerved up " from her past experience ; but it
is probably true that the girl's fine organism could
have borne a greater strain than that without
yielding, had not that of anticipation been ready
to add its force.

"Could it be to-night, Sam?" she said, after
they had come home from laying Uncle Ben and
Leonard away to become earth. " Could I go to

422 FOOLS OF NATURE.

Boston to-night? My trunk is packed, and — oh,
if I could go to-night ! "

Sam went, with the same zeal with which he
would have put a girdle round the earth had she
so commanded, to put on Dill's harness, who,
clever horse, thought of her late excursions in
search of Doctor Bright, and pricked up her ears.
She was driven at a smart trot to the station, for
Sam wished to say his farewells and be done with
them as soon as possible. It is no light matter,
when a goddess leaves your house where she has
chanced to sojourn, and goes back to her own
bright regions. But Sam's words of parting were
brief, and even gruff; he had no blank verse in
which to couch his feelings. When he reached
home that night, however, he felt that life would
not be quite desolate so long as mothers proved
so satisfactory. Aunt Lomie's eyes were very
bright and blue, and she said, —

" I only hope she'll remember what I told her, —
if so be that she ever wants a home, to come
here."

Sarah's heart outran the magic horse. What
would he be doing? She pictured him sitting,
the light falling on his bright hair, the face — it
must surely have gained some lines of pain, in
waiting for her — turned to the fire, reading there
no hint of her coming. The possibility of his

SAM TO THE RESCUE. 423

absence did strike her, but she thrust it aside,
ready to cry passionately that she must die if she
did not find him. So very strangely are we
made ! Had there come no reprieve, she might
have endured a lifetime of exile ; now that the
days were ended, she became at once a child cry
ing that joy should not escape her.

CHAPTER XXXIV.

AT HOME.

AlTHEN Stephen came home from his stay in
New York, he found on the hall table a
note from Linora, couched in her own character
istic phraseology. She was well and happy, as
were the other members of the household. It was
surprising to her that a severely reformatory at
mosphere could prove so refreshing. She and
Mrs. Phebe were making shirts for a family of
eight motherless boys whom the latter had dis
covered, — that is, Mrs. Phebe was making the
shirts while Linora unfolded to her, meantime, a
scheme of philanthropy to which she had some
thought of devoting herself. Philanthropy seemed
a very fascinating subject, more so, indeed, than
spiritualism. And, to conclude, she longed to
hear from Sarah, and was to them both a most
worthless but faithful friend.

Stephen read the note as he went slowly up
stairs, smiling as his mind carried him to the
writer, and supplied her words with dramatic ac
cents. "There's a great deal of good in her," he
was thinking. " I suppose it's just as truly good
as if it didn't exist in that latent way."

424

AT HOME. 425

The little warm room, clothed in reds, was
lighted, and as he reached the threshold — his
wife was there. She had heard his step, and was
standing almost on tiptoe, winged for flight to
him. Let the Creator of our flesh be thanked that
there is such joy and peace in human warmth and
contact; only the touch of hands and lips can
soothe the great joys of meeting.

Could it be that there was some vague, unrec
ognized disappointment for Stephen, when he
could put her far enough away to think of her,
that she had denied her ideals and come to him
through force of love ? Whether it was that she
felt the doubt at its birth in his mind or not, she
cried in quick reassurance :

" It is right, dear ; it is right. There is no one
between us I "

"There never was," he said, obstinately recur
ring to his old ground.

She told him the story briefly, with pitiful, ten
der words, and he sat listening in great wonder
that it could all happen while he had lived quietly
on, with no hint from love's clairvoyance. The
result of it all was, and always continues to be,
a conviction on his part that his wife is not only
an angel according to conjugal metaphor, but that
she is literally of even finer clay than that appropri
ated to the race of good and lovely women. That
she had loved her enemy, served to lift her into

426 FOOLS OF NATURE.

the region of those ministrants who are said to
devote themselves to mortal needs with impartial
care. For Sarah, that view of the subject has
some soreness ; she can but feel that he gives her
the credit which rightfully belongs to the influ
ences of softening circumstances. She had only
responded to the suggestions of external needs,
disregarding which she must have held herself
forever ignoble.

After all, how sweetly commonplace it was to
see her in her own chair again, to hear her step
and voice ! Except for the great hunger still in
his heart which uttered jealous complaint even
when she left him to go into another room, he
might have forgotten that she had ever been away.
It would seem that happiness must be the natural
condition of the soul ; how, otherwise, could it so
serenely sink into the ways of peace when that is
permitted? Stephen henceforth abandoned him
self to a strange serenity. It was, to be sure, an
audacious state of mind, but he was convinced that
they had once for all eaten their bitter bread.
Now the powers above must, if only from econo
my, give them some time to grow and heal the
hurts contracted in past struggling.

