What Can She Do?

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FOLUME TEN

WHAT CAN SHE DO?

ILLUSTRATED

NEW YORK

P. P. COLLIER & SON

M C M I I

KE S-3?^

'iaJtJzd.

Bntered aooofdiaff to Act of CoB gre w, in the year 1873, by

DODD ft MBAD,
lo the OiBce of the Librarian of Coogresa, at Waahingtoa,

COPYKIGHT, 1888,
Bt DODD, MBAD, ft COMPANY.

COPYKIGBT, 1899,

By DODD, MBAD, ft COMPANY.
Ail rii^kU r€ Mr v § d*

Copyright, 1901,
By anna p. rob.

DEDICATION

IF I WEBB

TO DEDIOATB THIS

BOOK IT WOULD BE TO THOSE

GIRLS WHO RESOLVE THAT THEY WILL NOT

PLAY THE POOR ROLE OF MIGAWBER, THEIR ONLY CHANGE FOB

LIFE BEING THAT SOME ONE WILL "TURN UP"

WHOM THEY MAY BURDEN WITH

THEIR HELPLESS

WEIGHT

PREFACE

This book was not written to amnse, to create pfurpose-
less excitement, or to secure a little praise as a bit of artis-
tic work. It would probably foil in all these things. It
was written with a definite, earnest purpose, which I trust
will be apparent to the reader.

As society in our land grows older, and departs from
primitive simplicity, as many are becoming rich, but more
poor, the changes that I have sought to warn against be-
come more threatening. The ordinary avenues of industry
are growing thronged, and it daily involves a more fearful
risk for a woman to be thrown out upon the world with un-
skilled hands, an untrained mind, and an unbraced moral
nature. Impressed with this danger by some considerable
observation, by a multitude of facts that might wring tears
from stony eyes, I have tried to write earnestly if not
wisely.

Of necessity, it touches somewhat on a subject delicate
and difficult to treat — ^the **skeleton in the closet" of so-
ciety. But the evil exists on every side, and at some time
or other threatens every home and life. It is my belief that
Christian teachers should not timidly or loftily ignore it,
for, mark it well, the evil does not let us or ours alone.
It is my belief that it should be dealt with in a plain, fear-

<6)

6 PREFACE

less, manly manner. Those who differ with me have a
right to their opinion.

There is one other thought that I wish to suggest.
Much of the fiction of our day, otherwise strong and ad-
mirable, is discouraging in this respect In the delineation
of character, some are good, some are bad, and some in-
different. We have a lovely heroine, a noble hero, devel-
oping seemingly in harmony with the inevitable laws of
their natures. Associated with them are those of the com-
moner or baser sort, also developing in accordance with the
innate principles of their natures. The first are presented
as if created of finer clay than the others. The first are
the flowers in the garden of society, the latter the weeds.
According to this theory of character, the heroine must
grow as a moss-rose and the weed remain a weed. Credit
is not due to one; blame should not be visited on the other.
Is this true? Is not the choice between good and evil
placed before every human soul, save where ignorance
and mental feebleness destroy free agency? In the field
of the world which the angels of God are to reap, is it not
even possible for the tares to become wheat ? And cannot
the sweetest and most beautiful natural flowers of character
borrow from the skies a fragrance and bloom not of earth ?
So God's inspired Word teaches me.

I have turned away from many an exquisite and artistic
delineation of human life, sighing, God might as well never
have spoken words of hope, warning, and strength for all
there is in this book. The Divine and human Friend might
have remained in the Heavens, and never come to earth in
human guise, that He might press His great heart of world-
wide sympathy against the burdened, suffering heart of
humanity. He need not have died to open a way of life

PREFACE 7

for all. There is nothing here but human motive, human
strength, and earthly destiny. We protest against this nar-
rowing down of life, though it be done with the faultless
skill and taste of the most cultured genius. The children
of men are not orphaned. Our Creator is still ''Emmanuel
— God with us.*' Earthly existence is but the prelude of
our life, and even from this the Divine artist can take
much of the discord, and give an earnest of the eternal
harmonies.

We all are honored with the privilege of "co- working
with Him."

If I in my little sphere can by this book lead one father
to train his children to be more strong and self-reliant, one
mother to teach her daughters a purer, more patient, more
heroic womanhood — if I have placed one more barrier in
the tempter's way, and inspired one more wholesome fear
and principle in the heart of the tempted — if, by lifting the
dark curtain a moment, 1 can reveal enough to keep one
country girl from leaving her safe native village for unpro-
tected life in some great city — if I can add one iota toward
a public opinion that will honor useful labor, however
humble, and condemn and render disgraceful idleness and
helplessness, however gilded— if, chief of all, I lead one
heavy-laden heart to the only source of rest, I shall be well
rewarded, whatever is said of this volume.

CONTENTS

CHAPTBB I
Thbbk Girls. 16

CHAPTER II
A FuTUBB OF Human Dbsiokino 28

CHAPTER III
Three Men .86

CHAPTER IV
The Skies Darkening 46

CHAPTER V
The Stor|c Threatening 57

CHAPTER VI
The Wreck 71

CHAPTER VII
Ahono the Breakers 84

CHAPTER VIII
Warped 100

CHAPTER IX
A Desert Island 112

CHAPTER X
Edith becomes a "Divinity" 124

(9)

10 CONTENTS

CHAPTEB XI
MAs. Allen's Policy 189

OHAPTEE XII
Waiting for Some One to tubn up 148

CHAPTER XIII
They tubn up 166

CHAPTER XI7
We can't work 179

CHAPTER XV
The Temptation 188

CHAPTER XVI
Black Hannibal's White Hbabt 201

CHAPTER XVII
The Changes of Two Shobt Months 210

CHAPTER XVin
Ignorance Looking fob Wobk 223

CHAPTER XIX
A Falling Stab 230

CHAPTER XX
Desolation 237

CHAPTER XXI
Edith's Tbub Knight . . . • 246

CHAPTER XXII
A Mystery 253

CHAPTER XXIII
A Dangerous Step 259

CHAPTER XXIV
Scorn and Kindness 268

CONTENTS 11

CHAPTEK XXV
A Horror of Great Darkness 268

OHAPTEB XXVI
Friend and Saviour 274

CHAPTEK XXVII
The Mystery Solved 282

CHAPTER XXVm
Edith tells the Old, Old Story 295

CHAPTEK XXIX
Hannibal learns how his Heart can be White 304

CHAPTER XXX
Edith's and Arden's Friendship 811

CHAPTEK XXXI
Zell 326

CHAPTEK XXXn
Edith Brings the Wanderer Home 840

CHAPTEK XXXIII
Edith's Great Temptation

CHAPTER XXXIV
Saved

CHAPTER XXXV
Closing Scenes 382

CHAPTER XXXVI
Last Words coo.. 890

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

**1 wish you would give U to wu f&r my birthday preseftf* . Prontispibcb

Ski extended her white rounded arm toward him

^ Why y Mr. Elliot, where did you dro^ from r'

iSI^ looked over her sister^s shoulder with dilating eyes •

WHAT CAN SHE DO?

WHAT CAN SHE DO?

CHAPTEE I

THBEB GIRLS

IT was a very cold blustering day in early January, and
even brilliant thronged Broadway felt the influenoe
of winter's harshest frown. There had been a heavy
fall of snow which, though in the main cleared from the
sidewalks, lay in the streets comparatively unsullied and
unpacked. Fitful gusts of the passing gale caught it up
and whirled it in every direction. From roof, ledges, and
window-sills, miniature avalanches suddenly descended on
the startled pedestrians, and the air was here and there
loaded with falling flakes from wild hurrying masses of
clouds, the rear-guard of the storm that the biting north-
west wind was driving seaward.

It was early in the afternoon, and the great thorough-
fare was almost deserted. Few indeed would be abroad for
pleasure in such weather, and the great tide of humanity
that most flow up and down this channel every working
day of the year under all skies had not yet turned north-
ward.

But surely this graceful figure coming up the street with
quick, elastic steps has not the aspect of one driven forth
by grave business cares, nor in the natural course of things
would one expect so young a lady to know much of life's
burdens and responsibilities. As she passes I am sure the
reader would not turn away from so pleasant a vision, even
if Broadway were presenting all its numberless attractions,

(15)

16 WHAT CAN SHE DOf

but at such a time would make the most of the occasion,
assured that nothing so agreeable would greet his eyes
again that sombre day.

The fierce gusts make little impression on her heavy,
close-fitting velvet dress, and in her progress against the
wind she appears so trim and taut that a sailor^s eye would
be captivated. She bends her little tnrbaned head to the
blast, and her foot strikes the paVement with a decision
that suggests a naturally brave, resolute nature, and gives
abundant proof of vigor and health. A trimming of silver
fox fur caught and contrasted the snow crystals against
the black velvet of her dress, in which the fiakes catch and
mingle, increasing the sense of lightness and airiness which
her movements awaken, and were you seeking a fanciful
embodiment of the spirit of the snow, yon jnight rest satis-
fied with the first character that appears upon the scene
of my story.

But on nearer view there was nothing spirit- like or even
spirituelle in her aspect, save that an extremely transparent
complexion was rendered positively dazzling by the keen
air and the glow of exercise; and the face was much too
full and blooming to suggest the shadowy and ethereal.

When near Twenty-first Street she entered a fruit store
and seemed in search of some delicacy for an invalid. As
her eye glanced around among the fragrant tropical fruits
that suggested lands in wide contrast to the wintry scene
without, she suddenly uttered a low exclamation of delight,
as she turned from them to old friends, all the more wel-
come because so unexpected at that season. These were
nothing less than a dozen strawberries, in dainty baskets,
decked out, or more truly eked out, with a few green leaves.
Three or four baskets constituted the fruiterer's entire stock,
and probably the entire supply for the metropolis of Amer-
ica that day.

She had scarcely time to lift a basket and inhale its deli-
cious aroma, before th6 proprietor of the store was in bow-
ing attendance, quite as openly admiring her carnation

THREE GIRLS 17

cheeks as she the ruby fruit The man's tongue was, how-
ever, more decorous than his eyes, and to her question as
to price he replied:

''Only two dollars a basket, miss, and certainly they are
beauties for this season of the year. They are all I could
get, and I don't believe there is another strawberry in New
York,"

**lwill take them all,'' was the brief, decisive answer,
and from a costly portemonnaie she threw down the pricci
a proceeding which the man noted in agreeable surprise,
again curiously scanning the fair face as he made up the
parcel with ostentatious 2seal. But his customer was uncon-
scious, or, more truly, indifferent to his admiration, and
seemed much more interested in the samples of choice fruit
arranged on every side. From one to another of these she
flitted witii the delicate sensuousness of a butterfly, smell-
ing them and touching them lightly with the hand she had
ungloved (which was as white as the snow without), as if
they had for her a peculiar &scinatioiL .

"You seem very fond of fruit," said the merchant, his
amour propre pleased by her evident interest in his stock.

"I have ever had a passion for fine fruits and flowers,"
was the reply, spoken with that perfect frankness character-
istic of American girls. ''No, you need not send it; I prefer
to take it with me."

And with a slight smile, she passed out, leaving the
fruiterer chuckling over the thought that he had probably
had the pleasantest bit of trade on Broadway that dull day.

Plunging through the drifts, our nymph of the snow
resolutely crossed the street and passed down to a flower
store, but, instead of buying a bouquet, ordered several
pots of budding and blooming plants to be sent to her
address. She then made her way to Fifth Avenue and soon
mounted a broad flight of steps to one of its most stately
houses. The door yielded to her key, her thick walking
boots clattered for a moment on the marble floor, but could
not disguise the lightness of her step as she tripped up the

18 WHAT CAN SHE DOf

winding stair and pushed open a rosewood door leading into
the Tipper hall.

''Mother, mother," she exclaimed, *'here is a treat for
yoTi that will banish nerves, headache, and horrors gen-
erally. See what I have found for you out in the wintry
snows. Now am I not a good fairy for once ?"

*'0h, Edith, child, not so boisterous, please," responded
a querulous voice from a great easy-chair by the glowing
grate, and a middle-aged lady turned a white, faded face
toward her daughter.

** Forgive me, mother, but my tramp in the January
storm has made me feel rampantly well. I wish you could
go out and take a run every day as I do. You would then
look younger and prettier than your daughters, as you
used to."

The invalid shivered and drew her shawl closer around
her, complaining:

'*I think you have brought the whole month of January
in with you. You really must show more consideration,
my dear, for if I should take cold — ' ' and the lady ended
with a weary, suggestive sigh.

In fact, Edith had entered the dim heavily-perfumed
room like a gust of wholesome air, her young blood ting-
ling and electric with exercise, and her heart buoyant with
the thought of the surprise and pleasure she had in store
for her mother. But the manner in which she had been
received had already chilled her more than the biting blasts
on Broadway. She therefore opened her bundle and set out
the little baskets before her mother very quietly. The lady
glanced at them for a moment and then said, indifferently:

*'It is very good of you to think of me, my dear; they
look very pretty. I am sorry I cannot eat them, but their
acid would only increase my dyspepsia. Those raised in
winter must be very sour. Ugh! the thought of it sets
my teeth on edge," and the poor, nervous creature shrank
deeper into her wrappings.

**I am very sorry, mother, I thought they would be a

THREE OIRLS 19

great treat for you,'* said Edith, quite crestfallen. '* Never
mind; 1 got some flowers, and they will be here soon.**

'* Thank you, dear, but the doctor says they are not
healthy in a room — Oh, dear — that child I what shall
I do!'*

The front door banged, there was a step on the stairs,
but not so light as Edith's had been, and a moment later
the door burst open, and *'the child'* rushed in like a mild
whirlwind, exclaiming:

'* Hurrah! hurrah! school to the shades. No more teach-
ers and tyrants for me," and down went an armful of books
with a bang on the table.

**0h, Zelll" cried Edith, "please be quiet; mother has
a headache."

'*There, there, your baby will kiss it all away," and the
irrepressible young creature threw her arms around the
bundle that Mrs. Allen had made herself into by her many
wrappings, and before she ceased, the red pouting lips left
the faintest tinge of their own color on the faded cheeks of
the mother.

The lady endured the boisterous embrace with a martyr-
like expression. Zell was evidently a privileged character,
the spoiled pet of the household. But a new voice was now
heard that was sharper than the "pet" was accustomed to.

"Zell, you are a perfect bear. One would think you had
learned your manners at a boys' boarding school."

Zell's great black eyes blazed for a moment toward the
speaker, who was a young lady reclining on a lounge near
the window, and who in appearance must have been the
counterpart of Mrs. Allen herself as she had looked twenty-
three years before. In contrast with her sharp, annoyed
tone, her cheeks and eyes were wet with tears.

"What are you crying about?" was Zell's brusque re-
sponse. "Oh, I see; a novel. What a ridiculous old thing
you are. I never saw you shed a tear over real trouble,
and yet every few days you are dissolved in brine over
Adolph Moonshine's agonies, and Seraphina's sentiment.

20 WHAT CAN SHE DOf

which any sensible person can see is caused by dyspepsia.
No such whipped syllabub for me, but real life. "

*'And what does 'real life' mean for you, I would like
to know, but eating, dressing, and flirting?'* was the acid
retort

^'Though you call me 'child,' I have lived long enough
to learn that eating, dressing, and flirting, and while you
are about it you might as well add drinking, is the 'real life'
of most of the ladies of our set. Indeed, if my poor mem-
ory does not fail me, I have seen you myself take a turn at
these things sufficiently often to make the sublime scorn
of your tone a little inconsistent"

As these barbed arrows flew, the tears rapidly exhaled
from the hot cheeks of the young lady on the sofa. Her
elegant languor vanished, and she started up; but Mrs.
Allen now interfered, and in tones harsh and high, very
difierent from the previous delicate murmurs, exclaimed:

"Children, you drive me wild. Zell, leave the room,
and don^t show yourself again till you can behave
yourself."

Zell was now sobbing, partly in sorrow and partly in
anger, but she let fly a few more Parthian arrows over her
shoulder as she passed out

*'This is a pretty way to treat one on their birthday.
£ came home with heart as light as the snowflakes around
me, and now you have spoiled everything. I don't know
how it is, but I always have a good time everywhere else,
but there is something in this house that often sets one's
teeth on edge," and the door banged appropriately withn
spiteful emphasis as the last word was spoken.

''Poor child," said Edith, "it is too bad that she should
be so dashed with cold water on her birthday."

"She isn't a child," said the eldest sister, rising from the
sofa and sweeping from the room, "though she often acts
like one, and a very bad one too. Her birthday should
remind her that if she is ever to be a woman, it is time to
commence," and the stately young lady passed coldly away.

THREE OIBLS 21

Edith went to the window and looked dejectedly out into
the early gloom of the declining winter day. Mrs. Allen
sighed and looked more nervous and uncomfortable than
usual.

The upholsterer had done his part in that elegBLUt home.
The feet sank into the carpets as in moss. Luxurious chairs
seemed to embrace the form that sank into them. Every-
thing was padded, rounded, and softened, except tongues
and tempers. If wealth could remove the asperities from
these as from material things, it might well be coveted.
But this is beyond the upholsterer's art, and Mrs. Allen
knew little of the Divine art that can wrap up words and
deeds with a kindness softer than eider-down.

''Mother's room," instead of being a refuge and a favor-
ite haunt of these three girls, was a place where, as we have
seen, their '* teeth were set on edge."

Naturally they shunned the place, visiting the invalid
rather than living with her; their reluctant feet impelled
across the threshold by a sense of duty rather than dravni
by the cords of love. The mother felt this in a vague, un-
comfortable way, for mother love was there, only it had
seemingly turned sour, and instead of attracting her chil-
dren by sweetness and sympathy, she querulously com-
plained to them and to her husband of their neglect He
would sometimes laugh it off, sometimes shrug his shoul-
ders indifferently, and again harshly chide the girls, accord-
ing to his mood, for he varied much in this respect After
being cool and wary all day in Wall Street, he took off the
curb at home; therefore the variations that never could b?
counted on. How he would be at dinner did not depend
on himself or any principle, but on circumstances. In the
main he was indulgent and* kind, though quick and passion-
ate, brooking no opposition; and the girls were really more
attached to him and found more pleasure in his society than
in their mother's. Zelica, the youngest, was his special
favorite, and he humored and petted her at a ruinous rate,
though often storming at some of her follies.

22 WHAT OAN SHE DOf

Mrs. Allen saw this preference of lier husband, and was
weak enough to feel and show jealousy. But her complain-
ings were ineffectual, for we can no more scold people into
loving us than nature could make buds blossom by daily
nipping ihem with frost And yet she made her children
uncomfortable by causing them to feel that it was unnatural
and wrong that they did not care more for their mother.
This was especially true of Edith, who tried to satisfy her
conscience, as we have seen, by bringing costly presents
and delicacies that were seldom needed or appreciated.

Edith soon became so oppressed by her mother's sighs
and silence and the heavy perfumed air, that she sprang
up, and pressing a remorseful kiss on the white thin face,
said:

''I must dress for dinner, mamma: I will send your
maid/' and vanished also.

A FUTURE OF HUMAN DESIGNING

CHAPTEE II

A FUTURE OF HUKAN DESIGNING

THE dining-room at six o'clock wore a far more cheer-
ful aspect than the invalid's room upstairs. It was
furnished in a costly manner, but more ostenta-
tiously than good taste would dictate. You instinctively
felt that it was a sacred place to the master of the house,
in which he daily sacrificed to one of his chosen deities.

The portly colored waiter, in dress coat and white vest,
has just placed the soup on the table, and Mr. Allen enters,
supporting his wife. He had sort of manly toleration for
all her whims and weaknesses. He had never indulged in
any lofty ideas of womanhood, nor had any special longings
for her sympathy and companionship. Business was the
one engrossing thing of his life, and this he honestly be-
lieved woman incapable of, from hei* very nature. It was
true of his wife, but due to a false education rather than to
any innate diiSiCulties, and he no more expected her to com-
prehend and sympathize intelligently with his business oper-
ations, than to see her go down to Wall Street with him
wearing his hat and coat

She had been the leading belle in his set years ago. He
had admired her immensely as a stylish, beautiful woman,
and carried her off from dozens of competitors, who were
fortunate in their failure. He always maintained a show
of gallantry and deference; which, though but veneer, was
certainly better than open disregard and brutal neglect.

So now, with a good-natured tolerance and politeness, he
seated the feeble creature in a cushioned chair at the table,

24 WHAT CAN SHE DOf

treating her more like a spoiled child than as a friend and
companion. The girls immediately appeared also, for they
knew their father's weakness too well to keep him waiting
for his dinner.

Zell bounded into his arms in her usual impulsive style,
and the father caressed her in a way that showed that his
heart was very tender toward his youngest child.

"And so my baby is seventeen to-day," he said. ''Well,
well, how fast we are growing old."

The girl laughed; the man sighed. The one was on the
threshold of what she deemed the richest pleasures of life;
the other had well-nigh exhausted them, and for a moment
realized it.

Still he was in excellent spirits, for he had been un-
usually fortunate that day, and bad seen his way to an
"operation" that promised a golden future. He sat down
therefore to the good cheer with not a little of the spirit of the
man in the parable, whose complacent exhortation to his soul
has ever been the language of false security and prosperity.

The father's open favoritism for Zell was another source
of jealousy, her sisters naturally feeling injured by it Thus
in this household even human love was discordant and per-
verted, and the Divine love unknown. What chance had
character, that thing of slow growth, in such an atmosphere ?

The popping of a champagne cork took the place of grace
at the opening of the meal, and the glasses were filled all
around. In honor of Zell's birthday they drank to her
health and happiness. By no better form or more sugges-
tive ceremony could this Christian (?) family wish their
youngest member "God^speed" on entering the vicissitudes
of a new year of life. But what they did was done heartily,
and every glass was drained. To them it seemed very ap-
propriate, and her father said, glancing admiringly at her
flaming cheeks and dancing eyes —

'*This is just the thing to drink Zell's health in, for she
is as full of sparkle and efiervescence as the champagne
itself."

A FUTURE OF HUMAN DESIGNING 25

Had he been a wiser and more thoughtful man, he would
have carried the simile further and remembered the fate of
champagne when exposed. However piquant and pleasing
Zeirs sparkle might be, it would hardly secure success and
safety for life. But in his creed a girl's first duty was to be
pretty and fascinating, and he was extremely proud of the
beauty of his daughters. It was his plan to marry them to
rich men who would maintain them in the irresponsible lux-
ury that th?ir mother had enjoyed.

Circumstances seemed to justify his security. The son
of a rich man, he had also inherited a taste for business and
the art of making money. Years of prosperity had con-
firmed his confidence, and he looked complacently around
upon his family and talked of the future in sanguine tones.

He was a man considerably past his prime, and his florid
face and portly form indicated that he was in the habit of
doing ample justice to the good cheer before him. Intense
application to business in early years and indulgence of
appetite in later life had seriously impaired a constitution
naturally good. He reminded you of a flower fully blown
or of fruit overripe.

*' Since you have permitted Zell to leave school, I sup-
pose she must make her d^but soon," said Mrs. Allen with
more animation than usual in her tone.

**0h, certainly," cried Zell, **on Edith's birthday, in
February. We have arranged it all, haven't we, Edith?"

'*Heigho! then I am to have no part in the matter," said
her father.

**Yes, indeed, papa," cried the saucy girl, **you are to
have no end of kisses, and a very long bill."

This sally pleased him immensely, for it expressed his
ideal of womanly return for masculine afiection, at least
the bills had never been wanting in his experience. But,
mellowed by wine and elated by the success of the day, he
now prepared to give the coup that would make a far greater
sensation in the family circle than even a d^but or a birth-
day party. So, glancing from one eager face to another
2— Rob— X

26 WHAT CAN SHE DOf

(for between the wine and the excitement even Mrs. Allen
was no longer a colorless, languid creature, ready to faint at
the embrace of her child), he said with a twinkle in his eye —

**Well, go to your mother about the party. She is a
veteran in such matters. But let there be some limit to the
length of the bill, or I can't carry out another plan I have
in view for you."

Chorus—* * What is that ?"

Coolly filling his glass, he commenced leisurely sipping,
while glancing humorously from one to another, enjoying
their impatient expectancy.

**If you don't tell us right away," cried Zell, bouncing
up, **I'll pull your whiskers without mercy."

'*Papa, you will throw mother into a fever. See how
flushed her face is I" said Laura, the eldest daughter, speak-
ing at the same time two words for herself.

The face of Edith, with dazzling complexion all aglow,
and large dark eyes lustrous with excitement, was more
eloquent than words could have been, and the bon vivant
drank in her expression with as much zest as he sipped his
wine. Perhaps it was well for him to make the most of that
little keen-edged moment of bright anticipation and bewil-
dering hope, for what he was about to propose would cost
him many thousands, and exile him from business, which
to him was the very breath of life.

But Mrs. Allen's matter-of-fact voice brought things to
a crisis, for with an injured air she said:

'*How can you, George, when you know the state of my
nerves?"

'*What I propose, mamma, will cure your nerves and
everything else, for it is nothing less than a tour through
Europe."

There was a shriek of delight from the girls, in which
even the exquisite Laura joined, and Mrs. Allen trembled
with excitement. Apart from the trip itself, they considered
it a sort of disgrace that a family of their social position and
wealth had never been abroad. Therefore the announce-

A FUTURE OF HUMAN DESIGNING 27

ment was doubly welcome. Hitherto Mr. Allen's devotion
to business had made it impossible, and he had given them
no hints of the near oonsummation of their wishes. But he
had begun to feel the need of change and rest himself, and
this weighed more with him than all their entreaties.

In a moment Zell had her arms about his neck, and her
sisters were throwing him kisses across the table. His wife,
looking unusually gratified, said:

^^ You are a sensible man at last," which was a great deal
for Mrs. Allen to say.

''Why, mamma," exclaimed her husband, elevating his
eyebrows in comic surprise, ''that I should live to hear you
say that r'

"Now don't be silly," she replied, joining slightly in
the laugh at her expense, *'or we shall think that you have
taken too much champagne, and that this Europe business
is all a hoax*"

"Wait till you have been outside of Sandy Hook an
hour, and you will find everything real enough then. I
think I see the elegant ladies of my household about that
time."

"For shame, papal what an uncomfortable suggestion
over a dinner table!" said the fastidious Laura. "Picture
the ladies of your household in the salons of Paris. I prom-
ise we will do you credit there."

"I hope BO, for I fear I shall have need of credit when
you all reaoh that Mecca of women. "

'^It's no more the Mecca of women than Wall Street is
the Jerusalem of men. What you are all going to do in
Heaven without Wall Street, I don't see."

Mr. Allen gave his significant shrug and said, "I don't
meet notes till they are due," which was his way of saying:
"Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof."

"The salons of Paris!" said Edith, with some disdain.
"Think of the scenery, the orange-groves, and vineyards
that we shall see, the Alpine flowers — "

"I declare," interrupted Zell, "I believe that Edith

28 WHAT CAN SHE DOf

woald rather see a grape-vine and orange- tree than all the
toilets of Paris."

**I shall enjoy seeing both," was the reply, **and so have
the advantage of you in having two strings to my bow."

**By the way, that reminds «ie to ask how many beaux
you now have on the string," said the father.

Edith tossed her head with a pretty blush and said: *^Pity
me, my father; you know I am always poor at arith-
metic."

'*You will take up with a crooked stick after all. Now
Laura is a sensible girl, like her mother, and has picked out
one of the richest, longest- headed fellows on the street"

"Indeed 1" said his wife. **I do not see but you are pay-
ing yourself a greater compliment than either Laura or
me."

"Oh, no, a mere business statement Laura means busi-
ness, and so does Mr. Goulden."

Laura looked annoyed and said:

"Pa, I thought you never talked business at home."

"Oh, this is a feminine phase that women understand.
I want your sisters to profit by your good example."

"I shall marry an Italian count," cried Zell.

"Who will turn out a fourth- rate Italian barber, and I
shall have to support you both. But I won't do it. You
would have to help him shave."

"No, I should transform him into a leader of banditti,
and we would live in princely state in the Apennines. Then
we would capture you, papa, and carry you ofi to the moun-
tains, and I would be your jailer, and give you nothing but
turtle-soup, champagne, and kisses till you paid a ransom
that would break Wall Street"

"I would not pay a cent, but stay and eat you out of
house and home."

"I never expect to marry," said Edith, "but some day
I am going to commence saving my money — now don't
laugh, papa, for I could be economical if I once made up
my mind" — and the pretty head gave a decisive little nod.

A FUTUES OF HUMAN DESIGNING 29

'*I am going to save my money and buy a beautiful place
in the country and make it as near like the garden of Eden
as possible."

''Snakes will get into it as of old," was Mrs. Allen's
cynical remark.

''Yes, that is woman's experience with a garden," said
her husband with a mock sigh.

Popping off the cork of another bottle, he added, ''I have
got ahead of you, Edith. I own a place in the countryi
much as I dislike that kind of property. I had to take it
to-day in a trade, and so am a landholder in Pushton — ^pros-
pect, you see, of my becoming a rural gentleman (Squire is
the title, I believe), and of exchanging stock in Wall Street
for the stock of a farm. Here's to my estate of three acres
with a story and a half mansion upon it! Perhaps you
would rather go up there this summer than to Paris, my
dear?" to his wife.

Mrs. Allen gave a contemptuous shrug as if the jest were
too preposterous to be answered, but Edith cried:

''Fill my glass; I will drink to your country place. I
know the cottage is a sweet rustic little box, all smothered
with vines and roses like one I saw last June." Then she
added in sport, "I wish you would give it to me for my
birthday present. It would make such a nice porter's lodge
at the entrance to my future Eden."

"Are you in earnest ?" asked the father suddenly.

Both were excited by the wine they had drunk. She
glanced at her father, and saw that he was in a mood to say
yes to anything, and, quick as thought, she determined to
get the place if possible.

"Of ooursel am. I would rather have it than all the
jewelry in New York." She was over-supplied with that
style of gift

"You shall have it then, for I am sure I don't want it,
and am devoutly thankful to be'rid of it"

Edith clapped her hands with a delight scarcely less
demonstrative than that of Zell in her wildest moods.

WHAT CAN SHE DOf

«*1

* Nonsense I" said Mrs. Allen; '^the idea of giving a
young lady such an elephant T'

*'But remember," continued her father, *'you must man-
age it yourself, pay the taxes, keep it repaired, insured, etc.
There is a first-class summer hotel near it Next year, after
we get back from Europe, we will go up there and stay
awhile. You shall then take possession, employ an agent
to take care of it, who by the way will cheat you to your
heart's content. I will wager you a box of gloves that, be-
fore a year passes, you will try to sell the ivy- twined cot-
tage for anything you can get, and will be thoroughly cured
of your mania for country life.''

**I'll take you up," said Edith, in great excitement, **but
remember, I want my deed on my birthday."

**A11 right," said Mr. Allen, laughing. *'I will transfer
it to you to-morrow, while I think of it But don't try to
trade it off to me before next month for a new dress."

Edith was half wild over her present. Many and varied
were her questions, but her father only said:

'*I don't know much about it I did not listen to half
the man said, but I remember he stated there was a good
deal of fruit on the place, for it made me think of you at
the time. Bless you, I could not stop for such small game.
I am negotiating a large and promising operation which
you understand about as well as farming. It will take some
time to carry it through, but when finished we will start
for the 'salons of Paris.' "

**I half believe," said Laura, with a covert sneer, **that
Edith would rather go up to her farm of three acres."

**I am well satisfied as papa has arranged it," said the
practical girl. ** Everything in its place, and get all out of
life you can, is my creed. "

**That means, get all out of me you can, don't it, sly
puss?" laughed the father, well pleased, though, with the
worldly wisdom of the speech.

*' Kisses, kisses, unlimited kisses, and consider yourself
well repaid," was the arch rejoinder; and not a few, look-

A FUTURE OF HUMAN DESIGNING 81

ing at her as she then appeared, would have coveted such
bargains. So her father seemed to think as he gazed admir-
ingly at her.

But something in Zell's pouting lips and vexed expres-
sion caught his eye, and he said good-naturedly:

**Heigho, youngster, what has brought a thunder-cloud
across your saucy face ?''

**In providing for birthdays to come, I guess you have
forgotten your baby's birthday present."

**Come here, you envious elf,'' said her father, taking
something from his pocket. Like light she flashed out from
under the cloud and was at his side in an instant, dimpling,
smiling, and twinkling with expectation, her black eyes as
quick and restless as her father was deliberate and slow in
undoing a dainty parcel.

**0h, George, do be quick about it, or Zell will explode.
You both make me nervous," said Mrs. Allen fretfully.

Suddenly pressing open a velvet casket, Mr. Allen hung
a jewelled watch with a long gold chain about his favorite's
neck, while she improvised a hornpipe ardlind his chair.

** There," said he, '*is something that is worth* more than
Edith's farm, tumble-down cottage, roses, and all. So re-
member that those lips were made to kiss, not to pout with. "

Zell put her lips to proper uses to that extent that Mrs.
Allen began to grow jealous, nervous, and out of sorts gen-
erally, and having finished her chocolate, rose feeoly from
the table. Her husband offered his arm and the family
dinner party broke up.

And yet, take it altogether, each one was in higher
spirits than usual, and Zell and Edith were in a state of
positive delight. They had received costly gifts that spe-
cially gratified their peculiar tastes, and these, with the
promise of a grand party and a trip to Europe, youthful
buoyancy, and champagne, so dilated their little feminine
souls that Mrs. Allen's fears of an explosion of some kind
were scarcely groundless. They dragged their stately sister
Laura, now unwontedly bland and affable, to the piano,

82 WHAT CAN SHE DOf

and called for the quickest and most brilliant of waltzes,
and a moment later their lithe figures flowed away in a
rhythm of motion, that from their exuberance of feeling, was
as fantastic as it was graceful.

Mr. Allen assisted his wife to her room and soon left her
in an unusually contented frame of mind to develop strategy
for the coming party. Mrs. Allen's nerves utterly incapa-
citated her for the care of her household, attendance upon
church, and such humdrum matters, but in view of a great
occasion like a ** grand crush ball," where among the lumi-
naries of fashion she could become the refulgent centre
of a constellation which her fair daughters would make
around her, her spirit rose to the emergency. When it
came to dress and dressmakers and all the complications
of the campaign now opening, notwithstanding her nerves,
she could be quite Napoleonic.

Her husband retired to the library, lighted a choice
Havana, skimmed his evening papers, and then as usual
went to his club.

This, as a general thing, was the extent of the library's
literary uses. The best authors in gold and Eussia smiled
down from the black walnut shelves, but the books were
present rather as furniture than from any intrinsic value in
themselves to the family. They were given prominence on
the same principle that led Mrs. Allen to give a certain tone
to her. entertainments by inviting many literary and scien-
tific men. She might be unable to appreciate the works
of the savants^ but as they appreciated the labors of her
masterly French cook, many compromised the matter by
eating the petits soupers and shrugging their shoulders over
the entertainers.

And yet the Aliens were anything but vulgar upstarts.
Both husband and wife were descended from old and
wealthy New York families. They had all the polish which
life-long association with the fashionable world bestows.
What was more, they were highly intelligent, and, in their
own sphere, gifted people. Mr. Allen was a leader in busi-

A FUTURE OF HUMAN DESIGJNING 88

ness in one of the chief commercial centres, and to lead in
legitimate business in our day requires as much ability, in-
deed we may say genius, as to lead in any order department
of life. He would have shown no more ignorance in the
study, studio, and laboratory, than their occupants would
have shown in the counting-room. That to which he de-
voted his energies he had become a master in. It is true
he had narrowed down his life to little else than business.
He had never acquired a taste for art and literature, nor
had he given himself time for broad culture. But we meet
narrow artists, narrow clergymen, narrow scientists just as
truly. If you do not get on their hobby and ride with
them, they seem disposed to ride over you. Indeed, in our
brief life with its fierce competitions, few other than what
are known as '*one idea" men have time to succeed. Even
genius must drive with tremendous and concentrated energy,
to distance competitors. Mr. Allen was quite as great in
his department as any of the lions that his wife lured into
her parlors were in theirs.

Mrs. Allen was also a leader in her own chosen sphere,
or rather in the one to which she had been educated. Given
carie-blanche in the way of expense, she would produce a
brilliant entertainment which few could surpass. The color-
ing and decorations of her rooms would not be more rich,
varied, or in better taste, than the diversity, and yet har-
mony of the people she would bring together by her adroit
selections. She had studied society, and for it she lived,
not to make it better, not to elevate its character, and tone
down its extravagances, but simply to shine in it, to be
talked about and envied.

Both husband and wife had achieved no small success,
and to succeed in such a city as New York in their chosen
departments required a certain amount of genius. The
savants had a general admiration for Mrs. Allen's style
and taste, but found that she had nothing to offer on the
social exchange of her parlors but fashion's smallest chit-
chat. They had a certain respect for Mr. Allen's wealth

84 WHAT CAN SHE DOf

and business power, but, haying discussed the news of the
day, they would pass on, and the people during the inter-
vals of dancing drifted into congenial schools and shoals,
like jQsh in a lake. Mr. and Mrs. Allen had a vague admira-
tion for the learning of the scholars and the culture of the
artists, but would infinitely prefer marrying their daughters
to downtown merchant princes.

Take the ^orld over, perhaps all classes of people are
despising others quite as much as they are despised them-
selves.

But when the French cook appeared upon the scene,
then was produced your true democracy. Then was shown
a phase of life into which all entered with a zest that
proved the common tie of humanity.

THREE MEN 86

CHAPTER III

THREE MEN

WHILE Mrs. Allen was planning the social pyro--
technics that should dazzle the fashionable world,
Edith and Zell were working off their exuberant
spirits in the manner described in the last chapter, which
was as natural to their city- bred feet as a wild romp is to
a country girl.

The brilliant notes of the piano and the rustle of their
silks had rendered them oblivious to the fact that the door-
bell had rung twice, and that three gentlemen were peering
curiously through the half-open door. They were evidently
frequent and favored visitors, and had motioned the old
colored waiter not to announce them, and he reluctantly
obeyed.

For a moment they feasted their eyes on the scene, as
the two girls, with twining arms and many innovations on
the regular step, whirled through the rooms, and then Zell's
quick eye detected them.

Pouncing upon the eldest gentleman of the party, she
dragged him from his ambush, while the others also entered.
The youngest approached the blushing, panting Edith with
an almost boyish confidence of manner, as if assured of a
welcome, while the remaining gentleman, who was verging
toward middle age, quietly glided to the piano and gave
his hand to Laura, who greeted him with a cordiality
scarcely to be expected from so stately a young lady.

The laws of affinity and selection were evidently in force

W WHAT CAN 8BE DOf

here, and as the reader must surmise, long acquaintance
bad led to the present easy and intimate relations.

*'What do you mean," cried Zell, dragging under the
gaslight her cavalier, who assumed much penitence and
fear, **by thus rudely and abruptly breaking in upon
the retirement of three secluded young ladies?''

**At their devotions," added the cynical voice of the
gentleman at the piano, who was no other than Mr. Goulden,
Laura's admirer.

Zell's attendant threw himself in the attitude of a sup-
pliant and said deprecatingly:

**Nay, but we are astronomers."

'* That's a fib, and not a very white one either," she re-
torted. '*I don't believe you ever look toward heaven for
anything."

*'What need of looking thither for heavenly bodies?"
he replied in a low, meaning tone, regarding with undis-
guised admiration her glowing cheeks. ''Moreover, I don't
like telescopic distances," he continued, with a half- made
motion to put his arm around her waist.

"Come," she said, pirouetting out of his reach, ''remem-
ber I am no longer a child, I am seventeen to-day."

"Would that you might never be a day older in appear-
ance and feelings !' '

"Are you willing to leave me so far behind ?" she asked
with some maliciousness.

"No, but you would make me a boy again. If old Ponce
de Leon had met a Miss Zell, he would soon have forsaken
the swamps and alligators of Florida."

"Oh, what a watery, scaly compliment 1 Preferred to
swamps and alligators! Who would have believed it?"

"I am not blind to your pretty, wilful blindness. Yow.
know I likened you to something too divine and precious to
be found on earth."

"Which is still true in the carrying out of your marvel-
lously mixed metaphors. I must lend you my rhetoric book.
But as your meaning dawns on me, I see that you are sym-

THREE MEN 87

bolized by old Ponce. I shall look ia the history for the
age of the ancient Spaniard to-morrow, and then I shall
know how old you are, a thing I could never find out/*

As with little jets of silvery laughter and with butterfly
motion she hovered round him, the very embodiment of life
and beautiful youth, she would have made, to an artist's
eye, a very true realization of the far-famed mythical foun-
tain.

And yet, as a moment later she confidingly took his arm
and strolled toward the library, it was evident that all her
flutter and hesitancy, her seeming freedom and mimic show
of war, were like those of some bright tropical bird fasci-
nated by a remorseless serpent whose intent eyes and deadly
purpose are creating a spell that cannot be resisted.

Mr. Van Dam, upon whose arm she was leaning, was one
of the worst products of artificial metropolitan life. He had
inherited a name which ancestry had rendered honorablCi
but which he to the utoiost dishonored, and yet so adroitly,
so shrewdly respecting fashion's code, though shunning
nothing wrong, that he did not lose the entree of the gilded
homes of those who called themselves *'the best society.*'

True, it was whispered that he was rather fast, that he
played heavily and a trifle too successfully, and that he
lived the life of anything but a saint at his luxurious rooms.
•*But then," continued society, openly and complacently,
**he is so fine-looking, so courtly and polished, so well con-
nected, and what is still more to the point, my dear, he is
reputed to be immensely wealthy, so we must not heed
these rumors. After aU, it is the waj of these young men
of the world."

Thus **the best society" that would have politely frozen
out of its parlors the Chevalier Bayard, aans peur et sans
reproche, had he not appeared in the latest style, with golden
fame rather than golden spurs, welcomed Mr. Van Dam. In-
deed, not a few forced exotic belles, who had prematurely
developed in the hothouse atmosphere of wealth and extrav-
agance, regarded him as a sort of social lion; and his reti-

88 WHAT CAN SHE DOf

cence, with a certain mystery in which he shrouded his evil
life, made him all the more fascinating. He was past the
prime of life, though exceedingly well preserved, for he was
one of those cool, deliberate votaries of pleasure that re-
duce amusement to a science, and carefully shun all injuri-
ous excess. While exceedingly deferential toward the sex
in general, and bestowing compliments and attentions as
adroitly as a financier would place his money, he at the
same time permitted the impression to grow that he was
extremely fastidious in his taste, and had never married
because it had never been his fortune to meet the flliltless
being who could satisfy his exacting eyes. Any special
and continued admiration on his part therefore made its
recipient an object of distinction and envy to very many in
the unreal world in which he glided serpent- like, rather than
moved as a man. To morbid minds his rumored evil deeds
became piquant eccentricities, and the whispers of the orien-
tal orgies that were said to take place in his bachelor apart-
ments made him an object of a curious interest, and many
sighed for the opportunity of reforming so distinguished a
sybarite.

On Edith's entrance into society he had been much im-
pressed by her beauty, and had gradually grown quite at-
tentive, equally attracted by her father's wealth. But she,
though with no clear perception of his character, and with
no higher moral standard than that of her set, instinctively
shrank from the man. Indeed, in some respects, they were
too much alike for that mysterious attraction that so often
occurs between oppoiE^ites. Not that she had his unnatural
depravity, but like him she was shrewd, practical, resolute,
and was controlled by her judgment rather than by her im-
pulses. Her vanity, of which she had no little share, led
her to accept his attentions to a certain point, but the keen
man of the world soon saw that his "little game,'' as in his
own vernacular he styled it, would not be successful, and
he was the last one to sigh in vain or mope an hour in love-
lorn melancholy. While ceasing to press his suit, he con-

THREE MEN 89

tinued to be a frequent and familiar visitor at the house,
and thus his attention was drawn to Zell, who, though
young, hadr developed early in the stimulating atmosphere
in which she lived. At first he petted and played with her
as a child, .as she wilfully flitted in and out of the parlors,
whether her sisters wanted her or not He continually
brought her bon-bons and like fanciful trifles, till at last, in
jest, the family called him ZelFs ^'ancient beau.''

But during the past year it had dawned on him that the
child he petted on account of her beauty and sprighUiness,
was rapidly becoming a brilliant woman, who would make
a wife far more to his taste than her equally beautiful but
matter-of-fact sister. Therefore he warily, so as not to
alarm the jealous father, but with ail the subtle skill of
which he was master, sought to win her affections, knowing
that she would have her own way when she knew what way
she wanted.

For Zell this unscrupulous man had a peculiar fascina-
tion. He petted and flattered her to her heart's content,
and thus made her the envy of her young acquaintances,
which was incense indeed to her vain little soul. He never
lectured or preached to her on account of her follies and
nonsense, as her elderly friends usually did, but gave to
her wild, impulsive moods free rein. Where a true friend
would have cautioned and curbed, he applauded and in-
cited, causing Zell to mistake extravagance in language and
boldness in manner for spirit and brilliancy. Laura and
Edith often remonstrated with her, but she did not heed
them. Indeed, she feared no one save her father, and Mr.
Van Dam was propriety itself when he was present, which
was but seldom. What with his business, and club, and
Mrs. Allen's nerves, the girls were left mainly to them-
selves.

What wonder that there are so many shipwrecks, when
young, heedless, inexperienced hands must steer, unguided,
through the most perilous and treacherous of seas?

Mr, Allen's elegant, cosUy home was literally an un-

40 WHAT CAN SHE DO 9

guarded fold, many a laborer, living in a tenement house,
doing more to shield his daughters from the evil of the
world.

To Mr. Van Dam, Zell was a perfect prize. Though he
had sipped at the cup of pleasure so leisurely and system-
atically, he was getting down to the dregs. His taste was
becoming palled, and satiety was burdening him with its
leaden weight But as the child he petted developed daily
toward womanhood, he became interested, then fascinated
by the process. Her beauty was so brilliant, her excessive
sprightliness so contagious, that he felt his sluggish pulses
stir and tingle with excitement the moment he came into
her presence. Her wild, varying moods kept him con-
stantly on the qui vive, and he would say in confidence to
one of his intimate cronies:

''The point is, Hal, she is such a spicy, piquant contrast
to the insipid society girls, who have no more individuality
than fashion blocks in Broadway windows.'*

He liked the kittenish young creature all the more be-
cause her repartee was often a little cutting. If she had al-
ways struck him with a velvet paw, the thing would have
grown monotonous, but be occasionally got a scratch that'
made him wince, cool and brazen as he was. But, after
all, he daily saw that he was gaining power over her, and
the manner in which the frank- hearted girl took his arm
and leaned upon it spoke volumes to the experienced man.
While he habitually wore a mask, Zell could conceal
nothing, and across her April face flitted her innermost
thoughts.

If she had had a mother, she might, even in the wilder-
ness of earth, have become a blossom fit for heavenly gar-
dens, but as it was, her wayward nature, so full of danger-
ous beauty, was left to run wild.

Edith was beginning to be troubled at ZelFs intimacy
with Mr. Van Dam, and to conceive a growing dislike for
him mingled with suspicion. As for Laura, the eldest, she
was like her mother, too much wrapped up in herself to

THREE MEN 41

have many thoughts for any one else^ and they all regarded
Zell as a mere child still. Mr. Allen, who would have been
very anxious had Zell been receiving the attentions of some
penniless young clerk or artist, laughed at her ''flirtation
with old Van Dam" as an eminently safe proceeding.

But on the present evening her sisters were too much
occupied with their own friends to give Zell or her danger-
ous admirer much attention. As yet no formal engagement
had bound any of them, but an intimacy and mutual liking,
tending to such a result, was rapidly growing.

In Edith's case the attraction of contrasts was again
shown. Augustus Elliot, the youth who had approached
her with such confidence and grace, was quite as stylish a
personage as herself, and that was saying a great deal. But
every line of his full handsome face, as well as the expres-
sion of his light blue eyes, showed that he had less decision
in the whole of his luxurious nature than she in her little
finger. Self-indulgence and good-natured vanity were un-
mistakably his characteristics. To yield, not for the good
of others, but because not strong enough to stand sturdily
alone, was the law of his being. If he could ever have been
kept under the influence of good and stronger natures, who
would have developed his naturally kind heart and good im-
pulses into something like principle, he might have had a
safe and creditable career. But he was the idol of a fool-
ish, :^shionable mother, and the pet of two or three sisters
who were empty-brained enough to think their handsome
brother the perfection of mankind; and by eye, manner,
and often the plainest words, they told him as much, and
he had at last come to believe them. Why should they
not ? He was faultless in his own dress, faultless in his
criticism of a lady's dress, taking the prevailing fashion as
the standard. He was perfectly versed in the polite slang
of the day. He scented afar off and announced the slight-
est change in the mode, so that his elegant sisters could ap-
pear on the avenue in advance of the other fashion-plates.
As they sailed away on a sunny afternoon in their gorgeous

42 WHAT CAN SHE DO f

plumage, the envy of many a competing, belle, they would

'* Isn't he a duck of a brother to give us a hint of a
change so early? After all there is no eye or taste like
that of man when once perfected/'

And then they knew him to be equally au fait on the
flavor of wines, the points of horses, the merits of every
watering-place, and all the other lore which in their world
gave pre-eminence. They had been educated to have no
other ideal of manhood, and if an earnest, straightforward
man, with a purpose, had spoken out before them, they
would have regarded him as an uncouth monster.

Notwithstanding all his vanity, **Gu8," as he was famil-
iarly called, was a very weak man, and though he would
not acknowledge it, even to himself, instinctively recog-
nized the fact. He continually attached himself to strong,
resolute natures, by whom, if they were adroit, he could
easily be made a tool of. He took a great fancy to Edith
from the first hour of their acquaintance, and she soon ob-
tained a strong influence over him. She instinctively de-
tected his yielding disposition, and liked hira the better for
it, while his good-nature and abundant supply of society
talk made him a general favorite.

When every one whispered, **What a handsome couple
they would make!" and she found him so looked up to
and quoted in the fashionable world, she began to entertain
quite an admiration as well as liking for him, though she
saw more and more clearly that there was nothing in him
that she could lean upon.

Gus's parents, who knew that the Aliens were immensely
wealthy, urged on the match, but Mr. Allen, aware that the
Elliots were living to the extent of their means, discouraged
it, plainly telling Edith his reasons.

**But," said Edith, at the same time showing her heart
in the practical suggestion, * 'could not Gus go into business
himself ?*'

** The worst thing he could do," said the keen Mr. Allen.

THREE MEN 48

*'He has tried it a few times, I have learned, but has not one
business qualification. He could not keep himself in tooth-
picks. His mother and sisters have spoiled him. He is
nothing but a society man. Mr. Elliot has not a word to
say at home. His business is to make money for them
to spend, and a tough time he has to keep up with them.
You girls must marry men who can take care of you, un-
less you wish to support your husbands."

Mr. Allen^s verdict was true, and Edith felt that it was.
When a boy, Gus could get out? of lessons by running to his
mother with a plea of headache or any trifle, and in youth
he had escaped business in like manner. His father had
tried him a few times in his office, but was soon glad to fall
in with his wife^s opinion, that Jier son '*had too much spirit
and refinement for plodding humdrum business, that he was
a born gentleman and suited only to elegant leisure," and
as his gentleman son only did mischief downtown, the poor
over-worked father was glad to have him out of the way,
for he with difficulty made both ends meet, as it was. Hop-
ing he would do better with strangers, he had, by personal
influence, procured him situations elsewhere, but between
the mother^ s weakness and the young man's confirmed
habits of idleness, it always ended by Gus saying to his
employers:

**I'm going oflE on a little trip — by-by," at which they
gave a sigh of relief. It had at last become a recognized
fact that Gus must marry an heiress, this being about the
only way for so fine a gentleman to achieve the fortune that
he could not stoop to toil for. As he admired himself com-
placently in the gilded mirror that ornamented his dressing-
room, he felt that a wise selection would be his only diffi-
culty, and though an heiress is something of a rara avis,
he sternly resolved to cage one with such heavy golden
plumage that even his mother, whom no one satisfied save
himself, would give a sigh of perfect content When at
last he met Edith Allen, it seemed as if inclination might
happily blend with his lofty sense of duty, and he soon

44 WHAT CAN SHE DO?

became Edith's devoted and favored attendant. And yet,
as we have seen, our heroine was not the sentimental style
of girl that falls hopelessly and helplessly in love with a
man for some occult reason, not even known to herself, and
who mopes and pines till she is permitted to marry him, be
he fool, villain, or saint. Edith was fully capable of appre-
ciating and weighing her father's words, and under their
influence nearly decided to chill her handsome but helpless
admirer into a mere passing acquaintance; but when he
next appeared before her in his uniform, as an officer in
one of the *' crack'' city regiments, her eyes, taste, and van-
ity, and somehow her heart, so pleaded for him that, so
far from being an icicle, she smiled on him like a July sun.

But whenever he sought to press his suit into something
definite, she evaded and shunned the point, as only a femi-
nine diplomatist can. In fact, Gus, on account of his van-
ity, was not a very urgent suitor, as the idea of final refusal
was preposterous. He regarded himself as virtually ac-
cepted already. Meanwhile Edith for once in her life was
playing the r61e of Micawber, and "waiting for something
to turn up." And something had, for this trip to Europe
would put time and space between them, and gently cure
both of their folly, as she deemed it. Folly 1 She did not
realize that Gus regarded himself as acting on sound busi-
ness principles and a strong sense of duty, as well as obey-
ing the impulses of what heart he had. The sweet approval
of conscience and judgment attended his action, while both
condemned her.

As Gus approached this evening, she felt a pang of com-
miseration that not only were they separated by her father's
and her own disapproval, but that soon the briny ocean
would also be between them, and she was unusually kind.
She decided to play with her poor little mouse till the last,
and then let absence remedy all. Her mind was quick, if
not very profound.

As Mr. Goulden leaned across the corner of the piano,
and paid the blushing Laura some delicate complimentS|

THREE MEN 45

one could not but think of an adroit financier, skilfully
placing some money. There was nothing ardent, nothing
incoherent and lover-like, in his carefully modulated tones,
and nicely selected words that meant much or little, as he
might afterward decide. Mr. Goulden always knew what
he was about, as truly in a, lady's boudoir as in Wall
Street The stately, elegant Laura suited his tastes; her
father's financial status had suited him also. But he, who
through his agents knew all that was going on in Wall
Street, was aware that Mr. Allen had engaged in a very
heavy speculation, which, though promising well at the
time, might, by some unexpected turn of the wheel, wear
a very different aspect He would see the game through
before proceeding with his own, and in the meantime, by
judicious attention, hold Laura well in hand.

In that brilliantly lighted parlor none of these currents
and counter currents were apparent on the surface. That
was like the ripple and sparkle of a summer sea in the sun-
light Every year teaches us something of what is hidden
under the fair but treacherous seeming of life.

The young ladies were now satisfied with the company
they had, and the gentlemen, as can well be understood,
wished no further additions. Therefore they agreed to
retire to the library for a game of cards.

*' Hannibal,'' said Edith, summoning the portentous col-
ored butler who presided over the front door and dining-
room, **if any one calls, say we are out or engaged."

That solemn dignitary bowed as low as his stiff white
collar would permit, but soliloquized:

*'I guess I is sumpen too black to tell a white lie, so I'se
say dey is engaged. ' '

As the ladies swept away, leaning heavily on the arms
of their favored gallants, he added, with a slight grin illu-
mining the gravity of his face, **It looks mighty like it"

46 WHAT CAN SHE DOf

CHAPTER IV

THE SKIES DARKENOra

THE game of cards fared indifferently, for they were
all too intent on little games of their own to give
close attention. Mr. Van Dam won when he chose,
and gave the game away when he chose, but made Zell
think the skill was mainly hers.

Still, in common parlance, tliey had a ''good time.^'
From such clever men the jests and compliments were
rather better than the average, and repartee from the ruby
lips that smiled upon them could not seem other than
brilliant.

Edith soon added to the sources of enjoyment by order-
ing cake and wine, for though not the eldest she seemed
naturally to take the lead.

Mr. Goulden drank sparingly. He meant that not a
film should come across his judgment Mr. Van Dam
drank freely, but he was seasoned to more fiery potations
than sherry. Not so poor Gus, who, while he could never
resist the wine, soon felt its influence. But he had suffi-
cient control never to go beyond the point of tipsiness that
fashion allows in the drawing-room.

Of course through ZelFs unrestrained chatter the re-
cently made plans soon came out.

Adroit Mr. Van Dam turned to Zell with an expression
of much pleased surprise, exclaiming:

''How fortunate I am I I had completed my plans to go
abroad some little time since."

THE SKIES DARKENING 47

Zell clapped her hands with delight, but an involuntary
shadow darkened £dith*s face.

Gus looked nonplassed. He knew that his father and
mother with difficulty kept pace with his home expenses
and that a Continental tour was impossible for him. Mr.
Gohlden looked a little thoughtful, as if a new element had
entered into the problem.

''Oh, come," laughed ZelL ''Let us all be good, and
go on a pilgrimage together to Paris — I mean Jerusalem. "

"I will worship devoutly with you at either shrine,"
said Mr. Van Dam.

"And with equal sincerity, I suppose," said Edith, rather
coldly.

"I sadly fear. Miss Edith, that my sincerity will not be
superior to that of the other devotees," was the keen retort,
in blandest tones.

Edith bit her lip, but said gayly, "Count me out of your
pilgrim band. I want no shrine with relics of the past. I
wish no incense rising about me obscuring the view. I like
the present, and wish to see what is beyond."

"But suppose you are both shrine and divinity your-
self?" said Gus, with what he meant for a killing look.

"Do you mean that compliment for me?" asked Edith,
all sweetness.

Between wine and love Gus was inclined to be senti-
mental, and so in a low, meaning tone answered:

"Who more deserving?"

Edith^s eyes twinkled a moment, but with a half sigh
she replied:

"I fear you read my character rightly. A shrine sug-
gests many offerings, and a divinity many worshippers."

Zell laughed outright, and said, "In that respect all
women would be shrines and divinities if they could."

Van Dam and Goulden could not suppress a smile at the
unfortunate issue of Elliotts sentiment, while the latter
glanced keenly to see how much truth was hinted in the
badinage.

48 WHAT CAN SHE DOf

**For my part/* said Laura, looking fixedly at nothing,
'*I would rather have one true devotee than a thousand
pilgrims who were gushing at every shrine they met^^

'^BravaT' cried Mr. Goulden. *'That was the keenest
arrow yet flown;*' ior the other two men were notorious
flirts.

*'I do not think so. Its point was much too broad,'*
said Zell, with a meaning look at Mr. Goulden, that brought
a faint color into his imperturbable face, and an angry flush
to Laura's.

A disconcerted manner had shown that even Gus's van-
ity had not been impervious to Edith's barb, but he had
now recovered himself, and ventured again:

''I would have my divinity a patron saint sufficiently
human to pity human weakness, and so come at last to
listen to no other prayer than mine."

'* Surely, Mr. Elliot, you would wish your saint to listen
for some other reason than your weakness only," said Edith.

''Come, ladies and gentlemen, I move this party breaks
up, or some one will get hurt," said Gus, with a half- vexed
laugh.

''What is the matter?" asked Edith innocently.

'*Yes," echoed Zell, rising, **what is the matter with
yow, Mr. Van Dam? Are you asleep, that you are so
quiet? Tell us about your divinity."

''I am an astronomer and fire- worshipper, somewhat daz-
zled at present by the nearness and brilliancy of my bright
luminary."

''Nonsense I your sight is failing, and you have mistaken
a will-o'-the-wisp for the sun.

** *Daneing here, dancing there,
Catch it if 70U can and dare,' "

and she flitted away before him.

He followed with his intent eyes and graceful, serpent-
like gliding, knowing her to be under a spell that would
soon bring her fluttering back.

TBE SKIES DARKENING 49

After circling round him a few moments she took his
arm and he commenced breathing into her ear the poison
of his passion.

No woman could remain the same after being with Mr.
Yan Dam. Out of the evil abundance of his heart he spoke,
but the venom of his words and manner were all the more
deadly because so subtle, so minutely and delicately distrib-
uted, that it was like a pestilential atmosphere, in which
truth and purity withered.

No parent should permit to his daughters the compan-
ionship of a thoroughly bad man, whatever his social stand-
ing. His very tone and glance are unconsciously demoral-
izing, and, even if he tries, he cannot prevent the bitter
waters overflowing from their bad source, his heart

Mr. Van Dam did not try. He meant to secure Zell,
with or without her father's approval, believing that when
the marriage was once consummated Mr. Allen's consent
and money would follow eventually.

For some little time longer the young ladies and their
favored attendants strolled about the room in quiet tSte-
&-t€te, and then the gentlemen bowed themselves out

The door-bell had rung several times during the even-
ing, but Hannibal, with the solemnity of a funeral, had
quenched each comer by saying with the decision of the
voice of fate:

'^De ladies am engaged, sah," and no Cerberus at the
door, or mailed warder of the middle ages, could have
proved such an efEectual barrier against all intruders as
this old negro in his white waistcoat and stiff necktie,
backed by the usage of modem society. Indeed, in some
respects he was a greater potentate than old King Canute,
for he could say to the human passions, inclinations, and
desires that surged up to Mr. Allen's front door, *'Thus far
and no farther.*'

But upon this evening there was a caller who looked
with cool, undaunted eyes upon the stiiS necktie and solemn
visage rising above it, and to Hannibal's reiterated state-
s— Rob— X

60 WHAT CAN SHE DOf

ment, "Dey am engaged," replied in a quiet tone of com-
mand:

**Take that card to Miss Edith."

Even Hannibal's sovereignty broke down before this
persistent, imperturbable visitor, and scratching his head
with a perplexed grin he half soliloquized, half replied:

'^Miss Edith mighty 'ticlar to hab her orders obeyed."

**I am the best judge in this case," was the decisive re-
sponse. **You take the card and I will be responsible."

Hannibal came to the conclusion that for some occult
reason the gentleman, who was well known to him, had a
right to pronounce the *'open sesame" where the portal
had been remained closed to all others, and, being a diplo-
matist, resolved to know more fully the quarter of the wind
before assuming too much. But his statecraft was sorely
puzzled to know why one of Mr. Allen's under-clerks
should suddenly appear in the role of social caller upon
the young ladies, for Mr. Fox, the gentleman in question,
ostensibly had no Higher position. His appearance and
manner indicated a mystery. Old Hannibal's wool had not
grown white for nothing, and he was the last man in the
world to go through a mystery as a blundering bumblebee
would through a spider's web. He was for leaving the web
all intact till he knew who spun it and whom it was to
catch. If it was Mr. Allen's work or Miss Edith's, it must
stand; if not, he could play bumblebee with a vengeance,
and carry ofi the gossamer of intrigue with one sweep.

So, showing Mr. Fox into a small reception room, he
made his way to the library door with a motion that would
have reminded you of a great, stealthy cat, and called in
a loud, impressive whisper:

''Miss Edith I"

Edith at once rose and went to him, knowing that her
prime minister had some important question of state to
present when summoning her in that tone. '^

Screened by the library door, Hannibal commenced in
a deprecating way:

THE SKIES DAEKENING 51

*'I told Mr. Fox you'se engaged, but he say I must give
you dis card. He kinder acted as if he own dis niggar and
de whole establishment/'

A sudden heavy frown drew Edith's dark eyebrows to-
gether and she said loud enough for Mr. Fox in his ambush
to hear:

*'Was there ever such impudence!" and straightway the
frown passed to the listener, intensified, like a flying cloud
darkening one spot now and another a moment later.

^'Beturn the card, and say I am engaged," she said
haughtily. *'Stay," she added thoughtfully. ** Perhaps he
wished to see papa, or there is some important business
matter which needs immediate attention. If not, dismiss
him," and Edith returned to the library quite as much
puzzled as Hannibal had been. Two or three times recently
she had found Mr. Fox's card on returning from evenings
out. Why had he called? She had only a cool, bowing
acquaintance with him, formed by his coming occiasionally
to see her father on business, and her father had not thought
it worth while to formally introduce Mr. Fox to any of his
family at such times; but had treated him as a sort of upper
servant. Her certainly was putting on strange airs, as her old
grand- vizier had intimated. But in the game of cards, and
her other little game with Gus, she soon forgot his existence.

Meantime Hannibal, reassured, was regal again, and
marched down the marble hall with something like the
feeling and bearing of his great namesake. If there were
a web here, the Aliens were not spinning it, and he owed
Mr. Fox nothing but a slight grudge for his **airs."

Therefore with the manner of one feeling himself master
of the situation he said:

**Hab you a message for Mr. Allen?"

*'No," replied Mr. Fox quietly.

**Den I tell you again Miss Edith am engaged."

Looking straight ipto Hannibal's eyes, without a muscle
changing in his impassive face, Mr. Fox said in the steady
tone of command :

52 WHAT CAN SHE DOf

*^Say to Miss Edith I will call again/' and he passed out
of the door as if he were master of the situation.

Hannibal rolled up his eyes till nothing but the whites
were seen, and muttered:

''Brass ain't no name for it/'

Mr. Fox's action can soon be explained. Mr. Allen,
while accustomed to operate largely in Wall Street through
his brokers, was also the head of a cloth-importing firm.
This in fact had been his regular and legitimate business,
but like so many others he had been drawn into the vortex
of speculation, and after many lucky hits had acquired that
overweening confidence that prepares the way for a fall.
He came to believe that he had only to put his hand to a
thing to give it the needful impulse to success. In his
larger and more exciting operations in Wall Street he had
left the cloth business mainly to his junior partners and
dependants, they employing his capital. Mr. Fox was
merely a clerk in this establishment, and not in very high
standing either. He was also another unwholesome product
of metropolitan life. As office boy among the lawyers, as
a hanger-on of the criminal courts, he had scrambled into
a certain kind of legal knowledge and had gained a small
pettifogging practice when an opening in Mr. Allen's busi-
ness led to his present connection. Mr. Allen felt that in
his varied and extended business he needed a man of Mr.
Fox's stamp to deal with the legal questions that came up,
look after the intricacies of the revenue laws, and manage
the immaculate saints of the custom-house. As far as the
firm had dirty, disagreeable, perplexing work to do, Mr.
Fox was to do it. Whenever it came in contact with the
majesty (?) of the law and government, Mr. Fox was to
represent it. Whenever some Israelite in whom was guile
sought, on varied pretext, to wriggle out of the whole or
part of a bill, the wary Mr. Fox met him on his own plane
and with his own weapons, skirmished with him, and won
the little tight.

I would not for a moment give the impression that Mr.

THE SKIES DARKENING 68

illen was in favor of sharp practice. He merely wislied to
ionduct his business on the business principles and practice
>f the day, and it was not his purpose, and certainly not his
policy, to pass beyond the law. But even the judges dis-
agree as to what the law is, and he was dealing with many
who thrived by evading it; therefore the need of a nimble
Mr. Fox who could burrow and double on his tracks with
the best of them. All went well for years, and the firm was
saved many an annoyance, many a loss, and if this guerilla
of the house, as perhaps we may term him, had been as de-
voted to Mr. AUen^s interests as to his own, all might have
gone well to the end. But these very sharp tools are apt to
cut both ways, and so it turned out in this case. The astute
Mr. Fox determined to serve Mr. Allen faithfully as long as
he could faithfully and pre-eminently serve himself. If he
who had scrambled from the streets to his present place
of power could reach a higher position by stepping on the
great rich merchant, such power would have additional satis-
faction. He was as keen-scented after money as Mr. Allen,
only the latter hunted like a lion, and the former like a fox.
He mastered Mr. Allen's business thoroughly in all its
details. Until recently no opportunity had occurred save
work which, though useful, caused him to be half-despised
by the others who would not or could not do it But of
late he had gained a strong vantage point He watched
with intense interest Mr. Allen's attraction toward, and
entrance upon, a speculation that he knew to be as un-
certain of issue as it was large in proportions, for, if
the case ever became critical, he was conscious of the
power of introducmg a very important element into the
problem.

In his care of the custom-house business he had discov-
ered technical violations of the revenue laws which already
involved the loss to the firm of a million dollars, and, with
his peculiar loyalty to himself, thought this knowledge
ought to be worth a great deal. As Mr. Allen went down
into the deep waters of Wall Street, he saw that it might

64 WHAT CAN SHE DOf

be. In saving his employer from wreck he might virtually
become captain of the ship.

After this brief delineation of character, it would strike
the reader as very incoogruous to say that Mr. Fox had
fallen in love with Edith. Mr. Fox never stumbled or fell.
He could slide down and scramble up to any extent, and
when cornered could take a flying leap like that of a cat
But he had been greatly impressed by Edith's beauty, and
to win her also would be an additional and piquant feature
in the game. He had absolute confidence in money, much
of which he might have gained from Mr. Allen himself.
He knew a million of her father's money was in his power,
and this, in a certain sense, placed him in the position of
a suitor worth a million, and such he knew to be almost
omnipotent on the avenue. If this money could also be the
means of causing Mr. Allen's ruin, or saving him from it,
he believed that Edith would be his as truly as the bonds
and certificates of stock that he often counted and gloated
over. Even before Mr. Allen entered on what he called his
great and final operation for the present, Mr. Fox was half
inclined to show his hand and make the most of it, but
within the last few days he had learned that perhaps a
greater opportunity was opening before him. Meantime
in the full consciousness of power he had begun to call on
Edith, as we have seen, something as a cat plays around
and watches a caged bird, which it expects to have in its
claws before long.

The next morning at breakfast Edith mentioned Mr.
Fox's recent calls.

**What is he coming here for?" growled Mr. Allen,
looking with a frown at his daughter.

'*I'm sure I don't know."

*'I hope you don't see him."

** Certainly not I was out the first two times, and last
night sent word that I was engaged. But he insisted on
his card being given to me and put on airs generally, so
Hannibal seems to think."

THE SKIES DARKENING 66

That dignitary gave a confirming and indignant grujit

**He said he would call again, didn't he, Hannibal?''

**Yes'm," blurted Hannibal, **and he looked as if de
next time he'd put us all in his breeches pocket and carry
us off."

** What's Fox up to now?" muttered Mr. Allen, knitting
his brows. **I must look into this."

But even within a few hours the cloud land of Wall Street
had changed some of its aspects. The serenity of the pre-
ceding day was giving place to indications of a disturbance
in the finanical atmosphere. He had to buy more stock to
keep the control he was gaining on the market, and things
were not shaping favorably for its rise. He was already
carrying a tremendous load, and even his herculean shoul-
ders began to feel the burden. In the press and rush of
business he forgot about Fox's social ambition in venturing
to call where such men as Van Dam and Gus Elliot had
undisputed rights.

Those upon whom society lays its hands are orthodox
of course.

The wary Pox was watching the stock market as closely
as Mr. Allen, and chuckled over the aspect of affairs; and
he concluded to keep quietly out of the way a little longer,
and await further developments.

Things moved rapidly as they usually do in the mael-
strom of speculation. Though Mr. Allen was a trained
athlete in business, the strain upon him grew 'greater day
by day. But true to his promise, and in accordance with
his habit of promptness, he transferred the deed for the
little place in the country to Edith, who gloated over its
dry technicalities as if they were full of romantic hope and
suggestion to her.

One day when alone with Laura, Mr. Allen asked her
suddenly:

**Has Mr. Goulden made any formal proposal yet?"

With rising color Laura answered:

'»No."

66 WHAT CAN SHE DOt

**Why not? He seems very slow about it*'

'*I hardly know how you expect me to reply to such a
question/' said Laura, a little haughtily.

**Is he as attentive as ever?'*

**Yes, I suppose so, though he has not called quite so
often of late. ' '

** Humph I" ejaculated Mr. Allen meditatively, adding
after a moment, * 'Can't you make him speak out?"

**You certainly don't mean me to propose to him?"
asked Laura, reddening.

**No, no, no!" said her father with some irritation, '*but
any clever woman can make a man who has gone as far as
Mr. Goulden commit himself whenever she chooses. Your
mother would have had the thing settled long ago, or else
would have enjoyed the pleasure of refusing him."

'^I am not mistress of that kind of finesse," said Laura
coldly.

**Yott are a woman," replied her father coolly, *'and
don't need any lessons. It would be well for us both if you
would exert your native power in this case."

Laura glanced keenly at her father and asked quickly:

"What do you mean?"

"Just what I say. A word to the wise is sufficient."

Having thus indicated to his daughter that phase of Wall
Street tactics and principles that could be developed on the
avenue, he took himself ofiE to the central point of operations.

TBS STORM THBEATENING 67

CHAPTER V

THE STORM THREATENING

LAUBA had a better motive than that suggested by
her father for wishing to lead Mr. Ooulden to com-
mit himself, for as far as she could love any one
beyond herself she loved him, and she also realized fully
that he could continue to her all that her elegant and ex-
pensive tastes craved. Notwithstanding her show of maid-
enly pride and reserve, she was ready enough to do as she
had been bidden. Mr. Allen guessed as much. Indeed,
as was quite natural, his wife was the type of the average
woman to his mind, only he believed that she was a little
cleverer in these matters than the majority. The manner
in which she had "hooked'* him made a deep and lasting
impression on his memory.

But Mr. Goulden was a wary fish. He had no objection
to being hooked if the conditions were all right, and until
satisfied as to these he would play around at a safe distance.
As he saw Mr. Allen daily getting into deeper water, he
grew more cautious. His calls were not quite so frequent.
He managed never to be with Laura except in company
with others, and while his manner was very complimentary
it was never exactly lover-like. Therefore, all Laura's
feminine diplomacy was in vain, and that which a woman
can say frankly the moment a man speaks, she could scarcely
hint. Moreover, Mr. Goulden was adroit enough to chill her
heart while he flattered her vanity. There was something
about his manner she could not understand, but it was im-
possible to take offence at the polished gentleman.

58 WHAT CAN SHE DO f

Her father understood him better. He saw that Mr.
Goulden had resolved to settle the question on financial
principles only.

As the chances diminished of securing him indirectly
through Laura as a prop to his tottering fortunes, he at
last came to the conclusion to try to interest him directly
in his speculation, feeling sure if he could control only a
part of Mr. Goulden* s large means and credit, he could
carry his operation through successfully.

Mr. Goulden warily listened to the scheme, warily
weighed it, and concluded within the brief compass of Mr.
Allen's explanation to have nothing to do with it. But his
outward manner was all deference and courteous attention.

At the end of Mr. Allen's rather eager and rose-colored
statements, he replied in politest and most regretful tones
that he ''was very sorry he could not avail himself of so
promising an opening, but in fact, he was 'in deep' himself
—carrying all he could stand up under very well, and was
rather in the borrowing than in the lending line at present."

Keen Mr. Allen saw through all this in a moment, and
his face flushed angrily in spite of his efforts at self-control.
Muttering something to the effect:

''I thought I would give you a chance to make a good
thing," he bade a rather abrupt "good- morning."