When Bernard came next day, very serious in
anticipation of Stephen's story, he found himself
rather at a loss, to be met by glorified faces and

AT HOME. 427

voices containing that fulness of joy which is one
expression of music.

" I have come home, and I shall be happy for
ever," said Sarah, when Stephen left them alone.
"Is that enough?"

"Yes ; the world seems a very different place.
It was a good deal changed before, but I find now
that I needed to know you were happy."

So no questions were ever asked, and no ex
planations given. After certain great convulsions,
such as the nearness of moral or physical death
felt by these two, the small curiosities of life seem
of very slight importance. Ah, but it is a pity
that we should so often need avalanches to teach
our souls to build firmly !

They talked over the western plan, the three
together, and Stephen finally bethought himself
of Linora's note, which he read aloud. Bernard,
in spite of his new composure, could not yet hear
her name without wincing, but he took it bravely
enough, and was able afterwards to laugh at him
self for retaining the wounds of vanity longer than
any more dignified hurts.

" I should like her, by and by, to visit us," said
Sarah. "And, Bernard, — I meant to say it be
fore, — let me have your little sister here for a day
before you go. Then when we are once acquainted,
Stephen and I can invite her here and feel as if we
got a little nearer you in your western wilds."

428 FOOLS OF NATURE.

So Peace was born, and was well pleased with
her home. Guarded by her and Love, the great
white goddess, could the home itself be anything
but pure and fair to whomsoever dwelt in it or
entered it?

The discomfiture of the wicked is sometimes not
as inviting a subject to us, the more indifferent of
modern times, as to the righteous psalmist. We
are conscious of some soft-hearted commiseration
in hearing that Biker found one resting-place after
another desolated at his approach. When he
reached Boston that night, it was to find that his
wife had fled, taking the goodly hoard of money
in the house, and leaving him but fifty dollars.
Like many timid and downtrodden people, when
she did revolt, Mrs. Biker accomplished it with a
wholesale thoroughness which was astonishing to
those acquainted with her feeble power of will.
Biker, in deep disgust, there made a vow that he
would never seek her. She had proved too unre
liable an investment to pay for the discipline neces
sarily expended on her. He gave up his house
forthwith, and went to another great city, where
he took more humble rooms, and began again the
exercise of his profession under a new name. It
is a sad fact that it can almost always be said of a
medium whose tricks are exposed, that he is able
to gull a new set of believers without delay. Nay,

AT HOME. 429

such have been known to continue the deception
of their previous disciples, after trumping up
some story of having for that one time yielded to
fraud, because the influences proved inharmonious
and the spirits had been unable honestly to mate
rialize. The wholly unscrupulous are not often
obliged to confess that their lives have failed, as
they count failure and success. The punishment
for them must sometime come in the opening of
the soul's eye to the ravages wrought where it
might have worked only good.

Of course the story of any group of people goes
on indefinitely. One could tell how Bernard grew
at last into a strong manhood, how he married a
wife, — and the place and time of finding her
would -make another novel, — and how he sent
eastward a little book of verses that has been
greatly praised, as containing the sweetness and
strength of the western air, and a flavor of hope
and joy in living, that some greater modern poets
have lacked. One might also tell how Mary be
came a sturdy little school-teacher, a great favorite
with Mrs. Mann, with whom she spends her winter
vacations. And of all lengthy psychological
studies, what longer or more complicated one
could be made than of the various emotions of the
Coventry people in considering the stirring events
there? For some of them they never understood,
and have discussed them ever since, by winter fire-

430 FOOLS OF NATURE.

sides and in long summer afternoons. It is quite as
well for them, however, that such past history
should be theirs, for it would seem that nothing
has ever happened since.

That must be amended, however. Last summer
Mr. and Mrs. Mann boarded some weeks with Sam
Wasson and his wife, who live in Uncle Ben's
house. It was Stephen who proposed the plan,
and insisted on carrying it out, in order, he said,
to take the taste of those sad months from his
wife's memory; to force her to remember the
place as one where he and she together — lovers
still and always — wandered and talked through
sweet summer hours. He is not willing that there
should be a phase of her life which he has not
shared.

And so they visited one after another of the
landmarks remaining from her exile there. They
had even pitiful thoughts and words for the strange
boy who sleeps near Uncle Ben. His was a life
they could not understand, but being stunted and
unfortunate, it carried its own appeal.

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