As the pressure grew heavier upon him he was led to do
a thing the suggestion of which a few weeks previously he
would have regarded as an insult. Mrs. Allen had a snug
little property of her own, which had been secured to her
on first mortgages, and in bonds that were quiet and safe.
These her husband held in trust for her,' and now pledged
them as collateral on which to borrow money to carry
through his gigantic operation. In respect to part of this
transaction, Mrs. Allen was obliged to sign a paper which
might have revealed to her the danger involved, but she
languidly took the pen, yawned, and signed away the re-
sult of her father's long years of toil without reading a line.

"There," she said, "I hope you will not bother me about

THE STORM THREATENING 59

busineflfl again. Now in regard to this party — ' * and she waa
about to enter into an eager discussion of all the complicated
details, when her husband, interrupting, said:

'* Another time, my dear — I am very much pressed by
business at present.**

'*0h, business, nothing but business," whined his wife.
**You never have time to attend to me or your family.*'

But Mr. Allen was out of hearing of the querulous tones
before the sentence was finished.

Of course he never meant that his wife should lose a
cent, and to satisfy his conscience, and impressed by his
danger, he resolved that as soon as h« was out of this quak-
ing morass of speculation he would settle on his wife and
each daughter enough to secure them in wealth through
life, and arrange it in such a way that no one could touch
the principal.

The large sum that he now secured eased up matters and
helped him greatly, and affairs began to wear a brightening
aspect. He felt sure that the stock he had invested in was
destined to rise in time, and indeed it already gave evidences
of buoyancy. He noticed with aa inward chuckle that Mr.
Goulden began to call a little of tener. He was the best finan-.
cial barometer in Wall Street

But the case would require the most adroit and delicate
management for weeks still, and this Mr. Allen could have
given. Success also depended on a favorable state of the
money market, and a good degree of stability and quietness
throughout the financial world. Political changes in Eu-
rope, a war in Asia, heavy failures in Liverpool, London,
or Paris, might easily spoil all. Reducing Mr. Allen's
vast complicated operation to its final analysis, he had sim-
ply bet several millions — ^all he had — that nothing would
happen throughout the world that could interfere with a
scheme so problematical that the chances could scarcely be
called even.

But gambling is occasionally successful, and it began to
look as if Mr. Allen would win his bet; and so he might

60 WHAT CAN SHE DOf

had nothing happened. The world was quiet enough, re-
markably quiet, considering the superabundance of explo-
sive elements everywhere.

The financial centres seethed on as usual, like a witch's
caldron, but there were no infernal ebullitions in the form
of '* Black Fridays.'* The storm that threatened to wreck
Mr. Allen was no wide, sweeping tempest, but rather one
of those little local whirlwinds that sometimes in the west
destroy a farm or township.

For the last few weeks Mr. Fox had quietly watched the
game, matured his plans, and secured his proof in the best
legal form. He now concluded it was time to act, as he be-
lieved Mr. Allen to be in his power. So one morning he
coolly walked into that gentleman's office, closed the door,
and took a seat. Mr. Allen looked up with an expression
of surprise and annoyance on his face. He instinctively
disliked Mr. Fox, as a lion might be irritated by a cat, and
the instinctive enmity was all the stronger because of a cer-
tain family likeness. But Mr. Allen's astuteness had noth-
ing mean or cringing in it, while Mr. Fox heretofore had
been a sort of Uriah Heep to him. Therefore his surprise
and annoyance at his new r61e of cool confidence.

"Well, sir," said he, rather impatiently, returning to his
writing, as a broad hint that communications must be brief
if made at all.

**Mr. Allen," said Mr. Fox, in that clear-cut, decisive
tone, that betokens resolute purpose, and a little anger
also **I must request you to give me your undivided at-
tention for a little time, and surely what I am about to say
is important enough to make it worth the while."

Though Mr. Allen flushed angrily, he knew that his
clerk would not employ such a tone and manner without
reason, so he raised his head and looked steadily at his un-
welcome visitor and again said briefly:

*'Well, sir?"

"I wish, in the first place," said Mr. Fox, thinking to
begin with the least important exaction, and gradually

THE STORM THREATENING 61

reach a climax in his extortion, ^'I wish permission to
pay my addresses to your daughter Miss Edith/'

Knowing nothing of a father's pride and affection, he
had unwittingly brought in the climax first

The angry flush deepened on Mr. Allen's face, but he
still managed to control himself, and to remember that the
father of three pretty daughters must expect some scenes
like these, and that the only thing to do was to get rid of
the objectionable suitors as civilly as possible. He was
also too much of an American to put on any of the high-
tstepping airs of the European aristocracy. Here it is sim-
ply one sovereign proposing for the daughter of another,
and generally the young people practically arrange it all
before asking any consent in the case. After all, Mr. Fox
had only paid his daughter the highest compliment in his
power, and if any other of his clerks had made a similar
request he would probably have given as kind and delicate
a refusal as possible. It was because he disliked Mr. Fox,
and instinctively gauged his character, that he said with a
short, dry laugh:

**Oome, Mr. Fox, you are forgetting yourself. You
have been a useful employ^ in my store. If you feel that
you should have more salary, name what will satisfy you,
and I will consult my partners, and try and arrange it." —
"There," thought he, "if he can't take that hint as to his
place, I shall have to ^Ive him a kick." But both surprise
and anger began to get the better of him when Mr. Fox
replied:

"I must really beg your closer attention; 1 said nothing
of increased salary. You will soon see that is no object
with me now. I asked your permission to pay my ad-
dresses to your daughter."

"I decline to give it," said Mr. Allen, harshly, **and if
I hear any more of this nonsense I will discharge you from
my employ."

'*Why?" was the quiet response, yet spoken with the
intensity of passion.

62 WHAT CAN SHE DO f

** Because I never would permit my daughter to marry
a man in your circumstances, and, if you will have it, you
are not the style of a man I would wish to take into my
family."

'*lf a man who was worth a million asked for your
daughter's hand would you answer him in this man-
ner?'*

"Perhaps not," said Mr. Allen, with another of his
short, dry laughs, which expressed little save irritation,
*'but you have my answer as respects yourself."

*'I am not so sure of that," was the bold retort. *'I am
practically worth a million — indeed several millions to you,
as you are now situated. You have talked long enough in
the dark, Mr. Allen. For some time back there have been
in your importations violations of the revenue laws. I have
only to give the facts in my possession to the proper authori-
ties and the government would legally claim from you a mil-
lion of dollars, of which I should get half. So you see that
I am positively worth five hundred thousand, and to you I
am worth a million with respect to this item alone.'*

Mr. Allen sprang excitedly to his feet. Mr. Fox coolly
got up and edged toward the door, which he had purposely
left unlatched.

** Moreover," continued Mr. Fox, in his hard metallio
voice, **in view of your other operations in Wall Street,
which I know all about, the loss of a million would involve
the loss of all you have."

Mr. Fox now had his hand on the door-knob, and Mr.
Allen was glaring at him as if purposing to rush upon him
and rend him to pieces.

Standing in the passageway, Mr. Fox concluded, in a
low, meaning tone:

"You had better make terms with me within twenty-
four hours."

And the door closed sharply, reminding one of the shut-
ting of a steel trap.

Mr. Allen sank suddenly back in his chair and stared at

THE STORM THREATENING 68

the closed door, looking as if he were a prisoner and all es-
cape out off.

He seemed to be in a lethargy or under a partial pa-
ralysis; he slowly and weakly rubbed his head with his
hand, as if vaguely conscious that the trouble was there.

Gradually the stupor began to pass off, his blood to cir-
culate, and his mind to realize the situation.

fiising feebly, as if a sudden age had fallen on him, he
went to the door and gave orders that he must not be dis-
turbed, and then sat down to think. Half an hour later he
sent for his lawyer, stated the case to him, enjoined secrecy,
and asked him to see Fox, hoping that it might be a case of
mere blackmailing bravado. Keen as Mr. Allen's lawyer
was, he had more than his match in the astute Mr. Fox.
Moreover the latter had everything in his favor. There
had been a slight infringement of the revenue laws, and
though involving but small loss to the government, the
consequences were the same. The invoice would be con-
fiscated as soon as the i&cts were known. Mr. Fox had
secured ample proof of this.

Mr. Alien might be able to prove that there was no
intention to violate the law, as indeed there had not been.
In fact, he had left those matters to his subordinates, and
they had been a little careless, averaging matters, content-
ing themselves with complying with the general intent of
the law, rather than, with painstaking care, conforming to
its letter. But the law is very matter-of-fact, and can be
excessively literal when money is to be made by those who
live by enforcing or evading it, as may suit them. Mr. Fox
could carry his case, if he pressed it, and secure his share of
the plunder. On account of a very slight loss, Mr. Allen
might be compelled to lose a million.

Before the day's decline the lawyer had asked Mr. Fox
to take no further steps, stating vaguely that Mr. Allen
would look into the matter, and would not be unreasonable.

A sardonic grin gave a momentary lurid hue to Mr. Fox's
sallow face. Knowing the game to be in his own hands, he

64 WHAT CAN SHE DO f

could quietly bide his time; so, asBuming a tone of much
moderation and dignity, he replied, he had no wish to be
hard, and could be reasonable also. ^*But,'' added he, in a
meaning tone, *' there must be no double work in this mat-
ter. Mr. Allen must see what I am worth to him — nothing
could be plainer. His best policy now is to act promptly
and liberally toward me, for I pledge you my word that if
I see any disposition to evade my requirements I will blow
out the bottom of everything,'* and a snaky glitter in his
small black eyes showed how remorselessly he could scuttle
the ship bearing Mr. Allen's fortunes.

A speedy investigation showed Mr. Fox's fatal power,
and Mr. Allen's partners were for paying him oflE, but when
they found that he exacted an interest in the business that
quite threw them into the background, they were indignant
and inclined to fight it out. Mr. Allen could not tell them
that he was in no condition to fight. If his financial status
had been the same as some weeks previously, he would
rather have lost the million than have listened one moment
to Mr. Fox's repulsive conditions, but now to risk litigation
and commercial reputation on one hand, and total ruin on
the other, was an abyss from which he shrank back appalled.

His only resource was to temporize, both with bis part-
ners and Mr. Fox, and so gain time, hoping that the Wall
Street scheme, that had caused so much evil, might also
cure it. Of course he could not tell his partners how he
was situated. The slightest breath of suspicion might cause
the evenly balanced scales in which hung all chances to
hopelessly decline. The speculation now promised well.

If he could only keep things quiet a little longer —

Edith must help him. Calling her into the library after
dinner, he asked:

*'Has Mr. Fox called lately ?"

**No, sir, not for some little time."

"Will you oblige me by seeing him and being civil if he
calls again?"

** Why, papa, I thought you did not wish me to see him."

THE STORM THREATENING 66

** Circumstances have altered since then. Is he very dis-
agreeable to you ?''

"Well, papa, I have scarcely thought of him, but to tell
you the truth when he has been here on business I have in-
voluntarily thought of a mousing cat, or the animal he is
named after on the scent of a hen-roost But of course
I can be civil or even polite to him if you wish it."

A spasm of pain crossed her father's face and he put his
hand hastily to his head, a frequent act of late. He rosie
and took a few turns up and down the room, muttering:

"Curse it all, I must tell her. Half knowledge is always
dangerous, and is sure to lead to blunders, and there must
be no blunders now."

Stopping abruptly before his daughter, he said, "He has
proposed for your hand."

An expression of disgust flitted across Edith's face, and
she replied quickly:

"We both have surely but one answer to such a proposi-
tion from Aim."

"Edith, you seem to have more sense in regard to busi-
ness and such matters than most young ladies. I must now
test you, and it is for you to show whether you are a woman
or a shallow-brained girl. I am sorry to tell you these
things. They are not suited to your age or sex, but there
is no help for it," and he explained how he was situated.

Edith listened with paling cheek, dilating eyes, and part-
ing lips, but still with rising courage and a growing purpose
to help her father.

"I do not wish you to marry this villain," he continued.
"Heaven forbid I" (Not that Mr. Allen referred this or any
other matter to Heaven; it was only a strong way of ex-
pressing his own disapproval.) "But we must manage to
temporize and keep this man at bay till I can extricate
myself from my difficulties. As soon as I stand on firm
ground I will defy him."

To Edith, with her standard of morality, the course indi-
cated by her father seemed eminently filial and praisewor-

66 WHAT CAN SHE DOf

thy. The thought of marrying Mr. Fox made her flesh
creep, but a brief flirtation was another affair. She had
flirted not a little in her day for the mere amusement of the
thing, and with the motives her father had presented she
could do it in this case as if it were an act of devotion. Of
the pure and lofty morality of the Bible she had as little
idea as a Persian houri, and rugged Iloman virtue could not
develop in the social atmosphere in which the Aliens lived.
It was with a clear conscience that she resolved to beguile
Mr. Fox, and signified as much to her father.

**Play him off,'' said this model father, *'a8 Mr. Goulden
does Laura. Curse him I — how I would like to slam the
front door in his face. But my time may come yet," he
added with set teeth.

That morning Mr. Allen sent for Mr. Fox, as he dared
brave him no longer without some defiriite show of yielding,
in order to keep back his fatal disclosures. With a dignity
and formality scarcely in keeping with his fear and the
import of his words, he said:

''I have considered your statements, sir, and admit their
weight. As I informed you through my lawyer, I wish to
be reasonable and hope you intend to be the same, for these
are very grave matters. In regard to my daughter, you
have my permission to call upon her as do her other gentle-
man friends, and she will receive you. In this land, that is
all the vantage-ground a gentleman asks, as indeed it is all
that can be granted. I am not the King of Dahomey or the
Shah of Persia, and able to give my daughters where inter-
est may dictate. A lady's inclination must be consulted*
But I give you the permission you ask; you may pay your
addresses to my daughter. You could scarcely ask a father
to say more."

*'It matters little to me what you or others say, but much
what they do. My action shall be based upon yours and
Miss Edith's. I have learned in your employ the value of
promptness in all business matters. I hope you under-
stand me."

THE STORM rHREATENINO 67

*'I do, sir, but there can be no indecent haste in these
matters. In gaining the important position — in assuming
the relations you desire — there should be some show of dig-
nity, otherwise society would be disgusted, and you would
lose the respect which should follow such vast acquire-
ments.*'

** Where I can secure the whole cloth, I shall not worry
about the selvage of etiquette and passing opinion," was
Mr. Fox's cynical reply.

Mr. Allen could not prevent an expression of intense
disgust from coming out upon his face, and he replied with
some heat:

"Well, sir, something is due to my own position, and I
cannot treat my daughter like a bale of cloth, as you suggest
in your figuratiTe speech. However," he added, warily,
''I will take the necessary steps as soon as possible, and will
trespass upon your time no longer."

As Mr. Fox glided out of the office with his sardonic
smile, Mr. Allen felt for the moment that he would rather
become bankrupt than make terms with him.

Meanwhile the month of February was rapidly passing,
though each day was an age of anxiety and suspense to Mr.
Allen. The tension was too much for him, and he evidently
aged and failed under it. He drank more than he ate, and
his temper wa» very variable. From his wife he only re-
ceived chidings and complaints that in his horrid "mania
for business" he was neglecting her and his family in gen-
eral. She could never get him to sit down and talk sensibly
of the birthday and d^but party that was now so near. He
would always say, testily, "Manage it to suit yourselves."

Laura and Zell were too much wrapped up in their own
affairs to give much thought to anything else. But Edith,
of late, understood her father and felt deeply for him. One
evening finding him sitting dejectedly alone in the library
after dinner, she said:

"Why go on with this party, papa? I am sure I am
ready to give it up if it will be any relief to you."

68 WHAT CAN SHE DOf

The heart of this strong, qonfident man of the world was
sore and lonely. For perhaps the first time he felt the need
of support and sympathy. He drew his beautiful daughter,
whom thus far he had scarcely more than admired, down
upon his lap and buried his face upon her shoulder. A
breath of divine impulse swept aside for a moment the sti-
fling curtains of his sordid life, and he caught a glimpse
of the large happy realm of love.

** And would you really give up anything for the sake of
your old father?" he asked in a low tone.

** Everything,** cried Edith, much moved by the unusual
display of affection and feeling on the part of her father.

"The others would not," said he bitterly.

"Indeed, papa, I think they would if they only knew.
We would all do anything to see you your old jovial self
again. Give up this wretched struggle; tell Mr. Fox to
do his worst I am not afraid of being poor; 1 am sure
we could work up again."

"You know nothing about poverty," sighed her father.
"When you are down, the world that bowed at your feet
will run over and trample on you. I have seen it so often,
but never thought of danger to me and mine."

"But this party," said the practical Edith, "why not
give this up? It will cost a great deal."

"By no means give it up," said her father. "It may
help me very much. My credit is everything now. The
appearance of wealth which such a display insures will do
much to secure the wealth. I am watched day and night,
and must show no sign of weakness. Go on with the party
and make it as brilliant as possible. If I fail, two or three
thousand will make no difference, and it may help me to
succeed. Whatever strengthens my credit for the next few
days is everything to me. My stock is rising, only it is too
slow. Things look better— if I could only gain time. But
I am very uneasy — ^my head troubles me," and he put his
hand to his head, and Edith remembered how often she had
seen him do that of late.

THE STORM THREATENING 69

*'By the way/' said he, abruptly, '*tell me how you get
on with Mr. Fox/'

^*0h, never mind about that now; do rest a little, mind
and body."

**No, tell me," said her father sharply, showing how
little control he had over himself.

**Well, I thinlc I have beaten him so far. He is very
demonstrative, and acts as if I belonged to him. Did I not
manage to always meet him in company with others, he
would come at once to an open declaration. As it is, I
cannot prevent it much longer. He is coming this even<
ing, and I fear he will press matters. He seems to think
that the asking is a mere form, and that our extremity will
leave no choice."

**You must avoid him a little longer. Gome, we will go
to the theatre, and then you might be sick for a few days."

In a few minutes they were oflE, and were scarcely well
away when Mr. Fox, dressed in more style than he could
carry gracefully, appeared.

^'Miss £dith am out," said Hannibal loftily.

'*I half believe you lie," muttered Mr, Fox, looking
very black.

**Sarch de house, sah. It am a berry gentlemanly pro-
ceeding."

** Where has she gone? and whom did she go with?"

**I hab no orders to say," said Hannibal, looking fixedly
at the ceiling of the vestibule.

The knightly suitor turned on his heel, muttering, *'They
are playing me false."

'Twas a pity, and he so true.

The next day Edith was sick and Mr. Allen's stock was
rising. Hannibal again sent Mr. Fox bafiied away, but with
a dangerous gleam in his eyes.

On the following morning Mr. Allen found a note on his
desk. His face grew livid as he read it, and he often put
his hand to his head. He sat down and wrote to this effect,
however:

70 WHAT CAN SHE DOf

«M

*I am arranging the partnership matter as rapidly as
possible. In regard to my daughter you will ruin all if you
show no more discretion. I cannot compel her to marry
you. You may make it impossible to influence her in your
favor. You have been well received. What more can you
ask? A matter of this kind must be arranged delicately/'

Mr. Fox pondered over this with a peculiarly foxy ex-
pression. **It sounds plausible. If I only thought he was
true/' soliloquized this embodiment of truth.

Mr. Allen's stock was higher, and Mr. Fox watched the
rise grimly, but he saw Edith, who was all smiles and gra-
ciousness, and gave him a verbal invitation to her birthday-
party which was to take place early in the following week.

The fellow had not a little vanity, and was insnared, his
suspicions quieted for the time. Valuing money himself
supremely, it seemed most rational that father and daughter
should regard him as the most eligible young man in the
city.

Edith's friends, and Gus in particular, were rather aston-
ished at the new-comer. Laura was frigid and remonstrant,
Zell and Mr. Van Dam satirical, but Edith wilfully tossed
her head and said he was clever and well ofi, and she liked
him well enough to talk to him a little. Society had made
her a good actress. Meanwhile on the Tuesday following
(and this was Friday) the long expected party would take
place.

THE WRECK 71

CHAPTER VI

THE WRECK

ON Saturday Mr. Allen's stock was rising, and he
ventured to sell a little in a quiet way. If he ''un-
loaded" rapidly and openly, he would break down
the market.

Mr. Fox watched events uneasily, Mr. Goulden grew
genial and more pronounced in his attentions. Gus, on
Saturday, showed almost as much solicitude for a decisively
favorable answer as did Mr. Fox, if the language of his eyes
meant anything; but Edith played him and Mr. Fox off
against each other so adroitly that they were learning to
hate each other as cordially as they agreed in admiring her.
Though she inclined in her favor to Mr. Fox, he was sus-
picious from nature, and annoyed at never being able to
see her alone.

As before, they were at cards together in the libraryi
and Edith went for a moment into the parlor to get some-
thing. With the excuse of obtaining it for her, Mr. Fox
followed, and the moment they were alone he seized her
hand and pressed a kiss upon it. An angry flush came into
her face, but by a great effort she so far controlled herself
as to put her finger to her lips and point to the library, as
if her chief anxiety was that the attention of its occupants
should not be excited. Mr. Fox was delighted, though the
angry flush was a little puzzling. But if Edith permitted
that she would permit more, and if her only shrinking was
lest others should see and know at present, that could soon
be overcome. These thoughts passed through his mind

72 WHAT CAN SHE DOf

while the inoensed girl hastily obtained what she wished.
Bat she, feeling that her cheeks were too hot to return im-
mediately to the critical eyes in the. library, passed oat
through the front parlor, that she might have time to be
herself again when she appeared. On what little links
destiny sometimes hangs !

That which changed all her future and that of others —
that involving life and death — occurred in the half moment
occupied in her passing out of the front parlor. The conse-
quences she woald feel most keenly, terribly indeed at
times, though she might never guess the cause. Her act
was a simple, natural one under the circumstances, and yet
it told Mr. Fox, in his cat-like watchfulness, that with all
his cunning he was being made a fool of. The moment
Edith had passed around the sliding door and thought her-
self unobserved, an expression of intense disgust came out
upon her expressive face, and with her lace handkerchief
she rubbed the hand he had kissed, as if removing the slime
of a reptile; and the large mirror at the further end of the
room had faithfully reflected the suggestive little panto-
mime. He saw and understood all in a flash.

No words could have so plainly told her feeling toward
him, and he was one of those reptiles that could sting re-
morselessly in revenge. The nature of the imposition prac-
ticed upon him, and the fact that it was partially successful
and might have been wholly so, cut him in the sorest spot.
He who thought himself able to cope with the shrewdest
and most artful had been overreached by a girl, and he
saw at that moment that her purpose to beguile him long
enough for Mr. Allen to extricate himself from his diflSicul-
ties might have been successful. He had had before an
uneasy consciousness that he ought to act decisively, and
now he knew it.

**I'm a fool — a cursed fool," he muttered, speaking the
truth for once, *'but it's not too late yet.'*

His resolution was taken instantly, but when Edith ap-
peared after a moment in the library, smiling and affable

THE WRECK 78

again, lie seemed in good spirits also, but there was a steely,
serpent-like glitter in his eyes, that made him more repul-
siv^e than ever. But he stayed as late as the others, know-
ing that it might be his last evening at the Aliens'. For
Edith had said as part of her plan for avoiding Mr. Fox:

*' We shall be too busy to see any company till Tuesday
evening, and then we hope to see you all."

Her sisters had assented, expecting that it would be the
case.

With a refinement of malice, Mr. Fox sought to give
general annoyance, by a polite insolence toward the others,
which they with diflSiculty ignored, and a lover- like gallantry
toward Edith, which was like nettles to Gus, and nauseating
to her; but she did not dare resent it He could at least
torment her a little longer.

At last all were gone, and her father coming in from his
club said, drawing her aside:

'*A11 right yet?"

** Yes, but I hope the ordeal will be over soon, or I shall
die with disgust, or, like some I have read of in fairy stories,
be kjUed by a poisonous breath."

''Keep it up a little longer, that is a good, brave girl.
I think that by another week we shall be able to defy him,"
said her father in cheerful tones. ''If my stock rises as much
in the next few days as of late, I shall soon be on terra
firma.

If he had known that the mine beneath his feet was
loaded, and the fuse fired, his full face would have become
as pale as it was florid with wine and the dissipation of the
evening.

Monday morning came — all seemed quiet His stock
was rising so rapidly that he determined to hold on a
little longer.

Goulden met and congratulated him, saying that he had
bought a little himself, and would take more if Mr. Allen
would sell, as now he was easier in funds than when spoken
to before on the subject
i^RoE— X

74 WHAT CAN SHE DOf

Mr. Allen replied rather coldly that he would not sell
any stock that day.

Mr. Fox kept out of the way, and quietly attended to his
routine as usual, but there was a sardonic smile on his face,
as if he were gloating over some secret evil.

Tuesday, the long-expected day that the Aliens believed
would make one of the most brilliant epochs in their history,
dawned in appropriate brightness. The sun dissipated the
few opposing clouds and declined in undimmed splendor,
and Edith, who alone had fears and forebodings, took the
day as an omen that the storm had passed, and that better
days than ever were coming.

Invitations by the hundred, with imposing monogram
and coat-of-arms, had gone out, and acceptances had flowed
back in full current. All that lavish expenditure could
secure in one of the most luxurious social centres of the
world had been obtained without stint to make the enter-
tainment perfect.

But one knew that it might become like Belshazzar's
feast.

The avalanche often hangs over the Alpine passes so
that a loud word will bring it whirling down upon the hap-
less traveller. The avalanche of ruin, impending over Mr.
Allen, was so delicately poised that a whisper could precipi-
tate its crushing weight, and that whisper had been spoken.

All the morning of Tuesday his stock was rising, and he
resolved that on the morning after the party he would com-
mence selling rapidly, and, so far from being bankrupt, he
would realize much of the profit that he had expected.

But a rumor was floating through the afternoon papers
that a well-known merchant, eminent in financial and social
circles, had been detected in violating the revenue laws,
and that the losses which such violation would involve to
him would be immense. The stock market, more sensitive
than a belle's vanity, paused to see what it meant. One of
Mr. Allen's partners of the cloth house brought a paper to
him. He grew pale as he read it, put his hand suddenly

THE WRECK 75

to his head, but after a moment seemingly found his voioe
and said:

*' Could Fox have been so dastardly ?"

His partner shrugged his shoulder as much as to say,
'*Fox could do anything in that line."

Mr. Allen sent for Fox, but he could not be found. In
the meantime the stock market closed and the rise of his
stock was evidently checked for the moment.

By reason of the party, Mr. Allen had to return uptown,
but he arranged with his partner to remain and if anything
new developed to send word by special messenger.

By eight o'clock the Allen mansion on Fifth Avenue
was all aglow with light By nine, carriages began to roll
up to the awning that stretched from the heavy arched door-
way across the sidewalk, and ladies that would soon glide
through the spacious rooms in elegant drapery, now seemed
misshapen bundles in their wrapping, and gathered up
dresses as they hurried out of the publicity of the street.
The dressing-rooms where the spheroidal bundles were
undergoing metamorphose became buzzing centres of life.

Before the long pier glasses there was a marshalling of
every charm, real or borrowed (more correctly bought), in
view of the hoped-for conquests of the evening, and it would
seem that not a few went on the military maxim that suc-
cess is often*secured by putting on as bold a front, and
making as great and startling display, as possible. But as
fragrant, modest flowers usually bloom in the garden with
gaudy, scentless ones, so those inclined to be bizarre made
an excellent foil for the refined and elegant, and thus had
their uses. There is little in the world that is not of value,
looking at it from some point of view.

In another apartment the opposing forces, if we may so
style them, were almost as eagerly investing themselves in —
shall we say charms also ? or rather with the attributes of
manhood ? At any rate the glasses seem quite as anxiously
consulted in that room as in the other. One might almost
imagine them the magic mirrors of prophecy in which

76 . WHAT CAN SHE DO f

anxious eyes caught a glimpse of coming fate. There were
certain youthful belles and beaux who turned away with
open complacent smiles, vanity whispering plainly to them
of noble achievement in the parlors below. There were
others, perhaps not young, who turned away with faces
composed in the rigH and habitual lines of pride. They
were past learning anything from the mirror, or from any
other source that might reflect disparagingly upon them.
Prejudice in their own favor surrounded their minds as with
a Chinese wall. Conceit had become a disease with them,
and those faculties that might have let in wholesome, though
unwelcome, truth were paralyzed.

But the majority turned away not quite satisfied — with
an inward foreboding that all was not as well as it might
be — that critical eyes would see ground for criticism.
Especially was this tru?e of those whom Time's interfering
fingers had pulled somewhat awry, even beyond the remedy
of art, and of those whose bank account, jewels, silks, etc.,
were not quite up to the standard of some others who might
jostle them in the crush. Bealize, my reader, the anguish
of a lady compelled to stand by another lady wearing larger
diamonds than her own, or more point lace, or a longer
train. What will the world think, as under the chandelier
this painful contrast comes out? Such moments of deep
humiliation cause sleepless nights, and the ne^t day result
in bills that become as crushing as criminal indictments to
poor overworked men. Under the impulse of such trying
scenes as these, many a matron has gone forth on Broad-
way with firm lips and eyes in which glowed inexorable
purpose, and placed the gems that would be mill-stones
about her husband's neck on the fat arms or fingers that
might have helped him forward. There are many phases
of heroism, but if you want your breath quite taken away,
go to Tiffany's, and see some large-souled woman, who will
not even count the cost or realize the dire consequences —
see her, like some martyr of the past, who would show to
the world the object of his faith though the heavens fell|

THE WRECK 77

march to the counter, select the costliest, and say in tones
of majesty:

'*Send the bill to my husband!"

'*0h, acme of faith! The martyrs Knew that the Al-
mighty was equal to the occasion. She knows that her
husband is not; yet she trusts, or, what is the same thing
here, gets trusted. Men allied to such women are soon
lifted up to — attics. It is still true that great deeds bring
humanity nearer heaven!

Therefore, my reader, deem it not trivial that I have
paused so long over the Aliens' party. It is philosophical
to trace great events and phenomenal human action to their
hidden causes.

There were also diffident men and maidens who de-
scended into the social arena of Mrs. Allen's parlors, as
awkward swimmers venture into deep water, but this is
fleeting experience in fashionable life. And we sincerely
hope that some believed that the old divine paradox, '*lt
is more blessed to give than to receive," is as true in the
drawing-room as when the contribution-box goes round,
and proposed to enjoy themselves by contributing to the
enjoyment of others, and to see nothing that would tempt
to heroic conduct at Tiffany's the next day.

When the last finishing touches had been given, and
maids and hairdressers stood around in rapt politic breath-
lessness, and were beginning to pass into that stage in which
they might be regarded as exclamation points, Mrs. Allen
and her daughters swept away to take their places at the
head of the parlors in order to receive. They liked the
prelude of applause upstairs well enough, but then it was
only like the tuning of the instruments before the orchestra
fairly opens.

Mrs. Allen, as she majestically took her position, evi-
dently belonged to that class whom pride petrifies. Her
self-complacency on such an occasion was habitual, her
coolness and repose those of a veteran. A nervous crea-
ture upstairs with her family, excitement made her, under

78 WHAT CAN SHE DO f

the eye of society, so steady and self-controlled that she
was like one of the old French marshals who could plan a
campaign under the hottest tire. Her blue eyes grew quite
brilliant and seemed to take in everything. Some natural
color shone where the cosmetics permitted, and her form
seemed to dilate with something more than the mysteries
of French modistes. Her manner and expression said:

"I am Mrs. Allen. We are of an old New York family.
We are very, very rich. This entertainment is immensely
expensive and perfect in kind. I defy criticism. I expect
applause.'*

Of course this was all veiled by society's completest pol-
ish; but still by a close observer it could be seen, just as a
skilful sculptor drapes a form, but leaves its outlines perfect.

Laura was the echo of her mother, modified by the ele-
ment of youth.

Zell fairly blazed. What with sparkling jewelry, flam-
ing cheeks, flashing eyes, and words thrown ofl^ like scintil-
lating sparks, she suggested an exquisite July firework,
burning longer than usual and surprising every one. Ad-
miration followed her like a torrent, and her vanity dilated
without measure as attention and compliments were almost
forced upon her, and yet it was frank, good-natured vanity,
as naturally to be expected in her case as a throng of gaudy
poppies where a handful of seed bad been dropped. Zell's
nature was a soil where good or bad seed would grow vigor-
ously.

Mr. Van Dam was never far off, and watched her with
intent, gloating eyes, saying in self -congratulation:

"What a delicious morsel she will make!" and adding
his mite to the general chorus of flattery by mild assertions
like the following:

**Do you know that there is not a lady present that for a
moment can compare with you ?"

''How delightfully frank he is!'' thought Zell of her dis-
tinguished admirer, who was as open as a quicksand that can
swallow up anything and leave not a trace on its surface.

THE WRECK

79

Edith was quite as beautiful as Zell, but far less brilliant
and pronounced. Though quiet and graceful, she was not
stately like Laura. Her full dark eyes were lustrous rather
than sparkling, and they dwelt shrewdly and comprehend-
ingly on all that was passing, and conveyed their intelli-
gence to a brain that was judging quite accurately of men
and things at a time when so many people '4ose their
heads.*'

Zell was intoxicated by the incense she received. Laura
offered herself so much that she was enshrouded in a thick
cloud of complacency all the time. Edith was told by the
eyes and manner of those around her that she was beaqtifui
and highly favored by wealth and position generally. But
she knew this, as a matter of fact, before, and did not mean
to make a fool of herself on account of it. These points
thoroughly settled and quietly realized, she was in a condi-
tion to go out of herself and enjoy all that was going on.

She was specially elated at this time also, as she had
gathered from her father's words that his danger was nearly
over and that before the week was out they could defy Mr.
Fox, look forward to Europe and bright voyaging generally.

Mr. Allen did not tell her his terrible fear that Mr. Fox
had been a little too prompt, and that crushing disaster
might still be impending. He had said to himself, ''Let
her and all of them make the most of this evening. It may
be the last of the kind that they will enjoy."

The spacious parlors filled rapidly. If lavish expendi-
ture and a large brilliant attendance could insure their en-
joyment, it was not wanting. Flowers in fanciful baskets
on the tables and in great banks on the mantels and in the
fireplaces deservedly attracted much attention and praise,
though the sum expended on their transient beauty was
appalling. Their delicious fragrance mingling with per-
fumes of artificial origin suggested a like intermingling of
the more delicate, subtile, but genuine manifestations of
character, and the graces of mind and manner borrowed
for the occasion.

80 WHAT CAN SHE DOf

The scene was very brilliant There were marvelloufl
toilets^-dresses not beginning as promptly as they should,
perhaps, but seemingly seeking to make up for this defi-
ciency by elegance and costliness, having once commenced.
There was no economy in the train, if there had been in the
waist Therefore gleaming shoulders, glittering diamonds,
the soft radiance of pearls, the sheen of gold, and lustrous
eyse aglow with excitement, and later in the evening, with
wine, gave a general phosphorescent effect to the parlors
that Mrs. Allen recognized, from long experience, as the
sparkling crown of success. So much elegance on the part
of the ladies present would make the party the gem of the
season, and the gentlemen in dark dress made a good black
enamel setting.

There was a confused rustle of silks and a hum of voices,
and now and then a silvery laugh would ring out above these
like the trill of a bird in a breezy grove. Later, light airy
music floated through the rooms, followed by the rhythmic
cadence of feet A thinly clad shivering little match-girl
stopped on her weary tramp to her cellar and caught glimpses
of the scene through the oft-opening door and between the
curtains of the windows. It seemed to her that those glanc-
ing forms were in heaven. Alas for this earthly paradise!

Mr. Fox, with characteristic malice, had managed that
Mr. Allen and perhaps the family should have, as his con-
tribution to the entertainment, the sickening dread which
the news in the afternoon papers would occasion. As the
evening advanced he determined to accept the invitation and
watch the effect He avoided Mr. Allen, and soon gathered
that Edith and the rest knew nothing of the impending blow.
Edith smiled graciously on him; she felt that, like^the sun,
she could shine on all that night But as, in his insolence,
his attentions grew marked, she soon shook him off by per-
mitting Gus Elliot to claim her for a waltz.

Mr. Fox glided around, Mephistopheles-like, gloating on
the sinister changes that he would soon occasion. He was
to succeed even better than he dreamed.

THE WRECK 81

The evening went forward with music and dancing, dis-
cussing, disparaging, flirting, and skirmishing, culminating
in numbers and brilliancy as some gorgeous flower might
expand; and seemingly it would have ended by the gay
company's rustling departure like the flower, as the varied
colored petals drop away from the stem, had not an event
occurred which was like a rude hand plucking the flower in
its fullest bloom and tearing the petals away in mass.

The magnificent supper had just been demolished. Cham-
pagne had foamed without stint, cause and symbol of the in-
creasing but transient excitement of the occasion. More po-
tent wines and liquors, suggestive of the stronger and deeper
passions that were swaying the mingled throng, had done
their work, and all, save the utterly JZasI, had secured that
noble elevation which it is the province of these grand social
combinations to create. Even Mr. Allen regained his hab-
itual confidence and elevation as his waist-coat expanded
under, or rather over, those means of cheer and consola-
tion which he had so long regarded as the best panacea for
earthly ills. The oppressive sense of danger gave place to
a consciousness of the warm, rosy present Mr. Fox and the
custom-house seemed but the ugly phantoms of a past dream.
Was he not the rich Mr. Allen, the owner of this magnificent
mansion, the cornerstone of this superb entertainment ? If
by reason of wine he saw a little double, he only saw double
homage on every side. He heard in men's tones, and saw
in woman's glances, that any one who could pay for his
surroundings that night was no ordinary person. His wife
looked majestic as she swept through the parlors on the arm
of one of his most distinguished fellow-citizens. Through
the library door he could see Mr. Goulden leaning toward
Laura and saying something that made even her pale face
quite peony-like. Edith, exquisite as a moss-rose, was
about to lead oft in the German in the large front parlor.
Zell was near him, the sparkling centre of a breezy, merry
little throng that had gathered round her^ It seemed that
all that he loved and valued most was grouped around him

82 WHAT CAN SHE DOf

in the guise most attractive to his worldly eyes. In this
moment of unnatural elation hope whispered, ** To-morrow
you can sell your stock, and, instead of failing, increase
your vast fortune, and then away to new scenes, new pleas-
ures, free from the burden of care and fear/' It was at that
moment of false confidence and pride, when in suggestive
words descriptive of the ancient tragedy of. Belshazzar he
''had drank wine and praised the gods of gold and of silver''
which lie had so long worshipped, and which had secured to
him all that so dilated his soul with exultation, that he saw
the handwriting, not of shadowy fingers ''upon the wall,"
but of his partner, sent, as agreed, by a special messenger.
With revulsion and chill of fear he tore open the envelope
and read:

"Fox has done his worst. We are out for a million —
All will be in the morning papers."

Even his florid, wine-inflamed cheeks grew pale, and he
raised his hand tremblingly to his head, and slowly lifted
his eyes like a man who dreads seeing something, but is im-
pelled to look. The first object they rested on was the sar-
donic, mocking face of Mr. Pox, who, ever on the alert, had
seen the messenger enter, and guessed his errand. The mo-
ment Mr. Allen saw this hated visage, a sudden fury took
possession of him. He crushed the missive in his clenched
fist, and took a hasty stride of wrath toward his tormentor,
stopped, put his hand again to his head, a film came over
his eyes, he reeled a second, and then fell like a stone to
the floor. The heavy thud of the fall, the clash of the
chandelier overhead, could be heard throughout the rooms
above the music and hum of voices, and all were startled.
Edith in the very act of leading off in the dance stood a
second like an exquisite statue of awed expectancy, and
then Zell's shriek of fear and agony, "Father!" brought her
to the spot, and with wild, frightened eyes, and blanched
faces, the two girls knelt above the unconscious man, while
the startled guests gathered round in helpless curiosity.

The usual paralysis following sudden accident was brief

THE WRECK 88

on this occasion, for there were two skilfu] physicians pres-
ent, one of them having long been the family attendant
Mrs. Allen and Laura, in a half- hysterical state, stood
clinging to each other, supported by Mr. Goulden, as the
medical gentlemen made a slight examination and applied
restoratives. After a moment they lifted their heads and
looked gravely and significantly at each other; then the
family adviser said :

**Mr. Allen had better be carried at once to his room,
and the house become quiet."

An injudicious guest asked in a loud whisper, ''Is it
apoplexy?'*

Mrs. Allen caught the word, and with a stifled cry fainted
dead away, and was borne to her apartment in an uncon-
scious state. Laura, who had inherited Mrs. Allen's ner-
vous nature, was also conveyed to her room, laughing and
crying in turns beyond control. Zell still knelt over her
father, sobbing passionately, while Edith, with her large
eyes dilated with fear, and her cheeks in wan contrast with
the sunset glow they had worn all the evening, maintained
her presence of mind, and asked Mr. Goulden, Mr. Van
Dam, and • Gus Elliot, to carry her father to his room.
They, much pleased in thus being singled out as special
friends of the family, officiously obeyed.

Poor Mr. Allen was borne away from the pinnacle of his
imaginary triumph as if dead, Zell following, wringing her
hands, and with streaming eyes; but Edith reminded one of
some wild, timid creature of the woods, which, though in
an extremity of danger and fear, is alert and watchful, as
if looking for some avenue of escape. Her searching eyes
turned almost constantly toward the family physician, and
he as persistently avoided meeting them.

84 WHAT CAN SHE DOf

CHAPTER VII

AMONG THE BREAKERS

AFTER another brief but fuller examination of Mr.
Allen in the privacy of his own room, Dr. Mark
went down to the parlors. The guests were gath-
ered in little groups, talking in low, excited whispers;
those who had seen the reading of the note and Mr.
Allen's strange action gaining brief eminence by their re-
peated statements of what they had witnessed, and their
varied surmises. The rdle of commentator, if mysterious
human action be the text, is always popular, and as this
explanatory class are proverbially gifted in conjecture,
there were many theories of explanation. Some of the
guests had already the good taste to prepare for depar-
ture, and when Dr. Mark appeared from the sick room,
and said:

**Mr. Allen and the family will be unable to appear
again this evening. I am under the painful necessity of
saying that this occasion, which opened so brilliantly, must
now come to a sad and sudden end. I will convey your
adieux and expressions of sympathy to the family'* — there
was a general move to the dressing-rooms. The doctor was
overwhelmed for a moment with expressions of sympathy,
that in the main were felt, and well questioned by eager and
genuine curiosity, for Fox had dropped some mysterious
hints during the evening, which had been quietly circulat-
ing. But Dr. Mark was professionally non-committal, and
soon excused himself that he might attend to his patient.

The house, that seemingly a moment before was ablaze

AMONG THE BREAKEB8 85

with light and resounding with fashionable revelry, sud-
denly became still, and grew darker and darker, as if the
shadowing wings of the dreaded angel were drawing very
near. In the large, elegant rooms, where so short a time
before gems and eyes had vied in brightness, old Hannibal
now walked alone with silent tread and a peculiarly awed
and solemn visage. One by one he extinguished the lights,
leaving but faint glimmers here and there, that were like
a few forlorn hopes struggling against the increasing dark*
ness of disaster. Under his breath he kept repeating fer-
vently, ''De Lord hab mercy," and this, perhaps, was the
only intelligent prayer that went up from the stricken
household in this hour of sudden danger and alarm.
Though we believe the Divine Father sees the dumb
agony of His creatures, and pities them, and often when
they, like the drowning, are grasping at straws of human
help and cheer, puts out His strong hand and holds them
up; still it is in accordance with His just law that those
who seek and value His friendship find it and possess it
in adversity. The height of the storm is a poor time and
the middle of the angry Atlantic a poor place in which
to provide life- boats.

The Aliens had never looked to Heaven, save as a matter
of form. They had a pew in a fashionable church, but did
not very regularly occupy it, and such attendance had done
scarcely anything to awaken or quicken their spiritual life.
They came home and gossiped about the appearance of their
**set," and perhaps criticised the music, but one would
never have dreamed from manner or conversation that they
had gone to a sacred place to worship Ood in humility.
Indeed, scarcely a thought of Him seemed to have dwelt
in their minds. Religious faith had never been of any prac-
tical help, and now in their extremity it seemed utterly
intangible, and in no sense to be depended on.

When Mrs. Allen recovered from her swoon, and Laura
had gained some self-control, they sent for Dr. Mark, and
eagerly suggested both their hope and fear.

86 WHAT CAN SHE DOf

''It's only a fainting fit, doctor, is it not? Will he not
soon be better?"

**My dear madam, we will do all we can," said the doc-
tor, with that professional solemnity which might accom-
pany the reading of a death warrant, '*but it is my painful
duty to tell you to prepare for the worst Your husband
has an attack of apoplexy."

He had scarcely uttered the words before she was again
in a swoon, and Laura also lost her transient quietness.
Leaving his assistant and Mrs. Allen's maid to take care
of them, he went back to his graver charge.

Mr. Allen lay insensible on his bed, and one could hardly
realize that he was a dying man. His face was as flushed
and full as it often appeared on his return from his club.
To the girls' unpracticed ears, his loud, stertorous breathing
only indicated heavy sleep. But neither they nor the doc-
tor could arouse him, and at last the physician met Edith's
questioning eyes, and gravely and significantly shook his
head. Though she had borne up so steadily and quietly,
he felt more for her than for any of the others.

*'0h, doctor 1 can't you save him?" she pleaded.

**You must save him," cried Zell, her eyes flashing
through her tears, *'I would be ashamed, if I were a phy-
sician, to stand over a strong man, and say helplessly,
*I can do nothing.' Is this all your boasted skill amounts
to? Either do something at once or let us get some one
who will."

'*Your feelings to-night. Miss Zell," said the doctor
quietly, **will excuse anything you say, however wild and
irrational. I am doing all — "

*'I am not wild or unreasonable," cried Zell. **I only
demand that my father's life be saved." Then starting up
she threw oS a shawl and stood before Dr. Mark in the dress
she had worn in the evening, that seemed a sad mockery in
that room of death. Her neck and arms were bare, and
even the cool, experienced physician was startled by her
wonderful beauty and strange manner. Her white throat

AMONG THE BREAKERS 87

was convulsed, her bosom heaved tumultuous! j, and on her
face was the expression that might have rested on the face
of a maiden like herself centuries before, when shown the
rack and dungeon, and told to choose between her faith
and her life.

But after a moment she extended her white rounded arm
toward him and said steadily:

**1 have read that if the blood of a young, vigorous per-
son is infused into another who is feeble and old, it will
give renewed strength and health. Open a vein in my arm.
Save his life if you take mine."

**You are a brave, noble girl," said Dr. Mark, with
much emotion, taking the extended hand and pressing it
tenderly, ^'but you are asking what is impossible in this
case. Do you not remember that I am an old friend of your
father's ? It grieves me to the heart that his attack is so severe
that I fear all within the reach of human skill is vain."

Zell, who was a creature of impulse, and often of noblest
impulse, as we have seen, now reacted into a passion of
weeping, and sank helplessly on the floor. She was capa-
ble of heroic action, but she had no strength for woman's
lot, which is so often that of patient endurance.

Edith came and put her arms around her, and with gen-
tle, soothing words, as if speaking to a child, half carried
her to her room, where she at last sobbed herself asleep.

For another hour Edith and the doctor watched alone,
and the dying man sank rapidly, going down into the dark-
ness of death without word or sign.

'*0h that he would speak once more!" moaned Edith.

*'I fear he will not, my dear," said the doctor, pitifully.

A little later Mr. Allen was motionless, like one who has
been touched in unquiet sleep and becomes still. Death
had touched him, and a deeper sleep had fallen upon him.

One of the great daily bulletins will go to press in an
hour. A reporter jumps into a waiting hack and is driven
rapidly uptown.

88 WHAT CAN SHE DOf

While the city sleeps preparations must go on in the
markets for breakfast, and in printing rooms for that equal
necessity in our day, the latest news. Therefore all night
long there are dusky figures flitting hither and thither, see-
ing to it that when we come down in gown and slippers, our
steak and the world's gossip be ready.

The breakfast of the Gothamites was furnished abun-
dantly with saiice piquante on the morning of the last day
of February, for Hannibal had shaken his head ominously,
and wiped away a few honest tears, before he could tremu-
lously say to the eager reporter:

*'Mr. Allen— hab— just— died."

Gathering what few particulars he could, and imagining
many more, the reporter was driven back even more rapidly,
fall of the elation of a man who has found a good thing and
means to make the most of it Mr. Allen himself was not
of importance to him, but news about him was. And this
fact crowning the story of his violation of the revenue law
and his prospective loss of a million, would make a brisk
breeze in the paper to which he was attached, and might
waft him a little further on as an enterprising news-
gatherer.

It certainly would be the topic of the day on all lips,
and poor Mr. Allen might have plumed himself on this if
he had known it, for few people, unless they commit a
crime, are of sufficient importance to be talked of all day
ill large, busy New York. In the world's eyes Mr. Allen
had committed a crime. Not that they regarded his stock
gambling as such. Multitudes of church members in good
and regular standing were openly engaged in this. Nor
could the slight and unintentional violation of the revenue
law be regarded as such, though so grave in its conse-
quences. But he had faltered and died when he should
not have given way. What the world demands is success:
and sometimes a devil may secure this where a true man
cannot. The world regarded Mr. Van Dam and Mr. Goulden
as very successful men.

AMONG THE BREAKERS 89

Mr. Fox also had secured success by one adroit wriggle
— we can- describe his mode of achieving greatness by no
better phrase. He was destined to receive half a million
for his treachery to his employers. During the war, when
United States securities were 'at their worst; when men,
pledged to take them, forfeited money rather than do
so, Mr. Allen had lent the government millions, because
he believed in it, loved it, and was resolved to sustain it
That same government now rewards him by putting it in
the power of a dishonest clerk to ruin him, and gives him
$500,000 for doing so. Thus it resulted; for we are com-
pelled to pass hastily over the events immediately following
Mr. Allen's death. His partners made a good fight, showed
that there was no intention to violate the law, and that it
was often difficult to c6mply with it literally — that the sum
claimed to be lost to the government was ridiculously dis-
proportionate to the amount confiscated. But it was all in
vain. There was the letter of the law, and there were Mr.
Fox and his associates in the custom-house, **all honorable
men," with hands itching to clutch the plunder.

But before this question was settled the fate of the stock
operation in Wall Street was most eflEectually disposed of.
As soon as Mr. Goulden heard of Mr. Allen's death, he sold
at a slight loss all he had; but his action awakened suspi-
cion, and it was speedily learned that the rise was due
mainly to Mr. Allen's strong pushing, and the inevitable
results followed. As poor Mr. Allen's remains were low-
ered into the vault, his stock in Wall Street was also going
down with a run.

In brief, in the absence of the master's hand, and by
reason of his embarrassments, there were general wreck and
ruin in his affairs; and Mrs. Allen was soon compelled to
face the fact, even more awful to her than her husband's
death, that not a penny remained of his colossal fortune,
and that she had yawningly signed away all of her own
means. But she could only wring her hands in view of
these blighting truths, and indulge in half-uttered com-

90 WHAT CAN SHE DOf

plaints against her husband's *'folly," as she termed it.
From the first her grief had been more emotional than deep,
and her mind, recovering in part its usual poise, had begun
to be much occupied with preparations for a grand funeral,
which was carried out to her taste. Then arose deeply in-
teresting questions as to various styles of mourning cos-
tume, and an exciting vista of dressmaking opened before
her. She was growing into quite a serene and hopeful frame
when the miserable and blighting facts all broke upon her.
When there was little of seeming necessity to do, and there
were multitudes to do for her, Mrs. Allen's nerves permitted
no small degi!^e of activity. But now, as it became certain
that she and her daughters must do all themselves, her
hands grew helpless. The idea of being poor was to her like
dying. It was entering on an experience so utterly foreign
and unknown that it seemed like going to another world
and phase of existence, and she shrank in pitiable dread
from it.

Laura had all her mother's helpless shrinking from pov-
erty, but with another and even bitterer ingredient added.
Mr. Goulden was extremely polite, exquisitely sympathetic,
and in terms as vague as elegantly expressed had offered to
do anything (but nothing in particular) in his power to show
his regard for the family and his esteem for his departed
friend. He was very sorry that business would compel him
to leave town for some little time —

Laura had the spirit to interrupt him saying, '*It matters
little, sir. There are no further Wall Street operations to
be carried on here. Invest your time and friendship where
it will pay."

Mr. Goulden, who plumed himself that he would slip out
of this bad matrimonial speculation with such polished skill
that he would leave only flattering regret and sighs behind,
under the biting satire of Laura's words suddenly saw what
a contemptible creature is the man whom selfish policy,
rather than honor and principle, governs. He had brains
enough to comprehend himself and lose his self-respect then

AMONG THE BREAKERS 91

and there, as he went away tingling with shame from the
girl whom he had wronged, but who had detected his sordid
meanness. Sigh after him ! She would ever despise him,
and that hurt Mr. Goulden's vanity severely. He had come
very near loving Laura Allen, about as near perhaps as he
ever would come to loving any one, and it had cost him
a little more to give her up than to choose between a good
and a bad venture on the Street. With compressed lips he
had said to himself — **No gushing sentiment. In carrying
out your purpose to be rich you must marry wealth.**
Therefore he had gone to make what he meant to be his
final call, feeling quite heroic in his steadfastness— his
loyalty to purpose, that is, himself. But as he recalled
during his homeward walk her glad welcome, her wistful,
pleading looks, and then, as she realized the truth, her pain,
her contempt, and her meaning words of scorn, his miser-
able egotism was swept aside, and for the first time the
selfish man saw the question from her standpoint, and as
we have said he was not so shallow but that he saw and
loathed himself. He lost his self-respect as he never had
done before, and therefore to a certain extent his power ever
to be happy again.

Small men, full of petty conceit, can recover from any
wounds upon their vanity, but proud and large-minded
men have a self-respect, even though based upon question-
able foundation. It is essential to them, and losing it they
are inwardly wretched. As soldiers carry the painful scars
of some wounds through life, so Mr, Goulden would find
that Laura's words had left a sore place while memory
lasted.

Mr. Van Dam quite disarmed Edith's suspicions and
prejudices by being more friendly and intimate with Zell
than ever, and the latter was happy and exultant in the
fact, saying, with much elation, that her friend was *'not
a mercenary wretch, like Mr. Goulden, but remained just
as true and kind as ever."

It was evident that this attention and show of kindness

92 WHAT CAN SHE DOf

to the warm-hearted girl made a deep impression and greatly
increased Mr. Van Dam's power over her. But Edith's
suspicion and dislike began to return as she saw more of
the manner and spirit of the man. She instinctively felt
that he was bad and designing.

One day she quite incensed Zell, who was chanting his
praises, by saying:

'*I haven't any faith in him. What has he done to show
real friendship for us ? He comes here only to amuse him-
self with you; Gus Elliot is the only one who has been of
any help."

But Edith had her misgivings about Gus also. Now, in
her trouble and poverty, his weakness began to reveal itself
in a new and repulsive light. In fact, that exquisitely fine
young gentleman loved Edith well enough to marry her,
but not to work for her. That was a sacrifice that he could
not make for any woman. Though out of his natural kind-
ness and good- nature he felt very sorry for her, and wanted
to help and pet her, he had been shown his danger so clearly
that he was constrained and awkward when with her, for, to
tell the truth, his father had taken him aside and said:

**Look here, Gus. See to it that you don't entangle
yourself with Miss Allen, now her father has failed. She
couldn't support you now, and you never can support even
yourself. If you would go to work like a man — but one has
got to be a man to do that. It seems true, as your mother
says, that you are of too fine clay for common uses. There-
fore, don't make a fool of yourself. You can't keep up your
style on a pretty face, and you must not wrong the girl by
making her think you can take care of her. I tell you
plainly, I can't bear another ounce added to my burden,
and how long I shall stand up under it as it is, I can't
tell."

Gus listened with a sulky, injured air. He felt that his
father never appreciated him as did his mother and sisters,
and indeed society at large. Society to Gus was the ultra-
fashionable world of which he was one of the shining lights.

AMONG THE BREAKERS 98

The ladies of the family quite restored his equanimity
by saying:

**Now see here, Gus, don't dream of throwing yourself
away on Edith Allen. You can marry any girl you please
in the city. So, for Heaven's sake" (though what Heaven
had to do with their advice it is hard to say), '* don't let her
lead you on to say what you would wish unsaid. Bemember
they are no more now than any other poor people, except
that they are refined, etc., but this will only make poverty
harder for them. Of course we are sorry for them, but in
this world people have got to take care of themselves. So
we must be on the lookout for some one who has money
which can't be sunk in a stock operation as if thrown into
the sea."

After all this sound reason, poor, weak Gus, vaguely
conscious of his helplessness, as stated by his father, and
quite believing his mother's assurance thaf he could marry
any girl he pleased," was in no mood to urge the penniless
Edith to give him her empty hand, while before the party,
when he believed it full, he was doing his best to bring her
to this point, though in fact she gave him little opportunity.

Edith detected the change, and before very long surmised
the cause. It made the young girl curl her lip, and say, in
a tone of scorn that would have done Gus good to hear:

'^The idea of a man acting in this style."

But she did not care enough about him to receive a wound
of any depth, and with a good-natured tolerance recognized
his weakness, and his genuine liking for her, and determined
to make him useful.

Edith was very practical, and possessed of a brave, reso-
lute nature. She was capable of strong feelings, but Gus
Elliot was not the man to awaken such in any woman. She
liked his company, and proposed to use him in certain ways.
Under her easy manner Gus also became at ease, and, find-
ing that he was not expected to propose and be sentimental,
was all the more inclined to be friendly.

^*I want you to find me books, and papers also, if there

94 WHAT CAN SHE DOf

are any, that tell how to raise fruit/' she said to him one
day.

'^What a fanny request! I should as soon expect you
would ask for instruction how to drive four-in-hand.''

** Nothing of that style, henceforth. I must learn some-
thing useful now. Only the rich can afford to be good-for-
nothing, and we are not rich now."

**For which I am very sorry," said Gus, with some
"feeling.

'* Thank you. Such disinterested sympathy is beauti-
ful," said Edith dryly.

Gus looked a little red and awkward, but hastened to
say, *'I will hunt up what you wish, and bring it as soon as

** you are very good. That is all at present," said Edith,
in a tone that made Gus feel that it was indeed all that it
was in his power to do for her at that time, and he went
away with a dim perception that he was scarcely more than
her errand boy. It made him very uncomfortable. Though
he wished her to understand he could not marry her now, he
wished her to sigh a little after him. Gus's vanity rather
resented that, instead of pining for him, she should with a
little quiet satire set him to work. He had never read a
romance that ended so queerly. He had expected that they
might have a little tender scene over the inexorable fate
that parted them, give and take a memento, gasp, appeal
to the moon, and see each other's face no more, she going to
the work and poverty that he could never stoop to from the
innate refinement and elegance of his being, and he to hunt
up the heiress to whom he would give the honor of main-
taining him in his true sphere.

But his little melodrama was entirely spoiled by her
matter-of-fact way, and what was worse still he felt in her
presence as if he did not amount to much, and that she
knew it; and yet, like the poor moth, that singes its wings
around the lamp, he could not keep away.

The prominent trait of Gus's character, as of so many

AMONG THE BREAKERS 95

Others in our luxurious age of self-pleasing, was weakness;
and yet one must be insane with vanity to be at ease if he
can do nothing resolutely and dare nothing great He is a
cripple, and, if not a fool, knows it.

During the eventful month that followed Mr. Allen's
death, Mrs. Allen and her daughters led what seemed to
them a very strange life. While in one sense it was real
and intensely painful, in another the experiences were so
new and strange that it all seemed an unreal dream, a dis-
tressing nightmare of trouble and danger, from which they
might awaken to their old life.

Mrs. Allen, from her large circle of acquaintances, had
numerous callers, many coming from mere morbid curiosity,
more from mingled motives, and not a few from genuine
tearful sympathy. To these *'her friends," as she emphati-
cally called them, she found a melancholy pleasure in re-
counting all the recent woes, in which she ever appeared as
chief sufferer and chief mourner, though her husband seemed
among the minor losses, and thus most of her time was spent
daring the last few weeks at her old home. Her friends ap-
peared to find a melancholy pleasure in listening to these
details and then in recounting them again to other '^friends''
with a running commentary of their own, until that little
fraction of the feminine world acquainted with the Aliens
had sighed, surmised, and perhaps gossiped over the
*'aflaicted family** so exhaustively that it was really time
for something new. The men and the papers downtown
also had their say, and perhaps all tried, as far as human
nature would permit, to say nothing but good of the dead
and unfortunate.

Laura, after the stinging pain of each successive blow to
her happiness, sank into a dreary apathy, and did mechani-
cally the few things Edith asked of her.

Zell lived in varied moods and conditions, now weeping
bitterly for her father, again resenting with impotent pas-
sion the change in their fortunes, but ending usually by
comforting herself with the thought that Mr. Van Dam was

96 WHAT CAN SHE DOf

true to her. He was as true and faithful as an insidious,
incurable disease when once infused into the system. His
infernal policy now was to gradually alienate her interest
from her family and centre it in him. Though promising
nothing in an open, manly way, he adroitly made her be-
lieve that only through him could she now hope to reach
brighter days again, and to Zell he seemed the one means
of escape from a detested life of poverty and privation.
She became more infatuated with him than ever, and cher-
ished a secret resentment against Edith because of her dis-
trust and dislike of him.

The Aliens had but few near relatives in the city at this
time, and with these they were not on very good terms, nor
were they the people to be helpful in adversity. Mr. Al-
len's partners were men of the world like himself, and they
were also incensed that he should have been carrying on pri-
vate speculations in Wall Street to the extent of risking all
his capital. His fatal stock operation, together with the
government confiscation, had involved them also in ruin;
and they had enough to do to look after themselves. They
were far more eager to secure something out of the general
wreck than to see that anything remained for the family.
The Aliens were left very much to themselves in their
struggle with disaster, securing help and advice ghiefly as
they paid for it.

Mr. Allen was accustomed to say that women were in-
capable of business, and yet here are the ladies of his own
household compelled to grapple with the most perplexing
forms of business or suffer aggravated losses. Though all
of his family were of mature years, and thousands had been
spent on their education, they were as helpless as four chil-
dren in dealing with the practical questions that daily came to
them for decision. At first all matters were naturally referred
to the widow, but she would only wring her hands and say:

*^I don't know anything about these horrid things.
Can't I be left alone with my sorrow in peace a few days?
Go to Edith."

AMONG THE BREAKERS 97

And to Edith at last all came till the poor girl was al-
most distracted. It was of no use to go to Laura for ad-
vice, for she would only say in dreary apathy:

"Just as you think best. Anything you say."

She was indulging in unrestrained wretchedness to the
utmost Luxurious despair is so much easier than painful
perplexing action.

Zell was still **the child" and entirely occupied with Mr.
Van Dam. So Edith had to bear the brunt of everything.
She did not do this in uncomplaining sweetness, like an
angel, but scolded the others soundly for leaving all to
her. They whined back that they * 'couldn't do anything,
and didn't know how to do anything."

"You know as much as I do," retorted Edith.

And this was true. Had not Edith possessed a practical
resolute nature, that preferred any kind of action to apathetic
inaction and futile grieving, she would have been as helpless
as the rest.

Do you say then that it was a mere matter of chance that
Edith should be superior to the others, and that she deserved
no credit, and they no blame ? Why should such all-impor-
tant conditions of character be the mere result of chance and
circumstance ? Would not Christian education and principle
have vastly improved the Edith that existed ? Would they
not have made the others helpful, self- forgetting, and sym-
pathetic ? Why should the world be full of people so de-
formed, or morally feeble, or so ignorant, as to be help-
less? Why should the naturally strong work with only
contempt and condemnation for the weak? While many
say, "Stand aside, I am holier than thou," perhaps more
say, "Stand aside, I am wiser— stronger than thou," and
the weak are made more hopelessly discouraged. This
helplessness on one hand, and arrogant fault-finding
strength on the other, are not the result of chance, but
of an imperfect education. They come from the neglect
and wrong-doing of those whose province it was to train
and educate.

6— BOB—X

98 WHAT CAN SHE DO f

If we find amoDg a family of children reaching maturity
one helpless from deformity, and another from feebleness,
and are told that the parents, by employing surgical skill,
might have removed the deformity, and overcome the weak-
ness by tonic treatment, but had neglected to do so, we should
not have much to say about chance. I know of a poor man
who spent nearly all that he had in the world to have his
boy's leg straightened, and he was called a '*good father.''
W hat are these physical defects compared with the graver
defects of character?

Even though Mr. Alien is dead, we cannot say that he
was a good father, though he spent so many thousands on
his daughters. We certainly cannot call Mrs. Allen a good
mother, and the proof of this is that Laura is feeble and sel-
fish, Zell deformed through lack of self-control, and Edith
hard and pitiless in her comparative strength. They were
unable to cope with the practical questions of their situa-
tion. They had been launched upon the perilous, uncer-
tain voyage of life without the compass of a true faith or
the charts of principle to guide them, and they had been
provided with no life-boats of knowledge to save them in
case of disaster. They are now tossing among the break-
ers of misfortune, almost utterly the sport of the winds and
waves of circumstances. If these girls never reached the
shore of happiness and safety, could we wonder ?

How would your daughter fare, my reader, if you were
gone and she were poor, with her hands and brain to de-
pend on for bread, and her heart culture for happiness?
In spite of all your providence and foresight, such may be
her situation. Such becomes the condition of many men's
daughters every day.

But time and events swept the Aliens forward, as the
shipwrecked are borne on the crest of a wave, and we must
follow their fortunes. Hungry creditors, especially the petty
ones uptown, stripped them of everything they could lay
their hands on, and they were soon compelled to leave their
Fifth Avenue mansion. The little place in the country,

AMONG THE BREAKERS W

given to Edith partly in jest by her father as a birthday
present, was now their only refuge, and to this they pre-
pared to go on the first of April. £dith, as usual, took the
lead, and was to go in advance of the others with such fur-
niture as they had been able to keep, and prepare for their
coming. Old Hannibal, who had grown gray in the service
of the family, and now declined to leave it, was to accom-
pany her. On a dark, lowering day, symbolic of their for-
tunes, some loaded drays took down to the boat that with
which they would commence the meagre housekeeping of
their poverty. Edith went slowly down the broad steps
leading from her elegant home, and before she entered the
carriage turned for one lingering, tearful look, such as Eve
may have bent upon the gate of Paradise closing behind
her, then sprang into the carriage, drew the curtains, and
sobbed all the way to the boat. Scarcely once before, dur-
ing that long, hard month, had she so given way to her feel-
ings. But she was alone now and none could see her tears
and call her weak. Hannibal took his seat on the box with
the driver, and looked and felt very much as he did when
following his master to Greenwood.

100 WHAT CAN 8BE DOf

CHAPTER VIII

WARPED

IT is the early breakfast hoar at a small frame house,
situated about a mile from the staid but thriving vil-
lage of Pushton. But the indications around the house
do not denote thrift. Quite the reverse. As the neighbors
expressed it, ** there was a screw loose with.Lacey," the
owner of this place. It was going down hill like its mas-
ter. A general air of neglect and growing dilapidation im-
pressed the most casual observer. The front gate hung on
one hinge; boards were ofi the shackly barn, and the house
had grown dingy and weather-stained from lack of paint
But as you entered and passed from the province of the
master to that of the mistress a new element was apparent,
struggling with, but unable to overcome, the predominant
tendency to unthrift and seediness. But everything that
Mrs. Lacey controlled was as neat as the poor overworked
woman could keep it.

At the time our story becomes interested in her fortunes,
Mrs. Lacey was a middle-aged woman, but appeared older
than her years warranted, from the long-continued strain of
incessant toil, and from that which wears much faster still,
the depression of an unhappy, ill-mated life. Her face wore
the pathetic expression of confirmed discouragement. She
reminded one of soldiers fighting when they know that it is
of no use, and that defeat will be the only result, but who
fight on mechanically, in obedience to orders.

She is now placing a very plain but wholesome and well-
prepared breakfast on the table, and it would seem that both

WARPED 101

the eating and cooking were carried on in the same large
living-room. Her daughter, a rosy-cheeked, half-grown
girl of fourteen, was assisting her, and both mother and
daughter seemed in a nervous state of expectancy, as if^
hoping and fearing the result of a near event A moment's
glance showed that this event related to a lad of about sev-
enteen, who was walking about the room, vainly trying to
control the agitation which is natural even to the cool and
experienced when feeling that they are at one of the crises
of life.

It could not be expected of Arden Lacey at his age to
be cool and experienced. Indeed his light curling hair,
blue eyes, and a mobile sensitive mouth, suggested the re-
verse of a stolid self-poise, or cheerful endurance. Any
one accustomed to observe character could see that he was
possessed of a nervous, fine-libred nature capable of noble
achievement under right influences, but also easily warped
and susceptible to sad injury under brutal wrong. He was
like those delicate and somewhat complicated musical iustru-
ments that produce the sweetest harmonies when in tune and
well played upon, but the most jangling discords when un-
strung and in rough, ignorant hands. He had inherited his
nervous temperament, his tendency to irritation and excess,
from the diseased, over-stimulated system of his father, who
was fast becoming a confirmed inebriate, and who had been
poisoning himself with bad liquors all his life. From his
mother he had obtained what balance he had in tempera-
ment, but he owed more to her daily influence and training.
It was the one struggle of the poor woman's life to shield
her children from the evil consequences of their father's
life. For her son she had special anxiety, knowing his sen-
sitive, high-strung nature, and his tendency to go headlong
into evil if his self-respect and self-control were once lost.
His passionate love for her had been the boy's best trait,
and through this she had controlled him thus far. But she
had thought that it might be best for him to be away from
his father's presence and influence if she could only find

102 WHAT CAN SHE DOf

something that accorded with his bent. And this eventu-
ally proved to be a college education. The boy was of a
quick and studious mind* From earliest years he had been
fond of books, and as time advanced, the passion for study
and reading grew upon him. He had a strong imagination,
and bis favorite styles of reading were such as appealed to
this. In the scenes of history and romance he escaped from
the sordid life of toil and shame to which his father con-
demned him, into a large realm that seemed rich and glori-
fied in contrast. When he was but fourteen the thought
of a liberal education fired his ambition and became the
dream of his life. He made the very most of the district
school to which he was sent in winter. The teacher hap-
pened to be a well-educated man, and took pride in his apt,
eager scholar. Between the boy's and the mother's savings
they had obtained enough to secure private lessons in Latin
and Greek, and now at the age of seventeen he was tolerably
well pepared for college.

But the father had no sympathy at all with these tastes,
and from the incessant labor he required of his son, and the
constant interruptions he occasioned in his studies even in
winter, he had been a perpetual bar to all progress.

On the day previous to the scene described in the open-
ing of this chapter, the winter term had closed, and Mr. fiule,
the teacher, had declared that Arden could enter college,
and with natural pride in his own work as instructor, inti-
mated that he would lead his class if he did.

Both mother and son were so elated at this that they de-
termined at once to state the fact to the father, thinking that
if he had any of the natural feelings of a parent he would tAke
some pride in his boy, and be willing to help him obtain the
education he longed for.

But there is little to be hoped from a man who is com-
pletely under the influence of ignorance and rum. Mr. Lacey
was the son of a small farmer like himself, and never bad
anything to recommend him but his fine looks, which had
captivated poor Mrs. Lacey to her cost. Unlike the ma-

WABPED 108

jority of hia class, who are fast becoming a very intelligent
part of the community, and are glad to educate their chil-
dren, he boasted that he liked the **old ways,'* and by
these he meant the worst ways of his father's day, when
books and schools were scarce, and few newspapers found
their way to rural homes. He was, like bis father before
him, a graduate of the village tavern, and had imbibed bad
liquor and his ideas of life at the same time from that objec-
tionable source. With the narrow-mindedness of his class,
he had a prejudice against all learning that went beyond
the three A's, and had watched with growing disapproba-
tion his son's taste for books, believing that it would spoil
him as a farm hand, and make him an idle dreamer. He
was less and less inclined to work himself as bis frame
became diseased and enfeebled from intemperance, and he
determined now to get as much work as possible out of that
** great hulk of a boy,'' as he called Arden. He had picked
up some hints of the college hopes, and the very thought
angered him. He determined that when the boy broached
the subject he would give him such a ** jawing" (to use his
own vernacular) '*as would put an end to that nonsense."
Therefore both Arden and his mother, who were waiting as
we have described in such a perturbed anxious state for his
entrance, were doomed to bitter disappointment. At last
a heavy red-faced man entered the kitchen, stalking in on
the white floor out of the drizzling rain with his muddy
boots leaving tracks and blotches in keeping with his char-
acter. But he had the grace to wash his grimy hands be-
fore sitting down to the table. He was always in a bad
humor in the morning, and the chilly rain had not improved
it A glance around showed him that something was on
hand, and he surmised that it was the college business.
He at once thought within himself:

*'ril squelch the thing now, once for all."
Turning to his son, he said, ''Look here, youngster, why
hain't you been out doing your chores? JD'ye expect me
to do your work and mine, too?"

104 WRAT CAN SHE DOf

** Father," said the impulsive boy with a voice of trem-
bling eagerness, **if you will let me go to college next fall,
I'll do my work and yours too. IMl work night and day — "

'*What cussed nonsense is this?'' demanded the man
harshly, clashing down his knife and fork and turning
frowningly toward his son.

**No, but father, listen to me before you refuse. Mr.
Bule says I'm fit to enter college and that I can lead
my class too. I've been studying for this three years.
I've set my heart upon it," and in his earnestness, tears
gathered in his eyes.

**The more fool you, and old Rule is another," was the
coarse answer.

The boy's eyes flashed angrily, but the mother here
spoke.

'*You ought to be proud of- your son, John; if you were
a true father you would be. If you'd encourage and help
him now, he'd make a man that — "

*'Shut up! little you know about it. He'd make one of
your snivelling white- fingered loafers that's too proud to get
a living by hard work. Perhaps you'd like to make a
parson out of him. Now look here, old woman, and
you, too, my young cock, I've suspicioned that something
of this kind was up, but I tell you once for all it won't go.
Just as this hulk of a boy is gettin' of some use to me, you
want to spoil him by sending him to college. I'll see him
hanged first," and the man turned to his breakfast as if he
had settled it. But he was startled by his son's exclaiming
passionately:

'*I will go."

**Look here, what do you mean ?" said the father, rising
with a black ugly look.

**I mean I've set my heart on going to college and I will
go. You and all the world shan't hinder me. I won't stay
here and be a farm drudge all my life."

The man's face was livid with anger, and in a low, hiss«
ing tone he said:

WAEPED 105

**I guess you want taking down a peg, my college gen-
tleman. Perhaps you don't know I*m master till you're
twenty-one," and he reached down a large leather strap.

*' You strike me if you dare," shouted the boy.

**If I dare! haw I haw! If I don't cut the cussed non-
sense out of yer this morning, then I never did," and he
took an angry stride toward his son, who sprang behind the
stove.

The wife and mother had stood by growing whiter and
whiter, and with lips pressed closely together. At this
critical moment she stepped before her infuriated, husband
and seized his arm, exclaiming:

*'John, take care. You have reached the end."

''Stand aside," snarled the man, raising the strap, *'or
I'll give you a taste of it, too."

The woman's grasp tightened on his arm, and in a voice
that made him pause and look fixedly at her, she said:

*'If you strike me or that boy I'll take my children and
we will leave your roof this hateful day never to return."

*' Hain't I to be master in my own house?" said the
husband sullenly.

** You are not to be a brute in your own house. I know
you've struck me before, but I endured it and said nothing
about it because you were drunk, but you are not drunk
now, and if you lay a finger on me or my son to-day, I will
never darken your doors again."

The unnatural father saw that he had gone too far. He
had not expected such an issue. He had long been accus-
tomed to follow the lead of his brutal passions, but had now
reached a point where he felt he must stop, as his wife said.
Turning on his heel, he sullenly took his place at the table,
muttering:

**It's a pretty pass when there's mutiny in a man's own
house." Then to his son, *'You won't get a d — n cent out
of me for your college business, mind that."

Bose, the daughter, who had been crying and wringing
her hands on the door-step, now came timidly in, and at a

106 WHAT CAN SHE DOf

sign from her mother she and her brother went into another
room.

The man ate for a while in dogged silence, but at last in
a tone that was meant to be somewhat conciliatory said:

** What the devil did you mean by putting the boy up to
such foolishness?*'

'*Hushr' said his wife imperiously, **I'm in no mood to
talk with you now/'

**0h, ah, indeed, a man can't even speak in his own
house, eh ? I guess Til take myself off to where I can have
a little more liberty," and he went out, harnessed his old
white horse, and started for his favorite groggery in the
village.

His father had no sooner gone than Arden came out and
said passionately:

''It's no use, mother, I can't stand it; I must leave
home to-day. I guess I can make a living; at any rate
I'd rather starve than pass through such scenes."

The poor, overwrought woman threw herself down in a
low chair and sobbed, rocking herself back and forth.

*' Wait till I die, Arden, wait till 1 die. I feel it won't
be long. What have I to live for but.you and Eosy ? And
if you, my pride and joy, go away after what has happened,
it will be worse than death," and a tempest of grief shook
her gaunt frame.

Arden was deeply moved. Boylike he had been think-
ing only of himself, but now as never before he realized her
hard lot, and in his warm, impulsive heart there came a
yearning tenderness for her such as he had never felt be-
fore. He took her in his arms and kissed and comforted
her, till even her sore heart felt the healing balm of love
and ceased its bitter aching. At last she dried her eyes
and said with a faint smile:

*' With such a boy to pet me, the world isn't all flint and
thorns yet"

And Rosy came and kissed her too, for she was an affec-
tionate child, though a little inclined to be giddy and vain.

WARPED 107

**Don't worry, mother/' said Arden. **1 will stay and
take such good care of you that you will have many years
yet, and happier ones, too, I hope,'' and he resolved to keep
this promise, cost what it might.

**I hardly think I ought to ask it of you, though even
the thought of your going away breaks my heart."

*'I will stay," said the boy, almost as passionately as he
had said, *'I will go." **I now see how much you need a
protector."

That night the father came home so stupidly drunk that
they had to half carry him to bed where he slept -heavily
till morning, and rose considerably shaken and depressed
from his debauch. The breakfast was as silent as it had
been stormy on the previous day. After it was over, Arden
followed his father to the door and said:

**I was a boy yesterday morning, but you made me a
man, and a rather ugly one too. I learned then for the
first time that you occasionally strike my mother. Don't
you ever do it again, or it will be worse for you, drunk or
sober. £ am not going to college, but will stay at home
and take care of her. Do we understand each other ?"

The man was in such a low, shattered condition that his
son's bearing cowed him, and he walked off muttering:

** Young cocks crow mighty loud," but from that time
forward he never offered violence to his wife or children.

Still his father's conduct and character had a most dis-
astrous effect upon the young man. He was soured, be-
cause disappointed in his most cherished purpose at an age
when most youths scarcely have definite plans. Many have
a strong natural bent, and if turned asidp from this, they
are more or less unhappy, and their duties, instead of being
wings to help life forward, become a galling yoke.

This was the case with Arden. Farm work, as he had
learned it from his father, was coarse, heavy drudgery, with
small and uncertain returns, and these were largely spent at
the village rum shops in purchasing slow perdition for the
husband, and misery and shame for his wife and children.

108 WHAT CAN SHE DOf

In respectable Pushton, a drunkard's family, especially
if poor, had a very low social status. Mrs. Lacey and her
children would not accept of bad associations, so they had
scarcely any. This ostracism, within certain limits, is per-
haps right. The preventive penalties of vice can scarcely
be too great, and men and women must be made to feel that
wrong-doing is certain to be followed by terrible conse-
quences. The fire is merciful in that it always burns, and
sin and suffering are inseparably linked. But the conse-
quences of one person's sin often blight the innocent. The
necessity of this from our various ties should be a motive,
a hostage against sinning, and doubtless restrains many a
one who would go headlong under evil impulses. But mul-
titudes do slip oS the paths of virtue, and helpless wives,
and often helpless husbands and children, writhe from
wounds made by those under sacred obligations to shield
them. Upon the families of criminals, society visits a mil-
dew of coldness and scorn that blights nearly all chance of
good fruit. But society is very unjust in its discrimina-
tions, and some of the most heinous sins in God's sight are
treated as mere eccentricities, or condemned in the poor,
but winked at in the rich. Gentlemen will admit to their
parlors men about whom they know facts which if true of
a woman would close every respectable door against her,
and God frowns on the Christian (?) society that makes such
arbitrary and unjust distinctions. Cast both out, till they
bring forth fruits meet for repentance.

But we hope for little of a reformative tendency from
the selfish society of the world. Changing human fashion
rules it, rather than the eternal truth of the God of love.
The saddest feature of all is that the shifting code of fashion
is coming more and more to govern the church. Doctrine
may remain the same, profession and intellectual belief the
same, while practical action drifts far astray. There are
multitudes of wealthy churches, that will no more admit
associations with that class among which our Lord lived
and worked, than will select society. They seem designed

WARPED 109

to help only respectable, well-connected sinners, toward
heaven.

This tendency has two phases. In the cities the poor
are practically excluded from worshipping with the rich,
and missions are established for them as if they were
heathen. There can be no objection to costly, magnifi-
cent churches. Nothing is too good to be the expression
of our honor and love of God. But they should be like
the cathedrals of Europe, wh^re prince and peasant may
bow together on the same level they have in the Divine
presence. Christ made no distinction between the rich and
poor regarding their spiritual value and need, nor should the
Christianity named after Him. To the degree that it does,
it is not Christianity. The meek and lowly Nazarene is not
its inspiration. Perhaps the personage He told to get be-
hind Him when promising the '* kingdoms of the world and
the glory of them" has more to do with it

The second phase of this tendency as seen in the country,
is kindred but unlike. Poverty may not be so great a bar,
but moral delinquencies are more severely visited, and the
family under a cloud, through the wrong-doing of one or
more of its members, is treated very much as if it had a
perpetual pestilence. The highly respectable keep aloof.
Too often the quiet country church is not a sanctuary and
place of refuge for the victims either of their own or an-
other's sin, a place where the grasp of sympathy and words
of encouragement are given; but rather a place where they
meet the cold critical gaze of those who are hedged about
with virtues and good connections. I hope I am wrong,
but how is it where you live, my reader ? If a well-to-do
thriving man of integrity takes a fine place in your com-
munity, we all know how church people will treat him.
And what they do is all right But society — the world —
will do the same. Is Christianity — are the followers of the
**Friend of publicans and sinners'* — to do no more?

If in contrast a drunken wretch like Lacey with his wife
and children come in town on top of a wagon-load of shat-

110 WHAT CAN SHE DOf

tered furniture, and all are dumped down in a back alley to
scramble into the shelter of a tenement house as best they
can, do you call upon them ? Do you invite them to your
pew ? Do you ever urge and encourage them to enter your
church ? and do you make even one of its corners homelike
and inviting ?

I hope so; but, alas! that was not the general custom in
Push ton, and poor Mrs. Lace^ had acquired the habit of
staying at home, her neighbors had become accustomed to
call her husband a ** dreadful man," and the family *'very
irreligious,** and as the years passed they seemed to be more
and more left to themselves. Mr. Lacey had brought his
wife from a distant town where he had met and married
her. She was a timid, retiring woman, and time and kind-
ness were needed to draw her out. But no one had seem-
ingly thought it worth while, and at the time our story takes
an interest in their affairs, there was a growing isolation.

All this had a very bad effect upon Arden. As he grew
out of the democracy of boyhood he met a certain social
coldness and distance which he learned to understand only
too early, and soon returned this treatment with increased
coldness and aversion. Had it not been for the influence of
his mother and the books he read, he would have inevitably
fallen into low company. But he had promised his mother
to shun it He saw its result in his father's conduct, and
as he read, and his mind matured, the narrow coarseness
of such company became repugnant From time to time he
was sorely tempted to leave the home which his father
made hateful in many respects, and try his fortunes among
strangers who would not associate him with a sot; but his
love for his mother kept him at her side, for he saw that
her life was bound up in him, and that he alone could pro-
tect her and his sister and keep some sort of a shelter for
them. In his unselfish devotion to them his character was
noble. In his harsh cynicism toward the world and espe-
cially the church people, for whom he had no charity what-
ever — in his utter hatred and detestation of his father — it

WAEPED 111

was faulty, though allowance must be made for him. He
was also peculiar in other respects, for his unguided read-
ing was of a nature that fed his imagination at the expense
of his reasoning faculties. Though he drudged in a narrow
round, and his life was as hard and real as poverty and his
father's intemperance could make it, he mentally lived and
found his solace in a world as large and unreal as an un-
curbed fancy could create. Therefore his work was hurried
through mechanically in the old slovenly methods to which
he had been educated, he caring little for the results, as
his father squandered these; and when the necessary toil
was over, he would lose all sense of the sordid present in
the pages of some book obtained from the village library.
As he drove his milk cart to and from town he would sit
in the chill drizzling rain, utterly oblivious of discomfort,
with a half smile upon his lips, as he pictured to himself
some scene of sunny aspect or gloomy castellated grandeur
of which his own imagination was the architect The
famous in history, the heroes and heroines of fiction, and
especially the characters of Shakespeare were more familiar
to him than the people among whom he lived. From the
latter he stood more and more aloof, while with the former
he held constant intercourse. He had little in common even
with his sister, who was of a very different temperament.
But his tenderness toward his mother never failed, and she
loved him with the passionate intensity of a nature to which
love was all, but which had found little to satisfy it on
earth, and was ignorant of the love of God.

And so the years dragged on to Arden, and his twenty-
first birthday made him free from his father's control as he
practically long had been, but it also found him bound
more strongly than ever by his mother's love and need to
his old home life.

112 WHAT CAN 8HB DOf

CHAPTEE IX

A DESERT ISLAND

THE good ory that Edith indulged in on her way to
the boat was a relief to her heart, which had long
been overburdened. But the necessity of control-
ling her feelings, and the natural buoyancy of youth, en-
abled her by the time they reached the wharf to see that
the furniture and baggage were properly taken care of.
No one could detect the traces of grief through her thick
veil, or guess from her firm, quiet tones, that she felt some-
what as Columbus might when going in search of a new
world. And yet Edith had a hope from her country life
which the others did not share at all.

When she was quite a child her feeble health had in-
duced her father to let her spend an entire summer in a
farmhouse of the better class, whose owner had some taste
for flowers and fruit. These she had enjoyed and luxuriated
in as much as any butterfly of the season, and as she romped
with the farmer's children, roamed the fields and woods in
search of berries, and tumbled in the fragrant hay, health
came tingling back with a fullness and vigor that had never
been lost. With all her subsequent enjoyment, that sum-
mer still dwelt in her memory as the halcyon period of her
life, and it was with the country she associated it. Every
year she had longed for July, for then her father would
break away from business for a couple of months and take
them to a place of resort. But the fashionable watering-
places were not at all to her taste as compared with that old
farmhouse, and whenever it was possible she would wander

A DESERT ISLAND 113

off and make *' disreputable acqaaintanceB," as Mrs. Allen
termed them, among the farmers* and laborers' families in
the vicinity of the hotel. Bat by this means she often ob-
tained a basket of fruit or bunch of flowers that the others
were glad to share in.

In accordance with her practical nature she asked ques-
tions as to the habits, growth, and culture of trees and
fruits, so that few city girls situated as she had been knew
as much about the products of the garden. She had also
haunted conservatories and green- houses as much as her
sisters had frequented the costly Broadway temples of
fashion, where counters are the altars to which the women
of the city bring their daily offerings; and as we have seen,
a fruit store was a place of delight to her.

The thought that she could now raise without limit
fruit, flowers, and vegetables on her own place was some
compensation even for the trouble they had passed through
and the change in their fortunes.

Moreover she knew that because of their poverty she
would have to secure from her ground substantial returns,
and that her gardening must be no amateur trifling, but
earnest work. Therefore, having found a seat in the saloon
of the boat, she drew out of her leather bag one of her
garden-books and some agricultural papers, and commenced
studying over for the twentieth time the labors proper for
April. After reading a while, she leaned back and closed
her eyes and tried to form such crude plans as were possible
in her inexperience and her ignorance of a place that she
had not even seen.

Opening her eyes suddenly she saw old Hannibal sitting
near and regarding her wistfully.

'*You are a foolish old fellow to stay with us," she said
to him. '* You could have obtained plenty of nice places in
the city. What made you do it ?''

**I'se couldn't gib any good reason to de world, Miss
Edie, but de one I hab kinder satisfies my ole black
heart"

114 WHAT CAN SHE DOf

**Your heart isn't blaok, Hannibal.''

**How you know dat?" he asked quickly.

' * Because I' ve seen it often and often. Sometimes I think
it is whiter than mine. I now and then feel so desperate and
wicked, that I am afraid of myself."

"Dere now, you'se worried and worn-out and you tinks
dat's bein' wicked."

**No, I'm satisfied it is something worse than that I
wonder if God does care about people who are in trouble,
1 mean practically, so as to help them any P"

** Well, I specs he does," said Hannibal vaguely. **But
den dere's so many in trouble dat I'm afeard some hab to
kinder look after demselves." Then as if a bright thought
struck him, he added, **I specs he sorter lumps 'em jes as
Massa Allen did when he said he was sorry for de people
burned up in Chicago. He sent 'em a big lot ob money and
den seemed to forget all about 'em."

Hannibal had never given much attention to religion,
and perhaps was not the best authority that Edith could
have consulted. But his conclusion seemed to secure her
consent, for she leaned back wearily and again closed her
eyes, saying:

^*Yes, we are mere human atoms, lost sight of in the
multitude."

Soon her deep regular breathing showed that she was
asleep, and Hannibal muttered softly:

'*Bress de child, dat will do her a heap more good dan
askin' dem deep questions," and he watched beside her like
a large faithful Newfoundland dog.

At last he touched her elbow and said, '*We get off at
de next landin', and I guess we mus' be pretty nigh dere."

Edith started up much refreshed and asked, ^*What sort
of an evening is it ?"

**Well, I'se sorry to say it's rainin' hard and berry
dark."

To her dismay she also found that it was nearly nine
o'clock. The boat had been late in starting, and was so

A DESEItT ISLAND 116

heavily ladeu as to make slow progress against wind and
tide. Edith's heart sank within her at the thought of land-
ing alone in a strange place that dismal night. It was in-
deed a new experience to her. But she donned her water-
proof, and the moment the boat touched the wharf, hurried
ashore, and stood under her small umbrella, while her
household gods were being hustled out into the drenching
rain. She knew the injury that must result to them unless
they could speedily be carried into the boat-house near.
At first there seemed no one to do this save Hannibal, who
at once set to work, but she soon observed a man with a
lantern gathering up some butter-tubs that the boat was
landing, and she immediately appealed to him for help.

**I*m not the dock-master,*' was the gruff reply.

"You are a man, are you not? and one that will not turn
away from a lady in distress. If my things stand long in
this rain they will be greatly injured.'*

The man thus adjured turned his lantern on the speaker,
and while we recognize the features of our acquaintance,
Arden Lacey, he sees a face on the old dock that quite
startles him. If Edith had dropped down with the rain,
she could not have been more unexpected, and with her
large dark eyes flashing suddenly on him, and her appeal-
ing yet half-indignant voice breaking in upon the waking
dream with which he was beguiling the outward misery of
the night, it seemed as if one of the characters of his fancy
had suddenly become real. He who would have passed
Edith in surly unnoting indifference on the open street in
the garish light of day, now took the keenest interest in her.
He had actually been appealed to, as an ancient knight
might have been, by a damsel in distress, and he turned
and helped her with a will, which, backed by his powerful
strength, soon placed her goods under shelter. The lagging
dock-master politicly kept out of the way till the work was
almost done and then bustled up and made some show of
assisting in time for any fees, if they should be offered, but
Arden told him that since he had kept out of sight so long.

116 WHAT CAN SHE DOf

he might remain invisible, which was the unpopular way
the young man had.

When the last article had been placed under shelter
Edith said:

'*I appreciate your help exceedingly. How much am I
to pay you for your trouble ?"

''Nothing," was the rather curt reply.

The appearance of a lady like Edith, with a beauty that
seemed weird and strange as he caught glimpses of her face
by the fitful rays of his lantern, had made a sudden and
strong impression on his morbid fancy and fitted the wild
imaginings with which he had occupied the dreary hour of
waiting for the boat. The presence of her sable attendant
had increased these impressions. But when she took out
her purse to pay him his illusions vanished. Therefore the
abrupt tone in which he said ** Nothing/* and which was
mainly caused by vexation at the matter-of-fact world that
continually mocked his unreal one.

'*! don't quite understand you,*' said Edith. "I had no
intention of employing your time and strength without re-
muneration."

'*I told you I was not the dock-master," said Arden
rather coldly. **He'll take all the fees you will give him.
You appealed to me as a man, and said you were in distress.
I helped you as a man. Good-evening."

**Stay," said Edith hastily. ** You seem not only a man,
but a gentleman, and I am tempted, in view of my situation,
to trespass still further on your kindness," but she hesitated
a moment

It perhaps had never been intimated to Arden before
that he was a gentleman, certainly never in the tone with
which Edith spoke, and his fanciful, chivalric nature
resjponded at once to the touch of that chord. With
the accent of voice he ever used toward his mother, he
said:

**1 am at your service."

**We are strangers here," continued Edith. **l8 there

A DESERT ISLAND 117

any place near the landing where we can get safe, comfort-
able lodging?'*

**1 am sorry to say there is not. The village is a mile
away."

**How can we get there?*'

** Isn't the stage down?'* asked Arden of the dock-
master.

**No!** was the gruff response.

**The night is so bad I suppose they didn*t come. I
would take you myself in a minute if I had a suitable
wagon.**

** Necessity knows no choice,'* said Edith quickly. *'I
will go with you in any kind of a wagon, and I surely hope
you won't leave me on this lonely dock in the rain."

''Certainly not,'* said Arden, reddening in the darkness
that he could be thought capable of such an act **But I
thought I could drive to the village and send a carriage for
you."

*'I would rather go with you now, if you will let me,"
said Edith decidedly.

**The best I have is at your service, bat I fear you will
be sorry for your choice. I've only a board for a seat, and
my wagon has no springs. Perhaps I could get a low box
for you to sit on."

** Hannibal can sit on the box. With your permission I
will sit with you, for I wish to ask you some questions."

Arden hung his lantern on a hook in front of his wagon,
and helped or partly lifted Edith over the wheel to the seat,
which was simply a board resting on the sides of the box.
He turned a butter-tub upside down for Hannibal, and then
they jogged out from behind the boat-house where he had
sheltered his horses.

This was all a new experience to Arden. He had, from
his surly misanthropy, little familiarity with society of any
kind, and since as a boy he had romped with the girls at
school he had been almost a total stranger to all women
save those in his own home. Most young men would have

118 WHAT CAN SHE DOf

been awkward louts under the circumstances. But this was
not true of Arden, for he had daily been holding converse
in the books he dreamed over with women of finer clay than
he could have found at Pushton. He would have been ex-
cessively awkward in a idrawing-room or any place of con-
ventional resort, or rather he would have been sullen and
bearish, but the place and manner in which he had met
Edith accorded with his romantic fancy, and the darkness
shielded his rough exterior from observation.

Moreover, the presence of this flesh-and-blood woman at
his side gave him different sensations from the stately dames,
or even the most piquant maidens that had smiled upon him
in the shadowy scenes of his imagination; and when at times,
as the wagon jolted heavily, she grasped his arm for a second
to steady herself, it seemed as if the dusky little figure at
his side was a sort of human electric battery charged with
that subtile fluid which some believe to be the material life
of the universe. Every now and then as they bounced over
a stone, the lantern would bob up and throw a ray on a face
like those that had looked out upon him from those plays of
Shakespeare the scenes of which are laid in Italy.

Thus the dark, chilly, rainy night was becoming the most
luminous period of his life. Beason and judgment act slowly,
but imagination takes fire.

But to poor Edith all was real and dismal enough, and
she often sighed heavily. To Arden each sigh was an ap-
peal for sympathy. He had driven as rapidly as he dared
in the darkness to get her out of the rain, but at last she
said, clinging to his arm:

'* Won't you drive slowly ? The jolting has given me a
pain in my side."

He was conscious of a new and peculiar sensation there
also, though not from jolting. He had been used to that in
many ways all his life, but thereafter they jogged forward
on a walk through the drizzling rain, and Edith, recovering
her breath, and a sense of security, began to asked the ques-
tions.

A DESERT ISLAND 119

**Do you know where the cottage is that was formerly
owned by Mr. Jenks?*'

'*0h, yes, it's not far from our house — between our
house and the village/' Then as if a sudden thought
struck him he added quickly, '*I heard it was sold; are
you the owner?''

'* Yes," said Edith a little coolly. She had expected to
question and not to be questioned. And yet she was very
glad she had met one who knew about her place. But she
resolved to be non-committal till she knew more about
him.

'^ What sort of a house is it?" she asked after a moment
*'I have never seen it."

** Well, it's not very large, and I fear it is somewhat out
of repair — at least it looks so, and I should think a new roof
was needed."

Edith could not help saying pathetically, *'0h, dear! I'm
so sorry. ' '

Arden then added hastily, ''But it's a kind of a pretty
place too — a great many fruit- trees and grapevines on it."

'*So I've been told," said Edith. *'And that will be its
chief attraction to me."

**Then you are going to live there?"

*'Yes."

Arden's heart gave a sudden throb. Then he would see
this mysterious stranger often. But he smiled half bitterly
in the darkness as he queried, ** What will she appear like
in the daylight?"

Her next question broke the spell he was under utterly.
They were passing through the village and the little hotel
was near, and she naturally asked:

"To whom am 1 indebted for all this kindness? lam
glad to know so much as that you are my neighbor."

Suddenly and painfully conscious of his outward life and
surroundings, he answered briefly:

**My name is Arden Lacey. We have a small farm a
little beyond your cottage."

120 WHAT CAN SHE DOf

Wondering at his change of tone and manner, Edith Btill
ventured to ask:

'* And do you know of any one who could bring my fur-
niture and things up to-morrow?*'

As he sometimes did that kind of work, an impulse to see
more of her impelled him to say:

"I suppose I can do it. I work for a living.''

*'I am sure that is nothing against you/' said Edith
kindly.

** You will not live long in Pushton before learning that
there is something against us," was the bitter reply. "But
that need not prevent my working for you, as 1 do for oth-
ers. If you wish, I will make a fire in your house early, to
take oR the chill and dampness, and then go for your furni-
ture. The people here will send you out in a carriage."

'*I shall be greatly obliged if you will do so and let me
pay you."

**0h, certainly, I will charge the usual rates."

** Well, then, how much for to-night?" said Edith as she
stood in the hotel door.

*'To-night is another aflEair," and he jumped into his
wagon and rattled away in the darkness, his lantern look-
ing like a **will-o'-the-wisp" that might vanish altogether.

The landlord received Edith and her attendant with a
gruff civility, and gave her in charge of his wife, who was a
bustling red- faced woman with a sort of motherly kindness
about her.

**Why, you poor child," she said to Edith, turning her
round before the light, * 'you're half drowned. You must
have something hot right away, or you'll take your death
o' cold," and with something of her husband's faith in
whiskey, she soon brought Edith a hot punch that for a
few moments seemed to make the girl's head spin,. but as
it was followed by strong tea and toast, she felt none the
worse, and danger from the chill and wet was effectually
disposed of.

As she sat sipping her tea before a red-hot stove, she

A DESERT ISLAND 121

told, in answer to the landlady's questions, how she had
got up from the boat.

^^Who is this Lacey, and what is there against them?"
she asked suddenly.

The hostess went across the hall, opened the bar-room
door, and beckoned Edith to follow her.

In a chair by the stove sat a miserable bloated wreck of
a man, drivelling and mumbling in a drunken lethargy.

"That's his father," said the woman in a whisper.
"When he gets as bad as that he comes here because he
knows my husband is the only one as won't turn him out of
doors."

An expression of intense disgust flitted across Edith's
face, and by the necessary law of association poor Arden
sank in her estimation through the foulness of his father's
vice.

"Is there anything against the son?" asked Edith in
some alarm. "I've engaged him to bring up my furniture
and trunks. I hope he's honest"

"Oh, yes, he's honest enough, and he'd be mighty mad
if anybody questioned that, but he's kind o' soured and
ugly, and don't notice nobody nor nothing. The son and
Mrs. Lacey keep to themselves, the man does as you see,
but the daughter, who's a smart, pretty girl, tries to rise
above it all, and make her way among the rest of the girls;
but she has a hard time of it, I guess, poor child."

"I don't wonder," said Edith, "with such a father."

But between the punch and fatigue, she was glad to
take refuge from the landlady's garrulousness, and all her
troubles in quiet sleep.

The next morning the storm was passing away in broken
masses of cloud, through which the sun occasionally shone
in April-like uncertainty.

After an early breakfast she and Hannibal were driven
in an open wagon to what was to be her future home— the
scene of unknown joys and sorrows.

The most memorable places, where the mightiest events

6— Rojs— X

122 WHAT CAN SHE DOf

of the world have transpired, can never have for us the in-
terest of that humble spot where the little drama of our own
life will pass from act to act till our exit.

Most eagerly did Edith note everything as revealed by
the broad liglit of day. The village, though irregular, had
a general air of thriftiness and respectability. The street
through which she was riding gradually fringed oflf, from
stores and offices, into neat homes, farmhouses, and here
and there the abodes of the poor, till at last, three-quarters
of a mile out, she saw a rather quaint little cottage with a
roof steeply sloping and a long low porch.

* 'That's your place, miss," said the driver.

Edith's intent eyes took in the general effect with some-
thing of the practiced rapidity with which she mastered a
lady's toilet on the avenue.

In spite of her predisposition to be pleased, the prospect
was depressing. The season was late and patches of dis-
colored snow lay here and there, and were piled up along
the fences. The garden and trees had a neglected look.
The vines that clambered up the porch had been untrimmed
of the last year's growth, and sprawled in every direction.
The gate hung from one hinge, and many palings were off
the fence, and all had a sodden, dingy appearance from the
recent rains. The house itself looked so dilapidated and
small, in contrast with their stately mansion on Fifth Avenue,
that irrepressible tears came into her eyes, as she murmured:

'*It will kill mother just to see it."

Old Hannibal said in a low, encouraging tone, '*It'll look
a heap better next June, Miss Edie."

But Edith dropped her veil to hide her feelings, and
shook her head.

They got down before the rickety gate, took out the
basket of provisions which Hannibal had secured, paid the
driver, who splashed away through the mud as a boat might
that had landed and left two people on a desert island.
They walked up the oozy path with hearts about as chill
and empty as the unfurnished cottage before them.

A DESERT ISLAND 123

But utter repulsiveness had been taken away by a bright
fire that Arden had kindled on the hearth of the largest
room; and when lighting it he had been so romantic as to
dream of the possibility of kindling a more sacred fire in
a heart that he knew now to be as cold to him as the chilly
room in which he shivered.

Poor Arden I If he could have seen the expression on
Edith's face the night previous, as she looked on his be-
sotted father, he would have cursed more bitterly than ever
what he termed the blight of his life.

124 WHAT CAN SHE DOf

CHAPTER X

EDITH BECOKES A

AS the wrecked would hasten up the strand and explore
eagerly in various directions in order to gain some
idea of the nature and resources of the place where
they might spend months and even years, so Edith hurriedly
passed from one room to another, looking the house over
first, as their place of refuge and centre of life, and then
went out to a spot from which she could obtain a view of
the garden, the little orchard, and the pasture field.

The house had three rooms on the first floor, as many on
the second, and a very small attic. There was also a pretty
good cellar, though it looked to Edith like a black, dismal
hole, and was full of rubbish and old boxes.

The entrance of the house was at the commencement of
the porch, which ran along under the windows of the large
front room. Back of this was one much smaller, and doors
opened from both the apartments named into a long and
rather narrow room running the full depth of the house,
and which had been designed as the kitchen. With the
families that would naturally occupy a house of this char-
acter, it would have been the general living-room. To
Edith's eyes, accustomed to magnificent spaces and lofty
ceilings, these apartments seemed stifling dingy cells. The
walls were broken in places and discolored by smoke.
With the exception of the large room there were no places
for open fires, but only holes for stovepipes.

'^How can such a place as this ever look homelike ?'*

The muddy garden, with its patches of snow, its forlorn

EDITH BECOMES A '' DIVINITY"* 125

and neglected air, its spreading vines and the thickly stand-
ing stalks of last year's weeds, was even less inviting.
Edith had never seen the country in winter, and the gar-
dens of her experience were full of green, beautiful life.
The orchard looked not only gaunt and bare, but very
untidy. The previous year had been most abundant in
fruit, and the trees were left to bear at will. Therefore
many of the limbs were wholly or partly broken off, and
lay scattered where they fell, or still hung by a little of the
woody fibre and bark.

Edith came back to the fire from the survey of her future
home, not only chilled in body by the raw April winds, but
more chilled in heart. Though she had not expected sum-
mer greenness and a sweet inviting home, yet the reality
was so dreary and forbidding, from its necessary contrast
with the past, that she sank down on the floor, and buried
her head in her lap in an uncontrollable passion of grief.
Hannibal was out gathering wood to replenish the fire, and
it was a luxury to be alone a few minutes with her sorrow.

But soon she had the consciousness that she was not
alone, and looking up, saw Arden in the door, with a grave
troubled face. Hastily turning from him, and wiping away
her tears, she said rather coldly:

** You should have knocked. The house is my home, if
it is empty. "

His face changed instantly to its usua^ hard sullen aspect,
and he said briefly:

''liid knock."

'*The landlady has told her all about us,'' he thought,
''and she rejects sympathy and fellowship from such as we
are."

But Edith's feeling had only been annoyance that a
stranger had seen her emotion, so she said quickly, ''I beg
your pardon. We have had trouble, but 1 don't give way
in this manner often. Have you brought a load ?"

"Yes. If your servant will help me I will bring the
things in."

126 WHAT CAN SHE DOf

As he and Hannibal carried in heavy rolls of carpet and
other articles, £dith removed as far as possible the traces
of her grief, and soon began to scan by the light of day with
some cariosity her acquaintance of the previous evening.
He was the very opposite to herself in appearance. Her
eyes were large and dark. He had a rather small but
piercing blue eye. His locks were light and curly, and
his beard sandy. Her hair was brown and straight. He
was fully six feet tall, while she was only of medium height.
And yet Edith was not a brunette, bat possessed a com-
plexion of transparent delicacy which gave her the fragile
appearance characteristic of so many American girls. His
face was much tamed by exposure to liarch winds, but his
brow was as white as hers. In his morbid tendency to shon
every one, he usually kept his eyes fixed on the ground so
as to appear not to see people, and this, with his habitual
frown, gave a rather heavy and repelling expression to
his face.

**He would make a very good representative of the labor-
ing classes,'' she thought, ^4f he hadn^t so disagreeable an
expression.''

It had only dimly dawned upon poor Edith as yet that
she now belonged to the ** laboring classes.*'

But her energetic nature soon reacted against idle griev-
ing, and her pale cheeks grew rosy, and her face full of
eager life as she assisted and directed.

*'If I only had one or two women to help me we could
soon get things settled," she said, **and I have so little
time before the rest come."

Then she added suddenly to Arden, ** Haven't you
sisters ?' '

**My sister does not go out to service," said Arden
proudly.

** Neither do I," said the shrewd Edith, **but I would be
willing to help any one in such an emergency as I am in,"
and she glanced keenly to see the effect of this speech, while
she thought, ** What airs these people put onl"

EDITH BECOMES A "* DIVINITY "^ 127

Arden^s face changed instantly. Her words seemed like
a ray of sunlight falling on a place before shadowed, for the
sullen frowning expression passed into one almost of gentle-
ness, as he said:

"That puts things in a different light. I am sure Rose
and mother both will be willing to help you as neighbors/'
and he started for another load, going around by the way
of his home and readily obtaining from his mother and sister
a promise to assist Edith after dinner.

Edith smiled to herself and said, **I have found the key
to his surly nature already." She had, and to many other
natures also. Kindness and human fellowship will unbar
and unbolt where all other forces may clamor in vain.

Arden went away in a maze of new sensations. This one
woman of all the world beside his mother and sister that he
had come to know somewhat was to him a strange, beautiful
mystery. Edith was in many respects conventional, as all
society girls are, but it was the conventionality of a sphere
of life that Arden knew only through books, and she seemed
to him utterly different from the ladies of Pushton as he
understood them from his slight acquaintance. This differ-
ence was all in her favor, for he cherished a bitter and
unreasonable prejudice against the young girls of his neigh-
borhood as vain, shallow creatures who never read, and
thought of nothing save dress and beaux. His own sister
in fact had helped to confirm these impressions, for while
he was fond of her and kind, he had no great admiration
for her, saying in his sweeping cynicism, '*She is like the
rest of them." If he had met Edith only in the street and
in conventional ways, stylishly dressed, he would scarcely
have noticed her. But her half-indignant, half-pathetic ap-
peal to him on the dock, the lonely ride in which she had
clung to his arm for safety, her tears, and the manner in
which she had last spoken to him, had all combined to
pierce thoroughly his shell of sullen reserve; and, as we
have said, his vivid imagination had taken fire.

Edith and Hannibal worked hard the rest of the for^-

128 WHAT CAN SHE DOf

noon, and ber experienced old attendant was invaluable.
Editb berself, though having little practical knowledge of
work of any kind, had vigor and natural judgment, and
ber small white hands accomplished more than one would
suppose.

So Arden wonderingly thought on his return with a
second load, as he saw her lift and handle things that he
knew to be heavy. Her short, close-fitting working-dress
outlined her fine figure to advantage, and with complexion
bright and dazzling with exercise, she seemed to him some
frail fairy like creature doomed by a cruel fate to unsuited
toil and sorrows. But Edith was very matter-of-fact, and
had never in all her life thought of herself as a fairy.

Arden went home to dinner, and by one o'clock Edith
said to Hannibal:

** There is one good thing about the place if no other.
It gives one a savage appetite. What have you got in the
basket?''

''A scrumptious lunch. Miss Edie. I told de landlady
you'se used to havin' things mighty nice, and den I found
a hen's nest in de barn dis mornin'."

''I hope you didn't take the eggs, Hannibal," said Edith
slyly.

*'Sartin I did. Miss Edie, cause if I didn't de rats would."

** Perhaps the landlady would also if you had shown them
to her."

**Mis8 Edie," said Hannibal solemnly, '^findin' a hen's
nest is like findin' a gold mine. It belongs to de one dat
finds it"

"I am afraid that wouldn't stand in law. Suppose we
were arrested for robbing hens' nests. That wouldn't be a
good introduction to our new neighbors."

**Now, Miss Edie," said Hannibal, with an injured air,
'^you don't spec I do a job like dat so bungly as to get
cotched at it?"

**0h, very well," said Edith, laughing, ''since you have
conformed to the morality of the age, it must be all right,

EDITH BECOMES A ''DIVINITY'' 129

and a fresh egg would be a rich treat now that it can be
eaten with a clear conscience. But, Hannibal, I wish you
would find a gold mine out in the garden."

**I guess you'se find dat with all your readin' about
strawberries and other yarbs."

**I hope so," said Edith with a sigh, **for I don't see how
we are going to live here year after year."

*' You'se be rich again. De men wid de long pusses ain't
sgoin' to look at your black eyes for nothin'," and Hanni-
bal chuckled knowingly.

The color faintly deepened in Edith's cheeks, but she
said with some scorn, '*Men with long purses want girls
with the same. But who are these ?"

Coming up the path they saw a tall middle-aged woman,
and by her side a young girl of about eighteen who was a
marked contrast to her in appearance.

'*Dey's his moder and sister. You will drive tings dis
arternoon."

Mrs. Lacey and her daughter entered with some little
hesitancy and embarrassment, but Edith, with the poise of
an accomplished lady, at once put them at ease by saying:

**It is exceedingly kind of you to come and help, and I
appreciate it very much."

**No one should refuse to be neighborly," said Mrs.
Lacey quietly.

*' And to tell the truth I was delighted to come," said
Eose, **the winter has been so long and dull,"

**0h, dear!" thought Edith, *'if you find them so, what
will be our fate ?"

Mrs. Lacey undid a bundle and took out a teapot from
which the steam yet oozed faintly, and Rose undid another
containing some warm buttered biscuits, Mrs. Lacey saying,
**I thought your lunch might seem a little cold and cheerless,
so I brought these along."

**Now that is kind,'* ^aid Edith, so cordially that their
faces flushed with that natural pleasure which we all feel
when our Ititle efforts for others are appreciated. To them

180 WHAT CAN SHE DOf

it was intensified, for Edith was ^ grand city lady, and the
inroads that she made on the biscaits, and the zest with
which she sipped her tea, showed that her words had the
ring of truth.

**Do sit down and eat, while things are nice and warm,"
she said to Hannibal. ^^There's no use in our putting on
airs now," but Hannibal insisted on waiting upon her as
when he was butler in the great dining-room on the avenuei
and when she was through, carried the things off to the
empty kitchen, and took his ^^bite" on a packing box, pref-
acing it as his nearest approach to grace by an indignant
grunt and profession of his faith.

''Dis ole niggah eat before her? Not much I She's
quality now as much as eber."

But the world and Hannibal were at variance on account
of a sum of subtraction which had taken away from Edith's
name the dollar symbol.

Edith set to work, her helpers now increased to three,
with renewed zest, and from time to time stole glances at
the mother and daughter to see what the natives were like.

They were very different in appearance: the mother
looking prematurely old, and she also seemed bent and
stooping under the heavy burdens of life. Her dark blue
eyes had a weary, pathetic look, as if some sorrow was ever
before them. Her cheek bones were prominent and her
cheeks sunken, and the thin hair, brushed plainly under
her cap, was streaked with gray. Her quietness and re-
serve seemed rather the result of a crushed, sad heart than
of natural lack of feeling.

The daughter was in the freshest bloom of youth, and
was not unlike the flower she was named after, when, as a
dewy bud, it begins to develop under the morning sun.
Though not a beautiful girl, there was a prettiness, a rural
breeziness about her, that would cause any one to look
twice as she passed. The wind ever seemed to be in her
light flaxen curls, and her full rounded figure suggested
superabundant vitality, an impression increased by her

EDITH BECOMES A ''DIVINITY 181

quick, restless motions. Her complexion reminded you of
strawberries and cream, and her blue eyes had a slightly
bold and defiant expression. She felt the blight of her
father's course also, but it acted difiEerently on her tempera-
ment. Instead of timidly shrinking from the world like her
mother, or sullenly ignoring it like her brother, she was for
going into society and compelling it to recognize and respect
her.

'*£ have done nothing wrong," she said; *'I insist on
people treating me in view of what I am myself,'' and in
the sanguine spirit of youth she hoped to carry her point.
Therefore her manner was a little self-asserting, which
would not have been the case had she not felt that she
had prejudice to overcome. Unlike her brother, she cared
little for books, and had no ideal world, but lived vividly
in her immediate surroundings. The older she grew, the
duller and more monotonous did her home life seem. She
had little sympathy from her brother; her mother was a
sad, silent woman, and her father a daily source of trouble
and shame. Her education was very imperfect, and she had
no resource in this, while her daily work seemed a tiresome
round that brought little return. Her mother attended to
the more important duties and gave to her the lighter tasks,
which left her a good deal of leisure. She had no work that
stimulated her, no training that made her thorough in any
department of labor, however humble. From a friend, a
dressmaker in the village, she obtained a little fancy work
and sewing, and the proceeds resulting, and all her brother
gave her, she spent in dress. The sums were small enough
in all truth, and yet with the marvellous ingenuity that
some girls, fond of dress, acquire, she made a very little go
a great way, and she would often appear in toilets that were
quite effective. With those of her own age and sex in her
narrow little circle, she was not a special favorite, but she
was with the young men, for she was bright, chatty, and
had the knack of putting awkward fellows at ease. She kept
her little parlor as pretty and inviting as her limited ma-

132 WHAT CAN SHE DO 9

terials permitted, and with a growing imperioasDess gave
the rest of the family, and especially her father, to under-
stand that this parlor was her domain, and that she would
permit no intrusion. Clerks from the village and farmers'
sons would occasionally drop in of an evening, though they
preferred taking her out to ride where they could see her
away from her home. But the more respectable young
men, with anxious mothers and sisters, were rather shy of
poor Bose, and none seemed to care to go beyond a mild
flirtation with a girl whose father was '^on the rampage,"
as they expressed it, most of the time. On one occasion,
when she had two young friends spending the evening, her
father came home reckless and wild with drink, and his
language toward the young men was so shocking, and his
manner in general so outrageous, that they were glad to
get away. If Arden had not come home and collared his
father, carrying him off to his room by his almost irresisti-
ble strength, Bose's parlor might have become a sad wreck,
literally as well as socially. As it was, it seemed deserted
for a long time, and she felt very bitter about it In her
fearless frankness, her determination not to succumb to her
sinister surroundings (and perhaps from the lack of a sensi-
tive delicacy), she reproached the same young men when
she met them for staying away, saying, ^'It's a shame to
treat a girl as if she were to blame for what she can't help."
But Bose's ambition had put on a phase against which
circumstances were too strong, and she was made to feel in
her struggle to gain a social footing that her father's leprosy
had tainted her, and her brother's **ugly, sullen disposi-
tion," as it was termed, was a hindrance also. She had an
increasing desire to get away among strangers, where she
could make her own way on her own merits, and the city of
New York seemed to her a great Eldorado, where she might
find her true career. Some very showily dressed, knowing-
looking girls, that she had met at a picnic, had increased
this longing for the city. Her mother and brother thought
her restless, vain, and giddy, but she was as good and hon-

EDITH BECOMES A ''DIVINITY'' 188

est a girl at heart as breathed, only her vigorous nature
chafed at repression, wanted outlets, and could not settle
down for life to cook, wash, and sew for a drunken father,
a taciturn brother, or even a mother whose companionship
was depressing, much as she was loved.

Rose welcomed the request of her brother, as helping
Edith would cause a ripple in the current of her dull life,
and give her a chance of seeing one of the grand city ladies,
without the dimness and vagueness of distance, and she
scanned Edith with a stronger curiosity than was bestowed
upon herself. The result was rather depressing to poor
Hose, for, having studied with her quick nice eye Edith's
exquisite manner and movements, she sighed to herself:

^^I'm not such a lady as this girl, and perhaps never can
be."

While Edith was very kind and cordial to the Laceys,
she felt, and made them feel, that there was a vast social
distance between them. Even practical Edith had not yet
realized her poverty, and it would take her some time to
doff the manner of the condescending lady.

They accomplished a great deal that afternoon, but it
takes much time and labor to make even a small empty
house look home-like. Edith had taken the smallest room
upstairs, and by evening it was quite in order for her occu-
pation, she meaning to take Zell in with her. Work had
progressed iu the largest upper room, which she designed
for her mother and Laura. Mrs. Lacey and Hannibal were
in the kitchen getting that arranged, they very rightly con-
cluding that this was the mainspring in the mechanism
of material living, and should be put in readiness at once.
Arden had been instructed to purchase and bring from the
village a cooking-stove, and Hannibal's face shone with
something like delight, as by five o'clock he had a wood
fire crackling underneath a pot of water, feeling that the
terra firma of comfort was at last reached. He could now
soak in his favorite beverage of tea, and make Miss Edie
quite "pertlike" too when she was tired.

184 WHAT CAN SHE DOf

Mrs. Lacey worked silently. Hose was inclined to be
chatty and draw Edith out in regard to city life. She
responded good-naturedly as long as Bose confined herself
to generalities, but was inclined to be reticent on their own
affairs.

Before dark the Laceys prepared to return, the mother
saying gravely:

"You may feel it too lonely to stay by yourself. Our
bouse is not very inviting, and my husband's manner is uot
always what I could wish, but such as it is, you will be
welcome in it till the rest of your family comes."

*'You are very kind to a stranger," said Edith, heartily,
'^but I am not a bit afraid to stay here since I have Hanni-
bal as protector," and Hannibal, elated by this compliment,
looked as if he might be a very dragon to all intruders.
''Moreover," continued Edith, '*you have helped me so
splendidly that I shall be very comfortable, and they will
be here to-morrow night."

Mrs. Lacey bowed silently, but Rose said in her sprightly
voice, from the doorway:

*'IUl come and help you all day to-morrow."

Arden was still to bring one more load. The setting
sun, with the consistency of an April day, had passed into
a (lark cloud which soon came driving on with wind and
rain, and the thick drops dashed against the windows as if
thrown from a vast syringe, while the gutter gurgled and
groaned with the sudden rush of water.

*'0h, dear! how dismal T' sighed Edith, looking out in
the gathering darkness. Then she saw that the loaded
wagon had just stopped at the gate, and in dim outline
Arden sat in the storm as if he had been. a post '*It's too
bad," she said impatiently, "my things will all get wet."
After a moment she added: "Why don't he come in?
Don't he know enough to come in out of the rain?"

"Well, Miss Bdie, he's kind o' quar," said Hannibal,
"I'se jes done satisfied he's quar."

But the shower ceased suddenly, and Arden dismounted^

EDITH BECOMES A ''DIVINITY'' 135

secured his horses, and soon appeared at the door with a
piece of furniture.

**Why, it's not wet/' said Edith with surprise.

*'I saw appearances of rain, and so borrowed a piece of
canvas at the dock.''

**But you didn't put the canvas over yourself," said
Edith, looking at his dripping form, grateful enough now
to bestow a little kindness without the idea of policy. ''As
soon as you have brought in the load I insist on your stay*
ing and taking a cup of tea."

He gave his shoulders an indifferent shrug, saying, ** A
little cold water is the least of my troubles.'^ Then he
added, stealing a timid glance at her, ^^fiut you are very
kind. People seldom think of their teamsters."

"The more shame to them then," said Edith. **I at
least can feel a kindness if I can't make much return. It
was very good of you to protect my furniture, and I appre-
ciate your care. Besides your mother and sister have been
helping me all the afternoon, and I am oppressed by my
obligations to you all."

"I am sorry you feel that way," he said briefly, and
vanished in the darkness after another load.

Soon all was safely housed, and he said, about to de-
part, "There is one more load; I will bring that to-mor-
row."

Prom the kitchen she called, '*Stay, your tea will be
ready in a moment"

"Do not put yourself to that truble," he answered, at
the same time longing to stay. "Mother will have supper
ready for me." He was so diffident that he needed much
encouragement, and moreover he was morbidly sensi-
tive.

But as she turned she caught his wistful glance, and
thought to herself, "Poor fellow! he's cold and hungry."
With feminine shrewdness she said, "Now, Mr. Lacey, I
shall feel slighted if you don't take a cup of my tea, for
see, I have made it myself. It's the one thing about house-

186 WHAT CAN SHE DO 9

keeping that I understand. Your mother brought me a nice
cup at noon, and I enjoyed it very. much. I am going to
pay that debt now to you. ' '

** Well — if you really wish it** — said Arden hesitatingly,
with another of his bright looks, and color even deeper than
the ruddy firelight warranted,

**My conscience!" thought Edith, **how suddenly his
face changes. *^He is 'qoary' as Hannibal says." But
she settled matters by saying, '*I shall feel hurt if you
don't. You must let there be at least some show of
kindness on my part, as well as on yours and your
friends'.*'

There came in again a delicate touch of that human fel-
lowship which he had never found in the world, and had
seemingly repelled, but which his soul was thirsting for
with an intensity never so realized before, and this faintest
semblance of human companionship and sympathy seemed
inexpressibly sweet to his sore and lonely heart.

He took the cup from her as if it had been a sacrament,
and was about to drink it standing, but she placed a chair
at the table and said:

**No, sir, you must sit down there in comfort by the
fire."

He did so as if in a dream. The whole scene was taking
a powerful hold on his imagination.

** Hannibal," she cried, raising her voice in a soft, bird-
like call, and from the dim kitchen whence certain splutter-
ing sounds had preceded him, Hannibal appeared with a
heaping plate of buttered toast.

** With your permission," she said, **I will sit down and
take a cup of tea with you, in a neighborly way, for I wish
to ask you some more questions, and tea, you know, is a
great incentive to talk," and she took a chair on the oppo-
site side of the table, while Hannibal stood a little in the
background to wait on them with all the formality of the
olden time.

The wood fire blazed and crackled, and threw its flicker-

EDITH BECOMES A "DIVINITY "* 137

ing light over Edith's fair lace, and intensified her beauty,
as her features gleamed out, or faded, as the flames rose and
fell. Hannibal stood motionless behind her chair as if he
might have been an Ethiopian slave attendant on a young
sultana. To Arden's aroused imagination, it seemed like
one of the scenes of his fancy, and he was almost afraid to
move or speak, lest all should vanish, and he find himself
plodding along the dark muddy road.

"What is the matter?" she asked curiously. "Why
don't you drink your tea?"

"It all seems as strange and beautiful as a fairy tale," he
said, looking at her earnestly.

Her hearty laugh and matter-of-fact tone dispelled his il-
lusion, as she said:

"It's all dreadfully real to me. I feel as if I had done
more work to-day than in all my life before, and we have
only made a beginning. I want to ask you about the place
and the garden, and how to get things done," and she plied
him well with the most practical questions.

Sometimes he answered a little incoherently, for through
them all he saw a face full of strange weird beauty, as the
firelight flickered upon it, and gave a star-like lustre to the
large dark eyes.

Hannibal, in the background, grinned and chuckled
silently, as he saw Arden's dazed, wondering admiration^
saying to himself, "Dey ain't used to such young ladies as
mine, up here — it kind o' dazzles 'em."

At last, as if breaking away from the influence of a spell,
Arden suddenly rose, turning upon Edith one of those warm,
bright looks that he sometimes gave his mother, and said,
"You have been very kind; good-night," and was gone in
a moment. But the night was luminous about him. Along
the muddy road, in the old bam as he cared for his horses,
in his poor little room at home, to which he soon retired,
he saw only the fair face of Edith, with the firelight
playing upon it, with the vividness of one looking di-
rectly upon an exquisite cabinet picture, and before that

1»8 WHAT CAN SHE DO 9

picture his heart was inclined to bow, in the most devoted
homage.

Edith's only comment was, '*He is *qnar,' Hannibal, as
you said.*'

Wearied with the long day's work, she soon found wel-
come and dreamless rest.

JUBS. ALLEN'S POLICY 189

CHAPTER XI

ICBS. ALLEN'S POLICY

TRUE to her promise, Rose helped Edith all the next
day, and while she worked, the frank-hearted girl
poared out the story of her troubles, and Edith
came to have a greater respect and sympathy for her '*kind
and humble neighbors" as she characterized them in her
own mind. Still with her familiarity with the farming
class, kept up since her summer in the country as a child,
she made a broad distinction between them and the mere
laborer. Moreover, the practical girl wished to conciliate
the Laceys and every one else she could, for she had a pre-
sentiment that there were many trials before them, and that
they would need friends. She said in answer to Rose:

**I never realized before that the world was so full of
trouble. We have seen plenty of late./'

**One can bear any kind of trouble better than a daily
shame," said Rose bitterly.

For some unexplained reason Edith thought of Zell
and Mr. Van Dam with a sudden pang.

Arden brought his last load and watched eagerly for her
appearance, fearing that there might be some great falling
off in the vision of the past evening.

But to his eyes the girl he was learning to glorify pre-
sented as fair an exterior in the garish day, and the reality
of her beauty became a fixed fact in his consciousness, and
his fancy had already begun to endow her with angelic
qualities. With all her vainity, even sorrowful Edith

140 WHAT CAN SHE DOf

woald have laughed heartily at his ideal of her. It was
ODe of the hardest ordeals of his life to take the moDey she
paid him, and she saw and wondered at his repugnance.

*'You will never get rich," she said, *'if you are so prodi-
gal in work, and so spare in your charges.''

**I would rather not take anything,'' he said dubiously,
holding the money, as if it were a coal of fire, between his
thumb and finger.

*'Then I must find some one who will do business on
business principles," she said coldly. '^If the fellow has
any sentimental nonsense about him, I'll soon cure that,"
she thought.

Arden colored, thrust his money carelessly into his
pocket as if it were of no account, and said briefly, ^* Good-
morning."

But when alone he put the money in the innermost part
of his pocketbook, and when his father asked him for some
of it, he sternly answered:

*'No, sir, not a cent." Nor did he spend it himself;
why he kept it could scarcely have been explained. He
was simply acting according to the impulses of a morbid
romantic nature that had been suddenly and deeply im-
pressed. The mother's quick eye detected a change in
him and she asked:

*' What do you think of our new neighbor ?"

*' Mother," said he fervently, '*she is an angel."

*'My poor boy," said she anxiously, **take care. Don't
let your fancy run away with you."

**0h," said he with assumed indiflEerence, **one can have
a decided opinion of a good thing as well as a bad thing,
without making a fool of one's self."

But the mother saw with a half-jealous pang that her
son's heart was awaking to a new and stronger love than
her own.

Mrs. Allen with Zell and Laura was to come by the boat
that evening, and Edith's heart yearned after them as her
kindred. Now that she had had a little experience of lone-

MRS. ALLEN'S POLICY 141

iiness and isolation, she deeply regretted her former harsh-
ness and impatience, saying to herself, **It is harder for
them than for me. They don't like the country, and don't
care anything about a garden,*' and she purposed to be very
gentle and long-suffering.

If good resolutions were only accomplished certainties as
soon as made, how different life would be !

Arden had ordered a close carriage that she might go
down and meet them, and had agreed to bring up their
trunks and boxes in his large wagon.

The boat fortunately landed under the clear starlight on
this occasion, and feeble Mrs. Allen was soon seated com-
fortably in the carriage. But her every breath was a sigh,
and she regarded the martyrs as a favored class in compari-
son with herself. Laura still had her look of dreary apathy;
but Zeirs face wore an expression of interest in the new'
scenes and experiences, and she plied Edith with many
questions as she rode homeward. Mrs. Allen brought a
servant up with her who was condemned to ride with
Arden, much to their mutual disgust.

'*0h, dear!" sighed Edith as they rode along. **It'8 a
dreadful come-down for us all and I don't know how you
are going to stand it, mother."

Mrs. Allen's answer was a long inarticulate sigh.

When she reached the house and entered the room where
supper was awaiting them, she glanced around as a prisoner
might on being thrust into a cell in which years must be
spent, and then she dropped into a chair, sobbing —

*'How different — how different from all my past!" and
for a few moments they all cried together. As with Edith
at first, so now again the new home was baptized with tears
as if dedicated to sorrow and trouble.

Edith then led them upstairs to take off their things, and
Mrs. Allen had a fresh outburst of sorrow as she recognized
the contrast between this bare little chamber and her luxu-
rious sleeping-apartment and dressing-room in the city.
Laura soon regained her air of weary indifference, but Zell,

142 WHAT CAN SHE DOf

hastily throwing oflE her wraps, came down to explore, and
to question Hannibal.

**Bress you, chile, it does my eyes good to see you all,
ony you*se musn't take on as if we'se all dyin* with slow
'sumption."

Zell put her hand on the black's shoulder and looked up
into his face with a wonderfully gentle and grateful expres-
sion, saying:

'^ You are as good as gold Hannibal. I am so glad you
stayed with us, for you seem like one of the best bits of our
old home. Never mind, I'll have a grander house again
soon, and you shall have a stiffer necktie and higher collar
than ever."

**Bress you," said Hannibal with moist eyes, *'it does
my ole black heart good to hear you. But, Miss Zell, I
say," he added in a loud whisper, '^when is it gwine
to be?"

**0h!" said poor Zell, asked for definiteness, **8ome
day," and she passed into the large room where Arden
was just setting down a trunk.

'* Don't leave it there in the middle of the floor," she
said sharply. **Take it upstairs."

Arden suddenly straightened himself as if he had re-
ceived a slight cut from a whip, and turned his sullen face
full on Zell, and it seemed very repulsive to the imperious
little lady.

"Don't you hear me ?" she asked sharply.

** Perhaps it would be well for you not to ask favors of
your neighbors in that tone, ' ' he replied curtly.

Edith, coming down, saw the situation and said with oil
in her voice, *'You must excuse my sister, Mr. Lacey. She
does not know who you are. Hannibal will assist with the
trunks if you will be so kind as to take them upstairs."

**She is different from the rest," thought Arden, readily
complying with her request.

But Zell said as she turned away, loud enough for him
to hear, **What airs these common country people do put

MR8. ALLEN'S POLICY 148

on!'' Zell might have loaded Arden's wagon with gold,
and he would not have lifted a finger for her after that. If
he had known that Edith's kindness had been half policy,
his face would have been more sullen and forbidding thaa
ever. But she dwelt glorified and apart in his conscious-
ness, and if she could only maintain that ideal supremacy,
he would be her slave. But in his morbid sensitiveness she
would have to be very careful. The practical girl at this
time did not dream of his fanciful imagining about her, but
she was bent on securing friends and helpers, however
humble might be their station, and she had shrewdly and
quickly learned how to manage Arden.

The next day was spent by the family in getting settled
in their narrow quarters, and a dreary time they had of it
It was a long rainy day, the roof leaked badly, and every
element of discomfort seemed let loose upon them.

Mrs. Allen had a nervous headache, and one of her worst
touches of dyspepsia, and Zell and Laura were so weary and
out of sorts that little could be accomplished. Between the
tears and sighs within, and the dripping rain without, Edith
looked back on the first two days, when the Laceys were
helping her, as bright in contrast But Mrs. Allen was
already worrying over the Laceys' connection with their
settlement in the neighborhood.

"We shall be associated with these low people," said
she to Edith querulously. **Your first acquaintances in a
new place are of great importance."

Edith was not ready any such association, and she felt
that there was force in her mother's words. She had
thought of the Laceys chiefly in the light of their use-
fulness.

She was glad when the long miserable day came to a
close, and she welcomed the bright sunshine of the follow-
ing morning, hoping it would dispel some of the gloom
that seemed gathering round them more thickly than
ever.

After partaking of a rather meagre breakfast, for Hanni-

144 WHAT CAN SHE DO 9

bal's materials were ranDing low, Edith pushed back her
chair, and said:

**I move we hold a council of war, and look the situation
in the face. We are here, and we've got to live here. Now
what shall we do ? I suppose we must go to work at some-
thing that will bring in money."

**Gfo to work, and for money I" said Mrs. Allen sharply
from her cushioned arm-chair. '*I hope we haven't ceased
to be ladies."

**But, mother, we can't live forever on the title. The
•butchers, bakers, and candlestick- makers' won't supply us
long on that ground. What did the lawyer, who settled
father's estate, say before you left?"

*'Well," replied Mrs. Allen vaguely, **he said he had

placed to our credit in Bank, what there was left, and

he gave me a check- book and talked economy as men always
do. Your poor father, after losing l^^undreds at the club,
would talk economy the next morning, in the most edifying
way. He also said that there was some of that hateful stock
remaining that ruined your father, but that it was of uncer-
tain value, and he could not tell how much it would realize,
but he would sell it and place the proceeds also to our credit
It will amount to considerable, I think, and it may rise.

'*Now, girls," continued Mrs. Allen, settling herself back
among the cushions, and resting the forefinger of her right
hand impressively on the palm of the left, *'this is the
proper line of policy for us to pursue. I hope in all these
strange changes I am still mistress of my own family. You
certainly don't think that I expect to stay in this miserable
hovel all my life. If you two girls, Laura and Edith, had
made tlie matches you might, we should still be living on
the avenue. But I certainly cannot permit you now to spoil
every chance of getting out of this slough. You may not
be able to do as well as you could have done, but if you are
once called working- girls, what can you do ?

*'In the first place we must go into the best society of
this town. Our position warrants it of course. Therefore,

MBS. ALLEN'S POLICY 145

for heaven's sake don't let it get abroad that we are asso-
ciating with these drunken Laceys." (Mrs. Allen in her
rapid generalization gave the impression that the entire
family were habitually "on the rampage," and Edith re-
membered with misgivings that she had drunk tea with
Arden Lacey on that very spot.) '*Moreover," continued
Mrs. Allen, "there is a large summer hotel near here, and
'my friends' have promised to come and see me this sum-
mer. We must try to present an air of pretty, rural ele-
gance, and your young gentleman friends from the city will
soon be dropping in. Then Gus Elliot and Mr. Van Dam
continue very kind and cordial, I am sure. Zell, though
so young, may soon become engaged to Mr. Van Dam, and
it's said he is very rich—"

"I can't get up much faith in these two men," inter-
rupted Edith, "and as for Gus, he can't support himself."

"1 hope you don't put Gus Elliot and my friend on the
same level," said Zell indignantly.

"I don't know where to put 'your friend,' " said Edith
curtly. "Why doesn't he speak out? Why doesn't he do
something open, manly, and decided? It seems as if he
can see nothing and think of nothing but your pretty face.
If he would become engaged to you and frankly take the
place of lover and brother, he might be of the greatest help
to us. But what has he done since father's death but pet
and flatter you like an infatuated old—-"

"Hush!" cried Zell, blazing with anger and starting up;
"no one shall speak so of him. What more has Gus Elliot
done?"

"He has been useful as my errand boy," said Edith con-
temptuously, "and that's all he amounts to as far as I'm
concerned. I am disgusted with men. Who in all our
trouble has been noble and knightly toward us? — "

"Be still, children; stop your qnarrelling, " broke in

Mrs. Allen. "You have got to take the world as yon find

it Men of our day don't act like knights any more than

they dress like them. The point I wish you to understand

t— Rob— X

U6 WBAT CAN 8BB DOf

is that we must keep every hold we have on our old life
and soeietj. Kext winter some of my frieods will invite
you to Tiait them in the eity and then who knows what
may happen?'* — and she nodded significantly. Then she
added, with a regretful sigh, ''What chances you girls have
had! Theresa Oheatem, Argent, livingston, Pamby, and
last and best, Groulden^ who might have been secured if
Laura had been more prompt, and a host of others. Edith
had better have taken Mr. Fox, even, than have had all
this happen.'*

An expression of disgust came out on Edith's face, and
she said, ''It seems to me that I would rather go to work
than take any of them."

"You don't know anything about work," said Mrs.
Allen. "It's a great deal easier to marry a fortune than
to make one, and a woman can't make a fortune. Marrying
well is the only chance you girls have now, and it's my
only chance to live again as a lady ought> and I want to see
to it that nothing is done to spoil these chances."

Laura listened with a dull assent, conscious that she
would marry any man now who would give her an estab-
lishment and enable her to sweep past Mr. Ooulden in
elegant scorn. Zell listened, purposing to marry Mr. Van
Dam, though Edith's words raised a vague uneasiness in
her mind, and she longed to see him again, meaning to
make him more explicit Edith listened with a cooling
adherence to this familiar faith and doctrine of the world
in which the mother had brought up her children. She had
a glimmering perception that the course indicated was not
sound in general, or best for them in particular.

"And now," continued Mrs. Allen, becoming more defi-
nite, "we must have a new roof put on the house right
away, or we shall all be drowned out, aad the house must
be painted, a dooir-bell put in, and fences and things gen-
erally put IB oirder. We must fit this room up as a parlor
and we can use the little voean there aa a dining and sitting-
rooBBu Laura and I will take the chamber over the kitchen.

JfJRflf. ALLEN'S POLICY 147

aud the one over this can be kept as a spare room, so that
if any of our city friends come out to see us, they can stay
all night."

'*0h, mother, the proposed arrangements will make us
all uncomfortable, you especially, ' ' remonstrated Edith.

**No matter, I've set my heart on our getting back to
the old life, and we must not stop at trifles.''

'*But are you sure we have money to spare for all these
improvements?" continued Edith anxiously.

**0h, yes, I think so," said Mrs. Allen indefinitely.
** And as your poor father used to say, to spend money is
often the best way to get money."

**Well, mother," said Edith dubiously, ''I suppose you
know best, but it doesn't look very clear to me. There
seems nothing definite or certain that we can depend on."

*' Perhaps not to-day, but leave all to me. Some one will
turn up, who will fill your eye and fill your hand, and what
more could you ask in a husband? But you must not be
too fastidious. These difficult girls are sure to take up with
^crooked sticks' at last." (Mrs. Allen's views as to straight
ones were not original.) ** Leave all to me. I will tell you
when the right ones turn up."

148 WHAT CAN 6HS DOf

CHAPTER XII

WAITING FOR SOME ONB TO TURN UP

AND SO the girls were condemned to idleness and ennui,
and they ail came to suffer from these as from a dull
toothache, especially Laura and Zell. Edith had
great hopes from her garden, and saw the snow finally
disappear and the mud dry up, as the imprisoned inmates
of the ark might have watched the abatement of the waters.

On the afternoon of the council wherein Mrs. Allen had
marked out the family policy, Edith and Zell walked to
the village, and going to one of the leading stores, made
arrangements with the proprietor to have his wagon stop
daily at their house for orders. They also asked him to
send them a carpenter. They made these requests with the
manner of olden time, when money seemed to flow from
a full fountain, and the man was very polite, thinking he
had gained profitable customers.

While they were absent. Rose stepped in to see if she
could be of any further help. Mrs. Allen surmised who
she was and resolved to snub her effectually. To Eose's
question as to their need of assistance, she replied frigidly,
that they had two servants now, and did not wish to em-
ploy any more help.

Rose colored, bit her lip, then said with an open smile:

** You are under mistake. I am Miss Lacey, and helped
your daughter the first two days after she came."

'*OhI ah! Miss Lacey. I beg your pardon," said Mrs.
Allen, still more distantly. **My daughter Edith is out.
Did she not pay you?"

Rose's face became scarlet, and rising hastily she said.

WAITING FOR SOME ONE TO TURN UP 149

^ ^Either I misunderstand, or am greatly misunderstood.
Good-afternoon. * '

Mrs. Allen slightly inclined her head, while Laura took
no notice of her at all. When she was gone, Mrs. Allen
said complacently, '*I think we will see no more of that
bold-faced fly-away creature. The idea of her thinking that
we would live on terms of social equality with them!*'

Laura's only reply was a yawn, but at last she got up,
put on her hat and shawl and went out to walk a little on
the porch. Arden, who was returning home with his team,
stopped a moment to inquire if there was anything further
that he could do. He hoped the lady he saw on the porch
was Edith, and the wish to see her again led him to thmk
of any excuse that would take him to the house.

As Laura turned to come toward him, he surmised that
it was another sister, and was disappointed and embarrassed,
but it was too late to turn back, though she scarcely ap-
peared to heed him.

^'I called to ask Miss Edith if I could do anything more
that would be of help to her," he said diffidently.

Giving him a cold, careless glance, Laura said, *'I be-
lieve my sister wants some work done around the house
before long. I will tell her that you were here looking for
employment, and I have no doubt she will send for you if
she needs your services," and Laura turned her back on
him and continued her walk.

He whirled about on his heel as if she had struck him,
and when he got home his mother noted that his face looked
more black and sullen than she had ever seen it before.
Kose was open and strong in her indignation, saying:

*'Fine neighbors you have introduced us to I Nice re-
turn they make for all our kindness; not that I begrudge
it. But I hate to see people get all out of you they can,
and then about the same as slap your face and show you
the door."

'*Did you see Miss Edith?" asked Arden quickly.

*'No, I saw the old lady and a proud pale-faced girl who

160 WHAT CAN SHE DOf

took DO more notice of me than if I had come for cold
victuals.**

**I suppose they have heard," said Arden dejectedly.

**They have heard nothing against me, nor you, nor
mother,*' said Rose hotly. '*If I ever see that Miss Bdith
again, I will give her a piece of my mind.**

''You will please do nothing of the kind,** said her
brother. *'She has not turned her back on you. Wait till
she does. We are the last people to condemn one for the
sake of another. * *

'*I guess they are all alike; but, as you say, it*s fair to
give her a chance," answered Rose quietly.

With his habit of reticence he said nothing about his
own experience. But it was a cruel shock that those con-
nected with the one who was becoming the inspiration of
his dreams should be so contemptible, as he regarded them,
and as we are all apt to regard those who treat us with con-
tempt. His faith in her was also shaken, and he resolved
that she must ''send for him," feeling her need, before he
would go near her again. But, after all, his ardent fancy
began to paint her more gentle and human on the back-
ground of the narrow pride shown by the others. He longed
for some absolute proof that she was what he believed her,
but was too proud to put himself in the way of receiving it.

When Edith heard how the Lacey acquaintance had been
nipped in the bud, she said with, honest shame, "It*s too
bad, after all their kindness.'*

"It was the only thing to be done,'* said Mrs. Allen.
"It is better for such people to talk against you than to be
claiming you as neighbors, and all that. It would give us
a very bad flavor with the best people of the town.*'

"I only wish then,'* said Edith, "that I had never let
them do anything for me. I shall hate to meet them again,"
and she sedulously avoided them.

The next day a carpenter appeared after breakfast, and
seemed the most affably suggestive man in the world. "Of
course he would carry out Mrs. Allen's wishes immedi-

WAITING FOB SOME ONS TO TURN UP 151

ately," and be showed her several other improvements that
might be made at the same time, and which would cost bat
little more while they were about it

**But how much will it cost?" asked Edith directly.

'*0h, well,*' said the man vaguely, '^it's hard to estimate
on this kind of jobbing work. ' ' Then turning to Mrs. Allen,
he said with great deference, ''I assure you, madam, I will
do it well, and be jast as reasonable as possible.*'

*' Certainly, certainly," said Mrs. Allen majestically,
pleased with the deference, "I suppose that is all we ought
to ask,"

**I think there ought to be something more definite as to
price and time of completing the work," still urged Edith.

**My dear," said Mrs. Allen with depressing dignity,
''pray leave these matters to me. It is not expected that
a young lady like yourself should understand them."

Mrs. Allen had become impressed with the idea, that if
they ever reached the haven of Fifth Avenue again, she
must take the helm and steer their storm-tossed bark. As
we have seen before, she was capable of no small degree
of exertion when the motive was to attain position and
supremacy in the fashionable world. She was great in one
direction only — the one to which she had been educated,
and to which she devoted her energies.

The man chuckled as he went away. ** Lucky I had to
deal with the old fool rather than that sharp black-eyed
girl. By Jove I but they are a handsome lot though; only
they look like the houses we build nowadays-^more paint
and finish than solid timber."

The next day there were three or four mechanics at
work, and the job was secured. The day following there
were only two, and the next day none. Edith sent word
by the grocer, asking what was the matter. The following
day one man appeared, and on being questioned, said ''the
boss was very busy, lots of jobs on hand."

"Why did he take our work then ?" asked Edith indig-
nantly.

162 WEAT CAN SHE DOf

**0h, as to that, the boss takes every job he can get,"
said the man with a grin.

**Well, tell the boss I want to see him,*' she replied
sharply.

The man chuckled and went on with his work in a snail-
like manner, as if that were the only job **the boss" had,
or was like to have, and he must make the most of it.

The house was hers, and Edith felt anxious about it, and
indeed it seemed that they were going to great expense with
no certain return in view. That night one corner of the
roof was left open and rain came in and did not a little
damage.

Loud and bitter were the complaints of the family, bat
Edith said little. She was too incensed to talk about it
The next day it threatened rain and no mechanics appeared.
Doaning her waterproof and thick shoes, she was soon in
the village, and by inquiry found the man's shop. He saw
her coming and dodged out.

*'Very well, I will wait," said Edith, sitting down on a
box.

The man, finding she would not go away, soon after
bustled in, and was about to be very polite, but Edith in-
terrupted him with a question that was like a blow between
the eyes:

*'What do you mean, sir, by breaking your word?"

**Great press of work just now. Miss Allen — "

**That is not the question, " interrupted Edith. **You
said you would do our work immediately. You took it
with that distinct understanding; and, because you have
been false to your word, we have suffered much loss. You
knew the roof was not all covered. You knew it when it
rained last night, but the rain did not fall on you, so I sup-
pose you did not care. But is a person who breaks his word
in that style a gentleman? Is he even a man, when he
breaks it to a lady, who has no brother or husband to pro-
tect her interests?"

The man became very red. He was accustomed, as his

WAITING FOB SOME ONE TO TURN UP 153

workman said, to aecure every job he could, then divide
and scatter his men so as to keep everything going, but at
a slow, provoking rate, that wore out every one's patience
save his own. He was used to the annual fau]t-finding and
grumbling of the busy season, and bore it as he would a
northeast storm as a disagreeable necessity, and quite prided
himself on the good«natured equanimity with which he could
stand his customers' scoldings; and the latter bad become
so accustomed to being put ofE that they endured it also as
they would a northeaster, and went into improvements and
building as they might visit a dentist.

But when Edith turned her scornful face and large in-
dignant eyes full upon him, and asked practically what
he meant by lying to her, and said that to treat a woman
so proved him less than a man, he saw his habit of "putting
off'' in a new light. At first he was a little inclined to blus-
ter, but Edith interrupted him sharply:

**1 wish to know in a word what you will do. If that
roof is not completed and made tight to-day, I will put the
matter in a lawyer's hands and make you pay damages."

This would place the man in an unpleasant business
aspect, so he said gruffly:

**I will send some men right up."

** And I will take no action till I see whether they come, "
said Edith significantly.

They came, and in a few days the work was finished.
But a bill double the amount they expected came promptly
also. They paid no attention to it.

In the meantime Edith bad asked the village merchant,
who supplied them with provisions, and who had also be-
come a sort of agent for them, to send a man to plow»the
garden. The next day a slouchy old fellow, with two mel-
ancholy shacks of horses that might well tremble at the caw
of a crow, was scratching the garden with a worn-out plow
when she came down to breakfast. He had already made
havoc in the fiower borders, and Edith was disgusted with
the outward aspect of himself and team to begin with. But

154 WHAT CAN SHE DOf

when in her morning slippers she had picked her way dain-
tily to a point from which she could look into the shallow
furrows, her vexation knew no bounds. She had been read-
ing about gardening of late, and she had carefully noted
how all the writers insisted on deep plowing and the thor-
ough loosening of 'the soil. This man's furrows did not
average six inches, and with a frowning brow, and dress
gathered up, she stood perched on a little stone, like a bird
that had just alighted with ruffled plumage, while Zell was
on the porch laughing at her. The man with his gaunt
team soon came round again opposite her, with slow auto-
matic motion as if the whole thing were one crazy piece of
mechanism. The man's head was down, and he paid no
heed to Edith. The rim of his old hat flapped over his
face, the horses jogged on with dropping head and ears,
as if unable to hold them up, and all seemed going down,
save the plow. This light affair skimmed and scratched
along the ground like the sharpened sticks of oriental
tillage.

**Stop!'' cried Edith sharply.

** Whoa!'* shouted the man, and he turned toward Edith
a pair of watery eyes, and a face that suggested nothing but
snuff.

*' Who sent you here?" asked Edith in the same tone.

**Mr. Hard, mum.'' (Mr. Hard was the merchant who
was acting as their agent.)

** Am I to pay you for this work, or Mr. Hard ?"

''I guess you be, mum."

** Who's to be suited with this work, you, Mr. Hard,
or 1?"

*•! hain't thought nothin' about that."

'*Do you mean to say that it makes no difference whether
1 am suited or not?"

'* What yer got agin the work ?"

'*! want my garden plowed, not scratched. You don't
plow half deep enough, and you are injuring the shrubs
and flowers in the borders."

WAITING FOR SOME ONE TO TURN UP 166

*'I guess I know more about plowin' than you do. Gree
up thar!'' to the horses, that seemed inclined to be Edith's
allies by not moving.

'*Stop!'* she cried, ''I will not pay you a cent for this
work, and wish you to leave this garden instantly/*

''Mr. Hard told me to plow this garding and l*m a-goin'
to plow it. £ never seed the day's work I didn't git paid
for yit, and you'll pay for this. Git up thar, you cussed
old critters," and the man struck the horses sharply with a
lump of dirt. Away went the crazy rattling old automaton
round and round the garden in spite of all she could do.

She was half beside herself with vexation, which was
increased by Zell's convulsed laughter on the porch, but
she stormed at the old plowman as vainly as a robin might
remonstrate with a windmill.

*'Mr Hard told me to plow it, and I'm a-goin' to plow
it," said the human part of the mechanism as it again
passed, without stopping, the place where Edith stood.

Utterly baffled, Edith rushed into the house and hastily
swallowed a cup of coffee. She was too angry to eat a
mouthful.

Zell followed with her hand upon her side, which was
aching from laughter, and as soon as she found her voice
said :

'*It was one of the most touchingly beautiful rural
scenes I ever looked upon. I never had so close and
inspiring a view of one of the *sons of the soil' before."

'^Yes," snapped Edith, **he is literally a clod."

**I can readily see," continued Zell, in a mock-senti-
mental tone, *'how noble and refining a sphere the 'gar-
ding' (as your friend, out there, terms it) must be, even for
women. In the first place there are your associates in
labor—"

**StopI" interrupted Edith sharply. •^Y'ou all leave
everything for me to do, but I won't be teased and tor-
mented in the bargain."

**But really," continued the incorrigible Zell, *'I have

156 WHAT CAN SHE DOf

been so much impressed by the first scene in the creation
of your Eden, which I have just witnessed, that I am quite
impatient for the second. It may be that our sole acquaint-
ances in this delightful rural retreat, the 'drunken Laceys,'
as mother calls them, will soon insist on becoming inspired
with the spirit of the corn they raise in our arbor."

Edith sprang up from the table and went to her room.

*' Shame on you, Zell," said Mrs. Allen sharply, but
Laura was too apathetic to scold.

Impulsive Zell soon relented, and when Edith came
down a few moments later in walking trim, and with eyes
swollen with unshed tears, Zell threw her arms around her
neck and said:

** Forgive your naughty little sister.**

But Edith repulsed her angrily, and started toward the
village.

''I do hate to see people sullenly hoard up things," said
Zell snappishly. Then she dawdled about the house, yawn-
ing and saying fretfully, **I do wish I knew what to do with
myself. ' '

Laura reclined on the sofa with a novel, but Zell was not
fond of reading. Her restless nature craved continual ac-
tivity and excitement, but it was part of Mrs. Allen's policy
that they should do nothing.

"Some one may call,'* she said, '*and we must be ready
to receive them,** but at that season of the year, when roads
were muddy, there was but little social visiting in the
country.

So, consumed with ennui, Zell listened to the pounding
of the carpenters overhead, and watched the dogged old
plowman go round the small garden till it was all scratched
over, and then the whole crazy mechanism rattled off to
parts unknown. The two servants did not leave her even
the recourse of housework, of which she was naturally fond.

Edith went straight to Mr. Hard, and was so provoked
that she scarcely avoided the puddles in her determined
haste.

WAITING FOR SOME ONE TO TURN UP 157

Mn Hard looked out upon his customers with cold, hard
little eyes that changed their expression only in growing
more cold and hard. The rest of his person seemed all
bows, smirks, and smiles, but it was noticed that these
latter diminished and his eyes grew harder as he wished to
remind some lagging patron that his little account needed
settling. This thrifty citizen of Pushton was soon in polite
attendance on £dith, but was rather taken back when she
asked sharply what he meant by sending such a good-for-
nothing man to plow her garden.

'*Well, Miss Allen," he said, his eyes growing harder
but his manner more polite, "'old Oideon does such little
jobs around, and I thought he was just the one."

**Does he plow your garden?" asked Edith abruptly.

**I keep a gardener," said Mr. Hard with some dig-
nity.

**I believe it would pay me to do the same," said Edith,
•'if I could find one on whom 1 could depend. The man
you sent was very impudent. I told him the work didn't
suit me — that he didn't plow half deep enough, and that he
must leave. But he just kept right 09, saying you sent
him, and he would plow it, and he injured my flower bor-
ders besides. Therefore he must look to you for payment."
(Mr. Hard's eyes grew very hard at this.) ''Because I am a
woman I am not going to be imposed upon. Now do you
know of a man who can really plow my garden ? If not, I
must look elsewhere. I had hoped when you took our busi-
ness you would have some interest in seeing that we were
well served."

Mr. Hard, with eyes like two flint pebbles, made a low
bow and said with impressive dignity:

*'It is my purpose to do so. There is Mr. Skinner, he
does plowing."

"I don't want Mr. Skinner," said Edith impatiently, "I
don't like his name in reference to plowing."

"Oh! ah! excellent reason; very good. Miss Allen.
Well, there's Mr. McTrump, a Scotchman, who has a

168 WHAT CAN SHE DO f

Bmali greenhouse and nursery, he looks after gardens for
some people."

'*! will go and see him," said Edith, taking his address..

As she plodded oS. to find his place, she sighed, **0h,
dear! it*s dreadful to have no men in the family. That
Arden Lacey might have helped me so much, if mother
was not so particular. I fear we are all on the wrong
track, throwing away substantial and present good for
uncertainties."

Mr. McTrump was a little man with a heavy sandy
beard and such bushy eyebrows and hair that he reminded
Edith of a Scotch terrier. But her first glance around con-
vinced her that he was a gardener. Neatness, order, thrift,
impressed her the moment she opened his gate, and she
perceived that he was already quite advanced in his spring
work. Smooth seed-sown beds were emerging from win-
ter's chaos. Crocuses and hyacinths were in bloom, tulips
were budding, and on a sunny slope in the distance she saw
long green rows of what seemed some growing crop. She
determined if possible to make this man her ally, or by
stratagem to gain (lis secret of success.

The little man stood in the door of his greenhouse with
a transplanting trowel in his hand. He was dressed m clay-
colored nankeen, and could get down in the dirt without
seeming to get dirty. His small eyes twinkled shrewdly,
but not unkindly, as she advanced toward him. He was
fond of flowers, and she looked like one herself that spring
morning.

**1 was directed to call upon you," she said^ with con-
ciliatory politeness, '* understanding that you sometimes
assist people with their gardens.'*

'' Weel, noo and then I do, but I canna give mooch time
with a' my ain work."

"But you would help a lady who has no one else to help
her, wouldn't you?" said Edith sweetly.

Old Malcom was not to be caught with a sugar-plum, so
he said with a little Scotch caution:

WAITING FOR SOME ONE TO TURN UP 169

**I canna vera weel say till I bear mair aboot it."

Editb told bim bow she was situated, and in view of her
perplexity and trouble, her voice had a little appealing
pathos in it. Malcom's eyes twinkled more and more
kindly, and as be explained afterward to his wife, **Her
face was sae like a pink hyacinth beent doon by the storm
and a wantin* proppin' oop," that by the time she was done
he was ready to accede to her wishes.

** Weel," said he, **I canna refuse a blithe young leddy
like yoursel, but ye must let me have my ain way."

Edith was inclined to demur at this, for she had been
reading up and had many plans and theories to carry out
But she concluded to accept the condition, thinking that
with her feminine tact she would have her own way after
all. She did not realize that she was dealing with a
Scotchman.

**I'll send ye a mon as will plow the garden, and not
scratch it, the morrow, God willing" for Mr. McTrump
was a very pious man, his only fault being that he would
take a drop too much occasionally.

**May I stay here a while and watch you work, and look
at things ?" asked Edith.^ **I don't want to go back till that
hateful old fellow has done his mischief and is gone."

** Why not?" said Malcom, **an ye don't tech anything.
The woman folk from the village as come here do pick and
pull much awry."

**I promise you I will be good," said Edith eagerly.

** That's mair than ony on us can say of oursel," said
Malcom, showing the doctrinal bias of his mind, **but I
ken fra' yer bonnie face ye mean weel."

**0h, Mr. McTrump, tbat is the first compliment I have
received in Pushton," laughed Edith.

**I'm a thinkin' it'll not be the last. But I hope ye
mind the Scripter where it says, *We do all fade as a
flower,' and ye will not be puffed oop."

But Edith, far more intent on horticultural than on
scriptural knowledge, asked quickly:

160 WEUT CAN aJSM DOf

'* What were you going to 8et out with that trowel?"

*'A new Btrawberry-bed. I ha' more plants the spring
than I can sell| sae I thought to put oot a new bed, though
I ha' a good mony."

**I am 80 glad. I wish to set out a large bed and can get
the plants of you/'

*' How mony do ye want?" said Malcom, with a quick
eye to business.

* * I shall leave that to you when you see my ground. Now
see how I trust you, Mr. McTrump."

** An' ye' 11 not lose by it, though I would na like a' my
coostomers to put me sae strictly on my honesty."

Edith spent the next hour in looking around the garden
and greenhouses and watching the old man put out his
plants.

*' These plants are to be cooltivated after the hill sees-
tern," he said. ''They are to stand one foot apart in the
row, and the rows two feet apart, and not a rooner or weed
to grow on or near them, and it would do your bright eyes
good to see the great red berries they'll bear."

*' Shall I raise mine that way ?" said Edith.

*'Weel, ye might soom, but the narrow row coolture will
be best for ye, I'm thinkin'."

** What's that?"

'' Weel, just let the plants run togither and make a thick
close row a foot wide, an' two feet between the rows. That'll
be the easiest for ye, but I'll show ye."

**I'm so glad I found you out!" said Edith, heartily;
*'and if you will let me, I want to come here often and see
how you do everything, for to tell you the truth, between
ourselves, we are poor, and may have to earn our living
out of the garden, or some other way, and I would rather
do it out of the garden."

'' Weel, noo, ye're a canny lass to coom and filch all old
Malcom's secrets to set oop opposition to him. But then
sin' ye do it sae openly I'll tell ye all I know. The big
wourld ought to be wide enough for a bonnie lassie like

WAITING FOB SOME ONE TO TURN UP 161

yoursel to ha' a chance in it, and though I'm a little mon,
I would na be sae mean a one as to hinder ye. Mairover the
gardener's craft be a gentle one, and I see na reason why, if
a white lily like yoursel must toil and spin, it should na be
oot in God's sunshine, where the flowers bloom, instead o'
pricking the bluid oot o' yer body, and the hope oot o' yer
heart, wi' the needle's point, as I ha' seen sae mony o' my
ain coon try lassies do. Gude-by, and may the roses in yer
cheeks bloom a' the year round."

Edith felt as if his last words were a blessing, and started
with her heart cheered and hopeful; and yet beyond her gar-
den, with its spring promise, its summer and autumn possi-
bilities, there was little inspiring or hopeful in her new home.

In accordance with their mother's policy, they were wait-
ing for something to turn up — waiting, in utter uncertainty,
and with dubious prospects, to achieve by marriage the se-
curity and competence which they must not work for, or
they would utterly lose caste in the old social world in
which they had lived.

Be not too hasty in condemning Mrs. Allen, my reader,
for you may, at the same time, condemn yourself. Have
you no part in sustaining that public sentiment which turns
the cold shoulder of society toward the woman who works ?
Many are growing rich every year, but more are growing
poor. What does the **best society," in the world's esti.
mation, say to the daughters in these families ?

**Keep your little hands white, my dears, as long as you
can, because as soon as the traces of toil are seen on them
you become a working- woman, and our daughters can't as-
sociate with you, and our sons can't think of you, that is
for wives. No other than little and white hands can enter
our heaven."

So multitudes struggle to keep their hands white, though
thereby the risk that their souls will become stained and
black increases daily. A host of fair girls find their
way every year to darker stains than ever labor left, be-
cause they know how coldly society will ignore them the

162 WHAT CJJN SHE DOf

moment they enlist in the army of honest workers. But
you, respectable men and women in your safe pleasant
homes, to the extent that you hold and sustain this false
sentiment, to the extent that you make the paths of labor
hard and thorny, and darken them from the approving
smile of the world, you are guilty of these girls' ruin.

Christian matron, with your husband one of the pillars
of ohurch and state, do you shrink with disgust from that
poor creature who comes flaunting down Broadway ? None
but the white-handed enter your parlors, and the men (?)
who are hunting such poor girls to perdition will sit on the
sofa with your daughters this evening. Be not too confi-
dent Your child, or one in whom your blood flows at a
little later remove, may stand just where honor to toil would
save, but the practical dishonoring of it, which you sustain,
eventoally blot out the light of earth and heaven.

Mrs. Allen knew that even if her daughters commenced
teaching, which, with all the thousands spent on their edu-
cation, they were incapable of doing, their old sphere on
Fifth Avenue would be as unapproachable as the pearly
Agates, between which and the lost a '* great gulf is fixed."

But Mrs. Allen knew also of a very respectable way,
having the full approval of society, by which they might
regain their place in the heaven from which they had fallen.
Besides it was such a simple way, requiring no labor what-
ever, though a little scheming perhaps, no amount of brains
or culture worth mentioning, no heart or love, and least of
all a noble nature. A woman may sell herself, or if of a
waxy disposition, having little force, may be sold at the
altar to a man who will give wealth and luxury in return.
This, society, in full dress, smiles upon, and civil law and
sacred ceremony sanction.

With the forefinger of her right hand resting impres-
sively on the palm of her left, Mrs. Allen had indicated
this back door into the paradise, the gates of which were
guarded against poor working-women by the flaming sword
of public opinion, turning every way.

WAITING FOR SOME ONE TO TURN UP 188

And the girls were waiting yawningly, wearily, as the
long nnoocnpied days passed. Laura's cheek grew paler
than even her delicate style of beauty demanded. She
seemed not only a hot- house plant, but a sickly one. The
light was fading from her eye as well as the color from her
cheek, and all vigor vanishing from her languid soul and
body. The resemblance to her mother grew more striking
daily. She was a melancholy result of that artificial lux-
urious life by which the whole nature is so enervated that
there seems no stamina left to resist the first cold blast of
adversity. Instead of being like a well-rooted hardy native
of the soil she seemed a tender exotic that would wither
even in the honest sunlight. As a gardener would say, she
needed *' hardening off.*' This would require the bracing
of principle and the development of work. But Mrs. Allen
could not lead the way to the former, and the latter she for-
bade, so poor Laura grew more sickly and morbid every day
of her weary idle waiting.

Mrs. Allen's policy bore even more heavily on Zell.
We have all thought something perhaps of the cruelty
of imprisoning a vigorous young person, abounding in
animal life and spirits, in a narrow cell, which forbids all
action and stifles hope. It gives the unhappy victim the
sensation of being buried alive. There comes at last to be
one passionate desire to get out and away. Impulsive, rest-
less, excitable Zell, with every vein filled with hot young
blood, was shut out from what seemed to her the world,
and no other world of activity was shown to her. Her
bands were tied by her mother's policy, and she sat moping
and chafing like a chained captive, waiting till Mr. Van
Dam should come and deliver her from as vile durance
as was ever suffered in the moss-grown castles of the old
world. The hope of his coming was all that sustained her.
Her sad situation was the result of acting on a false view
of life from beginning to end. Any true parent would have
shuddered at the thought of a daughter marrying such a
man as Van Dam, but Zell was forbidden to do one useful

164 WHAT CAN SHE DOf

thing, lest it should mar her chance of anion with this
r^sum^ of all vice and uncleanness; and though she had
heard the many reports of his evil life, her moral sense was
so perverted that he seemed a lion rather than a reptile to
her. It is true, she looked upon him only in the light
of her future husband, but that she did not shrink from
any relationship with such a man shows how false and
defective her education had been.

Edith had employment for mind and hand, therefore she
was happier and safer than either of her sisters. Malcom
had her garden thoroughly plowed, and helped her plant
it He gave her many flower roots and sold others at very
low prices. In the lower part of the garden, where the
ground was rather heavy and moist, he put out a large
number of raspberries; and along a stone fence, where
weeds and bushes had been usurping the ground, he planted
two or three varieties of blackcaps. He also lined another
fence with Kittatinny blackberries. There were already
many currants and .gooseberries on the place. These he
trimmed, and put in cuttings for new bushes. He pruned
the grapevines also somewhat, but not to any great extent,
on account of the lateness of the season, meaning to get
them into shape by summer cutting. The orchard also was
made to look clean and trim, with the dead wood and inter-
fering branches cut away. Edith watched these operations
with the deepest interest, and when she could, without
danger of being observed from the road, assisted, though
in a very dainty, amateur way. But Malcom did not aim
to put in as many hours as possible, but seemed to do every-
thing with a sleight of hand that made his visits appear too
brief, even though she had to pay for them. As a refuge
from long idle hours, she would often go up to Malcom's
little place, and watch him and his assistant as they deftly
dealt with nature in accordance with her moods, making
the most of the soil, sunlight, and rain. Thus Malcom came
to take a great interest in her, and shrewd Edith was not
slow in fostering so useful a friendship. But in spite of all

WAITING FOR SOME ONE TO TURN UP 186

this, there were many rainy idle days that hung like lead
upon her hands, and upon these especially, it seemed im-
possible to carry out her purpose to be gentle and forbear-
ing, and it often occurred that the dull apathy of the house-
hold was changed into positive pain by sharp words and
angry retorts that should never have been spoken.

About the last Sabbath of April, Mrs. Allen sent for a
carriage and was driven with her daughters to the most
fashionable church of Pushton. Marshalled by the sexton,
they rustled in toilets more suitable for one of the gorgeous
temples of Fifth Avenue than for even the most ambitious
of country churches. Mrs. Allen hoped to make a profound
impression on the country people, and by this one dress
parade to secure standing and cordial recognition among
the foremost families. But she overshot the mark. The
failure of Mr. Allen was known. The costly mourning
suits and the little house did not accord, the solid, sensible
people were unfavorably impressed, and those of fashion*
able and aristocratic tendencies felt that investigation was
needed before the strangers could be admitted within their
exclusive circles. So, though it was not a Methodist church
that they attended, the Aliens were put on longer proba-
tion by all classes, when if they had appeared in a simple
unassuming manner, rating themselves at their true worth
and position, many would have been inclined to take them
by the hand.

166 WHAT CAN 8BE DOf

CHAPTER XIII

THEY TURN UP

ONE morning, a month after the Aliens had gone into
poverty's exile, Gus Elliot lounged into Mr. Van
Dam's luxurious apartments. There was every-
thing around him to gratify the eye of sense, that is, such
sense as Gus Elliot had cultivated, though an angel might
have hidden his face. We will not describe these rooms —
we had better not. It is sufficient to say that in their dec-
orations, pictures, bacchanalian ornaments, and general sug-
gestion, they were a reflex of Mr. Van Dam's character, in
the more refined and aesthetic phase which he presented
to society. Indeed, in the name of art, whose mantle, if
at times rather flimsy, is broader than that of charity, not
a few would have admired the exhibitions of Mr. Van
Dam's taste.

But concerning Gus Elliot, no doubt exists in our mind.
The atmosphere of Mr. Van Dam's room was entirely
adapted to his chosen direction of development. He was
a young man of leisure and fashion, and was therefore
what even the fashionable would be horrified at their
daughters ever becoming. This nice distinction between
son and daughter does not result well. It leaves men in
the midst of society unbranded as vile, unmarked so that
good women may shrink in disgust from them. It gives
them a chance to prey upon the weak, as Mr. Van Dam
purposed to do, and as he intended to induce Gus Elliot to
do, and as multitudes of exquisitely dressed scoundrels are
doing daily.

THKT TURN UP l«f

U Mr. and Mrs. Allen had done their duly as parents,
they woold hare kept the wolf (I beg the wolf's pardon)
the jackal, Mr. Van Dam, with his thin disguise of society
polish, from entering their fold. Oos £lliot was one of those
mean curs that never lead, and oould always be drawn into
any evil that satisfied the one question of his life, ^^Will it
give me what / want ?' '

Gu8 was such an exquisite that the smell of garlic made
him ill, and the sight of blood made him faint, and the
thought of coarse working hands was an abomination, but
in worse than idleness he could see his old father wearing
himself out, he could get ''gentlemanly drunk/* and com*
mit any wrong in vogue among the fast young men with
whom he associated. And now Mephistopheles Van Dam
easily induces him to seek to drag down beautiful Sdith
Allen, the woman he had meant to marry, to a life com-
pared with which the city gutters are cleanly.

Van Dam in slippers and silken robe was smoking his
meerschaum after a late breakfast and reading a French novel.

"• WhsLt is the matter ?'* he said, noting Gus*s expression
of ennui and discontent.

'*There is not another girl left in the city to be men*
tioned the same day with Edith Allen/' said Oua, with the
pettishness of a child from whom something had been taken.

''Well, spooney, what are you going to do about it?"
asked Mr. Van Dam coolly.

"What is there to do about it? you know well enough
that I can't afiEord to marry her. I suppose it's the best
thing for me that she has gone off to the backwoods some-
where, for while she was here I could not help seeing her,
and after all it was only an aggravation. "

"I can't afford to marry Zell," replied Van Dam, *'but
I am going up to see her to-morrow. After being out there
by themselves for a month, 1 think they will be glad to see
some one from the civilized world." The most* honest
thing about Van Dam was his sincere commiseration for
those compelled to live in quiet country places, without

168 WHAT CAN SHE DO f

experience in the highly spiced pleasures and excitements
of the metropolis. In his mind thej were associated with
oxen — innocent, rural, and heavy, these terms being almost
synonymous to him, and suggestive of such a forlorn tame
condition that it seemed only vegetating, not living. Mr.
Van Dam believed in a life, like his favorite dishes, that
abounded in cayenne. Zell's letters had confirmed this
opinion, and he saw that she was half desperate with ennui
and disgust at their loneliness.

**I imagine we have stayed away long enough," he con-
tinued. *'They have had sufficient of the miseries of mud,
rain, and exile, not to be very nice about the conditions
of return to old haunts and life. Of course I can't afford
to marry Zell any more than you can Edith, but for all
that I expect to have her here with me before many months
pass, and perhaps weeks."

**Look here, Van Dam, you are going too far. Remem-
ber how high the Aliens once stood in society," said Gus,
a little startled.

** *Once stood;' where do they stand now? Who in so-
ciety has lifted, or will lift a finger for them, and they seem
to have no near relatives to stand by them. I tell you they
are at our mercy. Luxury is a necessity, and yet they are
not able to earn their bare bread.

*'Let me inform you," he continued, speaking with the
confidence of a hunter, who from long experience knows
just where the game is most easily captured, **that there is
no class more helpless than the very rich when reduced to
sudden poverty. They are usually too proud to work, in
the first place, and in the second, they don't know how
to do anything. What does a fashionable education fit a
girl for, I would like to know, if, as often occurs, she has
to make her own way in the world ? — a smattering of every-
thing, -mistress of nothing."

*' W^U, Van Dam," said Gus, ** according to your show-
ing, it fits them for little schemes like the one you are
broaching."

THEY TURN UP 169

** Precisely. Girls who know how to work and who are
accustomed to it, will snap their fingers in your face, and
tell you they can take care of themselves, but the class to
which the Aliens belong, unless kept up by some rich rela-
tions, are soon almost desperate from want. I have kept
up a correspondence with Zell. They seem to have no near
relatives or friends who are doing much for them. They
are doing nothing for themselves, save spend what little
there is left, and their monotonous country life has half-
murdered them already. So I conclude I have waited long
enough and will go up to-morrow. Instead of pouting like
a spoiled child over your lost Edith, you had better go up
and get her. It may take a little time and management.
Of course they must be made to think we intend to marry
them, but if they once elope with us, we can find a priest at
our leisure."

**I will go up to-morrow with you any way," said Gus,
who, like so many others, never made a square bargain
with the devil, but was easily '*led captive" from one wrong
and villany to another.

It was the last day of April — one on which the rawness
and harshness of early spring were melting into the mild-
ness of May. The buds on the trees had perceptibly
swollen. The flowering maple was still aflame, the sweet
centre of attraction to innumerable bees, the hum of whose
industry rose and fell on the languid breeze. The grass had
the delicate green and exquisite odor belonging to its first
growth, and was rapidly turning the brown, withered sward
of winter into emerald. The sun shone through a slight
haze, but shone warmly. The birds had opened the day
with full orchestra, but at noon there was little more than
chirp and twitter, they seeming to feel something of Edith's
languor, as she leaned on the railing of the porch, and
watched for the coming of Malcom. She sighed as she
looked at the bare brown earth of the large space that she
purposed for strawberries, and work there and everywhere
seemed repulsive. The sudden heat was enervating and
8--R0E-- X

170 WHAT CAN SHE DOf

gave her the feeling of luxurious languor that she longed
to enjoy with a sense of security and freedom from care.
But even as her eyelids drooped with momentary drowsi-
ness, there was a consciousness, like a dull, half- recognized
pain, of insecurity, of impending trouble and danger, and
of a need for exertion that would lead to something more
certain than anything her mother*s policy promised.

She was startled from her heaviness by the sharp click
of the gate latch, and Malcom entered with two large
baskets of strawberry-plants. He had said to her:

"Wait a bit. The plants will do weel, put oot the last
o' the moonth. An ye wait I'll gie ye the plants I ha' left
cover and canna sell the season. But dinna be troobled,
I'll keepit enoof for ye ony way."

By this means Edith obtained half her plants without
cost, save for Malcom's labor of transplanting them.

The weather had little influence on Malcom's wiry frame,
and his spirit of energetic, cheerful industry was contagious.
Once aroused and interested, Edith lost all sense of time,
and the afternoon passed happily away.

At her request Malcom had brought her a pair of prun-
ing nippers, such as she had seen him use, and she kept up
a delicate show of work, trimming the rose-bushes and
shrubs, while she watched him. She could not bring her
mind to anything that looked like real work as yet, but she
had a feeling that it must come. She saw that it would
help Malcom very much if she went before and dropped the
plants for him, but some one might see her, and speak of
her doing useful work. The aristocratically inclined in
Pushton would frown on the young lady so employed,
but she could snip at roses and twine vines, and that
would look pretty and rural from the road.

But it 80 happened that the one who caught a^ glimpse
of her spring-day beauty, and saw the pretty rural scene
she crowned, was not the critical occupant of some family
carriage; for when, while near the road, she was reaching
up to clip oS the topmost spray of a bush, her attention was

THEY TURN UP 171

drawn by the rattle of a wagon, and in this picturesqae
attitude her eyes met those of Arden Lacey. The sudden
remembrance of the unkind return made to him, and the
fact that she had therefore dreaded meeting him, caused
her to blush deeply. Her feminine quickness caught his
expression, a timid questioning look, that seemed to ask if
she would act the part of the others. Edith was a society
and city girl, and her confusion lasted but a second. Pol-
icy whispered, '* You can still keep him as a useful friend,
though you must keep him at a distance, and you may need
him." Some sense of gratitude and of the wrong done him
and his also mingled with these thoughts, passing with the
marvellous rapidity with which a lady's mind acts in social
emergencies. She also remembered that they were alone,
and that none of the Pushton notables could see that she
was acquainted with the * 'drunken Laceys." Therefore be-
fore the diffident Arden could turn away, she bowed and
smiled to him in a genial, conciliatory manner. His face
brightened into instant sunshine, and to her surprise he
lifted his old weather-stained felt hat like a gentleman.
Though he had received no lessons in etiquette, he was
inclined to be a little courtly and stately in manner, when
he noticed a lady at all, from unconscious imitation of the
high-bred characters in the romances he read. Be said to
himself in glad exultation :

*'She is different from the rest. She is as divinely good
as she is divinely beautiful," and away he rattled toward
Pushton as happy as if his old box wagon were a golden
chariot, and he a caliph of Arabian story on whom had just
shone the lustrous eyes of the Queen of the East. Then as
the tumult in his mind subsided, questioning thoughts as to
the cause of. her blush oame trooping through his mind, and
at once there arose a long vista of airy castles tipped with
hope as with sunlight. Poor Arden! What a wild, un-
curbed imagination had mastered his morbid nature, as he
lived a hermit's life among the practical people of Pushton!
If he had known that Edith, had she seen him in the vil-

172 WHAT CAN SHE DO f

lage, would have crossed the street rather than have met or
recognized him, it would have plunged him into still bitterer
misanthropy. She and his mother only stood between him
and utter contempt and hatred of his kind, as they existed
in reality, and not in his books and dreams.

She forgot all about him before his wagon turned the
corner of the road, and chatted away to Malcom, question-
ing and nipping with increasing zest. As the day grew
cooler, her spirits rose under the best of all stimulants,
agreeable occupation. The birds ceased at last their nest-
building, and from orchard and grove came many an in-
spiring song. Edith listened with keen enjoyment, and
country life and work looked no longer as they had done
in the sultry noon. She saw with deep satisfaction the long
rows of strawberry- vines increasing under Maloom's labors.
In the still humid air the plants scarcely wilted and stood
up with the bright look of those well started in life.

As evening approached, and no carriage of note had
passed, Edith ventured to get her transplanting trowel, doff
her gloves, and commence dividing her flower roots, that
she might put them elsewhere. She became so interestsd
in her work that she was positively happy, and soft-hearted
Malcom, with his eye for the beauties of nature, was getting
his rows crooked, because of so many admiring glances
toward her as she went to and fro.

The sun was low in the west and shone in crimson
through the soft haze. But the color in her cheeks was
richer as she rose from the ground, her little right hand
lost in the soraggly earth-covered roots of some hardy
phlox, and turned to meet exquisite Gus Elliot, dressed
with finished care, his hands incased in immaculate gloves.
Her broad-rimmed hat was pushed back, her dress looped
up, and she made a picture in the evening glow that would
have driven a true artist half wild with admiration; bat
poor Gus was quite shocked. The idea of Edith Allen,
the girl he had meant to marry, grubbing in the dirt and
soiling her hands in that style I It was his impression that

THEY TORN UP 17S

only Dutch women worked in a garden; and for all he knew
of its products she might be setting out a potato plant
Quick Edith caught his expression, and while she crimsoned
with vexation at her plight, felt a new and sudden sense of
contempt for the semblance of a man before her.

But with the readiness of a society girl she smoothed her
way out of the dilemma, saying with vivacity :

*'Why, Mr. Elliot, where did you drop from? You
have surprised me among my flowers, you see."

^'Indeed, Miss Edith,'' said Gus, in rather unhappily
phrased gallantry, '*to see you thus employed makes me
feel as if we both had dropped into some new and strange
sphere. You seem the lovely shepherdess of this rural
scene, but where is your flock?"

Shrewd Malcom, near by, watched this scene as the ter-
rier he resembled might have done, and took instant and
instinctive dislike to the new-comer. With a contemptuous
sniff he thought to himself, *' There's mateerial enoof in ye
for so mooch toward a flock as a calf and a donkey."

*'A truce to your lame compliments," she said, conceal-
ing her vexation under badinage. *^I do not live by hook
and crook yet, whatever I may come to, and I remember
that you only appreciate artificial flowers made by pretty
shop girls, and these are not in the country. But come in.
Mother and my sisters will be glad to see you.*'

Gus was not blind to her beauty, and while the idea of
marriage seemed more impossible than ever, now that he
had seen her hands soiledi the evil suggestion of Van Dam
gained attractiveness with every glance.

Edith found Mr. Yan Dam on the porch with Zell, who
had welcomed him in a manner that meant much to the
wily man. He saw how necessary he was to her, and how
she had been living on the hope of seeing him, and the
baseness of his nature was such that instead of being stirred
to one noble kindly impulse toward her, he simply exulted
in his power.

*'0h," said she, as with both hands she greeted him, her

174 WHAT CAN SHE DOf

eyes half filling with tears, '*we have been living like poor
exiles in a distant land, and you seem as if just from home,
bringing the best part of it with you."

"And 1 shall carry you back to it ere long, " he whispered.

Her face grew bright and rosy with the deepest happi-
ness she had ever know. He had never spoken so plainly
before. "Edith can never taunt me again with his silence,"
she thought. Though sounding well enough to the ear,
how false were his words 1 Zell was giving the best love
of which her heart was capable in view of her defective
education and character. In a sincere and deep affection
there are great possibilities of good. Her passion, so frank
and strong, in the hands of a true man, was a lever that
might have lifted her to the noblest life. Van Dam sought
to use it only to force her down. He purposed to cause one
of God's little ones to ofiFend.

Edith soon appeared, dressed with the taste and style of
a Fifth Avenue belle of the more sensible sort, and Gus was
comforted. Her picturesque natural beauty in the garden
was quite lost on him, but now that he saw the familiar
touches of the artificial in her general aspect, she seemed to
him the peerless Edith of old. And yet his nice eye noted
that even a month of absence from the fashionable centre
had left her ignorant of some of the shadings off of one
mode into another, and the thought passed over the polished
surface of his mind (all Gus's thoughts were on the surface,
there being no other accommodation for them), "Why, a
year in this out-of-the-world life, and she would be only
a country girl."

But all detracting thoughts of each other, all mean, vile,
and deadly purposes, were hidden under smiling exteriors.
Mrs. Allen was the gracious, elegant matron who would not
for the world let her daughters soil their hands, but schemed
to marry one to a weak apology for a man, and another to a
villain out and out, and the fashionable world would cor^
dially approve and sustain Mrs. Allen's tactics ii she
succeeded.

THEY TURN UP 175

Laura brightened up more than she had done since her
father's death. Anything that gave hope of return to the
city, and the possibility of again meeting and withering
Mr. Oouiden with her scorn, was welcome.

And Edith, while she half despised Gus, fonnd it very
pleasant to meet those of her old set again, and repeat a
bit of the past. The young crave companionship, and in
spite of all his weakness she half liked Elliot. With
youth's hopefulness she believed that be might become
a man if he only would. At any rate, she half-consciously
formed the reckless purpose to shut her eyes to all presenti-
ments of coming trouble and enjoy the evening to the
utmost.

Hannibal was enjoined to get up as fine a supper as
possible, regardless of cost, with Mrs. Allen's maid to
assist

In the long purple twilight, Edith and Zell, on the arms
of their pseudo lovers, strolled up and down the paths of
the little garden and dooryard. As Edith and Gus were
passing along the walk that skirted the road, she heard the
heavy rumble of a wagon that she knew to be Arden
Lacey's. She did not look up or recognize him, but ap-
peared so intent on what Gus was saying as to be oblivious
of all else, and yet through her long lashes she glanced
toward him in a rapid flash, as he sat in his rough working
garb on the old board where she, on the rainy night of her
advent to Pushton, had clung to his arm in the jolting
wagon. Momentary as the glance was, the pained, atartled
expression of his face as he bent his eyes full upon her
caught her attention and remained with her.

His manner and appearance secured the attention of Gus
also, and with a contemptuous laugh he said loud enough
for Arden to hear partially:

*^That native comes from pretty far back, I imagine.
He looks as if he never saw a lady and gentleman before.
The idea of living like such a cabbage-head as that I"

If Gus had not been with Edith, his good clothes and

176 WHAT CAN SHE DOf

good looks would have been spoiled within the next five
minutes.

£dith glanced the other way and pointed to her straw-
berry-bed as if not noticing his remark or its object, saying:

**lf you will come and see us a year from next June,
I can give you a dainty treat from these plants."

**You will not be here next June/' said Gus tenderly.
*'Do you imagine we can spare you from New York ? The
city has seemed dull since robbed of the light of your bright
eyes."

Edith rather liked sugar-plums of such make, even from
Gus, and she, as it were, held out her hand again by the
rather sentimental remark:

'* Absent ones are soon forgotten."

Gus, from much experience, knew how to flirt beau-
tifully, and so with some aptness and show of feeling,
replied:

**From my thoughts you are never absent"

Edith gave him a quick questioning look. What did he
mean ? He had avided everything tending to commit him
to a penniless girl after her father's death. Was this mere
flirtation ? Or had he, in absence, learned bis need of her
for happiness ? and was he now willing to marry her even
though poor ?

**If he is man enough to do this, he is capable of doing
more," she thought quickly, and circumstances pleaded for
him. She felt so troubled about the future, so helpless and
lonely, and he seemed so inseparably associated with her
old bright life, that she was tempted to lean on such a
swaying reed as she knew Gus to be. She did not reply,
but he could see the color deepen in her cheeks even in the
fading twilight, her bosom rose and fell more quickly, and
her band rested upon bis arm with a more confiding pressure.
What more could he ask ? and he exulted.

But before he .could speak again they were isummoned to
supper. Van Dam touched Gus's elbow as tbey passed in
and whispered:

THEY TURN UP 177

** Don't be precipitate. Say nothing definite to-night.
I gather from Zell that a little more of their country pur-
gatory will render them wholly desperate."

Edith noticed the momentary detention and whispering,
and the thought that there was some understanding between
the two occurred to her. For some undefined reason she
was always inclined to be suspicious and on the alert when
Mr. Van Dam was present. And yet it was but a passing
thought, soon forgotten in the enjoyment of the evening,
after so long and dull an experience. Zell was radiant,
and there was a glimmer of color in Laura's pale cheeks.

After supper they sat down to cards. The decanter was
placed on the side table, and heavy inroads were made on
Mrs. Allen's limited stock of wine, for the gentlemen, feel-
ing that they were ofE on a lark, were little inclined to self-
control. They also insisted on the ladies drinking health
with them, which foolish Zell, and more foolish Mrs. Allen
were too ready to do, and for the first time since their
coming the little cottage resounded with laughter that was
too loud and frequent to be inspired by happiness only.

If guardian angels watched there, as we believe they do
everywhere, they may well have veiled their faces in sad-
ness and shame.

But the face of poor innocent Hannibal shone with de-
light, and nodding his head toward Mr. Allen's maid with
the complacency of a prophet who saw his predictions ful-
filled, he said:

'*1 told you my young ladies wasn't gwine to stay long
in Bush town" (as Hannibal persisted in calling the place).

To Arden Lacey, the sight of Edith listening with glow-
ing cheeks and intent manner to a stranger with her hand
within his arm — a stranger too that seemed the embodiment
of that conventionality of the world which he despised and
hated, was a vision that pierced like a sword. And then
Gus's contemptuous words and Edith's non- recognition,
though he tried to believe she had not seen him, were like
vitriol to a wound. At first there was a mad impulse of

178 WHAT CAN SHE DOf

anger toward Elliot, and, as we have intimated, only Edith's
presence prevented Arden from demanding instant apology.
He knew enough of his fiery nature to feel that he mu-^i get
away as fast as possible, or he might forever disgrace him-
self in Edith's eyes.

As he rode home his mind was in a sad chaos. He was
conscious that his airy castles were falling about him witli
a crash, which, though unheard by all the world, shook his
soul to the centre.

Too utterly miserable to face his mother, loathing the
thought of food, he put up his horses and rushed out into
the night.

In his first impulse he vowed never to look toward Edith
again, but, before two hours of fruitless wandering had
passed, a fascination drew him toward Edith's cottage, only
to hear that detested voice again, only to hear even Edith's
laugh ring out too loud and reckless to come from tlie lips
of the exquisite ideal of his dreams. Though the others ha«l
spoken in thunder tones, he would have had ears for these
two voices only. He rushed away from the spot, as one
might from some torturing vision, exclaiming:

*'The real world is a worse mockery than the one of my
dreams. Would to heaven I had never been born!"

WE CAN'T WORK 179

CHAPTER XIV

WE can't work

THE gentlemen agreed to meet the ladies the next day
at chnrch. Mrs. Allen insisted upon it, as she
wished to show the natives of Pnshton that they
were visited by people of style from the city. As yet
they had not received many calls, and those venturing
had come in a reconnoitring kind of way. She knew so
little of solid country people as to suppose that two young
men, like Gus Elliot and Van Dam, would make a favor-
able impression. The latter, with a shrug and grimace at
Zell, which she, poor child, thought funny, promised to do
so, and then jthey took leave with great cordiality.

So they were ready to hand the Aliens out of their car^
riage the next morning, and were, with the ladies, who were
dressed even more elaborately than on the previous Sab-
bath, shown to a prominent pew, the centre of many admir-
ing eyes, as they supposed. But where one admired, ten
criticised. The summer hotel at Pushton had brought New
York too near and made it too familiar for Mrs. Allen's
tactics. Visits to town were easily made and frequent, and
by brief diversions of their attention from the service, the
good church people soon satisfied themselves that the young
men belonged to the bold fast type, an impression strength-
ened by the parties themselves, who had devotion only for
Zell and Edith, and a bold stare for any pretty girl that
caught their eyes.

After church they parted with the understanding that

180 WHAT CAN SHE DOf

the gentlemen should come out toward night and spend the
evening.

Mr. Van Dam and Ous Elliot dined at the village hotel,
having ordered the best dinner that the landlord was
capable of serving, and a couple of bottles of wine. Over
this they became so exhilarated as to attract a good deal
of attention. A village tavern is always haunted by idle
clerks, and a motley crowd of gossips, on the Sabbath, and
to these the irruption of two young bloods from the city
was a slight break in the monotony of their slow shuffling
jog toward perdition ; and when the fine gentlemen began
to get drunk and noisy it was really quite interesting. A
group gathered round the bar, and through the open door
could see into the dining-room. Soon with unsteady step.
Van Dam and Elliot joined them, the latter brandishing an
empty bottle, and calling in a thick loud voice:

'*Here landlord (hie) open a bottle (hie) of wine, for these
poor (hie) suckers, (hie) I don*t suppose (hie) they ever
tasted (hie) anything better than corn-whiskey, (hie) But
I'll moisten (hie) their gullets to-day (hie) with a gentle-
man's drink.*'

The crowd was mean enough, as the loafers about a
tavern usually are, to give a faint cheer at* the prospect
of a treat, even though accompanied by words equivalent
to a kick. But one big raw-boned fellow, who looked equal
to any amount of corn-whiskey or anything else, could not
swallow Gus*s insolence, and stepped up saying:

*'Look here, Cap'n, I'm ready enough to drink with a
chap when he asks me like a gentleman, but I feel more
like puttin' a head on you than drinkin' with yer."

Gus had the false courage of wine and prided himself on
his boxing. In the headlong fury of drunkenness he flung
the bottle at the man's head, just grazing it, and sprang
toward him, but stumbled and fell. The man, with a cer-
tain rude sense of chivalry, waited for him to get up, but
the mean loafers who had cheered were about to manifest
their change of sentiment toward Gus by kicking him in his

WE CAN'T WORK 181

prostrate condition. Van Dam, who also had drunk too
much to be his cool careful self, now drew a pistol, and
with a savage volley of oaths swore he would shoot the first
man who touched his friend. Then, helping Gus up, he
carried him off to a private room, and with the skill of
an old experienced hand set about righting himself and
Elliot, so that they might be in a presentable condition for
their visit at the Aliens*.

*' Curse it all, Gus, why can you not keep within bounds ?
If this gets to the girls' ears it may spoil everything.*'

Rj five o*clock Gus had so far recovered as to venture
to drive to the Aliens*, and the fresh air restored him
rapidly. Before leaving, the landlord said to Van Dam:

*' You had better stay out there all night From what
I hear the boys are going to lay for you when you come
home to-night. I don't want any rows connected with my
house, rd rather you wouldn't come back.'*

Van Dam muttered an oath, and told the driver to go on.

As a matter of course they were received very cordially.
Gus was quite himself again. He only seemed a little more
inclined than usual to be sentimental and in high spirits.

They walked again in the twilight through the garden
and under the budding trees of the orchard. Gus assumed
a caressing tone and manner, which Edith half received and
half resented. She felt that she did not know her own mind
and did not understand him altogether, and so she took a
diplomatic middle course that would leave her free to go
forward or retreat. Zell, under the influence of Mr. Van
Dam's flattering manner, walked in a beautiful but lurid
dream. At last they all gathered in the parlor and chatted
and laughed over old times.

On this Sabbath evening one of the officers of the church,
seeing that the Aliens had twice worshipped with them, felt
that perhaps he ought to call and give them some encour-
agement. As he came up the path he was surprised at the
confused sound of voices. With his hand on the door- bell
he paused, and through an opening between the curtains

182 WHAT CAN SHE DOf

saw the young men of whose bar-room performance he had
happened to hear. Not caring to meet any of their sort he
went silently away, shaking his head with ill-omened sig-
nificance. Of coarse one good man told his wife what sort
of company their new neighbors kept, and whom didn't
she tell?

The erening grew late, but no carriage came from the
village.

*'It's very strange," said Van Dam.

'*If it doesn't come you must stay all night," said Mrs.
Allen graciously. **We can make you quite comfortable
even if we have a little house."

Mr. Van Dam, and Gus also, were profuse in their
thanks. Edith bit her lip with vexation. She felt that she
and Zell were being placed in a false position since the
gentlemen who to the world would seem so intimate with
the family in reality held no relation to them. But no
scruples of prudence occurred to thoughtless Zell. With
an arch look toward her lover she said:

"I think it threatens rain, so of course you cannot go."

''Let us go out and see," he said.

In the darkness of the porch he put his arm around the
unresisting girl and drew her to him, but he did not say
like a true man:

•'Zell, be my wife."

But poor Zell thought that was what all his attention
and show of affection meant.

Edith and Gus joined them, and the latter thought also
to put his regard in the form of caressing action, rather than
in honest outspoken words, but she turned and said a little
sharply :

•* You have no right."

**Give me the right then," he whispered.

''Whether I shall ever do that I cannot say. It depends
somewhat on yourself. But I cannot now and here."

The warning hand of Van Dam was reached through the
darkness and touched Gus's arm.

WE CAN'T WORK 183

The Dext morning they walked back to the village, were
driven two or three miles to the nearest railway station,
and took the train to the city, having promised to come
again soon.

The week following their departure was an eventful one
to the inmates of the little cottage, and all unknown the
most unfavorable influences were at work against them.
The Sunday hangers-on of a tavern have their points of
contact with the better classes, and gossip is a commodity
always in demand, whatever brings it to market. Therefore
the scenes in the dining and bar rooms, in which Mrs. Allen's
**friends" had played so prominent a part, were soon por-
trayed in hovel and mansion alike, with such exaggerations
and distortions as a story inevitably suffers as passed along.
The part acted by the young men was certainly bad enough,
but rumor made it much worse. Then this stream of gossip
was met by another coming from the wife of the good man
who had called with the best intentions on Sunday evening,
but, pained at the nature of the Allen's associations, had
gone lamenting to his wife, and she had gone lamenting to
the majority of the elder ladies of the church. These two
streams uniting, quite a tidal wave of **I want to knows,"
and ''painful surprises, '* swept over Pushton, and the Aliens
suffered wofuUy through their friends. They had already
received some reconnoitering calls, and a few from people
who wanted to be neighborly. But the truth was the people
of Pushton had beeji somewhat perplexed. They did not
know where to place the Aliens. The fact that Mr. Allen
had been a rich merchant, and lived on Fifth Avenue,
counted for something. But then even the natives of Push-
ton knew that all kinds of people lived on Fifth Avenue,
as elsewhere, and that some of the most disreputable were
the richest A clearer testimonial than that was therefore
needed. Then again there was another puzzle. The fact
that Mr. Allen had failed, and that they lived in a little
house, indicated poverty. But their style of dressing, and
ordering from the store also suggested not a little property

184 WHAT CAN SHE DOf

left. The humbler portion of the community doubted
whether tho^ were the style of people for them to call on,
and the rumor of Hose Laoey's treatment, getting abroad
in spite of Arden's injunction to the contrary, confirmed
these doubts, and alienated this class. The more wealthy
and fashionably inclined doubted the grounds for their call-
ing, having by no means made up their minds whether they
could take the Aliens into their exclusive circle. So thus
far Mrs. Allen and her daughters had given audience to a
sort of middle class of skirmishers and scouts representing
no one in particular save themselves, who from a penchant
in that direction went out and obtained information, so that
the more solid ranks behind could know what to do. In
addition, as we have intimated, there were a few good
kindly people who said:

''These strangers have come to live among us, and we
must give them a neighborly welcome.''

But there was something in their homely honest hearti-
ness that did not suit Mrs. Allen's artificial taste, and she
rather snubbed them.

''Heaven deliver us soon from Pushton," she said, "if
the best people have no more air of quality than these out-
landish tribes. They all look and act as if they had come
out of the ark."

If the Aliens had frankly and patiently accepted their
poverty and misfortunes, and by close economy and some
form of labor had sought to maintain an honest indepen-
dence, they could soon, through this latter class, have be-
come en rapport with, not the wealthy and fashionable, but
the finest people of the community; people having the re-
finement, intelligence, and heart to make the best friends
we can possess. It might take some little time. It ought
to. Social recognition and esteem should be earned. Unless
strangers bring clear letters of credit, or established reputa*
tion, they must expect to be put on probation. But if they
adopt a course of simple sincerity and dignity, and espe*
cially one of great prudence, they are sure to find the right

WE CAN'T WORK 186

sort of friends, and win the social position to which they are
justly entitled, fiut let the finger of scandal and doubt be
pointed toward them, and all having sons and daughters
will stand aloof on the ground of self -protection, if nothing
else. The taint of scandal, like the taint of leprosy, causes
a general shrinking away.

The finger of doubt and scandal in Pushton was now
most decidedly pointed toward the Aliens. It was reported
around:

''Their father was a Wall Street gambler who lost all in
a big speculation and died suddenly or committed suicide.
They belonged to the ultra- fast fashionable set in New York,
and the events of the past Sabbath show that they are not
the persons for self-respecting people to associate with.'*

Some of the rather dissipated clerks and semi-loafers of
the village were inclined to make the acquaintance of such
stylish handsome girls, but the Aliens received the least
advance from them with ineffable scorUr

Thus within the short space of a month Mrs. Allen had,
by her policy, contrived to isolate her family as completely
as if they had had a pestilence.

Even Mrs. Lacey and Bose were inclined to pass from
indignation to contempt; for Mr. Lacey was present at the
scene in the bar-room, and reported that the ''two youog
bucks were friends of their new neighbors, the Aliens, and
had stayed there all Sunday night because they darsn't go
back to town."

'* Well," said Rose, *'with all their airs, I haven't got to
keeping company with that style of men yet."

*' Cease to call yourself my sister if you ever do know-
ingly," said Arden sternly. '*I don't believe Edith Allen
knows the character of these men. They would not report
themselves, and who is to do it?"

** Perhaps you had better," said Rose maliciously.

Arden' s only answer was a dark frowning look. A
severe conflict was progressing in his mind. One impulse
was to regard Edith as unworthy of another thought. But

186 WHAT CAN SEE DO f

his heart pleaded for her, and the thought that she was dif-
ferent from the rest, and capable of developing a character
as beautiful as her person, grew stronger as he dwelt upon it.

*'Like myself, she is related to others that drag her
down," he thought, **and she seems to have no friend or
brother to protect or warn her. Even if this over- dressed
young fool is her lover, if she could have seen him prostrate
on the bar-room floor, she would never look at him again.
If she would I would never look at her."

His romantic nature became impressed with the idea that
he might become in some sense her unknown knight and
protector, and keep her from marrying a man that would
sink to what his father was. Therefore he passed the house
as often as he could in hope that there might be some oppor-
tunity of seeing her.

To poor Edith troubles thickened fast, for, as we have
seen, the brunt of everything came on her. Early on the
forenoon of Monday the carpenter appeared, asking with a
hard, determined tone for his money, adding with satire:

**I suppose it*s all right of course. ' People who want
everything done at once must expect to pay promptly."

'*Your bill is much too large — much larger than you
gave us any reason to suppose it would be," said Edith.

**l've only charged you regular rates, miss, and you put
me to no little inconvenience besides."

'* That's not the point. It's double the amount you gave
us to understand it would be, and if you should deduct the
damage caused by your delay it would greatly reduce it. I
do not feel willing that this bill should be paid as it stands."

'*Very well then," said the man^ coolly rising. *'You
threatened me with a lawyer; I'll let my lawyer settle with
you."

•Edith,", said Mrs. Allen majestically, ** bring my check-
book."

*' Don't pay it, mother. He can't make us pay such
a bill in view of the fact that he left our roof open in the

WE CAN'T WORK 187

**Do as I bid you," said Mrs. Allen impressively,

**There," she said to the chuckling builder, in lofty
scorn, throwing toward him a check as if it were dirt
**Now leave the presence of ladies whom you don't seem
to know much about"

The man reddened and went out muttering that *'he had
seen quite as good ladies before."

Two days later a letter from Mrs. Allen's bank brought
dismay by stating that she had overdrawn her account

The next day there came a letter from their lawyer say-
ing that a messenger from the bank had called upon him —
that he was sorry they had spent all their money — that he
could not sell the stock he held at any price now— and they
had better sell their house in the country and board.

This Mrs. Allen was inclined to do, but Edith said almost
fiercely:

*'I won't sell it I am bound to have some place of
refuge in this hard, pitiless world. I hold the deed of this
property, and we certainly can get something to eat off of
it, and if we must starve, no one at least can disturb us. ' '

** What can we do?" said Mrs. Allen, crying and wring-
ing her hands.

** We ought to have saved our money and gone to work
at something," answered Edith sternly.

**I am not able to work," whined Laura.

"1 don't know how to work, and I won't starve either,"
cried Zell passionately. **I shall write to Mr. Van Dam
this very day and tell him all about it."

**I would rather work my fingers off," retorted Edith
scornfully, **than have a man come and marry me out of
charity, finding me as helpless as if I were picked up off the
street, and on the street we should soon be, without shelter
or friends, if we sold this place."

And so the blow fell upon them, and such was the spirit
with which they bore it

188 WBAT CAN SHE DOf

CHAPTER XV

THE TEMPTATION

TflE same mail brought them a long bill from Mr.
Hard, accompanied with a very polite but decisive
note saying that it was his custom to have a monthly
settlement with his customers.

The rest of the family looked with new dismay and help-
lessness at this, and Edith added bitterly:

'* There are half a dozen other bills also."

**Whatcanwe do?'* again Mrs. Allen cried piteously.
"If you girls had only accepted some of your splendid
offers—''

''Hush, mother,** said Edith imperiously. **I have
heard that refrain too often already," and the resolute
practical girl went to her room and shut herself up to
think.

Two hours later she came down to lunch with the deter-
mined air of one who had come to a conclusion.

''These bills must be met, in part at least," she said,
"and the sooner the better. After that we must buy no
more than we can pay for, if it*s only a crust of bread. I
shall take the first train to-morrow and dispose of some
of my jewelry. Who of you will contribute some also?
We all have more than we shall ever need."

"Pawn our jewelry!" they all shrieked.

"No, sell it," said Edith firmly.

" You hateful creature!" sobbed Zell. "If Mr. Van Dam
heard it he would never come n^r me again."

THE TEMPTATION 189

*'If he's that kind of a man, he had better not," was the
sharp retort.

'*I'll never forgive you if you do it. You shall not spoil
all my chances and your own too. He as good as offered
himself to me, and I insist on your giving me a chance to
write to him before you take one of your mad steps."

They all clamored against her purpose so strongly that
Edith was borne down and reluctantly gave way. Zell
wrote immediately a touching, pathetic letter that would
have moved a man of one knightly instinct to come to her
rescue. Van Dam read it with a look of fiendish exulta-
tion, and calling on Gus said:

*'We will go up to-morrow. The right time has come.
They won't be nice as to terms any longer."

It was an unfortunate thing for Edith that she had
yielded at this time to the policy of waiting one hour
longer. In the two days that intervened before the young
men appeared there was time for that kind of thought that
tempts and weakens. She was in that most dangerous atti-
tude of irresolution. The toilsome path of independent
labor looked very hard and thorny — more than that, it
looked lonely. This latter aspect causes multitudes to
shrink, where the work would not. She knew enough
of society to feel sure that her mother was right, and
that the moment she entered on bread-winning by any form
of honest labor, her old fashionable world was lost to her
forever. And she knew of no other world, she had no other
friends save those of the gilded past. She did not, with
her healthful frame and energetic spirit, shrink so much
from labor as from association with the laboring classes.
She had been educated to think of them only as coarse and
common, and to make no distinctions.

*' Even if a few are good and intelligent as these Laceys
seem, they can't understand my feelings and past life, so
there will be no congeniality, and I shall have to work
practically alone. Perhaps in time I shall become coarse
and common like the rest," she said with a half -shudder at

190 WHAT CAN SHE DOf

the thought. of old-fashioned garb, slipshod dressing, and
long monotonous hours at one employment All these were
inseparable in her mind from poverty and labor.

Then after a long silence, during which she had sat with
her chin resting on her hands, she continued:

'*! believe I could stand it if I could earn a support out
of the garden with such a man as Malcom to help me.
There are variety and beauty there, and scope for constant
improvement. But I fear a woman can't make a livelihood
by such out-of-door, man- like work. Good heavens! what
would my Fifth Avenue friends say if it should get to
their ears that Edith Allen was raising cabbages for
market?'*

Then in contrast, as the alternative to labor, Gus Elliot
continually presented himself.

''If he were only more of a man!" she thought. **But if
he loves me so well as to marry me in view of my poverty,
he must have some true manhood about him. I suppose I
could learn to love him after a fashion, and I certainly like
him as well as any one I know. Perhaps if I were with him
to cheer, incite, and scold, he might become a fair business
man after all."

And so Edith in her helplessness and fear of work was
tempted to enter on that forlorn experiment which so many
energetic women of decided character have made — that of
marrying a man who can't stand alone, or do anything but
dawdle, in the hope that they may be able to infuse in him
some of their own moral and intellectual backbone.

But Gus Elliot was not man enough, had not sense
enough, to give her this poor chance of matrimonial escape
from labor that seemed to her like a giant taskmaster, wait-
ing with grimy, horny hand to claim her as another of his
innumerable slaves. Though a life of lonely, ill-paid toil
would have been better for Edith than marriage to Gus, he
was missing the one golden opportunity of his life, when
he thought of Edith Allen in other character than his wife.
God uses instruments, and she alone could give him a chance

TBE TEMPTATION 191

of being a man among men. In his meditated baseness
toward her, he aimed a fatal blow at his own life.

And this is ever true of sins against the haman brother-
hood. The recoil of a blow struck at another's interests has
often the retributive wrath of heaven in it, and the selfish
soul that would destroy a fellow-creature for its own
pleasure is itself destroyed.

False pride, false education, helpless, unskilled hands,
an untaught, unbraced moral nature, made strong, resolute,
beautiful Edith Allen so weak, so untrue to herself, that
she was ready to throw herself away on so thin a shadow
of a man as Gas Elliot. She might have known, indeed she
half feared, that wretchedness would follow such a union.
It is torment to a large strong-souled woman to despise
utterly the man to whom she is chained. She revolts at
his weakness and irresolution, and the probabilities are
that she will sink into that worst phase of feminine drudg-
ery, the supporting of a husband, who,* though able, will
not work, and that she will become that social monster of
whom it is said with a significant laugh:

**She is the man of the house."

The only thing that reconciled her to the thought of
marrying Gus was the hope that she could inspire him
to better things; and he seemed the only refuge from the
pressing troubles that environed her, and from a lonely life
of labor; for the thought that she could bring herself to
marry among the laboring classes had never occurred to her.

So she came to the miserable conclusion on the afternoon
of the second day:

'*IU1 take him if he will me, knowing how I am situated."

If Gus could have been true and manly one evening, he
might have secured a prop that would have kept him up,
though it would have been at sad cost to Edith.

On the afternoon of Friday, Zell returned from the vil-'
lage with radiant face, and, waving a letter before Edith
who sat moping in her room, exclaimed with a thrill of
ecstasy in her tone:

192 WHAT CAN SHE DOf

*'They are coming. Help make me irresistible."

Edith felt the iafluence of ZelFs excitement, and the
mysteries of the toilet began. Nature had done much for
these girls, and they knew how to enhance every charm by
art. Edith good-naturedly helped her sister, weaving pure
shimmering pearls in the lieavy braids of her hair, whose
raven hue made the fair face seem more fair. The toilet-
table of a qaeen had not the secrets of ZelTs beauty, for the
most skilful art must deal with the surface, while Zell's
loveliness glowed from within. Her rich young blood
mantled her cheek with a color that came and went with
her passing thoughts, and was as unlike the flaming, un-
changing red of a painted face as sunlight that flickers
through a breezy grove is to a gas-jet. Her eyes shone
witb the deep excitement of a passionate love, and the
feeling that the crisis of her life was near. Even Edith
gazed with wondering admiration at her beauty, as she gave
the finishing touches to her toilet, before she commenced
her own.

Discarded Laura had a sorry part in the poor little play.
She was to be ill and unable to appear, and so resigned her-
self to a novel and solitude. Mrs. Allen was to discreetly
have a headache and retire early, and thus all embarrassing
third parties should be kept out of the way.

The late afternoon of Friday (unlucky day for once)
brought the gentlemen, dressed as exquisitely as ever, but
the vision on the rustic little porch almost dazzled even
their experienced eyes. They had seen these girls more
richly dressed before and more radiant. There was, how-
ever, a delicious pensiveness hanging over them now, like
those delicate veils that enhance beauty and conceal noth-
ing. And there was a deep undertone of excitement that
gave them a magnetic power that they could not have in
quieter moods.

Their appearance and manner of greeting caused secret
exultation in the black hearts that they expected would be
oflFered to them that night, but Edith looked so noble as

THE TEMPTATION 198

well as beautiful that Gus rather trembled in view of his
part in the proposed tragedy. As warm and gentle as had
been her greeting, she did not appear like a girl that could
be safely trifled with. However, Gus knew his one source
of courage and kept up on brandy all day, and he proposed
a heavier onslaught than ever on poor Mra. Allen's wiue.
But Edith did not bring it out She meant that all that was
said that night should be spoken in sober earnest.

They sat down to cards for a while after tea, during
which conversation was rather forced, consisting mainly of
extravagant compliments from the gentlemen, and tender,
meaning glances which the girls did not resent. Mrs. Allen
languidly joined them for a while,and excused herself saying:

''My poor head has been too heavily taxed of late,"
though how, save as a small distillery of helpless tears, we
do not remember.

The regret of the young men at being deprived of her
society was quite aflEecting in view of the fact that they had
often wished her dead and out of the way.

'*Why should we shut ourselves up within walls this
lovely spring evening, this delicious earnest of the coming
summer?'' said Mr. Van Dam to Zell. **Oome, put on your
shawl and show me your garden by moonlight."

Zell exultingly complied, believing that now she would
show him, not their poor little garden, but the paradise of
requited love. A moment later her graceful form, bending
like a willow toward him, vanished in the dusky light of
the rising moon, down the garden path which led to the
little arbor.

Gus, having the parlor to himself, went over to the sofa,
seated himself by the side of Edith and sought to pass his
arm around her waist.

"You have no right," again said Edith with dignity,
shrinking away.

**But will you not give the right? Behold me a sup-
pliant at your feet,'' said Gus tenderly, but comfortably
keeping his seat
9— Rob— X

194 WHAT CAN SHE DOf

**Mr. Elliot," said Edith earnestly, **do you realize that
you are asking a poor girl to marry you ?''

**Your own beautiful self is beyond all gold," said Gus
gushingly.

**You did not think so a month ago," retorted Edith
bitterly.

**I was a fool. My friends discouraged it, but I find I
cannot live without you. ' '

This sounded well to poor Edith, but she said half
sadly:

'* Perhaps your friends are right You cannot afford to
marry me."

'*But I cannot give you up," said Gus with much show
of feeling. **What would my life be without you ? I admit
to you that my friends are opposed to my marriage, bat am
I to blight my life for them ? Am I, who have seen the
best of New York for years, to give ftp the loveliest girl
1 have ever seen in it? I cannot and I will not," con-
cluded Gus tragically.

** And are you willing to give up all for me ?" said Edith
feelingly, her glorious eyes becoming gentle and tender.

** Yes, if you will give up all for me," said Gus languish-
ingly, taking her hand and drawing her toward him.

Edith did not resist now, but leaned her head on his
shoulder with the blessed sense of rest and at least partial
security. Her cruelly harassed heart and burdened, threat-
ened life could welcome even such poor shelter as Gus
Elliot offered. The spring evening was mild and breath-
less, and its hush and peace seemed to accord with her feel-
ings. There was no ecstatic thrilling of her heart in the
divine rapture of mutual and open recognition of love, for
no such love existed on her part. It was only a languid
feeling of contentment — moon-lighted with sentiment, not
sun-lighted with joy — that she had found some one who
would not leave her to labor and struggle alone.

''Gus," she said pathetically, '*we are very poor; we
have nothing. "We are almost desperate from want. Think

THE TEMPTATION 195

twice ere you engage yourself to a girl so situated. Are
you able to thus burden yourself?''

Gus thought these words led the way to the carrying out
of Van Dam's instructions, for he said eagerly:

**I know how you are situated. I learned all from Zell's
letter to Van Dam, but our hearts only cling the closer to
you, and you must let me take care of you at once. If you
will only consent to a secret marriage I can manage it."

Edith slowly raised her head from his shoulder. Gus
could not meet her eyes, but felt them fixed searchingly
on his face. There was a distant mutter of thunder like a
warning voice. He continued hurriedly:

**I think you will agree with me, when you think of it,
that such a marriage would be best It would be hard for
me to break with my family at once. Indeed I could not
afford to anger my father now. But I would soon get estab-
lished in business myself, and I would work so hard if I
knew that you were dependent on me I"

'*Then you would wish me to remain here in obscurity
your wife," said Edith in a low constrained tone that Gus
did not quite like.

**0h, no, not for the world," replied Gus hurriedly.
*'It is because I so long for youj daily and hourly presence
that I urge you to come to the city at once."

**What is your plan then?" asked Edith in the same
low tone.

**Go with me to the city, on the boat that passes here in
the evening. I will see that you are lodged where you will
have every comfort, yes luxury. We can there be quietly
married, and when the right time comes we can openly
acknowledge it"

There was a tremble in Edith's voice when she again
spoke, it might be from mere excitement or anger. At any
rate Gus grew more and more uncomfortable. He had a
vague feeling that Edith suspected his falseness, and that
her seeming calmness might presage a storm, and he found
it impossible to meet her full searching gaze, fearing that

196 WHAT CAN SHE DOf

his face would betray him. He was bad enough for his
project) but not quite brazen enough.

She detached herself from his encircling arm, went to
a book-stand near and took from it a richly bound Bible.
With this she came and stood before Gus, who was half
trembling with fear and perplexity, and said in a tone so
grave and solemn that his weak impressible nature was
deeply moved:

^'Mr. Elliot, perhaps I do not understand you. I have
received several offers before, but never one like yours this
evening. Indeed I need not remind you that you have
spoken to me in a different vein. I know circumstances
have greatly altered with me. That I am no longer the
daughter of a millionaire, I am learning to my sorrow, but
1 am the same Edith Allen that you knew of old. I would
not like to misjudge you, one of my oldest, most intimate
friends of the happy past And yet, as I have said, I do
not quite understand your offer. Place your hand on this
sacred book with me, and, as you hope for God's mercy,
answer me this truly. Would you wish your own sister to
accept such an offer, if she were situated like myself?
Look me, an honest girl with all my faults and poverty, in
the face, and tell me as a true brother."

Gus felt himself in an awful dilemma. Something in
Edith's solemn tone and look convinced him that both he
and Van Dam had misjudged her. His knees trembled
so that he could scarcely rise. A fascination that he could
not resist drew his face, stamped with guilt, toward her,
and slowly he raised his fearful eyes and for a moment met
Edith's searching, questioning gaze, then dropped them in
confusion.

*'Why do you not put your hand on the book and
speak ?" she asked in the low, concentrated voice of passion.

Again he looked hurriedly at her. A flash of lightning
illumined her features, and he quailed before an expression
such as he had never seen before on any woman's face.

**I — I— cannot," he faltered.

THE TEMPTATION 197

The Bible dropped from her hands, they clasped, and
for a moment she seemed to writhe in agony, and in a low,
shuddering tone she said:

** There are none to trust — not one.''

Then, as if possessed by a sudden fury, she seized him
roughly by the arm and said hoarsely:

**Speak, man! what then did you mean? What have
all your tender speeches and caressing actions meant?"

Her face grew livid with rage and shame as the truth
dawned upon her, while poor feeble Gus lost his poise
utterly and stood like a detected criminal before her.

**You asked me to marry you," she hissed. **Must no
one ask your immaculate sisters to do this, that you could
not answer my simple question ? Or, did you mean some*
thing else? How dare you exist longer in the semblance
of a man ? You have broken the sacred law of hospitality,
and here, in my little home that has sheltered you, you
purpose my destruction. You take mean advantage of my
poverty and trouble, and like a cowardly hunter must seek
out a wounded doe as your game. My grief and misfortune
should have made a sanctuary about me, but the orphaned
and unfortunate, God's trust to all true men, only invite
your evil designs, because defenceless. Wretch, would you
have made me this offer if my father had lived, or if I had
a brother?"

**It's all Van Dam's work, curse him," groaned Gus,
white as a ghost.

"Van Dam's workl" shrieked Edith, *'and he's with
Zelll So this is a conspiracy. You both are the flower of
chivalry," and her mocking, half- hysterical laugh curdled
Gus's blood, as her dress fluttered down the path that led
to the arbor.

She appeared in the doorway like a sudden, supernatural
vision. Zell's head rested on Mr. Van Dam's shoulder, and
he was portraying in low, ardent tones the pleasures of city
life, which would be hers as his wife.

'*It is true," he had said, ''our marriage must be secret

198 WHAT CAN SHE DOt

for the present. You mast learn to trust me. Bnt the time
will soon come when I can acknowledge you as my peerless
bride."

Foolish little Zell was too eager to escape present mis-
eries to be nice and eritical as to the conditions, and too
much in love, too young and unsuspecting, to doubt the
man who had petted her from a child. She agreed to do
anything he thought best

Then Edith's entrance and terrible words broke her
pretty dream in fragments.

Snatching her sister from Van Dam's embrace, she cried
passionately:

** Leave this place. Your villany is discovered."

*'Eeally, Miss Edith" — began Van Dam with a poor show
of dignity.

** Leave instantly I" cried Edith imperiously. '*Do you
wish me to strike you ?"

** Edith, are you mad?" cried Zell.

** Your sister must have lost her reason," said Van Dam,
approaching Zell.

'* Stand back," cried Edith sternly. **I may go mad
before this hateful night passes, but while I have strength
and reason left, I will drive the wolves from our fold.
Answer me this: have you not been proposing secret
marriage to my sister?"

Her face looked spirit-like in the pale moonlight, and
her eyes blazed like coals of fire. As she stood there with
her arm around her bewildered, trembling sister, she seemed
a guardian angel holding a baffled fiend at bay.

This was literally true, for even hardened Van Dam
quailed before her, and took refuge in the usual resource
of his Satanic ally — lies.

'*! assure you. Miss Edith, you do me great injustice.
I have only asked your sister that our marriage be private
for a time — "

*'The same wretched bait — the same transparent false-
hood," Edith cried. ** We cannot be married openly at our

THE TEMPTATION 199

own home, but must go away with you, two spotless knights,
to New York. Do you take us for silly fools ? You know
well what the world would say of ladies that so com-
promised themselves, and no true man would ask this of
a woman he meant to make his wife. These premises are
mine. Leave them. ' '

Yan Dam wsis an old villain who had lived all his life in
the atmosphere of brawls and intrigue, therefore he said
brazenly:

'* There is no u^e in wasting words on an angry woman.
Zell, my darling, do me justice. Don't give me up, as I
never shall you,** and he vanished on the road toward the
village, where Gus was skulking on before him.

"You weak, unmitigated fool," said he savagely, '*why
did I bring you?"

'*Look here, Yan Dam," whined Gus, "that isn't the way
to speak to a gentleman. "

** Gentleman 1 ha, ha," laughed Yan Dam bitterly.

**I be hanged if I feel like one to-night. A pretty scrape
you have got me into, ' * snarled Gus.

"Well," said Yan Dam cynically. "I thought 1 was too
old to learn much more, but you may shoot me if I ever go
on a lark again with one of your weak villains who is bad
enough for anything, but has brains enough only to get
found out. If it hadn't been for you I would have carried
my point. And I will yet," he added with an oath. "I
never give up a game I have once started. "

And so they plodded on with mutual revilings and pro-
fanity, till Gus became afraid of Yan Dam, and was silent.

The dark cloud that had risen unnoted in the south, like
the slowly gathering and impending wrath of God, now
broke upon them in sudden gusts, and then chased them,
with pelting torrents of rain and stinging hail, into the vil-
lage. The sin-wrought chaos — the hellish discord of their
evil natures — seemed to have infected the peaceful spring
evening, for now the very spirit of the storm appeared
abroad. The rush and roar of the wind was so strong, the

200 WHAT CAN SHE DOf

lightDing so vivid, and the crashing thunder peals overhead
so terrific, that even hardened Van Dam was awed, and Gus
was 80 frightened and conscience-smitten that he could
scarcely keep up with his companion, but shuddered at the
thought of being left alone.

At last they reached the tavern, roused the startled land-
lord, and obtained welcome shelter.

** What!*' he said, "are the boys after you ?'*

**No, no,'' said Van Dam impatiently; "the devil is after
us in this infernal storm. Give us two rooms, a fire, and
some brandy as soon as possible, and charge what you
please."

When Gus viewed himself in the mirror, as he at once
did from long habit, his haggard face, drenched, mud-
splashed form, awakened sincere self-commiseration; and
his stained, bedraggled clothes troubled him more than his
soiled character. He did not remember the time when he
had not been well dressed, and to be so was his religion
— ^^the sacred instinct of his life. Therefore he was inex-
pressibly shocked, and almost ready to cry, as he saw his
forlorn reflection in the glass. And he had no change with
him. What should he do? All other phases of the dis-
astrous night were lost in this.

''There is nothing to be bought in this mean little town,
and how can I go to the city in this plight?" he anxiously
queried.

**Go to the devil then," and the sympathetic Van Dam
wrapped himself up and went to sleep.

Gus worked fussily at his clothes till a late hour, de-
voutly hoping he should meet no one whom he knew before
reaching his dressing-room in New York.

BLACK HANNIBAL'S WHITE HEART 201

CHAPTER XVI

BLACK HAKNIBAL'S WHITE HEABT

EDITH half led, half carried her sobbing sister to the
parlor. Mrs. Allen, no longer languid, and Laura
from her exile, were already there, and with dis-
mayed faces drew near the sofa where Zell had been placed.

'^What has happened?'' asked Mrs. Allen tremblingly.

Edith's self-control, now that her enemies were gone,
gave way utterly, and sinking on the floor, she swayed
back and forth, sobbing even more hysterically than Zell,
and her mother and Laura, oppressed with the sense of some
new impending disaster, caught the contagion of their bitter
grief, and wept and wrung their hands also.

The frightened maid stood in one door, with white ques-
tioning face, and old gray-haired Hannibal in another, with
streaming eyes of honest sympathy.

*' Speak, speak, what is the matter?" almost shrieked
Mrs. Allen.

Edith could not speak, but Zell sobbed, **I — don't —
know. Edith—seems to have— gone — mad."

At last, after the application of restoratives, Edith so far
recovered herself as to say brokenly:

*' We've been betrayed — they're — villains. They never
— meant — marriage at all."

*' That's false!" screamed Zell. *'I won't believe it of
my lover, whatever may have been true of your mean little
Gus Elliot. He promised to marry me, and you have spoiled
everything by your mad folly. I'll never forgive you. " —
When Zell's wild fury would have ceased, cannot be said,

WHAT CAN SHE DOf

but a new voice startled and awed them into silence. In
the storm of sorrow and passion that raged within, the outer
storm had risen unnoted, but now an awful peal of thunder
broke over their heads and rolled away among the hills in
deep reverberations. Another and a louder crash soon fol-
lowed, and a solemn, expectant silence fell upon them akin
to that when the noisy passionate world will suddenly cease
its clamor as the trump of God proclaims the end.

'* Merciful heaven I we shall be struck,'* said Mrs. Allen
shudderingly.

** What's the use of living ?" said Zell in a hard, reckless
tone.

**What is there to live for?" sighed Edith, deep in her
heart *' There are none to be trusted — not one."

Instead of congratulations received with blushing happi-
ness, and solitaire engagement rings, thus is shown the first
result of Mrs. Allen's policy, and of society's injunction:

'*Keep your hands white, my dears."

The storm passed away, and they crept oflE to such poor
rest as they could get, too miserable to speak, and too worn
to renew the threatened quarrel that a voice seemingly from
heaven had interrupted.

The next morning they gathered at a late breakfast- table
with haggard faces and swollen eyes. Zell looked hard and
sullen, Edith's face was so determined in its expression as
to be stern. Mrs. Allen lamented feebly and indefinitely,
Laura only appeared more settled in her apathy, and, like
Zell and Edith, was utterly silent through the forlorn meal.

When it was over, Zell went up to her room and Edith
followed hen Zell had not spoken to her sister since the
thunder peal had suddenly checked her bitter words. Edith
dreaded the alienation she saw in Zell's face, and felt
wronged by it, knowing that she had only acted as truest
friend and protector. But in order still to shield her sister
she must secure her confidence, or else the danger averted
the past evening would threaten as grimly as ever. She
also realized how essential Zell's help would be in the

BLACK HANNIBAUS WHITE HEART 208

struggle for bread on which thej must enter, and wished
to obtain her hearty co-operation in some plan of work.
She saw that labor now was inevitable, and must be com-
menced immediately. From Laura little was to be hoped.
She seemed so lacking in mental and physical force since
their troubles began, that it appeared as if nothing could
arouse her. She threatened soon to become an invalid like
her mother. The thought of help from the latter did not
even occur to her.

Edith had not slept, and as the chaos and bitterness of
the past evening's experience passed away, her practical
mind began to concentrate itself on the problem of support.
Her disappointment had not been so severe as that of Zel\
by any means, and so she was in a condition to rally much
sooner. She had never much more than liked Elliot, and
now the very thought of him was sickening, and though
labor and want might be hard indeed, and regret for all
they had lost keen, still she was spared the bitterer pain
of a hopeless love.

But it was just this that Zell feared, and though she re-
peated to herself over and over again Van Dam's last words,
**I will never give you up," she feared that he would, or
what would be equally painful, she would be compelled to
give him up, for she could not disguise from herself that
her confidence had been shaken.

But sincere love is slow to believe evil of its object If
"Van Dam had shown preference for another, Zell's jealousy
and anger would have known no bounds, but this he had
never done, and she could not bring herself to believe that
the man whom she had known since childhood, who had
always treated her with uniform kindness and most flatter-
ing attention, who had partaken of their hospitality so often
and intimately that he almost seemed like one of the family,
meditated the basest evil against her.

**Gus Elliot is capable of any meanness, but Edith was
mistaken about my friend. And yet Edith has so insulted
him that I fear he will never come to the house again," she

204 WHAT CAN SHE DOf

said with deep resentment. ^'If I had declined a private
marriage, I am sure he would have married me openly."

Therefore when Edith entered their little room Zell's
face was averted, and there was every evidence of estrange-
ment Edith meant to be kind and considerate, and pa-
tiently show the reasons for her action.

She sat down and took her sister's cold, impassive hand,
saying:

*'Zell, did I not help you dress in this very place last
evening? Did I not wait against my judgment till Mr.
Van Dam came? These things prove to you that I would
not put a straw between you and a true lover. Surely we
have trouble enough without adding the bitter one of divi-
sion and estrangement. If we don't stand by each other
now what will become of us ?' '

** What right had you to misjudge Mr. Van Dam by such
a mean little scamp as Gus Elliot? Why did you not give
him a chance to explain himself?"

**0 Zell, Zell, how can you be so blinded? Did he not
ask you to go away with him in the night — to elope, and
then submit to a secret marriage in New York?"

**Well, he told me there were good reasons that made
such a course necessary at present."

*' Are you George Allen's daughter, that you could even
listen to such a proposal ? When you lived on Fifth Ave-
nue would he have dared to even faintly suggest such a
thing? Can he be a true lover who insults you to begin
with, and, in view of your misfortunes, instead of showing
manly delicacy and desire to shield, demands not only hard
but indecent conditions? Even if he purposed to marry
you, what right has he to require of you such indelicate
action as would make your name a byword and hissing
among all your old acquaintances, and a lasting stain to
your family? They would not receive you with respect
again, though some might tolerate you and point you out
as the girl so desperate for a husband that she submitted to
the grossest indignity to get one. "

BLACK HANNIBAVS WHITE HEART 205

Zell huDg her head in shame and anger under Edith's
inexorable logic, but the anger was now turning against
Yan Dam. Edith continued:

^' A lady should be sought and won. It is for her to set
the place and time of the wedding, and dictate the condi-
tions. It is for her to say who shall be present and who
absent, and woman, to whom a spotless name is everythingi
has the right, which iBven savage tribes recognize, to shield
herself from the faintest imputation of immodesty by com-
pelling her suitor to comply with the established custom
and etiquette which are her safeguards. The daughter of
a poor laborer would demand all this as a matter of course,
and shall the beautiful Zell Allen, who has had scores of
admirers, have all this reversed in her case, and be com-
pelled to skulk away from the home in which she should
be openly married, to hunt up a man at night who has made
the pitiful promise that he will marry her somewhere at
some time or other, on condition that no one shall know
it till he is ready ? Mark it well, the man who so insults a
lady and all her family never means to marry her, or else
he is so coarse and brutal in all his instincts that no decent
woman ought to marry him."

'*Say no more," said Zell, in a low tone, **I fear you are
right, though I would rather die than believe it. Oh, Edith,
Edith 1" she cried in sudden passionate grief. ^'My heart is
broken. I loved him sol I could have been so happy!"

Edith took her in her arms and they cried together.
At last Zell said languidly:

** What can we do?"

** We must go to work like other poor people. If we had
only done so at first and saved every dollar we had left, we
should not now be in our present deeply embarrassed con-
dition. And yet, Zell, if you, with your vigor and strength,
will only stand by me, and help your best, we will see bright
days yet There must be some way by which two girls can
make a livelihood here in Pushton as elsewhere. We have
at least a shelter, and I have great hopes of the garden."

206 WHAT CAN SHE DOf

•*I don't like a garden. I fear I couldn't do much there.
And it seems like man's work too. I fear I shall be too
wretched and ignorant to do anything."

''Not at all. Youth, health, and time, against all the
troubles of the world." (This was the best creed poor Edith
then had.) *'Now," she continued, encouragingly, *'you
like housework. Of course we must dismiss our servants,
and if you did the work of the house with Laura, so that
I had all my time for something else, it would be a great
saving and help."

''Oh, dear! oh, dear I that we should ever come to this I"
said Zell despairingly.

"We have come to it, and must face the truth."

"Well, of course I'll try," said Zell with something of
Laura's apathy. Then with a sudden burst of passion she
clenched her little hands and cried:

"1 hate him, the cold-hearted wretch, to treat his poor
little Zell so shamefully!" and she paced up and down the
room with inflamed eyes and cheeks. Then in equally
sudden revulsion she threw herself down on the floor with
her head in her sister's lap, and murmured, "God forgive
me, I love him still — I love him with my whole heart,"
and sobbed till all her strength was gone.

Edith sighed deeply. "Can she ever be depended on ?"
she thought At last she lifted the languid form on the
bed, threw over her an afghan, and bathed her head with
cologne till the poor child fell asleep.

Then she went down to Laura and her mother, to whom
she explained more fully the events of last evening. Laura
only muttered, "shameful," but Mrs. Allen whined, "She
could not understand it. Girls didn't know how to manage
any longer. There must be some misunderstanding, for
no young men in the city could have meant to offer such
an insult to an old and respectable family like theirs. She
never heard of such a thing. If she could only have been
present — "

"Hush, mother," said Edith almost sternly. "It's all

BLACK HANNIBAVS WHITE HEART 207

past now. I should gladly believe that when yon were a
young lady such poor villains were not in good society.
Moreover, such offers are not made to young ladies living
on the avenue. This is more properly a case for sbooiiug
than management. I have no patience to talk any more
about it. We must now try to conform to our altered cir-
cumstances, and at least maintain our self-respect, and se<*
cure the comforts of life if possible. But we must now
practice the closest economy. Laura, you will have to be
mother's maid, for of course we can keep no servants. I
have a little money left, and will pay your maid to-day and
let her go."

"I don't see how I can get along without her," said Mrs.
Allen helplessly.

*'You must,", said Edith firmly. **We have no money
to pay her any longer, and your daughters will try to sup-
ply her place."

Mrs. Allen did not formally abdicate her natural posi-
tion as head of the family, but in the hour of almost ship-
wreck Edith took the helm out of the feeble hands. Yet
the young girl had little to guide her, no knowledge and
experience worth mentioning, and the sea was rough and
beset with dangers.

The maid had no regrets at departure, and went away
with something of the satisfaction of a rat leaving a sinking
ship. But with old Hannibal it was a different affair.

**You ain't gwine to send me away too, is you. Miss
Edie?" said he, with the accent of dismay.

**My good old friend," said Edith feelingly, *'the only
friend I'm sure of in this great world full of people, I fear
I must. We can't afford to pay you even half what you
are worth any longer."

*'I'8e sure I doesn't eat sech a mighty lot," Hannibal
sniffled out

**0h, I hope we shan't reach starvation point," said
Edith, smiling in spite of her sore heart. "But, Hanni-
bal, you are a valuable servant; besideSi there are plenty

208 WHAT CAN SHE DO 9

of rich upstarts who would give you anything you would
ask, just to have you come and give an old and aristooratic
air to their freshly-gilded mansions."

^'Miss Edie, you doesn't know nothin' 'tall about my
feelin's. What's money to ole Hannibal ! I'se lived 'mong
de millionaires and knows all 'bout money. It only buys
half of 'em a heap of trouble and doesn't keep dar hearts
from gettin' sore. When Massa Allen was a livin', he paid
me big, and guv me all de money I wanted, and if he, at
last, lost my money which he keep, it's no mo'n he did wid
his own. And now. Miss Edie, I toted you and you'se sis-
ters roun' on my shouler when you was babies, and I hain't
got nothin' left but you, no friends, no nothin' ; and if you
send me away, it's like gwine out into de wilderness. What
'ud I do in some strange man's big house, when my heart's
here in de little house ? My heart is all ole Hannibal has
left, if 'tis black, and if you send me away you break it
I'd a heap rader stay here in fiushtown and starve to death
wid you alls, dan live in de grandest house on de avenue."

^*0h, Hannibal," said Edith, putting her hand on the
old man's shoulder, and looking at him with her large eyes
dimmed with grateful tears, ''you don't know how much
good you have done me. I have felt that there were none
to trust — not one, but you are as true as steel. Your heart
isn't black, as I told you before. It's whiter than mine.
Oh, that other men were like you!"

**Bress you. Miss Edie, I isn't a man, I'se only a
nigger."

*' You are my true and trusted friend," said Edith, ''and
you shall be one of the family as long as you wish to stay
with us."

"Now bress you, Miss Edie, you'se an angel for say in'
dat. Don't be afeard, I'se good for sumpen yet, if I be
old. I once work for fear in de South; den I work for
money, and now I'se gwine to work for lub, and it 'pears
I can feel my ole jints limber up at de tought. It 'pears
like dat lub is de only ting dat can make one young agin.

BLACK HANNIBAUa WHITE HEART 209

Neber you fear, Miss Edie, we'll pull trough, and I'se see
you a grand lady yet. A true lady you'se allers be, even
if you went out to scrub."

*' Perhaps I'll have to, Hannibal. I know how to do
that about as well as anything else that people are willing
to pay for."

210 WHAT CAN SHE DOf

CHAPTEB XVn

THE CHANGES OF TWO SHORT MONTHS

AT the dinner- table it was reluctantly admitted to be
necessary that Edith should go to the city in the
morning and dispose of some of their jewelry. She
went by the early train, and the familiar aspects of Fourth
Avenue as she rode down town were as painful as the fea-
tures of an old friend turned away from us in estrangement.
She kept her face closely veiled, hoping to meet no acquaint-
ances, but some whom she knew unwittingly brushed against
her. Her mother's last words were:

*'Go to some store where we are not known to sell the
jewelry."

Edith's usually good judgment seemed to fail her in this
case, as generally happens when we listen to the suggestions
of false pride. She went to a jeweller downtown who was
an utter stranger. The man's face to whom she handed her
valuables for inspection did not suggest pure gold that had
passed through the refiner's fire, though he professed to
deal in that article. An unknown lady, closely veiled,
offering such rich articles for sale, looked suspicious; but,
whether it was right or wrong, there was a chance for him
to make an extraordinary profit Giving a curious glance
at Edith, who began to have misgivings from the manner
and appearance of the man, he swept the little cases up and
took them to the back part of the store, on pretence of wish-
ing to consult his partner. He soon returned and said rather
harshly:

"I don't quite understand this matter, and we are not in

THE CHANGES OF TWO SHORT MONTHS 211

the habit of doing this kind of business. It may be all right
that you should offer this jewelry, and it may not. If we
take it, we must run the risk. We will give you" — offer-
ing scarcely half its value.

''I assure you it is all right," said Edith indignantly, at
the same time with a sickening sensation of fear. **It all
belongs to us, but we are compelled to part with it from
sudden need."

''That is about the way they all talk," said the man
coolly. '* We will give you no more than I said."

*'Then give me back my jewelry," said Edith, scarcely
able to stand, through fear and shame.

"I don't know about that Perhaps I ought to call in
an oiScer any way and have the thing investigated. But I
give you your choice, either to take this money, or go with
a policeman before a justice and have the thing explained,"
and he laid the money before her.

She shuddered at the thought Edith Allen in a police
court, explaining why she was selling her jewelry, the gifts
of her dead father, followed by a rabble in the street, her
name in the papers, and she the town-talk and scandal of
her old set on the avenue I How Gus Elliot and Yan Dam
would exult! All passed through her mind in one dreadful
whirl. She snatched up the money and rushed out with one
thought of escape, and for some time after had a shuddering
apprehension of being pursued and arrested.

'*0h, if I had only gone to Tiffany's, where I am known!"
she groaned. **It's all mother's work. Her advice is always
fatal, and I will never follow it again. It seems as if every-
thing and everybody were against me," and she plunged into
the sheltering throng of Broadway, glad to be a mere unrec-
ognized drop in its mighty tide.

But even as Edith passed out of the jeweller's store her
eye rested for a moment on the face ot a man whom she
thought she had seen before, though she could not tell
where, and the face haunted her, causing much uneasi-
ness.

212 WHAT CAN SHE DOf

** Could he have seen and known me ?" she queried most
anxiously.

He had done both. He was no other than Tom Crowl, a
clerk in the village at one of the lesser dry-go*ods stores,
where the Aliens had a small account. He w.as one of the
mean loafers who were present at the bar-room scene, and
had cheered, and then kicked Gus Elliot, and '*Iaid for
him" in the evening with the *'boys." He was one of the
upper graduates of Pushton street-corners, and having spent
an idle, vicious boyhood, truant half the time from school,
had now arrived at the dignity of clerk in a store, that
thrived feebly on the scattering trade that filtered through
and past Mr. Hard's larger establishment He was one of
the worst phases of the male gossip, and had the scent of a
buzzard for the carrion of scandal. The Aliens were now
the uppermost theme of the village, for there seemed some
mystery about them. Moreover, the rural dabblers in vice
had a natural jealousy of the more accomplished rakes from
the city, which took on something of the air of virtuous in-
dignation against them. Of course the talk about Gus and
Van Dam included the Aliens; and if poor Edith could have
heard the surmises about them in the select coterie of clet i s
that gathered after closing hours around Crowl, as the central
fountain of gossip, she would have felt more bitterly thj.n
ever that the spirit of chivalry had utterly forsaken mankind.

When therefore young Crowl saw Edith get on the same
train as himself, he determined to watch her, and startle, if
possible, his small squad of admirers with a new proof of
his right to lead as chief scandal-monger. The scene in the
jewelry store .thus became a brilliant stroke of fortune to
him, though so severe a blow to Edith. (The number of
people who are like wolves, that turn upon and devour one
of their kind when wounded, is not small.) Crowl exult-
ingly saw himself doubly the hero of the evening in the
little room of the loft over the store, where poor Edith
would be discussed that evening over a black bottle and
sundry clay pipes.

THE CHANGES OF TWO SHORT MONTHS 218

As Edith returned up town toward the depot, the im-
pulse to go and see her old home was very strong. She
thought her veil suflScient protection to allow her to ven-
ture. Slowly and with heavy step she passed up the well-
known street on the opposite side, and then crossed an^
passed down toward that door from which she had so often
tripped in light-hearted gayety, or rolled away in a liveried
carriage, the envied and courted daughter of a millionaire.
And to-day she was selling her jewelry for bread — to-day
she had narrowly, as she thought, escaped the police court
— to-day she had no other prospect of support save her un-
skilled hands, and little more than two short months ago,
that house was ablaze with light, resounding with mirth and
music, and she and her sisters were known as among the
wealthiest belles of the city. It was like a horrid dream. It
seemed as if she might see old Hannibal opening the door,
and 2iell come tripping out, or Laura at the window of her
room with a book, or the portly form of her father return-
ing from business, indeed even herself, radiant with pride
and pleasure, starting for an afternoon walk as of old. All
seemed to look the same. Why was it not? Why could
she not enter and be at home ! Again she passed. A name
on the door caught her eye. With a shudder of disgust and
pain, she read —

*^ Uriah Fox."

**So the villain lives in the home of which he robbed
us," she said bitterly. '* The world seems made for such.
Old Hannibal was right. Ood lumps the world, but the
devil seems to look after his friends and prosper them."

She now hastened to the depot. The city had lost its at-
tractions to her, in view of what she had seen and suffered
that day, and though inclined to feel hard and resentful at
her fate, she was sincerely thankful that she had a quiet
home in the country from which at least the false-hearted
and cruel could be kept away.

She saw during the day several faces that she knew, but
none recognized her, and she realized how soon we are for-

214 WHAT CAN SHE DOf

gotten by our wide circle of friends, and how the world goes
OD just the same after we have vacated the large space we
suppose we occupy.

She reached home in the twilight, weary and despond-
ent. Her mother asked eagerly:

**Did you meet any one you knew ?*' as if this were the
all- important question.

**Don't speak to me,'' said Edith impatiently. '*rm half
dead with fatigue and trouble. Hannibal, please give me a
cup of tea, and then I will go to bed.''

**But, Edith," persisted Mrs, Allen querulously, "did
you see any of our old set? I hope you didn't take the
jewelry where you were known."

Edith's overtaxed nerves gave way, and she said sharply —

**No, I did not go where I was known, as I ought, and
therefore have been robbed, and might have been in jail
myself to-night I will never follow your advice again.
It has brought nothing but trouble and disaster. I huve
had enough of your silly pride and its results. What prac-
tical harm would it have done me, if I had met all the per-
sons I know in the city ? By going where I was not known
I lost half my jewelry, and was insulted and threatened with
great danger in the bargain. If I had gone to Tiffany's, or
Ball and Black's, where I am known, I should have been
treated politely and obtained the full value of what I of-
fered. I can't even forgive myself for being such a fool.
But I have done with your ridiculous false pride forever."

These were harsh words for a daughter to speak to her
mother, under any provocation, and even Zell said:

''Edith, you ought to be ashamed of yourself to speak to
mother so. ' '

*M think so, too," said Laura. **I'm sure she meant
everything for the best, and she took the course which is
taken by the majority in like circumstances."

"All the worse for the majority then, if they fare any-
thing as we have done. The division of labor in this fam-
ily seems to be that I am to do all the work, and bear the

THE CHANGES OF TWO SHORT MONTHS 215

brunt of everything, and the rest sit by and criticise, or
make more trouble. You have all got to do something
now or go hungry,'' and Edith swallowed her tea, and
went frowningly away to her room. She was no saint, to
begin with, and her overtaxed mind and body revenged
themselves in nervous irritation. But her young and health-
ful nature soon found in sound sleep the needed restorative.

Mrs. Allen shed a few helpless tears, and Laura wearily
watched the faint flicker on the hearth, for the night was
chilly. Zell went into the dining-room and read for the
twentieth time a letter received that day.

Unknown to Edith, the worst disaster yet had occurred
in her absence. Zell had been to the village for the mail.
She would not admit, even to herself, that she hoped for
a letter from one who had acted so poor a part as her false
lover, and yet, controlled so much more by her feelings and
impulses than by either reason or principle, it was with a
thrill of joy that she recognized the familiar handwriting.
The next moment she dropped her veil to conceal her burn-
ing blush of shame. She hastened home with a wild tumult
at heart

**1 will read it, and see what he says for himself," she
said, '*and then will write a withering answer."

But as Yan Dam's ardent words and plausible excuses
burned themselves into her memory, her weak foolish heart
relented, and she half believed he was wronged by Edith
after all. The withering answer became a queer jumble of
tender reproaches and pathetic appeals, and ended by say-
ing that if he would marry her in her own home it all might
be as secret as he desired, and she would wait his conven-
ience for acknowledgment.

She also did another wrong and imprudent thing; for
she told him to direct his reply to another oflBoe about a
mile from Pushton, for she dreaded Edith's anger should
her correspondence be discovered.

The wily, unscrupulous man gave one of his satantio
leers as he read the letter.

216 WHAT CAN SHE DOf

**Tlie game will soon be mine," he chuckled, and he
wrote promptly in return:

**Id your request and reproaches, I see the influeuce of another mind. Left
to yourself you would not doubt me. And yet such is my love for you, I would
comply with your request were it not for what passed that fatal evening. My
feelings and honor as a man forbid my ever meeting your sister again till she
has apologized. She never liked me, and always wronged me with doubts.
Elliot acted like a fool and a villain, and I have nothing more to do with him.
But your sister, in her anger and excitement, classed me with him. When you
have been my loved and trusted wife for some length of time, I hope your
family will do me justice. When you are here with me you will soon see why
our marriage must be private for the present. You have known me since you
were a child. I will be true to my word and will do exactly as I agreed. I
will meet you any evening you wish on the down boat. Awaiting your reply
with an anxiety which only the deepest love can inspire, I remain,

"Your slave, GUILLIAM VAN DAM."

Such was the false but plausible missive that was aimed
as an arrow at poor little Zell. There was nothing in her
training or education, and little in her character, to shield
her. Moreover the increasing miseries of their situation
were Van Dam's allies.

Edith rose the next morning greatly refreshed, and her
naturally courageous nature rallied to meet the difficulties
of their position. But in her strength, as was too often the
case, she made too little allowance for the weakness of
the others. She took the reins in, her hand in a masterful
and not merciful way, and dictated to the rest in a manner
that they secretly resented.

The store wagon was a little earlier than usual that
morning, and a note from Mr. Hard was handed in, stating
that he had payments to make that day and would therefore
request that his little account might be met. Two or three
other persons brought up bills from the village, saying that
for some reason or another the money was greatly needed.
Tom Growl's gossip was doing its legitimate work.

In the post-office Edith found all the other accounts
against the family, with requests for payment, polite
enough, but pressing.

THE CHANGES OF TWO SHORT MONTHS 217

She resolved to pay all s.he could, and went first to Mr.
Hard^s. That worthy citizen's eyes grew less stony as he
saw half the amount of his bill on the counter. The rumor
of Edith's visit to the city had reached even him, and he
had his fears that collecting might involve some unpleasant
business; but, however unpleasant it might be, Mr. Hard
always collected.

'*I hope our method of dealing nas satisfied you, Miss
Allen," he ventured politely.

**0h, yes," said Edith dryly, ''you have been very liberal
and prompt with everything, especially your bill."

At this Mr. Hard's eyes grew quite pebbly, and he mut-
tered something about its being the rule to settle monthly.

**0h, certainly," said Edith, **and like most rules, no
doubt, has many exceptions. Good- morning."

She also paid something on the other bills, and found
that she had but a few dollars left Though there was a
certain sense of relief in the feeling that she now owed
much less, still she looked with dismay on the small sum
remaining. Where was more to come from? She had de-
termined that she would not go to New York again to sell
anything except in the direst extremity.

That evening Hannibal gave them a meagre supper, for
Edith had told him of the absolute necessity of economy.
There was a little grumbling over the fare. So Edith pushed
her chair back, laid seven dollars on the table, saying:

"That's all the money I have in the world. Who's got
any more ?' '

They raised ten dollars among them.

*'Now," said Edith, **this is all we have. Where is more
coming from?"

Helpless sighs and silence were her only answers.

'* There is nothing clearer in the world," continued Edith,
**than that we must earn money. What can we do ?"

"I never thought I should have to work," said Laura
piteously.

''But, my dear sister," said Edith earnestly, "isn't it
10— Roe— X

218 WHAT CAN SHE DOf

clear to you now that you must ? You certainly don't ex-
pect me to earn enough to support you all. One pair of
hands can't do it, and it wouldn't be fair in the bargain."

**0h, certainly not," said Laura. '*I will do anything
you say as well as I can, though, for the life of me, I don't
see what I can do. ' '

"Nor I either," said Zell passionately. '*! don't know
how to work. I never did anything useful in my life that
I know of. What right have parents to bring up girls in
this way, unless they make it a perfect certainty that they
will always be rich ? Here we are as helpless as four chil-
dren. We have not got enough to keep us from starving
more than a week at best Just to think of it I Men are
speculating and risking all they have every day. Ever
since I was a child I have heard about the risks of busi-
ness. I knew some people whose fathers failed, and they
went away, I don't know where, to suffer as we have per-
haps, and yet girls are not taught to do a single thing by
which they can earn a penny if they need to. If anybody
will pay me for jabbering a little bad French and Italian,
and strumming a few operatic airs on the piano, I am at
their service. I think I also understand dressing, flirting,
and receiving compliments very well. I had a taste for
these things, and never had any special motive given me
for doing anything else. What becomes of all the girls thus
taught to be helpless, and then tossed out into the world to
sink or swim?"

*'They find some self-sustaining work in it," said Edith.

*'Not all of them, I guess," muttered Zell sullenly.

''Then they do worse, and had better starve," said Edith
sternly.

''You don't know anything about starving," retorted
Zell, bitterly. "I repeat, it's a burning shame to bring
girls up so that they don't know how to do anything, if
there's ever any possibility that they must. And it's a
worse shame that respect and encouragement are not given
to girls who earn a living. Mother says that if we become

THE CHANGES OF TWO SHORT MONTHS 219

working girls, not one of our old wealthy, fashionable set
will have anything to do with us. What makes people act
so silly ? Any one of them on the avenue may be where
we are in a year. I've no patience with the ways of the
world. People don't help each other to be good, and don't
help others up. Grown-up folks act like children, flow
parents can look forward to the barest chance of their
children being poor, and bring them up as we were, I don't
see. I'm no more fit to be poor than to be President"

Zell never before had said a word that reflected on her
father, but in the light of events her criticism seemed so
just that no one reproved her.

Mrs. Allen only sighed over her part of the implied
blame. She had reached the hopeless stage of one lost in
a foreign land, where the language is unknown and every
sight and sound unfamiliar and bewildering. This weak
fashionable woman, the costly product of an artificial lux-
urious life, seemed capable of being little better than a mill-
stone around the necks of her children in this hour of their
need. If there had been some innate strength and nobility
in Mrs. Allen's character, it might have developed now into
something worthy of respect under this sharp attrition of
trouble, however perverted before. But where a precious
stone will take lustre a pumice stone will crumble. There
is a multitude of natures so weak to begin with that they
need tonic treatment all through life. What must such
become under the influence of enervating luxury, flattery,
and uncurbed selfishness from childhood? Poor, faded,
sighing, helpless Mrs. Allen, shivering before the trouble
she had largely occasioned, is the answer.

Edith soon broke the forlorn silence that followed Zell's
outburst by saying:

**A11 the blame doesn't rest on the parents. I might
have improved my advantages far better. I might have so
mastered the mere rudiments of an English education as to
be able to teach little children, but I can scarcely remember
a single thing now."

220 WHAT CAN SHE DOf

**I can remember one thing/' interrnpted Zell, who was
fresh from her books, ''that there was mighty little atten-
tion given to the rudiments, as you call them, in the fashion-
able schools to which I went. To give the outward airs
and graces of a fine lady seemed their whole aim. Accom-
plishments, deportment were everything. The way I was
hustled over the rudiments almost takes away my breath to
remember, and I have as remote an idea of vulgar fractions
as of how to do the vulgar work before us. I tell you the
whole thing is a cruel farce. If girls are educated like but-
terflies, it ought to be made certain that they can live like
butterflies."

"Well, then," continued Edith, ''we ought to have per-
fected ourselves in some accomplishment They are always in
demand. See what some French and music teachers obtain. ' '

"Nonsense," said Zell pettishly, "you know well enough
that by the time we were sixteen our heads were so full of
beaux, parties, and dress, that French and music were a
bore. We went through the fashionable mills like the rest,
and if father had continued worth a million or so, no one
would have found fault with our education."

"We can't help the past now," said Edith after a mo-
ment, "but I am not so old yet but that I can choose some
kind of work and so thoroughly master it that I can get the
highest price paid for that form of labor. I wish it could
be gardening, for I have no taste for the shut-up work of
woman; sitting in a close room all day with a needle would
be slow suicide to me."

"Gardening!" said Zell contemptuously. "You couldn't
plow as well as that snuffy old fellow who scratched your
garden about as deeply as a hen would have done it. A
woman can't dig and hoe in the hot sun, that is, an Ameri-
can girl can% and I don't think she ought."

"Nor I either," said Mrs. Allen, with some returning
vitality. ' ' The very idea is horrid. ' '

"But plowing, diggings and hoeing are not all of garden-
ing," said Edith with some irritation.

THE CHANGES OF TWO SHORT MONTHS 221

**I guess yon would make a slim support by just snip-
ping around among the rose-bushes," retorted Zell pro-
vokingly.

** That's always the way with you, Zell," said Edith
sharply, '*from one extreme to another. Well, what would
you like to do?"

**If I had to work I would like housekeeping. That
admits of great variety and activity. I wish I could open
a summer boarding-house up here. Wouldn't I make it
attractive!"

**Such black eyes and red cheeks certainly would — to
the gentlemen," answered Edith satirically.

**They would be mere accessories. I think I could give
to a boarding-house, that place of hash and harrowing dis-
comfort, a dainty, homelike air. If father, when he risked
a failure, had only put aside enough to set me up in a
boarding-house, I should have been made."

"A boarding-house! What horror next?" sighed Mrs.
Allen.

''Don't be alarmed, mother," said Zell bitterly. **We
can scarcely start one of the forlornest hash species on ten
dollars. I admit I would rather keep house for a good
husband, and it seems to me I could soon learn to give him
the perfection of a good home," and her eyes filled with
wistful tears. Dashing them scornfully away, she added,
''The idea of a woman loving a man, and letting his home
be dependent on the cruel mercies of foreign servants! If
it's a shame that girls are not taught to make a living
if they need to, it's a worse shame that they are not taught
to keep house. Half the brides I know of ought to have
been arrested and imprisoned for obtaining property on
false pretences. They had inveigled men into the vain
expectation that they would make a home for them, when
they no more knew how to make a home than a heaven.
The best they can do is to go to one of those places so satir-
ically called an 'intelligence office,' and import them into
their elegant houses a small mob of quarrelsome, drunken,

222 WHAT CAN SHE DOf

dishonest foreigners, and then they and their husbands live
on such conditions as are permitted. I would be mistress
of my house, just as a man is master of his store or office,
and I would know thoroughly how work of all kinds was
done, and see that it was done thoroughly. If they wouldn't
do it, I*d discbarge them. I am satisfied that our bad ser-
vants are the result of bad housekeepers more than anything
else.''

'*Pooi little Zell!" said Edith, smiling sadly. **I hope
you will have a chance to put your theories into most happy
and successful practice."

** Little chance of it here in 'Bushtown,' as Hannibal
calls it," said Zell suddenly.

'*Well," said Edith, in a kind of desperate tone, ** we've
got to decide on something at once. I will suggest this.
Laura must take care of mother, and teach a few little chil-
dren if she can get them. We will give up the parlor to her
at certain hours. I will put up a notice in the post-office
asking for such patronage, and perhaps we can put an ad-
vertisement in the Pushton Recorder, if it doesn't cost too
much. Zell, you must take the housekeeping mainly, for
which you have a taste, and help me with any sewing that
I can get Hannibal will go into the garden and I will help
him there all I can. I shall go to the village to-morrow and
see if I can find anything to do that will bring in money."

There was a silent acquiescence in Edith's plan, for no
one had anything else to ofier.

IGNORANCE LOOKING FOB WOBK 228

CHAPTEE XVIII

IGNOBAKCB LOOKING FOR WOBK

THE next day Edith went to the village, and frankly
told Mr. Hard how they were situated, mentioning
that the failure of their lawyer to sell the stock had
suddenly placed them in this crippled condition.

Mr. Hard's eyes grew more pebbly as he listened.
He ventured in a constrained voice as consolation:

*'That he never had much faith in stocks — No, he had
no employment for ladies in connection with his store. He
simply bought and sold at a small advance. Miss Klip, the
dressmaker, might have something."

To Miss Klip Edith went. Miss Klip, although an un-
protected female, appeared to be a maiden that could take
care of herself. One would scarcely venture to hinder her.
Her cutting scissors seemed instinct with life, and one
would get out of their way as naturally as from a railroad
train. She gave Edith a sharp look through her spectacles
and said abruptly in answer to her application:

**I thought you was rich."

** We were," said Edith sadly, ** but we must work now
and are willing to."

**What do you know about dressmaking and sewing?"

** Well, not a great deal, but I think you would find us
very ready to learn."

**0h, bless you, I can get all my work done by thorough
hands, and at my own prices, too. Good-morning."

'*But can you not tell me of some one who would be apt
to have work?"

224 WHAT CAN SHE DOf

*' There's Mrs. Glibe across the street. She has work
sometimes. Most of the dressmakers around here are well
trained, have machines, and go out by the day."

Edith's heart sank. What chance was there for her
untaught hands among all these ^'trained workers."

She soon found that Mrs. Glibe was more inclined to
talk (being as garrulous as Miss Klip was laconic) and
to find out all about them than to help her to work. Mak-
ing but little headway in Edith's confidence she at last
said, **I give Eose Lacey all the work I have to spare and
it isn't very much. The business is so cut up that none of
us have much more than we can do except a short time in
the busy season. Still, those of us who can give a nice
fit and cut to advantage can make a good living after
getting known. It takes time and training you kapw of
course."

**But isn't there work of any kind that we can get in this
place?" said Edith impatiently.

** Well, not that you'd be willing to do. Of course there's
housecleaning and washing and some plain sewing, though
that is mostly done on a machine. A good strong woman
can always get day's work, except in winter, but you ain't
one of that sort," she added, looking at Edith's delicate
pink and white complexion and little white hands in which
a scrubbing-brush would look incongruous.

** Isn't there any demand for fancy work ?" asked Edith.

** Mighty little. People buy such things in the city.
Money ain't so plenty in the country that people will
spend much on that kind of thing. The ladies themselve3
make it at home and when they go out to tea."

**0h, dear!" sighed Edith, as she plodded wearily home-
ward, **what can we do? Ignorance is as bad as crime."

Her main hope now for immediate necessities was that
they might get some scholars. She had put up a notice in
the post-ofl5ce and an advertisement in the paper. She bad
also purchased some rudimentary school books, aud the
poor child, on her return home, soon distracted herself by

IGNORANCE LOOKJNQ FOB WORK 225

a sudden plunge into vulgar fractions. She found herself
so sadly rusty that she would have to study almost as hard
as any of her pupils, were they obtained. Laura's bookish
turn and better memory had kept her better informed.
Edith soon threw aside grammars and arithmetics, saying
to Laura:

*^ You must take care of the school, if we get one. It
would take me too long to prepare on these things in our
emergency."

Almost desperate from the feeling that there was noth-
ing she could do, she took a hoe that was by no means
light, and loosened the ground and cut o£E all the sprouting
weeds around her strawberry-vines. The day was rather
cool and cloudy, and she was surprised at the space she
went over. She wore her broad-brimmed straw hat tied
down over her face, and determined she would not look at
the road, and would act as if it were not there, letting peo-
ple think what they pleased. But a familiar rumble and
rattle caused her to look shyly up after the wagon had
passed, and she saw Arden Lacey gazing wonderingly back
at her. She dropped her eyes instantly as if she had not
seen him, and went on with her work. At last, thoroughly
wearied, she went in and said half triumphantly, half
defiantly:

**A woman can hoe. I've done it myself."

'*A woman can ride a horse like a man," said Mrs.
Allen, and this was all the home encouragement poor Edith
received.

They had had but a light lunch at one o'clock, meaning
to have a more substantial dinner at six. Hannibal was
showing Zell and getting her started in her department.
It was but a poor little dinner they had, and Zell said in
place of dessert:

' ' Edith, we are most out of everything. * '

*'And I can't get any work," said Edith despondingly.
** People have got to know how to do things before anybody
wants themi and we haven't time to learn."

226 WHAT CAN SHE DOf

"Ten dollars won't last long," said Zell recklessly.

*'I will go down to the village and make further inqui-
ries to-morrow," Edith continued in a weary tone. **It
seems strange how people stand aloof from us. No one
calls and everybody wants what we owe them right away.
Are there not any good kind people in Pushton ? I wish
we had not offended the Laceys. They might have advised
and helped us, but nothing would tempt me to go to them
after treating them as we did."

There were plenty of good kind people in Pushton, but
Mrs. Allen's ** policy" had driven them away as far as pos-
sible. By their course the Aliens had placed themselves,
in relation to all classes, in the most unapproachable posi-
tion, and their **friends" from the city and Tom Growl's
gossip had made matters far worse. Poor Edith thought
they were utterly ignored. She would have felt worse if
she had known that every one was talking about them.

The next day Edith started on another unsuccessful ex-
pedition to the village, and while she was gone, Zell went
to the post-office to which she had told Van Dam to direct
his reply. She found the plausible lie we have already
placed before the reader.

At first she experienced a sensation of anger that he had
not complied with her wish. It was a new experience to
have gentlemen, especially Van Dam, so long her obsequi-
ous slave, think of anything contrary to her wishes. She
also feared that Edith might be right, and that Van Dam
designed evil against her. She would not openly admit,
even to herself, that this was his purpose, and yet Edith's
words had been so clear and strong, and Van Dam's condi-
tions placed her so entirely at his mercy, that she shrank
from him and was fascinated at the same time.

But instead of indignantly casting the letter from her,
she read it again and again. Her foolish heart pleaded for
him.

*'He couldn't be so false to me, so false to his written
word," she said, and the letter was hidden away, and she

IGNORANCE LOOKING FOR WORK 227

passed into the dangerous stage of irresolution, where temp-
tation is secretly dwelt upon. She hesitated, and, accord-
ing to the proverb, the woman who does this is lost In-
stead of indignantly casting temptation from her, she left
her course open, to be decided somewhat by circumstances.
She wilfully shut her eyes to the danger, and tried to be-
lieve, and did almost believe that her lover meant honestly
by her.

And so the days passed, Edith vainly trying to find
something to do, and working hard in her garden, which
as yet brought no return. She was often very sad and de-
spondent, and again very irritable. Laura's apathy only
deepened, and she seemed like one not yet awakened from
a dream of the past Zell made some show of work, but
after all left almost everything for Hannibal as before, and
when Edith sharply chided her, she laughed recklessly
and said:

** What's the use? If we are going to starve we might
as well do so at once and have it over with."

**I won't starve," said Edith, almost fiercely. '* There
must be honest work somewhere in the world for one will-
ing to do it, and I'm going to find it. At any rate, can
raise food in my garden before long."

'*I'm afraid we shall starve before your cabbages and
carrots come to maturity, and we might as 'well as to try to
live on such garbage. Supplies are running low, and, as
you say, the money is nearly gone."

**Ye8, and people won't trust us any more. Two or
three declined to in the village to-day, and I felt too dis-
couraged and ashamed to ask any further. For some rea-
son people seem afraid of us. I see persons turn and look
after me, and yet they avoid me. Two or three impudent
clerks tried to make my acquaintance, but I snubbed them
in such a way that they will let me alone hereafter. I
wonder if any stories could have got around about us?
Country towns are such places for gossip."

*'Have you heard of any scholars ?" said Laura languidly.

228 WHAT CAN SHE DOf

**No, not one," was Edith's despondent answer. **H
nothing turns up before, I'll go to New York next Monday
and sell some more things, and I'll go where I'm known
this time."

Nothing turned up, and by Sunday they had nothing in
the house save a little dry bread, which they ate moistened
with wine and water. Mrs. Allen sighed and cried all day.
Laura had the strange manner of one awaking up to some-
thing unrealized before. Restlessness began to take the
place of apathy, and her eyes often sought the face of
Edith in a questioning manner. Finding her alone in the
garden, she said :

**Why, Edith, I'm hungry. I never remember being
hungry before. Is it possible we have come to this?"

Edith burst into tears, and said brokenly:

**Come with me to the arbor."

**I'm sure I'm willing to do anything," said Laura pite-
ously, **but I never realized we would come to this."

**0h! how can the birds sing?" said Edith bitterly.
**This beautiful spring weather, with its promise and hope-
fulness, seems a mockery. The sun is shining brightly,
flowers are budding and blooming, and all the world seems
so happy, but my heart aches as if it would burst. I'm
hungry, too, and I know poor old Hannibal is faint, though
he tries to keep up whenever I am around."

**But, Edith, if people knew how we are situated they
would not let us want Our old acquaintances in New
York, or our relations even, though not very friendly,
would surely help us."

**0h, yes, I suppose so for a little while, but I can't
bring myself to ask for charity, and no one would under
take to support us. What discourages me most is that I
can't get work that will bring in money. Between people
wishing to have nothing to do with us, on one hand, and
my ignorance on the other, there seems no resource. Some
of those whom we owe seem inclined to press us. I'm so
afraid of losing this place and being oat on the street. If I

IGNORANCE LOOKING FOR WORK 229

could only get a chance somewhere, or get time to learn to
do something well!"

Then after a moment she asked suddenly, '* Whereas
Zell?''

**In her room, I think."

**I don't like Zell's manner," said Edith, after a brief
painful revery. **It's so hard and reckless. Something
seems to be on her mind. She has long fits of abstraction
as if she were thinking of something, or weighing some
plan. Could she have had any communication with that
villain Van Dam? Oh! that would be the bitterest drop
of all in our cup of sorrow* I would rather see her dead
than that."

'*0h, dear!" said Laura, *4t seems as if I had been in a
trance and had just awakened. Why, Edith, I must do
something. It is not right to let you bear all these things
alone. But don't trouble about Zell, not one of George
Allen's daughters will sink to that"

280 WHAT CAN SHE DOf

CHAPTER XIX

A FALLING STAR

ZELL slept most of the day. She had reached that
point where she did not want to think. On hearing
Edith say that she would go to New York on Mon-
day, a sadden and strong temptation assailed her. Impul-
sive, but not courageous, abounding in energy, but having
little fortitude, she found the conditions of her country life
growing unendurable. Van Dam seemed her only refuge,
her only means of escape. She soon lost all hope of their
sustaining themselves by work in Pushton. Her uncurbed
nature could wait patiently for nothing, and as the long,
idle days passed, she doubted, and then despaired, of any
success from Edith's plans. She harbored Van Dam's
temptation, and the consciousness of doing this hurt her
womanly nature, and her hard, reckless tone and manner
were the natural consequence. She said to herself, and
tried to believe —

'*He will marry me — he has promised again and again."
Still, there was the uneasy knowledge that she was plac-
ing herself and her reputation entirely at his mercy, and slie
long had known that Van Dam was no saint It was this
lurking knowledge, shut her eyes to it as she might, that
acted on her nature like a petrifying influence.

And yet, Van Dam's temptation had more to contend
with in her pride than in her moral nature. Everything in
her education had tended to increase the former, and dwarf
the latter. Her parents had taken her to the theatre far
oftener than even to the fashionable church on the avenue.

A FALLING STAB 281

From the latter she carried away more ideas about dress
than about anything else. From a child she had been
familiar with the French school of morals, as taught by
the sensational drama in New York. Society, that will
turn a poor girl out of doors the moment she sins, will take
her at the most critical age of her unformed character, night
after night, to witness plays in which the husband is made
ridiculous, but the man who destroys purity and home- hap-
piness is as splendid a villain as Milton's Satan. Mr. Allen
himself had familiarized Zell's mind with just what she was
tempted to do, by taking her to plays as poisonous to the
soul as the malaria of the Campagna at Borne to the body.
He, though dead, had a part in the present temptation of
his child, and we unhesitatingly charge many parents with
the absolute ruin of their children, by exposing them, and
permitting them to be exposed, to influences that they know
must be fatal. No guardian of a child can plead the densest
stupidity for not knowing that French novels and plays are
as demoralizing as the devil could wish them to be; and
constantly to place young, passionate natures, just awaken-
ing in their uncurbed strength, under such influences, and
expect them to remain as spotless as snow, is the most
wretched absurdity of our day. Society brings fire to the
tow, the brand to the powder, and then lifts its hand to
hurl its anathema in case they ignite.

But Mr. Allen sinned even more grievously in permit-
ting a man like Van Dam to haunt his home. If now one
of the lambs of his flock suflEered irretrievably, he would
be as much to blame as a shepherd who daily saw the wolf
within his fold. Mr. Allen was familiar with the stories
about Van Dam, as multitudes of wealthy men are to-day
with the character of well-dressed scoundrels who visit their
daughters. Some of the worst villains in existence have the
entree into the * * best society. " It is pretty well known among
men what they are, and fashionable mammas are not wholly
in the dark. Therefore, every day, **angels that kept not
their first estate" are falling from heaven. It may not be

282 WHAT CAN SHE DO 9

the open, disgraceful ruin that threatened poor Zell, but it
is ruin nevertheless.

After all, it was the undermining, unhallowed influence
of long association with Van Dam that now made Zell so
weak in her first sharp stress of temptation. Crime was
not awful and repulsive to her. There was little in her
cunningly-perverted nature that revolted at it She hesi*
tated mainly on the ground of her pride, and in view of the
consequences. And even these latter she in no sense real-
ized, for the school in which she had been taught showed
only the flowery opening of the path into sin, while its
terrible retributions were kept hidden.

Therefore, as the miseries of her condition in the country
increased, Zell's pride failed her, and she began to be will-
ing to risk all to get away, and when she felt the pinch of
hunger she became almost desperate. As we have said, on
Edith's naming a day on which she would be absent on the
forlorn mission that would only put oflE the day of utter
want a little longer, the temptation took definite shape in
Zeirs mind to write at once to Van Dam, acceding to his
shameful conditions.

But, to satisfy her conscience, which she could not stifle,
and to provide some excuse for her action, and still more,
to brace the hope she tried to cherish that he really meant
truly by her, she wrote:

**If I will meet you at the boat Monday evening, will you
surely marry me ? Promise me on your sacred honor. ' *

Van Dam muttered, with a low laugh, as he read the
note:

*' That's a rich joke, for her to accept sucb a proposition
as mine, especially after all that has happened, and still
prate of * sacred honor.' "

But he unhesitatingly, promptly, and with many protes-
tations assured her that he would, and at once prepared to
carry out his part of the programme.

** What's the use of half-way lies?" he said, carelessly.

On Monday Edith again took the early train with the

A FALLING STAB 288

valuables of which she designed to dispose. Zell had said
indifferently;

**You may take anything I have left except my watch
and chain.*'

But Laura had insisted on sending her watch, saying,
**I really wish to do something, Edith. I've left all the
burden on you too long. ' '

Mrs. Allen sighed, and said, ' * Take anything you please. ' '

So Edith carried away with her the means of fighting
the wolf, hunger, from their doors a little longer. But if
she had known that a more cruel enemy would despoil her
home in her absence, she would rather have starved than
gone.

Laura was reading to her mother when Zell put her head
in at the door, saying:

**I am going for a short walk, and will be back soon."

She hastened to the office at which she had told Van Dam
to address her, and found his reply. With feverish cheeks,
and eyes in which glowed excitement rather than happiness,
she read it as soon as she was alone on the road, and returned
as quickly as possible. Her mind was in a wild tumult, but
she would not allow herself one rational thought. She spent
most of the day in her room preparing for her flight. But
when she came down to see Hannibal about their meagre
lunch, he said in some surprise and alarm:

**0h, Miss Zell, how bumin' red your cheeks be! You'se
got a ragin' feber, sure 'nuff. Go and lie right straight
down, and I'se see to eberyting. Tse been to de willage
and got some tea. A man guv it to me as a sample, and
I telled him we'se like our tea mighty strong, so you'se all
hab a cup of tea to-day, and to-night Miss Edie'U come
back wid a heap of money."

'*Poor old Hannibal!" said Zell, with a sudden rush of
tenderness. **I wish I were as good as you are."

**Lor bress you. Miss Zell, I isn't good. I'se kind of a
heathen. But somehow I feels dat de Lord will bress me
when I steals for you alls."

284 WHAT CAN SHE DOf

*'0h, Hannibal, I wish I was dead and out of the way I
Then there would be one less to provide for. ' '

*^Dead and out of de way!'' said Hannibal, half indig-
nantly; *'dat's jest how to get into de way. I*d be afeard
of seein* your spook whenever I was alone. I had no com-
fort in New York arter Massa Allen died, and was mighty
glad to get away even to Bushtown. And den Miss Edie
and all would cry dar eyes out, and couldn't do nothin'.
Folks is often more in de way arter dey's dead and gone
dan when livin'. Seein' your sweet face around ebery day,
honey, is a great help to ole Hannibal. It seems only yes-
terday it was a little baby face, and we was all pretty nigh
crazy over you."

''1 wish I had died thenT' said Zell, passionately, and
hurrying away.

**Poor chile, poor chile! she takes it mighty hard," said
innocent Hannibal.

She kept her room during the afternoon, pleading that
she did not feel well. It gave her pain to be with her
mother and Laura, now that she purposed to leave them so
abruptly, and she wished to see nothing that would shake
her resolution to go as she had arranged. She wrote to
Edith as follows:

'*I am going, Edith, to meet Mr. Van Dam, as he told me. I cannot — I
will not believe that he will prove false to me. I leave his letter, which I re-
ceived to-day. Perhaps you never will forgive me at home; but whatever
becomes of poor little Zell, she will not cease to love you all. I should only
be a burden if I stayed. There will be one less to provide for, and I may be
able to help you far more by going than staying. Don't follow me. I've
made my venture, and chosen my lot. Zbll."

As the long twilight was deepening, Hannibal, return*
ing from the well with a pail of water, heard the gate-latch
click, and, looking up, saw Zell hurrying out with hat and
shawl on, and having the appearance of carrying something
under her shawl. He felt a little surprise at first, but theu
Zell was so full of impulse, that he concluded:

A FALUNG STAB 286

''She's gwine to meet Miss Edie. We'se all a-lookin'
and leaDin' on Miss Edie, Lor bres her.**

Bat Zell was going to perdition.

Little later the stage brought tired Edith home, but in
better spirits than before, as she had realized a somewhat
fair sum for what she had sold, and had been treated
politely.

After taking ofi her things, she asked, ''Where's
Zell?"

^'Lyingdown, I think," said Laura. "She complained
of not feeling well this afternoon."

But Hannibal's anxious face iu the door now caught her
attention, and she joined him at once.

"Didn*t you meet Miss Zell ?" he asked in a whisper.

"Meet her? No," answered Edith, excitedly.

"Dat's quare. She went out with hat and shawl on a
little while ago. P'raps she's come back, and gone upstairs
again."

Trembling so she could hardly walk steadily, Edith hur-
ried to her room, and there saw Zell's note. Tearing it open,
she only read the first line, and then rushed down to her
mother and Laura, sobbing:

"Zell's gone."

"Gone I Where?" they said, with dismayed faces.

Edith's only reply was to look suddenly at her watch,
put on her hat, and dart out of the door. She saw that
there were still ten minutes before the evening boat passed
the Pushton landing, and remembered that it was some-
times delayed. There was a shorter road to the dock than
the one through the village, and this she took, with flying
feet, and a white but determined face. It would have been
a terrible thing for Van Dam to have met her then. She
seemed sustained by supernatural strength, and, walking
and running by turns, made the mile and a half in an in-
credibly short space of time. As she reached the top of the
hill above the landing, she saw the boat coming in to
the dock. Though panting and almost spent, again she ran

286 WHAT CAN SHE DOT

at the top of her speed. Half-way down she heard the plank
ring out upon the wharf.

**Stop!" she called. But her parched lips uttered only
a faint sound, like the cry of one in a dream.

A moment later, as she struggled desperately forward,
there came, like the knell of hope, the command:

''All aboard!"

'*0h, wait, waitl" she again tried to call, but her tongue
seemed paralyzed.

As she reached the commencement of the long dock, she
saw the lines cast off. The great wheels gave a vigorous
revolution, and the boat swept away.

She was too late. She staggered forward a few steps
more, and then all her remaining strength went into one
agonized cry:

''Zell!"

And she fell fainting on the dock.

Zell heard that cry, and recognized the voice. Taking
her hand from Mr. Van Dam's arm, she covered her face in
sudden remorseful weeping.

But it was too late.

She had left the shelter of home, and ventured out into
the great pitiless world on nothing better than Van Dam's
word. It was like walking a rotten plank out into the sea«

Zell was lost I

DESOLATION 287

CHAPTEE XX

DESOLATION

NOT only did Edith's bitter cry startle poor Zell,
coming to her ear as a despairing recall from the
battlements of heaven might have sounded to a
falling angel, but Arden Lacey was as thoroughly aroused
from his painful re very as if shaken by a giant hand. He
had been down to meet the boat, with many others, and
was sending off some little produce from their place.
He had not noticed in the dusk the closely- veiled lady;
indeed, he rarely noticed any one unless they spoke to him,
and then gave but brief, surly attention. Only one had
scanned Zell curiously, and that was Tom Crowl. With
his quick eye for something wrong in human action, he was
attracted by Zell's manner. He could not make out through
her thick veil who she was, in the increasing darkness, but
he saw that she was agitated, and that she looked eagerly
for the coming of the boat, also landward, where the road
came out on the dock, as if fearing or expecting something
from that quarter. But when he saw her join Van Dam, he
recognized his old bar-room acquaintance, and surmised
that the lady was one of the Allen family. Possessing these
links in the chain, he was ready for the next Edith's pres*
ence and cry supplied this, and he chuckled exultantly:

••An elopement!" and ran in the direction of the sound.

But Arden was already at Edith's side, having reached
her almost at a bound, and was gently lifting the uncon-
scious girl, and regarding her with a tenderness only
equalled by his helplessness and perplexity in not know-
ing what to do with her.

288 WHAT CAN SHE DOt

The first impulse of his great strength was to carry her
directly to her home. But Edith was anything but ethereal,
and long before he could have passed the mile and a half,
he would have fainted under the burden, even though love
nerved his arms. But while he stood in piteous irresolu-
tion, there came out from the crowd that had gathered
round, a stout, middle-aged woman, who said, in a voice
that not only betokened the utmost confidence in herself,
but also the assurance that all the world had confidence
in her:

^'Here, give me the girl. What do you men- folks know
about women?"

**I declare, it's Mrs. Groody from the hotel,'* ejaculated
Tom Crowl, as this delightful drama (to him) went on from
act to act.

''Stan din' there and holdin' of her/' continued Mrs.
Groody, who was sometimes a little severe on both sexes,
''won't bring her to, unless she fainted 'cause she wanted
some one to hold her."

A general laugh greeted this implied satire, but Arden,
between anger and desire to do something, was almost be-
side himself. He had the presence of mind to rash to the
boat-house for a bucket of water, and when he arrived with
it a man had also procured a lantern, which revealed to the
curious onlookers who gathered round with craning necks
the pale features of Edith Allen.

"By golly, but it's one of them Allen girls," said Tom
Crowl, eagerly. "I see it all now. She's down to stop her
sister, who's just run away with one of those city scamps
that was up here awhile ago. I saw her join him and take
his arm on the boat, but wasn't sure who she was then."

"Might know you was around, Tom Crowl," said Mrs.
Groody. "There's never nothing wrong going on but you
see it. You are worse than any old woman for gossip.
Why don't you put on petticoats and go out to tea for a
livin'?"

When the laugh ceased at Crowl's expense, he said:

DESOLATION 239

** Don't you put on airs, Mrs. Groody; you are as glad
to hear the news as any one. It's a pity you turned up and
spoiled Mr. Laoey's part of the play, for, if this one is
anything like her sister, she, perhaps, wanted to be held,
as you — "

Tom's further utterance was effectually stopped by such
a blow across his mouth, from Lacey's hand, as brought the
blood profusely on the spot, and caused such disfigurement,
for days after, that appropriate justice seemed visited on
the offending region.

''Leave this dock," said Arden, sternly; ''and if I trace
any slander to you concerning this lady or myself, I will
break every bone in your miserable body."

Crowl shrank off amid the jeers of the crowd, but on
reaching a safe distance, said, "You will be sorry for this."

Arden paid no need to him, for Edith, under Mrs.
Groody' s treatment, gave signs of returning consciousness.
She slowly opened her eyes, and turned them wonderingly
around; then came a look of wild alarm, as she saw herself
surrounded by strange bearded faces, that appeared both
savage and grotesque in the flickering light of the lantern."

"O, Heaven! have mercy," she cried, faintly. "Where
am 1?"

"Among friends, I assure you, Miss Allen," said Arden,
kneeling at her side.

"Mr. Laceyl and are you here?" said Edith, trying to
rise. "You surely will protect me."

"Do not be afraid, Miss Allen. No one would harm you
for the world; and Mrs. Groody is a good kind lady, and
will see you safely home, I am sure."

Edith now became conscious that it was Mrs. Groody
who was supporting her, and regained confidence, as she
recognized the presence of a woman.

"Law bless you, child, you needn't be scared. Ton have
only had a faint. I'll take care of you, as young Lacey
says. Seems to me he's got wonderfully polite since last
summer," she muttered to herself.

240 WHAT CAN SHE DOt

**Bat where am I ?'' asked Edith, with a bewildered air;
*'what has happened?"

'*0h, don't worry yourself; you'll soon be home and
safe/*

But the memory of it all suddenly came to Edith,* and
even by the lantern's light, Arden saw the sudden crimson
pour into her face and neck. She gave one wild, depre-
cating look around, and then buried her face in her hands
as if to hide the look of scorn she expected to see on
every face.

The first arrow aimed by Zell's great wrong already
quivered in her heart.

"Don't you think you could walk a little now, just
enough to get into the hack with me and go home ?" asked
the kind woman, in a soothing voice.

**Yes, yes," said Edith, eagerly; **let us get away at
once." And wjth Mrs. Groody's and Arden's assistance,
she was soon seated in the hack, and was glad to note that
there was no other passenger. The ride was a comparatively
silent one. Edith was too exhausted from her desperate
struggle to reach the boat, and her heart was too bruised
and sore, to permit on her part much more than monosyU
lables, in answer to Mrs. Groody's efforts at conversation.
But as they stopped at the cottage her new friend said,
cheerily :

'* Don't take it so hard, my child; you ain't to blame,
I'll stand by you if no one else will. It don't take me long
to know a good honest girl when I see one, and I know you
mean well. What's more, I've took a likin' to you, and I
can be a pretty fair sort of friend if I do work for a livin'."

Mrs. Groody was good if not grammatical. She had broad
shoulders, that had borne in their day many burdens — her
own and others'. She had a strong, stout frame, in which
thumped a large, kindly heart. She had long earned her
bread by callings that brought her in contact with all
classes, and had learned to know the world very thoroughly
without becoming worldly or hardened. But she had a

DESOLATION 241

quick, sharp tongue, and could pay anybody off in hig
own coin with interest. Everybody soon found it to his
advantage to keep on the right side of Mrs. Groody, and
the old habitues of the hotel were as polite and deferential
to her as if she were a duchess. She was one of those
shrewd, strong, cheery people, who would make them-
selves snug, useful, and influential in a very short time,
if set down anywhere on the face of the earth.

Such a woman readily surmised the nature of Edith's
trouble, and knew well how deeply the shadow of Zell's
disgrace would fall on the family. Edith's desperate effort
to save her sister, her bitter humiliation and shrinking
shame in view of the flight, all proved her to be worthy
of respect and confidence herself. When Mrs. Groody saw
that Edith lived in a little house, and was probably not in
so high a social position as to resent her patronage, her big
heart yearned in double sympathy over the poor girl, and
she determined to help her in the struggle she knew to be
before her; so she said, kindly:

*'If you'll wait till a clumsy old body like me can get
out, I'll see you safe into your home."

**0h, no," said Edith, eagerly, following the strong in-
stinct to keep a stranger from seeing herself, her mother,
and Laura in the first hour of their shame. *'You
have been very kind, and I feel that I can never repay

you."

*' Bless you, child, I don't expect greenbacks for all I
do. I want a little of the Lord's work to come to me,
though I'm afraid I fell from grace long ago. But a body
can't be pious in a hotel. There's so many aggravatin'
people and things that you think swearin', if you daren't
say It out. But I'm a human sort of a heathen, after all,
and I feel sorry for you. Now ain't there somethin' I can
do for you ?"

The driver stood with his lantern near the door, and its
rays fell on Edith's pale face and large, tearful eyes, and
she turned, and for the first time tried to see who this kind

11_B0»-X

242 WHAT CAN SHE DOf

woman was, that seemed to feel for her. Taking Mrs.
Groody's hands, she said, in a voice of tremulons pathos:

'^Qod bless you for speaking to me at all. I didn't think
any one would again who knew. You ask if you can do
anything for me. If you'll only get me work, I'll bless
you every day of my life. No one on earth or in heaven
can help me, unless I get work. I'm almost desperate for
it, and 1 can't seem to find any that will bring us bread,
but I'll do any honest work, no matter what, and I'll take
whatever people are willing to give for it, till 1 can do
better. " Edith spoke in a rapid manner, but in a tone that
went straight to the heart

•*Why, my poor child," said Mrs. Groody, wiping her
eyes, ''you can't do work. You are pale as a ghost, and
you look like a delicate lady."

^' What is there in this world for a delicate lady who has
no money but honest work?" asked Edith, in a tone that
was almost stern.

*'I see that you are such a lady, and it seems that you
ought to find some lady-like work, if you must do it," said
Mrs. Groody, musingly.

*'We have tried to get employment — almost any kind.
I can't think my sister would have taken her desperate
course if we could have obtained something to do. I know
she ought to have starved first But we were not brought
up to work, and we can't do anything well enough to satisfy
people, and we haven't time to learn. Besides, before this
happened, for some reason people stood aloof from us, and
now it will be far worse. Oh, what shall we do? What
shall we do?" cried Edith, despairingly; and in her trouble
she seemed to turn her eyes away from Mrs. Groody, with
wild questioning of the future.

Her new acquaintance was sniflSing and blowing her nose
in a manner that betokened serious internal commotion.
The driver, who would have hustled any ordinary pas-
senger out quickly enough, waited Mrs. Groody's leisure
at a respectful distance. He knew her potential infiuence

DESOLATION 248

at the hotel. At last the good woman found her voice,
though it seemed a little husky:

''Lor' bless you, child I I ain't got a millstun for a
heart, and if I had, you'd turn it into wax. If work's all
you want, you shall have it. I'm housekeeper at the hotel.
You come to me as soon as you are able, and we'll find
something."

'*0h, thank you, thank youl" said Edith, fervidly.

/*Is dat you. Miss Edie?" called Hannibal's anxious
voice.

"Good- night, my dear," said Mrs. Groody, hastily,
''Don't lose courage. I ain't on as good terms with the
Lord as I ought to be. I seem too worried and busy to
'tend to religion; but I know enough about Him to be sure
that He will take care of a poor child that wants to do
right."

''I don't understand how God lets happen all that's hap-
pened to-day. The best I can believe is, that we are dealt
with in a mass, and the poor human atoms are lost sight of.
But I am indeed grateful for your kindness, and will come
to-morrow and do anything I can. Good- by."

And the hack rumbled away, leaving her in the dark-
ness, with Hannibal at the gate.

**0h, Hannibal, Hannibal," was all that Edith could say.

•'*Is she done gone clean away?" asked Hannibal, in an
awed whisper.

'* Would to heaven she had never been born!" said
Edith, bitterly. **Help me into the house, for I feel as
if I should die."

Hannibal, trembling with fear himself, supported poor,
exhausted Edith to a sofa, and then disappeared into the
kitchen.

Mrs. Allen and Laura came and stood with white faces
by Edith's languid, unnerved form.

There was no need of asking questions. She had re-
turned alone, with her fresh young face looking old and
drawn in its grief.

244 WHAT CAN SHE DOt

At last Mrs. Allen said, with bitter emphasis:

*'She is no child of mine, from this day forth."

Then followed such a dreary silence that it might seem
that Zell had died and was no more.

At last Hannibal bustled in, making a most desperate
effort to keep up a poor show of courage and hope. He
placed on a little table before Edith a steaming hot cup of
tea, some toast, and wine, but the food was motioned away.

'*It would choke me," said Edith.

Hannibal stood before her a moment, his quaint old vis-
age working under the influence of emotion, almost beyond
control. At last he managed to say:

**Mis8 Edie, we'se all a leanin' on you. We'se nothin'
but vines a climbin' up de orange-bush. If you goes down,
we all does. And now, Miss Edie, I'd swallow pison for
you. Won't you take a cup o' tea for de sake of ole Han-
nibal? 'Cause your sweet face looks so pinched, honey,
dat I feels dat my ole black heart's ready to bust;" and
Hannibal, feeling that the limit of his restraint was reached,
retreated precipitately to the kitchen.

The appeal, with its element of deep affection, was more
needed by Edith in her half- paralyzed state than even the
material refreshment. She sat up instantly, and drank the
tea and wine, and ate a little of the toast. Then taking
the cup and glass into the kitchen:

"There," she said, *'see, I've drunk every drop. So
don't worry about me any more, my poor old Hannibal,
but go to bed, after your hard day's work."

But Hannibal would not venture out of his dark comer,
but muttered, brokenly:

"Lor — bress — ^you — Miss Edie — ^you'se an angel — I'se be
better soon — I'se got — de hiccups."

Edith thought it kindness to leave the old man to re-
cover his self-control in his own time and way, so she said:

"Good- night, my faithful old friend. You're worth your
weight in gold."

Meantime, Laura had helped Mrs. A]\en to her room.

DESOLATION 245

but now she cam© running down to Edith, with new trouble
in her face, saying:

"Mother's crying so, I can't do anything with her,"

At first Mrs. Allen's heart seemed hardened against her
erring child, but on reaching her room she stood a few mo-
ments irresolutely, then went to a drawer, took out an old
faded picture-case and opened it. From it Zell smiled out
upon her, a little, dimpled baby. Then, as if by a sudden
impulse rare to her, she pressed her lips against the uncon-
scious face, and threw herself into her low chair, sobbing
so violently that Laura became alarmed.

£ven in that arid place, Mrs. Allen's heart, there ap-
peared a little oasis of* mother love, as this last and bitter-
est sorrow pierced its lowest depths. She might cast out
from her affection the grown, sinning daughter, but not the
baby that once slept upon her breast

As Edith came and took her hand she said, brokenly:

*'It seems — but yesterday — that she was — a wee black-
eyed — little thing — in my arms — and your father— came —
and looked at her — so proudly — tenderly — "

'* Would to heaven she had died then!" said Edith,
sternly.

**It would have been better if we had all died then,'*
said Mrs. Allen drearily, and becoming quiet.

Edith's words fell like a chill upon her unwontedly
stirred heart, and old habits of feeling and action resumed
sway.

With Mrs. Allen's words ended the miserable day of
Zell's flight. Hannibal's words were true. Zell, in her
unnatural absence, would be more in the way — a heavier
burden — than if she had become a helpless invalid upon
their hands.

246 WHAT CAN SHE DOf

CHAPTER XXI

EDITH'S TRUE KNIGHT

THE next morning Edith was too ill to rise. She had
become chilled after her extraordinary exertion of
the previous evening, and a severe cold was the
consequence; and this, with the nervous prostration of an
over-taxed system, made her appear more seriously indis-
posed than she really was. For the sake of her mother and
Laura, she wished to be present at the meagre little break-
fast which her economy now permitted, but found it im-
possible; and later in the day her mind seemed disposed
to wander.

Mrs. Allen and Laura were terror-stricken at this new
trouble. As Hannibal had said, they were all leaning on
Edith. They had lost confidence in themselves, and now
hoped nothing from the outside world. They had scarcely
the shadow of an expectation that Van Dam would marry
Zell, and therefore they knew that worse than work would
separate them from all old connections, and they had learned
to hope nothing from the people of Push ton. Poor, fever-
ish, wandering Edith seemed the only one who could keep
them from falling into the abyss of utter want. They in-
stinctively felt that total wreck was impossible as long as
she kept her hand upon the helm; but now they had all the
wild alarm of those who are drifting helplessly toward a
reef, with a deep and stormy sea on either side of it.
Thas to the natural anxiety of affection was added sicken-
ing fear.

Poor old Hannibal had no fear for himself. His devo-

EDITH'S TRUE KNIGHT 247

tion to Edith reminded one of a faithful dog; it was so
strong, instinctive, unreasoning. He realized vaguely that
his whole existence depended on Edith's getting well, and
yet we doubt whether be thought of himself any more than
the Newfoundland, who watches beside the bed, and then
beside the grave of a loved master, till famine, that form of
pain which humanity cannot endure, robs him of life.

''We must have a physician immediately," said Laura,
with white lips.

"Oh, no," murmured Edith; **we can't afford it"

^*We must," said Laura, with a sudden rush of tears.
** Everything depends on you."

Hannibal, who heard this brief dialogue, went silently
downstairs, and at once started in quest of Arden Lacey.

''If he is quar, he seemed kind o' human; and Pse
believe he'll help us now."

Arden was on the way to the barn, having just finished
a farmer's twelve o'clock dinner, when Hannibal entered
the yard. An angel of light could not have been more
welcome than this dusky messenger, for he came from the
centre of all light and hope to poor Arden. Then a feeling
of alarm took possession of him. Had anything happened
to Edith ? He had seen her shrinking shame. Had it led
her to — and he shuddered at the thought his wild imagina-
tion suggested. It was almost a relief when Hannibal
said:

"Oh, Mr. Lacey, I'se sure from de way you acted when
we fust come, dat you can feel for people in trouble. Miss
Edie's berry sick, and I don't know whar to go for a doc-
tor, and she won't have any; but she mus, and right away.
Den again, I oughter not leave, for dey's all nearly dead
with trouble and cryin'."

"You are a good, faithful fellow," said Arden, heartily.
"Go back and do all you can for Miss Edith, and I'll bring
a doctor myself, and much quicker too than you could."

Before Hannibal reached home, Arden galloped past
him, and the old man chuckled:

248 WHAT CAN SHE DOf

'^De drunken Laeeys* mighty good neighbors when
dey's sober."

As may well be imagined, recent events, as far as he
understood them, had stirred Arden^s sensitive nature to
the very depths. Hiding his feelings from all save his
mother, and often from her; appearing to his neighbors
stolid and sullen in the extreme, he was, in fact, in his
whole being, like a morbidly- excited nerve. He did not
shrink from the world because indifferent to it, but because
it wounded him when he came in contact with it He
seemed so out of tune with society that it produced only
jarring discord. His father's course brought him many
real slights, and these he resented as we have seen, and
he resented fancied slights quite as often, and thus he bad
cut himself off from the sympathies, and even the recogni-
tion, of nearly all.

Bat what human soul can dwell alone ? The true hermit
finds in communion with the Divine mind the perfection of
companionship. But Arden knew not God. He had heard
of Him all his life; but Jove and Thor were images more
familiar to his mind than that of his Creator. He loved his
mother and sister, but their life seemed a poor, shaded little
nook, where they toiled and moped. And so, to satisfy the
cravings of his lonely heart, he had created and peopled an
unreal world of his own, in which he dwelt most of the time.
As his interest in the real world ceased, his imagination more
vividly portrayed the shadowy one, till at last, in the scenes
of poetry and fiction, and the splendid panorama of history,
he thought he might rest satisfied, and find all the society
he needed in converse with those whom, by a refinement of
spiritualism, he could summon to his side from any age or
land. He secretly exulted in the still greater magic by
which the unreal creatures of poetic thought would come
at his volition, and he often smiled to think how royally
attended was ''old, drunken Lacey's" son, whom many of the
neighbors thought scarcely better than the horses he drove.

Thus he lived under a spell of the past, in a world moon-

EDITH'S TRUE KNIGHT 249

lighted by sentiment and fancy, surrounded by his ideals of
those about whom he read, and Shakespeare's vivid, life-
like women were better known to him than any of the ladies
of Pushton. But dreams cannot last in our material world,
and ghosts vanish in the sunlight of fact. Woman's nature
is as beautiful and fascinating now as when the master*
hand of the world's greatest poet delineated it, and when
living, breathing Edith Alien stepped suddenly among his
shadows, seemingly so luminous, they vanished before her,
as the stars pale into nothingness when the eastern sky is
aglow with morning. Now, in all his horizon, she only
shone, but the past seemed like night, and the present, day.

The circumstances under which he had met Edith had, in
brief time, done more to acquaint him with her than years
might have accomplished, and for the first time in his life
he saw a superior girl with the distorting medium of his
prejudice pushed aside. Therefore she was a sudden beau-
tiful revelation to him, as vivid as unexpected. He did not
believe any such being existed, and indeed there did not, if
we consider into what he came to idealize Edith. But a
better Edith really lived than the unnatural paragon that
he pictured to himself, and the reality was capable of a vast
improvement, though not in the direction that his morbid
mind would have indicated.

The treatment of his sister, the sudden ceasing of all
intercourse, and the appearance of Gus Elliot upon the
scene, had cruelly wounded his fair ideal, but with a
lover's faith and a poet's fancy he soon repaired the rav-
ages of facts. He assured himself that Edith did not know
the character of the men who visited her house.

Then came Growl's gossip, the knowledge of her pov-
erty, and her wretched errands to New York to dispose of
the relics of the happy past. He gathered from such obser-
vations as he could maintain without being suspected, by
every crumb of gossip that he could pick up (for once he
listened to gossip as if it were gospel), that they were iii
trouble, that Edith was looking for work, and that she was

250 WHAT CAN SHE DOf

SO superior to the rest of the family that they now all de-
ferred to her and leaned upon her. Then, to his deep satis-
faction, he had seen Elliot, the morning after his scathing
repulse, going to the train, and looking forlorn and sadly
out of humor, and he was quite sure he had not been near
the little cottage since. Arden needed but little fact upon
which to rear a wondrous superstructure, and here seemed
much, and all in Edith's favor, and he longed with an in-
tensity beyond language to do something to help her.

Then came the tragedy of Zell's flight, Edith's heroic
and almost superhuman effort to save her, now followed by
her pathetic weakness and suffering, and no knight in the
romantic age of chivalry ever more wholly and loyally de-
voted himself to the high-born lady of his choice, than did
Arden to the poor sick girl at whom the finger of scorn
would now be generally pointed in Pushton.

To come back to our hero, galloping away on his old
farm horse to find a country doctor, may seem a short step
down from the sublime. And so, perhaps, it may be to
those whose ideal of the sublime is only in outward and
material things. But to those who look past these things
to the passionate human heart, the same in every age, it
will be evident that Arden was animated by the same spirit
with which he would have sought and fought the traditi6nal
dragon.

Dr. Neak, a new-comer who was gaining some little
name for skill and success, and was making the most of it,
was at home; but on Arden^s hurried application, ahemmed,
hesitated, colored a little, and at last said:

'*Look here, Mr. (I beg your pardon, I've not the

pleasure of knowing your name), I'm a comparative stranger
in Pushton, and am just gaining some little reputation among
the better classes. I would rather not compromise myself
by attendance upon that family. If you can't get any one
else, and the girl is suffering, of course I'll try and go,
buir-"

''Enough," interrupted Arden, starting up bla2dngwith

EDITH'S TRUE KNIGHT 251

wrath. *' You should spell your name with an S. I want
a man as well as a physician," and, with a look of utter
contempt, he hastened away, leaving the medical man some-
what anxious, not about Edith, but whether he had taken
the best course in view of his growing reputation.

Arden next traced out Dr. Blunt, who readily promised
to come. He attended all alike, and charged roundly also.

''Business is business," was his motto. ' 'People who
employ me must expect to pay. After all, I'm the cheap-
est man in the place, for I tell my patients the truth, and
cure them as quickly as possible. "

Arden's urgency soon brought him to Edith's side, and
his practiced eye saw no serious cause for alarm, and hav-
ing heard more fully the circumstances, be said:

*'She will be well in a few days if she is kept very quiet,
and nothing new sets in. Of course she would be sick after
last night. One might as well put his hand in the fire and
not expept it to burn him, as to get very warm and then
cool off suddenly and not expect to be ill. Her pulse in-
dicates general depression of her system, and need of rest.
That's all."

After prescribing remedies and a tonic, he said, *'Let
me know if I am needed again," and departed in rather ill-
humor.

Meeting Arden' s anxious, questioning face at the gate,
he said gruffly:

'*I thought from what you said the girl was dying.
Used up and a bad cold, that's all. Somewhat feverish
yourself, ain't you?" he added meaningly.

Though Arden colored under the doctor's satire, he was
chiefly conscious of a great relief that his idol was not in
danger. His only reply was the sullen, impassive expres-
sion he usually turned toward the world.

As the doctor rode away, Hannibal joined him, saying:

*'Mr. Lacey, you'se a friend in need, and if you only
knowed what an angel you'se servin', you wouldn't look

252 WHAT CAN SHE DOf

*'Do I look cross?" asked Arden, ^his face becoming
friendly in a moment "Well, it wasn't with you, still less^
witb Miss Edith; for even you cannot serve her more gladly
than I will. That old doctor r'iled me a little, thougb I can
forgive him, since he says she is not seriously ill."

**I'se glad you feels your privileges," said Hannibal,
with some dignity. '^I'se knowed Miss Edie eber since she
was a baby, and when we lived on de avenue, de biggest
and beautifuUest in de city come to our house, but none of
'em could compare wid my young lady. I don't care what
folks say, she's jes as good now, if she be poor, {ind her sis-
ter hab run away, poor chile. De world don't know all;"
and old Hannibal shook his white head sadly and reproach-
fully.

This panegyric found strong echo in Arden's heart, but
his habit of reticence and his sensitive shrinking from any
display of feeling permitted him only to say, *'I am sure
every word you say is more than true, and you will do me
a great favor when you let me know how I can serve Miss
Edith."

Hannibal saw that he need waste no more ammunition
on Arden, so he pulled out the prescriptions, and said:

"The doctor guv me dese, but. Lor bress you, my ole
jints is stiff, and I'd be a week in gittin' down and back
from de willage."

"That's enough," interrupted Arden. "You shall have
the medicines in half an hour;" and he kept his word.

^*He is quar," muttered Hannibal, looking after him.
"Neber saw a man so 'bligin'. Folks say winegar ain't
nothin' to him, but he seems sweet on Miss Edie, sure
'nuff. What 'ud he say, ' You'se do me great favor to tell
me how I can serve Miss Edie'? I'se hope it'll last,"
chuckled Hannibal, retiring to his domain in the kitchen,
" 'cause I'se gwine to do him a heap ob favors."

A MYSTERY 258

CHAPTER XXII

A MYSTERY

AT Arden's request his mother called in the evening,
and also Mrs. Groodj, from the hotel. Hannibal
met them, and stated the doctor's orders. Mrs.
Allen and Laura did not feel equal to facing any one.
Though the old servant was excessively polite, the callers
felt rather slighted that they saw no member of the family.
They went away a little chilled in consequence, and con-
tented themselves thereafter by sending a few delicacies
and inquiring how Edith was.

**If you have any self-respect at all," said Eose Lacey
to her mother, "you will not go there again till you are in-
vited. It's rather too great a condescension for you to go at
all, after what has happened.''

Arden listened with a black look, and asked, rather
sharply :

'* Will you never learn to distinguish between Miss Edith
and the others?"

** Yes," said Bose, dryly, *'when she gives me a chance."

The doctor's view of Edith's case was correct. Her vig-
orous and elastic constitution soon rallied from the shock it
had received. Hannibal had sent to the village for nutritious
diet, which he knew so well how to prepare, and, after a few
days, she was quite herself again. But with returning strength
came also a sense of shame, anxiety, and a torturing dread of
the future. The money accruing from her last sale of jew-
elry would not pay the debts resting on them now, and she
could not hope to earn enough to pay the balance remain-

254 WHAT CAN SHE DO f

ing, in addition to their support Her mother suggested
the mortgaging of her place. She had at first repelled the
idea, but at last entertained it reluctantly. There seemed
no other resource. It would put oft the evil day of utter
want, and might give her time to learn something by which
she could compete with trained workers.

Then there was the garden. Might not that and the or-
chard, in time, help them out of their troubles ?

As the long hours of her convalescence passed, she sat
at her window and scanned the little spot with a wistf ulness
that might have been given to one of Eden-like proportions
She was astonished to see how her strawberries had improved
since she hoed them, but noted in dismay that both they and
the rest of the garden were growing very weedy.

When the full knowledge of their poverty and danger
dawned upon her, she felt that it would not be right for
Malcom to come any more. At the same time she could
not explain things to him; so she sent a written request
through the mail for his bill, telling him not to come any
more. This action, following the evening when Gus Elliot
had surprised her in the garden, perplexed and rather net*,
tied Malcom^ who was, to use his own expression, *'a bit
tetchy." Their money had grown so scarce that Edith
could not pay the bill, and she was ashamed to go to see
him till there was some prospect of her doing so. Thus
Malcom, though disposed to be very friendly, was lost to
her at this critical time, and her garden sulfered accord-
ingly. She and Hannibal had done what they could, but
of late her illness, and the great accession of duties resting
on the old servant, had caused complete neglect in her little
plantation of fruit and vegetables. Thus, while all her
crops were growing well, the weeds were gaining on them,
and even Edith knew that the vigor of evil was in them,
and that, unchecked, they would soon make a tangled
swamp of that one little place of hope. She could not ask
Hannibal to work there now, for he was overburdened al-
ready. Laura seemed so feeble and crushed that her strength

A MYSTERY 255

was scarcely equal to taking care of her mother, and the few
lighter duties of housework. Therefore, though the June
suDshiue rested on the little garden, and all nature seemed
in the rapture of its early summer life, poor, practical Edith
saw only the pestiferous weeds that threatened to destroy
her one slender prospect of escape from environing difficul-
ties. At last she turned away. To the sad and suffering,
scenes most full of cheer and beauty often seem the most
painful mockery.

She brooded over her affairs most of the day, dwelling
specially on the suggestion of a mortgage. She felt ex-
treme reluctance in perilling her home. Then again she
said to herself, '*It will at least give me time, and perhaps
the place will be sold for debt, for we must live.''

The next morning she slept late, her weary, overtaxed
frame asserting its need. But she rose greatly refreshed, and
it seemed that her strength had come back. With return-
ing vigor hopefulness revived. She felt some cessation of
the weary, aching sorrow at her heart. The world is phos-
phorescent to the eyes of youth, and even ingulfing waves
of misfortune will sometimes gleam with sudden brightness.

The morning light also brought Edith a pleasant surprise,
for, as she was dressing, her eyes eagerly sought the straw-
berry-bed. She had been thinking, '*If I only continue to
gain in this style, I shall soon be able myself to attack the
weeds.'* Therefore, instead of a helpless look, such as she
gave yesterday, her glance had something vengeful and
threatening in it But the moment she opened the lattice,
so that she could see, an exclamation came from her lips,
and she threw back the blinds, in order that there might be
no mistake as to the wonder that startled her. What magic
had transformed the little place since, in the twilight of the
previous evening, she had given the last discouraged look
in that direction ? There was scarcely a weed to be seen in
the strawberry-bed. They had not only been out off, but
raked away, and here and there she could see a berry red-
dening in the morning sun. In addition, some of her most

256 WHAT CAN SEE DOf

important vegetables, and her prettiest flower border, had
been cleaned and nicely dressed. A long row of Dan
O'Rourk peas, that had commenced to sprawl on the
ground, was now hedged in by brush; and, better still,
thirty cedar poles stood tall and straight among her Lima
beans, whose long slender shoots had been vainly feeling
round for a support the last few days. Her first impulse
was to clap her hands with delight and exclaim:

''How, in the name of wonder, could he do it all in a
night I Oh, Malcom, you are a canny Scotchman, but you
put the 'black art' to very white uses."

She dressed in excited haste, meaning to question Han-
nibal, but, as she left her room, Laura met her, and said, in
a tone of the deepest despondency —

** Mother seems very ill. She has not felt like herself
since that dreadful night, but we did not like to tell you,
fearing it would put back your recovery."

The rift in the heavy clouds, through which the sun had
gleamed for a moment, now closed, and a deeper gloom
seemed to gather round them. In sudden revulsion Edith
said, bitterly:

"Are we to be persecuted to the end? Cannot the
heavy hand of misfortune be lifted a moment?"

She found her mother sufiering from a low, nervous
fever, and quite delirious.

Hannibal was at once despatched for the doctor, who,
having examined Mrs. Allen's symptoms, shook his head,
saying:

** Nothing but good nursing will bring her through
this."

Edith's heart sank like lead. What prospect was there
for work now, even if Mrs. Grroody gave it to her, as she
had promised ? She saw nothing before her but the part of
a weary watcher, for perhaps several weeks. She hesitated
no longer, but resolved to mortgage her place at once. Her
mother must have delicacies and good attendance, and she
must have time to extricate herself from the difficulties into

A MYSTERY 267

which she had been brought by false steps at the beginning.
Therefore she told Hannibal to give her an early lanch|
after which she would walk to the village.

'* You isn't able," said he earnestly.

''Oh, yes I am/' she replied; ^'better able than to stay
at home and worry. I must have something settled, and
my mind at rest, even for a little while, or I shall go dis-
tracted. ' ' Then she added, ''Did you see Malcom here early
this morning?"

'*No, Miss Edie, he hasn't been here."

'*Go look at the garden."

He returned with eyes dilated in wonder, and asked
quickly, '*Miss Edie, when was all dat done?"

''Between dark last night and when I got up this morn-
ing. It seems like magic, don't it? But of course it is
Malcom's work. I only wish I could see him."

But Hannibal shook his head ominously and said with
emphasis, "Dat little Scotchman couldn't scratch around
like dat, even if de debil was arter him. 'Tain't his work."

"Why, whose else could it be?" asked Edith, sipping
a strong cup of coffee, with which she was fortifying herself
for the walk.

Hannibal only shook his head with a very troubled
expression, but at last he ventured:

"If 'tis a spook, I hope it won't do nothin' wuss to us."

Even across Edith's pale face a wan smile flitted at this
solution of the mystery, and she said:

"Why, Hannibal, you foolish old fellow! The idea of a
ghost hoeing a strawberry- bed and sticking in bean-poles I"

But Hannibal's superstitious nature was deeply stirred*
He had been under a severe strain himself of late, and the
succession of sorrows and strange experiences was telling
on him as well as on the others. He could not indulge in
a nervous fever, like Mrs. Allen, but he had reached that
stage when he could easily see visions, and tremble before
the slightest vestige of the supematuiaL So he replied a
little doggedly:

268 WHAT CAN SHE DOf

"Spooks does a heap ob quar tings, Miss Edie. I'd tink
it was Massa Allen, ony I knows dat he neber hab a hoe in
his hand all his life. I doesn't like it I'd raddei: hab de
weeds."

''O Hannibal, Hannibal I I couldn't believe it of you.
I'll go and see Malcom, just to satisfy you."

A DANGEROUS STEP

CHAPTEE XXIII

A DANGEROUS STEP

EDITH took her deed, and went first to Mr. Hard.
There were both coldness and curiosity in his man-
ner, but he could gather little from Edith's face
through her thick veil.

She had a painful shrinking from meeting people again
after what had happened, and this was greatly increased by
the curious and significant looks she saw turned toward her
as soon as it was surmised who she was.

Mr. Hard promptly declined to lend any money. He
** never did such things," he said.

*' Where would I be apt to get it?" asked Edith, de-
spondently.

**I scarcely know. Money is scarce, and people don't
like to lend it on country mortgages, especially when there
may be trouble. Lawyer Keen might give you some infor-
mation."

To his office Edith went, with slow, heavy steps, and
presented her case.

Mr. Keen was a red-faced, burly-looking man, hiding
the traditional shrewdness of a village lawyer under a bluflf,
outspoken manner. He had a sort of good-nature, which,
though not lending him to help others who were in trouble,
kept him from trying to get them into more trouble, and he
quite prided himself on this. He heard Edith partly through,
and then interrupted her, saying:

''Couldn't think of it> miss. Widows, orphans, and

280 WHAT CAN SHE DOf

churches are institutioDS on which a fellow can never fore-
close. I'll give you good advice, and won't charge you
anything for it You had better keep out of debt"

**But I must have the money," said Edith.

'*Then you have come to the wrong shop for it," replied
the lawyer, coolly. "Here's Growl, now, he lends where
I wouldn't He's got money of his own, while I invest
mainly for other people."

Edith's attention was thus directed to another red-faced
man, whom, thus far, she had scarcely noticed, though he
had been watching her with the closest scrutiny. He was
quite corpulent, past middle age, and not much taller than
herself. He was quite bald, and had what seemed a black
moustache, but Edith's quick eye noted that it was unskil-
fully dyed. There seemed a wide expanse in his heavy
flabby cheeks, and the rather puggish nose appeared insig
niiicant between them. A slight tobacco stain in one cor
ner of his mouth did not increase his attractions to Edith
and she positively shrank from the expression of his small
cunning black eyes. He was dressed both showily and
shabbily, and a great breastpin was like a blotch upon his
rumpled shirt- bosom.

*'Let me see your deed, my dear," he said, with coarse
familiarity.

**My name is Miss Allen," replied Edith, with dignity.

The man paid little heed to her rebuke, but looked over
the deed with slow and microscopic scrutiny. At last he
said to Edith, whom nothing but dire necessity impelled to
have dealings with so disagreeable a person:

" Will you come with me to my office ?"

Eeluctantly she followed. At first she had a strong im-
pluse to have nothing to do with him, but then she thought,
*'It makes no diflFerence of whom I borrow the money, for
it must be paid in any case, and perhaps I can't get it any-
where else."

"Are you sure there is no other mortgage?" he
asked.

A DANQEBOUa STEP 261

•Tes," replied Edith.

**How muoh do you want?"

^*I will try to make four hundred answer."

"I suppose you know how hard it is to borrow money
now," said Mr. Crowl, in a depressing manner, '^especially
in cases like this. I don't believe you'd get a dollar any-
where else in town. Even where everything is good and
promising, we usually get a bonus on such a loan. The
best I could do would be to let you have three hundred and
sixty on such a mortgage."

**Then give me my deed. The security is good, and I'm
not willing to pay more than seven per cent"

Old Growl looked a moment at her resolute face, beauti-
ful even in its pallor and pain, and a new thought seemed
to strike him.

**Well, well," said he, with an awkward show of gal-
lantry, *'one can't do business with a pretty girl as with
a man. You shall make your own terms."

"I wish to make no terms whatever," said Edith, frigidly.
"1 only expect what is right and just."

'* And I'm the man that'll do what's right and just when
appealed to by the fair unfortunate," said Mr. Crowl, with
a wave of his hand.

Edith's only response to this sentiment was a frown, and
an impatient tapping of the floor with her foot.

**Now, see how I trust you," he continued, filling out a
check. ** There is the money. I'll draw up the papers, and
you may sign them at your leisure. Only just put your
name to this receipt, which gives the nature of our trans-
action;" and, in a scrawling hand, he soon stated the
case.

It was with strong misgivings that Edith took the money
and gave her signature, but she did not see what else to do,
and she was already very weary.

** You may call again the first time you are in the village,
and by that time I'll have things fixed up. You see now
what it is to have a friend in need."

262 WHAT CAN SHE DOf

Edith's only reply was a bow, and she hastened to the
bank. The oashier looked curiously at her, and as he saw
Growl's check, smiled a little significant smile which she
did not like; but, at her request, he placed the amount,
and what was left from the second sale of jewelry, to her
credit, and gave her a small check-book.

8C0BN AND KINDNESS 268

CHAPTER XXIV

SCOBN AND KINDNESS

THOUGH her strength hardly seemed equal to it, she
determined to go and see Malcom, for she felt very
grateful to him. And yet the little time she had
been in the village made her fear to speak to him or any
one again, and she almost felt that she would like to shrink
into some hidden place and die.

Quiet, respectable Pushton had been dreadfully scandal-
ized by Zell's elopement with a man who by one brief visit
had gained such bad notoriety. Those who had stood aloof,
surmised, and doubted about the Aliens before, now said,
triumphantly, *'I told you so." Good, kind, Christian peo-
ple were deeply pained that such a thing could have hap-
pened; and it came to be the general opinion that the Aliens
were anything but an acquisition to the neighborhood.

'*If they are going to bring that style of men here, the
sooner they move away the better," was a frequent remark.
All save the ** baser sort" shrank from having much to do
with them, and again Edith was insulted by the bold ad-
vances of some brazen clerks and shop-boys as she passed
along. She also saw significant glances and whisperings,
and once or twice detected a pointing finger.

With cheeks burning with shame and knees trembling
with weakness, she reached Malcom^s gate, to which she
clung panting for a moment, and then passed in. The little
man had his coat off, and, stooping in his strawberry-bed,
he did look very small indeed. Edith approached quite
near before he noticed her. He suddenly straightened Him-
self up almost as a jumping- jack might, and gave her a

264 WHAT CAN SHE DOf

sharp, surprised look. He had heard the gossip in several
distorted forms, bat what hurt him most was that sbe did
not come or send to him. But when he saw her standmg
before him with her head bent down like a moss-rosebud
wilting in the sun, when he met her timid, deprecating
glance, his soft heart relented instantly, and coming toward
her he said:

*'An' ha' ye coom to see ould Malcom at last? What
ha' I dune that I suld be sae forgotten ?"

*'You were not forgotten, Mr. McTrump. God knows
that I have too few friends to forget the best of them,"
answered £dith, in a voice of tremulous pathos.

After that Malcom was wax in her hands, and with
moistened eyes he stood gazing at her in undisguised
admiration.

**I have been through deep trouble, Mr. McTrump,"
continued she, '*and perhaps you, like so many others, may
think me not fit to speak to you any more. Besides, I have
been very sick, and really ought not to be out to-day. In-
deed I feel very weak. Isn't there some place where I could
sit down?"

'*Now God forgie me for an uncoo Highlander," cried
Malcom, springing forward, **to think that I suld let ye
ston there, like a tall, white, swayin' calla lily, in the rough
wind. Take me arm till I support ye to the best room
o' me house."

Edith did take and cling to it with the feeling of one
ready to fall.

**0h, Mr. McTrump, you are too kind," she murmured.

**Why suld I not be kind?" he said, heartily, '*when I
see ye nipt by the wourld's unkindness? Why suld I not
be kind ? Is the rose there to blame because a weed has
grown alongside ? Ye could na help it that the wild bird
flitted, and I heerd how ye roon like a brave lassie to stop
her. But the evil wourld is quick to see the bad and slow
to see the gude." And Malcom escorted her like a '*leddy
o' high degree" to his little parlor, and there she told him

SCORN AND KINDNESS 265

and his wife all her trouble, and Malcom seemed afflicted
with a sudden cold in his head. Then Mrs. McTrump
bustled in and out in a breezy eagerness to make her
comfortable.

''Ye* re a stranger in our toon," she said, ''and sae I was
once mjsel, an' 1 ken how ye feel."

*' An' the Gude Book, which I hope ye read," added the
gallant Malcom, ''says hoo in entertainin' a stranger ye may
ha' an angel aroond."

"Oh, Mr. McTrump," said Edith, with peony-like face,
"Hannibal is the only one who calls me that, and he doesn't
know any better."

"Why suld he know ony better?" responded Malcom
quickly. "I ha' never seen an angel, na mair than I ha'
seen a goolden harp, but I'm a thinkin' a modest bonny
lassie like yoursel cooms as near to ane as anything can in
this world."

"But, Mr. McTrump," said Edith, with a half-pathetic,
half -comic face, "I am in such deep trouble that I shall soon
grow old and wrinkled, so I shall not be an angel long."

"Na, na, dinna say that," said Malcom earnestly. "An
ye will, ye may keepit the angel a-growin' within ye alway,
though ye live as old as Methuselah. D'ye see this wee
brown seed? There's a mornin'-glory vine hidden in it,
as would daze your een at the peep o' day wi' its gay
blossoms. An' ye see my ould gudewife there ? Ah, she
will daze the een o' the greatest o' the earth in the bright
springtime o' the Resurrection; and though I'm a little mon
here, it may be I'll see o'er the heads of soom up there."

"An ye had true humeelity ye'd be a-hopin' to get
there, instead of expectin' to speir o'er the heads o' yer
betters," said his wife in a rebuking tone.

"'A-hopin' to get there'!" said Malcom with some
warmth. "Why suld I hope when 'I know that my Re-
deemer liveth' ?"

Edith's eyes filled with wistful tears, for the quaint talk
of these old people suggested a hope and faith that she
12— Rob— X

268 WHAT CAN SHE DOf

knew nothing of. But, in a low voice, she said, "Why
does God let his creatures suffer so much?^'

"Bless your heart, puir child. He suffered mair than ony
on us,'' said Malcom tenderly. "But ye' 11 learn it a' soon.
He who fed the famishin' would bid ye eat noo. But wait
a bit till ye see what I'll bring ye."

In a moment he was back with a dainty basket of Tri-
omphe de Gand strawberries, and Edith uttered an excla-
mation of delight as she inhaled their delicious aroma.

"They are the first ripe the season, an' noo see what the
gudewife will do with them."

Soon their hulls were off, and, swimming in a saucer of
oream, they were added to the dainty little lunch that Mrs.
McTrump had prepared.

"Oh I" exclaimed Edith, drawing a long breath, "you
can't know how you ease my poor sore heart I began to
think all the world was against me."

At this Malcom beat such a precipitate retreat that he
half stumbled over a chair, but outside the door he ven-
tured to say:

"An ye coom out I'll cut ye a posy before ye go." But
Edith saw him rub his rough sleeve across his eyes as he
passed the window. His wife said, in a grave geftitle tone:

"Would ye might learn to know Him who said, 'Be of
good cheer, I have overcome the wourld.' "

Edith shook her head sadly, and said, "I don't under-
stand Him, and He seems far off."

"It's only seemin', me dear," said the old woman kindly,
"but, as Malcom says, ye' 11 learn it a' by and by."

Mrs. McTrump was one of those simple souls who never
presume to "talk religion" to any one. "1 can ony venture
what I hope' 11 be a '#ord in season' noo and then, as the
Maister gies me a chance," she would say to her husband.

Though she did not know it, she had spread before Edith
a Gospel feast, and her genuine, hearty sympathy was teach-
ing more than eloquent sermons could have done, and al-
ready the grateful girl was questioning:

SCORN AND KINDNESS 267

"What makes these people differ so from others ?' '

With some dismay she saw how late it was growing, Bind
hastened out to Malcom, who had cut an exquisite little
bouquet for her, and had another basket of berries for her
to take to her mother.

"Mr. McTrump," said Edith, "it's time we had a settle-
ment; your kindness I never can repay, but I am able now
to carry oat my agreement."

"Don't bother me wi' that noo,'' said Malcom, rather
testily. "I ha' no time to make oot your account in the
height o' the season. Let it ston till I ha' time. An' ye
might help me soomtimes make up posies for the grand folk
at the hotel. But how does your garden sin ye dismissed
ould Malcom?"

"Oh, Mr. McTrump," said Edith, slyly, "do you know
you almost scared old Hannibal out of his wits by the won-
ders you wrought last night or this morning in that same
garden you inquire about so innocently. How can you work
so fast and hard?"

"The woonders I wrought! Indeed I've not been near
the garden sin ye told me not to coom. Ye could hardly
expect otherwise of a Scotchman."

"Who, then, could it be?" said Edith, a little startled
herself now, and she explained the mystery of the garden.

He was as nonplussed as herself, but, scratching his
bushy head, he said, with a canny look, "I wud be glad if
Hannibal's ^spook,' as he ca's it, would coom doon and hoe
a bit for me," and Edith was so cheered and refreshed that
she could even join him in the laugh.

They sent her away enveloped in the fragrance of straw*
berries and roses from the little basket she carried. But the
more grateful aroma of human sympathy seemed to create
a buoyant atmosphere around her; and she passed back
through the village strengthened and armed against the
cold or scornful looks of those who, knowing her to be
"wounded," had not even the grace to pass by indifferently
"on the other side."

268 WHAT CAN aME DOf

CHAPTER XXV

▲ HORROR OF GBSAT DARKNESS

BY the time Edith reached home the traosient strength
and transient brightening of the skies seemed to pass
away. Her mother was no better and the poor girl
saw too plainly the grisly spectres, care, want, and shame
upon her hearth, to fear any good fairy that left such traces
as she saw in her garden. But the mystery troubled her;
she longed to know who it was. As she mused upon it on
her way home, Arden Lacey suddenly occurred to her, and
there was a glimmer of a smile and a faint increase of color
on her pale face. But she did not suggest her suspicion to
Hannibal, when he eagerly asked if it were Malcom.

*'No, strange to say, it was not J" said Edith. **Who
could it have been? "

Hannibal's face fell, and he looked very solemn. ''Sum-
pen awful's gwine to happen. Miss Edie," he said, in a
sepulchral tone.

Edith broke into a sudden reckless laugh, and said, ''I
think something awful is happening about as fast as it can.
But never mind, Hannibal, we'll watch to-night, and per-
haps he will come again."

*'0h, Miss Edie, I'se hope you'll 'sense me. I couldn't
watch for a spook to save my life. I'se gwine to bed as soon
as it's dark, and cover up my head till momin'."

"Very well," said Edith, quietly. ''I'm going to sit up
with mother to-night, and if it comes again, I'll see it"

"De good Lord keep you safe. Miss Edie," said Hanni-
bal, tremblingly " You'se know I'd die for you in a minit;

A HORROR OF GREAT DARKNESS 269

but I*se couldn't watch for a spook nohow," and Hannibal
crept away, looking as if the very worst had now befallen
them.

Edith was too weary and sad even to smile at the absurd
superstition of her old servant, for with her practical, posi-
tive nature she could scarcely understand how even the
most ignorant could harbor such delusions. She said to
Laura, '*Let me sleep till nine o'clock, and then I will
watch till morning."

Laura did not waken her till ten.

After Edith had shaken oflE her lethargy, she said, ** Why,
Laura, you look ready to faint!"

With a despairing little cry, Laura threw herself on the
floor, and buried her face in her sister's lap, sobbing:

*'I am ready to faint — body and soul. Oh, Edie, Edie,
what shall we do ? Oh, that I were sure death was an eter-
nal sleep, as some say 1 How gladly I would close my eyes
to-night and never wish to open them again I My heart is
ashes, and my hope is dead. And yet I am afraid to die,
and more afraid to live. Ever since— Zell — went — the future
has been — ^a terror to me. Edith, ' ' she continued, after a
moment, in a low voice, that trembled and was full of dread,
''Zell has not written — the silence of the grave seems to
have swallowed her. He has not married herT^ and an
agony of grief convulsed Laura's slight frame.

Edith's eyes grew hard and tearless, and she said sternly,
** It were better the grave had swallowed her than such a
gulf of infamy."

Laura suddenly became still, her sobs ceasing. Slowly
she raised such a white, terror-stricken face, that Edith was
startled. She had never seen her elder sister, once so stately
and proud, then so apathetic, moved like this.

*' Edith," she said, in an awed whisper, ** what is there
before us? Zell's flight, like a flash of lightning, has re-
vealed to me where we stand, and ever since I have brooded
over our situation, till it seems as if 1 shall go mad. There's
an awful gulf before us, and every day we are being pushed

270 WHAT CAN SHE DOf

nearer to it;" and Laura's large blue eyes were dilated with
horror, as if she saw it.

^'Motber is going to die," she continued, in a tone that
chilled Edith's soul. *'Our money will soon be gone; we
then shall be driven away even from this poor shelter, out
upon the streets — to New York, or somewhere. Edith, Oh,
Edith, don't you see the gulf ? What else is before us ?"

'* Honest work is before me," said Edith, almost fiercely.
*'I will compel the world to give me a place entitled at least
to respect."

Laura shook her head despairingly. ''You may struggle
back and up to where you are safe. You are good and strong.
But there are so many poor girls in the world like me, who
are not good and strong I Everything seems to combine to
push a helpless, friendless woman toward that gulf. Poor
rash, impulsive Zell saw it, and could not endure the slow,
remorseless pressure, as one might be driven over a preci-
pice, and one she loved seemed to stand ready to break the
fall. I understand her stony, reckless face now."

''Oh, Laura, hush I" said Edith, desperately.

''I must speak," she went on, in the same low voice, so
full of dread, '*or my brain will burst. I have thought and
thought, and seen that awful gulf grow nearer and nearer,
till at times it seemed as if I should shriek with terror.
For two nights I have not slept. Oh! why were we not
taught something better than dressing and dancing, and
those hollow, superficial accomplishments that only mock
us now ? Why were not my mind and body developed into
something like strength? I would gladly turn to the
coarsest drudgery, if I could only be safe. But after what
has happened no good people will have anything to do
with us, and I am a feeble, helpless creature, that can only
shrink and tremble as I am pushed nearer and nearer."

Edith seemed turning into stone, herself paralyzed by
Laura's despair. After a moment Laura continued, with
a perceptible shudder in her voice:

''There is no one to break my fall. Oh, that I was not

A HORROR OF GREAT DARKNESS 271

afraid to die! That seems the only resource to such as I.
If I could just end it all by becoming nothing — "

'*Laura, Laura," cried Edith, starting up, *'cease your
wild mad words. You are sick and morbid. You are more
delirious than mother is. We can get work; there are good
people who will take care of us. ' '

*'I have seen nothing that looks like it," said Laura, in
the same despairing tone. **I have read of just such things,
and I see how it all must end."

**Yes, that's just it," said Edith, impatiently. '*You
have read so many wild, unnatural stories of life that
you are ready to believe anytMng that is horrible. Listen:
I have over four hundred dollars in the bank."

'*How did you get it?" asked Laura, quickly.

'*I have followed mother's suggestion, and mortgaged
the place."

Laura sank into a chair, and became so deathly white
that Edith thought she would faint At last she gasped:

'* Don't you see? Even you in your strength can't help
yourself. You are being pushed on, too. You said you
would not follow mother's advice again, because it always
led to trouble. You said, again and again, you would not
mortgage the place, and yet you have done it Now it's
all clear. That mortgage will be foreclosed, and then we
shall be turned out, and then — ' ' and she covered her face
with her hands. *'Don'tyou see," she said, in a muffled
tone, ''the great black hand reaching out of the darkness
and pushing us down and nearer? Oh, that I wasn't afraid
to die!"

Edith was startled. Even her positive, healthful nature
began to yield to the contagion of Laura's morbid despair.
She felt that she must break the spell and be alone. By a
strong effort she tried to speak in her natural tone and with
conjGidence. She tried to comfort the desperate woman by
endearing epithets, as if she were a child. She spoke of
those simple restoratives which are so often and vainly pre-
scribed for mortal wounds, sleep and rest

272 WHAT CAN SHE DOf

**Go to bed, poor child," she urged. '* All will look dif-
ferently in the sunlight to-morrow."

fiut Laura scarcely seemed to heed her. With weak, un-
certain steps she drew near the bed, and turned the light on
her mother's thin, flushed face, and stood, with clasped
hands, looking wistfully at her.

'*Yes, my dear," muttered Mrs. Allen in her delirium,
**both your father and myself would give our full approval
to your marriage with Mr. Goulden." The poor woman
made watching doubly hard to her daughters, since she
kept recalling to them the happy past in all its minutiad.

Laura turned to Edith with a smile that was inexpres-
sibly sad, and said, ''What a mockery it all is I There
seems nothing real in this world but pain and danger. Oh,
that I was not afraid to die!"

** Laura, Laura! go to your rest," exclaimed Edith, "or
you will lose your reason. Gome;" and she half carried
the poor creature to her room, "Now, leave the door
ajar," she said, "for if mother is worse I will call you."

Edith sat down to her weary task as a watcher, and
never before, in all the sad preceding weeks, had her heart
been so heavy, and so prophetic of evil Laura's words
kept repeating themselves to her, and mingling with those
of her mother's delirium, thus strangely blending the past
and the present. Gould it be true that they were helpless
in the hands of a cruel, remorseless fate, that was pushing
them down? Gould it be true that all her struggles and
courage would be in vain, and that each day was only
bringing them nearer to the desperation of utter want?
She could not disguise from herself that Laura's dreadful
words had a show of reason, and that, perhaps, the mort-
gage she had given that day meant that they would soon be
without home or shelter in the great, pitiless world. But,
with set teeth and white face, she muttered:

"Death first."

Then, with a startled expression, she anxiously asked
herself: "Was that what Laura meant when she kept say-

A HORROR OF GREAT DARKNESS

ing, *0h, if I wasn't afraid to die!* '' She went to her sis-
ter's door and listened. Laura's movements within seemed
to satisfy her, and she returned to the sick-room and sat
down again. Putting her hand upon her heart, she mur-
mured:

**I am completely unnerved to-night. I don't under-
stand myself;" and she looked almost as pale and despair-
ing as Laura.

She was, in truth, in the midst of that ''horror of great
darkness" that comes to so many struggling souls in a world
upon whioh the shadow of sin rests so heavily.

274 WHAT CAN SHE DOf

CHAPTER XXVI

FBIBND AlfD SAVIOUR

KNOWING of no other source of help than an earthly
one, her thoughts reverted to the old Scotch people
whom she had recently visited. Their sunlighted
garden, and hitppy, homely life, their simple faith, seemed
the best antidote for her present morbid tendencies.

**If the worst comes to the worst, I think they would
take us in for a little while, till some way opened," she
thought '^Oh that I had their belief in a better lifel
Then it wouldnH seem so dreadful to suffer in this one.
Why have I never read the *Gude Book,' as they call it?
But I never seemed to understand it; still, I must say, that
I never really tried to. Perhaps God is angry with us, and
is punishing us for so forgetting Him. I would rather think
that than to feel so forgotten and lost sight of. It seems as
if God didn't see or care. It seems as if I could cling to the
harshest father in the world, if he would only protect and
help me, A God of wrath, that I have heard clergymen
preach of, is not so dreadful to me as a God who forgets,
and leaves His creatures to struggle alone. Our minister
was so cold and philosophical, and presented a God that
seemed so far off, that I felt there could never be anything
between Him and me. He talked about a holy, inlGinite
Being, who dwelt alone in unapproachable majesty; and I
want some one to stoop down and love and help poor little
me. He talked about a religion of purity and good works,
and love to our fellow-men. I don't know how to work for
myself, much less for others, and it seems as if nearly all

FRIEND AND SAVIOUR 275

my fellow-creatures hated and scorned me, and I am afraid
of them; so I don't see what chance there is for such as we.
If we had only remained rich, and lived on the avenue, such
a religion wouldn't be so hard. It seems strange that the
Bible should teach him and old Malcom so differently. But
I suppose he is wiser, and understands it better. Perhaps
it's the flowers that teach Malcom, for he always seems
drawing lessons from them."

Then came the impulse to get the Bible and read it for
herself. *'The impulse!*' whence did it come ?

When Edith felt so orphaned and alone, forgotten even
of God, then the Divine Father was nearest his child. When,
in her bitter extremity, at this lonely midnight hour she real-
ized her need and helplessness as never before, her great El-
der Brother was waiting beside her.

The impulse was divine. The Spirit of God was leading
her as He is seeking to lead so many. It only remained for
her to follow these gentle impulses, not to be pushed into
the black gulf that despairing Laura dreaded, but to be led
into the deep peace of a loving faith.

She went down into the parlor to get the Bible that in
her hands had revealed the falseness and baseness of Gus
Elliot, and the thought flashed through her mind like a
good omen, '*This book stood between me and evil once
before." She took it to the light and rapidly turned its
pages, trying to find some clew, some place of hope, for she
was sadly unfamiliar with it.

Was it her trembling fingers alone that turned the pages?
No; He who inspired the guide she consulted guided her,
for soon her eyes fell upon the sentence —

''Gome unto me all ye that labor and are heavy laden,
and I will give you rest."

The words came with such vivid power and meaning that
she was startled, and looked around as if some one had spoken
to her. They so perfectly met her need that it seemed they
must be addressed directly to her.

''Who was it that said these words, and what right had

276 WHAT CAN SHE DOf

He to say them?" she queried eagerly, and keeping her
finger on the passage as if it might be a clew oat of some
fatal labyrinth, she turned the leaves backward and read
more of Him with the breathless interest that some poor
burdened soul might have felt eighteen centuries ago in
listening to a rumor of the great Prophet who had suddenly
appeared with signs and wonders in Palestine. Then she
turned and read again and again the sweet words that first
arrested her attention. They seemed more luminous and
hope- inspiring every moment, as their significance dawned
upon her like the coming of day after night

Her clear, positive mind could never take a vague, du-
bious impression of anything, and with a long-drawn breath
she said, with the emphasis of perfect conviction :

'*If He were a mere man, as I have been taught to be-
lieve, He had no right to say these words. It would be a
bitter, wicked mockery for man or angel to speak them.
Oh, can it be that it was God Himself in human guise ? I
could trust such a God."

With glowing cheeks and parted lips, she resumed her
reading, and in her eyes was the growing light of a great
hope.

The upper room of that poor little cottage was becoming
a grand and sacred place. Heaven, that honors the death-
less soul above all localities, was near. The God who was
not in the vast and gold-incrusted temple on Mount Moriah
sat in humble guise at *' Jacob's well, " and said to one of His
poor guilty creatures: ^'I that speak unto thee am He."
Cathedral domes and cross-tipped spires indicated the Di-
vine presence on every hand in superstitious Rome, but it
would seem that He was near only to a poor monk creeping
up Pilate's staircase. Though the wealth of the world should
combine to build a colossal church, filling it with every sacred
emblem and symbol, and causing its fretted roof to resound
with unceasing choral service, it would not be such a claim
upon the great Father's heart as a weak, pitiful cry to Him
from the least of His children. Though Edith knew it not,

FRIEND AND SAVIOUR 277

that Presence without which all temples are vain had come
to her as freely, as closely, as truly as when it entered the
cottage at Bethany, and Mary '^sat at Jesus' feet and heard
His word." Even to her, in this night of trouble, in this
stony wilderness of care and fear, as to God's trembling
servant of old, a ladder of light was let down from heaven,
and on it her faith would climb up to the peace and rest
that are above, and therefore undisturbed by the storms
that rage on e^rth.

But it is God's way to make us free through truth.
Christ, when on earth, did not deal with men's souls as
with their bodies. The latter He touched into instanta*
neous cure; to the former He appealed with patient in-
struction and entreaty^ revealing Himself by word and
deed, and saying: In view of what I prove myself to be
will you trust me? Will you follow me?

In words which, though spoken so long ago, are still the
living utterances of the Spirit to every seeking soul. He was
now speaking to Edith, and she listened with the wonder
and hope that might have stirred the heart of some sorrow-
ing maiden like herself, when His voice was accompanied
by the musical chime of waves breaking on the shores of
Galilee, or the rustle of winds through the gray olive leaves.

Edith came to the source of all truth with a mind as fresh
and unprejudiced as that of one who saw and heard Jesus
for the first time, as, in his mission journeys, he entered
some little town of the Holy Land. She had never thought
much about Him, and had no strong preconceived opinions.
She was almost utterly ignorant of the creeds and symbols
of men, and Christ was not to her,. as He is to so many, the
embodiment of a system and the incarnation of a doctrine —
a vague, half- realized truth. When she thought of Him at
all, it had been as a great, good man, the most famous reli-
gious teacher in the past, whose life had nobly ''adorned a
tale and pointed a moral." But this would not answer any
more. ''What could a man, dead and buried centuries ago,
do for me now?" she asked, bitterly.

278 WHAT CAN SHE DO f

**I want one who can with right speak these words —

'* 'Come unto me all ye that labor and are heavy laden,
and I will give you rest' "

And as, with finger still clinging to this passage, she
read of miracle and parable, now trembling almost under
the *' Sermon on the Mount," now tearful under the tender
story of the prodigal, the feeling came in upon her soul like
the rising tide, **This was not mere man."

Then, with an awe she had never felt before, she followed
him to Gethsemane, to the High Priest's palace, to Pilate's
judgment- hall, and thence to Golgotha, and it seemed to her
one long **Via Dolorosa," With white lips she murmured,
with the centurion, *' Truly this man was the Son of God."

She was reading the wonderful story for the first time in
its true connection, and the Spirit of God was her guide and
teacher. When she came to Mary ** weeping without at the
sepulchre," her own eyes were streaming, and it seemed as
if she were weeping there herself.

But when Jesus said, in a tone perhaps never heard be-
fore or since in this world, **Mary," it seemed that to her-
self He was speaking, and her heart responded, *'Babbpni —
Master."

She started up and paced the little room, thrilling with
excitement.

**How blind I have been!" she exclaimed — **how utterly
olind 1 Here I have been struggling alone all these weary
weeks, with scarcely hope for this world and none for the
next, when I might have had siich a friend and helper all
the time. Can I be deceived ? Can this sweet way of light
out of our thick darkness be a delusion?"

She went to where her little Bible lay open at the pas-
sage, *'Oome unto me," and bowing her head upon it,
pleaded as simply and sincerely as the Syro-Phcenician
mother pleaded for her child in the very presence of the
human Saviour —

**0 Jesus, I am heavily laden. I labor under burdens
greater than I can bear. Divine Saviour, help me."

FRIEND AND SAVIOUR 279

In answer she expected some vague exaltation of soul, of
an exquisite sense of peace, as the burden was rolled away.

There was nothing of the kind, but only an impulse to
go to Laura. She was deeply disappointed. She seemed
to have climbed such a lofty height that she might almost
look into heaven and confirm her faith forever, and only a
simple earthly duty was revealed to her. Her excited
mind, that had been expanding with the divinest mysteries,
was reacting into quietness, and the impression was so strong
that she must go to Laura, that she thought her sister had
been calling her, and she, in her intense preoccupation,
had heard her as in a dream.

Still keeping the little Bible in her hand, she went to
Laura's room. Through the partially open door she saw,
with a sudden chill of fear, that the bed had not been slept
in. Pushing the door open, she looked eagerly around with
a strange dread growing upon her. Laura was writing at a
table with her back toward the entrance. There was a
strong odor of laudanum in the room, and a horrible
thought blanched Edith's cheek. Stealing with noiseless
tread across the intervening space, with hand pressed upon
her heart to still its wild throbbings, she looked over her
sister's shoulder, and followed the tracings of her pen with
dilating eyes.

'^Mother, Edith, farewell I When you read these sad words I shaU be dead.
I fear death — I cannot tell you how I fear it, but I fear more that dreadful gulf
which daily grows nearer. I must die. There is no other resource for a poor,
weak woman like me. If I were only strong — ^if I had only been taught some-
thing — ^but I am helpless. Do not be too hard upon poor little Zell. Her eyes
were blinded by a false love ; she did not see the black gulf as I see it. If Gk>d
cares for what such poor forlorn creatures as I do, may He forgive. I have
thought till my brain reels. I have tried to pray, but hardly knew what I was
praying to. I don't understand Gk)d — He is far oflf. The world scorns us.
There is none to help. There is no other remedy save the drug at my side,
which will soon bring sleep which I hope will be dreamless. Farewell I

**Tourpoor, trembling, despairing Lauba."

Every sentence was written with a sigh that seemed as if
it might be the last that the burdened soul could give, and

280 WHAT CAN SHE DOf

every line was blotted with tears. Edith saw that the poor,
thin face was pinched and wan with misery, and that the
pallor of death had already blanched even her lips, and,
with a shudder of horror, her eyes fell on a phial of lauda-
num at Laura's left hand, from which she was partially
turned away, in the act of writing.

With an ecstatic thrill of joy, she now understood how
her prayer had been answered. How could there have been
rest — how could there have been peace — if this awful trag-
edy had been consummated ?

With one devout, grateful glance upward, she silently
took away the fatal drug, and laid her Bible down in its
place.

Laura finished her letter, leaned back, and murmured a
long, trembling, '^ Farewell T' that was like a low, mournful
vibration of an ^olian harp, when the night- breeze breathes
upon it Then she pressed her right hand over her eyes^
shuddered, and tremblingly put out her left for that which
would end all. But, instead of the phial which she had
placed there but a little before, her hand rested upon a
book. Startled, she opened her eyes, and saw not the
dreaded poison, but in golden letters that seemed luminous
to her dazzled sight:

Holy Bible.

Though all had lasted but a brief moment, Edith's power
of self-control was gone. Dashing the bottle on the floor,
where it broke into many fragments, she threw herself on
her sister's neck and sobbed:

**0 Laura, Laura I your hand is on a better remedy. It
has saved me — it can save you. It has shown me the Friend
we need. He sent me to you;" and she clung to her sister
in a rapture of joy, murmuring, with every breath:

''Thanks, thanks, eternal gratitude I I see how my
prayer is answered now."

Laura, in her shattered condition, was too bewildered
and feeble to do more than cling to Edith, with a blessed
sense of being rescued from some great periL A horrid

FRIEND AND SAVIOUR 281

spell seemed broken, and for some reason, she knew not
why, life and hope were still possible. A torrent of tears
seemed to relieve her of the dreadful oppression that had
so long rested on her, and at last she faltered:

** Who is this strange friend ?"

''His name is Jesus — Saviour," said Edith, in a low,
reverential tone.

''I don't quite understand," said Laura, hesitatingly.
**I can only cling to you till I know Him."

''He knows you, Laura, and loves you. He has never
forgotten us. It was we who forgot Him. He sent me to
you, just in time. Now put your hand on this book, and
promise me you will never think of such an awful thing
again."

"I promise," said Laura, solemnly; **not if I am in my
right mind. I don't understand myself. You seem to have
awakened me from a fearful dream. I will do just what
you tell me to."

"Oh, Laura, let us both try to do just what our Divine
Friend tells us to do."

"Perhaps, through you, I shall learn to know Him.
I can only cling to you to-night," said Laura, wearily.
"1 am so tired," and her eyes drooped as she spoke.

With a sense of security came a strong reaction in her
overtaxed nature. Edith helped her to bed as if she wer9
a child, and soon she was sleeping as peacefully as one.

282 WHAT CAN SHE DO 9

CHAPTER XXVII

THE MYSTBRY SOLVED

EDITH resumed ber watching in her mother's room.
The invalid was still dwelling on the past, and her
delirium appeared to Edith a true emblem of her old,
unreal life. Indeed, it seemed to her that she had never
lived before. A quiet but divine exaltation filled her
soul. She did not care to read any more, but just sat still
and thought, and her spiritual light grew clearer and
clearer.

Her faith was very simple, her knowledge very slight
She was scarcely in advance of a Hebrew maiden who
might have been one of the mournful procession passing
out of the gates of Nain, when a Stranger, unknown before,
revealed Himself by turning death into life, sorrow into joy.
The eye of her faith was fastened on the distinct, living,
loving personality of our human yet Divine Friend, who no
longer seemed afar off, but as near as to that other burdened
one who touched the hem of His garment

**He does not change, the Bible says," she thought
**He cannot change. Therefore He will help me, just as
surely as He did the poor, suffering people among whom
He lived."

It was but three o'clock, and yet the eastern sky was
pale with dawn. At length her attention was gained by a
faint but oft-repeated sound. It seemed to come from the
direction of the garden, and at once the mystery that so
oppressed poor Hannibal occurred to her. She rose, and

THE MYSTERY SOLVED 288

passed back to her own room, which overlooked the gar-
den, and, through the lattice, in the faint morning twilight,
saw a tall, dusky jQgure, that looked much too substantial
to be any such shadowy being as the old negro surmised,
and the strokes of his hoe were too vigorous and noisy for
ghostly gardening.

**It must be Arden Lacey," thought Edith, *'but I will
put this matter beyond all doubt. I don't like this night
work, either; though for different reasons than those of
poor Hannibal. We have suffered enough from scandal
already, and henceforth all connected with my life shall
be as open as the day. Then, if the world believes evil
of me, it will be because it likes it best*'

These thoughts passed through her mind while she
hastily threw off her wrapper and dressed. Cautiously
opening the back-door, she looked again. The nearer
view and clearer light revealed to her Arden Lacey. She
did not fear him, and at once determined to question him
as to the motive of his action. He was but a little way off,
and was tying up a grape-vine that had been neglected, bis
back being toward her. Edith had great physical courage
and firmness naturally, and it seemed that on this morning
she could fear nothing, in the strength of her new-born
enthusiasm.

With noiseless step she reached his side, and asked,
almost sternly:

*' Who are you, sir; and what does this action mean ?''

Arden started violently, trembled like the leaves in the
morning wind, and turned slowly toward her, feeling more
guilty and alarmed than if he had been playing the part of
a burglar, instead of acting as her good genius.

"Why don't you answer?" she asked, in still more de-
cided tones. ''By what right are you doing this work?"

Edith had lost faith in men. She knew little of Arden,
and the thought flashed through her mind, **Thi8 may be
some new plot against us." Therefore her manner was
stern and almost threatening.

284 WHAT CAN SHE DOf

Poor Aden was startled out of all self-control. Edith's
coming was so sudden and unexpected, and her pale face
was so spirit-like, that for a moment he scarcely knew
whether the constant object of his thoughts was really be-
fore him, or whether his strong imagination was only mock-
ing him.

Edith mistook his agitation and hesitancy as evidences
of guilt, and he so far recovered himself as to recognize her
suspicions.

'*I will be answered. You shall speak the truth," she
said, imperiously. *'By what right are you doing this
workr^

Then his own proud, passionate spirit flamed up, and
looking her unblenchingly in the face, he replied:

*'The right of my great love for you. Can I not serve
my idol?''

An expression of deep pain and repulsion came out upon
Edith's face, and he saw it The avowal of his love was so
abrupt — indeed it was almost stern; and, coming thus from
quite a stranger, who had little place even in her thoughts,
it was so exceedingly painful that it was like a blgw. And
yet she hardly knew how to answer him, for she saw in his
open, manly face, his respectful manner, that he meant no
evil, however he might err through ignorance or feeling.

He seemed to wait for her to speak again, and hia face,
from being like the eastern sky, became very pale. From
recent experience, and the teachings of the Patient One,
Edith's heart was very tender toward anything that looked
like suffering, and though she deemed Arden's feeling but
the infatuation of a rude and ill-regulated mind, she could
not be harsh, now that all suspicion of evil designs was
banished. Therefore she said quietly,' and almost kindly:

**You have done wrong, Mr. Lacey. Eemember I have
no father or brother to protect me. The world is too ready
to take up evil reports, and your strange action might be
misunderstood. All transactions with me must be like the
sunlight."

THE MYSTERY SOLVED 285

With an expression of almost anguish, Arden bowed his
head before her, and groaned:

''Forgive me; I did not think."

''I am sure jou meant no harm,'* said £dith, with real
kindness now in her tone. **You would not knowingly
make the way harder for a poor girl that has too muoh
already to struggle against And now, good*by. I shall
trust to your sense of honor, assured that you will treat me
as you would wish your own sister dealt with;'' and she
vanished, leaving Arden so overwhelmed with contending
emotions that he could scarcely make his way home.

An hour later Edith heard Hannibars step downstairs,
and she at once joined him. The old man had aged in a
night, and his face had a more worn and hopeless look than
had yet rested upon it He trembled at the rustle of her
dress, and called:

' ' Miss Edie, am dat you ?* '

"Yes, you foolish old fellow. I have seen your spook,
and ordered it not to come here again unless I send you
for \V'

'*0h. Miss Edie!'' gasped Hannibal.

*'It's Arden Lacey."

Hannibal collapsed. He seemed to drop out of the
realm of the supernatural to the solid ground of fact with
a heavy thump.

He sank into a chair, regarding her first with a blank,
vacant face, which gradually became illumined with a know-
ing grin. In a low, chuckling voice, he said:

**I jes declar to you I'se struck all of a heap. I jes done
see whar de possum is dis minute. What an ole black fool
I was, sure 'nu£E. I tho't he'se de mos 'bligin man I eber
seed afore," and he told her how Arden had served her in
her illness.

She was divided between amusement and annoyance^
the latter predominating. Hannibal concluded impres-
sively:

''Miss Edie, it must be lub. Nothin' else dan dat which

286 WHAT CAN SHE DOf

SO limbered up mj ole jints could get any liyin' man ober
as much ground as he hoed dat night"

''Hush, Hannibal," said Edith, with dignity; ''and re-
member that this is a secret between ourselves. Moreover,
I wish you never to ask Mr. Lacey to do anything for us if it
can possibly be helped, and never without my knowledge."

"You knows well. Miss Edie, datyou'se only to speak
and it's done," said Hannibal, deprecatingly.

She gave him such a gentle, grateful look that the old
man was almost ready to get down on his knees before her.
Putting her hand on his shoulder, she said:

"What a good, faithful, old friend you are I You don't
know how much I love you, Hannibal;" and she returned
to her mother.

Hannibal rolled up his eyes and clasped his hands, as if
before his patron saint, saying, under his breath:

"De idee of her lubing ole black Hannibal! I could die
dis blessed minute," which was his way of saying, ^'Nunc
dimittis.^^

Laura slept quietly till late in the afternoon, and wakened
as if to a new and better life. Her manner was almost child-
like. She had lost all confidence in herself, and seemed to
wish to be controlled by Edith in all things, as a little child
might be. But she was very feeble.

As the morning advanced Edith grew exceedingly weary.
Beaction from her strong excitement seemed to bear her
down in a weakness and lethargy that she could not resist,
and by ten o'clock she felt that she must have some relief.
It came from an unexpected source, for Hannibal appeared
with a face of portentous solemnity, saying that Mrs. Lacey
was downstairs, and that she wished to know if she could do
something to help.

The mother's quick eye saw that something had deeply
moved and was troubling her son. Indeed, for some time
past, she had seen that into his unreal world had come a
reality that was a source of both pain and pleasure, of fear
and hope. While she followed him every hour of the day

THE MYSTERY SOLVED 287

with an unutterable sympathy, she silently left him to open
his heart to her in his own time and manner. But her
tender, wistful manner told Arden that he was understood,
and he preferred this tacit sympathy to any spoken words.
But this morning the evidence of his mental distress was so
apparent that she went to him, placed her hands upon his
shoulders, and with her grave, earnest eyes looking straight
into his, asked:

'* Arden, what can I do for you?**

*' Mother,** he said, in a low tone, ^* there are sickness and
deep trouble at our neighbors*. Will you go to them again ?**

'*Yes, my son,** she replied, simply, **as soon as I can
get ready.'*

So she arranged matters to stay if needed, and thus in
Edith*8 extremity she appeared. In view of Arden's words,
Edith hardly knew how to receive her or what to do. But
when she saw the plain, grave woman sitting before her in
the simple dignity of patient sorrow, her course seemed
clear. She instinctively felt that she could trust this offered
friendliness, and that she needed it

''I have heard that your mother has been sick as well as
yourself,'* Mrs. Lacey said kindly but quietly. '* You look
very worn and weary. Miss Allen; and if I, as a neighbor,
can watch in your place for a while, I think you can trust
me to do so.'*

Tears sprang into Edith's eyes, and she said, with sudden
color coming into her pale face, ^^ You take noble revenge
for the treatment you have received from us, and I grate-
fully submit to it. I must confess I have reached the limit
of my endurance; my sister is ill also, and yet mother needs
constant attention."

*'Then I am very glad I came, and I have left things at
home so I can stay,'* and she laid aside her wraps with the
air of one who sees a duty plainly and intends to perform
it Edith gave her the doctor's instructions a little incohe-
rently in her utter exhaustion, but the experienced matron
understood all, and said:

288 WHAT CAN SHE DOf

*'I think 1 know just what to do. Sleep till you are well
rested."

Edith went to her room, and, with her face where the
sweet June air could breathe directly upon it through the
open window, sleep came with a welcome and refreshing
balm that she had never known before. Her last thought
was^ '*fle will take care of me and mine."

She had left the door leading into the sick-room open,
and Mrs. Lacey stepped in once and looked at her. The
happy, trustful thought with which she had closed her eyes
had left a faint smile upon her face, and given it a sweet
spiritual beauty.

"She seems very different from what I supposed," mur-
mured Mrs. Lacey. "She is very different from what people
are imagining her. Perhaps Arden, poor boy, is nearer
right than all of us. Oh, £ hope she is good, whether he
ever marries her or not, for this love will be the saving or
ruining of him."

When Edith awoke it was dark, and she started up in
dismay, for she had meant to sleep but an hour or two.
Having hastily smoothed her hair, she went to the sick-
room, and found Laura reclining on the sofa, and talking
m the most friendly manner to Mrs. Lacey. Her mother* s
delirium continued, though it was more quiet, with snatches
of sleep intervening, but she noticed no one as yet. Mrs.
Lacey sat calmly in her chair, her sad, patient face making
the very ideal of a watcher, and yet in spite of her plain
exterior there was a refinement, an air of self-respect, that
would impress the most casual observer. As soon as Laura
saw Edith she rose as quickly as her feebleness permitted,
and threw her arms around her sister, and there was an
embrace whose warmth and meaning none but themselves,
and the pitying eye of Him who saved, could understand.
Then Edith turned and said, earnestly:

** Truly, Mrs. Lacey, I did not intend to trespass on
your kindness in this manner. I hope you will forgive
me."

THE MYSTERY SOLVED 2b9

^'Nature knew what was best for you, Miss Allen, and
you have not incommoded me at ail. 1 made my plans to
stay till nine o'clock, and then Arden will come for me.*'

''Miss Edie," said Hannibal, in his load whisper, ''I'se
got some supper for you down here."

Why did Edith go to her room and make a little better
toilet before going down? She hardly thought herself. It
was probably a feminine instinct. As she took her last sip
of tea there was a timid knock at the door. ''I will see him
a moment,'* she decided.

Hannibal, with a gravity that made poor Edith smile in
her thoughts, admitted Arden Lacey. He was diffident but
not awkward, and the color deepened in his face, then left
It very pale, as he saw Edith was present. Her pale cheek
also took the faintest tinge of pink, but she rose quietly,
and said:

''Please be seated, Mr. Lacey. I will tell your mother
you are here." Then, as Hannibal disappeared, she added
earnestly, *'I do appreciate your mother's kindness, and —
yours also. At the same time, too deep a sense of obliga-
tion is painful; you must not do so much for us. Please do
not misunderstand me. "

Arden had something of his mother's quiet dignity, as
he rose and held out to Edith a letter, saying:

'* Will you please read that — ^you need not answer it —
and then perhaps you will understand me better."

Edith hesitated, and was reluctant.

"1 may be doing wrong," continued he, earnestly and
with rising color. "I am not versed in the world's ways;
but is it not my right to explain the rash words I uttered
this morning? My good name is dear to me also. Few care
for it, but I would not have it utterly blurred in your eyes.
We may be strangers after you have read it, if you choose,
but I entreat you to read it"

**You will not feel hurt if I afterward return it to you?'*
asked Edith, timidly.

"You may do with it what you please."

13— -fiOB— X

290 WHAT CAN SHE DOf

She then took the letter, and a moment later Mrs. Lacej
appeared, and said:

"I will sit up to-morrow night, with your permission."

Edith took her hand, and replied, ''Mrs. Lacey, you
burden me with kindness."

''It is not my wish to burden, but to relieve you. Miss
Allen. I think I can safely say, from our slight acquaint-
ance, that in the case of sickness or trouble at a neighbor's,
you would not spare yourself. We cease to be human when
we leave the too heavily burdened to struggle alone."

£dith's eyes grew moist, and she said, simply, ''I cannot
refuse kindness offered in that spirit, and may Ood bless
you for it. Good- night "

Arden's only parting was a grave, silent bow.

Edith was soon alone again, watching by her mother.
With some natural curiosity, she opened the letter that was
written by one so different from any man that she had ever
known before. Its opening, at least, was reassuring.

**Mi8S Edith Allbn — You need not fear that I shall .offend again by either
writing or speaking such rash words as those which so deeply pamed you this
morning. They would not have been spoken then, perhaps never, had I not
been startled out of my solf-control — had I not seen that you suspected me of
evil I was very unwise, and I sincerely ask your pardon. But I meant no
wrong, and as you referred to my sister, I can say, before God, that I would
shield you as I would shield her.

**I know little of the conventionalities of the world. I live but a hermit's
life in it, and my letter may seem to you very foolish and romantic, still I know
that my motives are not ignoble, and with this consciousness I venture.

'^Reverencing and honoring you as I do, I cannot bear that you should
thmk too meanly of me. The world regards me as a sullen, stolid, bearish
creature, but I have almost ceased to care for its opinion. J have received
from it nothing but coldness and scorn, and I pay my debt in like coin. But
perhaps you can imagine why I cannot endure that you should regard me in
like manner. I would not have you think my nature a stony, sterile place,
when something tells me that it is like a garden that needs only sunlight of
some kind. My life has been blighted by the wrong of another, who should
have been my best helper. The knowledge and university culture for which
I thirsted were denied me. And yet, believe me, only my mother's need —
only the absolute necessity that she and my sister should have a daily pro-
tector—kept me from pushing out into the world, and trying to work my way

THE MY8TEBY SOLVED 291

unaided to better things. Sacred duty has chained me down to a life that was
outwardly most sordid and unhappy. My best solace has been my mother's
loye. But from varied, somewhat eztonsive, though perhaps not the wisest
kind of reading, I came to dwell in a brave, beautiful, but shadowy world
that I created out of books. I was becoming satisfied with it, not knowing?
any other. The real world mocked and hurt me on every side. It is so harsh
and unjust that I hate it. I hate it infinitely more as I see its disposition to
wound you, who have been so noble and heroic. In this dream of the past —
in this unreal world of my own fancy — ^I was living when you came that rainy
night As I learned to know you somewhat, you seemed a beautiful revela-
tion to me. I did not think there was such a woman in existence. My shad-
ows vanished before you. With you liviDg in the present, my dreams of the
past ceased. I could not prevent your image from entering my lonely, empty
heart, and taking its vacant throne, as if by divine right How could I ? How
can I drive you forth now, when my whole being is enslaved ?

**But forgive me. Though thought and feeling are beyond control, out-
ward action is not I hope never te lose a mastering grasp on the rein of
deeds and words ; and though I cannot understand how the feeling I have
frankly avowed can ever change, I will try never, by look or sign, to pain you
with it again.

'^And yet, with a diffldenoe and fear equalled only by my sincerity and
earnestness, I would venture to ask one great favor. You said this morning
that you already had too much to struggle against The future has its possi-
bilities of further trouble and danger. Will you not let me be your humble,
faithful friend, serving you loyally, devotedly, yet unobtrusively, and with all
the delicate regard for your position which I am capable of showing, assured
that I will gratefully accept any hints when I am wrong or presumptuous Y
I would gladly serve you with your knowledge and consent But serve you I
must I vowed it the night I lifted your unconscious form from the wharf,
and gave you into Mrs. Groody's care. There need be no reply. You have
only to treat me not as an utter stranger when we next meet You have only
to give me the Joy of doing something for you when opportunity offers.

''Abden Lacey."

Edith's eyes filled with tears before she finished this most
unexpected epistle. Though rather quaint and stately in its
diction, the passion of a true, strong nature so permeated it
all, that the coldest and shallowest would have been moved.
And yet a half-smile played upon her face at the same time,
like sunlight on drops of rain.

''Thank heavenl" she said, '*I know of one more true
man in the world, if he is a strange one. How different he
is from what I thought I I don't believe there's another in

292 WHAT CAN 8HB DOf

this place who could hare written such a letter. What
would a New York society man, whose compliments are a9
extravagant as meaningless, think of it ? Truly he doesuH
know the world, and isn't like it. I supposed him an awk-
ward, eccentric young countryman, that, from his very
verdancy, would be difficult to manage, and he writes to
me like a knight of olden time, only such language seems
Quixotic in our day. The foolish fellow, to idealize poor,
despised, faulty Edith Allen into one of the grand heroines
of his interminable romances, and that after seeing me hoe
my garden like a Dutch woman. If I wasn't so sad and he
so earnest, I could laugh till my sides ached. There never
was a more matter-of-fact creature than I am, and yet here
am I enveloped in a halo of impossible virtues and graces.
If I were what he thinks me, I shouldn't know myself.
Well, well, I must treat him somewhat like a boy, for such
he really is, ignorant of himself and all the world. When
he comes to know me better, the Edith of his imagination
will vanish like his other shadows, and he will have another
revelation that I am an ordinary, flesh-and- blood girl."

With deepening color she continued: "So it was he who
lifted me up that night. Well, I am glad it was one who
pitied me, and not some coarse, unfeeling man. It seems
strange how circumstances have brought him who shuns
and is shunned by all, into such a queer relationship to
me. But heaven forbid that I should give him lessons as
to the selfish, matter-of-fact world. He will outgrow his
morbidness and romantic chivalry with the certainty of
years, and seeing more of me will banish his absurd delu-
sions in regard to me. I need his friendship and help — ^in-
deed it seems as if they were sent to me. It can do him no
harm, and it may give me a chance to do him good. If any
man ever needed a sensible friend, he does."

Therefore Edith wrote him —

*'lt ia very kind of you to offer friendship and help to one situated like
myself, and T gratefully grant what you rather oddly call *a favor.' At the
same time, if you ever find such friendliness a pain or trouble to you in any
way» I shall in no degree blame you for withdrawing it."

THE MYSTERY SOLVED 293

The ^'friendship" and ^'friendliness" were underscored,
thus delicately hinting that this must be the only relation.

"There," she said, "all his chains will now be of his
own forging, and I shall soon demolish the paragon he is
dreaming over."

She laid both letters aside, and took down her Bible
with a little sigh of satisfaction.

"His lonely, empty heart," she murmured; "ah, that is
the trouble with all. He thinks to fill his with a vain dream
of me, as others do with as vain a dream of something else.
I trust I have learned of One here who can fill and satisfy
mine;" and soon she was again deep in the wondrous story,
so old, so new, so all-absorbing to those from whose spirit-
ual eyes the scales of doubt and indifference have fallen.
As she read she saw, not truths about Jesus, but Him^ and
at His feet her heart bowed in stronger faith and deeper love
every moment.

She had not even thought whether she was a Christian
or not. She bad not even once put her finger on her spir-
itual pulse, to gauge the evidences of her faith. A system
of theology would have been unintelligible to her. She
could not have defined one doctrine so as to have satisfied
a sound divine. She had not even read the greater part of
the Bible, but, in her bitter extremity, the Spirit of God,
employing the inspired guide, had brought her to Jesus,
as tiie troubled and sinful were brought to Him of old.
He had given her rest. He had helped her save her sister,
and with childlike confidence she was just looking, lovingly
and trustingly, into His divine face, and He was smiling
away all her fear and pain. She seemed to feel sure that
her mother would get well, that Laura would grow stronger,
that they would all learn to know Him, and would be taken
care of.

As she read this evening she came to that passage of ex-
quisite pathos, where the purest, holiest manhood said to "a
woman of the city, which was a sinner,"

"Thy sins are forgiven. Go in peace."

2M WHAT CAN 8HE DOf

Instantly her thongbtB reverted to Zell, and she was
deeply moved. Could she be forgiven? Could she be
saved? Was the God of the fiible-HStern, afar ofi^ as she
had once imagined — ^more tender toward the erring than
even their own human kindred ? Could it be possible
that, while she had been condemning, and almost hating
Zell, Jesus had been loving her?

The feeling overpowered her. Closing the book, she
leaned her head upon it, and, for the first time, sobbed
and mourned for Zell with a great, yearning pity.

Every such pitiful tear, the world over, is a prayer to
God. It mingles with those that flowed from His eyes as
He wept over the doomed city that would not receive Him.
It mingles with that crimson tide which flowed from His
hands and feet when He prayed —

^'Father, forgive them; for they know not what they do.' '

EDITH TELLS THE OLD, OLD STORY 296

M'

CHAPTER XXVIII

EDITH TELLS THE OLD, OLD STOBY

RS. ALLEN seemed better the next day, and Laura
was able to watch while Edith slept. After tea
Mrs. Lacey appeared, with the same subdued air
of quiet self-respect and patient sorrow. She seemed to
have settled down into that mournful calm which hopes
little and fears little. She seemed to expect nothing better
than to go forward, with such endurance as she might, into
the deeper shadows of age, sickness, and death. She vaguely
hoped that God would have mercy upon her at last, but how
to love and trust Him she did not know. She hardly knew
that it was expected, or possible. She associated religion
with going to church, outward profession, and doing much
good. The neighbors spoke of her and the family as "very
* irreligious," and she had about come to the conclusion that
they were right. She never thought of taking credit to her-
self for her devotion to her children and patience with her
husband. She loved the former, especially her son, with
an intensity that one could hardly reconcile with her grave
and silent ways. In regard to her husband, she tried to re-
member her first young girlish dream — the manly ideal of
character that her fond heart had associated with the hand-
some young fellow who had singled her out among the many
envious maidens in her native village.

**I will try to be true to what I thought he was,'* she
said, with woman's pathetic constancy, **and be patient
with what he is."

But the disappointment, as it slowly assumed dread cer-
tainty, broke her heart.

296 WHAT CAN SHE DOf

Edith began to have a fellow-feeling for her. ** We both
have not only our own burdens to carry, but the heavier
burden of another," she thought. **I wonder if she has
ever gone to Him for the *rest.' I fear not, or she would
not look so sad and hopeless."

Before they could go upstairs a hack from the hotel
stopped at the door, and Mrs. Groody bustled cheerily in.
Laura at the same time came down, saying that Mrs. Allen
was asleep.

'* Hannibal," said Edith, '*you may sit on the stairs, and
if she wakes, or makes any sound, let me know," and she
took a seat near the door in order to hear.

'*I've been worryin' about you every minute ever since
I called, and you was too sick to see me," said Mrs. Groody,
"but I've been so busy I couldn't get away. It takes an
awful lot of work to get such a big house to rights, and the
women cleaning and the servants are so aggravating that I
am just run off my legs lookin' after them. I don't see why
people can't do what they're told, when they're told."

**I wish I were able to help you," said Edith. '* Your
promise of work has kept me up wonderfully. But before I
half got my strength back mother became very ill, and, had
it not been for Mrs. Lacey, I don't know what I should have
done. It did seem as if she were sent here yesterday, for I
could not have kept up another hour."

** You poor child," said Mrs. Groody, in a tone and man-
ner overflowing with motherly kindness. *'I just heard about
it to-day from Arden, who was bringin' something up to the
hotel, so I said, *I'll drop everything to-night, and run down
for a while. ' So here I am, and now what can I do for you ?' '
concluded the warm-hearted woman, whose invariable instinct
was to put her sympathy into deeds.

**I told you that night," said Edith. **I think I could
do a little sewing or mending even now if I had it here at
home. But your kindness and remembrance do me more
good than any words of mine can tell you. I thought no
one would ever speak to us again," she continued in a low

EDITH TELLS TBE OLD, OLD STORY 287

tone, and with rising color, ''and I have had kind, helpful
friends sent to me already."

Wistful mother-love shone in Mrs. Lacej's large blue
ejesy but Mrs. G-roody blew her nose like a trumpet, and
said:

**Nol speak to you, poor child 1 Though I ain't on very
good terms with the Lord, I ain't a Pharisee, and after what
I saw of you that night, I am proud to speak to you and do
anything I can for you. It does seem too bad that poor
young things like you two should be so burdened. I should
think you had enough before without your mother gettin'
sick. I don't understand the Lord, nohow. Seems to me
He might scatter His afflictions as well as His favors a little
more evenly. I've thought a good deal about what you said
that night, * We're dealt with in masses,' and poor bodies
like you and me, and Mrs. Lacey there, thai is, 'the human
atoms,' as you called 'em, are lost sight ol''

Tears sprang into £dith's eyes, and she said, earnestly,
**I am sorry I ever said those worda. They are not true.
I should grieve very much if my rash, desperate words did
you harm after all your kindness to me. I have learned
better since I saw you, Mrs. Grroody. We are not lost
sight of. It seems to me the trouble is we lose sight of
Him."

*'Well, well, child, I'm glad to hear you talk in that
way," said Mrs. Groody, despondently. '*I'm dreadfully
discouraged about it all. I know I fell from grace, though,
one awfully hot summer, when everything went wrong, and
I got on a regular rampage, and that's the reason perhaps.
A she-bear that had lost her cubs wasn't nothin' to me. But
I straightened things out at the hotel, though I came mighty
near bein' sick, but I never could get straight myself after
it. I knowed I ought to be more patient — I knowed it all
the time. But human natur is human natur, and woman
natur is worse yet sometimes. And when you've got on
one hand a score to two of drinkin,' quarrelsome, thievin',
and abominably lazy servants to manage, and on the other

298 WHAT CAN SHE DOf

two or three hundred fastidious people to please, and ele-
gantly dressed ladies who can't manage their three or four
servants at home, dawdlin' up to you every hour in the
day, say in' aboat the same as, Mrs. Groody, everything
ain't done in a minute— everything ain't just right I'd
like, to know where 'tis in this jumbled-up world — not
where they're housekeepers, 1 warrant you.

"Well, as I was telling you," continued Mrs. Groody,
with a weary sigh, "that summer was too much for me. I
got to be a very dragon. I hadn't time to read my Bible,
or pray, or go to church, or scarcely eat or sleep. I worked
Sundays and week days alike, and I got to be a sort of
heathen, and I've been one ever since," and a gloom seemed
to gather on her naturally open, cheery face, as if she feared
she might never be anything else.

Mrs. Lacey gave a deep, responsive sigh, showing that
her heavy heart was akin to all other burdened souls. But
direct, practical Edith said simply and gently:

"In other words, you were laboring and heavy laden."

"Couldn't have been more so, and lived," was Mrs.
Groody 's emphatic answer.

"And the memory of it seems to have been a heavy bur
den on your conscience ever since, though I think you judge
yourself harshly," continued Edith.

"Not a bit," said Mrs. Groody sturdily, "I knowed bet-
ter all the time."

"Well, be that as it may, I feel that I know very little
about these things yet I'm sure I want to be guided rightly.
But what did our Lord mean when He said, *Come unto Me,
all ye that labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you
rest' ?"

Mrs. Groody gave Edith a sort of surprised and startled
look. After a moment she said, "Bless you, child, how
plain you do put it! It's a very plain text when you think
of it, now, ain't it? I always tho't it meant kind o' good,
as all the Bible does."

"No, but He said them," urged Edith, earnestly. "It is

EDITH TELLS THE OLD, OLD STORY 299

a distinct, plain invitation, and it must have a distinct, plain
meaning. I have learned to know that when yon or Mrs.
Lacey say a thing, you mean what you say, and so it is
with all who are sincere and true. Was He not sincere and
true ? If so, these plain words must have a plain meaning.
He surely couldn't have meant them only for the few people
who heard His voice at that time."

**0f course not," said Mrs. Groody, musingly, while poor
Mrs. Lacey leaned forward with such an eager, hungry look
in her poor, worn face, that Edith's heart yearned over her.
Laura came and sat on the floor by her sister's chair, and
leaning her elbow on Edith's knee, and her face on her
hand, looked up with the wistful, trustful, child-like ex-
pression that had taken the place of her former stateliness
and subsequent apathy. Edith lost all thought of herself
in her eagerness to tell the others of the Friend and Helper
she had come to know.

**He must be God, or else He had no right to say to a
great, troubled, sinning world, *Come unto me.' The idea
of a million people going at once, with their sorrows and
burdens, to one mere man, or an angel, or any finite crea-
ture ! And just think how many millions there are ! If the
Bible is for all, this invitation is for all. He couldn't have
changed since then, could He? He can't be difiEerent in
heaven from what He was on earth?"

**No," said Mrs. Groody, quickly, *'for the Bible says
He is *the same yesterday, to-day, and forever.' "

**I never read in that place," said Edith, simply. **That
makes it clearer and stronger than ever. Please, don't
think I am setting myself up as a religious teacher. I
know very little yet myself. I am only seeking the light.
But one thing is settled in my mind, and I like to have one
thing settled before I go on to anything else. This one
thing seems the foundation of everything else, and it ap-
pears as if I could go on from it and learn all the rest. I
am satisfied that this Jesus is God, and that He said, 'Come
Unto me,' to poor, weak, overburdened Edith Allen. I

800 WHAT CAN SHE DOf

went to Him, just as people in trouble used to, when He
first spoke these words. And oh, how He has helped meT'
continued Edith, with tears in her eyes, but with the glad
light of a great hope again shining through them. ''The
world can never know all that He has done for us, and I
can't even think of Him without my heart quivering with
gratitude."

Laura had now buried her face in her sister's lap, and
was trembling like a leaf. Edith's words had a meanmg to
her that they could not have for the others,

'*And now," concluded Edith, "I was led to Him by
these words, *Come unto me, all ye that labor and are
heavy laden, and I will give you rest.' I was in greater
darkness than I had ever been in before. My heart ached
as if it would burst. DiflBculty and danger seemed on every
side, and I saw no way out. I knew the world had only
scorn for us, and I was so bowed down with shame and dis-
couragement that I almost lost all hope. I had been to the
village, and the people looked and pointed at me, till I was
ready to drop in the street But I went to Mr. McTrurap's,
and he and his wife were so kind to me, and heartened me
up a little; and they spoke about the 'Gude Book,' as they
call it, in such a way as made me think of it in my deep
distress and fear, as I sat alone watching with mother. So
I found my neglected Bible, and, in some way, I seemed
guided to these words, 'Come unto me'; and then, for two
or three hours, I continued to read eagerly about Him, till
at last I felt that I could venture to go to Him. So, I just
bowed my head, on His own invitation; indeed, it seemed
like a tender call to a child that had been lost in the dark,
and was afraid, and I said, 'I am heavy laden, help me.'
And how wonderfully He did help me! He has been so
good, so near, ever since. My weary, hopeless heartache
is gone. I don't know what is before us. I can't see the
way out of our troubles. I don't know what has become
of our absent one," she said, in a low tone and with bowed
head, "but I can leave all to Him. He is God: He loves,

EDITH TELLS THE OLD, OLD STORY 801

and He can and will take care of us. So you see I kApw
very little about religion yet; just enough to trust and keep
close to Him; and I feel sure that in time He will teach me,
through the Bible, or in some way, all I ought to know.''

"Bless the child, she's right, she's right," sobbed Mrs.
Groody. '*It was just so at first. He came right among
people, and called all sorts to Him, and they came to Him
just as they was, and stayed with Him, and He cured, and
helped, and taught 'em, till, from being the worst, they be-
came the best That is the way that distressed, swearin',
old fisherman Peter became one of the greatest and best
men that ever lived; though it took a mighty lot of grace
and patience to bring it about. !Now I think of it, I think
he fell from grace worse than I did that awfully hot sum-
mer. What an old fool I am! I've been readin' the Bible
all my life, and never understood it before."

"I think that if you had gone to Him that time when
you were so troubled and overburdened He would have
helped you," said Edith, gently.

"Yes, but there it is, you see," said Mrs. Groody, wiping
her eyes and shaking her head despondently; **I didn't go."

"But you are heavy laden now. I can see it You can
go now," said Edith, earnestly.

"I'm afraid I've put it off too long," said Mrs. Groody,
settling back into something of her old gloom. "I'm afraid
I've sinned away my time."

With a strange blending of pathos and reproach in her
tone, Edith answered:

"Oh", how can you, with your big, kind heart, that
yearned over a poor unknown girl that dreadful night
when you brought me home — how can you think so poorly
of your Saviour ? Is your heart warmer — are your sympa-
thies larger than His? Why, He died for us, and, when
dying, prayed for those who crucified Him. Could you
turn away a poor, sorrowing, burdened creature that came
pleading to you for help ? You know you couldn't Learn
from your own heart something of His. Listen, I haven't

802 WHAT CAN SHE DOt

toW yon all. It seems as if I never conld tell all about
Him. Bnt see how He feels about pooT lost Zell, when I,
her own sister, was almost hating her/' and, reaching her
hand to the table, she took her Bible and read Christ's
words to **a woman of the city, which was a sinner."

At this Mrs. Groody broke down completely, and with
clasped hands and streaming eyes, cried:

**I will go to Him; I will fear and doubt no more."

A trembling hand was now laid on Edith's shoulder,
and, looking up, she saw Mrs. Lacey standing by her side
with a face so white, so eager, so full of unutterable long-
ing, that it might have made a Christian artist's ideal of a
soul famishing for the '* Bread of Life/' In a low, timid,
yet thrilling tone, she asked:

"Miss Allen, do you think He would receive such as
me?"

*'Yeff, thus," cried Edith, as with a divine impulse and
a great yearning pity she sprang up and threw her arms
around Mrs. Lacey.

Hope dawned in the poor worn face like the morning.
Belief in God's love and sympathy seemed to flow into her
sad heart from the other human heart that was pressed
against it. The spiritual electric circle was completed —
Edith, with her hand of faith in God's, took the trembling,
groping hand of another and placed it there also.

Two great tears gathered in Mrs. Lacey's eyes, and she
bowed her head for a moment on Edith's shoulder, and
murmured, **ril try — 1 think I may venture to Him."

Hannibal now appeared at the door, saying, rather husk-
ily and brokenly, considering his message:

''Miss Edie, you'se mudder's awake, an' 'd like some
water."

"That's what we all have been wanting, 'water' — 'the
water of life,' " said Mrs. Groody, wiping her eyes, '*and
never was my parched old heart so refreshed before. I
don't care how hot this summer is, or how aggravatin'
things are, I feel as if I'd be helped through it. And,

EDITH TELLS THE OLD, OLD STORY

my dear, good-night. I come here to try to do you good,
and yoa've done me more good than 1 ever thought could
happen again. I*m goin' to kiss you — 1 can't help it.
Good- by, and may the good Lord bless your sweet face;"
and Mrs. Groody, like one of old, climbed up into her
chariot, and **went on her way rejoicing."

In their close good-night embrace, Laura whispered, *'I
begin to understand it a little now, Edie, but I think I see
everything only through your eyes, not my own.''

**As old Malcom said to me the other day, so now I say
to you, * Ye'U learn it a' soon.' "

Edith soon retired to rest also, and Mrs. Lacey sat at
Mrs. Allen's side, returning the sick woman's slights and
scorn, somewhat as the patient God returns ours, by watch-
ing over her.

Her eyes, no longer cast down with the pathetic discour-
agement of the past, seemed looking far away upon some
distant scene. She was following in her thoughts the steps
of the Magi from the East to where, as yet far distant, the
'*Star of Bethlehem" glimmered with promise and hope.

SM WHAT CAN SHE DOf

CHAPTER XXIX

HANNIBAL LEARNS HOW HIS HEART CAN BS WHITE

WHEN Edith rose the next morning she found Laura
only at her mother's bedside. Mrs. Lacey had
gone home quite early, saying that she would
soon come again. Mrs. Allen's delirium had passed away»
leaving her exceedingly weak, but the doctor said, at his
morning call:

''With quiet and good nursing she will slowly regain
her usual health."

After he was gone, Laura said: ^'Taking care of mother
will now be my work, Edie. I feel a good deal stronger.
I'll doze in a chair during the day, and I am a light sleeper
at night, so I don't think we shall need any more watchers.
Poor Mrs. Lacey works hard at home, I am sure, and I
don't want to trespass on her kindness any longer. So if
Mrs. Groody sends you work you may give all your time
to it."

And early after breakfast quite a bundle did come from
the hotel, with a scrawl from the housekeeper: *'You may
mend this linen, my dear, and I'll send for it to-morrow
night."

Edith's eyes sparkled at the sight of the work as they
never had over the costliest gifts of jewelry. Sitting down
in the airy parlor, no longer kept in state for possible
callers, she put on her thimble, and, with a courage and
heroism greater than those of many a knight drawing for
the first time his ancestral sword, she took her needle and
joined the vast army of sewing- women. Lowly was the

HANNIBAV8 HEART TO BE WHITE 805

position and work first assigned to her — only mending
coarse linen. And yet it was with a thrill of gratitude
and joy, and a stronger hope than she had yet experienced,
that she sat down to the first real work for which she would
be paid, and in her exultation she brandished her little
needle at the spectres want and fear, as a soldier might
his weapon.

Hannibal stood in the kitchen regarding her with moist
eyes and features that twitched nervously.

**0h, Miss Edie, I neber tho't you'd come to dat."

**It's one of the best things I've come to yet," said
Edith, cheerily. **We shall be taken care of, Hannibal.
Cheer up your faithful old heart. Brighter days are
coming. ' '

But, for some reason, Hannibal didn't cheer up, and he
stood looking very wistfully at Edith. At last he com-
menced:

**It does my ole black heart good to hear you talk so,
Miss Edie—"

**Why do you persist in calling your heart black? It's
no such thing," interrupted Edith.

"Yes, 'tis, Miss Edie," said Hannibal, despondently,
"I'se know 'tis. I'se black outside, and I allers kinder
feel dat I'se more black inside. Neber felt jes right here
yet, Miss Edie," said the old man, laying his hand on his
breast. "I come de nighest to't de toder day when you
said you lubbed me. Dat seemed to go down deep, but not
quite to whar de trouble stays all de time.

*'But, Miss Edie," continued he in a whisper, *'I'se hope
you'll forgive me, but I couldn't help listenin' to you last
night. I neber heerd such talk afore. It seemed to broke
my ole black heart all up, and made it feel like de big rib-
ers down souf in de spring, when dey jes oberflow eberytmg.
I says to myself, dat's de Friend Miss Edie say she's gwine
to tell me 'bout. And now. Miss Edie, would you mind
tellin' me little 'bout Him? Cause if He's your Friend, I'd
t'ink a heap of Sim, too. Not dat I specs He's gwine to

806 WHAT CAN SHE DOt

bodderwid dis ole niggah, but den I'd jes like to hear 'bout
Him a little."

Edith laid down her work, and turned her glorious dark
eyes, brimming over with sympathy, on the poor old fellow,
as he stood in the doorway fairly trembling with the excess
of his feeling.

**Come and sit down here by me,'' she said.

**0h. Miss Edie, I'se isn't—"

'*No words — come."

Hannibal crouched down on a divan near.

*' What makes you think He wouldn't bother with you ?"

*'Well, I'se don't know 'zactly. Miss Edie. I'se only
Hannibal."

** Hannibal," said Edith, earnestly, **you are the best
man I know in all the world."

*0h, Lor bless you, Miss Edie, how you talkl you'se jes
done gone crazy."

"No I haven't. I never spoke in more sober earnest.
You are faithful and true, unselfish and patient, and abound
m the best material of which men are made. 1 admit," she
added, with a twinkle in her eye, *'that one yeivj common
element of manhood, as I have observed it, is dreadfully
lacking, that is conceit I wish I were as good as you are,
Hannibal."

*'0h, Miss Edie, don't talk dat way, you jes done dis-
courages me. If you'd only say, Hannibal, you'se sick, but
I'se got a mighty powerful medicine for you; if you'd only
say, I know you isn't good; I know your ole heart is black,
but i know a way to make it white, I'd stoop down and kiss
de ground you walks on. Dere's sumpen wrong here. Miss
Edie," said he, laying his hand on his breast again, and
shaking his head, with a tear in the corner of each eye —
*'I tells you dere's sumpen wrong. I don't know jes
what 'tis. My heart's like a baby a-cryin' for it doesn't
know what. Den it gits jes like a stun, as hard and as
heavy. I don't understan' my ole heart; I guess it's
kinder sick and wants a doctor, 'cause it don't work

HANNIBAUa HEART TO BE WHITE 807

Tight But dere*s one ting I does understan'. It
*pears dat it would be a good heaven *nuff if Tse
could allers be waitin' on you alls. But Massa Allen's
gone; Miss Zell, poor chile, is gone; and I'se growin'
ole, Miss Bdie, Fse growin' ole. De wool is white, de
jints are stiff, and de feet tired. Dey can't tote dis ole
body roun' much longer. Where am I gwine, Miss Edie?
What's gwine to become of ole Hannibal ? I'se was allers
afeard of de dark. If I could only find you in de toder
world and wait on you, dat's all I ask, but I'se afeard TU
get lost, it seems such a big, empty place. '*

**Poor old Hannibal! Then you are * heavy laden' too,"
said Edith, gently.

"Indeed I is, Miss Edie; 'pears as if I couldn't stan' it
anoder minute. And when I heerd you talkin' about dat
Friend last night, and tellin' how good He was to people,
and He seemed to do you such a heap of good, I thought
dat I would jes like to hear little 'bout Him."

"Wait till I get my Bible," said Edith.

"Bless you. Miss Edie, you'se needn't stop your work.
You can jes tell me anyting dat come into you'se head."

"Then I wouldn't be like Him, Hannibal. He used to
stop and give the kindest and most patient attention to every
one that came to Him, and, as far as I can make out, the
poorer they were, the more sinful and despised they seemed,
the more attention He gave to them."

" Dat' s mighty quar," said Hannibal, musingly; "not a
bit like de big folks dat I'se seen."

"I don't understand it all myself yet, Hannibal. But
the Bible tells me that He was God come down to earth to
save the world. He says to the lost and sinful — to all who
are poor and needy — in brief, to the heavy laden, 'Come
unto me.' So I went to Him, Hannibal, and you can go
just as well."

The old man's eyes glistened, but he said, doubtfully,
"Yes, but den you'se Miss Edie, and I'se only black Han-
nibal. I wish we'd all lived when He was here. I might

808 WHAT CAi\ SHE DOf

have shine His boots, and done little tings for Him, so He'd
say, 'Poor ole Hannibal, you does as well as yon knows
how. I'll 'member you, and you shan't go away in de
dark.'"

Edith smiled and cried at the same time over the quaint
pathos of the simple creature's words, but she said, ear-
nestly, *'You need not go away in the dark, for He said, *I
am the light of the world, ' and if you go to Him you will
always be in the light."

'"I'd go in a minute," said Hannibal, eagerly, **if I only
know'd how, and wasn't afeard." Then, as if a sudden
thought struck him, he asked, "Miss Edie, did He eber hab
any ting to do wid a black man ?"

Edith was so unfamiliar with the Bible that she could
not recall any distinct case, but she said, with the earnest-
ness of such full belief on her part, that it satisfied his child-
like mind, "I am sure He did, for all kinds of people —
people that no one else would touch or look at — came to
Him, or He went to them, and spoke so kindly to them and
forgave all their sins."

"Bress Him, Miss Edie, dat kinder sounds like what I
wants."

Edith thought a moment, and, with her quick, logical
mind, sought to construct a simple chain of truth that
would bring to the trusting nature she was trying to guide
the perfect assurance that Jesus' love and mercy embraced
him as truly as herself.

They made a beautiful picture that moment; she with
her hands, that had dropped all earthly tasks for the sake
of this divine work, clasped in her lap, her lustrous eyes
dewy with sympathy and feeling, looking far away into the
deep blue of the June sky, as if seeking some heavenly in-
spiration; and quaint old Hannibal, leaning forward in his
eagerness, and gazing upon her, as if his life depended upon
her next utterances.

It was a picture of the Divine Artist's own creation. He
had inspired the faith in one and the questioning unrest in

HANNIBAVa HEART TO BE WHITE 8W

the other. He, with Edith's lips, as ever by human lips,
was teaching the way of life. Glorious privilege, that our
weak voioes should be as the voice of God, telling the lost
and wandering where lies the way to life and home I The
angels leaned over the golden walls to watch that scene,
while many a proud pageant passed unheeded.

'* Hannibal," said Edith, after her momentary abstrac-
tion, **God made everything, didn't He?"

'*Sartin."

*'Then He made you, and you are one of His creatures,
are you not?"

*'SartinIis, Miss Bdie."

^'Then see here what is in the Bible. Almost the last
thing He said to His followers before He went up into
heaven, was, *Go ye into all the world and preach the gos-
pel to every creature.' Gospel means *good news,' and the
good news was, that God had come down from heaven and
become a man, so we wouldn't be afraid of Him, and that
He would take away their sins and save all who would let
Him. Now, remember. He didn't send His preachers to the
white people, nor to the black people, but to all the world,
to every creature alike, and so He meant you and me, Han-
nibal, and you as much as me. I am just as sure He will
receive you as that He received me."

**Dat's 'nuff, Miss Edie. Ole Hannibal can go too. And
I'se a-gwine. Miss Edie, I'se a-gwine right to Him. Dare's
only one ting dat troubles me yet. What is I gwine to do
wid my ole black heart? I know dere's sumpen wrong wid
it. It's boddered me all my life."

'*0h, Hannibal," said Edith, eagerly, **I was reading
something last night that I think will just suit you, I
thought I would read a little in the Old Testament, and
I turned to a place that I didn't understand very well,
but I came to these words, and they made me think of you,
for you are always talking about your *old black heart.' "
And she read:

"I will give them one heart, and I will put a new spirit

810 WHAT CAN SHE DOf

within you; and I will take the stony heart out of their
flesh and will give them an heart of flesh.''

To Hannibal the words seemed a revelation from heaven.
Standing before her, with streaming eyes, he said : .

*'0h. Miss Edie, you'se been an angel of light to me.
Dat was jes de berry message I wanted. I knowed my ole
heart was nothin' but a black stun. De Lord coaldn't do
nothin' wid it but trow it away. But tanks be to His name,
He says He'll give me a new one — a heart of flesh. Now
I sees dat my heart can be white like yours, Miss £die.
Bress de Lord, I'se a-gwine, I'se a-comin'," and Hannibal
vanished into the kitchen, feeling that he must be alone in
the glad tumult of his emotions.

EDITH'S AND ARDEN'8 FRIENDSHIP 311

CHAPTER XXX

EDITH'S AND ABDEN'S FBIENDSHIP

AS Edith laid aside her work for a frugal dinner at one
o'clock, she heard the sound of a hoe in her garden.
The thought of Arden at once recurred to her, but
looking out she saw old Malcom. Throwing a handker-
chief over her head, she ran out to him, exclaiming:

*'How good you are, Mr. McTrump, to come and help
me when I know you are so very busy at home I"

**Weel, no thin' to boast on," replied Malcom; **I tho't
that if ye had na one a-lookin' after the garden save Hanni-
bal's *spook,' ye'd have but a ghaistly crop. But I'm a-
thinkin' there's mair than a ghaist been here."

*'It was Arden Lacey," said Edith, frankly, but with
deepening color. Malcom, in telling his wife about it, said,
**She looked like the rose-bush, a' in bloom, that she was
a-stonnin' beside."

Edith, seeing the mischievous twinkle in her little
friend's eye, added hastily, **Both Mrs. Lacey and her son
have been very kind to us in our sickness and trouble, as
well as yourself. But, Mr. McTrump," she continued,
anxious to change the subject, also eager to speak on the
topic uppermost in her thoughts, *'I think I am beginning
to * learn it a',' as you said, about that good Friend who
saJBfered for us that we might not suffer. What you and
your wife said to me the other day led me to read the *Q-ude
Book' after I got home. I don't feel as I did then. I think
I can trust Him now."

Malcom dropped his hoe and came over into the path
beside her.

812 WHAT CAN SHE DOf

**God be praised!" he said. "I gieye the right hond o'
fellowship an' welcome ye into the kirk o' the Lord. Yq
noo belong to the hoasehold o' faith, an' God's trae Israel,
an' may His gude Spirit guide ye into all truth."

The little man spoke very earnestly, and with a certain
dignity and authority that his small stature aud rude work-
ing-dress could not diminish. A sudden feeling of solemuity
and awe came over Edith, and she felt as if she were cross-
ing the mystic threshold and entering the one true church
consisting of all believers in Christ

For a moment she reverently bowed her head, and a
sweeter sense of security came over her, as if she were no
longer an outsider, but had been received into the house-
hold.

Malcom, ''a priest unto G-od" through his faith, officiated
at the simple ceremony. The birds sang the choral service.
The wind-shaken roses, blooming around her, with their
sweet ordos, were the censers and incense, and the sun-
lighted garden, the earliest sacred place of Bible history,
where the first fair woman worshipped, was the hallowed
ground of the initiatory rite.

**Why, Mr. McTrump, I feel almost as if I had joined
the church," said Edith, after a moment.

*'An' sae ye ha' afore God, an' I hope ere long ye' 11
openly profess yer faith before men."

*'Do you think I ought?" said Edith, thoughtfully.

*'0f coorse I do, but the Gude Book' 11 teach a' aboot it.
Ye canna gang far astray wi' that to guide ye."

*'I would like to join the church that you belong to,
Mr. McTrump, as soon as I feel that 1 am ready, for it was
you and your good wife that turned my thoughts in the
right direction. I was almost desperate with trouble and
shame when I came to you that afternoon, and it was your
speaking of the Bible and Jesus, and especially your kind-
ness, that made me feel that there might be some hope and
help in God."

The old man's eyes became so moist that he turned away

EDITH'S AND ARDEJTS FBIEND8HIP 818

for a moment, but recovering himself after a little, he
said:

**See, noo, our homely deeds and words can be like the
seeds we drop into the mould. Look aroon once and see
how green and grand the garden is, and a' from the wee
brown seeds we planted the spring. Sae would the garden
o' the Lord bloom and floorish if a' were droppin' a 'word
in season' and a bit o' kindness here and there. But if I
stay here an' preach to ye that need na preachin', these sins
o' the garden, the weeds, will grow apace. Go you an' look
in yer strawberry- bed."

With an exclamation of delight, Edith pounced upon a
fair-sized red berry, the first she had picked from her own
vines. Then glancing around, she saw one and another
showing its red cheek through the green leaves, till with
a little cry of exultation she said:

* * Oh, Mr. McTrump, I'Uget enough for mother and Laura. ' '

''Aye, and enoof to moisten yer own red lips wi' too,
I'm a-thinkin'. There'll be na crop the year wourth speak-
in' of; but next June 'twill puzzle ye to gither them. But
ye a' can ha' a dainty saucer yoursels the season, when
ye're a mind to stoop for them."

Edith soon had the pleasure of seeing her mother and
Laura enjoying some, and, as Malcom said, there were plenty
for her, and they tasted like the ambrosia of the gods.
Varied experiences had so thoroughly engrossed her
thoughts and time the past few days, that she had scarcely
looked toward her garden. But with the delicious flavor
of the strawberries lingering in her mouth, and with the
consciousness that she enjoyed picking them much more
than sewing, the thought of winning her bread by the cul-
ture of the ground grew in her favor.

''Oh, how much rather would I be out there with Mal-
com I" she sighed.

Glancing up from her work daring the afternoon, she
saw Arden Lacey on his way to the village. There was a
strange mingling of hope and fear in his mind. His mo.
14— Rob— X

814 WHAT CAN SHE DOf

ttier's manner had been such as to lead him to say when
alone with her after breakfast:

*'I think your watching has done you good, mother, in-
stead of wearying you too much, as I feared."

She had suddenly turned and placed both her hands on
his shoulders, saying:

^^Arden, I hardly dare speak of it yet It seems too
good to be true, but a hope is coming into my heart like
the dawn after night. She's worthy of your love, however
it may result, and if I find true what she told me last night
I shall have reason to bless her name forever; but I see
only a glimmer of light yet, and 1 rejoice with fear and
trembling." And she told him what had occurred.

He was deeply moved, but not for the same cause as his
mother. His desire and devotion went no further than
Edith. ''Can she have read my letter?" he thought, and
he was consumed with anxiety for some expression of her
feeling toward him. Therefore he was glad that business
called him to the village that afternoon, but his steps were
slow as he approached the little cottage, and his eyes were
upon it as a pilgrim gazes at a shrine he long has sought
He envied Malcom working in the garden, and felt that if
he could work there every day, it would be Adam's life be-
fore he fell. Then he caught a glimpse of Edith sewing at
the window, and he dropped his eyes instantly. He would
not be so afraid of a battery of a hundred guns as of that
poor sewing-girl (for such Edith now was), stitching away on
Mrs. Groody's coarse hotel linen. But Edith had noted his
timid, wistful looks, and calling Hannibal, said:

"Please give that note to Mr. Lacey. He is just passing
toward the village."

Hannibal, with the impressive dignity he had learned in
olden times, handed the missive to Arden, saying, ''Miss
Edie telled me to guv you dis 'scription."

If Hannibal had been Hebe he could not have been a
more welcome messenger.

Arden could not help his hand trembling as he took

EDITH'S AND ARDEN'S FRIENDSHIP 816

the letter, bat he managed to say, ''I hope Miss Allen is
well/'

**Her health am berry mach disproved," and Hannibal
retired with a stately bow.

Arden quickened his steps, holding the missive in his
hand. As soon as he was oat of sight, he opened and
devoured Edith's words. The light of a great joy dawned
in his face, and made it look noble and beautiful, as indeed
almost every human face appears when the light of a pure
love falls upon it Where most men would have murmured
at the meagre return for their affection, he felt himself im-
measurably rewarded and enriched, and it seemed as if he
were walking on air the rest of the day. With a face set
like a flint, he resolved to be true to the condition implied
in the underscored word * 'friendship,'* and never to whis-
per of love to her again. But a richer experience was still
in store for him. For, on his return, in the cool of the
evening, Edith was in the garden picking currants. She
saw him comiug, and thought, '*If he is ever to be a friend
worth the name, I must break the ice of his absurd diffi-
dence and formality. And the sooner he comes to know
me as I am, the sooner he will find out that I am like other
people, and he will have a new 'revelation' that will care
him of his infatuation. I would like him for », friend very
much, not only because I need his help, but because one
likes a little society now and then, and he seems so well
educated, if he is 'quar,' as Hannibal says." So she startled
poor Arden almost as much as if one of his Shakespearean
heroines had called him in audible voice, by saying, as he
came opposite her:

"Mr. Lacey, won't you come in a moment and tell me
if it is time to pick my currants, and whether you think I
could sell them in the village, or at the hotel?"

This address, so matter-of-fact in tone and character,
seemed to him like the Jane twilight, containing, in some
subtle manner, the essence of all that was beautiful and fall
of promise in his heart-history. He bowed and went toward

816 WHAT CAN SHE DOf

the little gate to comply with her request, as Adam might
if he had been created outside of Eden and Eve inside, and
she had looked over a flowering hedge in the parple twilight
and told him to come in. He was not going merely to look
at currants and consider their marketable condition; he was
entering openly upon the knightly service to which he had
devoted himself. He was approaching his idol, which was
not a heathen stock or stone, but a sweet little woman. In
regard to the currants, he ventured dubiously —

**They might do for pies."

In regard to herself, his eyes said, in spite of his purpose
to be merely friendly, that she was too good for the gods of
Mount Olympus. He both amused and interested Edith,
whose long familiarity with society and lack of any such
feeling as swayed him made her quite at ease. With a
twinkle in her eyes, she said:

**I have thought that perhaps Mrs. Groody could help
me find sale for them at the hotel.''

*'I am going there to-morrow, and I will ask her for you,
if you wish,'* said Arden, timidly.

**Thank you," replied Edith. * 'I shall be very much
obliged to you ^ you will. You see, I wish to sell every-
thing out of the garden that I can find a market for."

She was rather astonished at the effect of this mercenary
speech, for there was a wonderful blending of sympathy and
admiration in his face as he said:

*'I am frequently going to the hotel and village, and if
you will let me know what you have to dispose of, I can find
out whether it is in demand, and carry it to market for you. "
He could not help adding, with a voice trembling with feel-
ing, ''Miss Allen, I am so glad you permit me to be of some
help to you."

"Oh, dear!" thought Edith, ** how can I make him un-
derstand what I really am?" She turned to him with an
expression that was both perplexed and quizzical, and said:

**Mr. Lacey, I very frankly and gratefully accept your
delicately offered friendship (emphasizing the last word).

EDITH'S AND ARDEN'S FRIENDSHIP 817

not only because of mj need, but of jours also. If anj
one needs a sensible friend, I think jou do. Y^ou truly
must have lived a * hermit's life in the world' to have such
strange ideas of people. Let me tell you as a perfect cer-
tainty, that no such person exists as the Edith Allen that
you have imagined. She is no more a reality than your
other shadows, and the more you know of me, the sooner
you will find it out. I am not in the least like a herome in
a romance. I live on the most substantial food rather than
moonlight, and usually have an excellent appetite. I am
the most practical matter-of-fact creature in existence, and
you will find no one in this place more sharp on the ques-
tion of dollars and cents. Indeed, I am continually in a
most mercenary frame of mind, and this very moment here,
in the romantic June twilight, if you ransacked history,
poetry, and all the fine arts, you could not tell me any-
thing half so beautiful, half so welcome, as how to make
money in a fair, honorable way. ' '

** There," thought she, **that will be another 'revelation'
to him. If he don't jump over the garden fence in his haste
to escape such a monster, I shall be glad."

But Arden's face only grew more grave and gentle as he
looked down upon her, and he asked:

''Is it because you love the money itself, Miss Allen?"

''Well, no," said Edith, somewhat taken aback. "I can
never earn enough to make it worth while to do that. Mi-
sers love to count their money," she added, with a little
pathetic accent in her voice, "and I fear mine will go be-
fore I can count it."

"You wish me to think less of you, then, because you
are bravely, and without thought of sparing yourself, try-
ing to earn money to provide home-shelter and comfort for
your feeble mother and sister. You wish me to think you
commonplace because you have the heroism to do any kind
of work, rather than be helpless and dependent Pardon
me, but for such a 'practical, matter-of-fact' lady, I do not
think your logic is good."

818 WHAT CAN SHE DOf

Edith's vexation and perplexity only increased, and she
said, earnestly, '^fiat I wish yon to understand that I am
only Edith Allen, and as poor as poverty, nothing but a
sewing girl, and only hoping to arrive at the dignity of a
gardener. The majority of the world thinks I am not even
fit to speak to,'' she added, in a low tone.

Arden bowed his head, as if in reverence before her, and
then said, firmly:

''And I wish you to understand that I am only Arden
Lacey, with a sot for a father, and the scorn, contempt, and
hatred of all the world as my heritage. I am a slipshod
farmer. Our place is heavily mortgaged, and will even-
tually be sold away from us. It grows more weeds now
than anything else; and it seems that nettles have been the
principal crop that I have reaped all my life. Thus, you
see, I am poorer than poverty, and am rich only in my
mother, and, eventually, I hope," he added timidly, ''in
the possession of your friendship, Miss Allen; I shall try
so sincerely and hard to deserve it.'*

With a frown, a laugh, and a shy look of sympathy at
him, Edith said, ''I don't see but you have got to find out
your mistake for yourself. Time and facts cure many fol-
lies. ' ' But she found little encouragement in his incredu-
lous smile."

The next moment she turned upon him so sharply that
he was startled.

"I am a business woman," she said, "and conduct my
affairs on business principles. You said, I think, you would
help nae find a market for the produce of my place ?' '

"Certainly," he replied.

''As certainly you must take fifteen per cent commission
on all sales."

"Oh, Miss Allen," commenced Arden, "I couldn't — "

"There," said she, decisively, "you haven't the first idea
of business. Not a thing can you touch unless you com-
ply with my conditions. There is no sentiment, I assure
you, connected with currants and cabbages."

EDITH'S AND ARDEN'S FRIENDSHIP 819

''You may be certain, Miss Allen, that I would comply
with any condition," said Arden, with the air of one who is
cornered, "but let me suggest, since we are arranging this
matter so strictly on business grounds, that ten per cent is
all I should take. That is the regular commission, and is
all I pay in sending produce to New York."

**0h, I didn't know that,*' said the experienced and un-
compromising woman of business, innocently. ''Do you
think that would pay you for your trouble?"

"I think it would," he replied, so demurely and yet
with such a twinkle in his blue eyes, that now looked very
di£Eerent with the light of hope and happiness in them, that
£dith turned away with a laugh.

But she said, with assumed sharpness, "See that you
keep your accounts straight I shall be a very dragon over
your account- book."

Thus the ice was broken, and Edith and Arden became
friends.

The future has now been quite clearly indicated to the
reader, and, lest my story should grow wearisome as a
"twice-told tale," we pass over several subsequent months
with but a few words.

It was not a good fruit year, and Edith's place had been
sadly neglected previous to her possession. Therefore,
though Arden surprised himself in the sharp business traits
he developed as Edith's salesman, the results were not very
large. But still they greatly assisted her, and amounted to
more than the earnings of her unskilled hands from other
sources. She insisted on doing everything on business
principles, and made Arden take his ten per cent, which
was of real help to him in this way: he gave all the money
to his mother, saying, "/couldn't spend it to save my life."
Mrs. Lacey had many uses for every penny she could obtain.

Then Edith paid old Malcom by making up bouquets for
sale at the hotel, and arranging baskets of flowers for parties
there and elsewhere, and other lighter labors. Mrs. Oroody
continued to send her work; and thus during the summer

820 WHAT CAN SHE DOf

and early fall she managed to make her garden and her
labor provide for all family expenses, saving what was left
of the four hundred, after paying all debts, for winter need-
Moreover, she stored away in cellar and attic enough of the
products of the garden to be of great help also.

Mrs. Allen did recover her usual health, and also her
usual modes of thought and feeling. The mental and
moral habits of a lifetime are not readily changed. Often
and earnestly did Edith talk with her mother, but with few
evidences of the result she longed to see.

Mrs. Allen's condition, in view of the truth, was the
most hopeless one of all. She saw only her preconceived
ideas, and not the truth itself. One day she said, with
some irritation, to Edith, who was pleading with her:

**Do you think I am a heathen? Of course, I believe
the Bible. Of course, I believe in Jesus Christ. I have
been a member of the church ever since I was sixteen.'*

Edith sighed, and thought, ''Only He who can satisfy
her need can reveal it to her.'*

Poor Mrs. Allen! With the strange infatuation of a
worldly mind, she was turning to the world, and it alone,
for hope and solace. Untaught by. the wretched experience
of the past, she was led to enter upon a new and similar
scheme for the aggrandissement of her family, as will be
explained in another chapter.

Laura regained her strength somewhat, and was able to
relieve Edith of the care of her mother and the lighter
duties of the house. Her faith developed like that shy,
delicate blossom called the 'Vind-flower," easily shaken,
and yet with a certain hardiness and power to live and
thrive in sterile places.

Edith and Mrs. Lacey were eventually received into the
church that Malcom attended, and, after the simple service,
they took dinner with the old Scotchman and his wife.
Malcom seemed hardly ''in the body" all day.

"My heart's a- bloom," he said, "wi' a' the sweet posies
that God ever made blush when he looked at them the first

EDITH'S AND ABDEN'S FRIENDSHIP 821

lime, an' ye seem the sweetest o' them a', Miss Edith. Ah,
but the Gude Husbandman gathered a fair blossom the
day."

'*Now, Mr. McTrump," said Edith, reproachfully, but
with a face like Malcom's posies, **you shouldn't give com-
pliments on Sunday." For Arden and Bose were present
also, and Edith thought, *^Such foolish words will only
increase his infatuation."

^^Weel," said Malcom, scratching his head, in his per-
plexed effort at apology, "I wud na mak ye vain, nor hurt
yer conscience, but it kind o* slippit out afore I could
stop it."

In the laugh that followed Malcom's explanation Edith
felt that matters had not been helped much, and she adroitly
turned the conversation.

Public opinion, from being at first very bitter and scorn-
ful against the Aliens, gradually began to soften. One after
another, as they recognized Edith's patient, determined
effort to do right, began to give her the credit and the
respect to which she was entitled. Little acts and tokens
of kindly feeling became more frequent, and were like
glints of sunlight on her shadowed path. But the great
majority felt that they could have no associations with
such as the Aliens, and completely ignored them.

In their relations with the church, Edith and Mrs. Lacey
found increasing satisfaction. Many of its hun^ble, and
some of its more influential, members treated them with
much kindness and sympathy, and they realissed more and
more that there are good, kind people in the world, if
you look in the right way and right places for them. The
Rev. Mr. Knox was a faithful preacher and pastor, and if
his sermons were a little dry and doctrinal at times, they
were as sound and sweet as a nut Moreover, both Edith
and Mrs. Lacey were sadly deficient in the doctrines,
neither having ever had any religious instruction, and they
listened with the grave, earnest interest of those desiring
to be taught.

822 WHAT CAN SHE DOf

Mre. Groody reconnected herself with her old church.
'*I want to go where I can shout * Glory 1' '* she said.

Rose but faintly sympathized with her mother^s feelings.
Her restless, ambitious spirit turned longingly toward the
world. Its attractions she could understand, but not those
of faith. Through her father^s evil habits, and Arden's
poor farming, the pressure of poverty rested heavier and
heavier on the family, and she had about resolved to go to
New York and find employment in some store.

Arden rarely went to church, but read at home. He was
somewhat sceptical in regard to the Bible, not that he had
ever carefully examined either it or its evidences, but he
had read much of the prevalent semi-infidelity, and was a
little conceited over his independent thinking. Then, in
a harsh, sweeping cynicism, he utterly detested church
people, calling them the "holy sect of the Pharisees.**

*'Bat they are not all such," his mother would say.

'*0h, no,'* he would reply; **there are some sincere
ones, of course; but I think they would be better out
than in such a company of hypocrites."

But as he saw Edith's sincerity, and learned of her pur-
pose to unite with the church, he kept these views more
and more in the background; but he had too much respect
for her and his mother's faith to go with them to what they
regarded as a sacred place, from merely the personal motive
of being near Edith.

One day Mrs. Lacey and Edith walked down to the
evening prayer- meeting. Arden, who had business in the
village, was to call for them at its close; as they were walk-
ing home, Edith suddenly asked him:

** Why don't you go to church?"

**I don't like the people I meet there."

'* What have you against them ?' '

"Well, there is Mr. Hard. He is one of the 'lights and
pillars' ; and he would have sold the house over your head
xf you had not paid him. He can 'devour a widow's house'
as well as they of olden time."

EDITH'S AND ARDEN'S FRIENDSHIP 828

**That is not the question/' said the practical Edith,
earnestly. '*What have you to do with Mr. Hard, or he
with you ? Does he propose — is he able to save you ? The
true question is, What have you got against Jesus. Christ?"

"Well, really, Miss Edith, I can have nothing against
Uim. Both history and legend unite in presenting Him as
one of the purest and noblest of men. But pardon me if I
say in all honesty that I cannot quite accept your belief in
regard to Him and the Bible in general. A man can hardly
be a man without exercising the right of independent thought.
I cannot take a book called the Bible for granted."

'*But," asked, Edith keenly, '*are you not taking other
books for granted? Answer me truly, Mr. Lacey, have
you carefully and patiently investigated this subject, not
only on the side of your sceptical writers, but on God's
side also ? He has plenty of facts, as well as the infidels,
and my rich, lasting, rational, spiritual experience is as
mach a fact as that stone there, and a good deal higher
and better one, I think."

Arden was silent for some little time, and they could see
in the moonlight that his face was very grave and thought-
ful. At last he said, as if it had been wrung from him:

"Miss Allen, to be honest with you and myself, I have
never given the subject such a fair examination." After a
moment he continued, "Even if 1 became convinced that
all were true, I might still remain at home, for I could find
far more advantage in reading books, or the Bible itself,
than from Mr. Knox's dry sermons."

"I think you are wrong," said Edith, gently but firmly.
"Granting the premise you admitted a moment ago, that
Christ was one of the purest and noblest of men, you surely,
with your chivalric instincts, would say that such a man
ought to be imitated."

"Yes," said Arden, "and He denounced the Pharisees."

"And He worshipped with them also," said Edith,
quickly. "He went to the temple with the others. What
was there to interest Him in the dreary forlorn little syna-

824 WHAT CAN SHE DOf

gogue at Nazareth ? and yet He was there with the regularity
of the Sabbath. It was the best form of faith and worship
then existing, and He sustained it by every means in His
power, till He could give the people something better.
Suppose all the churches in this place were closed, not
one in a hundred would or could read the books you refer
to. If your example were followed they would be closed.
As far as your example goes it tends to close them. I have
heard Mr. Knox say, that wherever Christian worship and
the Christian Sabbath are not observed, society rapidly
deteriorates. Is it not true?"

They had stopped at Edith's gate. Arden averted his
face for a moment, then turning toward £dith he gave her
his hand, saying:

''Yes, it is true, and a true, faithful friend you have
been to me to-night I admit myself vanquished.*'

Edith gave his hand a cordial pressure, saying earnestly,
*'You are not vanquished by the young ignorant girl,
Edith Allen, but by the truth that will yet vanquish the
world."

After that Arden went regularly with them to church,
and tried to give sincere attention to the service, but his
uncurbed fancy was wandering to the ends of the earth
most of the time; or his thoughts were dwelling in rapt
attention on Edith. She, after all, was the only object of
his faith and worship, though he had a growing intellectual
conviction that her faith was true.

And so the months passed into autumn, but with the
nicest sense of honor he refrained from word or deed that
would remind Edith that he was her lover. She became
greatly attached to him, and he seemed almost like a brother
to her. She found increasing pleasure in his society, for
Arden, after the restraint of his diffidence was banished,
could talk well, and he opened to her the rich treasures
of his reading, and with almost a poet's fancy and power
pictured to her the storied past.

To both herself and Mrs. Lacey, life grew sunnier and

EDFTWS AND ABDEirS FRIENDSHIP 826

sweeter. But they each had a heavy burden on their hearts,
which they daily brought to the feet of the Compassionate
One. They united in praying for Mrs. Lacey's husbandi
and for Zell; and their strong faith and love would take
no denial But, as Laura had said, the silence of the grave
seemed to have swallowed lost ZelL

626 WHAT CAN SHE DOf

CHAPTER XXXI

ZELIi

'^ A ND the silence of the grave ought to swallow snch
/\ as poor Zell had become," is, perhaps, the thought
^ ^ of some. AH reference to her and her class should
be suppressed.

We firmly say. No! If so, the New Testament must be
suppressed. The Divine Teacher spoke plainly both of the
sin and the sinner. He had scathing denunciation forthe
one, and compassion and mercy for the other. Shall we
enforce His teachings against all other forms of evil, and
not against this deadliest one of all — and that, too, in the
laxity and wide demoralization of our age, when temptation
lurks on every hand, and parents are often sleepless with
jast anxiety ?

Evil is active, alluring, suggesting, insinuating itself
when least expected, and many influences are at work, with
the full approval of society, to poison forever all pure
thoughts. And temptation is sure to come at first as an
angel of light.

There is no safety save in solemn words of warning, the
wholesome terror which knowledge inspires, the bracing of
principle, and the ennobling of Christian faith. There are
too many incarnate fiends who will take advantage of the
innocence of ignorance.

Zell is not in her grave. She is sinning, but more sinned
against He who said to one like her, of old, *^Her sins,
which are many, are forgiven,** loves her still, and Edith
is praying for her. The grave cannot close over her yet

Bui as we look upon this long-lost one, as she reclines

ZELL 827

on a sofa in Van Dam's luxurious apartments, as we see
her temples throbbing with pain, and that her cheeks are
flushed and feverish, it would seem that the grave might
soon hide her from a contemptuous and vindictive world.

Her head does ache sadly — it seems bursting with pain;
but her heart aches with a bitterer anguish. Zell had too
fine a nature to sin brutally and unfeelingly. Her betray-
er's treachery wounded her more deeply than he could un-
derstand. Even her first strong love for him could not
bridge the chasm of guilt to which he led her, and her pas-
sionate nature and remorse often caused her to turn upon
him with such scathing reproaches that even he, in his
hardihood, trembled.

Knowing how proud and high-strung she was, he feared
to reveal his treachery in New York, a locality with which
she was familiar; so he said that very important business
called him at once to Boston, a city where he bad few ac-
quaintances. Zell reluctantly acquiesced in this further
journey.

They jaunted about in the North and West through the
summer and autumn, and now have but recently returned
to New York.

With a wild terror she saw that his passion for her was
waning. Therefore, her reproaches and threats became at
times almost terrific, and again her servile entreaties were
even more pitiable and dreadful, in view of what a true
wife's position and right ought to be. He, wearying of
her fierce and alternating moods, and selfishly thinking
of his own ease and comfort, as was ever the case, had
resolved to throw her off at the first opportunity.

But retribution for both was near. The smallpox was
almost epidemic in the city: Zell's silk had swept against
a beggar's infected rags, and fourteeii days later appeared
the fatal symptoms.

And truly she is weary and heart-sick this afternoon. .
She never remembered feeling so ill. The thought of death
appalled her. She felt, as never before, that she wanted
some one to love and take care of her.

828 WHAT CAN SEE DOf

Van Dam entered, and said, rather roughly:

**What'8 the matter?**

**I'm sick," said Zell, faintly.

He muttered an oath.

She arose from the sofa and tottered to his easy-chair,
knelt, and clasped his knees.

''Guilliam," she pleaded, ''I am very sick. I have a
feeling that I shall die. Won't you marry me? Won't
you take care of your poor little Zell, that loved you so
well as to leave all for you ? Perhaps I sha'n't burden you
much longer, but, if I do get well, I will be your patient
slave, if you will only marry me;" and the tears poured
over the hot, feverish cheeks, that they could not cool.

His only reply was to ask, with some irritation:

**Howdoyottfeel?"

'*0h, my head aches, my bones ache, every part of my
body aches, but my heart aches worst of all. You can ease
that, Guilliam. In the name of God's mercy, won't
you?"

A sudden thought caused the coward's face to grow white
with fear. *'I must have a doctor see you," was his only
reply to her appeal, and he passed hastily out.

Zell felt that a blow would have been better than his
indifference, and she crawled back to her couch. A little
later, she was conscious that a physician was feeling her
pulse, and examining her symptoms. After he was gone
she had strength enough to take off her jewelry and rings —
all, save one solitaire diamond, that her father had given
her. The rest seemed to oppress her with their weight.
She then threw herself on the bed.

She was next conscious that some one was lifting her
up. She roused for a moment, and stared around. There
were several strange faces.

'*What do you want? What are you going to do with
me?" she asked, in a thick voice, and in vague terror.

^'I am sorry, miss," said one of the men, in an official
tone; *'but you have the smallpox, and we must take you
to the hospital."

ZELL 829

She gave one shriek of horror. A hand was placed over
her mouth. She murmured faintly:

^*Guilliam — help!"" and then, under the effects of disease
and fear, became partially unconscious; but her hand
clenched, and with some instinct hard to understand, re-
mained so, over the diamond ring that was her father's gift.

She was conscious of riding in something hard over the
stony street, for the jolting hurt her cruelly. She was con-
scious of the sound of water, for she tried to throw herself
into it, that it might cool her fever. She was conscious of
reaching some place, and then she felt as if she had no rest
for many days, and yet was not awake. But through it all
she kept her hand closed on her father's gift. At times it
seemed to her that some one was trying to take it oS, but
she instinctively struggled and cried out, and the hand was
withdrawn.

At last one night she seemed to wake and come to her-
self. She opened her eyes and looked timidly around the
dim ward. All was strange and unaccountable. She feared
that she was in another world. But as she raised her hand
' to her head, as if to clear away the mist of uncertainty, a
sparkle from the diamond caught her eye. For a long time
she stared vacantly at it, with the weak, vague feeling that
in some sense it might be a clew. Its faint lustre was like
the glimmer of a star tlirough a rift in the clouds to a lost
traveller. Its familiar light and position remind him of
home, and by its ray he guesses in what direction to move;
so the crystallized light upon her finger threw its faint
glimmer into the past, and by its help Zell's weak mind
groped its way down from the hour it was given to the mo-
ment when she became partially unconscious in Van Dam's
apartments. But the word smallpox was burned into her
brain, and she surmised that she was in a hospital.

At last a woman passed. Zell feebly called her.

'* What do you want ?" said a rather gruflE voice.

'*I want to write a letter."

' ' You can't. It's against the rules. ' '

880 WHAT CAN SHE DO 9

^*I must," pleaded Zell. '^Oh, as you are a woman, and
hope in God's mercj, don't refuse ma"

''Can't break the rules," said the woman, and she was
about to pass on.

''Stop I" said Zell, in a whisper. "See there," and she
flashed the diamond upon her. "I'll give jou that if you'll
promise before God to send a letter for me. It would take
you many months to earn the value of that. "

The woman was a part of the city government, so she
acted characteristically. She brought Zell writing materials
and a bit of candle, saying:

"Be quick I"

With her poor, stiff, diseased hand, Zell wrote:

**GniLLiAif — Tou cannot know where I am. You cannot know what has
happened. You could not be such a fiend as to cast me off and send me here
to die— and die I shall. The edge of the grave seems crumbUng under me as
I write. II yon have a spark of love for me, come and see me before I die.
Oh, Guilliam, Ouilliamt what a heaven of a home I would have made jou, if
you had only married me I It would have been my whole life to make you
happy. I said bitter words to you— forgive them. We both have sinned—
can God forgive us ? I will not believe you know what has happened. You
are grieving for me — looking for me. They took me away while you were
gone. Gome and see me before I die. Good- by. I'm writing in the dark—
I'm dying in the dark — my soul is in the dark — I'm going away in the dark
— ^where» God, where ?

**Your poor little Zbll.

^'Smallpox Hospital (I don't know date)."

Poor, poor Zell I As in the case of a tempest- tossed one
of old, '*sun, moon, and stars" had long been hidden.

Almost fainting with weakness, she sealed and directed
the letter, drew ofE the ring, pressed it to her lips, and then
turned her eyes, unnaturally large and bright, on the woman
waiting at her side, and said:

''Look at me! Promise me you will see that this letter
is delivered. Remember, I am going to die. If you ever
hope for an hour's peace, promise!"

* 'I promise,'' said the woman solemnly, for she was as
superstitious as avaricious, and though she had no hesitancy

ZELL 381

in breaking the rales and taking a bribe, she wonld not hare
dared for her life to have risked treachery to a girl whom
she believed dying.

Zell gave her the ring and the letter, and sank back for
the time unconscioos.

The woman had her means of communication with the
city, and before many hours elapsed the letter was on
its way.

Van Dam was in a state of nervous fear till the fourteen
days passed, and then he felt that he was safe. He had his
rooms thoroughly fumigated, and was reassured by his
physicians saying daily: ''There was not much danger of
her giving you the disease in its first stage. She is probably
dead by this time."

But the wheels of life seemed to grow heavier and more
clogged every day. He was fast getting down to the dregs,
and now almost every pleasure palled upon his jaded taste.
At one time it seemed that Zell might so infuse her vigor-
ous young life and vivacity into hi£) waning years that his
last days would be his best And this might have been the
case, if he had reformed his evil life and dealt with her as
a true man. In her strong and exceptional love, consider-
ing their difference in age, there were great possibilities of
good for both. But he had foully perverted the last best
gift of his life, and even his blunted moral sense was awak-
ening to the truth.

'* Curse it all," he muttered, late one morning, ''perhaps
I had better have married her. I hoped so much from her,
and she has been nothing but a source of trouble and dan-
ger. I wonder if she is dead. "

He had been out very late the night before, and had
p<ayed heavily, but not with his usual skill. He had kept
mattering grim oaths against his luck, and drinking deeper
and deeper till a friend had half forced him away. And
now, much shaken by the night's debauch, depressed by
bis heavy losses, conscience, that crouches like a tiger in
every bad man's soul, and waits to rush from its lair and

882 WHAT CAN SHE DOf

rend| in the long hours ^the long eternity of weakness
and memory — already had its fangs in his guilty heart

Long and bitterly he thought, with a frown resting like
night on his heavy brow. The servant brought him a dainty
breakfast, but he sullenly motioned it away. He had
wronged his digestive powers so greatly the night before
that even brandy was repugnant to him, and he leaned
heavily and wearily back in his chair, a prey to re-
morse.

He was in just the right physical condition to take a con-
tagious disease.

There was a knock at the door, and the servant entered,
bringing him a letter, saying, '*This was just left here for
ye, sir."

''A dun," thought he, languidly, and he laid it unopened
on the stand beside him.

It was; and from one whom he owed a reparation he
could never make, though he paid with his life.

With his eyes closed, he still leaned back in a dull, pain-
ful lethargy. A faint, disagreeable odor gradually pervaded
the room, and at last attracted his attention. The luxurious
sybarite could not help the stings of conscience, the odor he
might. He grew restless, and looked around.

Zeirs letter caught his attention. '^ Might as well see
who it's from," he muttered. Weakness, pain, and emo-
tion had so changed Zell's familiar hand, that he did not
recognize it.

But, as he opened and read, his eyes dilated with horror.
It seemed like a dead hand grasping him out of the darkness.
But a dreadful fascination compelled him to read every line,
and re-read them, till they seemed burned into his memory.
At last, by a desperate effort, he broke the strong spell her
words had placed upon him, and, starting up, exclaimed:

'^G-o to her, in that pest-house I I would see her dead
a thousand times first. I hope she is dead, for she is the
torment of my life. What is it that smells so queer ?"

His eyes again rested on the letter. A suspicion crossed

ZELL 888

his mind. He carried the letter to his nose, and then started
violently, uttering awful oaths.

**She has sent the contagion directly to me," he groaned,
and he threw poor Zell's appeal on the grate. It burned
with a faint, sickly odor. Then, as the day was raw and
windy, a sudden gust down the chimney blew it all out into
the room, and scattered it in ashes, like Zell's hopes, around
his feet.

A superstitious horror that made his flesh creep and
hair rise took possession of him, and hastily gathering a
few necessary things, he rushed out into the chill air, and
made his way to a large hotel. He wanted to be in a crowd.
He wanted the hard, material world's noise and bustle
around him. He wanted to hear men talking about gold
and stocks, and the gossip of the town — ^anything that would
make living on seem a natural, .possible matter of course.

But men's voices sounded strange and unfamiliar, and
the real world seemed like that which mocks us in our
dreams. Mingling with all he saw and heard were Zell's
despairing looks and Zell's despairing words. He wrapped
himself in his great coat, he drank frequent and fiery pota-
tions, he hovered around the registers, but nothing could
take away the chill at his heart. He tossed feverishly all
night- His sudden exposure to the raw wind in his heated,
excited condition caused a severe cold. But he would not
give up. He dared not stay alone in his room, and so crept
down to the public haunts of the hotel. But his flushed
cheeks and strange manner attracted attention. As the
days passed, he grew worse, and the proprietor of the house
said:

**You are ill, you must go to bed."

But he would not. There was nothing that he seem^ed to
dread so much as being alone. But the guests began to grow
afraid of him. There was general and widespread fear of
the smallpox in the city, and for some reason it began to
be associated with his illness. As the suspicion was whis-
pered around, all shrank from him. The proprietor had

884 WHAT CAN 8HB DOt

him examined at once by a physician. It was the fatal
fourteenth day, and the dreaded symptoms were apparent.

''Have you no friends, no home to which you can go?''
he was asked.

''No," he groaned, while the thought pierced his souL
''She would have made me one and taken care of me in it'*
But he pleaded, "For God's sake, don't send me away."

"I must," said the proprietor, frightened himself. "The
law requires it, and your presence here would empty mj
house in an hour."

So, in the dusk, like poor Zell, he was smuggled down
a back stairway, and sent to the "pest-house" also, he
groaning and crying with terror all the way.

Zell did not die. Her vigorous constitution rallied, and
she rapidly regained strength. But with strength and power
of thought came the certainty to her mind of Van Dam's
utter and final abandonment of her. She felt that all the
world would now be against her, and that she would be
driven from every safe and pleasant path. The thought of
taking her shame to her home was a horror to her, and she
felt sure that Edith would spurn her from the door. At
first she wept bitterly and despairingly, and wished she
had died. But gradually she grew hard, reckless, and
cruel under her wrong, and her every thought of Van Dam
was a curse.

The woman who helped her to write the letter greatly
startled her one day by saying:

"There's a man in the men's ward who in his ravin'
speaks of you."

"Could he, in just retribution, have been sent here
also?" she thought Pleading relationship, she was ad-
mitted to see him. He shuddered as he saw her advanc-
ing, with stony face and eyes in which glared relentless
hate.

"Curse you I" he muttered, feebly, with his parched
lips. "Go away, living or dead, 1 know not which you
are; but I know it was through you I came herel"

ZELL 835

Her only answer was a mocking smile.

The doctor came and examined his symptoms.

**Will he get well?" she asked, following him away a
short distance.

* * No/ ' said the physician. ' * He will die. ' '

Her cheek blanched for a moment; but from her eyes
glowed a deadly gleam of satisfaction.

**What did he say?" whispered Van Dam.

**He says you will die/' she answered, in a stony voice.
"You see, I am better than you were. You would not come
to me for even one poor moment. You left me to die alone;
but I will stay and watch with you. "

**0h, go away!" groaned Van Dam.

''I couldn't be so heartless/' she said, in a mocking
tone. '*Ypu need dying consolation. I want to tell you,
Guilliam,-what was in my mind the night I left all for you.
I did doubt you a little. That is where I sinned; but I
shall only suffer for that through all eternity," she said,
with a reckless laugh that chilled his souL **But then, I
hoped, I felt almost sure, you would marry me; and, oh,
what a heaven of a home I purposed to make you! If you
had only let even a magistrate say, 'I pronounce you man
and wife," 1 would have been your patient slave. I would
have kissed away even your headaches, and had you ten
contagions, I would not have left you. I would have taken
care of you and nursed you back to life."

'*Go away!" groaned Van Dam, with more energy.

'*Guilliam," she said, taking his hand, which shuddered
at her touch, **we might have had a happy little home by
this time. We might have learned to live a good life in
this world and have prepared for a better one in the next.
Little children might have put their soft arms around your
neck, and with their innocent kisses banished the memory
and the power of the evil past. Oh," she gasped, '*how
happy we might have been, and mother, Edith, and Laura
would have smiled upon us. But what is now our condi-
tion ?' ' she said, bitterly, her grip upon his hand becoming

886 WHAT CAN SHE DOf

hard and fierce. ''You have made me a tigress. I must
cower and hide through life like a wild beast in a jungle.
And you are dying and going to hell/' she hissed in his
ear, *'and by and by, when I get to be an old ugly hag, I
will come and torment you there forever and forever.'*

'* Curse you, go away," shrieked the terror-stricken man.

An attendant hastened to the spot; Zell was standing at
the foot of the cot, glaring at him.

''I thought you was a relation of his'n/' said the man,
roughly.

''So I am,'* said Zell, sternly. "As the one stung is
related to the viper that stung him," and with a withering
look she passed away.

That night Van Dam died.

In process of time Zell was turned adrift in the city. She
applied vainly at stores and shops for a situation. She had
no good clothes, and appearances were against her. She
had a very little money in her portemonnaie when she was
taken to the hospital. This was given to her on leaving,
and she made it go as far as possible. At last she went to
an intelligence office and sat among the others, who looked
suspiciously at her. They instinctively felt that she was
not of their sort.

"What can you do?" was the frequent question.

She did not know how to do a single thing, but thought
that perhaps the position of waitre^ would be the easiest

"Where are your references?"

It was her one thought and effort to conceal all reference
to the past At last the proprietor in pity sent her to a lady
who had told him to supply her with a waitress; the place
was in Brooklyn, and Zell was glad, for she had less fear
there of seeing any one she knew.

The lady scolded bitterly about such an ignoramus being
sent to her, but Zell seemed so patient and willing that she
decided to try her. Zell gave her whole soul to the work,
and though the place was a hard one, would have eventually
learned to fill it The family were a little surprised some-

ZELL 337

times at her graceful movements, and the quick gleams of
intelligence in her large eyes as some remark was made natu-
rally beyond one in her sphere. One day they were trying to
recall, while at the table, the name of a famous singer at the
opera. Before she thought, the name was almost out of her
lips. The poor girl tried to disguise herself by assuming,
as well as she could, the stolid, stupid manner of those who
usually blunder about our homes.

All might have gone well, and she have gained an hon-
est livelihood, had not an unforeseen circumstance revealed
her past life. Those who have done wrong are never safe.
At the most unexpected time, and in the most unexpected
way, their sin may stand out before all and blast them.

Zeirs mistress had told her to make a little extra prepa*
ration, for she expected a gentleman to dine that evening.
With some growing pride and interest in her work, she had
done her best, and even her mistress said:

*'Jane" (her assumed name), *'you are improving," and
a gleam of something like hope and pleasure shot across
the poor child's face. A passionate sigh came up from her
heart —

**0h, I will try to do right if the world will let me."

But imagine her terror as she saw an old crony of Van
Dam's enter the room. The man recognized her in a mo-
ment, and she saw that he did. She gave him an imploring
glance, which he returned by one of cool contempt. Zell
could hardly get through the meal, and her manner attracted
attention. The cold-blooded fellow, whose soul was akin
to that of his dead friend, was considerate enough to his
hostess not to spoil her dinner or rob her of a waitress till
it was over. But the moment they returned to the parlor
he told who Zell was, and how she must have just come
from the smallpox hospital.

The lady (?) was in a frenzy of rage and fear. She
rushed down to where Zell was panting with weakness and
emotion, exclaiming:

'*You shameful hussy, how dare you come into a re-

16— ROE'X

WHAT CAN SHE DO 9

spectable house^ after your loathsome life and loathsome
disease V '

''Hear me/* pleaded Zell; ''the doctor said there was no
danger, and I want to do what is right"

"I don't believe a word you say. I wouldn't trust you
a minute. How much you have stolen now it will be hard
to tell, and I shouldn't wonder if we all had the smallpox.
Leave the house instantly."

"Oh, please give me a chance," cried Zell^ on her knees.
"Indeed, I am honest I'll work for you for nothing, if you
will let me stay. ' '

"Leave instantly, or I will call for a policeman."
- "Then pay me my week's wages," sobbed Zell.

"I won't pay you a cent, you brazen creature. You
didn't know how to do anything, and have been a torment
ever since you came. I might have known there was some-
thing wrong. Now go, take your old, pest-infected rags
out of my house, or I will have you sent to where you
properly belong. Thank Heaven, I have found you out "

A sudden change came over Zell. She sprang up, and
a scowl black as night darkened her face.

** What has Heaven to do with your sending a poor girl
out into the night, I would like to know?'* she asked, iu a
harsh, grating voice; "I wouldn't do it Therefore, I am
better than you are. Heaven has nothing to do with either
you or me;" and she looked so dark and dangerous that
her mistress was frightened, and ran up to the parlor, ex-
claiming:

"She's an awful creature. I'm afraid of her."

Then that manly being, her husband, towered up in his
wrath, saying, majestically, '*! guess I'm master in my own
bouse yet"

He showed poor Zell the door. Her laugh rang out
recklessly, as she called—

"Good- by. May the pleasant thought that you have
sent one more soul to perdition lull you to sweet sleep."

But, for some reason, it did not When they became

ZELL 889

cool enough to think it over, they admitted that perhaps
they had been a **little hasty/'

They had a daughter of about Zell's age. It would be a
little hard if any one should treat her so.

Zell had scarcely more than enough to pay her way to
New York. It seemed that people ought to stretch out
their hands to shield her, but they only jostled her in their
haste. As she stood, with her bundle, in the ferry entrance
on the New York side, undecided where to go, a man ran
against her in his hurry.

'*Get out of the way,'' he said, irritably.

She moved out one side into the darkness, and with a
pallid face said:

** Yes, it has come to this. I must *get out of the way'
of all decent people. There is the river on one side. There
are the streets on the other. Which shall it be?"

**0hl it was pitiful,
Near a whole city full,"

that no hand was stretched to her aid.

She shuddered. *'I can't, I dare not die yet. It must
be a little easier here than there, where he is. ' '

Her face became like stone. She went straight to a liquor
saloon, and drank deep of that spirit that Shakespeare called
** devil," in order to drown thought, fear, memory — every
vestige of the woman.

Then — the depths of the gulf that Laura shrank from
with a dread stronger than her love of life.

340 WHAT CAN SHE DOf

CHAPTER XXXII

BDITH BRINQS THE WANDERER HOME

MBS. LACEY and Arden, at last, in the stress of their
poverty, gave their consent that Bose should go to
the city and try to find employment in a store as a
shop-girl. Mrs. Glibe, her dressmaking friend, went with
her, and though they could obtain no situation the first
day, one of Mrs. Olibe's acquaintances directed Bose where
she could find a respectable boarding-house, from which, as
her home, she could continue her inquiries. Leaving her
there, Mrs. Glibe returned.

Bose, with a hope and courage not easily dampened, con-
tinued her search the next day, and for several days follow-
ing. The fall trade had not fairly commenced, and there
seemed no demand for more help. She had thirty dollars
with which to start life, but a week of idleness took seven
of this.

At last her fine appearance and sprightly manner induced
the proprietor of a large establishment to put her in the place
of a girl discharged that day, with the wages of six dollars a
week.

** We give but three or four, as a general thing, to begin-
ners,'* he said.

Bose was grateful for the place, and yet almost dismayed
at the prospect before her. How could she live on six dol-
lars ? The bright- colored dreams of city life were fast melt-
ing away before the hard, and in some instances revolting,
facts of her experience. She could have obtained situations
in two or three instances at better wages, if she had assented

EDITH BRINGS THE WANDERER HOME 341

to conditions that sent her hastily into the street with burn-
ing blushes and indignant tears. She knew the great city
was full of wickedness, but this rude contact with it ap-
palled her.

After finding what she had to live on, she exchanged her
somewhat comfortable room, where she could have a fire,
for a cold, cheerless attic closet in the same house. ''As I
learn the business, they will give more,*' she thought, and
the idea of going home penniless, to be laughed at by Mrs.
Qlibe, Miss Klip, and others was almost as bitter a pros-
pect to her proud spirit as being a burden to her impov-
erished family, and she resolved to submit to every hard-
ship rather than do it By taking the attic room she re-
duced her board to five dollars a week.

'* You can't get it for less, unless you go to a very com-
mon sort of a place," said her landlady. '*My house is
respectable, and people must pay a little for that"

In view of this fact, Rose determined to stay, if possible,
for she was realizing more every day how unsheltered and
tempted she was.

Her fresh blond face, her breezy manner, and her wind-
shaken curls made many turn to look after her. Like some
others of her sex, perhaps she had no dislikfe for admiration,
but in Bose's position it was often shown by looks, manner,
and even words, that, however she resented them, followed
and persecuted her.

As she grew to know her fellow-workers better, her heart
sickened in disgust at the conversation and the evident life
of many of them, and they often laughed immoderately at
her greenness.

Alas for the fancied superiority of these knowing girls !
They laughed at Bose because she was so much more like
what God meant a woman should be than they. A weak-
minded, shallow girl would have succumbed to their ridi-
cule, and soon have become like them, but high-spirited
Bose only despised them, and gradually sought out and
found some companionship with those of the better sort in

342 WHAT CAN SHE DOf

the large store. But there seemed so much hollowness and
falsehood on every side that she hardly knew whom to
trust.

Poor Rose was quite sick of making a career for herself
alone in the city, and her money was getting very low.
Shop life was hard on clothes, and she was compelled by
the rules of the store to dress well, and was only too fond
of dress herself. So, instead of getting money ahead, she
at last was reduced to her wages as support, and nothing
was said of their being raised, and she was advised to say
nothing about any increase. Then she had a week's sick-
ness, and this brought her in debt to her landlady.

Several times during her evening walks home Rose no-
ticed a dark ,face and two vivid black eyes, that seemed
watching her; but as soon as. observed, the face vanished.
It haunted her with its suggestion of some one seen before.

She went back to her work too soon after her illness, and
had a relapse. Her respectable landlady was a woman of
system and rules. From long experience, she foresaw that
her poor lodger would grow only more and more deeply in
her debt. Perhaps we can hardly blame her. It was by
no easy effort that she made ends meet as it was. She had
an application for Rose's- little room from one who gave
more prospect of being able to pay, so she quietly told the
poor girl to vacate it Rose pleaded to stay, but the wo-
man was inexorable. She had passed through such scenes
so often that they had become only one of the disagreeable
phases of her business.

**Why, child," she said, **if I did not live up to my rule
in this respect, I'd soon be out of house and home myself.
You can leave your things here till you find some other
place. ' '

So poor Rose, weak through her sickness, more weak
through terror, found herself out in the streets of the great
city, utterly penniless. She was so unfamiliar with it that
she did not know where to go, or to whom to apply. It
was her purpose to find a cheaper boarding-house. She

EDITH BEINGS THE WANDERER HOME 848

went down toward the meaner and poorer part of the city,
and stopped at the low stoop of a house where there was
a sign, ** Rooms to let."

She was about to enter, when a hand was laid sharply
on her arm, and some one said:

** Don't go there. Come with me, quick!"

*'Who are you?" asked Rose, startled and trembling.

**One who can help you now, whatever I am," was the
answer. *'I know you well, and all about you. You are
Rose Lacey, and you did live in Pushton. Come with me,
quick, and I will take you to a Christian lady whom you
can trust. Come."

Rose, in her trouble and perplexity, concluded to follow
her. They soon made their way to quite a respectable
street, and rang the bell at the door of a plain, comfortable-
appearing house.

A cheei^, stout, middle-aged lady opened it She looked
at Rose's new friend, and reproachfully shook her finger at
her, saying:

*' Naughty Zell, why did you leave the Home?"

** Because 1- am possessed by a restless devil," was the
strange answer. '^Besides, I can do more good in the streets
than there. I have just saved her" (pointing to Rose, who
at once surmised that this was Zell Allen, though so
changed that she would not have known her). **Now,"
continued Zell, thrusting some money into Rose*s hand,
"take this and go home at once. Tell her, Mrs. Ranger,
that this city is no place for her. ' *

**If you have friends and a home to go to, it's the very
best thing you can do," said the lady.

**But my friends are poor," sobbed Rose.

**No matter, go to them," said Zell, almost fiercely. **I
tell you there is no place for you here, unless you wish to
go to perdition. Go home, where you are known. Scrub,
delve, do anything rather than stay here. Your big brother
can and will take care of you, though he does look so
cross."

844 WHAT CAN SHE DO f

'*She is right, my child; you had better go at once,"
said the lady, decidedly.

*'Who are you?'' asked Rose of the latter speaker, with
some curiosity.

*'I am a city missionary," answered the lady, quietly,
**and it is my business to help such poor girls as you are.
I say to you from full knowledge, and in all sincerity, to go
home is the very best thing that you can do."

**But why is there not a chance for a poor, well-meaning
girl to earn an honest living in this great city ?"

*' Thousands are earning such a living, but there is not
one chance in a hundred for you."

** Why?" asked Rose, hotly.

*'Do you see all these houses ? They are full of people,"
continued Mrs. Ranger, '*and some of them contain many
families. In these families there are thousands of girls who
have a home, a shelter, and protectors here in the city.
They have society in relatives and neighbors. They have
no board to pay, and fathers and mothers, brothers and sis-
ters, helping support them. They put all their earnings
into a common fund, and it supports the .family. Such
girls can afford, and will work for two, three, four, and
five dollars a week. All that they earn makes the burden
so much less on the father, who otherwise would have sup-
ported them in idleness. Now, a homeless stranger in the
city must pay board, and therefore they can't compete with
those who live here. Wages are kept too low. Not one in
a hundred, situated as you are, can earn enough to pay
board and dress as they are required to in the fashionable
stores. Have you been able ?"

**No," groaned Rose. "I am in debt to my landlady
now, and I had some money to start with."

** There it is," said Mrs. Ranger, sadly; ** the same old
story."

''But these stores ought to pay more," said Rose, indig-
nantly.

'*They will only pay for labor, as for everything else,

EDITH BRINGS THE WANDERER HOME 845

the market price, and that averages but six dollars a week,
and more are working for from three to five than for six.
As I told you, there are thousands of girls living in the
city glad to get a chance at any price. ' *

Rose gave a weary, discouraged sigh and said, ^*I fear
you are right, I must go home. Indeed, after what has
happened I hardly dare stay,'*

**Go,'* said Zell, **as if you were leaving Sodom, and
don't look back." Then she asked, with a wistful, hungry
look, '*Have you see any of — ?" She stopped — she could
not speak the names of her kindred.

*'Yes," said Hose, gently. (Yesterday she would have
stood coldly aloof from Zell. To-day she was very grateful
and full of sympathy.) '*I know they are well. They were
all sick after — after you went away. But they got well
again, and (lowering her voice) Edith prays for you night
and day."

''Oh! ohT' sobbed Zell, ''this is torment, this is to see
the heaven I cannot enter," and she dashed away.

'*Poor child!" said Mrs. Ranger, **there's an angel in her
yet if I only knew how to bring it out. I may see her to-
morrow, and I may not for weeks. Take the money she left
with you, and here is some more. It may help her, to think
that she helped you. And now, my dear, let me see you
safely on your way home."

That night the stage left Rose at the poor dilapidated
little farmhouse, and in her mother's close embrace she felt
the blessedness of the home shelter, however poor, and the
protecting love of kindred, however plain.

"Arden is away," said the quiet woman of few words.
"He is home only twice a month. He has a job of cutting
and carting wood a good way from here. We are so poor
this winter he had to take this chance. Your father is doing
better. I hope for him, though with fear and trembling."

Then Rose told her mother her experience and how she
had been saved by Zell, and the poor woman clasped her
daughter to her breast again and again, and with streaming

846 WHAT CAN SBE DOf

eyes raised toward heaven, poured out her gratitude to
God.

'^fiose/' said she, with a shudder, ''if I had not prayed
so for you night and day, perhaps you would not have
found such friends in your time of need. Oh ! let us both
pray for that poor lost one, that she may be saved also.''

From this day forth Bose began to pray the true prayer
of pity, and then the true prayer of a personal faith. The
rude, evil world had shown her her own and others* need,
in a way that made her feel that she wanted the Heavenly
Father's care. % '

In other respects she took up her life for a time where
she had left it a few months before.

Edith was deeply moved at Rose's story, and Zell's wild,
wayward steps were followed by prayers, as by a throng of
reclaiming angels.

''I would go and bring her home in a moment, if I only
knew where to find her,'* said Edith.

**Mrs. Banger said she would write as soon as there was
any chance of your doing so," said Bose.

About the middle of January a letter came to Edith as
follows:

"Miss Edith Allen— Tour sister, Zell, is in Bellevue Hospital, Ward .

Come quickly; she is very lU."

Edith took the earliest train, and was soon following an
attendant, with eager steps, down the long ward. They came
to a dark-eyed girl that was evidently dying, and Edith
closed her eyes with a chill of fear. A second glance
showed that it was not Zell, and' a little further on she
saw the face of her sister, but so changed! Oh! the havoc
that sin and wretchedness had made in that beautiful creat-
ure during a few short months! She was in a state of un-
conscious, muttering delirium, and Edith showered kisses
on the poor, parched lips; her tears fell like rain on the
thin, flushed face. Zell suddenly cried, with the girlish
voice of old:

EDITH BRIN03 THE WANDERER HOME 847

*^ Hurrah, hurrah I books to the shades; no more teach*
ers and tyrants for me."

She was living over the old life, with its old, fatal
tendencies.

Edith sat down, and sobbed as if her heart would break.
Unnoticed, a stout, elderly lady was regarding her with eyes
wet with sympathy. As Edith's grief subsided somewhat
she laid her hand on the poor girl's shoulder, saying:

*'My child, I feel very sorry for you. For some reason
I can't pass on and leave you alone in your sorrow, though
we ar^ total strangers. Your trouble gives you a sacred
claim upon -me. What can I do for you?"

Edith looked up through her tears, and saw a kind,
motherly face, with a halo of gray curls around iu With
woman's intuition she trusted her instantly, and, with an-
other rush of tears, said:

' * This is — my — poor lost — sister. I've — ^just found her. ' '

** Ah !" said the lady, significantly, **God pity you both."

''Were it not— for Him," sobbed Edith, with her hand
upon her aching heart, *'! believe — I should die."

The lady sat down by her, and took her hand, saying,
''1 will stay with you, dear, till you feel better."

Gradually and delicately she drew from Edith her story,
and her large heart yearned over the two girls in the sin-
cerest sympathy.

**I was not personally acquainted with your father and
mother, but I know well who they were," she said. ** And
now, my child, you cannot remain here much longer; where
are you going to stay ?' '

'*I haven't thought," said Edith, sadly.

*'I have," replied the lady, heartily; **I am going to
take you home with me. We don't live very far away, and
you can come and see your sister as often as you choose,
within the limits of the rules."

**Ohl" exclaimed Edith, deprecatingly, **Iam not fit —
I have no claim."

**My child," said the lady, gently, **don'tyou remember

848 WHAT CAN SHE DOf

what our Master said, *I was a stranger and ye took me in' ?
Is He not fit to enter my house ? Has He no claim ? la
taking you home I am taking Him home, and so 1 shall be
happy and honored in your presence. Moreover, my dear,
from what I have seen and heard, I am sure I shall love
you for your own sake."

Edith looked at her through grateful tears, and said, "It
has seemed to me that Jesus has been comforting me all the
time through your lips. How beautiful Christianity is, when
it is lived out. I will go to your house as if it were His.* '

Then she turned and pressed a loving kiss on Zell's un-
conscious face, but her wonder was past words when the
lady stooped down also, and kissed the "woman which was
a sinner." She seized her hand with both of hers and
faltered:

''You don't despise and shrink from her, then?"

''Despise her I no," said the noble woman. ''I have
never been tempted as this poor child has. God does not
despise her. What am I ?"

Prom that moment Edith could have kissed her feet, and
feeling that God had sent His angel to take care of her, she
followed the lady from the hospitaL A plain but elegantly-
liveried carriage was waiting, and they were driven rapidly
to one of the stateliest palaces on Fifth Avenue. As they
crossed the marble threshold, the lady turned and said:

"Pardon me, my dear, my name is Mrs. Hart This is
your home now as truly as mine while you are with us,"
and Edith was shown to a room replete with luxurious com-
fort, and told to rest till the six o'clock dinner.

With some timidity and fear she came down to meet the
others. As she entered she saw a portly man standing on
the rug before the glowing grate, with a shock of white
hair, and a genial, kindly face.

"My husband," said Mrs. Hart, "this is our new friend.
Miss Edith Allen. You knew her father well in business,
I am sure."

' ' Of course I did," said the old gentleman, taking Edith's

EDITH BRINGS THE WANDERER HOME 349

hand in both of his/ 'and a fine business man he was, too.
You are welcome to our home, Miss Edith. Look here,
mother, "he said, turning to his wife with a quizzical look,
and still keeping hold of Edith's hand, **you didn't bring
home an ^angel unawares' this time. I say, wife, you won't
be jealous if I take a kiss now, will you — a sort of scriptural
kiss, you know?" and he gave Edith a hearty smack that
broke the ice between them completely.

With a face like a peony, Edith said, earnestly, *'I am
sure the real angels throng your home."

'*Hope they do," said Mr. Hart, cheerily. '*My old lady
there is the best one I have seen yet, but I am ready for all
the rest. Here come some of them," he added, as his daugh-
ters entered, and to each one he gave a hearty kiss, count-
ing, "one, two, three, four, five — now, *all present or ac-
counted for?' "

*' Yes," said his wife, laughing.

** Dinner, then," and after the young ladies had greeted
Edith most cordially, he gave her his arm, as if she had
been a duchess, and escorted her to the dining-room. After
being seated, they bowed their heads in quiet reverence,
and the old man, with the voice and manner of a child
speaking to a father, thanked God for His mercies, and in-
voked His blessing.

The table-talk was genial and wholesome, with now and
then a sparkle of wit, or a broad gleam of humor.

.**My good wife there. Miss Edith," said Mr. Hart, with
a twinkle in his eye, **is a very sly old lady. If she does
wear spectacles, she sees with great discrimination, or else
the world is growing so full of interesting saints and sinners,
that I am quite in hopes of it. Every day she has a new
story about some very good person, or some very bad per-
son becoming good. If you go on this way much longer,
mother, the millennium will commence before the doctors
of divinity are ready for it."

**My dear," said Mrs. Hart, with a comic aside to Edith,
"my husband has never got over being a boy. When he

850 WHAT CAN 8HE DOf

will beoome old enough to sober down, I am sure I can^t
telL"

*^What have I to sober me, with all these happy faces
around, I should like to know ?" was the hearty retort ''I
am having a better time every day, and mean to go on so
ad infinitum. You're a good one to talk about sobering
down, when you laugh more than any of these youngsters."

*'Well," said his wife, her substantial form quivering
with merriment, ^^it's because you make me/'

During the meal Edith had time to observe the young
ladies more closely. They were fine-looking, and one or
two of them really beautiful. Two of them were in early
girlhood yet, and there was not a vestige of the vanity and
affectation often seen in those of their position. They evi-
dently had wide diversities of character, and faults, but
there were the simplicity and sincerity about them which
make the difference between a chaste piece of marble and
a painted block of wood. She saw about her a house as
rich and costly in its appointments as her own old home
had been, but it was not so crowded or pronounced in its
furnishing and decoration. There were fewer pictures, but
finer ones; and in all matters of art, French taste was not
prominent, as had been the case in her home.

The next day she sat by unconscious Zell as long as was
^permitted, and wrote fully to Laura.

The dark-eyed girl that seemed dying the day before
was gone.

'*Did she die?" she asked of an attendant.

*'Yes."

''What did they do with her?"

''Buried her in Potter's Field."

Edith shuddered. *'It would have been Zell's end,"
she thought, "if I hadn't found her, and she had died here
alone."

That evening Mi's. Hart, as they all sat in her own pri-
vate parlor, said to her daughters:

"Girls, away with you. I can't move a step without

EDITH BRINGS THE WANDERER HOME 851

Stumbling over one of you. You are always crowding into
my sanctum, as if there was not an inch of room fur you
anywhere else. Vanish. I want to talk to Edith.'*

'* It's your own fault that we crowd in here, mother/*
said the eldest. ''You are the loadstone that draws us.''

*'ril get a lot of stones to throw at you and drive you
out with," said the old lady, with mock severity.

The youngest daughter precipitated herself on her
mother's neck, exclaiming:

** Wouldn't that be fun, to see jolly old mother throwing
stones at us. She would wrap them in eider-down first"

''Scamper; the whole bevy of you," said the old lady,
laughing; and Edith, with a sigh, contrasted this "mother's
room" with the one which she and her sisters shunned as
the place where their "teeth were set on edge."

"My dear," said Mrs. Hart, her face becoming grave and
troubled, "there is one thing in my Christian work that dis-
courages me. We reclaim so few of the poor girls that have
gone astray. I understand, from Mrs. Banger, that your
sister was at the Home, but that she left it. How can we
accomplish more ? We do everything we can for them."

"I don't think earthly remedies can meet their case,"
said Edith, in a low tone.

"I agree with you," said Mrs. Hart, earnestly,. "but we
do give them religious instruction."

"I don't think religious instruction is sufficient," Edith
answered. "They need a Saviour."

"But we do tell them about Jesus."

"Not always in a way that they understand, I fear,"
said Edith, sadly. "I have heard people tell about Him as
they would about Socrates, or Moses, or Paul. We don't
need facts about Him so much as Jesus Himself. In olden
times people did not go to their sick and troubled friends
and tell them that Jesus was in Capernaum, and that He
was a great deliverer. They brought the poor, helpless
creatures right to Him. They laid them right at the feet
of a personal Saviour, and He helped them. Bo we do

852 WHAT CAN SHE DOf

this? I have thought a great deal about it,'' continued
Edith, ''and it seems to me that more associate the ideas of
duty, restraint, and almost impossible efiort with Him, than
the ideas of help and sympathy. It was so with nie, I know,
at first/'

''Perhaps you are right,'' said Mrs. Hart thoughtfully.
"The poor creatures to whom I referred seemed more afraid
of God than anything else."

"And yet, of all that ever lived, Jesus was the most
tender toward them — the most ready to forgive and save.
Believe me, Mrs. Hart, there was more gospel in the kiss
you gave my sister — there was more of Jesus Christ in it,
than in all the sermons ever written, and I am sure that if
she had been conscious, it would have saved her. They
must, as it were, feel the hand of love and power that lifted
Peter out of the ingulfing waves. The idea of duty and
sturdy self-restraint is perhaps too much emphasized, while
they, poor things, are weak as water. They are so 'lost'
that He must just 'seek and save' them, as He said — lift
them up — keep them up almost in spite of themselves.
Saved — that is the word, as the limp, helpless form is
dragged out of danger. On account of my sister I have
thought a good deal about this subject, and there seems to
me to be no remedy for this class, save in the merciful,
patient, personal Saviour. He had wonderful power over
them when He was on earth, and He would have the same
now, if His people could make them understand Him."

"1 think few of us understand this personal Saviour our-
selves as we ought," said Mrs. Hart, somewhat unveiling
her own experience. "The Komish Church puts the Virgin,
saints, penances, and I know not what, between the sinner
and Jesus, and we put catechisms, doctrines, and a great
mass of truth about them, between Him and us. I doubt
whether many of us, like the beloved disciple, have leaned
our heads on His heart of love, and felt its throbs. Too
much of the time He seems in Heaven to me, not here."

"I never had much religious instruction," said Edith,

EDITH BRINGS THE WANDERER HOME 863

simply. **I found Him in the New Testament, as people
of old found Him in Palestine, and I went to Him, just as
I was, and He has been such a Friend and Helper. He lets
me sit at His feet like Mary, and the words He spoke seem
said directly to poor little me."

Wistful tears came into Mrs. Hart's eyes, and she kissed
Edith, saying:

'*I have been a Christian forty years, my child, but you
are nearer to Him than I am. Stay close to His side. This
talk has done me more good than I imagined possible."

'*If I seem nearer," said Edith, gently, '* isn't it, per-
haps, because I am weaker than you are? His * sheep fol-
low' Him, but isn't there some place in the Bible about
his 'carrying the lambs in His bosom '? I think we shall
find at last that He was nearer to us all than we thought,
and that His arm of love was around us all the time."

In a sudden, strong impulse, Mrs. Hart embraced Edith,
and, looking upward, exclaimed:

''Truly 'Thou hast hid these things from the wise and
prudent and hast revealed them unto babes.' As my hus-
band said, I am entertaining a good angel."

The physician gave Edith great encouragement about
Zell, and told her that in two weeks he thought she might
be moved. The fever was taking a light form.

One evening, after listening to some superb music from
Annie, the second daughter, between whom and Edith quite
an affinity seemed to develop itself, the latter said:

'*How finely you play I I think you are wonderful for
an amateur."

"I am not an amateur," replied Annie, laughing.
"Music is my profession."

"1 don't understand," said Edith.

"Father has made me study music as a science," ex-
plained Annie. "I could teach it to-morrow. All of us
girls are to have a profession. Ella, my eldest sister, is
studying drawing and pointing. Here is a portfolio of her
sketches."

854 WHAT CAN SHE DOf

Even Edith's unskilled eyes could see that she had made
great proficiency.

''Ella could teach drawing and coloring at once/' con-
tinued Annie, ''for she has studied the rules and principles
very carefully, and given great attention to the rudiments
of art, instead of having a teacher help her paint a few show
pictures. But I know very little about it, for I haven't
much taste that way. Father has us educated according to
our tastes; that is, if we show a little talent for any one
thing, he has us try to perfect ourselves in that one thing.
Julia is the linguist, and can jabber French and German
like natives. Father also insisted on our being taught the
common English branches very thoroughly, and he says he
could get us situations to teach within a month, if it were
necessary."

Edith sighed deeply as she thought how superficial their
education had been, but she said rather slyly to Annie, "But
you are engaged. I think your husband will veto the music-
teaching. "

"Oh, well," said Annie, laughing, "Walter may fail, or
get sick, or something may happen. So you see we shouldn't
have to go to the poor-house. Besides, there's a sort of sat-
isfaction in knowing one thing pretty well. But the half is
not told you, and I suppose you will think father and mother
queer people; indeed, most of our friends do. For mother
has had a milliner come to the house, and a dressmaker,
and a hair-dresser, and whatever we have any knack at she
has made us learn well, some one thing, and some another.
Wouldn't I like to dress your long hair!" continued the
light-hearted girl. "I would make you so bewitching that
you would break a dozen hearts in one evening. Then
mother has taught us how to cook, and to make bread and
cake and preserves, and Ella and I have to take turns in
keeping house, and marketing, and keeping account of the
living expenses. The rest of the girls ate at school yet.
Mother says she is not going to palm ofE any frauds in her
daughters when they get married; and if we only turn out

EDITH BRINGS THE WANDERER HOME 866

half as good as she is, our husbands will be luoky men, if I
do say it; and if all of us don't get any, we can take care of
ourselves. Father has been holding you up as an example
of what a girl can do, if she has to make her own way in the
world." •

And the sprightly, but sensible, girl would have rattled
on indefinitely, had not Edith fled to her room in an uncon-
trollable rush of sorrow over the sad, sad, ''It might have
been."

One afternoon Annie came into Edith's room, saying,
'*I am going to dress your hair. Yes, I will — now don't
say a word, I want to. We expect two or three friends in
— one you'll be glad to see. No, I won't tell you who it is.
It's a surprise." And she flew at Edith's head, pulled out
the hairpine, and went to work with a dexterity and ra-
pidity that did credit to her training. In a little while she
had crowned Edith with nature's most exquisite coronet.

A cloud of care seemed to rest on Mr. Hart's brow as
they entered the dining-room, but he banished it instantly,
and with the quaint, stately gallantry of the old school,
pretended to be deeply smitten with Edith's loveliness.
And so lovely she appeared that their eyes continually re-
turned, and rested admiringly on her, till at last the blush-
ing girl remonstrated:

''You all keep looking at me so that I feel as if I were
the dessert, and you were going to eat me up pretty soon."

**I speak for the biggest bite," cried Mr. Hart, and they
laughed at her and petted her so that she said:

**I feel as if I had known you all ten years."

But ever and anon, Edith saw traces of the cloud of care
that she had noticed at first. And so did Mrs. Hart, for she
said:

"You have been a little anxious about business lately.
Is there anything new?"

"No," said Mr. Hart, who, in contrast to Mr. Allen,
talked business to his family; "things are only growing a
little worse. There have been one or two bad failures to-

856 WHAT CAN SHE DOf

day. The worst of it all is, there seems a general lack of
confidence. No one knows what is going to happen. One
feels as if in a thunder-shower. The lightning may strike
him, and it may fall somewhere else. Bat don't worry,
good mother, I am as safe as a man can be. I have a
round million in my safe ready for an emergency."

The wife knew just where her husband stood that night

At nine o'clock, Edith was talking earnestly with Mrs.
Ranger, whom she had expressed a wish to see. There
were a few other people present of the very highest social
standing, and intimate friends of the family, for her kind
entertainers would not expose her to any strange and un-
sympathetic eyes. Annie was flitting about, the very spirit
of innocent mischief and match-making, gloating over the
pleasure she expected to give Edith.

The bell rang, and a moment later she marshalled in Ous
Elliot, as handsome and ex:qui8itely dressed as ever. He
was as much in the dark as to whom he should see as
Edith. Some one had told Annie of his former devoted-
ness to Edith, and so she innocently meant to do both a
kindness. Having a slight acquaintance with Elliot, as a
general society man, she invited him this evening to **meet
an old friend. ' ' He gladly accepted, feeling it a great honor
to visit at the Harts'.

He saw Edith a moment before she observed him, and
had time to note her exquisite beauty. But he turned pale
with fear and anxiety in regard to his reception.

Then she raised her eyes and saw him. The blood rushed
in a hot torrent to her face, and then left it in extreme pal-
lor. G-us advanced with all the ease and grace that he
could command under the circumstances, and held out his
hand. *'She cannot refer to the past here before them all,"
he thought.

But Edith rose slowly, and fixed her large eyes, that
glowed like coals of fire, sternly upon him, and put her
hand behind her back.

All held their breath in awe-struck expectation. She

EDITH BRINGS THE WANDERER HOME 857

seemed to see only him and the past, and to forget all the
rest.

**No, sir," she said, in a low, deep voice, that curdled
Gus's blood, **I cannot take your hand. I might in pity,
if you were in the depths of poverty and trouble, as I have
been, but not here and thus. Do you know where my sis-
ter is?"

''No," faltered Gus, his knees trembling under him.

''She is in Belle vue Hospital A poor girl was carried
thence to Potter's Field a day or two since. She might
have been if I had not found her. And," continued Edith,
with her face darkening like night, and her tone deepening
till it sent a thrill of dread to the hearts of all present, ''in
Potter's Field / might now have been if I had listened to
you."

Gus trembled before her in a way that plainly confirmed
her words.

With a grand dignity she turned to Mrs. Hart, saying,
''Please excuse my abfience; I cannot breathe the same air
with him," and she was about to sweep from the parlor like
an incensed goddess, when Mr. Hart sprang up, his eyes
blazing with anger, and putting his arm around Edith, said,
sternly:

"I would shield this dear girl as my own daughter.
Leave this house, and never cross my threshold again."

Gus slunk away without a word. As the guilty will be
at last, he was "speechless." So, in a moment, when least
expecting it, he fell from his heaven, which was society:
for the news of his baseness spread like wildfire, and within
a week every respectable door was closed against him.

Is it cynical to say that the well-known and widely- hon-
ored Mr. Hart, in closing his door, had influence as well as
Gus's sin, in leading some to close theirs? Motives in so-
ciety are a little mixed, sometimes.

Mr. Hart went down town the next morning, a little anx-
ious, it is true, on general principles, but not in the least
apprehensive of any disaster. "I may have to pay out a

868 WHAT CAN SHE DOf

few hundred thousand/' he thought, '*but that won't trouble
me.

But the bolt of financial suspicion was directed toward
him; how, he could not tell. Within half an hour after
opening, checks for twelve hundred thousand were pre-
sented at his counter. He telegraphed to his wife, ''A
run upon me/' Later, ** Danger!" Then came the words
to the uptown palace, ''Have suspended I'' In the after-
noon, *'The storm will sweep me bare, but courage, God,
and our right hands, will make a place and a way for us.'*

The business community sympathized deeply with Mr.
Hart Hard, cool men of Wall Street came in, and, with
eyes moist with sympathy, wrung his hand. He stood up
through the wild tumult, calm, dignified, heroic, because
conscious of rectitude.

''The shrinkage in securities will be great, 1 fear,*' he
said, "but I think my assets will cover all liabilities. We
will give up everything."

When he came up home in the evening, he looked worn,
and much older than in the morning, but his wife and daugh-
ters seemed to envelop him in an atmosphere of love and
sympathy. They were so strong, cheerful, hopeful, that
they infused their courage into him. Annie ran to the
piano, and played as if inspired, saying to her father:

"Let every note tell you that we can take care of our-
selves, and you and mother too, if necessary."

The words were prophetic. The strain had been too
great on Mr. Hart. That night he had a stroke of paralysis
and became helpless. But he had trained his daughters to
be the very reverse of helpless, and they did take care of
him with the most devoted love and skilled practical en-
ergy, making the weak, brief remnant of his life not a bur-
den, but a peaceful evening after a glorious day. They all,
except the youngest, soon found employment, for they
brought superior skill and knowledge to the labor market,
and such are ever in demand. Annie soon married hap-
pily, and her younger sisters eventually followed her ex-

EDITH BRINGS THE WANDERER HOME 369

ample. Bat Ella, the eldest, remained single; and, thoagh
she never became eminent as an artist, did become a very
usef al and respected teacher of art, as studied in our schools
for its refining influence.

To return to Edith, she felt for her kind friends almost
as much as if she were one of the family.

''Do not feel that you must go away because of what has
happened,*' said Mrs. Hart. ''I am glad to have you with
us, for you do us all good. Indeed, you seem one of us.
Stay as long as you can, dear, and Qod help us both to bear
our burdens.*'

"Dear, 'heavy-laden' Mrs. Hart," said Edith, *'Jesus
will bear the burdens for us, if we will let Him.''

''Bless you, child, I am sure He sent you to me."

As Edith entered the ward that day, the attendant said,
"She's herself, miss, at last"

Edith stole noiselessly to Zell's cot She was sleeping.
Edith sat down silently and watched for her waking. At
last she opened her eyes and glanced fearfully around.
Then she saw Edith, and instantly shrank and cowered as
if expecting a blow.

"Zell," said Edith, taking the poor, thin hand, "Oh,
Zell, don't you know me?"

"What are you going to do with me?" asked Zeli, in a
voice full of dread.

"Take you to my home — take you to my heart — take you
deeper into my love than ever before."

"Edith," said Zell, almost cowering before her words as
if they hurt her, "I am not fit to go home."

''Oh, Zell, darling," said Edith, tenderly, "God's love
does not keep a debit and credit account with us, neither
should we with each other. Can't you see that I love
you?" and she showered kisses on her sister's now pallid
face.

But Zell acted as if they were a source of pain to her,
and she muttered, "You don't know, you can't know.
Don't speak of God to me, I fear Him unspeakably."

860 WHAT CAN SHE DOf

**1 do know all,'* said Edith, earnestly, '*and 1 love you
more fondly than ever 1 did before, and God knows and
loves you more still.'*

"I tell you you don't know,** said Zell, almost fiercely.
'*You can't know. If you did, you would spit on me and
leave me forever. God knows, and He has doomed me to
hell, £dith,** she added, in a hoarse whisper. *'I killed
him — you know whom. And I promised that after 1 got
old and ugly I would come and torment him forever, i
must keep my promise.*'

Edith wept bitterly. This was worse than delirium.
She saw that her sister's nature was so bruised and per-
verted, so warped, that she was almost insane. She slowly
rallied back into physical strength, but her hectic cheek
and slight cough indicated the commencement of consump-
tion. Her mind remained in the same unnatural condition,
and she kept saying to Edith, ''You don't know anything
about it at all. You can't know.** She would not see Mrs.
Hart, and agreed to go home with Edith only on condition
that no one should see or speak with her outside the family.

At last the day of departure came. Mrs. Hart said,
**You shall take her to the depot in my carriage. It will
be among its last and best uses."

Edith kissed her kind friend good- by, saying, '*God will
send his chariot for you some day, and though you must
leave this, your beautiful home, if you could only have a
glimpse into the mansion preparing for you up there, anti-
cipation would almost banish all thoughts of present loss."

''Well, dear," said Mrs. Hart, with a gleam of her old
humor, '*I hope your 'mansion* will be next door, for I
shall want to see you often through all eternity.*'

Then Edith knelt before Mr. Hart's chair, and the old
man's helpless hands were lifted upon her head, and he
looked to heaven for the blessing he could not speak.

"Our ways diverge now, but they will all meet again.
Home is near to you,** she whispered in his ear as she
kissed him good- by.

EDITH BR1NQ8 THE WANDERER HOME 861

The old glad light shone in his eyes, the old cheery smile
flitted across his lips, and thus she left him who had been
the great, rich banker, serene, happy, and rich in a faith
that could not be lost in any financial storm, or destroyed
by disease, or enfeebled by age — she left him waiting as a
little child to go home.

16— Rob— X

362 WHAT CAN SHE DOf

CHAPTEB XXXIII

EDITH'S GREAT TEMPTATION

THOUGH even Mrs. Allen was tearful and kind in her
greeting, and Laura warm and aSectionate in the
extreme, old Hannibal's welcome, so frank, genu-
ine, and innocent, seemed to soften Zell more than any
one's else.

'*You poor, heavenly -minded old fool," she said, with
an unwonted tear in her eye, **you don't know any better."

Then she seemed to settle down into a dreamy apathy;
to sit moping around in shadowy places. She had a horror
of meeting any one, even Mrs. Lacey and Eose, and would
not go out till after night. Edith saw, more and more
clearly, that she was almost insane in her shame and de-
spair, and that she would be a terrible burden to them all
if she remained in such a condition; but her love and
patience did not fail. They would, had they not been
daily fed from heavenly sources. "I must try to show her
Jesus' love through mine," she thought

Poor Edith, the great temptation of her life was soon to
assail her. It was aimed at her weakest yet noblest side,
her young enthusiasm and spirit of self-sacrifice for others.
And yet, it was but the natural fruit of woman's helpless-
ness and Mrs. Allen's policy of marrying one's way out of
poverty and difiBlculty.

Simon Crowl had ostensibly made a very fair transaction
with Edith, but Simon Crowl was a widower at the time,
and on the lookout for a wife. He was a pretty sharp busi-
ness man, Crowl was, or he wouldn't have become so rich

EDITH'S GREAT TEMPTATION 368

in little Pashton, and he at once was satisfied that Edith, so
beautiful, so sensible, would answer. Through the mort-
gage he might capture her, as it were, for even his vanity
did not promise him much success in the ordinary ways of
love-making. So the spider spun his web, and unconscious
Edith was the poor little fiy. During the summer be watched
her closely, but from a distance. During the autumn and
winter he commenced calling, ostensibly on Mrs. Allen,
whom he at once managed to impress with the fact that
he was very rich. Though he brushed up his best coat
and manners, that delicate-nosed lady scented an air and
manner very different from what she had been accustomed
to, but she was half-dead with ennui^ and, after all, there
was something akin between worldly Mrs. Allen and worldly
Mr. Growl. Then, he was very rich. This had cov.ered a
multitude of sins on the avenue. But, in the miserable
poverty of Pushton, it was a golden mantle of light. Mrs.
Allen chafed at privation and want of delicacies with the
increasing persistency of an utterly weak and selfish nature.
She had no faith in Edith's plans, and no faith in woman's
working, and the garden seemed the wildest dream of all.
Her hard, narrow logic, constantly dinned into Edith's ears,
discouraged her, and she began to doubt herself.

Mr. Growl (timid lover) had in Edith's absence confirmed
his previous hints, thrown out to Mrs. Allen as feelers, by
making a definite proposition. In brief, he had offered to
settle twenty-five thousand dollars on Edith the day she
married him, and to take care of the rest of the family.

*'I have made enough," he said majestically, **to live
the rest of my life like a gentleman, and this offer is
princely, if I say it myself. You can all ride in your
carriage again." Then he added, with his little black eyes
growing hard and cunning, '*£f your daughter won't accept
my generosity, our relationship becomes merely one of busi-
ness. Of course I shall foreclose. Money is scarce here,
and I shall probably be able to buy in the place at half its
worth. Seems to me," he concluded, looking at the case

364 WHAT CAN SHE DOf

from his valuation of money, ** there is not much room for
choice here."

And Mr. Growl had been princely — for him. Mrs. Allen
thought so, too, and lent herself to the scheme with all the
persistent energy that she could show in these matters.
But, to do her justice, she really thought she was doing
what was best for Edith and all of them. She was acting
in accordance with her lifelong principle of providing for
her family, in the one way she believed in and understood.
But sincerity and singleness of purpose made her all the
more dangerous as a tempter.

In one of Edith's most discouraged moods she broached
the subject and explained Mr. Crowrs offer, for he, prudent
man, had left it to her.

Edith started violently, and the project was so revolting
to her that she fled from the room. But Mrs. Allen, with
her small pertinacity, kept recurring to it at every oppor-
tunity. Though it may seem a little strange, her mother's
action did not so shock Edith as some might expect; nor
did the proposition seem so impossible as it might to some
girls. She had all her life been accustomed, through her
mother, to the idea of marrying for money, and we can get
used to almost anything.

In March their money was very low. Going to Zell and
taking care of her had involved much additional expense.
She found out that her mother had already accepted and
used in part a loan of fifty dollars from Mr. Growl. Laura,
from the long confinement of the winter, and from living on
fare too coarse and lacking in nutrition for her delicate or-
ganization, was growing very feeble. Zell seemed in the
first stages of consumption, and would soon be a sick, help-
less burden. The chill of dread grew stronger at Edith's
heart.

**0h, can it be possible that I shall be driven to itT* she
often groaned; and she now saw, as poor Laura said, ^Hhe
black hand in the dark pushing her down. ' ' To her surprise
her thoughts kept reverting to Arden Lacey.

EDITH'S GREAT TEMPTATION 865

<»l

'What will he think of me if I do this?'* she thought,
with intense bitterness. ''He will tell me I was not worthy
of his friendship, much less of his love — that I deceived
him;'' and the thought of Arden, after all, perhaps, had
the most weight in restraining her from the fatal step. For
then, to her perverted sense of duty, this marriage began to
seem like an heroic self-sacrifice.

She. had seen little of Arden since her retilm. He was
kind and respectful as ever, outwardly, but she saw in his
deep blue eyes that she was the divinity that he still wor-
shipped with unfaltering devotion, and as she once smiled
at the idea of being set up as an idol in his heart, she now
began unspeakably to dread falling from her pedestal.

One dreary day, the last of March, when sleet and rain
were pouring steadily down, and Laura was sick in her bed,
and Zell moping with her hacking cough over the fire, with
Hannibal in the kitchen, Mrs. Allen turned suddenly to
Edith, and said:

"On some such day we shall all be turned into the street
You could save us, you could save yourself, by taking a
kind, rich man for your lawful husband; but you won't.''

Then Satan, who is always on hand when we are weak-
est, quoted Scripture to Edith as he had done once before.
The words flashed into her mind, "He saved others, himself
he cannot save."

In a wild moment of mingled enthusiasm and despera-
tion, she sprang up before her mother, and said:

'*If 1 can't pay the interest of the mortgage— if I can't
take care of you all by some kind of work, 1 will marry
him. But if you have a spark of love for me, save, econo-
mize, try to think of some other way."

Mrs. Allen smiled triumphantly, and tried in her grati-
tude to embrace her daughter, saying: "A kind husband
will soon lift all burdens off your shoulders." The burden
on the heart Mrs. All^n did not understand, but Edith fled
from her to her own room.

In a little while her excitement and enthusiasm died

WHAT CAN SHE DOf

away, and life began to look gaunt and bare. Even her
Saviour's face seemed hidden, and she only saw an ugly
spectre in the future — Simon Crowl.

In vain she repeated to herself, ''He sacrificed Himself
for others — so will I.*' The nature that He had given her
revolted at it all, and though she could not understand it,
she began to find a jarring discord between herself and all
things.

Mrs. Allen told Mr. Orowl of her success, and he looked
upon things as settled. He came to the house quite often,
but did not stay long or assume any familiarity with Edith.
He was a wary old spider; and under Mrs. Allen's hints,
behaved and looked very respectably. He certainly did
the best he could not to appear hideous to Edith, and
though she was very cold, she compelled herself to treat
him civilly.

Perhaps many might have considered Edith's chance a
very good one; but with an almost desperate energy she set
her mind at work to find some other way out of her painful
straits. Everything, however, seemed against her. Mr.
McTrump was sick with inflammatory rheumatism. Mrs.
Groody was away, and would not be back till the last of
May. On account of Arden she could not speak to Mrs.
Lacey. She tried in vain to get work, but at that season
there was nothing in Pushton which she could do. Farmers
were beginning to get out a little on their wet lands, and
various out-of-door activities to revive after the winter stag-
nation. Moreover, money was very scarce at that season of
the year. She at last turned to the garden as her only re-
source. She realized that she had scarcely money enough
to carry them through May. Could she get returns from
her garden in time? Could it be made to yield enough
to support them ? With an almost desperate energy she
worked in it whenever the weather permitted through April,
and kept Hannibal at it also. Indeed, she had little mercy
on the old man, and he wondered at her. One day he
ventured:

EDITH'S GREAT TEMPTATION 867

**Miss Edie, you jes done kill us both," but his wonder
increased as she muttered :

'* Perhaps it would be the best thing for us both. " Then,
seeing his panic-stricken face, she added more kindly, '* Han-
nibal, our money is getting low, and the garden is our only
chance. ' *

After that he worked patiently without a word and with-
out a thought of sparing himself.

£dith insisted on the closest economy in the house,
though she was too sensible to stint herself in food in view
of her constant toil. But one day she detected Mrs. Allen,
with her small cunning and her determination to carry her
point, practicing a little wastefulness. Edith turned on
her with such fierceness that she never dared to repeat
the act. Indeed, Edith was becoming very much what she
was before Zell ran away, only in addition there was some-
thing akin, at times, to Zell's own hardness and reckless-
ness, and one day she said to Edith:

**What is the matter ? You are becoming like me/'

Edith fled to her room, and sobbed and cried and tried
to pray till her strength was gone. The sweet trust and
peace she had once enjoyed seemed like a past dream. She
was learning by bitter experience that it can never be right
to do wrong; and that a first false step, like a false premise,
leads to sad conclusions.

She had insisted that her mother should not speak of
the matter till it became absolutely necessary, therefore
Laura, Zell, and none of her friends could understand her.

Arden was the most puzzled and pained of all, for she
shrank from him with increasing dread. He was now back
at his farm work, though he said to Edith one day despon-
dently that he had no heart to work, for the mortgage on
their place would probably be foreclosed in the fall. She
longed to tell him how she was situated, but she saw he was
unable to help her, and she dreaded to see the scorn come
into his trusting, loving eyes; she could not endure his ab-
solute confidence in .her, and in his presence her heart ached

868 WHAT CAN SHE DOf

as if it would break, bo she shunned him till he grew very
unhappy, and sighed:

'^There's something wrong. She finds £ am not con-
genial. I shall lose her friendship," and his aching heart
also admitted, as never before, how dear it was to him.

Nature was awakening with the rapture of another
spring; birds were coming back to old haunts with ec-
static songs; flowers budding into their brief but exquisite
life, and the trees aglow with fragrant prophecies of fruit;
but a winter of fear and doubt was chilling these two hearts
into something far worse than nature's seeming death.

SAVED 869

OHAPTEE XXXIV

SAVED

EDITH'S eflEorts still to help Zell to better things were
very pathetic, considering how unhappy and tempted
she was herself. She did try, even when her own
heart was breaking, to bring peace and hope to the poor
creature, but she was taught how vain her eflEorts were, in
her present mood, by Zell's saying, sharply:

''Physician, heal thyself."

Though Zell did not understand £dith, she saw that she
was almost as unhappy as herself, and she had lost hope in
everybody and everything. Though she had not admitted
it, Edith^s words and kindness at first had excited her won-
der, and, perhaps, a faint glimmer of hope; but, as she saw
her sister's face cloud with care, and darken with pain and
fear, she said, bitterly:

** Why did she talk with me so ? It was all a delusion.
What is God doing for her any more than for me ?"

But, in order to give Zell occupation, and something to
think about besides herself, Edith had induced her to take
charge of the flowers in the garden.

''They won't grow for me," Zell had said at first. "They
will wither when I look at them, and white blossoms will
turn black as I bend over them."

"Nonsensel" said Edith, with irritation; "won^tyou do
anything to help me ?"

"Oh, certainly," wearily answered Zell. "I will do the
work just as you tell me. If they do die, it don't matter.
We can eat or sell them." So Zell began to take care of

370 WHAT CAN SHE DOf

the flowers, doing the work in a stealthy manner, and hid-
ing when any one came.

The month of May was unusually warm, and Edith was
glad, for it would hasten things forward. That upon which
she now bent almost agonized effort and thought was the
possibility of paying the interest on the mortgage by the
middle of June, when it was due. All hope concentrated
on her strawberries, as they would be the first crop worth
mentioning that she could depend on from her place. She
gave the plants the most careful attention. Not a weed was
suffered to grow, and between the rows she placed carefully,
with her own hands, leaves she raked up in the orchard, so
that the ground might be kept moist and the fruit clean.
Almost every hour of the day her eyes sought the straw-
berry-bed, as the source of her hope. If that failed her,
no bleeding human sacrifice in all the cruel past could sur-
pass in agony her fate.

The vines began to blossom with great promise, and at
first she almost counted them in her eager expectation.
Then the long rows looked like little banks of snow, and
she exulted over the prospect Laura was once about to
pick one of the blossoms, but she stopped her almost
fiercely. She would get up in the night, and stand gaz-
ing at the lines of white, as she could trace them in tlie
darkness across the garden. So the days passed on till
the last of May, and the blossoms grew scattering, but
there were multitudes of little green berries, from the size
of a pea to that of her thimble, and some of them began to
have a white look. She so minutely watched them develop
that she could have almost defined the progress day by
day. Once Zell looked at her wonderingly, and said :

** Edith, you are crazy over that strawberry- bed. I be
lieve you worship it,**

For a time Edith's hopes daily rose higher as the vines
gave finer promise, but during the last week of May a new
and terrible source of danger revealed itself, a danger that
she knew not how to cope with— drought

SAVED 871

It had not rained since the middle of May. She saw that
many of her young and tender vegetables were wilting, but
the strawberries, mulched with leaves, did not appear to
mind it at first. Still she knew they would suffer soon, un-
less there was rain. Most anxiously she watched the skies.
Their serenity mocked her when she was so clouded with
care. Wild storms would be better than these balmy,
sunny days.

The first of June came, the second, third, and fourth,
and here and there a berry was turning red, but the vines
were beginning to wilt. The suspense became so great she
could hardly endure it. Her faith in God began to waver.
Every breath almost was a prayer for rain, but the sunny
days passed like mocking smiles.

**ls there a God?" she queried desperately. **Can I
have been deceived in all my past happy experience?"
She shuddered at the answer that the tempter suggested,
and yet, like a drowning man, she still clung to her faith.

During the long evening, she and Hannibal sought to
save the bed by carrying water from the well, but they
could do so little, it only seemed to show them how utterly
dependent they were on the natural rain from heaven; but
the skies seemed laughing at her pain and fear. Moreover,
she noticed that those they watered appeared injured rather
than helped, as is ever the case where it is insufficiently
done, and she saw that she must helplessly wait.

Arden Lacey had been away for a week, and, returning
in the dusk of the evening, saw her at work watering, before
she had come to this conclusion. His heart was hungry,
even for the sight of her, and he longed for her to let him
stop for a little chat as of old. So he said, timidly:

*' Good-evening, Miss Allen, haven't you a word to wel-
come me back with?"

^'Ohl" cried £dith, not heeding his salutation, ''why
don't it rain! I shall lose all my strawberries."

His voice jarred upon her heart, now too full, and she
ran into the house to hide her feelings, and left him. Even

872 WHAT CAN SHE DOf

the thought of him now, in her morbid state, began to pierce
her like a sword.

**She thinks more of her paltry strawberry-bed than of
me," muttered Arden, and he stalked angrily homeward.
"What is the matter with Miss Allen?" he asked his
mother abruptly. **I don't understand her."

**Nor I either," said Mrs. Lacey with a sigh.

The next morning was very warm, and Edith saw that
the day would be hotter than any that preceded. A dry
wind sprang up and it seemed worse than the sun. The
vines began to wither early after the coolness of the night,
and those she had watered suffered the most, and seemed to
say to her mockingly:

*'You can't do anything."

"Oh, heaven!" cried Edith, almost in despair, "there is
a black hand pushing me down."

In an excited, feverish manner she roamed restlessly
around and could settle down to nothing. She scanned
the horizon for a cloud, a& the shipwrecked might for a
sail.

"Edie, what is the matter?" said Laura, putting her
arms about her sister.

"It won't rain," said Edith^ bursting intd tears. "My
home, my happiness, everything depends on rain, and
look at these skies."

"But won't He send it?" asked Laura, gently.

" Why don't He, then ?" said Edith, almost in irritation.
Then, in a sudden passion of grief, she hid her face in her
sister's lap, and sobbed, "Oh, Laura, Laura, I feel I am
losing my faith in Him. Why does He treat me so?"

Here Laura's face grew troubled and fearful also. Her
faith in Christ was so blended with her faith in Edith that
she could not separate them in a moment. "I don't under-
stand it, Edie," she faltered. "He seems to have taken
care of me, and has been very kind since that — that night
But I don't understand your feeling so."

"Oh, oh, oh!" sobbed Edith, "I don't know what to

SAVED 878

tkink — what to believe; and £ fear I shall hurt your faith,"
and she shut herself up in her room, and looked despairingly
out to where the vines were drooping in the fierce heat

"If they don't get help to-day, my hopes will wither like
their leaves,'' she said, with pallid lips.

As the sun declined in the west, she went out and stood
beside them, as one might by a dying friend. Her fresh
young face seemed almost growing aged and wrinkled under
the ordeal. She had prayed that afternoon, as never before
in her life, for help, and now, with a despairing gesture up-
ward, she said:

'*Look at that brazen sky!"

But the noise of the opening gate caused her to look
thither, and there was Arden entering, with a great barrel
on wheels, which was drawn by a horse. His heart, so
weak toward her, had relented during the day. *'I vowed
to serve her, and I will," he thought *'I will be her slave,
if she will permit"

£dith did not understand at first, and he came toward
her so humbly, as if to ask a great favor, that it would
have been comic, had not his sincerity made it pathetic.

''Miss Allen,'* he said, **I saw you trying to water your
berries. Perhaps I can do it better, as I have here the
means of working on a larger scale."

Edith seized his hand and said, with tears:

"You are like an angel of light; how can I thank you
enough?"

Her manner puzzled him to-night quite as much as on
the previous occasion. "Why does she act as if her life
depended on these few berries?" he vainly asked himself.
"They can't be so poor as to be in utter want I wish she
would speak frankly to me."

In her case, as in thousands of others, it would have been
so much better if she had.

Then Edith said, a little dubiously, "I hurt the vines
when I tried to water them."

"I know enough about gardening to understand that,"

874 WHAT CAN SHE DOf

Baid Arden, with a smile. **If the ground is not thoroughly
soaked it does hurt them. But see/' and he poured the
water around the vines till the dry leaves swam in it
''That will last two days, and then I will water these
again. I can go over half the bed thoroughly one night,
and the other half the next night; and so we will keep
them along till rain oomes.''

She looked at him as if he were a messenger come to re-
lease her from a dungeon, and murmured, in a low, sweet
voice:

"Mr. Lacey, you are as kind as a brother to me."

A warm flush of pleasure mantled his face and neck, and
he turned away to hide his feelings, but said:

* * Miss Edith, this is nothing to what I would do for you. ' '

She had it on her lips to tell him how she was situated,
but he hastened away to fill his barrel at a neighboring
pond. She watched him go to and fro in his rough, work-
ing garb, and he seemed to her the very flower of chivalry.

fler eyes grew lustrous with admiration, gratitude, hope,
and — yes, love^ for before the June twilight deepened into
night it was revealed in the depths of her heart that she
loved Arden Lacey, and that was the reason that she had
kept away from him since she had made the hateful prom-
ise. She had thought it only friendship, now she knew
that it was love, and that his scorn and anger would be
the bitterest ingredient of all in her self-immolation.

For two long hours he went to and fro unweariedly, and
then startled her by saying in the distance on his way home,
*'I will come again to-morrow evening," and was gone. He
was afraid of himself, lest in his strong feeling he might
break his implied promise not even to suggest his love,
when she came to thank him, and so, in self-distrustful-
ness, he was beginning to shun her also.

An unspeakable burden of fear was lifted from her
heart, and hope, sweet, warm, and rosy, kept her eyes
waking, but rested her more than sleep. In the morning
she saw that the watering had greatly revived one half of

SAVED 375

the bed, and that all through the hot day they did not wilt,
while the unwatered part looked very sick.

Old Growl also had seen the proceeding in the June twi-
light, and did not like it. ''I must put a spoke in his
wheel," he said. So the next afternoon he met Arden in
the village, and blustered up to him, saying:

"Look here, young Lacey, what were you doing at the
Aliens' last night?"

*'None of your business."

"Yes, it is my business, too, as you may find out to your
cost I am engaged to marry Miss Edith Allen, and guess
it's my business who's hanging around there. I warn you
to keep away." Mr. Crowl had put the case truly, and yet
with characteristic cunning. He was positively engaged to
Edith, though she was only conditionally engaged to him.

"It's an accursed lie," thundered Arden, livid with
rage, "and I warn you to leave— you make me dangerous."

"Oh, ho; touches you close, does it? I am sorry for
you, but it's true, nevertheless."

Arden looked as if he would rend him, but by a great
effort he controlled himself, and in a low, meaning voice
said:

"If you have lied to me this afternoon, woe be unto
you," and he turned on his heel and walked straight to
Edith, where she stood at work among her grapevines,
breaking off some of the too thickly budding branches.
He was beside her before she heard him, and the moment
she looked into his white, stern face, she saw that some-
thing had happened.

"Miss Allen," he said, abruptly, "I heard a report
about you this afternoon. I did not believe it; I could
not; but it came so direct, that I give you a chance to
refute it Your word will be suflScient for me. It would
be against all the world. Is there anything between you
and Simon Crowl?"

Her confusion was painful, and for a moment she could
not speak, but stood trembling before him.

376 WHAT CAN SHE DOf

In his passion, he seized her roughly by the arm and
said, hoarsely, '*In a word, yes or no?'*

His manner offended her proud spirit, and she looked
him angrily in the face and said, haughtily.

''Yes."

He recoiled from her as if he had been stung.

Her anger died away in a moment, and she leaned
against the grape-trellis for support.

*'Do you love him?" he faltered, his bronzed cheek
blanching.

*'No," she gasped.

The blood rushed furiously into his face, and he took an
angry stride toward her. She cowered before him, but
almost wished that he would strike her dead. In a voice
hoarse with rage, he said:

**This, then, is the end of our friendship. This is the
best that your religion has taught you. If not your pitiful
faith, then has not your woman's nature told you that nei-
ther priest nor book can marry you to that coarse lump of
earth?" and he turned on his heel and strode away.

His mother was frightened as she saw his face. ''What
has happened?'* she said, starting up. He stared at her
almost stupidly for a moment. Then he said, in a stony
voice:

"The worst that ever can happen to me in this or any
world. If the lightning had burned me to a cinder, I could
not be more utterly bereft of all that tends to make a good
man. Edith Allen has sold herself to old Growl. Some
priest is going through a farce they will call a marriage,
and all the good people will say, *How well she has done!*
What a miserable delusion this religious business ist You
had better give it up, mother, as I do, here and now."

"Hush, my son," said Mrs. Laoey, solemnly. "You
have only seen £dith Allen. I have seen Jesus Christ

"There is some mystery about this," she added, after a
moment's painful thought "I will go and see her at once. "

He seized her hand, saying:

SAVED 877

**Have I not been a good son to you?"

'^Yes, Arden."

'*Then by all 1 have ever been to you, and as you wish
my love to continue, go not near her again.''

''But, Arden— ''

** Promise me," he said, sternly.

*'Well," said the poor woman, with a deep sigh, **not
without your permission."

From that time forth, Arden seemed as if made of stone.

After he was gone Edith walked with uncertain steps
to the little arbor, and sat down as if stunned. Slie lost
all idea of time. After it was dark, Hannibal called her in,
and made her take a cup of tea. She then went mechani-
cally to her room, but not to sleep. Arden's dreadful
words kept repeating themselves over and over again.

'*0 God I" she exclaimed, in the darkness, ''whither am
I drifting? Must I be driven to this awful fate in order to
provide for those dependent upon me? Cannot bountiful
Nature feed us ? Wilt Thou not, in mercy, send one drop
of rain ? O Jesus, where is Thy mercy ?"

The next morning the skies were still cloudless, and she
scowled darkly at the sunny dawn. Then, in sudden alter-
nation of mood, she stretched her bare, white arms toward
the little farmhouse, and sighed, in tones of tremulous
pathos:

"Oh, Arden, Arden I I would rather die at your feet than
live in a palace with him."

She sent down word that she was ill, and that she would
not come down. Laura, Mrs. Allen, and even Zell, came
to her, but she kissed them wearily, and sent them away.
She saw that there was deep anxiety on all their faces.
Pretty soon Hannibal came up with a cup of coffee.

"You must drink it. Miss Edie," he said, " 'cause we'se
all a-leanin' on you."

Well-meaning words, but tending unconsciously to con-
firm her desperate purpose to sacrifice herself for them.

She lay with her face buried in the pillow all day. She

878 WHAT CAN SHE DO f

knew that their money was almost gone, that provisions
were scanty in the house, and to her morbid mind bags of
gold were piled up before her, and Simon Crowl, as an ugly
spectre, was beckoning her toward them.

As she lay in a dull lethargy of pain in the afternoon, a
heavy jar of thunder aroused her. She sprang up instantly,
and ran out bare-headed to the little rise of ground behind
the house, and there, in the west, was a great black cloud.
The darker and nearer it grew, the more her face bright-
ened. It was a strange thing to see that fair young girl
looking toward the threatening storm with eager, glad ex*
pectancy, as if it were her lover. The heavy and continued
roll of the thunder, like the approaching roar of battle, was
sweeter to her than love's whispers. She saw with dilating
eyes the trees on the distant mountain's brow toss and writhe
in the tempest; she heard the fall of rain-drops on the foli-
age of the mountain's side as if they were the feet of an
army coming to her rescue. A few large ones, mingled
with hail, fell around her like scattering shots, and she
put out her hands to catch them. The fierce gusts caught
up her loosened hair and it streamed away behind her.
There was a blinding flash, and the branches of a tall locust
near came quivering down — she only smiled.

But dismay and trembling fear overwhelmed her as the
shower passed on to the north. She could see it raining
hard a mile away, but the drops ceased to fall around her.
The deep reverberations rolled away in the distance, and in
the west there was a long line of light. As the twilight
deepened, the whole storm was below the horizon, only
sending up angry flashes as it thundered on to parts un-
known. With clasped hands and despairing eyes, Edith
gazed after it, as the wrecked floating on a raft might watch
a ship sail away, and leave them to perish on the wide
ocean.

She walked slowly down to the little arbor, and leaned
wearily back on the rustic seat. She saw night come on in
breathless peace. Not a leaf stirred. She saw the moon

SAVED 379

rise over the eastern hills, as brightly and serenely as if its
rays woald not fall on one sad face.

Hannibal called, but she did not answer. Then he came
out to her, and put the cup of tea to her lips, and made her
drink it She obeyed mechanically.

**Poor chile, poor chile,*' he murmured, *'l wish ole
Hannibal could die for you."

She lifted her face to him with such an expression that
he hastened away to hide his tears. But she sat still, as if
in a dream, and yet she felt that the crisis had come, and
that before she left that place she must come to some deci-
sion. Reason would be dethroned if she lived much longer
in such suspense and irresolution. And yet she sat still in
a dreamy stupor, the reaction of her strong excitement. It
seemed, in a certain sense, peaceful and painless, and she
did not wish to goad herself out of it

'*It may be like the last sleep before execution," she
thought, ** therefore make the most of it," and her thoughts
wandered at wilL

A late robin came flying home to the arbor where the
nest was, and having twittered out a little vesper-song, put
its head under its wing, near his mate, which sat brooding
in the nest over some little eggs, and the thought stole into
her heart, ''Will God take care of them and not me?" and
she watched the peaceful sleep of the family over her head
as if it were an emblem of faith.

Then a sudden breeze swept a spray of roses against her
face, and their delicate perfume was like the ''still small
voice" of love, and the thought passed dreamily across
Edith's mind, *'Will God do so much for that little cluster
of roses and yet do nothing for me ?"

How near the Father was to His child 1 In this calm that
followed her long passionate struggle. His mighty but gen*
tie Spirit oould make itself felt, and it stole into the poor
girl's bruised heart with heavenly suggestion and healing
power. The happy days when she followed Jesus and sat
daily at His feet were recalled. Her sin was shown to her.

880 WHAT CAN SHE DOf

not in anger, but in the loving reproachfulness of the
Saviour^s look upon faithless Peter, and a voice seemed
to ask in her soul, '*How could you turn away your trust
from Him to anything else ? How could you think it right
to do so great a wrong ? How could you so trample upon
the womanly nature that He gave youjis to think of marry-
ing where neither love nor God would sanction ?"

Jesus seemed to stand before her, and point up to the
robins, saying, *'I feed them. I fed the five thousand.
I feed the world. I can feed you and yours. Trust me.
Do right In trying to save yourself you will destroy
yourself."

With a divine impulsci she threw herself on the floor of
the arbor, and cried:

'* Jesus, I cast myself at Thy feet I throw myself on
Thy mercy. When I look the world around, away from
Thee, £ see only fear and torment If I die, I will perish
at Thy feet"

Was it the moonlight only that made the night lumi-
nous? No, for the glory of the Lord shone around, and
the peace that ^'passeth all understanding" came flowing
into her soul like a shining river. The ugly phantoms that
had haunted her vanished. The ^'black hand that seemed
pushing her down," became -her Father's hand, shielding
and sustaining.

She rose as calm and serene as the summer evening and
went straight to Mrs. Allen's room and said:
"Mother, I will never marry Simon Crowl."
Her mother began to cry, and say piteously:
''Then we shall all be turned into the street"
"What the future will be I can't tell," said Edith,
gently but firmly. **! will work for you, I will b^ for
you, I will starve with you, but I will never many Smon
Crowl, nor any other man that I do not love." And press-
ing a kiss on her mother's face, she went to her room, and
soon was lost in the first refreshing sleep that she had had
for a long time.

SAVED 881

She was wakened toward morning by the sonnd of rain,
and, starting up, heard its steady, copious downfall. In a
sudden ecstasy of gratitude she sprang up, opened the«blinds
and looked out The moon had gone down, and through
the darkness the rain was falling heavily; she felt it upon
her forehead, her bare neck and arms, and it seemed to her
Heaven's own baptism into a new and stronger faith and
a happier life.

882 WHAT CAN BEE DOf

CHAPTER XXXV

CLOSING 8CBNBS

THB clouds were clearing away when Edith came down
late the next morning, and all saw that the clouds
had passed from her brow.

^^Bress de Lord, Miss Edie, you'se joursef again I" sad
Hannibal, joyfully. **I neber see a shower do such a heap
ob good afore."

"No," said Edith, sadly; •*! was myself. I lost my
Divine Friend and Helper, and £ then became myself —
poor, weak, faulty Edith Allen. But, thanks to His mercy,
I have found Him again, and so hope to be the better self
that He helped me to be before.''

Zell looked at her with a sudden wonder, and went out
and stayed among her flowers all day.

Laura came and put her arms around her neck, and said,
*'0h, Edie, I am so glad I What you said set me to fearing
and doubting; but I am sure we can trust Him.*'

Mrs. Allen sighed drearily, and said, ''I don't under-
stand it at all."

But old Hannibal slapped his hands in tme Methodist
style, exclaiming, *'Dat's it I Trow away de ole heart!
Get a new onel Bress de Lordl"

Edith went out into the garden, and saw that there were
a great many berries ripe; then she hastened to the hotels
and said:

'*0b, Mrs. Groody, for Heaven's sake, won*t you help me
sell my strawberries up here ?"

**Yes, my dear," was the hearty response; *'both for

CLOSING SCENES 888

your sake and the strawberries, too. We get them from the
city, and would much rather have fresh country ones.''

Edith returned with her heart thrilling with hope, and
set to work picking as if every berry was a ruby, and in a
few hours she had six quarts of fragrant fruit. Malcom
had lent her little baskets, and Hannibal took them up to
the hotel, for Arden would not even look toward the little
cottage any more. The old servant came back grinning
with delight, and gave Edith a dollar and a half.

The next day ten quarts brought two dollars and a half.
Then they began to ripen rapidly, the rain having greatly
improved them, and Edith, with considerable help from the
others, picked twenty, thirty, and fifty quarts a day. She
employed a stout boy from the village, to help her, and,
through him, she soon had quite a village trade also. He
had a percentage on the sales, and, therefore, was very
sharp in disposing of them.

How Edith gloated over her money! how, with more
than miserly eyes, she counted it over every night, and
pressed it to her lips!

In the complete absorption of the past few weeks Edith
had not noticed the change going on in Zell. The poor
creature was surprised and greatly pleased that the flowers
grew so well for her. Every opening blossom was a new
revelation, and their sweet perfume stole into her wounded
heart like balm. The blue violets seemed like children's
eyes peeping timidly at her; and the pansies looked so
bright and saucy that she caught herself smiling back at
them. The little black and brown seeds she planted came
up so promptly that it seemed as if they wanted to see her
as much as she did them.

'* Isn't it queer," she said one day to herself, **that such
pretty things can come out of such ugly little things."
Nothing in nature seemed to turn away from her, any more
than would nature's God. The dumb life around began to
speak to her in many and varied voices, and she who fled
from companionship with her own kind would sit and chirp

884 WHAT CAN SHE DO f

and talk to the birds, as if they understood her. And they
did seem to grow strangely familiar, and would almost eat
crumbs out of her hand.

One day in June she said to Hannibal, who was working
near, ** Isn't it strange the flowers grow so well for me ?''

''Why shouldn't dey grow for you. Miss Zell?" asked
he, straightening his old back up.

"Good, innocent Hannibal, how indeed should you know
anything about it ?' '

*'Yes, I does know all 'bout it," said b^y eama^tly, and
he came to her where she stood by a rosebush. **Does you
see dis white rose ?"

'*Yes," said Zell, "it opened this morning. I've been
watching it."

Poor Hannibal could not read print, but he seemed to
understand this exquisite passage in nature's open book,
for he put his black finger on the rose (which made it look
whiter than before), and commenced expounding it as a
preacher might his text. "Itow look at it sharp, Miss Zell,
'cause it'll show you I does know all 'bout ii It's white,
isn't it?"

"Yes," said Zell, eagerly, for Hannibal held the atten-
tion of his audience.

"Dat means pure, doesn't it?" continued he.

"Yes," said Zell, looking sadly down.

"And it's sweet, isn't it? Now dat means lub."

And Zell looked hopefully up.

."And now, dear chile," said he, giving her a little im-
pressive nudge, "see whar de white rose come from — right
up out of de brack, ugly ground."

Having concluded his argument and made his point, the
simple orator began his application, and Zell was leaning
toward him in her interest.

"De good Lord, he make it grow to show what He can
do for us. Miss Zell," he said, in an awed whisper, "my
ole heart was as brack as dat ground, but de blessed Jesus
turn it as white as dis rose. Miss Edie, Lor' bless her.

CLOSING SCENES 885

telled me 'bout Him, and I'se found it all true. Now,
doesn't I know 'bout it? I knows dat de good Jesus can
turn de brackest heart in de world jes like dis rose, make
it white and pure, and fill it up wid de sweetness of lab.
I knows all 'bout it."

He spoke with the power of absolute certainty and strong
feeling, therefore his hearer was deeply moved.

** Hannibal," she said, coming close to him, and putting
her hand on his shoulder, **do you think Jesus could turn
my heart white?"

**Sartin, Miss Zell," answered he, stoutly. **Jes as easy
as He make dis white rose grow."

** Would you mind asking Him ? It seems to me I would
rather pray out here among the flowers," she said, in low,
tremulous tones.

So Hannibal concluded his simple, but most effective,
service by kneeling down by his pulpit, the rosebush, and
praying:

**Bressed Jesus, guv dis dear chile a new heart, 'cause
she wants it, and you wants her to hab it Make it pure
and full of lub. You can do it, dear Jesus. You knows
you can. Now, jes please do it Amen.'^

Zell's responsive *'Amen" was like a note from an
jEolian harp.

** Hannibal," said she, looking wistfully at him, **I think
I feel better. I think I feel it growing white."

**Now jes look here, Miss Zell," said he, giving her a bit
of pastoral counsel before going back to his work, ** don't
you keep lookin' at your heart, and seein' how it feels, or
yoa'll get discouraged. See dis rose agin? It don't look
at itself. It jes looks up at de sun. So you look straight
at Jesus, and your heart grow whiter ebery day."

And Hannibal and the flower did gradually lead poor
Zell to Him who **taketh away the sins of the world," and
He said to her as to one of old, '*Thy faith hath saved thee;
go in peace."

On the evening of the 14th of June, Edith had more than
17— Rob— X

886 WHAT CAN SHE DOf

enough to pay the interest due on the 16th, and she was
most anxious to have it settled. She was standing at the
gate waiting for Hannibal to join her as escort, when she
saw Arden Lacej coming toward her. He had not looked
at her since that dreadful afternoon, and was now about to
pass her without notice, though from his manner she saw he
was conscious of her presence. He looked so worn and
changed that her heart yearned toward him. A sudden
thought occurred to her, and she said:

**Mr. Lacey."

He kept right on, and paid no heed to her.

There was a mingling of indignation and pathos in her
voice when she spoke again.

**I appeal to you as a woman, and no matter what I am,
if you are a true man, you will listen.''

There was that in her tone and manner that reminded
him of the dark rainy night when they first met.

He turned instantly, but he approached her with a cold,
silent bow.

''I must go to the village to-night. I wish your protec-
tion," she said, in a voice she tried vainly to render steady.

He again bowed silently, and they walked to the village
together without a word. Hannibal came out in time to see
them disappear down the road, one on one side of it, and
one on the other.

'*Well now, dey's both quar," he said, scratching his
white head with perplexity, **but one ting is mighty sartin,
I'se glad my ole jints is saved dat tramp."

Edith stopped at the door of Mr. Growl's office, and
Arden, for the first time, spoke hastily:

**I can't go in there."

**I hope you are not afraid," said Edith, in a tone that
made him step forward quick enough.

Mr. Crowl looked as if he could not believe his eyes, but
Edith gave him no time to collect his wits, but by the fol-
lowing little speech quite overwhelmed both him and Arden,
though with different emotions.

CLOSING SCENES 887

'^There, sir, is the interest due on the mortgage. There
is a slight explanation due you and also this gentleman
here, who was my friend. There are four persons in our
family dependent on me for support and shelter. We were
all so poor and helpless that it seemed impossible to main-
tain ourselves in independence. You malce a proposition
through my mother, never to me, that might be called
generous if it had not been coupled with certain threats of
prompt foreclosure if not accepted. In an hour of weak*
ness and for the sake of the others, I said to my mother,
never to you, that if I could not pay the interest and could
not support the family, I would marry you. But I did very
wrong, and I became so unhappy and desperate in view of
this partial promise, that I thought I should lose my reason.
But in the hour of my greatest darkness, when I saw no way
out of our difficulties, £ was led to see how wrongly I had
acted, and to resolve that under no possible circumstances
would I marry you, nor any man to whom I could not give
a true wife's love. Since that time I have been able honestly
to earn the money there; and in a few days more I will pay
you the fifty dollars that my mother borrowed of you. So
please give me my receipt."

"And remember henceforth," said Arden, sternly, *'that
this lady has a protector."

Simon was sharp enough to see that he was beaten, so
he signed the receipt and gave it to Edith without a word.
They let his office and started homeward. When out of the
village Arden said timidly:

**Oan you forgive me. Miss Edith?"

**Oan you forgive me?" answered she, even more
humbly.

They stopped in the road and grasped each other's hands
with a warmth more expressive than all words. Then they
went on silently again. At the gate Edith said timidly:

*' Won't you come in?"

''I dare not. Miss Allen," said Arden, gravely, and with
a dash of bitterness in his voice ''lam a man of honor

888 WHAT CAN SHE DOf

with all my faults, and I would keep the promise I made
jou in the letter I wrote one year ago. 1 must see very
little of you,'* he continued, in a yery heartsick tone, '^but
let me serve yon just the same."

Edith's face seemed to possess more than human love-
liness as it grew tender and gentle in the radiance of the
full moon, and he looked at it with the hunger of a famished
heart

•*Butyou made the promise to me, did you not?" she
asked in a low tone.

••Certainly," said Arden.

••Then it seems to me that I have the right to absolve
you from the promise," she continued in a still lower tone,
and a face like a damask-rose in moonlight

•*Miss Allen— Edith — " said Arden, ''oh, for Heaven's
sake, be kind. Don't trifle with me."

Edith had restrained her feelings so long that she was
ready to either laugh or cry, so with a peal of laughter, that
rang out like a chime of silver bells, she said:

''Like the fat abbot in the story, I give you full absolu-
tion and plenary indulgence."

He seized her hand and carried it to his lips: ••Edith,"
he pleaded, in a low, tremulous voice, •'will you let me be
your slave ?"

"Not a bit of it," said she, sturdily. She added, look-
ing shyly up at him, ••What should I do with a slave ?"

Arden was about to kneel at her feet, but she said:

•'Nonsense I If you must get on your knees, come and
kneel to my strawberry-bed — ^you ought to thank that, I can
tell you." And so the matter-of-fact girl, who could not
abide sentiment, got through a scene that she greatly
dreaded.

They could see the berries reddening among the green
leaves, and the night wind blowing across them was like
a gale from Araby the Blest

"Were it not for this strawberry-bed you would not have
obtained absolution to-night. But, Arden," she added, sen-

CLOSII^O SCENES 889

ously, **here is your way out of trouble, as well as mine.
We are near good markets. Give up your poor, slipshod
larming (I'm plain, you see) and raise fruit I will supply
you with vines. We will go into partnership. You show
what a man can do, and I will show what a girl can do."

He took her hand and looked at her so fondly that she
hid her face on his shoulder. He stroked her head and said,
in a half-mirthful tone:

*' Ah, £die, Edie, woman once got man out of a garden,
but you, I perceive, are destined to lead me into one; and
any garden where you are will be Eden to me.**

She looked up, with her face suddenly becoming grave
and wistful, and said:

*' Arden, God will walk in my garden in the cool of the
day. You won't hide from Him, will you?"

*'No," he answered, earnestly. **I now feel sure that,
through my faith in you, I shall learn to have faith in Him."

890 WHAT CAN SHE D0$

CHAPTER XXXVI

LAST W0BD8

EDITH did sustain the family on the prodncts of her
little place. And, more than that, the yield from
her vines and orchard was so abundant that she
aided Arden to meet the interest of the mortgage on the
Lacey place, so that Mr. Growl could not foreclose that
autumn, as he intended. She so woke her dreamy lover
up that he soon became a keen, masterful man of business,
and, at her suggestion, at once commenced the culture of
small fruits, she giving him a good start from her own
place.

Bose took the situation of nurse with Judge Clifford's
married daughter, having the care of two little children.
She thus, secured a pleasant, sheltered home, where she was
treated with great Idndness. Instead of running in debt, as
in New York, she was able to save the greater part of her
wages, and in two years had enough ahead to take time to
learn the dressmakers' trade thoroughly, for which she had
a taste. But a sensible young mechanic, who had long been
attentive, at last persuaded her to make him a happy home.

Mrs. Lacey's prayers were effectual in the case of her
husband, for, to the astonishment of the whole neighbor-
hood, he reformed. Laura remained a pale home-blossom,
sheltered by Edith's love.

With the blossoms she loved, Zell faded away in the au-
tumn, but her death was like that of the flowers, in the full
hope of the glad springtime of a new life. As her eyes

LAST WORDS 391

closed and she breathed her last sigh out on Edith's bosom,
old Hannibal sobbed—

** She's— a white rose— now — sure 'nuff.''

Arden and Edith were married the following year, on the
14th of June, the anniversary of their engagement. Edith
greatly shocked Mrs. Allen by having the ceremony per-
formed in the garden.

**Why not?" she said. **God once married a couple
there."

Mrs. Groody, Mr. and Mrs. McTrump, Mrs. Banger,
Mrs. Hart and her daughters, and quite a number of other
friends were present

Hannibal stood by the white rosebush, that was again
in bloom, and tears of joy, mingling with those of sorrow,
bedewed the sweet flowers.

And Malcom stood up, after the ceremony, and said, with
a certain dignity that for a moment hushed and impressed
all present:

**Tho' I'm a little mon, I sometimes ha' great tho'ts, an'
I have learned to ken fra my gudewife there, an' this sweet
blossom o' the Lord's, that woman can bring a' the wourld
to God if she will. That's what she can do."

THE END

Hy 2AAL V

II

*